One
Kira
The man across the street drags his chair closer to his date as they eat their brunch like they invented love and lust and…
Well, cheating.
“Oh Robert, Robert, Robert...” I whisper as I snap another quick picture from behind the lamppost I’m leaning into.
His hand drags up her thigh, shoving at the yellow sun dress she wore for him. My phone rings and I nearly drop the thing in a rush to get my picture before...
Noooo! Gah just let it fall next time, Kira!
Shit.
Right now? We’re doing this right now?
“Yeah? Hey! Hi, Mom,” I say into the phone while I try to get a shot of the woman fondling Robert’s dick from over his gray slacks. “No, now’s not a bad time. It’s fine.” I snap another ten or so of a far too up-close picture of the elderly man’s cock.
My gag reflex sounds just as my mom asks if I’m still dating Chad.
“Oh, stop. He’s a nice young man, Kira. Your sister would have loved him.”
This time my grimace has nothing to do with life alert hand jobs and everything to do with the current conversation.
“Kyra would have agreed,” I whisper quietly.
“Come home for Thanksgiving?” she asks in that way that only mothers do. It’s that I’m asking, but there’s really no question mark tagged at the end of that demand.
“Of course, Mom.” I glance at the time and if I don’t ditch Robert’s daylight dick play and my mother’s phone call right now, I’m going to be late. “I got to go, Mom.”
A pause drifts across us like it always does.
“Love you,” I add, and I know she’ll say it back. And I’ll hang up first. And she’ll call again. Same time, same day next week.
The call ends, and I swipe quickly though my phone to email over all the pictures to Robert’s sweet darling wife who will use them to get all the alimony he can afford.
With that job done, I’m officially off work for the weekend.
But I have one more thing to do before I go home. I jog across town. If I don’t hurry, I’ll miss her. Again.
And then I won’t be able to see her for another month.
The cold fall air bites at my cheeks as I turn the corner and stop dead on the crimson line painted into the old sidewalk. One side is newly paved. Long and unending, leading through a neighborhood my kind hasn’t ventured into in over nine decades. It’ll be an even ten at the end of this year.
As for the other side—my side—the pavement is cracked and worn. And that’s because my side is hicago tax dollar kept instead of Crimson City kept. It’s just one more thing that shows how supernaturals care more about perfect appearances than humans do.
It’s not something the average human thinks about.
What I wouldn’t give to be average. Unknowing. Naïve.
Instead, I’m very well educated.
Unfortunately.
Because we’re not alone on this earth. There truly are things that go bump in the night.
And one of those things is walking toward me right now.
