My Anti-hero Fairy System

"I'm guessing you want it back?" Farrah asked, breaking the silence as she watched Cara examine the key, her expression distant and contemplative.

Cara blinked, shaking herself from her thoughts. "Yes, I'll need that back," she said. Farrah handed the key over, and Cara turned it in her fingers, her gaze narrowing as she noticed an inscription: **W-THM**. The letters piqued her curiosity, though she felt certain the "W" stood for Wesley.

Leaning closer, Farrah whispered, "Is this related to your murder?"

Cara's tone turned sharp, deflective. "Why do you ask? I thought it was an open secret I died of an opioid overdose."

"You and I both know that's not true," Farrah said pointedly. "You're not a junkie. Whoever killed you did one hell of a job covering it up and making it look like an overdose."

Cara's grip on the key tightened as she processed Farrah's certainty. "It seems you remember a lot from that day. Can you tell me what happened?"

Farrah nodded, her face darkening with the memory. "Yeah, I remember everything. You had an argument with Jackie in her office that day, which you still haven't gossiped about, by the way. Then, you asked for a smoke break, which was always weird to me because you never actually smoked. I thought you were up to something, but I didn't press. That's when you gave me this key and told me to take it to Sheriff Hader if anything happened to you. I thought you were being dramatic, but you convinced me it was just a backup plan. Then you left for your so-called 'smoke break' and...never came back. Later, your body was found in that abandoned warehouse where junkies hang out."

Cara's thoughts churned as she listened. 'Snooping around. That's what I must have been doing—digging up something big. Someone must've caught me, kidnapped me, and silenced me with a lethal dose of opioids.'

[That about sums it up,] Hagrit chimed in.

'No, it doesn't. It's just the framework. I need to know who did it and why.'

[Isn't Rudy your prime suspect?]

'He's a suspect, sure—my only one so far. But pinning it all on him feels too simple.'

[Maybe you're overthinking this.]

'No, my gut says Rudy's a red herring. He might know something or be involved, but I doubt he's the killer.'

Cara pushed her thoughts aside for now and glanced at Farrah. "I got your message, by the way. Very heartfelt."

Farrah sighed, her demeanor softening. "Yeah, I was really down yesterday. I haven't felt that lonely in a long time."

"I'm sorry about that," Cara said gently, fully dressed now in her waitress uniform.

Farrah tilted her head. "Why are you apologizing? You're the one who got killed."

Cara offered a faint smile. "I guess I was just sympathizing. Anyway, who's this 'Vampire chick' you mentioned in your message?"

"Oh, you mean Joana?" Farrah asked as they exited the locker room.

Cara frowned, confused. "Farrah, I don't remember her or her name. Who is she?"

Farrah's tone grew playful. "Joana Trier. She's a vampire you started talking to a few days ago. And, girl, let me tell you—she's got it bad for you. The way she looks at you? It's like you are a five-course meal, she wants to devour. Though patrons hate her or her kind coming here."

Cara frowned. "Why not? I thought we were all past that kind of prejudice. Haven't we accepted each other by now?"

Farrah burst out laughing. But when she noticed Cara wasn't joining in, her tone turned serious. "Wait, you're for real? Come on, girl. This is the real world. Racism is alive and kicking. You really think people are going to accept someone who sees them as food?"

Cara sighed, conceding the point. She knew Farrah was right. Sylvester's former life had shown her firsthand how deeply discrimination could run. It seemed some things never changed.

—------

Cara approached a booth by the window where four men sat, laughing and exchanging crude jokes. Farrah's warning echoed in her mind. "The Scotts are troublemakers, so try not to engage them in any talk that isn't about their order," Farrah had said.

"Hey, pretty lady! I heard you just came back from the dead," Rodney Scott, a wiry man with long blonde hair and a scar running along his chin, called out, grinning slyly.

Cara kept her composure. "Gentlemen, are you ready to place your order?" she asked, ignoring the comment.

"Nothing on the menu looks appetizing—unless you're served as a side dish," Mylo Scott, the second brother with short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, quipped, eliciting a round of laughter from his brothers.

Cara's face remained impassive. "Will you be ordering, or should I attend to other patrons while you take your time?" she asked, her voice even.

"Why don't you come out to my truck so I can see for myself if you really died or not?" Vincent, the youngest of the brothers, chimed in, his grin revealing crooked teeth.

Cara had had enough. "All right, it seems like you're not ready to order. Let me know when you are," she said, turning to leave.

Before she could take a step, Victor, the eldest of the Scott brothers, stood up abruptly. He grabbed her arm and yanked her back toward the booth. His grip was strong, and his towering frame made her feel small in comparison.

"How dare you walk away without taking our order? Are you insane?" he snarled, his icy blue eyes boring into hers. "We're paying customers, and you're treating us like garbage."

Cara's voice was sharp and steady. "Sir, let go of me. Now."

The Scotts erupted into laughter, Victor tightening his hold on her arm. "So, you died and came back to life, huh? And now you think you're untouchable? Like you can run your mouth at us?"

[Are these men really trying to hit you in the middle of a packed diner?]

'They must be insane. But what do I do? I can't use the fire-blast, not here, not with everyone watching.'

Just as Victor opened his mouth to speak again, the sound of the diner door creaking open drew their attention. A tall man in a police uniform entered, his presence commanding immediate silence. Cara's eyes met his, and relief washed over her. Without hesitation, he strode toward their booth.

"Cara," the officer said, his tone calm yet authoritative, before shifting his gaze to the Scotts. "Gentlemen, what's going on here?"

Victor hesitated, his grip on Cara's arm loosening slightly, but he didn't let go. The tension in the air was palpable as the officer's sharp eyes took in the situation.