We follow Maddox past a water sculpture, down a set of steps, and over toward a built-up planter made of wooden logs and big enough to hold two small pine trees. Sitting on the boardwalk, leaning against the planter, is a homeless girl who can’t be more than in her early twenties. She has layers of ragged clothes on, a filthy beanie with straw-colored hair poking out a few inches, and some old hiking boots with the heel peeled back on the left one. She’s picking at dirty nails and it’s always the young ones like that who get to me. I automatically reach for my pocket to pull out a few dollar bills but remember I’m in an evening gown. There’s no cash in my clutch purse, and I consider asking Carrick for some money.
To my surprise, though, Maddox heads straight for her and when she sees someone approaching from her periphery, her head pops up.
“Echo,” he says, then motions with his hand for her to stand.
This is Echo? How in the world is a homeless girl—most likely on meth—going to help me?
The girl rises as I lean toward Carrick—whose hand is still on my elbow for some reason I don’t understand—and whisper, “What can this girl possibly know?”
And then I feel it.
It’s very subtle, but it’s a dark vibe that doesn’t quite make me anxious but does make me wary. It’s coming from the girl and I go ahead and open my full senses, peering past her glamour.
She’s a daemon as there’s an oily black sludge around her, but she’s not giving off majorly bad or evil vibes. Her daemon visage is not pretty—grayish skin, heavy jowls, and, where a nose would be, there are only two small holes. She has no lips nor any hair, but she looks distinctly female because her round eyes have exceptionally long eyelashes. Her skin is pocked with sores, but I don’t know if that’s meth or just her daemon appearance.
Carrick leads me up to her, and she barely glances at me before turning to Maddox. She can’t stand still, fidgeting with her hands and moving from foot to foot. Her eyes twitch. “You’re going to pay me, right?”
“Right,” he agrees with a resounding nod, and I grimace. She needs a fix, and Maddox is going to supply her with the funds for it if she helps us.
That doesn’t sit right with me. And I’m also stunned that daemons can be homeless. And have drug addictions. So many things I have to learn and would have never considered.
Tipping my head up to catch Carrick’s eye, I ask, “Can I talk to you?”
Without waiting for an answer, I pull my elbow from his hand and walk several paces away from Maddox and Echo. I can hear the dull tap of his shoes on the boardwalk as he follows.
When I’m sufficiently out of hearing distance, I turn to face Carrick, but I keep my voice low. “I don’t know what this girl can do, but I am absolutely opposed to us giving her money so she can go buy drugs.”
Smirking, he lifts an eyebrow, his tone blasé. “She’s not a girl—she’s a daemon and she’s dark. Why do you care?”
That takes me aback, so much so I take an actual step backward. It’s a stark statement, and there’s a truth in it I didn’t realize existed. It makes me ashamed at the same time.
“I… I…” There is nothing I can do but stammer because I don’t know what to say.
“Look,” Carrick says, and it’s the gentlest I’ve ever heard his tone, which still leaves him ominous enough to scare small children. “She has empathic abilities that are far greater than most. The fact she does drugs seems to have enhanced or opened them up. Or at least that’s what Maddox said when I told him about you. She might be able to tell if you’ve got something other than ‘human’ in you. Besides… you give money to the homeless all the time, and you know it’s most likely going for drugs or alcohol.”
“Or possibly food,” I say with a pout. But he’s right. I give every homeless person the benefit of the doubt they need it for something good, yet I’m not giving it to this girl.
And I know it’s because she’s a daemon with a dark aura. I’m judging her on what she is, and it’s not quite fair because I don’t know anything really about daemons. Nor do I know anything about the demons that humans might have within them when I hand them money on the street.
Carrick pivots and walks away from me, back to where Maddox is now talking to Echo. She has one arm across her stomach, the other hand up at her mouth, chewing on her nails as she listens to him. Her eyes constantly cut left and right, most likely paranoia from the drugs.