Rishi's Wish

Chapter 3

3

"This better be good." Mike's voice cracked from the hangover of sleep.

She almost laughed, but a lack of energy stopped it fast. "I got a little banged up."

She heard him come fully awake. "A little banged up?"

His tone was accusatory, and she might have flinched if her body had the energy.

"Yeah. I just need a little help." Her tone was apologetic.

She sensed his nodding, so continued, "I'll meet you out back in twenty minutes."

She wasn't sure if he spoke after that. She hung up, not trying to be rude, just forgetting, in her dazed state, to see if he had anything to add. She headed towards Mike's, forcing her pace beyond that of a walk, ready for a bed in a way she'd never known.

When they'd traveled far enough that he was sure there wasn't some location he didn't know about, Hamal advanced to settle into a position he would be able to overhear any conversation. Risking the extra time to pick up his bag from his truck, he was glad he took the chance. The only place for him to spy was from the cover of the treelined property, too far away to hear anything without aid.

Positioning his night vision gear more comfortably over his face, he slid the small shotgun microphone from his pack, eyes scanning the moon tinted landscape for signs of the injured girl. The fuzzy black material surrounding the four-inch, tube-like device, screwed into a collapsible pole was the perfect color and shape to blend with the shadowed trees surrounding him. Connected to a pair of high-end headphones, he would be able to hear whatever was said more clearly than if he was standing right next to him.

The metallic rattle of a doorknob drew Hamal's attention to the back of the house that juxtaposed the surrounding country with modern urban style. He watched Mike step outside, his thin frame hunched with the vestiges of sleep. Hamal noted the thick towel the man held just as genuine concern replaced his look of sleepy annoyance.

Hamal's gaze followed Mike's as he moved down the few steps of the raised deck to meet Desiree in the grass, wrapping the thick towel he'd brought around her. "Dee, what the hell. You said a little banged up."

She leaned into Mike, allowing a second of connection before stepping out of his grasp to move towards the house. "Guess I'm not crazy."

What did that mean?

From Mike's expression, Hamal knew he understood their meaning too well.

Then they were in the house, cutting Hamal off from any information their conversation might give.

Annoyed he never bugged Mike's place as he had Desiree's, he weighed the risk versus reward of creeping towards the house. As long as they stayed in a room near a window, he'd be able to pick up their conversation without difficulty.

Guess I'm not crazy.

She knew the words would hit him like a slap to the face. This entire event would conjure memories from another night, just over a year ago, when she'd curled herself against his front door, blood, whether her own or another's, splattered across her. Mike's expression of unbridled fear from that night was forever etched into her memory.

He hadn't let her out of his sight for weeks.

"No doctors." She'd quickly read what he was thinking from the set of his eyes.

Her statement broke his seething silence. "No doctors? I don't know how you haven't bled out already! I'm taking you to the hospital!"

"Exactly, I haven't bled out. I'm fine. Doctors will only ask questions I can't answer."

Her voice was impassive. She watched Mike's face crease as his mind raced to find an argument to contradict her.

She knew he'd given up when he guided her into the kitchen. He pulled out a chair for her to sit in before moving to the bathroom where he collected towels and hot water, antiseptic cream, and bandages. She trusted her unexplainable healing factor while he pretended it wasn’t real.

Dee listened to his rummaging, knowing she'd be able to sleep once he finished mothering her. She knew she needed to give him this time so he would feel better about not taking her to see a doctor. He needed to see she was alright.

Making his way back to the kitchen with a collection of meager first aid tools, Dee sat up, stifling a groan.

She forced a smile, kept her voice even. "Relax. I really am fine. Super exhausted, but fine." A yawn slipped out, before a glance at her arms hanging loosely in her lap brought attention back to the obvious. "Considering."

"Considering it looks like you were mauled by a pack of wolves."

"Yes, considering that." Voice thick with sarcasm, she sat straighter in the chair as Mike went to work on her.

"Always with the jokes. Even like this. Never listen to anybody—"

Desiree let him have his muttering, closing her eyes to lay her head on the back of the chair while Mike patched her up. Neither of them had any experience with first aid that made them adequate to handle cuts and bruises, let alone wounds that would make a trauma surgeon cringe. Still, Mike had seen enough that he wouldn't push the doctor issue. Even if he wouldn’t acknowledge it, he wasn't stupid enough to ignore it.

She was changed. Even if they wouldn't talk about it, it was real.

A year ago, when she'd come home, propping herself on his front porch half-dead, she'd allowed him to convince her she'd been the victim of a mugging, not the victim of an attack from a creature that only existed in fiction. But he'd seen the injuries she'd sustained. He'd seen the recovery that defied explanation. And now this.

Would he finally allow himself to wake up to the idea that what she claimed was true? Would he finally accept the idea that a vampire had attacked her?

She winced from the word, wishing she had another label. But the more she tried to squelch the expression from echoing through her head, the louder it became. It's what she had called it then, though she couldn't remember why. Over time, her memory of what had happened to bring her home had gotten cloudy.

Still, it's what she was calling the thing she'd seen tonight, though, as the strange evening made its thousandth re-run through her head, she wasn't sure if it was an accurate enough description of what had attacked her. Had it tried to drink her blood?

-Was it going for your neck when you put your arm in its mouth?-

Maybe.

Hamal lay against the pillows. In the background of the tiny motel room, the television played re-runs of some sitcom. It didn't matter. He wasn't paying attention. His thoughts rushed over what he'd seen in the cemetery and what he'd overheard at Mike's.

Not even he could guarantee coming out alive against the creature she'd run down. He wouldn't have tried to run it down. He wasn’t an i***t.

There were so many layers to what the encounter suggested, yet he focused on the surface of it. For now, replaying the image of her pushing the creature away after impaling it on her makeshift weapon was enough. No mere girl could have taken the force of that attack, let alone stabbed it by pulling a piece of wrought iron fencing from the earth.

His mind trailed to all he'd heard, and the little he'd been told directly about Revenants. He'd never heard any roamed free, unaccounted for. That they were allowed to live was a point he didn't understand but was never stupid enough to ask. That one would be so close to a settled population was unheard of, and he was sure he'd never heard of one used as an assassin. Even so, it was the only way he could explain the coincidence of this one running across his mark’s path.

Maybe not an assassin. Maybe a test? A creature of supernatural strength without skill was the perfect probe to see just what surprises lay under the surface of the supposed normal girl.

Both scenarios suggested that someone knew about her strange similarities to a very private group. That someone wasn't Zi. Hamal wouldn't be here if he believed she had any of the skills he'd seen from her tonight.

Whoever it was, Hamal would have to be more careful. If another party was watching her, they'd see his interference, and he was too quickly linked to Zibanitu's House. Though his humanity kept him separate , everyone would know what his being there meant. That they couldn’t use his presence to issue a formal complaint was what made him such an asset.

Sitting up, he grinned at his reflection, the mystery of why he'd been sent clear.

More at ease from his deductions, Hamal replayed the girl's romp in the graveyard. He conceded that luck had played a large part in her success, but despite trying, he couldn't deny what her success meant. His excitement continued to escalate. He moved to his feet, pacing across the small space, wanting to call in what he'd seen, but knowing it was too early to break his order of no communication.

Another parameter of the mission answered. Communication was an easy thing to intercept, and Zi didn't want any link to this girl getting out.

The next question was whether she was some odd, naturally occurring anomaly, or someone's misplaced creation.

Whatever her origins, she was strong-willed enough to chase down the thing that had ambushed her. That, added to her being a natural fighter, had Hamal itching to begin her training.