Dust

XVIII

The streets are at their busiest; Gael and I have to wade through crowds, some thicker than others, to maneuver around the sidewalk. The sun is a pale blot in the sky this early in the morning, its light glinting off the tops of taxis and personal vehicles. Car horns sound impatiently at a red light near one of the city's drugstores.

I check the watch on my wrist as I take a sharp turn right, entering Damien's apartment complex. It's nearing nine o' clock, the usual time Dame and I are at headquarters, but when Gael and I reached the subway station, he wasn't there. Though I mostly am already aware of the reason for his absence, I still have to check; anyhow, I have some time, considering I've previously called Sloane to make sure she knows we will be late, and why.

Pressing the number of Damien's apartment into the keypad, I wait for his voice to come through the intercom, folding my arms and tapping my foot. Gael is examining some sort of poster on the wall, an ad for scented aftershave.

"Who is this, and why are you here?" moans Damien, his tone irritated and drowsy. "I'm busy being nauseous."

"It's Gemma," I snap, "and I'm busy getting my hungover vampire friend up and to work. Buzz me up, Dame."

He doesn't argue; the next noise that sounds is a beep signaling the unlocking of the door. Gael stops scrutinizing the aftershave poster and swings open the door for me, and I precede him into the stairwell.

Amidst our footsteps on the rubber steps, I hear Gael's voice from behind me: "So vampires can get hungover?"

I reach the landing Damien's apartment is on, the overhead light flickering above us. Dame's apartment complex is odd to me; the exterior of it seems dingy and worn, but the apartments are of generally good quality. Maris's inner city is strange that way.

Gael reaches the top step, coming to my side as I stand at Damien's door. The plaque, a rusty gold, reads 207. "Too much blood for his species is like too much alcohol for us," I tell Gael. "So, yes, vampires can get very hungover."

"Gemma? Is that you?"

My head snaps aside as I pause, not knocking on Damien's door yet. The door next to his has opened, and out steps Tiya, Damien's middle-aged witch neighbor. Tiya has sun-kissed brown skin, of clear Indian heritage, and a personality as bright as her smile. She used to be Mrs. Goswami to me, but once I started babysitting her nine-year-old daughter, the two of us came to know each other relatively well. Stepping away from Dame's door, I embrace her in a brisk hug. "Tiya! I haven't seen you in a while!"

Tiya's thick hair, as dark as mine, moves around her waist as she speaks, her warm, purple witch's eyes alive with expression. "And you either, Gemma. Anvi misses you."

I smile, recalling Tiya's daughter, always so precise in her study of spells. Though Anvi has a long way to go in becoming as proficient as her mother in terms of magic, the heart is all there. Witches, and wizards, of course, don't have it easy; they are born with the power to wield magic, but if they don't learn how to use it properly, it can be the end of them. "I'm sorry, Tiya. The hunting business has been...well, quite busy in the recent times."

"I understand, Gemma—but honestly, you have to come visit us some time. Damien, too...and your friend, here?"

"Oh!" I say, whirling towards Gael, who smiles and offers a shy wave. He proffers his hand to Tiya, and they exchange a quick handshake. "This is Gael. He's a new hunter."

"Oh, yes, of course," Tiya says, bending to pick up the package she had come outside for. Despite her age, Tiya is still nimble and has young bones; whether or not that is from years of anti-aging spells, I don't know, but whatever she does to keep herself fit, it works. "I heard about your ceremony. It was last night, right?"