Act Three Chapter Three - All the Things She Said

“Tri…dva…odin. Poyti!” The Russian soldier counted down. His partner slammed the battering ram hard into the door. It flew open with sudden violence and the police poured into the gap.

Alex McCoid, Agent A of Task Force Valkyrie, kept his distance. As a foreign observer, here to help the Russians track down one of their most notorious criminals, he was not technically allowed to be a part of the raid. Still, dressed in body armor with his Jericho sidearm neatly tucked behind his waistband, he sure felt like he was a part of this.

Inside the old ramshackle warehouse, the rat-a-tat of automatic weapons fire could be heard and the strobe-light effect of muzzle flashes could be seen. These Chechen terrorists (or freedom fighters depending on your perspective) were putting up quite a fight. Alex cared little for the nuisances of international politics involved in this. He was only after one person: Konstantin Orlov.

The notorious mobster had been on the run for most of a decade, flitting from one country to another. Interpol couldn’t pin him down. He’d been in Prague, Istanbul, Philadelphia, Tokyo, all over the map. Now it was Moscow, right under the nose of the Russian Federation government. Maybe this time he’d slipped up. Maybe this time, they could get him at last.

Alex was there because he knew something about Orlov that most people didn’t. Orlov was not human. He was a werewolf and that was one of the reasons he’d risen as high and as far as he had in the Russian mob. When you regenerate nearly any wound inflicted upon you by your enemies, you tend not to be easily stopped. Orlov had a reputation for that and it extended outside the mob as well as within. How many police had died by his hand after they though they’d had him down?

Alex hoped it wouldn’t come to that again. He pulled his Jericho free from its holster and ejected the mag. He knew he’d loaded it with silver bullets, but with nothing else to do until his Russian companions gave the all clear or things went south, he figured he’d double check. Again.

“All clear.” Came the call over the radio in heavily accented English, a message meant for Alex’s ears. He came up from his crouch and advanced inside cautiously, holding the Jericho at the ready. With Orlov, things were never quite “all clear.”

The building was littered with bodies, mostly of the Chechen fighters. They had been taken by surprise and, despite their valiant and spirited defense, had been quickly overwhelmed. A few of the Russian police were also down. The wounded were being tended to; the dead were left where they fell.

“You Americans are paranoid.” Laughed Pyotr Kuznetsov, the big former Spetznaz who’d been Alex’s minder for his Russian adventure. He’d been the one who called the “all clear” and was waiting for Alex to enter. “You do not need gun now.”

“You know his reputation.”

“He is not here. He escaped again.”

“Damn.” Growled Alex. “To where?”

“We have prisoner. A shlyukha. I do not know English word for this.”

Alex however knew enough rudimentary Russian to translate the term. Like many a good student, the first words he learned in any language were the profanities and insults.

“It’s ‘whore.’ That’s the word you’re looking for.”

“Thank you.” Pyotr grinned like one of those students who’d learned a new naughty word in a foreign language.

Pyotr’s insulting descriptor certainly fit the bill. The back room of the warehouse was an office that had been converted into living quarters for the rebel cell’s leader. He lay on the floor in an expanding pool of blood. His woman was in his bed, dressed in a camisole, her hands up in surrender, while two of Pyotr’s fellow soldiers kept their AKs trained on her.

“Such heavy firepower for such a delicate thing.” Alex muttered aloud. The Russians gave no response, likely unable to understand him across the language barrier.

The woman looked at Alex when he entered and they locked eyes for a brief moment. “She’s not afraid.” Alex whispered to Pyotr.

“No?”

“I would be if two soldiers were bearing down on me with assault…” He didn’t finish his sentence before the woman suddenly jumped up and morphed into the massive battle form of the werewolf.

Alex felt the overwhelming terror of Lunacy well up within him. But he’d been trained to resist it so he gritted his teeth and forced himself to focus. His Russian companions however panicked immediately. But panicked or not, the two with the AKs right next to the shlyukha were torn apart before they could run.

Alex dove for the exit just as the werewolf grabbed Pyotr and flung him through the wall. The big Russian hit the concrete floor hard and rolled a few more feet. Alex couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead. There was no time to find out. The werewolf burst forth from the back room and let out a soul-shattering howl.

That broke the rest of the Russian soldiers, who immediately dropped everything and ran. Alex, as the only person in the room in control of his faculties, was immediately made the next target. He scrambled for cover, trying to stay one step ahead of the 8 foot tall monster that was chasing him.

For its size, the beast was blindingly fast. It grabbed Alex by the back and flung him into the air like he was an old unwanted toy. He landed hard on top of a wooden crate and then rolled off the side. His back felt like fire and he prayed the impact had not shattered his vertebrae.

He rolled over, ignoring the pain. Pain was good. If he hurt, he likely wasn’t paralyzed. The wolf tore around the corner, pausing for a second to dispatch a wounded Russian who was trying to drag himself to safety. That half second pause was precisely what Alex needed to draw a bead on the monster with his Jericho.

He squeezed the trigger and saw blood explode from the beast’s leg. It howled in agony; the silver had done its work. But now he’d really made it mad. It turned towards him and charged.

Alex held steady. He couldn’t run; he’d never get to his feet in time. He fired again and a third time. Each shot struck the beast in the same wounded leg. Then a fourth. The wolf pitched forward on its face, its leg shredded by the silver wounds. It could no longer walk. It could no longer run.

It began to crawl towards Alex, still determined to get a hold of him. Alex stood up and trained his weapon on its head. “Enough!” He barked, uncertain if the beast could understand him. “One more step and I put a round through your head.”

The beast paused. Maybe it could understand English after all. It snarled at him in futility and then morphed back into a girl.

“That’s better.” Said Alex, his weapon still trained on her. “Now, tell me what I want to know and I’ll get someone to see to that leg. Refuse and I’ll end you.”

The wolf’s wounds were evident on the woman. Her leg was mangled by the four shots he’d planted in it; he’d nearly amputated it. But despite the pain, the woman seemed to remain defiant.

“Where’s Orlov?” Alex demanded.

The woman stared at him, the same stare she’d given him before she’d revealed her true nature. For a moment, it seemed she wouldn’t answer. “Home.” She said in rough English. “He went home.”

Alex relaxed from his stance and released his grip on the pistol, dangling it from his finger by the trigger guard to show her he was standing down. “Thank you. I promised a medic. Let me fetch one.” He paused and made a scolding gesture. “No more wolf.”

Alex trotted over to Pyotr. He groaned and came to his feet. “What happen?” he muttered, his memories hazy from Lunacy.

“The beast is gone. The girl’s hurt. Summon the squad back.”

Pyotr nodded and barked something in Russian into his radio. Slowly, the dazed and confused soldiers shuffled back in, none of them with any clear recollection of what had just happened to them.

“The girl told me where to find Orlov.” Alex shared with Pyotr.

“Where the zmeya now?”

“Home.”

“That could mean two places. He was born in Smolensk. But after fall of communists, he emigrated to USA.”

“And took up residence in Philadelphia. Looks like the next step of the trail has us parting ways, Pyotr.”

“You check Philadelphia. I check Smolensk.”

“And good luck to us both.”

---

Jet lag is a terrible thing. Alex’s flight back from Moscow was uneventful, but now he found himself in his Washington D.C. apartment wide awake at 2:00am.

He had stripped down his Jericho and was cleaning it. Silver was softer than jacketed lead and had a bad habit of gumming up gun barrels after repeated firing. So to avoid any future problems, Alex had made a habit of cleaning his weapons frequently.

He was disappointed that it had taken four shots to cripple the werewolf and bring it under control. His Jericho was 9mm and while he liked the feel of the weapon in his hand and its compact size, he wasn’t sure he could trust it against the sorts of foes he might encounter in his line of work. An avid gun collector, Alex had also set out a variety of other handguns to see if any of them might better suit his needs.

After cleaning the Jericho, he picked up one gun, a massive AMT Auto Mag. This was the pride and joy of his collection, an exceedingly rare gun most famously seen in the Dirty Harry movie Sudden Impact. Alex’s weapon was even rarer than the regular gun, since his was gold plated, a unique weapon he’d bought from a collector overseas some ten years ago.

Alex grew up the son of wealthy parents in Malibu. A wayward youth, he and his brother spent most of their days on the beach, surfing and living it up. A sudden heart attack claimed his father when he was 16 and his mother then succumbed to cancer a year later. The double tragedy left both brothers even more adrift, although their substantial inheritance afforded them a great deal more options than most orphans. Adrian, Alex’s brother, went off to college and eventually seminary to became an Episcopal priest. Alex went into the military.

Alex excelled in the Army, because he’d found (somewhat unnervingly) his true talent. He was good at killing people. Both he and Adrian had learned a variety of martial arts, including Jeet Kun Do, as teens, but now as a soldier Alex could put those skills as well as his expert marksmanship to lethal use. Before long, he was in Delta, the elite anti-terrorist corps of the US Army, and on his way to Somalia.

Black Hawk Down told the story of one of the other helicopters on Alex’s most infamous mission. His chopper, however, made to it their target. As brutal as his comrades experience had been, Alex always wished he’d been on the downed chopper. At least, they were shooting at enemies who were in turn trying to kill them. The people at the warlord’s compound conversely were mostly civilians: women, old men, and even children, but they were mowed down all the same.

When Alex refused to shoot a ten year old girl, his superiors brought him up on insubordination charges and drummed him out of the service with a dishonorable discharge. He went back to Malibu, his life’s purpose snatched out from under him, and that was when “Mr. Maverick” came calling. Maverick was the code name for any number of interchangeable government operatives and this one had come to recruit Alex into TFV. That was almost five years ago now and he hadn’t looked back since.

A knock came at Alex’s door. He quickly scanned the clock; 2:31am was an odd time for a visitor at the door. He grabbed the Auto Mag and chambered a mag. The gun had an odd caliber (44 Magnum rounds were normally rimmed for use in revolvers, not semi-automatics) so this one required special cartridges and Alex always kept a magazine handy. He went to the door.

“Who is it?”

“Mr. Maverick.” Came back a voice with a strong Georgia drawl.

Alex opened the door and motioned his visitor inside. This particular Maverick he’d dealt with before, a dark haired mustached gentleman that seemed more at home in a recreation of the antebellum South than as a black ops government agent.

“I do hope that weapon is not for me.” Said Maverick playfully.

“Can’t be too careful in our line of work.” Alex ejected the mag and then slid back the slide, palming the chambered round. “Two in the morning is not exactly the time most people make social calls.”

“The United States government never sleeps.” Said Maverick. He tossed a folder onto the table next to Alex’s assorted handguns. “I read your initial report from Moscow. You believe Orlov is in Philadelphia?”

“It’s one of two options.” Said Alex. “The other is his birth city in Russia.”

“I have new orders for you. You and your squad are going after Orlov.”

“So soon? Why is he suddenly such a high priority target?”

“We have reason to suspect he’s procured a significant batch of surplus weaponry from the former Soviet army. That’s the reason he was in Moscow to begin with. If he’s brought them back here, he’s like to sell them to interested parties. With this Y2K crap and everybody going on about the end-of-the-world, Lord knows what manner of mischief those guns might cause.” Maverick paused to look Alex in the eye. “Besides, we all know what he really is and we all know that Philadelphia is swarming with all manner of Extra Normal Entities. Imagine them getting their hands on those weapons and you can bet the havoc that will cause.”

“I’ll get my team together.”

“Good. I’ll be your liaison in Philadelphia. You leave tomorrow.”

---

The planetarium at the Franklin Institute was closed this Sunday for reasons unstated. To any casual observer, there was nothing wrong with it, but it was closed nonetheless. Of course, the fact that the museum director was friend and servant of a powerful Consilium mage had nothing to do with anything.

Martin plopped down into a seat and rolled his eyes. Most of the other mages ignored him, Anna, and Mitch. They were still personae non gratae, at least officially, in the Consilium. Yet, despite that, they’d been summoned to this meeting.

Thaddeus Zao stood up in front of the group. The Hierarch looked tired and grumpy. He did not want to be here anymore than the rest of them. Moving beside him was Gretchen Mosley, the sub-Hierarch, a stately woman in her late 50s. Normally, she would linger in the background. That she was joining Zao center stage told Martin she was the one really running the show today.

“I have called you here today first off to offer the gratitude of the Consilium to our three most wayward members.” Zao relished the dig he got at Martin and his companions. “The shooting incident at Temple was resolved with minimal bloodshed thanks to their intervention.”

“Are we off the hook?” Anna barked loudly, interrupting the Hierarch.

Zao’s eyes flashed in anger. Whether at Anna’s interruption or at the fact that he was being forced to laud three mages he now loathed, Martin wasn’t sure. Either way, the Hierarch composed himself and continued.

“Which leads me to the second reason I’ve summoned the lot of you. It has become obvious that the Gauntlet between worlds is growing weaker. The spirit behind the incident at Temple was stopped, but it will not be the last. You need to be informed of the dangers. The spirit realm is going to begin spilling over into the material world with increasing frequency as time goes on.”

The room exploded in upheaval. Several of the mages shot to their feet, loudly accusing the Hierarch of all manner of malfeasance. Martin frowned. Now he knew why Mosley was front and center. Zao would have wanted to censor such news and keep it hidden from the rest of the Consilium. Such serious news would have only fueled the voices of dissension against Zao’s lackluster leadership further and that was exactly what was happening. If the Gauntlet was weakening, then the Brotherhood would undoubtedly take advantage, meaning the Consilium could no longer afford to wait things out. They had to act, the one thing Zao was always refusing to do.

“Why?” Martin barked over the din. If Anna could be bold, so could he.

The uproar in the room began to subside. Zao turned his attentions to Martin. “Excuse me, Mr. Lovejoy?”

“Why is the Gauntlet weakening?”

“Like all things magical, the Gauntlet is strengthened by the power of unbelief. Unbelief is weakening however. More and more people are buying into the hysteria surrounding the coming new year. This Y2k tech glitch along with the mad ravings of preachers and self-appointed prophets is convincing more and more people that the end of the world is truly at hand.”

“What nonsense.” Growled another mage. “It’s just a number. Besides, the Bible said that people would not know when Jesus would return. Of course, that’s presuming any of its real to begin with. And even if it were, the monks got it wrong. If this was about the end-of-the-world coming 2000 years after the birth of Christ, it would have happened three years ago.”

“None of that matters.” Said Mitch, speaking for the first time. “Fact is irrelevant. Truth is irrelevant. Perception and belief is what matters most here. We all know how unbelief works. The collective will of humanity enforces a scientific worldview upon us that denies the existence of anything supernatural. If that changes though and people begin believing in supernatural occurrences, unbelief will grow weaker. Magic will become easier and the barriers between this world and the spiritual realms that surround it will erode.”

“Which is precisely what’s happening.” Said Mosley. “The more people become convinced that something is going to happen on New Years Eve, the more likely something will.”

“You can bet money the Brotherhood will be behind whatever that is.” Added Martin.

“We have no evidence of Brotherhood activity at this time.” Interjected Zao. “And this is not the time for anything rash.” A collective groan went up from the crowd. “Since all this is tied to the new year, we may be able to wait things out. If nothing happens, and nothing will happen, things will restore to normal once the new year comes without incident. Until then, we plug holes where we can. Each of you will be responsible for keeping your eyes open for spiritual activity. Reporting it and resolving it as best you can. That is all.”

Martin stood up as the mages filtered out. “He’s like a broken record.” He growled. “Same shit. Different day.”

“When all you have is a hammer…” said Mitch. “Zao’s solution to every problem is the same. Ignore it, wait, and maybe it’ll go away.”

“He’s like a parent that won’t let his children grow up.” Added Anna. “Complaining about him isn’t changing things though. He’s losing his grip. Mosley’s going to take over soon.”

“Good.” Said Martin. “Because if the Gauntlet is getting weaker on this side, you can bet the Brotherhood’s pet demon is knocking on the other side looking for a way through. And God help us all if it finds one.”

---

Mitch kept his eyes open, glancing up and down the street. Night #2 of Club CRASS was quieter than the big opening, but it was still plenty busy and far busier than most any other club on this Sunday night. With the staff not completely in place, Michael had come to rely on his friends and his Carthian allies to fill in the gaps. Thus, Mitch found himself one of tonight’s front door bouncers.

Mitch was not a big man like Boar, but he carried himself with the smooth confidence of someone who knew what he was doing. And he also could project a sinister edge. After all, he was someone who had killed before and like the vampires he’d befriended, Mitch could project that truth in ways that made people not want to fuck with him. The line waiting to get in was impatient, but peaceful, so his job tonight was easy. It gave him something to do while he waited for midnight and Michael’s big meeting.

Inside, Michael was using this time to interview candidates for the various staffing positions that were still open. Mitch had waved in an attractive woman in her mid-40s just a few minutes earlier. Her name was Diane and she was one of the likely candidates for the club’s bookkeeper and accountant. Despite her age and the slight greying of her hair, Mitch found her quite attractive. Her cool demeanor only added to her allure. The ones that were harder to get were often the more desirable.

Mitch had been unwillingly off-the-market since his debacle with Trisha. He could, of course, snatch Anna out from under Martin with only the minimal effort of some playful banter, but down that road was far more trouble than it was worth. The whole rape accusation still hung over Mitch like a dark cloud and even if his potential girlfriends were ignorant of it, he wasn’t and he lived in the fear that they’d learn and things would go south again.

None of that however changed Mitch’s horn-dog nature. He’d been rather proud about being able to keep up with Michael’s rather prodigious sexual success and Mitch did it without the benefit of Daeva charm and good looks. But now, this dry spell had put him well behind, even with Michael cooling his habits for the sake of Sarah and Rebecca.

So Diane was one among many beautiful women that Mitch had been eyeballing throughout the night. Many of them were on the arm of another man and more than a few were attached to other women. But Mitch enjoyed his window shopping, reluctant for the time being to make a move.

A commotion caught Mitch’s eye across the street. It was at another nightclub, one of their competitors, where the bouncers were somewhat forcibly removing a visibly drunk and rather belligerent woman from the premises. Not an unusual site by any means, although true to his pattern, Mitch noted the woman was reasonably attractive. What caught his attention more than her beauty however were the four guys in a nearby alley who were watching her as well.

“Lopez,” Mitch turned to the Los Angeles gang member who was minding the front door with him, “I’m going to step off for a minute. If you need help, summon someone from inside.”

Lopez nodded and Mitch started dodging traffic to get across the street. By the time he made it across, the woman was gone as were the men. That was a red flag. She was going to be mugged, abducted, raped, or something nefarious. He was certain of that.

He looked about and tried to listen, and sure enough, he could hear the sounds of struggle from a nearby alley, just barely audible above the din of the traffic. He willed an incantation to life, trying to accelerate time around him so he could faster, more able to handle the four-on-one odds he was about to face. But the spell failed. Unbelief was too strong here for even the simplest of magic. He gritted his teeth and dashed towards the sound anyway.

The woman was on the ground behind a dumpster, far enough out of sight from the main street that passers-by would not notice anything amiss. Three of the four men were standing watch, while the fourth was beating the woman senseless. Mitch couldn’t tell from his initial observations what manner of crime they were up to, but he knew he had to stop it.

He considered his gun, but held off on drawing it. No sense escalating this to lethal force unless necessary. He stood at the end of the alleyway and rather than wait for the thugs to warn him off, he simply charged in.

The three guards were not expecting so immediate an attack, so Mitch took them by surprise. He jumped part way through his rush and slammed both feet into the chest of the middle guard, sending him flying across his partner behind him. Mitch was not a trained martial artist, so he did not land on his feet from that kick, but flopped onto the pavement and then scrambled to make his feet again.

That gave his foes the initiative back. The remaining two guards rushed him as he tried to stand up, raining blow after blow down on Mitch. He staggered back, trying to defend himself and trying to draw his foes back out into the street where they could be seen. Mitch didn’t get as far as he’d hoped, but someone saw what was happening because he sensed another presence behind him.

The loud cry of chi shout pierced his ears and the foe on his right suddenly ceased to be there. In his place was a diminutive young woman with pink punk-rock hair. She let out another shout and lashed out with her leg. There was the crack of breaking bone and suddenly Mitch’s leftmost opponent was no longer there.

Whoever this was, she was tough as nails. The four thugs abandoned their efforts and ran down the alley away from them.

“You okay?” said the woman.

“I’ll live. Had worse.” said Mitch. Satisfied with his answer, the woman moved over to the mugging victim. The brutes had beaten the woman unconscious. Mitch’s pink-haired rescuer pulled out her cell phone and dialled 911.

“That was very brave of you.” said the young woman. “Taking on four at once.”

“My strategy was off.” said Mitch, trying to work out the pain in his bruised and battered body. It didn’t seem anything was too badly damaged, certainly not compared to some of the injuries he’d endured over the years. “I was hoping they’d run after the first few blows. Guess I misjudged them.” Mitch leaned over the beaten woman. “How is she?”

“I can’t tell. Best for the paramedics to check on her. I’ll wait until they get here.”

“They shouldn’t be long.”

“Probably good for them to check you out.”

“I’ll be fine.” said Mitch confidently. “You’re a bit of a surprise.”

“Never underestimate what short people can do.” she joked. “I’m a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. Even competed a few times in regional tourneys. You’d never guess from looking at me.”

“No, no one would.” Mitch was about to share a bit about Sammy, about how tough she was despite her short stature, but the ambulance pulled up to the end of the alley and Mitch moved to motion the paramedics to them.

With them and the police now on the scene, Mitch made a quick and quiet exit back to Club CRASS. Rather than resume his post out front, he went inside, got a drink, and headed up to Michael’s office. Diane was just leaving after her interview.

“You look a little worse for wear.” said Michael when Mitch walked into the office.

Mitch slumped down into the sofa. “I tussled with some muggers outside.”

“Shouldn’t be any match for you.”

“Normally, no. But my magic failed me. If the subtle spells I was trying to cast fail, that means someone was watching me directly.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean something ominous.” said Michael grimly.

Mitch shrugged. “It could be anything. Some hottie may have just spotted me out of the corner of her eye and figured I was worth a looking over. That’s all it really takes to impose an extra dose of unbelief on a mage.”

“Phenomenal cosmic power...” Michael joked, beginning the quote from the Disney movie Aladdin.

“Yeah, but I can only cast my best spells when no one is looking.” grumbled Mitch. “No one ordinary anyway. You vampires don’t count.”

“We are magic...I guess. No one really knows.”

“It’s as good an explanation as anything. Fits the facts. Anyway, how are the interviews going?”

“Diane checked out nicely for our bookkeeper. I hired her.”

“You going to score her later? She’s nice looking for her age.”

“Maybe.” said Michael. “There are dangers in doing that between employers and employees.”

“As if that would stop you.”

“More dealing with the wrath of Sarah is what would stop me.”

“What’s next? We’re still over an hour from your meeting.”

“One more interview. For head bouncer. Things ran long with Diane so our next candidate should be here by now. What would keep someone from a late night interview?”

The elevator dinged open and the pink haired woman from across the street walked in. Mitch was surprised. “Well, hello again.” he said.

“Keri Cervantes?” Michael queried.

The woman nodded. “It seems you’ve met my associate, Mr. Mitchell.” Michael continued.

“I suppose you could call it that.” Keri half-joked.

“She’s the one that pulled my ass out of the fire with those muggers.”

“Really?” said Michael. He picked up her resume from the desk and flipped through it. “I take my friends’ recommendations very seriously, Miss Cervantes. When you help them, you help me.”

“You choose your friends well, Mr. Allens. It’s not everyone who’d chase down four muggers heedless of the danger to himself to rescue a stranger.”

“Is that the kind of person you are?”

“I try.”

“Fine. You’re hired. That’s easy. Go get yourself a drink downstairs and I’ll get the paperwork together.”

“Thanks.” Keri shrugged, clearly not expecting this go quite that smoothly.

“Mind some company?” said Mitch, coming to his feet. Somewhat gingerly, given his injuries.

“Sure.” The two boarded the elevator together and headed downstairs.

“Thanks for the endorsement.” Keri said to him.

“Hey, you’re the one who came in and kicked a bunch of ass.”

“You looked like you needed help. I saw you cross the street. Something about it said there was trouble about. I get an instinct for these things.”

“So you were the one watching me.” Mitch grumbled in his head. “Well, that’ll serve you well in this job.” he said aloud.

“You work here too?”

“When Michael needs me to. We just opened last night and staff is still short.”

“Well, my inclusion doesn’t help that much.” She cracked a smile. “Get it? You're still short.” She waved her hand at forehead height to demonstrate she was making a pun about her height.

Mitch laughed. “You said it. Not me.”

“If you can’t laugh at yourself...”

It was about then that it hit him. “Jesus, Mitch, you’re losing your touch. This chick is into you.” The elevator doors opened and the two headed out into the club.

Mitch hit the bar and ordered drinks for both of them. “Welcome aboard.”

“So do I call you Mr. Mitchell or do you have a more familiar name?”

“Friends call me Mitch.”

“Does that make me a friend?”

“You could be more than that if you want.”

“Aren’t we forward?”

“You just told me you’ve been watching me most of the night. What am I supposed to think?”

“I’d say your strategy with me is a lot sharper than it was with those creeps outside. I like bold men, particularly when that boldness is not just in words, but in actions.”

Mitch took a swig of his drink. “Well, let’s try this on then. You, me, dinner sometime?"

Keri smiled. "I think we can manage that."

The barkeep walked over to them. “Boss is ready for you. Paperwork and all.” he said to Keri.

“So, as I understand it, the club here is closed on Mondays.” Keri stood up to go back upstairs. “That means I’m off work tomorrow. Meet me here at 6?”

“Sure.”

---

At around 11:30pm, Mitch made his way back upstairs. Some of the other Invaders had already arrived for Michael’s meeting and were mingling downstairs in the club. But Mitch was eager to talk to Michael before the business of the night really began.

“I wanted to catch your ear before the rest of the crew got here.” Said Mitch as he emerged from the elevator.

“You want to ask me not to pursue Ms. Cervantes.” Said Michael, not looking up from his desk.

“Is that a problem?”

Michael looked up from his affairs and gave Mitch a hard look. “You’re oddly stand-offish about this. When I have ever stolen someone out from under you?”

Mitch shrugged. “Never, but then you’ve never had to. I’ve spent the last half-dozen years in your shadow, scooping up your leftovers.” Mitch was surprised at how suddenly angry he felt and how angry he sounded.

Michael took it in stride. “It’s funny how life ebbs and flows. When I met you, all those years ago, and I saw how popular you were with the ladies, I envied you. I wanted to be you. Deborah’s embrace gave me that chance and I done my best not to squander that gift. Now the tide has turned and it is jealousy I hear on your voice.” Michael paused. “You never seemed to mind my ‘leftovers’ before. Why would now be different?”

Mitch shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m being stupid, but here she was, in this room, with the two of us, and she could barely take her eyes off me. With you, the Daeva Adonis in front of her.”

“You make it sound like it was a bad thing. She’s into you. That’s good.”

“It doesn’t seem real.”

“This isn’t about me.” Said Michael, coming around his desk to stand in front of Mitch. “This is about that damned rape accusation. You’re starting to sound like Sarah, all full of second-guessing and self-doubt. This isn’t you.”

“Maybe it should be.” Said Mitch. “Amy was into me and it was all to frame me so Walsh could take me out of the picture and hurt you. Anna was into me, but it was all to get Martin to stop being such a dipshit. Trisha was into me, until she learned…” Mitch shook his head again in frustration. “I’m either a tool or terrifying.”

“Or you’re a good looking guy with a lot of great qualities like bravery, loyalty, tenacity. Keri’s chosen you. Stop questioning that.”

Mitch shrugged again, unconvinced. “I just feel like the stakes are changing. Boar put a rock on Natasha’s finger. You are functionally ‘settled down’ with Rebecca and Sarah. That leaves me high and dry out here by myself.”

Michael looked at Mitch incredulously and then began to laugh. “Is that really what this is about?”

“I’m 27 years old, Michael. Maybe it is time to put away the whole new-girl-every-week bit.”

“Aren’t we jumping the gun? You haven’t even had your first date with Keri yet.”

“Maybe, but it also might help to go in knowing what I really want.”

Michael smiled. “Dude, you’re one of my best friends. Whatever you feel you need to do, I’m here for you. If you want to find out with Keri or anyone is ‘the one,’ go for it. You have my backing.”

The elevator dinged and the first batch of their friends and allies embarked into the office: Boar, Solomon, Julia, and Rebecca. A few minutes after that, they were joined by Damian Drake, Paul, and Kathleen.

“Well, Mr. Drake, it’s been a while. How are things in Washington?”

Well, it did take me longer than I anticipated to secure some assistance from the secret parts of our government that the high-and-mighty pretend don’t exist, but I was successful in the end. I am glad that my delays did not hinder your progress none.” Damian looked around. “This is a fine establishment here.”

“Thanks.”

The elevator dinged again and the last of their company emerged: Sarah.

“You’re wearing the same dress as last night.” Said Rebecca off-handedly. A devilish grin crossed her face.

It took Michael a minute to realize why Rebecca would make so obvious an observation. She had not returned to their haven after the club closed the night before; She had spent the day in someone else’s company.

“Well, we’re all here. The primary reason I’ve called this meeting is because of a new threat that Julia and Solomon have uncovered. Julia, why don’t you explain?”

“Well, most of you know I was a hunter in my mortal life. I still maintain some tenuous grasp of their world and access to their methods of communications. After Mitch learned that the Ashwood Abbey and the Malleus Malificarum have ties to our various enemies, I began scanning the Internet message boards for hunter activity germane to Philadelphia and to us. A few days ago I got a hit. Looks like the Malleus have brought in a heavy hitter from Boston. A guy by the name of David Hemmingway.”

“One of their top vampire hunters.” Added Michael. He rubbed his hand together nervously before speaking again. “What makes this guy a serious threat is not only is he a potent asset to a powerful hunter conspiracy, but he’s also someone I knew in my mortal life. He is targeting me specifically.”

“Well,” Rebecca spoke up. “It’s some consolation, Michael, that you are not the person you once were. I was a part of your mortal life as well and I would never have guessed the suave libertine nightclub owner before me was the person I used to know back then.”

“Hemmingway is one problem.” Said Mitch. “But he implies a larger issue. There’s something in the air. People are getting nervous. Jittery. And it’s having a metaphysical effect. The Consilium is concerned that the Gauntlet is weakening.”

“Gauntlet?” asked Solomon.

“The barrier between this material world and the spiritual realms that interact with it.” Interjected Sarah. “The reason we don’t see elemental spirits or ghosts or demons or fae or things like them everyday is because of the Gauntlet. It keeps them out.”

“That explains what happened at St. Agnes.” Said Boar. He then went on to explain about the fire elemental that emerged when his pack drove out the Abbey from their club house.

“And the mad shooter at Temple the other day.” Added Mitch. “We’re starting to have ‘incidents’ like these all over the city. It’s going to snowball.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s end-of-the-world hysteria. People have convinced themselves that something is going to happen on New Years Eve. Party like it’s 1999 because it’s all gonna end.” Said Mitch. “The more people who believe that, the weaker Unbelief becomes and the weaker Unbelief becomes, the weaker the Gauntlet. Spirits start slipping through. Unexplained events go up. People start to believe more of this end-times garbage and the Gauntlets gets even further weakened. Snowball effect.”

“The more incidents, the more nervous the hunters get.”

“All part of it.” Said Mitch. “Bad news for us.”

“Maybe that’s the point.” Said Paul. “If the supernatural world spills over into the real world and chaos erupts, would that give Walsh his excuse to or at least cover for moving against Monroe?”

“It might be worse than that.” Added Mitch. “The Dark Brotherhood’s patron, whatever spirit it is, might be able to cross over into our world.”

“Maybe they’re the same thing.” Said Kathleen.

“Explain.” Said Michael.

“We’ve long suspect Walsh and the Brotherhood are in cahoots together. What if the demon has offered something to Walsh in exchange for the vampire’s help in getting into this world? What if that gift is what he needs to destroy Monroe?”

“Seems an awfully complicated plan. Monroe’s not that invulnerable.” Damian scoffed.

“Maybe.” Said Boar. “Maybe we’re wrong in the details, but right in the generalities. All the old tales of demons in folklore had them making bargains. I’ll give you this if you do that. Faust and all the others fit that old pattern. This sounds like it does too.”

“What can we do about it?” said Sarah.

“Kill the Brotherhood.” Said Solomon. “The demon’s connection to this world is through them, not Walsh.”

Michael nodded. “Then they’re our next target.”

“Where do we find them?” asked Rebecca.

Michael looked at Mitch. Mitch shook his head. “The Consilium is not happy with me right now. I’ve involved two of their junior mages too much in our affairs and all three of us are under censure. We’ll find no help from them.”

“Yes, we will.” contradicted Michael confidently. “We’ve just got to figure out how to persuade them.”

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