Chapter I

A Day’s Work

Often in life we find ourselves making odd choices. We put ourselves in the midst of things we dislike, even detest, for the sake of doing something we feel is important. The more one works to remove an action, a presence, or a state of being, the more one may find oneself surrounded by it, immersed in a world composed of the very thing that person is trying so hard to eliminate. This is the strange dichotomy of those that work to change the world for the better: they find themselves by their own doing surrounded by that which they may detest the most.

Case in point: Will hated guns.

The young man had previously been a police officer, an idealistic individual driven to help others in the crime-ridden city he grew up in. He knew that serving the public trust was a task that was undertaken but never truly done. This had not hindered his determination in the least: as a rookie cop William Thatcher was honest, sharp-minded, and brave.

His tenure with the Ylelon City Police Department had nevertheless been brief. Too many of the other people there were not as devoted to their duties as they were to abusing their power. Will may have been idealistic, but he was not naïve. He knew that his time with the force would be limited, one way or another: sooner or later, the corruption around him, whether within or without his own precinct, would lead to serious conflict.

Will’s time with the YCPD had thus ended over two years ago, yet he was still surrounded by wickedness in his nightly life. Wickedness, and a lot of guns.

Every night, Will prepared himself for one more night of fighting a battle that could never truly be won. He did this preparation in a truly unique room, a massive vault that was as much a museum as it was an arsenal. The Armory, as it was called by those who knew of it, was a space large enough to contain most ordinary houses. The walls were bare, painted a lifeless brown: the floor, concrete. Overhead buzzed a grid fixture of uncovered fluorescent lighting. Below ran row upon row of glass display cases filled with virtually every object of mayhem one could imagine. Starting at one end of the room, one could view the very earliest instruments of conflict: simple stone axes and spears, graduating to bows and atlatls. Walking from case to case was a journey through the eras of warfare. Here was the Bronze Age, here Iron: in one case, a crossbow, a row over, a blunderbuss. On ran the catalog of death through the ages, up to the implements of modern arsenals, including some models that were still considered experimental and in some cases, highly secret: a rail gun that could be carried by a single man, an experimental particle beam weapon.

Every night Will engaged in the same ritual: marching past the rows of display cases to a vault door on one wall near the back of the room. After opening the door with an access code entered into a security panel on the wall, Will would retrieve special ammunition from the room within. The space was long and narrow, lined with shelves stacked high with countless containers of ammunition for virtually every weapon found in the outer room. Will only used a specific set of ammunition, custom rounds meant specifically for his sidearms. Every night without fail he took a box of these bullets from the vault and carried them to a work table at the back of the great Armory. There he loaded clips for his pistols, which were themselves unique. They were sleek, black, and heavy, notably void of any serial number or distinguishing marks. He also kept a long knife with a singular shine in a sheath in one boot. Once he was satisfied that he was suitably armed, Will returned what munitions remained to the vault and locked it again. Such had been his habit for many months, every night without break, without fail: a man who detested guns and other weapons for the harm they could bring to people, surrounding himself with them.

On this particular evening, after fully thirteen months of observing this lonely ritual, Will finished his preparations and left the Armory. The front doors of the room were quite unusual, like so much else in this place: doubled blast doors that slid horizontally into the thick walls of the building at Will’s approach.

Will walked with his eyes lowered. Long gone was his police uniform, now sitting unused on a storage closet shelf in his old precinct. Now he dressed in black, the better to blend into the night he worked so fervently in. He wore a long black trench coat with many additional pockets sewn into the lining, the better to hold his extra ammunition, as well as dark sunglasses. Will’s skin was pale after so much time sleeping in the day and going out in the evening, a sharp contrast to his dark apparel. His blonde hair, once worn long and wavy, was now kept short and spiky for quick maintenance.

Stepping out of the Armory was like stepping into a different world. Beyond the sterile arsenal was a vast foyer, framed by two massive curving staircases that led to a second-floor balcony. Rich carpet covered the floor and all of the décor was in warm colors. If the Armory was huge, the Foyer was truly enormous, open and empty to the second floor ceiling fully four stories high. Great hallways like tunnels led down vast wings both above and below the balcony. Opposite the Armory entrance was a set of finely-carved doors that seemed tiny set into their high, bare wall.

Will was approaching these doors when he saw George. He slowed to a stop and waited, dreading a confrontation but not sure how to avoid it.

At first glace, there was little to George. One might guess him to be a man of robust health in his 60’s. He was short and mostly bald, with only a light ring of silver hair running around the side of his head. Large, horn-rimmed glassed framed thoughtful eyes. It was the man’s custom to dress in bizarre, clashing outfits, as he did now in a green polo shirt, faded jeans and blue sneakers. He had been waiting for Will just outside the Armory doors. There was silence for a moment as he looked at Will with the odd expression of paternal concern he so often wore.

“You’re going out again?” he finally asked. “You could take a break tonight, you know. One evening of rest won’t hurt anyone.”

“I can’t take that risk,” Will said softly. “You used to say yourself, this isn’t a job we can take breaks from, or chances with.”

“I regret saying some of that now.”

Will sighed. “I don’t have time for this, George. Sundown is in less than an hour. I need to be going.”

“Can I talk you into at least taking someone with you? Jake is busy, but I’m pretty sure Marc is sober. For Marc, anyway…”

“Marc has all the subtlety of a tank platoon,” Will chided. “I need to blend in.”

“Blend in? Look at you--spiky blonde hair, black trench coat, sunglasses--you look like the hero of a bad cyberpunk novel!”

Will took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He and George had been through this conversation many times nearly verbatim. He walked past George toward the front doors.

“You know,” George said without turning around. Will froze in place with his hand on the doorknob. “It’s been said that a fanatic is one who redoubles his efforts while losing sight of his goals.”

Will turned, took off his sunglasses, and looked George in the eye. “And those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it.”

“Damn. I knew I shouldn’t have left my philosophy books out where you could find them.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Will said as he walked out the front doors.

His car was parked out front, sporty, sleek and glossy black: an LMB 5000 Hartebeest. Will looked about the grounds at the tall grass, the changing leaves of the sparse trees, the setting sun. As well-kept and stately as the house and its grounds were, the beauty seemed to have gone out of them. Everything seemed less beautiful and lonelier since he had lost Tina.

Even the Mansion itself seemed dreary in the fading light. The colossal building was a solid block of a house, built of bricks and marble. In daylight, its many tall windows and central door were inviting and displayed a quiet architectural elegance, but in the gathering gloom the Mansion looked like a derelict ship, stranded and forgotten in the heart of the desert.

Will closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself. Then he got into his car and pulled away from the house, rounding the circular drive that came nearly to the front steps on his way toward the main gate. He drove very slowly, pausing only long enough to activate the gate remote. Then he was rolling down the dusty road that led away from the immense and strangely named George Manor.

George watched him go through the towering windows of his Study on the second floor to the east of the Foyer. His eyes followed the black speck crawling across the dun-colored desert until it vanished over the horizon.

Remember your own words, my friend, he thought glumly. This sort of bull-headed determination is what caused us to lose Tina.

George decided then that he could use a stiff drink.

Will drove slowly, alone with his thoughts. The only sound in the car’s gray interior was the muffled drone of the engine and plik-plik-plik of sand blowing against the doors. A confrontation with George was the last thing he had wanted this evening. Such interventions on the old man’s part brought back too many bad memories. Will knew he meant well and probably didn’t understand why Will was always so angry with him, even after all that had happened.

The corruption in the police force had not been the only reason Will had left them. Once upon a time, a young and idealistic rookie cop named William Thatcher had been introduced by his partner, one Samuel King, to George and what he did. George and his associates were servants of the people like the police should be, but they did things even the cops couldn’t. There were no bribes being taken or abuse of power among this tiny group: just an open and honest determination to do the right thing for the sake of the common good. More than that, there was Tina.

She was lovely, sweet, gentle and brave. Will had never met anyone so full of life, yet so willing to risk that life to help others. A fast friendship grew between them and soon afterward, love. Though some of the others worried that they were moving too fast, Will and Tina were confident that their relationship was soundly built. Besides, they reasoned, what they did was dangerous. Life might well be too short to move at a cautious pace. It wasn’t long before Will officially resigned from the YCPD and moved out into the desert, into George Manor.

Will still remembered those days fondly. All of George’s students worked together then as a team, a well-oiled machine. They lived in the immense Manor where their every need was provided for. They trained together, fought together, gave Will the purpose he had so longed for while struggling against the evil in the city. He was a young man in love, doing what he felt was right.

Then Tina was killed.

Will couldn’t take the silence anymore. In a desperate effort to drown out his thoughts, he clicked on the radio.

“…listening to XRCK, X-Rock! Coming up next is the number one hit by Philched Karbon Byrdhowsse, ‘Your Love Whacked Me Upside the Head!’”

This wasn’t the sort of distraction Will had been hoping for.

He ran the dial around until he found some classical piano music. Ahead of him on the horizon loomed the city of Ylelon. The sprawling metropolis had its southern and western edges on the ocean, and stretched for miles to the north and east. Skyscrapers dominated its skyline and countless houses laid close together in urban sprawl were just beginning to fade from sight in the gathering twilight. The sky was deepening in color from red to purple and the chain of mountains that boxed in the desert became great burgundy shadows on the horizon. In the sky above both moons began to shine with their respective colors--blue and green, and a deep red.

Will couldn’t help but feel his spirits lighten just a little. With the music playing and surrounded by the beauty of the desert, he was reminded of his belief that there is always goodness in life if one can only find it. There were times that even he had to reflect on how careless his actions were, foraying into the city without the team, stubbornly determined to do a job that was almost suicidal. Then he reached the end of the dirt road from the Mansion where it merged with the highway and determination filled him again. If Will had to suffer loss, he would at least make sure no one else did.

The highway ran west by northwest, a simple four-lane affair used mostly by trucks bringing ore from and supplies to the mining towns in the mountains. It was deserted now, which was the way Will liked it.

He came to the edge of town right as the last sliver of the sun vanished beneath the horizon. Almost immediately he went from being alone on the road to being in the middle of weekend traffic. It took him another half-hour of driving to reach his final destination.

Will had a regular circuit, a series of places he would investigate while he worked. On this list were various nightclubs, bars and even the city library. He usually chose the places he went to on a given night by instinct. Tonight he was headed for a singles bar that sat not quite in the seedier part of town called The Wet Whistle.

Wet Whistle, Hartebeest, Philched Karbon Byrdhowsse, Will thought as he parked in the bar’s side lot. What is it with people giving things stupid names these days? He checked his gear again and went inside.

The Wet Whistle’s décor was done in cool colors with a lot of glass surfaces. Everything seemed to be either transparent or severely backlit. Here and there high-mounted TVs that were too small to see and too quiet to hear showed news, sports and sitcoms that no one really cared to watch. The place was easily large enough for sixty people, but the crowd tonight was about half that many.

Will strolled in and made his way to a side booth. When a waitress came by he ordered a soda and gave her a very generous tip. Then he settled in and watched the crowd one person at a time, taking in each individual’s appearance and mannerisms. He was looking for certain telltale behaviors that would give a specific sort away and mark a target. It wasn’t long before one presented itself.

He came in about a half-hour after Will did, a twenty-something fellow of average height, wearing a powder blue shirt and jeans. He made a play at socializing, introducing himself here and making small talk there, but the sharp, predatory way in which he eyed others as he moved around the room made one thing perfectly clear to Will: he was prowling for a victim.

Will watched him for twenty minutes before he finally zeroed in on a target, a young woman sitting alone in a booth. She was strikingly beautiful, with fiery red hair that hung down nearly to her waist. The man approached her as she sat quietly, apparently lost in thought. When he spoke to her, she looked at him briefly with an odd, blank expression, then smiled brightly and motioned for him to sit.

Damn, thought Will. He had hoped the man would leave alone, which would make him much easier to trail and deal with.

As Will watched, the two of them made small talk, laughing at each other’s jokes and nodding sagely at each other’s abbreviated life story. Soon the man leaned forward and said something with a smirk. The woman gave him a coy look, said something back and to Will’s dismay they got up and began to leave together.

Damn it, Will thought.

He waited until they had gone, then got up and hurried out. The number of people on the sidewalk had tripled since he had gone inside. The crowd was oppressively thick and fast moving. Will might have given up hope of finding the couple if he had not known what to look for. He raised to his tiptoes and cast his gaze up and down the street until he saw a shock of red hair. They were moving briskly through the crowd, heading into a less favorable part of town.

Will was off after them, dodging and darting through the crowd as quickly as he could without slamming into anyone. Even moving at his best pace, he was having trouble keeping them in sight. He chased them for three blocks before they turned right at a corner, heading out of the crowd down a smaller street. Will didn’t know whether to be relieved that they were now out of the thoroughfare or dismayed that they were quickly disappearing into the maze-like overbuilt downtown. He decided to stick to the practical problem of keeping up with them now and worry about other things later.

He turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. They were nowhere to be seen. The street stretched out before him, wide and nearly empty. A stark contrast to the neon-emblazoned nightclub district he had just left, it was lined on both sides with one-story buildings housing small businesses, most of them with bars in the windows and screens on the doors. Will was wondering what to do next when a pained cry from a narrow alley entrance just ahead of him gave him the lead he needed.

In a flash he had his guns out and dashed for the alleyway. He rounded the corner and was shocked when his target landed in a heap at his feet. He stared dumbfounded, first at the motionless form in front of him, then at the young woman. She was standing dead center in the alley with her arms crossed, looking very pleased with herself.

Will’s target sprang to his feet with astonishing speed. He lunged at Will, hate blazing in his cold eyes and baring his teeth. Will didn’t have time to bring his pistols to bear. He instinctively raised his arms between himself and his opponent, who grasped his wrists with vise-like strength and forced them apart with ease. Will was held with his arms spread-eagle, unable to defend himself or flee. The man was as strong as a bull. As he leaned forward Will braced himself for the pain he knew was coming.

At the last instant, he felt the grip on his wrists disappear. His attacker suddenly hurled backwards as though he had been thrown, flipped head-over-heels in midair and slammed into a utility pole next to the building to Will’s left. The attacker let out a cry of pain and fell to the ground. He gathered himself up slowly and rose to one knee, his head hung low.

It was the pause that Will needed. He raised his pistols and took aim at the ominously still, crouching figure. He was too slow: his target sprang again, this time at the woman. Will reflexively pulled both triggers, knowing in that instant that there was almost no way he could save her.

He needn’t have worried. His target stopped in mid-lunge, hanging in empty air several inches above the ground and a good three steps in front of his victim. One of Will’s shots missed, but the other one caught him in his side as he flailed his arms in a rage, trying to reach the woman. He howled in agony and turned his head toward Will to unleash a barrage of barely coherent curses and threats. The foul odor of charred flesh filled the air.

Will looked at the woman again. She was still facing him with her arms crossed. When she saw the expression on Will’s face, she crooked her head and smiled.

When she tilted her head, the monster lashed out at her again, scraping her earlobe with his nails. She flinched away with a yelp, stumbling over her own feet and falling against the wall behind her. In that same instant the monster dropped to its feet with a triumphant snarl and pounced. Two more shots rang out as it bore down on her and Will’s rounds tore through the brute’s torso, burning his flesh. He let out a final shriek as his momentum carried him toward his would-be victim, then toppled forward and smacked into the wall beside her. The creature lulled as though staggered by the impact and then slumped over across the woman’s lap.

The woman’ face twisted in disgust as she heaved the thing off of herself, letting it roll onto the alley floor and lay still. The bullet wounds smoldered as though they had been inflicted by red-hot irons. The woman simply brushed at her clothing, dusting away tiny clumps of ash. She looked mildly annoyed but no worse for wear.

Will re-holstered his arms, walked over and offered her a hand despite the throbbing in his wrists. She regarded him with her smug expression, then took his hand and stood.

“Thanks,” she said caustically. “I could have handled that, you know.”

Will looked from her, to the still-smoking corpse on the ground and back. “You think?”

“Hey, I had everything under control before you came barging into the alley!”

“Was that before or after that ear-splitting scream you let out a moment ago?”

The woman huffed and turned to walk away from him. “Look, just mind your own business, ok? I can take care of myself.”

“Leaving bars with strangers that intend to attack you?” Will said. “I’d hardly call that taking care of yourself.”

“Says the guy running around with guns in this neighborhood. You’re just asking for trouble, you know. You think I don’t know what we just did? You think you’re the hero running to the rescue?” The woman leaned forward and looked Will right in his eye despite his sunglasses. “You’re doing this alone, and think that what I’m doing is dangerous?”

It would be an exaggeration to say that Will took much pride in anything about himself. He had too much humility (and slightly too little self-esteem) to really be proud, but he did have a certain confidence in his own level-headedness. In violent, stressful or just plain weird situations Will knew he could remain calm and collected when many people might panic. That was why standing here staring at this woman and not being able to think of what to say or do was very frustrating for him.

“Is something wrong?” she finally asked. Will tried to evaluate the situation levelly. Normally, he would make sure there had been no witnesses and then find a way to dispose of the body. This usually involved checking it for I.D., stripping it and then hiding it or if possible, destroying it with fire. Of course, standing here gawking at an obvious witness didn’t leave him much opportunity to dispose of the “evidence.” As he saw it, he had only one option.

“We need to be moving,” he said abruptly. He took hold of her arm and began to march her toward the other end of the alley.

“What’s the rush?” she asked. “I doubt anyone will call the cops over shots in this neighborhood.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is? Getting me someplace out of the way so you can convince me I didn’t just see what I saw? Or are you just hoping for a little more action?”

He stopped and gave her a sharp look. His reward was more of that self-satisfied, cocky smirk.

“I knew that would get your attention,” she said. “Look, there’s no one left here who can complain about the gunshots” (she glanced at the body), “there’s obviously no need to try to talk me down out of some hysteria and we both want to find out more about what’s going on, so relax, all right?”

Ok, Will thought, taking a deep breath. The danger’s past, and however she did that--whatever she is--

“I’m Cynthia,” she said abruptly. Realizing how rude he was being, he shook her hand.

“I’m Chett.”

“Well, Chett, is there someplace you can think of that we could relax and talk?”

“We could go back to the Wet Whistle,” Will suggested.

“Ah,” said Cynthia. “So you followed me clear from there?”

Damn! Will thought. “Er…what I mean is…” he stammered, “I go there to hang out sometimes…”

“It’s all right. I saw you there,” Cynthia said.

“You did?”

“Looking like that?” she asked incredulously. “You aren’t exactly subtle, you know. You look like something out of a bad novel.”

Will blinked twice.

“You might as well wear a neon sign saying ‘monster killer’,” she continued, then walked past him toward the end of the alley. After a moment’s pensiveness, he ran to catch up.

“How do you know about vampires?” he asked.

“You just saw me throw around a walking corpse with nothing but willpower and you’re surprised I know there are weird things in this world? Anybody ever tell you that you’re very naïve?”

“Every day of my life,” Will said absently. “Did you know he was a vampire when you left with him?”

“Of course.”

“How?”

“What? You mean aside from the beautiful tan and the minty-fresh breath? I read his aura.”

“His aura? Is that some new age thing?”

“Nothing new age about it,” Cynthia snapped. “I’m psychic, moron. How do you think I was throwing that guy around?”

“I didn’t know. Some things occurred to me, but...”

“It’s called telekinesis. Moving things with my mind. Get it?”

“Yeah,” Will said. George was a walking library of data on paranormal phenomena and the supernatural. Will was pretty sure he’d heard him mention telakawhatsit now and again.

“I can do that, and I can read auras,” Cynthia said, once again sounding very pleased with herself. “I could tell he was dead by looking at his aura the same way I can tell how thrown you are by yours.”

“Really,” said Will. “What else can you tell about me, just by looking?”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Cynthia said, wagging a finger. “That would be telling.”

By now they were around the corner and back in the crowds. They walked in silence until they came to the Wet Whistle. Will opened the door and stepped aside.

“After you,” he said.

“A gentleman after all.” She led him through the crowd toward the booth where she had sat before. Will caught himself reflexively scanning the crowd again, taking in each face, each style of dress, each manner of motion. He snapped his attention back to the present and sat across from Cynthia.

“So,” he said, keeping his voice low, “Why did you go with him if you knew he was,” he glanced around to make sure no one might overhear them, “dangerous?”

“To take him out,” Cynthia said. She made no effort to keep her voice low.

Will’s eyes widened slightly. “I suppose that’s what one does in a place like this, but--”

“No, dumbass! To get rid of him. I was bored, he came on to me with some really lame lines, what else was I going to do?”

Will stared at her, speechless.

“What?” she said.

“You went into a bad part of town with a...guy...that you knew was dangerous just so you could ‘have some fun’?”

“Well, like you said, that’s what one does in a place like this.”

“This isn’t funny,” Will said. “You could have been hurt, or worse. This isn’t something you should be playing around with.”

“Who are you to lecture me?” Cynthia snapped. “I’ve been doing this for years. I’ve never had any problems, and I’ve never run into anything that could take me. I’m in less danger using my mind to fight these things than you are using your little guns.”

“That scratch on your ear says otherwise,” Will said. Cynthia put a hand to her ear, where a small but very conspicuous trickle of blood had dried on the lobe. She scraped it away with her fingernail, then gave Will an oddly hollow look.

“Would you excuse me?” he asked, feeling the need to put some space between the two of them.

“I need to make a phone call.”

“Be my guest,” she replied. For the first time, her voice was completely empty of any inflection. It was flat and lifeless, as though she were in a trance.

Will got up, made his way through the crowd to the phones, picked up a receiver and dropped in some loose change. When the vid-screen prompted him, he selected audio only. Then he dialed a number and waited. Within moments he heard George’s plucky voice on the line.

“George Manor, there is no parking.”

Will sighed.

“Will?” George blurted. “Izat you? Everything ok?”

“I’m not really sure. We have a bit of a situation here.”

“Are you hurt? Trouble with the police?”

“No,” Will said levelly. “We have a witness.”

“Someone saw you in action? Will, you’re better than this.”

“I know.”

“This sort of thing can cause all sorts of problems--”

“I know,” Will said again, massaging his temple.

George sighed. “All right, who was it?”

“A would-be victim,” Will replied, glancing about to make certain no one in the crowd was close enough to overhear. “I saw her leave the Whistle with a vampire. I followed them toward the docks, and it attacked her in an alley.”

“Is she all right?”

“She’s fine. She took care of it.”

“She took care of it? How?”

“She has telekawhatsit,” Will said.

“Really?” said George. He suddenly sounded very interested. “What did she do? Levitate a piece of wood and stake it?”

“No, she threw him around. I‘ve never seen anything like it.”

“She’s that powerful?”

“I guess so. But it almost got her when she got cocky and I had to gun it down.”

“She saw you use the guns.”

“Well, I was considering letting it eat her first, but that would defeat the purpose of my going out tonight, wouldn’t it?”

“Easy, Will,” George said. “First thing’s first. If neither of you are physically hurt, then you need to be certain of her state of mind.”

“Oh, her state of mind is just fine,” Will grumbled.

“Good. That being the case, I don’t think we have to worry too much about her saying anything.”

“Are...you sure?” Will asked. This sounded too easy.

“What is she going to say? ‘I was fighting off a vampire with my amazing psychic powers last night, when a mysterious stranger appeared and destroyed it with silver bullets.’”

“On the plus side, she doesn’t know they’re silver,” said Will.

“You see? Progress. Make double sure she’s ok, then head back whenever you’re ready.”

“Right,” Will said, gazing at Cynthia. She was absent-mindedly watching the crowd as she had when he first saw her--at once thoughtful and strangely empty.

“George? How much do you know about psychic powers?”

“Oooh...a little,” George said.

Will suppressed a sigh. This was another of George’s annoying traits. Whenever he wanted to fake modest knowledge regarding something he actually knew volumes about, he always said, “Oooh...a little.”

“All right, I’ll see you in a while,” Will said, and hung up.

He walked slowly through the crowd back to Cynthia’s booth, never taking his eyes off of her. Her gaze continued to wander the room, never stopping but never focusing on anything in particular. She glanced up suddenly just as he reached his seat and looked him in the eye. Slowly, she smiled.

“So, who did you call?” she asked with a playful tone.

“A friend,” he said as he retook his seat.

“Still mysterious. You do realize how annoying it is when you won’t give straight answers?”

“Possibly,” Will said. In spite of himself, he smiled.

“You’re just full of surprises,” Cynthia said wryly.

“I aim to please, ma’am,” Will said, tipping an imaginary hat.

“You certainly do. I assume you’ll be leaving us now?”

“Actually, yeah. Will you be here again tomorrow?”

“Only if you will.”

“I can’t guarantee it.”

“Ok, be that way,” Cynthia said, smirking.

“I’ll see you around,” Will said as he started to get up.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Cynthia said, and Will stopped short. “Don’t you want my number?” Will crooked an eyebrow.

“For emergencies, moron,” she said. “You gotta admit, I could be handy to have around in your line of work.”

Good point, Will thought. This way I could keep an eye on her--or at least check every now and again to see if she’s still alive.

“Ok,” he said. She produced a small notepad and a mechanical pencil from a pocket and flipped it open to a random page. She scrawled out her name and a local number, tore out the page and presented it to Will.

“There you go,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said as he tucked it into a front pocket.

“Aren’t you going to give me yours?” asked Cynthia.

“I really can’t,” Will said.

“Oh, c’mon,” Cynthia said. “At least tell me how to get to the general area where you live, just in case.”

Will paused. She was obviously trying to get contact information out of him, but why? At any rate, he had screwed up enough tonight. He couldn’t betray his team by letting her find out any more about himself.

“Sorry,” he said. “But I’ll be sure to watch for you when I’m here again. It’ll probably be a few days.”

“All right,” Cynthia said, sounding disappointed.

“See you around, and be careful,” Will said, turning and walking away.

“I will,” Cynthia said. “Take care of yourself, Chett.”

At least I did something right tonight, Will thought as he waded through the crowd to the door. His drive back home was quiet and uneventful. Instead of listening to the radio and letting his thoughts wander to come down like he usually did, he found himself thinking about Cynthia. He didn’tknow whether to be amazed at her powers, worried for sake of her carelessness or irritated at hercallousness. He also found himself wondering if she was actually as shallow as she allowed herself to seem. Did she really leave a singles bar with a dangerous monster just out of boredom? Was there a reason she sat in a place where lives go to touch each other, yet seemed so distant?

Chapter I

A Day’s Work

More to come...