Page 58 of Darkness

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How did anyone feel so fucking miserable and still live?

Cheerful humming came from the kitchen, along with the scents of coffee and bacon. What the hell? For a moment, Morrisey’s heart soared. Craig?

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” No, the voice was far too feminine.

A woman with flawless deep skin tones and a mass of purple braids strode into the bedroom—how the fuck had Morrisey gotten into the bedroom?—wearing a crop top and low-slung jeans. Her feet were bare. Morrisey glanced from the woman to his exposed crotch, then yanked the sheet over his middle.

He’d dreamed of Farren—again. Or was it Farren? Angel Farren?

The woman lifted one side of her—please let it just be Jessa—wide mouth. “I would tell you to get up, but parts of you already have.” With a definite gleam in her eye, she turned and strode to the kitchen, tossing over her shoulder, “Breakfast is ready. I just had mine. Must’ve been some dream.”

Head shaking didn’t clear his jumbled thoughts. No, the action only increased his pain.

“I have ibuprofen and coffee waiting,” the woman called.

Morrisey yanked on a pair of running shorts that had never lived up to their name and stumbled into the kitchen, knuckling one eye. “Dare I ask about your new host?” This was Jessa, right? Being bleary-eyed didn’t help him see superimposed images.

“We met last night after I left the club.” Jessa kept her back turned, attending a boiling pot on the stove. “Mary is one very happy customer this morning, I might add. Who knows, this might even be the start of a good thing for her. I didn’t get any negative vibes from the guy. He’s nearly as shy as she is, and they’re both gamers and work in IT. I am now an official geek matchmaker.”

“What are you doing here?” Morrisey flopped down at his two-seater table, which, by some miracle, was no longer hidden under a pile of clutter.

Jessa sat a filled plate and cup of coffee before him. “You mean you can’t tell? I’m fixing breakfast.” She pinched his middle. “No offense, but as Erica’s mama would say, ‘Someone feed this poor child a biscuit.’ You’re so skinny you could walk between raindrops and not get wet.” She settled on the opposite side of the table with a cup of coffee held in long-fingered, beringed hands—each finger tipped with a wickedly sharp talon painted in rainbow patterns.

Oh, right. May had given way to June and Pride month. Somewhere a rainbow T-shirt languished in a drawer, an exact match for one Craig once wore.

Erica must be this new host’s name. “Why are you here?” Morrisey repeated between bites of bacon and eggs. He wouldn’t complain. Damn, when had someone last cooked him breakfast? Just his luck, they’d end up being a demon.

Okay, traveler.

“The FBI is going to move you to their complex for your protection.” Jessa lowered her cup to the table and made air quotes. “First, I might not get to see you again in the immediate future, and secondly… Damn!” Face scrunched in distaste, Jessa made a show of assessing the kitchen. “If you’re gone for a few weeks without cleaning this apartment first, it’s gonna look like a science experiment when you get back. And baby? It doesn't matter how attached you might be. Leon’s gotta go.”

Leon? Oh, right. What Morrisey called the sludge at the bottom of a cooking pot. “Let me guess. Erica is a teacher.”

“Yes, she is. And she needs my help today while she’s being evaluated. I’m gonna get this lady a raise for sure.” Jessa paused, a peculiar expression on her face, and stared at nothing.

“Did you just high-five yourself?”

“Mentally. Yeah.” Jessa gave a sheepish shrug. “You’d like Erica. She’s feisty but not diplomatic. Kinda like the female version of you with better table manners. Which is why she needs a little help with her evaluation.”

“And what is she paying for the privilege of you driving her like a school bus?”

“She’s going to a bachelorette party with friends later. She said I could tag along.” Jessa grinned and took another sip of coffee. “They hired a fireman stripper. Hubba hubba.” She waggled her brows.

Morrisey fixed her with a pointed look. "I want to speak with Erica."

“What? Why?”

“I want proof she consented to this.” If Morrisey now belonged to a task force created to safeguard humans against travelers, might as well start now.

Jessa closed her eyes. When she opened them, all playfulness vanished. “You should be more trusting sometimes,” the woman groused. Her entire demeanor changed: her vocal inflections, the rigidness of her posture, even her facial expressions, so open a moment ago. Now her lips twisted askew in blatant disapproval.

“Erica? And no, I shouldn’t when it’s your well-being we’re talking about.”

“Yes, I’m Erica. And yes, Jessa has my permission to, hmmm… how did you so eloquently put it?” Erica ran her fingers across her pointed chin. “Oh, yeah, right. ‘Drive me like a school bus.’ Really, dude?”

“Okay. Let me talk to Jessa again.”

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