Chapter Seven

Farren placed his keys in a bowl by the front door, tossing his leather jacket onto the couch. Next, he removed his shoulder holster. Same ritual every day. The situation hadn’t required his Ruger, but it had been close, which would have resulted in more paperwork.

Paperwork. The worst thing about enforcing Terran laws.

Speaking of paperwork. Someone needed to explain. Farren trusted others to follow protocol. How had the ambulance with the occisor wound up at the human hospital, allowing the traveler to acquire another body and escape back into the world? This only proved the point Farren had been trying to make for years—he needed more efficient colleagues.

While he didn’t like to think ill of his coworkers, there were reasons humans and travelers didn’t trust each other.

Weariness tugged at Farren, dragging him down. His stomach rumbled. Working “magic” in a magically challenged environment took a toll. The sooner he replenished his strength, the better.

The remnants of his host complained about being “on a diet.” Farren had learned to tune out the impulses to starve his body while snorting massive amounts of cocaine instead.

The refrigerator yielded a carton of leftover chili. Good enough. Dump in a bowl, pop into the microwave, then eat. He could have simply gone to a shopping center and eaten his fill, and briefly, the temptation lurked, just out of reach. No. He’d promised. No feeding from humans. He wouldn”t drain them, but still. Violation of their rights.

He’d also signed a contract swearing to forego his natural tendencies. Feeding off humans didn’t provide nutrition for his physical body.

So, leftover chili would have to do, regardless of what his host’s body’s former tenant grumbled.

The cop from the alley wouldn’t leave Farren’s mind. The man wasn’t incredibly handsome, fairly average even, yet tall. Nevertheless, there was something haunting about him.

Tenebris. Darkness.

Just like Farren was once known as a Lux. Light. Darkness and light.

Old myths from a world he’d tried hard to, if not forget, stop crying over.

Appetite suddenly fleeing, Farren put aside his meal and made his way across the apartment to the full-length mirror in his bathroom. How long since he’d seen his true self? He closed his eyes in concentration, reopening them to a shining being standing where a human body had been. His original form, kept hidden away.

An image humans associated with angels. He unfurled wings of pure light.

An illusion, but still. The resemblance to one of his parents was unmistakable. Long gone. Like the rest of his family.

Like Kele.

Like Farren should be. Aluxi. He’d been known as Aluxi in this form, born to maintain order, perform minor medical treatments, and play executioner when called upon. Born into a lineage spanning generations of Magestra, his ingrained instincts were finely honed to maintain justice.

He released the hold on his former self, returning to the appearance of a twenty-seven-year-old man whose face once graced the covers of magazines until vices got the better of the original incarnation of Farren Austen.

Farren’s otherworldly nature kept the body from aging as fast as an average human’s.

Ten years. Ten human years ago, someone tore him from his home world. One moment Aluxi hung in his bed, missing everyone who’d once been a part of his existence. The next, he lay gasping for air while paramedics filled his new host body full of Narcan.

“Mr. Austen? Mr. Austen, can you hear me?”

Aluxi’s old life vanished between one heartbeat and the next. No going back. A tear rolled down his cheek, the most he’d allow himself. If he started crying in earnest, he might never stop.

Farren forced his shoulders back, head high. His parents hadn’t raised a quitter.

Long live Farren Austen.

With one heck of a mess to untangle.

Farren got to work early while details remained vivid.

“Good morning, Farren,” the receptionist called out in a language he barely spoke these days as he passed by her plain white desk by the elevator. “Why are you starting so early this morning?” Inhabiting an approximately thirty-year-old body, Arianna swept her wheat blonde hair into a bun on the top of her head, held in place by a pencil. She was a tiny thing, really, by human standards.

Looks were deceiving if someone thought small meant weak.

“Got work to do,” Farren replied, giving a tired smile—all he had energy for.

“Did you catch last night’s episode of NCIS?” Of all the travelers who worked for the FBI, Arianna was the one who’d wholeheartedly adopted human ways. She rushed to her apartment every evening to watch crime shows on TV, screaming loudly about every detail the shows got wrong.

Then she’d shop online.

Farren leaned one-handed on her desk for the little rest available. “I went out last night.”

“Oh!” Arianna leaned over the desk, elbows on the surface and a gleam in her eyes. “Have fun? Anyone I know?” She batted enormously long lashes he’d discovered were fake when one fell off onto the desk and he’d swatted it, mistaking the feathery thing for a spider.

Farren scowled. “No, I didn’t go out clubbing.”

Arianna grinned. “You should. You know humans are quite amusing to play with. They don’t mind my catch-and-release form of hunting, either.”

If Farren thought Arianna meant hunting negatively, he’d be obligated to arrest her. ”I am perfectly content without anyone to play with, thank you very much.” The remnants of the old Farren whined about needing to get laid. I’m driving this body! Farren told its urges.

“Yeah, you do need someone. In more ways than one. You also need to come over soon. Grand Theft Auto isn’t going to play itself.” Arianna tilted her head sideways, exaggerating a thoughtful pose Oh yes, Arianna loved drama. One too many episodes of Real Housewives of Somewhere, more than likely. “Of course, with virtual reality, I suppose it could. Anyway, stop by some night. We can live up to millennial stereotypes by drinking beer and playing Halo, going to the rec room, shooting pool, and making catty comments about poorly dressed coworkers. I mean, did you see Devon’s shirt this morning? Damn. He must’ve slept in it. Nothing screams ‘I’m single’ like a shirt wrinkled to hell and back. No self-respecting partner would let him outside looking like an unmade bed.”

”Are you certain you didn”t rumple his shirt?” Devon was Arianna’s latest crush. Farren hadn’t yet sent an anonymous note saying, “Run, Devon, run!” but considered giving the poor man a warning. Arianna would eat him alive.

She sighed dramatically. “I wish.”

Farren chuckled, precisely the reaction Arianna hoped for. While his instincts were for law enforcement, hers were geared toward public relations.

He offered a noncommittal answer. “Maybe I’ll come by tomorrow.” Just his luck, he’d work late tomorrow, as he’d done so often lately.

“That’s what you always say.” Arianna settled back in her chair, heavily glossed lips pouched out. “I think you owe me pizza.” Embroidery embellished the animal hide bag on her desk. She likely wore matching shoes.

He had no idea who or what ”COACH” was, but she seemed to own a lot of it. “New bag?”

“Yup. Spring collection.”

“You need a new bag for every season?” Back home, they’d had seven seasons. Here only four.

“Yup!” Arianna bobbed her head. “Clothes, too.”

Farren scowled. “You’re not feeding on humans at the mall, are you?” Large gathering places for humans proved too much temptation to travelers, particularly new ones.

“Nope!” She popped the “p” and grinned. “Online shopping. Did you know you can order and get things in two days? It’s amazing. Some I’ve even gotten in a day. Decide on a new outfit, place an order, then wear it tomorrow. Who needs magic when you have one-day guaranteed delivery?”

Farren didn’t have to ask if the boss was in. Arianna wouldn’t have used their own language with the boss nearby, nor would she have spent time chatting. She’d been a scribe in their old home world, which meant she dealt with people. Even without a hierarchical framework dictating their occupations here, travelers often returned to the jobs similar to what they were accustomed to.

Arianna redirected the conversation to the original topic. “Now, you didn’t answer my question. I get in early to get things done before Leary starts ordering me around, but why are you here already?”

Farren gave an exaggerated frown. “My reports won’t write themselves. Yours isn’t the only neck Leary breathes down.”

Arianna grimaced. “Yeah. You’re right. Which is especially nasty on Taco Tuesday. I mean, yikes! A breath mint wouldn’t hurt the guy, ya know? At least there’s coffee this early. I started a pot myself.” She lifted her half-filled cup as proof. “Whatever did we do without coffee?” Or chocolate. Without a doubt, she had a desk drawer specifically for candy bars.

Many travelers did. Eating human style. A whole new experience.

Time to start working. ”Enjoy your day, Arianna.”

“You too!” she called cheerfully, already returning her attention to her laptop.

Farren left her to her work, stopping by the breakroom for the promised coffee. Coffee? A vice many travelers enjoyed. He’d never really liked the stuff, but a memory from the body he resided in demanded at least two cups a day. A small sacrifice for a man whose death allowed Farren’s life.

Besides, since many human team members swore by the bitter concoction, not partaking only gave them another reason to look at Farren as “not one of us.”

Someone had left a box of doughnuts on a table, but… doughnuts weren’t really Farren’s favorite treat, and what remained of his body’s original occupant screamed, “NOOOOO!” He poured a cup of coffee, added cream and sugar despite his residual host’s protests, bought MMs—his sweet of choice—from the vending machine, and continued on.

His office wasn’t large but private, with a desk, three chairs, and a mostly empty bookcase. He left his door ajar. Some humans were suspicious. Better not to add fuel to their fire. He’d already pay the price if anyone had seen him conspiring with Arianna while talking in what humans thought of as code. Farren’s impeccable ten-year record apparently didn’t speak for itself.

He settled at his desk, opened his laptop, and pulled out the notes he’d jotted last night.

Detective Morrisey James. So much darkness. A shiver raced through Farren. There had to be a story there. The detective’s image came through crystal clear, lying on a gurney or the cracked pavement. Something about the man pulled at Farren. He”d have called the feeling attraction in his original realm. For all his decade spent here, he’d not truly been attracted to anyone, though he occasionally hooked up when his body started making demands.

The occisor was another matter. The council outlawed those things from migrations years ago because they weren”t meant to exist in this realm. Yet he’d met one last night.

He’d add his observations to Atlanta PD’s input on what they’d learned in talking to the detective and the occisor host. The counselor who’d heard Detective James’s story would provide her own insight. Testimony received while under hypnosis.

Yes, the counselor worked for the same task force as Farren. The FBI and Department of Homeland Security overrode HIPAA Law, especially with national security matters, such as travelers.

Farren’s preliminary report must do until the others emailed their results. The occisor-possessed human somehow wound up at a regular hospital instead of the authorized facility. How the hell could such a mistake happen, allowing a malevolent force to seize another host and escape?

Someone did that on purpose. He’d check with Arianna later to see how badly Leary ripped the ambulance driver a new asshole. Inexcusable.

Farren completed his report and hit ”send.”

The occisor’s host had been processed, a man reported missing two days ago, who’d lived a few blocks from place he’d been found. The occisor could have possibly been the individual who came through the portal near the alley.

Occisors weren’t capable of opening portals. One might have stumbled into the Terran realm accidentally or possibly been summoned. But why would someone willingly summon the nastiest piece of work available in Farren’s realm?

Too bad summoners didn’t leave residue like a fingerprint behind. He settled into his chair, rubbing his hands over his face.

Morrisey James appeared to have recovered from his ordeal, coming out unscathed except for a headache and lingering confusion.

Nurses and doctors alike commented on a severely lousy attitude. James wasn’t the sunny disposition type based on what Farren learned so far from James’s record. So maybe the bad mood was a personality feature. How had one nurse so eloquently phrased it? Grouch on a half-shell?

Yes, Detective James definitely carried darkness in his soul.

Farren fought the urge to consult a mirror on the damage done to his hair because of finger combing while writing his report. No. The instinct wasn’t him, but a leftover trait from the previous tenant of this body. Farren 2.0—like a few of the younger team members called the current Farren—cared more for function than form, though he’d had to work to obtain the speed and agility needed for his job. Farren 1.0 wouldn’t have made law enforcement his life’s work.

Not when born with a face and body others envied.

A shadow fell over his desk. Farren looked up into close-set green eyes. Special Agent Leary hadn’t shaved, giving his cheeks a copper glow under the harsh office light. The glow matched the cropped hair on top of his head. Lines framed his eyes and mouth, many more than when they’d first met.

Leary didn’t say good morning, getting straight down to business. “The cop remembered the attack.” Was he… angry?

Farren gulped, though he honestly didn’t believe Leary would assault him. The man simply had the air of a predator around him. He’d be dangerous as a traveler. “Yes, sir,” Farren managed.

Leary paced before the desk, hands behind his back. “He fought off an occisor. A motherfucking occisor. You told me they were nightmares best avoided.”

“Yes, sir, they are, and he did.” Farren still couldn’t understand how. He’d be hard-pressed to hold his own if ambushed by such a creature.

Leary turned abruptly, overbalancing and clutching the edge of the desk to avoid falling. Maybe Farren wasn’t alone in needed a few more hours of sleep. “This detective James isn’t one of yours, is he?”

One of yours.Like every traveler came from Farren’s realm. Numerous creatures, numerous realms. Farren only intended to disable the traveler until he could perform an interrogation. Some of his own coworkers fucked up, letting the traveler possess yet another body. Curious how Leary didn”t mention that, especially as Leary had been sitting in a car nearby when the ambulance loaded the occisor.

Before he could stop himself, Farren blurted, “Why was the occisor taken to a medical facility for humans?”

Leary answered a bit too quickly. “We thought we might save the host.”

Liar. “But, sir. You’re talking about violating protocol.”

Leary nearly snarled. “Ever think our protocols might be wrong? I made an executive decision.”

Leary, what are you up to?Farren dropped the subject for now but made a private note to find out more about this decision later. “To answer your question, no. Morrisey James is not one of mine. He’s been put into counseling.” A lesser man might have questioned their sanity by now. ”Hallucinations brought on by some form of electrical activity is how they’re playing this.”

Something must’ve been off in Farren’s voice. Leary searched his eyes with a penetrating stare known to paralyze small prey. Also known as rookies. “You don’t agree?”

Tricky, tricky. Farren possibly opened a door Morrisey James had no desire to enter. The lesser evil might be letting James think he’d lost his mind. Based on everything Farren read about the guy, he wouldn’t be easily swayed. Although he had his problems, he upheld the law.

The occisor mess wasn’t the first hint of dark forces within the agency, only the most blatant. Farren needed someone immovable by his side.

Light and darkness. Two halves of a whole.

Farren stepped out onto thin ice. “Anyone who can hold their own against an occisor might be useful.” He waited, cataloging the fleeting emotions crossing his boss’s face: surprise, worry, doubt, a hint of fear, aversion, calculation. The answer, as with any situation, boiled down to how Leary could benefit. Best not to push or appear too eager.

Leary knitted his brows over a nose made asymmetrical by a few too many youthful bar brawls. ”What information do you have about him? I know damned good and well you’ve done research by now.”

Yes, Farren had. Until the early morning hours, in fact. “Morrisey James, no middle name, forty-two years old. He’s spent ten years with Atlanta PD, most recently as a lieutenant, after eleven more in a small town in South Carolina. He’s currently a detective. A few disciplinary issues, just enough to let others underestimate him. No immediate family. Lives alone. He’s recently lost his partner, Detective William Murphy, to suicide. He’s a loner. Keeps to himself.”

Leary rubbed his chin. “Cases?”

“His most recent involved a mass murder at a child’s birthday party. A massacre, actually.” Farren squeezed his temples with one hand.

“Ax?”

“I’d say knives.” Farren wouldn”t say ”traveler,” though the insinuation lingered. Every traveler kill brought more suspicion down on him, Arianna, and any other travelers in the unit, or those simply trying to make the most of their circumstances. Let Leary draw his own conclusions.

Leary gently pressed the tip of his index finger to his pursed lips, attention tuned past Farren”s shoulder. “James has seen too much to leave in the dark, and he’s certainly qualified. The discipline issues will need to be addressed.” He turned the full force of his intense scrutiny on Farren, who’d practiced for years not to squirm yet barely kept still. “What would you think about training a new partner, Austen? Get started on a security clearance.”

For better or worse, Farren had just pulled Morrisey James into a strange new world.

May James forgive him.

Eventually.