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CHAPTER 2

A solid bump jarred me from my nap. Rubbing my eyes, I looked around the first-class cabin in some confusion. It was dark outside, though there was a dim light from the cockpit area. Last I remembered, the sun had still been up. Falling asleep on an airplane always leaves me hazy. The businessman in the seat next to me lit a cigarette, which was annoying. Still, it was better flying these days than it used to be. Fewer people smoked on planes nowadays, not since the new jumbo jetliners came out. Pressurized cabins and cigarette smoke didn’t mix well.

Covering my mouth as I yawned, it finally dawned on me that we had landed.

The last time I’d been here it had been called Candler Field. They’d renamed it the William B. Hartsfield International Airport a few years ago. Atlanta, Georgia was still a few hundred miles from my ultimate destination, which meant I still had a long ride ahead of me, but someone from Cazador was supposed to be picking me up so at least I wouldn’t have to drive myself.

I’d been somewhat surprised by the warm reception I received when I had made the phone call to Monster Hunter International. It had been a long time since I’d worked with them. We had parted on good terms, but I was sure nearly everyone I knew from back in those days was either retired or dead. I hadn’t even known who to ask for. Yet there’d been no hesitation from the receptionist once I identified myself as a former employee. She had patched me through to “the Boss” and wished me luck.

It turned out the man in charge of the family business now was Raymond Shackleford III, who had once been one of the toughest kids I’d ever met, and who now sounded like a rather confident, mature adult over the phone. His father, Ray the Second . . . now there was a man I was pretty sure nothing on this planet could have beaten in his prime. If I were trying to kill him, I’d wait until he was old and crippled. Then I might have had a chance. Might.

Despite remembering me—and knowing all about what I was—Ray had agreed to talk about employment opportunities. Which was good, because I didn’t really have anywhere else to go. I’d given him the brief rundown of what I’d been up to since I’d last been in the US, but I’d left the details of why I was leaving Israel vague. During my trial, Haim had kept his word and accepted full responsibility for freeing the nagualii and the resulting deaths of our teammates. While the IDF was furious about what happened outside Taba, the Mossad had declared I’d been following orders. The fact that this had led to the deaths of two Kidon members was beside the point. I wasn’t getting executed as a traitor, but I was no longer welcome. With my official government employment terminated, as a supernatural noncitizen I was no longer exempt from bounties there, so I had to leave the country immediately.

Things like me were useful to have around until we weren’t. At least they’d paid me well, though.

It wasn’t the Boss who would be picking me up at the airport, but rather his new Director of Operations at Monster Hunter International, a recently returned Vietnam veteran by the name of Earl Harbinger. I wasn’t familiar with the name. Ray told me that Earl would fill me in on what was new at MHI, as well as get me brought back up to speed. I didn’t really think the Shacklefords would be so welcoming. Granted, Ray knew about my family history and abilities, but those weren’t necessarily positives.

It was well known that I was a skilled Hunter, though. In certain circles I had a bit of a reputation for getting the job done. More importantly, Ray knew how quickly I could adapt to just about any situation. He’d been a relatively inexperienced Hunter when we’d helped the people in a small village outside San Antonio deal with a skinwalker. Ray had been enthusiastic, and smart for his age, but he would’ve gotten killed that time if it wasn’t for me taking a haunted spear for him, and the Shacklefords weren’t the kind of people who forgot things like that.

Except Raymond Shackleford the Third was still a pragmatist, and he’d done a few days of research before calling me back to make the job offer. I’m sure he had all sorts of sources, because even in secret organizations like the Kidon, Monster Hunters talk to other Hunters about monsters. The cynical part of me figured Ray wanted me back just so he could make sure I was still the same person and hadn’t given in to my other half over the ensuing years. It’s easier to kill something you didn’t have to go and hunt down first.

I shrugged that dark thought off as the flight attendant opened the door to let us off. Nice thing about first class—board first, disembark first. I didn’t have any luggage save for a small bag I’d picked up in New York City after getting deported. It was a leather knockoff with an “I❤NY” logo on the side. Cheap tourist crap, but I kind of liked it. Plus, it was large enough to hold my spare dress and a few toiletries I’d picked up during my sudden departure from Israel. The less I dwelt on that incident, the better my psyche would be.

One thing I’d immediately noticed during the flight from London to New York was the jarring change in clothing styles. In Israel, the people there were what could generously be called “fashion backward.” It wasn’t as though we were too worried about keeping up with the latest styles in the middle of surviving multiple wars, and when I’d left America it was still coming out of the Great Depression, so I’d not had a lot to compare us to. Until I’d landed in London, that is. Everywhere I’d turned there were women showing way too much leg and midriffs, wearing hip-hugger jeans that left little to the imagination. I didn’t think of myself as a stick in the mud, but clothing here seemed too flamboyant, colorful, and sometimes downright weird.

I deboarded the plane, nodding politely to the stewardess in the really tacky uniform as I descended the portable stairs. For some reason, Braniff International had them dressed in a sort of mock spacesuit uniform. It was polyester and pain. I felt bad for the stewardesses for having to wear that outfit.

Pausing at the base of the stairs, I looked around and was shocked by what I saw. This place had grown a lot since 1942.

The wind was strong but the air was warm. Spring in Georgia usually meant lots of rain, but I couldn’t see a cloud in the sky. The moon was high above, a fingernail crescent, thin and faint. I held my bag close as I followed my fellow first-class passengers down to the tarmac and into a terminal.

There were people waiting, holding signs with names written on them, to pick up travelers. The one waiting for me didn’t need a sign, as he was a very good friend who I’d been led to believe had died long ago.

He had the same lean build to him, sandy blond hair cut close, and a smooth-shaven face which hadn’t aged much, maybe a few years, in spite of the decades that had passed. There were just a few extra wrinkles around those icy blue eyes. He looked like a tough, fit man in his thirties, the same as when he’d departed for England to fight the Nazis in Europe. Seeing that face, it felt as though we had just said our goodbyes the day before. He still had that toughness about him, a cocky swagger that suggested he was far more capable than first appearance.

Ray Shackleford Jr.—who I’d been told was dead—waved. So I did what was only natural and returned the greeting.

I was confused. The Boss had said a man named Earl was picking me up, not him.

When I’d left, only a handful of us had known how unique he was. Tough, sure. He had a certain je ne sais quoi about his demeanor, which set most people back on their heels the longer he stared at them, and that was because this man was a werewolf. And not just any old werewolf, but the only one I had ever heard of to get that under control enough to earn an exemption from the government’s bounty system, the Perpetual Unearthly Forces Fund. I knew he had earned a silver PUFF Exempt coin—just like mine—and we’d even earned them in the same war.

“So you’re Earl Harbinger?” I asked, curious.

“Yep.” He nodded, which confirmed my suspicions. When you’re the kind of thing that ages slowly or lives an abnormally long time, it’s handy to change your name every so often. The name change was a brilliant idea, actually. Something I would have considered if not for the fact that the deportation papers given to me by the Kidon were under this identity. It’s hard to get a legitimate new passport when you look twenty but your birth certificate says you’re a hundred.

“You’re looking pretty as ever, Chloe.”

“Thanks . . . Earl.”

“No more luggage?”

“This is it,” I said, holding up my “I❤NY” bag.

It was an awkward reunion, but the Shacklefords had never been big on emotional displays. So I just followed him out of the terminal, and into the parking lot to a pickup truck.

“You’ve aged well,” Earl said as he—always the Southern gentleman—opened the passenger side door for me.

“So have you,” I replied, feeling a little uncertain. “Which is, frankly, kind of a surprise.”

“Eh. I’m taking aging gradual.” He went around to the driver’s side and got in. “It looks like you’re not aging at all.”

“Trust me, I’m not immortal.”

“I believe your pop is supposed to be, though.”

That was low. Was he trying to provoke me? “Thirty years ago you knew I didn’t like to talk about that. What makes you think that’s changed?”

Earl just grunted at that, started the engine, and got us out of the parking lot and onto the road.

“I was told you’d gotten killed,” I told him.

“What is it the kids say nowadays? I had to reinvent myself.” Earl shook his head sadly. “The government drafted me again.”

“For Vietnam?”

“Yeah.”

“Multiple terms? That’s against the PUFF exemption rules.”

“We both know when it comes to folks like us the government makes the rules up as they go along.”

Something about him was off and unsettling now, and there was a bitter anger in his voice I’d never heard before. I didn’t know what it was. He hadn’t been like this thirty years ago. Then again, my own powers hadn’t really started to bloom until I’d had to fight Hitler’s monsters. Maybe werewolves got surlier over time? Or worse, what if he’d always been this dangerous and I was only now picking up on it? He’d always left me feeling a little uneasy, but now it seemed worse. It was a sobering thought.

We sped along the highway in the old truck heading southwest. One thing that had changed since I left the States, there was a national speed limit now, which apparently Earl did not care about in the least. We passed Union City in a hurry and blew past a state trooper hidden by the side of the road. However, he didn’t even flip his lights on as we went by. I glanced over at Earl curiously.

“He already stopped me on the way in.” He sensed my questioning look. “Got lucky. He knew who I work for.”

“That good or bad?”

“I didn’t get a ticket.”

Earl drove so fast it actually made me nervous. Israeli drivers weren’t as courteous as Americans were, but then again there weren’t as many. Wide-open country roads tended to teach drivers to respect the road—especially since one never knew when their car would run face-first into a Holstein. Crazy speed was a problem we really never had to deal with while navigating the narrow, winding roads of Haifa.

“So now that you’re somebody else, your son is the Boss, not you?”

Earl chuckled. “It’s more of a family business partnership, but he’s the one who’s officially alive. And honestly, the kid is a better leader than I ever was. My boys have come a long way since you knew them.”

“So what do you do, then?”

“Us old-timers come in useful . . . for the experience. And upon occasion to rip the head off something beyond what the regular folks can handle.”

“Which one did you hire me for, then? The experience? Or the head ripping?”

He didn’t answer.

There was a tension between us. Not that I blamed him for it. I was a nagualii, after all—as far as I knew, the only PUFF-exempt one in the history of the list’s existence—and we’d not spoken in a couple decades. Plus, my kind and his traditionally didn’t get along too well.

I’ve got a gift for reading people. Some of the more recent arrivals to Israel spoke about auras, but there is something to that, and I think my heritage gave me some insight into people’s true nature. This was an honorable man, but something in him had changed since we had last seen one another. I couldn’t put my finger on what, though. He was sharper than before, balanced more on a knife edge. Now I had the odd feeling he had slipped off that knife and was trying to climb back on, costs be damned. It was the strangest sensation . . . and I hated it.

“There’s sandwiches and some beers in that cooler if you want some.”

“They fed us on the plane. How’s the monster business?”

“Solid,” Earl said as the pickup truck fairly flew down the highway. “MHI is expanding. How was the Middle East?”

“Eventful.” I wasn’t deliberately being evasive toward my old comrade. These sorts of things just came naturally now. I coughed, embarrassed. I was back in the United States. I could afford to trust those around me a little more than I had while overseas. “Actually, I was doing pretty well, up until a few weeks ago.”

“I heard.”

“How? It didn’t make the papers.”

“You know how it is. Hunters talk.”

“I don’t trust newspapers anyway. Over there, it’s nothing but propaganda and gossip rags.”

Earl actually smiled at that. “It ain’t much better here.”

“At least you don’t shoot your reporters when they report bad news. Yet.”

“How’d you like working for the Kidon’s Supernatural Monitoring Unit?” Earl asked as he changed lanes and blew past a small yellow Datsun. “Is Haim a good boss?”

I glanced over at him, scowling. He was just showing off how well-informed MHI was. My association with a secret government assassination team should have been a better kept secret, yet Earl just dropped it into our conversation as casually as someone taking out the garbage . . . or the Kidon would a terrorist. It was irritating, but a good reminder that I was amongst equals now and couldn’t underestimate any of them.

“That’s classified.” I’d like to figure out who was leaking and plug it. Preferably with a large-caliber bullet. Haim could thank me later.

Earl grunted before lighting his cigarette. I waved the smoke away from my face. Frowning, he rolled down his window and blew the smoke out. “Forgot you don’t like smoke.”

Everybody smokes. I was used to it, but I didn’t like it. Smoke was one of the sacred symbols of my father, and the haze reminded me too much of what happened to my mind when I let the nagualii take over. “It’s fine.” Then I changed the subject. “Ray said John died. John Libal, remember him? The chemist.”

“Went on to be a team leader. A science project gone bad got him. White Sands. 1961.”

“He was a good man. What about the really tall guy, Oscar Kolbinger? Hell of a shooter.”

“Wights,” Earl answered. “A pack of them up in Boston. Way back in ’57. Tore him to shreds, but he took them with him when he blew the building.”

“Oh. Tobias Redfeather?”

“Zombies.”

“Zombies? Really?” I was incredulous. “Redfeather, that tough bastard, got killed by zombies? He must have died embarrassed.”

“These weren’t the slow ones we used to see,” Earl explained in defense of our dead teammate’s honor. “Haitian voodoo priest created some faster ones somehow. A horde of them got Redfeather in New Orleans. His son worked for us for a couple years too, but he got drafted and killed in Vietnam.”

“Eric Meske?”

“Actually Meske left MHI, invested all his bounty money, and started up one of those newfangled computer companies. MicroTel or some such thing. He got superrich, lived like a king, and died wrecking his Ferrari in a race.”

“Oh,” I said as that all sank in. Nobody from our old team was around anymore. That was the sad nature of being half immortal.

We didn’t talk much for a while, but were making good time, had reached the middle of nowhere countryside, and would probably be in Cazador well before midnight. Except I suspected our arrival might be delayed.

MHI had become the gold standard when it came to monster hunting. The Shacklefords had always been careful, ever since Bubba Shackleford founded the company in 1895. One thing that had been beaten into my head during my own newbie training was that you always verified what you were dealing with. Assumptions led to dead Hunters. I knew what was coming next, but just because I understood the why wouldn’t make it any less annoying.

MHI was still the best, and I was currently an enigma to them, and thus a potential threat.

“So, going to test me now, or pull over to the side of the road and do it?” I asked.

Earl gave me a look that was a combination of annoyed and amused. Even though his name had changed over the years, he’d apparently kept the dark sense of humor.

“Pulling over would be safer, in case you get angry and try to eat my face. It’s hard to fight and drive at the same time.”

Coming from anyone else I’d be insulted. “Rude, but understandable.”

Earl parked the truck on a deserted side road and killed the engine. I sighed into the silence. “Time to talk about the proverbial eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room?”

“More like hundred-pound Aztec demigod in my truck.”

It was nice of him to lowball a girl’s weight like that. “Thank you.”

Whether I liked it or not, Earl lit up another cigarette. Or maybe he did it specifically because he knew I didn’t like it. “Your last employer, what with them being Jewish and all, you’d think that whole demigod thing wouldn’t sit too well with them.”

“It’s complicated. Let’s just say the Kidon’s the sort of place that still works on the Sabbath. They filed me under the same category as lycanthropes.”

“But you ain’t.”

“I’m kinda unique.”

“You’re an oddity, and oddities make folks nervous. Because of that rarity, nobody really knows exactly what a nagualii is capable of. You’ve got a good record with us, but it’s been a long time since you’ve operated here in the US. People change. People who are only half human can really change. There’re some nasty rumors about how your contract ended.”

“I’m an open book.” Well, at least as much as someone from a clandestine hit squad that sometimes employed inhuman creatures could be, but Earl knew how that world worked all too well. “Ask what you need to ask.”

“The Boss and I talked it over. There’s some worry you might not view humans as . . . well, human.”

“I did spend years killing lots of them.”

“Me too. Except yours spoke Arabic while mine spoke Communist. Only MHI aren’t soldiers.”

“MHI’s glorified pest control.”

“Exactly. Bloodthirsty supernatural pests, and that’s a public service. Accent on public. Listen, Chloe, people like us, there’s always a worry that those of us who’ve made the PUFF Exempt list before will start to slip and view humans, not as equals, but as prey, or less, like cattle.”

“Or they’re a flock of sheep and we’re . . . wolves?” I asked pointedly. A cheap shot, true.

Earl just grunted and smoked, ignoring that. Werewolves had it a whole lot worse than I did. My blood was downright calm in comparison. Here I was, judging the guy for being grumpier than I remembered, but by werewolf standards he was the all-time champion of self-control.

“Is it me your son is concerned about going feral because of my experiences? Or somebody else at MHI?” That was really cruel, and I immediately regretted saying it. “I get it,” I assured him. “I give you my word, I’m pretty fond of mankind in general. I don’t think of myself as different most of the time. I can’t change my heritage, or where I come from, but I can make the best of it. Your curse is different than mine. You’ve got to fight yours all the time, and every full moon, it takes over no matter what. I have to invite mine in, and believe me, I do not want to do that.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“I killed some teammates by accident last time I let the nagualii free,” I admitted in a quiet voice. I glanced over to see his reaction but Earl’s eyes were on the darkened road, so I figured that was his cue for me to keep explaining. “An Akkadian sand demon ambushed us. We were losing badly. I was ordered to change, and only did it under protest. I beat the demon, but before I could get the nagualii chained back down, I’d attacked two of my friends. Good men died because of me.”

“And they kicked you out because of it?”

“I was a liability. They didn’t put a bullet in my brain, so that was nice of them.”

“Why’d you go there to begin with? You aren’t even Jewish.”

“I converted.”

“Huh . . . ”

It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. “In my defense, I don’t claim to be good at it.”

“Hell, you never struck me as particularly religious at all. Which is kind of funny, all things considered.”

Sure, I wasn’t exactly stringent about doing all the things I was supposed to, but that was more out of laziness, distractions, or thoughtlessness than some kind of coherent secular philosophy. I made commitments. I just wasn’t good at sticking to all the hard ones.

This was harder to explain than I thought it would be. “Toward the end of the war, I helped liberate a death camp in Poland.”

“I didn’t know that.” Earl had been over there too, drafted by the same organization, only I’d never run into him during the war. There had been several special task forces, each with its own clandestine missions, using supernatural beings as operatives, some of us more voluntary than others.

“Liberating a death camp’s the kind of thing that sticks with you.” Which was the biggest understatement of all time. “After my term was over and the special task force granted me my PUFF Exemption, I could’ve gone anywhere, only I felt like those survivors would need help getting started over, so I stuck around. I ended up escorting some to Jerusalem. And when word got out what I really was . . . I made myself useful. Never truly accepted—or trusted, it turns out—but useful.”

Earl mulled that over for a time, his cigarette dangling precariously from his lip. “I respect that. The monster scholars at Oxford claim all nagualii crave war and conflict. Seems like you found a good place to find an endless supply of both.”

“Academics are full of shit. The only thing I crave is a day at the beach.” One cleared of luskas, though. Obviously. “I had a purpose, and I felt needed. I tried to belong to something bigger and more important than I am. Okay? Isn’t that what you’re checking up on, how well I fit in with humanity? Well, there you go.”

Earl might not believe me, but unless things had changed a lot over the last thirty years, it wasn’t like MHI ever had a shortage of conflict, so he knew I’d be useful here too. “You said you could go anywhere, so why here? Why ask for your old job back?”

Now this was the hard part. “You once told me a good Hunter trusts their gut? Their instincts?”

Earl didn’t say anything. Sensing this was both acknowledgment and agreement, I continued, and there was no use trying to lie to someone like him.

“For months, I’ve had this feeling that I needed to be back on this continent. Dreams, premonitions, whatever. This general sense of worry and pressure has been growing. Just nagging at me. But I ignored it. I had a life, you know?”

“Being here puts you closer to your . . . family.”

“I’m an orphan.”

“Any chance these feelingsEarl said that particular word with distaste—“are from your monster side?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. All I do know is that I need to be here. If I’d listened and come back when I was supposed to, two of my friends would still be alive.”

Earl tossed the butt of his cigarette out the window. “That’s bullshit. They might have lived, or every single one of them would’ve died because you weren’t there to fight a demon for them.”

“You don’t understand.”

Which was when Earl gave me a very weary look that told me he understood exactly how I felt. “You being miserable about what might have been won’t bring them back. People like us don’t get that luxury. Move on and save the ones you can. You good with that?”

I looked him in the eye and said, “Yeah. I’m good with that.”

I had a supernatural gift for reading others, but this man could stare right through you straight to your soul. He was a frightening judge, but after a minute he turned the key and started the truck. “You’re a tough, scary dame, but I think you’re alright.”

“Dame?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. “Seriously? Do people still use that term?”

“You were still using ‘bully’ a lot in 1941, so you’ve got no room to talk.”

What a way to come back home, I thought as the engine started up. Soon enough, I was watching the mile markers fly by once more.

* * *

By the time we reached the compound outside Cazador, I was in a bad mood. Neither one of us wanted to talk anymore. Things had changed enough between us that we weren’t as comfortable around one another like when we had been working together back in the old days—and we hadn’t been too comfortable then. I didn’t think it was me, so I assumed something really bad had happened to Earl.

It was hard being a freak of nature in an orderly world, but there were ways you could exist legally. Americans and Israelis weren’t the only governments using certain monsters to do their bidding. I’d heard rumors the Soviets and Chinese were doing it too. If you were supernatural and not a complete psychopath, it was a great time to get a real job and not have to live out your days hiding in a cave. Of course this only worked for those of us who could keep a lid on it. There were a lot of things out there that could never be tamed. But as I had recently demonstrated, employing monsters is like playing with fire, and sometimes people get burned.

As we pulled up to MHI’s front gate, I noticed the changes immediately. There were a bunch of new buildings surrounded by a fence, the top of which was covered in razor wire to help discourage any entrepreneurial individual from trying to climb over it. There was also a warning sign on it. Looking closely, I saw the lightning bolts and blinked.

“Did someone try to attack the compound or something?”

“Or something.” Earl stopped and got out to unlock the gate.

I rolled my window down and listened to the hum from the electrified fence.

“Not worried about frying the deer?”

“They learn,” he said as he unlocked multiple padlocks with a ring of keys from his belt.

“Cruel.”

“They don’t like the sound more than the actual shock. We’re probably gonna have to get rid of the electric fence, though. It’s a pain in the ass to maintain. Biggest problem is the kudzu keeps growing onto it and shorting it out.”

“Kudzu? Is that a kind of monster?”

“The worst.” Only Earl didn’t elaborate as he got back into the truck.

Gone was the rickety wood building where the main headquarters had been. Now it resembled a fortress, all concrete, with reinforced doors and narrow windows. There were prefab buildings around it. I began to wonder just where I was going to stay.

“Ray said he wanted to meet with you before you turn in.” Earl pointed toward the largest concrete building. “Come on.”

The lights were on but the main reception area was deserted. Reasonable, considering it was almost midnight during the work week.

Raymond Shackleford’s office was on the second floor of the new building. Well, it clearly wasn’t that new, but it was new to me. This had all been part of the old firing range when I was last here. A lot of newbies, including me, had spent a lot of hours on that range learning to shoot. Considering how much MHI trainees shot, this place’s foundation had probably been built on brass.

I paused at the big door with the Boss’s name stenciled on it.

“You nervous? Think about how he feels.” Earl was clearly amused. “The last time he saw you he was a kid with really confused feelings about the pretty scary monster lady.”

“It sounds creepy when you put it that way, Earl.”

“Don’t worry. My boy grew up, found himself a good woman, got married, and had lots of kids. He’s been running this joint since my brother Mack passed away, and doing a better job than either of us ever did.”

Earl opened the door for me and I’ll admit I was surprised when I saw Ray for the first time in decades. I remembered him as a gangly kid, but standing before me was a tall, broad-shouldered man who was really good-looking in spite of his age. Grey at the temples with a lean face, and eyes almost as blue as Earl’s. There were a few scars along the impressive jawline but otherwise he was one hell of a recruiting image for MHI. The Shacklefords had good genes, I guess.

“Chloe Mendoza.” Ray shook his head in disbelief. “You look the same as the day you left.”

I grinned. “You got taller.”

“And greyer and fatter.” He smacked his stomach, though there wasn’t really any flab on it at all. “Have a seat.” As soon as Earl and I were both on the plush, oversized red leather chairs, Ray asked, “So?”

“She’s good,” Earl answered. “She was getting frustrated, and I thought she was going to punch me a few times, but she’s alright.”

“We pulled over so . . . Earl here could try to provoke me into losing my cool and fly into a rage.”

“Goes without saying,” Earl replied casually as he shook out another cigarette. “But you think I’m gonna let somebody we ain’t seen in forever stroll into our secured headquarters without at least a little questioning? Especially someone who is a PUFF-applicable creature? I had to make sure you were still you, Chloe.”

I reached down the top of my dress and pulled out my PUFF Exempt coin, which I always kept attached via a silver chain around my neck. “I earned this. Same as you.”

Earl snorted as he lit up. “You wouldn’t have ever gotten a chance to earn that coin if I’d put you in the ground like I was supposed to. The Federales asked us to shoot on sight. You’re lucky I decided to talk first.”

“You’re lucky I was feeling talkative back.”

“Enough, you two,” Raymond said in a manner that suggested he was used to being listened to around here.

To be fair, Earl and his team could’ve killed me. The reports had called me a menace, and MHI had rolled into the dusty little Mexican town expecting a vicious Aztec monster. They’d ended up with a new recruit instead, which had been lucky for me. I’d done some hand-to-hand combat training against Earl afterward. I’m tough, but I’m certainly not werewolf tough.

Ray sat on the edge of his desk. “I’m sorry, Chloe, but we had to make certain we weren’t inviting in something that was just wearing an old friend’s face. We’re more paranoid than we used to be. We have to be. MHI is on a lot of radars these days.”

I stuffed my PUFF Exempt coin back down my top and scowled. I hated anyone questioning my worthiness . . . probably since I’d been doing that a lot to myself over the last few weeks anyway.

“It’s getting tougher to keep what we do secret, and because of that the government’s constantly breathing down our neck. I need people who are dependable, solid characters. We’re not the freewheeling gunslingers we used to be when you were here before. The times are changing. The sixties were a time of turmoil for this business, and since we hit the seventies information keeps moving faster and faster. Monster hunting isn’t as simple as it used to be. It’s just as dangerous as it’s ever been, only harder to keep things off the news.”

“Believe me,” I grumbled, “I understand keeping things clandestine.”

“Indeed. Which is one reason your call intrigued me. The company is currently expanding. I’ve got lots of men who can kill monsters like you can’t believe. I’ve got a handful who can do it without drawing the eye of the media and the wrath of the Monster Control Bureau.”

Of all the skills I’d picked up working for a secret assassination squad, I hadn’t realized public relations would be the biggest draw on my résumé. That was not what I’d signed up for. I didn’t want to do that job. The pragmatic part of my mind was counting my money. If I was frugal, I could probably stay unemployed for the next twenty years before I’d need to work again. Raymond almost certainly didn’t know my financial situation. Normally someone my age would have a pretty absurd retirement fund, but I wasn’t the best investor.

I did have that one security deposit box in Zurich I could always sell the contents of, though the reappearance of a Fabergé egg that had been missing since the war would draw some unwanted attention, especially since it was one of the magically cursed ones. Though I would have to take off the demon-summoning runes with an angle grinder first, it’d still fetch a nice bit of spare change.

“When Earl was poking around to see if I hated mankind now, and I said no, I didn’t mean that I wanted to go out of my way to talk to more of them.”

“We’ve got lots of shooters.” Ray picked up an ashtray off his desk and tossed it to Earl before he left ash on the nice chairs. “I’ve got an abundance of recent hires with solid combat experience. Monster activity is up, which means there’s no shortage of survivors and witnesses in the know to recruit from. What I need is older, wiser heads until we get more men up to speed.”

“I am not leadership material.”

“I wasn’t thinking team lead, but second. Think NCO. People who can soothe hotheaded authorities while dealing with testosterone-laden Hunters fresh off a kill. People who can talk their way out of an argument with the likes of the MCB without infuriating them, and are easy on the eyes.”

“Someone who can pretend to be a harmless stewardess for days of a tense standoff until she can get all the hostages out of the way before snapping three hijackers’ necks,” Earl stated flatly.

I was aghast. How did he know about that operation?

Ray spoke up, “By the way, Haim assures me that what happened a few weeks ago wasn’t your fault, you had an exemplary record before that, your removal was political rather than tactical, and I’d be an idiot not to hire you back. He sends his love, wishes you well, and this conversation never happened.”

My old commander reaching out like that made me a little teary eyed, because that’s the sort of conversation that could get a Kidon member executed. “What never happened?”

“Exactly. On that note, I’ll cut right to the chase. I’m not making this job offer because of your bloodline, but rather your experience. What you are stays as secret as you want it to from your fellow Hunters. I’d prefer for you not to use it, for the safety of my people, and the peace of your mind.”

Ray had never seen the nagualii in action, but Earl had, and more than likely told him all about it. “I can agree to that.” I looked over at Earl to see if he was going to add anything about what I’d told him, about how I’d felt prompted that I needed to return to this continent, but he said nothing. “The less I have to acknowledge my background, the better.”

“Well, that settles the matter, then. I spent my day arguing with moronic congressmen on the phone and I’m tired and want to go home. I’m satisfied for now.” Ray looked over at Earl, as if there was an unspoken question between them.

“We’ve got the latest crop mostly through,” Earl confirmed. “Instructor?”

“Not teaching newbies . . . ” I muttered.

“Only while you get acclimatized,” Ray assured me in a manner that suggested there’d be no arguing over it. “Sounds good. We’ll figure out your team assignment after this class is through.”

“Please tell me your guest rooms are better than before.” I stifled a yawn. “I’d prefer a bed over a blanket on the floor.” I jerked my thumb at Earl. “Unlike him.”

The Boss laughed at this. Things might not be back to the way they’d been long before, but at least the uneasy tension was diminished slightly. “Out the door, take a right. Fourth door down on the left. There isn’t a number on it or anything. If there’s filing cabinets in there, you’ve gone too far. We’ll put you in a teaching role while we get you up to speed, then decide where to send you. Any preferences?”

“Texas?”

Raymond nodded. Clearly he’d expected as much, as that had been my adopted home state. “Anywhere else?”

“Not New Orleans?” I answered after giving it some thought. Something about the place had given me the creeps back in the day.

“Welcome back, Chloe.”


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Framed