Ask me no questions...

Chapter 1: My mother went hunting

Danger

Five am. My alarm buzzes and I roll over to slap it off automatically. I sit up, scrubbing my eyes. The calendar on the wall at the foot of bed is poor company.
Fifteen days.
I roll out of bed and sort for my shoes on the floor. It's not the longest my mother has been gone before. But each new day brings the question, when will my freedom end? She's definitely fine. Last time I worried and she laughed. And if she's not fine then the last thing she'd want is me to leave the house. Or something drastic.
I pad down stairs, flicking on the lights. I tap the remote and turn on the sound system. Alone here I can make noise and not have to worry about bothering anyone. Her.
Morning work out first. I turn on the TV to the daily news, and get on the treadmill. If I log two hours in now, then I can do one more after classes and then I can watch jeopardy and lie on the sofa.
I turn on the treadmill and pump up my head phones. I can run in my sleep at this point, and nearly fall back asleep watching the familiar faces on Good Morning America. I get the two miles in in a half an hour, tripping off the treadmill sweaty and my stomach growling.
I turn on the sound system, loud, to keep me awake. "Mrs. Robinson" comes on.
"Ugh, I hate this song," I mutter, before proceeding to play it on repeat through my entire shower. I get dressed in a button down shirt, khakis, and brush my hair neatly. I study my face in the mirror for pimples, or better yet, facial hair. Nothing. I hate being fourteen.
My mother isn't here to notice so I don't put on shoes, instead dancing in my stocking'd feet, singing the song loudly because there is no one to stop me.
I make my way back down to the kitchen, a breakfast smoothie, and I log that on the chart. Weigh in tomorrow. I sigh, looking the miles I ran on the chart too. I haven't been complacent this time. Last time she left I slacked off on my work outs. Not this time, she won't have a reason to be cross when she finally gets back.
I pour the sludgy, green smoothie into my favorite yellow glass and then drink it all in one go. That does nothing for my hunger. I put the cup in the dishwasher, then spin around, practicing how fast I can do it. Not very but there's nobody here to see me so it doesn't matter.
I pour myself a glass of orange juice, noting it on the chart. I didn't yesterday. And I'm still hungry.
I go and check the plants, watering the ones that need it, and opening the blinds a bit for them. I can see a neighbor walking their dog. I wave a little, but they don't see me. The windows are tinted.
Then I go back to my desk to get logged on for school. The 9th grade waits for no one. My prestigious distance learning program is more than rigid. They don't require the uniform, my mother does, but they do require punctuality.
I sit down to get logged on, looking once more out at the sunshine and the street outside. There's a bus stop at the end of it. Kids are lining up.
I look back at my laptop.
"Stay hidden, stay safe," I say, quietly, to the black screen, before tapping the power button. Maybe my mom will get home and let me watch jeopardy and wheel of fortune. She's done that before if I've done all my chores and logged all my activity and meals like I'm supposed to but occasionally forget. When she's gone it's easy to say I'll put it down later, but then she comes back. And catches me.
I have math first, it's a review day so I don't do much but answer a few questions. I'm good and studied for the test over the weekend. Now I just want it to be over, so I sit there twirling my pencil in my hand where they can't see it.
Next up is literature. We were reading Frankenstein as it's Halloween,   Or rather it's October. They try to do fun things for us even if we can't meet in person. This school is good. Most of my classmates are either super sick so they can't go to public school, or for personal reasons their parents have them isolated. Like me. The ones in the hospital are obvious, and they really get bored so we tend to chat with them more. The others are just like, rich but live in more isolated areas or their parents travel. I think they assume I'm a similar situation.
They split us into groups for class discussion, and I'm mostly participating in a conversation between a couple of the more introverted hospital kids, who apparently have seen the movie. I haven't but I don't let on.
That's when there's a knock at the door.
"Police. This is a Welfare check," I hear a woman's voice, fairly loud.
I mute my mic and go to the door, picking up a large skewer carefully. A police officer is, sure enough, holding her badge up to the doorbell camera.
"Hi," I open the door on its chain.
"Hi, are you Damien Mason?" The cop asks, nicely, putting down her badge.
"Yes, what do you need?" I ask, ignoring my proper name. Everyone calls me Danger. Even my mom does, that's all she's ever called me.
"Well, the neighbors were concerned, they said your mom left a couple of weeks ago but they'd seen lights in the house," she says.
"Yeah, she left fifteen days ago. She'll be back," I say.
"That's a little long to be staying here by yourself," she frowns, nicely though.
"My mom went hunting, fifteen days ago," I clarify, leaning in the doorway, "I'm fine."
"She—,"
"She's a member of the Hunt. I'm completely fine," I say, preparing to close the door.
That struck a nerve. Not because of me, but she's clearly annoyed. I highly doubt I'm the first Hunt kid she's come across in an empty house. "Hunt or not that is still too long for you to be home alone if you don't have any way to contact her."
"She's on the hunt, so no. I don't," I say.
"Is anyone checking in on you?"
"No."
"Do you have any friends or relatives you could stay with?"
"No. That's why I'm alone."
"Okay. Well you're coming to come with me then, and Child Services will look into someone for you to stay with," she says.
"Unless you want every vampire, werewolf, ghoul, and demon, descending on your precinct? No. I'm not," I say, holding up one hand to reveal the thin blue line tattooed around my wrists. "Warlock. I'm catnip to anything supernatural and hungry. This house is completely cement and fortified with about a dozen different protections. I can't go anywhere."
"Oh dear," she sighs, "How old are you?"
"Fourteen," I say, well aware that life expectancy of the average warlock is 19. It used to be 16 but exactly one person threw off that average by surviving longer, my mother says out of sheer stupidity. So since apparently I'm not allowed to try whatever it is worked, we're doing this.
"All right," she nods.
"Yeah you gotta call people," I say, chewing my lip. I cannot set foot outside this house. I cannot go anywhere. Having this door open is a risk. And my mother knows it. Not the first time cops have stopped by but it is the first time it's been over seven days with no contact. Warlock or no, Child services is going to pull me, unless the Hunt knows where she is and sends someone or her to me.
"Okay. Can I come in?"
"This door has been open so long it's probably safer if you wait in the car," I say, glancing at back at my laptop. I'm missing my class. I'll be marked absent. That's no TV for a week when she gets home.
"Okay. I'm going to call CPS and then we're all going to come in and talk to you. Do you know who your mother's handler was?" She asks.
"Garett Reid," I say, "But she left with him. I don't know who he reported to."
"Okay," she says, "Do you have anyone you need to call?"
"No. I'm missing school, thanks," I say.
I missed the start of the next class as well. That's two absents. I'm in so much trouble. That plus cops. Well it's her fault for staying away. The Hunt should send someone. It'll be fine. They'll send someone to smooth it over. I've met a couple of my mom's friends. It'll be fine.
The cops show up rapidly, along with CPS. They do not appreciate the standard warning at the door and insist on being let in.
"We're on a ley-line in a concrete bunker with lead lined windows, salt lines refreshed daily, copious religious symbols, I eat 700 calories a day and never set foot outside. I never practice magic. We've been attacked thirteen times this year alone, I don't recommend staying," I say, letting them in.
"Damien—,"
"Everyone calls me Danger," I say, folding my arms. I put shoes on for this.
Two CPS people, plus the original cop.
"Danger," the cop says, nicely, "We want you to be safe too."
"I am. Alone," I say, "Did you contact the Hunt? They can tell you I'm completely fine."
"We did. Your mother completed her mission for them, ten days ago," the cop says, very nicely, "They were unaware she's missing."
"What?" I frown. Why—why wouldn't she come home? Nothing could get her. Nothing. And she's mortal why would she be a target? Because of me? Could they smell me on her, or something? I know she went into deep hiding when she was carrying me for that reason.
"We're filing a missing person's report. The Hunt is sending someone out as well."
"Garett?" I ask. He's nice, enough. Unlike most everyone he's not afraid to be around me.
"Better."
We all jump a little as the door swings up. The door that was tripled locked swings open. In it, stands the reason the warlock life expectancy has been steadily thrown off. Ash West. The outlier himself, mid forties, with shaved short dark hair, and craggy scars marking what would be a handsome enough face if he didn't think he was so handsome to being with. Warlocks were frowned upon in the hunt for obvious reasons. This man said 'rules do not apply to me' and joined anyway. At this point his odds of being attacked by monsters are lowered because the monsters know how hard it apparently is to kill him. More sleazy politician than hunter these days he's racked up more confirmed kills than men twice his age, married a mortal, and gotten an administrative job where he primarily pisses of people who actually work in the field. I've met him twice or something like that, only when Hunters gathered here for a meeting or something. Ash West is no one's favorite person, which is fine he likes himself enough for everyone else. My mother hates this man because of his tendency to sacrifice other hunters to make himself look good to climb the corporate ladder.
"Mr. West—," the cops and CPS literally skirt away. They are in a room with two warlocks. One is a famed monster slayer but his ability to slay the monster isn't comforting when you could get eaten by the monster before he saves himself.
"They didn't tell us you were coming—," the CPS dude looks rightfully horrified.
"I know," West says, smiling as he leans casually in the doorway.
"Do you know where my mom is?" I ask, boldly.
"Is this Mason's infant?" He asks, pointing at me and ignoring me completely.
"Yes," the one CPS lady says, hesitantly. She clearly wants to exit this situation as fast as possible.
"We'll find your mother," West says, looking at me briskly, as he finally stalks in. He's wearing a duster, and three piece suit. The politician as opposed to the Hunter. Hunters are usually dressed much, much more practically.
"You don't know where she is?" I ask, looking between the adults. I'm not used to talking to this many people, not in person.
"No," the CPS worker says.
"Like we said, she was supposed to have been home ten days ago," the cop says, nicely.
"We'll find her. For now you can't stay here alone," Ash says, closing the door behind him, finally. I probably visibly relax but the adults are more focused on him, and he barely glances at me as he strolls into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.
"I can. I'm fine," you know it's safer. He's a warlock too.
"No, you can't," the CPS man says, looking nervously at Ash to contradict him, "Do you have any relatives?"
"No," I say, folding my arms.
"Your mom tell you who your father is?" Ash asks. His green eyes focus on me intently, something like condescension mixed with disgust that he even has to be here.
"I've never met him. His name's on my birth certificate," I say, trying not to twist my hands. "Jason Forrest. I think he's a hunter somewhere. But that's all she ever told me she met him on a Hunt once. He might not be a hunter."
The CPS person writes that down, "We'll check."
"He is," West says, leaning against the counter, "He's not in this region, but the Forrest family are under my jurisdiction."
"I don't want to go—I can't leave," I say, shaking my head. My mom might come back. No. My most important rule is to stay in this house. I have to stay inside.
"You are," West says, flatly, "Ask them. You can't stay here alone."
"But the monsters come after me," I say, nervously.
West smiles wickedly now, "Then you'd best get ready for monsters."