
Street Spells

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Seven Urban Fantasy Shorts

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by Aimee Easterling, Tori Centanni, Rachel Medhurst, Dale Ivan Smith, Becca Andre, N. R. Hairston, and Kat Cotton
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

STREET SPELLS

First edition. July 31, 2018.

Copyright (C) 2018 Aimee Easterling, Tori Centanni, Rachel Medhurst, Dale Ivan Smith, Becca Andre, N. R. Hairston, and Kat Cotton

# Table of Contents

Scapegoat: Aimee Easterling

Dead Goblins and Overdue Rent: Tori Centanni

Magically Hidden: Rachel Medhurst

Siloed: Dale Ivan Smith

Alchemy and Destiny: Becca Andre

Dirty Magic: N. R. Hairston

Run Away: Kat Cotton

From the Authors

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# Scapegoat

by Aimee Easterling

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# Chapter 1

Sixteen years ago, I met a werewolf. Maybe? It's hard to be sure when the memories are as fuzzy as seven-day mold grown on a nutrient-enhanced petri dish. Here's what I recall:

The strip club. Bare skin sliding across cool metal while I ran chemistry formulas through my head to make sure I had them right. I was cramming for an organic-chemistry final the next morning--that part's a fact--and for one night I cared more about my actual grade rather than about making the bucks that allowed me to stay in school.

Still, there was no pause button to let me study in peace. Instead, it was all pounding music and strobing lights, greedy eyes, a ten-dollar bill slipped into my g-string. I was used to the sensory overload, so that couldn't be why the night turned into such a fairy-tale in my memory.

The crazy part began when I left work, waved goodbye to fellow dancers before slipping out into the darkened alley that should have been empty...but wasn't. A male figure leaned against the grimy concrete. Straightened as I approached. Reached toward me with fingers silhouetted against the dim street lamp.

I clutched my mace canister, wishing I'd been smart enough to wait an extra hour to walk to the bus stop with Cindy--Chloe? Callie? If I can't even remember my closest co-worker's name, how can I believe this memory isn't fiction but rather fact?

The man's words were lost to the adrenaline-fueled terror of the moment. But his hand print...I can still feel it around my bicep, can easily visualize the four pulsing finger marks that lingered there for days after the fact.

My assailant's breath stank of whiskey, the cheap kind that still cost enough to break the bank in a strip club. His intentions were clear.

I froze. This part embarrasses me, makes the adult I am now wince for the nineteen-year-old I was then. A man grabs you in a back alley and you just stand there? Really, Sienna? You can't just let the world do what it wants with you. Nobody's going to save you except yourself.

Only, that part's not true. The wolf barreled into us out of nowhere, a blue-eyed beauty with teeth so sharp they grazed my skin even as the animal pushed my attacker down onto the asphalt.

A dog, I know you're thinking. Some policeman's trained attack beast. Big and gray, looked like a wolf in a dark alley when you were scared out of your wits. It's an easy mistake to make.

It wasn't a dog though. Later, after I earned my bachelors and moved on to graduate study, I learned to tell the difference. Tail held straight behind rather than curving erect. Densely furred ears. Eyes--okay, that part doesn't make sense. But you've got to go with me here. I knew the beast between us was a wolf even as my attacker screamed, scrambled backwards, ran from that alley like the fires of hell were on his tail.

I expected the wolf to pursue him. I mean, if I was going to be rescued by the big bad wolf, it should finish the job, right? I hugged my red hoodie closer in to my stomach, stood there with a throat so dry I couldn't force out a single sound.

And that's when the memory goes cockeyed. I'm a scientist, I want you to remember that. Was already learning to observe objectively even during my sophomore year of college. I knew how to draft a hypothesis, to test that question with a well-managed experiment, then to accept the results I saw with my own eyes.

This is what I saw with my own eyes. Fur receding into naked smoothness. A body elongating, straightening. White-moon buttocks flashing me as a broad-shouldered man lurched erect.

Or, not a man, but a teenager like me. A few years younger, if I had to guess. I even knew his name.

Chase was one of those club-goers you could tell had shown up on a dare. His cheeks were beet red when he first entered my place of employment two weeks earlier and his eyes kept skittering off the endless array of bare flesh in the room. He remained innocent, too, while returning night after night. He listened as I talked about my classes, asked if he could walk me home.

Chase wanted to be my boyfriend, but I couldn't accept the kid's infatuation at face value. I wasn't stupid enough to confuse lust with love.

Now, though, common sense fled along with the air in my lungs as a wolf turned into a grass-fed farm boy in front of my eyes. "You...it...what?" Or at least, I think my reaction went something like that.

"Angel," my rescuer started, reaching out to take one of my shaking hands in two of his. Irrationally, the skin-on-skin contact calmed me, never mind that the boy entwining his fingers with mine was buck naked, his family jewels brushing against the leg of my jogging pants.

Maybe that's why I told him my real name. "Sienna. It's Sienna."

The smile on his face was as warm as the rising midwinter sun. And maybe that explains the confusion of my memory. Maybe I was the one dealing with a teenage infatuation sixteen years earlier. That could explain why the entire episode--getting jumped in a dark alley, being rescued by some kind of weirdo nudist--feels as warm and fuzzy as a napping kitten in my adult mind.

"Sienna." My name on his tongue drew me in closer until I was pressed up against his naked chest. Meanwhile, Chase's ensuing words made even less sense than my own actions had. "My pack is leaving. I want you to come with us. I know all this--" he motioned at his bare skin "--is strange. But I promise we can make it work."

And here's the deal. I was nineteen with no family to speak of, my after-hours job eating up whatever social time I would otherwise have enjoyed. I was tempted. The whole wolf thing...maybe I'd accidentally imbibed something I shouldn't have earlier in the evening, never mind my rule to never drink from an open bottle while at work. Chase was a white knight, wanting to sweep me off my feet and carry me off into the sunset. For half a second, I wanted to be swept.

But there was that pesky orgo final the following morning. My future boldly charted out before me. A good job, independence, making my own way in the world.

I only realized Chase's arms had come up to surround me when I tried to push myself backwards and found myself unable to push. For a split second, terror swamped me. You don't hug naked strangers in dark alleys, I berated myself. How can I remember that mental rebuke so clearly and have gotten everything else so dramatically wrong?

Whatever the meaning of this strangely clear memory, I know this part for a fact. Chase released me the instant my heart rate spiked into terror. Took one long step backwards, his neck bowing even as his heel scuffed against the pavement. "I thought you might feel that way," he said, not even waiting for me to reject him verbally. "But if you change your mind, email. Please."

The lined notebook paper he held out between us was folded and burr-edged, as if Chase had spent hours worrying it between finger and thumb. Maybe he'd carried it with him all week as we spoke in stolen moments during my various shifts. Had been itching to hand over his contact information every time I'd sunk down at his table for a break, sipping a cherry coke and chatting about our respective days.

I wouldn't have accepted the paper then, but I did now. Still, almost as soon as the information was in my possession, I stepped backwards, an apology I didn't really understand tumbling off my lips. "I'm sorry. But I can't go with you."

After all, I refused to be like my mother. Wouldn't depend on a man then end up poverty-stricken, a single mother who succumbs to a heart attack while far too young.

Wolf boy smiled at me sadly, and for half a second I doubted my own stiff-spined resolve. I ached to change my mind and run away with this white knight, especially when the May evening hugged me gently, promising that fairy tales just might be real.

But if this was a fairy tale, then I'd create my own happy ending. So I turned on my heel and walked away into the night.

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# Chapter 2

The radio at my hip crackled, drawing me out of the sixteen-year-old daydream I'd enjoyed far too many times before. Work had become old-hat over the last decade, which was likely why I was reliving past fantasies as if they were fact.

"Hello? Are you there?" my boss repeated. Rather than answering the call of duty immediately, however, I inched forward across the smooth rock ledge and peered down to check on my charges below.

Yep, still there. Only after reassuring myself that no wolves had been injured due to my inattention did I unclip the radio and raise it to my face. "Sienna here. What's up?"

What was up was more of the usual. An angry rancher certain wolves were slaughtering his livestock. A request for a kill permit. One chance to change the vigilante's mind before he was given the legal right to start shooting innocent wolves on sight.

Beneath me, female 257 cocked her head and peered upward, watchful as ever despite my distance from her pups. Her mate was off hunting, which tended to make her more protective rather than less so. But she didn't bare her teeth or growl. Just angled her body to block my view of the youngsters tumbling all over each other on the tender March grass.

And, for one split second, the cant of this very real wolf's ears reminded me of my memory-turned-fairy-tale. Thick fur beneath urban moonlight--had I added a full moon to the memory later to amp up the romance quotient of what had lost its scientific veracity years before?

Shaking off the image of Chase's lopsided smile, I noted down the address and directions my boss rattled off for me. Then I turned away from the animals who acted nothing like the media-driven terrors ranchers were so afraid of...and, at the same time, nothing like the wolf boy who existed, I was sure, only in my daydreams.

It was time to carry out the less fun part of my day job. Keeping an eye on the state's wolf population also meant determining when a member of the pack had to be put down.

***

"I HEAR YOU, SIR, BUT this doesn't look like the work of wild animals."

The man in front of me was red-cheeked and blustering, the evidence of carnage in his farmyard impossible to deny. A blood trail led up to the porch steps, three tiny goat heads draping over the edge of the metal roof to peer down at us with death-clouded eyeballs. Something awful had happened here in the not-so-distant past. But it looked less like wolf damage and more like human pranking...assuming I could take Joe's protestations at face value, that is.

"All I know," the rancher began for the fourth--fifth?--time, "is that something's killing my livestock. And if it doesn't stop, I'm going to stop it...if you know what I mean."

I knew exactly what he meant. The rifle clutched in his hands made the potential future vividly clear within my mind. Wolf pups drowned like unwanted kittens. Their parents skinned, gutted, and tacked up against a wall.

Sure enough, when I swiveled slightly, I could make out the splayed shapes of three raccoons and one mink curing against the faded pine slats of a woodshed. No way was I giving this rancher a kill permit. He might have slaughtered those goat kids himself. After all, an unwanted buck youngster wasn't worth much more than ten dollars, but a good wolf pelt could go for upwards of a couple hundred bucks....

I was nearly convinced Joe was trying to bamboozle me. Still...wolves worked cooperatively, and I'd found the same tack often soothed a rancher's riled demeanor. "Sir, I can't hand out kill permits without evidence that a wolf is responsible for the damages. Do you have a photograph? Tracks? Scat? Anything I can take to my boss?" I widened my eyes and slumped my shoulders as I spoke, hoping my words came across as more of a plea and less of an attack.

Unfortunately, my current client wasn't particularly malleable. He took two steps forward until the buttons of his overalls brushed up against my arm, the scent of manure rising off his skin in waves. "This is kidding season, missy. I'm out at all hours making sure my goats survive dropping twins and triplets. I don't have time to scour the grounds in search of wolf shit. If you want evidence, go find it yourself."

Just the invitation I was waiting for. With the buddy-buddy approach a clear failure, I moved on to calling his bluff. "I have a tent in my truck," I assured him. "I'll set it up behind the barn, why don't I? Then, if something drops by at midnight, I'll personally see what it is."

I expected him to back down. Expected to be told to get the eff off his farm.

But, instead, I thought I caught the faintest flicker of relief in Joe's eyes as he answered. "Suit yourself."

Then he left me there alone with slaughtered goat kids and the sinking suspicion I was hunting more than I could handle. What if this carnage really had been produced by an unhinged and far too wild wolf?

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# Chapter 3

Terrified goat screams sound astonishingly similar to those of a human. So I was out of my sleeping bag and running before bothering to pull on my shoes. Good thing I'd slept in my clothes and possessed feet as tough as leather.

Only after reaching the wide double doors of the barn did I realize that the night was completely silent without so much as an owl to break the stillness. Was I spooking at my own shadow, letting the rancher's unusual behavior send me spiraling back into a nearly forgotten world of fairy tales?

I shuffled bare feet through dewy grass, shivering in the late-night chill. Even if the scream had only been present in my imagination, I was here now. Might as well step inside and look around, reassure myself that the danger existed only within my dream.

The heavy door creaked on its hinges, alerting sleeping goats who nickered a question my way. One rose and snuffled at my palm in search of treats but none fled at my midnight appearance. Could Joe really have raised such well-adjusted livestock then hung slaughtered goat babies over the edge of a porch roof? The supposition made less and less sense.

"Am I looking at this problem sideways?" I whispered, picking my way between recumbent goat bodies while trying not to step on the hard pellets of their turds. My hands trailed across warm backs in passing, and one goat rubbed her hornless forehead into my palm like an arching cat begging a caress.

Then, from the back of the barn, a strange sort of whimper. Or a wheeze. Whatever it was, the sound drew me like a magnet even before I remembered Joe's gruff tour the previous evening. Expectant mothers were locked in stalls overnight to prevent newborn kids from falling into a water trough and drowning. So the back of the barn was full of the herd's weakest members, the perfect spot for a predator to strike.

I'd slid up the latch on the first kidding stall when the scream was repeated. A high-pitched shriek so harrowing the uninitiated would have thought somebody's throat was being slit.

Only, that wasn't the problem at the present moment. Instead, as I stepped inside, moonlight laid out the scene as if the hour was dawn instead of midnight. Fresh straw blanketed the ground. A doe lay on her side, hind feet spread as she attempted to push out an ugly black thing that I knew was a baby still encapsulated in its birth sac.

There was no nose visible, however, just the roundness of the tail end. A breech birth. This goat was screaming because she was attempting a kidding that was unlikely to end in life.

Good thing I'd interned with a country vet the summer after my junior year, before changing my major to wildlife biology and embracing the wild. I dropped to my knees, waited for a lull in contractions, then pushed the baby back inside its mother without a moment of hesitation. Slick fingers against amniotic fluid made it hard to adjust the kid's appendages, but these goats were Nubians--large enough for me to just barely fit one hand inside.

I felt blindly, closing my eyes to better focus on my fingers. Ah, there it was. Two hard hooves, spindly ankles. All that was required was to guide the feet out the exit then this kidlet was ready to be born.

The baby popped out in a gush of overpowering excitement. This was true magic. Near misses melding into new life. Reality was too stunning to overlook by losing myself in daydreams....

"Thanks." The rancher's hand landed on my shoulder, his eyes blurry from loss of sleep. "I heard it through the baby monitor," he explained, motioning toward a plastic object I hadn't noticed sitting on the window ledge. "But I appreciate you getting here first."

There was another kid emerging from the mother now. A little girl, if I didn't miss my guess. This one slid out easily without assistance. Then the doe was licking, licking, licking. Struggling to her feet so her twins could nurse.

"What're you gonna name them?" I murmured, only realizing that Joe and I had pushed in close together when his sleeve brushed up against my bare arm. To my surprise, the proximity was neither distasteful nor overpowering. Instead, we were united in the wonder of watching new life.

"No reason to name livestock," the rancher answered gruffly. "I know who's who without names."

Still, his hand fell to the doe's head, rough nails artfully scratching just the right locations to soothe the new mother as he sang her praises in words more effusive than he probably meant them to be. "This girl here is the herd's best milker," he explained proudly. "Her daughters are prize winners. I sell her sons for a pretty penny as breeding bucks."

I smiled, seeing no reason to gainsay him. Joe wouldn't name his livestock...but he could clearly tell each one apart and valued their lives as well as their financial worth.

So I left them there, animal husbander and his charges. Washed my hands, wiped dirty feet in dewy grass, then slipped back into my tent to sleep.

And when I woke the next morning, I was more relaxed than I'd been in ages. The world outside my tent was foggy and perfect, spring grass soft against my feet. I needed to pee, but I didn't head toward the outhouse the rancher had pointed out earlier. I wanted to take a gander at the newborn twins instead.

Baby goats, I knew, were extremely precocious. So I fully expected to see bouncing kidlets the instant I walked through the kidding-stall door.

Unfortunately, I didn't make it that far. Instead, when I slipped inside the barn proper, what met my eyes was carnage. Blood sprayed across the walls, corpses on the ground, nothing left alive.

And right smack dab in the middle of everything, a clear footprint. Oval-shaped and obviously canine, with nail imprints at the end of each toe pad.

Joe's goats had been systematically slaughtered, and the culprit could be nothing other than a wolf.

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# Chapter 4

"It doesn't make sense," I told my boss over the phone an hour later. "Wolves don't slaughter without eating. A four-footed animal couldn't do all that damage then leave and close the door."

"Give the guy his kill permit," Charlotte countered. "We're not paid enough to deal with psychopaths. Chances are, Mr. Smithfield won't even be able to track down a wolf during the permitted week."

Usually I would have agreed with her. The animals I studied were rare and elusive. They were far more afraid of people than we were of them.

Still, I'd studied the map and 257's den was only a mile and a half from this rancher's barn as the crow flies. My favorite wolf and her mate were busy raising four beautiful puppies. I wasn't willing to risk an angry goat-keeper tracking down the family unit and slaughtering each member as they slept.

"I need you to..." my boss started. But the sound of tires on gravel gave me an excuse to cut her off before she could shut the entire operation down.

"I've gotta go," I interrupted. "I'll get back to you later this afternoon." Then I ended the call...but I didn't turn off the phone.

Instead, I poked up my email, opened the address book, and found the entry I'd switched from device to device for sixteen years without once drafting a message to send out.

Or, okay, so that last part's a lie. During weak moments in the wee hours, I'd written up several potential missives. Had asked whether my memories were cockeyed or whether, perhaps, Chase really was finding a new home for himself and his pack mates.

I hadn't sent a single email though. So I didn't expect the kid from the club to remember me, or for his email address to be viable so many years after the fact.

Still, instinct told me to contact him. And, science or no science, when my subconscious nudged I obeyed.

"This is Sienna--aka Angel," I started, typing awkwardly with my index finger rather than with two thumbs as an adept might do. I'd never really gotten the hang of texting, preferred my computer for emails. But I hadn't bothered to pack the larger device when I came to check out Joe's ranch, so awkward phone screens it was.

"There are strange things happening at the goat farm I'm staying on," I continued. "Animals slaughtered but not eaten. Corpses in strange locations. All mixed up with the print of a wolf. Any advice would be greatly appreciated." Then, after a moment of consideration, I typed in the rancher's address.

The slam of a truck door prevented me from reading over my message a second time. Voices outside the barn reminded me that what I chose to do today needed to assuage the rage of a rancher far too grounded to believe in fairy tales.

So I didn't try to ferret out why I was emailing someone who existed only in my daydreams. The message would bounce, I figured, and then I'd finally know that werewolves didn't exist.

I couldn't bear the inevitable error message, though. Not after waking this morning to an ocean of blood and devastation.

So I slipped the phone into my pocket without waiting for an answer. Pulled on my hiking boots. Went to help the rancher and his neighbor clean out the charnel house that had previously been an airy and well-lit goat barn.

***

"SOMETIMES CUTTING YOUR losses isn't a failure." The neighbor was young and handsome...and something about him rubbed me entirely the wrong way. Maybe it was the fact that Roman was well aware of his own studliness, or maybe it was how he never quite managed to pull his weight as we heaved goat bodies onto the tailgate of the rancher's pickup truck.

I mean, my height was a mere five feet four inches. Why was I the one getting the wobbly heads halfway up the truck bed while the neighbor's tail ends always ended up teetering precariously over the edge? No wonder the cleanup job had taken all morning rather than a mere fraction of that time period. No wonder the rancher and I were both smeared in blood...while the neighbor was relentlessly pristine.

I tucked another set of rigid hind legs onto the growing pile of bodies then turned to see how Joe would react to such an incendiary statement. I had a feeling he wasn't a fan of giving up.

Sure enough, the rancher's voice was deeply dangerous when he growled out an answer. "My daddy and granddaddy ran this ranch for as long as I can remember. Most of the stock got out safely. I can still make this operation work."

He was right too. When I'd first walked through the carnage this morning, I saw no signs of life and assumed every animal on the farm had fallen beneath the fangs of the midnight marauder. But, in actuality, only half a dozen goats had been slaughtered, each one a castrated male--a wether--representing a loss of short-term capital without cutting into the much-touted bloodlines that made this ranch a long-term financial success.

And the newborn twins? They, their mother, and most of their herd mates were happily out on pasture, skittish but healthy as best we could tell.

Which begged the question--how had two wobbly-legged youngsters snuck past a latched stall door and a closed barn door while whatever invaded was tearing wethers limb from limb?

"My offer's still open," the neighbor countered, loosening his hold on the buck we were supposed to be heaving into the pickup five seconds before the corpse achieved its goal. I staggered, strained, and barely managed to work my end in before the whole thing slid groundward. "I'll even go as high as a thousand an acre," Roman continued. "I know you owe on this farm. It'd be a shame if the bank took it back and sold the place off to a stranger."

If werewolves were real, this neighbor would definitely have been the culprit. Because a thousand an acre was chicken scratch compared to what Joe's land was really worth. I narrowed my eyes, then lost track of the current puzzle as a low-slung convertible turned off the highway and began winding up the long driveway leading toward where we three stood.

I wasn't the only one who'd noticed the imminent intrusion either. "You expecting someone?" Roman asked. Then his nostrils flared and his voice hardened. "Check your stock," he flung back over one shoulder while striding toward the four-wheeler he'd parked at the edge of the barn. "And call me if you need me. Kill permit or no kill permit, I'll help you protect this ranch."

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# Chapter 5

Roman zipped back down the trail toward his own farm without waiting for an answer. And instead of scratching my head at his abrupt exit, I understood immediately why Joe's neighbor had chosen against greeting this particular set of guests.

Because the car entirely unsuited for rural living slid to a halt five feet from the side of the rancher's pickup while the receding growl of the neighbor's four-wheeler was still loud in my ears. Two front doors opened in unison then two tall men stepped out of the convertible, their bodies so large it was hard to believe they'd both fit inside such a small space.

The passenger was entirely unfamiliar and I wasted little time assessing him. After all, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the driver, whose identity was unmistakable despite the sixteen years since I'd seen him last.

Chase had bulked up in the interim, had grown into muscles that once existed as mere hints draped across teenage gawkiness. His sandy hair was a little too long for the office, but his slick blazer suggested a white-collar job.

This was a man confident in his own body rather than a half-formed teenager unsure where to look within a strip club. The sweetness of Chase's face, however, remained just as I remembered it, as did my impulse to lean forward and breathe in his air.

Clear blue eyes met mine across the hood of the vehicle, Chase's nostrils flaring as he took in the pile of death and destruction filling the bed of the pickup truck. But my knight in shining armor didn't remark upon the carnage. Instead, he reached out to offer up his hand.

It was a clasp of greeting rather than a handshake. More like closing a circuit and turning on a blinding electric light. The formerly gray morning brightened around us while bird song exploded into existence. There might have even been cartoon bluebirds frolicking around my head.

"Thanks for emailing, Sienna," my long-ago rescuer greeted me, as if it hadn't been a decade and a half since we'd seen each other last.

The faintest hint of incipient wrinkles at the corners of Chase's eyes tightened into a smile so warm I wanted to shuck off my coat to better bask in the sunbeam. "Thanks for coming," I answered. And for the first time in forever, I once again believed in fairy tales.

***

UNFORTUNATELY, EVEN the best daydream eventually gives way to reality. "Mmm, dinner," Chase's companion growled, padding over to the pickup without bothering to greet either me or Joe. The guy angled his body so only I saw the way he scraped up a trail of dried blood with his thumbnail then popped it into his mouth to savor the coppery tang.

So, definitely a werewolf. And not one I wanted to have at my back either.

But before I could comment upon the stranger's lack of humanity, Joe was turning toward me, his disinterest in uninvited guests proving him a rancher to the core. "The kill permit," he demanded, Roman's parting comment having reminded him of a request I'd hoped was water over the dam.

"Do you really think that's the solution...?" I started, only to be interrupted by Chase.

"How much for that small one over in the corner?" my one-time-savior interjected, pointing at a red-spotted wether that had only reached half of its adult bulk before being slaughtered in the night.

And even though Joe castrated his excess males and raised them for the meat market, I could tell that his rancher sentiments were a little shaken when the nameless shifter added, "Yes, that one definitely smells the best."

"Smells?" Joe started, but then he shook his head and turned back to me. "If you need evidence, you've got evidence. My goats were killed by a wolf. Do I have to call your supervisor to make you do your job?"

Now I was the one wincing. Charlotte had outright ordered me to grant this guy his kill permit and high-tail it out of here. She'd been about to send me off on another assignment when I hung up on her. So I was definitely walking on thin ice at work....

"Look," I started. And this time I was glad when Chase nudged me aside so his companion could reach over into the pickup's bed. Between them, they got hold of the dead animal's hindquarters then dragged the wether out, heaving it up to drape across the nameless shifter's neck.

The goat-carrier was so intensely focused upon his burden that I expected him to start drooling. There was definitely a spark of predatory hunger in his eyes.

Meanwhile, Chase acted a hair more human as he bartered with the rancher using not-so-well-chosen words. "Two hundred," the shifter offered. "I would have given you more if you'd gutted it earlier, but stomach acids will already be spoiling the meat."

Despite myself, I eased backwards away from the pair of them. When I was nineteen, being saved by a werewolf had seemed romantic. Now, I wasn't so sure I liked walking on the wild side.

"These goats were killed by a wild animal," Joe started gruffly. He was clearly a man of honor, choosing not to foist off unsafe meat on city slickers despite needing the influx of cash.

"Not a problem," Chase answered, drawing out his wallet and removing two crisp hundreds. "Do we have a deal?"

"Oo-kay," the rancher started.

But then his eyes slid sideways to the pasture and his muscles tensed visibly. I only realized Joe was counting goat heads when he whipped out his cell phone, tapped on Roman's image, placed a call.

"You were right," Joe growled without preamble. "There was even more damage. I'm down two kids."

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# Chapter 6

"I can't believe I wrote out the kill permit," I berated myself, wiping dust out of my eyes as Joe's pickup disappeared down the driveway with five rather than six dead goats in the back. The rancher had accepted Chase's money, but that financial buffer clearly wasn't sufficient to prevent him from demanding legal paperwork then heading to Roman's to begin a wolf hunt. 257's future was looking less and less bright.

"Irrelevant," the nameless shifter answered, the cock of his head suggesting he meant the single word to be soothing rather than as abrasive as it initially came across. Like most of the guy's attempts at appearing human, though, the effort didn't really work.

"This is Wolf Young," Chase interjected, the human-style introduction sitting strangely upon a werewolf who looked one hunger pang away from gnawing on the dead goat still draped across his shoulders. I tried to offer up a smile of greeting, but was pretty sure the effort just made me look like I'd swallowed a bug.

"Wolfie to my friends," the latter corrected. He eyed me consideringly, shrugged, then started back toward their vehicle without another word. It was a rental, pristine and perfect. And even though I'm not a car aficionado, I winced as the seeping wether landed on the plush back seat.

The exchange had left me vaguely nauseated, and at the same time uncertain whether I was meant to call Chase's friend "Wolfie" or "Wolf." Which, I guessed, was irrelevant. Because if I wasn't much mistaken, my favorite wolf's lair was located in the exact same direction that Joe's pickup had headed toward....

"Hey, where are you going?" Chase's hand landed on my forearm as I turned toward my vehicle, the warm weight sliding back off one second later as if he'd reminded himself that humans don't grab onto each other the way werewolves might. The contact, though fleeting, woke something deep inside me. Filled my nostrils with the ozone-rich remembrance of a dark alley and an event that had left me wanting to leap and sing.

It's just physical attraction, I berated myself, pushing past Chase as I headed toward my own vehicle. The GPS I'd tossed amidst a pile of other gear in the back seat would determine whether my guessed geography was accurate. Ah, here we go.

I pulled up the map of the area, noted once again how close 257's lair was to the spot in which I was currently located. Roman's house stood even closer, though. And, when I toggled on the property-boundary layer, I wished my memory hadn't been so correct.

Because the pups I'd observed yesterday were located on state land, of course--I wouldn't have trespassed while on duty. But Roman's property line lay no more than fifty feet distant. And what werewolf wouldn't be aware of other predators denning so close to his home turf?

***

"TURN HERE," I TOLD Chase as we approached the locked access road that promised to bring us closer to 257's lair than Joe and Roman could drive. It hadn't seemed worth arguing about whose car we were taking earlier, especially when being a passenger meant I could send my boss a quick text message that might eventually cover my butt. Now, though, I second-guessed a ride in the convertible as Chase turned so abruptly the dead goat behind me slid over into Wolf's--Wolfie's?--lap with a solid thunk.

My eyes met his in the rear-view mirror, the werewolf's mouth widening slightly as blood dribbled down his chin. Had he been snacking while we were riding? Would we disembark and find goat blood soaking his clothes and arms?

Suddenly, the inside of the car felt infinitely confining, my door flying open before Chase had pulled to a complete stop. Fingers fumbled with the heavy key ring as they searched for the right sliver of metal. And once the lock clicked open and the gate arm swung sideways, it was all I could do to force my feet to carry me back to the car and belt myself in.

"Straight?" Chased asked as I worked on slowing my breathing. If werewolves could sense distress the way wild animals could, I didn't want to feed the blood lust of the shifter in the back seat.

"Yes, straight," I told him, trying not to wish I'd run for my life while I had the opportunity. But Chase was a good driver, I could say that much about him. Despite the low undercarriage of the convertible, we only scraped bottom once as he dodged potholes and zipped down a road that was really not suitable for two-wheel-drive vehicles. I could feel us gaining on Roman with every mile that passed....

Then we were parking, disembarking, the deer trail I often followed beckoning me into the leafless trees. "Do you need help carrying that?" Chased asked, and I turned in confusion. I wasn't carrying anything other than a fanny pack of trail essentials and the burning desire to find 257 before the rancher could.

"Nope. Got it," Wolf growled, wrapping a furless body up inside the goat's severed skin. The shifter had been prepping meat while we drove down the highway, apparently. Must have ripped through the tough hide with his teeth...which would explain the blood smeared around his fingers and mouth.

A werewolf's culinary habits, however, were currently irrelevant. Instead, I barely noticed Wolf flinging the corpse across one shoulder before I was running, following a path that I knew like the back of my hand. At this time of day, 257's whole family would likely be back at the den site. They would have gorged on whatever meal the father provided, which meant the afternoon was devoted to digestion and a nap.

I was out of breath by the time the trail split in two a hundred feet from my destination. Still, I did my best to keep quiet as I picked my way along a nearly invisible track to angle closer to the wolves' lair. The animals would know I was nearby, but hopefully they'd remember my scent and relax back into dreamland. Best they stayed in their den so I could guard them all at once....

I'd achieved my usual spot on the overlook, blood pounding in my ears and sweat stinging my eyes, when I saw the first figure burst out of the tree line. It wasn't Roman or Joe--for that much I was grateful. But when Wolf dropped his burden and lunged at the pile of napping puppies, I stopped being able to breathe.

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# Chapter 7

In the wild, wolves sometimes slaughter entire litters of puppies while engaged in territorial warfare. So I pushed myself upright in preparation for leaping off the rock ledge. I wasn't so sure I'd survive the fall, but those puppies definitely didn't have time for me to play it safe.

Only...a hand grabbed me before I could lurch forward. Then Chase's voice whispered promises into my ear. "Wolfie wouldn't harm a hair on a puppy's head. He's helping. You have my word on that."

And the blood-stained shifter lived up to his friend's analysis...but someone else had already done the wolf pups harm. Because neither adult nor offspring protested the intrusion into their home turf, instead lying still as death while Wolfie grabbed pup after pup off the ground. He wrapped them up in the furry side of the wether's skin before tying the bundle closed with strings that had once protected caprine leg bones. Then, without a word of warning, he lobbed the puppies and goat hide directly up at us.

I gasped, jerked forward, then steadied as Chase reached out unbelievably far to snag the grisly object before it could slam into the rock face. He laid the bundle on the ground before us, untied the legs, and revealed a jumble of puppies I would have given anything to save.

"They're not dead." I didn't understand what my companion was saying until Chase's hand took mine and brought my fingers over to the nearest pup. Together we traced the warm curve of the baby's belly, felt the soft flow of breath huffing out of each nose.

"Drugged?" I gazed back beneath us, where Wolfie was dragging 257 into the woods with a predator's intensity of purpose. Now that I could focus on something other than impending disaster, I noted the remains of the wolf family's dinner scattered at the shifter's feet. Hard hooves, an uneaten goat head, a hide eerily similar to the one the pups had been wrapped within.

So that was why Wolfie skinned the wether in the backseat of the rental vehicle--he was preparing a feast for wild wolves to keep them off our backs. Too bad someone else had already carried out a similar mission...with a more dastardly, drug-laden impulse at its core.

Roman. Of course he'd stolen the extra two kids, shot them full of sedative, then left the bodies where 257's mate would find the easy meal and drag it home. But why had Joe's neighbor gone to so much effort to sedate a family of wild animals when he could just as easily have killed them outright?

"All werewolves aren't like this," Chase informed me urgently, dipping his head until I finally allowed myself to look into his eyes. "Drifter wolves though...sometimes they regress to their most instinctual natures and can't be brought back to rational thought. All they care about is territory and finding a chocolate-scented pack princess to mate with." He paused, surveyed the landscape around us. "There aren't any female werewolves in the vicinity. So, territoriality it is."

I shivered, something about Chase's recitation bringing to mind the hard-edged self-centeredness of the man I'd spent all morning scrubbing out the barn with. Roman had sniffed me when we first met, I now realized. Had sniffed me...then dismissed me as completely irrelevant for any use other than as a beast of burden who would do more than her fair share of the work.

And, at last, the final piece fitted into the jigsaw puzzle of my understanding. Roman was not only the drugger of wolves and the killer of livestock, he had also set into motion a larger and more nefarious plan. What better way to deal with two unwanted neighbors than to bring both together and make it look like they'd killed each other off? Joe was such a loner he likely had no heirs, so his land would sell for far less than it was worth at auction. Meanwhile, 257 and her family would be rotting into the soil, leaving Roman free to enjoy not only his newly purchased territory but also the wilderness area to the north.

Which made my unthought-out plan of diving into the forest to prevent harm to my wolves dubious at best and suicidal at worst. Still, I was here and so were the wolf pups. I narrowed my eyes and resolved to stick it out.

While I'd been rewriting the past into a more cohesive story, Chase had knelt to disentangle the puppies, placing each one so no noses were obstructed by a sibling's tail. Beneath us, Wolfie returned to the small clearing, leaned down to lift the father wolf. At least we'd prevented the lupine part of the planned massacre....

Only we hadn't been quite fast enough after all. Because Roman stepped out from behind a tremendous boulder at that moment, his human body seeming to harden as he slunk forward as silently as any wolf.

I hadn't moved a muscle, but wild animals know when you're looking at them. Sure enough, the shifter looked up, his mouth widening into a sharp-toothed smile as he acknowledged me. Then, turning toward Wolfie's unprotected back, he raised his arm and revealed a gun.

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# Chapter 8

I had no doubt Wolfie could defend himself against another shifter...but could he stop a bullet while protecting the animal lying drugged and defenseless at his feet? I wasn't so sure, and I hated feeling useless. So I threw myself into the fight.

No, not literally. I was a scientist, not a fighter. So I eschewed violence and used the weapons I had at my disposal instead. Rooting around in my fanny pack, I pulled out a half-melted chocolate bar, swiping the candy under each armpit even as I wriggled out of three layers of clothes.

"Hey, you!" It had been over a decade since I'd paid the bills as an exotic dancer, but some things you never forget. Pretending not to notice the fact that Chase's jaw had dropped beside me, I swiveled my hips, bounced bare breasts, and raised my arms so the combination of sweat and chocolate could waft off my unclad form.

And here's the thing--sometimes the real world is just as magical as any fairy tale. The air had been still and stagnant until that moment, but a stray breeze kicked up now from the northeast. It cooled my back and sent aromas spiraling toward the stalking shifter. In response, Roman hesitated, giving Wolfie time to push the drugged animal behind him one second before exploding into lupine form.

Fur and fangs, tail and claws. All of that was hiding inside the--well, okay, I admit it--semi-human being who had recently ridden in the convertible's back seat? This wolf had been directly behind me, could have ripped off my face had I dared turn around to speak to the stranger....

I jolted at the undeniable evidence of werewolf existence, but didn't pause the undulating motion of my hands and arms. After all, Roman's gun was still raised and ready, and the shifter clearly wasn't dumb enough to turn his back on an enraged enemy for the sake of a naked stranger on top of a rock.

But maybe if, like me, Roman saw a magical transition. Maybe if he felt the existence of a female werewolf deep within his gut. Perhaps then Roman would lose himself in the hunt for a pack princess to claim as his mate.

Of course, I didn't possess an animal alter-ego. But, if I was lucky, I just might have a werewolf at my beck and call....

I glanced down to find Chase's warm blue eyes staring back at me out of the body of a tremendous canine, his body seeming even larger than it had been in human form. I should have been terrified. Should have run screaming. But, instead, I smiled back, curved my body sideways...then collapsed in on myself as if suffering from a major stomachache.

Or as if shifting from two-legger to four-legger. Understanding my intentions, Chase pressed up against me. And as I fell he leapt.

Like all of us, Roman saw what he wanted to see. Took in not one woman descending while a different wolf was rising but instead a single being changing form after as good as begging him to come feel her up. From my vantage point, pressed close to the rock and barely able to peer over the edge without revealing myself further, I saw our enemy start sprinting toward us...before going down beneath Wolfie's claws and fangs.

The battle was over within seconds, Roman yelping once then going silent as the grave. And even though the bones crunching and blood spurting were horrific, I found myself glad that Wolfie had put the drifter out of his misery. I was, in fact, exalting at our victory when Charlotte stumbled out of the woods and onto the scene.

***

THE AFTERMATH WAS BLISSFULLY anticlimactic. Joe was found trussed and terrified at the base of the boulder Roman had emerged from behind, the rancher's view of the show so occluded he swore up and down his life had been saved by a wild wolf. And while Roman's death might have mandated a wolf termination under any other circumstances, Wolfie had slipped into the trees to shift before the cavalry rode to our rescue, leaving all lupines in the vicinity clearly drugged and innocent of any crime.

"I had no idea wolves were so protective of people," Joe repeated from the trail in front of me while Charlotte raised her eyebrows and speared me with a piercing gaze. She wasn't buying the story, I could tell...but I found myself less worried about my job than I was about the man--werewolf--walking by my side.

"Is that chocolate on your sleeve?" my boss asked as she brushed past us, attempting to catch up with Wolfie and Joe before they could stride away out of sight.

"Dirt," I lied, turning sideways to glance at the wolf family napping in the glade we were leaving behind. 257's eyes were fluttering, proving that she'd soon claw her way out of slumber. But I wasn't worried about wild wolves' futures any longer, not with the closest rancher now intent upon saving rather than slaughtering their kind.

Instead, I let the others speed away down the trail before us, slowing my footsteps to match Chase's as he lingered in the secluded woodland spot. "So," he started, eyes dropping and foot scuffing against the leaf litter now that we found ourselves alone save for sedated animals.

"So," I agreed, only realizing our arms were swinging in tandem when Chase's big hand slid sideways to enfold my own. This time, the touch reminded me of relaxing into a hot bath after a week of endless hiking. Meanwhile, Chase's voice when he spoke again was as caressing as any touch.

"My pack is established now," the shifter murmured. "Werewolves, humans, half-shifters--you'd be a perfect fit."

This time, he didn't ask me. But I didn't need an official invitation. I was ready for a different adventure than the career-focused mountain I'd spent the last decade clawing my way up.

"Sounds perfect," I answered, tilting my head so I could meet the eyes of the werewolf who had repeatedly ridden to my rescue. Why settle for the real world when you could enjoy a fairy tale? "Count me in."

***

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED Scapegoat! If so, you can read far more about Wolfie (and a bit about Chase) in the Wolf Rampant Trilogy. The first book in the series is free on all retailers, so why not check it out? You can also download a free starter library and get access to plenty of extras when you sign up for my email list.

Thanks for reading! You are why I write.

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# Dead Goblins and Overdue Rent

by Tori Centanni

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IT SHOULD SAY SOMETHING that finding a dead goblin at the bus stop wasn't the worst part of my night.

No, so far that honor went to standing in a vampire's living room for over an hour making small talk with her bloodsucking friends while she searched for money to pay me for services rendered.

The dead goblin was just another road block on my way home to pay my rent, which was already two days late. My landlord happened to be a vampire too, and his tendency to lose track of time was probably the only reason I didn't have a big orange eviction notice on my door.

The goblin had been propped against the side of the bus shelter, assuming he hadn't just died here, a fair assumption since I didn't see a lot of goblins riding the bus. When I'd jogged up after narrowly missing my bus home, I'd seen several people walk right on by without noticing. That was good, but also sort of demoralizing.

Then again, the goblin was short and had a hood pulled down over his green face and pointy ears. If you didn't look too closely, he appeared to be a pile of clothes or maybe a ventriloquist's puppet. I noticed because noticing things was part of my job as a private investigator. Plus, the smell of rotting goblin flesh was hard to miss, so pungent it burned my nostrils. How humans missed this stuff, I didn't know.

I bent down and, after making sure I was alone, pulled the hood back. I gasped.

The goblin's face had turned a grayish color in death and his eyes were wide open, with a milky color over the pupils. He reeked of rot and grave dirt, which was strange given his presence on a city street.

It was rare for goblins to die. They were fae creatures and like all fae, they were immortal but could still be killed. It was uncommon for their bodies to be left behind in a mundane place where humans might discover them.

Most humans did not know faeries--or vampires, or shifters, or witches like myself--existed and wouldn't have believed it if you told them. The goal of the supernatural world was to keep it that way, which meant leaving fae corpses lying around wasn't recommended.

I reached toward the goblin's pockets, hoping to dig out some clue of his identity so I could return his body to someone who'd want it. His eyes sparked to life, glowing red. His body lurched forward. I skipped backward, heart pounding, and nearly fell over as I moved out of range. The goblin snarled up at me, baring his big, sharp teeth.

My fingers tingled with heat. I had to resist the urge to barbecue the creature with demon fire. Demon magic was highly illegal and I, Dani Warren, was a witch who had no business having it. Using it was always risky, but doubly so when I would definitely need to report this to the Watchers.

The apparently-not-so-dead goblin struggled to its feet. I withdrew my sword and aimed the tip at the goblin's face. He snapped his jaw and tried to bite my sword. I wrenched it back but kept it pointed in his direction, ready to skewer him if he came closer. He shambled forward, practically tripping over his own feet.

I stared, mind reeling. He had definitely been dead... hadn't he? I'd never seen a goblin look so ashen before and the smell of rot was still so overpowering that I had to breathe through my mouth.

He moaned, a high, primal call of hunger that shook the marrow in my bones.

I'd seen Night of the Living Dead. I knew what that moan meant, along with his slow shuffle, red eyes, and snapping jaw.

Pulse racing, I inched backward and steeled myself for his attack. He shambled closer. I lifted my sword and slashed it sideways, catching him in the neck. The sword cut through his throat like butter, the blade enchanted to be preternaturally sharp. His head landed in the gutter. His body slumped to the ground.

Panting, I stood with my sword out, in case the goblin somehow got up again. I was relieved that at one-thirty in the morning the street was silent and devoid of foot traffic. After several moments of stillness where the only sound was my haggard breathing, I sheathed my sword.

I looked around for something to shove the body in. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't leave it here for the morning commuters to discover. That'd be a fun headline: Decapitated zombie goblin found at bus stop, news at 11.

Unable to think of a better option, I went to the recycling receptacle next to the garbage can. I pried the top off and lifted the thick blue plastic bag out of it, overturning it to let the plastic and glass containers tumble onto the sidewalk. Penelope was always urging me to carry a backpack of supplies, given the number of times I found myself in sticky situations. Once she'd even suggested I buy a utility belt but I wasn't a superhero.

I lifted the goblin's body and hefted it into the bag. It weighed a good fifty pounds but it was manageable. I lifted the head by its single tuft of black hair, making sure to hold it away from me. Dead or not, I didn't want those sharp teeth anywhere near me. I cinched the bag closed and hefted it over my shoulder, like Santa carrying a sack of toys.

I headed for the Watchers' office, since I knew they'd be more receptive to me dumping a zombified corpse on their doorstep than the Magic Council's administrative buildings would be. Paper pushers are paper pushers, even when they're pushing around supernatural papers.

I'd made it four blocks and was seriously considering summoning an Uber (could I trust the driver to avoid asking questions about my big blue plastic sack?) when a crow swooped in front of me. I groaned. The crow landed on the sidewalk and shifted into a tall, dark-haired woman with tan skin and dark eyes, like those of the bird. She wore a feathered dress that I suspected was an illusion. Most shifters couldn't shift their clothes for obvious reasons but crow shifters had more magic than most and were able to weave illusions. Or at least, Penelope could.

"What's in the sack, Danielle?" she asked, tilting her head in a very bird-like way.

"A dead goblin," I said. Only Penelope and my grandmother called me Danielle, and my grandmother was dead.

"I thought you were working for the Lady Rowena," she said, tilting her head the other way.

"I was. This was incidental. I'm going to drop it off at the Watchers, let it be their problem."

I waited for her to tell me why that was a bad idea. She didn't disappoint.

"Won't they wish to know how you came to hold a goblin's body in a...what is that? A garbage bag?"

My shoulders slumped. They would want to know, and that meant they'd toss me into an interrogation room until I told them enough to satisfy their curiosity.

"Killing the fae is against the Accords," Penelope continued.

"I didn't kill him," I said, a little too defensively. "Not the first time around, anyway." But my sword was covered in his gross coagulated zombie blood and I didn't know if the Watchers would believe me. The Watchers were the Magic Council's police, largely made up of demon hunters and rule enforcers and other folks who fancied themselves cops. Most of them were indifferent to my existence but a few resented that I freelanced as a PI, often doing jobs they felt should be under Council purview.

Penelope frowned. "The first time?"

"He was dead when I found him. Then he sort of came back to life."

Saying it out loud made me realize just how messed up that was. Zombies were not common in the supernatural world. Necromancy had long been frowned upon by the Magic Council, though they'd only recently taken steps to outlaw it, and even then there was discord on that point. Some people argued that necromancy was a magical tradition and trying to ban it was akin to banning all magic.

But regardless, zombies were rare and weird and usually not found abandoned at a bus stop. A zombie goblin was downright messed up and pointed to something bigger going on. I'd been happy to pawn that problem off on the Watchers, but Penelope was right: they'd never let me dump the body and go. They'd want answers. Answers I sure as hell didn't have.

And the last thing I needed was scrutiny from the Council. If they learned I had demon magic, they'd arrest me and probably worse. Using demon magic was punishable by death. Having demon magic was... well... something a witch like me shouldn't have. But there were members of the Council who'd happily hold up my having it as proof of my wrong doing, even though it wasn't my fault.

A few years ago, I'd been possessed by a malicious demon for three agonizing days. It was hell. I'd managed to fight the demon out of me, but somehow I'd been left with powerful demon magic. That might have been kind of cool, like a consolation prize for my suffering, but according to the Magic Council, using demon magic was pretty much an automatic death sentence.

So no, I really didn't want to spend the next three days in a holding cell being interrogated by the Council about why I had a dead zombified goblin in a bag. The less attention they paid me, the better.

I groaned. "Where should I take him?"

Penelope shrugged. "That's not my problem. I'm just here to let you know Silas is looking for you."

"Of course he is." Silas was my vampire landlord, who had apparently realized I owed him money and was now looking to collect.

Penelope lifted her arms over her head and thrust them down. And just like that, she turned into a crow and took flight, leaving me with a zombie goblin in a bag in the wee hours of the morning.

***

"YOU NEVER BRING ME a pizza," Adam complained with a pout. He was a scrawny guy in a too-big black shirt, his pink-dyed hair falling into his dark eyes. He had a matching pink stud in the left side of his nose.

"It's almost two in the morning. Where the hell would I even get a pizza?" I asked, setting the bag of goblin parts on the silver slab. The funeral home did not officially conduct autopsies. That was Adam's little hobby, one the funeral home owners probably wouldn't be thrilled about.

"I'm just saying, I get out of bed and drag myself to work in the middle of the night, I should get something."

"You have my gratitude," I said. He rolled his eyes. With a sigh, I pulled the wad of cash Lady Rowena had given me earlier and peeled off a hundred dollar bill. Thankfully, Adam seemed satisfied with that, because any more and I was back to not making my rent. As it stood, I'd just handed him all my grocery money and witches still had to eat.

He stuffed the money into the back pocket of his skinny jeans and pulled his toolset out of the black messenger bag he'd hung on a hook near the door. The prep room, as Adam called it, smelled of bleach and formaldehyde, which was only a slight step up from goblin rot. As soon as Adam opened the bag, the rotting smell joined the party and I was very glad there was no pizza in the room for the foul odor to spoil.

Wearing plastic gloves, he pulled out the torso and then the head, making a face when he saw it. Adam wasn't a supernatural but he'd been freelancing as a supernatural medical examiner for years. He'd seen victims torn apart by stray werewolves, mutilated by angry trolls, and frozen solid by winter faeries. But his expression at seeing the goblin's hideous, rotting face was easily the most horrified I'd ever seen him.

"This is gross," he said, and set the head down. "Just how long ago did this thing die?"

"That's what I'm here to find out," I said.

Adam looked dubious.

I pulled out my phone and snapped a shot of the goblin's face.

"What's that for?" Adam asked, making a face.

"Identification purposes."

"Sure, whatever." He started to cut the clothes off the goblin's body so he could get to work. I opted to wait outside.

An hour later, Adam opened the door to the prep room and ushered me back inside. The foul odor had managed to get worse and I coughed, trying very hard to only inhale through my mouth.

The goblin's body lay on the slab, but it had been covered by a white sheet and I didn't have to look at it. Smelling it was bad enough.

"Well?"

Adam lifted a chain. Suspended on it like the jewel of a necklace was a bit of bloody bone.

"Gross," I said.

"Tell me about it. It's a reanimation charm. It was in the goblin's chest." He extended it out to me but I didn't take it so he set it on the metal tray. "Looks like this fella died about a week ago. Run through the heart with iron."

"He was killed with iron?" I whistled. Iron was poisonous to the fae, and from what I'd heard, a very painful way for them to die. "That's low."

"Flecks of it were in his chest." Adam swallowed uneasily, as if a faerie might jump out and attack him for daring to say it. The fae were immortal and liked to pretend that made them impervious to death, but they could be killed by iron, beheading, or fire, a fact they would love to keep quiet, as if it were some deep, dark secret.

"Okay. So someone killed him and then shoved that bone in his chest to bring him back, only to discard him at the bus stop," I said. "Why?"

"Beats me," Adam said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd love to get this cleaned up and go back to bed."

It was almost three a.m. I felt ready to collapse myself. But there was something so wrong about the whole situation that I couldn't let it go.

***

BRANCHES WAS, BY FIRST appearances, a total dive bar. A tiny room with smoke-stained walls, torn vinyl stools, and a beat up wooden bar that had seen its best days before the Great Depression. The shabby dive was only a front for the real bar behind it that extended deep into a faerie hole, meaning it existed outside of the human world and in some pocket dimension.

I slipped through the door hidden between two unplugged, out-of-order pinball machines. The real bar was outside with fairy lights strung over tree branches that surrounded the square patio. A pink twilight sky hung overhead. It was permanently a warm summer evening in Branches.

The few mortals who'd been tricked inside lounged around on cushions on the floor, drunk on faerie wine.

Hot tip: don't drink faerie wine. It's highly addictive and so powerful that you'll lose actual days of your life to a watery, strange drunk. And that's assuming you're ever allowed to sober up, which, when surrounded by giggling, dancing faeries, is kind of unlikely.

At the moment, a few fae sat around the fire pit in the center of the patio, laughing at their own jokes while two mortals languished on the floor below them. I did my best to ignore the mortals, resisting the urge to go over and drag the humans outside and dump buckets of ice water over their heads.

The bartender had milky pale skin and white blond hair. She wore a green dress with a deep v neck that hugged her waist and ended mid-thigh, and sported a crown of leaves on her head. She gave me a dark look.

"Your kind is not welcome here," she said stiffly.

Witches and faeries didn't get along for a myriad of reasons, though the biggest one was that witches tend to have more resistance to faerie glamor and way less desire to follow them into the woods for a naked dance party that was totally a trap than normal humans did.

"I'm not here for a drink. I'm here to talk to Ohzor."

Her lips curled into a frown of distaste. "In the back," she said, opening the wooden partition to let me behind the bar and through to the backroom.

Goblins were the ugly cousins of the fae. They weren't pretty but they tended to be better with finances and business licenses. If there was a fae business thriving in the human world (or using a human business as a front for one in a faerie hole), chances were a goblin was helping run the show.

Ohzor was the only goblin I knew by name. I'd done a minor job for him locating a missing employee a year ago. He was short, maybe three feet tall, though you couldn't tell when you saw him seated at his desk. His green skin was lined and dotted with wiry black hairs that grew out of moles. His pointed ears stuck out of his head like horns and a small tuft of dark hair sat square in the center of his scalp.

His large, blue eyes fell on me as he glanced up from his computer. "What?" he asked, in a craggy voice.

"I found your friend," I said. I showed him the photo I'd snapped on my phone of the dead goblin's face.

He glanced at the photo and then back at me. "Not all goblins are friends."

"Did you know him?" I demanded.

"Why should I tell you?" he countered.

I sighed. "Because he was left for dead at a bus stop, only he wasn't entirely dead. He tried to eat my face." Okay, he'd only tried to eat my sword, but given the chance, I was pretty sure he'd have gotten to that point. "Who was he?"

Ohzor clamped his mouth shut, his lower teeth sticking out slightly over his lip.

"Fine. Forget it. I'm not getting paid to deal with zombie goblins anyway." I turned to go.

"He was Draak, of the Northern Clan," he said to my back. "He was not a friend but I knew him. What happened?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out." I turned back and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Ohzor's desk. "None of your kind knew he was dead?"

"Do you know what every witch knows?" He glared for full effect. I ignored the jab. He knew perfectly well what I meant. "I had not heard of his passing or... that." He gestured at the phone in my hand. "Several of our numbers have vanished in the last two weeks. I had considered calling you in but then I learned a new portal had been discovered." He turned his hands palm up as if to say, "So you see."

Portals were gateways in and out of the Summerlands. Only the most powerful fae could open them from our dimension, meaning a lot of fae creatures got stuck in the human world, unable to get back unless they stumbled across an open portal or paid a greater faerie to open one for them. When one was found, there was often a mass exodus of fae who were sick of hiding in the shadows of the mortal world.

"Where?" I asked.

"I cannot tell a witch that," he said. "That information is for the goblins only."

Irritation flared through me. I pulled out the wad of cash and peeled off another hundred, slapping it on the desk. "Where?" I repeated.

He gingerly peeled the money off the desk. "The mall."

***

THIS PARTICULAR MALL wasn't a traditional mall. Maybe it had started that way but it had gradually sprawled out into several buildings spanning many blocks and was now more like a series of strip malls. The main building did have the old fashioned "mall" structure with the indoor walkways between stores, and it had once been home to a popular department store, though it was currently being renovated into something else. Scaffolding and wooden support beams sat on top of the old structure, ready to be built into a grand new entrance way for whatever store was moving into the space.

I had the Uber driver drop me off in the empty parking lot in front of the building that was under construction. Construction was one of those things that tended to uncover or break open portals to the faerie realm so it was a safe bet that's where I'd find the portal, if it existed at all. At the very least, I might find a clue as to what happened to poor, dead Draak.

What I was going to do then, I didn't know. But it was almost four in the morning and I didn't have any other clues to follow. And as someone who didn't want to wake up to a city overrun with tiny goblin zombies, I felt the need to follow the threads until they ended.

I picked the lock on the front door. Inside, the old department store had been gutted. Walls had been torn down to support beams and the floor stripped to the bare concrete below. Sawdust and debris littered the ground. It looked like the demolition portion of this project was nearly complete and soon they'd rebuild this place into whatever it was going to become. Probably some swanky department store full of clothes I couldn't afford.

My heavy boots echoed as I made my way across the concrete. I saw no sign of a portal or anything of interest at all.

The mall itself was cut off from the store by one of those rolling metal gates. Whatever doors might have stood in place had been torn out with everything else but the metal security shutter was closed tight.

I bent down to pull one of the pins holding the gate closed and silently thanked my summer stint working at a mall accessory store for knowing how these things worked. Usually they had locks but this one didn't.

A shuffling sound came from the other side of the gate. Like impatient feet shifting on the ground. I stood slowly and inched my way over to the middle pin, pulling it out as a blood-curdling moan pierced the air.

My heart pounded. Another zombie?

Suddenly I wasn't so sure I wanted to get the gate open. But if there was another zombie loose in the mall, I couldn't leave it behind.

I pulled the final pin. Sounds of shuffling and ragged breathing got louder. And multiplied, like it was more than one zombie. Blood thrummed in my ears as I drew my sword. I took a deep breath and wrenched the gate open. It flew up into the ceiling with a metallic clank. And then a dozen pairs of huge, beady eyes landed on me.

I actually gulped. It might have been funny if I wasn't face to face with an actual undead goblin horde. The goblins sniffed the air and one in front moaned again, sending shivers down my spine. But they shuffled in place and didn't attack, giving me time to formulate a plan. So far I had "whack their heads off." I took a tentative step forward. The goblins did not rush at me. They snapped their teeth and emitted low moans, but held the line.

I swallowed, my throat dry. A small army of zombie goblins was weird enough but the fact that they weren't rushing to attack was discombobulating. Not that I was complaining.

I lifted my sword to bring it down on the first goblin's head. A slow clapping echoed through the mall. I froze, a chill sinking into my bones, sword held high above my head.

"My apologies. I wasn't expecting a visitor." The voice was full of amusement and echoed through the cavernous space. A man came around the corner at the end of the hall. The goblins didn't acknowledge him. They kept their hungry red eyes on me. "Do you like my collection?"

My stomach roiled. I let my sword drop, since my arm had started to ache. "Your what?"

As the man came closer, I could make out his jeans and denim jacket and his shaggy hair cut in a trendy side swoop. He looked like he'd fit in at any college mixer. His face was scruffy and he wore a digital watch whose screen glowed blue on one wrist.

"My collection of undead goblins. I've made them all from scratch! Aren't they wonderful?" He smirked. His teeth gleamed in the dim light, so white they might have been marble. He gestured to the goblins like a game show host displaying a prize.

My insides squeezed until bile shot up my throat. I swallowed it back. "I found one of your goblins at a bus stop."

He frowned. "Ah, yes, well, I lost track of one. It happens." He studied me, sizing me up. He did not look impressed. In my defense, it had been one hell of a long night. "You don't look like the usual Council peon."

"I don't work for the Council," I said.

He looked upward, toward the ceiling, and a smile crept across his face. "Well, isn't that a relief! Here I thought I'd been discovered before I could create my zombie army and unleash it on the Watchers. But it's just... who are you?"

"Dani Warren, P.I." I glowered. "Who are you?"

"Edgar Moore, necromancer." He actually bowed. What a piece of work.

"Necromancy is illegal."

"So it is. But I've never cared much for that law. Besides, no one is going to miss a few goblins."

"You killed them," I said, the realization smacking into me like a truck. Of course he had. That's what "making them from scratch" meant. He wasn't just raising the dead: he was luring them here under the pretense of a portal and then murdering them so he could bring them back to do his bidding. Gross.

He didn't deny it. Instead, he looked me up and down again, narrowing his eyes. "You're a witch," he decided.

"Yeah, I am. So what?"

He laughed and clapped his hands together. "Lucky you, Ms. Warren. You get to help me test the viability of this small army against the Council members."

He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. The zombie goblins rushed me.

I stumbled, caught off guard, but got my bearings fast. I swung my sword and lopped the head off the closest goblin. Its body slumped to the ground. Other goblins trampled over it as they came at me.

I caught one in the chest and managed to slice the arm off another. My sword was enchanted to be super sharp but the sharpest blade in the world couldn't compete with these numbers. I swung at the goblin to my left and my blade caught him in the ear, the pointy tip flying off.

Behind his army, Edgar laughed and it echoed through the space. My skin crawled. This jerk had murdered these poor saps and turned them into hungry, mindless drones and now he was laughing as I cut them down.

I managed to get the head off another, but the remaining goblins closed in. There were still eight or nine of them surrounding me, clawing at my jacket and pants, snapping their jaws. Their breath reeked of rotten meat. Their moans curdled my blood. I turned to slice the head off one that was inching closer on my right. Something grabbed my arm. Sharp nails dug into my flesh. I spun and sliced at the wrist that held me. The zombie goblin reached for me with its other hand, undeterred.

While I was beheading the tenacious zombie, something slammed into my back. I fell forward, into a crowd of chomping teeth. My hair got yanked and I screeched as my scalp erupted in pain. One of the goblins had jumped on my back and was using my hair to hang on for dear life as I tried to stand. I spun around trying to lose it and another flew at me. It jumped toward my chest. I dodged, but barely, and lost my balance. My sword flew out of my hand. I hit the ground on my side. The goblin that had been riding me grabbed my arm and bit down near my wrist, where he could get to my flesh.

The pain was excruciating. Goblins had razor sharp teeth. I whirled, my butt still on the concrete, and kicked at a zombie who was trying to tear off my boot. I pulled at my arm but that only made the first goblin bite down harder. I looked around for my sword. Spotted it several feet away under bare goblin feet. Too far to do me any good.

A different goblin reached for my other arm and I shook him off, glad my leather jacket meant none of them could get to my flesh easily.

Edgar was still laughing, finding my impending doom hilarious. Necromantic zombies were not contagious the way zombies in movies were but these goblins would eat me alive given the chance. And one of them was already chomping on my arm. Pain radiated from the bite as he clamped down harder but at least he wasn't trying to tear my flesh off. Yet. Since I wanted to keep my arm, I inched closer to my sword.

A high whistle pierced the air. I glanced up automatically at Edgar. That was a mistake. It was another attack command. The goblins fell on me like a pack of hyenas. Somehow, they'd still been holding back.

I struggled to get away from them, kicking and tugging at my arm as I scooted across the concrete. It was no use. Little goblin hands clawed at me and grabbed my hair. One used its claws to shred the thigh of my jeans and dig into my flesh.

I usually avoided using my demon magic at all costs. It was dangerous. If the wrong person saw, I'd be dead meat.

But at that moment, I was about to be dead meat regardless.

I gathered my power in my free hand, letting the heat of demon magic move through my veins. It burned, hot and powerful. The fireball formed in my palm. I threw it at the crowd of goblins, starting with the one trying to rip my jeans off. The smell of singed flesh and hair joined the assault on my nostrils. I gathered a smaller fireball and shot it at the forehead of the one with his teeth in my arm. It smacked him in the face and he let go. I yanked my arm back and scrambled sideways, filling the gap left by the goblins I'd shot fire at. Two were dead or at least unmoving on the ground. The others were singed but growling and already coming back toward me.

I got to my feet, panting and nauseated, blood dripping from my arm. Edgar stood at the very back of the mall. He was no longer laughing.

I pulled the demon magic from my aching muscles, leeching it out of myself and into my hand in the form of fire. I used the blue demon flames like a flame thrower. I cut down the first line of goblins and swept back to get the rest. The goblin's screams turned my stomach. Smoke rose and set off the overhead sprinklers which rained down, soaking me, though water was no match for demonic fire. I swept the line one last time, making sure to get them all.

When the flame extinguished, all of the goblins lay dead for a second time, some of their bodies charred beyond ruin, others in good enough shape to be made into zombies a second time, if that was a thing necromancy could do.

I kicked goblin corpses out of my way and bent down to retrieve my sword.

Edgar's expression had changed. His eyes were wide and he was frowning deeply, his lips curved into an upside-down "U."

Sword in hand, I stepped over the bodies of his fallen zombie army and headed straight for him. He skipped backward, hitting the wall behind him.

"You're no witch! What the hell are you?" he demanded.

"Oh, I'm a witch," I said. I dug deep and gathered what demon magic I could still muster until a small ball of flame formed in my palm. "I just don't play by the rules either."

I tossed the fire at him. He moved out of the way, the flame catching his side-swept hair but missing his face. He squealed. I ran at him with my sword. I stopped with the tip of the blade at his throat. His eyes widened further and he whimpered.

If I were a good witch, a witch who played by the Magic Council's rules, I'd have handed him over to the Watchers. But he'd seen me use highly illegal magic that I shouldn't have so that wasn't an option. "Give me one good reason not to kill you."

He opened his mouth and struggled to speak with the blade against his neck.

Sirens blared. The sprinklers had probably set off an alarm. Damn.

Edgar used my momentary distraction to slip out of my grasp. He ran down the side alley of the mall from which he'd appeared, slipping on the wet floor but catching himself. I would have given chase but the sirens were so loud I was sure they'd already reached the parking lot. Human authorities would be here any minute. I swore.

Leaving a bunch of goblin bodies for the mortal cops to find was so not cool. I sheathed my sword and rushed for the bodies, pushing them into one big pile. They were sopping wet but demon fire didn't care. I gathered the last of my power and blasted them with flame until they turned to dust. Demon fire wasn't regular fire and it turned their bones to ash because I willed it to do so.

Finally, the fire went out, my power nearly extinguished. I could only conjure so much fire at a time, the curse of being a witch and not a demon. A demon would not have run out of juice.

I heard noise from inside the gutted department store. The authorities were here. I high-tailed it out following the same path as Edgar, keeping an eye out for him in case I could grab him on my way. But he was long gone, and after a moment, so was I, leaving only a confusing pile of ash behind.

***

BY THE TIME I GOT BACK home, my clothes had dried a little but were still damp and my hair was a matted, wet mess. My wrist had stopped bleeding but there was a nasty, yellow bruise forming around the red teeth marks.

My building was an older building near downtown Everett, almost right in the middle between the freeway and the Waterfront. The ground floor of the building was home to a small market run by a regular human man, a laundromat, and my private investigator office.

There were four apartments each on the second and third stories, but only two had tenants. The others were shrines to my vampire landlord's very real hoarding problem. Penelope (the other tenant) and I often joked about holding an intervention but I never seriously considered it. I was too scared Silas would evict me before agreeing to let us declutter his extra units.

I let myself in the side door and climbed the stairs to my apartment on the third floor. Silas was waiting for me. I checked the sky through the window in the building's hall. Grayer by the minute. Sunrise would happen soon. He didn't have long.

Silas was tall and pale, with dark hair and a thin face. He'd probably been handsome when he was alive--he was almost handsome now but I'd had enough of the undead tonight to think so. He wore a loose t-shirt and black jeans and leaned against my door like he owned it. Which he did.

"Hey," I said.

"Your rent is due," he said, without preamble.

My heart dropped into my stomach. I had most of the money. But I'd used a cool hundred to pay off the goblin and now I was short. I'd hoped to have another day to make up the difference.

"Yeah, about that, here's the thing," I said, as I withdrew the stack of cash Lady Rowena had given me only hours earlier. "I have most of your money."

Silas raised a black eyebrow. "Most?"

"I had the full amount, okay? But then there were these zombie goblins and this asshole necromancer and..."

Silas glanced at my wrist and then laughed. It was strained but it was definitely a laugh. Silas never laughed. He brooded and scowled. Laughing wasn't really his speed.

"You think that's funny?" I asked. "Look at me. I'm soaked from mall sprinklers because that's where this guy was raising dead goblins after he lured them there and killed them."

"It's not funny," Silas said, amusement tugging at his lips because he was one hundred percent lying. "But it is funny that you're the only person I know who regularly encounters so much trouble."

"Tell me about it," I huffed. I offered the cash to Silas, who took it. He counted the whole stack together and confirmed that I was a hundred bucks short.

"This is good enough for now. Have the rest to me by Friday."

"Really?" I asked, because I couldn't keep my stupid mouth shut. Friday was two whole days away and plenty of time to take a boring "is my spouse cheating on me?" case (spoiler alert: if you think your spouse is cheating, you're probably right). But I'd expected the vampire to make a bigger stink, maybe even throw around some threats. Silas liked to remind me that he wasn't running a charity. I had a theory that my rent and Pen's were just enough to cover his property taxes so he could keep the building--and all of his stuff inside it--from being boarded up.

He shrugged. "I can be reasonable."

This from the guy who had six apartments, five of which were just full of useless crap he'd collected over the last three hundred years. But I didn't argue.

After the night I had, I wasn't going to complain about being let off the hook. I bid him goodnight, shut and locked my door, and went to bandage my wrist and wash the dead goblin stink out of my hair.

***

TORI CENTANNI WRITES suspenseful urban fantasy with intriguing characters and elements of humor. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her partner and three cats. When she's not writing or reading, she can be found baking, cooking, watching way too much television, and wrangling cats.

Dani Warren appears in The Brimstone Magic Series which will be out in September of 2018. To learn more about that series and Tori's other books, visit her website at toricentanni.com or find her on Facebook at facebook.com/toricentanniauthor.

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# Magically Hidden

by Rachel Medhurst

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# Chapter 1

"Did Paranormal MI5 bother to give us any details regarding this case?" I huffed as I clambered up the outside wall of the museum.

Being an Essex witch didn't make me fit and healthy. No, I wasn't a ninja. My agent partner, Gerard, would agree with me. He was constantly trying to get me to train in combat. He just didn't get that I was connected to the ley line. I didn't need to be able to traverse physical obstructions. I could magic myself there. Until now.

"Not really," Gerard said, grunting when I threw myself over the top of the wall and almost squashed him as I landed in his arms. "They just said that there'd been several ancient artefacts stolen from various museums in London in the last week. A witch has left a photo of a pentagram resting where each item had been."

When my boss at the Hunted Witch Agency had told me that I couldn't transport myself into the museum that we currently walked towards, I had almost quit. Not because I didn't love working as an agent, but because I'd just bought a pair of brand new kickass boots. They were pretty, and extremely pristine. I didn't want to get scuff marks on them. Some people just didn't understand the importance of gorgeous shoes.

"Are you still brooding over your-?"

"Shush!" I exclaimed as the muffled sound of breaking glass reached my ears.

Taking out my dagger, I crouched low, hiding in the shadows by the wall. Gerard's gun was raised by his head as he waved me forward. The museum was ahead of us, its granite walls dark in the dead of the night.

"Justina said that the alarm sounded for three minutes before it went off. A security guard called it in to the police, but they put it down to a glitch," Gerard whispered as we crept towards the front entrance. "She decided that we better check it out."

Justina was our main boss. She was currently at headquarters, waiting for our report. Her partner, in more ways than one, if you know what I mean, was waiting in the van outside the wall. His name is Kurt, and he's an Australian witch who prides himself on herbology magic. He covered the exit. There was no way anyone would get out without him capturing them.

Silence descended as we tiptoed up the stone steps and approached the front door. My heartbeat played bongos inside my chest as I tried to keep quiet. I wasn't exactly the queen of discretion, although I had gotten better since I'd been practicing magic with the ley line.

Gerard put his ear against the big wooden door and listened. I peered through the darkness, trying to find anything to suggest where the burglars had gained entrance.

"There," I whispered, pointing towards the window nearest the door.

Moving closer, I inspected the broken glass on the floor. Wait. The two windows next to this one were also broken. The intruder must have smashed the last one just after we'd climbed the wall.

A noise inside the building made us glance at one another. Gerard moved to the last broken window. I followed, my boots tracing a path around the glass.

"Hurry up!" someone shouted inside.

Gerard climbed through the gap in the window, his shadowy frame disappearing quickly. My legs kicked into gear as adrenaline made my hands shake. I was through the window, almost falling into the building before I could think. I didn't want to be left behind. I had to be beside Gerard. Not because I was scared. I was Devon Jinx, kickass Essex witch. I wasn't ever scared. Much.

"Freeze!" Gerard shouted.

The high ceilinged room had tiny lights above each piece of art. It gave the room a glow which helped us to see the two people who were taking a painting off the wall.

Both heads swivelled towards us. A gunshot sounded, the bullet whizzing in our direction. Throwing up a hand, I froze the movement of the deadly piece of metal with a spell. The cool magic of the ley line filtered into me. My feet absorbed the energy, my veins thumping with it as it travelled throughout my body. I didn't take in too much. The stuff could get addictive.

The bullet dropped to the floor as the thieves went for the exit. Gerard fired his gun in their direction. The pair of them were wearing dark tops, the hoods pulled up and over their heads.

"Let's go!" Gerard made a run for it.

Blinking, I glanced at the painting as I rushed to catch up to him. The colors were all wrong. The grass was purple and the stream was red. My boots slowed as the image moved slightly. What...?

"Devon!" Gerard barked as he thrust into the next room.

Leaving the painting behind, I forced my little legs to carry me into the sculpture room. My small frame was always a hindrance in a chase. Not many people realised that I had to take three steps to Gerard's one.

My dark hair flung in my face as I looked around. Gerard was ahead, moving towards the next room. A shadow moved behind the sculpture on my left. The thieves were hiding there.

"Incendia!" I shouted, throwing a wall of fire around the center of the room.

A high pitched feminine giggle came from the direction of my spell. Gerard heard it, spinning back to join me as I closed in.

"Don't believe all you see," the woman called.

Feeling into the ley line, I allowed the pure witch magic to pulse out from me. It relayed the magical imprint of those in the room back to me. One warlock, one... was that witch energy? It was different, strange.

Dropping my fire spell, I surged forward as Gerard went around the reclining man sculpture. A ball of bright red warlock magic flew out from behind it, only just missing me as I thrust to the side, landing on my arm.

In my world, warlocks used the impure magic from the earth, whereas the witches used the pure magic. Warlocks can only be male. They were originally witches, but they broke from witches when they started using magic for evil, so in return mother earth punished them by never allowing them to have warlock daughters. Any daughters they do have are human.

Gerard was no longer visible, which wasn't good. He grunted suddenly, swearing loudly enough for me to hear.

Lunging from my spot on the floor, I gripped the handle of my dagger, ready to throw it. I couldn't use too much ley line magic here. It would ruin the ancient artefacts in the room.

"I wouldn't if I were you," the woman said as the sculpture disappeared.

The two hooded thieves stood side by side, their faces covered by the darkness. Gerard was on his knees on the marble floor in front of them.

He held his head, his eyes wide as I appeared. They'd either stolen the sculpture from under us or made it see-through so we could talk.

"You may think that you know what this is," a voice came from the person on the right.

She was smaller than the other, which was obvious because the warlock could only be a man.

"What-?"

"No questions!"

Waving her hand, the female tilted her head before they both puffed into thin air. The sculpture returned, blocking my view of Gerard.

Rushing to him, I checked his head. It was bleeding a bit, but the wound was only skin deep. He thrust from his knees as he grabbed his phone out of his pocket. Running a hand over the sculpture, I cringed as I forced myself to feel the magic that coated it. Warlock magic was only ever physical, so it had to be witch magic that cloaked it.

"They got away," Gerard barked into the phone.

Glancing at him, I swallowed hard as my heartbeat started to find its normal rhythm. How had they escaped so easily? We were agents of the Hunted Witch Agency. We knew how to capture our targets.

"Yeah, they stole a lot more than we bargained for."

Frowning at Gerard's words, I was about to protest. As far as I was aware, they hadn't stolen anything. Going closer to him, I went to speak. He nodded his head towards the wall, his eyebrows raised.

Turning, I gasped in a breath. Every single painting that had been hanging in their place when we'd come into the room was gone.

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# Chapter 2

"I can't believe they got away," Gerard murmured as we waited for Justina and Kurt to join us in the library.

The agency building was beside the River Thames. Its medieval structure was still completely intact and laid between the more modern buildings of London. The library had a wall of CCTV screens on the right hand side of the room. Justina's desk was at the end of the room, right in front of the window, but facing inwards. The back wall was lined with books from hundreds of years ago, including my grandmother's grimoire, which was now mine. Not that I had used it much. I was only just getting used to being connected to the ley line. As an Essex witch, I'd inherited the job of protecting the ley line not so long ago.

Mr. Hunky Pants - that's short for Gerard - wasn't helping the situation. Yes, we'd let the art thieves escape. However, he was the one who had been hit around the head. If anyone was to blame, I'd secretly blame him.

"Well, you did get hit around the head." Maybe that wasn't very secretive.

His scowl was followed by the shake of his head when I grinned a pretty smile. Or what I thought was pretty. It probably looked like I was cringing or something.

"What happened?" Kurt demanded as he and Justina came into the room.

Justina wore her trademark black cat suit. Her straight blonde hair had just been cut to her chin. Although she towered over me, I would say that I was her equal. Well, sometimes. She was the leader of the agency, a witch who had sworn to protect society from the rogue witches who threatened to reveal our existence to the humans. And, those who hurt their own kind too.

"They got away," I said, trying not to shrink into myself.

"State the obvious," Kurt quipped before his lips pulled into a thin line.

The man was the most blunt and sarcastic witch in the world. And, yet, we were good friends. Not because I was as witty as him. Not even anywhere near it. But, because we'd both been through hard times. In fact, all four of us had. Which was why they'd embraced me when I'd started to work with them.

"Okay," Justina said. "Let's look at the evidence."

Sitting down behind her desk, she frowned as she failed to find the folder she was after. She was usually so meticulous, unlike me. My room constantly looked like a bomb had hit it. Even my pet rat, Kingsley, complained about it. His little squeaks when I tried to find something reminded me that I should clean more often. Kingsley was my baby. He was supposed to be my familiar, but I'd never had the heart to connect him to me.

Snapping his fingers, Kurt got everyone's attention, including Justina's. "The evidence is here, darling," he said, waving the folder that was in his hand. Aw, although Kurt was an arse to everyone else, he was so lovely to- "Are you blind?"

Spoke too soon.

Flipping him off, Justina waved her other hand, indicating that he should hand her the file.

Sitting back in her chair, Justina opened it and held up a photo. "Okay, so forensics took photos of the museum this morning. Devon, you mentioned that the first painting looked strange."

Getting up from my seat, I went over and grabbed the photo. Wait. I was confused. Which wasn't hard, admittedly, but still. "This is completely different to how I saw it. The grass was purple, and the water was red."

"You also said that the sculpture disappeared." Kurt's voice was tight, unconvinced.

Handing me another photo, Justina stayed silent. My mouth gaped open as I studied the sculpture.

"That's nothing like what I saw in there. This is really strange."

Coming over, Gerard glanced over my shoulder, his warm breath hitting my neck. I held back my shiver as goosebumps lined my arms. His manly scent was making me all kinds of giddy. Why did Mr. Tattoo-man have to be so distracting?

"Devon, I'm sure you-" Gerard started, balking when he saw the photo. "Wait, that is completely different. There was a reclining man there, not a... what is that?"

"It's one of those abstract pieces. Apparently, the artist connected with the inner soul and all that malarkey." Trust Kurt to be skeptic about souls when he was a witch.

"That wasn't there. How...? I'm so confused." Giving back the photo, I leaned over the desk as Kurt laid out the rest of the evidence file.

There were a couple of write ups from Justina, and a report from the human police about previous break ins.

"If what you're saying is true, then there must be an explanation as to why you saw something different. But what?" Justina moved some of the papers around.

Frowning as I read a record of the first burglary, I zoned in on one thing. "Here..." Pointing at it, I jabbed my finger a few times, just to make sure everyone was paying attention. "It says that the guard at the British Museum thought he saw artefacts move right in front of his eyes."

Rubbing his dark blonde shaggy hair, Kurt looked at Justina. "Everything points to magic, but what type? If they were able to take the paintings without these guys even noticing, they're pretty powerful paranormals."

"Yeah..." Gerard crossed his tattooed arms over his chest. "If they can get away from us by fooling our senses, I'd say they are extremely powerful."

My heartbeat sped up as his eyes landed on me. Something about his energy made me all fuzzy inside, especially because he was being all agenty. He was hard to resist when he was in that mode.

"What do you think?" he asked me, bringing my mind back to the matter in hand. Yes, I had to literally force myself to stop day dreaming about Mr. Dreamy.

I picked up the photo again. "Well, it seems that the warlock and witch have teamed up together to create a criminal mastermind. The only way we'll catch them is if we outsmart them first."

Kurt snorted. "We'll come up with a plan then, shall we?"

The glare that I threw in his direction made him raise his eyebrows. He was about to open his mouth when Justina cleared her throat. "Before you get into a fight, children, let's not forget one thing."

We all looked at her, our concentration fully on our boss so that we didn't get told off. She held up her tablet, waving it around. "If we don't know the magic they're using, we won't know how to stop them."

"And, if we don't stop them," I said, trying my hardest not to sigh. "The human government won't allow the Hunted Witch Agency to stay open."

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# Chapter 3

"They're there now?" I asked as the van swerved through the streets of London.

The handle of my dagger was pressed into my palm, the sweat lining my skin making it harder to grip. The weapon was an Essex witch heirloom, meant to help those witches who were ancestors of the oldest line of witches in the world. And, I was one of them. I never bragged about it. Well, not too much. But, who could blame me for letting one or three people know that I was descended from an amazing bloodline?

"Yes," Justina replied, tapping something into her tablet as Kurt put the brakes on the van.

Gerard's arm came out to stop me from falling off the bench. The back of the van was lined with two wooden benches, weapon boxes and chains for those paranormal creatures who were breaking the law.

"We're here." Justina banged the partition between where we sat and the front of the van, where Kurt drove.

Opening it, he shouted over the loud rock music. "I know, I know, I'm just making sure the van is out of sight."

It was still light outside, although the sun was on its way down. It took some balls for the thieves to attempt a robbery in the daytime. Although, how they got the pieces out of these buildings was still a mystery to us. One that was starting to get on my tits.

"You know the drill," our boss said as the engine stopped and the music shut off. "We're going in stealth. Kurt and I will lead, you two follow."

The back doors opened, allowing sunlight to flood straight in. Tightening the laces on my boots, I tucked my dagger into the inside pocket of my leather jacket. Gerard and Justina jumped out ahead of me. About to leap myself, I stopped when Gerard offered me his hand. What a gentleman!

"Why, thank you," I cooed as Kurt shut the doors.

The group gathered, all four of us. We were parked up the road from the building. Plenty of traffic was on the road in front of it, although trees lined the front of the museum so it wasn't that easy to see in or out.

"Paranormal MI5 have had a report from the police that there's a disturbance in the building. A guard called it in, said that he'd heard noises, but couldn't find the location of them. They've asked us to go in because they're working on a bigger case right now. And, because one of our suspects is a witch, they figured we could get the job done. However, as you know," Justina glanced over her shoulder as a human walked past. "The government are watching us closely. There's no reason for them to close us down, so I don't know why they're being tetchy with us. Just... get the job done."

Each one of us nodded. The paranormal world was hidden from human society. Some of them knew we existed, but the majority didn't. That was how the government wanted to keep it. They were human themselves, so they bargained with us to make sure our existence was kept a secret.

"Let's go," Kurt said as he got out his gun and held it by his side.

Following, I left my dagger in my pocket. We were meeting the guard around the side of the building so he could lead us to where he heard the noises. We had to make sure no one saw us, especially if the thieves were there.

Ducking through an employees entrance, we made our way towards the guard who stood by a door. Looking around, I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. There was no truck or van ready to take items. There were no people in the grounds at all. The museum had been closed for hours, all the employees, bar the guard, gone home.

"Hello," the guard, who was a tall heavyset man, greeted Justina.

Nodding, she whispered something to him. I didn't hear it, but it was probably something like... take us to your leader. Well, okay, maybe not that, but I had to amuse myself sometimes.

"When we get inside," Gerard whispered to me. "Use your magic to feel for the source of the noise."

Looking up at him, I grinned. He'd gotten better at asking for my help with cases. Before, he would always take the lead, never allowing me to interfere. However, since I'd proven myself with my magic, he'd become a little less rigid.

"Okay," Justina said quietly as she waved us through the entrance.

The guard stayed ahead, leading us down a corridor until we came to an arched entryway. He paused, pointing to the right. The others held their guns as we crept closer. My heart pumped adrenaline around my body, making perspiration line my palms. One hand held my dagger, the other hung by my side, ready to conjure a spell if needed.

The sound of voices came from the room ahead of us. Justina indicated that the guard should leave. He shuffled back down the corridor, throwing glances over his shoulder. Justina nodded at me, letting me know that I should cover us with an invisibility spell. Tugging on my magic, I did as she asked. The cool energy from the ley line poured through my feet and into me as I recited the spell in my head. It landed on our skin, making us disappear from anyone who wasn't on our team.

Without saying another word, Justina crept through the archway and turned right. We followed suit, each one of us checking around for our target. No one was there, but the slight noise of scraping came from the corner of the room where a cabinet full of Egyptian artefacts stood.

Pointing towards the area, Kurt positioned himself a few feet away from where our suspects were hiding themselves. Going to the left of him, I stayed with Gerard as Justina went right. We now surrounded them in a semi-circle.

When Kurt gave us a nod, we all recited the unmasking spell that we'd practiced on the way over. We'd found it in my grimoire. An Essex witch ancestor had unveiled a spell powerful enough to undo any magic in the vicinity.

"What the...?" a female voice exclaimed just before she came into view.

There were three of them. A ball of red warlock magic instantly flew at me, forcing me to dodge to the side. The female witch disappeared as the warlock threw a string of blue magic in an arc towards the others. Jumping out of the way in time, they held up their hands, ready to conjure a barrier spell. Maybe we should've done that before we'd revealed them.

"I don't think so!" the warlock's face was covered by a mask, but his hiss echoed around us as he thrust up a colored wall between us.

Closing my eyes, I pulled on the pure magic from mother earth, asking her to surrender it over to me. She happily obliged, leaving my body shaking from the amount that hummed under my skin.

Opening my eyes, I concentrated on filtering the magic into my dagger, almost smiling when ethereal white flames licked the metal blade before sinking into it.

A laugh came from the warlock as he grabbed the person who was with him and shoved them towards the cabinet. The man, who was a witch, dug his hands into the cabinet and started to extract the items.

"Do it!" Justina told me as I extended my dagger towards the wall of magic.

I was hesitant to wield ley line magic in a place so vulnerable to, well, everything. Taking a deep breath, I lunged forward and swiped my blade through the magic. The wall collapsed as I thrust through it. The dagger was still extended as my momentum took me towards the warlock.

"You won't win!" he cried just before he poofed into nothing.

The only person left was the man who held up his arms in surrender. The witch sweated as he watched each of us, his eyes wide and his cheeks bright red. The cabinet behind him had been smashed open, the glass lining the floor. That wasn't what it had looked like when we'd first come into the room.

"Please," the male witch pleaded as Gerard went closer. "Don't hurt me. I'm not with them. They forced me."

Indicating that he should hold out his arms, Gerard showed him the handcuffs he was ready to use. The man surrendered easily as Justina and I checked the damage. Several spaces in the cabinet were glaringly empty. Somehow, the little witch and her team had got into the museum undetected.

"What exactly are you doing here if you're not guilty?" Kurt asked our prisoner.

His hands were shaking as he glanced around at us. When his gaze landed on me, it narrowed. "She said that we needed to watch out for you." Looking around, he sighed heavily. "All of you."

"That wasn't what I asked," Kurt replied. "Speak, now. Where is she?"

"She could still be in the room, who knows. She's a master."

"A master?" I blurted, snorting so loudly it echoed around the room.

The others raised their eyebrows as Gerard went off to check the rest of the area. I watched him go, his stealth agent mode getting me all excited. Why couldn't I look so calm and cool when I was staking a place out?

"Yes," the witch said, bringing my attention back to him. "She's a master illusionist."

A what now? I had never heard of such a thing. If the man had grand visions of the woman who was obviously running the show, he would probably hold back on giving us information about her.

"Wow, I didn't know illusionists still existed," Justina muttered.

Nodding, the man glanced at the cabinet. "I'm a curator here. I would never work with her if I had a choice. However, she threatened my family, my job. I couldn't say no, so I agreed to help her steal these items. I..."

"Should have called us," Kurt said. "There's no excuse for cowardice. Plus, she was probably going to reward you handsomely."

Waving away his objections, Kurt dragged the man away. He would place him in the van and take him to the paranormal prison. A proper interrogation would help us find out more about this witch and the reasons behind her theft. Fingers crossed, I'd get to be the one to question him. I was ready to play good cop, bad cop with my boss Justina. We were a mean team when we tried.

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# Chapter 4

"You say that she's an illusionist witch. Devon has never heard of one, so would you be so kind as to explain exactly what that is?" Justina leaned forward on the table, her blonde bobbed hair almost touching the surface.

The witch quivered in his plastic chair. The handcuffs around his wrists were spelled to stop him from using magic. His thinning hair only just covered his scalp as he sweated in his Burberry suit. Yeah, he was the most stylish curator I had ever seen. Not that I'd seen many. Museums were cool, but I never took any notice of those who worked there.

Drumming his fingers on the table, the man looked me in the eye. "An illusionist witch is someone who doesn't have magic of their own. She or he drains it from those around them. They then use the magic to conjure illusions."

"Okay..." I was confused.

How was an illusion different from what I could do when I made myself invisible?

"I can see that you're having trouble with my explanation," the man said, sitting back in his seat.

Swallowing, I shook my head. I wasn't having trouble, I knew exactly what he was talking about. He wasn't exactly a- who was I kidding? He was a very educated man who probably knew more than me about everything in the whole world. It wasn't hard though.

"They're illusions because the magic isn't hers. She siphons magic, like she did from me, and then throws up a picture she wants you to see. She only has a limited time before it all disappears, and she goes back to being useless."

Justina glanced at me, her eyebrows raised in question. My boss wasn't exactly helping. The witch's description had made sense. The second time.

"I understand. So, our thief is using stolen magic to hide herself while she robs the museums. And being able to siphon means she can take any magic source, including warlock." Putting my elbows on the table, I clasped my hands together as I studied our suspect.

He was being far too cooperative. It was kind of boring not having to scare him into telling us all the details.

Taking a deep breath, the witch exhaled. "That's right. She needed my help to get into the museum. They stayed hidden in my office with me until it closed. She then used my magic to not only hold the illusion but break into the cabinet. The government brought me in to spell the artefacts for safety. Obviously, I had to release the items for her to steal."

"Any idea why she's so interested in taking them?" Justina blinked when her tablet beeped.

Nodding, the witch pulled his lips into a thin line. "Yes," he replied, his voice almost squeaking out of him. "She's planning on siphoning all the traces of magic from the artefacts so she can keep a supply of magic at all times. Her aims are pretty high."

"High?" I asked as my stomach flipped.

Something in his wide eyes made me clench my hands into fists as I sat back in my chair. This woman sounded dangerous, even if she wasn't a powerful witch.

"Yes. Every artefact she steals is going to be linked to a source of magic. That way, she can keep the item on her at all times and still have access to magic. Once the artefact is useless, she's going to destroy it." Reaching up, the curator witch wiped the line of sweat that sat on top of his lip.

"When you say 'linked to a source of magic', what do you mean?" Justina placed her hands on the table, her fingers turning white where she squeezed the metal.

Coughing to clear his throat, the witch looked between us, his eyes darting from one to the other. My heartbeat flooded my ears as he blinked twenty thousand times, pausing for effect. If he dared wait a moment longer, I would-

"People. She's planning to kidnap people and force them to link to the artefacts. That way, she can let them go about their lives."

"While she siphons their magic?"

Inclining his head, the witch closed his eyes briefly. "Yes. She'll siphon their magic until they die."

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# Chapter 5

"I managed to get two different types of magic. Let's run them through the DNA analysis." Justina moved around Kurt as he ground his herbs.

He was the master at herbology. He had tried to teach me a few times, but I wasn't skilled at mixing potions. I was better with spells.

"This piece of glass..." Justina went on as I joined her beside the computer. "...has a smear from a gloved fingertip. It may have leaked through our female's latex gloves when she was touching the cabinet."

Taking the specimen, Justina laid it on the scanning machine. I had seen her do magic DNA testing a few times, but it fascinated me to see the amount of paranormal creatures in our database.

"The other one has warlock magic on it. I'm hoping that piece will show her accomplice."

Pressing a button, Justina sat back and watched the computer screen as the programme flickered with numerous faces. From vampires to warlocks, from shifters to witches.

A ping told us that the computer had found a match. A man's face zoomed out and then shrunk to the corner as the spiral of faces continued. About to speak, I stopped when Gerard came over.

"Interesting, it's still searching. It's picked up on two people's DNA."

A thread of excitement bubbled in my chest, causing me to gulp in a breath. Technology wasn't exactly my friend, but boy, it made life as an investigator a lot easier in the long run.

"There!" I almost shouted when a female about my age popped up on the screen. "Got you, you, you-!"

The others looked at me, their frowns telling me that I wasn't being completely professional. Well, they would be right. However, I had completely held back my desire to call her a bitch. So, I was kind of being professional.

"We've got an address for both of them." Justina got up from her chair. "Kurt, we'll go for her. You two can head to the warlock's house."

Pulling his handsome face into serious mode, Gerard turned to me. Digging out my phone, I nodded up at him when the address came through. How radio waves made phones and internet work, I would never understand. But, hunting down someone who was threatening to unveil our secret world, as well as hurt others... that was something I did understand.

Gerard took my hand, his palm warm against mine. About to flash us away, I paused when Justina shouted for us to stop.

"What is it?" Gerard said, not letting go of my hand.

Our boss was looking down at her tablet. She held up a hand and pressed something on the screen with her free fingers.

"Justina, it's Gemma from Paranormal MI5. We've just had a report that someone's in the witch museum. They're holding three hostages and demanding to talk to Devon Jinx."

All eyes landed on me. Why the hell would someone want to talk to me? I was just a normal agent. Okay, so I was an Essex witch too- oh.

"We'll head straight there. Who's on scene?"

Going over to the others, I tried to listen as Gemma explained what was happening over at the museum. Gerard squeezed my hand, his smile small when I looked up at him.

"This can't be good," I whispered to him as he stroked his thumb over mine.

He shook his head as he took a deep breath. "No, it's not. Whatever happens, we need to rescue those hostages."

Of course, the gorgeous agent man was right. I had to put those that needed help before me. I had sworn to protect all beings from supernatural creatures. That was my job. Even if it meant that I would be at risk.

"Looks like she's changed her tactic," Justina said as she hung up the call. "Felicity Maynard, our illusionist witch, obviously wants to use Devon as her new siphon."

"Well," Gerard said, putting his arm around my shoulders. "She'll have to kill us before she has any chance of getting to Devon." Turning to me, he placed his hands on my shoulders. "I believe you can beat her, easily. However, I swear on my life that I won't let anything happen to you."

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# Chapter 6

"I can't believe she's led us here." My whine was frowned upon by both Kurt and Justina.

"As if we were just going to pop to her house and arrest her civilly." Kurt tutted as he greeted a policeman.

For some bizarre reason, Felicity had called the police. Did she not have Paranormal MI5's number? Surely that would've been more sensible. Although, that was the whole problem. She was a threat because she was going to expose our world to the humans. If she wasn't stopped, the government would close down our agency in a second. And, that couldn't happen. The Hunted Witch Agency was my home. It was my life. And, so were the people on my team.

"She's ready to go in," Justina told the detective. "I want your people to stay away. We'll escort her."

Nodding, the police officer turned to a colleague and told him to stand his men down. Not bothering to protest, the man waved his police officers back from the doors of the museum.

The witch museum wasn't the building's official name. It was an arts center that housed precious items of interest. There were tons of secret rooms that only paranormal creatures knew about. Those housed grimoires, candles, and wands from ancient witches and warlocks. Many magical items were kept under extremely strong blood barrier spells performed by ley line witches, yes, Essex witches.

"No wonder she wants you," Gerard said as we made our way to the entrance. "She'll probably want you to break the barrier spell. Your DNA will do it. She wants your blood."

"And there I was, thinking that she might want to be my best friend. I'm super kickass. Don't underestimate the desire for people to want to be my friend."

Kurt raised one eyebrow at me. "As if."

His snort reached me as he trotted ahead with Justina. The street was clear of people, the police closing it off with a cordon. Great, that meant the world's press would be on their way.

"She's waiting for us." Justina handed me a gun as we approached the door.

Gerard snatched it from me. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

"I thought Devon might feel safer with it."

Although I begrudged it, I had to agree with Gerard. I wasn't a great aim, so there was no point in having a gun. Whipping my dagger out, I showed Justina. "I'm better with this. You've got my back too."

"We'll have your back as much as we can, but we can't go into the room with you. That's why I'm concerned."

"Don't worry, love," Kurt piped up as he opened the door. "If Devon's harmed, we'll storm the place and arrest the bitch."

Before I could reply, Justina shoved me through the door. They followed me as I led them down a corridor. It was nice of Kurt to worry about me getting hurt. Not. Although, I knew he was just winding me up. He would do anything to save me from danger. Wouldn't he?

The police had told us that our suspect was in the last room down the right corridor. We slowed as we got nearer, the silence making me doubt whether they were there at all.

"Don't come any closer," a female voice called. "Devon, come in on your own."

Glancing at the others, I nodded as I swallowed hard. My heart thumped in my chest as they moved to stand against the wall beside the open door. Dragging magic from mother earth, I shuddered as it filtered throughout my body, calming me. The handle of my dagger was gripped tightly in my palm. I would be safe, she needed me. Well, she needed my blood.

Stepping into the room, I instantly held my dagger in front of me. The woman was standing in the center of the room, flanked by two tall warlocks. They each held balls of magic in their hands, the swirling light looking pretty amongst the ancient artefacts.

Long cabinets lined three of the walls, full of magical items. If Felicity got her hands on them, they would be ruined.

My attention was drawn to five people who huddled on the floor in the corner of the room. They were a mixture of paranormal creatures.

"These hostages were willing to help me try and take down the barrier spell, but one of them had a pearl of wisdom." Felicity's words were spat in the direction of thin air to the side of her.

Frowning, I realised that she must have hidden the person who told her that only an Essex witch could undo the spell.

"This..." Felicity clicked her fingers to reveal a woman who had a noose around her neck. "...is what happens when I don't get my own way."

My tummy rolled when the woman suddenly rose in the air. Her feet barely touched the ground as the rope started to cut into her throat.

Flipping my dagger, I pushed my pure magic into the blade and flicked it without letting go. The white flames shot from the tip, soaring across the room. As it reached the rope above the woman's head, it flew straight through, smashing into the wall behind. The magic blasted a small hole in the plaster, causing dust to fly from it.

"I thought you knew that I was an illusionist witch." Felicity laughed as she glanced at her sidekicks. "Don't believe everything you see."

Oh crap. I hadn't even thought about the noose being fake. Which meant anything in the room could be completely different to reality. How did I work with that?

"What do you want?" I demanded as I lowered my dagger.

She wasn't going to attack me, not yet anyway. That gave me time to determine what was going on around me. Feeling into mother earth, I pulled on my magic, sending it out as tentacles. As Felicity sauntered over to the nearest cabinet, she beckoned me over.

My footsteps were slow as I detected three more heartbeats beside the warlocks. Other witches. They were hidden from me.

"This only needs to be quick, and then everyone can get on with their day." The woman was taller than me, like most people. She had long black hair to her waist, her skin almost flawless. But, then, if she was able to manipulate everything else, she probably made herself look different too. I couldn't trust anything I saw and that was scary.

"I'm not doing anything until you show me what's really going on in here. I can feel far more people than you're showing me. Plus, I've got a thing about hanging. Please let her down!"

My senses had crept towards the hostages. The rate of my heartbeat increased tenfold when my magic pushed against more energies than the five people who huddled together.

Putting her hand on her hips, Felicity looked at the warlocks, who had stayed in the middle of the room. The small incline of her head made my senses kick into gear. A ball of magic flew at me from out of nowhere. Throwing myself to the side, I spun as I threw up a fire spell. It separated me from the rest of the room.

"Okay!" Felicity shouted. "I'll show you the bloody room, just get over here and help me."

Waving her hand, she looked at me pointedly through the flames. I dropped my barrier, shaking my head when I saw the other ten people who were lined against the wall at the back of the room. There were also three witches and three warlocks altogether.

The woman who had been hanging by a pretend noose dropped to the floor as the illusion disappeared.

"Happy now?" Felicity's cheeks were bright red as I edged closer.

Her jaw was clenched as she pointed at the wand that was locked in the case beside her. I glanced at the small plaque, almost laughing when I saw that it had belonged to Merlin.

"Really?" I almost choked, instantly straightening my face when she pointed at the woman on the floor.

A warlock stepped forward and dragged her to her feet. His arms went around her chest from behind, ready to do her harm. She was wearing a uniform. The poor unsuspecting woman probably had no idea what she was getting herself into when she'd escorted the crazy lady into the room.

"Merlin's wand is the most powerful magical device in the world. Get it for me. Now."

"You really think I'm going to unlock this so you can take Merlin's wand? He was an awesome wizard. You're a..."

Letting my sentence trail off, I clenched my free fist when Felicity smashed her hand into the glass, her face not even cringing when it rebounded and almost smacked into her own face. Now that would've been funny.

"I'll tell you what. You release all the hostages, and then I'll do what you ask."

If the heat pulsing off her was an indication of how pissed off she was, I was about to get burnt. It seemed that the woman didn't want to bargain. Not if her twitching face had anything to do with it.

"I'm not here to play games," she started.

"No, you're here to commit a crime. I'm an agent at the Hunted Witch Agency. Do you really think I'll let you get away with it?" My own ire was rising, my skin flaming with suppressed emotion.

"Fine," she hissed. "Let's play."

Disappearing out of thin air, her laughter filled the room when the warlocks went towards the hostages. A gunshot stopped the one holding the woman who worked there, a bullet lodging straight into his head. The woman rushed across the room towards us as he fell to the ground behind her.

Gerard was beside me before I could determine who had taken the warlock down. The hostages surged to their feet as the witches cast a barrier spell between us and them.

"You bastard!" Felicity screamed as she became visible beside the hostages. "You'll pay for that."

"Shit," Justina said, reloading her gun. "That was her main source of magic."

Pushing my hand against the invisible barrier, I swore when it wouldn't budge. That meant I would have to use as much pure magic as possible to get through.

Felicity grabbed hold of a male hostage at the same time as she reached for one of the witches.

"Fight her!" I shouted at the supernatural creatures who cowered in the corner of the room.

Why were they so afraid? Between them, they could take her down. There were a couple of vampires, who were stupidly strong, and a shifter. The rest were witches.

"They probably can't see us," Gerard said as the hostages stared at Felicity.

Ah, that was a very good point. They probably didn't even know what was going on in the room around them.

Closing my eyes as Felicity brought a knife to the throat of the man she was holding, I forced as much of my magic into my dagger as possible, my arms shaking as it filtered through me.

"Let's go!" Kurt muttered.

Opening my eyes, I lunged forward as I sliced my blade down the invisible wall in front of us. The witches in the room groaned as the spell was shattered. The power of it vibrated down my arm as we pushed our way through. My team fired their weapons at the warlocks as balls of magic whizzed around us.

Heading straight for Felicity, I threw up my free hand and recited a freezing spell. Her arm stopped moving towards the hostage's throat. Her grunt of frustration was ignored as I sped forward, my boots thumping against the lino floor.

"Watch out!" Gerard shouted.

It was too late. A ball of bright red warlock magic slammed into my right arm. My dagger skittered across the floor as I fell to one knee. The magic melted my jacket, the heat making the leather forge to my skin. Shit, that bloody well hurt.

A hand grasped my dagger. Felicity.

"Oh, no you don't." My knee rebounded off the floor as I propelled forward.

Another gunshot sounded, but I ignored it. No one, and I mean, no one, ever touched my dagger. Well, except maybe the team.

Felicity ran over to the cabinet. Thrusting my dagger forward, she screamed when the blade rebounded off the glass, almost knocking her to the ground with the force.

Following her, I threw another freezing spell. She laughed as she turned towards me, her face lit up and a smile lining her lips. "This power," she shouted. "My, my... it's-"

She didn't have a chance to finish her stupid mutterings. My fist ploughed into her jaw. She jumped away, her arm extending as she swiped the dagger towards me. Oh boy, she was going to try and cut me with my own blade.

"Son of a bitch!" Gerard exclaimed.

My head automatically turned to check on him. He was handling himself perfectly. The man on the floor had bitten his leg by the look of it, and now he was knocked out.

A slight movement in the air warned me of the impending attack from Felicity. Stepping back, I almost tripped over my own feet. My blade came at me from the side, catching my thumb as I raised my hand to grab it. The reaction had been automatic, and very stupid.

"Ha!" Felicity cried, spinning towards the cabinet.

Diving at her as she thrust the knife forward, I wrapped my arms around her legs and tackled her to the ground. She cried out as the dagger fell from her hand, clattering right next to my head as I landed on top of her bottom half.

Grabbing it up, I poured more magic into it as I rose it above my head. Felicity tried to turn under my weight, but although I wasn't heavy, I had her pinned between my thighs. The bitch would pay.

"Devon, stop!" Justina shouted.

They surrounded us, their guns pointing straight at Felicity's head. My chest heaved as I pulled air into my lungs. Heat from the anger that surged through me tickled my skin.

"Seriously," Gerard said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Relax and get off her."

Energy drained out of me as Felicity started sobbing. Her gaze were glued to the tip of my blade where it hovered over her heart. I wasn't going to kill her. I was an agent, I was trained to bring criminals in. However, her disgusting energy had been smeared on my dagger. And, for a second, I had considered making her pay.

"You're under arrest," I said as I climbed off the illusionist witch.

Justina and Kurt landed on her, cuffing her instantly. Gerard grabbed me, checking the cut on my hand before asking if I was okay.

Nodding, I watched as the hostages made for the door. Gerard disappeared to escort them to the police. The room was a mess. Broken lights hung from the walls. Blood splattered the ground where my team had taken down the criminals.

"Do you need to get that looked at?" Kurt asked as Justina hurled Felicity to her feet.

Looking at him, I shook my head. It was only a superficial wound. Although, the blood on the end of my dagger would've broken the spell. It had been close. Way too close.

"Well done," Felicity hissed as she passed me. "You won."

Watching her leave, I evened my breath and took a moment to myself. The room was empty, save the dead or injured paranormals. All of the ones that remained would be arrested and sent to prison for a very long time.

"Excuse me," a small voice interrupted my day dreaming.

Well, not day dreaming. More like shock. I was a kickass agent, but that had been a very close call. If Merlin's wand had been stolen by an illusion witch, who knows what havoc she could've caused.

"Yes?" I said, turning to see the woman who had almost been hung.

She wrung her hands together in front of her as she looked at the ground. "Thank you," she whispered.

When she looked up, tears were hovering in her eyes. I smiled as she came forward and threw her arms around me. I patted her back awkwardly. I mean, I wasn't used to physical affection. Especially when strangers offered it. It was... strange.

"Er..." I said, trying not to pull away too soon, but longing to disengage myself. "...You're welcome."

Letting me go, she stepped back. A quick glance around the room made her grimace. I was about to break the silence when she reached up and rubbed her neck.

"We need people like you," she suddenly said. "If it wasn't for you, all of us would probably be dead by now."

As she turned and walked out of the room, I hugged myself. My dagger was tucked away in my pocket, ready for a good clean. I had to scrub the impure magic off of it before I could use it again. But, use it again, I would. The woman had just reminded me exactly why I put myself in danger every day.

And, damn it, if I had to bleed once in a while for others, I would.

***

WANT MORE DEVON JINX? Here's her story:

Witch, Warlock, Whatever...

My name's Devon Jinx, and, yes, I'm half warlock, half witch. But I couldn't care less about which kind of magic is better. All I want to do is keep my head down and get on with my new job as an investigator at the Hunted Witch Agency.

Read more here... books2read.com/u/bP5XpY

Want to know more? Sign up for some free books at my website: <http://www.rachelmedhurst.com/welcome>

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# Siloed

by Dale Ivan Smith

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NAZARETH'S HAIR OF the Dog played in the watch room while Margery beat me again in another game of two-player Zombie Changeup.

The scrying mirrors hanging on the wall in front of us in a five-by-five grid, flicked from containment cell to containment cell in the silo, each mirror cycling from a different starting point. There were ninety-one cells, not all occupied, but even the unoccupied ones were monitored, just in case one of the imprisoned manifestations was trying to escape and had somehow managed to squeeze through a crack. Yes, that was nearly as impossible as it sounds, but regulations were regulations, and the scrying mirrors were zealous in following them. Every cell was watched. Period.

"How about another game, Lizzy?" Margery asked me. We sat facing the scrying mirrors in padded office-style chairs, a card table between us.

I shrugged. "Sure." She dealt us each seven cards, and off we went.

Margery was lead guard of Silo Three. I was her number three. Margery never tired of Changeup. Tonight, it was Zombie Changeup. Last night it had been Martian Changeup. Too bad there wasn't a Dante's Inferno Changeup because that's where it felt like I was.

She laid a finger to her long blade of a nose and grinned at me. "Gotta change with the rules. That's how you play, Lizzy," she told me.

I sighed, laid down my card. I knew that, but Margery never tired of reminding me.

"It's just like life," she said, for the millionth time in three months.

But while Changeup was a card game designed to keep changing rules on you, magic's rules were different. You had to obey them and they didn't change.

I rubbed my eyes with my thumbs while Margery murmured "Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy." I'd been here three months and she still wouldn't call me by my full name, Elizabeth. Elizabeth Anna Marquez, that's me. I reserved "Liz" for friends, and old Margery was anything but a pal. She had tried hard enough after I arrived to be my friend, a little too hard, and I'd become suspicious. She'd also bickered constantly with Taylor, the third member of our little guard detachment, which wasn't exactly endearing.

So far, three months guard duty and counting for me since Regulation Union for Normalizing Enchantment had sent me here, to Somewhere, North Dakota, and a prison for supernatural creatures. R.U.N.E. was one of the most important organizations of the magical world, a magical world hidden from the vast majority of humanity.

I missed working street cases for R.U.N.E., missed being in the city, missed being around people who weren't Margery and Taylor.

I missed my partner, Tomlinson. The jerk had up and retired on me after the Dryad business, and my field supervisor decided I needed to spend quality time helping to guard a silo filled with imprisoned manifestations. I missed driving up and down I-5 tracking down manifestations that were trying to become permanent and causing trouble in the process. It was hard to believe I'd ever been tired of that.

The scrying mirrors continued their never-ending loop.

In one cell, the ebony carapace of a dog-sized duct-mite glistened. In another, Doug the techno-elf performed a yoga sun salutation. In a third cell, Desiderata, the sylph, floated above the metal floor, her nude and hairless body shimmering sapphire. A goblin sat reading in a fourth. I glanced away. You weren't expected to stare at the scrying mirrors non-stop.

Above us in the watch room the airlock to the outside remained sealed, the giant starfish-like mega-crusty that covered the hatch glowing a soft green. All quiet on the underside of reality.

The mega-crustie was a manifestation, like the prisoners below, a supernatural creature born from the interplay between mana and the collective human subconscious. It took two of us to spell the mega-crustie to open. We did that when we were resupplied, once a month.

I missed the sun and missed the city streets. But outside, beyond the silo complex, was the prairie of North Dakota. Not my kind of place--I was a city girl, through and through.

The watch room was the upper level of the guard house, which was built at the top of the silo. The lower level had the galley, library, supply rooms, our aid station, gym, and our quarters.

Below the guard house, in the silo itself, smaller crusties were attached to each cell door. The scrying mirrors kept us posted, but the crusties, guardian creatures, were what kept our supernatural prisoners from getting loose.

The scrying mirrors continued their endless cycling.

Watch duty could give paint drying a run for most boring activity, ever. Why couldn't the third member of our not-so-merry little band of guards, Taylor, be on duty tonight, rather than sleeping? The guy was an old tight-ass, but at least he didn't push games on me like Margery.

Margery rapped the Changeup deck on the tabletop, starting shuffling the cards. She raised a pencil-thin eyebrow. "How about another go?" she asked.

I shook my head. We'd played six games today and I already owed her two weeks' worth of kitchen duty.

She cackled, looking like a witch in her black sweatshirt, her gray hair spilling every which way loose over her shoulders. Margery was about the right age to be one of the old hippy wizards in The Aquarian Circle, but she'd been a housewife in Des Moines when the Age of Aquarius brought mana flooding back into the world, back when my mother was a baby.

Margery figured out some basic binding spells and forced some goblins to turn over a living Ouija board. She hauled that board all over the Great Plains and convinced marks that they were really communicating with their late loved ones, and not some supernatural cipher that fed off their subconscious. It was kind of like those scrying mirrors. She managed to stay out of R.U.N.E.'s sight, and the Arcane Security Agencies' view, too, for decades. She'd lucked out. For awhile.

She'd been a prisoner in Silo 1, along with other humans who'd broken The Laws, for a good ten years before the Jailer Board decided she'd reformed. Someone, somewhere, came up with the bright idea of making Margery a prison guard to help monitor criminal manifestations.

They say insanity is just a certain point of view. Personally, I think they are crazy. For sure making Margery a prison guard in charge of helping to monitor criminal supernaturals was crazy in my book.

"How about Faerie Changeup, then?" Margery leaned forward, grinned at me.

She wouldn't quit with the games today. I shook my head. "No thanks, I need a break."

Her grinned widened. "Okay, then walk the spiral."

I opened my mouth to protest but Margery wagged her bony index finger at me.

"You're still the rookie here, missy," she said. "Three months doesn't make you an expert on guarding a silo. You need to practice the spiral walk."

My eyes narrowed. "I've been practicing the spiral walk every day."

Her grin widened. "Which is why you need to practice it backwards."

I started to object, but after three months, one thing was clear, Margery was the boss. She was almost as bad as my trainer, Wanda.

"Why backwards?" I asked.

"Improves your concentration." She reached into a little dish she kept on the table and plucked out three metal balls and began working them in those bony fingers of hers. Clack, clack, clack.

"I'll be too busy trying not to stumble to concentrate on the spiral enchantment," I pointed out, trying to ignore the clacking.

Margery could never resist the opportunity to lecture me. "You know the Rules. Walking the enchantment connects you to the prisoners. You stumble and break the enchantment, and you'll have nightmares for a week."

No kidding I'd have nightmares. If I messed up, it would set off the manifestations, and their pain would rebound back on my subconscious when I was asleep. I'd love to wring the neck of the genius who'd thought up that sort of enchantment.

She nodded at the stairs leading down to the silo hatch and the ladder. "Time's a wasting, missy."

I pushed my chair back and stood. "Do me one favor at least."

Margery cocked her head to one side like a crow. "What's that?"

"Crank up the Nazareth. Hair of the Dog was meant to blast, not be played low like lame soft rock."

She cackled, shaking her head. "You're lucky I let you play it at all, rookie. Now get walking backwards."

***

THE STEEL STAIRS WOUND down one side of the silo as I descended from the bottom deck of the "watch tower" into the silo proper. My binding rod was in its holster on my hip. Hopefully I wouldn't need to use it.

Low yellow light softly illuminated the interior. It always reminded me of those soft yard lights people in ritzy neighborhoods edged their oversized lawns with. It didn't seem like the sort of lights you'd use in a maximum-security prison for supernatural beings. But when R.U.N.E. bought a half-dozen decommissioned missile silos from the Air Force they wanted the guards to avoid having to deal with harsh white halogens that could blind magical sight.

Binders like Margery, Taylor and I needed line of sight, and low lighting was best, especially here where the auras from the imprisoned three score and nine manifestations mingled. You really had to look carefully to see a supernatural creature's aura.

Metallic booms echoed in the silo's shaft as I climbed down the stairs, sounding like a giant's hammer pounding the inside of a dumpster. I stopped and peered down into the spiral. The cells lined the inside of the silo. The floor outside the cells spiraled down, like the whorl in a nautilus shell, which fit, since I always felt like I was deep in the ocean down here, with the guardian starfish-like crusties glowing green on each cell door.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom. Each boom made me twitch. I frowned, trying to figure out where that infernal sound came from.

Just then a cacophony of shouting erupted from the cells.

"I'm hungry," an ogre bellowed.

"Me, too," shouted three goblins in tandem.

Other manifestations joined in until I couldn't make out individual words.

"All right, lay off!" I hollered down the spiral.

The prisoners ignored me and kept on shouting. I opened my mouth to shout again. I'm only five-two and weigh one hundred and ten pounds. But, I had a voice, for a short girl.

"Quiet down!" I bellowed, as loud as I could. But, it was like shouting into a riot. The prisoners kept right on with the cacophony. My binding rod wouldn't work to get them all to calm down. Manifestations were born of mana playing with the human subconscious. Sorcerers like myself could consciously manipulate mana through spells. Sorcery was complicated and took a ton of effort to learn.

I fingered the pentagram amulet hanging from a chain around my neck. Time to play the boss card. I could only do this once a day, but Margery and Taylor each wore one as well. I hesitated for a moment. I hated to do this. It was bad enough the times I had to apply a little pain to a manifestation when I cast a binding spell.

This would be far worse and hit all the prisoners at once.

I lifted the amulet to my lips. "I order silence," I whispered in French. The amulet thrummed against my fingertips. The silver pentagram flashed.

The crusties below changed from glowing green to flashing silver.

The shouts changed to yelps and groans, dropping to a collective whimper, and then away to nothing a moment after that. The amulet went dark.

Blessed silence. I felt a twinge of guilt, even if the inmates hadn't given me a choice. The amulet I wore wasn't an ordinary pentagrammic focus. It was linked to the silo, and the colossal amount of mana stored here. It was also linked to the door guardians--the crusties, which in best conga line fashion were each linked to their prisoner. The crusties took my silence spell and made the prisoners they linked to obey, making it as painful as possible to get them to obey. Puppets dancing on pain strings, Taylor had told me when he gave me the rundown on the Silo on my first day. I still winced at that expression. Creepy and evocative at the same time, and cringe-inducing. I used the command because I had to. Taylor and Margery didn't seem to enjoy it, but they were far too matter-of-fact about using the crusties as basically pain amplifiers.

A run of the mill Binding spell compelled a manifestation to follow an order, to act in a certain way, etc. Lower the gun, or put down the kid, that sort of thing. The binding invoked the Laws of the Magical Compact. It didn't involve pain. But these prisoners had broken the Laws. Compelling them to obey an instruction took something more direct. Such as pain delivered by guardian manifestations.

I'd never seen anything like this on the outside, not in the nearly three years I'd worked for R.U.N.E. I'd only heard whispers about what went on in the silos. Tomlinson warned me off asking questions. "You really don't want to know," he had told me, which made me ask again, because if there's one thing that's guaranteed to keep asking questions, it's not getting a decent answer.

But Tomlinson was the proverbial immovable object when he clammed up. He just lit up another cigarette and changed the subject.

I climbed down the rest of the way to the uppermost prison level and stepped onto the top of the spiral. I looked around the silo. The spiral wound down seven levels, with thirteen cells on each level, one level blending into the next below, like a parking garage.

Inside the nearest cell an ogre leaned against the transparent door. The door was crafted of a super-quartz like material, something the Artificers at R.U.N.E.'s labs had cooked up decades ago.

To an ordinary person's eyes, the ogre would look like a power lifter with a mono-brow. Only sorcerers like myself could see the ogre's true form.

The ogre stared at me dully, eyes narrowed in obvious pain. He wore the bright purple coveralls that were standard Silo issue. His jaws were massive, like an early ancestor of humanity. He was seven feet tall, easy.

His cell, like all the rest, was a studio apartment, with a simple conjure window on the back wall. His showed a dark city street, empty, rain-swept. Not the place I'd want to be looking at, but it must mean something to him.

My gaze flicked back to the Ogre. His eyes were accusing.

I looked away. The prisoners had all broken the Law in some fashion or other, and thus were imprisoned here. But they were each confined to an individual cell. As much of a hassle as having an area for them to roam in would be, it would have to be better than this. Except containing a manifestation wasn't as easy as it sounds. For instance, the ogre had incredible strength, and could go berserk and become even stronger. How do you contain that?

But it was the accusing look that got to me.

Now I had to begin the backwards walk. It wasn't just an irritating exercise. I was tracing the enchantment cast into the floor itself when the Silo had been built. At least, that's how Taylor had explained it to me after I arrived.

Above each cell door was an ancient filament 40-watt light bulb glowing yellow, the source of the soft light that didn't hinder my magic sight.

I walked past cells with goblins, one that was a specially-fitted tank with a merman inside, another with a gnome, long beard and all, and a shimmering form of a neo-sprite in another.

Wham! Metal flexed and boomed like the Devil's own taiko drum from below. "Prisoners are supposed to be fed two times a day!" The bellow echoed up the silo, then trailed off into a harsh cough that sounded like two boulders smashing together.

Ulvonous. Only I called him Cosmo. When I first arrived as a guard, Margery made me visit with every prisoner here. Ulvonous was an old-timer, far and away the oldest here. He was centuries old. A kobold originally from Germany, he had manifested during the Middle Ages. He'd survived the Great Mana Drought that lasted from 1400 until the 1960s. He was the first prisoner in the Silo, according to Margery. It had taken weeks for him to speak to me, and even then, it was grudging, maddeningly slow to get him to open up, especially since you could cut steel with his gruffness and attitude.

It wasn't required that I had to keep talking to him, but it had become a challenge.

Now he was complaining about not being fed enough.

I swallowed. Taylor said he had fed the manifestations before he went off shift at eight. Cosmo got potatoes and sausages, others ate plant matter, a few flesh; the techno-elf was served microwaved burritos and nachos smothered in melted Velveeta. Each manifestation also received undivided attention as part of their nourishment, one minute apiece. Which meant a feeding session took over ninety minutes, counting prep and transport, twice a day. It wasn't as fun as it sounded.

I'd never known Cosmo to lie but then again, he and I didn't get along. He was a prickly S.O.B. It would be just like him to screw with me.

"Dinner!" His bellow rang in my ears. Damn it.

I resumed walking the spiral backwards, swearing under my breath. The rules were the rules. Walking backwards meant just that.

So, I backwards walked to Cosmo's cell, still following the enchantment all the way down the spiral. The kobold banged away inside on the metal walls. I did a quick scan of the other two occupied cells when I reached the bottom level of the silo.

"Eliz-a-beth," Desiderata sang at me from the level above. I ignored her. I had to keep doing the backwards walk. It was a kind of spell. It was training. And it was Margery being all bitchy witchy if I didn't do it right. No doubt she was watching me on the scrying mirrors right now.

"Sorry, Des, I'm working."

"Taylor is gone," Desiderata sang. "Gone from us, us, us."

"Yeah, I know." We worked sixteen hours on, eight hours off, in overlapping shifts. Yeah, it sucked. Taylor was in his quarters catching Zs like a good little guard.

A wolf whistle from above and behind me, in the direction of the techno-elf's cell. "Hey babe, how about taking a break with me?" The techno elf's tone was classic velvet lounge lizard. I ignored him and kept back-stepping, until I finally reached Cosmo's cell.

"You look like an idiot." The kobold's voice was a rocky rumble.

"All part of the service." I pivoted two hundred and seventy degrees, towards the middle of the silo, and looked up, scanning the cell doors above. All the crusties surrounding the light bulbs still glowed emerald. They'd been green on the way down, but you always double checked. If there was a disturbance with the manifestation in a cell the crustie sentinel would go amber. If it went ruby it meant the manifestation had escaped. Which had never happened in this silo. I'd heard stories about the others, but it was rare.

I finished my pivot and faced Cosmo.

The bank vault-thick steel door was made of that special super-strong artificed glass. The kobold was five eight, maybe not tall for a lot of people, but tall for a kobold. Short human me, even in my thick-heeled Docs, had to look up.

Cosmo leaned against a wall, his chest rising and falling, sweat dripping from his craggy forehead. His wide-set yellow eyes fixed on me. I expected him to roar DINNER! again.

"About time you checked in," he said, his voice pitched low, like the first stirrings of an earthquake.

Like I said, Cosmo was an old-time manifestation, from before the Reawakening in the 1960s. His limbs were knotty muscle, his chest barrel shaped, not like one of those chiseled neo-kobolds that belonged in a video game.

"What's up, Cosmo?"

"Ulvonus. My name is Ulvonus. You could even call me Ulvo, just do not call me Cosmo."

"I could, Cosmo." I grinned. "Now, what's with the dinner bit?"

He brushed away sweat with his claw-like hands. "I haven't been fed in two days."

I leaned forward so that, on tippy toe, my nose just reached the open window space. "I gave you breakfast, and Taylor gave you dinner."

"I didn't get to keep breakfast, and Taylor never came by."

"Lying isn't your thing, Cosmo."

He ground his stubby teeth. "It is the truth," he gritted.

I rapped my knuckles on the door. "BZZT! Wrong! One, Taylor's a tight-ass but he never misses his rounds. Two, I know I fed you breakfast." I leaned forward until my nose pressed against the base of the window cavity. "And no one could ever take food away from you." I mean, just look at the kobold. His ropey, knotted muscles had ropey knotted muscles.

Cosmo's jaw worked like he was trying to say something. Sweat drizzled off him.

He was normally more like a granite wall. Nothing seemed to get to him. But, now it seemed like he was fighting something. "What's wrong?" I asked him.

His eyes narrowed, and his mouth closed, lips pressing into a thin line.

He'd pulled that act the other week, after months of seeming like he was finally opening up. He'd started laughing at the Cosmo name, and then, he stopped. This was like that.

"Come on, don't be like that," I said, crossing my arms. "It's not like I'm Taylor."

That normally would have gotten a laugh out of him, but he simply closed his eyes.

"You're annoying," he said, finally.

"Tell me something I don't know," I said.

"I'm being serious," he said, his voice pitched so low now I could barely hear it.

"DINNER!" His thunderous bellow made me jump and I fell and landed on my backside. Ouch! That hurt like Hades.

I frowned.

Cosmo was a bad-ass, unrepentant, imprisoned in this god-forsaken hole in the ground since it opened for business. Before that he was stuck in the old prison at Fort Rock. R.U.N.E. had imprisoned Cosmo because he wouldn't pledge to follow the Rules and the Laws. Quote, "Especially not to a gang of self-appointed bureaucratic sorcerers," or words to that effect.

But lying wasn't his thing. Nor was letting imprisonment get to him. Maybe not being able to feel and taste rock had finally gotten to him.

I glanced at my wristwatch. Whoops--time was passing and Margery watched the clock like the bitch witch she was.

"No dinner." The words came from Cosmo's cell in a low rasp.

Something was definitely very wrong with the old timer. I needed to ask Margery about dinner and roust Taylor if need be.

I resumed my backwards walk up the spiral. The other cells were quiescent, the crustie guardians still all on green.

I sighed as I neared Desiderata's cell. Yeah, I know, why not Desdemona, that was a name fit for a sylph, right? Thing was, Des came into being after the Age of Aquarius began, when mana flooded back into the wide world, and the hippy wizard who "got involved" with her (yes, YUCK) decided that was a better name. Being a neo-manifestation, Des wouldn't argue.

"Hello, Eliz-a-beth," Des sang as I stopped and did the whole two-seventy thing. Once at each of the seven levels.

"Des."

She floated in her cell, smiling beguilingly at me, beckoned with one long fingertip.

I fought to not shiver. "Now, Des, you know I have a strict 'no doing the incarcerated' policy."

"Taylor's gone," Des sang. "Gone, gone, gone." She hit a high note just like a pop superstar on the last note.

"Yeah, back to his room."

"Soon he will be gone to the far fields of Elysium, to cavort with nymphs."

"That the same Taylor we both know and detest?"

"Tay-lor."

"Not in a million years," I replied.

"He'll be released, and free at last." She smiled sweetly.

Des was batshit crazy, but in a nice sort of way.

"And the birds will be on the wing." She hummed a few bars from Stairway to Heaven. "Flying free."

Nothing like a manifestation that knew its Led Zeppelin.

Again, her crustie door watch shone green. Everything a-okay, except for her mind and that was outside my bailiwick.

I resumed my backwards walk up the spiral. The manifestations were quieter than usual. Even the Techno-elf sat quietly reading a video game magazine, didn't leer, hells, the elf didn't even look up. His long, blonde romance novel cover worthy hair fell over one side of his face, hiding his expression. Meanwhile in cell number seventeen the electro troll slept, skin crackly and popping.

I reached the hatch. Below me Cosmo struck his cell wall, not as hard this time, and the boom echoed weakly through the silo. "No dinner," I thought I heard him say. It was not like him to act like this. He was stubborn, but he was also proud.

"No dinner," he repeated.

***

MARGERY DEFIED EXPECTATIONS and didn't say a word about my tardiness--seven minutes slow by my watch. Normally she'd give me a royal dressing down. She didn't even push another game of Changeup on me.

I asked her about Cosmo. She said she'd think about what the problem could be. I tried asking her again, but she gave me the brush off and returned to her work.

She was bent over a project on her workbench in the corner of the watch room. Something writhed in the silver kettle. I caught a flash of purple tentacle encrusted with jewels and heard a high-pitched whistling. Her "secret" charm project, which she'd started working on even before I'd shown up to join the Silo Guards.

I had asked Taylor about it a week after I'd arrived.

"Don't ask," he had replied, in what turned out to be typical laconic Taylor fashion.

"Why?"

"Because she's senior and with rank comes the privilege. Which includes not having to explain herself."

I'd been too scared to ask Margery outright, and by the time I'd gotten used to her witchy-ness, it just felt wrong to bring it up. Margery could control manifestations, in her case by spelling fresh charms. My binding cost me more.

I could have sworn that the first time I got a good glimpse of what was in her silver kettle, the thing was furry, with a big (yes) hairy eyeball.

A polymorphic manifestation? I'd heard of such things, but they were super-rare. The sort of supernatural a conjurer would create. Margery was a sorcerer, not a wizard.

Wizards had more than one talent, but we silo guards were all sorcerers, meaning one path, only. Wizardry led to madness and death.

Margery must have been given the polymorphic manifestation.

But, it wasn't like I could call out to ask. We were isolated here. Food was delivered above, and brought down by laconic types in glowing armor, who looked like they belonged in a science fiction film.

"All in order," I said as I went to my chair. Wait for it, I told myself. Margery's scorn always stung.

"Fine. Well done."

I swear the hairs on the back of my neck rose at this response. Relax, I told myself. I breathed in a lungful of air. Margery not complaining was not a bad thing. But praise, that was just plain weird.

I put on my headphones. The pickup from the silo came through loud and clear, switching between levels like the scrying mirrors, only this was a first-rate audio monitoring system. Sometimes you had to go with technology. Des hummed loudly on the second lowest level pickup, Cosmo must have settled down, there was no banging or shouting from his level. The techno-elf sang what sounded like a boy band ballad, "we wear our hearts on the outside for you" stuff. Shudder.

I glanced at the cycling scrying mirrors. All the crustie watch wards still glowed green.

I turned on some Apocalyptica. I couldn't get away with metal vocals, but I could listen to metal-infused orchestral music, as long as I kept the input on that down and programmed the listening system to increase volume and cut out my music input if volume picked up from the silo. Plus, there was an indicator screen. Margery was busy. I was safe. Anything to wash out the boy band ballad still echoing in my head.

After setting everything up, I began doodling on a sketchpad, letting my pencil find its own image and losing myself in the drawing.

I stopped and glanced up at my monitoring station. Over an hour and a half had passed. I rubbed my eyes. Apocalyptica still played in the background, on loop. I rubbed my eyes, glanced down at my artwork and did a double-take.

I'd sketched Cosmo, squatting in his corner, claw-like hands held up, as if warding off a blow. His face was set in determination, chin up. The whole thing said "unbowed and unbroken."

I'd drawn this? Normals didn't think all that much about the subconscious, but when it came to the supernatural, the subconscious was King and Queen. It interacted with mana to bring the manifestations into being (manifestations were called manifestations for that reason). But none of my doodles had ever taken over before. Margery would flip when she saw this. In fact, why hadn't she snatched it out of my hands already?

I looked around the watch room.

Margery was gone. I was alone.

You were supposed to let your partner know if you left the watch room. Didn't matter if you were in charge or a rookie like me, the rules were the rules.

Before she left Margery would have broken my doodle fugue even if I were channeling Picasso.

She hadn't.

I picked up the wide-world-only-knew-how-old land line phone and dialed (yes, DIALED) Taylor's quarters. He was grumpy when his beauty sleep was interrupted, but he'd be nastier if I didn't call him. I braced myself for him yelling into the receiver when he picked up.

Except he didn't.

The call rang and rang and rang but Taylor didn't answer.

Damn it, now what?

The hatch to the silo below swung up and open. Thank the wide world, it must be Margery returning. I rolled up the sketch and shoved it under the desk. She wouldn't ask what it was if she didn't see it.

A head topped with long blonde hair appeared. The techno-elf sprang up into the watch room in one fluid motion, snapped his fingers and my music stopped playing. I yanked off my headphones. He no longer wore his prison purple. He wore a black t-shirt with a silicon chip logo and skinny jeans and cross trainers.

The scrying mirrors went dark and the overhead lights winked out, leaving only the golden glow from the ritual candles flickering in their wall sconces.

"Well, hello there." The techno-elf flashed a smile at me. His blue eyes glowed like LED indicators.

I backed up, grabbing at the binding rod at my belt. My eyes widened. It was missing. My heart pounded and sweat trickled down my back. Someone had taken it.

I reached for the hatpin in my boot. "What the Hidden are you doing out?" I stammered.

The techno-elf's smile widened. "Escaping with you."

"What?"

He tilted his head, snapped his fingers. The Silo's HVAC system rattled and died.

"This place is stifling, babe," he said.

My fingers fumbled around in my boot as I groped for the hat pin. It wasn't there. But it had to be there. But it wasn't.

I bumped against my work console. I swung around and smacked my palm against the alarm button. The klaxons would wake up Taylor and bring Margery running.

Silence.

I hit the alarm button again. Nothing. I shouldn't have been surprised. Techno-elves alter, augment, boost, and yes, screw with tech. Effing inconvenient.

With a toss of his head techno-elf flicked his hair back over his shoulder. "Babe, really, I'm here for you." He was doing the full-on Lounge lizard meets full-on nerd. It was so weird.

His smile became a smirk. "This is more appropriate," he said, and suddenly he wore a white polyester leisure suit over an open collared red shirt, like the kind Great Uncle Phil wore back in the Disco age.

I hated it when manifestations read my subconscious.

"Get back to your cell," I stammered, stumbling as I backed away from the approaching techno elf.

"Or what, babe? You'll have a great time, I promise."

There was a razor blade in my belt. It was desperate measures time. I'd hidden it there. I hadn't used it since... since that last case, the Dryad one.

R.U.N.E. barred agents from using blood magic. I had figured what they didn't know, wouldn't hurt them, and Tomlinson didn't mind.

Okay, I wasn't a fan of it either, but it had come in handy, and when you have a living charm that can heal you. Blood magic worked far faster in a binding spell than an ordinary binding rod, or a hat pin in this case.

I don't have that charm here.

The techno-elf lunged at me. I dodged, uncoiling my belt. The razor was on the inside.

I cracked the belt.

"Cool, babe, I like a little foreplay," the techno elf said, the leer widening.

Behind the buckle was a little leather blade-holder. I peeled it open from the side and slid out the razor.

I began muttering a chant in old German. "Pain brings obedience, blood seals the bond."

Techno-elf's eyes widened and the leer vanished. "No, you don't, lady. Don't please, don't."

I preferred the binding rod, even the hatpin but you use the tool you have.

I slashed my left forearm with the razor blade. Blood welled up. Blood magic hurt like Hades.

The techno-elf's essence became visible, all sparkly writhing around him in a disco ball-like corona gone mad. I clutched at a fat tendril with my pain-stricken left hand. The essence tingled sharply against my fingers. A red line of blood dripped from my left arm.

"I share my agony with thee." I grated the words through clenched teeth. "Surrender to my will." It was a vicious, painful way to bind a manifestation but I didn't exactly have a choice. Pain worked.

Techno-elf stiffened and his blue eyes dimmed. His disco ball-like essence faded until it was a faint shimmer.

My arm still hurt like the hells, and blood pooled on the floor. Dizziness hit me and the room swayed. I needed to bandage my wound. I needed to get techno-elf back in his cell. It was a hasty binding, not likely to hold.

I looked up at the hatch guardian in all its starfishy and crusty bejeweled thingie-ness. It took two sorcerers to open it, casting binding magic. What if somehow (and I had no idea how the hells this could happen) Taylor and Margery were being controlled? Crazy talk, I know but I couldn't leave the watch room without adding a lock to the front door. Being paranoid hath advantage.

I slashed my left arm a second time.

The faint green aura around the hatch guardian grew thick in the air as my sight focused thanks to the pain.

Couldn't use old German again, not today. The rules were the rules. So, Hebrew instead. "I am the door, open only through me, by my will and my word."

The guardian writhed, writhed as I wobbled on my feet. Then it hardened in my gaze, becoming rocklike.

Hardened for the next day unless I ordered it to unharden sooner. It took two sorcerers to order it to open the hatch but hardening only took one. R.U.N.E. tried to cover all the angles when it came to its magical prison. Manifestations could be unpredicatable, and there was also the possibility, however remote, that they could develop a way to order the mega-crustie to open.

I fumbled around for the first aid kit, finding it in the closet where it should be. I wrapped three compresses, and a ton of surgical tape to hold the bandages. The room had developed a tilt. I slipped and nearly fell. My boots were slick with my own blood.

There was a plasma pack in the cooler. I was a universal recipient (insert joke here if you must).

I couldn't move without falling over. I sat in a chair and struggled to keep my focus.

I gestured at techno-elf. "Bring me the plasma kit in the cooler," I said, pointing.

The elf brought the kit without hesitation. Binding hath its advantages when it comes to dealing with manifestations.

I found a vein, pressed the needle in and leaned back. When the plasma bag was nearly empty I rolled it down, squeezing the last bit of blood in. I stood and nearly fell over. Clearly this was a two-bag problem. After the second bag I felt strong enough to take my bound prisoner back down to his cell. My quick binding wasn't going to last much longer.

***

WE TOOK THE STAIRS down. They lowered from the bottom of the watch room until they reached the spiral. I'd always do that, but the stairs needed to be up normally. Safety regulations mandated thus.

I put the techno-elf back in his cell just before the binding slipped away. I leaned against the silo wall and sucked in lung-fulls of sweet, musty silo air while the techno-elf began wheedling me about getting out.

"It's the chance of a lifetime, babe. You won't regret it."

I ignored him but did he stop? What do you think?

"The open road awaits. You don't want to spend the rest of your life down in this hole, do ya babe?"

"Shut up." I was in no mood to banter with this guy.

Nothing like a dude whining at you to get what he wants.

I shook my head. How in Hades had he gotten out in the first place?

"You can get out of this dump. No more stinking guard duty. You can show up your mother."

I was off that rail and up against the door in a flash.

"For the wide world's sake, shut up." I gave him the full-bore Liz stare.

He laughed.

In the face of my anger he should be cowering in a corner, or at least flinching.

"Go ahead, bind me again. It won't matter soon."

"What are you babbling about?" I demanded. I smelled a rat. A magical rat. I don't know how, but there had to be more magic at work here.

He just smirked.

The crustie attached to his cell door began glowing red. I scrambled away from the door. The other cell lights went red, it was like Lucifer's own Christmas tree in the Silo. A loud snick sounded, and the techno-elf's cell door swung wide open. Before I could slam it shut the techno-elf was out and grinning at me. "You can't keep me locked away," he said.

How had this happened? My thoughts were frantic. It would take huge amount of mana, and a complicated binding spells, or spells, to command all the crusties to open their individual cell doors at once.

Damn it. I pulled out the razor from my coat pocket and began chanting a new binding spell, this time in Latin. I felt like hell but had to get the techno-elf under control.

"I wouldn't bother," the techno-elf said.

A chorus of loud snicks erupted and echoed in the silo, followed by every version of evil laughter imaginable.

I couldn't help myself "Margery!" I screamed. Where was the old witch?

"You should thank me," Margery shouted from above, at the top of the stairs.

She leaned over the open hatch, her face a pale grinning oval framed by wild gray hair. Her left hand worked those steel balls of hers.

"Missing something, rookie?" She said, her expression all forced innocence. Her right held up my binding rod. She snickered.

Manifestations emerged from their cells and began trudging up the spiral.

"Why are you doing this?" I hollered up at Margery.

"Rookie, why do you think?" Her grin became a sneer. "I'm tired of being a prisoner."

"They made you a guard," I retorted.

"Hah!" She spat. "Don't be a fool. We're as much as a prisoner as the supernaturals we supposed to guard."

I shook my head. "I'm not winding up in Silo 1." The silo reserved for human prisoners.

"They aren't going to catch us. They aren't going to be calling the shots anymore. This is your chance to be free."

Crazy witch. My heart pounded. I glanced around frantically. There was only one exit from the Silo, and all the manifestations were headed that way.

"Does Taylor agree with you?"

Margery laughed. "Ask him yourself." She turned and motioned behind her. Taylor walked into view, moving like a puppet, his face expressionless.

"He didn't have a choice. He's got a little worm telling him what to do." Her voice was smug.

Margery had a boss slug. How had she smuggled that in here? Then again, she had the weird beastie in the cauldron, and that wasn't standard issue, either. I shuddered. Where there was one boss slug, there were usually more.

A single green light from below caught my gaze. Cosmo's cell door was still locked.

Why? Was he resisting leaving?

She must have seen me figuring out the kobold was still locked away in his cell.

"Stubborn cuss, but he'll come around." You could cut the arrogance in her voice with a knife.

"Why do you need him?" I asked.

"No reason to leave anyone behind."

Now, that was a ridiculous answer. She was obviously lying. The kobold possessed earth magic, which meant tunneling was his thing. Even if Margery's plan worked, and the supernatural breakout happened from this silo, there was still the berms and the barriers outside. Unless she happened to have a manifestation who could tunnel through rock.

The realization of what she had been trying to do, and why Ulvonous had been acting so oddly, reared up in my mind. She'd been trying to bind him.

She'd bind him. Unless I got to him first.

I half ran, half staggered down the stairs.

Cosmo squatted in his cell, one arm raised, beseeching me. A shock ran through me. My sketch, it had been a subconscious peek into this scene.

"Bind me, Elizabeth," the kobold said.

He opened his mouth, thick lips straining, then shut them. His eyes pleaded with me. He was suffering. My heart ached to see that suffering.

Margery had started to bind him but binding an ancient manifestation was no easy thing, it took a great deal of mana, will, and sometimes, sacrifice. I laughed softly. Margery must be frustrated half way to Hades. This explained why she let me call him Cosmo. She thought it would irritate the Kobold, make him side with her, and agree to leave.

But looking at him standing there, chest heaving, eyes earnest, it was clear she'd missed the obvious. Honor.

The cell door and the wall around it would block my spell. I wasn't good enough to cast through matter.

I heard swearing from above, with my name involved. Tsk tsk, I thought, Margery was all in a twist. I'd better hurry.

I pressed my hand up against the underside of the crustie on his door.

If I were wrong the kobold would crush me like a nut. He had reason enough to be pissed with me.

"Open sesame," I said.

Snick.

The door swung open.

"Okay, Cosmo," I began. "Sorry. Ulvonus."

A slight smile creased that craggy expanse of rock the Kobold called a face. "Thank you, Elizabeth."

"Why don't you want to leave?" I blurted out the question.

He didn't look away. Sadness filled those gray eyes. He managed to open his mouth and speak. "I didn't bow to the wizards. I knew the price of my defiance. This foolish escape would only besmirch my honor. So, I stay."

His words resonated in me. I stiffened. Something must have gotten in my eyes all a sudden because I was blinking away tears. I hated being here, wishing I were back out on the street, but I had my own sense of honor, too, as he just reminded me.

I took a deep breath and focused my attention on the problem.

A simple binding wasn't good enough. I took a deep, ragged breath.

"I need to go farther," I said.

The kobold nodded.

A rumbling from above, followed by Margery shouting, cursing, and somewhere in the middle of all that foul language (she swore like the proverbial stevedore) was my name.

"Oops. I think she just realized I'd spelled the Lock to myself."

Ulvonus's laughter was like a landslide. "Her innards must be in knots."

"We don't have much time. I wish I had my binding needles." The razor was doing things the hard way.

The kobold's huge eyes narrowed. "Your needles were stolen?" Okay, so I'd talked with him about my binding, thought it might keep him in line. Yeah, like that would have worked. I was naive three months ago.

It hit me. Somehow Margery had stolen my binding rod and my hatpin. That drawing fugue was no accident. She'd set it up. I'd been played; maybe played for weeks, maybe since I'd arrived.

I held up the razor. Pain. Pain was the only path to this binding. But physical pain wouldn't be enough to do what I needed to do here, which was not just bind Ulvonus to my will, but to intertwine us, my soul and his essence. Before today I would have said no way.

From higher up in the Silo came a cacophony of inhuman screams and roars. I thought I heard Margery yelling orders in the din, but maybe that was just my imagination.

Sharing my pain.

Well, Ulvonus had shared his with me, only fair I do likewise. This crackbrained scheme of mine was the only way out, and, in order to do his thing, Ulvonus needed a lot more mana, fast. We needed to meld on an essence-level.

It was either that or wait around for Margery to stick one of her slug things in me. Ick. Not in a million years. I would do what it took to stop her.

First things first.

I slashed my right bicep with the razor (cripes, that hurt), and bound the crustie lock to me, then slammed shut the door just as the neo-Troll lumbered down the spiral onto this level, Margery and Doug the techno-elf right behind.

"No, you don't," Margery shouted as the cell door boomed shut.

I ignored the neo-troll's foul breath and his bellowing as he pulled on the handle. The cell door stayed shut. Smirking, I squatted down beside Ulvonus, who smirked back at me.

"Noob," he said.

My eyes widened and I laughed. "Didn't think you knew the lingo."

"I have ears," he said, his stony face dead serious.

I laughed harder.

"You won't be laughing when we get through that door," Margery snarled from outside the bars. "You aren't going anywhere, rookie."

Keep on thinking that, witchy.

Blood drizzled down my arm and onto my fingers. I tore a strip from my shirt's hem and wrapped it around the wound.

"You'll still bleed to death." Margery's voice was matter of fact. "Such a fucking waste."

"I'm not running from my reality," I retorted as I reached out to place my hands on either side of Ulvonus's massive head. He put his huge hands around my head. It was like being skull clasped with shovels.

I'd never done this before. We'd discussed it in training--"last resort," I'd been told, "when you are utterly boned." Gee, thanks.

Margery began laughing. "You're trying an intertwining? That takes the cake. You're screwed, rookie."

"My sister--" I began, when something bounced off my back, and clattered when it hit the floor. It was one of Margery's metal balls. Stung like a killer bee.

"You ain't intertwining, Lizzy."

Ulvonus let go of the head clasp, stood up, pulled me with him and spun us around until his back faced the door and I was against the wall.

Margery's face was twisted into a mask of spiteful fury. "That ain't going to save you." She turned and bellowed "Doug!"

The kobold pulled me back down again, and we exchanged skull clasps.

"My sister showed me magic," I began, "when I was fifteen. We had a summer of wonder among singing trees, dancing with the sprites and wood nymphs, and then Fiona went insane." The words were merely the triggers for the deep emotions welling up in me.

The memories from that summer flooded me.

My sister Fiona summoning a new kind of fairy, one covered in black.

Fiona pointing out the "mountains of magic and castles of the air"--mana structures I know now, but back then I only saw the barest shadowy ripples in the summer air.

Fiona binding an ogre-boy who tried to steal the Goth fairy.

Fiona beginning to babble nonsense as she sang. Her becoming quiet and then manic, then dropping into a deep depression.

Finding her in the bathtub, her blood staining the steaming water. Mother saving her by putting a manifestation that looked like a mutant giant silver fish into her pale body. Later, my mother telling me Fiona would be away, perhaps forever, and no, I couldn't see her; couldn't see my sister who had been my best friend, perhaps never see her again, and facing my mother's cold anger day after endless day.

A ragged sob broke from my lips.

A gunshot exploded in the cell, and the kobold's body jerked.

Margery swore. "I told you silver bullets, Doug."

I didn't hear his answer.

Rock, deep soil, ancient granite, gemstones, it all filled my mind. Traveling through a dark tunnel lit with a faint glow, the humming of the earth's gigantic floating plates of continent-spanning rock deep below me. The kobold's memories flashed like gold. They were beautiful.

More gunshots. Ulvonus grunted in pain.

"That's better." Margery said.

Mana poured through me, a molten white heat that flowed into the Kobold's stony body.

He pushed forward, flattening me against the cell wall which became like a gauzy curtain. I was in him, we were one. His spade-like hands swam through the rock.

Up we went, through the rock and then soil, and then we were in the watch room. Dirt had fallen in a spray from the open hole in the wall. Ulvonous hummed and gestured. The dirt flowed back into the hole.

Ulvonous waved his hand. Steam billowed from the wall. When it cleared the wall had been restored.

"There." He coughed, a deep sound that made my teeth rattle.

How many bullets had struck him? I stepped toward him.

Ulvonous raised a hand. "The others are coming."

"But you've been shot," I said. Stupid thing to say. Of course he'd been shot.

"No time to worry about that," he replied, his deep voice tight.

I ran to a guard station, typed in the command to shut the hatch below, and seal the prison section of the silo. The indicator light turned to red, and the hatch to the prison stairs closed. It wouldn't hold Margery or her minions for long.

Ulvonous stood beside the wall, head down. I ran back to him. His hands were clenched at his sides. His eyes were closed. He'd have looked like a stone statue if it weren't for his lips moving as he chanted. The words were low. They sounded like Old German, but I couldn't understand them.

"Let me check your wounds," I said.

At the edge of my vision I saw a scrying mirror show Margery, her puppet Taylor and Doug the Techno-Elf, followed by a horde of freed manifestations surging up the stairs to the sealed hatch. Margery's face twisted in fury. She pointed at the hatch and the Ogre and Neo Troll rushed toward it. The image flickered to a shot of an empty cell.

"We have to seal the lower hatch," I said. "Now. But I'm the only sorcerer here." There needed to be two sorcerers to command the crustie to unseal and move.

Ulvonous opened his eyes. "I can assist you."

"How? You aren't a sorcerer," I said. Master of the obvious, that was me.

He smiled. "I've learned a few tricks in my time. You've never heard of manifestations being able to cast a spell?"

"Well, not as such," I said. Certainly, manifestations could use magic, but it was more elemental than spell casting.

"It won't be easy," he said. "I'll be using my essence to do so." He coughed, weaker sounding than the last one. My heart lurched.

"You can't!" I replied. Essence was a manifestation's life force. He'd become "real," which meant he breathed and ate, but he was supernatural. His essence was the mix of mana and, as one of teachers at the R.U.N.E. academy had called it, "the elixir of human dreams and fears rendered in magical form," what was born from the collective human subconscious.

Metal squealed from below.

"Are you going to argue while Margery and her allies rip open the hatch?" he asked.

Mana burn, I swore under my breath. What choice did I have but to take him up on his offer.

"Okay," I said. The hatch to above was twenty feet away. I raised my hands.

"We need to be closer," he said. He took a step toward it, staggered.

I wrapped an arm around his waist, steadied him. It was like trying to balance a boulder. He was even heavier than he looked. I nearly fell, but we managed to stay upright. He put a hand on my shoulder. At first, I thought it was to brace himself, but then I felt stronger. He was putting mana into me.

We stood below the mega-crustie covering the hatch. It had dulled to a stone gray.

"I'm sorry about your sister," the Kobold said, his voice quiet.

"Me, too," I said.

I chanted in Swahili, beginning a binding spell for the mega crustie covering the hatch to outside. Ulvonous raised his hands and began muttering something low, sounding like Old German. The air crackled with power. Our chants merged together.

The giant starfish-like hatch ward began glowing blue. The sound of screaming metal echoed up the stairs from the lower level.

I gestured wildly at the hatch, putting as much force as I could into my spell. Mana came off the mega-crustie in waves. It stirred.

I willed it to move. Go below and seal the lower hatch, I commanded. Its skin rippled, and its arms pulled away from the hatch. It dropped to the floor, far more gently than I would have imagined, and scuttled quickly to the stairs.

I followed, racing after it. Down the stairs we went to the lower level, and to the hatch to below.

The mega-crustie scurried to the buckling hatch, and coiled around it, hardening once more.

I sighed in relief. My knees suddenly felt weak. I mopped my forehead

Margery and her pals were going nowhere. I wasn't, either, since the external hatch above only opened from the inside via the crustie. I'd have to wait for relief.

I returned to the watch room feeling triumphant, then saw Ulvonous.

He lay on the floor. Blood stained the floor around him. I knelt beside him. Tears swam in my eyes.

His great eyes looked at me sadly. "No more time for me," he said. "But, there is for you. Make it worthwhile." He gasped. His eyes lost focus, and then he died.

I sobbed.

I wished then that I'd known him better, hadn't been teasing him like I had, had thought more about what he was and about his sense of honor.

Wisps of smoke rose from his body. It crumbled into smoking pebbles which burst into flame. A moment later, the remains of his body were gone, save for one shard of granite.

My sobs echoed in the watch room. I had found a friend here, at last, only to lose him and be alone once more.

His word reverberated in me. Make this worthwhile.

I was going to honor those words.

The next day a response team arrived.

The powers that be were impressed by my actions. They listened carefully as I told them what had happened. I tried to put all the credit on Ulvonous, but they still gave me a new assignment, back out in the wide world, to help uphold the Laws of Magic.

Margery was locked up in Silo 1 for good. No third chances for her.

I kept the shard of granite, placing it in a little brass ring box. Whenever I opened the box and touched the shard, I would think of Ulvonous and his deep, great gray eyes and the way his expressive face looked like a cliff, and I would smile.

END

***

THANKS FOR READING! I hope you enjoyed "Siloed." It takes place immediately before Book 1 of my upcoming urban fantasy series. If you'd like to stay up to date about my writing, learn about my first series, The Empowered, as well as the new one, and receive free stories, you can join my reader group here:

<https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/c2f0h2>

You can also find me at my website: daleivansmith.com and my Facebook author page: <https://www.facebook.com/daleivansmithauthor/>

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# Alchemy and Destiny

by Becca Andre

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# Chapter 1

The trigger brushed the crossbow housing, the faint sound spurring James into motion well before the twang of the string carried to him. The quarrel thunked into the wall to his right, the fletching lightly brushing his sleeve as it passed.

He whirled to face his assailant, instinctively tensing to launch himself at his opponent. But even as he spun, he caught a familiar whiff of aftershave, and knew he couldn't react the way his instincts demanded.

Henry scowled at him. "Don't even think about it." He lowered the bow. "How did you know?"

James tamped down his anger. It would only end in pain if he gave in to it. "The trigger rubs against the housing," he answered his brother.

Henry grunted and studied the crossbow more closely. His dark blond hair fell across his forehead, obscuring his frown.

"He's right," their brother Brian spoke up, stepping out from behind the knife display case. "I heard it."

James lifted a brow, attempting to appear surprised as his eyes met Henry's. He didn't believe Brian, but he didn't let that stop him from silently escalating the conflict.

"You did not," Henry snapped at Brian.

Brian took a breath for a comeback but never voiced it as their eldest brother stepped into the room.

George crossed his large arms and eyed the three of them. "Why is there a quarrel in the wall of my shop?" George didn't allow horseplay in their family-owned gun store.

"Henry missed," Brian answered.

Clenching his fist, Henry took a step toward Brian. "I don't miss." It was an accurate statement. Every one of them hit where they aimed, but that was what came with being part of a supernaturally gifted family of Hunters.

"James moved," Henry told George. "You know that all bets are off when dealing with that freak." He waved a hand at James.

Like his brothers, James was a Hunter. Unlike his brothers, James paid a price for this gift. In truth, he paid the price for the whole family, but they didn't see that. All they saw was that his abilities surpassed their own. It was a continual source of envy and contempt.

George's angry gaze fell on James. "Patch the hole."

James wanted to protest but knew it would be pointless. After all, it was his fault that Henry had missed.

Brian made a few crude comments about plugging holes, but James ignored him and left without a word. Raised by his three older brothers, James had long ago learned his place. Though they shared the same blood, James wasn't truly one of them. He was something different, and his brothers made it a point to remind him of it often.

James crossed the shop and stepped into the side hall. Patching holes and dents in the walls was a common occurrence in the Huntsman household. They even kept a small tub of spackling paste in the workshop upstairs.

Jogging up the steps, James arrived on the landing and flipped the switch beside the door. The fluorescent lights flickered to life, illuminating the folding tables, ammo boxes, and reloading press. James spent a lot of time up here reloading bullets for the shop, but it was on the other side of the room that James preferred to be. There, he'd set up a makeshift laboratory, complete with a Bunsen burner, a rack of test tubes, and a chipped mortar and pestle. A nearby shelf held a collection of beakers, a volumetric flask, and his alchemy texts. All three of them.

James gave his little lab a longing glance before hurrying to the closet to retrieve the spackle. Maybe later he would get a chance to study up on the next experiment he was planning. Provided George didn't find something else for him to do.

***

RUNNING THE PUTTY KNIFE along the wall one last time, James stepped back to admire his work. He would sand and paint it later, and it would look good as new. Not that anyone truly cared.

"About time you finished." George placed a couple of boxes on the counter beside the cash register. "Take these to the post office."

James set aside his putty knife and glanced at the clock. "The post office closes in fifteen minutes."

"Then you'd better move your ass." George turned and walked away.

With a sigh, James gathered the packages and headed for the side door. He should have known he wouldn't get to escape to his lab any time soon. Snagging his keys off the table by the door, he hurried out to his car and slid in behind the wheel.

"Start for me, baby," he mumbled before turning the key. A brief hesitation, then his seventeen-year-old car sputtered to life.

James released a breath, then dropped the car into drive. He used to tell himself that one day, he would own a car that wasn't almost as old as he was, but he was coming to realize that such a dream would always remain a dream. How could he expect a normal life when he didn't belong in this world?

He arrived at the post office with five minutes to spare. Though it was apparent from the glare the postmaster gave him, the man wasn't pleased that James had arrived in time.

"I hope those aren't international packages. I don't get paid overtime, and those would definitely make me run over."

James glanced at the address labels. "They're both going here in Ohio."

The man grunted, then pulled the boxes toward him. "Huntsman," he said, reading the return address. "I have a package for you. It came in on the truck this afternoon. You want it?"

"Sure," James agreed.

The man stepped away, then returned a moment later with the package and a few letters. "Figured I'd give you the rest of your mail while I was at it."

"Thanks." James pulled the stack closer, his gaze catching on the business-sized envelope on top. It was addressed to the Huntsman Gun Shop. Maybe it was an invoice, or a contract for George.

James glanced at the return address, and a surge of excitement coursed through him. The letter was from the Alchemica, the country's premier alchemy institute. But why would they send a letter to their shop? No one except his brothers knew that he dabbled in alchemy.

Unease followed the surge of excitement. What if one of his brothers had contacted the Alchemica on his behalf as some kind of joke?

James eyed the letter lying so innocently atop the stack of mail. He was tempted to snatch it up and tear into it right now, but he resisted the temptation. It would be better to open it once he was alone. That way, if it was some prank his brothers had pulled, he could let some of his anger out. It would do no good to frighten the postmaster.

Returning to his car, he got in but didn't immediately start the vehicle. He set the letter on the console, leaning it against the radio knob. What could it possibly contain? The Alchemica didn't contact a person out of the blue. Acceptance was by application only, and the requirements were extensive. For one, you needed a bachelor's degree in chemistry and James was just out of high school. Had his brothers filled out an application for him and lied?

"Just open it," he muttered. Open it and be done with it.

He took a breath, picked up the letter, and ripped it open. A single sheet of paper was folded inside.

With hands a little unsteady, James removed the page. To his surprise, it wasn't a letter at all. It was a flyer. Apparently, the Alchemica was offering a service to area gun shops involving alchemically enhanced bullets. James had never heard of such a thing, but it wasn't a surprising development after that man in California had started producing magic bullets. But that man hadn't been an alchemist. He was New Magic.

Nearly two decades ago, magic had returned to the modern world. A small percentage of the world's population had developed magical abilities. Those abilities were influenced by the wielders' personalities--their beliefs and interests--and it seemed there was some new variety of magic user popping up all the time. That was New Magic, but it wasn't the only magic.

With the open acceptance and fascination with all things magical, it had come to light that another form of magic had always been around. This Old Magic was the domain of mediums, aura readers, and other talents that had been whispered of for millennia, but never openly acknowledged. And then there were the necromancers.

He frowned at the flyer he held. The Alchemica was in Cincinnati, which also happened to be where the Deacon, the head of the necromancer community, lived. George would never let him visit the Alchemica.

James tapped a finger on the steering wheel, then read over the flyer again. It sounded like this bullet formula was only being offered to a few select shops. George would certainly be interested in the exclusivity aspect.

The phone number at the bottom of the page drew James's eye. It was a toll-free number with an extension. There was no street address. Did George know where the Alchemica was located? James doubted it.

An idea forming, James shoved the envelope into the glove box and started the car.

***

GEORGE EYED THE FLYER and James made an effort not to fidget. They were in George's office where George occupied the sole chair, leaving James to stand across the battered desk from him.

"Magic bullets," George said aloud, surprising James with his lack of amusement. "That New Magic guy has been on the cover of every gun magazine out there. I hear he charges per bullet and gets something like twenty dollars each."

James lifted a brow. "That's a lot of money." George liked money.

"No shit." He looked up from the flyer. "It's not right that this magical bastard is trying to imitate us. Does he really think he can compete with a Hunter?"

"It's pure arrogance," James agreed, chiding himself for not seeing this angle. If there was one thing that drove George more than turning a profit, it was their family's reputation. No one out hunted the Huntsman family. In that arena, they had no peers.

"You know how I've been dabbling in alchemy?" James didn't give George a chance to answer before hurrying on. "This would be a good opportunity to do something useful with that. If I could learn to make these bullets, it would be you on the covers of those magazines."

George studied him for a moment, his hazel eyes narrowing. "Why are you so eager?"

James went with honesty. "Alchemy fascinates me. If I can bribe you with a benefit for the shop, then I can learn more. Maybe get some schooling."

George chuckled. "I knew there was an angle. You're a Huntsman. You don't do selfless."

James held his gaze. George was right. That was the family mantra.

George abruptly held out the flyer, offering it to him. "Call the number and tell them you're interested."

James gripped the paper, but George didn't let go.

"You'd better not be lying to me."

"Lying about what?" James asked. "You read the flyer, and I told you why it interests me."

George eyed him a moment longer, then released the page.

James turned to go and made it as far as the door.

"Where is the Alchemica?" George asked.

James didn't hesitate. "Columbus," he lied.

"Make that call."

With a nod, James left the room. It was ironic that George expected them to pursue their selfish desires, but he would not put up with a lie to his face. If he found out, things would get ugly.

But the risk was worth it. Learning alchemy was James's only means of escaping his family curse. If he had to face hell to do it, it was no less than what he expected.

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# Chapter 2

James returned the phone to the charging cradle and wiped his palm on his thigh. He had gotten worked up for nothing. Whoever was in charge of taking his information at the Alchemica had been out. James had left his name and number, and now there was nothing to do but wait.

Would they call back this evening? Tomorrow?

George had already locked up the shop and headed for the house--or maybe the local bar--along with Henry and Brian. James would not be welcome in whatever form of entertainment they had sought, but he was fine with that. Climbing the steps to the workshop, he smiled to himself. It looked like he would get to spend the evening pursuing his alchemy interests after all.

Retrieving his notes and his newest text, he decided to do a little more research before he jumped into his next experiment. It was frustrating to be forced to take things slow, but with no prior knowledge, he didn't have a choice. If only he had an instructor. It was a long shot, but if the gun shop got that contract with the Alchemica, maybe he could find a way to make that a reality.

He had told George that alchemy fascinated him--and that was the truth--but there was more to it. According to family history, their particular talents were a product of an alchemical potion used on an ancestor centuries ago. James dreamed of finding a way to reverse it, but like all his dreams, it seemed destined to remain unfulfilled.

Forcing back his frustration, James returned to his text. Bemoaning his fate would not change it. Only by taking action could he hope to change his destiny.

***

JAMES WENT FROM A DEEP sleep to full alert in the time it took to fall from his chair to the floor. He rolled to the side upon landing and caught Brian's foot before it could connect with his ribs.

It would be a simple maneuver to twist Brian's leg and throw him to the floor. Even simpler to snap his ankle. Instead, James released his leg with only a gentle shove and sprang to his feet.

Henry still held the chair James had been sleeping in--before he had dumped James on the floor. He seemed to be considering whether to attack James with it.

"Was there something you wanted?" James asked, working to keep his cool.

"The shop opened ten minutes ago," Henry answered. "George told us to come find you."

"You found me."

Henry pursed his lips, the look in his blue eyes suggesting that he still hadn't decided whether to take a swing at James or not.

"George got a call for you," Brian spoke up. "It sounded like a woman." He exchanged a grin with Henry.

"Is she still on the phone?" James asked, all interest in pounding his brothers momentarily suspended.

Brian barked a laugh and gave Henry a nudge with his elbow. "Maybe he ain't gay after all." The fact that James had never had a girlfriend was a source of endless amusement for his brothers.

James ignored them and hurried downstairs. George stood behind the counter; unfortunately, he wasn't on the phone.

"Brian said I got a call." James stopped across from George. "Was it the Alchemica?"

"Yes." George eyed him.

"Well, what did they say?"

"You slept in the workshop?"

James struggled to keep his tone neutral. "I dozed off while reading."

"We opened ten minutes ago."

"I know. Sorry." James was certain that George was dragging this out on purpose. "The Alchemica?"

"The woman I spoke to seemed eager to work with us. I told her you could drive up this afternoon."

"This afternoon?"

"The man who runs the Boy Scout camp is coming by after lunch. You will recall that we are supplying him with the bows and arrows for his archery activities." George looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. He wasn't a fan of the low-tension bows and untipped arrows.

"Can't Brian or Henry meet with him?"

"You and I both know that wouldn't go well. The scout master would certainly not be a returning customer."

James knew better than to argue.

"I told the woman from the Alchemica that you would drive up after you finished. She seemed fine with that."

"Do I have an appointment time?"

"No."

James frowned. That seemed unprofessional. He hated to get off on the wrong foot.

"Well?" George lifted a brow.

"I'll go get a shower." This day was shaping up to be a long one. Now that he was so close, James didn't know how he was going to handle the wait.

***

JAMES PULLED OVER TO the side of the road to let yet another fire truck pass. It was the third one to come roaring up behind him, heading the same direction he was going. James tapped the steering wheel in frustration, waiting for the truck to get out of the way. He felt guilty about being annoyed since someone had far bigger problems than he did if it required three fire trucks. Still, the day had been one delay after another. If he believed in fate, he might fear that something was trying to stop him.

Easing back into traffic, James continued along the residential street that would take him to the Alchemica. It was well into evening, and probably past the time anyone would consider seeing him, but he had come anyway, driving much faster than he should on the two-hour drive over.

He crested a rise and was once again forced to stop, but he would have been stopping anyway. He had reached his destination. Unfortunately, it was the fire trucks' destination as well.

James's stomach dropped as he stared at the ruins of what had been a three-story building. Whatever force had been trying to stop him had succeeded. In the flickering red lights, James could see the engraved stone marker on the front lawn. This was the Alchemica.

One side of the building had been completely demolished while the rest still stood, though it was currently engulfed in flames. Judging by how little the flames had consumed, James wondered if an explosion had been responsible.

"Damn it." James smacked the steering wheel. Then grimaced at his irreverence to the death that had certainly accompanied such destruction. He raked a hand through his hair. He had been so close. If anyone could have helped him, it would have been an Alchemica alchemist. They were the best of the best. Or they had been.

The traffic began to move again, and he went with the flow, not certain where he'd go now. He didn't want to turn around and drive home. Maybe he'd grab a bite to eat. Or park the car and go for a walk.

The flickering neon sign of a bar drew his attention, and he pulled into the parking lot. It was as good a place as any to leave the car. Unfortunately, he still had a couple of years until he reached legal drinking age, so consoling himself with a cold one wasn't an option.

He shut off the car and stepped out into the evening gloom. Smoke rose in the distance, silhouetted against the light of the city. A siren wailed, echoing the howl of despair that wanted to leave his throat. Why did nothing seem to go his way? He knew he was cursed, but it was moments like these that truly drove the point home.

Eyeing the bar, he considered trying his luck, but decided against it. Instead, he started off down the sidewalk. A walk would do him some good. The night air would clear his head and the exercise would make him feel less like a caged beast. He hoped.

He'd gone about a block when movement at the next intersection drew his attention. A woman darted across the street. James blinked in surprise when he caught sight of what she wore: the dark robes of an Alchemica alchemist.

She stopped when she reached the opposite curb and looked over her shoulder. James thought she might be gazing back at her burning home, then he heard the distant sound of multiple footfalls.

"There she is!" a male voice carried to him.

The woman turned and ran. A moment later, three men came into view; they sprinted across the street, clearly chasing the woman.

"Cowardly bastards," James growled. He took a step to follow, then hesitated. His brothers would have a fit if he intervened and potentially revealed what he was.

But his brothers weren't here.

A faint smile curled his lips, and he sprang into motion, relishing the chase to come.

James reached the next street in time to see the trio dart down a narrow alley. An idea forming, James turned down an alley that ran parallel to the one they had taken. He stopped in the shadows shortly past the entrance and stripped off his clothes. Time to see how well those guys liked being chased.

Grinning, James shifted into his other form with liquid ease and dropped to all fours. George would blow his stack if he knew James had shifted. At home, he was only allowed to do this with George's permission. But he wasn't at home.

James flexed his paws, unsheathing ebony claws to grip the old cobblestones beneath him. His surroundings snapped into focus, all his senses so much keener than when he was in human form, but it was his sight he relied on now.

He turned in the direction those men had gone. Walls were not an obstacle, and he had no trouble picking out the tantalizing glow of their souls. His ability to see souls just came with the territory. After all, it was the soul that a hellhound hunted.

He eyed his prey on the other side of the building from where he stood, but it wasn't just the men's souls that he spied. It looked like they had cornered the woman. Her bright soul glittered in the gloom, such a contrast to the others.

James sprang forward, slipping into the twilight region where the mortal world met the next. He ghosted through the brick wall before him, landing within the building. He sprinted through rooms and more walls, unseen and unheard, until he emerged in the other alley.

The three men had the woman backed against the side of a dumpster that blocked the way into the next street.

James moved closer to the woman, but since he still walked the veil between worlds, none of them could see him.

"Got you cornered," the man in the lead said. He smiled at the woman, exposing his overlapping front teeth.

"Marigold, dried and chopped," the woman replied.

James glanced up, not certain what that meant.

"What'd she say?" one of the other men asked; then all three laughed.

The woman clenched her fists.

James admired her refusal to cower before these thugs. It was time to level the playing field--or more accurately, swing the advantage completely in her favor.

Slipping back into the mortal world, James appeared at her side. She gasped as his midnight fur brushed her bare arm. By canine standards, he was massive, but then, a hellhound wasn't exactly a canine, despite the hound part of the name.

James growled, and the other-worldly sound echoed off the stone walls of the alley. But it wasn't just his growl that filled the alley. He knew his eyes gave off their own light, the green glow clearly visible in the dimness.

The three men began to back away. Even the woman backpedaled until she bumped up against the dumpster. James felt bad about frightening her, but it couldn't be helped.

He snarled, and the three men let out simultaneous screams, then turned and ran.

For just an instant, James watched them go, relishing the moment, then he sprang after them. Their frantic footfalls echoed off the walls of the alley while James's tread made no sound. It caused the men to glance back over their shoulders frequently to see if he was still there.

James could have caught them easily, but it was far more fun to toy with them. He chased them for over four blocks, following at a comfortable lope. But as the chase progressed, a dark need rose within him and he found himself longing to close the distance and end this.

Alarmed by such a notion, he broke off the chase and skidded to a stop. Maybe his brothers weren't wrong to deny him this. It would certainly be easy to lose himself to the hellhound's more primeval instincts.

James hurried back to his clothes and shifted to human form. His senses dulled, but his perceptions returned to those he knew. As his head cleared, he remembered the reason he'd shifted in the first place. Chiding himself for getting so lost in the moment, he dressed quickly, then jogged back to the alley where he'd left the woman.

"Hello?" James sucked in a lungful of dumpster-scented air, then bent to grip his thighs as he almost gagged. Oddly, the odor hadn't bothered him as the hound, even though his senses had been much keener.

Movement drew his attention to the dumpster, and he spied the woman pressed between it and the wall. She leaned out to study him.

He smiled and straightened. "Are you okay? I saw those guys harassing you." He waved a hand toward the street beyond the dumpster, pretending that he'd seen the confrontation from there.

Moving closer, he stepped over a slimy-looking puddle and stopped beside her to offer a hand. "Do you need some help?"

She looked up and her dark eyes met his.

In his mind's eye, he could see the brilliance of her soul. He didn't use his ability enough to understand what it meant, but her soul had been one of the brightest he'd ever seen. It shouldn't have anything to do with her being an alchemist. After all, anyone could be an alchemist, magical or not.

She reached out and took his hand.

"I'm James," he said as he helped her up. "James Huntsman."

She swayed, and he gripped her shoulder, afraid she might pass out. A few blinks, and she seemed to regain control but didn't speak.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "Were you in the Alchemica when it--" He didn't get to finish as she swayed again. "No, I don't think you're okay. Shall I drive you to the nearest hospital?"

She shook her head, though she moved carefully as if her head hurt.

"Can't you speak?" He studied her. She didn't seem hurt, but maybe she had smoke inhalation or something.

She held one hand flat and with the other, pretended to write on it.

"I've got a pen in the car--if you want to write something."

A careful nod was her answer. For a moment, he considered that she might be mute, then he remembered her odd comment to those men earlier.

"Shall I show you where I parked? I'm not an axe murderer or anything."

She offered a tired smile, but remained silent.

"This way." James led her back down the alley, then around to his car in the dimly lit parking lot beside that bar. If nothing else, he could escort her inside and ask to use their phone. But first, he needed to figure out what she wanted.

Once they reached his car, he dug out the pen and handed it, along with a napkin to her. Using the hood of his car as a desk, she wrote a few words, then showed him what she'd written.

I can't remember anything.

"You mean about what happened at the Alchemica?"

She wrote another sentence on the napkin. What is the Alchemica?

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# Chapter 3

James stared at her. Was she telling him she had amnesia? "It's an alchemy institute. The best there is, and you're dressed like an Alchemica alchemist."

Her shoulders slumped, and a wrinkle creased her brow. She looked so tired.

"Seriously, I think you should get some medical attention," he insisted.

Once again, she carefully shook her head, then returned to the napkin. I need to get out of town.

"Okay. Where shall I take you?"

Her brow wrinkled again and she shrugged, then cast a worried glance over her shoulder. Were those guys who were chasing her something other than street thugs? Their dark clothing had been similar, but he had just assumed they were in some sort of gang.

"All right. Maybe you'll figure out where you need to go as I drive." He stepped around her to open the passenger door.

She gave him a grateful nod and got in.

Shutting the door firmly behind her, he hurried around to the driver's side. He paused a moment to pull the hound closer to the surface and scanned the area. The only souls nearby were within the bar. It didn't seem those guys had circled back.

He was careful to let his other sight fade before he slid in behind the wheel. Letting the hound's vision overlay his own caused his eyes to glow. He didn't want to freak out his new friend. It seemed she'd had enough stress for one evening.

Closing his door, he turned the key. The engine sputtered, but caught on his third attempt. "She can be a little temperamental," he explained as he put the car in gear. He drove to the exit and stopped to check for traffic before pulling out.

"By the way, what's you name?" he asked. She still had the pen and napkin.

He glanced over to check her response.

"Decant the supernatant," she answered, then pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening in both surprise and fear.

"Did someone do something to you? Maybe a potion?" Perhaps she'd had a conflict with a fellow alchemist.

The Alchemica had the reputation for being the best, but that wasn't all that was said. There were whispers of black magic and a certain lack of ethics. Though as a man cursed to embody a denizen of hell, James didn't want to cast stones. Besides, this woman didn't seem evil, but she could have run afoul of a less ethical colleague.

She stared back at him and he could see the dawning realization in her intelligent eyes. She didn't think his conclusion far-fetched--even if she remembered nothing of the particulars.

"Look, I'm not from around here. I live two hours away, in Portsmouth. When you said you wanted to get out of town..."

She gave him a thumbs-up. The sleeves of her dark robe were split at the point of the shoulder, apparently by design, and when she raised her left hand, the sleeve fell open and he caught a brief glimpse of the tattoo encircling her biceps. A streetlight at the corner provided a lot more illumination than the lighting in the parking lot they were leaving, and James got a better look at the tattoo. He'd thought it a single band in the low light, but he could now see that it was a series of intertwining bands. Four to be exact. If those were real, she was no common alchemist. She might be a master, the best of the best.

A flurry of excitement stirred in his stomach. Here was a potential solution. She could stay with him until she got her problems sorted out, and maybe she could help him with his.

"Okay. I'll take you home." He pulled out onto the street and hit the accelerator. Maybe fate hadn't smacked him down after all.

***

THE WOMAN DOZED OFF shortly after he pulled onto the interstate, leaving James with only the radio for company. It also left him plenty of time to think this over. The workshop would be an ideal place for her. It was a large area with an attached bathroom that included a shower. The problem, as always, was his brothers. They weren't the type to lend a hand, or help a stranger. And when it came to women, they were absolute pigs.

He glanced over at the woman dozing in his passenger seat. He hated to subject her to that.

She shifted on the seat, and he caught another glimpse of that tattoo. What would George make of it? He'd certainly try to find some way to use her to his advantage. It would be best if he didn't know her potential. Maybe imply that she was just a novice like James, but with a little more knowledge. George would refuse to let her stay if she had no usefulness. Perhaps James could imply that she knew something about those magic bullets. And maybe she did, but without her memory, that deception wouldn't last long.

About an hour from home, he pulled into a Walmart. He left the woman dozing on the passenger seat and went inside to get her something to wear. Not certain of her size, he opted for sweats, a long-sleeve T-shirt, and a hoodie. Even if they didn't fit well, the clothes would at least give her an alternative to her robes, and he could take her shopping for more once he got things settled with George. If he got things settled with George.

It was almost two in the morning when he pulled in behind the shop. He shut off the engine and gave her shoulder a shake.

She woke with a gasp, then doubled over and cradled her head.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked. Maybe he should have grabbed some painkillers as well.

"Wet ash the residue and--" She sat up and pressed a hand to her mouth, her worried eyes settling on him.

"You remember me, right? James?"

She nodded, then released a breath and leaned back in her seat.

"Are you okay?" he asked again.

A wry twist at the corner of her mouth suggested that she had a sarcastic comeback for that, but she resorted to another thumbs-up. A frown creased her brow as she looked through the windshield. She waved a hand at the wall before them. The sign read: Huntsman Gun Shop Parking.

"The family business," he explained. "My brothers own and run it. There's a workshop upstairs. I thought you could stay there." He reached over the seat to collect the Walmart bags. "Considering that we don't know what kind of trouble you're in, I thought it best to get you something else to wear."

Her brows lifted, perhaps surprised--and maybe a little unnerved--that she had slept through his stop.

"Are you still okay with this?" he asked.

A few more moments of silent consideration, and she nodded.

Again, he admired her bravery. This had to be a crazy situation for her. Unable to remember what had happened or even speak, she was forced to trust a complete stranger to get her to safety. James just hoped he wasn't letting her down.

He led her inside and up the stairs to the workshop and, leaving her to examine the room, went down to the shop to get a cot from the small collection of camping supplies they sold. Hunting was a sport for outdoorsmen, and camping was part of that. George was all about the little extras.

James would catch hell for taking the cot from the shop, but so be it. If George didn't give him shit for that, he'd find something else to complain about.

Stepping into the workshop, James wasn't surprised to see his guest examining his makeshift laboratory. What did surprise him was that she was already working to light the Bunsen burner.

"What are you doing?" he asked, more curious than anything.

She pushed an open notebook toward him where she'd already written down a list of ingredients.

"You're brewing a potion?" he asked, excited by the prospect--even if it was two in the morning.

She picked up the pen. Knockout Powder, she wrote. Then hesitated and added, I don't like being defenseless.

James wanted to reassure her that he would protect her, but that sounded so cheesy. Besides, why should she believe him? She didn't know that he'd chased those guys off. "I understand," he said. "Are you going to make it now?" Not that he was opposed to the idea, but it was late--or rather, early.

If you have the ingredients, she wrote.

He glanced over the list again, then nodded. "I think I can find all this." He couldn't help but smile.

She studied him, then turned back to her notepad. Is this lab yours?

"Yes." He felt his cheeks warm. "I'm an aspiring alchemist."

She grinned and lifted her right hand to give him a thumbs-up. Her split sleeve fell away to reveal a tattoo around her right biceps as well. It was the same design as the one he'd seen on her left, but this one had five bands. Holy crap, she was a master alchemist.

She must have noticed his surprise. Spreading her hands, she lifted her brows in question.

"Your tattoos," he said. "They mark you as a master alchemist." Each band was supposed to signify a discipline mastered, and there were ten. This woman had mastered nine of them. "You lack only the final band, but that's as many as anyone has. No one has found the Final Formula."

She swayed, and James was certain she would have fallen if he hadn't caught her.

"Maybe you should save the potion-making for later. After you've gotten some sleep," he suggested.

In answer, she pulled the notepad closer. I keep having these deja vu moments, like I'm about to remember.

"Maybe that means you will remember."

I hope, she wrote. Those ingredients?

He shook his head. She was tenacious. "All right, but only because I can't pass up the opportunity to work with an actual alchemist. A master alchemist."

She flashed him a grin, then wrote one more line. Then get moving, apprentice.

He laughed and hurried off to do just that.

***

JAMES DIDN'T GET MUCH sleep, but that didn't affect his good mood as he walked over to the shop the next morning. Well, it was technically the same morning, but it felt like a new day.

This morning's alchemy work had been amazing. He had learned so much just by watching. His guest had been easy to work with and even eager to help him understand the process better. He would have asked more questions, but it had been a pain for her to write down every response. Hopefully, whatever was affecting her ability to speak properly would wear off soon.

James opened the side door and stepped inside. Maybe he could speak to George before--

A series of thumps sounded above him, followed by a male shout. Henry.

"Shit!" James ran for the stairs and took them three at a time. He arrived in the workshop an instant later. It was as he feared. Henry and Brian had found his new friend.

James skidded to a halt. He thought he would have to rescue her, but that wasn't the case.

Brian lay unmoving at her feet while she faced Henry, a vial in hand.

Seeing how she had overcome his brothers made James want to laugh--until Henry pulled a throwing knife from his belt.

"You'll pay for that," Henry told her. Then he smiled.

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# Chapter 4

"Henry, don't!" James hurried forward, positioning himself between the woman and his brother. "She's an alchemist." Since she was no longer wearing her robe, that wasn't obvious. "She's going to help us design those magic bullets."

"Alchemist?" Henry demanded. "Is that why the crazy bitch started shouting about milliliters of some shit?"

"She's had some trouble. It'll--"

"And what the hell did she do to Brian?"

James glanced at her, and she lifted the vial, enabling him to see the white powder within.

"It's just Knockout Powder," James explained. "It's harmless. I watched her make it." Helped her, actually.

James stared at Brian's still form, shocked that the potion had actually worked. He had never seen alchemy in action. Though he had dabbled in alchemy for a while, he'd never been able to bottle magic on his own.

Henry stepped closer to him, absently spinning the razor-sharp knife in his hand. "I see what's going on here." A nasty smirk curled his lips. "You finally got laid."

James sprang without warning and had the immense satisfaction of watching Henry's eyes widen. He wasn't allowed to fight with his brothers, so the move took Henry by surprise. Otherwise, Henry would have thrown the knife.

Not that the knife would have been a deterrent. With the ability to heal all damage when he shifted form, James didn't fear a knife, bullet, or quarrel. His brothers frequently used him for target practice. It didn't matter that James fully felt the pain until he healed.

James's fist connected with Henry's chin and sent him to the floor--hard.

In the momentary silence, James heard the soft scrape of metal on leather, the sound of a knife leaving a sheath. He whirled toward the door to see George standing on the threshold, his favorite hunting knife in hand.

Before either of them could speak, the woman stepped between them; her back to James, she held the vial aloft.

James was stunned. He couldn't remember a time when anyone had stepped between him and his punishment.

"What the hell is going on here?" George spoke slowly, enunciating each word.

"Apparently, James found some addled alchemist to screw him," Henry answered, getting to his feet.

James clenched his fists, but she gripped his arm.

"And Brian?" George frowned at their unmoving brother.

"Unconscious," James answered.

"Explain," George said between clenched teeth. "And while you're at it, you can explain this." He held up the newspaper that had been tucked under one arm. On the front page was a picture of the burning Alchemica.

James swallowed. "When I arrived at the Alchemica--"

"In Cincinnati," George cut in.

"In Cincinnati," James agreed. "I found her." He gestured at the woman by his side. "I helped her and--"

"I agreed to come here," she answered, then lifted a hand to her mouth, clearly surprised that she could speak. The potion must have finally worn off. Smiling, she turned back to George. "I agreed to come here and help James make those bullets."

James stared at her in shock, not only because she was no longer spouting alchemical nonsense, but because she'd picked up on the story he'd given Henry and run with it.

"I'm not going to pay her," George said, his eyes still on James.

"In exchange for room and board," she said.

"First, you will prove that you can..."--George hesitated--"put out." He smiled at the crude play on words while Henry doubled over with laughter.

James gritted his teeth.

"Wow." She looked up at James. "Your brothers are such classy guys."

"Yeah," James agreed.

"And your addled alchemist has a mouth on her," Henry said.

"Call me Addie," she replied. "No need to be so formal."

Henry gave her a dark look.

"That's enough," George cut in. "I expect progress. Addie. You can begin now. James, I want you downstairs--"

"Wait," Addie spoke up. "I'm going to need my apprentice. I can brew the formula, but I don't know the first thing about bullets."

George studied her for a long moment, then turned to Henry. "Take Brian downstairs, then get cleaned up. You're working the counter this morning."

Henry opened his mouth.

"No argument," George stopped his protest. "Do as you're told."

Henry gave James a glare, then Addie, but did as George instructed. Once he had Brian slung over his shoulder, he left the room, grumbling under his breath.

George faced James. "This better not be another lie. I'll expect those bullets."

"And you shall have them," Addie answered. George didn't seem to intimidate her at all--and George intimidated everyone.

George spared her a frown, then addressed James. "Tomorrow morning, we go hunting."

James lifted his chin, trying to imitate Addie, even as his stomach twisted into knots. George would make certain he paid for his lie.

Sparing them one last glare, George left the room.

James made an effort not to release a sigh of relief.

"Charming family," Addie said now that they were alone.

"Yes. Sorry."

"You aren't responsible for their actions."

"I brought you here," he reminded her.

"And I'm grateful. With better equipment, I might be able to brew something to restore my memory."

"You don't remember what happened to you?"

"I don't even remember my name." Her brow wrinkled. "All I remember is alchemy."

James eyed her. "I don't believe amnesia works that way."

"It doesn't. Something happened to me, but I don't know what." She frowned, but it wasn't an expression of worry or despair. It was determination, flavored by anger. "I'll figure it out."

He realized that he believed her. "Until then, what name do you want to use? I'm not going to let my brothers call you Addie."

"Why not?" She asked. "I like it."

He decided to let that go. "What about the bullet formula?" If she couldn't do as George asked, he would force her to leave. "Do you know how to make those magic bullets?" After all, someone from the Alchemica had sent that flyer.

"No, I don't know such a formula, but I can design one."

"Just like that?"

"Sure," she answered without hesitation. "There are no limitations in alchemy."

"What if what you want to accomplish is impossible?" Like reversing his curse and making him simply human. "There must be limits, right?"

"Nope," she said. "Alchemy rule number one: anything is possible."

He studied her, not certain whether she was joking.

Her tone remained serious as she continued. "If you're going to be an alchemist, you must accept that. It's where our magic comes from."

"Our magic? You really think I could be an alchemist?"

"I wouldn't have named you my apprentice otherwise." She gave him a wink. "Come on, let's get to work."

Stunned, he watched her walk back to his makeshift lab. Could this really be happening? Could an impossible dream be...possible?

She looked over her shoulder. "Well, what are you waiting for? Wipe that goofy grin off your face and get over here." She smiled as she spoke. "I may not remember much, but I'm certain the apprentices considered me merciless."

"I'm not afraid." Still grinning, he walked over to join her. "You've met my brothers. I doubt you could hold a candle to them."

A look of sympathy crossed her face, but she continued the teasing. "Perhaps, but I do like a challenge." She propped her hands on her hips as she eyed his meager supplies. "And this is certainly going to be a challenge."

"How can I help?"

"First, we're going to need some more equipment. A few porcelain dishes, stir rods, vials, of course, and--" She stopped. "You might want to write this down. I haven't even started on the ingredients."

Chuckling, he picked up the notebook and did as told. Tomorrow, he would pay the price for lying to George, but he knew it had been worth it. He had found an instructor who may one day give him the means to break his curse, but more importantly, he had found a friend.

***

THE STORY DOESN'T END there. If you'd like to find out what happens next for Addie and James, be sure to check out my Final Formula Series. The first book, The Final Formula is free everywhere my books are sold. For a complete list of titles, blurbs, and excerpts, please visit my website at the link below and discover the Final Formula.

<http://beccaandre.com/the-final-formula-series/>

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Thank you for reading Alchemy and Destiny. I hope you enjoyed it!

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# Dirty Magic

by N. R. Hairston

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# Chapter 1

"Could you try not to kill anyone this time, Rekia?"

I stood with my sister, Chanel, between two brick buildings, the light from the fading sun shining down on us. "You know," I said, leveling her with a stare. "I think you're aiming to be the only girl in the family."

She scrunched up her nose, reminding me of myself sometimes when I looked in the mirror. My sister and I favored a lot and we were easily mistaken for each other sometimes, although I was twenty-five, and she twenty-eight. We both stood about five feet six, though she was slightly taller than me.

Today, like always, her black hair hung loosely around her shoulders, unlike mine, which was also black but trimmed with just a little covering my eyes. We were both slim of frame, and that, coupled with everything else, is why people often mistook us for each other or thought we were twins.

Right now, she leaned up against the brick wall of the building opposite mine, hitting me with that 'you're so full of shit' look she sometimes leveled my way. "And why do you think that?" she asked, going back to my earlier statement.

"Because," I said, looking up and down the alley, making sure no one was in hearing distance. "You actually want me to stand still and do nothing as telekinetics try to rip my eyes out, empaths try to influence my emotions, telepaths try-"

"Okay. You have to defend yourself but seeing as how you normally use your telekinesis to rip out eyes, I don't think you have much room to talk."

I did not do that. I protected myself, but I never started the fight. The problem was that my sister and the rest of my family hated what I did for a living. We all had the ability to open portals to other universes, me, my sister, and my two brothers. It was something we'd inherited from our father, that and a few other things.

Still, I was the only one who made a profit from it. Say you were on the run from the mob or the street gang around the corner, I could hide you where you'd never be found, in an alternate universe. Though I only ever took my clients to places where the people looked the same as us, and the language was the same or similar enough that they wouldn't have a problem understanding it.

It was good money, and I loved doing it, enjoyed the rush it gave me, though I'd figured out a long time ago, that my family would never understand, much less approve.

I ran a hand over the bricks behind me, because I really did need to go. "I'm just going to Ricken to do a check on my client. Once I make sure that she's alright, I'm out of there. No harm, no foul."

Chanel shook her head. "You give mom about a million gray hairs a day, you know that? Dad may think it's okay, but that's because he has powers himself. Mom is different."

I started to open a portal but stopped when she said that, feeling my shoulders tense a little. I didn't want my mom stressed about this and I wished there was a way I could alleviate her fears. "Stop telling her stuff to make her worry."

See, my mother was from the world we were on now, what me and my siblings considered our home world. My father was from the world Juelm, one of the few places with natural-born portal openers. There, everyone had powers, but here, where my mom was from, no one even knew that alternate realities existed or that telekinesis was something besides what they saw on the TV.

Chanel let out a defeated sigh. "Just try to stay out of trouble and call me if you need help." She would be the first person I'd call if things went awry. Unlike myself, she had the power of blood remedy, which meant she could control blood, even use it to heal others. It was very powerful magic, and my sister was excellent at it.

I gave her a hug, just because, then opened a portal to Ricken and stepped inside, hoping I wasn't about to enter into a firestorm.

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# Chapter 2

At first, everything seemed fine. Though it had been closing in on dusk back home, it appeared to be midday here on Ricken. I stepped out of the portal, and the street molded itself around my feet, securing me in place before the little motor under the road began to move me forward.

All worlds had different modes of transportation. Here, sidewalk and street basically meant the same thing and were called trailens. They were small strips of asphalt, rectangular in shape, just big enough to hold two people, and were laid out everywhere.

Depending on where you wanted to go, you stepped on the one with the correct address written on it or the one that would get you close to where you were going, because you could always switch over, kinda like changing buses.

Today the air was cool; the wind blowing just enough to ruffle my hair and tickle my ears. As I rode on my trailen I noticed I was in the financial district. Large buildings surrounded me, some made out of red or blue brick, others out of mecen, a building material a bit stronger than brick, and able to withstand fire and strong winds. It was a very expensive material to build with, which is why some simply couldn't afford it.

Since we were in the business district, the area was kind of quiet, the only sound coming from people chattering as they rode by on their trailens together. Some people ate while traveling, and I could smell coffee and Danishes wafting through the air.

I myself chomped on a vegetable flavored protein bar. Opening portals and hopping worlds burned up a shit ton of calories, and if I didn't load up on food, my body would literally start to break down, to the point that I would pass out or even worse.

Celina lived in a large three-bedroom house made of mecen in an upscale neighborhood. I'd paid up the first eight months' rent for her when I'd brought her here. Celina was a case different from the thieves and crooks I usually dealt with.

I mean, even with them, I still made sure they found a place to stay, and since I had contacts in every world I took people to, I made sure they had someone watching over them and helping them transition, and I checked on them every six months. But they usually had money of their own, enough to pay me my asking price of ten million and still have more than enough left over to live on.

With a case like Celina, where the person was escaping some type of abuse, it was pro bono, no questions asked. Them, I would hand over to a contact familiar with abuse, and I'd check on them every two to three weeks until I was sure they were okay.

My contacts would help them find a job, and if they had kids, they'd assist with getting them into a local school. I would find them a house and pay up the rent for eight months. I'd also get them a car, or whatever was used for transportation on the world they were on, and make sure they had enough money for food and necessities until their first paycheck kicked in.

And I'd do all of that using the money from whatever criminal had recently paid me to relocate them.

I arrived at Celina's house, exited off my trailen, and went up her front steps, a feeling of unease going down my spine. I didn't know what it was, but something in my gut told me I wouldn't like what I was about to find.

Celina was also different in that I didn't usually transport people with powers, but I'd found her hurt and bleeding out in the streets of Mellen. Mellen was a violent, lawless place and most people stayed clear of there because walking over dead bodies and rotting corpses was just another day on that world.

Celina happened to live there. She'd been near death when I'd found her, but since I didn't know who she was or any of her relatives, I couldn't call on my sister to use her blood remedy. Instead, I'd taken her to a hospital on a world that I knew had natural healers.

The letter D had been carved into her face, right on her jawline, but she'd always been tight-lipped on what it meant, and I respected her privacy because it was important to me that she felt comfortable and not overwhelmed. My client's well-being was of utmost important to me. Starting your whole life over was hard enough and I never wanted to add to that.

After she'd gotten better she'd begged me to hide her, so I had. She'd never told me who'd hurt her, and I hadn't pushed the issue. Now, though, now guilt-laced fire ripped through me, because six months ago when I'd brought her here I'd promised her she'd be safe.

If she was gone... if she was hurt... I took a steadying breath, my mind going to dangerous places the way it always did when I thought one of my clients was in trouble.

This time instead of ringing the doorbell, I decided to knock. The door opened on its own, turning my mouth dry and making something sour deep inside of me.

Taking careful steps inside, I called out for her, letting her know I was there. She never answered, and as I got to the living room, I realized why. The place had been ransacked: her white couch had been knocked over, her glass table lay in pieces on the floor, her walls had holes in them, the TV had been smashed, and there were bits of torn up paper everywhere.

Fire burned in my gut now, because if she wasn't okay, if someone had hurt her... my hands trembled with my anger, and I told myself to calm down until I knew more.

Going through her house I didn't find anything that stood out, so I decided to talk to the neighbors and the contact I had here who was supposed to be watching her.

My contact had checked in with her earlier in the week and everything had been fine. None of the neighbors had seen anything suspicious, but I couldn't find any who'd caught sight of her in the last three days.

Trepidation danced circles around my spine, but I knew without a doubt I was going to Mellen. It was a dangerous world and I was likely to get knifed as soon as I stepped out of the portal. I didn't particularly want to go there alone, but I'd do whatever it took to get my client back. I thought about calling Chanel but didn't want her involved in this, so instead, I held out my hand and opened a portal to the one person I knew would help.

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# Chapter 3

Trent sat behind his desk going over a few papers but looked up when I walked in. His black hair was curled around his ears, and he had tattoos covering his whole body. They ranged from names and faces to tribal symbols and sigils from the different worlds he'd visited.

Heck, he even had one of my face, but we'd both been drunk off potomac bomb when he'd gotten that. Potomac bomb was five times more powerful than what we called moonshine back home, so the less said about that the better.

He stood about six feet tall, was pale in the winter, tan in the summer, and had a scar running down the side of his face that I still didn't know the story behind. Trent was very muscular, but unless he took his shirt off, you couldn't really tell.

He lived on a world called Shinow. No one here had powers, but they used portal openers to travel to alternate universes, and many from other worlds visited here for business or other matters.

Trent actually did have a little something extra, given to him by a man from the world Saluton who Trent had helped relocate. See, that's one of the things Trent's company did, helped people get on their feet, finding them employment, housing, and that sort of thing. He also had business dealings with a few other worlds, and last I looked, his company had been thriving.

He was one of my top contacts to hand my clients off to, but our relationship was a lot more than that. He smiled when he saw me, but it quickly faded when he took in the set of my jaw and the storm brewing in my eyes.

Reaching out for my hand, he pulled me to his lap, letting out a long-exaggerated sigh. "Who do I have to kill now, Rekia? I was just going over this land deal for a piece of property on Sogen. Can't it wait until after that?"

"You're an asshole," I said, socking him in the arm, a small smile appearing on my lips, as he knew it would.

"I have a missing client. Her house's been tossed, and no one has seen or heard from her in three days. I want to go to Mellen to see what I can sniff out."

Trent shut down his computer and wrapped his arms tightly around my waist. "Celina?"

My eyes rolled upwards, because of course, he knew my clients as well as I did. Pushing that thought aside, I bit my bottom lip, this next part a lot harder for me than it should be.

"I'll help," Trent said, saving me the trouble of asking, because man, it was so damn difficult to push those words past my lips sometimes.

My shoulders sagged in relief, and I leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the lips, loving the taste of coffee and garlic that I got from him.

A look of faux irritation crossed his face. "A little less slob, next time, please," he said as he let me go and came to his feet.

"You know what," I said, my brows furrowing. "Think I'll keep my kisses to myself from now on. Honestly, who doesn't love-"

"I have employees here, Rekia."

"They're in another room."

"Oh." He pointed to the ceilings and walls. "Probably should have told you this a couple of years ago, I have cameras and mics set to activate whenever you walk in. They can see and hear everything we do."

I tilted my head to the side as I looked at him. "Trent, come on now."

"Sorry, Re. Just wanted to see you smile one time." He held out his hand and a long, thick, black, lasso flew into it, wrapping around his arm as if it had been made for just that purpose.

The darn thing only answered to Trent, and if anyone else tried to touch it, it would first burn, then electrocute them, myself included.

"Okay," Trent said, his eyes going serious and hard. "Let's go get your client back."

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# Chapter 4

Celina had been in hiding from this place, so I wouldn't ask questions about her, and I would not be showing her photo around. I had something a little different in mind. Passing a protein bar to Trent, and munching on one myself, we begin to walk.

Most of Mellen's buildings were made out of hemp and stucco. A great many were at least four stories high, the majority having a star, oval, or round shape.

Holographic, moving pictures were on the side of most structures. Unlike back home where things like photos and business licenses hung on walls or sat on shelves, here they were fifty inches wide and proudly displayed on the side of businesses and houses for all to see.

It wasn't unusual to hear screams, shouts, and loud bangs while on Mellen. It was a place without rules or punishments, and I'd learned a long time ago to tune out the noise, while still staying on high alert.

As we walked, two guys were on the side of the street to our right, throwing punches and fighting over who knew what. In front of them, a woman used her telekinesis power to steal a guy's wallet out of his back pocket, but when she tried to run he used his super speed to catch her.

On the left side of the street two women were arguing loudly, then one smacked the other, and a fist came out. As we walked, we passed by scene after scene like this. There was no police force on Mellen. No government of any kind. People did what they wanted, when they wanted, and maybe that's why some loved living here so much. None of their actions had consequences.

Maybe some wanted to leave, but if you were born here and this was all you knew, it wasn't that easy. Plus, in order to get to an alternate universe, you would need a portal opener, and there were only a few worlds like my father's that had natural portal openers on them.

For one or two portal openers it was way too much, and they'd be drained dry before they could get half the people out. I'd offered to take people before, no charge of course, but Celina was the first to ever take me up on it.

Still, the streets ran rampant with crime and to the people here, it was just commonplace. Mellen was a busy, crowded world, whether you came here at three in the evening or four in the morning. "So where do you want to start?" Trent asked, yelling over top of the commotion around us.

There was no privacy out here on the street, so I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over to where a row of random buildings stood. I put two coins in the door of the building I wanted to go into, and after three seconds we entered our own private restroom, making sure to click the lock behind us.

It was a large enough space, about the size of a master bathroom, with, a sink, toilet, shower, and large bed. The walls were a black shag material, as was the floor, and I briefly wondered how it would feel against my feet.

The building to the left of us, if I'd read the sign correctly, was for those looking for a place to sit down and eat. Inside was supposed to be a table, chairs, refrigerator, stove, and microwave. Just like the restroom we stood in, the building was big enough to hold that and nothing more.

The building to the right of us supposedly held a treadmill and weights just in case you wanted to get some exercise in while walking down the street.

Even though the building was supposed to be soundproof, I still didn't trust that there weren't cameras in here, recording our every action.

I moved as close as I could to Trent, breathing in the scent of spice, mint, and earth that was always him. My knees went a little weak, and my voice was husky and low when I spoke. "I want to go back around the area I first found her. See if anything kicks up."

He put his hands under my shirt and used my waist to pull me closer. I inhaled shakily, as always when his fingers touched my skin, and I'd stopped trying to rationalize it a long time ago. Honestly a part of me just wanted to curl up in his arms and stay there forever. "It's a good idea," he whispered, his voice warm against my ear, making my heart beat faster. "If something's going down in that area, we might get a hint."

We exited the restroom, and from the clock on the door, we still had a few more hours we could have spent in there. It didn't matter though, I was sure someone else would come along and use the extra time if they needed to.

The place where I'd first found Celina was between a drink company and a grocery. She'd been in the alleyway that separated them, bloodied and bruised.

Trent and I walked that area, but I didn't see anyone I thought would talk.

Trent pushed loose black hair away from his face, as his eyes continued to roam. "Let's try another street."

We turned the corner, went down the road, and around another corner. A guy in a red shirt levitated in the air, then pulled a digit out of his pocket. Digits were small communication devices, which were about the size of a large smartphone, only they had about a hundred extra functions and uses.

A different guy, this one in a green shirt, levitated up until he was just a few inches from the guy in the red shirt. Then he held out a hand, shooting a line of thick silver energy at the first guy, wrapping it around his throat, and choking him until he dropped his digit.

The dude with the green shirt snatched it up before it could hit the ground, and then tried to quickly run away. Not so fast, buddy. A spike of adrenaline ran down my spine. I probably should have hung my head in shame because this was the part I loved the most, always had, the thrill of the chase.

I held up my arm, using my telekinesis to bring him back, slamming him down in front of me. The digit fell out of his hand, and the other guy dropped down, picked it up, and took off around the corner.

Knowing this was the only way to get respect here, or even have a conversation, I put my foot to his throat. His eyes went hard, his breathing a little erratic, but for the moment, he didn't try anything.

"My brother," I said, making my voice sound as cold as he probably thought it should. "No one has seen him in weeks. Best I can gather his last known place was here. His skin is a little darker than mine, an almost ebony color, and he usually keeps his hair cut short. Someone said they saw him bleeding in an alleyway in this area with the letter D carved into his face. Only when they went back to help, he was gone. Now, what do you know?"

It was a heck of a tale, but if he fell for it, maybe we could find out something that would help lead us to Celina. His eyes went wide, and pure panic crossed his face before he shut down completely. Damn. No need to keep trying, especially if he was this scared then he wouldn't be telling us anything.

I let him go, and he looked between me and Trent, shook his head and took off down a nearby alley.

Walking on, we caught a lady ready to use her power to drain another woman of her energy, we stopped her, asked the same thing, and got the same reaction.

"Hmm," I said after the fifth person had basically hightailed it away from us, the last one delivering a sucker punch to my stomach first. "Not like the Mellen people to be scared of anything. Something is definitely going on here."

Trent stared after the woman who'd just hit me as if trying to fit a puzzle piece together. "The question is, how does it connect to Celina? She never said anything?"

I shook my head. "She didn't want to talk about it and I didn't push."

It was three hours later when we finally got a whiff of something we could follow. A short guy with a head full of curly red hair, who'd obviously had a few too many, came wobbling out of the bar we were standing in front of.

Trent and I both had a Gouj beer in our hand. Gouj beer came in very dark bottles so no one could tell ours were still full to the top, which was a good thing since we were both pretending to be drunk off our faces. This was our tenth attempt at this, so hopefully this time someone took the bait.

"I heard," I hiccupped out, and waved my bottle through the air. "I heard that when they get you, they carve a D in your face, so everybody knows you belong to them."

Trent rocked back on his heels, pretending to stumble as he fell against the building, fingers still gripped tightly around the neck of his bottle. "Nah, babe. I heard talk the D comes after the initiation. That's when they let you into their crew."

The guy with the red hair raised a bottle of blaze wine to his lips and then let out a long burp. "You're both wrong. The D is for Dox. Vane and his boys are hunting them all down." He took another swig and held up a single finger to us. "Be careful." With that, he continued swaying down the sidewalk.

"Fuck," Trent said, tossing his bottle in a nearby trash can.

"Yeah," I said, actually taking a swig from mine before throwing it away.

Vane was one of the top players here. One of the top six people that you absolutely did not fuck with. He had more than a few thousand hard-ass tough men and women ready to do his bidding at a moment's notice.

None of the top six got along, and they'd spent years ripping each other apart and bloodying every inch of Mellen. Then, things had slowly cooled down and they'd decided to come to the table.

The bar we'd been in front of was probably owned by Vane or one of the other top six, no doubt about it. If not, then one of them was getting a nice cut of the profits, or it wouldn't still be standing.

All businesses here had to either pay one of the big six for protection or see their building leveled to the ground and their employees killed. Though the big six owned a lot of the real estate around here as well.

Either way, all money went through their hands and no one else was allowed to stand on their level.

It's one reason why doctors and such on Mellen had no problem getting paid for services rendered. If you owned your own practice, ten percent or more of your profit went to one of the big six. They'd let you stay in business as long as they got a kick back, and patients knew that if they didn't pay, one of the big six would come for them.

As I'd said before, there was no order here on Mellen, no law enforcement, no council nothing. Which was the main reason the big six were able to hold this world in its grip.

They didn't care what you did, as long as you didn't mess with their money, it didn't matter that citizens were robbing and killing each other on a daily basis. As long as the big six held all the power and kept getting richer, it was life as usual on Mellen.

As we walked on, I noticed that Trent's lasso had left his arm and was now hanging around his neck. Sometimes I believed that thing actually had a mind of its own and had convinced itself that it was indeed a snake. "How do you want to play this?" Trent asked and from the tone of his voice, I could tell that he was just as confused as I was, trying to figure out how everything fit into place.

Trent and I decided to sit at picnic tables, not far from where a group of Vane's men were working by the water, loading up a boat. We munched down on fully dressed hot dogs, chatting about nothing while trying to capture a name or location, anything that would give me a clue where Celina and the others might be.

We'd been there an hour before deciding to move on, not wanting to look suspicious. Once we'd made it to the sidewalk, and Vane's people probably thought we were out of hearing range, I heard one of them say something about the world Sergin at nine.

I looked at my com and noticed that was only thirty minutes away. My pulse sped up with this new information because it was the first solid lead we had. Now we only needed to hide out and wait until they got ready to world hop so that we could follow at a distance.

A small part of my brain told me this could be a trap and we could be walking straight into danger. In the end though, it didn't matter, I wasn't scared of Vane. If he wanted a fight, I'd damn well give him one.

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# Chapter 5

Vane was a tall guy of medium frame with brown hair that stopped at his ears. He looked like the smiling, trusting doctor that would feed you a bunch of medicine you didn't need just to get a kick-back from the drug company, or the grinning politician that told you of course your problems and concerns were close to his heart, then threw away your number the moment your back was turned.

He wasn't a very handsome man, but he was about as charismatic as they came. That coupled with his natural charm and swagger meant he could sell you a truckload of flowers while you were standing in a field of roses and lilies and you'd still smile and think he had done you a favor.

His second in command, Lexnu, was slightly shorter, a little stocky, and had black hair that was cut close to his head. He had a hard, weathered face and looked every bit as mean as he was.

Both men were ruthless, and I'd come across and dealt with them more than once in making moves for a client or two, but never in a way that I had to defend myself. Though I had seen them take out others with only the smallest provocation. So, though I was worried about how this would end, and if we'd come out of it unscathed, I still refused to back down. Not until I knew my client was safe.

At nine p.m. a tall lady with long black hair came, and shortly after that, they disappeared through her portal.

Trent and I waited five minutes before I opened a portal of my own to bring us out down the street and around the corner from theirs.

The air was fresh on Sergin, and after coming from Mellen, where everything smelled of piss, vomit, and blood, it was a nice distinction.

Also, while the streets of Mellen were littered with everything from broken beer bottles, to late partygoers sleeping off the night's activities, not one piece of paper covered the ground here.

The Sergin were a hard-working people. A little strict on the rules, but most people here didn't seem to mind. Not saying that things didn't get out of hand sometimes, of course, they did. Unlike on Mellen though, when someone broke the law here there were consequences.

On Sergin, you couldn't just break into your neighbor's house, attack him, then rob him blind and walk away worry-free, knowing that nothing would be done to you because there was no law saying you couldn't attack and rob your neighbor whenever you felt like it.

Sergin had elected officials and government set up. People who hurt and robbed others paid the price for it. This place was so different from Mellen that I did wonder why Vane had come here.

Also, we were in the industrial area. A lot of large factories and warehouses were here, but because I had the coordinates to Vane's portal hop, I knew exactly where he and Lexnu were, or had been when they'd first entered this world.

It was closing on night here, and few people were out, but like home, some factories employed three shifts, so there were a lot of people still working.

"Strange that Vane would come to a place like this?" Trent said, mirroring my own thoughts. What was Vane up to?

"Come on," I said, walking toward the address the portal hop had given me. "We'll hang back for a bit, see what we can find out."

We walked up to a large warehouse. It was on a dead-end road, and no others surrounded it. Companies did this sometimes, bought out a whole street so that only their buildings and business sat there.

The warehouse was huge, and from the look and upkeep, I'd say it hadn't been used in a while. We stood for a moment, listening to see if we could hear anything, and then I remembered on Sergin the law required that all factories and such places be completely soundproof.

I didn't know why this law existed, but it cut down on the noise flowing out into the street if nothing else.

"I'm going to levitate up," I said to Trent. "See what I can find out."

He raised a brow. "You suddenly learn how to make yourself invisible and not tell me?"

I let out a scoff. "Got any better ideas?"

"If someone looks out the window and notices you hovering there, their first reaction will be to attack. What happened to just taking a peek inside first?"

I looked at the large structure in front of us. It was three stories high and filled with doors and windows. "Nah, fuck that," I said. "Give me your hand. I'll levitate us both up and then just burst inside."

The lasso slipped from his neck to his right arm, as he gave me a crooked smile. "Sounds like a plan but do try not to drop me this time."

"I dropped you before because you were being an ass. Plus, we'd barely been off the ground that time. And you landed on your feet, stop being dramatic about it and come on here."

He let out a small whistle. "I love it when you put that bass in your voice. Starting to think you do it on purpose just to get me riled up."

He was trying to take my mind off of what I might find behind those doors, and I appreciated the effort, but my stomach was still in knots.

Trent wrapped his arm around my waist and I lifted us up to the third floor. The windows were all tinted, so we were going into this blind, which made my pulse and heart start doing jumping jacks, as the adrenaline junkie in me reared its ugly head.

This is what my sister called my addiction, always pushing the bar, always going to the limit, and then jumping over it. I didn't particularly like when she said that, but I couldn't deny the feeling of elation that washed over me every time I found myself teetering on the edge, about to fall over.

Instead of hovering directly in front of the window, I went to the side and then used my telekinesis to fly the thing open. Nothing happened immediately, so I took a peek, as Trent had suggested and noticed that it was an empty room with a lot of dusty equipment that looked like it hadn't been used in a decade.

Trent's arms stayed tight around my waist as we went through the window, and I tried not to cough as dust particles began to fly. We landed in front of an old-style printing press.

Now that we were inside, it was easy to hear the screams, the demands. My first instinct was to run through, head first but that wouldn't help anybody. No, I needed to figure out what was going on, because if I acted too quickly, I'd just make things worse.

Trent and I took cautious steps, as we crept toward the sound. We went down as far as the second floor, and since we were following the noise, it led us to a hidden spot where we had a better view of the bottom part of the factory.

It was a large empty space, and I wondered if that's how they'd found it, or if they'd moved stuff around. My eyes traveled the length of the floor, and I almost gasped when I saw what was really going on.

There were at least twenty men and women on their knees, hands behind their heads. Most of them had bruised and busted up faces, some were still dripping blood, and worse, some were missing eyes and ears. All of them had a large letter D carved into their face.

Red hot fury started in my gut and spread to the rest of my body. My hands begin to shake with the urge to do something and I knew I wouldn't be leaving here until every one of them was free.

My eyes took them in, looking for familiar faces, and everything in me froze when I saw Celina. Her brown hair was dirty and tangled. Her face was lopsided, one side bruised and swollen, her left eye hanging loosely from her face.

She had burns and cuts on her arms and neck and I noticed that was true for most of them. I swallowed hard, my whole body trembling, because right now what I wanted more than anything was to snatch these people up and get them out of here.

Beside me, Trent had gone still, but there was enough light shining from below for me to see the tight set of his jaw and the rage in his eyes. He, like me, seemed to be barely keeping it together and I wondered how much longer we'd be able to hold out.

Vane and Lexnu stood talking off to the side, while about fifty of their men guarded the people on the floor and the doors and entrances into the room.

After talking to Lexnu for a few more seconds, Vane moved toward Celina and the others. "I'm not being unreasonable," he said, walking the length of them, and I could just imagine that 'hey, I've never told a lie in my life, you can trust me,' sick smile on his face. "What I want is simple. Tell me who the other Dox on Mellen are and what they're planning. Also, we know you have contacts here on Sergin. Tell us about them, please and we'll invite them to join us."

One guy, with brown hair that reminded me of Celina, was missing his right eye and had several old cut marks on his throat. Looking at Vance, he threw his head back and laughed. "The only way you and the other big six can continue to stay on top is because there is no one to oppose you. No laws, no regulations. The Dox is going to change that. Your time is limited. If you think you've captured even a fraction of us then-"

Vane kicked him in the face and the man's head lolled to the side.

I started to move, but Trent put a hand on my arm, holding up one finger as if to tell me to wait.

Celina let out a scream, and then scrambled toward the dude who'd just been hit. "Leave him alone," she spat at Vane, and I could see that she still had a little fire left in her. Maybe a few of them did. "The Dox will never bow to you. You won't stay on top forever. Mellen will come under order. It's already in progress and there's nothing you can do to stop it."

He smacked her hard across the face, and I wasn't sitting still a moment longer. Grabbing Trent by the hand, I hovered down to the ground floor, landing directly in front of Vane.

His brows furrowed when he saw me, though he tried to play it cool. "Rekia the world hopper." His voice was loud and overexcited. "Did you come here to save the day? Really think you can take us all on?" He pointed to where his people were starting to circle us.

No, we couldn't take them all on, but all I needed was enough time to open a few portals and start sending people through. Not a foolproof plan by any means, but still the best I had at the moment. "I don't want to fight," I said, holding up my hands. "I just want you to let these people go."

His face went hard, and he opened his mouth to say something, but then must have changed his mind, because next, he pointed a finger at me and Trent, and then something hard hit me in the face, dropping me to my knees.

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# Chapter 6

I used my telekinesis to throw back as many of Vane's people as I could, then quickly came to my feet. A guy with black hair shot silver energy out of his hand at me, and I ducked. It hit a wall, causing it to shatter and crumble.

Energy workers could control the strength of their blast and I'd say this guy had been trying to take my whole head off. He aimed at me again, and I held up my hand, using my telekinesis to pull his teeth and tongue from his mouth.

Blood shot out and he screamed as he fell to the ground, his tongue flapping beside him. Someone grabbed me by the back of my head and slammed it into the floor. I sent an elbow to their gut and then flipped them over my back.

They landed a punch to my face, bouncing my head back. I could see at least six more coming for me. Telling myself that now wasn't the time to panic, I used my telekinesis to hold them still, while Trent wrapped his lasso around the person under me, yanking him forward.

The lasso lit up blue, as it went around the person's throat, and then the smell of burnt flesh filled the air as it burned the man alive. Trent and I weren't always so brutal in a fight, only when the alternative was death.

Vane and his men would kill us if they could, and I was willing to do everything I could to stay alive and get Celina and the others to safety.

Three came up on Trent, and one used his telekinesis to lift him in the air while he put pressure on his throat, choking him. Trent's lasso was back on his arm, and he whipped it out, though it was clear he was losing strength.

The lasso wrapped around the waist of the man with telekinesis, and then thick metal spikes came out, impaling the man through his stomach and guts. The man's eyes went wide as his hands fell to the side, and then Trent was free, and the man was lying in a pool of his own blood.

Trent then turned to the other two, his lasso back in his hand. Turning from that scene, I didn't duck quick enough as silver energy hit me in my left shoulder, and someone else threw a punch to my face.

I fell back, feeling as if my whole body was aflame. Damn, it hurt. Blood leaked from my shoulder, and the person who'd hit me in the face drew back to do it again.

I raised my right hand, not sure I could move the left one. Then I used my telekinesis to rip the person's throat out. Another blast came my way, probably from the person who'd hit me the first time, and I rolled on the ground, falling hard on my left side.

I grunted as my shoulder hit against the hard floor, then ripped the spine out of the guy who'd attacked me, before coming to my feet, and separating a woman's head from her body, who'd had her hand out ready to attack me with fire.

Also, I noticed that some of the Dox had joined us in the fight, the ones who were still able to move that was, and I couldn't help but admire their refusal to give up or back down.

It went on like that for a while, us hitting and taking hits, but when the dust finally settled, Vane, Lexnu, and five of their people were still standing.

A few of the Dox lay on the floor unmoving but even more were gathered together, still standing, Celina included.

Apparently, that wasn't enough for Vane though, because he waved his hand, and the five left charged us. One tall, skinny dude, who I'd seen punch a hole through the floor earlier came at me.

He had super strength, so one hit from him, and I'd be no more. I didn't even give him a chance, instead, I reached out my right hand, and used my telekinesis to rip his heart out.

Two dudes charged Trent, moving fast. He ducked low, his lasso smacking one dude across the face, burning and cutting him in the process. That dude fell away, and the lasso went around the arm of the other guy, the spikes coming out again, cutting into the man's skin, ripping him down to the bone. He let out a scream, and then Trent hit him in the face with the lasso, spikes still out.

One of the Dox hit another one of Vane's men so hard, his head bounced back and went at an odd angle. Had the Dox not been weakened by Vane's abuse, a hit like that, using super strength, probably would have taken the dude's head off, but the effect was still the same. This guy wouldn't be getting up again.

The last one to charge us was a woman with red hair. Most people from Mellen had power over energy and this woman was no different. She shot rapid fire blasts at Celina, who fell back, then used her own silver energy to wrap around the woman's legs and squeeze until it cut through the woman's flesh and bone.

Then there were two. Vance and Lexnu stood side by side, the bodies of their crew all around us. Blood covered the floors and walls, and random arms, legs, and heads were scattered every few feet.

The scent of blood, body fluids, and burnt flesh was heavy in the air, but I refused to cover my nose. This was a fight I'd willingly participated in, and some of those bodies were Dox members, so there'd be no turning away.

I could see the vein in Vane's head jumping, but he tried his best to look unaffected. "You know, this little rebellion of yours-"

Silver energy wrapped around his neck and his eyes went wide as Celina grunted and fell to her knees. She was using all the strength she had to cut through to his bones, and I figured he too, must have been weakened from the fight because he tried but his silver energy only hit widely around the room. Celina's breath came quick and short, but she pressed on until he dropped to the ground, and her energy crushed his throat. Vane was a threat because he had so many men and women at his command, without them, well...

As for Lexnu, the Dox with super strength hit him one time in the face and his head snapped back. Then it was just the remaining members of the Dox standing, along with myself and Trent, bodies and blood all around us.

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# Chapter 7

I opened a portal to the skilled hospital I'd used for Celina before, the one with the natural healers. It took some time, but all the Dox made it through, including the ones we had to carry, those who'd fallen, as none of us were willing to leave them behind.

Celina and the Dox had contacts on Sergin, and Celina had called them before we left, to give them the details of what had happened.

The healers at this hospital were good and thorough, and it took about five hours before everyone was cleared to go. My shoulder was a lot better after they'd healed it, though it still ached a little.

I sat down on a chair in the waiting room, happy that my client was okay but tired and ready to go home. Trent sat beside me. He'd only had a few scrapes and bruises, so he didn't figure he needed any healing.

I ran fingers through my hair, pushing it back. The Dox were a brave group of people and their resilience and commitment to make the world they lived in better touched me deeply and gave me a lot to think about, and from the look on Trent's face he had a few thoughts percolating through his mind as well.

Celina walked up, her and the guy with the brown hair that was so much like her own. Both of them looked a lot better. The guy's right eye was still missing because healing energy was time sensitive. If too much time had passed, then there was nothing they could do to heal you. On that same note, the D would probably be carved on all the Dox faces forever.

Celina looked a lot better. Her bruises were gone. Her eye was no longer hanging, but back in its usual place, and she seemed to have a renewed energy about her. "This is my brother Jisen." She pointed to the guy beside her, and he nodded at both myself and Trent. "Thank you, Rekia. For that night in the alley, and for coming back to check on me," she said.

"So, the Dox is a group trying to bring order to Mellen?" I asked.

She nodded, and I saw some of the steel from before fly back into her eyes. "The top six get everything. You want to open a business on Mellen? To keep it protected you have to give them twenty percent off the top, no questions asked. All grocery stores, department stores, and things like that are either owned by them or they take a large part of the profit. They control everything, while the rest of us continue to kill each other in the streets."

"Some of us want to change that," Jisen said. "There are a lot more Dox on Mellen than people know, and we're making moves, reaching out to other worlds, trying to get help."

Celina let out a sigh. "We don't know how to do this, but a few worlds like Sergin have already agreed to come in and help us set up some kind of structure. We don't want to lean too heavily on one world, too easy for things to go awry."

"Yeah," Jisen agreed. "It'll probably be twenty years before things settle into what they have on Sergin and some of the other places that are helping us, but this is a start."

I agreed with that, with everything they were doing really, but I did have one question. "Celina, how did they find you on Ricken?"

Celina shrugged. "Best I can figure someone from Mellen came there to visit or do business, saw me and let it slip. I don't know, but there was a traitor among us. That's how they caught us the first time. One of Vane's men got close to one of the Dox, no one knew he worked for Vane."

She shook her head, and the look of betrayal was deep in her eyes. "They killed a lot of us that night. I saw them bust Jisen's head open. I thought he was dead." Her voice faltered a bit on that last part, and she let out a deep breath.

Jisen gave his sister a sad smile. "The last I knew you were on the ground bleeding. When I came to, they told me you were dead in an alley somewhere. Those of us they kept alive, they would beat daily and question, trying to get us to give up the rest of the Dox, but we never said a word." A look of pride crossed his face and Celina gave his hand a squeeze.

"Where are you going now?" I asked since I was sure the rest of Vane's men, as well as the other big six, would be looking for them, and the big D carved into their faces might as well have been a beacon.

"I talked to my contacts on Sergin. They're going to set us up with housing and employment while we work on bringing order to Mellen. If you're willing to open a portal and send us back there. I have the house we are to report to."

I was more than happy to oblige.

***

"HMM. I DO LOVE CANOS," Trent said, popping the small, round, yellow fruit into his mouth. Canos were kind of like a cross between a grape and a banana. I didn't know how else to describe them, except to say they were very sour, something Trent and I both liked about them.

We were at my house on Yello, and canos were native there. Because of what I did, and the kind of life I lived, I kept houses on multiple worlds, never knowing when I might need space to breathe or to just hide away.

Yello was a nice easy place, and I often came here to relax. Right now, we were lying on the white rug of my living room floor, and the fireplace was lit up with a nice blaze, making it feel warm and toasty.

I downed a little of my beer then set it to the side. "I'm just glad my client is safe." Celina had informed us they'd made it back to Sergin safely, and so far, things were okay. Either way, I'd be keeping a check on her for as long as she wanted me to.

Trent's eyes softened, and he put his hands on either side of my face. "You'd go to the ends of any world to protect your clients, wouldn't you?"

I nodded because it wasn't even a question. If I'd promised them safety, then I'd do everything I could to make sure they had it.

Trent leaned over and placed his chapped lips against my own. "And I wouldn't take you any other way."

I let out a contented sigh, as I fell into the kiss, because like always, he knew exactly what to say.

***

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED! If you would like to read more about Rekia and Trent, please check out my books Crooked Magic and Rogue Magic. These two also have a new book coming out soon, to find out when please feel free to join my newsletter. When you join, you will also get exclusive stories and be the first to know about deals and promotions.  <https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h2l3b2>

Also, check out my blog, to get a look at my other series. <https://nrdhairston.blogspot.com/>

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# Run Away

by Kat Cotton

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NIGHT TIME WAS THE hardest time. Nights I scurried around, hiding like a rat. I hated nights. I hated the darkness. Mostly, I hated the streets with the damn cops with questions in their eyes and the men whose eyes held totally different questions knowing no one on this entire planet would give two shits about what they did to a runaway.

I slept during the day. I slept in libraries and I slept in parks. At night, I stared into the darkness and prayed for morning.

Tonight I headed for the abandoned house I'd seen earlier in the day, hoping it was safe. Tonight of all nights, I wanted a safe place. Even if it was just for a few hours, I wanted something that felt like home.

When I'd run away, I'd only thought about what I was running from not what I'd run to. Because there was nothing. Nowhere to run to, not a thing other than this emptiness. All I'd ever known was the circus. Even when I'd stepped outside the gates, the towns had been foreign places, full of strange wonders I never needed to understand.

The night I left, I grabbed the fifty bucks I'd saved, thinking it was a fortune but I soon learned. Fifty bucks buys you jack shit in the real world.

For a while, I'd had no problem rolling rich jerks for their wallets. The longer I was homeless, the harder that got. Because, I couldn't deny it, I stunk. I stunk worse than Stinky McClure, who bragged he hadn't had a shower since 1985.

Showers had never been my friend but I sure as hell missed them now that they weren't so easy to come by. Even the stupidest of those rubes got their back up when they could smell me coming.

Even when I washed myself, my clothes stunk and had become encrusted with dirt and muck. An oil stain smeared over the front of my hoodie and my jeans had a big rip down the leg, not in any kind of fashionable way. Soon I'd have to do something desperate. Robbing's no good but sometimes it's the only way.

This house wasn't bad, as far as abandoned houses went. I walked through the empty rooms, all smelly and dusty but I'd gotten used to that. At least this one didn't stink of rat piss. That was something to be grateful for.

I put my hand in my pocket and touched my treasures. The stub of a candle and a box of matches, a stick of chalk and a new treasure in a scrunchy paper bag.

Damn candle was nearly done. When I got to the back of the house, away from the streetlights shining through the windows, I flicked the light switch, just out of wishful thinking. Damn me. That light flickered on. Paydirt.

The old kitchen reeked of neglect and mold. Wallpaper hung in strips and greasy dust covered every surface. I walked over to the sink and turned on the taps just to check. A loud clang scared the hell out of me. I jumped back then lurched to turn the tap off. Before I could, it clanged again then rusty water spurted out. I let it run for a while until it went clear then washed my face.

I thought about stripping off my hoodie and jeans and giving them a rinse out but it was a cold night and I'd be naked until they dried. I cupped my hands and took some long drinks of that water then I kept walking through the house looking for a safe spot.

The lights worked in the next room too. It'd been a bedroom once. The bed remained in the center of the room but I'd bet you two bucks that there were mice nesting in that mattress now. Hopefully only mice and not rats. But even rats weren't the greatest danger.

I'd take the rats over the junkies any day.

Back in the circus, Miss Lizzie could see lights around people. Auras she called them. She'd tell me about them, what the different colors meant. I'd ask her what color she saw around me and she'd say I was too young for her to know. But Miss Lizzie lied. I knew that well enough. She could see my color but she didn't want to tell me. And I imagined that's because she saw pure black.

I couldn't see colors around people but I could sense them. I just needed to touch a bit of flesh and I'd know right away if they were good or bad. Of course, most folks are a big swirling mess of both, and often the parts they think are good are really the bad parts, and the ones they think are bad are good. But there are some people who are almost all light, and some that are all darkness.

But junkies aren't like that. They've got missing parts. Like all the good and bad parts are obliterated in them and there's just a big hole full of need. That's why I'd rather rats than junkies. At least rats are honest. Junkies would roll you for your last dollar and steal the filling out of your teeth.

I pulled some of the blankets off the bed. They weren't too bad, just a little damp smelling. I made myself a comfy looking nest

First things first. I got the chalk and drew marks on the carpet. Sigils was what my Ma had called them. I wasn't sure these sigils worked or if they meant anything - probably just a stupid carnie superstition--but there's no way I'd settle anywhere without them.

In the circus, we'd had them painted on the walls and door of our van. All my life I'd been told you couldn't let the bad things in. Maybe it was superstition, but it made me feel better. I sure didn't want to test it out.

Even if I didn't sleep, you never knew what those dark corners held, and you never knew why a house had been abandoned. This looked like it'd been a decent place not that long ago. You don't just walk out and leave a decent house to rot, not unless there's already something rotten around.

Once I was safe in the middle of the circle, I slowly opened the small bag wanting to draw out the moment. Every crinkle of the paper held a promise.

When I got out the small cupcake, I held it to my nose to breathe in the sweet goodness. I'd spent so long picking it out that the woman had gotten angry. Guess she didn't want some smelly bit of human trash messing up her fancy store. But I didn't want just any cake. I wanted the perfect cake.

Pink frosting topped the tiny little cake in its case of pink stars. I smoothed out the paper bag and set the cake on top so not even a crumb got wasted. A stupid indulgence that took some of my precious money but just looking at that little cake made my heart lighter.

Then I lit the candle stub.

"Happy birthday," I said to myself. Then I whispered my name. The name I needed to forget but maybe this once it was okay to whisper it into the darkness. Or maybe not. "Jayne," I added. My new name. A name so common no one paid it the slightest attention even if they bothered to ask me for it.

I blew out the candle and tried to think of a wish. To be safe. To stop running. To have a home. Stupid things that I should forget about wanting. The only home I'd get was a foster home if the system caught up with me, where I'd probably get beaten or worse.

I broke a tiny piece off the cake and put it in my mouth. Fifteen years old. No future, no life, but still very much alive. It was a small thing to celebrate but it was every little thing. I took another crumb making sure I had some of that pink frosting, so sweet it made me screw up my face. I wanted to eke every crumb of pleasure out of this tiny cake.

All told, it hadn't been the worst of birthdays.

I'd eaten half the cupcake when a noise disturbed me. The sigils would only protect me from non-human threats. If the intruders were human, I'd be better off hiding. There wasn't much in this room apart from the bed. Chances were they were human so I dived under the bed.

"Told you the lights were on," a girl's voice said.

A guy grunted. They sounded like a couple. Great.

"Hey, someone's been here. There are some crazy marks on the floor. And they left some stuff here."

My chalk? Damn. I needed that chalk. I needed my candle too. I didn't have money to replace them. And I wanted that cupcake.

The two of them laughed and I knew they were messing with my things. The sensible thing to do would be to stay hidden under this bed until they left, but screw being sensible.

I jumped out from under the bed.

They weren't much older than me but the guy was a lot heavier. Still, if I scared him off, they'd both run.

They weren't trouble, just a couple of middle-class kids looking for a place to fool around. They had shiny hair and straight, white teeth. They looked like a couple from a teen drama. Prom queen and king.

"Get out of here. Scram!" I yelled.

I hoped that would scare them off but they laughed. I got into fighting stance, ready for any sudden moves they'd make.

"Weirdo," the girl called me. "You get out."

The guy walked toward me. He lunged but I jumped out of his way and his momentum drove him straight into the wall.

"What the hell, Bailey?" the girl called out. "She's super-fast."

I spun around, landing a kick to his head. The heavy thud of my foot against his face was really satisfying. I didn't even kick him that hard but he whelped. Crybaby.

He rubbed his head. "Are you some freakin' ninja or something?" he said.

I glared at him but he wouldn't look at me. I was no ninja, I was just really good at fighting.

"Come on." The girl put her arm around him. "Let's leave the freak alone."

She gave me a look of disgust as they walked out. I didn't like to fight but I'd do what it took to protect what was mine.

They hadn't moved anything. The cupcake had gotten a little bit squished but it was still good.

I checked the sigils. They hadn't damaged them. I was still safe.

I sat back down in the circle and finished eating. I wished I had a book to read or something to fill in the time. There were hours before sunlight. I curled my arms around my knees and quietly sang a song to myself. It was a song we sang sometimes in the circus camp.

Until I ran away, I'd never been alone. There were people around me every minute of the day. Sometimes, I wondered how they were getting along without me--if Bones had someone else to look after his dogs, if Gladys needed someone to tell her when her stew got too salty, if Curly was able to put those poultices on the right part of his back without help. It did no good to think about it though. I could never go back. I could never even let them know where I was.

I must've dozed off. I woke up, curled on the floor. Get one damn year older and all your stamina left you. Then the wild panic hit me. I quickly sat up. Bad things happened when you fell asleep in the dark.

I blinked. The light had been on when I fell asleep. I suddenly remembered the comfort of that light. Now it'd gone out. Had I turned it out? But I wouldn't have. Maybe the bulb had blown. A sliver of moonlight shone into the room so I wasn't in total darkness.

I arranged the blankets I sat on.

Before I got settled again, the hairs on the nape of my neck prickled.

I spun on my butt. Something was there. Had those kids come back?

Red eyes shone in the darkness.

I froze. All of me froze except my heart. That pounded like a crazy thing.

Sure, I went all out to protect myself but I didn't really believe in all that superstitious carny crap.

If I didn't move, the eyes mightn't see me. They might leave.

But the burning red eyes didn't disappear. They stared at me, moving closer. I pulled the blankets to my chest and blinked again.

The smell of evil filled the room. A smell like someone's breath a few hours after they've eaten a lot of garlic. Foul and putrid enough to make me gag.

Then a voice whispered in the darkness, like wind through the grass. I wasn't sure if it was a real voice or a voice inside my head but I heard it all the same, calling my name. My real name.

I gulped. But I was safe in this circle. That thing was out there and I was in here.

I checked the sigils. Damn. Hell. Shit.

Some of the lines were blurred, some rubbed away.

When I'd slept, I must've rubbed against them.

The voice kept whispering my name and I had nothing to protect myself. My body trembled and the whispers began to penetrate my skin.

I couldn't sit around waiting for it to skin me alive or whatever it wanted to do. I jumped up, scooping up my treasures with one hand, and bolted for the door.

My name echoed through the house then a laugh. "You can run but I know you now."

I didn't have time to cry and I didn't have time to scream. I could only run. Run for my life.

Out the front door. But the whispers followed me. I was no safer out here than in the house.

I hurled myself into the street. Slap bang into a man. A human man but a man built like a brick shithouse. I tried to keep running but he grabbed me with solid arms that I couldn't shake off.

As soon as his hands touched me, the whispers stopped.

***

NO MATTER HOW MUCH I struggled, I couldn't get free of him.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I knew better than to fall for those kinds of tricks. All that concern and caring was just a front. I bet he worked with whatever had been in that house. I kicked him in the shins but he barely flinched. He had to let go some time, though. He couldn't just stand here in the street holding me. Sooner or later, he'd try to drag me away and then he'd have his guard down. I stopped struggling. No point wasting my energy on useless moves.

"Nothing's wrong, mister. So just let me go home to my parents."

He bent down to look me in the eye. "You look terrified."

"You would too if some huge guy had his meaty paws planted on you."

That didn't make him loosen his grip.

"Tell me your address and I'll take you home to your parents."

I shook my head. "As if."

He screwed up his eyes as though thinking. "I guess if I take you down to the station, you'll kick up a huge stink."

My gaze darted around, looking for the best way to get away from this.

As I searched the area, my grip on my treasures loosened. They dropped to the ground, the chalk shattering. I stared in horror. If I didn't have the chalk, I had no protection from that thing at all. He knew my name. He'd come for me. That's what he'd said and I had no reason to doubt him. I'd been as stupid as those children in that stupid fairytale, the ones who'd eaten the witch's candy house.

"I guess the best thing to do is to take you home. You could do with a shower and a good square meal."

I shook my head violently. "Let me go. I'll go home. I won't be any bother."

I gave him a good look. He wasn't a demon, he was something worse. A cop. The close-cropped hair, the muscles, that particular brand of aftershave cops liked to use. I'd been around enough cops to pick it. He might promise a square meal but it'd be a square meal in a prison cell.

He put his hand around my wrist. That was a damn weird thing to do. But as he touched my skin, I knew he was one of the good guys. He had a strange goodness, not like the light other people had but something I'd never sensed before. All I knew was that he wouldn't harm me.

"You're half-starved. What's going on? Trouble at home?"

Did this guy really think I'd spill my guts out to him? Not likely. Even if he was good, even if he was safe, I had secrets I didn't want to share. Goodness didn't stop a person being nosey and good didn't necessarily mean doing the best for me.

"You're not in trouble," he said. "But I can't let you go. Not without having someone responsible to hand you to. So, if you have no contact details, best you come with me. I can get you some new chalk."

He used that voice that adults used when they want you to trust them. And one thing you learn young in the circus is never trust a cop.

But I didn't mistrust this guy. If he stopped asking questions and just let me be, maybe I'd let him cook me a meal.

He let go of me, leaving me free to run, but when he did, the whispers started again. I held his hand as we walked to his place. It must've looked strange. I was far too old to be holding an adult's hand, or far too young, depending on how you looked at it, but I couldn't let go and have those whispers return.

When we got inside his house, he dropped my hand. I held my breath, waiting. Had that thing followed me? I counted to five and heard nothing then I exhaled.

"The shower's through there," he said.

"Shower, huh? You mean you want me to get in there and get naked so you can sell me to your buddies in the kiddie porn ring?"

The look of shock on his face meant that's probably not what he had in mind.

"Is there a lock on the door?" I asked. "A proper lock not one of those flimsy bolts?"

The guy shook his head. "Only a flimsy bolt, I'm afraid. I've never had anyone that worried before."

"Well, mister, how do I know I can trust you?"

"The name's Buzz, by the way. And I'm planning on fixing us some dinner while you shower. It's up to you. I won't force you."

But then he got some towels and set them on the sofa. Those towels were thicker and fluffier than I ever thought towels could be. I might be stupid but I had a few tricks I could use. I went into the bathroom. Just to be on the safe side, I stuffed one of those towels into the crack under the door just to make it difficult to open.

When I got out of the shower, the smell of cooking filled the house. Maybe I could escape while he was busy in the kitchen but my stomach wouldn't let me run. It'd been way too long since I'd had a proper meal and it'd be easier to run with a full belly.

Buzz grinned at me. "I bet that feels better," he said.

I had to nod.

"I've run out of tomato paste," he said. "I'm just going to run down to the convenience store. The remote for the TV is on the coffee table if you want to make yourself at home."

Huh? Was the guy a fool? What kind of idiot takes in a street kid then leaves them alone in their house? That was like buying a one-way ticket to ripped off town.

He grabbed his wallet and car keys. He really intended leaving me in his house alone.

Growing up in the circus, I'd never really thought about family much. There hadn't been any other kids my age so I ran around as I liked. We all ate together and I hung around rehearsals most of the day trying to pick up as many skills as I could. I belonged to the circus and the circus belonged to me. That's how I'd felt.

Then that all changed.

It'd been a rainy day and I'd been in Irene and Bob's van playing. Irene had a bunch of sparkly jewels that she wore on stage. I was turning them to hit the sun so they made rainbows over the roof.

My games had been interrupted by Bob's voice.

"Kick her out," he'd hissed to Irene. "We've gotta get into town."

"She's fine here playing on her own," Irene said.

My ears pricked up even though I kept playing with the jewels like I hadn't heard a thing.

Bob snorted. "You think? You know what her family's like. It's okay for her to be here if we're watching her but the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. They'd take anything that wasn't bolted down, that mob. You can't trust them for a minute."

His words hit me like a punch. My family? My family was the circus, I'd always thought. But Bob didn't think so. When he said my family, he meant my Ma and Pa. They couldn't be trusted. The apple didn't fall far from the tree. I knew what that meant. I was the apple. I couldn't be trusted either.

Then I started noticing things. How the other men would get Pa to help with the odd jobs but they'd never leave him with the money. How the other women fidgeted a bit more when Ma was around. They talked to her different than they did to each other. There was something wrong with my family and that included me.

Now this stranger was going to leave me alone in his house. Sucker.

Except, was he? I could rob the place blind but he'd been kind to me so far. He had that food cooking away in the kitchen, too.

I walked into the kitchen and lifted the lid on the pot. Some kind of stew. I picked a bit of meat out of it, my stomach growling with hunger. Soon we'd be eating.

But the potatoes still sat in the sink, unpeeled. If he waited until he got home to put them on, it'd be hours before we ate and my stomach rumbled like an earthquake.

I couldn't cook fancy but I sure knew how to peel potatoes. By the time Buzz got back, those potatoes were boiling away on the stove. Buzz looked at them and raised his eyebrows but didn't say a word. Good thing too. I hated when people got all grateful for things.

We ate dinner then he said he'd get me some PJs if I wanted to stay the night.

I sized the guy up. So far, he'd been on the straight and narrow but I wasn't so sure about sleeping here. No matter what my instincts said, my common sense said otherwise.

"I'll just get going I think. Thanks for the food and all but I've got things to do."

I thought he'd try to stop me but he didn't. I lingered in the doorway, hoping he'd say something to change my mind. From the window, the first rays of sun lit up the streets. I could walk around for a while until the library opened.

When I opened the door though, that whisper rushed down the street, entangling my body like the tentacles of an octopus. It'd been waiting all this time.

I slammed the door shut and ran back inside. No matter what this man was like, he beat the hell out of risking my life on the streets with those glowing red eyes following me. I'd take my chances with him.

***

I COULDN'T EXPLAIN what it was or what it wanted. It wasn't human, I knew that but how could I explain without looking like a freak?

Buzz grabbed some blankets and put them on the sofa.

"It's not comfortable," he said, "But you might get some sleep."

Had he seen the places I'd slept? Even before I ran away, I didn't exactly live in the lap of luxury.

"Chalk?" I asked.

Buzz nodded but he didn't understand.

"I need it."

"What do you do with the chalk?" he asked. He looked like he wanted to understand.

I knew other people didn't use crazy sigils. If I told him, he'd think I was crazy and he'd throw me back out on the street. Lies were good. Any story that made me sound normal.

But I couldn't think of anything.

"Do you do something with the chalk to make yourself feel safe?" he asked.

I nodded. Maybe he would understand.

He moved around the kitchen, opening drawers.

"I don't have any chalk here but if you drew on some sheets of paper, would that work?"

He didn't just understand, he was going to help me?

"It would work," I said.

He handed me some paper and a Sharpie. I drew the sigils on each of the sheets.

"This one goes in the north," I said, holding up the first sigil. I expected him to laugh but I walked across the room to put the sheet in place.

"You know that's north?" he asked.

"Of course. North is north, right?"

"Most people wouldn't know that without using a compass or something."

I screwed up my face. "They wouldn't? But it's like knowing left and right. You don't need a compass to find your right hand."

He didn't answer but just got some tape to hold the paper in place. I went around the room. North, east, south, west.

"Well, I'm going to hit the sack. Call out if you need anything."

I nodded. Buzz must work night shift to keep such crazy hours. Made sense if you were a cop.

I spread the blankets out on the sofa. With all the protection in place and the sun coming up, I'd be able to catch a bit of sleep.

As I snuggled down to sleep, I realized it was the first time I'd relaxed in a long time. Even if there were creepy things outside the house, I was safe in here. Safer than I'd ever been.

I didn't think I'd sleep long but I didn't wake up until Buzz came into the kitchen to fix his breakfast. I looked at the clock. I'd slept for eight hours.

When I sat up, Buzz asked me if I wanted something to eat.

I nodded my head. Yeah, I did.

"Do you want to talk about what scared you last night?" he asked.

"No."

Maybe, if I tried to tell him, he'd understand. He'd understood about the sigils. Not many people would. But I didn't want to talk about that thing out there. I had no idea what it was but it knew my name and it waited for me. If I never left Buzz's house, it couldn't get me.

I glanced over as he messed around in the kitchen. Was he likely to let me stay here forever? No prizes for guessing the answer to that. Taking me in and giving me a hot meal was charity enough. Having me sponge off him for the rest of forever probably wouldn't cut it. Cops do things by the book, and the book in my case would say to turn me over to the authorities and get me in the system. The system was the last place I wanted to be.

Maybe leaving now would be okay. It was daytime. That thing would have gone.

My clothes sat on the chair opposite the sofa, all neatly folded. Buzz had washed them? When had he done that?

A while later, Buzz left. He said he wanted to go to the gym and run some errands before he headed to work. He told me I could stick around if I wanted.

After he left, I explored the rest of the house. I'd only been in the kitchen and living area. I went into a bedroom. That had to be Buzz's room. It smelled of him, like outdoors and pine trees. He kept his room neat. He'd even made his bed before he left.

A photo sat on his dresser. I picked it up to look at it. Buzz and a woman and a girl around my age at some restaurant with a seaside theme. Was that his wife and daughter? There was no trace of a wife in this house, no women's clothes in the wardrobe. Maybe she'd left him.

I opened the door to the next room. A fake berry smell hit me, like the ghostly remains of a sickly-sweet bubblegum. The dressing table was laid out with girlie things--a hairbrush, perfume and a bunch of cheap hair accessories. I sat on the bed and picked up a magazine from the pile on the bookcase. That magazine was over ten years old. I flicked through the rest of the pile. They were all just as old. I put the magazine back and picked up a red rose hair clip from the dresser.

As soon as my hand touched it, I saw them. The woman and the girl. The woman driving on a winding road by the sea then suddenly losing control of the car. My stomach lurched as the car careened off the road, with a steep drop straight into the ocean.

I dropped the hairclip.

My body flashed hot and cold. I needed to get away from that room. I didn't need to know that. I hated it when I saw things like that.

I rushed back to the living room, shoving my stuff in any pocket it'd fit. I wanted to keep the paper sigils but I had nowhere to put them so I left them behind. I'd buy more chalk.

When I got to the front door, I hesitated. It could still be out there. It could be waiting for me. I rushed back and got those papers. Then I zipped up my hoodie and put them inside it.

I opened the door and walked out, hesitating on the doorstep. The voice was gone. The sun shone and the street looked so damn normal. Every house on this street looked so solid. Anchored into its place in this world with no question about where it belonged. The gardens out front of each house were filled with trees and flowers proving how established these people were. This wasn't a place where you just pulled up stakes and moved on. I'd never lived in a real house or in a real neighborhood. I had no concept of how that felt.

With a full belly, I didn't need to spend my day scrounging around for food so I headed straight to the library. There was an alcove at the back where I liked to curl and read. Or curl up and sleep. So long as you were quiet, no one bothered you there.

Libraries are amazing. All those books you could read for free. I grabbed a couple on demon lore, hoping I'd find out something about this thing that had marked me. If I knew what it was and what it wanted, then I could work out a way to escape it.

After a few hours, I hadn't found out anything practical but I had learned a lot of interesting stuff. Soon, the library would be closing. You can't hide in a hidden corner and stay in the library after hours. They always find you. I'd tried it a few times. I put the books back on the trolley and headed outside. I did not want to be alone once night fell so I headed to a cafe. There were a few places where you could sit for hours if you bought a drink. It'd be worth spending a few of my last precious dollars.

It'd take me about half hour to walk to the place I had in mind. Straight down the shopping street, then turn left at the statue of the old guy on the horse then walk to the shop with the ducks in the window and turn left again.

I shoved my hands in my pockets, put my head down and started walking. I could leave town, hitch a ride somewhere else. It wasn't like I had ties in this place but that demon wouldn't let go so easily.

As I walked down the street, people gave me a wide berth. Not because I stunk this time either. Even if people had no idea, they avoided me because I was marked. The bad juju rolled off me in waves. No one wanted to be tainted by that.

I got to the horse statue and turned right.

The wind blew stronger and I pulled the hood up on my hoodie.

Wait, right? I had to go left. I turned, cursing myself for getting too involved in my own problems and screwing up my sense of direction.

I tried to backtrack but every time I took a step, I spun around again. I was being dragged back to that house with no free choice.

I wanted to scream out but I knew not one person in the street would help me.

Even if they tried, what would I say? That I no longer had control of my body, that a demon controlled me instead. That'd just buy me a one-way ticket to the crazy farm.

I couldn't just give up even though my muscles ached from the strain. I could move my arms and I could move my face. My stupid legs though, they just wanted to walk straight into the gates of hell.

The demon had my name and he could call me to him.

Despite the cold, sweat drenched my body and the smell of fear oozed from me, all sour and fetid.

***

AS I APPROACHED THE house, the front door swung open. I gave up fighting.

"You've got me here. What do you want?" I called out. I tried to sound strong, cocky even, but I knew there was no fooling the demon.

The voice whispered my name.

"Yeah, I got it. You know my name. Big whoop."

I stood in the middle of the room. I could feel this thing all around me even if I couldn't see it. And I sure could smell it. Evil. Now stronger, like fermented shit. I put my arm up to cover my nose.

I'd been an idiot. Why had I said my name out loud? Now it had a hold of me and I'd never get free. I wrapped my arms around myself, wanting some protection. I had nothing but those sigils and I wasn't sure they'd work for this.

The old windows rattled in their frames and the house shook as though blown by massive gusts of wind. It blew through me and I shuddered all the more. Pinpricks covered my skin.

I dropped to a squat, folding my arms on my knees and burying my face.

If this thing wanted me, it could take me. I didn't have that great a life and I sure as hell had no future that wasn't struggles and pain. I took my head in my hands, covering my ears as the whispering voice grew more intense. That whisper cut me, like paper cuts all over my skin.

Then the red eyes glowed in front of me.

Soon this would be over. That's what I had to tell myself. Soon I'd be gone. I'd be nothing.

Footsteps thudded through the house. Was this another of the demon's tricks or maybe some fool junkies stupid enough to come in here? Or those damn kids might be back again.

"Jayne." Buzz's voice sounded way too sane and normal for this stupid situation. "Fight it, Jayne."

I peered up at him. Fight it? I had no idea how to do that. People I could fight but whispers and glowing eyes, they weren't solid things.

Buzz walked across the room and put his hands on my shoulders. The whispers stopped. I exhaled a breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding. I didn't want to inhale, not with that smell in the room. I'd gag on it.

"When I let go, you have to focus. You can do this if you fight."

He didn't understand. This thing was so powerful and I was nothing.

"How can I fight?" I yelled at him.

"That's it, tap into that anger. Tap into the things hidden inside you."

I rolled my eyes. The things hidden inside me should stay hidden.

"I'm going to take my hands off your shoulders at the count of three. Are you ready?"

"Nope."

He gave me a look like no one had ever given me before. There was something in that look that said I was capable. I wasn't just a worthless piece of trash. That look said he believed in me. Buzz might be an idiot for thinking that but what was the alternative? I couldn't spend the rest of my life squatting in this dirty old room with his hands on my shoulders.

I pushed myself up onto my feet without dislodging Buzz's hands.

"Okay," I said to him. It wasn't okay. It was anything but okay. Still, I needed to finish this one way or the other.

"Don't block your power, Jayne. I'll count to three. One..."

No, I didn't want to do this. I had no power. He was delusional.

"Two."

My stomach stirred. I'd vomit. Was that my power? Vomiting power? Ick.

"Three."

Buzz lifted his hands from my shoulders and stepped back. As soon as he did, the whispers came back even louder than ever. I glanced at Buzz wondering if there was something I needed to do. He smiled and nodded. I was about to make a smart remark about that not helping but, before I could, something whipped my head, throwing me backward.

The whispers mocked me.

"Hey, you stupid whispers, stop that," I yelled.

I got into fighting stance as the red, glowing eyes came closer. Gradually a shape formed around them. A shape was good, it was something I could fight.

Or maybe not. I rushed. I stumbled right through it and hit the wall on the other side.

The whispering died down as the demon became more solid but the laughter continued.

I sucked in my breath, not sure how to handle this. That feeling of the wind whipping returned. It chilled me to the bone. As the power of it intensified, it reached inside of me as though it wasn't just content to chill my bones but wanted to suck the marrow right out of them.

Bits of me separated. Not physically but in my mind. Bits I never even knew existed inside of me. The demon seemed to sift through them as though looking for something. I had no idea what that something was but it was my something. Screw him if he thought he could take it from.

He pulled at me. I scrunched my eyes, willing him to stop.

Something in the air changed. He found what he wanted. I could picture it. All black and spiky and ugly.

I didn't want something like that in me. If the demon wanted to take it, maybe he was doing me a favor. For a long time, I'd suspected that I had something wrong inside me. Now it had a shape and form, and it was even uglier and more malevolent than I'd ever imagined.

If he took it, he'd leave me alone and maybe I'd be a better person for having it removed. I just had to stop fighting and all the things I tried to hide would no longer exist.

Let go. Let go. Was that my voice saying that or the demon?

Buzz frowned. Did he know what was going on? How much of this could he see and hear? From his perspective, I just stood in the middle of the room but he looked like he could read the struggle going on inside me.

I had no idea why Buzz thought I could beat this demon but he believed in me and he didn't want me to give up anything.

Maybe the black, ugly thing the demon wanted was bad, maybe it was what made me bad, but it was mine.

I gritted my teeth and pulled back my shoulders.

I wanted that demon gone, destroyed, annihilated. I wanted it with every part of my being.

As soon as that thought solidified in my mind, words spewed out of me. Words in a language I didn't even know.

The house shook harder, dancing on its foundations. The air around me twirled and black smoke blinded me, but the words didn't stop flowing. I could stop, I understood that. I was being used as a channel for something or someone but I wasn't just a stupid puppet. I had a choice.

The whispers turned to shrieks. They pierced my head but I just covered my ears and let the words pour out.

Blankness filled me. Exhaustion like I'd never known even when I hadn't slept for three days running. It took all my energy to stay upright.

The words continued, like a chant rising in me. I tried to hold onto them, to work out their meaning but they floated away.

The house shook so hard, I tumbled from my feet. I couldn't keep going. My throat burned from the black smoke. Tears spilled from my eyes and I trembled all over.

The force of what I was doing became stronger than my body. I'd shatter before destroying this demon smashing into pieces like an ugly vase.

The red eyes turned from me. Had I won? The glow didn't die down though, it just moved. Moved toward Buzz.

I didn't even know the guy that well but there was no way the demon could take him. There was no blackness in him. Still, the demon moved for him.

I rested my hands on my stomach, trying to physically force the words out of me. Was I having any effect on that demon at all or was I just mumbling a bunch of rubbish?

As the eyes got closer to Buzz, the words screamed out of me, faster and shriller. Almost too high pitched for my ears to handle.

The demon became more shapeless and the red eyes dulled like the dying embers of a fire. I grabbed the end of the bed, needing something solid to stabilize myself.

Then the words stopped. I became silent.

I knew it. I couldn't win. But the smell of evil had left the room and those red eyes glowed no more. The black smoke cleared and the shaking stopped.

Around me, everything seemed as it had once been.

Buzz smiled.

"Has the demon gone forever?" I asked.

Buzz nodded. "He's gone but there'll be more."

I could never plan too far into the future. If I was safe for now, that would be enough.

For a little while, I just clung to that old bed and sobbed. The demon had scared the shit out of me but the way I'd fought him scared me even more.

Then Buzz walked over and helped me up.

"Jayne, it's time for you to make a choice," he said.

I hoped that was a choice between chocolate chip or cookies and cream ice cream.

"I can train you to develop your powers. You'll be stronger than you imagined. I can't protect you and, once you start training, you'll open yourself up to danger."

I shook my head. I didn't want that. Powers were all cool and fun in stories but they weren't for me. But he said he'd train me? That'd mean settling down, having something solid.

"What's the other choice?" I asked. The need for home grew within me. A promise of a dream I'd always been denied. But if it meant accepting that black part of myself then I couldn't do it. I'd run forever.

"I can help you resist. The source of your power can't be defeated but it can be controlled, like turning the flame down on a gas burner."

"That's possible?" I asked.

"It's possible. You'd be normal, safe."

He gave me a reassuring smile but it didn't actually reassure me. I wasn't sure I believed that. I knew Buzz wasn't lying but that it was something he didn't understand himself. I could be normal for a while. Maybe ten, twenty years, but not forever. Maybe those years would be long enough.

I nodded my head. "I want to be safe," I said. "No matter what."

I'd believe that lie and worry about the consequences when the time came.

***

THANKS FOR READING Run Away. If you want to find out what happens when Jayne's powers resurface, be sure to pick up Smoke, Mirrors and Demons, the first book in the Carnival Society series. And you can join my VIP list to find out all the news about new releases, promos, freebies and other fun stuff.

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