Chapter 1

  October 5, 2016

  Manhattan, New York

  2:00 AM

  Blair

  Seeing the worst in people was something Blair Martinez did best.

  When drowning her nights in booze failed, she often went out at night with her flask, hoodie, and camera and watched through the lens the activities of all kinds of people in the windows and streets of New York City. Call it stalking, boredom, or laziness, but digging up dirt was another one of Blair’s expertise.

  And New York City was full of dirt.

  Blair, perched on an outdoor iron apartment fire escape in the deep corner of a slummed brick tenement building, subsequently snapped photos of a professor currently making out with a university student twenty years younger than him. Their lower east side hotel room was outdated and rusty, but that didn’t seem to affect the couple’s mood whatsoever. Blair could hear their moans all the way from up there and her nose wrinkled in disgust, but she was used to it by now having dealt with numerous cheaters.

  No wonder she preferred to be single.

  She was hired, yet again, by a delirious and desperate mother to investigate her husband and catch him in action.

  It was easy money just like all cheating cases were, and it took Blair barely a day to uncover the professor’s unfaithful acts. However, she also charged hourly and needed to squeeze out as much as she could, seeing as the NYPD and the Ilken law firms have been quite stingy with their cases lately. She didn’t blame them, though. Adjusting their practices to fit not only human crimes, but werewolves, orcs, fae, and humans with abilities were obviously no easy task. Even though the Accord took place ten years ago, it was still quite messy.

  The professor began to unclasp the student’s bra with his greasy fingers, and snapping Blair’s last photo, she decided she’d had enough. Switching her camera off, Blair placed it back into her duffel bag and took a large swig of her flask of bourbon before climbing up the stairs to the roof of the apartment building.

  Once she reached the top, Blair’s vision blurred and she tripped on her feet and hit them hard, cold stone floor.

  “Shit,” she mumbled as she picked herself up and clasped her head, “Fucking cheap bourbon.”

  She waited till her dizziness died down before walking slowly to the other side of the building facing the vast city lights. Blair removed her hood and took another swig of her flask, only to find it empty. Rolling her eyes she placed it back inside and looked out at the city.

  It was not the great view that Blair’s foster sister, Acacia, makes it out to be.

  New York used to be the city that never sleeps. The city of dreams. The city of expression. The city of hope. The city of opportunities.

  Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.

  To Blair, it was now the city that sleeps around, that crushes your dreams, and takes everything you care about away from you. Not to mention, it was presently crawling with beasts and creatures of every kind and species just waiting to grabble each other for the top--using the Accord as a scapegoat for all their heinous crimes.

  Blair didn’t care, though.

  More crimes meant more cases. More cases meant good business, and good business meant Blair could pay the bills at the end of the month and spare some money from her paycheck to buy 80 proof spirits.

  Taking a deep breath, she looked downward at the pavement that was fifteen stories down and jumped.

  *****

  Waiting for the train to arrive in the subway, Blair leaned back on the brick wall and took out her phone to check for any messages. Finding five unread notifications, three of which were from Acacia, Blair read the chat:

  Cassie:

  Audition failed… yet again :/.

  Late-night shift at the diner if u need anything.

  Left a tuna can for Topher and dinner for u at ur door.

  Rolling her eyes, Blair grudgingly typed out a response:

  Blair:

  How many times do I have to tell you to stop bringing tuna for that stupid fucking cat?!

  I want it OUT of my office.

  Before exiting the chat, Blair sighed and typed out a quick thanks for dinner.

  She checked her other unread conversation, only to find it was her current client, Debby Jones, demanding the results and pictures by tomorrow or else she’d get a lawyer involved. She clearly forgot that Blair was hired by Jesse-- the very same lawyer handling Debby’s divorce.

  Pampered idiot.

  Blair ignored the messages and put her phone back into her duffel bag. She dug her hands into her leather jacket pockets and put her hood back up, trying her very best to shut out the disgusting smell of urine wafting through the subway. After spending almost twenty-four years in this city, you’d think you would get used to all sorts of smells.

  Minutes passed as Blair waited for the train. She ended up taking her phone out to play a mobile game she became obsessed with recently called Vamp Run to fight the sleepiness the bourbon had brought on. She was so immersed in the game, wanting to beat her recent high score that she failed to notice the people that stood to wait next to her.

  Looking around, she saw a towering male orc in sweats and a t-shirt with his massive arms crossed; a tall man in a washed-out suit slouching with his head bent down blinking away his tired red-rimmed eyes; and a woman in a restaurant uniform and coat, sitting on the bench playing Vamp Run as well given the background music sounding lightly from her phone.

  Her gaze, however, lingered on the orc.

  He was muscular with a towering height and humanish features with the exception of his greyish skin. He had hoggish facial features that were scrunched up together in a permanent scowl that was common among orcs. These features paired with their various tinted skin tones led to the racist slur “pigskin” created by none other than humans. No one dared say it to their faces, though, as their muscular and gruff bodies were not the threatening features, but their canines and boar tusks that peaked out of their mouth and noses were. Some would have them filed down but given the many hate crimes that took place, those boar tusks served as protection for them.

  A million shivers and memories hit Blair all at once and she reached for her flask, only to remember it was empty.

  Noticing her stare, the orc turned towards her, and Blair quickly looked away after being lightly growled at by him. Clearing her throat, she tried to refocus on her game to shut away his scowl. She didn’t usually stare at anyone out of spite unless she found something suspicious but her restlessness had dulled any control she had over her movements.

  The train finally arrived and Blair waited until everyone was inside before sloppily stomping in and taking a seat farthest from everyone.

  *****

  By the time she had finally made it to the rusty tenement brick building she lived in at East Harlem, Blair had sobered up a bit. It remained a mostly human-populated neighbourhood, despite the changes in the other boroughs.

  The nap she ended up taking on the train, followed by another on a bench--which she was angrily chased out of by a homeless man who claimed the bench for tonight-- preceded by throwing her guts out inside a trash can on the sidewalk, had helped clear a little of the haziness that was bothering her eyesight.

  She walked into the elevator and punched the button for the seventh floor, leaning her head back as she waited for it to ding and stepped out to the dimly lit hallway. The walls were covered in torn brown wallpaper with scratched wooden surfaces. The doors of the other residents were scarcely decorated except for an occasional mat or potted plants that Blair always thought smelled questionable, but all sorts of sounds could be heard from above and from every door.

  Some residents were silent and asleep--Blair always thought those people were psychopaths. Others could be heard watching late-night TV, punching walls, breaking glass, lighting another cigarette, typing on their computers till their eyes bleed, or Blair’s personal favourite-- the thumping beds. Footsteps constantly stomped from every direction, and Blair always managed to catch each step as they slowly drove her insane when she tossed and turned in bed.

  She stomped down all the way to the end of the hall where her office/apartment was facing the elevator.

  Placed on her wooden door was a metallic coloured metal plate with the words Crespo Investigations engraved on it, and on the brown mat placed in front of her door were two paper bags stamped closed with a pink sticky note on the smaller one saying: Feed Topher!

  Blair rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Stupid fucking cat,” while digging for her keys from her duffel bag.

  She could almost hear Acacia replying stubbornly, “If you want him out so badly, then why not just get rid of him?”

  Because she hated all the tuna stored in her cupboards, so how else was she supposed to get rid of that?

  She finally found her keys and grabbed the two paper bags, she pushed open the door and stepped in before slamming it shut behind her with her foot.

  Her office was right in front of the door after the entrance by the wall. She walked over to it only to find a black cat jumping up and landing right on her laptop meowing loudly for food. Blair glared at Topher’s yellow eyes before setting her duffel bag on the ugly orange sofa in her office.

  “You have no patience, do you?” she croaked.

  She placed the paper bags on her desk and took out the can of tuna.

  Topher immediately reacted moving towards it and sniffing, meowing desperately.

  “What are you so desperate about? She feeds you every fucking day!” Blair grumbled annoyingly whilst prying open the can easily and dumbing the tuna on the red bowl by the right window behind her desk, resisting the urge to hurl her guts out yet again from the fishy smell, “How does someone as small as you have the skill to make such a sound?”

  Topher jumped down to the bowl and feasted on his late dinner.

  Removing her leather jacket and hoodie, Blair threw them on the sofa and dug into her duffel bag for her camera. She walked over to her desk and plopped down onto the black leather chair, placing her camera on the desk. She powered up her laptop only to find the battery empty as the charging cable was dislodged from its dock and groaned loudly. Blair looked back at the culprit responsible for this but Topher didn’t seem to care as he continued to munch on.

  Sighing, she looked around her office and narrowed her eyes.

  Acacia pestered her constantly to decorate it or “liven it up a bit” as it would help with bringing in more clients, but Blair didn’t see the point and thought it looked just fine.

  There was a maroon carpet in the middle that covered up a bunch of dust Blair never bothered cleaning up-- and maybe a couple of dead spiders. Against the wall was the orange sofa that was probably the ugliest piece of furniture she ever laid her eyes on, but it did the job of being there whenever Blair was too drunk to make it to bed. It was gifted by her hallway neighbour, Alberto, who was cleaning his apartment out to fit in a little baby girl. She did not quite remember why she accepted it, but Blair decided she was probably just in a drunken manic state.

  Wooden shelves were placed by her desk and window that were completely empty besides a dead plant, empty bottles of various kinds of alcohol, and a framed picture of Blair, Acacia, and their former foster family.

  Her desk included the basics: a stapler, a printer, her laptop, discarded papers, a cup of pencils and pens along with clutter and extra stationery in her drawers. Behind her desk and between the left and right windows was a corkboard she used to pin up important reminders or case papers.

  To the left of her desk in the corner was Blair’s empty basic kitchen with basic white counters and basic grey cupboards that had a limited number of cups, plates, and cutlery.

  Then there was an open doorway that led to her bedroom and bathroom.

  The rent took up most of what she had made per case for the shithole she was currently in. She plugged back her charging cable, deciding to print out the pictures of the cheating professor in the morning and grumbled a warning to Topher to stay away, before walking into the kitchen to put her dinner inside the green mini-fridge.

  Blair walked into her messy bedroom that included only an unmade double bed with grey coverings, a bedside table, and a wooden dresser. Acacia had also repeatedly complained about decorating her room, blaming the emptiness and dullness for her insomnia.

  Blair skipped past her lame bedroom to enter the bathroom, needing to wash her face from the grogginess she was feeling.

  Leaning down the washed-out green coloured sink, she turned the faucet on and sprayed cold water on her face. She reached for the yellow towel hanging next to the sink and dried off her face before looking in the mirror and sighing heavily.

  The dark circles under her upturned eyes had somehow become darker and deeper. She’d always thought her golden-brown skin would cover them up but she guessed wrong. Crespo used to tell her that she could unlock anybody’s secrets with only one look from her vibrant olive eyes-- now the only thing they were “unlocking” were the liquor cabinets. Her plump full lips that were usually naturally tinted with colour were now frowning and colourless. Her short raven hair was messy and unkempt from lack of care, and her circular face shape had become sharper with her cheekbones becoming more defined from forgetting to eat and the extra hours she spent pounding on a boxing bag.

  Rolling her eyes, she walked back to her bedroom and turned off the lights of the bathroom. She sat on her bed and took off her boots and pants, leaving only her green t-shirt on. She made sure her phone was charging and on vibrate before getting under the grey covers and turning off the lamp-- ready for another sleepless night.

  *****

  Blair awoke to a loud banging coming from the top of her ceiling.

  With her eyes still closed, she unconsciously grabbed the pillow beside her and threw it at her roof as if it would make the banging stop, momentarily forgetting that with her strength the act could cause an entire hole. Feeling some of the cement fall on her head, she turned to rest on her back, opening her eyes slightly to see a brand new crack on the roof caused by the throw. Groaning she pushed herself up but quickly flopped back down at the excruciating headache that started. The banging continued and after regaining some senses, Blair noticed it was actually coming from her front door.

  “Ms Martinez!” a woman’s voice shrieked, “You’ve taken too much time! I need those pictures and I need them now!”

  The woman kept banging the door even louder and yelled, “MS. MARTINEZ!”

  Grumbling, Blair covered her ears and face with a pillow, wanting to block the woman out as the banging was making the throbbing in her head worse.

  “MS. MARTINEZ!” she continued banging and screeching.

  “Hey lady!” a man’s voice sounded then, “What are you yelling so loud for?”

  The woman ignored him and asked instead, “Is Ms. Martinez inside?”

  “Heck if I know, but you sure as hell won’t find out yelling like that,” the man answered and Blair recognized the heavily Puerto Rican accent to be Alberto.

  “She’s probably just sleeping, Dios.”

  “It’s almost two in the afternoon,” answered the woman.

  “Yeah, that’s clearly too early for Blair,” Alberto snorted, exasperated.

  Blair then remembered that she hadn’t printed the pictures out yet nor transferred them to her laptop and cursed inside her pillow. She heard footsteps coming closer to the door and then a strong but light knocking.

  “Blair, there’s this white lady out here for you,” Alberto called out.

  The lady scoffed and said, “This white lady has a name,” before banging on the door and yelling, “Debby Jones! Your current paying client!”

  “Lady, just stop yelling!” Alberto responded, “I’ve got my bebita inside who’s finally decided to sleep, so could you just keep it down?”

  “You’ll have a lot more to deal with than a crying baby if I don’t get my money’s worth right now, so you best stay out of it.” She replied, before banging on the door and yelling, “MS. MARTINEZ!”

  “Aye,” Alberto banged on the door now, “Blair! Ven y trata con esta perra loca!”

  Blair understood that as: come on and deal with this crazy bitch!

  She grinned and very slowly got up, trying her best to fight the throbbing in her head. She squinted at the sunlight pouring in to her room and rubbed her eyes, which she could tell by touch were puffed up. Blair hastily slipped into her ripped boyfriend jeans that were disregarded on the floor next to her bed and quickly walked to the front door.

  She opened the door just as Debby Jones raised her hand to bang the door yet again.

  Blair narrowed her eyes.

  “Oh, look who decided to finally grace us with her presence!” Debby seethed and without warning, walked right into Blair’s office, her heels click-clacking obnoxiously.

  Blair rolled her eyes before looking back to Alberto.

  “Por qué tus clientes siempre están locas?” he scoffed, raising his arm towards Ms. Jones.

  Why are your clients always this crazy?

  Blair’s mouth twitched slightly and she answered, “Loca atrae loca.”

  Crazy attracts crazy.

  Alberto laughed slightly before muttering, “Good luck,” and went back into his apartment.

  Blair slammed the door shut, which only made her migraine worse. Rubbing her face, she faced Debby, who had already seated herself at one of the chairs in front of the desk.

  She was wearing a polyester sharp blue suit with her brown hair tight in a bun and her blue eyes fuming, “I do understand Spanish, by the way, and I do not appreciate being called a crazy bitch.”

  Blair plopped down at the desk and powered her laptop, ignoring Ms. Jones’ presence completely, fully aware of the glares being aimed at her.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “You’ll have your photos in a few minutes,” Blair muttered as she took the memory card out of her camera and inserted it into her laptop as a massive yawn escaped her.

  Debby scoffed and crossed her legs and arms before muttering, “What kind of private investigator are you?”

  The kind that gets shit done, Blair wanted to respond, but she bit her tongue and waited till the transfer was completed and pressed print on all ten of the photos she took.

  As the printer began printing the photos, Blair looked up to see Debby tapping her foot anxiously and her brows furrowing increasingly with each paper that prints out.

  “Wow, that’s a lot of photos huh,” Debby scoffed, her foot tapping faster.

  Blair only pursed her lips; this was always the hardest part of the job.

  No matter how many times people are told the truth, it still manages to shock them when seeing it unfold in front of them. They wake up too late, thinking there’s hope in something that can’t be saved.

  Blair hated presenting the pictures of whatever case, whether it be cheating or stealing or something else more sinister, and seeing the clients’ eyes register the truth that they already told her to uncover. People ask her to find stuff and she could always find it--which ends up surprising them even though it shouldn’t. Sometimes they were mature; they just took the pictures and paid before leaving. Most of the time, however, they lashed their anger at Blair as if she was to blame for the actions she caught on camera. Sneering revolting comments at her and even going so far as to say she’s getting off at the pictures.

  She’d gotten used to it by now. People talk shit all the time and they also do shit all the time. It isn’t her fault if they can’t handle reality.

  The printing noise stopped and Blair looked up to find all the pictures piling on top of each other. Debby sat up straighter and crossed and uncrossed her arms with her gaze firmly placed on the printer. Clearing her throat, Blair reached out to grab them, setting them all straight together. She slid them to Debby before leaning back in her chair, narrowing her eyes slightly.

  Taking a deep breath and raising her chin up a smidge, Debby leaned in and grabbed the photos with her red manicured hands. They both sat there in silence for what seemed like minutes as she went through the photos-- her expression austere and firmly set in place.

  When she was done going through all ten photos, each showing the professor and student in different positions, Blair inwardly prepared herself for an outburst, but Debby had simply mumbled, “So would you like a cheque or cash?” her voice coming out softer than before.

  Blair looked at her for a full three seconds before clearing her throat. Leaning in and setting her arms on the table, she muttered, “Cash will do.”

  Debby reached into her expensive beige purse and fished for her wallet. She pulled out the hundreds that Blair was owed and placed them gently on the table.

  Blair took the money and counted them before putting them down again.

  As she opened her drawer to write out a receipt for Debby to take it to Jesse, loud footsteps stomped through the hallway outside. They stopped right in front of Blair’s apartment/office before robustly banging the door, causing both Blair and Debby to jump out of their seats.

  Alberto’s complaints were silenced immediately as a man screamed at him to get inside.

  “Did anyone follow you here?” Blair muttered quietly, her fists clenching as she narrowed her eyes at a trembling Debby who was shaking her head frantically.

  Fists banged once again at the door with full force this time and were followed by an “OPEN THIS GODDAMN DOOR!”

  “Oh no,” Debby’s shaking fingers reached to cover her mouth as she whispered, “It’s Walter.”

  Blair knew him as Debby’s cheating husband.

  “DON’T MAKE ME BREAK DOWN THIS CHEAP FUCKING DOOR! LET ME IN!”

  Blair resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

  It wouldn’t be the first time someone broke down her door. She had a whole drawer filled with various receipts from repairs.

  “I-I-I didn’t see him… I don’t know what or how…” Debby whispered, her breaths coming out quick and shaky as tears began to brew in her blue eyes with her shoulders jumping at every bang.

  Blair arched her brows before she ran towards her room to grab her phone and turned on the voice-recording app, before setting it down on the desk face down.

  She reached for her cigarette box and lit one.

  This is obviously not just a cheating scandal.

  “Are you seriously lighting a cigarette right now?” Debby hissed, as the door continued banging and empty threats continued being yelled.

  She walked around the table, gripped Debby’s shoulders, and hissed, “Go into the bedroom and hide,” and before Debby could protest, she pushed her to the bedroom and shut the door tight before walking to the front door, opening it heavily.

  The first thing she noticed was the revolver trembling in his right hand.

  What the actual fuck?

  Blair raised her left eyebrow as she looked at the trembling cheating professor. His curly hair-- that was smooth and brushed out only last night-- was now sticking out at angles that defied gravity. His black-framed glasses were positioned crooked at his sharp nose covering his wide red-rimmed eyes that were staring bullets at her. Blair wrinkled her nose slightly at the musty smell wafting from him as she noticed blotches of sweat coating his wrinkled white button-up shirt from last night.

  Blair stared right back, making sure she made no sudden movements-- she did not want to find out whether or not she was bulletproof as well, not today anyway-- and took a puff from her cigarette.

  “How may I help you?” she mumbled as she exhaled the smoke, leaning on the door frame and making sure she’s blocking the entryway.

  Walter tilted his head and breathed out heavily, his teeth gritted, “I think you know damn well, you fucking stalker.” Blair could smell the stench of alcohol-- being all too familiar with it herself-- reeking heavily from his breath, as he stood closer to her causing her head to lean back.

  Blair stood her ground and crossed her arms, “It’s a bit ironic that the stranger forcing himself into my office is calling me the stalker.”

  “Don’t play fucking games with me, bitch,” he hissed as he hovered over her and batted the door open behind her as he stomped his way in.

  Blair inhaled a long puff of her cigarette and caught Alberto peeking from his door. She winked at him as she flicked her cigarette away, and he smirked knowing all too well the events about to occur. She walked back into her apartment and slammed the door shut, finding Walter stomping everywhere screaming for Debby as he walked to the bedroom door, and to Blair’s relief, Debby had the good sense to hide as he hadn’t seemed to find her.

  “There’s no Debby here, asshole!” Blair called out leaning on her desk, quickly making sure her phone voice recorder was getting all this, “And even if there was I wouldn’t tell a shitfaced douchebag like you.”

  Walter came out with his revolver pointed shakingly but directly at her, “TELL ME WHERE SHE IS OR I WILL SHOOT YOU!”

  Blair narrowed her eyes, “Do you even have a permit for that gun?”

  “Where is she?” he hissed out, his hands and breath shaking as he stepped closer still pointing the gun.

  Blair broke down the facade and pushed herself up from the desk, “Why do you want to know? Aren’t you two getting divorced? You can’t expect to cheat on your wife, beat her, and still have her stay with you, dumbass.”

  “You know nothing,” he gritted out, his eyes narrowing and sweat coating his brows.

  “Hmm, the pictures say otherwise,” she murmured, allowing a smirk to play on her lips.

  His eyes grew wide and his mouth slightly gaped open, before he quickly shook his head.

  Blair let out a small chuckle.

  Walter huffed out a large shaky breath, his teeth gritted out as he cocked the hammer of the still aimed revolver, “I could just shoot you, right now.”

  Blair tilted her head and grinned, “And have the residents of this complex call the police-- not to mention there’s already an existing witness... Have fun in prison, buddy.”

  They stayed in the same position for a full fifteen seconds, before Walter groaned and threw the revolver down on the floor, causing it to thud, before bracing himself on his knees. She walked slowly over to the discarded revolver as he sighed heavily and whispered, “My life is going to be ruined.”

  Blair grabbed the revolver and mused, “Yeah, most probably,” before emptying the bullets, easily bending it into a ball, and throwing it down, “And the best part is you have no one to blame but your own damn self.”

  Walter turned around slowly at the thumping sound and as he was about to say something, he glanced at the ball of metal sitting next to Blair’s feet and his eyes grew wide again as he stepped back, shaking.

  “You’re… a freak,” he sputtered, already putting a foot out to run.

  “And you’re an asshole.”

  He wasn’t fast enough for Blair, as just as he was about to run Blair pointed her foot in front of him and tripped him over as he landed face-first on one of the chairs in front of her desk with a loud thud.

  Blair could have sworn she heard Alberto chuckle from next door.

  Heels click-clacked from behind her, and Blair turned to find a wide-eyed and tear-stained Debby looking from the bedroom doorway. She turned back to find Walter bleeding from the nose as he pushed himself off the chair and snarled, “Fuck you.”

  Blair rolled her eyes, “I’ll send you the bill for the door tomorrow.”

  Walter furrowed his brows but had no time to react before she grabbed him by his shirt and threw him out the door.

  “OH MY GOSH!” Debby screamed as she ran out of the bedroom to find him flying at the door. He struck it causing it to crash down with wood flying around everywhere.

  Blair dusted off her hands and then walked to the now crashed door, Debby following suit, to find Walter knocked out and Alberto already calling the paramedics, grinning. Her other neighbours didn't even bother, as they had begun to accept these incidents as normal occurrences. She walked back to her desk and stopped the record button, sending it to Debby’s lawyer and saying, “Your ex-husband is now charged for an unregistered gun, domestic violence, and attempted murder.”

  Debby sighed shakingly and rubbed her head.

  “I’ll add this all to the bill,” Blair said grinning, “As well as the door repair since he’s obviously not going to pay for it.”

  Debby rolled her eyes exasperated, sat down on the ugly orange sofa, and covered her face with her hands.

  Blair walked up to her and offered her a cigarette, to which she refused.

  “Why didn’t you state domestic violence?” Blair asked, lighting her own.

  Debby shook her head gently, “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Blair narrowed her eyes. But she did not push her any further and leaned against her office.

  By the time Debby calmed down, Blair finished her cigarette and put it out on the ashtray on her desk. She sent the recording to her and wrote up a new bill to which Debby rolled her eyes exasperatingly.

  “I’ll just write you a cheque then,” she grumbled, taking out a chequebook.

  Once the paramedics arrived, Debby stood up to leave and avoided Blair’s gaze completely as she walked to the front busted door. Her black heels stepped around the debris of dust, wood, and blood. Blair waited until she turned to face her with her eyes watery and tears flowing down her face.

  She took a deep breath and said, “You have a really shitty job,” she then quickly glanced at the orange sofa before sneering, “and what a horrendous sofa,” and walked out to the hallway.

  *****

  Three days following the incident, Blair already wasted almost half of her pay on all the whiskey and bourbon she could find.

  It was an exceptionally bad week, worse than Blair’s usual.

  She told herself that it was worth it but knew deep down it wasn’t.

  Waking up to a thumping bed above her, she groggily reached for her phone and cursed under her breath to find it unplugged to the charger, and instead of blaming her forgetfulness, she blamed Topher. She put it on the charger hoping for it to get enough to last her through the day before getting up from her bed only to have her bare footstep on a broken glass bottle.

  “Shit!” she cursed inwardly as she sat back down to inspect the injury.

  The shard was half into her foot but Blair only felt a slight pinch. She pulled the piece of glass from her foot and threw it at the corner. Wiping the blood off her foot on her bedsheets, she could already see the scar healing and tore skin stitch together.

  Wrinkling her nose, Blair looked away from the scene trying her best not to gag. As much as Blair appreciated her body for doing that, it never failed to creep her out.

  If only it could do that with hangovers.

  Once again pushing herself out of bed-- taking caution this time not to step on any other discarded glass bottles-- Blair walked to her bathroom to wash the grogginess from her face but not before she puked her guts out into her green coloured toilet. She covered her eyes before flushing the vomit to prevent another regurgitation and grabbed the sink to pull herself up. Feeling a lot less dizzy and befuddled, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Looking at the cabinet mirror Blair winced at her dishevelled appearance, before opening the cabinet and grabbing an aspirin. Noticing a small bottle of gin lying against the top of her toilet, she took the bottle and found a few sips left in it. Popping the aspirin into her mouth, Blair downed the rest of the gin and swallowed the painkiller.

  She could already feel the throbbing in her head decrease.

  Walking to her office, Blair noticed two paper bags placed on her kitchen counter. One had a pink sticky note labelled Topher’s dinner and the other labelled your breakfast, indicating Acacia’s checking in; she must have missed her these past few days as they were a blur to Blair.

  Blair shooed Topher away from her laptop and threw away discarded paper bags on her chair. She powered her laptop on, which miraculously was fully charged most likely thanks to Acacia, and checked her emails to see any sort of new cases she could take from Detective Evans or the Ilken law firms. She was quite the favourite to hire due to her abilities, but she preferred only specific people to know of them.

  To Blair’s dismay, she saw there was none, meaning she had to physically meet them and ask for a case. She never got any clients being referred to her or coming off their own will, either, despite having her ad posted on spaces on the internet and newspapers.

  Sighing heavily, she went back to her room to put on her ripped black jeans and leather jacket before slipping into her combat boots and grabbing her phone that was only half charged. As she went back out, she grabbed the paper bag that had her breakfast inside and stuffed them into her duffel bag, along with a newly filled flask of whiskey and her camera.

  Topher, perched on the window beside his bowl of water, meowed lightly, but Blair only narrowed her eyes and said, “Don’t fuck anything over,” before stepping out of her apartment and locking her newly repaired door.

  *****

  Blair walked out of her apartment complex as the biting wind hit her lethargic face, causing her to groan lightly. She put on the arm warmers that she had in her duffel bag before stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets.

  The neighbourhood was bustling with vendors calling out with special offers and construction workers cautioning passersby to watch out on the street while barking orders and alerts upwards to workers stationed on roofs. Neighbours argued with each over on stone railed balconies about the latest game or political debates over the leaders of supernatural races-- both topics Blair had absolutely no interest in. Some more pleasant people above were soliciting good mornings and inviting each other over for lunch and dinners. The air around was thick with smoke from the drills of construction along with the numerous smokers leaning against brick walls that had decorated the edges of the pavement with cigarettes. Homeless people set their positions on the street as they placed their cups, tins, or plastic for change--preparing themselves for ignorance, loneliness, and acts of kindness.

  Blair frowned as she pulled her jacket tighter around her.

  People of all colours and races--except for the fae, who preferred more high-end locations-- dressed in different types of clothing passed each other to get to where they needed to be. She walked on the pavement through the brick walls and quickened her pace as she tried to block out the din and rumbles of everyone and everything around her.

  What Blair gained from her super-strength and psychometry, she lacked in long legs and agility. The contrast between her petite frame and super-strength was quite funny but it always came in handy. Blair always thought that being taken for granted could be an advantage and it always ended up being that way.

  It also made things a whole lot more entertaining when she managed to throw full-grown men across alleyways.

  The supernatural beings that were commonly found in this neighbourhood were werewolves and, as little as they were here, orcs. Specific gangs of orcs seemed to be stationed around here, and Blair made notes where they usually hovered and hung around to make sure she never passed them-- just like many around her, she avoided them and walked around them. Although the orc gangs always seemed to be nonchalant and commencing in normal day-to-day activities, looking like any other street gang with their cigars and baggy outfits, no one ever treads too close.

  Blair also memorised where symbols of roses, silver maples, or moons were graffitied on the walls. Those three symbols indicated the three werewolf packs known to inhabit New York. The werewolves, just like the gangs and orcs, claimed specific territories and warned people off with those symbols-- whether it be a building, bar, nightclub, abandoned dumps, or even alleyways. Of course, it was also to welcome any recruits and give them indications to where they were stationed. It was just her luck, however, that her neighbourhood was mostly filled with rose graffiti indicating Moonshade territory-- the most dangerous of the three packs. The other two were the Yellow Stones and Silverbacks, both equally terrifying, but not quite as deadly as the Moonshades.

  She thought all three names were the dumbest, though.

  After a few minutes of trudging, Blair finally reached the local supermarket, Frescos, that she regularly goes to. As she entered a bell rang and Ramy, the store owner, looked up from scanning an item at the counter.

  “Hey Blair,” he called out smiling.

  Blair nodded before his hazel eyes returned back down to scan the last of the products.

  He was currently dealing with an orc customer causing many to abandon their spots in line or keep at least ten feet of distance between them. One woman pulled her child behind her as she held her spot in line. The orc noticed this and merely rolled his eyes, before taking out his wallet from his large baggy sweats.

  “Would you like a bag?” Ramy asked, leaning in behind the counter to grab one.

  The orc grunted, “Yes,” as he took out the amount of money displaced on the cashier screen with his large stubby fingers and slammed it on the counter causing people to stumble and take even more steps back.

  Ramy rolled his eyes at them as he gave the orc his change and bag, “Come back next time,” he smiled and nodded.

  The orc just grunted before stepping out.

  Avoiding eye contact with the orc and everyone around her, Blair sped to the end of the store where the freezers were placed. Placed on top of the various freezers was a large sign labelled Ilken Beverages, in an ugly red colour with its edges torn and rusted. Passing all the people, aisles, and shelves beside her, she walked towards the freezers. Sliding one of them open, she grabbed four energy drinks and two iced coffees.

  Blair’s caffeine tolerance had already been high before, but super-strength needed a massive dosage of it.

  Massive.

  As she slid the freezer close with a handful of tin cans grasped in her arms, she caught a glance of a woman staring wide-eyed at the load in Blair’s arms with her nose crinkled slightly. Blair rolled her eyes before she walked back to the counter that now had a short line of people waiting. Catching a can about to drop, she stood in line and looked outside to see the orc customer standing across the street next to a car parked near the pavement with a bunch of other orcs. The radio was blasting music loudly, and Blair could tell from the language of the music that it was by an orc rapper.

  Many people assume that all orcs look the same.

  Female orcs were a lot smaller than male orcs, but that never excluded them from the racist statements. Blair knew, however, that there were key features that distinguished them from each other-- besides the obvious hair, clothes, or tattoos. Their skins were patterned differently, and they even had different skin colours- grey, brown, or dark beige. Many of them were a mix of those three colours altogether, but the one thing that Blair always noticed was their different birthmarks. No matter how similar two different ones maybe, there was always a giveaway.

  As she stood in line and watched the orcs, images of a large tear-shaped brown birthmark with a hole inside suddenly came crashing down on her as sounds of footsteps rang across her ears.

  Shit, not again. Not now.

  Shutting her eyes tight, she tried to block out the image and sounds, but her heartbeat had already begun to accelerate. Blair tried opening her eyes but they were wired shut as images of a dead bloodied body appeared and she was once again trapped:

  Blair was at an empty street late at night, running towards the body.

  Stopping only a few inches away from it, she slowly leaned down with her head up and her back straight to find Crespo’s neck completely shredded and his blood flowing out in large pools of red around him.

  She choked on a sob that escaped her, but she couldn’t pull her gaze away.

  His head was decapitated from his body that was facing front first to the ground, but she knew it was him based on the name tag on his police uniform. Falling to her knees, her surroundings blurred away as her ears filled with a piercing ringing that caused her body to freeze everywhere. Blood soaked her jeans and legs as she just gaped at the abomination--her eyes burning and her head bent down to her knees, with her hair soaking in the blood.

  She couldn’t move.

  Or yell.

  Or cry.

  “Blair!” Evans yelled but Blair didn’t hear him as he ran to get to the scene with Acacia on his heels. Once they reached, they stopped in their tracks, gaping in horror.

  Acacia walked a few steps back and vomited her guts out.

  A few seconds had passed before Evans regained his senses and reached for his phone in his pocket with shaking hands to dial 911.

  However, far down the street hidden behind a wall at an alleyway, Blair noticed a movement.

  Evans must have noticed it too as he muttered, “Blair. Don’t,” his thumb hovering over the call button.

  Blair stood up, swatting Evans’s hand away and throwing him ten feet back away, his phone dropping from his grasp to the puddle of blood and landing hard on his back. She chased after the orc, her rage drowning out any logic or reasoning as she sped after the gigantic figure running away.

  “COME BACK HERE YOU FUCKING COWARD!” Blair shrieked as she caught up to him.

  Acacia, finished from her regurgitation and gasping for breath, helped an injured Evans up before Blair could get too far.

  “BLAIR, NO!” Evans kept yelling as he ran after her, Acacia right behind him, “BLAIR!”

  “Blair!” Ramy yelled and she snapped back to reality.

  Eyes roaming frantically everywhere, her heart beating incredibly fast with sweat coating her brows as she hyperventilated. The lights of the market momentarily blinding her, she raised her hand up to block them from her view as she tried to breathe past her wheezing and stumbled back lightly. The annoyed mumbles and complaints issued at her from behind were blurred as her ears filled with a piercing ringing.

  Her eyes squeezed shut before instinct took over her senses immediately.

  She opened her eyes before they roamed everywhere around her. Catching the potted plant on the counter first with the water spray next to it, Blair thought back to when Ramy had told her before that they were mint leaves. Somehow she managed to inhale the strong minty aroma of the leaves. Then, she looked at Ramy’s nose ring, thinking of all the times she teased him about it being fake when they used to hook up in the storage room.

  Her heartbeat slowed down.

  A woman holding a bouquet of roses grasped her child’s hand, cut in line and passed her to pay. As they bumped against her she caught a whiff of the roses, her mind drifting to Acacia and her overpriced rose-vanilla perfume. A light clinking sound slithered its way through the ringing in her ears and Blair snapped her gaze to the dangling keychain on the zipper of the little girl’s pink backpack to find a creepy-looking circus monkey that was staring wide-eyed right at her.

  The ringing in her ears dulled to the light chatter of the customers in the supermarket, and Blair felt the air reach her lungs again. Finally letting out a deep breath, she felt her heartbeat return to normal, and the ring of the cash register snapped her back to the present.

  She was at Fresco’s.

  Not Maiden Lane street.

  With a bunch of angry customers yelling behind her to hurry the fuck up you fucking psycho!

  Sighing loudly, Blair grudgingly stepped in front of the counter, the energy drinks and iced coffee slipping out from her shaky arms. She hated admitting that her old therapist Dr Kat was ever right, but those exercises she taught Blair back then sure came in handy when Acacia’s chamomile extracts didn’t.

  She met Ramy’s raised eyebrows as she mumbled, “With a pack of cigarettes.”

  Ramy kept his tattooed arms braced on the counter filled with last-minute sweets, candies, and gums, “Come on, Blair,” he sighed, tilting his head lightly causing a strand of his dark curly hair to fall on his head, “You said you would quit.”

  She stared right back and leaned her arms on the counter, “Not today, Ramy,” and as he grudgingly reached for her pack of choice, she denied, “And I never said I would quit.”

  He raised his thick black brows, “Yes, you did. You even threw the pack away and almost caused a fire in your apartment when you lit the garbage bin on fire,” he slammed the pack on the counter.

  “I do not recall that happening,” Blair tilted her head and considered, “Was I drunk?”

  He nodded lightly, scanning the cans and pack making beeping noises in the background as he glared at her.

  “Then that’s why,” she replied, a small smirk playing at her lips as she dug out the cash from her jacket pocket, placing the dollars on the counter, “Keep the change.”

  “You know, someday you’ll want to get better,” Ramy scolded, putting her drinks into a small plastic bag.

  Blair snorted as she picked the bag up and left before he could lecture her anymore.