Quadruple Duty

“Fuck you Kara,” the woman snapped. “You get to be my age, and chafing becomes your biggest enemy.” Her robe fluttered around her tiny wrists. “And believe me, I’ll indulge in whatever the fuck I want.”

Kara couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly. Xiomara was not as amused.

“In fact—”

A door opened behind her. Kara spun around in her chair, just in time to see a tall figure step into the room.

“Oh hell no.”

Two

The visitor looked like he’d just arrived from outside. He sported a fur-lined coat wrapped in leather, and a pair of thick, rawhide gloves. He was tall and imposing. Rugged and chiseled. His cargo khakis, stained but not dirty, were held up by a large belt buckle of oiled brass.

“Mr. Rhodes,” said Xiomara. “It’s about fucking time you arrived. Welcome back. Now get the hell over here.”

The man’s great brown boots clapped along the manor’s timeworn floor as he made his way over. He walked with a swagger and arrogance that most would mistake for an air of cool confidence. But Kara knew better.

“Say hello to Ms. LoPresti.”

The man grinned devilishly. “Hello Ms. LoPre—”

“Fuck you Logan.”

He looked good. Better than good, actually. His face was almost exactly as she remembered it; handsome but not pretty, with thick eyebrows and full, come-kiss-me lips. He was taller than she remembered him. Broader too, though she imagined he might’ve filled out some over the last six years.

Six years! Has it really been that long?

Yes, she supposed it had. She was nineteen when they’d met, and on her very first assignment with the Order. Kara had been so optimistically unjaded back then, so overly eager to please. And she’d fallen hard for him. Very hard.

Too hard.

Logan was her superior, and that alone was bad, but he was also five years her senior. The whole thing was stupid and she knew it, even then. But she’d done it anyway. She did lots of things anyway.

“Did you feed her yet?” Logan was asking Xiomara. He sank heavily into the chair next to Kara. “Because she gets cranky when she’s hungry.”

“Shut up Rhodes,” the old woman snarled. “Jesus Christ, a half-minute in and you’re both acting like ten-year olds already. Do I need to send a babysitter along with the two of you?”

Kara looked at him through her peripheral vision, not wanting to give him even the satisfaction of a curious glance. There was too much history. Too much bad blood.

“Good to see you too,” he sighed.

She couldn’t help but think back to all those years ago. Logan had charmed her. Seduced her… or at least that’s how she remembered it. The truth however, was harder to pin down. Over time, Kara found herself wondering whether she shouldered more of the responsibility than she originally gave herself credit for. That maybe she were to blame for some of what happened. Even just a little.

Screw that, she thought angrily to herself. You were nineteen. Just a kid.

“Are you done?” Xiomara was asking them. She paused dramatically, and for several tense moments the only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire. When neither of them answered she took up her chair again. “Good,” she sighed. “Let’s get on to business.”

She opened the folder and pulled out several large photographs of an old hotel. Kara found herself leaning forward… alarmingly close to where Logan happened to be leaning forward as well.

“The hotel Averoigne has a long history of paranormal occurrence, dating all the way back to its construction. Reports from the original time periods are sparse, but in the last half century the owners have been keeping more detailed records.”

Xiomara slid a second file out from within the first. “This list,” she said, “is a compilation of eyewitness accounts and event summaries.”

“That’s a lot,” said Logan.

“A metric fuck-ton,” Xiomara agreed. “And this is after all the bullshit ‘tourist’ sightings were weeded out. All the hotel guest ‘I think I saw something’ nonsense from the drunks, the wishful thinkers, and those Godforsaken ‘ghost hunting’ bloggers.”

Logan thumbed through the file, frustratingly too fast. Photographs and handwritten papers whipped by. Kara fought the urge to rip it from his hand.