Page 40 of Home to the Hollow

My lips curve.That’s more like it.

Conservation, protection, défense…the circle does not end.

To survive, we must protect the young.

Handler

Fated companion

Spy

The assholes I’m fucking and my best friend won’t tell me what happened after my close encounter with the canine kind last night. I’m pretty pissed, to be honest, and I sent them all packing.

When I woke up, I was at home in my bed, surrounded by warm bodies. I was a little surprised—to say thegoddamned least—to find allthreedickwhistles smothering me in body heat. My ass got pressed against the mountain of asshat I call Teddy, while Dr. Mc Nuggies tucked himself into my other side, and little Wolfie was lying with his head on my thigh. His body was curled between Presley and me, so close that I could feel his pulse.

If I’m honest with myself, I was so fucking comfortable that I almost let go of my fury to sample the dessert cart. But my stubborn pride reared its head, and I couldn’t allow them to decide for me without being conscious. I don’t mind them bringing me home if I was in full black out mode, but I sure as fuck mind everyone being cuddled up like we’re one big happy family in my enormous bed.

I’m a wee bit surprised Teddy consented to the tangle of limbs. I bet that was a hell of an argument; I’m salty that I missed it. Seer is another story. Sheabsolutelygave her blessing to that nonsense because she always thinks she knows what’s good for me, even when I’m being recalcitrant. So, I opened my eyes, blasted them all loudly enough that the menagerie of animals came running, and kicked them out of my house until I cooled down.

Biting off my nose to spite my face is a specialty of mine, and I’ll have you know that it’s my favorite flaw.

I watch the forums on my laptop, hopping from window to window. My latest stroke of genius regarding the mysterious codes, symbols, and boxes involves impersonating a conspiracy theorist online. I’ve created a complete persona, backstopped with enough information to satisfy a deep-web level check just in case one of these nuts has enough skills to out me.

My experience as a high-level fixer didn’t make me a hacker, per se, but I’ve got the chops to pass most checks unless someone is a multi-level encryption, VPN busting bad ass. If they’re that good, nothing I could have done with consumer equipment would have saved me, anyway.

As the screens move, I look at the back window. Being the complete motherfucker he is, Teddy left his two monsters here with Jekyll and Hyde while he went into town to ‘take care of some business’. I protested, but the insistent ‘mows’ and ‘honks’ from my own companions broke my resolve. They’re all chasing Euryale around the yard as she dips and dives from the air like a living frisbee.

Damn him for endearing his companions to mine so that now I’ll feel guilty for punting his ass to the curb. Hestillhasn’t apologized for leaving high and dry the other day, and I feel he’s not going to. What the hell do I do with that? He’s the one who gave me the metaphorical one-finger salute after screwing me into the baseboards; why should I be the one to bridge the gap by letting it go?

I don’t know what chicks he’s used to dating, but I’m not a simpering Southern belle looking to marry into a founding family. I don’t give a fuck if he’s rich, connected, or a step up the social ladder. If he wants to join my puppy pile, he better goddamned figure out his shit. I don’t have time for childish bullshit, and I amnotwanting for dick at this point.

Even if it was a pretty goddamned magnificent one.

A chime dings, and I look around, making certain that no one is around as I pick up my black cat-eyed glasses. DOS screens bother the hell out of my eyes, and the special lenses in these are more for helping my sensitivity than for sharpening my vision. They’re another gift from my old MI-6 friend—he gets himself into a lot of clearance risking scrapes—and I hate people seeing me when I wear them.

I look fabulous. The appearance throws me back to the chunky nerd from high school, pre-weight loss and LASIK, though. I prefer to keep the illusion of the current Jolene in the heads of my friends and lovers for at least a while. Seer’s never even seen me wear them, and that’s been a rough road to hoe, because I need them for activities like this. I’ve chosen migraines over my vanity several times in the past.

YOUCANTHANDLETHETRUTH1969 is indicating that they have seen the symbol before.Interesting.

Tapping my lips, I run a quick reverse IP search, back tracing as it pings across the globe like a rabbit. When the trace stops at another IP in Florida, I groan. This means it’s likely a tin foil hat jackass that believes a mythical letter has predictions about the government. I feed information from that location and IP into the system I got granted illegal backdoor access to by yet another friend in the intelligence community. I get a name and address. Following that lead to the normal internet, I run smack into a Facebook pagefullof crazy.

Definitely not credible. Someone who has knowledge of something buried this deeply is likely to have no public internet presence at all. I thank the nut job, promising to check out the website he’s now hawking and move on. The windows are scanning comments for replies to my queries across multiple TOR and dark web servers, so it might take a bit to find real info.

My strategy was simple, you see.

I’ll invade their common spaces, gain their trust, and when they least expect it, I’ll plant a bunch of posts to draw attention to myself. What I’m hoping is that someone connected with the secrets has their own plants and I can follow the breadcrumbs back to whoever the hell is in charge. The hard part is getting these wack-a-doos to believe that I’m one of them.

I used a similar campaign of disinformation in Thailand that worked so well that Seer and I barely escaped the wrath of the government. That’s what I get for trusting some tin pot general to cover my ass when I’m faking shit for him. Men are straight up garbage no matter what language they speak.

Speaking of women, I wonder where Seer went. I was so angry when I gave them all the heave-ho this morning; I didn’t even ask where she planned on spending time while I stewed. I pick up my phone, shooting her a text to check in. I love my BFF more than milkshakes, but the thought of her unaccompanied, wandering around the Hollow in overalls, Docs, and a rainbow crop top does not give me confidence that she’ll stay under the radar. In fact, I’m a wee bit surprised I haven’t gotten a call from the police asking me to pick her up.

Cheeky Monkey:aye, lass. I’m right as rain. Found a few things to occupy meself while ye have your ruction. Don’t worry; I won’t end up in the clinker.

I frown at her reply. Something about the way she avoided telling me where she was spiked my intuition. Typing my response, I shrug off the concern, deciding that she’s a grown ass adult and if she ends up pissing someone off, it’s not like she’s going to stay here forever. She’ll pick up a contract soon and be on her way. That’s what Seer does best, and it’s why she’s so sought after.

Another text buzzes my phone and I look down at the window that pops up, my expression turning to one of annoyance. Who in thehellunlocked my phone and started a group chat? Ihategroup chats with a fiery passion, and I would have never consented to being thrown into one, especially not with…

Bully Asshole:Is that an appropriate contact name for me, drugar?

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