Free Hallow Point by Ari Marmell Page B

Eyes I sure as hell didn’t
want
on me. Or anywhere near me.
    More than any of the redcaps or
sluagh
I had stared down in the past, maybe even more than Herne last night, they made me wanna hole up. Hide.
    Made me feel like prey.
    Which is why I stayed right fucking put, mitt hovering near the holster under my coat, reading everyone who came near like the morning edition. I don’t
appreciate
being made to feel that way, savvy?
    Whoever it was, he/she/it wasn’t gonna muck about in my head again, either. I was set for that, this time. There ain’t a real strong border between willpower and magic, and I was doing my damnedest to scuff it out completely. Sure, I suppose they coulda just left and I’d have been none the wiser, but that was their
only
option if they wanted to hide from…
    The throng just parted, all casual, dance choreography by Moses, so I could see him across the intersection, standing on the far curb.
    He… didn’t much wanna hide from me.
    Didn’t much care about blending in at all, seemed like.
    Guy was straight outta news clippings from down south. Brown trousers, lighter brown coat over a shirt white enough to project movies on, and none of that mattered a plug nickel. No, it was the wide-brimmed hat and the ink-black cheaters hiding his eyes—somehow almost reflective in the sun, despite their darkness—that marked him out.
    Not sure why, as he wore no visible tin, but something said “lawman” to me. Sheriff’s deputy, somewhere in Texas, I’d guess.
    ’Cept, much as he looked like it, he wasn’t that at all, either. I couldn’ta told you why, but I swore I was looking at a façade, a hollow shell over… over God knew what. Like the clean-shaven chops, big friendly grin, and sunglasses were all part of some heavier mask.
    He stared at me. Don’t ask me how I could tell, but I knew. And everything I’d felt a minute ago came back at me with reinforcements. My stomach curled, fear and guilt mashing into a thick emotional stew.
    Not Unseelie. Not Herne. This was something…
else
. Something primal. Something didn’t think like we did, want like we did.
    Something predatory. I was a rat, starin’ down a cobra, and if I blinked…
    His smile stretched wide, teeth gleaming from across the street. He lifted a hand to his brim, in greeting, I guess, and turned away.
    Between one passing pedestrian and the next, he was gone. I didn’t bother racing after him. What’d be the point?
    I really wanted to slug someone, about then.
    This was bad,
real
bad. Whatever was happening in my city, Herne wasn’t even the worst of it. He’d said as much, but who’re you gonna believe, yeah?
    I’d made the right call, gettin’ out of it. Now I just hadda convince everyone
else
of that. I had my own problems, my own case—complete with much more pleasant distractions—and if I got hauled into whatever the fuck this was, I was gonna be
way
over my head, dealing with people I ain’t
nearly
big enough to handle. That, or else…
    Or else I’d fix things so I
wasn’t
over my head, and that’d be even worse. There are reasons—good, solid,
important
reasons—why I’m Mick Oberon now.
Just
Mick Oberon.
    I can’t afford to let myself
remember
the sortsa things I could do before I chose Mick, let alone actually
do
’em. Always said I’d die before I let that happen, but… I still didn’t know what was at stake here. What the Sam Hill
was
this thing that had everyone so hot’n heavy to get their meathooks on it?
    Ah, nuts. I had my own business. Hadda put a temporary bow on the Caro hunt, let his people know I’d hit a wall, and I was happy to keep lookin’ but did they wanna keep payin’? Needed to jaw a bit with Pete, too, or maybe Detective Keenan, find if they had anything on Ramo—my client’s problem guys.
    And I hadda gussy myself up some before I saw Ramona again. It wouldn’t do to arrive at her place wearing everyday… Now wait, why not? What the hell made me think
that
?
    Well,