Those Who Fight Monsters: Tales of Occult Detectives

With him out of the way, the hellbreed could do what they liked. Hunters are stretched thin, for all the Church and the authorities do their best to help. It’s not everyone who can do this sort of thing. It’s not the kind of job you can apply for or put on a business card.

Because really, there’s such a thin line between them and us. We have to be like what we hunt in some ways.

But we hold that thin fine line. I don’t know if it makes us truly better. I do think it makes us different.

At least, I hope it does. If it doesn’t, it means every hunter commits murder every night for nothing. I refuse to believe that. For every one we kill, a victim lives. Maybe even more than one.

Does one balance out the other?

It has to. I have to believe it does. We all have to believe it does.

“Your city’s safe.” It had been a long time since I even tried to sound soothing. “You’re back on the job. The Weres will stay here. You should be ready to get ornery tomorrow night at the latest.”

On the outside, helped with sorcery, yes. I didn’t want to ask what he’d suffered after Narcisa got hold of him. To be stripped of your weapons and at the mercy of the hellbreed we hunt, to know your city and the innocents that depend on you are vulnerable and unprotected … Jesus.

He nodded. Sagged back into the pillows. I smoothed the coverlet down over his chest. The scar was flushed and full under its copper carapace.

“You look good, Kiss.”

I made a face. Don’t call me that. “Mayhem suits me.”

His face changed a little, and I thought he was going to thank me. To stop him, I dug in one of my pockets. “Oh, hey.” I tried to sound casual. “These are yours. Some of them, probably.”

The charms dripped from my fingers onto his nightstand, chiming sweetly. They didn’t run with blue light or sparks — there was no contamination in the air for their blessings to react to. The scar was covered, but I was still careful when I dug the second handful of them out. I didn’t know what blessed silver would do to a hellbreed mark.

“Yeah.” He coughed again, a little, but it was an embarrassed noise instead of a hacking. “Can’t believe I got trapped. Won’t happen again.”

I shrugged. There was nothing I could say. “You have a line on who…” Who betrayed you? I didn’t need to finish the question.

“Yeah. Ebersole. One of my contacts. Goddamn hellbreed. Seduced a good cop.”

This time I didn’t need to shrug. Not such a good cop, if it ended up with a hunter hanging like a side of beef. The ‘breed hadn’t killed him right away because they wanted to play.

“You need me to hang around?” I fished out the last lone charm — a silver wheel, red thread and a strand of blond hair clinging to it. I wondered what other hunter had been betrayed into Narcisa’s clutches, and if he or she knew that they were avenged.

It probably wasn’t any comfort.

“Nah. From here … it’s all mop-up.” He closed his eyes. His throat worked as he swallowed. “You probably got stuff boiling … at home.”

“As always.” But I lingered for a few more moments. “Slade…”

Are you really going to be all right?

But that was a fool’s question. None of us were all right. If we were, we wouldn’t be working this job.

“Huh?” He was struggling to stay awake. Which meant the crisis was over. He’d wrap up the leftovers tomorrow night. I would have to wash the blood off me before I got back on a plane, though my coat and pants would flop around, torn. And at home in Santa Luz there were things to attend to.

Who knew? I might be the one calling, next time.

“Nothing.” I waited until his breathing evened out and he fell into unconsciousness. The bruising was shrinking visibly, healing sorcery humming to itself as it worked. I don’t use it much myself nowadays, the scar takes care of most of that.

Mikhail told me striking a bargain with that hellbreed was a good idea. I hoped like hell it was true. I hoped there was a difference between me and a Trader. Even if I’d just done … what I’d done, looking for Slade.

We all have to believe we’re different.

Hunters don’t say goodbye. Superstition, maybe, but when you live on the nightside it’s foolish to disregard it. Besides, it hurts too much if the farewell ends up being final. Best to leave things unsaid, as insurance. A talisman.

My pager buzzed in its padded pocket. My city, calling me back. I’d probably get a late-morning flight if I put my hustle on now, or had one of the Weres call to book me one.

I smoothed the pale-blue down coverlet one more time. The day was well and truly up, and Slade’s bedroom window filled with gold.

It had stopped raining. Blue sky peeped through shredding white clouds. Go figure.

“I’m holding the line, Slade,” I said. The words were quiet in the dimness.

I picked up the wheel charm with its strand of blond hair. Looked at Slade’s face, felt the ache of loneliness rise in my chest.

I missed my teacher. God, how I missed him.