The sultry confidence and sticky implications fell away from Kora. "What?"

  "You wear a lot of rings," he said, watching himself speak with the sick, helpless fascination of someone observing an imminent train crash. Have you ever heard of de-gloving?"

  "No, but maybe," she said, one corner of her mouth raising up into a very self-satisfied smile, "that's because I don't use a glove in the first place. You can feel more than way, if you know what I mean."

  "Like, when you spar?"

  Again, she went from confidence to blinking.

  "Wade," Jasque interrupted, "I'm sorry, man. I don't want to ruin your fun. How about you get this lovely lady's number, and you can text her after you drop me off?" He turned and gave Kora a big smile and an overdone wink. That way, you won't have to end any date early on my account."

  Kora nodded knowingly and winked back at him. Wade only grew more confused. Jasque hated spending time on civilians or on cell phones. He only grudgingly accepted Wade having nights off with other banes like Scotty because there was research on how rest days and social recovery impacted the capacity to learn. Why would he want Wade to get her number instead of them shutting her down?

  He complied, though. In under a minute, her number was on a piece of paper, and he was telling her to get home safely as she walked away in a very uncomfortable to-watch manner. Maybe it was supposed to be sexy, but every time her foot crossed in front of the other, he just thought of his martial arts teacher waving a stick and yelling.

  "You intentionally driving her off?' Jasque asked, taking the keys and opening the door to their truck.

  "No. I mean, yes. But not any more than I usually do. That was just so out of the blue and— God. What the hell is happening?"

  "You tell me. What was that de-gloving bullshit?"

  "I don't know," he said, settling into the passenger seat and rubbing a hand into his forehead as his face scrunched up. "She just had on so many impractical clothes. Shoes she couldn't run in, pants she probably couldn't crouch in, a shirt that didn't cover her… her… her anything really. All I could think about is how effective that outfit would be for keeping prisoners from fleeing a Russian gulag."

  The Slayer frowned thoughtfully before nodding to concede the point. "Fair. Those clothes were antithetical to athletic or martial activities. But she's trying to seduce you. Probably because she believes it will be a way to punish Shilloh and her ex."

  Instead of sputtering in outrage, Wade just sighed. When it was two consenting adults, no one should think their personal sex life was someone else's business. Especially to the degree that a full-grown adult would think about the recreational use of their genitals as a punishment for someone uninvolved third party. He was disappointed in himself for even being able to follow that train of thought.

  The car came to life, and they drove home with Jasque behind the wheel.

  "You'll text her tomorrow," Jasque ordered.

  "What!"

  "We need to find out more about Shilloh. Something about her is wrong. She doesn't react right, and I know she's keeping something hidden."

  "Of course, she's keeping a secret! If we can't get to her files, then there's a reason."

  "Doesn't matter. Just text the lady and let her complain to you about Shilloh."

  "Why don't I just talk to Shilloh about Shilloh?"

  Jasque went silent for several seconds, his eyes methodically scanning the road, his hands at the perfect ten-and-two positioning every driving instructor wanted to see. When he finally responded, his voice was quiet and very, very neutral. "Would you like that, Wade?"

  The word 'no' was halfway out of his mouth when Jasque turned to pierce him with his black eyes. Reflected street lamps raced across the whites, but the irises were dark as the night sky above them. The look lasted long enough to produce concerns about car crashes. The other man's magical senses were more than enough to steer them—really, they might even have been better than using sight—but it was still eery and nerve-wracking.

  After a subjective eternity, Jasque nodded and proceeded like Wade had spoken rather than all but holding his breath. "Right. Let's stick to Kora, then. You have enough distractions."

  The rest of the drive was silent. Wade found himself thinking in circles. Was his bodyguard right? Jasque saw everything. And it was his job to keep a clear head. He was also damn smart, especially compared to Wade.

  Could he be looking for excuses to spend more time with Shilloh? That could be a problem. He was already disappointed by how much time he spent on breaks and recovery. Those were minutes that could be put towards keeping people alive.

  Shilloh was nice, but she couldn't be worth other people's lives. Even his subconscious should know that.

  Sure, she was very smart, and she taught him things. But it was tough to stay professional and manage the impression he gave when they spoke. It was exhausting, really. Something about the way she both called him out and listened with absolute sincerity made it hard to stop talking. He kept finding himself saying things that he didn't think the stiff, formal, competent, but unremarkable Wade Raslow he showed the world would say.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  When he thought of it that way, it was obvious that he had been treating her differently. Was it because she was a competent professional, and it felt like being out with other banes?

  No. Not that.

  There was a rougher kind of humor and camaraderie that came with those relationships. There hadn't been nearly enough poop jokes for that to fit their relationship.

  Answers evaded him throughout the silent drive, especially since he kept getting lost in a daydream about what it would be like to have dinner with someone who wasn't a bane. It would be nice to hear about something other than Cryptos, guns, and the same stories about the same weird veterans who all managed to sleep with each other in a constant cycle of drama. Really, just a few hours with her today had given him more avenues of innovation than the last year had produced.

  He was so occupied imagining what a night out with a civilian would be like that he was extra slow to notice the blocky, nondescript car in their driveway.

  That was not normal. Immediately, they both went on guard.

  Wade and Jasque shared a two-story house. The structure was comfortable, positioned well, and had nothing that he thought made it stand out.

  The property was a decent distance from town and near a few trails and routes leading to creaks. All of these trails terminated in the Croatan National Forest. Specifically, they terminated in the areas where the seas met marsh, and the magic got wild.

  Such environmental diversity produced the most varied cryptos in very high volumes, especially considering the variability in local weather and seasons. A few other liminal environmental zones were worse, like Sydney Harbor. But this was still a hotspot of biodiversity and the exact sort of variability that meant you never knew what would spawn next.

  His house was a perfect place to be if you wanted to keep tabs on what was happening in the forests without seeming like a risk taker on the edge of a crypto zone.

  It had all the usual defenses a regular person would need to feel safe. The tree line was pushed far back, and the windows were small and barred. All of them had a coating so that people couldn't look inside. Additionally, there was a very mundane magical presence to the property. It was obvious that a mediocre Were's mark had been placed on the land. Something even an untrained person could sense without needing to look closely.

  None of that made an impression on him tonight. The unfamiliar car in the driveway had dust from their winding gravel driveway. They never had unfamiliar cars. Their whole property was made so they could shoot unfamiliar cars if the need arose. Even the driveway was the sort of serpentine trail that would cause the car to wind several times in front of the house, exposing every part of it —as well as the occupants—to gunfire should they come in without an invitation.

  There were no land features to take cover behind—just small stones, tree stumps, and strategically placed laundry posts that made driving anywhere but the gravel very hard.

  He and his bodyguard stepped out of the car warily to greet whatever uninvited guest was exiting her own vehicle.

  Jasque took the lead, and Wade positioned himself so he could duck behind their truck's engine block if need be. However, here on his land, in his territory, it was more of a habit than anything truly necessary.

  At a glance, he recognized the woman.

  But visual recognition was not enough in a world of magic.

  Jasque and the woman—who was fit, but not too fit, and wore clothes that were nice but not too nice—did their spy shit. Phrases were exchanged. Codes were checked. Throughout it all, they pantomimed the act of greeting an old friend and making small talk.

  Her codes must have checked out because they all hustled inside before the last ticks of the engine cooling stopped. Once inside, some magical and technological items were brought out to ensure it was safe to speak without being bugged or scryied.

  Wade wasn't too worried, though. He put up his weapons in their various safes and hung Walker the long sword where is was easy to reach. In the name of caution, he kept Cici, his chain spear, and grabbed Marie. Marie was a lovely, short Chinese sword: an ox tail saber. Or at least he had heard someone use that to describe her. He had no idea if it was a real term or not. But he was certain that she was more suited to fighting people than monsters.

  The final step in their cloak-and-dagger game was checking with Wade to ensure that no one could spy on what was going on.

  "No one can sense anything notable happening by action or absence," he confirmed, putting glasses of water in front of everyone. They all settled around a no-nonsense kitchen table that matched the no-nonsense, barely decorated house it sat in.

  "Thank you," the woman who pretended her name was Sam said.

  "My pleasure. Now, tell me, what was worth the in-person visit?"

  Sam drank deeply. She had probably driven a long way with minimal stops. "We have an alert for you. A leviathan class incursion. Frost would like your assistance."

  Wade nodded his acceptance.

  "Good. Additionally, your inquiries into a Ms. Shilloh Methuselah have been noted."

  Jasque scowled, "Are we being ordered to stop?"

  Sam steepled her fingers, "That depends. Do you think you can convince her to start helping the Blight Banes?"

  "In what capacity?" Wade frowned.

  "We believe that she has the potential to be useful to the Godkiller program, but she slipped the net when we first sent out feelers several years ago."

  Both men froze: Wade in simple shock and Jasque in shock that turned to vibrant, tightly leashed anger. After all, what bodyguard would be happy to have had a threat of that caliber so close to their charge?

  "Could she be—"

  Sam shook her head. "No. As part of a blended unit, she could certainly be a threat and an asset to the program. But only in a carefully arranged unit. Under those circumstances, especially for someone like Godkiller Thresher, she could be of material aid. But there are personality and power profile issues that are impossible to completely control."

  "Thresher?" Wade said, remembering the fatherly voice that had, years ago, welcomed him in on the corpse of a city-killing monster. As if summoned by the thought, he tasted the phantom echo of ionized blood so thick it formed a mist that dyed the creases of your skin.

  For all that he tried, he could not imagine Shilloh—who didn't want him to kill cryptos for environmental reasons—moving through those mists in anything but horror.

  "You think Shilloh would help with the missions we give Thresher?"

  NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s [and publisher’s] exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

  Piracy Notice: If you’re reading this anywhere other than Scribble Hub, Royal Road, or my Patreon then this is pirated. Please let me know by going to the Jeffrey Nix website’s contact area so I can get really annoyed, complain to my cat, have her tell me this never would have happened if I had just gone back for a Ph. D, send a takedown notice, and get back to writing.