“Freeze!” I yelled, legs pumping like a maniac. “It means stop, you dumb fuck!”
The skinny white guy with a buzz cut didn’t listen. Changelings never do. They’re like a bag of caffeinated cats—unpredictable, twitchy, and full of nasty surprises. Some run faster than they should. Others make people puke just by standing next to them. Guess which kind I was chasing. In the back of my head, Silence piped up in his usual high-pitched glee. Why don’t you shoot him with that gun you love so much? I rounded the corner, just in time to see my mark slip into a warehouse. “Not now, Silence.” Just saying. If you won’t let me slice his throat, at least let the Glock have a turn. “Did you lose him?” David’s voice crackled through my earpiece, laced with that easy southern drawl. “Define ‘lose,’” I said, already winded. “I know exactly where he is. He’s just not here.” “That building?” David asked. “Saw some shady types slip in earlier. He’s probably not alone.” I stared at the warehouse like it had just insulted my mother. “Of course not. Why would a routine inspection not turn into a suicide run?” I pulled out my Glock and gave it a once-over. “They don’t pay me enough for this.” You could make more if you moved out of bottom-tier enforcer rankings, Silence said with a smug little whisper. “Nobody asked you,” I muttered. Rude. “I’ll talk to you, Silence,” David offered. Finally, someone appreciates me for the evil weapon of mass destruction I am. I was about to respond when something red and fluffy launched out of a trash can. I flinched, hand on my gun—but it was just Rata. Tiny paws, bushy tail, and the most ridiculous “Service Animal” vest you ever saw. He zipped up my leg and nestled into my hair like it was a squirrel penthouse. “Nineteen inside,” he squeaked in my ear. “Twenty, if you count the idiot you were chasing.” “Copy that,” I said, petting him. “David, you catch that?” “Got it. Gimme twenty. Try not to kill everyone before I get there.” If we’re doing the ‘paint the walls red’ kind of fun, maybe don’t wait for him. He can have what’s left over. I slipped down the alley beside the building. Time to see if my old tricks still worked. Looked like a three-story jump. Possible, but only if I did the wall-bounce trick. Which I hadn’t done since my monkey-fu training days. “It’s like riding a bike,” I muttered. I crouched, sprang off one wall, then another. Concrete blurred past. One more push— I hit the rooftop with a grunt and barely stuck the landing. Nine out of ten, Silence snarked. Oxen have more grace than you. “Stuff it,” I whispered, peeking across at the changeling den’s roof. I can yell inside your skull all I want. Only you can hear me. Well, except when your eye starts twitching. I took a deep breath, scanning the jump. “You sure you wanna tag along, Rata?” His claws gripped tighter. “Just don’t land on me.” If you miss and break something, I’m gonna laugh until I crack a hilt. “So helpful,” I muttered. I backed up, sprinted, and launched into the air. The wind ripped past as I sailed over the gap. Roof rushed up to meet me. I tucked and rolled, hit the surface, and popped up in a crouch. Nine-point-five. Bit of a leg wobble. I crept toward the access door, easing the handle open an inch. No bullets. Always a good sign. I leaned in, ears alert. Voices, footsteps, and the metallic snick of hammers being cocked. Rata leapt off and vanished into the shadows. “I’ll scout,” he whispered. I stayed low and breathed in. The place reeked of wet fur, feces, and old pizza. Pretty sure OSHA wouldn’t approve. He returned seconds later. “You’re clear. Sort of.” I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. Nothing visible, just walkways and shadows. But I could hear them. Arguing. Panicking. “You led her here? Are you insane?” “I panicked! She had a search warrant!” “Describe her!” “Tall, pale, brown hair, gold eyes, parka, cargo pants.” Pause. “Oh fuck. That’s Ghost.” Nice to be recognized. I watched from above. One guy was coming up the stairs. Didn’t see me yet. “Relax,” another said. “It’s just one enforcer.” “No, it’s Ghost. She fought Mab and lived. My dad told stories about her.” Flattering, Silence purred. They make us sound like the bad guys. I love it. Another guy scoffed. “It’s just hype. She’ll go down like anyone else—with enough bullets.” Technically true. But I get cranky when full of lead. And then someone behind me decided to test that theory. “Hey! How did you get there?” I turned with a grin. “Good afternoon, sir! Can I interest you in a faster internet package?” Before he could fire, I yanked Silence from his sheath. The blade extended like liquid death and cut through the walkway between us. The metal groaned, tipped, and dumped him down to his buddies. Cue the gunfire. Sparks exploded around me. I slashed another section of railing, dropped it on their heads, and bolted as Ratatoskr vanished into the dark. “Didn’t want to wait for me?” David asked casually in my ear. “It was an accident!” I yelled, diving for cover. Is he waiting for the bus or something? You’re in here getting shot at and he sounds so calm. I waited until I heard the click-click of empty mags. Then I sprang, gun ready.I waited until I heard the telltale clicks of magazines running dry. That sweet sound of opportunity. I sprang from cover, Glock drawn, because hey—nothing says ‘hello’ like bullets.
Five targets. I picked the one in the middle and squeezed off two shots. One hit dead center. The other tagged his thigh. So much for action movie physics. Shooting while diving through the air? Not as sexy as it looks. I landed hard, knees screaming, and dropped into a crouch between three very surprised changelings. One got a kick to the gut so fierce it folded him like bad laundry. Another? Bullet in the foot. And the third? He got my arm around his neck and a one-way ticket to Meat Shield City. “Okay, fellas,” I said, peeking over my hostage’s shoulder. “Let’s not overreact. I’m here for a nice, polite inspection.” Quick scan. The far wall had cages stacked like nightmares. One held a flailing harpy. Another, a pissed-off manticore with murder in its eyes. The last was home to a giant black dog with glowing red eyes and the kind of aura that suggested it wrote tragic poetry in its free time. “Which you obviously have illegal possession of,” I added. “So, let’s keep this civil. You surrender, and I only have to do a small mountain of paperwork instead of a full Everest.” “Fuck you, bitch!” someone shouted. “There’s twenty of us and one of you!” “Wrong,” I replied, as a familiar roar rumbled through the warehouse. “There’s seventeen of you. And four of me.” Yeah! You counted me. I matter! “Four? You high or just bad at math?” And that’s when the wall exploded. A truck the size of a small house crashed through the metal door, engine screaming like a banshee with a grudge. Out stepped David, cool as iced coffee, toting a machine gun like it was a handbag. He opened fire. Not lethal. Legs, feet, knees. Surgical disassembly. The kind of shooting that leaves your pride and mobility equally wrecked. I hurled my hostage into the nearest idiot and turned just in time to see another changeling raise his weapon. A blur of red fur zipped across his face. Screaming. Swatting. One very angry squirrel. David appeared at my side like an avenging angel in cargo pants. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Had to liberate a truck. These guys giving you trouble?” “Just a little rambunctious.” He nodded. “Let’s fix that.” He pivoted and opened fire. I ducked, spun, and tagged two more from the other side. Chaos bloomed. I flipped Silence in my hand and let the blade fly. It spun through the air like a buzzsaw of death and buried itself in some unlucky bastard’s thigh. His eyes flared red. Then Ratatoskr struck. An ember blur whipped past me. A man dropped, neck spraying crimson like a busted soda can. “Squirrel of Caerbannog,” David muttered. “Brutal.” A high-pitched laugh echoed through the warehouse. The guy with Silence still in his leg ripped the sword out and started carving up his teammates like a discount blender. Shots rang out. Screams followed. One changeling tried to shoot the berserker and lost his hand for the effort. “Silence!” I yelled. “Try not to kill everyone!” If I leave one, then I didn’t kill them all, now did I? A few wild minutes later, the chaos was over. Most of the changelings were zip-cuffed and bleeding from superficial wounds. One was unconscious and definitely not going to walk that off. I yanked Silence free from the floor and sheathed him with a metallic whisper. He practically purred. David stepped up beside me, surveying the carnage. “One day, we’re gonna go on an actual date. Like with food. And a table. Maybe even chairs.” I gestured grandly. “What, this isn’t romantic? There were fireworks. Gunfire. Changelings screaming.” He grinned and looped an arm around my waist. “It’s a start. But next time, I pick the restaurant.” He pressed a kiss to my neck and stepped back. “You can owe me the mushy stuff later.” Yes. Later. When I am not around. “Deal.” I moved to the crates and cracked one open. Unicorn horns, baneswort, fairy wings. A disturbing amount of voodoo wax. I groaned. “So much paperwork.” I pulled out my phone and hit the contact icon. Two rings. “Operator,” a female monotoned voice said on the other line. “Operator, love of my life, mistress of my heart… it is I.” “Ghost,” she replied, dry as stale toast. “I have a trainee on the line. What do you need?” I frowned. “Why do you have a trainee? Did you pull the short straw or something?” “Because I’m retiring in six months.” Crate tapping paused. Brain did not. “Wait—what? Operator, no. We didn’t talk about this. You can’t just retire. What am I supposed to do? Make new emotional damage?” “Ghost, how long have I been your operator?” I tried counting on my fingers. Got to my thumb. Gave up. “A long-ass time.” “Exactly. I have grandchildren now. A recliner. Crochet ambitions. My trainee is your new handler.” I leaned back against the crate, squeezing my lips shut to keep from blurting something dumb and clingy. Fifty years. We’d worked together for fifty damn years. Never met. Rarely talked beyond mission chatter. But she’d always had my back—covered for me when I crossed lines, helped me finish voided assignments I just had to see through. She was the one piece of the bureaucracy I could actually trust. In my mind, she was a gargoyle with thick glasses and a smoothie. Now? A silver-haired grandma sipping chamomile from bone china. Then my brain, because it hates me, dialed it up to hospital bed. Frail hands. Fading voice. Curtain call. Humans envy immortals because they don’t die. Immortals envy humans because they can. “H-hello?” said a nervous male voice. The new guy. I blinked and snapped out of the death spiral. Focus. “Hello, New Operator,” I said with deliberate disdain. “I hate you. Beloved Operator, you cannot do this to me. You know I hate change. How am I supposed to function without your cold judgment and begrudging approval?” “You’ll put on your big girl pants and cope. What do you need?” “Ugh, it’s that decisive efficiency that makes me swoon.” I perched on a crate. “You remember that acquisition job? I’m at the warehouse. I need a collection and cleanup crew. Preferably with hazmat suits and emotional support snacks.” “What did you do?” Hand to chest. “Ma’am, I did my job. Not my fault the guy brought friends. With guns. And shady magical cargo.” Newbie chimed in. “We rerouted multiple police calls. Master Draco requested discretion. He won’t be pleased.” “Yeah, well,” I said, “you’ll learn soon enough: discretion is a concept, not a skill I possess.” “How much contraband?” my soon-to-be-retired Operator asked. I looked around. “Fifty crates. Ten cages. One sad emo hellhound.” “A grimm?” “Could be. Could also be a hellhound. Or a black lab with chronic pinkeye. After a while, the glowing eyes all blend together.” “And bodies?” “Fifteen gift-wrapped. Five not so lucky.” Clicky clacky typing in the background. “There’s a cleanup crew about an hour out,” the rookie offered. “We’ll reroute them.” “Wonderful. I still hate you.” “Can you remain on-site until they arrive?” Operator asked. “For you, my star, my sun, my quarterly performance review? Anything.” “Good. You’ll complete the collection paperwork when they get there. Incident report template will be delivered to your residence. Please file it in a timely manner.” I groaned. “Define ‘timely.’” “By tomorrow. Or you’re getting assigned to Death Valley.” I gave her my best award-winning whimper. “You know I don’t do well in dry heat.” “Then file the report.” Click. Call ended. I glared at the phone like it had personally insulted my haircut, then tucked it into my parka. David slid onto the crate beside me. “Why the sulk?” “My operator is retiring. I’m being pawned off on a toddler.” He lifted a brow. “Didn’t know operators could retire. Honestly? Not mad about it.” I gave him side-eye. “Why?” He grinned. It did things to my stomach. Distracting things. “You call her more pet names than you do me.” I snorted. “Didn’t think you were the jealous type.” “I’m not. I think it’s adorable. I just haven’t earned the same number of heart emojis yet.” He looked out the window. Sobering. “What’s it like? Outliving people?” I focused on Ratatoskr, brushing his spine with my fingers. “It’s like owning pets. One minute they’re bouncing around, the next they’re gray and slow. Then you show up and they’re gone. Or worse, you meet their grandkids and realize you missed the middle part.” David nodded slowly. “Yeah. When I joined the Marines, I didn’t think I’d live past thirty. Now I don’t even know what to tell my mom when she notices I haven’t aged in a decade.” I leaned closer. “Wait. You haven’t told them?” He winced. “Not exactly dinner table material. ‘Hi Mom, how’s Aunt Bess? Oh, and I’m the death goddess’s chosen avatar. Also, she rubs soup in my hair sometimes.’” I snort-laughed. “Called it.” Ratatoskr blinked up at us. “Not surprising. She’s been unstable for decades. What soup? Lentil? Chicken noodle? Broth says a lot about a person.”“Campbell’s cream of mushroom,” David said, shaking his head slowly. “Said it would help my girlish complexion. Honestly? Still better than some of the COs I had. Her loopy episodes are rare. Maybe twice last year.”
I nodded. Our first meeting hadn’t exactly been candlelight and roses—Badb had sent him to take me down, and he’d succeeded. Granted, I was distracted, underfed, and a little drunk. Still counts. Ratatoskr launched off my knee. “Twice in a year isn’t bad. Some get locked up because they can’t tell the difference between the present and the futures they see. Wibbly wobbly mind-breaking stuff.” He scurried off toward a support beam. “Oi,” I called. “Where are you going?” He paused, paws over his face. “Blood in my fur. I’m not getting tossed in the van like some street-struck chupacabra. See you later.” A groan from the floor caught my attention. I stood, stretched, and headed over. “Where you going?” David asked. “Time for a friendly chat,” I said, pulling my enforcer pendant free. I knelt by the groaning changeling and rolled him onto his side. “Hey there, sunshine.” “Fuck off, bitch!” I wagged a finger in mock reproach. “Tsk. Language. I’m trying to be civil here.” “I don’t want to talk to you.” “Story of my life. But you gave me paperwork, which means you gave me purpose.” He squinted. “What are you talking about?” “I heard you mention your boss before things got… athletic. Who is she, and where do I find her?” He went pale. Impressive for a guy already bruised and bloodied. “I’m not telling you anything.” I dangled my pendant. “Know what this is?” “A piece of metal.” Oh, a smartass. Fantastic. “Close! Think of it like my badge. Only I can touch it safely. Let’s test that.” I let it swing until it tapped his nose—zap! He yelped. “See? It loves me. It doesn’t love you.” “You psycho bitch!” “Now you’re just flattering me.” I leaned in. “See that red-eyed guy behind me? He’s better at this than I am. You know why?” “No,” he growled. “Because he’s patient. I get bored and start snapping necks. He has a little hammer set. Like torture ASMR.” I zapped him again on the cheek. He jerked away, face tense. “Do your worst. If I talk, she finds out. And she’ll do worse.” My smile thinned. “Fascinating. What’s her name, and how much therapy has she had?” Beeping from outside interrupted. I rose to check and saw four white vans line up. From the first stepped a petite woman in dark coveralls, auburn hair in a bun, clipboard in hand. Espresso eyes, bombshell smile. Clipboard confidence. “Hi! I’m Cristina,” she beamed. “You called for pickup?” I took the clipboard. “Yeah. Inside. Crates, cages, changelings. Full set.” “Perfect!” She waved her crew forward. “We’ll process the detainees at holding.” I pointed to the groaning guy. “He’s hiding something good. Poke gently until he spills it.” I dropped onto a stool and began the ritual of soul death. Signature. Initial. Tiny square. Repeat. Eventually, my hand screamed in rebellion. David handled crates while I signed my life away. When Cristina returned for the clipboard, I blinked through the haze. “Hey,” I said. “What about the grimm?” She glanced. “Can’t take him. Too risky. Bad luck magnet. Flat tires, accidents, spontaneous hair loss.” “Grimms don’t cause bad luck. They just show up like creepy little omens.” She shrugged. “Policy says release.” “That’s dumb. Containment exists for a reason.” “Take it up with upper management.” I grimaced. Upper management was a dragon with a flair for passive-aggression and fire-breathing HR memos. “Fine. I’ll take him. I have property. Trees. Shadowy corners. Perfect for brooding beasts.” Cristina winked. “Suit yourself. Laters!” “Laters.” I approached the cage. Red eyes met mine. Tail thump. Barely. “Want to come home with me?” He didn’t flinch as I reached in. Good sign. Silent plea in those eyes. Vainya’s gonna love this, Silence muttered. Still mad about the Murder Chickens. “There are only nine of them. This guy’ll fit right in.” I twisted off the padlock. “Come on, let’s get you a hamburger.” Tail thump. Ears perk. “Yeah? Hamburger fan, huh?” I offered my hand. He sniffed, then licked. “That a yes? Cool. I’m calling you Wimpy. From Popeye. Guy loved burgers.” I fished out paracord, sliced it with Silence, made a slip-lead. “Back in my day, dogs didn’t need leashes. Come on, let’s go ruin someone’s afternoon.” Wimpy stepped out, ribs poking, tail low. I ran my hand down his side and frowned. Cages do that to you. I knew firsthand. David appeared behind me. “You sure about this?” I looked at Wimpy. “Even monsters need love.” He looked up, tail wagging just once. Good enough.
