Page 11 of Soulmarked (Hellbound and Hollow #1)

10

COMPLICATIONS

“ W e're not hunting for vampires.” The words came out abruptly as we made our way through Manhattan. I could feel my side still aching from the earlier clash, but I wasn't about to mention it.

Cade stopped short, turning to face me with that carefully neutral federal expression that reminded me way too much of Sam when he was trying to be the reasonable one. “And you know this how?”

“Got word from a contact.” I kept walking, not wanting to have this conversation in the open. The weight of my gun pressed against my lower back, a comforting reminder of what actually worked in this world. “Someone who knows the difference between feeding marks and ritual draining.”

“A contact.” His voice carried an edge I hadn't heard before. “Were you planning on sharing this information, or is keeping secrets just part of your charm?”

“Don't get your panties in a bunch, Agent Scully.” I shot him a sidelong glance. “Was gonna tell you once I confirmed the information wasn't complete bull.”

“From who?” He fell into step beside me, but I could feel the tension radiating off him. “Who's this mysteriously well-informed contact?”

“Juno.” I waited for the explosion I knew was coming, almost looking forward to it. Nothing quite like watching Mr. By-The-Book lose his composure.

“The vampire?” His hand drifted toward his weapon. “You're trusting a vampire's word on this?”

“Former hunter,” I corrected sharply. “One of Hallow's best before she was turned. And yeah, I trust her. At least about this.” I paused, then added with a smirk, “Besides, she makes a hell of a whiskey sour.”

Cade's expression shifted. “Juno Hawthorne. Turned four years ago in London during a mission gone wrong. Former member of Hallow's elite tactical unit. Now owns three establishments in the city, including Purgatory.” He caught my surprise and shrugged. “What? I do my homework. Her file at CITD is technically labeled 'person of interest in multiple homicides,' but I know what she really is.”

I couldn't help but be impressed at his research, though I'd rather face a wendigo barehanded than admit it. “She kept her training, kept her contacts. Still fights the good fight, just from a different angle now.” I stopped, turning to face him properly. “Look, you want to be pissed about me keeping secrets? Fine. But don't question my judgment about who to trust in this world. Not if you want to make it to retirement with all your limbs attached.”

“Like you don't question mine?” His eyes met mine, carrying challenge. “Or did you forget all those lectures about feds not belonging in supernatural business?”

The hit landed, but I pushed through. “That was different. You're?—”

“I'm what?”

Instead of answering, I gestured ahead to where the church rose against the skyline. “We can have this chick-flick moment later. Right now, we've got bigger problems and another old church to check out.”

The church on 5th Avenue loomed against Manhattan's neon-stained sky like something out of a Gothic nightmare. Years of acid rain and city grime had eaten away at the brick, leaving scars that looked too deliberate to be natural. Ivy crawled up the walls like dark veins, reaching toward windows that hadn't held proper glass in decades. I'd spent enough time in places like this to know it was never just a church. Where there were old stones, there were older secrets. And right now, I was watching one of them move.

“Six guards,” I muttered, keeping low on our rooftop perch. “And none of them human, if the way they're movin' is anything to go by.”

Cade crouched beside me, all federal agent focus as he adjusted what looked like military-grade thermal imaging equipment. The tech was impressive, definitely not standard CITD issue.

“There's more inside,” he said, voice pitched low. “And something below ground. The heat signature's... wrong.”

I gave a sharp nod, tracking movement near a side entrance that probably hadn't seen proper Mass in years. “Whatever's down there, someone's guardin' it like it's the last pie at a buffet.” One of the figures moved into better light, and I caught the distinctive predatory grace that marked it as something wearing human skin like an ill-fitting suit.

“We should wait for backup,” Cade suggested, though his tone suggested he knew exactly how I'd respond to that.

I couldn't help the derisive snort. “Sure, let me just call the monster squad hotline. Come on, Fed, I didn't take you for the cautious type. What happened to the mad bastard who chased vampires without proper weapons?”

Cade turned to me, and something in his expression made my chest tight in ways I refused to examine. “Since I started working with someone I don't want to see get killed.”

I blinked, thrown by the sincerity in his voice. My stomach did something complicated that had nothing to do with the heights or the monsters below. I pushed it aside, falling back on familiar snark.

“Wouldn't worry 'bout me. I've been ganking monsters since you were memorizing the federal handbook. Worry 'bout yourself, Princess.”

He rolled his eyes but didn't argue, which was almost more unsettling than our usual bickering. In the short time we'd been working together, I'd learned that Cade Cross never passed up a chance to challenge my methods or question my judgment. This new concern felt... dangerous.

Movement below snapped my attention back to the mission. The side door creaked open on hinges that desperately needed oil, and several figures in pristine lab coats stepped out, the white fabric stark against the church's shadowed walls. But it was what walked between them that made my hunter instincts scream.

At first glance, it looked human enough: broad shoulders, business suit, the kind of stance that suggested authority. But its movements were wrong in ways that set my teeth on edge. Too fluid, like watching water flow uphill. When it turned its head to speak to one of the lab coats, the motion happened in segments, like a puppet being jerked by strings that didn't quite work right.

“That's definitely not a vampire,” I breathed, hand already moving to my blade. “Not a werewolf either. Actually, I've got no freaking clue what that is.”

As if it heard me, the creature snapped its head up, looking directly at our position. Its neck bent at an angle that would have snapped human vertebrae, and its eyes... Jaysus, its eyes were like looking into something that had never known light. Empty voids that seemed to drink in the darkness rather than reflect it.

Then it moved.

One moment it was on the street, the next it was halfway up the building's face, climbing like some unholy spider. My years of hunting had shown me countless nightmares, but this thing moved with a wrongness that sent ice down my spine.

“Son of a bitch,” I hissed, grabbing Cade's arm with enough force to bruise. “Run!”

We broke for the fire escape as the thing cleared the roof's edge, its movements accompanied by sounds no human throat could make. The lab coats below scattered, but I caught glimpses of them pulling weapons that definitely weren't standard pharmaceutical company issue.

“Any brilliant federal insights about what that thing is?” I called to Cade as we sprinted across rooftops, my legs eating up the distance with the efficiency of someone who'd spent decades running from things straight out of nightmares.

“Other than 'don't let it catch us'?” Cade vaulted a ventilation unit with surprising grace, better than what I'd expect from a fed. “Not really. But I'm going to guess this isn't normal even by your standards.”

“What gave it away? The extra joints or the way it's climbing walls like a possessed gecko?” My lungs burned, but years of conditioning meant I wasn't even winded. I tracked the creature's movements from my peripheral vision, calculating distances and trajectories the way my adoptive father had drilled into me since childhood.

“You know, when I signed up for this job, wall-climbing monsters weren't in the benefits package,” Cade deadpanned, sounding remarkably calm for someone running for his life.

“Welcome to my world, G-man.” I risked a glance back and immediately wished I hadn't. The thing had stopped trying to look human entirely, its form shifting and flowing like oil given terrible purpose, limbs extending and retracting in ways that defied anatomy. “Though I have to admit, this is new even for me.”

“Glad I could help expand your monster-hunting horizons.”

“Yeah, you're a real educational experience.” I grabbed his arm, yanking him behind a massive AC unit. “Down!”

We dropped as something whistled through the air where our heads had been. It was some kind of projectile that left frost in its wake, crystallizing the air itself. The lab coats had made it to the roof of the neighboring building, and their weapons were definitely not of this world.

“Right,” I muttered, checking my ammunition with practiced movements. Silver rounds slid into the magazine, blessed hollow points racked into the chamber. “This just got interesting.”

Cade pulled his gun, and I noticed his hands were steady despite everything.

“Define 'interesting.'”

“Well, we've got what looks like science types with supernatural weapons, some kind of shape-shifting horror that really wants to meet us, and we're completely exposed in unfamiliar territory.” I shifted my weight, already mapping our escape routes, identifying choke points where we could slow the creature down. “So basically, it's Tuesday.”

“You're the one who suggested we investigate this place.”

“Yeah, because I thought we were dealing with regular corporate vampires, not...” I gestured vaguely at the nightmare currently trying to flank our position, its limbs elongating and contracting like a nightmare ink drawing come to life. “Whatever the feck that is.”

Another projectile hit our cover, this one leaving behind a smell like burning ozone. The thing that used to look human was getting closer, its movements becoming less and less bound by physics or sanity.

Cade met my eyes, and I saw my own grim amusement reflected there. No fear, just the calm acceptance of someone who understood the stakes.

“So,” he said, “got a plan?”

“Besides not dying?” I grinned, and it probably looked as manic as it felt. “Shoot it till it stops moving, then figure out how to kill it for real. The classics never go out of style.”

The thing moved like lightning. I barely had time to roll, my body responding with the hard-wired reflexes Hallow had beaten into me over years of brutal training. Claws tore chunks from the rooftop where I'd been crouched, concrete splintering like ice. Cade fired off a shot that would have dropped anything natural, but the creature didn't even flinch as the bullet punched through what should have been vital organs.

“Skye!” I barked into my comm unit, ducking another strike that came close enough for me to feel the air displacement against my cheek. “A little help here!”

“What am I looking at?” Their voice crackled with static interference. “And please tell me that shrieking I'm picking up is just feedback.”

“Humanoid, but joints bend wrong. Moves like liquid shadow, adapts to attacks. And,” I dove behind a ventilation unit as the thing lunged, my knife already tracking to intercept its follow-through, “really feckin' fast!”

There was rapid typing on Skye's end, then: “Shite. You're dealing with a Fetch, old Irish folklore. They're shapeshifters, but not the usual kind. They don't just copy forms, they learn from them. The more they fight, the better they get at...”

“At trying to kill us?” I finished, watching in growing horror as more figures emerged from the church below. Not just one. A dozen of the things, each moving with that same wrong fluidity. “That's just grand. Real feckin' grand. What's next, zombie clowns?”

“Less talking, more killing,” Cade shot back, already moving to flank the nearest creature.

Despite barely knowing each other, despite all my reservations about working with a fed, we fell into sync almost instantly. It was like hunting with Eli again. Cade dodged left, drawing their attention with precise shots, while I wove between the creatures with blade and blessed silver. My combat style, a lethal fusion of Krav Maga, Muay Thai, and street-fighting, flowed from one movement to the next.

But these things weren't just fast, they were adapting to our tactics with terrifying speed.

One feinted before striking, a move I'd used myself moments before. Another ducked under Cade's shot in a way that mimicked his own evasive style. They weren't just monsters anymore, they were learning, evolving, becoming more dangerous with every exchange.

“This is about to go bad,” Cade muttered as we ended up back-to-back, surrounded by things that wore our own moves like stolen clothes.

I gritted my teeth, flipping my knife with a practiced motion that had intimidated countless lesser monsters. The silver blade caught the moonlight as I settled into a combat stance that had served me through encounters with things that would make most people wet themselves.

“Yeah, well, hold onto yer arse. Things are about to get weird.”

Three more Fetches advanced, their movements becoming more synchronized with each passing second. One of them mimicked my knife-flip perfectly, its fingers elongating unnaturally as claws glinted in the dim light. Behind me, Cade fired another shot that should have been fatal, but the creature barely flinched.

“These sons of bitches just won't stay down,” I growled, feeling my back press against Cade's as we were forced closer together.

“If you have any other tricks up your sleeve, now would be the time,” Cade called over his shoulder, his voice steady despite our predicament. “Because bullets aren't exactly winning the day here.”

We were running out of options fast. Conventional weapons were useless, and these things were getting smarter, faster, deadlier with every move we made. I needed something that would actually work, something these freaks wouldn't see coming.

A flare from nearby construction equipment caught my eye, a small, neglected burn barrel workers had left behind, flames dancing low but hungry. Fire. Primal, ancient, purifying.

I hadn't wanted to use magic, hadn't wanted to reveal that particular card so soon. Magic was dangerous, unpredictable, and Eli's death had been proof enough of what happened when you trusted the wrong powers. But these weren't normal circumstances, and I was running out of options.

“Screw it,” I muttered under my breath. “Not like we have a lot of options here.”

“What are you planning?” Cade asked, noticing my shift in stance. His eyes flickered to my hands as I began to move them differently. “Sean, what are you doing?”

My gaze darted between the approaching Fetches and the flickering flames. Fire spells were risky in urban environments, but they'd work faster than shadow bindings. And right now, speed was what we needed. These things were learning our tactics too quickly. We needed something they couldn't adapt to, something primordial that would burn through their stolen forms before they could understand what was happening.

My fingers cut through the air in precise movements, tracing a symbol I'd learned in darker times, from an old witch in Belfast who'd charged a price I still wasn't sure had been worth it. The temperature around us shifted instantly, heat rolling off my skin as power gathered. Ancient words rose to my lips, familiar as heartbeats but bitter with old promises.

“Fiáin tine, clois dom!” Wild fire, hear me!

The runes flared to life, and fire erupted at my command. Not normal flame, this was older, hungrier, the kind of fire that remembered when humans first stole it from gods. It engulfed the nearest Fetch in a roaring wave, and its shriek of pain carried notes that human ears weren't meant to process.

Cade whipped around, eyes wide. The firelight revealed something in his gaze, not fear, but recognition.

“You do magic?” he asked, sounding both shocked and irritatingly intrigued.

I barely spared him a glance, maintaining my focus on the burning runes that hovered in the air before me like brands. Each one cost me. Magic always took its payment in blood or worse.

“What, ye think I only stab things for a livin'? Sometimes I set 'em on fire too.”

The fire bought us precious seconds, forcing the creatures back. But they were already adapting, already learning how to move around the flames. One got past my guard while I was maintaining the spell, moving faster than thought.

White-hot pain exploded across my side as claws ripped through leather and flesh. I gasped, stumbling back as blood soaked through my shirt. Pain was an old companion, but this cut deeper than most. I could feel something wrong in the wound, something cold that spread like poison through my veins.

The creature pressed its advantage, those too-wrong limbs coiling for a killing blow.

Then Cade was there, moving like he'd done this his whole life. He grabbed my arm to steady me while firing point-blank into the thing's skull. The impact should have ended any normal fight, but the Fetch just recoiled, black ichor dripping from wounds that were already closing.

“Silver's not working,” Cade gritted out, keeping himself between me and the advancing creatures. There was something in his stance, a protectiveness I hadn't expected from the fed. Maybe he wasn't as soft as I'd thought.

“Yeah, I feckin' noticed!” Blood ran warm down my side, a sharp contrast to the cold night air. I forced myself upright, ignoring the pain. There'd be time for that later, assuming we survived. “Got one more trick, but it won't be pretty.”

“When is it ever?” Cade's voice held a hint of that dry humor I was starting to recognize. “Whatever you're planning, make it fast. I don't think they're interested in giving us a timeout.”

He wasn't wrong. The creatures were moving with more purpose now, coordinating in ways that showed frightening levels of tactical awareness. They'd learned from our fighting styles, adapted to our weapons, and were now using our own techniques against us.

What I was about to do would probably get me killed if certain people found out. The old witch had warned me that this particular spell came from somewhere darker than most hunters were willing to look. But watching these things wear our movements like stolen skin, seeing them learn and adapt with each passing second... sometimes the old ways were the only ways.

I just hoped Cade was ready for what came next. Because once I started this spell, there'd be no hiding what kind of power I could really tap into.

And some secrets, once revealed, couldn't be taken back.

I wiped blood from my mouth, tasting copper and older things as the words formed on my tongue.

“Sceimhle shíoraí, glac greim orthu!” Eternal terror, take hold of them!

The air rippled like heat waves over asphalt, but what responded wasn't heat. The shadows beneath the Fetches twisted, writhed, then came alive with terrible purpose. Dark tendrils lashed upward, wrapping around those wrong-angled limbs with a hunger older than light itself. The creatures thrashed and screeched as the darkness dragged them down, their cries hitting frequencies that made reality itself shiver.

The spell took hold with the finality of a closing tomb. My vision wavered, black spots dancing at the edges as blood loss and magical drain took their toll. The wound in my side burned like ice, and every heartbeat seemed to pump more strength away.

“That's our opening!” Cade's voice cut through the fog trying to claim my consciousness. His hand locked around my arm, hauling me upright with strength I hadn't expected from a fed. “Come on!”

We hit the alley at a sprint, or what passed for one in my current state. My boots scraped against concrete as I stumbled, breath coming in ragged gasps that had nothing to do with exertion. The magical drain felt like it was hollowing me out from the inside, turning my bones to lead and my blood to ice.

“Sean!” Cade caught me as I swayed, his grip steady and sure.

I sucked in a sharp breath, trying to force my legs to cooperate. “I'm fine. Just need a minute. Or a bottle of whiskey. Or both.”

He didn't look convinced. More importantly, he didn't let go. His hand stayed firm on my arm, warm against the chill that was settling into my bones. The touch felt... steadying. Dangerous.

“That spell,” he said, studying my face with too much understanding. “It took a lot out of you.”

I tried for a grin, though it probably looked more like a grimace. “Magic's shite like that. Always wants payment. Nothing's ever free in this business.”

“You could have mentioned you could do that,” he said, but there was no real accusation in his tone. Just that same concern that made something twist in my chest.

“Yeah, well, some tricks you keep close to the vest.” I managed another step, then had to lean against the alley wall as the world tilted sideways. “Besides, didn't think I'd need it. Usually prefer the old-fashioned way.”

“The stabbing way, you mean.”

“Got me this far, hasn't it? Bang, slash, problem solved. None of this mystical mumbo-jumbo hangover.”

He snorted, but his grip remained steady. “Yeah, you're the picture of success right now. Bleeding all over my crime scene, barely standing...”

“Your crime scene?” I interrupted, latching onto the familiar banter like a lifeline. “Since when is supernatural warfare CITD jurisdiction?”

“Since you decided to drag me into it.” His voice softened slightly. “Though I guess I owe you for that spell back there. Saved both our asses.”

I wanted to brush it off, to maintain the professional distance that had kept me alive this long. But the magic had taken more than just energy; it had stripped away some of my usual defenses. “Wouldn't have needed saving if I'd spotted those things sooner. Should've known they weren't normal monsters.”

“Hey.” His hand tightened on my arm, forcing me to meet his gaze. “We're both still breathing. That counts as a win in my book.”

Something in his expression made my chest tight in ways that had nothing to do with magic drain. This close, I could see the flecks of color in his eyes, the way tension and concern warred in the set of his jaw. He was still holding onto me, though I wasn't swaying anymore.

“You're different,” I found myself saying, blame it on blood loss and magical exhaustion. “From other feds. From most hunters too.”

A small smile touched his lips. “Is that a compliment?”

“Don't push your luck, Sasquatch.” But there was no heat in it. We were both running on empty, the adrenaline crash hitting as the danger faded. And maybe that's why I didn't pull away when he shifted closer, ostensibly to check the wound in my side.

“We need to get you patched up,” he said, professional mask sliding back into place. But something had changed between us.

“Know any good doctors who don't ask questions about magical exhaustion?”

“Can you run?”

“Guess we'll find out. Not my first rodeo with something trying to gut me.”

He huffed out something that might have been a laugh, adjusting his hold to better support my weight. “You're impossible, you know that?”

“Part of my charm. Men dig it.”

We found shelter in an abandoned storefront, the kind of place that had probably seen its share of urban decay even before the supernatural world started bleeding through. Outside, the street was silent except for distant sirens and the ever-present hum of city life. Inside, dust motes danced in what little moonlight filtered through boarded windows.

Cade pushed me onto a wooden crate that creaked ominously under my weight. Before I could protest, he was pressing something against my side, fabric torn from his own shirt, I realized belatedly. The gesture shouldn't have meant anything. Shouldn't have made my chest tight in ways that had nothing to do with injury.

“Hold still,” he muttered, completely focused on stemming the blood flow. “You're losing too much blood.”

I exhaled sharply as he applied pressure. It hurt, of course it hurt. But that wasn't what was making it hard to breathe. It was this. Cade, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. His hands steady and sure as they worked, face set in lines of concentration that somehow made him look younger and older at the same time.

“Ye keep starin' at me like that, Cross,” I managed, falling back on humor like armor, “I might think ye care.”

He rolled his eyes, but his hands remained gentle as he checked the wound's edges. “I care about keeping my partner alive.”

Partner.

The word settled in my chest like a weight, like something I couldn't afford to examine too closely. Partner meant trust. Partner meant someone to watch your back, someone to lose, someone to mourn. I'd been down that road before. The end of it was always written in blood.

“Didn't sign up for a partner,” I said, but the words lacked their usual edge.

“Yeah?” His fingers brushed against my ribs as he secured the makeshift bandage, and I pretended not to notice how my skin burned at the contact. “Well, I didn't sign up for magic- using Irish hunters with a death wish, so I guess we're both adjusting our expectations.”

He finished tying off the bandage and straightened, but didn't step back. Our eyes met, and something electric crackled in the space between us. We were still at odds, still too different, too damaged, too set in our ways to ever really trust each other. But something was shifting, like tectonic plates grinding beneath the surface of what we pretended this was.

I huffed out a breath, needing to break the tension before it broke me. “So. We gonna talk about how I saved our asses with magic, or...”

“Later.” He finally moved back, and I told myself I didn't miss the proximity. “For now? We need a new plan. Those things will be hunting us, and I'm betting they're better at it than most predators.”

“Yeah, whatever these shapeshifters are, they're clever bastards.” I smirked, despite the situation and the way my side throbbed with every heartbeat. “And maybe we need a drink while we plan. I know a place that doesn't water down the whiskey...”

“You're impossible.” But there was something almost fond in his exasperation, something that made warning bells ring in the back of my mind.

I just grinned, leaning back against the wall. “That's what they all say.”

The silence that followed was comfortable in ways it shouldn't have been.

“Your magic,” Cade said finally, voice carefully neutral. “That's not standard hunter training.”

“No.” I studied him, wondering how much to reveal. “Let's just say I learned from some interesting teachers. Before Hallow, before all this.” I gestured vaguely at my current life.

He nodded, accepting the non-answer for now. “It saved our lives.”

“Don't get used to it. Magic like that... it takes more than it gives.” I rolled my shoulder, feeling the bone-deep exhaustion that came from tapping those particular powers. “Usually prefer the old-fashioned way.”

“Stabbing things?”

“Works, doesn't it? No hangover, no creepy side effects, just good old-fashioned violence.”

His laugh was unexpected, genuine in a way that made something warm unfurl in my chest. “You know, for someone who claims to work alone, you're not terrible at the whole partnership thing.”

“Don't push it, fed.” But there was no heat in it. We were both running on empty, walls lowered by exhaustion and shared combat and maybe something else. Something I couldn't afford to think about.

A distant crash made us both tense, hunter's instincts kicking in despite fatigue. Cade's hand went to his gun while I reached for a blade, the movements synchronized like we'd been doing this for years instead of days.

“We should move,” he said, already checking sight lines through the boarded windows. “Those things will be regrouping, adapting to new hunting patterns.”

“The spell weakened them,” I said, watching Cade scan the broken windows. “Made them vulnerable. But there's only one way to kill creatures like this permanently.”

Cade's expression tightened as he caught my meaning. “Decapitation.”

“Yeah. Clean through the neck, can't give them a chance to adapt or regenerate.” I checked my blade, ignoring how the movement pulled at my wounds. “Otherwise they'll just keep coming, keep learning, until they're perfect killing machines wearing our faces.”

He was quiet for a moment, that federal conscience warring with survival instinct. “They look human.”

“They're not.” My voice came out sharper than intended. “That's the point. They steal forms, memories, movements. Make you hesitate because they look like something you shouldn't kill.” I met his gaze steadily. “That hesitation? That's exactly what they're counting on.”

“There has to be another way,” he argued, that idealism so reminiscent of his character profile showing through.

“There isn't.” I pushed off from the wall, fighting the lingering weakness from the magic. “You've seen how they adapt. How they learn. Every second we waste trying to find a 'better way' is another second they spend getting stronger, smarter, deadlier.”

Cade's eyes narrowed. “For someone who couldn't identify what they were until Skye helped, you seem to know a lot about how to kill them now.”

A fair point. I rolled my shoulder, buying time. “I've hunted shapeshifters before, lots of them. These creatures follow similar patterns, just... accelerated. More advanced.” I pulled up my sleeve, revealing a jagged scar running from wrist to elbow. “Dublin, 2018. What we thought was a standard shifter turned out to be something older, something that could absorb more than just appearance. It learned from each kill, adapted with each encounter.”

“And Skye's identification just confirmed what you suspected,” Cade said, halfway between a question and a statement.

“Exactly. I needed confirmation before committing to a kill strategy. Different species, same evolutionary principle. They mimic to survive, adapt to hunt. The difference is just in how fast they learn and what they can absorb.” I checked my blade again. “And these? They're learning faster than anything I've ever seen.”

A crash from outside punctuated my point. The Fetches were regrouping, testing new strategies. Cade's hand tightened on his weapon, and I saw the moment decision won out over doubt.

“Fine,” he said, voice clipped. “But we do this smart. No heroics.”

I managed a grim smile. “When have I ever been heroic?”

His answering look spoke volumes.

We moved through the abandoned building carefully, weapons ready. The Fetches would be more cautious now, more tactical. But they'd also be desperate. Wounded creatures were always the most dangerous.

The first one came through a broken window, moving like liquid shadow. But the spell had done its work, its movements were slower, less certain. Cade didn't hesitate this time. His blade struck clean and true, and the thing's head hit the floor before its body finished shifting.

“Good,” I muttered as the corpse began to dissolve. “Now you're getting it.”

Three more came at us in quick succession. We fought back-to-back, blades flashing in the dim light. Cade was a quick study, adapting to the brutal necessity of our task with the same efficiency he showed in everything else.

When the last Fetch fell, the silence felt heavy with unspoken things.

“Let's check the church,” I said before he could start questioning the morality of what we'd just done. “Whatever they were protecting down there, it was worth risking a lot of assets to keep us away from it.”

The church's interior was a study in decay and dark purpose. Pews lay scattered like broken bones, and the altar had been modified with equipment that had no place in a house of worship.

“They've been busy,” Cade noted, examining what looked like monitoring equipment grafted onto ancient stone.

I moved toward the altar, drawn by something that felt wrong even by our standards. “Yeah, well, when you're trying to punch holes in reality, subtlety isn't really a priority. It's not like they're trying to hide their evil lair from the neighborhood watch.”

“You think that's what this is? Some kind of portal?”

“Portal, gateway, door to somewhere that should stay shut, take your pick.” I traced symbols carved into the stone, recognizing patterns that made my skin crawl. “But whatever they're planning, it's big. The kind of big that makes using Fetches as guard dogs seem reasonable.”

Cade joined me at the altar, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him. “You've seen something like this before.”

It wasn't quite a question. “Once.” I didn't elaborate, and he didn't push. Some stories weren't meant for sharing, not even with temporary allies who were proving more competent than expected.

“We need to document everything,” he said instead, already pulling out his phone. “Whatever Phoenix is planning...”

“Won't happen,” I finished firmly. “Because we're going to find them first. And then we're going to have a very pointed conversation about why opening doors to other dimensions is bad for everyone's health.”

His lips twitched. “Pointed conversation meaning stabbing?”

“See? You're learning. There's hope for you yet, Suit.”

We worked methodically, gathering evidence and copying symbols. But I couldn't shake the feeling that we'd only scratched the surface of whatever game Phoenix was playing.

And somewhere in the city, more doors were waiting to be opened.