If I had wings, I for sure wouldn't be trapped here in this dank police station with the ever so pleasant—please note here that I say this with as much sarcasm as most people can handle in one take—Detective Longuise, and let's not forget the capital 'D.'

There could've been a billboard-sized neon sign that reads, "This is the guy you're looking for," with arrows pointing directly at the monster, and still, Detective 'capital D' Longuise would stand behind his desk, complete with his signature frown. He'd shake his head at me and keep repeating his default response.

Which brings us to the present moment.

"There's no evidence placing him at the crime scene, Lisa."

I imagine these words taking flight like a swarm of mosquitoes taking a bite out of me and leaving me red and itchy all over. I detest those miniature bloodsucking vampires! Give me back my blood! I raise my fist in the air for effect.

"Are you high? I've read your file, and I don't recall any information about drug use."

"Whatever." Stupid mosquito— "Wait a second." I glare at him, straight into his plain brown eyes. Did I just imagine it, or did the muscle under Detective's left eye twitch?

And a gulp! Barely visible, but he did. He gulped. I close my eyes to burn the image into my retinas. I may need them when I'm fixing for a laugh. "Did you just call me 'Lisa'?"

"You said previously that you prefer not to be called by your real name."

A violent shudder passes through me. "As I recall, I said, 'Don't ever call me that again or you'll be so dead that you couldn't be sorry.'"

It doesn't make any sense, but that's what hearing that name does to me. And of course, threatening a detective, in his office, in the police station where many other cops were present, was admittedly one of the stupidest things I've done recently, although this is up for debate depending on who you ask.

But that name.

Needing something to soothe the heat bubbling in my chest, I look out the window to the slim, cracked trunk of the old tree on the west wall of the building next door. Trees always calm me down, even ones that look like they're dying. Or maybe especially those.

"My mistake. What would you like me to call you?"

"What would I like you to call me?" I pause to look up at the ceiling and not at the teasing curl of his lips. "The possibilities!"

"Really, I don't see why this has to be so difficult. What do other people call you?"

"What do others call me? Let's see. 'You there' or 'Excuse me' or 'Hey' or the unmentionable, which really may be the last word they ever say on this plane. But this is the first time someone has actually asked me what I want to be called. So please. Give me a moment."

To his credit, he gives me silence. Progress!

I know I'm not being fair to him, since I already know what I want to be called. What I've always wanted to be called. And I will analyze what it means that this detective—excuse me, Detective—is the sole person to grant me one of my deepest wishes, later. Probably tonight, since I'll most likely be spending the night in a cell.

"Zabel," I whisper. "As in Mabel with a 'z.'"

"Zabel." Why does it sound like bells when he says my name? "All right then. Zabel, just to be clear, you broke into the man's home in the middle of the night. The man you claim is a suspect in the ongoing investigation of the missing faeries."

I nod my head. I'm suddenly very exhausted. How long have I been here?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: LISA is a great name! There's a backstory as to why Zabel doesn't like to be called by her real name, which can be shortened to 'Lisa,' but I haven't found a place to explain it yet. I may or may not come back to this story to flesh it out, include the backstory, maybe continue?

Thank you so much for reading!