Behind These Refuge Walls

"No, Johnny, learn how to touch a girl!"

"Oooh!" came the class' chorused reply.

"Alright, you guys, now listen closely," Ms. Kraft announced. "The point is to find your partner's soft spot, not grope them."

Which, obviously, was exactly what the eighteen year old males were doing. Needless to say, I was getting extremely annoyed with the whole thing. To top my crankiness of the day, my English teacher had also been asking me of my Shakespearean lecture. To which, of course, I said that yes, I had been reading a lot (if you considered browsing the table of contents as 'a lot'). And then he made me read Juliet's part out loud in front of the snickering class.

I hated my life.

And it all ended with one useless class with Ms Kroft where said lovely lady set today's topic to 'touching' (or, as I liked to call it, 'invading one's personal space'). I didn't even pay attention to the thing; I learned that ignoring Ms Kroft's rants were the best way to go, especially if you were conveniently placed in the back rows.

I was doodling. Unleashing my beastly talent upon a piece of paper. Dotting said paper. Yes, I know, my creativity knows no boundaries.

"Keep up that bad mood and you'll get your ass kicked tonight."

I didn't bother to freeze the unthinkable power of the dotting pencil in my hand, so I didn't turn to Ryan. "So you'd rather see me smashing someone's head while humming Ode to Joy?"

I heard his snicker beside me and that pulled me out of my reverie.

So dumbfounded I was that I stared at the paper in front of me while analyzing the situation. There were hands. Yes, I was quite positive of that. Two of them, if I'm not mistaken. Location: the small of my back and my waist. Action: massaging?

"What the hell are you doing?"

His chair was ever so conveniently pushed a few inches back, so he could have easy access to my backside. Now that sounded wrong on so many levels.

He knew all too well that he was annoying me even further, which gave him a confidence boost. He then did the unthinkable by leaning closer to my ear and thus, brushing his chest against my shoulder. Oh, no, he didn't! Then there was the obvious question 'Why am I not punching him?'.

"The assignment for the day is to touch our partner. I'm touching my partner." Cue cheeky grin. His hand drew circles on the small of my back, leaving a weird stinging sensation under my skin.

Gritting my teeth and quirking my eyebrow at the brunette glaring at me from the nearby area, I pushed back my seat, reaching to look in Ryan's blue eyes (that, damn it, made my legs melt). He gave me a curious stare before I leaned against him (and suppressed a squeal at the intimacy of the gesture). The initial shock vanished from his eyes and he watched with amusement as I placed a hand on his thigh. Though mildly appalled by such flirting, I did take notice of his sharp intake of breath and cheered to myself.

I returned to my doodling.

"See you tonight?"

"Yeah," I grumbled as I gathered my stuff and made my way out of the classroom. That small conversation seemed so odd and not soon did I realize that a girl nearby was staring at me open mouthed. "Oh, no, shit! No, no! It's not like that!"

She obviously couldn't care less about the words coming out of my mouth, so she shook her head in an 'oh-my-God-like-what-the-hell-like?' way and strutted out of the classroom. And oh, shit, wait until Paige finds out about this.

I was early that night. Well, early for me, anyway, because the parking lot was already filled with people and cars. So, while dreading the prospect of going in and actually going through with my promise to James. Then again, I realized as I strolled around the parking lot and inspected the rides, if I wouldn't help James, then who would? If no help would come, the trafficking would go on. And then how much longer would they all have to wait until the supernaturals would be revealed to the world and everyone would raise war on them?

No, I was going to help, no matter what. I may have been cold to people, but I knew my loyalties and where they stood. A blue Volkswagen sparkled under the streetlight. The color made me scowl. It looked horrible on that particular car, so I moved my eyes to another. And another.

When I was a kid, dad and I would go for long walks. During one of those walks, he had unconsciously began looking at a Maserati's wheels. Forgetting about my ice-cream, I had gone up to him and mimicked him, leaning down to check the rims. Of course, at the time I had no idea what those were, but still, I felt really cool. Dad had laughed and since then, we'd begun looking at most of the cars passing us by and commenting them.

I missed dad a lot, I realized as I smiled at a black Impala. I had inherited his ironic character and as years passed, everyone came to notice just how alike the two of us were. Too bad we weren't together too often.

Passing a group of drunk college guys, I stopped and had to do a double take to make sure that the metallic red motorcycle in front of me was real. A wonder of two wheels as it were, I couldn't help but stare at it appreciatively. Slyly scanning the area, I saw no signs of its owner being around (aside from three hooded guys lurking in the shadows and giving me goosebumps, I saw no sign of danger). Definitely a good engine, a technical voice mused somewhere inside my head as I leaned to look at the leather seat.

Memories were smashed by a leather jacket, its owner making his way through the crowd. People began giving him strange looks, some called his name, others followed him with their eyes. Even the careless hooded dudes in the shadows straightened up and turned towards him. The group began following his moves like hawks.

"...the hell?" I manage to mutter.

His shoulders tense, his brown hair swept to the back, Donovan pushed people aside. In an instant, I frown. His still being around was a bad sign as it was, but if I knew Donovan well enough, I knew for a certainty that at the moment he most definitely looked anxious. An anxious hit man was not a good thing.

I abandoned the Ducatti and pushed my way through the crowd. Donovan began walking hurriedly towards an entrance to the warehouse. Rushing to keep up with him, I managed to get a few angry calls from some guys heading for their truck. And just as I turned to glare at one of them, I lost Donovan's head in the crowd.

I looked left, right, turned, then looked left again, panic overcoming. Something was not right.

Damn, damn, damn!

As the previous gentleman began whistling in my direction, I jumped on his car and looked around.

"Bitch, get off my car!"

"You wanna dance for me, doll?"

I caught sight of him again, roughly pushing apart two girls who had been in the middle of a make out session. I missed the truck's owner's fist as it came in my direction and took off towards Donovan, my feet trying to run.

Donovan's gaze moved around as he tried to make sure no one was following him. Just as that revelation hit me and his face turned in my direction, I stumbled across a black haired guy taking bets in my panic.

I leaned towards him, earning a happy grin from the guy. My head turned slightly, I noticed Donovan step under the street light beside a door. By his side was now another man in his late forties, dressed similar to Donovan. The stranger smirked, his thin lips pulled in a grimacing line as he extended his arm. Under my frowning gaze, Donovan pulled out a thick envelope and handed it to the stranger. The latter proceeded to open it and then, without a doubt, began counting whatever was in it.

Money. A thick stack of money was in there, but I couldn't find out for the life of me what could found in the black bag that the stranger then handed to Donovan.

The two froze with their hands on the bag at the same time, the stranger's words making Donovan tense.

"Who's that guy Donovan's talking to?"

The man taking the bets looked at me, then inspected the duo over my shoulder.

"Trix," he answered while carelessly counting his money. "No one knows his real name, but he's a pretty darn good fighter. He's with the opposition." He paused and looked at the side of my face closely as I continued to stare at Donovan and Trix. "Hey, do I know you?"

"Maybe," I grumbled and took off.

What the hell was the opposition?

Could the hit man be a part of the supernatural trafficking? I stopped beside a group of excited high school kids, my frown not leaving Donovan's position. Trix, a man possibly taller than me, had a certain air of money digger and blackmailer around him. Was that why Donovan looked so strained? Because he couldn't stand another one like him around?

The bag, it seemed, contained something very valuable, because Trix smirked as he touched it. I had to find out what was inside that bloody thing.

My hand found a bystander's collar. "I'll give you a hundred if you hit that guy over there once."

Drunk and idiot from Mother Nature as he was, he took the green treasure and gladly stumbled towards a guy standing right beside Donovan and Trix and smoking his minutes away.

Idiot 1 nailed Idiot 2 straight in the face. He cursed. Someone nearby screamed. The drunk individual stumbled into the now bleeding guy and they both went flying. Trix was the first to hear the commotion, before the two tumbling strangers hit Donovan's back. They went down like domino pieces, shouting curses.

And then I jumped like a rabbit for its carrot as the black bag rolled away from the men. Following Gerry's advice and keeping my eyes trained on Trix and Donovan, who could have turned around any minute, I bent down and opened the bag, hidden by the crowd moving around me.

My breath caught up in my throat, I felt my stomach churn. First was the awful smell that hit me, like dead flesh. Then came the sight of the large number of sharp objects, like very thick needles.

Odd-looking teeth. Maybe canines, but at a rather large scale.

I jumped to my feet behind a fridge-sized guy who, bored with the now ending fight, was heading for the arena inside. My heart pounded. Trix's angry yells made their way to my ears. In the shortest moment of panic, I couldn't breathe, but then my hands made their way to the zipper of the hoodie I was wearing. I passed the guy and jumped in front of him, rushing to take the thing off. In order to avoid further recognition, I tucked it in my bag and then jumped on the hood of a random car, waiting for the next visual of Donovan by the main entrance.

My veins were pumping blood faster than ever before and my nerves tried desperately to tear me apart as I waited. Nausea threatened to return as I looked around with my lips pressed in a thin line. The few people standing in the shadows were either finishing their cigarettes or looking at the now dissipating crowd.

Trix and Donovan had taken care of the distraction.

And then brown hair emerged from beside one of the cars, its owner's gaze like ice.

Angry as I was, I still had a question for him.

"Donovan!"

His head snapped in my direction, eyes narrowed in a predator's glare. I walked up to him, my face portraying innocent interest, while my mind yelled defensive insults. How could he? Not that I had pictured him as a saint before, but to do traffic of the only magical things in our world?

He waited for me, then began tapping his foot as I propped myself in front of him.

"Say I want to talk to someone in the network about a very secret business going on, how can I do that?"

It may have sounded dumb to me, but Donovan's eyes lit up. He took a step forward and leaned closer to me, allowing me to take a whiff of old cologne and whiskey.

"Go up to 'em and challenge."

"So if I wanted something from you, all I'd have to do is launch a challenge?"

His eyes flashed, his nostrils flared and before I knew it, the collar of my t-shirt was being held in a tight grip. I held back the urge to gulp as the mammoth stared me down.

"Anything you wanna say to me, Jinxster?"

I was shaking. "Oh, you know, uh, just the usual and...I have some questions for you."

In response, he quirked his eyebrow. "You ain't worth my time, kid. Get lost."

He let go of my collar and pushed me aside as roughly as he could.

"I challenge you to a fight, Donovan!" I called after him in a sing-sing voice.

The obnoxious group of spectators nearby fell silent, gaping in our direction. Donovan turned around, facing me once more. Bystanders smirked at the two of us as they formed a circle with us in the middle. The silence turned into encouraging whistles, low chuckles and shouts.

"Come on, Donny! Teach her a lesson!"

"Don't let that bitch get away!"

"Yo, shit, man, my money's on the chick!"

Donovan's blank face contorted into a grimace as he stepped closer. "I'll see you inside, squirt. Winner gets to ask as many questions as they like or finish off the loser."

My heart dropped somewhere below my knees. The crowd was frozen in time, strangers looking at each other with looks of shock, mirroring mine. Few were those who kept smirking like they liked what they were hearing.

Donovan waited in silence. I felt sick. Truly sick. What would happen with Nathan? Gerry would kill me. Helping James will turn out as a failure.

"Deal," I breathed with a voice that could barely come across as my own.

The tension fell on everyone as the crowd parted for us to move. A loud yell had me jumping on my own feet. By the Ducatti's side stood two males, backs turned towards me. They seemed to be in a big dispute, the tallest of the two trying to calm down the other one, who was leaning over the bike and breathing heavily. That must have been the owner.

Donovan slammed the door to the backrooms shut behind him. I went my own way, cautiously listening to the killing silence. This could turn out to be a very bad idea, some inner voice was telling me.

"This is the worst idea you could have ever come up with!" Ryan all but shrieked. "Why him?"

"He knows something I need." Then, I did a double take over the question. Why Donovan? Because despite his high rank, I knew how he would react. Had I gone after Trix, the guy might have tried to kill me before we even reached the arena. Not that Donovan's capable of any less. Okay, with Trix I was on shady ground. And with Donovan I wasn't? "I just have this feeling," I muttered earnestly.

What on Earth possessed me to go after Donovan?!

Lucian leaned back against the lockers, forehead wrinkling from his frown. He looked at the floor deep in thought and didn't seem to notice I was staring at him. Intentionally having left out the piece of information confirming that I was fighting Donovan in a life or death match, I couldn't help but wonder if Lucian wasn't suspecting something.

"Interesting ideas you come up with, Charlie," he noticed in a weird tone and then shot me an undecipherable short-lived smile. It looked like malice, but then again, there might have also been curiosity.

Ryan was fixing him with a stony glare that I couldn't believe he was capable of. They thought I didn't see it, the underlying message that was going on between them, but I had noticed its presence long before Ryan returned to look at me.

"Alright, let's do this."

"Ready for this, Jinx?" Donovan asked me neutrally, not even waiting for an answer as he turned his back to me and swung his shirt over his head.

Part of the reason why the crowd seemed larger on that particular event was due to Donovan's popularity. Everyone knew not to mess with the scarred male, so why would an eighteen year old girl want to do just that? And it looked like I was everyone's favorite attraction.

The referee mumbled something about not cheating, but I didn't listen. My eyes were fixed on Donovan's clenched fist, missing me by a mere few inches. Something told me that he had done that on purpose.

He bounced from one leg to another around me and I mirrored his stance, alert for any sign of an attack. He swung his right arm in my direction. I threw my left up and blocked. The force of the impact registered when my arm began pulsing.

I ducked twice with lightning speed and side stepped him, while hitting both his shoulders (unfortunately, I had aimed for his chest) with repeated hits. He grunted some unintelligible curse and pushed me off him. I dodged and smacked the side of his head.

His right hook came out of nowhere, so sudden that I put all my body and force to stop the hit, yet as I did so, he slammed his palm forward in my chest.

I stumbled back a step or two, giving him the right opportunity to grab my waist and push me against the ring's nets, delivering punches to my stomach.

I pretended to hit him with my knee, he crouched and I cut his right cheek.

He launched forward, I blocked his right jab and ducked his left one. We went flying across the ring as I grabbed a hold of his waist and pushed. His back cracked from the impact, but he showed no sign of losing his breath or feeling pain. He kneed me in the stomach and as I tried to return the favor, the ground disappeared from underneath me. I smacked my head to the ground and then he lunged.

I first acknowledged the painful ringing in my ears before seeing Donovan jump to his feet with a confident frown. My forehead seemed to catch on fire and as Donovan threw himself to slam his elbow in my chest, I rolled away and caught his legs between mine. I drew my legs together and turned around on the ground, pulling him down with me.

I jumped to my feet the second he aimed for my stomach. He stood up a second later and began mimicking my moves. He caught my jaw. I slammed a foot in his shoulder and the loud crack reached everyone's ears. Then, with the amount of energy I had put in that move, my vision began to blur and I felt a big amount of warm liquid staining my forehead.

His leg swiped the floor in a sharp movement and caught me dead set in the ankles.

With no time to flip, I dropped to the floor like a sack, flat on my stomach and my chin taking up most of the impact, due to my lack of attention. Pain shot up from my teeth to the depths of my head, followed by the presence of a metallic tasting liquid in my mouth.

I went blind. Black stained my surroundings and I squeaked in the attempt not to scream from the panic. My heart beating to jump out of my chest, I groaned and a sharp pain in my stomach brought back the colors to my view. Donovan withdrew his leg and went to hit me again, but I slid away from him and held my hands to ask for a time out.

Ryan was the first to drag me up to my feet, because I couldn't stop the tremor in my limbs.

I began coughing mercilessly and shaking like my whole body wasn't in my possession anymore. Ryan held my shoulder strongly, trying desperately to find a way to get me to calm down.

"Put her head back and spread her hands!" yelled a heavy accented voice from the crowd.

Completely disoriented, I let Ryan do as told and I could finally take in some air.

A picture of Stone's perfect timing and accurate precision crossed my mind. Donovan fought a bit like him, was my instant revelation. So how did he do it?

If this were Stone...

I froze in my standing position. No, if this was Stone, I would have chickened out. No, picture Stone with Donovan's face. Short movement. Sharp cuts. High hits. Then it hit me.

"I got it, I got it!" I chocked out as Ryan tried to push me back in my seat. "Ryan, let go, I got this shit!"

"He's fighting life or death and guess which one you're closest to!" he barked back. I shot him a glare through my blood covered face and he stepped back.

Every inch of my body began throbbing with pain. Ever since I was little, I had always had a thing about fighting pain with pain. It fascinated me. So I didn't hesitate when I ran forward and in one smooth motion, went flying across the floor of the ring on my back, passing between Donovan's legs and landing a hit on each one with the side of my palms. He didn't react immediately, but I saw him wobble as I stood up behind him.

I took a right jab at his back. He stumbled forward, but spun around at the same time to watch me, so the kick I had been intending to give him landed in his chest. He fell flat on his back and struggled to jump back up. But he did so, either way and flew straight back into the fight, trying a combo of hits that I ducked altogether by running to the side of the arena.

He glanced at my position, thinking I was ready to run away. He frowned, I took off, hit the metal net around us with a foot and pushed. And flipped.

A bone cracked somewhere around me. He positioned himself underneath me as I was in the middle of the back flip. My hands caught his shoulders in a tight grip and finally got a reaction out of him: he yelled a curse at me.

Then it all happened too quick. My feet landed on the ground, then slid on the floor and hit his ankles and I roughly pulled his shoulders. Off balance and in pain, his size and weight did him no good as I threw him over me and onto the ground.

The loudest of thuds signaled the end of the fight. I was getting dizzy with each passing second and noise. The referee looked at me expectantly.

"It's life or death, come on!"

I looked down at Donovan, he looked up at me.

"That wasn't our deal," I reminded him and offered him a hand that he took.

"We had a deal, Bobby, she wins."

I don't know what I expected from Donovan (a pointed finger, a direct curse, a slap for beating him), but I sure as hell wasn't expecting a pat on the shoulder as he walked out of the arena and to the backrooms.

Ryan regarded me with a relieved expression.

"Never do that again in your entire life," he told me. "My heart just stopped beating when I saw you on that floor."

I managed a weak smile, thoroughly flattered, but unable to express any emotions in the pain that I was.

"Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?" came Lucian's voice from beside us.

I nodded numbly and took indications as Ryan helped me clean up the blood and locate the injuries.

"So it's a busted lip," he repeated as he leaned closer to me, face inches from mine. "Your eyebrow's gonna have a nasty cut for a while there. And you have a black eye. Surprisingly enough, your ribs aren't broken, but I do think you have a sprained ankle."

There was more damage than just that, but I refrained myself from reminding him of the numb hip, the ringing in my ears, the impossibility to rotate my left arm and the loss of vision that came every five minutes.

The corners of his lips turned into the beginning of a smile, he continued to press the cloth to my forehead. The bastard was most definitely enjoying our proximity. His mood seemed to radiate through his pores, assaulting me without shame. And just as his gaze moved down to my lips, Clive came tumbling through the door and gave us a skeptical look.

"Donovan wants to see you," he announced with a questioning look. As if I would tell him what business I had with Donovan.

Yet as I made my way through the hallways, I started to realize that I really hadn't planned this meeting at all. I froze in front of a closed door. With no idea of what to ask Donovan, no clue how he'd react, I knocked.

Some weird noise of acknowledgment may or may not have come from the other side, but I opened the door nevertheless. The room was one small office, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. Donovan had a large desk, several shelves and a couch pushed to the far left. It looked very much like Gerry's little office at the gym.

Donovan was leaning forward on a desk, looking in a wall mirror and touching his shoulder while narrowing his eyes at his reflection.

"Went straight for the bones, didn't ya?" he questioned rhetorically. "Nasty little bitch, you are. Sit," he bit out.

I did as told in slow motion, careful not to get dizzy and fall as I sat in the chair facing the desk. Sitting on the other side of the table, Donovan opened a drawer and pulled out a gun.

I went cold and gripped the chair, ready to throw it at his head if necessary. Although amused by my obvious reaction, he kept a straight face and assured me that he was not going to resort to drastic measures. He began toying with it as soon as country music began playing on his old radio.

He leaned back in his chair and regarded me with a confident smirk, like he knew something I didn't. Silence ensued, until I shifted in my seat and did my best to look away from him. I began wondering what to do next. If I asked him about the secret deals going on in the Underground, would he put that gun to use?

"I want to know about the trafficking," I blurted. His smirk faded and instead I looked at a poker faced Donovan.

"Doing drugs now?" he mused, regarding me in a very business-like manner.

I licked my lips and figured 'What the hell?'. "About the..." I couldn't say human trafficking, but then again, if I said 'supernatural', he'd probably hit me. As I fought to find the right words, Donovan's eyes darkened, catching on (to what?).

"Jinx, Jinx, Jinx," he chided maliciously. "You really don't know to stay in your place, do you?"

If I had been a dog, my ears would have gone down and I would have been backing away from the threat before me quietly. Human as I was, though, I swallowed my fear and felt the chills of intimidation burn the back of my neck, yet I refused to move out of that chair.

"I want to know what's happening to those...people." Confidence failed. My voice wavered.

His gaze traveled to the gun in his hands with a thoughtful glint. "You and I both."

That threw me off track. So off track, that I stared at him wide eyed, confused. He looked up with a hard gaze.

"You know what this is about, isn't it?"

"The trafficking? Yes, they're using...persons." Lame, I figured. This conversation would lead nowhere. How was I supposed to formulate my questions? 'Yeah, you know, I was wondering what's happening to those fairy wings on sale'.

I jumped in my seat when Donovan's laughter boomed throughout the room, like a massive stereo system had been plugged in.

"Let's stop beating around the bush, Jinx. You want to know what happens to those magic freaks, don't you?"

He continued to inspect me, my obvious shock out on display like a brand new cologne. The only thing I could process, apart from the numbness overcoming my body, was that Donovan knew. He knew!

I could only think what Vallin would say of this, Vallin who had tried so hard to hide his students from the world. This guy, so dangerous and an utter thief and blackmailer, knew. It couldn't get worse.

"Don't act so surprised!" He rolled his eyes and caressed the gun in his hand. I was starting to like that weapon, oddly enough. "Ya think big boss don't know about the deals going 'round in his backyard?"

"He knows about the...beings?" I asked him meekly.

My question was ignored. "You want to know about the whole ordeal. Why's that, huh?" And yet, he didn't wait for an answer, because that's just how Donovan was. He didn't question you, just offered information that he reckoned was useful to you. "Bet you heard about our rat infestation. Yeah, we've got some idiots turning up against the big man. We might get ourselves a riot on our hands, so he wants me to look into it."

"And put down anyone who goes against him?"

"Yeah." He stood up and walked to a small cabinet, out of which he pulled a bottle of whiskey and poured himself some in a brown mug with 'Complete Bastard' spelled on its side. "Nice of you to come back, by the way. You had everyone thinking you were the one heading the riot. Good theory, but false. You have any loyalties, Jinx?"

This time an answer was expected as he leaned against his desk and watched me with a calculated expression.

"As many loyalties as you do," I responded, voice surprisingly calm as I looked up at him. The edginess was still there, but I found that talking to Donovan had not been such a bad idea after all.

He snorted against his mug. As he hid his face from me, I still caught sight of that appreciative glint in his eyes. "This business is growing bigger. Clients come from all possible fields. And those magical creatures...they make wonders, Jinx."

"So you're supportive of it?"

"I ain't supporting anything!" he barked out in an offhanded manner. "Stuff like that makes me sick, I'll tell you. I like the black market, but not for that. 'Sides, I got my loyalties."

I got my loyalties. The sentence held an underlying message, I figured, as he fixed me with his gaze, trying to tell me something. I took the bait willingly.

"You still the big man's right hand from the shadow?"

The corners of his lips twitched and he pointed a finger at me, shaking it as if saying 'oh, you clever girl!'. "Unofficially," was all he said.

Pursing my lips, I considered bringing in the conversation the people James had told me about. "Is the official right hand of the big man in charge of this business?"

His features turned into a scowl. Donovan had never liked Lawrence Winsloe. Why, no one knew, but no one dared to ask.

"Lance is positively in love with this whole bloody thing. Has some weird obsession. But he's keeping everything very low profile. The boss hasn't found out about it yet." He cleared his throat and took another gulp of his whiskey, drinking it like water. "Okay, Lance has his men in the Underground. The rats. They kidnap magic creatures and take them to some nice little prison he has. Then they sell 'em for all sorts of things."

"And you're viewing from afar."

His gaze hardened. "I'm trying to stop this, love."

I tilted my head to the side. That had been unexpected. "And how are you going to stop the trafficking?"

"By going after every rat out there." Yet there was more to that sentence that he didn't voice.

"...and after Winsloe," I ended for him. He looked momentarily disgruntled, but shrugged. "I want this thing to end. I want the supernatural trafficking to come to a stop. I want Winsloe and his partners out of the game."

He frowned at me, his forehead creasing under the tension. "I ain't partnering with a kid, Jinx. I ain't no guardian."

Expected.

"I'm asking you where to start and what to do. You have no responsibility over me."

He seemed pleased by that. His poker face returned. His voice turned low, deadly. "Don't aim too high from the start, Jinx. Take one at a time and climb your way up." His usual demeanor returned as he threw himself back in his seat and pointed at the door.

I nodded with respect, knowing what Donovan was saying.

What better way to get to the puppeteer than by going after its puppets?