I was watching my movie and stringing my beads when, to my surprise, my door opened, and Damon walked in. This was one of the pastel shaded bedroom not very used, and it had calming atmosphere which was now disturbed by an overeager husband, making my irritation flare up.
Noticing my scowl, he said, "Take it easy. I'm not here to lecture. I just want to spend some time with you. Or, well, I want you to tell me more about that interrogation style. I must admit, I'm stuck. I've tried to get to the bottom of it, but I feel like I'm missing something, and you usually have the answers. That much I know."
His voice was almost pleading. I rolled my eyes as he took his shirt off and flopped down next to me, looking at my beads and chips. It was a big wooden box with multiple levels and a lot of beads, and chips, all real stones, none fake or lab-made. There were about 15 kilos worth of stones in there, so it was heavy. I had a separate box where I put my ready bracelets. I was planning to give most of them to girls once they returned from their road trip, so they could take pictures of them and put them in our online shop for sale.
"No, this. See? Use this color with that," he said, handing me moonstone chips as I was making a pink and white bracelet.
They had a beautiful flash.
I took them, and he said, "No, three chips, one bead. Try that. Gives it more edge."
Fine, let's do that.
He also noticed my various strings and needles. His voice was eager as he said in a short while, almost smiling, "Lemme do this too. This is fun. We have a lot of beads, and I ask, you teach, and maybe I just get the idea," he asked. "How do you select your needles? Oh, wait, I dig it out."
A slight buzz in my mind told me that my telepath husband had found my tricks of beadwork. He selected a thinner, more flexible string and a shorter needle. Then, he pulled my bead box in between us and soon chose what he wanted, starting to make his own bracelet.
I could sense him loading the beads with a spell—not sure which one, but it was potent as I could feel whispers of his magic being siphoned into my mind. I was an unwilling siphon, meaning I took in a lot of the stuff around me by touching it, and as he was touching me, I got loaded up as well.
"So, tell me, how do you do it? I mean, how do you keep your role? What's the catch?" he asked. Looking me in the eyes.
I paused, considering, and stopped my beadwork, my gaze drifting to the television where a rampaging T. rex dominated the screen.
Then, as I planned an answer, I said, "Well, first, you need to believe in your cover story. I always make one up when planning a mission. For your mission, if I were in your shoes, I'd target your regulars, especially since it was a new facility, built in the middle of a forest with no signage. My cover would be that I was jogging at night, since I usually work nights. I'm some sort of computer nerd, so I do online chats, and the time difference in Europe makes me work at night. Anyway, I was on holiday."
Damon listened intently, his brow furrowed. He was seeing me again, perhaps the real me, or perhaps my work persona. Either way, I could tell he had to adjust his idea of me once more. I wasn't easy to read. Having been a pretender for most of my supernatural life, taking roles and switching my mind into different gears was as innate as breathing for me – not necessarily the best for me, but it was who I was.
He said, "So, what next? You're a computer nerd running in a forest at night. That's a pretty solid start, but you need more."
I nodded and elaborated, "I usually have a fake ID, showing I don't live around there. But my story is that I used to live there when I was young. There was one tall tree in the forest where my high school sweetheart carved our names. And he had just died in an accident, or maybe he'd gotten married… anyway, I'd come to visit our tree, only to find a fence in the middle of the forest and the tree cut down. This story is actually true; one of my fleas told me about it. It wasn't a nasty place, just a normal clearing. I took the story and used it, and it works."
Damon smirked and said, "Yep. You could sell that to me. And since there are usually telepathy blockers, I couldn't drill into your mind. Now tell me, how could I trip you up if you were telling me that story? Where should I probe for weaknesses?"
As I rubbed behind my ear, trying to formulate a response, I considered offering some advice. However, this was something I excelled at, and revealing any weaknesses might allow him to best me. Rolling my eyes, I reminded myself that this wasn't a competition. Perhaps I could even learn something new from this.
"First," I began, "consider my gear. Ensure my clothing aligns with the narrative. If I were an IT tech, what would my salary be? How young do I appear? What does my ID say? If the facility has been operational for ten years and was custom-built, it would have taken years to construct. It's not a prefabricated house. So, consider the timeline. If it takes 5 years to build, and ten years have passed, I should be at least 30, or more. Also, was there a tall tree? You could try to stump me by asking about the species. Was it an oak, a birch, or something that wouldn't make sense, meaning use some species that would be impossible to be there, like a certain type of rare oak, and if I were to say yeah, well, red flag?"
Damon smiled. "Oh, baby, thank you! I'm starting to understand this now. Give me more! I can't wait to try this on Mariella; I'll stump her."
I shook my head and said, "You could also try Wulfe. He's difficult to crack, but I've gotten him a few times. But come on, you have nine versions of Salvatores to contend with. Use your old missions or devise new ones, and then try to outsmart each other. There are always cracks; you just need to know where to look. As for me, I'm not that easy. No one has ever truly cracked me. It's been close, but no, Jarod isn't even willing to try. Magnum loses his nerve. Wulfe tries, but he lacks a certain toughness, and we usually end up chatting about this and that. In my scenario, ask about my boyfriend's name. Have I checked him out? If I tell you he is dead, you can surely find it out quite fast, and if he had an obituary, was my name in it, did he live here anymore? Was he the same age as I? His school, ask what school it was, again facts, more facts."
I pondered aloud. Damon sat next to me, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. He wanted more, realizing what a valuable resource I was when approached correctly. He was still a bit rough around the edges, but he was learning, and he was surprising me. He wanted to come to the movies with me, make bracelets, and talk. He was pumping information from me, but if he wanted to stay in the game, this knowledge would serve him well.
"Well," I said, "if you ever find yourself the subject of an interrogation, keep your story straight. Better yet, build it in your mind – write the damn story. You'll get more out of it. All you need is a foundation and a clear alibi. Of course, it's harder if you have no identification or you're caught in full gear, but even then, possibilities exist. It's riskier, though, if you don't know how well-connected your interrogators are. Remember, humans and vampires are both vulnerable to pheromones. Use your relaxation, your soothing pheromones, to make them relax. Try to appear non-threatening. It might be hard for you, but for me, it's one of my biggest acts: to be less, to be skinny. I pull in my aura, my expression bordering on stupid, and tense my body to look as thin as possible. It's easy, as most humans are stupid, making the same big mistake – judging a book by its cover. Not everyone, but most. You can get quite a lot out of someone in just a few seconds; all you have to do is use your pretender skills, get in, and test the waters."
Being here to teach and share my knowledge, and perhaps have some fun with my husband – something I'd once envisioned, us working together, striving to improve, and challenging each other – life intervened, and it never happened. Not until now. So, here I was, ready to experience this. Would it be as enjoyable as I sometimes imagined?
He looked at me and said, "Well, test me. Let me get my story in order, and you try to break me this time. Then we switch; I'll try to break you, not with force or pain, but with cunning. And please, baby, use your story. I know its weak spots now. One question, though: who's doing this? I mean, is this mandatory in the fleas or not?"
I replied, "Nope, not mandatory. It's fewer than 50 people, and not all of them do this regularly. My five, as well as Tim, Taylor, and a few base leaders, do this regularly. Of course, anyone can take part, but usually, Magnum is pretty good at talking them out of it, as he only wants those who can handle it; no need for us to break too many who can't take it."
Damon furrowed his brow. "But this would surely help. I think some form of this should be mandatory. Fine, I'll keep this in mind. I'll talk to the guys, and I think as this ends, and when we return to work, I might talk to Jarod."
This made my brows shoot up, but it would be years, and knowing Damon, he would have time to change his mind. Then again, this was something he thought he was good at, and I had proven him wrong. He would probably want to teach my tricks to as many as possible, as I was usually too lazy or probably too busy, as well as those who knew this. But hey, we'll see what the future holds for us then.
I continued threading beads when Damon interrupted, taking my work and closing my box, moving it aside.
"Okay, let's start," he said. "This is fun, baby. We have more beads and chips, as well as plenty of raw stones for later. But now, try to break me. We'll use my mission in Oklahoma, the new facility near the business district, in the forest, the nasty one."
I nodded, pausing for a second. I hadn't had time to prepare, so I'd have to improvise. But I was willing to try. It was June, and the incident had occurred at night during a wet, stormy period. With tornado season still in effect, it was a dangerous time. Fine, I thought, let's see if I can stump him.
Taking a breath, I began, "Well, sorry to bother you, but you were trespassing on private property. We have the state authority to question unauthorized persons if they trespass. Can you tell me why you were here, and do you have any ID?"
Damon smiled calmly, releasing his relaxation pheromones, and produced one of our fake IDs, identifying him as Thomas Burrows, 34, from Arizona.
I nodded and continued, "So, Mr. Burrows, can you tell me what brought you to our facility in the middle of the night during a downpour, so we can clear up this misunderstanding?"
Damon nodded, feigning regret. "Well, I'm a meteorologist, and my hobby is chasing storms, or tornadoes. Since the season is almost over, and I was here on holiday, I was trying to get the best pictures at night. As you can see, my camera is unique; it's custom-made, rainproof, and takes amazing pictures. I was just chasing storms and lightning."
I nodded, appreciating his response. "This works," I thought. "Let's dig deeper. Car..."
I then asked, "So what kind of car do you have? The terrain here is rough, so you certainly didn't jog all the way here. Where is your car?"
He smiled and replied, "Oh, my baby. I have a Jeep, an old one, but she's reliable. I left her at a rest stop near the highway, the one by the intersection. She could have handled the terrain, but I just had her repainted and finished, and I didn't want to spoil it. She's an older model, so the paint job is almost custom, not cheap. I don't make a fortune, though. My salary is about 85,000 dollars per year, and I live alone, but I support my ailing mom and her sister. They live together, those crazy cat ladies, but age is catching up to them. My older brother doesn't care; he's a snob and loves his family too much. He's still angry with my mom because she didn't approve of his Fiona."
"Oh, he's getting there," I thought. "Trying to stump me with an info dump. Good. He's learning."
I adopted a more intense expression, pursing my mouth, squinting my eyes, and tensing my muscles, my voice tight. "Cute. But how come you chose this spot? I mean, we're in the middle of a forest. A tornado is unlikely to hit here. Or were you in some other business around our facility?"
Damon smiled, trying to appear even more apologetic, and said, "I am reckless, I know, but you had no signage, no lights; I literally ran into your fence. But you see, about half a mile from this spot, there's one tall oak tree with nice branches. My plan was to climb it and take pictures, but I was just scouting for even better trees. Since this is such a dense forest, I needed to get high enough to get decent pictures, and as I saw the tree line ending on the west side, I was hoping to get as close to the tree line as possible for pictures."
He was getting the hang of it. "Fine, let's dig a bit more," I thought, "Time to change direction."
I asked innocently, "Where are you staying? As you said, you are visiting. Are you in a hotel, or do you have a house here? We have nice hotels around here, and they are quite affordable too."
I knew that during this time, hotels had been fully booked due to a fair and business meetings. I remembered this because I was the one booking possible hotels during missions. I hadn't told anyone that the hotels were full; I had gotten them into a hostel. It hadn't been fancy, but it did its job. The few rooms that had been free in some hotels were overpriced, small, and unsuitable for us.
Damon replied, "No, as I said, I'm not that wealthy. I'm currently in a nice hostel, rustic, but at least I have a bed to sleep in and a kitchenette. I'm here for a few days, unless one of my buddies in Hawaii finds a nice storm for us. I spent most of my money on traveling and gear."
"Fine," I asked, "What hostel? How much is it nowadays? I have a house here, so I have no idea what's cheap and what's not. My salary is higher than yours, but then again, I still have student loans pressing on me. Being a lawyer isn't cheap."
Damon smiled and asked, "Have you been long in this job?"
I said, "A few years as a legal in this facility, and before that, I spent some time as a legal aide in Canada."
He nodded and said, "I don't have that long of an attention span. I must have some sort of ADHD, or something. With most of the jobs I've tried, I'm out after three days; I get bored. But meteorology keeps me on my toes, as every day is different; it is never boring."
I nodded. He was getting more and more into his role. Maybe there was still hope for him.
As I pondered my next question, the door swung open, and Mariella entered. Though she feigned innocence, a flicker of jealousy betrayed her as she saw us alone.
"Damon," she said, "I'm hungry. Charles is busy with paperwork. Number Four took a liter of my blood. The rest of the Salvatores are doing chores, keeping this pack going. Could you please come and tell me what to eat? I can list my cravings."
Damon smiled and nodded. Turning to me, he said, "Thanks, Mimi. Let's continue this someday, but I need to tend to my pregnant whale."
His eyes softened as he gazed at Mariella. Fine. Let him have her. I adjusted my position, retrieved my film, and picked up my beads. I resumed crafting and watching my movies, perfectly content. I didn't need any coddling.
Let Mariella have all the TLC she desired; let her and the Salvatores sort themselves out. This was my life, I reflected bitterly, yet simultaneously grateful for my independence. Things were fine. I didn't need any males. I was an alpha fucking female.