Page 4 of Remnants: Disruption
The ginger beer itself must have entered my brain with the quick inhale I take. I let out a retching cough, covering my mouth with the wool of my peacoat.
“Give me a break,” I choke out, clearing my throat without success. “No one’s dating a thirty-year-old, freakishly tall, pale amnesiac who talks to dead people.”
The truth of it hits a little closer than I’d ever admit to Percy. Besides being a coward about my feelings for her, my powers are hardly well-received—no matter the company. And there’s never been anyone in my life who stayed around long enough to see that my talking to dead people was cool if you thought about it.
Or maybe just ignored it, actually. It’s better if people just ignore I can do it.
And ignore that it’s becoming somewhat involuntary.
“You’re a gorgeous woman who will find someone who’ll get that your job is tough,” Percy takes a sip of her glass. “And that you’re the best there is.”
The blush creeping up my neck isn’t even worth hiding.
“I was reading,” I say, trying to move on from the subject of my loneliness. “You know—studying.”
“Hm,” she narrows her eyes at me, like I might admit to canoodling if pressed hard enough. “I doubt you were studying to apply for the academy. And there’s no school in NC that takes Remnants, so…”
“Just,” I gesture around trying to figure out how to get out of the interrogation. Well-meaning or not, lying to her sucks. So, sometimes small truths are easier. “Just the twenty-some years I’m missing.”
She frowns for a moment, her disbelief that I was up at four in the morning looking at pop culture apparent on her soft features.
Of course, what I had been doing was depressing and, frankly, not sexy. So not worth mentioning it to Percy.
She opens her mouth, likely to call out my bullshit, but her phone dings annoyingly.
“Saved by the bell,” she grumbles, pulling it from her tight slacks. She gives the display a look, frowns, then slides it over to me.
I take another swig from my mule, figuring we’re about to be pulled away from our moment of solace.
New body. Hotel Cavalry, 54thstreet and Hamlet.
“Fuck,” I sigh, finishing the cocktail.
“You don’t need to join me,” Percy says, finishing hers as well. “Go home and try to sleep.”
“And let Rogers hit on you over a corpse again?” I scoff out, remembering the last time I didn’t join her at a scene. The stupid rookie was in a different department and had either not known or not cared that his commanding officer was the same gorgeous woman he was poorly flirting with.
“I already told his CO” She snorts, sliding from the booth. She offers me her hand—the flesh and bone one—and I take it dutifully.
“I’ll nap later. There’s that comfy couch in the department and no one bothers me when I take it.”
“That’s because they’re afraid you’ll kick their asses,” she leads me from the bar, giving Frank a two-fingered salute. Her hand clings to mine like I might get lost on the way out of the bar.
She only lets go of me when we make it to her cruiser. The sleek bronze glows in the rising sun peeking through the thinner overcast layer of clouds. I look around at the people slowly beginning to wake.
A couple walks hand-in-hand on the other sidewalk, their faces hidden behind cups of steaming liquid. A woman behind them glances my way, her eyes too far away to determine if they’re looking at me or somewhere else. Her blonde hair falls loosely down her back.
Further down, a taller woman in a dark coat is exiting what looks to be another bar.
She, too, seems to be looking our way, but I suspect paranoia and my late-night activities are finally getting to me.
“Arya?” Percy checks again, her concerned expression returning. “If you keep phasing out on me, I will order you to go home.”
“You can’t order me to do shit,” I laugh, opening my door and sliding in. She does the same, her snort of exasperation the only response to my insubordination.
Chapter 3
Blood
