“Hold on,” he said a second later, one big fist coming up in front of his mouth. He faked a cough to cover his mirth.

“You recognize him?” asked Whiplash. The security chief still held the paper out as though it were some sort of talisman. He shook it meaningfully, the paper rustling loudly in the room. The gesture was all it took, and Drake erupted into laughter. The thunderous noise reverberated from the close walls, and two of those present actually covered their ears in response. Whiplash’s expression darkened.

“Damn it, Drake, this is serious!” he shouted. Drake nodded and flapped a hand at the man, still caught up in laughing.

“Gimme a minute, Garver,” he gasped. His left arm wrapped around his ribcage for support as he continued to guffaw. His right eye flicked over the face of the boy who had claimed to have seen the Devil, noting that his own laughter was affecting the child. Montgomery Reynolds was chuckling quietly, and a grin had spread across his face. Calming a bit, Drake dropped to one knee and leaned over, putting his face near enough to the boy to whisper in his ear.

“It wasn’t the Devil,” he said. “Just a booster that looks scary. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Montgomery replied, his voice little more than a breath of air.

“Now I’m gonna find him. Me and the security folks. We gotta know some stuff, though. Can you help me?”

The boy nodded, eyes still downcast. Drake looked back over his shoulder.

“It’s chill, folks. Me and Montgomery’re gonna have us a talk. Everybody can go.”

“I’m staying,” Whiplash said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against a wall. The infirmary nurse returned to her duties, and the others who had arrived slowly filtered out of the room. Drake waited until they had all departed, then grabbed a chair and spun it around so he could sit. He propped his head up on his hands and looked at the child.

“So, Montgomery,” he began. “Is is okay if we call you Montgomery? I know some of the teachers call you, like, ‘Mister Reynolds’ and stuff, but I want us to be friends, okay?”

“Flip,” Montgomery said, chewing at his lower lip. “I like Flip.”

“Oh, yeah? Flip’s cool,” Drake said with a grin, suppressing the urge to ask where the name had originated. “I’m Drake, Flip. This is Whiplash. We’re gonna help you.”

“Did the Devil touch you?” Whiplash asked suddenly. Drake turned to him, eyes wide. Standing, he pushed Whiplash away from the wall and out of the immediate earshot of the child.

“Damn, slick,” he said. “You ever talk to a kid before? I mean ever?”

“I need to know—“

“You need to know? You? Really,” Drake broke in. He poked a heavy claw into the chest of the security chief. “What you need to know is that you’ve got a kid here that needs someone who gives a rat’s ass about him. I just got him past the whole Devil thing and you throw it right back at him. And ‘did he touch you’? Brutal, much?”

“I have a job to do here, Drake. I have to find this guy before—“

“Before what? That’s the thing. Has he done anything? Maybe he’s looking for someplace to call home. Fairly certain you’ll find he’s not the Devil, if you stop and think about it.”

“I know he’s not the real Devil, Drake, but he’s maybe some kinda perv.”

“Really? Or is he just a booster who happened to come out with a really unfortunate face? Wouldn’t be the first, you know. I know you’ve gotta look at him as a possible security problem, but right now let’s focus on Flip over there. Maybe he can tell us something.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I tell you what, man. You step back while I talk to this kid, and I’ll tell you what you really need to know. I got no problem getting kids to talk.”

Whiplash raised his hands, deferring to Drake. With a toothy grin, the reptilian booster turned back to Montgomery Reynolds. He reached out with a clawed hand and snagged a box of tissues from the counter and handed them to the child.

“Here ya go, pal,” he said. “Get yourself cleaned up. Don’t want your buddies seeing that you was crying, do we?”

“No,” Flip said, wiping at his eyes with one of the thin blue sheets. He sniffed, then rubbed the tissue under his nose. Up close, Drake noted the child’s skin had an iridescent sheen to it. The fluorescent lighting reflected from it in a prismatic spray of color.

“Sorry about the thing, there,” Drake continued, jerking his head back at the imposing figure of Whiplash. “He’s kinda scary, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Thing is, when he scares you, you gotta remember that he’s...” Drake began, then peered around as though trying to determine if anyone could over hear. He leaned in close, putting his lips near Flip’s ear. “Don’t tell anyone, but he’s got a big purple teddy bear that he sleeps with.”

“Really?” Flip asked, eyes widening. He tilted his whole body, looking back over Drake’s left shoulder to see Whiplash looking back at him from his position in the back of the room.

“Yup. It’s name is Bubba. Don’t say anything, though. He’s really sensitive about it.”

“Okay,” Flip said with a nod. A shy smile began to spread across his face.

“Not so scary now, is he?”

“Nope.”

“Cool. Now, look, I’m gonna ask you some questions, and they might make you think about some scary things, but if you get worried, I want you to think about big ol’ Whiplash back there in his funny smiley-face pajamas holding his purple bear Bubba, okay?”

Flip snickered quietly at the thought. “Okay.”

“Where were you when you saw the stranger?”

“You mean the Devil?”

Drake swallowed and took a breath. “Yeah. About that, Flip. You know that wasn’t the real Devil, right?”

“Uh-huh. He didn’t have a pitchfork.”

“Good enough. Like I said, he’s just a booster with a funny face. Like me.”

“You’re not scary, though.”

“You never heard me sing karaoke,” Drake muttered.

“What?”

“Never mind, little buddy. So where were you when you saw him?”

Flip fell silent, eyes once more going to the floor. His toes scuffed at the tile.

“You’re not in trouble, Flip,” Drake assured him. “We just need to know what happened.”

“Behind the swimming pool,” came the near-whispered response.

“Yeah? The pool’s pretty neat, huh?”

“I like to swim.”

“Me, too,” Drake lied, suppressing the urge to shudder at the thought. “So were you at the pool itself, or behind the building?”

“Inside. Where the big machines are.”

“The pool filters and stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“And what was he doing there?” asked Drake, careful not to ask what Flip was doing there. That was a question to be addressed at another time.

“He was back in the back, where it was all dark.”

“Did he say anything to you, or was he just back there?”

Flip’s nostrils flared as his respirations shallowed. Drake reached out a hand to comfort him, massive emerald fingers overlaying tiny pale ones.

“Remember Bubba,” he whispered. Flip nodded. A fresh tear slipped from his left eye and he scrubbed at it with the tissue.

“He said hi.”

“Did he sound like a boy? Or was he a grown-up?”

“He had a scary voice. It was like—“ Flip said, making a growling noise in the back of his throat by way of description.

“Did he say anything else?”

Flip shook his head. “He walked at me and I ran away then.”

“So he had a voice that was all growly, and he looked like that, and he came out of the shadows at you? Wow. That is scary,” Drake acknowledged with a nod. “You were like, way brave to hang in there. I might have run away long before you did.”

“Really?” Flip asked.

“Hey, I don’t like scary stuff, either!” Drake said, holding a hand up over his heart. “Makes me feel all fluttery inside, and it’s like you wanna run but you can’t make your legs work, and your heart’s just pounding like crazy.”

“Yeah,” Flip said, nodding frantically. “That’s right!” “But you’re safe now. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Flip said.

“You wanna go back to class?” he asked. Flip nodded and Drake motioned to Whiplash. “Let’s escort Flip back to his class.”

“We can do that,” Whiplash said with a smile. He opened the door and held it as Drake and Flip walked through. They wandered through the halls of the Academy for a few minutes before Flip pointed to a door and they stepped in. Drake apologized for interrupting the class, explaining that Flip had been helping with a special project. Some of the class turned envious eyes on the child, who grinned and made his way to a seat. The reputation of his witness properly secured, Drake excused himself from the classroom and rejoined the security chief in the hall.

“I gotta admit, you are good with kids,” Whiplash noted once the door had closed behind them.

“Don’t sound so shocked,” Drake teased with a laugh. “Years of trying to get information out of Monster would make you an expert, too.”

“I imagine it would.”

“Now comes my price for getting the info from Flip,” Drake said. “Let me go find this guy.”

“What? Why?” demanded Whiplash.

“Because I think this ‘Devil’ ain’t nothing but a frightened booster with a slight cosmetic problem. Think about it. A muscled up fighter guy with a leather jacket and an angry expression, or a green scaly thing that looks like folks might be scared of it because of what it looks like. Which one you think he might respond to better?”

“And if he is dangerous?”

Drake snorted. “I look like I’ve got a lot of trouble taking care of myself?”

“Good point.”

“Seriously. Give me a shot at this. If he can be brought in smoothly, let me. It’s not every day I get to chase after someone who might actually want to be caught.”

Whiplash stood for a minute in silent contemplation, then drew the smart phone from his hip. He began typing into it, the keys making soft clicking noises.

“Chief of Security here is my job, Drake, so it’s my responsibility to catch this dude. So, I’m going to send a message to Mister Hurst, advising him of what happened and what we learned from Flip. Usually takes him a couple of minutes to respond, at which time I figure he’ll tell me to secure the pool building. I get through sending this and he answers, then I get a backup man and head for the pool. Maybe ten minutes total time, if you get my drift.”

Drake was already running for the door. He did not even hesitate at the top of the main building stairs, launching himself into the air and pumping his wings. He banked hard against his own thrust and angled for the gymnasium and its attached swimming pool. Within the span of a minute he was landing again in a near-tumbling run. He jerked hard on the door and stepped inside, relishing the moist warmth of the building’s interior.

“Might have to put me a bed in this place,” he muttered to himself. He headed toward the rear of the building, where Flip had been. He walked as though he had no purpose, shuffling his feet and looking toward the floor. He neared the heavy filtration unit for the pool and put on an even more downcast expression.

“Stupid assholes,” he muttered, pitching his voice just loud enough to carry over the mechanical noise of the filter. He spoke in fragments as if verbalizing his thoughts aloud. “Just cause I... Not my fault...”

He turned back the way he had come and bellowed loudly. “I didn’t wanna play football today anyway!’

Finding a section of heavy pipe, Drake plopped himself atop it and sat scratching his head and grumbling obscenities.

“You scare them,” declared a voice from behind him. Flip had been right, Drake noted. The voice sounded like the chest-deep growl of an angry dog. He turned to see the source of the voice, peering into the shadows.

“Who’s there?” he asked, making a show of squinting into the dark.

“I am,” answered the voice. A section of shadow detached itself and stepped forward into the periphery of light from the main room of the pool area. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

Flip’s description of the man’s voice had been better than that of his physical features. There were no horns present, but the man had spiky growths of what appeared to be bone that extended outward and upward from random points on the periphery of his skull. The ears, Drake observed, were not pointed, but due to a mass of curly hair that obscured part of their tops from view they certainly looked it. The man’s face would have given Flip pause had he spent long enough in the room to notice it. The flesh was pale and mottled, and scars crisscrossed the pasty skin. As he stepped forward, Drake noticed that the man seemed to favor his left leg, and that he was somewhat hunchbacked.

Drake let his lips peel back in as friendly a grin as he could muster. “Name’s Drake,” he said, pitching his voice low and quiet.

“Tobias.”

“You a, umm, a student here, Tobias?”

“No. I just... I just needed someplace. Like you did.”

“You see a little kid in here about an hour ago?”

“I frightened him,” Tobias admitted, his voice dropping to a grind. His lower lip trembled.

“He’s not used to folks jumping out of the shadows at him, I guess,” Drake said with a shrug.

“It is polite of you to avoid the obvious, but I have no illusions about my appearance.”

“Trust me, Tobias, if you knew what some of the folks around here...It was the surprise thing.”

“Then why do you not run?”

Drake casually reached into a pocket and extended his credentials. The badge gleamed even in the low lighting. “I’m kinda used to folks coming at me from the darkness. Not exactly a new thing.”

Tobias shrunk back a step in the face of the gold badge. “I did nothing wrong, sir!” he protested.

“Whoa, whoa! Easy, now,” Drake urged. He remained seated; replaced the identification wallet in his pocket. “I ain’t here to roust you. Ain’t you never heard that old thing about, ‘the policeman is your friend’?”

“As you say, sir.”

“No, not as I say,” Drake snorted, flapping a hand in a dismissive gesture. He looked closely at Tobias. “You’ve had a few run-in’s with bad cops, yeah?”

Tobias nodded reluctantly, as if unsure whether admission would doom him.

“Well here’s the deal, Tobias: You got a clean slate here. Nobody’s gonna jump you just cause of your looks. You come with me and we’ll get you a place to rest, a shower and some hot food.”

“You would do...after I hid here without permission?”

“Couple things are gonna happen. First, we’re gonna take you to the security office. You got any warrants outstanding that you wanna tell me about? No? Okay, ‘cause they’re gonna check you and you don’t want to lie about it. We’ll photograph you and give you a temporary ID card. That’ll be good for a few meals and a room for the night.”

“And after that? What happens then?”

“If you check out clean it’s all up to you. What do you want to do?”

Tobias looked stunned. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “You extend to me the world and ask me what I wish to do with it.”

“Pfft. Don’t make so much of it. I’m offering you a shower and some really crappy chili dogs at the cafeteria.”

“You truly have no idea—“ he began. Drake cut him off.

“Yeah. I really do. I just don’t want you making a big deal out of it. When I blush, it contrasts with my scales and I look all purple.”

The exterior door to the building opened and Whiplash’s voice echoed inside the area. “Academy Security! Show yourself!”

“He’s a little dramatic,” Drake whispered in a conspiratorial tone. He called back to Whiplash. “We’re back here! Everything’s fine.”

“There is something I must tell you,” Tobias said, shrinking back a bit. Drake turned to regard him.

“Get it out before Garver gets back here.”

“I do not handle sunlight well.”

Drake realized he had been holding his breath. It came out in a sulphurous rush. “That’s all? Hell, we can deal with that. I thought you were gonna say something horrible, like you were a lawyer, or you voted for that monkey Riggs for President, or something.”

Tobias managed a laugh, the sound even more disturbing than his voice. “No, I was a Campbell man,” he said. “Given Riggs’ standpoint on mandatory registration of all geneboosters, I felt it prudent.”

“Yeah? I just didn’t like the way he looked. You see them eyebrows? Put a fez on him and he could dance for some organ grinder.”

Tobias laughed again, the grating noise echoing as Whiplash stepped into the small area. Drake waved.

“He’s cool, boss,” Drake said. “Just needs a shower and something to eat.”

“Did you explain how it works?”

“Yes, sir, he did,” Tobias said. He took a shuffling step forward, head once again lowered.

“Stand up straight,” Drake urged in a low voice. “Nobody here you gotta bow to.”

“Maybe Ichiko if she’s in one of her moods,” Whiplash joked, referring to the thin-framed Japanese woman who occasionally taught Philosophy and World History. Her mood swings were legendary among the student body. He smiled pleasantly at Tobias. “Drake’s right, though.”

“Yes, sir,” Tobias murmured.

“My name is Sam,” Whiplash said with a grin. “You don’t need to call me sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s photosensitive. Apparently way bad,” Drake advised.

“I burn,” Tobias said, his tone almost apologetic.

“We’ll take care of that,” Whiplash said. He shrugged out of his jacket. The black leather was festooned with patches representing his time as a cage and pit fighter. More than one of them was faded and discolored with age and repeated cleanings. With an exaggerated bullfighter’s twirl, he spun the coat out and let it settle over Tobias’s shoulders. “Just pull that up over your head when we get outside and we’ll get you to the infirmary.”

Tobias looked sidelong at Drake. “Are you—?” he began, letting the question fall off. Drake nodded.

“Right behind you, slick,” he said, making a show of examining his smart phone. Tobias smiled and departed with Whiplash. Once they were past his viewpoint, Drake stood from his position and stepped quickly to the shadowy area in which Tobias had hidden. Though his vision in dim conditions was markedly better than that of a normal human, Drake fished a small light from his pocket and snapped it on, playing the brilliant beam around in the darkness. A partially empty soda can along with a wrapper from a peanut butter and crackers snack were crammed into a drain pipe. Beyond that there was little evidence that Tobias had been there. Satisfied for the moment, Drake followed the pair out of the building. Whiplash was hurrying Tobias across the sunlit campus toward the main building and its waiting infirmary. Drake walked behind them, content to follow at his own pace.

By the time he arrived, the infirmary staff had adapted the facility to its new patient, closing the blinds to prevent light from coming in from the tall, narrow windows along one wall. Tobias was sequestered in an exam room, screened from view by means of a sliding cloth curtain. The shoes of an Academy nurse could be seen beneath the curtain as she moved about and conducted her examination. Whiplash was leaned against the wall beside the cubicle, arms akimbo, ready should anything require his response.

“How goes it?” Drake asked.

“Nurse is checking him to see if he’s all right, then I’ll get him over to make his ID and get him some food. We’ll go see Headmaster Hurst later.”

“Let me know when you’re gonna go do that,” Drake said. “I wanna tag along. Got a couple of questions I need to ask Hurst anyway.”

“Will do,” Whiplash said. He grinned sheepishly. “Hey, Drake. About...about earlier—“

“Yeah, me too,” Drake said with a chuckle. “Forget it. It’s behind us now, yeah?”

“It is.”

“Let me know if you need me,” Drake said, tapping at the smart phone on his hip. Whiplash nodded and made an ‘okay’ circle with the fingers of his left hand.

Drake made his way back to his quarters, slipping into the room and closing the door behind him. He flicked at the yellow switch on the wall, illuminating the room with the stark light of a half-dozen fluorescent bulbs. He snatched the coffeepot from its stand as he passed and went to his desk. Drinking deeply from the Pyrex container, he snapped on the power to his laptop. He swallowed the bitter brew and returned the pot to its stand. As the computer whirred to life, Drake paced into the room that housed the heavy stone slab that served as his bed. As with the living area, he bypassed the red switch on the wall that would turn on the overhead heat lamps and used the yellow instead. He scratched for a moment at his chin, filling the room with a scraping sound that would have been entirely unpleasant for anyone unaccustomed to it. On a nightstand was a cell phone on a charger and Drake grabbed it, opening the main screen and using the tip of a talon to scroll through the menu until he found the number he was looking for. He called it and waited as it rang. After several rings, the call was finally answered.

“Records. O’Hara,” greeted a tired and gruff voice. Soft strains of country music drifted through the receiver; someone had their radio on with enough volume to be overheard.

“Is it Scarlett O’Hara I’m ta be talkin’ to?” Drake fairly crowed, adopting a thick Irish accent.

“Do I sound like...aw, Hell. Drake? Didn’t Saint George get to you yet?” the voice asked. Despite Drake’s reference, the voice was unmistakably male.

“He’s still looking, Nicky. He’s still looking.”

“What’ve you been up to?”

“Believe it or not, I’m doing some teaching.”

“No shit.”

“No shit. How about you?”

“Same old thing, man. Go to work, go home. You know how it is.”

“That I do,” Drake agreed. “Your sister still hot?”

“My sister looks like a Yeti on ‘ludes.”

“Never stopped me from pervin’ on her.”

“Valid point. So what can I do for you, brother?”

“I need someone to check out a new face for me, Nick. Not sure if he’s been anywhere before. I got a pic for you.”

Any info?”

“Calls himself Tobias. I don’t have his full info yet, but I’ll send it as soon as I can.”

“That works,” Nick said. “You got my email address, right?”

“Yeah,” Drake said after a quick glance at the opened address book on his phone. He fished out the smart phone that Hurst had assigned him and opened the hastily-snapped image of Tobias from inside the pool house.

“So what’s the deal?” asked Nick.

“Just wanna make sure I’m not letting my instincts overrule my brain,” Drake said, typing in the address from his Department-issued cell phone and sending the image. “Maybe I’m making a new friend, but maybe I’m getting ready to take a bullet in the ass.”

“Got your picture. Cute guy. I’ll run it through everything I’ve got. Shoot me a message when you get the rest of it,” Nick said.

“Thanks. You find anything, let me know here or you can text me on this other number,” Drake said. He read off the number for the smart phone. “That one’s not for public consumption, Nicky. Especially not for Hart or her goons.”

“Done and done, bro. I can keep my mouth shut.”

“Good enough. Talk to you later. Oh, and tell your sister I said hi.”

“Not sure she can hear with all that fur on her ears, but I’ll tell her.”

Nick disconnected the line and Drake folded shut his Department phone. He started to return it to the charger, but then reconsidered and dropped it into his pocket. He glanced toward the closet with the metal lockbox inside that contained his pistols, but then dismissed the idea as having no merit. If a problem arose, he was fairly certain he could handle it on his own, and that was not taking into account the powerful fists of Whiplash or the remainder of the Academy staff.

“Besides,” he muttered to himself. “Lucy Wilshire sees the shooters and she’ll shit kittens.”

He wandered back to the living area and sat on the stool before his desk, typing into his laptop computer. His claws clicked on the keys with more authority than usual, and he recognized that the arrival of Tobias was causing him some concern. Questions rolled through his mind and he typed them in as quickly as he could.

“Where is he from? How did he bypass security measures? Any friends? Any other property or just his clothes? Where has he been staying?”

“All these and other questions will be answered on the next episode of ‘Doing Stupid Shit with Drake’,” he murmured as he continued adding questions to the list. “One day I’m gonna learn to mind my own business. Then all the paranoia will just sit there all dormant. Start wondering about stuff, and all you do is create work for yourself, and when your typing speed is, like, eight words a minute, that part really, really sucks.”