Anarchy, Burning(ONC2022 Entry)

Part 14- Maria

"She had wings, Elijah."

"I know, Em. Keep it down. Let her sleep."

"She wrapped us in angel wings and protected us from the crash. She's like them!"

"That's not important right now. She's still our Amy and we still need to do our best to get her out of the city."

Maria tries to filter out the couple's conversation. Their private thoughts are none of her business. She opens her eyes to a dimly lit ceiling. The smell of stale cigarette smoke and unwashed laundry fills her nostrils. The fabric beneath her is itchy and has the slight sour stink of mildew.

"Feels like I'm always on my back these days," she whispers to no one in particular.

"You know what they say: Once a whore, always a whore."

"I'd say it takes one to know one, but that seems petty and childish."

Maria sits up. She's in a small room. One door, one bed, a stack of milk crates support a single television, and a chair sits in the corner. This chair happens to have an annoying demi-demon car thief straddling it, wearing a black skirt and a dirty No Doubt t-shirt. Her braids are up in two buns, one read and one green.

"This place needs an exterminator," Maria says as she yanks the smelly blanket off the bed. The stained sheets beneath are an instant source of regret. "Where the hell are we, did we go back to your place?"

"You wish." Fryga stomps on a large cockroach scurrying out from the milk crates. "Elijah thought it best we find somewhere for you and Amelia to recuperate. Found this place next to a supermarket. We gave the kid the clean bed."

"That seems fair... Are we still in the city?"

"Yeah. A place called Spuyten Duyvil."

"The Bronx." Maria raises her arm and a sharp pain lances through her shoulder and upper back. "I feel as shitty as you dress."

Fryga scoffs. "Well, you fought the Kraken, smashed up my boat, and plowed through a forest. You should feel shitty."

"You definitely have a way with words." Maria chuckles until the pain flairs in her shoulder again.

Grumbling under her breath, Fryga gets up from the creaky chair and sits on the edge of the bed. She reaches for Maria's shoulder and the Hunter instinctively pulls away. Fryga isn't above kicking someone when they're down.

"Let me see," she says, turning Maria with surprising tenderness. "It already looks better than it did yesterday, but you're gonna need to take it easy for a while. At least the kid is healing faster than you."

"What do you mean? What's wrong with Amelia?" Maria stares at the peeling paint on the wall so she doesn't have to think about the feel of Fryga's fingers on her skin.

"The kid's a demi, like you."

"No she isn't. There's light in her, but she doesn't feel like one of us."

"She has wings, Maria."

Maria spins around to read Fryga's expression and her retort catches in her throat. They stare into each other's eyes, noses inches apart. Maria remembers their time together while she was undercover. She remembers their joyrides, stealing cars and shipping them to Hell. She remembers learning about different types of engines and how they function in Hell's atmosphere. She remembers learning about herself, what she wanted from life and what she wanted from a partner.

"Stop looking at me like that," Fryga whispers. "You're a fucking narc."

"And you're a fucking criminal." Maria's chest starts pounding.