5. Ashe

I pull up to the security booth outside the parking garage just as my phone starts to ring. With a sigh, I reach for the radial button on the side of my helmet and for a flicker of a second I entertain the notion of ignoring the call. Instead, I answer it.

“What?” I groan, fishing my wallet out of my back pocket and flashing the security guard my badge.

“A shame they're calling you in on such a pretty day,” the attendant remarks in what I can only assume is his attempt at small talk. “Hope you're getting paid overtime, ma'am.”

I only nod in response as he raises the barricade and waves me through with a tip of his hat. Reapers never get a day off and I sure as hell was not getting paid enough for this gig.

“You're late,” the voice on the other end of the phone says as I steer my bike through the garage, the dull roar of the motor echoing throughout the enclosed space as I climb to the uppermost level. There was an edge of annoyance in his tone that made me grin.

“It's barely ten-thirty, calm down.”

Chandler may have been expecting me first thing in the morning, but my morning did not start until nine. Granted, I had made a stop by Café Roasted before heading into work, which was about twenty minutes out of my way and prolonged my commute, but the barista I was looking for was off today. It was probably for the best. Dani seemed pretty stunned the last time I saw her. I would have been, too, I guess, if I were almost run over by a car.

As I coast to a stop in an empty parking space next to the building's entrance, I spare a glance down at my arm.

Absorbing the full impact of the collision had left me with only a closed fracture and a few minor scratches. My arm had healed quickly enough, but even after downing half a bottle of whiskey to help numb the pain sleep did not come so easily. I may have the benefit of a demon's regenerative abilities and my body may be tougher than most, but at the end of the day I'm still part human and breaking bones still hurts like a bitch when a car hits you at about fifty miles per hour. My strength was the only thing that kept it from killing us both. Still, I've been through worse.

I'm not even sure why I chose to save her last night.

I've seen humans die; I've even killed a few of them, myself, back in the day. Saving her was reckless. And yet there was just something about her, something in her eyes, that fascinated me. The fact that she was able to resist Catalina's charm was enough to pique my interest, too.

Losing my necklace, on the other hand, was less than thrilling. I was not entirely sure if she had it or not, but it was the only lead I had so far. If it was not with her . . . well, I could only hope that it was.

There was no point in worrying about it now, though. Catalina would not like that I've kept Chandler waiting this long. With how irritable she was this morning, it was probably best if I did not push my luck with her.

“Just get in here, Ashe. We've got a lot to catch up on.” Click.

Well someone sounded irritable this morning.

My grin widens as I dismount, shaking my hair loose from the helmet before making my way inside. I never did make this job easy on him. Then again, he never bothered to hide his contempt for being my handler, so why should I bother masking mine?

The entrance to the building opened to a narrow corridor that led straight to a lobby on the third floor, where a group of six elevators stood at its center. I press the call button and glance absently around the empty room as I wait.

A large waiting area, complete with several sets of contemporary furniture that looked more like they belonged in a brochure for modern living, wrapped around the front of the building, overlooking the city beyond a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. A small hallway stretched to my left, the frosted glass of office doors spaced evenly along the bare white walls.

What businesses were on this floor again, law firms? I knew of at least one practice that was run by a vampire. Figures that one of their kind would go into a profession where their charm would be of use to something other than hypnotizing their prey, though I'm sure most of them were arrogant enough to believe that they could charm their way out of anything. Still, having a supernatural footprint in the world of law and politics has not necessarily been a bad thing for our kind.

I step into the elevator and swipe my badge against the card reader. No need to push any buttons—there was only one floor that my access would take me to from here. Not that there was a button for me to press, anyway. Humans and their superstitions.

As the carriage jolts to life, pausing briefly before slowly ascending the floors, I tap the helmet against my leg and shake my head. I've been away for six months and these elevators were still the slowest I've ever been in. Gates Tower was one of the oldest buildings in this city, strategically placed in the very heart of Trinity Valley's historic district and playing host to a wide variety of high-profile companies, and yet they could not afford to get the damn elevators fixed? If the stairwell actually had a door to the floor I was going to then I would not even bother on most days.

As it were, I was hardly in a rush to get back to work so soon. Let them wait a few minutes longer.

Ding!

The elevator doors swing open and I step out onto the thirteenth floor.

Unlike the other floors of Gates Tower, there were no winding corridors or lounge areas on this level. The small lobby where I was standing served as the only partition that divided this floor in half and the ceiling was taller, as if the thirteenth level was actually two floors combined into one. Though, from the outside, it looked more like it was architecturally designed as a windowless division of brick to section off the upper and lower halves of the building. To the left of the elevators was a single door with the words 'PUBLIC AFFAIRS—FOURTH WARD, SECOND PRECINCT' inscribed in bold lettering. To my right, an identical door simply labeled 'LIQUIDATION DEPARTMENT'.

A tinge of anger swells in my chest at those words and I clench my jaw. To think that I had actually believed I could be free of all this. I was beginning to wonder if I ever would be.

Grimacing at the thought, I turn right and scan my badge. Here we go.

Bright florescent lights illuminate the whitewashed room like a hospital. In the center was a hallway lined on either side with enclosed glass offices that led to a large conference room at the far back. To my left a tiled path wrapped around the backend of the offices, where some sleeping cots and the community showers were; to my right was a break room, a kitchenette and an open lounge area that wrapped around the other side. Both paths led to a set of stairs that opened to an upper level stretching across most of the room, which housed a recreational area and a large fitness room. There were no paintings or windows anywhere on this floor, just bright white walls.

Home sweet home away from home.

“Well look who finally decided to come back.”

I glance up at the familiar voice and lock eyes with a chiseled short-haired brunette peering curiously over the second floor balcony. His tanned skin had a sheen to it and his hair was matted with sweat, but even with the towel draped over his shoulders I could still make out the signature chain link tattoo snaking up his arms and around his muscular torso, fettering him. My own skin crawls at the sight.

“Damen,” I greet, forcing a smile. “Guess I just couldn't stay away.” I purposefully neglect to explain the circumstances of my return. The reason behind it did not exactly matter and I doubt he would care, anyway.

A lithe woman appears next to him, her dark brown hair pulled back into a wild ponytail. “Holy shit,” she says as she wipes sweat from her bronzed skin. The same chain link tattoo is visible on her arms and chest, peeking out from beneath her fitted tank top. “Didn't think we'd be seeing you again.”

I shrug. “Didn't think I'd be coming back, Selene.” I knew I was foolish for thinking it—the fact that I was back in this room was proof enough that any effort to leave was futile. Once a Reaper, always a Reaper. It was a lifelong commitment, though for me that proved to be longer than most. “I'm a little surprised you weren't sent after me.”

My resignation would have been interpreted as desertion and my life should have been forfeited the moment I stopped answering their phone calls. But after the first month of my 'retirement' went by without any attempts on my life, I had allowed myself to relax.

Until Catalina showed up two days ago, that is.

At first I had been hopeful that her visit was purely for pleasure, but our conversation last night at the club only solidified my suspicions. I guess after all that time I spent denying her requests over the phone it took her finally coming down here in person for me to get the hint. I can be a little stubborn, but she can be incredibly persuasive.

Damen's lips twitch. “It was tempting,” he admits unashamedly. “But you seem to have friends in high places. We were told to leave you be.”

Lucky me.

“Well I hope you had a nice vacation,” Selene says, crossing her arms and arching a brow. The bitterness laced in her words does not escape me. “Not that this little reunion isn't touching, but you better go see Chandler. There's a lot to catch you up on.”

“So everyone keeps telling me.” I nod and continue inside.

A few people were shuffling between offices, men and women dressed in clean-pressed suits as they hovered over desks and analyzed the data on their digital screens. Even for a Sunday these witches were dressed to the nines.

I come to a stop just outside the second to the last door. It was furnished identically to the other offices down the hall, with a row of filing cabinets to the left and a line of bookshelves along the back wall. Papers and maps were strewn haphazardly across the large oak desk in the center of the room, nearly burying the laptop underneath, and two leather-backed chairs had been skewed slightly from their position at the front of the desk.

Chandler's office had not changed much. Even after six months, it still looked like a hurricane traveled through here. Or a banshee on a really bad day.

“About time you showed up.”

I sidestep as a short middle-aged man with wavy blonde hair and thick-rimmed glasses walks past me, a steaming cup of coffee in hand and a folder tucked under one arm. Oh good, he seems to be in a cheerful mood today.

“I missed you, too, Chandler.” I follow him into the office and take a seat, placing a booted heel on his cluttered desk as he moves to the opposite side.

“Wish I could say the same,” he mutters, his voice so low it may as well have been a whisper. He raises an eyebrow and hesitantly scatters a few pages around, clearing off a small area and unearthing his computer before placing his coffee and the folder down. “It was actually quiet without you around.”

I smirk. “So you did miss me.”

No reaction. Chandler sits, sips his coffee and then opens the folder in front of him, not bothering to meet my gaze as he peruses its contents like he was decoding an ancient manuscript. His deliberate silence was almost unbearable sometimes.

With a huff I lean back, my eyes flicking absently to his hand. “You know, I'm honestly surprised you didn't try and stop me when I left.” After all, part of a handler's job was keeping a leash on their assigned Reaper. In truth, I should not have been able to leave at all. “Why didn't you?”

“I was advised to let you go,” he replies without so much as a glance in my direction. “That you would come back after you were finished throwing your little tantrum. And here you are.” His flat tone lacks any hint of enthusiasm.

I frown. I was not throwing a tantrum. Is that what Catalina was telling everyone? “Well at least the twins seem ecstatic to have me back,” I say, not bothering to hide my sarcasm.

Damen and Selene were not actually twins, but they looked so identical that it became somewhat of a moniker for the duo. It certainly did not help that image when they were partnered together shortly after their initiation into the Reaper program. They were capable enough on their own, but I'll be damned if they were not downright effective as a team.

Chandler's green eyes flick up to me and for a split second I see his brow furrow, as if conflicted on how exactly he should respond. But before I have time to process whatever emotion clouded his eyes, he clears his throat and directs his attention back to the file at hand. “Yes, well, they might still blame you for Nessa's death so I'd suggest avoiding them like the plague for a while. You know how close they all were.”

His words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest. Nessa was dead?

I always had a hard time getting along with most of the people I worked with. The witches were, well, witches, and the Reapers could be even worse. I was not born into captivity like they were. I knew what living out from under the Tribunal's thumb was like. They were bred for this life. It was all they had ever known, all they were ever taught. They could not understand my desire to leave and I was not blind to the prospect that they may resent me for wanting to.

But Nessa had been different.

While everyone in the Liquidation Department was busy staying out of my way, Nessa had been actively seeking me out. Asking me for pointers on the best way to handle the supernatural. Picking my brain on how the times have changed, what Reapers were like back then, what I was like. It was only now occurring to me that she may have been asking what freedom was like, and my pain deepens.

She had been so young, not even a full-fledged Reaper for two years. Bearing the Reaper's mark may give them a silver-edged advantage over the supernatural, but it sure as hell did not make them unkillable. Nessa found that out the hard way. And I was supposed to be her partner.

It was a gimmicky program, started by the Tribunal in an attempt to keep their foot soldiers alive in the field longer. They were still mortal, after all, and the monsters that lurk in the shadows of our world can be deadly. Two Reapers, they would say, were much more effective than one, and since its inception Nessa had been my sixth partner.

The lifespan of a Reaper was never long, but that did not stop Nessa from embracing her duties with uninhibited courage. She could be reckless, a trait I had often chastised her for, and that had ultimately cost her in the end.

“How did she—”

“You weren't here.” Chandler shrugs, although I could sense the sorrow that weighed him down. “And our newest crop of eligibles didn't survive the binding ritual. We were short handed, but we all still had a job to do.”

I close my eyes.

As rare as we were, in the early days cambions were hunted down, seen as monsters even among the worst of our kind. Despite the increasing threat of discovery from humans and the alliance that was eventually brokered between the races to end the fighting and maintain their secrecy, half-demon hybrids still faced persecution for simply existing. An unnatural abomination even among the supernatural.

But peace is only as good as the hand that enforces it and, after centuries of tension and temptation, the Tribunal decided that they needed proper soldiers to uphold their laws. And so, following the devastation of the Black Plague and under the guidance of an eccentric witch, the Reaper program was born. The creatures that were once condemned were suddenly thrust onto the front lines, forced to either serve in keeping the balance or face execution. Controlling them would prove difficult, however, even with the Reaper's mark etched into their skin; after five hundred years the number of cambions started to dwindle and a viable alternative host was needed if the program was to survive. As trade between nations globalized, the Tribunal capitalized on the additional resources and eventually grew their program into a full-blown weaponized eugenics system.

Because they were untouched by magic and easier to control than their emotionally-unstable predecessors, humans made for the perfect vessels. Stealing babies would draw too much attention these days, however, so adoption was the only way. The process was long and it took longer still before the children were mature enough to receive the Reaper's mark. Using humans to bear their chains may have served the program well these last two centuries, but death always seemed to find its way inside the ranks.

“They know better than to go alone out there. Nessa knew better!” My voice catches in my throat and I clench my jaw. “They aren't like me. They're still human.”

They may have all shared a mutual dislike for me, and I did my best to return their feelings in kind, but the death of a fallen soldier was always a hard pill to swallow—especially one like Nessa, who actually tried to see the good in everyone.

“And that's precisely why you shouldn't have left.”

I glance up to see Chandler staring at me over the rim of his spectacles and I bristle. Was he accusing me?

“Are you saying it's my fault she's dead?”

“Not directly, but we have a buddy system in place for a reason. Our department isn't exactly teeming with new Reapers, Ashe. It takes time for a new prospect to come of age, time for them to train until they reach maturity. And that's not including the very real possibility that the binding ritual won't just outright kill them, as we saw with our last two hopefuls during your absence.”

When I fail to reply he sighs and leans back, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. This job is tough on all of us. You've been here the longest, you know what's at stake. You've lived outside the Wards and you've seen the worst of it, but these Reapers that we're sending out there have no idea what they're up against. As handlers it's our job to prepare you for the dangers but how can we when the danger keeps changing?”

I frown. “The danger hasn't changed, Chandler.” Radical covens and feral shifters have been around for centuries, and the vampires even longer. And the zealots who think that our kind should not have to hide in humanity's shadow? Laughable, at best.

None of it was anything that Reapers could not handle.

“I'm not just talking about policing our kind. It's getting harder to hide these days. The Untouched can be just as bad as a werewolf on a full moon, and these wraiths—”

“Wraiths?” That piqued my interest and I lean forward. “We haven't had a wraith loose in our Ward for at least sixty years now.”

“I know,” Chandler says, his face grim. “But our area has seen more tears than usual in the Veil over the last few months and a handful of them have slipped through as a result. For the most part they've been little more than a nuisance and we've been able to handle it, but between that and an influx in our normal duties, well. We're stretched pretty thin as it is.” He levels his gaze with mine. “You picked a terrible time to leave.”

I lower my head once more, my eyes darkening as a thought crosses my mind. “Is that how Nessa . . .” I'm unable to bring myself to finish that sentence and when I look up Chandler only nods in affirmation.

We sit in painful silence for a moment longer, our thoughts pressing in around us as the echo of heels clicking on tile resonates in the hallway outside. Despite the teachings of modern-day religion, demons were not inherently bad creatures; they were not inherently good, either, and the wraiths that are yanked through these random tears could be the stuff of nightmares. If the Veil was cracking again then Catalina's presence in the Fourth Ward made sense. The Tribunal would want to ensure that these demons, good or bad, were handled quickly. Secrecy was everything to them.

This must be the 'fire' she talked about last night.

“How many other precincts are affected?” I ask, my words shattering the quiet that had descended between us.

Chandler shrugs. “Last we heard it seems to be just us, for now.” He shoots me a pointed look, as if predicting what I was prepared to ask next, and adds, “They all have their own problems to deal with and can't spare to send us backup. We're on our own here, Ashe.”

“Figures.”

The Tribunal may pass laws for us to abide by and supply each Ward throughout the country with enough Reapers to enforce their edicts, but beyond that they did not concern themselves with how the Wards operated. As long as humanity remained oblivious to the supernatural and their commandments were being upheld, they could care less. Keep the balance, maintain the secrecy.

“Anyway, it doesn't matter.” Chandler closes the file in front of him and slides it across his desk. “Your latest assignment. Seems we have a prowler on the loose. Five victims in the last two months.”

“The cougar from the news?” I take the folder and flip through its contents, a professional edge slipping back into my tone as if I had not just been away for six months. “Sounds like it might be a gattan gone wild.”

It was not common for one of the ferae to lose control over their humanity, but it was not entirely unheard of, either. They each harbored their own beast and could be just as dangerous as the lycans on a bad day. My mind thinks back to that mutt from my last assignment and I shake my head. These animals never learn.

“Possibly, if these eyewitness reports are to be believed. Untouched humans aren't always the most reliable sources—they'll reason the sane back into insanity if they could. Its energy signature is sporadic so we haven't been able to latch onto it long enough to tag it, but it hasn't moved outside of Goss Hollow Park for the past few weeks so I'd suggest starting there first.”

Untouched. Energy signature. Witches and their fancy terms. Always thinking that they were better than everyone else. Constantly trying to distance themselves from the fact that they were still human, too.

I fight off an eye roll as I stand up, prepared to walk out the door. If this prowler was a feral gattan then it would wait until nightfall to resume its hunt, which gave me plenty of time to study up on whatever notes Chandler has compiled in this little file. Without tagging it, though, it would prove difficult to track.

Looks like I'm hunting the old-fashioned way tonight.

“Ashe.”

I turn back around, impatiently tapping my helmet against the doorframe as I meet his gaze. What does he want now?

Chandler hesitates, combing fingers through his hair as he mulled over his thoughts. “You know, you're the only Reaper who's ever outlived their handler.” He smiles, but I can sense the grief in his eyes as he speaks. “How lonely that must be, I wonder, to constantly be surrounded by death.”

I blink, unsure exactly how to respond, but when he says nothing further I turn and walk out.

I am a Reaper, after all. Death is the only thing I'm good at.

-------------

A/N: And here we get a little glimpse into Ashe's world of the supernatural! Chandler sounds like he could use more caffeine in his life though, the sourpuss.

Don't forget to share the love if you're enjoying the story!