XXIV Luna

– Two Years Before the Deadline –

The cold late autumn rain was coming down heavily, and her little kitten was curled against her for warmth. Her name was Boots because of the little white booties at the end of her black legs. Luna wasn’t feeling very creative when she named the little kitten. It was on a rainy day like this when she found her, sopping wet, frozen, and mewling in vain. Since Marco had left, she had missed caring for something, so she took the little one in her arms. It was amazing what a little bit of love could do. The broken down nervous creature with matted hair was now the soft, playful, furry little Boots. Though Boots always took off the little bow on her neck, it was just too cute. Luna couldn’t help but put it back on. Sipping her tea, she played with Boots’ ears as the kitten licked her.

*Knock*knock*knockknock*knock* *knock* *knock*

Throwing on a cardigan, she rushed to the door. Standing there, in his wool coat thoroughly soaked through, carrying a large canvas bag as stuffed as much as was feasible, was Gram.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to move into Marco’s old room.”

Luna’s face flushed. “What? Why?”

“Let’s just say, this hunter has a funny sense of humor and leave it at that. If you’ll allow me, I wanna go take a shower and warm up.”

Luna, stunned, assented with a nod.

His bag hit the wooden floor with a resounding thud, spilling its contents all over.

Not even here for a minute, and he already made a giant mess. She shook her head with a smile.

She had wanted to talk to him for a long time, maybe exchange a furtive glance at the club, but this? Now all of a sudden, Gram was staying in the apartment if she let him. She should, right? What did he mean about the hunter? How long would he stay?

This might be her chance. She shouldn’t come on too strong. He always retreated into some silly sense of honor when she did. She should play aloof. She began grinding some beans. A hot cup of coffee would help warm him up. Maybe she did only make coffee for other people. Too much coffee made her jittery. Too much coffee for her happened to be just slightly more than none. Making coffee for others made her feel useful, was there anything wrong with that? But it should be aloof, Gram had told her a lot of girls he rebuffed who used cheap obvious moves. She should make an aloof cup of coffee, like a cat would make? What would Boots do? She thought, then immediately received her answer as Boots rubbed up against her leg. Not a very aloof feline at all.

Gram came out of the shower wearing only a towel, blushing. She hadn’t been able to tell from the clothes that he normally wore, but he was surprisingly muscular. Though his hand was certainly the worst of it, his whole body was covered in scars. The water was weighing his hair down, giving her a rare peek at what his face would look like without being framed by all the chaos. He was dripping on her floor.

“So,” He said, blushing. “I remembered to bring most of my stuff.”

“Yeah, I gathered that when you turned the entryway into a scrapyard.”

“Remembered my gear. However, I forgot my clothes.”

Luna chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand.

“So,” Gram said, getting redder, “You wouldn’t have anything to wear, would you?”

“What? I think a towel is a great look on you, very minimalistic.”

“Quit teasing.” Gram said, looking behind him at the pile of sopping wet clothes on the bathroom floor. “If you know one thing about me, it should be my staunch hatred of minimalism. Maximalism, that’s my game.” He began to make a sweeping, dramatic hand gesture only to realize the precariousness of his position and quickly regained hold of the towel. “Anyway, you got something or not?”

Still laughing, she threw some of Marco’s old pajamas at him. They were still in good shape—Marco was more the getting-drunk-and-passing-out-in-his-clothes type anyway.

Gram retreated into the bathroom to put them on. As he reentered the room, Luna couldn’t help but burst into another round of laughter. Marco’s clothes were clearly several sizes too large. Gram looked like a kid playing dress-up while his dad was at work. “Oh, by the way, there is an extra coffee on the table for you. Drink it before it goes cold.” Aloof, nailed it.

The way Marco would always go on about him, you’d have been hard-pressed to know that Gram was the junior of the pair. Then again, Marco was kind of an idiot. Gram cultivated an air of cocky mystery when they interacted. Always loud, always talking, but silent about personal stuff. Pretending he didn’t care in one moment, risking himself the next. He had saved her once and never mentioned it, not once. She had to pry him for the details of that night, slowly over a matter of months. The more secrets of his she revealed, the less mysterious he became, but the more curious.

He sat down on the couch in his baggy pajama’s trying and failing to still look cool. He picked up the coffee took a sip. “So did you really do it? Agree to be collateral that is.”

She sat next to him a little closer than was strictly necessary. “Of course I did.”

He scooted slightly to the other side. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“You’re not the only one who can stick their neck out for someone else. You got into this mess saving Marco if it gives you a better position, it’s the least I can do. Besides, should I be concerned? Are you going to let me die in your place?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, then there is no cost to agreeing. What else of yours would he have taken as collateral, your collection of grey-market records?” She then looked him in the eyes and smiled, “I trust you.”

He looked down at his coffee. “You didn’t have to repay me for helping Marco.”

“Well then, I’m doing it for you. Guess that makes us even, huh?”

Gram looked away from her. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bullshit. Then looking back at her, “Anyway, care to give me some more impressions about the hunter, other than he is an honorable sort of murderer?”

“You know tall, handsome, long white coat, shiny gun—speaking of which, have you ever considered a long white coat and a ponytail? I think you could pull it off.”

“Great way to describe the guy who has a contract to hunt and kill me.”

“Actually…I didn’t really get that vibe from him like he wanted to kill you. He just seemed curious.”

“You do know he’s the-fucking-Hawk, right? Curious in the way researchers are when vivisecting rats.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, why else would he go through all this.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. Doesn’t he only specifically take contracts with people who know it’s the Hawk? He didn’t exactly make his reputation from gunning down helpless folk either.”

“Yeah, got no clue how in the hell the hunt for Marco makes any sense. I remember one story about him. This beater took a special contract from him, used all the money to build a mini fortress, hired more than two dozen guards. They say the Hawk waltzed up alone, whistling, and walked away from the burning rubble minutes later, still whistling, barely a scuff on his coat. As the story goes, he looked bored. If half the stories are true, the guy isn’t human. Then again, that all might just be exaggerations to sell books.”

“So, what do you plan to do against him?” Gram shrugged an exhausted haunted look on his face his eyes at her but past her. “Win.”