He merely sighed. “Would you have preferred that he kill you instead?”
I fought against his hold, and Reese scoffed.
“Well, that’s one hell of a thank you. Not sure if you noticed back there, but I saved your ass.”
“What the hell did you do to him? His body…” I muttered.
“It’s what happens to the unholy when you kill them with an Angelorum blade.”
“Who the hell are you?”
A grin pulled at his lips. “I’m pretty sure we exchanged introductions some time ago.”
“What are you?” I better clarified.
Of all things, he actually smiled. “Ah-ha. At last, you ask the right question. Same as you, in a sense.”
“…Which is?”
“Some might refer to you as a Changeling, though there are a variety of nicknames nowadays.”
My continual struggle against him wasn’t getting me anywhere. My chest continued to frantically heave, but I at last forced the rest of my body to settle down. Reese felt the tension fall away from my once combatant arms, and he finally loosened his grasp on me. I didn’t hesitate prying my hand out of his hold, grabbing my tiny pepper spray key chain out of my pocket. Confusion flashed across his face as he caught sight of the small black tube, and the delayed reaction gave me just enough time to flick off the lid with my thumb and spray the mace into his eyes.
Thank you, Amazon!
It didn’t matter how strong he was. Tear gas took down even the best, and Reese was no exception. He howled, letting go of me completely as his hands shot to his burning eyes. The change in his balance allowed me to kick him upward, tossing him off me. I clawed my way back up to my feet, racing off down the street back to the downtown.
Chapter 8
Carousel
“Excuse me.” The phrase served as more of a warning than a polite pardon as I rushed past a group of people exiting the front of the police station.
I heaved one of the heavy glass paneled doors open and the stench of musty old carpet hit me in the face. I’d never been inside a police headquarters before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect, but this certainly wasn’t it.
Clearly, the crime rate around here wasn’t too high, because it didn’t seem concerned about accommodations. The station was small. Really small. Only a handful of worn maroon chairs sat in the lobby with a water cooler positioned in the corner. Yet, the place was a bustling madhouse. Phones rang off the hook, people hustled about the crammed space, and someone suddenly threw a stack of flyers into my hands.
“Give these to Karen,” the guy remarked over his shoulder.
“What?” I looked down at the papers to see that they were missing person’s adverts.
Brittany Lynch, a Hersey High cheerleader. Age: 17, Missing since October 7th.
“What’d you need, hun?”
My eyes snapped back up to the front desk to see a uniformed woman staring at me. “Ah…yeah.”
She took notice to the flyers in my hand and motioned me to the right. “Supplies are down the hall. Second door. Put duck tape on each corner of the back, and then use the laser printable labels to make sure they don’t stick to each other.”
“Oh…no-”
“Della, we need copies of that report!” shouted an officer from a backroom.
The woman huffed and hustled away before I had a chance to correct her. The adrenalin still coursing through my veins left me shaking and at a whole new level of frustration.
“Here.” I tossed the stack of flyers into the hands of the first passerby as ‘Della’ returned to the front desk.
She gave me a pointed stare. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m not here to volunteer. My name’s Katrina Montgomery. I’m here to report a crime,” I clarified.
Her eyebrow ticked up. “Montgomery, ay?”
I’d become all too familiar with the expression she returned. I was officially a persona-non-grata, and her cool shift in demeanor affirmed it.
“What kind of crime are we talking about here, Ms. Montgomery?” She annunciated my name with obvious distain. “Stolen vehicle? Missing persons? Harassment?”
“For starters? Assault.”
Both her tone and expression remained flat. “Are you in immediate danger?”
“Not presently, no,” I remarked, now with equal crass.
“Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“Excuse me?” I took a derisive look around me. “Well, my apologies, but I was under the impression I was in a police station. Not a goddamn Chuck E. Cheese!”
She stared down at me from above her reading glasses and continued smacking her gum as she turned away from the counter. “I’m a civilian employee, which means I take reports for misdemeanors. To report a felony, you’re gonna have to wait to speak with an officer. And as you can see, things are a bit hectic at the moment. In the meantime, you can fill this out.” She handed me a clipboard with paperwork pinned under the clip at the top and motioned me to the chairs in the corner.