Urban Allies: Ten Brand-New Collaborative Stories

CONTENTS

Ladies’ Fight

CAITLIN KITTREDGE AND JAYE WELLS

Tailed

SEANAN MCGUIREAND KELLEY ARMSTRONG

Sweet, Blissful Certainty

STEVEN SAVILE AND CRAIG SCHAEFER

Pig Roast

JOSEPH NASSISEAND SAM WITT

Takes All Kinds

DIANA ROWLAND AND CARRIE VAUGHN

The Lessons of Room 19

WESTON OCHSE AND DAVID WELLINGTON

Blood for Blood

CHARLAINE HARRIS AND CHRISTOPHER GOLDEN

Spite House

C. E. MURPHY AND KAT RICHARDSON

Crossed Wires

JEFF SOMERS AND STEPHEN BLACKMOORE

Weaponized Hell

LARRY CORREIA AND JONATHAN MABERRY

Related Works

About the Authors

Credits

Copyright

About the Publisher

Ladies’ Fight

CAITLIN KITTREDGE AND JAYE WELLS

AVA

I watched delicate fingers of mist uncurl as Leo’s car rolled silently down the highway between Baton Rouge and New Orleans. We were passing through a nowhere pocket of swamp country, the road raised up on a causeway between the thick tangle of mud, grass, and cypress that filled the windows.

The sun was barely up, and aside from a heron we startled with our passing, it was like we were the only two people left on earth.

You hungry? Leo said at length, his thin tattooed fingers tapping the steering wheel. I think I saw signs for a diner a few miles up.

I shook my head. I still wasn’t used to this. Just the two of us, sitting in a car gliding through Louisiana like we were on a road trip. I’m fine, I said.

Leo sighed. The car was so quiet I could practically hear his heart beating. His annoyance sounded like a hurricane.

You and me are gonna have to actually talk to each other sooner or later, he said. I think we’ve said maybe six words that weren’t bickering between here and Nevada. That’s gotta be some kind of record.

I stayed quiet. If he thought this was me being recalcitrant he hadn’t seen anything yet.

Fine, Leo said. I’ll talk for both of us. ‘Gee, Leo, it’s been weird since you died and woke up a Grim Reaper.’ It sure as shit has, Ava, but I’m glad that I’ve got you around to have my back.

I ran a hand across my throbbing forehead. It’s not about that, I said finally.

She speaks, Leo exclaimed. Welcome back, kid.

Listen, I said. I’ve been there. I died and I woke up as a monster. It’s not you and me. It’s everything else.

Leo reached over and squeezed my hand. His hands were delicate and long-fingered, like a musician’s. If it weren’t for the Russian tattoos inking every joint you’d think he was a piano player and not a hardened killer. If I learned one thing from growing up the way I did, it’s that gangsters are always going to fight and the best thing people like us can do is keep our heads down and move forward when the dust settles.

If some cranky Russians were all we had to contend with, I wouldn’t be worried, I grumbled. I didn’t say what I was really thinking—that the gangsters fighting were angels and demons. That both Leo and I were game pieces being pushed around a board by the sort of creatures whose main purpose was to make life miserable for everyone around them.

So we’ll go to NOLA, get the Grim Reaper’s Scythe and then you really won’t have to worry, Leo said with that easy grin he could muster even in situations like this. I would have kind of hated it, if I didn’t like him so much.

By the time we hit the outskirts of New Orleans, the fog had cleared off, just a low coating of it clinging to the Mississippi as we crossed the bridge. I’d gone back to being silent. The misgivings I had about the whole Scythe thing were a fight Leo and I had already had, repeatedly, on the way from Nevada.

Scythes were a reaper’s tool for taking souls, when the warlock or mage they’d made the deal with ran out the clock. Every one was different, and at first Leo and I assumed his was the sweet ride we currently inhabited. What else could you think about a muscle car that ran completely silent and never needed gas?

But it was just a steed, not a weapon. The Grim Reaper’s Scythe wasn’t like the Scythe that had belonged to Gary, the reaper who’d made me into a hellhound. It was something as ancient and primeval as the Grim Reaper himself. And since Leo was the first Grim Reaper in almost a thousand years, his Scythe was lost somewhere in the metaphysical attic of space and time, under almost a millennium of demon meddling and reaper politics that kept his office vacant so any demon could swoop in and use the reapers as their own personal servants—with a side of heavy muscle.

So now we were heading to New Orleans on a tip from a friend of a friend of a scumbag warlock that Leo’d dealt with when he was alive and just a plain old necromancer.

Leo exited the highway in the Garden District and slowed, crawling through streets just beginning to wake up. My breath fogged the window as I looked out and I rubbed the spot away. The last time I’d been here the streetlamps had been gas and I’d been alive, barely twenty years old and in love with the man who’d eventually betray and murder me.

After we pick up the Scythe we should go for breakfast, Leo said. I could really go for some of those tiny donuts. You know. They’re called something French.

Beignets, I murmured as we slowed, parking across the street from a mansion that was, by anyone’s standards, extremely fancy. Even if I weren’t really just a hillbilly from Tennessee at heart, I would have thought the place was swank.

Yeah, those, Leo said. He swung his door open and looked at me when I hesitated. You coming or what? Boyd said that the owner’s a vamp, and daylight is the way to go if we’re going to be in and out.

I can’t believe we’re breaking into the house of somebody who clearly has enough money to see we’re sent to a deep dark hole if we get caught, I said. "Never mind breaking in on the advice of somebody named Boyd."

Hey, Boyd may be a scumbag but he’s a scumbag who loves having somebody owe him a favor, Leo said. He’s not gonna screw us over.

And the owner, I said, refusing to cross the street just yet. Vamps tend more toward dank basements and caves, not beautifully restored Greek Revival mansions. You know that, right?

Yeah, about that. Leo rubbed his chin in the gesture I recognized as him lying his ass off. I don’t think she’s strictly a vamp in the venomous, blood-drinking crackhead sense you and I understand it. I mean, until a couple weeks ago I thought demons were a creepy bedtime story, so maybe we don’t know every critter in the Monster Manual just yet.

Did you just use Dungeons and Dragons to convince me to fight off some kind of super-vamp collector of magical artifacts who basically lives in a fort? I said, folding my arms.

Leo shrugged. Did it work?

Fuck you, I said, heading across the street. If we get thrown in jail, I’m leaving you there.

The house wasn’t as fortress-like as it appeared from the outside, but it was still big and fancy and had a really nice non-magical security system in place. A camera whirred at me and I turned quickly, stepping behind a thick oleander bush to hide my face.

Don’t worry about it, Leo said. Boyd gave us the security code.

Boyd is just a magical helper elf when it comes to getting in good with the Grim Reaper, isn’t he? I grumbled.

Leo turned on me, his good mood draining out like a drunk’s piss into a Bourbon Street gutter on a Saturday night. Ava, we need the Scythe if we have a chance of making this work. I’m not going to be caught with my dick out when I run up against the next demon.

I shut up. After almost a century of living with Gary, who had a temper that would make the average rabid dog look cuddly, I knew when to play the quiet game. Besides, Leo was right. He’d been a powerful necromancer and the demon who killed him had still sliced through his magic like a hot knife and planted said knife between his ribs up to the hilt.

Leo punched in the security code, and the side door we’d found popped open. But I grabbed him by the shoulder before he could step over the threshold.

Magic, I said quietly. Leo really was desperate if he’d ignored a barrier spell. It smelled like burning trash wafting across the wind, hot and sharp, ready to knock back anyone it didn’t read as friendly. It wasn’t blood conjuring, though, or dark magic. And I didn’t think light magic could pack that kind of punch.

All of that was a story for another day. For now, I had to stop Leo from frying himself.

Hold on, I said, standing back a bit and rolling my shoulders. Usually when I became the hound it was on the fly, my adrenaline was pumping and it wasn’t a big deal. I’m always in both states—there’s no breaking bones and wolfman shit going on. I’m both a human and a hound, always. I try not to think too much about how that’s possible—discussing pocket dimensions and string theory isn’t usually my idea of fun.

Now, though, the shift was more of a whisper than a scream. I opened my eyes and I was at knee height to Leo, staring at the world through the red-tinged vision of a hound. I could see the spell dancing in front of all the doors and windows, crisscrossing the house like a laser show. I took a deep sniff and stepped forward, tentatively putting one foot over the threshold. The spell hissed and crackled, but didn’t tear me apart or set off alarms. For whatever reason, it didn’t react to me in hound form at all.

I looked back at Leo, who held up a hand to indicate he’d stay where he was. With his other hand he slid a sheet of paper through the barrier with Boyd’s crappy hand-drawn map on it. I memorized the way to the library, where the Scythe supposedly was, and padded down the hall. It smelled a little damp and of dry rot, like most old homes in New Orleans. There were pictures on the walls, but I didn’t bother to check them out—I could tell by the smell of old paint and wood that they were expensive, but I was much more focused on where I was headed.

The library was indeed stuffed full of magical crap. I still wasn’t convinced that Boyd wasn’t punking Leo—it seemed way too easy. Break into the house of a sleeping vamp during the day, with nary a bodyguard in sight? Find something as significant as the Scythe just sitting around?

Maybe they didn’t know what they had, I reasoned as I nosed through a few of the dusty shelves, letting out a sneeze.

"What the hell!" a voice exploded from behind me. I jumped and spun, baring my teeth. The figure in the chair, who appeared to be one of those freaky hairless cats, just extra large and, well, talking, also bared its teeth, letting out a scalding hiss. Damn! it shouted, jumping to its feet. What in the fuck are you supposed to be—Cujo Junior?

I opened my mouth to say I wasn’t there to hurt anybody, even though on four legs I could only speak in the hellhound’s native language of mostly growls and grunts, but before I could, the cat started to scream like a broken siren. A puff of purple smoke exploded and when it cleared, a seven-foot-tall green-scaled demon had taken the cat’s place. Before I could react, it started screaming again.

Sabina! SABINA! Get in here!

SABINA

Something woke me from the sleep of the dead. At first, I thought it was Adam’s hand, which was snaking over my hip and curving toward my chest. But then a shout from downstairs broke through my sleepy haze. I jackknifed upright.

Hmm, Adam groaned.

Shh! I cocked my head to listen. The mage I loved didn’t have my preternatural hearing, so he probably hadn’t heard anything. Something’s wrong. I think—

Sabina!

I leapt out of bed, threw on my robe, grabbed my gun from the bedside table, and zapped out of the bedroom. I reappeared downstairs in the foyer. Adam flashed in a split second later. I started off, but he grabbed my arm.

Wait, he whispered. What the hell?

A volley of shouts—two male and one female—from the direction of the library answered the question for me. Our gazes met for a split second before we both took off down the hall. As we ran, the air sizzled as Adam called up his magic. I gripped my gun tighter and mentally ran through possible scenarios. Things had been really quiet lately in New Orleans. The Dark Races Council had been getting along, and there hadn’t been any threats from enemies in months.

We burst through the library’s wooden double doors to find the largest dog I’d ever seen, a sketchy-looking dude, and a very naked and pissed-off demon.

The dog growled and the hackles on its back rose like spikes.

I pointed my gun at the male, who had one pointed right back at me. Call off the mutt. The male wasn’t giving off any of the typical physical clues a dark race being might—no lavender smell that would indicate he was a faery, no copper penny scent of a vamp, and, while I detected some traces of magic, it wasn’t the sort of power I’d expect from a mage. There was a chance he might be a werewolf, but it was hard to tell if the dirty dog smell came from him or from the actual dog.

In response to my command, the dog growled again, as if it could understand me. I moved the gun’s aim from the dude to the dog. I didn’t plan on shooting the mutt. These two were hardly threats to the combined power of a mage, a Mischief demon, and the Chosen of the Dark Races.

What the hell is going on here? Adam asked.

Giguhl spoke first. I’ll tell you what’s going on! I was sitting here minding my own business when these two snuck in through the side door.

I frowned. How is that possible?

Instead of answering my question, the guy said, Where’s the Scythe?

What Scythe? I glanced at Adam, who shrugged back. Giguhl shook his head to indicate that he, too, was in the dark. Look, dude, you’ve obviously made a big fucking mistake here. I don’t own a Scythe, but I have a variety of other weapons I would be happy to introduce you to. I flashed my fangs and hissed a little to see how he reacted.

He didn’t react to the fangs, but he kept shooting sideways glances at Giguhl. I couldn’t blame him. Most humans have never seen a demon. He might spend part of the time in a hairless kitty body, but when he was full demon, he was a scary son of a bitch.

Ava? the dude said. I assumed he was addressing the dog. Ava seemed like a really weird name for a dog that big and ugly.

But before I could continue judging his weird taste in pet names, the dog’s body started vibrating and writhing. I wondered if I was going to have to clean a dead dog off of my carpet, but instead it was like the lights had flicked off for a second, and in that blink the figure changed from a dog to a petite, dark-haired woman with a Bettie Page bob and a pissed-off look on her face.

What the fuck? I’d seen werewolves shift before, so I wasn’t too impressed by the display. What did unsettle me was that this chick wasn’t a werewolf. She was clearly a human who had some sort of magic ability to shift into the form of a dog, sort of like how Giguhl could shift into cat form without being a were-being. But it made no sense for a Daughter of Adam to have these abilities. Who are you people?

Where’s the Scythe? The female’s voice was hoarse but her tone was surprisingly demanding.

Giguhl put his hands on his naked hips. It’s right here, sweetheart.

Her eyes dipped and widened before she quickly looked away. Her cheeks didn’t redden, like mine had the first time I got an unwanted eyeful of the demon’s forked . . . scythe.

The reaper’s Scythe, the guy said. We were told you have it and we’re not leaving without it.

Reaper? Like the Grim Reaper? I said, not bothering to hide the amusement in my voice. Look, I don’t know what you two have been smoking, but there is no Scythe in this house, reaper or otherwise.

The chick tossed a look at her partner in crime. I didn’t know her, but I certainly was familiar with the what-the-hell-have-you-gotten-us-into glare known the world over by women who hang out with men who are trouble. Judging from the Russian gang tats and the stink of mundane magic coming off that guy, he wasn’t just trouble, he was Big Trouble—capital B, capital T. He met her look with an untroubled one of his own. Boyd said it’s here, so it’s here.

Adam held up a hand. Boyd? Boyd who?

Shut the fuck up, the Russian said.

Unperturbed by his rudeness, Adam soldiered on. You’re not talking about Boyd Rothrock, are you?

The Russian stilled. What if I am? He squinted, trying to look all tough, but I noticed the hint of uncertainty that crept into his posture.

Adam crossed his arms and shook his head. Unbelievable. It was my turn to hold up a free hand. Who’s Boyd Rothrock? Even though I was the head of the Dark Races on the mortal plane, it’s not like I knew every vampire, faery, were, mage, or demon alive.

He’s a Recreant, Adam said, referring to a type of mage who’d been disavowed by the Hekate Council because they refused to follow the rules of conduct. He’s also a major asshole.

It’s true, the Russian admitted. He is an asshole. But being an asshole doesn’t make him a liar.

No, what makes him a liar in this case is that he’s been gunning for me for decades, Adam said.

Why? I asked.

Because I am kind of to blame for him being kicked off the council.

I nodded. Adam’s old job was being a Knight of Pythias for the mage Hekate Council. Acting as a sort of special ops mage, he’d had the opportunity to make lots of enemies in his past. But now wasn’t the time to rehash the past. We’d get to that. For now, we had more pressing issues.

Okay, so what we have here is a problem. Several of them, actually. But first, let’s dispense with the formalities. I pointed to myself. I’m Sabina Kane, the Chosen of the Dark Races. They both blinked at me, as if I’d just spoken a foreign language. I sighed. That means I’m sort of the queen of all the non-humans on earth. I’m also part vampire and part mage.

"We call her a magepire," Giguhl said.

Ignoring my smart-assed sidekick, I nodded toward Adam. That’s my partner, Adam. He’s a mage. I tipped my head the opposite way. That’s Giguhl, he’s a fifth-level Mischief demon and the son-in-law of the King and Queen of the Dark Races underworld.

Both of their eyes widened. For some reason they were both way more worried about being in a room with a demon than they were knowing there was also a vampire and a mage in the place.

Your turn, I prompted.

They exchanged a look. It was obvious the guy was in favor of telling me to fuck off, but the chick, who seemed the more rational of the two, shot him a look that threatened bodily harm if he didn’t pull his head out of his ass. I liked her despite the fact she’d tracked her muddy paws all over my rug. Finally, she won and spoke first.

I’m Ava and that’s Leo.

You’re a . . . weredog? I asked.

She snorted. Hellhound.

Giguhl made a dismissive sound.

What are you looking at? Ava said. You’re some sort of weird demon-slash-mole-rat shifter.

The demon’s black lips sputtered with indignation. I—I—mole-rat? I can’t even. He waved a claw to indicate I needed to defend his honor.

Not a mole-rat, I said. A hairless cat.

Really? She tilted her head. That’s weird.

Whatever, were-bitch.

I stepped forward before Ava could make good on the threat in her eyes. Anyway, we’ve established what everyone else is. How about you, Leo?

I’m a reaper, he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Where’s your robe, hotshot? Giguhl said over a snicker.

Leo’s eyes narrowed but he clearly was uncomfortable being around the demon, so he didn’t respond.

Wait, Adam interjected, I’m confused. If you’re the Grim Reaper, does that mean someone stole your Scythe?

He shook his head. "No, it’s not like that. I’m not the Grim Reaper. That’s just a job title. I’m in charge of a lot of other reapers. The Scythe we’re looking for is a special weapon that allows reapers to drain the souls of their target, trap the soul, and transport it to Hell. It’s pretty self-explanatory."

We obviously don’t have it since we didn’t even know reapers were a thing. We know why Boyd wanted to screw us over, but what does he have against you guys?

Leo’s eyebrow shot up. That’s exactly what I’m going to ask him while I’m kicking his ass.

I sighed and shot a look at Adam. This is gonna be a real shit show, isn’t it?

He smiled. Yup.

Ava asked Leo, Do you know where he is?

Leo shook his head. We talked on the phone. He didn’t tell me where he’s staying.

Adam smiled. Oh, I have a pretty good idea where we can find him.

Okay, since we’re all on the same side here, let’s stash our weapons and take this to the kitchen so we can figure out our next steps, because I sure as shit could use a drink, I said.

Amen, sister, Giguhl said.

I shook my head at the demon. No drink for you until you find some pants, Mr. Giggles.

AVA

It didn’t take long to decide that Leo and Adam should stay put and try to hunt for Boyd with scrying while Sabina and I went to visit a contact she had at a bar off Bourbon Street.

The place was one of those dives that tries a little too hard to pretend it’s still Prohibition, just a red neon sign hanging over a flat black door to indicate there was anything except apartments behind the vine-covered brick walls. I sighed as Sabina pressed the buzzer, and she gave me the sharp look I was starting to recognize as her stink-eye.

Problem?

You really think this guy of yours knows Boyd? I said as an answering buzz from the interior let us inside.

Probably, she said. If anyone in the city does. She strode ahead as the darkness of the bar closed in around us, down a narrow hall and into a low musty room with a water-stained ceiling. A jazz combo composed of guys who looked almost as old as the building was playing on what could only charitably be referred to as a stage. Most of the bottles behind the bar were dusty as tombstones.

Sabina took a seat on a bar stool, positioning herself so she could see the whole room and both the kitchen and the front doors. I sat down and faced her, so I could cover the corners she couldn’t see. She nodded approvingly at me.

Leo teach you that?

A hundred years of hanging around crappy speakeasies taught me, I said.

Sabina twirled one finger at the bartender, a guy wearing one of those straw hipster hats who was the only person under sixty in the joint. Her hair gleamed molten in the low light, and her pale skin managed to look even more flawless. I glanced in the cloudy mirror over the bar and discovered that sexy, discreet lighting just made me look dead.

So you and Leo, she said. I grimaced as the bartender ambled over.

It’s really not a girl-talk-style story.

I’m not interested in girl talk, Sabina said. I’m interested in if your feelings for each other will screw this up.

You’d have to ask Leo, I said as the bartender leaned over to get our order. I don’t do feelings.

Sabina opened her mouth and I cut her off. Any feelings.

What can I get you, Ms. Kane? the bartender asked her, and I dropped my eyes from hers, hoping my lie was convincing. It was easier than admitting that Leo and I couldn’t feel those things, even if we wished our situation could be different.

The usual. Sabina slid a folded piece of paper with Boyd’s name across the sticky bar. The bartender opened it, read the name, and then shook his head.

Sorry, Ms. Kane.

He went to make her drink and Sabina sighed, pulling out her cell phone to call her pet mage.

That’s it? I said. Sabina shrugged.

If they’ve never heard of him, they’ve never heard of him.

I nudged her arm as I turned on my stool. Watch the bartender, I said quietly. Sabina frowned.

You have some kind of power to tell when people are lying? There’s no way Boyd could have convinced anyone in this place to lie for him. I told you—I’m the Chosen of all of the world’s Dark Races.

I have the power of meeting a lot of liars, I said. So what if I didn’t have perfect hair and a fancy title? The bartender was acting so squirrelly he might as well have been chewing acorns.

I slid off my stool and started down the bar, but the guy saw me coming and backed up, pushing into a rear room through a swinging door. I caught a glimpse of a guy I figured was Boyd before it slammed shut in my face, and I heard a dead bolt click.

Move.

Sabina was behind me, and when I shifted to the side she put her foot to the door, shattering the wood around the lock. We were just in time to see Boyd go out the window. He moved faster than a man should be able to, and I figured he was juiced with magic. Great.

Go around front! I hollered at Sabina as I pulled myself onto the sill. Try to cut him off!

The bartender cowered in the corner, holding up his hands as Sabina gave him a snarl in passing. He made me! He threatened my family—I had no choice!

Whatever helps you sleep at night, dude, I said, and then my boots hit the ground ten feet below the window and I was running through the dense air of Bourbon Street, trying to keep the mage in sight.

SABINA

Bourbon Street is thirteen blocks long, and on the average weekend night, it is packed with thousands of humans in various states of sobriety. The air smells of cigarette smoke, vomited daiquiris, and raging hormones. But there was also an undeniable energy to all those vulnerable bodies gathered together to dance and sing like there was no tomorrow. It was the one thing I envied about humans. It was the curse of immortality that time never felt precious, so life never felt worth celebrating.

However, it’s one thing to wax poetic about mortals celebrating being alive and another thing entirely to have to dodge puddles of vomit and piss and staggering frat boys while you’re chasing an asshole mage.

Boyd didn’t have much of a head start, but he wove in and out of groups of stumbling humans like he’d been doing it his entire life.

Should I change? Ava asked. She was asking about switching into her hellhound form. Can’t risk it, I said. Too many people with smartphones and cameras.

So?

So, I can’t risk being the reason humans find out paranormal beings are real.

She shook her head and kicked up her speed a notch. I shook my head and easily caught up with her. Truth was, if I ran at my full speed—or used my magic to flash through the crowd—Ava wouldn’t have been able to keep up with me, hellhound or not. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned through the years, it’s that impatience complicates things. We had no idea what motivated Boyd to set up Adam and Leo. Chasing him down like prey might feel good but it might not get us any answers. So I was content to follow him and see what happened.

Music spilled out of bars as we ran past, creating a sort of mix tape of disco, rap, and country music. Flashing lights and neon signs of naked women winked against the dark sky.

Up ahead, I saw Boyd’s stupid hat bobbing and weaving above the crowd. We were nearing the end of the busy part of Upper Bourbon, where the cops blocked the road off from cars at night. Once he got out of the crowd, he’d be easy picking because Ava and I could bring some of our magical favors to the party.

Once he’s past the barricades, you can change, I called to her.

She nodded and dodged a couple who were painted silver from head to toe. The guy wore a pair of running shorts that had been spray-painted to match his skin. The lady wore a pair of silver panties, and two fleur-de-lis stickers covered her nipples. As we passed, the guy lifted his lady friend and put her legs over his shoulder so he could pantomime cunnilingus for the crowd. I rolled my eyes and kept running. Almost there. Boyd had maybe a block left before the crowd gave way to a shadowy street beyond.

Shit! Ava said.

I pulled my eyes from the silver people and looked in time to see Boyd cut a hard right on Orleans. Godsdammit.

We turned to follow him. At the end of Orleans, the cathedral loomed. Lit from the front, a statue of Jesus with his arms spread wide cast an ominous silhouette on the cathedral’s façade. If Boyd made it past the cathedral to Jackson Square, it would be almost impossible to catch him. There were too many side streets and alleys to keep up without the help of magic.

Ava hit my arm and pointed with her other hand. On the left side of the street, Boyd was scaling a gate. Got you, asshole, I said under my breath. Once we were off the street, all bets were off.

Ava and I beelined for the gate. She made a running jump for the top of the gate. I reached to help boost her up, but she kicked at me. I got it.

With my brows raised, I backed away and crossed my arms. I used to be like that. Never wanted help from anyone. Needed to prove I could do it all on my own. Maybe one day Ava would learn that asking for help didn’t make you weak. But it wasn’t my lesson to teach her. I just hoped when she learned it, it wasn’t the hard way.

Her fingers gripped the upper ledge and she grunted as she pulled herself up. She kicked out her leg and swung it over the top. Perched there, straddling the top, she took a moment to glance back at me to flash a victorious look.

I shook my head and started to open my mouth to tell her to quit screwing around, but a movement beyond the gate caught my eye.

Ava! I yelled. But I was too late. Before the word even left my mouth, a ball of black light hit Ava. Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream as her eyes rolled back in her head.

I leapt forward in time to catch her before she hit the concrete.

Boyd watched her fall. Holding her too-still body, I glared at the asshole.

Tell Lazarus I said hi.