I gently rolled my straw between my lips as I sat at the high table outside the cafe, my chin resting in my hand as I watched the cars drive by. It was one of those shiny, metal-and-plastic tables you see outside everywhere, with the mesh-wire sort of design. It didn’t really fit with the design of the trendy and modern cafe, but that was because the building used to be a McDonald’s, which was plainly obvious since after buying the building, the cafe never remodeled the exterior. They even kept the Drive-Thru, which would have been convenient for me if I had a license. The sound of wheels-on-asphalt as the cars drove past me and back into traffic with their morning coffees now in tow was a pleasing sound. I always liked coming to this cafe, with its unpronounceable French name and the nice Korean lady working the counter. She was one of the few people in Cruxis I could practice my mother’s native language with -- one of the few things I had to connect me to her -- so I always made a point of buying a passion fruit bubble tea from her whenever I passed by.
It tended to be part of my morning routine, really. Sitting at the cafe, drinking my bubble tea, and watching the cars go by. I loved the sound of cars; their wheels rolling by or the bassy thrum of an over-tuned soundsystem, the occasional honk and my absolute favorite: guys stepping out of their cars and screaming at each other. The hum of the engines created this symphonic sort-of cacophony of sound that, to me, sounded like an orchestra made out of the heart of the city. It was a beautiful song that exemplified everything this city was to me. It was rough, tired and energetic all at once, filled with people who just wanted to go about their business right alongside the ones who were just looking for an excuse to fight. God, I loved Cruxis. Best city in the damn world, crime stats be damned.
My reverie was broken, however, when a certain someone strolled up to the cafe and reminded me of why I had come there to decompress that morning.
“Tabi! Look at you!” called a voice in a teasing sing-song. “Same clothes as last night! Somebody got lucky!”
Lazily, I turned my attention from the street to look at the approaching figure of my best and only friend, Amanda Wallace. She was kind of my opposite in every way: Tall -- as in, six-foot-one in flats -- blonde, beautiful, and bubbly. Ammy was, in essence, what I imagine a man would describe as a “walking wet dream.” She strode toward me clutching some tall coffee and wearing these obnoxiously large sunglasses. She wore this tight, boob-hugging top and a possibly-just-a-little-too-short skirt that swayed in the light, morning breeze with every step in a way that had me sure she’d picked it out especially to tease any guys that might cross her path. That was the kind of person she was, and she was very unashamed about it.
She sat herself next to me, draping her large purse on the table as she grabbed one of my hands and stared into my eyes, a look of pure concentration on her face as she spoke in her most serious tone. “Alright you beautiful, Asian goddess -- tell me all about the future Mister St. Claire.”
I rolled my eyes. “Wouldn’t I take his name?”
She bounced my hand up and down, with her own body lightly doing the same motion. “Sass later, details now! Tell me! He was great, right?”
I answered with a sigh and an annoyed, “No.”
She frowned, her nose crinkling in the way it did when she was curious. “No?! Well, what was wrong? Oooh, let me guess. Dick too big?”
I gawked at her. “Gross, no.”
“Dick too small?”
“Ew. Why is it always penises with you?”
“Okay, so it’s not his dick. Was he a dick? He seemed pretty nice from when he was working at the shelter with me.”
I decided not to answer and just gave her what I hoped was a pointed, tired glare.
She searched my face for an answer for a moment before her eyes set on my cheek and the color drained from her pale face. “Oh no! Did he do that to you?”
I grumbled. I didn’t want to worry her or make her feel bad for setting me up with him, so I decided to go with my absolutely brilliant lie from the previous night. “Cat scratched me.”
She let go of my hand and reached up to peel the bandage aside. “That’s a pretty big cat, Tabi.”
I sighed and pulled it back on over my cheek. “Just don’t worry about it. I don’t wanna talk about it.” Which was true. I didn’t.
“Tabi. Tell me what happened. Why did he scratch you? Was he doing that ‘daddy dom’ thing? I told him you weren’t into that.”
“What? No. What?”
“Then what, for the love of God, happened?!”
I sighed, finally worn down by her, and replied flatly, “Vampire.”
She stared at me for a long moment, her eyes flitting between my tired eyes and the bandage on my cheek.
“Do you mean ‘let me read you my bad poetry and drink fruit punch’ vampire or…” She then held her fingers at the corners of her mouth like fangs and said, “‘I vant to suck your blood’ vampire?”
“The second one.”
She looked mortified and immediately wrapped me in a crushing hug. “Oh God! I had no idea! I’m so sorry, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. He only scratched me.”
She broke the hug but still held my shoulders, searching me with concern. “How’d you get away?”
“Emergency stake.”
When I said that, I could immediately see the gears turning in her head. Processing between ‘I hurt my best friend’ and ‘she brought a stake to her date.’
“Tabitha Seong St. Claire.”
And here we go. “Ammy…”
“Don’t you ‘Ammy’ me! You did not bring a freaking stake on your date on the off-chance he was a vampire!”
“Of course not!” I replied, defensively.
She stared at me for a really long, uncomfortable moment that forced me to break down with a sigh and add, “I brought silver bullets.”
She threw her hands up into the air dramatically. “Oh my God!”
“I’m not going on a blind date unarmed, Ammy!”
“So bring mace or a taser!”
“When shit goes south for me, things tend to try and eat me!”
“So mace him or something! Don’t just pop off the wall and start hunting at the slightest provocation!”
“Have you ever tried to mace a vampire?”
“No.”
“Well I have! Spoiler alert: It doesn’t work!”
She rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “Sometimes I just can’t believe you.”
So I brandished my straw at her, accusingly. “So you’re blaming me for being attacked by a vampire?”
“What?! No!” she stammered.
“You’re telling me I should have let him suck all of my blood out of my poor, defenseless face!”
“Okay well first off, Tabi, I have personally seen you fist-fight a vampire. You don’t need lethal options to get out of a shitty date. Secondly! He was a vampire! What if he’s somebody important!”
I lowered my straw. Shit. I hadn’t thought of that. “You don’t think he is?”
“He could have been! Imagine if you just pissed off one of Tiamat’s little thrall-finders!”
I sucked in air through my teeth. “I probably just fucked up, huh?”
She frowned, concern once more permeating her face. “Maybe not. She’s always trying to skirt the laws but she’s not going to out-and-out attack someone.”
The conversation lulled into silence after that as we both turned to watch the traffic, which gave me time to think about the possible upcoming series of events. Tiamat was the Queen of the Damned; the baddest vampiric bitch in the world. Nobody knew a lot about her other than damn near every vampire called her Mother and the rumors that either she was once one of Dracula’s brides or she, herself, turned Dracula. Long story short: not someone to fuck with. If I had just crossed her, there’s no telling what she’d do. I’d already run afoul of her once, about seven years before this, when I helped her daughter run away with a werewolf prince. Suffice to say, I was definitely already pretty squarely on Tiamat’s naughty list.
The silence was broken when Ammy spoke without looking away from the cars. “You haven’t gotten any contracts yet, have you? I don’t know if I can get rent alone again this month.”
I shook my head. “Nothing yet. Can you ask Joe?”
“Not a chance. He’s still on my case for the dent we put in my car.”
“Sorry about that.”
She frowned at me. “It’s not like you asked that ogre to throw you into it.”
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“I still feel shitty about it. The door barely even closes now.”
Her frown turned into one of her trademark smiles. A soft, gentle look in her eyes that cast absolutely no judgment. I swear that woman was a saint in a past life. “Seriously, Tabi, it’s okay. You always get so ‘bluh bluh it’s all my fault bluh’ when you’re tired.”
“But it is my fault?”
She grabbed her coffee and stood up, then grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. “Come on. Let’s get Grumpy Tabi into some comfy pajamas and into bed.”
I grumbled, but didn’t protest.
“So, how did you even meet that guy, again?” I asked her as we headed down the block to her car.
“He volunteered at the shelter with me. He was always so bright and happy with everyone.”
I scowled a little. “He was probably feeding on the homeless.”
Ammy looked horrified. “You don’t think he was? Why would he be volunteering at a shelter?”
I just kinda stared at her. She was so trusting of people it hurt sometimes. “Easier access to his prey.”
“That’s horrible! Ugh, I’m so sorry, Tabi.”
“It’s not your fault. But maybe you should wear your cross necklace more often.”
“I think I might. We could have avoided this whole thing.”
“Oh, and before you try to set me up again, make sure you do check him out. With crosses. And silver. And iron.”
“Did you say again? You’re going to trust me to set you up more?”
I sighed. “Yeah. It’s… it’s been like ten years, almost. I have to move on at some point.”
We stopped at her car, and before she let me get in she wrapped me in a gentle hug. “You don’t have to force yourself, you know.”
I returned her hug and rested my head against her. “I wanna try. I can’t let him control me forever.”
“You don’t have to push yourself. Take your time, it’s okay.”
She rubbed my back and we stayed embraced for a while longer before she finally unlocked her door and opened it for me. Her car had been, at one point, a very nice red sporty car from the 80s. But her older brother, a mechanic, had bought it for five hundred dollars from a customer of his that hadn’t taken very good care of it. It had a blue passenger side door, which I had helpfully dented inward about a month ago during a scuffle with an ogre, and the driver side window wouldn’t roll down. But it was her car, and she took great care of it. I crawled into the car through the driver side and clumsily navigated my way across the center console and finally into my seat. After, Ammy just slid into hers with poise and grace.
Now, I love Ammy. She’s a wonderful human being and my best friend in the world. So when I say this, it’s important to understand that it’s coming from a place of love: Amanda Wallace is the worst driver on the planet. Not because she can’t drive. In fact, I’d be willing to bet she’s one of the most skilled drivers alive. No, she’s the worst because I honestly don’t think she knows that it’s a speed limit and not a speed suggestion. The second she started her car up we were blasting out and into traffic. She wove between cars and through lanes in a very not-legal way, as if stopping for even a second would spell death for her or something. Like she was in some fucked up low-stakes version of Speed. Does anybody else remember that movie?
I grabbed the “oh shit” handle above my window, as I always did when driving with her, and held on for dear life, trying to focus on the early ‘00s pop she played and ignore the fact that sometimes her speedometer jumped up to 70.
“How have you never gotten a speeding ticket?”
“I’m just that good,” she said with a little smile.
“I’ve been arrested for less! It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well, in your defense, that’s only because Marshall hates you. I’m sure you’d be fine if it wasn’t for him.”
I grumbled, preferring not to think about my arch-nemesis, and instead focused on the song. Ke$ha, I think, was playing. At least it was a safe bet, since she was Ammy’s favorite artist. I didn’t get to listen to too many songs, though, since Ammy’s wild driving meant we got onto the freeway and then across town in fifteen minutes, which meant she was driving slower than usual.
The part of town we lived in was like a different world from my favorite cafe. Our apartment was horrible. Half of the covered parking spots had the awnings collapse, and it was a free-for-all to try and get into the few that were left. Multiple cars sat, without wheels, atop cinder blocks. A few of them were missing their engines, others just the hoods. There was a little “park” in front of the apartments, but it was filled with dead grass and used needles.
We lived on the second floor. The staircase up was concrete, and the iron railing was so old and rusted to shit it felt like you could tear it out if you put any weight on it at all. Normally, all that would be waiting for us in front of our door was a dumb welcome mat with a whale pattern on it that read ‘Whalecome home!’ but this morning was different. There was a little girl there, staring at our door and then down at a crumpled up piece of paper in her hands.
She looked real young, maybe five or six. Her skin had a natural-looking tan to it and her hair was long and a bright, bright red. She was wearing a sweater over her pajamas, a pink shirt and sweatpants covered in a particular cold Disney Princess and her cohorts. She looked up at us as we crested the top of the staircase. Her eyes were puffy, like she’d been crying, and were so beautifully blue I wasn’t sure if it was physically possible for eyes to be that color.
Ammy bent down while I knelt down to get on closer eye level with the girl.
“Are you lost?” I started.
The little girl shook her head. “Um… are one of you…” She looked down at the paper in her hands and read aloud, slowly. “The Tiny Terror, Tabitha St. Claire, Detective Extra-ordin-air?”
I shot Ammy a little glare to make my distaste of her choice of wording for our ad known.
She pursed her lips, ignoring me. “That would be her. Where’s your parents?”
The little girl crumpled up the paper and then slowly started uncrumpling it, careful not to rip it. “Um… Daddy’s at home sleeping and Mama is gone.”
I frowned a little bit. “Where’d your mama go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you wake up your dad?”
“I tried, but, um,” she crumpled up the paper again. “He won’t wake up.”
Ammy stood up and went to unlock the door. “Come inside, sweetie.”
Our apartment was, well, “a mess” wasn’t really the right word. We kept it as clean as we could, but it was old and run-down. The carpet was a gross color from years of miscare from before we moved in, the walls were yellowed with age and cigarette smoke. Our kitchen was tiny, maybe big enough for one person to fit at a time, and was situated at the back of the smallish living room, which was dominated entirely by our shitty couch, our old coffee table, and our TV and TV stand. I guided the little girl to the couch, where Ammy and I sat on either side of her. It wasn’t the worst couch in the world. We had a dumb little blanket across the back to make it look at least a little presentable.
The little girl seemed like she was about to cry again, so I gently rubbed her back in what I hoped was a soothing motion. “Does your mama normally go out a lot?”
She shook her head. “No. She never leaves cuz she said we can’t.”
Ammy and I shared a look before she looked down at the little girl. “Why can’t you?”
“Mama said it’s cuz we’re little eagles.”
“Little eagles?” I gave her a confused look.
She just nodded. “That’s what she said. We’re little eagles and if someone found out we’re here, bad men would come and take her away.”
I looked at her for a moment. “Illegal?”
“Yeah,” she said, a little smile on her face at my understanding. “That!”
“Did somebody find out?” Ammy asked, before I had the chance.
The little girl unfolded her paper and started crumpling it again. “I think. A bad man came and then Mama put me in the closet and then when he left, Daddy wouldn’t wake up. Um, mama had this paper in her room too so I thought you were her friend so I came here.”
I was about to say something when the little girl put her paper down and dug into her pocket. “I can pay you!” she pulled out a sandwich baggie filled with coins and dumped them onto the coffee table, rolling across it with a loud clattering sound. “It’s, um, seven dollars and forty-six cents! I counted! It’s all I have.”
My heart melted just a little bit, and I looked over at Ammy with a silent pleading in my eyes. Kids were my biggest weakness. “I’m not going to take your money.” Especially since it’s almost entirely nickels.
“But you gotta help! Please?”
Ammy grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, which was already on Nicktoons because she and I are nothing if not giant children. “Watch TV for a bit while Tabi and I talk, okay?”
Then Ammy and I stood up, and she followed me into my room.
“You know we can’t take this case, Tabi.”
I threw my parka onto my bed, then unhooked my holsters from where they sat at the small of my back and set them alongside it. “Her mother is missing and her dad might be dead.”
She helped me unzip the dress. “I know that, Tabi, but we’re broke. We can’t be helping her if someone comes along willing to pay.”
“I can work two cases at once.”
“I want to help her as much as you do--”
“So it’s decided!” I cut her off as I walked, nude, over to my dresser and started throwing on underwear.
“There’s a thousand other PIs in the city we can give her case to.”
“But she came to us!” I said, half-muffled as I pulled on a long-sleeved shirt.
“I’m just trying to be realistic.”
I fell onto my bed as I wiggled into my jeans. “Worst case scenario, Joe helps us cover rent again and I owe him my half.”
“You really think he’ll help pay it again?”
I gave my guns a quick once-over, checking the clips. “He’s not gonna let his baby sister get evicted. Plus, he knows I’m good for my half. Soon as we get a paying case or contract.” Then I put them back in their holsters and secured them around the small of my back.
Ammy crossed her arms. “Okay, okay. You’re lucky I can’t let a child suffer in good conscience.”
I went to my side table by my bed and dug through the drawer, pulling out a clip full of iron bullets and one full of normal bullets and shoved them into my parka’s pockets after throwing it on.
“You know as well as I do this conversation only happened because you want to be able to tell Joe you tried to talk me out of it without lying to him.” I looked over at her with a smug smile. “You were always gonna take it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go find her mom.”
We headed back out into the living room, and I knelt by the coffee table and started shoveling the coins back into the sandwich baggie. The little girl looked at me, a hopeful look in her eyes. I nodded at her.
“Do you know your address?”