Chapter Seventeen

Morrisey sprang from the vehicle the moment they parked at the FBI offices, marching with purpose toward the far side of the lot where he’d parked.

“Morrisey! Wait!” Damn! ”I warned you we should have filled him in first,” Farren growled to Leary. Both Farren and Leary had had ten years of prospective agents’ reactions to draw on, but it looked like only one of them learned anything from the experiences. Farren glared at his boss, then followed Morrisey across the asphalt, trying to match his much longer strides.

Morrisey stopped but didn’t turn back. “What the fuck do you want?” Amazing how the chill in his voice didn’t drop the temperature by fifty degrees.

“I’m sorry you found out the hard way. I told Leary we should have covered everything in advance.”

“If you’re a demon, why couldn’t I tell?” The growl in Morrisey’s voice would’ve sent the most hardened criminals running.

“Traveler. I’m not a demon. I’m a traveler.” Farren had grown quite used to being called a demon, but hearing the accusation from Morrisey hurt. Just like being called an angel, even while Morrisey was sedated, warmed Farren’s spirit.

Morrisey finally whirled around, hands clenched into tight fists. “What?”

Farren spread out his hands in a see, I’m harmless gesture. “I’m not a demon. I’m a traveler. Someone who unintentionally stumbled upon your world but dedicated myself to protecting others. You’ve nothing to fear from me. Some travelers use the term ‘demon’ to describe criminals and occisors, although it is considered derogatory. In which cases, the term was sometimes accurate.”

Morrisey squinted, dark brows scrunching. “Can you get into my mind?”

“No one can. You’re… immune.” Farren needed to keep explanations short, given Morrisey’s unbalanced state. “To answer your earlier question… You read about the classifications of those from Domus, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Each classification comes with skill sets to help us in our jobs. I am Magestra.”

“Right. Those sort of merged into a blur after a while.”

Understandable. Very few recruits remembered even half of the list. Plus, Morrisey had a reputation as a hard drinker, though Farren would never betray Captain Gaskins’s trust by saying so. “Cop, pretty much. Although we preferred ‘peacekeeper.’ But I’ve discovered here, other travelers can’t see me for what I am unless I let them. Only those I allow can see the real me. I imagine being able to fly under the radar helps with my job to disguise my nature.”

Morrisey took in a prolonged, noisy breath, then blew the air out, making him appear to deflate. He scratched the nape of his neck. Some of the anger left his words. “I imagine that’s pretty useful.”

“Yes.” Farren’s tension bled away. Standing here, just a couple of feet apart, he saw through the bluster to a vulnerable man. Morrisey’s recent past hadn’t been easy. “C’mon. Let me buy you lunch. Then we can talk some more.” Farren reached out his hand, but Morrisey pulled back. Ouch.

The expression on Morrisey’s face turned from indecisive to resigned. “Okay, but I pick the restaurant and I drive.”

“Fair enough.” Right now, Morrisey’s beliefs were rearranging. He needed to feel in control to ground himself. Him not running yet offered some reassurances. Like a coffee stain on a shirt, the longer new concepts stayed in one”s mind, the greater the chance for permanence.

Morrisey swung open the passenger door of an older model RAV4, immediately clearing books, papers, coffee cups, gum packs, and other debris from the seat. A touch of color flushed his cheeks. He tossed everything unceremoniously onto the back seat—his typical way of dealing with clutter, judging by the evidence. “Sorry. I rarely have people in here.”

Farren bit back, obviously. He wouldn’t add to his new partner’s embarrassment. Instead, he crawled into the RAV4, even finding the seatbelt after some searching. It took three strong yanks before the belt extended. If Farren’s feet were much larger, they wouldn’t have fit in the floorboard with all the discarded coffee cups and fast-food wrappers.

Morrisey took his place in the driver”s seat, strapped in, then fired up the engine. He said nothing while exiting the parking lot. If he didn’t feel like talking, Farren wouldn’t push matters—for now. However, they’d need to clear the air eventually.

Where would Morrisey take them? Some burger place? The evidence on the floorboard strongly suggested the possibility. Then again, a smattering of taco wrappers mixed in looked to have come from the corner convenience store. Farren braced for whatever came his way. His advanced healing should overcome food poisoning.

Instead of cheap fast food, they pulled up at a rather classy steakhouse. Morrisey turned off the ignition, faced Farren, and smirked. “You offered me lunch. I’m warning you, I ain’t a cheap date.”

Farren fought a grin. “Duly noted.” The joke, however tentative, said maybe the next hour or so wouldn’t be all bad.

Morrisey smiled for one brief moment, really smiled, before tightening his cloak of grumpiness.

For a fleeting moment, Farren glimpsed the man hiding beneath the bristly exterior, hardened by pain and loss and hopeless situations—situations Farren knew all too well. Hope reared in his heart. Maybe they belonged working together after all.

Morrisey’s eyebrows knitted together. “You okay?”

“What? Oh, sure.” Now came Farren”s chance to blush. “Lost in thought there for a minute.”

“Find your way back. I’m hungry.” Morrisey exited the vehicle and strode across the parking lot. Maybe he hadn”t been escaping earlier. His long legs simply ate up the pavement with each stride.

Farren followed at a slower pace, allowing Morrisey to find a table in a secluded corner of the dining room. One menu lay on the table when Farren arrived and sat. “You waste no time.”

“Told you,” Morrisey replied from behind the other menu. “Hangry.”

Yes, Morrisey seemed pragmatic, focusing on whatever he currently deemed urgent. Farren perused his own menu.

A Southern drawl to end all Southern drawls sounded above them. ”What can I bring y”all to drink?”

Farren glanced up to find a teenager who couldn’t have been long out of high school beaming down at them, seeming not to notice Morrisey’s scowl. For a good tip, the poor guy likely ignored many bad attitudes.

“Sweet tea, please,” Farren said.

Morrisey growled, “Same.”

So, we’ve returned to grouchy old cop, have we? Perhaps Morrisey’s default setting.

The drinks arrived a short time later. Farren ordered a ribeye, baked potato, and salad, while Morrisey ordered a hamburger steak and French fries.

“Would you like slaw or salad?” the server asked, looking up from his order pad.

Somehow Morrisey didn”t come across as much of a salad eater. He confirmed the notion. “There’d better not be anything green on my plate.”

“We have corn on the cob.” The server donned a winning smile liable to coax good tips from customer’s wallets.

Morrisey responded with his grumpiest attitude. “That’s a vegetable. I don’t do healthy food.”

The kid gave a crooked grin. “They slather it in butter, sir. More butter than corn, actually. Trust me, it’s not even remotely healthy.”

“Works for me.” Morrisey folded his menu, took Farren’s, and then gave them both to the server.

Farren just upped the tip from twenty percent to twenty-five, settling in to take notes on how the server had deftly managed Morrisey.

The moment the kid wandered off, Farren willed a bubble of silence to shield them from eavesdroppers and began the conversation he both anticipated and dreaded in equal measure. “I’m sure you have questions. Ask away.”

Morrisey paused, taking a drink of tea. He sat the glass on the table, running a finger through the condensation on the side, pointedly not looking up. Thinking before he opened his mouth. Farren approved.

“First things first,” Morrisey said. “You just did something to keep other folks from listening in, didn’t you?”

How did Morrisey know? “Yes. We can speak freely.”

Morrisey nodded slightly, tapping out a beat on the tabletop with an index finger. “Where do you really come from? Space? I saw about realms and shit, but I don’t quite understand.”

A logical question. “No. My realm is like yours in some ways, vastly different in others. The realms exist parallel to each other, some similar to Terra’s environment. Some can’t sustain human life. Each is a whole unto itself. Sometimes, the boundaries weaken, a portal forms, and someone comes across.

”I have no idea how I ended up here. I just arrived one day.” Not the entire truth, but the individual who had summoned Farren didn”t intend ill will. Farren wouldn’t throw the man under the proverbial bus. “Only our spirits, if you will, make the journey.”

“So, your spirit comes from there to here. Then what? You stole someone’s body?”

Farren fought not to be offended. He’d heard every manner of derogatory comment in the ten years he’d been in this realm. Morrisey likely meant no offense and had every right to satisfy his curiosity. They were partners, after all. “No. I didn’t steal a body. I would have let myself die first. Since only what most people refer to as spirits cross over, I was what you might describe as a spirit or a ghost. I heard we’re mostly electrical impulses. From what I know now, if I hadn’t found a body, I’d have eventually just ceased to be.”

Morrisey stared from across the table, intense dark eyes riveted to Farren’s. “Die, you mean.” He averted his gaze.

How should Farren answer the question? “It’s not quite so simple.”

Morrisey shifted his attention from where he’d been studying the table. “You didn’t have a body, so you found one.”

“Yes. A young man overdosed on drugs. The commotion drew me to the place. All these people, hovering over him, administering antidotes, performing what I’ve come to learn as CPR. I tried to tell them he’d already gone, but they couldn’t hear me. I got closer and slipped into his body.”

“Like you did with the guy at the hospital.”

“Yes. But today, I stayed only long enough to gather information from our victim.”

“You stayed with the overdosed guy.”

“His name was Farren Austen, and he made his living as a model, but the customs of my realm followed me here. In Domus, people would have classified him as an entertainer. My mind doesn’t work like his, so I left that aspect of his life.”

Morrisey studied Farren for several moments. “You said you were a cop there. In the other realm.”

The calm, rational questions and acceptance of the answers gave Farren hope. He didn’t mind repeating himself to get the point across. “Yes. Immediately upon being revived, I tracked down the dealer who’d sold fentanyl-laced heroin to my host.” Farren shook his head, recalling grim memories. In some ways, he thought of Farren in his original form as a younger sibling. “Although some withdrawals are in the mind, my new body went through withdrawals too. Not a good time. I was tempted to give up more than once.”

“So, the original Farren is dead.”

“Yes. He hung around for just a brief time after I found him. Once sure he’d breathed his last, I settled in. Tentatively, at first, to ensure he wasn’t coming back. I have some healing skills, and with the paramedics’ help, cleared enough drugs from his system to preserve the body. Some travelers can heal certain ailments so they can survive in a dying body. Other diseases, such as advanced cancer, not even the most skilled of us can help.”

“Not even the whatchamacallits? Healers or whatever.”

“Nutrixes?”

“Yeah. Those guys.”

Farren shook his head. “Sadly, not even Nutrixes.”

Morrisey fingered the napkin-wrapped silverware. “How’d you wind up with the FBI?”

“Without a job or calling, I reverted to my old ways, like I said, tracking down the dealer responsible for Farren’s death and ensuring his arrest for drug dealing and two other deaths, since I couldn’t prove he’d killed my host. Then I felt a portal open and went to investigate. Leary was in the area, heard a scream, and ran toward the sound. Two men held a third man on the ground, while another opened a portal, though Leary didn’t understand what he saw. A powerful traveler summoned a spirit from my realm, intending to give them the young man’s body. When the group saw Leary, they charged. I stepped into their path.”

“Then what?”

“They ran, but I lost them.”

“What about Leary?”

“He identified himself as a member of law enforcement and thought he was losing his mind by what he witnessed.”

“What did he witness?”

“A spirit trying to enter a body, though he couldn’t actually see. He only felt the wrongness and saw the victim convulse. Once the intended victim was safe in an ambulance, I had a talk with Leary. He didn’t believe me, but gave the benefit of the doubt.

“His superiors, like yours, didn’t believe his report. Also, like you, the FBI came calling. Turns out they’d known about travelers for some time. Hoped to use us to their advantage.”

Farren stopped talking when the server arrived with their meals. Once the boy departed, Farren resumed his tale while Morrisey slathered his plate with ketchup. “They mentioned a puzzling case. I offered to help and found my first instance of a traveler torturing people to feed. My performance impressed them, and they asked me to join the team in Atlanta. Until then, they’d only had units operating in New York and California, where the largest known populations of travelers exist in the US.” No telling how many travelers lived in less populated areas.

Morrisey sped his chewing, then swallowed hard, prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. The motion somehow fascinated Farren. “Feed. What do you mean, torturing to feed?”

“On their emotions. An energy flowing through the very air in Domus nourished us. Like air, most breathed it in. Here, the essence is lacking. The closest substitute is human emotion. The more intense the emotion, the greater the nourishment.” Farren lifted knife and fork and emulated Morrisey cutting into his meal.

“But you’re eating steak.”

Now to convince Morrisey that Farren meant no one any harm. ”Even with feeding on human emotions, we still need food to nourish our physical forms. However, some of us exist strictly on physical food and have weaned ourselves off the need for the other.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s too easy to grow greedy and take everything, which kills those we feed on. Some from Domus believe we deserve all the rights, and that humans are no more than cattle. I am not like them.” Farren couldn’t help his features twisting in disgust. The very thought!

“You work against those.”

“I do. It’s murder. Travelers don’t need to kill humans for survival. They do it for sport. Also, if they refuse to feed the human body they live in, hunger drives them to more killing, not just terrifying victims to feed on fear, but entering a bloodlust, resulting in maimed victims. Occisor is more than just a type of animal. It also describes those who share my nature and have lived outside the law so long their minds twist and change into something sinister.”

Morrisey choked on a swallow of tea, coughing several times before regaining the use of his lungs. “Like the three on my last case.”

Farren nodded while swallowing a bite of potato. “Exactly. We must stop anyone who harms others. Not only are they murderers, but they also risk the exposure of travelers who just want to fit in and live a full life. Then there are body hoppers. They stay with one human body until they find another they want more. They call it ‘trading up.’” Those were the worst. Absolutely no respect for anyone’s life but their own. One he’d caught had gone through eight bodies in one year, killing their owners.

Morrisey pushed his half-eaten meal away, settling in his seat. “So, you’d take my people’s side over your own?”

This bullshit again? Farren inhaled deeply, allowing the air to escape slowly to regain his composure. “Mr. James. I”ve been here for the past ten years. There’s no going back. I’ve accepted and upheld human laws. Though I may have capabilities the average human might not, I am human. ‘Us’ and ‘them’ is a concept known throughout history to result in wars, torture, annihilation.”

Morrisey’s eyes went wide. “I didn’t mean to piss you off.”

Farren deflated. “Sorry. I’ve gotten tired of people looking at me like an animal about to go feral.”

“You speak English well and know so many things about our world. How’d you manage in ten years?” Morrisey lifted fine-boned hands in a surrendering gesture. “Just curious.”

Farren sensed no hostilities. “While my host died, he left behind certain instincts, basic memories. I know what he knew, but don’t have all of his personal memories, if that makes sense.”

“The good parts without the bad?”

“More or less.” For a man who’d come across as gruff and headstrong, Morrisey seemed to be asking good questions and paying attention, based on his quiet pauses to process the previous answer before moving on. ”I know how to tie my shoes, but can’t tell you the sequence of events leading up to Farren’s death, though I knew who sold him the bad shit.” How odd to discuss. Then again, Farren’s body had had two occupants.

After an extremely long pause, during which Morrisey scrutinized Farren to within an inch of his life, he finally replied, “Your body came from a former model. I found little about him on the internet. A single article, in fact.”

“Yes. Though we thought we’d eliminated all photos.”

“Don’t worry. All references were gone last time I looked.” Morrisey leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. ”If you”ve been in his body all this time, how come you still look twenty-seven? Or even younger, rather.”

Farren perused the area before answering, ensuring his sound bubble held. Still good. “Our knack for healing slows the aging process.”

This time, Morrisey nodded, taking of few bites of French fries while staring off at nothing. “Who all knows about… travelers?”

“Only high-ranking officials in the government and those we work with in the FBI. We’re trying to limit information to a need-to-know basis.” Although Farren couldn’t speak for other nations and their power brokers. No doubt, in some places, knowledge was less restricted or stifled altogether.

Morrisey scowled. “You can only keep this secret for so long.”

“Yes, but by the time the general populace knows, hopefully, we’ll have settled seamlessly into our human roles. Some find out about us anyway, but they usually stand to benefit, so won’t tell, or they tell, and no one believes. And who believes anything published in the National Questioner?” Although they’d published some articles Farren had enjoyed strictly as satire.

“How often do you do what you did today?”

“Not often. It takes a specific set of circumstances.” Farren stopped talking to enjoy his steak, moaning when a particularly tasty bite hit his tongue. Yes, sometimes being human had advantages.

Morrisey’s head whipped up. “You can enjoy human food?”

“As much as anyone else.” Farren didn’t mind the constant barrage of questions. With each answer, Morrisey”s rigid posture loosened more and more.

“What about relationships? Friends? Family?”

“Some travelers assume the identities of their hosts since there’s usually enough information left behind to piece together their personality, regardless of whether they have perfect memory recall. They claim amnesia.”

“What about you?” Morrisey asked.

Farren studied his baked potato, melting butter dripping down the tinfoil wrapper. “I live at the complex, socialize with others on the task force. Mostly, I’m dedicated to my work.” Morrisey should understand, as his file said he did the same. Farren chose not to discuss the suspicion, the slurs muttered under someone”s breath, or, sometimes, obvious jealousy.

Morrisey pulled his plate closer to him. “Yeah, doesn’t leave much time for other things.”

“No. Not really.”

They continued eating in silence, Morrisey far more relaxed than he’d been at the hospital. Letting his guard down allowed Farren to see more of the real Morrisey, the one curious about the world, who’d signed on with the task force with the honest intention of doing good.

While many people might not find the aesthetic as a whole pleasing, Morrisey’s beautiful, expressive dark eyes framed by long lashes, and prominent cheekbones gave him an exotic air, like the portrait of a ship’s captain Farren once saw in a museum. Wavy dark hair called to Farren’s fingers. Morrisey”s nose, slightly large, still suited him, adding a hint of interest to a face that might otherwise be too ordinary.

He sported a small amount of scruff on his cheeks and a light mustache, setting Morrisey apart from most of Farren’s clean-shaven coworkers.

Farren caught Morrisey glancing from the side of his eye more than once. Interesting. Then again, finding out your work partner was from another world meant keeping an eye out for a cautious man like Morrisey.

And he’d only seen minimal “magic” thus far.

They sat at the table long after the meal ended, enjoying companionable silence until the server brought their bill. Farren paid—tipping generously—and he and Morrisey made their way outside at a much more leisurely pace than they’d entered.

Morrisey hadn’t run, making today a successful first day on the job.