Page 2 of Shadow Seeking

“Hey, wait,” Benny said.

“What is it?” I glanced over my shoulder. I wasn’t worried about Benny attacking me from behind. He knew that was a one-way ticket out of the gene pool.

“You got any jobs for me?” he asked.

I sighed. “I don’t know. Come by the office tomorrow and we’ll see.”

As I started to jog down the alley, he called out, “Thanks, Legs! I’ll be there!”

Shaking my head, I continued to the street, where I hailed a cab back to Analida’s, to drop off her bracelet and soothe her ruffled scales.

Next morning,I stared in my closet, trying to decide what to wear. While we weren’t dealing with any active cases at the moment, we had several appointments coming in, so I needed to dress to impress. I seldom wore dresses, except when I went clubbing or out to drinks, because clients expected the owner of an investigation agency to look the part. And while sexism wasn’t quite as bad as it had been at one point, there was still an unspoken prejudice against women in charge of what had once been male-dominated professions.

After fixing my makeup, I pulled out a pair of black leather pants, a purple V-neck cold-shoulder sweater, and a pair of stiletto boots that laced up to the knee. They had shiny steel toes and spikes on the heel. I added a black leather belt covered with silver grommets, then checked myself in the mirror.

I stood five-eleven in bare feet, and had curves in all the right places—a nice rounded butt, and big boobs, paired with six-pack abs. But beneath the padding, I was muscled, and I had trained to take care of myself.

I brushed out my hair, which hung to the top of my ass, and was varying shades of gray, black, and silver. The color was natural and matched my eyes—my irises were silver ringed with black. Both my hair and eyes came from my heritage. At least, I thought it did. It wasn’t passed down by my mother, that much I knew. I was a half-demon, half-human. The one thing I knew about my father is that he had the same hair that I did. At least, that’s what my mother had told me. In fact, that’s one of the only things she had said about him.

She went to her death refusing to tell me anything about him, except that I took after him in looks. Apparently, wehad similar features, and the same hair color. My mother had promised me that, when I grew up, she’d tell me more. But she died when I was fourteen, leaving me to fend for myself, so that ship sailed a long time ago.

I shook myself out of my memories and brushed my hair into a long, high ponytail. I added a pair of chandelier earrings, and silver bangle bracelets on my left arm. I slapped on my watch, and considered myself ready for the day.

“Hey Jangles, you want your breakfast?” I swept up the cat from where she was pacing back and forth on the counter. She was a long-haired tortie cat, though not a Persian, with one little patch of white over her left eye, and a black mustache and chin.

I’d found her a year ago. I was hiking along the Innis Arden Beach Trail, which ran through the green belt behind my house on NW 167Street. I ran across her, looking like a little mop, wet from the rain. She was sitting on a log, mewing her lungs out. I searched for the mother cat and any other kittens, but Jangles was the only one I found. I carried her home, wrapped in my sweater, took her to the emergency vet, and she settled in with me in the one-story ranch house I owned. I named her Jangles because she liked to play with anything that made noise. And from that day forward, we were inseparable. I was her rescuer, and in some ways, she also rescued me.

As I opened the can of Fancy Feast and set it down, she let out a loud meow. I refilled her kibble dish, then stood back as she dove into her breakfast, pulling the food out of the dish with her paw onto the floor, where she gulped it down. I had to wash the floor every day because of that habit, but I didn’t mind. She purred as I scratched her back, giving me a slow blink. I blinked back, then left her to her food.

A glance at the clock told me it was eight-fifteen. Time to get moving. I decided to grab breakfast on the way, so slid on my jacket—a black leather bomber jacket—and grabbed mybackpack and purse. I set the security code and locked the door behind me, ready for the day.

The day was gloomy,as was usual for November in Seattle, and rain hung heavy in the air. I jogged to my car, waving at my neighbor, who was standing in his front yard, looking like hell. Jed worked nights, but he and his wife had a new baby and neither one of them was getting much sleep lately. They both worked from home.

Jed was an accountant—and he did my taxes. Rachel, his wife, was a math tutor and she worked online. They were a friendly couple and we’d been neighbors for five years. Jed waved back, looking a little dazed, then picked up his paper and turned back to the house. They still seemed to like the morning ritual of sitting over coffee with an actual newspaper.

I unlocked my car—a 2018 four-door Jeep in classic black—and slid in. Nine months of the year the zip top wasn’t practical, given the gloom and the rains. But during summer, I could head to the mountains, top down, wind blowing in my hair.

As I backed out of my driveway, my mind was on coffee and food.

I lived in Shoreline, a suburb of Seattle, but my office was in Seattle proper, on TenthAvenue West, in a three-story building. The building backed up to the Southwest Queen Anne Greenbelt, a massive park that had a fantastic view overlooking the water. Located at the top of a steep ravine, the greenbelt was a nature preserve with hiking trails and steps leading down to Elliot Way.

Not far from the Space Needle and the Seattle Center, the surrounding neighborhood was beautiful, but at night, itwasn’t the safest place in which to hang out. And in the worst of winters, it was almost impossible to get to the office given how steep the streets were. But the rent was good, and we had plenty of space in the building.

Seattle was a mire of traffic as I played stop-and-go with the traffic. Rush hour lasted from about 6:00 AM to 9:00 AM in the morning, and about 4 PM to 7 PM at night. On a good day, it took me about half an hour to drive from my house to the office. On a rough day, it took an hour. But today wasn’t too bad, and I had time to pull into Eyri’s Coffee.

“Quad shot caramel latte and a breakfast sandwich, please. No egg, just the sausage and cheese, thanks.”

The barista gave me a thumbs up, and in five minutes, I was on my way. I parked in one of the spaces reserved for tenants in the building, grabbed my food and coffee, and hoofed it to the building.

There were three floors to the building, and I rented the top. On the bottom was Ami’s Salon—a nail and hair salon owned by a selkie. She was a bombshell, sultry and charismatic. Her clients were slavishly loyal, and I was one of them. I had my hair and nails done there, because she was good at her work and it was convenient.

The second floor belonged to a martial arts studio, also a convenience, and both Dante and I trained there on a regular basis.

The third, of course, was my company—Shadow Blade Investigations. An elevator in the foyer offered a lift for those who needed it, but I routinely took the stairs. It was not only quicker, but I didn’t like small spaces like elevators. I didn’t panic, but I wasn’t comfortable, either.

As I opened the door to the office, Sophia looked up from her desk. “Hey, Kyann, how goes it?”

Our receptionist and a part time investigator, Sophia Pagonis was an oracle. She had been born in Greece, but when Zeus tried to lure her into sexy times, she knew all too well how that would end up, given how jealous Hera was. Not wanting to be turned into a toad or something equally distasteful, she refused. So, Zeus cast her out. She left Greece, wandered around the world for a few decades, and ended up here. She was sixty-eight, and looked about ten years younger. Still fit and active, Sophia’s abilities made her a good fit for our work.

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