Chapter 4
"Juno Steel, Private Detective."
Those words rung in Juno's mind as he woke up. Even when his eyes blearily blinked at the small room, they still echoed.
"Juno Steel, Private Detective."
Juno heard the cadence of Peter's voice saying those words. He slowly realized that those words weren't just ringing in his brain. The still half-asleep highschooler turned to his window, where a figure sat, perched like a hawk.
"Good Juno, you're awake. Let's get started."
Juno turned toward the clock on his bedside table and groaned.
"Nureyeav, it's two in the morning."
"Never a better time to do a little crime!"
Peter giggled at his own rhyme, and while jumping to the ground called out,
"Oh Juno, do hurry up. I don't like to be kept waiting. Bring a few books from your shelf if you would be so kind."
He could've buried himself in the covers. He could've closed his window and not said another word. He could've done so many things in that instant. Yet Peter had not left his lawn for a very specific reason. He knew Juno would follow him.
Sure enough, only a few moments later, dressed in black jeans and an old gray sweatshirt, holding a handful of worn, paperback books, Juno Steel hopped out of his window.
"Where are we going Nureyeav?"
Peter danced around in the grass.
"Anywhere the wind takes us!"
"Hopefully the wind knows I have to be home in time to catch the bus in the morning"
Peter laughed. Juno loved the feeling of making him laugh. Seeing, even if for a fleeting moment, a face full of joy.
Peter ran out to Juno's driveway, where a sleek red car sat, in pristine condition. Juno didn't even want to question where Peter could've gotten it. The car was definitely not his. They stepped into the car, Peter opening the door for the still groggy Juno. It slowly purred to life and they sped away, down the road. Juno was hit with the scent of Peter filling the car.
Juno had so many questions, so many things he wanted answered, yet, at the moment, they seemed boring and inconsequential. Why were they in the car? How had Peter gotten hold of the car? Where were they going? Who really was Peter Nureyeav? What were they doing? When would they get back? All of that didn't matter. What mattered was holding on to Peter Nureyeav, remembering his smile, his hair, his laugh, his voice, and most of all, his scent. Everything good had been ripped away from Juno, and he knew Peter would be too, soon enough.
He was broken out of his thoughts by the car abruptly stopping. They were in front of a house that was in shambles. Juno wasn't sure how long they had been driving, but the sun still hadn't risen. Peter opened the door and helped Juno out, and they walked to the front door together. Or at least, what Juno assumed was the front door. It was more just a piece of cardboard nailed to a doorframe. Still, the ever gentlemanly Peter Nureyeav knocked lightly on the wood of the doorframe. It shocked Juno when a small child gingerly moved the cardboard aside and let the men in. Peter went first, ducking through the small entry-way. Juno followed.
"What is this place Nureyeav?"
"Just the house of two friends of mine."
Quick footsteps in the hall soon gave way to the sight of two teens, probably the same age as Juno himself. The smaller girl spoke first.
"I'm Mary Anne, terribly sorry about the state of this place! I keep telling Chance we need to fix all of these things, and we never get around to it!"
"We don't get any visitors!"
Chance had a slight southern accent to her speech, and Juno immediately felt welcomed by both of them.
"What do they look like to you? These are visitors!"
"Yeah, but Nureyeav's over here all the time. Although usually not with company."
"Or books!"
Mary Anne broke into a smile when she saw the small collection of books Juno held.
"Thank you, the children will love these!"
Juno was stunned by the overwhelming amount of information he was being fed, and stumbled slightly as he gave Mary Anne the books.
"Oh dear, Peter is he okay?"
Her face lined with worry, as Peter softly smiled at Juno.
"Oh, Juno? He's fine. He's used to this kind of stuff. After all,"
Peter winked.
"He is a detective."