XII

A fine mist somewhere between fog and drizzle had precipitated in the dismal late evening of Odette as Hector stalked one of the main thoroughfares which stretched through downtown. He had wiped his glasses off three separate times before giving up and tucking them away into his breast pocket, trusting in his instincts to warn him of impending danger he was blind to.

A Hunter's instinct was an imprecise and fiddly thing to work around. It was not the type of instinct a skilled laborer might have for inherent danger to their profession, nor was it the sense of dread that catches new parents unawares the moment their child is inches from disaster. No, it was as unobtrusive as a shadow on the wall, an art and talent like reading tea leaves, it seemed to only manifest as any number of small changes in a routine or minor coincidences which stacked up to be too large to ignore. Which was why Hector hadn't recognized the nagging feeling like he'd forgotten something at the police station for what it was until he had been delayed long enough in his journey home for Malczyn to crash into him.

He had thought he'd seen the last of him when he'd successfully fended off Holloway's attempts at prying information out of him. Hector had ended that line of inquiry out of pity more than anything — Malczyn was a man with little interest in the goings-on of the business above him. A low-level dealer who had only been collared for sparking a joint outside a known cop bar, he treated his hustle like a summer intern. A combination of nepotism and low ambitions had landed him the job and while that made him good at slinging dime bags, he was terrible to pump for information to build a state-level case.

But when Malczyn had made a surprise appearance in front of Hector, an undead creature hot on his heels, he had been forced to reconsider his assessment. The man at least seemed to know enough for someone to want him dead over it. The confrontation wouldn't have even been any of Hector's concern if the man hadn't managed to invoke an Oath with him the moment he'd grabbed his face and pleaded for help.

If his instincts were a whisper he couldn't ignore, an Oath was a battle cry he didn't dare cast aside. Not for the first time did Hector wonder if he might train one to be more like the other, to make them both easier to disregard. Being led by the nose was annoying, but having his head on a chopping block unexpectedly took a toll on him mentally and physically.

It had been a combination of fortune and surprise that had sent Malczyn's pursuer fleeing into the night. As the thrill of confrontation faded and his Oath deemed itself fulfilled, he had breathed a small sigh of relief. He'd revealed his nature far sooner than he would have liked, but he'd still bought himself time to plan for any future interactions. Against creatures which thrive on unpredictable cruelty, foresight and careful contingency plans were a thumb on the scales in his favor.

"Why didn't you go after him?" Malczyn had asked, once language returned to him. He had crawled back to Hector's side on shaking hands and knees, his eyebrow split from where he'd been kicked. "He's just gonna come back."

Hector had regarded him coolly and tapped the flat of his blade against his leg. "I've risked my neck enough tonight." He hadn't, really. "I'm going to bed."

"Well — but what am I supposed to do?" he'd asked, hauling himself to his feet. He had desperately looked as if he wanted to grab Hector again, but the sword had made him keep his distance.

"Skip town?" Hector had offered with a disinterested shrug. "Probably what I'd do if it was me. Save me having to file another brief."

He'd made it a few feet away before quick footsteps approached him from behind. Whirling, he'd raised his sword in his fist, telegraphing a clear pommel strike if Malczyn continued. "Don't."

Though his hands had been in front of him as if he'd meant to grab Hecto again, Malczyn had relented and lowered them to his waist. With pleading eyes he'd again asked, "What do I do?"

Hector had given no answer and left him to figure it out in the middle of the road.

No longer on high alert, he finally allowed himself to stop looking over his shoulder for signs of Malczyn trailing behind him. In one deft motion, he dissolved his sword and pulled out his phone, frowning to see it was only just past midnight. Knowing he'd be unable to sleep that night, he fired off a quick text message and got a reply almost instantly.

You working?

Just punched out.

Wait for me?

Sure.

Odette General Medical Center was situated on the opposite end of downtown in a sort of counterbalance to the police station. Like the city's other major buildings and landmarks, the hospital had grown in fits and starts to its present size of three stories with a two level parking garage. It serviced the city and nearby rural towns well enough, though it lacked the capabilities of the larger municipal trauma centers.

Hector took the concrete stairs leading to the uppermost parking deck two at a time, stuffing a value menu burger into his face as he ascended. With a thunderous sound for so late at night he leaned into the handle of the door at the top of the stairs with his hip, announcing his arrival to a woman who was leaning on a railing. Her voluminous dark hair was wrapped up underneath a colorful and richly patterned scarf, protected from the moisture in the air. Standing directly under a light which washed out her normally warm, brown skin, she beckoned Hector over like a human lighthouse.

Dr. Mildred Yarrow was Hector's only ally in Odette, and in many ways he was hers. They had found each other by accident, when Hector had been new in town and looking for somewhere to be useful. It was his firm belief that his Honor had conspired for the pair to meet, but Mildred favored the equally powerful phenomenon queer people had for finding each other in a crowd.

Whatever the force behind it, they had met when he had been at the hospital late at night, when he had slipped his way past a receptionist desk. He hadn't had a plan in mind what to do beyond that, he didn’t even have his Honor to blame for it; he’d just grown accustomed to wandering the halls of the hospital by his old apartment and missed the sterile company. Nothing seemed remiss about his actions until he’d rounded the corner into the stern-faced night-shift doctor who had been running on a poor ratio of too much coffee and too little sleep — she looked like an engine about to flood.

"What are you doing here, sir?" she had demanded.

Hector had hesitated a second too long for a convincing lie and her hand moved in a flash to the intercom on the wall. “Wait,” he had cried. “Your hand hurt bad?”

This had stalled her long enough for her eyes to dart down to the thick bandage around her right hand and back up at him. “I’m calling security.”

“You need your hand to work, right? You’re stuck on garbage details until it’s better, right?”

Anger directed at him was better than fear and he’d taken the brunt of her heat with ease. “Excuse you, who do you think you are? Are you a doctor?” Her hand had moved away from the intercom, he’d hit the right nerve.

“No, but I can help you,” he had said, lacing his fingers together and holding his hands forward. As he did so, he loosened his grip on his Honor just enough to radiate trust between himself and her. It wasn’t a trick that would win over anyone overly hostile to him, but for someone who might be on the fence about believing him —

“I’m listening,” she had said with an eyebrow raised.

His Honor dipped like a fishing line pulled under water. “Put your hand on mine.”

Maybe she’d wanted proof he was a crackpot. Maybe she really had trusted him. Either way, Mildred had placed her wrapped and burnt hand on the back of his and narrowed her eyes at him. He couldn’t suppress his smirk at her naked skepticism as he’d channeled his energy through the back of his hand and a blue flame had engulfed her own. Skepticism had turned to wide-eyed wonder as a sensation as cold as ice coursed through her wound and the lingering pain of a careless night of cooking had disappeared in an instant. Whipping the bandage off with a trembling hand, she was visibly shocked by the sight of what had once been a mess of jagged blistered skin that was shiny and new, like weeks of healing had happened in the blink of an eye.

“What—?” she’d gasped, all hostility gone from her face.

"I can do that for other people, too," he'd whispered.

And so Hector's isolated world had gained one trusted member. The pair would meet clandestinely when he needed to burn off anxious energy, when she had a lead on someone who could use a nudge of divine healing. She'd grown accustomed to his foibles, the particulars of his magic and the specifics of his job. There was only a small amount of surprise, then, to have him text her in the dead of night and appear with a bag of fast food.

"Oh no. How many McDoubles is that?" she asked.

"This is only the second," he said, digging another wrapped burger out before handing the bag over to her. "I finished the milkshake already."

She raised an eyebrow at him as she took the bag with a word of thanks. "Busy night?"

"Eh," he grunted around a mouthful of food. "I thought it would be, but. Eh." He trailed off, waving his hand in a vague gesture and taking another bite.

"Anything I need to know about?" she asked. Hector had at first tried to keep her in a need to know status of ignorance, but it turned out Mildred needed to know a lot.

Hector chewed his food slower and picked his brain for phrasing. "Seen any bad animal maulings?"

Sliding a tomato slice out of her burger and eating it, Mildred shook her head. "None that came to us. But if they go right to the morgue, I probably wouldn't hear about it."

Hector made a thoughtful noise at that and folded his now empty wrapper in half. "No anemia? No more attacks beyond that one a couple weeks ago?"

"Sorry, no," she shook her head. "Isn't that a good thing, though? Maybe there isn't any—"

Hector cut her off with an irritable wave. "I found one. Earlier. And he's thralled to a liege which makes at least two vampires in the city."

Even after being taken into his confidence, Mildred couldn't suppress the squint she made every time she heard the word vampire. "Guess you wouldn't be that lucky, huh?"

With a snort, Hector took her wrapper and put it in the bag with his own. "Unfortunately that's exactly how my luck works, Millie."

Hugging her elbows against the chill in the air, she looked him up and down before walking past him to the stairwell. "C'mon, I know what'll cheer you up. Got a kid downstairs with some torn ligaments worried he'll never play ball again."