Nightfall Investigations

SPONSOR

My makeshift bed for the night had been a cardboard box I'd dug out of a nearby trash bin. My pillow, a tattered sweatshirt that had seen better days. The night had been unkind, showering me with a chilly rain that soaked through my clothes and chilled me to the bone.

With a yawn, I stretched, at the same time raising a hand to push a moist chunk of hair out of my face. Before I’d even got good into the yawn, it was cut short as I gave a small yelp, my muscles spasming and protesting having spent an uncomfortable night on the cold hard ground. I was heartily sick of this dance I’d been playing for weeks now; my pockets as empty as my stomach.

Blinking sleep away, as my stomach growled, my gaze searched the alley. The outer walls of the buildings around me were a canvas for the urban art of the many who shared my fate. And within each display of creativity, I looked for a spark, a sign, a whisper of destiny.

With a sigh I stood, rolling up the tattered sweatshirt and tucking it under my arm like a game winning football. Afterward, stepping out of the alley, I began strolling along the store fronts, my hungry gaze taking in the coffee shops and bakeries; my stomach protesting the tease.

As I wandered a little further down the street, a help wanted sign in one of the building's windows practically jumped through the glass and frantically waved at me. In my haste, I tripped, briefly glancing down at the sidewalk and looking for an invisible crack before I stumbled my way forward toward the sign, my soggy sneakers squelching with every step.

Stopping before the door of the business, I read the name Nightfall Investigations. I didn’t know a damn thing about investigating, but my stomach was letting me know it didn’t give a shit about my knowledge…it wanted food!

As I pushed the door open, a bell tinkled, announcing my presence.

The office was a hodgepodge of antique and modern, making me wonder at the business owner's personality. As a figure emerged from the shadows, all I could think was good-heavens-almighty. The man who now stood be fore me was tall, dark, and... a fucking God. I couldn't decide if it would be proper to drop to my knees and worship or not; but lord I wanted to.

"What ya need, kid?" the God asked, his voice smooth and warm like whiskey, with a hint of something darker, something that sent a shiver down my spine.

"A job," I blurted, the chill of the night still clinging to my bones.

His eyes, a piercing shade of midnight blue, ran over my derelict clothing, then he peered into my eyes, as if he could read my soul through them. "What's your name?"

"Sponsor Echo," I said, extending a hand that trembled slightly.

He took it, his grip firm but not crushing. "Cyne Nightfall," he remarked, his eyes narrowing at the coldness of my hand within his.

He gestured to a chair that looked like it had seen better days. "Tell me, Sponsor, what do you know about investigating murders?"

I shrugged. "Not a damn thing.”

His eyebrows shot up, the only indication he was surprised. "Interesting," he murmured, his voice a velvet purr. "And what brought you to my doorstep?"

"Desperation," I replied, giving him a wry smile. "And a touch of destiny, maybe?"

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Desperation is a powerful motivator, but it can also be a liability. Why should I hire you?"