Women In The Night

Targeted

Dean hadn’t been lying when she said that the professor was isolated.

He lived on a small island that only had a couple of other properties on it, and each of them were farms separated by kilometres of rolling fields. His house was a dark Victorian mansion with steep peaks and gilded windows, a long driveway leading from the small road to the house, as well as a large attached garage. It would have been deeply foreboding if not for the bright and colourful garden, an archway covered in wisteria with a white gate at the front.

“You never told me he was a gardener,” Opal said as the two girls got out of the van.

“One of the few things that keeps him sane,” Dean replied, “He grows a lot of his own ingredients for potions and wards and stuff, plus his own food.”

Opal laughed, “And you thought I was a witch!”

The two chuckled to themselves as they made their way up the way to the door. Opal admired the handsome lion-shaped knocker before Dean used it, rapping it three times loudly.

A couple moments later, a thin, tired-looking man opened the door with a smile.

“Lettie, glad to see you’re back! And you must be Opal.”

“It’s nice to meet you!” Opal said, holding out a bottle, “Um, I heard that you like red wine?”

Quinn chuckled as he took the bottle, “That I do. Come in, come in, no use standing on the porch.”

Dean and Opal followed Quinn inside into a huge entry hall. The walls were a dark mahogany with a cool geometric white trim, with old-fashioned lamps attached to the wall and hanging from the ceiling, providing surprisingly good light. The tiles and beams on the ceiling were arranged in an eight-point star formation, continuing all the way down the hall. To their immediate right was a bright sitting room, with a fireplace and elaborate mantle sitting in between the two doors leading to said room. To their left was a table in front of a window with some potted orchids, then two closet doors with a statue of a cupid in between them. At the end of the hall at the left was a large set of stairs leading up, then more doors leading into more bright rooms.

Opal couldn’t help but stare at each of the artefacts and photos that lined the walls. There were African tribal masks, Native American medicine wheels and dreamcatchers, bright Australian painted boomerangs, and about a dozen other types of trinkets, charms, and doo-dads. Opal couldn’t help but wonder just which ones were tools or wards, and which ones were purely decoration. There were two bronze statues of rearing horses on the mantle, as well as a large framed photo. Opal paused to look at it.

There were two men in the picture, dressed in light work clothes and standing in front of a large stone gateway, with a triangular crest overtop – two lions looking up to a pillar.

One of the men was clearly a younger Quinn, his hair a little bit longer, sporting a moustache. He had his arm slung around the shoulders of a Hispanic man with close-cropped hair, both of them smiling proudly.

“Hey, that’s the Lion Gate at Mycenae,” Opal said, which caught the others’ attention. They doubled back to look at the photo and Quinn smiled.

“Oh, good eye! Yes, that was the first dig Amador and I did together as husbands. Ah, it was beautiful. We actually ended our honeymoon early because we couldn’t wait to dig!”

Opal smiled, “It seemed like you really loved him.”

“I still do. Anyways,” Quinn sighed before taking a step back, “You seem to know your Mycenaean history.”

“Oh no, not at all,” Opal laughed awkwardly, “I studied data analysis and business in school – but I did take a couple of classics courses in my first year as a humanities credit. Anyways, I really liked them, so I paid attention. Intro to the Greek history course was Mycenae. Dean told me you were an archaeologist? A professor?”

“Yep! I was always fascinated with ancient societies’ myths and tales, still am. I’m afraid that my digging days are over and I rarely teach a class anymore, but I still do tons of research for Queens University.”

“The Professor is kinda like the go-to in the hunter community,” Dean explained, “He knows a crazy amount of lore and if he doesn’t already know how to kill a monster, he’ll find out quick. Anyways, his ‘research’ is actually all the stuff he does for the community. A couple of times a year, he’ll write a paper or maybe a book on it, get a nice grant, and get a hefty cheque in the mail. It’s how he’s able to afford this place.”

“It is a gorgeous home,” Opal said. They had made their way into the back sitting room, which had soft cerulean carpets, matching gold and blue wallpaper, intricate sprawling bookshelves, paintings, more trinkets, dozens of photos, and comfortable chairs around a fireplace and large coffee table with a ceramic pot filled with candies. To the left was a bright conservatory with hanging paper lamps and exotic plants. To the right was a large dining room.

“Thank you! It is nearly an exact replica of Mark Twain's house, with my own flair of course.”

“Mark Twain?”

“Amador proposed to me there, since we’re both such big fans of his. We designed this house together after his book on the decolonization of American literature became a bestseller. But enough about that – have you been on a hunt yet?” Quinn asked as he sat in a plush armchair, Opal and Dean sitting on a loveseat together.

“Not technically,” Opal admitted, “Dean saved me when I was attacked by a ghost at my old job in Toronto, and then I helped her with some research on that werewolf case but...no.”

“She’s not going to be anywhere near a fight for as long as I can help it,” Dean said firmly, “Opal’s just helping me look for clues and shit.”

“I’m sorry…Dean?” Quinn asked with a raised eyebrow.

“What?” Dean asked.

“She called you Dean? Why? Your name is Celeste…?”

“It’s my middle name, remember?”

“Yes, I’m well aware Lettie, but why is Opal addressing you by your middle name?”

“Opal’s actually my middle name too,” she interjected, raising her hand warily, “When I first met Dean, she was with her late father, and he called her Dean, so I thought that was her name.”

“When she realized that my dad called me by my middle name,” Dean explained, “she said that to even it out, I should call her Opal instead of Sera. The names just kinda stuck.”

“Ah. I see. Would you prefer if I called you Dean?”

Dean wrinkled her nose, “Mm…nah. I’m fine with Lettie or Celeste or whatever. And I guess it’s just an inside joke sorta thing.

“Completely understandable,” Quinn said with a little chuckle before turning to Opal, “So, do you have any combat training?” Quinn asked.

“Self-defense training does not count,” Dean interjected.

“I’m going to take that as a no, then,” Quinn said.

“Yeah…” Opal admitted, rather sheepishly, “I’m really not a physical person. But I’m really good at pattern analysis! I actually wanted to be a private eye when I was younger.”

“Really?” Dean asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, did a ton of research for it before I realized I just wasn’t cut out for it. Which is ironic, since that’s what a large amount of being a monster hunter is.”

“So what made you want to become one?” Quinn asked, “Monster hunting is a very big leap from data analysis.”

“Because Dean is my friend, and I want to help her.”

Quinn glanced between Dean and Opal before saying, “...Right.

Opal frowned. Dean had spoken very highly of the professor, and she knew that the two of them were very close. Dean had also assured Opal that Quinn would love her, but that didn’t seem to be right. He was very clearly disproving of Opal’s choice to become a monster hunter, but why? She had as much right to help Dean as he did.

…Or did she?

“You’ll be pleased to know your mother contacted me,” Quinn said after a moment, sighing as he spoke.

“What did she say?” Dean asked, leaning forward and immediately perking up.

“Just checking in to make sure you took care of the werewolf,” Quinn said, “I don’t understand why she doesn’t just call you, especially considering our relationship. I did bring it up, but she shot me down with her usual self-righteous bullshit.”

“She’s checking up on me?” Dean scoffed, “Mom’s the one who disappeared and is sending me on wild goose chases! What was the self-righteous bullshit she told you?”

“That she’s on the trail of something dangerous, and she wants to keep you at arm’s length in order to protect you. And yes, I did inform her that it’s bullshit.”

“Did she say where she was?”

“Of course not,” Quinn replied, then he smirked, “But she used a payphone. She’s in Carberry, Manitoba. About a 25-hour drive.”

“Well that’s great!” Opal said with a grin, “Now we know where she is! We can track her down from there!”

“No, Mom wants us to go there,” Dean said, “Why the hell would she use a payphone when she has like, eight burner phones?”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Quinn agreed with a sigh, slumping back in his chair. He reached under his glasses to massage at the bridge of his nose like he was getting a headache, “If she wants you to meet her in Manitoba, I don’t understand why she doesn’t just say so.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want you to meet her,” Opal said quietly. She froze when the other two looked at her and giggled nervously, “But then again, I haven’t seen her since I was a little kid, so what do I know?”

“Explain your thought process,” Quinn said, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Oh, um…” Opal began to pick at her hands as she spoke, feeling her nerves mounting, “Well, from what I’ve gathered so far, Mrs. Whitlock–” Dean scoffed at the formal address –”has been trying rather hard to throw us off her trail, leading Dean to places where she thinks Dean could help, then moving on, like with the hostel in Toronto. It’s safe to say that she would’ve known that it would be nearly impossible for Dean to find her there, yeah? And then with the werewolf, she left a signal on a sign to let Dean know she had been there recently. And now, with her using a payphone, it could be seen as a slip-up, like she’s doing everything extra to not be followed, but she knows that we’ll check the area code for the payphone.”

“Miss Opal does have a point,” Quinn offered, “I can certainly see your mother pulling this sort of stunt.”

“Well, I’m going,” Dean declared, “We’re doing this to look for Mom. If she’s in Manitoba, then that’s where we’re going.”

“It’s a twenty-five hour drive,” Quinn warned, “Knowing Daisy, she’ll be long gone by the time you get there.”

“So I’ll fly there – I’ve got some money saved up. Opal and I will take the next flight out to –”

“NO!” Opal shrieked, before slapping her hands over her mouth.

“I beg your pardon?” Quinn said, startled by the sudden noise.

“Dude, you good?” Dean asked, turning to Opal with a confused expression, “What the hell was that?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Opal said, speaking much quieter now. She felt very hot, her face burning as she started to tug at her loose curls, “I just…no flying. Please. I-I can stay here if you’d like, take a train and meet you there but…no planes.”

“Wha- oh.” Understanding dawned on Dean’s face and she leaned back in her seat, “Alright. We drive.”

Opal could see Quinn’s eyes narrow a bit in suspicion, darting between the two as he tried to read between the lines. However, he didn’t comment.

“You’re welcome to stay the night,” he offered instead with a sigh, “It’ll be a long drive though, so I can’t guarantee that Daisy will even be in the province when you arrive.”

“But it’s something,” Dean argued, “and I can’t just sit around and wait until she calls again! I’m not a child anymore, Professor.”

“I know you’re not, Lettie. I just wish Daisy knew it as well.” With a groan, Quinn stood and adjusted his glasses, “I’ll prepare the guest rooms for you. Let me know if there’s anything else you may need.” Then he turned to Opal, “You’re welcome to roam around the house. If a door’s locked, it’s for a good reason. Try to look with your eyes though, not your hands.”

With that, he left the sitting room, disappearing into the kitchen. Opal leaned forward, listening to his footsteps disappear before she sunk into the comfy cushions, her hair pushing against her face.

“He hates me.”

“What?” Dean said, “No he doesn’t. Why do you even think that? It’s been all of like, fifteen minutes.”

“But clearly doesn’t like me,” Opal pouted, crossing her arms and sinking further into the safety of her puffy halo, “He’s clearly judging me. I can tell.”

“No, he’s not,” Dean said with a little laugh. She sat up and punched Opal’s shoulder lightly, “C’mon, we gotta unpack.”

Opal sighed before standing up, following Dean to the van. As they passed by the kitchen, Opal noticed Quinn watching them head out the front door, and she caught his eye.

He wasn’t…scowling, per se. But his piercing blue eyes seemed to peer into her very soul, and she caught the moment of him scanning her over.

It’s just survival instinct, she tried to tell herself, He’s a hunter. Dean’s eyes are like that too.

But still she felt…targeted.

Opal didn’t like that feeling.