My downstairs neighbors Destiny and Hazel took pity on me this morning and let me rest on their soft couch while I waited for the P.I.R. techs and detectives to show up. Their adopted daughter Lila woke up when she heard our voices, and is now curled beside me on the couch in her P.J.’s and a colorful stuffed dragon I got her a few weeks ago. Her warm sleeping body is making it hard to stay awake.

My anger has cooled now that I’ve had time to think about Alexandar’s position. After all, we are still in the early stages of a relationship. It took a lot of trust to let me into what is his real sanctum, trusting me to stay the night might have been more than he could do.

The sound of gravel crunching under tires in the parking lot of the apartment. I look at Hazel for help with Lila. She smiles and comes over to pick up Lila to take her to her room.

The hum of their whispers to each other causes a pang in my chest. I never thought I would be around Other children after I aged out of the P.I.R. orphanage at eighteen. Yet now I’m a Champion for Lila, it’s the Otherworlds equivalent to a Godparent. I shake my head in disbelief at the way things turn out.

The techs are already photographing the package my stalker left for me. Opening the door, I acknowledge two of the few detectives that don’t dislike me as much as my other colleagues.

Tracker is in a white buttoned up shirt, vest and tie under their suit coat. Their leopard's face is stern this early in the morning. Cox is in black slacks and a matching white button-up shirt but no tie under their suit coat, their horns polished with gold rings shining from both their horns and long demon ears in the morning sunlight peeking over the nearby buildings. They pulled their long black hair back into a braid, the tip naturally red. They’ve worked together for as long as I can remember, they nod to me and I nod back.

“Is it cool to head upstairs?” I ask.

Tracker motions with their enormous leopard paw up to the covered stairwell leading up to my apartment. A tech in the standard issue white paper jumpsuit with hood and booties, a pair of safety glasses taking up three-fourths of their face, is taking the white flower box down towards us and they look anywhere than me as they pass me on the bottom landing.

Aww, they don’t want to get too close to me or show me any kindness since their boss Danette can’t stand me. Taking a few moments to observe the hive of activity around the crime scene tech van, I search for the short, long-nosed goblin head C.S. tech. I don’t spot him before I make it up to my apartment door.

Pulling out my key, I open the door and swing it wide. The smell of vanilla and spice wafts from the entrance. Everything looks as I left it, leading to me to sigh in relief.

I put my clutch down on the table next to the door and walk inside, asking if they would like a drink. They accept and we go inside my apartment.

We go over the morning’s events while drinking tea. Cox drew the short straw, and they’re drinking out of my mug that reads “sometimes you have too high five, someone in the face hard”. I observe them try not to grin as they take the mug. It isn’t popular to be too friendly with me if you work at P.I.R. hell, it isn’t popular to be too friendly to me period if you live in the Otherworld.

I'm a solemn reminder of the cost of carelessness. Mothers whisper tales of caution to their daughters, warning them not to run off with Normal boys, and have mortal children with no magic in their soul.

Tracker asks in their deep voice if I have any known enemies and then shakes their head at his lack of tack. After all, I helped take down a nationwide favor trafficking ring who was using the chain jewelry stores to make black market favor marks.

“We will get back to you on our findings.” Cox says.

They stand up and adjust their belt.

We all rise from my kitchen island and make our way to the nearby front exit.

“Thanks for coming,” I say as I hold my apartment door open to let them leave.

They nod and head down the stairs to the parking lot.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise and I get a distinct feeling that I’m being watched. Turn and take in my surroundings, I notice a black in the tree limb of the massive live oak near the apartment building. Its rounded tail feathers denoting it as a crow and not a raven. It locks its black intelligent eyes on me and opens his beak, and words spill out like a song on a long play record.

I hate that she learned how to voice message like this. I want to strangle whoever attempted to explain to Mama what messaging was. She’s got a strange relationship with modern technology, and so she uses crows and ravens.

“You didn’t call me first, why?” The crow sings.

Then it stares at me with its shining, judging eyes. The blues and purple shades on its feathers in the sunlight filtered through the live oak.

“I’ll call her.” I reply to the bird.

It then takes off flying toward Mama’s house, I assume with my reply. Danu knows.