Whistler slumped in his seat. Ben Franklin wasn't wrong: death and taxes were a constant. And had he envisioned the year 2037, he'd add wait times at the Department of Motor Vehicles to the list. Things were constantly being automated as the 21st century hurtled forward but government services remained stagnant.
It was a hell dimension in its own right. At least they were indoors on this cold, wintry day. Outside, the wind whipped up a fierce snowstorm, battering its citizens like a game of Pong. (Which had its own movie opening in theatres in two weeks. He could wait for the visual download, thank you very much.)
"Not quite what you expected, I'm guessin'," he spoke to the companion seated to his right.
At nineteen years old, Maya Lee Tropiano was a little thing. Inheritance gave her the stature and facial structure of her father's side of the family. The eyes were all her mother, though, and a dark brow quirked in the hatted man's direction. She slumped in her seat and cradled her knees. "Some things, you have to do in person, I guess," she said. Maya scratched her calf muscle. "If they let you register identity online, somebody could be prying your cold, dead eyes open in front of the retinal scanner."
She made her hands into fists and stared at her thumbs. Then she chipped at her nailpolish.
Maya was not a Slayer with a capital 's'. Being related to Rhiannon Lee had all but eliminated that prospect. The statistical probability of being a Slayer was teeny tiny, and even teenier if your mother happened to be one. But she was One Tough Chick and had a shiner to prove it. At fourteen, she annihilated the targets at the shooting range. At sixteen, she staked her first vampire. It wasn't easy. She got beat up all the time and had to lift weights like crazy, but she was determined.
Besides, having your fifty-year-old mom take up a stake and go out was just embarrassing.
The Agent looked down at his tag. A422. He tucked it back into his shirt pocket, pulled out a piece of Nicorette gum and chewed. "Pretty spiffy knock you got there," he said, pointing to the shiner. "Is this one of those 'you should see the other guy' deals?"
Maya shrugged.
After a minute, she looked at Whistler and sighed. "Nooo." The disappointment rode heavy on her shoulders. "I tried to spar with somebody and he kicked my ass. It was--" She pulled on the hems of her pants. "It was just this guy I like. He's half-demon. I told him I could take him. I didn't realize he had retractable bone-spikes in his forearms."
"Now serving number A366!"
Maya thumped her head on the back of the chair. The trip to DMV was to get her Ident Card so she could drive. Having lived in the city her whole life, knowing how to operate a vehicle wasn't crucial, but 'Uncle Whistler' got permission from her parents to take Maya on a road trip for a few months, so she learned in order to take turns behind the wheel. "I did bust his lip, though." She balled up her fists in her sweatshirt sleeves.
Whistler chuckled. "That's somethin', though." He fiddled with the brim of his hat, stroking fingers across the felt. It had seen better days (as had his hair, now showing tints of grey). "Gotta be a bit frustrating, I imagine. I mean, here's your mom, goin' out at night and stakin' the baddies and knowin' her history and all, feels like you're livin' under a pretty big shadow of expectation."
Another shrug, this time of the one-shoulder variety. Dismissive, but maybe too casual. Maya's chin-length hair swayed. "Mom said regular people can fight demons, too, as long as they get trained first, so they don't do anything stupid. I know a lot of the stuff a Slayer does. I just can't hit that hard or move that fast." Or heal quickly or get intuitions about demons or have prophetic dreams. But she liked to downplay those. There were things Maya had learned from the paternal side of her family, too. She knew about counting cards and firearms, and she shot a mean game of pool. In short, Maya had street smarts. She knew survival, and it was a good thing, too, because the world of academia followed by an 8-to-5 job was not for her.
"Not arguin'," came the Agent's reply. "You're pretty good from what I've seen, Maya. Your mum raves and all. But, and I mean no disrespect here, I'm wonderin' if it isn't time to branch out a little? Ya know, take the roads less travelled, get a different perspective."
Whistler wiped his brow and put his hat back on his head. "And uh, if you wanted, I could show ya a whole different world o' demon huntin' while we drive about America."
Maya had agreed to go on the trip. She hadn't understood what it was for, though, just that Whistler suggested it and her mom heartily agreed. She knew Whistler was her mom's mentor and friend. He had stuck pretty close over the years. So far, though, the mysterious man in the hat filled an extended family role, rather than a mentoring one.
She tucked the blunt ends of her hair back and looked at him. "We could hunt together? And you'd show me stuff?" Maya picked at a callous on her palm. She recognized hope in her voice and turned red, not wanting to sound desperate or whatever. But she dearly wanted a chance to step out of the shadow of the 'supernaturals' her parents knew and get some one-on-one time. Just be Maya, and have it feel like enough.
He tapped the ticket with his finger a few times. Maya was so much like her mother, wanting to get out in the world and make her mark. She might not have had an official Calling, but her Destiny awaited. And that's what Whistler was all about. Helping people towards their destiny.
And he got the most pleasure when it involved people he cared about.
"You and me, kiddo," he popped, "open roads, truck stop food joints, crackin' a few heads." He kept his focus on the not-quite 20 year old. "If yer not embarassed hangin' out with an uncle who's older than your parents."
Maya tipped her chin down. "How much older are we talking?" He had graying hair and a bald spot, but so did most of her parents' friends.
"I didn't witness the Civil War," he offered matter-of-factly. "I was busy elsewhere."
The eldest Tropiano child recoiled. She couldn't help herself. "Sorry," she muttered, then faced front. She hugged her legs a little longer, then let her shoes slap against the floor as the wait continued. "Daniel's gonna be pissed he wasn't invited." Her brother was sixteen and still in public school, which stopped for no road trip. Oh well. She didn't feel much sympathy on his behalf.
"Now serving number A420!"
"What's our number again?" Maya leaned over to try and spy the ticket.
Whistler himself took a glance. "A422. Any moment now." He paid Maya's reaction no mind. Despite her open upbringing, there were some things that would make anyone blanche. "When and if Daniel's ready, he'll get his chance. Right now it's about you. How do you feel about that?"
"Daniel's more interested in whatever Dad's doing," she mumbled.
Her whole life, Maya had listened to her mother say, 'If you want to hunt demons, you've gotta remember that it's not about you; It's about them and the people you save.' Personally, she thought her mom was wrong. If she was gonna stick her neck out, it ought to be a little about her. So this new freedom to think so settled well.
"Sounds good to me." She stuck out her hand to Whistler, looking for a shake.
Whistler took the offered hand, and shook it warmly. "One caution," he offered. "You ever force me to watch a Lifetime movie of the week, and the partnership is immediately dissolved."
He chuckled mightily but quieted when Rhiannon's daughter didn't get the joke. "Ask your mother," he coughed. "Whenever we get back into town."
"A422!"
"That's us." The Agent stood, offered Maya his hand again. "Let the adventure begin."
Maya Lee Tropiano, Rhiannon and Joseph's daughter, was written by our dear love, Kate.