He was becoming more at ease in the nights. He began to venture further from the home base into the city, one block at a time, and carefully. Further north from the river were more residential areas, where it was quiet and mostly dark at night. In some of the neighborhoods, many of the street lamps were broken or faint, and there were no people out on the sidewalks. Traffic was scarce as well. Then suddenly he would come upon a wider street, with shops and many cars. He shied away from those, retreating back into the quieter roads. He suspected there was some sort of a plan guiding the arrangement of things in the town, and if he only knew it he could better arrange his outings. He asked Uncle Ray about it one day, and that led to his discovery of one of the most dangerous items he had yet encountered; Ray gave him a city bus map.

Six

Dave Connor wasn't the only one wandering those streets late at night, but while his excursions were largely aimless and meandering, Cookie Marquette was on a mission. It was a mission of a lifetime. Known by various names - the Dark Hunter, the Queen of the Night Brigade, the Force - Cookie was out there almost every night, seeking and invariably finding what she sought. She was a small person, short and slight but her lean build was strong and there was no one who would sensibly mess with her. From her fresh face, sparkling black eyes, and quick movements you could place her age anywhere from fifteen to forty-five, and your highest guess would still be ten years short.

She had never been uneasy about her essential transgender nature. Born Julie, and later known as Jim, it was easier to go by Cookie, a name she'd picked up on a ship's mess hall in the Navy, than to try and determine which of her aspects you were talking to. She was fluent in both female and male as needed. She kept her black hair short, always dressed in turtleneck, jeans and boots, and sometimes wore a railway engineer's cap for hoots. Her great-grandmother had stoked a steam engine in her day, and Cookie was ever proud of it.

She was legend in Spring Hill Lake, single-handedly establishing the Homegrown Mission soup kitchen that operated out of St. Filbert's Cathedral in the heart of the old waterfront neighborhood that once had been the center of the city, but now was mostly blighted and bereft of business. From there she squeezed out pennies from the powerful, and made the most of the little she had to work with. A firm, even staunch, non-believer, her decision to ally herself with the Church stemmed from the knowledge that while politicians come and go, the Church at least abides. She could count on its commitment more than that of any other institution or individual.