Little Hunter

"How is Emma?"

"Angry," Dean answered. "But you know—You know. She's going to calm down in a few hours, and she's going to get guilty. Start wondering if that girl was telling the truth."

"You think this girl is dangerous?"

"I think the bigger question is is she telling the truth."

"And you think she is?"

"I think you're dismissing this out of hand." Dean leaned in. "Anne. I remember what you were like back then. You were convinced she was alive."

Nanku raised her head.

"You thought about it"—Dean pointed—"and your thoughts told you she was alive."

"That was wishful thinking."

"That's what we told you, not what you thought."

"Dean."

"No." He held his hands out. "Anne. I'm telling you. She looks like you. It's rough, but I swear. Stick this girl beside you and undo the dreads, everyone would assume you're related."

"It's just some demented fool wanting attention at my expense."

"Or it's really her."

"Or she's crazy."

"Or," Dean repeated, "it's really her."

"It can't be—"

"You're not listening to me."

"Dean."

Nanku watched her mother rise from the table. Dusk and Dawn fanned out as she mirrored the motion and readied herself. Not in public. She didn't want to make a big scene.

She'd follow her mother home.

"Thank you," her mother said. "I know you're trying to help, but Taylor is dead. She's been dead for ten years. Whoever this woman is, she's not Taylor. She's sick, or she's sick. You haven't gotten your degree yet."

"I don't need a degree to know someone isn't lying. You know that."

"Then she's crazy."

"She was sensible enough when I suggested going to the authorities to know it wouldn't be pleasant."

"You tried to lure her into screening?"

"Either she's crazy, lying, or she's really Taylor. We'd know in a heartbeat with a DNA test, and we could either start dealing with it, or she could get the help she needs."

There were two conversations happening, Nanku realized.

Thought. Screening. The words stood out. They were odd. Or was she imagining it and that's just how older humans talked? Emma too. Why was she convinced Dean specifically would know if Nanku was lying or not?

"I have better things to do with my time," Annette said. "Thank you for telling me about this, but Taylor is dead. If this girl keeps bothering Emma, we'll let the police handle her."

"Taylor or no Taylor," Dean replied, "I'm pretty sure she has something."

"What kind of something?"

What kind of something, indeed.

Nanku didn't think she was imagining it. They were having a veiled conversation.

"How dangerous do you think she is?" her mother asked. "Really?"

"I'm not sure, but there was something off. Her mood shifted noticeably when she looked at me, and it happened again as she was leaving."

"What stands out about that?"

"Lily was eyeballing her from Parian's place."

"She reacted to you and Lily?"

"Yeah."

"… I'll deal with this in the morning."

"Okay."

Her mother started to leave, and Nanku rotated her shoulders.

She circled the roof as her mother left, steeling herself at the same time she tried to think through what to say. How to say it. She had no intention of exposing Pe'dte or her clan. Best not to reveal her armor or weapons.

If she had to do anything flashy later, Nanku preferred leaving as little of a trail to follow as possible.

Which left her with a need to explain how she found her mother.

Nanku pondered the question as she followed the woman along the rooftops. Her mother got onto a bus rather than into a car—reminding Nanku she needed to retrieve her tracker from Dean's car at some point. She doubted he'd find it anytime soon if ever, but best not to leave any Yautja technology just laying around.

Later, she told herself.

Her mother didn't go far. A few blocks west into an upscale area with apartments and office buildings over a market district. A far cry from the neighborhood Taylor grew up in.

Nanku was surprised at her own relief.

Deep down, part of her worried her mother might kill herself. Have killed herself. Her father's death years ago destroyed the woman. As hard and unfair as it had been, Taylor feared her mother's actions far more than she hated them.

Nanku was relieved to know the woman survived, and she seemed to be doing well enough for herself.

Other questions, like how she lost touch with Emma but knew Emma's boyfriend was curious. Nanku just didn't have the time to consider them. She was too focused on what she planned to do.

Annette Hebert left the bus at the corner and proceeded into an apartment building.

Nanku worked her way around the block, hoping roof to roof until she stood atop the same building. It was—like all the others—filled with bugs. Though, Nanku admitted it was cleaner than most. Well maintained and repaired.

Her mother had indeed done oka—

Nanku's thoughts paused.

Her mother ascended the stairs rather than use the elevator. She went up two floors, turned down a hall, and proceeded to an apartment suite at the far end facing the street. A three-bedroom apartment, with a kitchen and living space.

And it was occupied.

Without a thought, Nanku scrambled.

Dusk and Dawn startled as they landed, both raising their hackles and searching the roof for danger. They were smart enough to read her moods but not enough to realize the difference between fear and mere shock.

Mere shock.

An understatement.

Nanku's fists tightened reflexively, and surprise gave way to anger.

"She replaced us," she hissed.

Her mother entered the apartment and was immediately greeted by a man. Nanku started moving the spiders in the apartment. Of all the insects, they had the best eyes. They weren't good enough to make the man out. His voice was soft though. Gentle.

"… alright? Big hurry… Okay?"

Her mother kissed the man.

And Nanku had to turn away.

It was irrational.

Her father was dead. Taylor was dead. What was the woman supposed to do? Grieve forever? Die?

Nanku didn't want that. Never that.

"I'm okay." She called Dawn over and leaned against the creature. "Good for her. She moved on… She won't be alone when I leave again."

It took several minutes to calm down. The reaction was far stronger—far more angry and bitter—than anything Nanku expected. Years of resentment and bitterness long forgotten all unleashed at once.

She'd forgotten how painful it was.

The sense that her family didn't die when her father was murdered, but when her mother couldn't cope without him.

"The past," she told herself. "It doesn't matter anymore."

She scratched Dawn's jaw to distract herself and refocused.

"Good for her," she repeated. "She'll be okay when the time comes."

There was a boy in the apartment too. A few years younger than Nanku. He kept a distance from her mother as she went about the kitchen with the man, but answered promptly. There was tension between them, but even the bugs could see, but they were cordial.

A son, Nanku assessed but not her mother's. Blurry as the men were, they were similar in height and build. Their voices sounded about the same, separated only by age. Both bore sandy brown hair. Or what the spiders Nanku used saw as sandy brown.

He was too old to be Taylor's brother.

Turning her attention to the other rooms, Nanku found two bedrooms—one with a large bed that no doubt belonged to the happy couple. The other had a smaller bed and had clothes strewn about. The boy's, she guessed.

The third was connected to the master through the bathroom, and…

Nanku searched the room three times, her mind slow to fully realize what she was finding.

Her mother entered the room quietly. She moved to the bed and bent over, assessing the occupant briefly before standing up, searching the room, and tensing.

Nanku tensed with her.

She remembers her mother doing that. Sneaking into the room at night and often waking her. As if she couldn't sleep without checking on Taylor constantly. And if Annette didn't sleep, neither did Taylor.

Taylor resented it every time it happened, which was most nights. She'd learned quickly that complaining only drove her mother to check more frequently. As if Taylor might try to slip away in the middle of the night.

The man entered the room after a moment.

"… nette."

"I know."

"She's… anywhere." He reached out and touched. "She's okay."

"I know."

Her mother didn't relax, but she did retreat from the bed, turn, and leave the room.

Nanku moved.

Dawn startled for a moment, but her power stilled any attempt to follow.

Releasing the wristblades from her gauntlet, Nanku stabbed into the stone of the building and began scaling down the corner. There were balconies over each apartment, sliding doors and windows opening the way in and out of the domiciles.

Annette Hebert—or whatever her name now was—returned to the living room with the man. She said a few words to the boy who replied stiffly.

Nanku pushed them from her mind. Dusk and Dawn huddled by the corner of the roof and Nanku had to still them. The twins made pleading noises, which was enough to get her fingers scratching their softer spots. Not enough to let them follow her. She didn't plan to take long.

She just had to see.

With her own eyes.

She moved slowly. Careful not to disrupt her cloak.

Carefully, Nanku stepped onto the banister and balanced herself. Creeping down, she dodged the garden table set on the balcony and moved toward the sliding door.

Unlocked.

Was that the man's influence?

No matter.

Nanku slid it open carefully and quietly. Using her strength, she lifted the passage off the rollers and moved it aside to avoid any sound.

The bedroom was plain and simple. Absent a lot of decoration. No family photos. No personal items. It was so neat and clean Nanku would have suspected no one actually slept in it if she weren't distracted.

The bathroom was equally plain, but alongside the simple toothbrushes and haircare products were various items in pink. Toothpaste. Toothbrush. Towel. All colored and patterns, in complete contrast to the simpler products alongside them.

Cracking the door, Nanku slipped into the other bedroom.

It was brightly painted even in the dark. Filled with stuffed animals and colored with pink, yellow, and purple. An eclectic mix she also ignored.

She focused on the bed.

Her mask filtered, isolating the occupant.

She was small. No older than six or seven. Her hair was curly and dark. Tall for her age but thin.

Nanku crouched, looking at her sleeping face as the resemblance struck her.

She had a sister.

It was clear in the cheeks and chin. The curve of the nose. The curl of her hair. Their mother's hair.

She had a sister, and her name—Nanku looked over the bed where it was engraved on the headbroad—was, "Rose."

Her mother found another man, and she had another daughter.

And Nanku didn't know how to feel about that. It was one thing to accept the woman moving on from her father, but from her… Still a child at heart, she presumed. Part of her, at least. Upset at the thought she wasn't somehow special in her mother's eyes.

Ironic, given everything that happened.

Taylor would have given anything for her mother to obsess less.

With a fingertip, Nanku tilted her head and poked at the girl's nose.

She mumbled something in her sleep and rolled onto her back.

Real. She was real, and Nanku never expected to find her. Of all the things, having a sister never even occurred to her. That her mother could just bounce back from everything that happened.

Stupid again.

Nanku rose and stepped back.

It was good for her, just as she'd said on the roof. Her mother would be okay. There was nothing to be afraid of.

The last thought struck Nanku as ironic as she turned.

She'd been so absorbed in thought she completely missed her mother moving into the bedroom. Even after noticing, she dismissed it. Annette walked past the open door without looking or pausing. Maybe the man had managed to loosen her up and calm her down. Maybe she'd learned from how she'd treated Taylor.

Maybe Rose would have a long and peaceful life.

It didn't occur to Nanku that anything should alarm her until she stepped into the bathroom to wait.

And her mother came around the corner and pointed the gun at her head.

Her face was twisted. A visage of rage and unkempt fury.

One thumb cocked the hammer, and the cylinder spun a round into line with the barrel.

"Two steps forward," her mother hissed, "or I blow your brains onto the wall."

Nanku remained still.

The shock faded slowly.

How did her mother—How?!

The rooms were dark. Especially in the dark, the cloak was nearly flawless so long as she didn't move too quickly. She'd entered the house silently. Even if she'd left some trail or triggered an alarm—stupid—how did her mother know where she was?

To test, Nanku leaned to the side.

The gun followed.

"No more warnings," Annette snarled. "Two steps forward or you die."

Nanku watched the man move in the other room. Flies tracked him as he ushered the boy to the side and had a phone in hand. He was already talking to someone.

That wasn't the plan.

Not even remotely close.

But she wasn't going to be commanded. Not like a child. Not by her.

The cloak flickered and peeled back.

Her mother looked unshocked, eyes tracing her form up and down.

Lie, Nanku decided. Spin the armor and weapons off as something she'd made herself. Nanku always planned to pretend she was a cape if need be. It was what people on Earth understood. They'd believe that so long as she kept low and avoided pictures. Maybe someone in some government somewhere knew about the Yautja—hunters had come to Earth and died before—but she could work around that as long as she didn't leave too many tracks.

The police, or her mother putting a bullet in her mask, were not options.

"I said—"

Raising one hand, Nanku pulled the cords of her mask from her temple and hooked a thumb under the chin.

"Bitch," her mother hissed, "I will not—"

Pulling her mask down, Nanku looked her mother in the eye and waited.

The woman's mask cracked.

"Fuck you," she hissed. "You fucking dare!"

Nanku frowned.

For all the time she'd spent thinking of what she'd say or do, Nanku never knew what would happen if she saw her mother again. Parts of her wanted to hit the woman. Others wanted to scream. Tell her off. Rub it in her face that Pe'dte was a better mother. One that set her free to become her own person rather than some helpless animal in need of protection.

Part of Nanku wanted to say she was sorry.

She didn't know why. She'd matured enough. She understood after seeing Pe'dtre silently endure for years how hard it was to lose the things you loved. That for all Annette Hebert's failings, she was only human. Without her husband, she didn't know how to make it work anymore.

She still tried, in a twisted way.

It would be the mature thing to do. Bury the hatchet, leave the past in the past, and part ways amicably and without regrets.

What Nanku actually said was, "I hope you treat Rose better than you treated me."