Night Shift

Why?

I didn't know, and I didn't care. For that one moment, someone looked into my eyes and saw past every wall I'd ever built to protect myself. And I could swear I saw past every wall he'd ever built in his head too, and that something in me—something deep and buried, something bruised and battered but still strong—recognized him.

Knew him. Somehow.

What the hell?

"I'll be back." He rose in a swift wave, letting go of the gun, and was gone through the shattered door into the back yard, his shadow briefly made of black paper against the grayness of a thunderlit dawn. The air swirled with electricity.

I shut my eyes. Storm coming. Probably hit this afternoon, I can feel the pressure shifting.

Why did he do that?

The shrieking, gibbering animal part of me didn't care. Blood soughed in my veins, and my skin crackled with drying sweat and other slick drying fluids. I heard my pulse, clear and strong.

I was alive.

This is getting surreal even for me. And that's saying something.

"What the fuck is going on?" Harp's voice was loaded with a growl of its own, somehow all the more chilling because of the soft clear femininity of the tone. "Kismet? Care to clue me in?"

I heard my breath, harsh and jagged, leaned my head back against the freezing concrete of the wall. "Jon Clarke called from New York. He told me Navoshtay had trapped a Were for his own amusement, damaged him. But Navoshtay's daughter set the Were free and fled with him." My throat was raw, I tasted blood with the words. "We've got a major paranormal incident shaping up. God knows what she wants that Were for. And I've got a goddamn 'breed capable of a psychic nuke looking to make this more difficult than it has to be."

That was only half of what Jon had told me, but I knew better than to open my mouth about the rest of it.

That's bullshit, Jon. I'm surprised at you. The sick thump under my breastbone wouldn't stop hatching thin tracers of nausea.

I have it on the best authority, Kismet. Somehow, Arkady's daughter bred with a rogue Were. She's pregnant, and her daddy's after her.

What authority do you have it on? I'd persisted. Too many stars were moving into alignment, and the constellation they were making was disturbing, to say the very least.

The best authority, Kiss. Watch your ass out there. There's no telling what will happen if this situation gets out of control.

The trouble was, it was already out of control. Were don't like hellbreed, and hellbreed don't like them. But Jon wouldn't tell me this if it wasn't true. Hunters don't lie about this sort of shit.

Even a little white lie can kill a hunter, and there are too few of us as it is.

I should have been screaming in fear or sobbing with the snapback reaction of passing too close to death and clawing my way through once more. I should have been pushing myself to get up, clean myself off, and do something to stop this immense clusterfuck-in-progress.

Instead, I was thinking of Saul Dustcircle's eyes, and feeling the electricity that went through me at the memory of his skin on mine.

He knew me. Or for one brief, endless second he had seen right through me. It was the same thing. He had somehow recognized what I was, down at the bottom of my soul.

And he had still held me.

Get up, Jill. Get back on the horse. You don't have time for this.

Not while there were people dying and a rogue on the loose. Everything else could wait.

Cleaning up wasn't as bad as I'd feared. Most of the forensic techs had been in the front yard, poking at a suspicious patch of grass dying under the weight of a viscous, rapidly decaying fluid that might have been oil. I couldn't figure out what the liquid was, even after sca

The rest of the cops hadn't seen the rogue shatter out of the cellar, or the collection of changed and unchanged Weres streaking after it.

Thank God for small favors.

The bodies in the cellar were being untangled by Forensics, gently and thoroughly. I couldn't see the cavalcade of blue rubberized bags going out the front door, but I heard it each time a coroner's van started up and the picture-flashes started popping. My skin would run with gooseflesh and I would repeat the promise to myself.

I will avenge you, whoever you are. I will grant you vengeance on the thing that did this to you. I left the copper cuff off, paying my penance with each eye-watering noseful of stench striking across my sensitive nostrils.

I could even tell myself the hot water slicking my cheeks was just from the smell.

Harp leaned against the wall inside the shattered cellar door. I sat on the steps going up to free air and a day overcast with the promise of thunder, yellow-green stormlight drenching my shoulders from behind. She had settled into immobility, her eyes lambent with the weird light.

Mike Foster detached himself from the organized hive of activity and crossed over to us, peeling off his latex gloves. "You okay?" His sleek ponytail wasn't mussed, but his eyes were haunted, with dark circles to rival my own growing underneath.

"What's the count?" That wasn't what I meant. What I wanted to say was, did you find the children? Tell me you didn't.

"Thirteen." His eyes met mine, spoke for a long moment. "Two of them…" He didn't have to finish the sentence.

I made a slight movement, closed my eyes. The worst thought of all returned—that there had been dust on the counter and the dishes, and bills from last month on the table.

I should have known. I should have somehow saved them.

Mike sighed. "I think we've got everyone. We'll ID them if we can, there's no clothes or anything hanging around. That's weird."

Not so weird if a hellbreed is cleaning up afterward. It's like them to minimize the information you can get from a scene. "Not so weird." I hauled myself wearily to my feet. "Buzz me if you need me, 'kay?"

I wanted to howl and beat my head against the concrete. I wanted to take off blindly ru

Hopefully.

I rocked forward, standing up and opening my eyes. Foster, at the bottom of the steps, flinched as he met my gaze. The silver chimed in my hair, tinkling sweetly as leather creaked.

"Jill—" He stopped abruptly, tried again. "Be careful, okay? This is bad. The bodies, they've been…" His eyes cut over to Harp, and the sharp stink of human fear cut through the reek of death for a moment.

"Savaged." Harper said flatly. The feathers in her hair fluttered as she made a swift movement of distaste. "Chewed up. You'll find muscle mass gone and organs missing, as well as splintered bones."

Mike winced. His watch glittered as he reached up, raking his fingers through his glossy hair. "I wish your friends wouldn't tell me these things." He directed it at me.

I wish Pepper was back on duty. She had a higher tolerance for this sort of thing. Still, I couldn't blame Mike. This would bother any reasonable human being.

Should I be glad or upset that "reasonable" doesn't describe me? I almost shot Saul, and nothing I've done has turned out right on this job. I should have picked up on this long before now.

I reached out, blindly. Mike's hand met mine, and I squeezed briefly, gently. The scar pulsed on my wrist, sensing human flesh and high emotional distress. I reined myself in with a physical effort, more sweat slicking the waistband of my leather pants. Things would start chafing if I kept this up.