Page 17 of Darkness

“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 M&Ms—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.

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