Alternatively

Ubiquitous (iii.)

"My mom's a hunter, one of the old age types."

He denied her cup of coffee. "So what, does that make you part of the family business?"

"In a way," she sat across from him, fiddling with her necklace. "She left when I was young, but I was never really separated from her influence. Books always showed up in the mail, along with brochures for summer training and after school lessons that my dad was strongly advised to send me to. I learned all about your world, which should explain how I knew to treat you."

The thought should have bothered him more than it had, but she had been so casual about it.

"I was offered to work for my mom's employer, but I wanted something else. I went to college, working for my degree in architecture."

"But..."

She shrugged. "But nothing. I watch for abnormal criminal activity to call in, but nothing's really been this out of control."

"I thought you gave up the trade?"

"I gave it up as my career, but I'm not defenseless or heartless."

"So you're like, a casual vigilante."

"It does sound nice."

He could see her as one of the old age hunters, ruthless and fierce in her quest to purge the world from the unnatural, aka him. She definitely had the drive to do so, but he was glad she wasn't out for blood for many reasons. One being he enjoyed being alive.

They had agreed her apartment was the best option to have their Dr. Phil moment, especially with the danger of prying ears in public. He made sure to memorize the route, seeing as she led him a different way than he had left only the day before. He noticed she made sure to minimize her movements and kept her voice unnervingly soft, traits he didn't recognize as hunter ingrained skills until she dropped the family tree. They were pacifying and placating; Percy resented them. Old age hunters treated the supernatural, his species especially, like primitive beasts. He had come across only a small band within his lifetime and they had left a lasting impression. Apparently, they deemed sixteen an acceptable age to kill a were.

"You're not gonna go tell your mom about all of this, are you?"

She made a face. "No. Well, not yet. If the problems escalate, then I-"

"I have this under control," he snapped. "It's why I'm here, I'm suppose to take care of it."

"You're doing a fantastic job," she sarcastically drawled, fixing him with a paralyzing glare.

"Listen, I have a method. I'm scouting right now, you should know what that is. It's not the right time to barge around town, ruffing up every werewolf I see."

She sat back in her chair, studying him with a scowl. "You're not moving quick enough to be efficient."

"Do you want to help?"

He meant it as a joke, but the idea grew on him faster than she or Grover had time to react.

"Actually-"

"No," she snapped, setting her cup down with more force than necessary. "No."

"But I haven't-"

"Uh-uh, we are not working together."

"Why not?" he eagerly leaned forward. "I'll be the legs, you be the brains."

"I am not getting sucked into this mission, it's too far over our heads."

"My head, maybe, but you know this city and you know your way around the stuff I deal with. I needed an informant anyway, who better than you?"

She scooted back from the table, the scrape creating a sharp two tone that grated on his ears. "I don't want to get involved with whatever harebrained scheme you come up with."