Chapter 4 Sydney

Chapter 4 Sydney

 

 

The bus I stepped out of drove off, leaving me on the sidewalk. I surveyed my surroundings. “So, this is the famous French Quarter,” I whispered. I felt as if I was in an entirely different country because the environment was a world away from Falls City, Nebraska.

Blowing an exhausted breath, I tied my coat, which wasn’t necessary for the balmy New Orleans air. What was supposed to be about a day’s bus drive here took three days. A few times, I’d gotten off the bus at the scheduled stops and spotted someone dressed similarly to or moved with the same air as the man who attacked me in my motel room.

Taking no chances, I hid and got left behind several times. I’d have to pay for another ticket to continue my journey. I’d finally reached my destination, but I was out of money and so sleep-deprived I thought I’d topple over at any minute. Tugging at my coat, I frowned. I was also desperately in need of a proper shower.

As I looked around, my shoulders sagged. Where did I even go from here? Nothing in my aunt’s and mother’s letters told me specifically where to go in New Orleans. It wasn’t like I could go up to a random person and ask where to find a werewolf pack. I most certainly couldn’t go to the police and tell them I was being chased by insane people who claimed to hunt supernatural creatures. I’d likely be institutionalized.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I started to walk. Standing in one spot looking around might make me look crazy, too. I wandered aimlessly for a few minutes, barely even able to admire the city and people because I was so lost in thought about my next step. My stomach grumbled, reminding me the only thing I’d eaten in two days was a chocolate bar.

A commotion up ahead brought my attention to what looked like a restaurant. A man stomped out of the building, followed by a woman with brown skin and the most amazing head of curls I’ve ever seen. She wore a white apron over a traditional waitress uniform, so I assumed she worked in the restaurant.

As I got closer, she flipped the man off and yelled, “I don’t need you! You’re a terrible cook, anyway!”

“Screw you, Macy!” The man returned.

“You did, and it was a huge disappointment.”

I stopped to take in the amusing exchange. Other passersby gave the couple engaged in the shouting match curious looks, too.

“Give me back my hat!” the woman called Macy demanded.

The man stopped walking, turned around, and whipped off a white chef’s hat. He threw it at the woman, who caught it and proceeded to glare at who I assumed to now be an ex-employee as he marched away.

“Can’t find good help or good boyfriends these days,” she grumbled.

The scene reminded me that I had left my waitressing job back in Nebraska. I hadn’t shown up at the café in three days, which meant I was so fired.

“What are you looking at?”

I blinked, realizing the woman was scowling at me. Of course, she was. I was just standing there, staring at her like an idiot. “Um…nothing. I mean, I’m heading inside.” I angled my chin to the building. The fancy writing on the window read:Dupart’s Diner.

Sharp brown eyes that seemed able to see through to my soul held me captive. The heat of my blush almost consumed my face. The woman probably wondered what sewer I’d just emerged from. I was tired and sweaty, and my clothes were wrinkled. My hair resembled a bird’s nest, and my eyes were bloodshot from having them wide open for over seventy hours, constantly looking over my shoulder for maniacal hunters.

I almost expected her to say, “Sorry, no bums allowed in this diner.” But she only gave me one more sweeping assessment and stepped aside for me to enter.

I gave her a sheepish smile and went in, self-consciously finger-combing my long, tangled hair. Sliding into a booth, I took in the diner. It was a quaint modern setup with individual booths and upholstered chairs lining the counter area. There weren’t many people inside at ten in the morning, which put me at ease. At least I could better keep my eyes on everyone.

There was another waitress, but it was Macy who came over to me. “Welcome to Dupart’s. What are you having?”

Nibbling my lower lip, I pulled my purse from my backpack and looked inside. There were only my IDs, a debit card for a bank account that was drier than the Sahara Desert, and two dollars. I pulled out the two dollars. “How much is a coffee?” Then I reconsidered. Should I blow the last couple of dollars I had on coffee? Not that it could do much else, but still…

“Better yet, do you have water…for free?” I gazed up at Macy, whose eyebrows elevated.

She glanced at my almost empty purse and sighed. “Order whatever you like, sweetheart. It’s on the house.”

At that, my stomach growled with anticipation. “Really?” Macy might as well have had wings. She was an angel.

“Sure.” She pointed to a menu at the center of the table.

Skimming over the menu, I ordered a coffee and a western omelet with pancakes.

***

I wasn’t sure how long I sat in the diner after I’d finished my meal. There was just a strange sense of peace in the restaurant. I was reluctant to give up the security to walk out the door and step back into a big city I knew nothing about and where I knew absolutely no one. I didn’t have enough money to find a cheap motel or buy my next meal. I was at an utter loss. Maybe running to New Orleans wasn’t a good idea after all.

“So, are you planning to sit in here all day?”

I looked at the counter where Macy stood, studying me.

She smiled. “Why don’t you come a little closer?”

Since she’d given me a free meal and had been super nice, I obliged. Sliding out of the booth, I took my backpack and went to the counter.

“Do you want something else to drink?” she asked when I sat.

“Oh, no. You’ve been kind enough. I’m fine.”

She tilted her head to one side. “You don’t look like the typical tourist.”

I smiled slightly. “No, I imagine they look less rumpled.”

Macy grinned back. “What’s your situation? Did you run away from home—from too strict parents, maybe? Or are you running scared from someone?” Her eyes narrowed. “You look pretty young. How old are you, seventeen? Eighteen?”

“Nineteen,” I said.

“Hmm. So, you’re running from a stalker ex-boyfriend?”

I laughed. “What makes you think I’m running from anyone?”

She gave me a once-over. “You have that look.”

I averted my gaze. “I’m not running from an ex, nor did I run away from home.”

“But you are running scared?”

I gazed at the woman who had shown me kindness, wishing I could spill my guts about everything that had happened the last few days. She’d probably call me crazy and run me out of the diner. I sighed. “I’m just…looking for something.” That wasn’t a complete lie. I needed to find the Moon Guardian Pack.

“I see.” Macy’s gaze remained locked with mine. “Of course, you won’t confide in a stranger. I’m Macy Dupart.” She held out a hand.

“Dupart?” I shook her hand. “As in, you own this diner?” She didn’t look much older than me.

Her lip twisted into a wry smile. “Sort of. It’s my mother’s place, really. But since she’s a bit of a mess right now, I had to step in to keep this place going.”

“Oh. I’m Sydney Sullivan.” Uttering my surname caused a lump to form in my throat. Aunt Lydia gave me her last name when she officially adopted me. “It’s nice to meet you, Macy. Thank you so much for your kindness.” I let out a laugh, but there wasn’t much humor behind it. “But I guess I can’t camp out in your place forever.”

“Well, if you find something you you’re looking for, you can come back and tell me about it.” She shrugged. “Or if you don’t find it, you can still come back and tell me about it.”

I sat taller. At that moment, I felt a little less alone since Aunt Lydia was killed. However, I’d stay away from Macy. She was too decent, too kind to be pulled into my mess. Dangerous people were after me, so I’d stay away from her. “That’s nice of you. Maybe I will come by again,” I said. Even though I knew I wouldn’t.

“But just in case I don’t see you again,” Macy said. “Take this.” She reached into her uniform pocket and pulled out a tiny card, placing it on the counter in front of me.

I glanced at the business card and almost choked on my gasp.Moon Guardians: Private Security.CEO: Cole Grayson. My gaze flew up to Macy’s. “How did you…Moon Guardians?”

She nodded. “It’s a private security firm. Like I said, I know the look of someone running scared, Sydney. Those that come in here with the same look in their eyes as you have usually need that kind of help.” She pointed at the card.

I gaped at Macy, wanting to tell her I wasn’t looking for human protection. It had to be a huge coincidence that this security firm had the same name as the werewolf pack I sought. “I…” I was about to tell her I didn’t need that kind of security, but I didn’t bother. Instead, I told her, “Even if I needed to hire private security, I don’t have any money.”

“Cole has been known to help even those who can’t afford him,” she said.

“You know him?”

“We’re not exactly bosom buddies, but I do. I’ve sent a lot of people like you his way, and he’s helped them.”

“People like me?” I asked.

Macy looked me square in the eye. She was no doubt fearless and direct. “People reluctant to admit they need help.”

I could do nothing else but chuckle. She didn’t understand. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to ask for help. I was simply wary of it. I was looking for werewolves, for goodness’ sake. I couldn’t ask just anybody.

“He sounds like a good guy.” I gazed at the business card, feeling drawn to it for some reason—the name of the CEO, rather. Picking it up, I ran my thumb over the block letters of Cole Grayson’s name. My heart somersaulted, and I frowned, wondering since when the organ did that.

Releasing a long breath, I decided to check the place out. “Thank you, Macy. I think I’ll give this security firm a shot.”

“Great.” She beamed. “You’ve got the phone number and address. Go for it.”

I nodded. It wasn’t like I had any other leads. Cole Grayson could either help me or not. It was worth a try.