With a swipe of my fingers, I pulled up the delivery verification app and held the device out to her. She rested her forefinger lightly on the screen until it beeped. Before sliding it back in my pocket, I glanced down to make sure it said confirmed. Even more important, the words still showed green. It meant I’d made it in under deadline. If I hadn’t, it would have turned red, and I’d have been screwed.
“You cut it close,” Miriam said, already turning back to her game.
Pausing in the act of pulling the package out of my bag, I grimaced. No kidding.
“Another minute and I could have solved my ingredient shortage,” Miriam said, eyeing my body with an appraising eye.
Oh. That would have been unfortunate. And probably painful.
I’d never had that as a consequence.
Hermes Courier Service was special. Its owner guaranteed satisfaction of service. Things like merchandise reaching its intended destination in one piece, and more importantly, on time. Failure resulted in a penalty clause kicking in, usually at the client’s discretion. This was normally something simple, like working as unpaid help for a predetermined length of time, but the penalty could be anything the employer wanted. The more expensive the job, the nastier the penalty.
I’d never been late so I hadn’t bothered to inquire about this job’s penalty clause. I may have also been more interested in the money.
“Right,” I eventually said, handing over the small package. It was no bigger than a deck of cards and wrapped in brown paper and tied with red twine.
As always, I had no idea what was in it.
The witch set down her cards and took the package from me. Dressed in jeans and a bright yellow shirt, Miriam was different in almost every way from the girl watching the front counter—except for the color of her hair. Miriam’s makeup was done with a light hand and flattered her large green eyes. If I met her at a bar one evening, I would have assumed she was a young professional only a couple of years out of college with a normal job, something like a graphic designer. Of the two, the girl out front seemed more likely to be a witch.
“Not all of us embrace the human’s depiction of us,” Miriam said.
I shifted back and eyed the witch warily.
Miriam looked up from her game with a sardonic lift of her eyebrow. “I didn’t read your mind, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Since that’s exactly what I was thinking, I didn’t feel much better even with her assurance.
“Your face is surprisingly open for a vampire.”
Crap. That was supposed to be a secret.
“Relax.” Miriam turned back to her game and flipped another card. “I wouldn’t be much of a witch if I couldn’t tell if someone was supernatural or not.”
While slightly more reassuring than the thought of Miriam being a mind reader, it didn’t solve the issue of her knowing I was a vampire. I wasn’t exactly in hiding but I also wasn’t ‘out’.
Miriam didn’t give me time to dwell on what I should do or if I should even do anything. “What news do you bring me, courier?”
I settled down to the second half of my job—that of acting as a verbal news source.
One of the things I’d learned since my involuntary transformation to one of the fanged was that the different species of the supernatural world didn’t play well together. It was kind of like the Hatfield’s and the McCoy’s, only with many more families.
Information was a prized commodity. My job allowed me to go anywhere as long as there was a package to be delivered. This gave me unique access that Hermes clients were willing to pay for and pay well.
“Another human family was found murdered.”
“I could have learned that from the human media. Tell me something I couldn’t find out for myself.” Miriam stared down at her cards with a frown.
“There’s been talk of a task force being put together.”
Miriam snorted. “There’s always talk. Nothing ever comes from it. Everybody will want to be in charge, but nobody will want to donate their people for it.”
“I don’t know. Fear does funny things. They might be willing to set aside differences to get to the bottom of the murders and disappearances.”
Everyone was spooked. I could see it in their eyes, hear it in their voices. The last time I’d seen something similar I’d been in a war zone.
It had started with disappearances at the beginning of summer. Mostly from the smaller enclaves. The ones who weren’t strong or under the protection of someone strong were the first to vanish. A few dryads from the Park of Roses gone in one night. From there the perpetrator moved on to the bigger groups. A sorcerer found smoldering in his bed. A few shifters torn apart like they were ragdolls. Shifters were strong too. Anything that could do that was not something you wanted coming after you.
