She was bleeding, but she’d had worse. The cuts and scrapes across her arms would heal. Marmaritae didn't tend to be disease carriers, so she had that going for her. 

He was shorter than Niki, even with his dog like head raised up high. The fancy collar around his neck spoke of a well groomed life. Not quite a dog, not quite a man. He was barely three feet tall, his snarling muzzle snapping at her. It was easy to see why everyone thought a werewolf had been loose in Tidewater Park. A messy cross between a Jack Russell and a midget, he was downright vicious.

Niki’s gaze returned to that collar, snug against his neck still. Soft leather, but no hooks for a chain. He wasn’t a kept animal, then. 

“This doesn’t have to end badly,” she said to him. 

He barked at her, a short high pitched yip.

“Seriously,” she said. “I can help you get out of here, find somewhere to be.”

The muscles in his chest tensed, his mouth struggling to form a word.

“No.”

Niki took a step back, surprised. Speech was almost impossible for a marmaritae. The Greek Ctesias had been prone to romanticizing every rock and grub he found. Even he hadn’t bothered to pretend the dog people could speak.

The marmaritae opened his mouth, struggling to make the words form. 

“No. Go.”

“Well you can’t stay here,” Niki said. “There have been complaints about you harassing folks. You know I can’t let you do that.”

The marmaritae growled again, the hackles along its back standing upright. It squatted down, its back legs tensing, the thick muscles coiling as it sprung into the air at Niki.

This time she was ready for it. Niki let her breath out slowly. The pneuma traveled down the length of her outstretched arm, slamming into the dog-man squarely in the chest. His arms and legs flew out. He was thrown back, knocked to the ground by the invisible force. Niki didn’t give him the time to react, already leaping towards him as he threw up a cloud of dirt. She pressed her knees down, pinning his shoulders. He struggled, but for all his strength he was no match for her weight. She grabbed his muzzle with one hand, pulling out a roll of duct tape and wrapping his barred teeth so he couldn’t snap at her. With a practiced move she flipped him over, binding his arms and legs.

Satisfied, she stood up. The fight drained from the dog-man, he stared at her with wet eyes. Was he crying?

Niki turned away from the accusing gaze, spying something in the bushes. Her stomach turned even before she parted the branches. The stench of death and decay was in her nose before her brain was able to process it.

The dog-man’s mate and pups lay on their sides, unmoving. Something had torn through them, ripping out their throats and leaving them to bleed out. She glanced back, but the dog-man simply stared at her, cold hatred still burning in his eyes. Daring her.

“What did this to you?” she asked out loud. She didn’t expect an answer; even without the muzzle, he wouldn’t have provided much. She looked at the bodies again, then went back to her fallen pack and pulled out a folding shovel.

She would give the dog-man’s kin a proper burial before hauling him back.

#

Niki sat across from Ganymede at a small table in the back of the Doubled Knot. The room was dark and shrouded in that eternal fog of smoke that always seemed to be present in the underground bar. There was a faint glow to the room, recessed lighting along the walls casting a dull glow that made the fog seem to glow with an internal light.

Ganymede glanced at her, an eyebrow arched, questioningly.

“He’s in back,” Niki said. “I left him with your boy.”

“Stephen hates it when you call him that.”

“Then he shouldn’t water my drinks down.”

Ganymede frowned. “For a woman that gets free drinks, I don’t know that you have much room to complain.”

Niki shrugged and looked away, taking another sip from her glass. The amber liquid burned her throat and made her light headed, but it numbed the pain. For a while, it even filled the hollow space that the pneuma had left behind. She opened her mouth and closed it again, tensing. Words shouldn’t be so hard to get out, but they were.

“I want out,” Niki finally said.

“Out?” Ganymede asked, distractedly looking up from the papers spread out in front of her.

“I’m done being a hunter,” Niki said. “I’m done chasing things, risking my life for a few bucks and some drinks.”

Ganymede stared at her for a moment, her eyes stripping away Niki’s layers. They were ancient eyes, set in a face of timeless youth. 

“I see,” Ganymede finally said, folding her hands in front of her. “And what is it you will be doing instead? What is it you want to do that is more important than saving lives?”

“Saving lives?” Niki repeated, setting her glass down with more force than she intended. Whiskey sloshed over the side of the glass. “That dog-man wasn’t attacking people because he suddenly had a taste for flesh. Someone, or something, had killed his entire pack.”

“It is no excuse for what he was doing.”

Niki grunted in frustration. 

“Your problem is you are too good,” Ganymede said. “I’ve never seen anyone as good at catching them as you, girl. And you want to leave that behind? For what?”

“I don’t know,” Niki said. “To do something mundane, something completely without expectation. Go to work, do my job, go home. Get drunk, order a pizza, and do whatever the hell I want. Maybe I’ll be a teacher, or a waitress. Or maybe I’ll go back to school. Something.”

“You never stayed in school long enough. And if it is being a waitress you want, you could work for me.”

“No,” Niki said. “I know how that works. Sooner or later, someone will come walking in through that door with a problem you can’t solve, and you’ll turn to me. And then I’ll have to step in.”

“So you retire, just like that?”

“Retire? No, I quit. I’m too young and beautiful to retire.”

Niki expected Ganymede to protest, to try and argue. Ganymede laughed.

“You won’t be retired long, girl. The likes of you only do one of two things. You either die fighting, or move on. Nobody quits.”

“Move on? What does that mean?” Niki asked.

Ganymede’s just smiled.

“I’d explain, but you retired, remember?. Now, if you will excuse me,” she said, rising up from her seat. “I have a dog-man to question, followed by looking for a new hunter. Enjoy your drink.”

Ganymede exited the room like a ghost, passing through the doorway in a shimmering flutter. Niki looked back down at her half empty glass and considered finishing it. Pushing back from the table, she turned away from the whiskey and walked away.

He hadn’t been here since he was a kid. Not since the summer everything in his life had been turned upside down and inside not. Not since the day he had stepped out of one life and into the life of Greg Matheson.

He knew he was dreaming. After thirty years, nothing had changed. Even his sleep starved mind that knew was wrong.

The path to the concrete bunker in the woods looked well maintained, as though feet still wove between the trees from the park daily. Tall, sickly trees rose around him, bark peeling off like reptiles sloughing their old skin as they reached up to form a canopy that blocked out the light of day. 

This had all been swamp once, before the housing development had plowed over the land, burying the swamp beneath sod and concrete. The bunker was a relic of those early construction days, a concrete and stone building built to house the water treatment regulators. For a summer, it had been a hideaway, a refuge in a world that was increasingly confusing and hard for him to understand.

When he spied it, it was just like he’d remembered. Someone had spray painted one side of the building in graffiti, declarations of love and tags competing for real estate.

The doorway stood open.

Greg paused, not even aware he had been walking, and stared at the dark rectangle that led into the building. It’s just a dream, he reminded himself as he stared at the black hole that sucked the light and air from the world around him. The doorway grew and stretched in front of him, a widening maw that threatened to suck him in.

He took two steps forward, covering the remaining distance on the path and entering the bunker. Even in the darkness within, he could still make out the stretch of pipes overhead, the cold iron wet with condensation. 

“Chuck?” a voice called out to him. Greg flinched. No one had called him that in a long time. Not since that summer.

“Hello?” he called back, squinting. It seemed like there were shadows and there were shadows, darker regions where even his dream eyes couldn’t pierce the darkness. 

“Chuck?” the hoarse voice repeated. He felt bony finger grip his shoulder in the darkness, warm breath against his ear. “Upchuck McFuck?”

Greg jerked himself free, crying out as the bony fingers tore at his flesh.

“No,” he whispered, stumbling back towards the doorway. Only the door was closed in his dream, trapping him with the dead body. The shadows began to dance around him, tugging at him, pulling him closer to the upright corpse. Greg threw his arms up defensively, blocking his face. 

“It’s only a dream,” he changed under his breath, but the mantra did nothing for the pounding pain in his chest as his heart beat faster and faster.

The body against the wall rose up, stepping into the light. Where did the light come from? the back of his mind screamed, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the all too familiar corpse that stared back at him. 

“You’re dead,” he said, his voice cracking. 

The dead man shifted, tilting his head to the side and opening his mouth. The stench of death slammed into Greg’s senses, sending him reeling. A skeletal hand reached out for Greg, but he was transfixed by the gaping hole where the mouth used to be. A black, oily shadow oozed out of the dead body, defying gravity as it whipped through the air towards him.

“You’re dead,” Greg screamed. “I killed you, you’re dead!”

#

Consciousness returned to Greg with a snap, pain exploding behind his eyes as if he were on a plane suddenly shifting to cabin pressure. He cried out, his hands clenching at the sides of his head.

“Greg!”

He turned, hands slowly dropping, recognition of the startled voice dawning gradually.

“Karen?”

The last remnants of the dream shattered and crashed around him. He was in bed. With his wife. He looked around, memories returning to him, filling in the thirty odd years since he had last been to the bunker.

The bunker.

The very thought of it gave him the shivers. He hadn’t thought about the bunker in decades. Where had that even crawled out of?

“Greg, are you all right? You’re scaring me.” Warm hands, both small and strong, gripped at his forearm. He raised his lips in the shape of a smile and placed a hand over hers.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “Just a bad dream.”

Karen gave him one last squeeze and settled back into her pillows, absently tugging the covers around herself. 

Greg lay back in the bed more slowly, his head sinking into the cool pillows. Karen as quick to fall asleep again beside him. Within moments she was snoring lightly again, burrowing further beneath the covers.

How can she sleep? Images of the bunker confronted him every time he closed his eyes. It was as thought after being locked away in his mind for so many years, the building - and everything that that dark chapter represented - demanded to be seen and remembered again.

He twisted in bed, trying to get comfortable, but every position he tried left him uncomfortable or hot. He knew if he could just find the right spot, the right position, sleep would be able to overtake him again and carry him away from his memories.

Is that really what I want? To sleep again? Wouldn’t a return to sleep just give the nightmares the freedom to return?

Greg slipped out of bed and jammed his feet into his slippers. Quietly, he pulled his robe on, loosely tying off the belt before stepping out into the hallway. He walked slowly, careful not to commit his full weight to each step until he was certain the boards beneath him wouldn’t creak as he walked past the open doors to the kid’s rooms. Both of them slept softly, pictures of innocence that were peacefully ignorant of the turmoil that was raging in their father.

Greg wound his way down the stairs and into the living room. A faint glow filled the room, lace curtains turning the moonlight that streamed through into a ghostly shade of white as it passed the French doors. 

Greg stopped and poured himself a glass of scotch. The tumbler clinked as he set it down and eased back into the overstuffed chair. He took a sup, hoping the scotch could do what his mind couldn’t. Exhaustion threatened him, braying at the threshold, tugging at his eyelids, but his mind wouldn’t submit. Not now. And yet the light in the room started to dim, his own will failing to hold back the night any longer.

There was a squeal of brakes. Greg to tensed in his chair, half rising out of it in confusion. He reached for the glass of scotch before it fell off the chair but his hand only met empty air. He blinked, struggling to push back the bleariness in his eyes. His glass sat on a table halfway across the room from him, empty.

Bright sunlight pooled into the room through the French doors, casting everything in the golden glow of daylight. Karen must have come through, he realized. A thin blanket was slipping down his legs, exposing him to the cold morning air.

Outside a loud horn sounded, signaling the time. The school bus was here, waiting for the kids. Two lightly bundled forms ran past the door to the hall.

“Love you, Dad!” they yelled over their shoulders without slowing.

“Love you too,” he called back, stiffly walking towards the front door. Karen stood in the entrance, watching as the kids made their way down the sidewalk. Greg put an arm around her, hugging her as she looked over her shoulder.

“Hard to believe,” he said. His voice sounded scratchy. “Both of them, old enough to go off to school.”

“A quiet house. Whatever will I do?”

A coy smile played across Greg’s face as he started to wake up. His hand slipped down from her shoulder, coming to rest just above the small of Karen’s back.

“If you can’t find anything to do, I might have a few ideas,” he whispered, still staring at the kids as they climbed on the bus. He raised his other hand over his head and gave the kids a final wave.

“Your ideas are what got us two kids in the first place,” Karen said, but she didn’t pull away. “What happened to you last night?” she asked, turning into his embrace.

A wave of nausea blossomed in his chest. Images of the bunker and the corpse filled his head, a feeling of dread settling into his gut. Greg took a step back from his wife, hands dropping away.

“Just a bad dream,” he said.

Karen frowned, the creases on her forehead come together as she closed the door behind her.

“You had a bad dream last week, too.”

“I did?” he said. His memory was blank. There was something on the edge of his awareness, like a TV show watched just before falling asleep, but nothing he could recall.

Karen nodded. “Is everything all right? Is there something you want to tell me?”

Greg frowned at the look of concern in her eyes. He recognized that look. She was worried he was keeping a secret, holding something back. 

Greg met her gaze, staring back into her green eyes. Her concern  washed away the playfulness of only a moment ago. The muscles around her eyes twitched with tension, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Everything is fine,” he said. Unhinged jaws gaped at him from the shadows of a concrete building. “It’s probably just stress from work. You know how Bill can be when a project isn’t going according to his little plan.”

“All right,” she said, the tone of her voice clear that she didn’t buy his answer. 

Niki stretched out in her bed for the first time in three days. She knew it was all in her mind, but it felt like her recovery was quicker this time. The illusion that she would never have to go out in search of danger again was a big contributor. To never risk her life again, to never have to draw on the pneuma again, to never have the gut hollowing feeling it left in her chest for days after. A girl could get used to this.

She pointed her toes towards the window, listening to the sharp crack of her toes as the joints popped and protested her lethargy. Her back itched, days of filth and sweat aggravating her skin. With effort, she swung her feet over the edge and stood up, toes clenching again as she touched the cool floor. Upright finally, her spine creaking back into a mostly straight shape, she walked over to the window. She wrapped her fingers around the cord to lower the blinds, hesitating to spare a glance at the afternoon sun as it reflected off of the tin roofs of Old Town.

It was hard to believe the town had stood for over three hundred years, buried in the middle of American history along with the secrets it sheltered. From her bedroom she could see the street George Washington had led Revolutionary troops down after leaving Yorktown. Not a block away, in an abandoned iron works, Niki had gone face to face with a five hundred year old selkie that had crawled out of the river looking for someplace to hole up. Her world seemed to intersect with the ordinary world at dark intersections. Had Washington known, when he settled down for the night at the nearby tavern, that he was so close to a slumbering sea monster? What if that was the only reason he had diverted here for the overnight stay in the first place?

Niki let the shade drop, cutting her wandering mind off. Grabbing a change of clothes off the bureau, she padded down the hall. The floor still felt cold to her, giving her step extra speed.

Turning the dial all the way to the left, she shivered for a moment, waiting for the first wall of steam to pass the curtain. Satisfied the water had reached a sufficiently scalding temperature, Niki stepped into the searing spray.

She relished the heat, breathing in the steam as she turned around in the hot spray. She let the water beat at her, molten needles of cleaning relief. She turned slowly, letting the hot water beat against her back, carving off the remnants of her forced hibernation.

Years of drawing on her own brand of magic had begin to take their toll on her finally. If she hadn’t retied from Ganymede’s service, she likely would have collapsed and died from it soon. Using her powers didn’t just take a toll on her energy; it also drained her physically, leaving her feeling like she had been hollowed and gutted before being left to hang on a meat hook. Drinking helped, but she wasn’t a fool. She knew it only dulled the pain, masking it while she recovered. She’d also come close to facing a very different kind of demon because of it. Deep down, she knew bottling one demon with another didn’t solve anything.

But today she was done with all of that. Today was the start of a new chapter in her life. Today, she was going to start her life over. She’d only been teasing when she told Ganymede she might be a teacher or a waitress, but the truth was she didn’t care. It felt like she had wasted so much of her life, hunting down monsters, stopping the bad guys. She wanted to do something that just made people happy. Something that at the end of the day she could come home, turn on the TV, and forget all about the problems of the world. She wanted to be normal.

The words just sounded right in her head. Normal. There was no better time than now to do it, either. Maybe carpe diem wasn’t just a Hallmark greeting. But if she was going to do it, she needed to act now, before anything happened to make her change her mind.

As though on cue, the hot water began to peter out, spurts of cold water spluttering out of the shower head. Niki cut the water off quickly before the hot water vanished and all she was left with was an icy floe.

She stepped out of the shower quickly, toweling off and throwing on her clothes. She needed to hurry. If she was going to get on with the rest of her life, she needed to see a Mule.

#

Even after she figured out where she had left her car, it took some time to get the engine to turn. It wasn’t just cars Niki had trouble with. Watches, computers, phones. Things mechanical or digital tended to break down around people like Niki.

That’s what made someone like Mitch the Mule so special. Mules were a breed of special all their own. Half in the ordinary world, half on the other side, they bridged the gap between the two societies, giving folk like Niki the foothold they needed to survive in the modern age.

Even so, Mitch was special. Rumor had it his father had been something powerful, something ancient caught between the worlds and passing his time sewing his seed on Earth. Whoever - or whatever - he had been, he’d blessed his son with a great gift: brains. Mitch was born with that unique brand of genius that treated everything like a fantastic riddle waiting to be unwrapped. It was a shame he wasted so much of his time on the edge of town, playing with his computers. If only that wasn’t what made him so valuable to Niki right now.

“I need help,” she said. They were in front of Mitch’s trailer, sitting around an old Hibachi grill propped up on cinder blocks. Mitch had something cooking on the grill that looked greasy to Niki. Her stomach roiled.

In theory, Mitch’s place being outside the city limits made him outside the reach of other elements. Reality was that he needed as much protection as anyone, which he bought by exchanging services.

“With what?” he asked, poking the meat.

“I need a job.”

“So, look in the paper like anyone else.”

Niki let out a sigh. She hated begging.

“I need credentials.”

“What are you hunting?” he asked. Niki shook her head. Mitch was still thinking about his cut.

“I’m retired.”

“Bullshit.”

Mitch stared back at her, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. Niki stopped herself from smiling at him. He almost looked adorable.

“For real?” He let out a low whistle. “I’m surprised Ganymede let you go so easily.”

Niki shrugged.

“No choice, I quit.”

“Nobody just stops working for the Moth Queen.”

Niki just shrugged. She’d never had the same deep seated fear of Ganymede that others seemed to harbor.

“All right then,” Mitch said, clapping his hands together. “What kind of credentials are we talking about? I can do weapons permits, though you might have to keep it reasonable, nothing exotic. Even the local yokels won’t believe you’re authorized to carry a halberd around for self protection. Or were you thinking something more municipal?”

“I want to be a teacher. Pretty sure that will require paperwork. Certifications and the like.”

Mitch laughed uncontrollably, his cheeks turning rosy as he struggled for breath. Cutter poked his pointy head out of the trailer, his monobrow contracting as he frowned at them. Mitch waved his over protective friend away, still doubled over.

Niki stood still, her cheeks burning. The self control she was showing was why she had been so good at her last job.

Mitch sobered when he caught the look in her eye.

“It’ll never work,” he said, composing himself. “Even if I got you paperwork that passed close inspection, what would you do when they put you in front of a class?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not exactly a people person. You’re what my Friday night crew would call a tank. You act first and think later. Frankly I don’t even know if you’re smart enough to—“

She knew he was goading her, but something inside her mind snapped regardless. Niki wasn’t even conscious of the motion, only of the red fury that descended around her vision. Muscles and breath moved in symphony with one another as her hand shout out and gripped Mitch by the neck with every intention of lifting him in the air and wrapping him in a crushing exhalation of penuma.

That’s what instinct and decades of living on the edge had taught her to expect. She got as far as feeling the worn cotton of his collar as he slipped out of her grasp. She tensed, her hand closing to catch him when she became aware of the razor sharp claws at her throat.

“We have a problem here?” Cutter asked, the stub of an unlit cigar still in his teeth. 

“No problem,” Mitch said cheerfully. “I was just demonstrating to Niki here how teaching might not be the best career path for her, what with her short temper and quick reactions. Imagine if I’d been a sassing teenager rather than a Mule.”

Te cloud lifted in Niki’s thoughts as she realized he had set her up. Acting only on instinct had almost cost her. A mule was impervious to magic. It was their only real gift.

“No problems,” she echoed hoarsely. 

“Good,” Cutter said, withdrawing his hand and taking a step back. “I’d hate for things to get messy.” He glanced over at Mitch again, frowning a little. “Now stop interrupting my game shows. I have to come out here again, somebody’s going to be walking away without an arm.”

“Sure, no problem Cutter,” Mitch said, still smiling affably. “He really does like his morning shows,” he told Niki after Cutter had gone back inside. “So, I think you can see why I’m not sure this is the best career move for you.” He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but the youth of his face made it look condescending.

“You knew I wouldn’t be able to hurt you,” she said flatly. 

“Something you forgot about in the heat of the moment. But, I’ll help you.”

Niki blinked.

“You will?”

“Sure.”

“Mistake!” they heard Cutter shout from inside the trailer. 

“Don’t mind him, he’s got big ears!” Mitch shouted at the trailer. “Sure, I’ll help. Everyone deserves a second chance, right?”

Cutter stayed quiet. There was history there, Niki new. Something had happened to make a killer like Cutter beholden to the Mule, and it wasn’t just his charm with the ladies.

“You’ll help me become a teacher?”

“No.”

“But you just said—“

“I will help you. But I think I know a better job for you. Don’t worry, you’ll still be guiding and helping the youth. Just not as their math teacher.”