We reached the hatch to the Scaras forge just in time. The building flood of acid was rising up the stairs like a flood and I had little doubt that it would've been a hell of a way to go, melted from the feet up. Shorty slammed the hatch open and surged up. I followed with far less vigor, but still made it with moments to spare.

  As we burst into the heat of the workshop, gasping for breath and coughing out dust, a thousand glittering eyes fell upon us. The swarm of chittering beetles took a single collective glance at us, then fled from their workstations in a tide of chitinous black.

  "Seal the hatch!" Shorty cried as the vapors of the dissolving stairway began to reach us.

  I heaved with a strength I hadn't thought possible and set Songbird aside, and slammed the hatch closed. There was a thud from the other side, and a moment later I heard the hiss of the acid.

  "Move. We will ensure it does not spread," called the collective mind as it flowed over and around me to settle upon the hatch.

  I saw mana rush from the lit form behind us, filling hundreds of the beetles as they began to glow red, then orange, then white.

  They died with a sizzling hiss as their bodies turned to slag en masse, forming a seal over the door. As more sacrificed themselves to ensure the acid was stopped, the largest swarm formed limbs and grabbed for the stream of fiery mana. It's vague arms pulled and worked at the magic, weaving it with such expertise that I was again reminded exactly why I'd taken this gods awful job in the first place.

  Shorty and I watched in awe as the swarm, the collective mind, saved us all.

  The patterns of a great ward, a magical barrier of immense power, were spun and woven from the raw energy. It took mere seconds, but by the end I felt my Arcane Eye ache and twitch as it seemed to absorb something fundamental from the arcane display.

  The ward flashed and settled into the floor and the ceiling, faintly glowing orange mana locked into complex lines and geometry-

  And the threat was gone.

  "Holy shit," I wheezed, as the swarm dispersed, and the last bits of the dying beetles fell away like dust

  "Yeah," Shorty breathed as she sat down hard, "that was fucking amazing."

  "Ughhn," groaned the nude, rot covered woman next to me.

  Right.

  "We see you have brought..." the Scaras began as they took their humanoid shape, a few smaller swarms working to repair the damaged parts, "an unexpected guest."

  I grimaced and rubbed my neck. The wound had already started to seal but I wasn't quite up to talkin' much yet.

  "Right," Shorty said as she stared down that the girl and fed a shell into my scattergun, "she's a Cihaute, and I'm pretty sure she's the monster we were looking for."

  "Yes," the Scaras agreed, "we can see. An extreme investiture of Entropic mana has mutated this girl quite visibly," the flowed to encircle the woman with it's mass and snapped my fingers to get the room's attention.

  "Don't," I rasped, "safe." I insisted, jabbing a hand toward the seemingly unconscious Songbird.

  "Pretty sure he's thralled Mister Scaras. If you don't mind holding him back I'll finish this up quick and-"

  "No."

  I looked from Shorty to the Scaras and back. They both stared at me, the first with annoyance, and the second, well, with the same flat expression it always had.

  "She, is," I paused and cleared my throat, the sensation of a knife scrappin' against bone as I spoke, "safe." I insisted, stampin' a boot into the stone workshop floor. I jabbed a thumb into my chest, "responsible."

  "Oh come on! Roche, she's a Cihaute. It's a damn miracle you aren't dead. Do you even know how dangerous these things are? She survives by draining the blood from living people. She is a mind mage of the worst kind. All that separates her from the Anasisi is scales and a tail! Why are you, of all people, defending her?! I've seen you kill as easy as you breathe you fucking hypocrit!"

  "She's," I looked down at her, at the naked, bald, bloody, rotted, and sickly pale woman, and I remembered the warmth of her smile, and the way we had melted together. I'd found a peace I didn't know I needed. And just as quickly, it'd been lost to the chaos of the world. I knew at least some of what I felt for her was just the lingering influence of evil magic on my mind, but even still. We had connected, hadn't we?

  And that's wasn't including whatever fucked up exchange had occurred in the cenote.

  I grit my teeth and shook my head at the pair.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  "Mine," I wheezed and looked Shorty hard in the eye.

  The Outcast woman gaped, her expression a mix of disgust and confusion.

  "Scaras. The job was to kill this thing, if Roche can't do it, won't do it," she said, pausing to set the butt of the scattergun on the ground and run a clawed hand over her strained features, "you won't find him worthy right? The deal is void?"

  The Scaras titled it's approximation of a head, eye pits and a mouth forming as it mocked a frown in though.

  "We are not sure. The agreement was to kill the monster and return. You have done that, in a way. This woman is very obviously no longer capable of crimes that we will be blamed for, but," the swarm flexed, thousands of legs contracting in an audible crunch, "we are rather more interested in a question of our own. The question of your success will be left unanswered until it is explained why the passage beneath our shop was destroyed. Please explain why several significant earthquakes shook our home, and why we can sense the active flow of mana into the depths beneath us. What did you do?"

  I blinked and looked to Shorty, who was lookin' a bit uncomfortable.

  "It wasn't us," she said, "well, not exactly?"

  Fuck.

  I could tell it was gonna be a long day. A longer one, even after all this.

  I sighed.

  Then, I reached down and gently scooped up the Songbird and spared Shorty a long look. Her face fell as I turned toward the door and she got the message.

  "You're going to make me explain all this? Alone?"

  I gave a grunt and stuck a finger to the absolute tragedy that was my neck.

  Yeah. You better fuckin' bet I will.

  "Thanks. Partner." I said with a tired grin.

  I left her there, but the sting of her partin' words was very much felt, "Fuck you, Roche. I'll remember this."

  Good. Get used to it.

  You want to hang onto my coattails? Well then, don't be surprised when you're dragged into my shit. Hopefully you'll wise up and pick a better friend.

  Before I left the workshop completely I stopped to wrap the naked woman in my coat. I could spare her some dignity, I felt I owed her about that much at least.

  After a long, painful walk, I made it back to my little place, Songbird still passed out over my shoulder. To my horror and disgust, I didn't get a second look from anyone in Uptown. Seemed as far as the rich folk and local guards were concerned there was nothing strange about a well dressed man carrying an unconscious woman around in the dark.

  Not one with obvious Outcast blood, anyway.

  She didn't even move as we walked, but I could feel her warmth, and the soft whisper of her breath. To be honest, I wondered if she'd even wake up at all

  Once I was home, I set her down on my bed, cleaned her up as best I could, and tried to find some clothes that might fit her. I ended up just fittin' her in one of my old shirts, the one with the least blood stains and bullet holes, and then I took a seat by the bed and waited.

  I couldn't sleep. The pain, the exhilaration, the sheer crushing weight of the last few hours, it all kept me in a kind of limbo. A sort of hyper aware and focused state, wrapped up in the kind of bone deep exhaustion that only comes when you're runnin' on empty and force yourself to run some more.

  Dawn crept through the window behind me before the girl stirred, and it was another hour before her eyes finally opened.

  I slipped a cigarillo between my teeth as she sat up, eyes castin' around the room like a drunk wakin' up in the alley.

  "Hey Songbird."

  She froze and then looked down to where I sat against the wall, the sheets slipping to expose her bare leg.

  "Who the fuck is Songbird? Who are you?"

  Ah.

  Well... Didn't see that comin'. Well, granted there was no way she'd know the nickname I'd given her, but at the very least she should recognize me. Certainly did while she was gnawin' on my neck.

  "Uh, I'm Roche?" I offered, takin' a draw of the ghostleaf smoke and blowin' down low so as not to offend.

  Her eyes narrowed and then, to my surprise, her expression softened a touch.

  "Did we fuck? Am I in your bed? I gotta stop puttin' out for every pretty face."

  "No, and- I mean, yes? You alright because-"

  "Ah."

  She stood, droppin' the sheet and moving toward the back of the room. A small box filled with ice and artificed to preserve meat sat there. I had only stocked a bit if bacon and some fish, but the woman didn't seem to care. She took a thick slab of frozen bacon and began to tear into it like a wild beast, her teeth ripping off great chunks with ease.

  "You one of Teddy's guys?" she asked between mouthfuls of frozen pig, "no one told me shit about a new handler," she muttered and turned to face me.

  Her eyes fell to the gun at my hip, and her hands flexed. Her eyes trailed up, scanning me from boots to hat.

  "No," she shook her head as she chewed, "you're not one of Teddy's. Too well dressed. And what's with the tentacles? What happened to your-" she ran a delicate hand over her throat and the scar there. Ice-Cold Blood had patched the wound pretty well, and rather than a ragged hole that connected my gullet directly to the world outside, only a puckered pink scar now remained.

  I bit down on the cigar, my jaw flexin' as I drew deep, "You did, Songbird. You did."

  She froze.

  And then, to my horror and disgust, the woman laughed.

  It wasn't a sweet, dainty giggle or even a gentle chuckle. No, this was the sound of a full blown, side splitin' fit. It was the kind of laugh that could only be made when one truly believed the person they were speakin' to was a fool.

  "Oops," she said without a shred of remorse as she strode toward my door, "thanks for the meal. Maybe see you around, cowboy." I saw just the faintest spark of recognition in those cold eyes. Just enough to feel my flash of anger that flushed me to rot and die.

  The door opened. Light spilled in.

  And then she was gone.

  It stung. Worse than any bullet hole or bite wound, worse than the acid in the cenote or a face-full of alchemical fire.

  All that, and what do you get?

  Exactly what you deserve.

  The truth, you dumb son-of-a-bitch.

  You didn't know her at all.