Flint had seen her. She was far off and down an alleyway, but there was no mistaking that rotund figure for anyone else.
But that was impossible! She was lost in the mist at the bottom of Northgate. Right?
Her body had been one of the two not recovered, leaving Flint to wonder about her fate. So it was possible she had survived. But then why hadn't he heard about it?
Not that he needed to know. He shouldn't care about these people in the Nightmare, least of all some cranky old maid who could make even the toughest meat melt in his mouth like butter. She was fake. They were all fake!
But his connection to Cook through the belt, which he had happily removed, had left him with a strange sense of loyalty to the woman that he had never admitted even to himself.
Seeing her face from a distance had rekindled that confusion, causing him to cry out. Had no one else seen her?
They were all too involved with the Syrce problem to pay the anomaly any mind. The sisterly drama was getting old. Why did women have to be so petty?
Before he knew it, Flint's feet were moving on their own. That was fine. Cook was close enough that he could catch her and bring her back to the group and demand an explanation.
But when he turned the corner to catch her arm, Cook was gone. Had he imagined it?
Surely he didn't want to see the woman so much that he would have invented her. That would be crazy.
He turned to go back to the group when a beige tunic caught his eye.
'Got you!' His feet pushed against the ground with extra force as he rushed toward the movement.
It was like she was playing cat and mouse with him. Each time he came close enough to get her, she flitted away.
'This is wrong. All wrong. She has to be dead.' Flint's reason finally won over his curiosity. He had come a fair distance from the others, and for what? In search of a phantom. This was the home of Imagination.
His mind was playing tricks on him.
He turned to head back.
"Flint."
Cook's voice called to him, stopping him in his tracks. He had almost forgotten the way she sounded.
Cook seemed at peace, which was something he hadn't heard in her voice before. Hadn't she bragged that she was once the cook for the governor before retiring to the countryside? Returning here would be like returning home.
Flint turned to see her shining face. She had never once smiled at him before.
She had a more lovely face than he remembered.
But before he could respond, Cook ducked into the nearest building.
"Come back!" he followed her inside.
"Flint."
Standing in the middle of the room, Cook looked at him from beneath her eyelashes. It was a strange expression that Flint was completely unfamiliar with.
"What is wrong with your eyes?" He blinked. "Not important. What are you doing here?"
"I thought you would be happy to see me..." Cook seemed hurt.
"Why would I be? All you do is insult me." Flint frowned.
"Don't you think there is a reason for that?" Cook raised an eyebrow coyly.
"You despise my very being?" The surly Master furrowed his brow.
"Quite the opposite. I like you very much." The woman smiled.
"Really?" Flint placed his hand behind his back.
"Really!" Cook nodded enthusiastically.
"Is that why you are calling me Flint when you never have before?" The man took a small step forward.
Cook responded in kind, shyly moving toward him. "What would you like me to call you?"
"Let's not squabble over names." Flint continued to hold his hands behind his back as he studied her. "You never told me how you got here. How did you survive the fog?"
"I held my breath," Cook answered. "But once I got through, all of you were gone. Fortunately, I knew where to find you. A woman all alone with all the horrors out there. It would have been better if you were there."
"Of course, it would have been better. I am an Ascended after all." Flint puffed out his chest.
"Indeed, you are. Far too handsome to be anything less." Cook nodded seriously.
"Now you are just flattering me." Flint clicked his tongue, a smile playing around his lips.
"Do you want me to stop?" The rotund woman moved another step forward before throwing her weight into one hip.
"It is good to see you." The man relaxed his shoulders. "No one else understands what it is like to be this good-looking. Even you seemed jealous of my dashingness."
"I was jealous of the way the other women look at you, perhaps." Cook's smile grew as her eyes fell upon Flint's lips.
The man chuckled lightly. "Is that why you tried to push me off the cliff at Northgate?"
The woman laughed too, her face coming close to his. "I knew you wouldn't fall."
"Oh, Really?" Flint's smile grew. "I take it back. Names are important just now, and I have a new one to call you..."
"Oh? And what's that?" Staring at the man's lips steadily, Cook raised her hand to run it through the orange streak in Flint's hair.
"A Siren..."
Catching her wrist, Flint pressed the dagger that had materialized behind his back against Cook's throat.
"I don't understand," the woman gasped. "Is this some kind of game?"
"You played the game and lost." The surly Master hissed in her ear. "Now, who or what are you?"
"Flint, what's the matter?" Cook whimpered. "I know I have been gone a while, but I assure you that..."
"Shut up!" Flint growled. "Cook never pushed me at the top of Northgate. We hadn't said a word to each other since breakfast that morning. Whatever you are, you aren't Cook."
"I would be careful if I were you," Cook's voice sounded husky.
"I don't have time for your nonsense. You are coming with me."
Flint spun the woman around by her wrist so they were facing the same direction. He shoved her roughly toward the door.
"You can explain this to the others. I am sure they will be very interested in your tale."
"Others?"
The woman's voice deepened. Her head turned, turned, turned much farther than it should have until her eyes were once again even with her captor. Her smile grew too big for her face. Her eyes became empty and full of malice. The sounds from her throat no longer matched her unmoving mouth.
"I don't think I will be explaining it to anyone. Do you?" Cook's question was directed not at Flint, but behind him.
The spoon at his waist suddenly glowed.
A chill ran down his spine as he detected another presence in the room. It moved toward him at lightning speed, bringing with it a chill that frightened Flint to his core.
Before he could react, a knife dug deep into his back. He cried out, releasing the captive to defend himself.
But when he turned around, he found his worst nightmare standing before his very eyes.