Adapt (I)

SCARLET

I shift uncomfortably in the elevator, pulling down the way too high hem of the deep maroon dress. Where Caron procured a clubbing dress after eight at the night, I have no idea. She had me change in the back of the Range Rover while Boe and Trent talked about God-knows-what, leaning against the hood to give me privacy. Caron smudged a little bit of shadow on my eye lids and a touch of gloss on my lips. She made me finish the look off with mascara. When we hopped out of the car, she gave a me a once over, smoothing out the tight satin dress and adjusting the cowl so my cleavage was on display. She had stepped back and given a proud smile. When I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glossy black paint of the Range Rover, I understood why.

But it is highly impractical, and don’t even get me started on the three-inch heels she stuck me in. Granted, they could have been worse, but there is no way I can land a round house kick without breaking my ankle in these things.

Boe catches one of my fidgeting hands and places it on his arm - the same thing he had me do when he had first taken me to The Kraken. “You look amazing.” He says in a thick voice, but doesn’t look down at me.

It is easy for him to say. He is still in his jet-black jeans and black t shirt, which according to Caron, is perfectly acceptable for a man in a high-class club setting. Why is it that men can get away with everything?

“I don’t think I can fight in this.” I say, biting my lip compulsively, hoping that Boe doesn’t decide to look down.

“There won’t be a fight.” Boe says sternly, and I realize that he is nervous too. This knowledge also pushes my already fried nerves closer to the edge. We don’t know what sort of bar we are about to step into, if it is just a bar full of Therians, or a bar that therians use to lure in humans, or something else entirely. All we know is that this may be a dead end.

I am glad Boe and I silently agreed to leave Trent and Caron out of this part of the investigation. We had asked Trent to drive Caron home, then come back to wait for us in the parking lot.

I take a deep breath, letting the cold air in the elevator fill every inch of my lungs. I can feel Boe do the same.

The speaker dings with every passing floor. This bar is at the top of a thirty-four-story building, in the heart of downtown. With every bell my heart beats faster.

Boe looks down at me, seeming to know what I am thinking. “It’s okay, I can’t sense any of them in the building. I think it is just humans.”

I swallow back the bile that is rising in my throat. “Okay.” I say faintly. I believe that he is telling the truth, but we are also not at the top of the building yet, and I have no idea how far his senses stretch.

Ding, ding, ding.

Only three more floors to go. I fidget again with the hem of my dress.

“Scarlet, calm down.” I can feel the tension in Boe’s arms subside as he becomes more and more sure that there aren’t any therians up here.

Ding, ding.

I hold my breath as the elevator slows, the bell sounding one last time. The doors open and...

Oh, my God.

This place is beautiful. Potted trees and climbing vines shift in the soft breeze of the night, tiny LED lights hidden behind the leaves giving the impression that fairies flutter amongst them. A water fountain babbles in the centre of the space, then leads down little paths around the tables and sitting areas, sectioning off the spaces for groups to occupy. The bar is mirrors and glass, reflecting and amplifying the city lights around us. A soft blue light emanates underneath the counter of the bar. There are about twenty or thirty people huddled in groups here and there, the music only just loud enough to dance to, not so loud that you could not carry a conversation.

And Boe is right. Not a single therian.

I can’t help the small amount of disappointment that washes over me. Logan was our chance to find these missing girls.

Without hesitation, Boe leads me over to the bar. He walks with a measure confidence that seems to rub off on me. The closer we get to the bar, the more relaxed I become. My shoulders pull back. My feet acclimatize to the heels. I note to myself to thank Caron for the dress. Now that I don’t feel in danger, I can enjoy the way it makes me look.

Boe orders a vodka soda and a ten-year scotch on the rocks. The bartender places the scotch in front of Boe and the Vodka in front of me. The look on his bearded face gives me a small amount of satisfaction as I reach over and take the scotch, while Boe picks up the vodka. Wrapping his arm around my waist, Boe leads me out to a table that is close to the railing, overlooking the city and its harbor. I take it in with wide eyes. The lights of the city dance on the surface of the water, flickering as boats disrupt it. Cars move like rats in a maze around the city streets. I can see flashes of activity as people move in and out of frame in the buildings’ windows. Some clearly live in their spaces. Others are stuck behind desks, staring at papers and computer screens. Most windows are dark though, understandably. It is past ten now, and the night life on a Wednesday night isn’t going to be booming.

“Wow, this is incredible.” I say.

Boe pulls out a chair for me at the table. It is one of those high tables that you can stand at if you want. I carefully position myself on the chair so that my short dress doesn’t betray me. Boe stands leaning on the table, looking out over the city. “Yeah, I will give it to him, this is a pretty sweet location.”

“Why do you think that he has this place?” I ask, swirling the scotch in the glass. I take a sip and immediately moan. At first it is smooth and smoky. The taste rolls on my tongue and it changes to sweet, almost vanilla. I suck on my tongue after I swallow, making sure not to waste a single drop. “What is this?” I breath.

Boe shrugs. “Some boutique brand, I think. Nothing behind that bar is generic. This vodka is the real deal.” He admires the glass, a wedge of lime suspended under the chunks of ice. “Makes me sad that I ordered it with soda.”

I take another sip of my scotch, unable to resist taking a larger mouthful this time. Once I finally finish relishing in the glow of this liquor, I ask my question again. “So, what would Logan want with a bar in the city that has no Therians in it?”

Boe doesn’t answer for a second, thinking. In the low ambient light of the city around us and the soft LEDs around the bar, he looks older. Not in a bad way, just more pensive and focused. His five o’clock shadow is contouring his jawline just so, and I feel my heart clench. When he answers his voice is smooth. “You know, Therians live a lot longer than humans, which is why hunters have a longer life span as well. Where hunters have the lifelong drive to pursue Therians, Therians are just living. Just like humans, they crave purpose and motivation. Perhaps this is Logan’s passion.”

I purse my lips, a little disorientated by the thought of Therians having human drives. But I am more interested in the other thing that Boe just said. “Hunters have a longer life span than humans?” I ask, trying to sound casual. I am sure that this is one of those ‘basic knowledge’ things that I am missing from my HQ training.

He fishes out the lime in his glass and places it on one of the coasters on the table. “With all of that accelerated healing we can live for about hundred and fifty to two hundred years, but most hunters die before that. I have never heard of one of us dying of old age.” He says flatly.

“Oh,” Is all I can say. I had never really thought about how long I was going to have to hunt, but I had never fathomed that it would be longer than one lifetime.

We just look out over the city for a while then, letting the music wash over the scene. The city has a sort of pulse, like a heartbeat. The traffic lights changing, the movement of people, even the way billboards morph into different advertisements, as if they somehow all knew their erratic place in the chain of events.

“Have you ever thought about what you would have done if you weren’t a hunter?” Boe asks, his eyes settling on mine.

“Umm,” I say, buying myself time. I’d have never expected this question from Boe, so I don’t know how to answer. “Not really.”

His eyes search mine for a second, then he says. “I think I would have become a mechanic.” He says, swishing his almost empty glass.

I pull back a little, surprised. “Really? That seems very mediocre for you.”

He shrugs. “Well, I’m only an over achiever by necessity. Once I had finished school and we had begun the tactical part of our training, it was soon apparent that I was not going to be suitable for a pack. HQ teams’ people off in groups they think will work well together, and ninety percent of the time they do. But they tried me with four different packs before they finally figured out that I was not compatible with any of them.”

“Why?” I ask, hoping that he would continue.

He shakes his head. “Because I don’t like being told by a Mark what to do, and at HQ Marks are taught to be leaders, while Pages and Trackers just follow. I didn’t fit their mould.”

He went silent for a moment. Afraid that he would stop talking, I ask, “So, what did you do?”

He tilts his head. “You mean after I tried to quit being a hunter all together? I trained twice as hard, got the most beneficial degree I could, and went out and proved that I was just as good of a hunter by myself, without a pack.”

“So, how old are you?” The way that he is talking makes me feel like he is older than what I thought.

“I’m nineteen. Twenty next month. You know our birthdays are only eight days apart?”

“So, wait. You are nineteen and you proved to HQ that you were ready to go and be the first hunter without a pack? You must have done something pretty incredible for that to happen.” I don’t know much about HQ, but I knew that they held their traditions close to their chest. Boe must have done something huge to convince them to make an exception.

He downed the last of his vodka, placing it back on the table slowly, deliberately. “It was my third hunt by myself. HQ was giving me scraps for hunts. Newly changed therians that were just left to fend for themselves. They hadn’t even realized what they were.” His eyes leave mine and scan the city as he thinks about the people that had been inadvertently changed into therians. “They sent me out on something that was supposed to be routine. This girl was barely a week old. She ran from me, so I chased her down. She was fast but being a tracker, I was able to find her. She had led me into a nest of them. There were about twelve of them, fully fledged, ranging from bear to bat. I was so hot on her trail that I ran in without even thinking. It, to this day, was the hardest fight I have ever fought, but I downed every single last one of them. When I called in HQ to help with clean up, they couldn’t believe that I was able to take down that many. The best packs in the organization would have recoiled from it.” He looks back at me, coming out of his memory. “After that, they didn’t question my ability to get the job done. I invented my disarm application, which is now standard in every hunting kit. I have just tried to make myself invaluable to HQ so they would let me get away with breaking some of their core traditions.”

“Shit.” I say in disbelief. And I thought I had issues.

He shrugs. “I thought that too, until a file crossed my desk of a girl that had changed on her sixth birthday, somehow ended up living on the streets, evaded every attempt at rescue and recruit, and still has ended up being a stellar hunter all by herself.”

I think about it, then throw back more of my scotch. “Well, at least I didn’t have to deal with all of the hunters at HQ.”

He nods. “That’s true. Some of them are okay, but all of them have this sense of... belonging, that I just never felt there.”

I think about how right it felt, sitting on the couch with Boe and Caron in my living room, eating and laughing. “Do you miss HQ at all?” I ask.

He gives me a small smile. “Not really. I hardly go back there anyway. I just get passed on to the next case.”

His answer relieves me, although I’m not sure it should. I stare at my glass, contemplating if I should finish the rest and get another, or just sit on this last sip for a while.

“So, just think for a moment. What do you think you would like to do once you finish school? You are only a few months away, after all.” Boe tries again.

I sigh. “I never really gave it much thought. I always just assumed I would be a hunter. I have clung to school as a life raft for being human, because I knew that once I left, there would be little point in me concentrating on much else.” I throw back the last of the scotch, not even bothering to taste it, but loving how it warms my chest as in goes down. “I love numbers, though.” I say, surprising myself that, as I am speaking, I am considering what I could have done if I was to just pursue a human life. “I think that I would have become a physicist, or maybe a math teacher.”

“Theoretical or applied?” Boe asks, intrigued by my answer.

“Oh, probably theoretical, although the idea of using lasers or creating fusion reactors sounds like fun.” I joke.

“Why theoretical?” Boe presses, as if my answer is very important to him.

I pick up my glass to take another sip, but it is empty. I put it back down, forced to answer his question immediately. “I think it would be the possibility of understanding what all of this means.” I start, then back-peddle, realizing how big of a subject I am starting to delve into. “Anyway, there is far more opportunity to advance in theoretical physics than there is in experimental. In experimental you are limited by the constraints of current technology. You don’t have that same problem in theory.”

He smiles, and something happens in my chest. Gosh, he is so God-damn beautiful. Boe holds out a hand to me. “Let’s go and dance for a bit. I’ll know if Logan turns up, in the meantime, let’s go and have some fun.”