BAGGAGE. SALES. FORCE.

BAGGAGE

by Erik Scott de Bie

Thump. Thump, thump, wham.

The heavy bag jangled on its chain, swinging back and forth with the force of that last kick. I danced back and shook out my hands and legs. My right shin burned a little, but in a good way. I threw in a few more for good measure, making the bag shake as I kicked it over and over: one, two, three, four. My body was a tight, cycling machine.

My one and only friend, Andre—head bartender at my bar and a great guy whose heart I’d have broken by now if he weren’t gay—had been badgering me for weeks to join a gym. “I’m worried about you, V, ” he’d said. “You’ve been low. Lower than usual. ”

“So cardio’s the answer? ” I asked between shots of whiskey. “Free weights? Maybe you want me to try CrossFit. ”

He made a face, then extended a laminated membership card across the bar. Puget Sound Body. “It’s a fight gym—just around the block, ” he said. “I signed you up for a month. ”

“Aw, you shouldn’t have, ” I said. “Really. ”

But I went anyway, because I’m not an asshole. And just then, after kicking the bag ten times in a row, the gym seemed like not such a bad idea after all.

Also, with my water bottle full of whiskey, I felt really loose and comfy.

I should back up. I’m Vivienne Cain, aka Lady Vengeance (fear powers—it’s a whole thing), former demon-possessed supervillain turned edgy it-girl superhero turned fugitive from vigilante justice. It’s not a part of my life I talk about much, partly because so many people are trying to find me and kill me, and partly because, well. . . I kicked the bag an eleventh time, savoring the crunch my shin made against the leather.

The late hours worked particularly well for high-functioning alcoholic night owls like myself. Stuck on the cusp between being a legit fight gym and a gym meant to cater to a twenty-four/seven fitness crowd, Puget Sound Body couldn’t decide exactly which way to go, so it tried to be everything to everyone. It had lots of bags and lots of hours, a bunch of shiny new weight machines, and not many customers. Practically no one showed up at PSB at night. At most I could expect the occasional drunk frat boy posse (probably coming from my bar, no less) or the same homeless guy looking for a bathroom a couple of times a week.

I shared the lonely stretch between one and three a. m. with the girl up at the front desk, a twenty-something plugged into earbuds and reading. Nicole, I think her name was. We had exchanged maybe a dozen words over the past week, and she seemed nice enough. I didn’t mind her aura, either: a lot of people that age give off a cloying optimism, a sour narcissism, or a dull indifference to the world. Nicole, on the other hand, seemed positive but not deluded, tough but not hardened. Ambitious but grounded. Good kid.

There was darkness in her, too, but hey—join the club.

I focused on my combinations, launching a series of jabs punctuated with crosses and hooks. As I fought, I felt violent power resonating in the walls, and I went with the flow.

As a fight gym, PSB felt light and fierce, its younger clientele gradually adding to an undercurrent of angry passion that fueled a heady, powerful rush. Like a ring on fight night just before the audience gets there, the gym crackled at night with anticipation of glorious violence. PSB hadn’t been open long enough for all that hope and power to crumble into desperation for results and despair when they didn’t materialize. Older gyms become sweaty dens of regret, the walls constantly saturated with years’ worth of tears of frustration and pain.

For an empathic projector like me, such places hold deep wells of power I can tap into. I metabolize all sorts of emotions: anger, lust, fear—especially fear. With my powers, I could beat the snot out of Rocky Balboa in any practice ring, let alone surrounded by thousands of screaming fans. I mean, assuming he was real and I wasn’t stone drunk basically all the time. The booze keeps my powers from functioning out of control.

It was exactly that—my constant inebriation buffer—that blinded me to the demon at first. Somewhere after my legs started to burn from all the kicking, I recognized a note of deeper darkness among the ambient gym rage. Not something a human could produce, and I’d known some pretty dark motherfuckers in my day. Been one, in fact. The demon hadn’t attacked, but I could feel it watching. Waiting.

“Oh, you wanna play, huh? ” I asked in a whisper. “I’m game. ”

I felt the guy before I saw him. Even before the door opened, I heard the discordant cymbal of hungry lust among the relentless thundering drumroll of the gym. The answering spike of anxiety from Nicole is what got my attention, though. We can suppress our fear—convince ourselves to ignore it—but it doesn’t go away. Was the demon in him? Maybe. I shed my black bag gloves down to my purple wraps, took a hit off my whiskey bottle, and headed over, unwrapping as I went.

There he was: muscle-headed type, leaning on the desk, biceps flexed, greasy smile on his thick face. He was that guy, the one who made sure to work out next to women in the gym to show off his muscles, who talked too long to any female staffer at the front desk, or lurked outside yoga classes, doing curls. You know that guy.

“No classes after six p. m., Steve, ” Nicole said as I approached. She knew him and liked him about as much as I did. “We have classes tomorrow, though. Like, boxing? Kickboxing? ”

“How ’bout your Zumba class? ” Steve asked. “You know I like watching your moves. ”

Definitely that guy.

Nicole’s anger spiked, and I felt more than saw her getting ready to punch the asshole.

Time to intervene.

A little flicker of power and the room darkened. The gym felt colder, like the heater cut out, and the lights dimmed a couple of notches. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed and died with a disconsolate sigh, then winked back on, flickering. It cast strange shadows across Steve’s suddenly pale face. Nicole’s wide eyes looked around for the source of the disturbance.

“Hey, ” I said as I unwound the wrap around my right hand. “This guy bothering you? ”

They both stared, momentarily at a loss. I’m not all that intimidating on my own—just a former goth girl, twenty years past the makeup—but with a little bit of fear channeled into the right theatrics, I can give trained killers pause. I could handle one maybe-possessed douche-bag bodybuilder. I couldn’t tell, so I had to poke him. See if the demon came out.

“This. . . ” Steve shrugged off the glamour. Good for him. His eyes narrowed, and I could see him thinking up an appropriate insult. “This doesn’t concern you, bitch. Step off. ”

Charming. Couldn’t identify my ethnicity, so the prick went with the one-slur-fits-all.

I started uncoiling the second wrap, not being as delicate about it as the first. The wraps served two purposes: one, purple is my favorite color that isn’t black, and two, since that was the only spot of color on me—black clothes, black hair, et cetera—it kept his focus on my hands.

“She said no, dude, ” I said. “Walk away. ”

I realized I wanted him to make a move. Stupid, but the booze had kicked in, and I was a damn romantic at heart. Damsel in distress and all that shit. Plus, y’know, possible demon.

Steve stepped up, towering a foot over my less-than-commanding five-six. Mistake one.

“Or what? ” he asked. “You gonna make me? ”

He met my merlot red eyes like I was a little puppy he could stare down. Strike two.

“Maybe, ” I said. “You gonna make me make you? ”

He grabbed my bare upper arm with his grubby fingers, clenching tight. Three.

My power boiled up all on its own—no will, no direction, no objection—and coursed up his arm to hit him right between the eyes. Steve drew up to his full height, as though stabbed with a cattle prod. His pupils went huge and I saw white all the way around the thin rings of iris. His hands shook and his breath came in rapid spurts.

Fear powers are a bitch.

He threw a lazy right hook—more to drive me away than hurt me—but it still counted. I ducked under his arm, caught him around the torso, and pulled him over me and to the floor. Hard. I felt as much as heard ribs crack in his thick chest and kept thinking, Shoulda done more core. At least there was a mat. Unfortunately, that also meant Steve was just a human: no demon involved.

I stood up shakily. Nicole stared at me like I’d lost my mind, and maybe I had. Shit. Normal people aren’t just supposed to judo-throw each other. Another night, another fuckup.

Without a word, I left Steve mewling on the floor and walked out. Only when I got to my bike did I realize I hadn’t grabbed my gloves, bottle, or duffel—which had the keys in it.

“Screwed that pooch, V, ” I said to myself. “Good for fucking you. ”

And just like that, I was no longer alone.

Oh, right. Demon.

There’s nothing magical about intuition. Your body picks up on something that your mind can’t quite process. It might be a particular observation you don’t consciously see, a faint smell, or a subtle change in air pressure. When your body reacts to something, it’s almost always right. Getting your mind involved is bad, because it gives you a chance to talk yourself out of it. The trick is to trust your instincts, particularly when you’ve honed them over more than twenty years of fighting superheroes and/or supervillains.

(I’m complicated. )

My body knew there was something behind me, and I went with it. The alley gave me some advantages: enclosed space, privacy, and a moderate level of fear energy. We invest alleys with anxiety and uneasiness, as though violence is more likely there than in our own homes. I powered up and turned, arms wide in challenge.

“Come at me, demon, ” I said.

Something skittered in the darkness on more legs than any animal, and I tried to get a sense of its aura. It felt dark and numb, the way demons always do. They don’t have the same emotions humans do, making them hard to read or digest. Good thing I had years of practice. I could taste its tinny desire and the spicy ambition that drove it. It was a social and political climber looking to make a name out of Lady Vengeance, Lord Azazel’s favorite mortal.

“I know you’re there, ” I said, breathing through the swirling murk of its resonance. “I know you’re watching. Just show yourself already. ”

The darkness stirred, and I sensed a cold, precise focus, almost like determination.

The back door to the gym banged open and I whirled, ready for a fight. Then I felt the bright stab of worry and caution from the newcomer and eased back.

“Hey! ” Nicole saw me standing next to my bike, ready for a fight, and tensed herself. She had my duffel in one hand, and she held it ready to swing. “Are you okay? ”

Damn. I would have preferred a pissed-off Steve. Him, at least, I could maul without feeling bad about it.

“Fine, ” I said, relaxing my stance. I couldn’t sense the demon anymore. “Don’t worry—that won’t happen again. I’m dropping my membership. ”

“Are you kidding? ” Nicole crossed her arms. “That was badass. Like, the attitude more than the throw. Your technique could use some work. ”

“Some work, huh? ” My world-class martial-artist sensei wouldn’t have liked that feedback at all, but skills get rusty with disuse. “Who’s gonna teach me? You? ”

“Yes. ” She handed over my duffel. “I’m a purple belt in BJJ. ”

“What’s that? ” I rummaged in my bag for my keys. “Sounds like a sex thing. ”

That made her smile. “Brazilian jujitsu, ” she said. “I’ve also got like a four-oh amateur record. I’m training to go pro. Nicole Vergaro. Look me up. ”

“Nice. ” I’d fought superstrong bruisers, apocalypse robots, and, like, a thousand ninja. But she was gorgeous. “Sure you wanna train me? I did just put another member in the hospital. ”

“You mean Steve? He’s my ex, not a member. ” Nicole shrugged. “Also? Fuck that guy. ”

Gorgeous and awesome and straight. Oh, well.

“Thanks, but no, thanks. ” I fit the key into the ignition and turned the engine over. “I’m not great at taking direction and I don’t play well with others. Laters—”

She stepped in front of my bike. “Hire me as your trainer, ” Nicole said. “We’ll fix that throw and work on your punches. ”

“Really? ”

Nicole put her hand over mine on the throttle. “Really. ”

She was a hard woman to turn down. And it’d be a chance to watch for that demon.

“Vivienne Cain, ” I said, knowing I would regret this. “Call me V. ”

A week later, as a fist connected with my face, I realized I loved the shit out of this.

“Keep your hands up, ” Nicole reminded me for the twentieth time. She’d started giving me a reminder tap after the eighth slipup, so I’d grown accustomed to the routine by now. Not that it made the little pats sting less.

“Show me that combination. Launch from the face and pull right back to defend. ”

I nodded, too low on breath to verbalize. My booze-heavy diet didn’t exactly make for much stamina. I hit her with a flurry that ended with left hook off the jab, a sucker punch that had taken down many an unsuspecting boxer. She blocked it easily and nodded.

“Good, ” she said. “Again. ”

On this, our third session, we’d skipped bag work and gone straight to sparring in the half-open ring. My fundamentals had deteriorated over the past ten years, but I’d always been a quick study. We squared off, and I focused on her white gloves with the red wraps beneath.

I’d felt the demon’s presence off and on during the week, but it hadn’t yet shown itself. Sure I was here to confront it, but increasingly I had to admit I really liked Nicole beating me up.

She hit me on the cheek again. “Come on, hands up. ”

I held up my hands like claws, and she nodded in approval. That first day, she’d called my striking stance Muay Thai, which meant nothing to me but seemed to be a compliment.

“You need to start eating right, ” she said. “Lots of veggies. Avoid meat and dairy. ”

“What are you, vegan? ” I went at her gloves.

“As a matter of fact”—she deflected my combination—“I am. ”

“How do you get your protein? ”

She rolled her eyes. Like she’d never heard that one before.

We fell into the rhythm of the fight. I’d launch a combination, slapping her training pads hard enough to bruise, staying on the balls of my feet and hitting with the hips rather than the arms. My sensei had always told me that if I could hit with my butt, no one stood a chance. I got in a few good ones, and the thick shin pads made reassuring crunches against Nicole’s legs.

As I hit her, I remembered sparring with Tony, under the watchful eye of his stepfather, Hugo, the second Raven. We were kids again, flirting as much as punching, and his burning eyes promised me this wouldn’t end on the mat. I hadn’t thought about that moment for ten years: not since New York, with Supergroup Tower shaking around us, when Tony put on his mentor’s armor to fight me and I tore his eye out for his trouble. And now he wanted to kill me.

Antonio DeSantes. Damn.

“Your striking is decent, ” Nicole said. “Let’s see what you’ve got for grappling. ”

I shivered and pushed the memory away. “No problem. ”

Next thing I knew, I hit the mat with a sound like a gunshot.

“Your judo is insufficient. ” Nicole clapped her gloves together. “On your feet. ”

I climbed back up and glanced around woozily. Pretty much everyone in the gym had stopped what they were doing to watch the girl fight. Not that I blamed them: I was having a pretty good time watching Nicole pound the snot out of me, too.

“You’ve gotta relax, ” Nicole said, a refrain that she’d repeated a dozen times since day one. “You know, loosen up your shoulders. You’re gonna hurt yourself. ”

“Hard night. ” Partly true, but not the reason I was tense. The flashback wasn’t doing me any favors, and the perky high coming off Nicole exacerbated the crushing hangover. I didn’t want a repeat rib-breaking incident, so I didn’t drink before our sessions, making the world raw and jumpy. Shoulda known better than to fight (mostly) sober. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

“Stop dancing around and come at me, ” Nicole said. “I won’t hurt you. Much. ”

“That’s reassuring. ”

We’d drawn a pretty big crowd at this point, blurry in my peripheral vision and thunderous to my empathic sense. Being sober, I got dizzy from the collective emotional swarm of that many people gathered in one place. I tasted excitement and more than a little unrequited lust. And I won’t say we didn’t deserve it—at least Nicole. She was in her element, a warrior woman as much as any I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a lot of warrior women.

I went for her legs, and she snaked around with incredible grace to cling to my back. Her legs wrapped around my waist and her ankles locked in front of my stomach.

“Now you’re in a pretty tight situation here, ” she said, calm while I grunted and cursed. “You’ve got to get around to a guard. Do your best. ”

On my hands and knees, I gave her a piggyback ride around the ring, trying to twist out of the hold, but every time she corrected me with a tap on the ear. Finally, I shoved her back against the cage, which gave me leverage to twist around, putting us front to front. I lay back as she straddled me, arms crossed over her chest. She carried herself gracefully, as if we were dancing rather than wrestling. It was beautiful and more than a little bit sexy.

God, V, I thought. Grow the fuck up and stop crushing on your trainer.

“Seriously? ” Calmly, Nicole swatted me on the side of the head, and I snapped out of it. Tony had never done anything like that. “Hands up. ”

I put my hands up to ward off more blows and frowned sourly. “What now? ”

“Now you turn things around, ” she said. “Try one of the techniques I showed you. The goal is to get out—so you can go back to striking—or get me in a lock. ” Her eyes sparkled with challenge. “Make me submit. ”

Shit.

It had been too long since I’d done anything like this. I got her leg once and tried to pull it, but she slipped out and left me flat on my stomach, panting, while she held on to my back.

“You weren’t kidding about being bad at this, ” she said. “Here. Let’s switch up, and I’ll show you some things to try. ” She lay down on her back. “Put your legs around me. ”

I didn’t need to be told twice. We got into the same straddling position as before, only this time she was on guard, and I was holding on to her.

“If your guard is good, you’ve got the advantage. ” She held up her arms to demonstrate proper form. She grabbed my wrists and locked my arms. “Okay, what would you do from here? ”

“Head butt, ” I said.

She smiled. “I’m serious. ”

“So am I. You’d be surprised how effective a good head butt can be. ”

“Launch some punches at me, ” Nicole said. “Watch what I do. ”

I did, and she fended them off with shoulders, arms, and gloves. Then she caught my arm, and before I knew what had happened, she had my wrist in one hand, wrenched my leg under her body, and held it at the edge of breaking.

I flashed back again. Tony was screaming, crushing me under him, drizzling blood onto my face from his gaping eye socket. I shook, unable to breathe.

“Okay! ” I gasped. “I give up. ”

I tapped my hand on the mat, and Nicole let go. “Are you okay? ” she asked, concerned.

“Yeah. ” That was a big, fat lie. “What the shit did you do? ”

“Leg lock, ” she said. “Did you see how I got there? ”

“No, ” I said, trying to get a hold of myself. “Show me again. ”

We walked through the moves step by step, and I watched Nicole make the transitions with fluid grace. She showed me leg locks and arm bars and even a choke or two. I’d never had quite as good a time having my limbs almost broken. We switched back and forth, and she showed me a number of holds, and I didn’t do too badly. The swell of emotion from our audience made me feel dizzy and light-headed, drunk on their enthusiasm.

It was inappropriate, I know. She was my trainer, she was fifteen years younger than me at least, and she was straight. But damn.

This. This is why I started drinking.

Well, this and the nightmares. And the demons.

Nicole had just put me in a right-arm bar when I saw him: a tall, good-looking man standing toward the back of the group. Where the others moved around a bit, staying limber or angling for a better look at Nicole’s technique, this guy stood very straight and still. With his strong features and dark complexion, he looked— Holy shit, he looked like Tony. The fucking one-eyed Raven. Then I saw his liquid black eyes with no whites—both of them. I hadn’t felt him before, but now that I focused on him, I could tell he wasn’t secreting any human emotions. He felt dull, his resonance flat, like stagnant water that had collected a fine layer of dust on top.

“Hey, ” I said, looking right at him. “Hey! ”

The man stared right at me and opened his mouth slightly. His tongue was a licking orange flame. There was a fire inside him, and that meant he was no man at all. He turned to go.

Nicole hadn’t noticed my distress, so when I pulled away, she clung tighter by reflex. Trained fighters know to stop when someone submits to them or—if they’re the ones doing the locking—they hang on until someone stops the fight. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until my arm cracked that I remembered to tap out. Nicole let go immediately, looking at first surprised, then horrified. “What the fuck, V? ” she asked.

I didn’t have time to explain. I staggered up, ignoring the liquid fire that kept pumping up my right arm. Wincing, I held it braced against my side as I scrambled to the edge of the ring and slipped through the open part. Purple fire accumulated in the palm of my injured arm without my conscious command. Using the powers in front of so many people was a big no-no in the “don’t get caught” playbook for ex-supervillains, but maybe they’d think it was a trick of the light combined with my purple wraps.

I stumbled out the door into the street, where I had to shield my eyes from the bright sun. Trust this to be the one week a year that Seattle has glorious weather. Cars zoomed past entirely too quickly for a residential neighborhood. I saw only one other person on the sidewalk: a hefty lady holding a cat and glaring at me. Weird and a little unsettling, but definitely human. I couldn’t feel the demon anymore. A curious pigeon cocked its head and looked up at me.

“Yeah, ” I said. “Fucking brilliant. ”

I fell to one knee and clenched my arm, which had started sending shocks of pain through my shoulder and clicked when I moved it. I flexed my fingers. It hurt, but that was better than numbness. A massive bruise was already starting to form around my elbow.

“Holy shit! ” Nicole appeared. “That’s not— I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“I know, it’s my fault. ” I winced and cradled my arm. “I’m a spaz sometimes. ”

“You were chasing someone, ” Nicole said. “Who? ”

“My ex. Sort of. ” Shakily, I stood without her proffered aid and immediately regretted it. She helped me to a green-painted bench.

“Really? ” Nicole wore a perplexed expression. “I thought you liked, you know, women. ”

“That obvious, huh? ” I sighed. “Both, unfortunately. So I’m fucked either way. ”

Nicole stared at me, trying really hard to suppress a smile. It took me a second to realize what I’d said, and then I smiled. She laughed; I laughed. We laughed. Together.

Fuck.

Spraining my arm put me out of training for at least a week, and I thought that would be the last I saw of Nicole for a while.

Wrong.

The following Friday night, she came into my bar while I was in the back, mixing drinks one-handed. It was trivia night, so the place was packed with mostly twenty- and thirtysomethings exerting their impressive grasp of useless information. I’d waited on a few of my regulars, as well as a tableful of college kids celebrating a twenty-first, currently too drunk to protest the trivia kicking off. No one really interested me until Nicole strolled up in a classy black blouse, jeans that showed off her muscular lower half, and a pair of boots I would have robbed an armored truck to get on my feet. I’d never seen her in normal clothes, and, by the looks of things, that had been a damn shame.

“Madonna, ” she said, answering one of the trivia questions. It was currently a music round, but she might as well have been talking about me.

“Holy shit, ” I said.

“Found you, ” she said as she leaned against the bar. “So, this is your place, huh? ”

“Yep. ” I looked around the room. The number of wide-eyed gawkers convinced me Nicole was really here. “What can I get you? Vodka and Red Bull? ”

“Ugh. ” She made a face. “How about a White Russian? ”

I hesitated. I hadn’t expected her to order that. Then I got out the vodka and a carton of coconut milk. “You want a menu? I guarantee you we serve nothing you can eat. ”

“What makes you say that? ”

I looked her over. “What are you, twelve percent body fat? Fourteen? ”

She looked amused. “Thirteen. ”

I nodded. “I stand by my statement. ”

“I’ll have a Caesar salad anyway. We can skip the cheese, if it makes you feel better. ” She slid onto one of the bar stools. “You thirsty? ”

“Yes. ” I cleared my throat. “Yes, I am. ”

I poured her a coconut White Russian, plus a double Johnnie Walker neat for me. I’d been drinking steadily since three p. m., so I put in food orders for both of us.

“That looks gnarly. ” She pointed at my arm and smiled. “How’d you do that? ”

The doctor had put me in a sling but no cast, but the questions had come anyway. I played along. “Depends, ” I said. “Truth, or one of the thirty stories I’ve made up so far today? ”

She laughed. “I really am sorry, you know, ” she said.

“Not your fault. I did it to myself. ”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say it. ” She sipped her drink. “Where are you from, anyway? You look so—”

“Boston. ”

She frowned, then flushed in the cheeks. “Sorry, I thought you were Middle Eastern, ” she said. “Was that racist of me? ”

“Seattle racist, maybe, ” I said. “Anyway, you’re half-right. My mom was Irish Catholic, and my dad was from Iran. I got the looks, but not a lot else. ” I nursed my drink—I was already about twelve ahead. “And where are you from? Colombia? Nicaragua? ”

“San Rafael, ” she said. “It’s beautiful this time of year. ”

“Cheers to that. ”

We drank. We chatted. We murmured answers over the loudspeaker to the trivia questions. I poured a few more drinks for other patrons. Our food came—her Caesar, no cheese, my big basket of Tater Tots drowned in melted cheese, jalapeñ os, olives, and green onions.

Nicole took one look at the mound and cleared her throat, impressed. “What is that? ”

“Irish tatchos, ” I said. “Like nachos, only tots—”

“Talk about Seattle racist, ” she said. “And you gave me a bad time about my fat percentage. ”

“I’m not training to go pro. ”

I took a fork to the mound of carbalicious goodness, but not before Nicole had snuck a taste herself. Now, that—that took me off guard. Seeing her eat some of that delicious sinfulness. She looked at me with just the right mix of capricious innocence.

“So, ” she said. “Are you gonna tell me? ”

She may have been a presumptuous kid, but Nicole’s resonance said she really did want to help me. I didn’t deserve a friend like her—or a friend at all.

I opened my mouth, but something in her face made me choke up. My eyes welled.

“Whoa, ” Nicole said. “It was just a Tater Tot. ”

“It’s not—” I grabbed a napkin to dab at my eyes. “It’s fucking embarrassing. ”

Nicole’s eyes widened a little. “Is this about what happened in the gym? And don’t try to deny it. Most people don’t almost tear their own arm apart willingly. ”

“Like I’m gonna dump all my emotional shit on you. ”

“It’s okay. Really. ” She touched my hand on the bar. Her skin felt cool and soothing against mine. “You can talk to me. ”

We didn’t know each other that well. Hell, we’d met only a week before. But the way she said it and the earnestness in her eyes made me believe it. Goddammit.

I gave Andre a nod, and he covered for me at the bar. Great guy, Andre. He’d walk through fire for me. He has, on numerous occasions, even without powers to protect him.

I led Nicole over to a booth in the back, close to a group of thirtysomethings earnestly engaged in some deep philosophical discussion. They wouldn’t notice us. Nicole sat quietly, waiting with her hands folded on the table. Her eyes reflected the dim light of the bar, making her look both sad and fascinated. I could tell she wanted to hear my story.

And like the drunk, fucking idiot I was, I told her.

I told her how I’d first been possessed by a demon at age fifteen, and how it had used my powers—oh, by the way, new friend, I have fucking fear powers—to hold an entire city hostage. How the team of capes unoriginally called Supergroup had defeated the demon and rescued me, and I’d joined as their newest member. Lady Vengeance, they called me: little miss bad-behavior tabloid princess who partied with rock stars, never went to rehab, and did anything but respect herself. The dark, edgy, unpredictable one on the team who could never be fully trusted, ’cuz once a villain, always a villain. They made goddamn comic books about me, and though my depicted outfit was trashier than the real thing, it wasn’t by much. Right-wing media hated me, the counterculture fucking loved me, and I drank and drugged it all away in a perpetual haze.

“It’s all online. There’re records, ” I said. “Of course, the Net won’t tell you how it feels. How the demons never go away. How every person who looks at you wrong could be a demon or could just be one of the everyone who doesn’t trust you. ”

I didn’t tell her all about my powers, only the basics: absorbing emotional energy, particularly fear, using it to make myself stronger, faster, more durable. Creating things. Et cetera.

I didn’t tell her the really fucked-up part. About how when Azazel had first taken control of my powers, I’d been awake. Aware. And though I’m not sure if I could have stopped him on my own, I didn’t try. Not because I was afraid, but because I wanted what he offered.

Some nights, I still do, and I drink until that impulse blurs away.

At the end of the story, she looked at me solemnly. She’d believed the whole story. It must have sounded vaguely correct to her, like something you lived through as a kid but only occasionally heard about when you grew up. Before her time, I guess. God, she was too young for me. “So, you’re, like, a superhero? ”

“Like one, yeah, ” I said. “I’m retired. Ten years now. I’ve. . . been in hiding. ”

“In hiding? ” Nicole frowned. “Why? If I could do what you do, I wouldn’t hide it. ”

“You—” I paused. I thought about her—about this girl I’d just met—who’d managed to get me to tell her things I hadn’t told anyone. Ever. And it wasn’t the booze, and it wasn’t an accident. It felt purposeful. It must have been the booze. That’s why I didn’t notice it before.

My intuition flared, and suddenly everything seemed different. Well, shit.

I had to be sure, so I took her deeper.

“You remember those friends I mentioned? Supergroup? ” I looked down at my clenched hands on the tabletop. “Something happened to them. ”

“I don’t understand what you mean. Something happened to them? Something like—”

She stopped short and her face went pale. I nodded gravely.

I tried to give the short version. “Their rogues’ gallery—sorry, that’s powered lingo for a bunch of our frequent bad guys. The kind we fight often, put in jail; then they break out and we fight ’em again. ” She nodded, vaguely understanding. “A bunch of them got together and attacked while we were having a reunion sort of thing. We all hated each other by the point, and hadn’t been together for years, but we still met. My sister—it was her idea. ”

I had a sudden memory of my half sister’s bronze face contorted in pain and rage as blood gushed from her mouth. The look in her eyes. . . I took a long drink to steady myself.

“So, they— What? Attacked you and your friends? Killed some of you? ”

“All of us, ” I said. “Almost all of us. I made it out, and so did Tony, my ex. ” Tony was roaring at me, and I could see the gooey flesh inside his half-empty eye socket. Attacking me. Punishing me for what he thought I had done.

“The guy you saw at the gym? ” Nicole asked.

“Sort of, ” I said, pouring another. I was glad I had the bottle.

“I’m sorry you went through that, ” Nicole said. “That—that’s a goddamn tragedy. But that doesn’t have to define you. ” She touched my hand on the table. “I’ve watched you. I see you fighting it. You can put it behind you. ”

I closed my fingers so tight around the glass, I almost broke it. “Thanks for the pop psychology, ” I said. “But it’s not that easy. ”

“Why not? ” Nicole’s eyes were burning at me now, full of youthful fire and optimism. I felt it coming off her like heat from a radiator. She probably thought herself wise beyond her years. At least she meant well. “It wasn’t your fault. You survived. They didn’t. Sucks to be them, but they would want you to move on with your life. To be happy. ”

“What do you fucking know? ” I slammed the glass down on the table, startling Nicole. “My friends were total assholes. They hated me. They would not want me to be happy. ”

“Okay, fine. ” Nicole leaned back and crossed her arms. “So fuck what they would want. You’re alive. You’re here. What do you want? ”

If I still thought of her as just a bright kid, that would have sounded goddamned supportive. Trouble was, I knew the truth. Shit.

I waved to Andre at the bar, but when he started over, I gave him a curt, cutting-off gesture. The signal. His face lost some of its luster. Quietly, he started approaching the various tables to encourage them to leave. The regulars caught on quick, though some of the drunker barflies made unsatisfied noises I hoped Nicole wouldn’t notice.

“Hey. ” Nicole leaned across the table and put her hand on my arm. “You survived. It’s totally okay to feel guilty about that. Totally normal. A lot of people in your situation would. ”

“Would they? ” I poured my fourth drink of this conversation.

“I’m sure you did everything you could, ” she said. “It’s not like you killed them. ”

Silence.

She stared at me for a long time, her eyes growing progressively wider. “You— You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you? ” she asked. “Vivienne? ”

I looked at the tumbler of whiskey in my hand.

“I don’t know, ” I said. “I don’t remember. ”

We sat in silence, listening as trivia night progressed. They were on the final round, which commenced with a mashup of dramatic music from various movies. At first I thought it was the theme from some spaghetti Western, but an electric guitar intruded. We didn’t compare answers this time; only stared at each other. I kept her attention. I didn’t let her notice the people quietly leaving the bar. Andre had kept the music playing in part to cover up the exodus.

“You wanna get out of here? ” I asked. “I know the boss, and she’d totally let me bail. ”

Her face lit up, surprised and pleased. “Yes. ” She smiled weakly. “God, yes. ”

The plan was simple: get her out to the parking lot, onto the bike, and out of here. Maybe head down into SoDo or to one of the city’s many construction sites—anywhere away from people. Then we could have a conversation.

At the door, Nicole stepped close enough to me to hold. She felt hot as a furnace against the chilly night air from the parking lot. “Are you sober enough to drive? ” she asked.

Damn. Hadn’t thought of that. Typical—the drunk is undone by a dumbass-drunk thing. “I’ll have you know that I’m a high-functioning alcoholic, ” I said. A pretty good try, I think.

Crap. Nicole was looking around the emptying bar. Her notice fell on a twentysomething couple that was arguing with Andre about their check. It must have seemed obvious he was trying to get them to leave. Suspicious as fuck.

“I see. ” Nicole drew me back into the bar—entirely the wrong direction. “You know what? I think we should stay here. ” She clung close to me. “I like it here. ”

“Maybe this was a mistake, ” I said. “It’s getting pretty late. ” I checked my watch: 11: 54.

“What time is it? ” she asked, her breath warm against my ear.

Time was up.

“Time for you to get out of that poor girl, I guess. ”

Nicole pulled away, looking at first hurt and confused. Then her expression hardened. “How did you know? ”

“Other than me dumping the insanity of the century on you, and you don’t bat an eye? ”

“Other than that. ” She tried to pull away, but I held her hand. She stared at me. Hard.

“I didn’t—not for sure, ” I said. “But I think you’ve been influencing Nicole since that first night. ”

“Oh? ” Her voice dropped half an octave. “How so? ”

“Little things never really added up with Nicole. Call it intuition. ” I ticked off the reasons on my fingers. “One: a young woman running the gym alone after dark? Maybe, but there’s gotta be a rule about having at least two people at the gym at all times. ” I raised a second finger. “Two: the fake Raven to distract me. What else was the point of that? ” Three fingers. “The flirting. I mean, sure, but Nicole just screams alpha straight girl. And you were really goddamn pushy. And then at the bar. ” I held up four fingers. “When you ordered a White Russian and a Caesar salad, and then you ate some of my tatchos. Nicole’s a vegan. ”

She smiled wryly, mockingly. “Maybe I’m just a naughty one. ”

“Maybe. ” I shook my head. “Or maybe fuck you demon—get out of my friend. ”

The demon narrowed Nicole’s eyes. “Good thought, trying to lure me away. ” The voice was Nicole’s but very low—threatening. “Wouldn’t want to mess up the place. ”

“Or kill innocent bystanders, but whatever. ”

The kids fighting about the bill had stopped arguing with Andre and were now staring at us like frightened deer on a country road. A man sat at the bar, all but passed out from booze, oblivious to the world around him. Andre had pulled out his favorite Louisville Slugger, for all the good it would do against a demon.

Nicole chuckled deep in her throat and stepped toward the bar, but I held her hand tight. “This thing is between you and me, ” I said. “Leave the others out of it. ”

“They’re already in this. ” The demon’s voice rolled like thunder, as tremulous as boulders cracking under their own weight. “You really think you scare me, little girl? ”

“Oh, nice try, ” I said. “I can tell you’re not Azazel. That fucker knows better than to try to intimidate me. ” I folded my arms. “So, whose little bitch ass do I get to fuck up today? ”

She waded in with a series of jabs that I deflected mostly by keeping my head down and my hands up. Her bare knuckles hurt, but I prepared for that by channeling some of my fear energy into sheaths of purple armor that rippled along my arms and shoulders. Nicole retreated, wincing and shaking out her arms. I drew fear into my hands, encasing them in glowing purple gauntlets of energy. I was drawing more emotional resonance from the people in the bar, and the more scared they became, the more power I could draw. Game over, demon.

“You’re a real loser—you know that? ” I asked. “You couldn’t get me to let you in by pretending to be a human, so now you’re going to break me open? You’ve already lost. ”

Nicole wrapped her arms around my waist and put me on the floor like it was nothing. A table exploded under us, and the air left my body in a rush. I landed on my sprained right arm and momentarily blacked out from the pain. Nicole leered over me, straddling my waist and in complete control.

“You want her? ” the demon said over me. “You’ll have to beat me out of her. ”

I caught her hands to hold them away from my face. Saliva ran down her chin from where her lips drew unnaturally far back from her teeth.

“Nicole, ” I said. “If you can hear me, I don’t want to hurt you. ”

“Don’t worry. ” The demon squeezed tighter. “You won’t. ”

Grappling negated all my advantages. Nicole was accustomed to fighting stronger opponents, and my armor did nothing against her holds. My right arm was useless. I did better than I had in class, but she twisted onto my back and I was huffing sawdust, beer foam, and grime off the floorboards in seconds. Should really do a better job cleaning up around here.

“Should have paid more attention to my moves than my body, ” the demon said. “Then you’d know what to do when I’ve got your back. ”

“Fuck face, ” I said. “I absolutely know what to do. ”

I channeled the last of the fear into one hot point in the center of my hand, strained to reach up, and touched Nicole’s cheek. Power flared.

Her body went instantly rigid, as though I’d blasted her with a stun gun. Her control fell apart, and she looked at me, dizzy and confused. I head-butted her, and she fell off me entirely.

As blood ran down from her nose, I grinned. “Told you. ”

“What—? ” Nicole staggered back into one of the booths and upended the table there with a flick of her wrist. Her head shook and her eyes rolled. “What have you done to me? ”

“Not to you—to her. ” I raised my glowing purple hand. “I conjured up her worst, paralyzing fear and hit her between the eyes with it. You’re hard to scare, but Nicole? She’s only human, and we’re all afraid of something. ”

Nicole turned away and vomited. At first I worried I’d given her a brain-injuring concussion with that hit, but then I saw the disgusting sludge pumping out her mouth. Those weren’t her guts she was puking out, but something far darker and worse for both of us.

“Go! ” I hissed at Andre. “Get out of here! ”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He slid something across the bar in my direction: a black leather satchel marked “For Emergencies. ” Like a first-aid kit, only better. Then he ushered the last patrons out into the rainy night, leaving me alone with Nicole and her demon. I made a mental note to give him a raise after this.

Unfortunately, the black mess was between me and the claw. As I started to creep around, I felt an influx of power that made me stagger. The room abruptly dropped ten or twenty degrees, and I could see my breath. Here it came.

The lights dimmed, fizzling and crackling to usher in madness. The demon rose from the pool like a patch of liquid night, muscular arms stretched wide as though to soak up the power of the place. Its darkness had no firm lines but instead shifted among half a dozen shapes, from something like a man to a flow of spiders and maggots to a thing mortal minds were never meant to process. Then it took the shape of the Raven sans eye, because that terrified me most.

A shadow demon. Of course. Tricky, vicious, massive inferiority complex. Dangerous.

Empty and caught in her fear, Nicole lay senseless, leaving just the demon and me.

I started to speak, but the demon pounced on me and knocked the air out of my lungs. It raked icy claws of darkness across my body, ripping through my jacket and jeans like wet paper, then hurled me into the bar with enough force to crack it. The creature leaped on me, but I pulled fear energy into my legs and kicked it off. It flowed to the center of the room, hovering and dangerous. I blinked away the pain and climbed limply out of the crater I’d left in the bar.

“I thought you’d put up more fight, ” the demon said in a thousand jabbering voices. Its amorphous body made it hard to see, and my wounds didn’t help either. At least its touch was numbingly cold—like being stabbed to death by syringes full of morphine. “The great Lady Vengeance, mortal consort of Azazel the Many-Eyed, hated and feared and loved throughout the bowels of eternity. ”

“Ew. ” As I got to my feet, I reached over and claimed the emergency kit on the bar. I took out a weapon I hadn’t worn for a long time: a silver gauntlet with sharpened claws for fingers. Even with my movements made awkward thanks to my injured right arm and the adrenaline, I fit it on my left hand with practiced efficiency. “You never told me your name, demon. After I humiliate you, I want to be able to tell the story accurately. ”

“You’ll not trick me, woman. ” It smiled and nodded toward the bar. “I’m going to kill you, then everyone you’ve ever loved—”

Nicole’s flying knee came out of the dim, flickering light and smashed into the demon’s back. She had launched herself with the force of a charging bull, and it knocked the demon staggering toward the bar and me. I met it with a rising slash of the silver claw, and the demon shrieked as the talons tore through its shadowy flesh. I might not be a saint, empowered to smite demons with my bare hands, but blessed silver works regardless of your personal moral standing.

Roaring, Nicole launched a blistering combination of punches, kicks, and elbows that made my face ache. I felt no more fear in her, just pure, righteous anger. I approved.

We stood in the ruined bar, arranged in a kind of fighting triangle. I panted and bled, but my powers kept me standing. Nicole looked pale but royally pissed off, hands and arms shaking with white-hot rage that tasted exhilarating. The demon cursed in its profane language, looking for an opening but finding none. Demons may not have the same emotional range as humans, but one we definitely have in common is fear, and its terror tasted like fine fifty-year-old scotch.

“You’re outmatched, demon, ” I said. “I’ll give you one chance to—”

The creature roared, boiled away into smog, and flowed through the open back door with a sound like wind droning through grass. Through my powers, I felt the instant the demon left: all that delicious fear gone. What a shame.

“Huh, ” I said. “I was sure he’d stay for a good monologue. . . . ”

Words slid apart and seemed too much hassle. The ground shivered under my feet. Maybe just a little nap. That would be nice. . . .

Nicole caught me as I slumped down, blood flowing and the fear that bolstered me abating. She had her mobile pressed to her ear.

“Don’t worry, V, ” she said. “I called nine-one-one. An ambulance is on its way. ”

“Great. ” I coughed, which hurt. A lot. I heard voices outside the bar: people drawn back to the noise. Andre tried to stop them from coming inside. Good man. “Because bleeding to death in my own bar would be a lame death. ”

Nicole put pressure on, which made it better. “Is it gone? ”

I nodded. “It’s gone. ”

Nicole sniffed. “Really? ”

“Really. ”

A relieved shiver passed through her. “I’m so sorry, ” she said. “I didn’t know what was going on. I could control myself at first, but then it took over and I was just watching. I—”

“Not your fault, ” I said. “I’m the one who should apologize. You didn’t ask for this shit. ”

“But I got it anyway. ”

“Yeah. ” Her fear for me bolstered me physically and psychologically. That’s what it was, I realized. Her worst fear was hurting her friends. “I’ve got a lot to tell you. ”

“Later. ” Nicole smiled. “We’ve got time. ”

The silence stretched between us, long and soft and easy. Despite the lingering gloom, I felt warm.

SALES. FORCE.

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

He said: Our love is deep and powerful, epic.

He said: It will last for all time.

He said: Forever.

He died on a Thursday afternoon in midwinter, in Kaylee’s arms, in a stupid hospital room with stupid white walls and a stupid brown blanket covering half of him, on a stupid hospital bed with stupid rails that dug into her back, and stupid machines that beep-beep-beeped, then beepbeepbeepbeeped before the stupid alarm sounded and the stupid doctors and nurses ran into the room with the stupid crash cart that did absolutely nothing.

Because, she knew, long before the doctors and nurses arrived, he had taken his last breath.

Never even opened his eyes, not after the damn car accident. Never smiled at her again, never said I love you one last time.

There was nothing pretty about the death, nothing pretty about him at the end.

Just her. Standing in the corner of the stupid hospital room, watching the pathetic doctors and nurses with their pathetic crash cart do everything they could to resuscitate a corpse.

“Fine, ” she’d say angrily to anyone who asked. “I’m fine. ”

But of course she wasn’t fine. She’d never be fine again.

She told everyone she moved out of the apartment because she couldn’t live there anymore without him, and everyone took that to mean the memories were too much for her, when really it meant she had to move, as in legally.

She had to do a bunch of things that she didn’t want to do because, as she learned the hard way, there was a difference between planning to get married and actually being married.

People even looked at her grief differently. At least, they’d say, you still have a future.

And she’d glare at them angrily, because what could she say, really? It’s a future I don’t want? Or, Do you really know what the hell you’re talking about? Or, Do you think about the words that come out of your mouth, or do you just let fly with whatever comes to mind?

Yeah, she was angry, and yeah, she knew anger was step one of the grief wheel or whatever they called the dumb thing, but she also knew that she’d always been just a little angry. She suspected she’d been born angry, coming out of the womb with tiny fists clenched, spoiling for a fight.

Dex had loved that about her. He’d said he loved everything about her.

He’d said he would never leave her.

She should have known better than to believe him.

Hell, she should have thought it through:

Every relationship ended. Sometimes it ended voluntarily with a break-up or an affair. Sometimes it ended with death.

Only the lucky ones died together.

Everyone else had to suffer through being a survivor.

And she hated that term most of all.

She went back to work after a week. Her boss, Nia, maybe the only person who understood how much Kaylee had loved Dex, told her to take more time.

But she didn’t want more time. She’d moved back to the scruffy one-bedroom she’d had before Dex, which the landlord said he’d been holding for her, but they both knew the place was too tiny and too dark to rent to anyone else.

Her stuff fit in it just like it used to—the battered table, the mattress on the floor, the thrift-shop dishes. The only things she’d taken from Dex’s place—and yes, taken was the right word, since she had no legal right to anything—were his books. She left a few—the ones she’d read—but his family wouldn’t know what he’d had and what he didn’t have, and they weren’t readers, so they wouldn’t miss the books.

She’d slunk away, feeling like she was being evicted from the only home she’d ever had, and after she left, after she’d locked the keys inside, she regretted not taking at least one of his shirts or his blanket or something, something that smelled like him.

Then she squared her shoulders and vowed to move forward. Memories of him would hold her back, not that she could get rid of them.

Not that she wanted to, deep down.

But the memories that kept coming up were the memories of his promises: We’re forever, blondie, just you and me. Forever.

Forever was awfully damn short, and love was grand for an afternoon, and she was right back where she started, in a tiny little apartment with a great kitchen and no real light, and nothing to do but count the stains on the wall.

So why wouldn’t she go back to work?

Work, at least, got rid of the aggression. Work gave her a purpose, made her feel alive. Okay, that last wasn’t true. Work didn’t make her feel alive.

It justified her numbness.

Because, really, who could kill something day in and day out and remain one hundred percent in touch with her feelings?

Maybe, she thought as she drove to the dying wharf where the office was this week, it’s good Dex is gone.

He’d been making her too sensitive, too touchy-feely.

Hell, the reason she hadn’t married him yet was because she hadn’t been able to figure out how to tell him what, exactly, she did for a living.

You see, Dex, there are magic creatures in the world, and most of them are pretty damn evil, just like in those books you read, and all of them—all of them—want a piece of someone’s soul, so it takes someone without much of a soul to make them really and truly dead.

I’m the person without much of a soul. So don’t love me, Dex. Don’t love me, don’t marry me, don’t stay with me.

She’d never said those words to him, but apparently he’d heard them. He hadn’t married her.

And he sure as hell hadn’t stayed.

The office, in a dilapidated building near a rotting pier, was warded. It also smelled strongly of fish.

Kaylee made a face as she stepped inside. Nia stood near a long folding table that tilted to the left.

Nia was tiny, and would’ve been called cute by folks who weren’t paying attention, the folks who didn’t see the daggers in her chocolate brown eyes. Nia kept her black hair shaved close, she said, to control the curls, but Kaylee knew it was to make the work easier. Work took too much think time, time that shouldn’t be wasted on hair care or product or even a shampoo.

Maybe Kaylee would go for the shaved look too, although her skull wasn’t as symmetrical as Nia’s. Nor was Kaylee little or cute.

Kaylee had never been little or cute. Always big, always a bit of a bruiser, and, over the years, she’d developed muscles on her muscles, as Dex used to say with admiration.

Nia held a clipboard. A dozen others hung on the wall from nails newly placed in the peeling paint. An ancient filing cabinet stood near a door that led to a small bathroom. The bathroom looked even more disreputable than the office did.

There was no computer equipment because Nia didn’t play well with computers. Besides, computers left an electronic trail, and Nia didn’t like leaving trails. Not for this business.

She had a pencil behind her ear and a black pen in her hand.

“Last chance, ” she said by way of hello. “I’d beg off if I were you. Don’t want be at home? Take a vacation, see the sites, find a grief-counseling group, volunteer at a charity or something. ”

“Can you see me doing any of that? ” Kaylee was a little offended that Nia had suggested it.

“I don’t care what you do, ” Nia said. “I’m just warning you. You’re perfect for this job, and that’s a bad thing. ”

Kaylee stared at her. Nia was tough. She had a heart, although most people never saw it. Kaylee had. When Kaylee fell for Dex, Nia tried to talk Kaylee into leaving the business altogether.

Love and magic don’t mix, Nia had said. Pick one, K.

Apparently, Kaylee had picked one. She had picked magic.

“Who’m I supposed to kill? ” she asked, keeping her voice level. She used to debate even asking that question, because often what she was sent to kill wasn’t a who. It was a what. And kill might be a relative term. Sometimes destroy was better.

“You’re not killing this time, ” Nia said.

“Just because I had to deal with Dex’s death—”

“No, ” Nia said. “That’s not why. You’re investigating this time. ”

Kaylee let out a sigh. She hated investigating. She had given it up long ago. Others went into various parts of the city, investigated reports of dark magic or evil intent, and then reported back to Nia. Nia would assign someone to destroy the magic or the mage or both.

Kaylee had an affinity for destruction. She did not investigate well. Investigations required subtlety, and she was anything but subtle.

“I don’t investigate, ” Kaylee said.

“You’re the only one we got, ” Nia said.

“I’m not in the mood to investigate, ” Kaylee said.

“Tough shit, ” Nia said. “You stayed. You begged for work. You’re doing this. ”

“I’m leaving, ” Kaylee said, feeling at loose ends. She had wanted the work, but not finesse work. She needed to crack some heads.

She went to the door, but it glowed red.

“You said I could choose, ” she said, without turning around.

“And then you asked who you were supposed to kill, ” Nia said. “That activated the wards. You’re in now. ”

Kaylee felt a flash of irritation. It held back full-blown anger. But she knew, she knew, Nia was right. Once the agreement to take a job was made, it was binding.

Kaylee just couldn’t believe Nia would give her the wrong kind of work.

Kaylee took a deep breath before turning around. Nia hadn’t moved. Her pen remained poised over the clipboard.

“So what’s the job? ” Kaylee asked, letting her irritation flow through her voice.

“You’re going in as a client. ”

“In where? ”

“Armand’s Potions on Fifth. ”

Kaylee sighed, pushing back even more irritation. “You investigated Armand’s when it opened, or don’t you remember? Legit white magic, no whiff of black—at least in the magical potions. Most everything else has too much alcohol and will simply make the client feel good. ”

“Yeah, I know, ” Nia said. “We’re not investigating Armand. He’s doing a potion sharing. ”

Kaylee felt her lips tighten. She hated potion sharings. They were the wine tastings of the magical world.

“Why would he do that? ” she asked.

“Because I asked him to. ” Nia opened the clip on the clipboard and removed a piece of paper. It was a flyer advertising a love potion. The flyer smelled like perfume and made Kaylee a bit light-headed just being near it.

Nia smiled.

“Thought so, ” she said. “You’re perfect. ”

“What does that mean? ”

“Some of our regulars have been asked to invest in the love potion, ” Nia said.

“And you want to know if it’s a scam, ” Kaylee said. “Send one of them in. Remove the spell if the potion works. ”

“Read the damn flyer, ” Nia said.

Kaylee didn’t want to touch it. It glowed pink and made her feel happier than she wanted to feel.

The flyer claimed the potion didn’t make someone fall in love. It took someone who had given up on love or who had lost too much in their life to ever try to love, and repaired their belief in love.

Kaylee had a slight headache now. “I’m perfect? ” she asked.

“Yeah, ” Nia said, and let the word hang. The reason she was sending Kaylee in was obvious to both of them.

“What’s the catch? ” Kaylee asked.

“That’s what you’re going to find out, ” Nia said.

The potion sharing wasn’t being held at Armand’s. Instead, it was in the back room of one of the swankiest restaurants in the city. Even the back room was swanky. Done in black and white with soft yellow lighting falling on the potion bottles scattered on various tables, the room looked elegant.

The clientele for this thing would be upscale, and even that made Kaylee nervous. She wasn’t upscale. But Nia had dressed her that way. Kaylee had even had to go to a fitting. She wore some slinky, glittery black thing that covered her muscular arms in soft material and made her look fat, not buff.

She liked buff. Buff made her intimidating. Buff got her in a room. Fat reminded her of high school, before she discovered her singular talents, back when she’d walk in a room and everyone would snicker.

At least cargo boots with dresses were in style, protecting her from having to wear heels.

Nia wouldn’t magic her either, no protect spells, nothing. If Kaylee got hit with the wrong potion, well, then the magical medics on hand would have to handle it, and if somehow that goddamn love potion actually worked, Nia promised she’d unspell Kaylee and the victim of her love/lust.

Kaylee hoped that would happen before there was any damage.

Armand stood near the door. He was short, black-haired, and spray-tanned. He took her hand in his as she greeted him. Then he leaned forward and kissed her on each cheek, enveloping her in some kind of sandalwood cologne.

“We shall do this together, oui? ” he said in her ear.

“If you say so, bub, ” she said, pulling back. Then she grinned at him so that her words didn’t seem so harsh.

His eyes twinkled for just a moment, and her heart fluttered. He was aware of the game they were playing. She hadn’t forgotten that, but she hadn’t realized he would be so deeply involved.

“I was so sorry to hear about your fiancé. ” He spoke louder and his accent was softer, weirdly enough. “When the heart hurts. . . ”

He slipped her hand through his arm. Then he nodded at her courteously.

“For such hurt, ” he said, leading her toward one of the nearest tables. “We have remedies. ”

She looked at the bottles scattered along it. Genie bottles, Dex had called them once when he visited the office in its temporary digs on 42nd Street. She had laughed and told him, Yes, genie bottles. Don’t touch.

“For the pain, ” Armand said now.

Others stood near the table, some holding drinks, the bottom of their glasses wrapped in paper napkins. Waiters mingled with the guests, carrying silver trays with crudité s. Kaylee wondered briefly if anyone had vetted the food: it wouldn’t do to have a guest turn into a frog because they had a potion mixed with wine mixed with the wrong kind of pâ té.

She had to bring herself back to the role. She wasn’t watching the people; she was looking at the potions. She touched the descriptive cards on three bottles. Two cards remained unchanged, but the third released white smoke, which then wrapped around her hand.

The smoke whispered, I will help you forget.

She drew back as if it had bitten her, and looked at Armand in very real alarm.

“I don’t want to forget him, ” she said before she could think.

This, this, was why Nia said she was perfect. The pain, the grief, the loss, it took away a cautious part of her brain. It made her vulnerable to these very spells, the kind that preyed upon the weak.

“Forgive me, mademoiselle, ” Armand said. “Perhaps something a bit less. . . intrusive? ”

She swallowed, wishing she hadn’t accepted this assignment. Beneath the playacting, the anger was rising. She wanted to kill them all just for having a good time.

She blinked, took a deep breath, said, “I just want a new future. ”

“Mais oui, mademoiselle, don’t we all. ” Armand smiled at her and squeezed her hand against his side. Weirdly, the movement was comforting.

She didn’t want to be comforted. She wanted to hang on to the anger.

“Maybe this will help you, ” he said, and led her to a table farther back. “A warning: It is expensive. ”

“Money is no object, ” she murmured, wishing that were true. But she wasn’t buying. The company wasn’t buying. They were sampling.

The table stood by itself. Extra lights poured down on it, soft lighting, the kind that theaters used on starlets, bathed a single bottle in warmth. The bottle, shaped like a flower about to bloom, glowed pink.

“Ah, it recognizes you, mademoiselle, ” he said. “It will work with you. ”

He snapped his fingers, and a young man stepped out of the shadows. His features blurred. She wasn’t sure if that was deliberate or if he wasn’t really human.

It was not her job to find out. She was to taste the potion, and see if it was real.

The young man took a flower-shaped glass from a tray she hadn’t seen, and poured just a bit of potion. A pink glow swirled out of it. She had a quick, panicky feeling that she shouldn’t do this, that this was wrong, that she was betraying Dex, and then the glow swirled into her face, going up her nose.

She felt it, like an ice-cream headache, then it flowed into her, and she, and she—

Burst into tears.

Somewhere, in the back of her brain, her real self crossed its arms, and judged. She did not cry. Crying was weak. Crying was an indulgence. Crying was something no one should ever ever do.

Armand patted her back, clearly alarmed, and the young man—she had been wrong, he had sculptured features, almost vulpine, and dark intense eyes—enveloped her in his arms, comforting, holding, and she let him, dear God, she let him hold her because it felt right.

Not that she had fallen in love with him, or even that she was attracted to him. She had just needed someone to hold her since that car slammed into Dex, right in front of her, before she could even stop it, while she screamed for help, and then crouching with his broken body, wishing she had healing magic, not violent magic, although some of that leaked out too, because the car careened into a group of parked cars, and the damn driver died, just like he should have, careless son of a fucking bitch—

“Here, here, ” the young man said, handing her a tissue. She took it, but it was useless. He dabbed at her face, then wiped her tears with his thumbs, and she worried about him capturing her essence, even though he had tears on his jacket and she would have to report that to Nia, she would have to report it all—

Kaylee took a deep breath. And just that quickly, the tears were gone. But so was the ache she had felt since that goddamn hospital bed, on that bleak afternoon.

“What was that? ” she asked, surprised that her voice did not shake.

“We call it a love potion, ” the young man said. “But that isn’t quite true. It restores the heart, makes love possible again. You’ll see. ”

“I didn’t drink it, ” she said.

“No, ” he said. “You must buy the bottle to drink. And it is not a onetime potion. It is a treatment, really. It gets you past your grief and into your future. Isn’t that what you wanted? ”

Had he overheard her conversation with Armand? Or was this part of the sales pitch?

“So, it won’t make me fall in love? ” she asked.

“It will allow you to love again, ” he said. “It is very delicate and very powerful. ”

“And very expensive, I’ll bet. ” She sounded more like herself again, even though the anger had gone. She felt hollow without it. Hollow and a bit giddy, as if she were real-people drunk instead of Kaylee-drunk. Kaylee-drunk was usually bar-fight furious, and had gotten her arrested more than once.

“Ten thousand a bottle, ” he said. “But considering that it restores your heart, opening it to love, the price is low. ”

“How many bottles does it take to ‘cure’ someone? ” she asked.

“Only one, ” he said. “We are not in the business of addicting someone. Only helping people. ”

It sounded so right, so smooth, so perfect. The real Kaylee, tucked in the back of her brain, arms crossed, knew that was a warning sign, but this Kaylee, still under the spell, nodded.

“I don’t have ten thousand tonight, ” she said. “Can I get this at Armand’s? ”

“Only if you do so within the week, ” the young man said. “This batch, which seems to have an affinity for you, is nearly gone. If we do not sell the remaining ten bottles this evening, the rest will go to Armand’s. But I must warn you, we do raise the price when there are fewer than five. ”

She nodded, almost without thinking. She wanted the bottle right now. Thank heavens Nia did not give her money. She would have spent it.

“I’ll tell Armand to save me one, ” she said. Another tear leaked out of her eye. Dammit. She dabbed at it. “Thank you. ”

Then she staggered away from the young man. He had her tears, but she had some of his skin collected on the edges of her glittering dress. An even trade, or so her real self said. Her real self, which was still observing.

She passed Armand, and waved a hand at her eyes.

“I need to fix my face, ” she said.

“Yes, ” he said. Then, softer, “Merci. ”

She almost asked For what? then remembered. Investigation, mission.

She staggered out of the back room into the restaurant and toward the ladies’ room, which was near the back door. She pushed it open, and stepped into the alley.

The cool night air did not clear her head, although it made her chapped cheeks sting. She pivoted, almost went back inside—She could find ten thousand dollars. If a whiff of the potion made her feel like this, imagine what the entire bottle would do—but she managed to follow the plan.

She walked down the alley and turned left on the side street where Nia had parked her battered van. Kaylee climbed inside.

Her real self wanted to say, Get it out of me. You don’t know what it’s doing to me, but the rest of her looked at Nia, realized just how cute she was, wondered why they hadn’t been closer friends—

“Tilt your head back, ” Nia said. “You drank, right? ”

Kaylee shook her head. “Breathed it, ” she managed.

“Oh, sneaky, ” Nia said. She took a pipette, lit a match at the bottom of it, and then tapped the side, muttering a spell that Kaylee didn’t recognize.

Pink glow streamed out of her nose and mouth, into the pipette. More hovered. Nia took another pipette, and then another, capping them as she trapped the glow inside.

In the end, six pipettes with vibrating, glowing pink smoke stood in a little case, like an evil drug.

Nia continued the spell with four more pipettes, then did some kind of heal or reverse. Kaylee didn’t know.

She was exhausted, battered, and empty.

And then, deep down, she realized with bitter amusement, she finally felt angry.

She slept for almost two days, in a bed in the tiny back room of the wharf office, with someone watching her twenty-four/seven. By the time she woke up—really woke up, not stirred enough to eat, roll over, and head back to dreamland—they’d finished testing the spell.

Nia accompanied Kaylee to her ratty apartment for a change of clothing, a shower, and a surprise pizza (paid for—even bigger surprise—by Nia). As they bonded over pepperoni and sausage in that kitchen too nice to fit into the rest of the apartment (and clean, because Kaylee had hardly been there since she moved back in), Nia proclaimed the spell elegant and powerful.

Kaylee knew about the powerful. The entire thing had left her shaken, and midway through her marathon sleep session, she had demanded that Nia check to make certain no trace of the spell remained inside Kaylee.

It hadn’t. The sleep, Nia had said, was probably overdue.

And now that Kaylee was awake, she figured Nia was right: Kaylee hadn’t slept well since Dex died, and the exhaustion from the spell probably carried into the exhaustion from her grief.

What she didn’t tell Nia was that the grief wasn’t there anymore, not like it had been. Not overwhelming and ever present. Kaylee didn’t dare confess that it had altered, because, in part, she was afraid she altered it.

She was a woman without much of a soul. Maybe she could only mourn so long. Maybe she could only love so deep. Maybe—hell, not maybe, actually—she wasn’t like other people, and that probably extended to the way she grieved as well.

At least the pizza tasted good. Nia had also brought a six-pack of her favorite microbrew, and the dark beer seemed appropriate, both to the pizza and Kaylee’s mood.

“So, ” she said, after three pieces. “The spell’s legit. Expensive, but legit. What’s wrong with that? ”

“Nothing, ” Nia said. “Armand was happy. He makes a healthy commission off the sales. ”

“We weren’t doing this for Armand, were we? ” Kaylee tried to keep the question casual, but she didn’t want to think she had (possibly) sacrificed her grief for Armand. She liked him, but she didn’t like him that much.

“No, ” Nia said. “It’s the investment angle. It still bothers me. ”

Kaylee had forgotten about the investments. They were what had interested Nia in the first place.

“It’s an expensive commodity, ” Kaylee said. “There’s clearly money to be made. ”

“Yeah. ” Nia took another piece of pizza. The cheese, still warm, clung to the rest of the pizza. She snapped the piece off with the edges of her fingers. “It’s the method that bothers me. They’re going for small investors. People who can put in a few thousand dollars and get some kind of stock. When you’re selling a bottle for ten thousand dollars, that seems like tiny money. ”

Kaylee didn’t pretend to understand investments. She barely had enough coin for this ratty apartment. She never asked for a raise because money hadn’t meant much. Still didn’t. What did she need besides food, a warm place to lay her head, and something to do every day?

“Maybe they’re going to expand, ” she said.

Nia raised her head, frowning. “You said the potion was a onetime dose. ”

“That’s not what he told me, ” Kaylee said. “You took it a bit at a time until you finished the bottle. ”

“And then, didn’t he tell you, no more bottles? ”

“Yes, ” Kaylee said.

“Onetime use. ” Nia said that almost to herself. “So they’re constantly in need of new customers. That’s the flaw in the spell. ”

She got up from the table, leaving half of the last piece she had taken uneaten.

“You, ” she said to Kaylee, “are brilliant. ”

“Sometimes, ” Kaylee said. “Apparently. ”

Nia grinned at her and then gathered her things. “I’ll be in touch. ”

“I’ll be here, ” Kaylee said, but she spoke to an empty room. Nia hadn’t even used the door. She had simply disappeared.

Kaylee hated wasting magic like that. She only used her magic for big things. Well, the big things she could do. She couldn’t make crash carts work or doctors arrive on time or men crushed by the front bumper of a car going forty-five miles per hour in a twenty-mile-per-hour zone come out of comas to say good-bye to their one and only love.

She shivered at the thought and felt the rag end of loss. It was back. She just hadn’t noticed.

Maybe because it had become part of her during her long sleep.

Maybe because it fueled her anger.

Or maybe both.

The books she stole from Dex’s apartment were stupid. They were about things she didn’t give a rat’s ass over. The history of baseball. The psychology of golf. Current political bestsellers. A few fantasy novels—heavy on the fantasy and short on the realism.

She read them, anyway, and felt no closer to him. She was restless all over again and thinking about doing more work. Nia hadn’t called, but that didn’t mean anything.

Sometimes Kaylee got work just by showing up.

She showered, then decided she needed something new to wear, something Dex hadn’t commented on. She promised herself a latte and some incredibly rich dessert if she bought two pairs of pants and three shirts.

She ended up with two shirts and one pair of pants and called it good. The coffee shop three blocks from her place had closed in the past few weeks, so she went to the other place with excellent baked goods, across the street from Armand’s.

He was there, getting enough coffee for his entire staff. When he saw her, he came over and bussed her cheeks, then put his hands on her shoulders and studied her face.

“Nia said it was hard for you, ” he said. “I am sorry. ”

Kaylee shrugged. “I suspect everything’ll be hard for a while. ”

“I would hug you, ” he said, “but now that you are dressed as you, I feel I must ask permission. ”

She half smiled. “The sentiment is enough, Armand, thank you. ”

“Let me pay for your order, ” he said. “In fact, let me pay for your next month’s worth of orders. ”

“That’s all right, ” she said.

“No, no, you do not understand, my friend. These potions, the commission is superb. ”

“Nia’s worried that they’re onetime and done, ” Kaylee said.

“That concerned me as well, ” Armand said. “But one person recommends to a friend who recommends to a friend. I have sold two separate lots since I last saw you. ”

“Lots? ” Kaylee asked. “What do you mean? ”

“Ten bottles per lot, ” Armand said. “I have sold twenty bottles, and I am halfway through the third lot. ”

Kaylee let out a small whistle. “That’s a lot of people needing a love potion. ”

“A future potion; that is how I am selling it. One that heals the heart. ” Armand turned and gave the clerk his credit card. “You will set up an account for my friend, de comprendre? ”

The clerk nodded, ran Armand’s credit card, and then handed Kaylee a gift card.

“Hah, ” he said, shaking his head. “Accounts mean something different here. ”

She barely paid attention (although she did thank him). Instead she was doing the math.

“It’s been less than a week and you’ve sold twenty-five bottles? ” Kaylee asked. “Doesn’t that seem odd to you? ”

“No, ” he said quietly, scooping up the cardboard container with the coffee drinks shoved into their respective holders. “My customers have had a rough spring. As have you. ”

He kissed her again, wished her well, and then left, before she could thank him a second time.

To be fair, she hadn’t thought of thanking him, not for at least ten minutes after he left, when the cinnamon roll she’d ordered arrived, dripping frosting on the china plate, a latte steaming beside it.

She took a bite, then remembered that blurred face of the man selling the potion and how he became clear only after she had breathed in the steam.

A rough spring.

The potion did give the person who used it hope for the future, a chance at rebirth, renewal.

But to have that, the person needed incentive. She needed a sense that the world did not work for her, that her past was too overwhelming to cope with alone.

She needed a great loss.

“Son of a bitch, ” Kaylee said, and nearly spilled her latte. “Son of a fucking bitch. ”

She didn’t run to the wharf because, first of all, there was no running, not from this neighborhood. She would’ve called, except no one working for Nia had a cell phone—not that Nia had one, either—and the landline probably wasn’t installed yet (if it ever would be).

She could have taken a cab, but she didn’t have enough cash. Besides, she wanted to get there faster than any traffic could take her. So she had the clerk box the remains of the cinnamon bun and put it in a bag. Then she grabbed that and her latte, and went outside.

And, for the first time since Dex died, she used her magic.

She transported herself from the sidewalk to the office.

Nia did not look surprised to see her, but, then, Nia never looked surprised to see anyone.

“I want you to tell me I’m wrong, ” Kaylee said, her hand shaking. The magic use had made her light-headed.

“Wrong about what? ” Nia asked.

“Tell me they’re not creating their own clients, ” Kaylee said.

“What do you mean? ” Nia asked.

“The love-potion makers, ” Kaylee said. “Tell me they’re not doing anything wrong. ”

It took Kaylee almost a half an hour to explain the idea that had come to her when she was talking with Armand. It wasn’t what he said so much as what he implied.

His customers, their rough spring. Like hers.

Only rough was the wrong word.

Devastating. She had had a devastating spring.

Nia promised to investigate, and this time, she didn’t assign Kaylee to the task.

Nia arrived at Kaylee’s apartment one week later. Only this time, Nia brought a pizza and an address. It was in the West Fifties, a rehabbed brownstone that someone had poured a small fortune into.

“What am I looking at? ” Kaylee asked, staring at the piece of paper.

“The sales force, ” Nia said.

“For the potion? ” Kaylee asked.

“Yeah, ” Nia said.

“I’m not supposed to investigate this time? ” Kaylee asked.

“That’s a lot of questions for you, ” Nia said.

Kaylee shrugged. “It’s been an odd case. ”

Nia nodded, one hand on the pizza box, as if she couldn’t decide whether to eat or to leave.

“We investigated already, ” she said. “Think of the term. Sales. Force. ”

“They use what? Magical means—”

“No magic, ” Nia said. “The potion is the only magic. ”

“But you tested it. There’s no dark magic in the potion at all. ”

“It’s pure and elegant, ” Nia said. “The company is not. ”

Kaylee felt cold. “What are they doing? ”

“Creating customers, ” Nia said. “Just like you thought. ”

Kaylee felt a growing frustration. Her brain no longer worked as well as she wanted, since half of it was still processing the loss of Dex. Grief made her slow-witted; she hated that.

“How? ” she asked.

“However they see fit, ” Nia said. “Drug overdoses, muggings gone wrong, car accidents. First they analyze the available money, then they look for a suitable victim, then they take away the most precious thing. ”

Kaylee had frozen when Nia said car accidents. Nia did not make statements like that without a reason. But Kaylee wouldn’t put it past Nia to use the phrase to motivate Kaylee, without any evidence at all.

So, Kaylee asked, “Dex? Was he—? ”

“Do you have money? ” Nia asked.

Kaylee’s cheeks heated. “No. ”

“Did you offer to invest in a love potion? Were you even contacted to do so? ”

The heat grew worse. “No. ”

“Then, no, Kaylee. ” The words seemed unnecessarily harsh. But Nia’s gaze wasn’t harsh. It was soft with empathy, even though her statements made it clear that she had used the phrase car accidents as a ham-handed attempt at manipulation.

“I only take care of the magical, ” Kaylee said, just because she was feeling ornery.

“Then I’ll assign someone else, ” Nia said. “I thought maybe you wanted this one. ”

She headed for the door.

Principles, ethics. They belonged to Dex’s world.

And Dex was dead.

“I want it, ” Kaylee said. “I want it even more than you know. ”

It wasn’t quite shooting fish in a barrel. Shooting fish in a barrel wouldn’t be quite as messy.

Kaylee could’ve just appeared in their brownstone, but she decided to do it the old-fashioned way. She walked up the stairs to the top of the stoop, knocked on the gigantic wood door, and waited until a man in a silk suit opened it.

“Yes? ” he said politely.

“You’re the sales team for the love potion Armand sells? ”

“Yes, ” the man said, just as politely.

“I have a business proposition for you. ”

He looked at her, in her regular clothes—sleeveless T-shirt revealing her biceps, muscular legs straining at her jeans—and said, “Um—”

“Great, ” she said, and pushed past him. One hand, heart, hard push, and he was sliding down the wall.

The push was a little too hard, because bits of him remained on the wall as he slid down. Fresh blood is black. Heart blood is blackish red and viscous.

It’d be hell to clean up, but that wouldn’t be her job.

“Stanley? ” someone yelled from the main room. Woman’s voice.

Kaylee walked into that room, saw six people, beautifully garbed, and two with actual weapons in holsters under their arms.

Kaylee smiled. “He’s behind me, ” she said.

“And you are? ” the woman asked, her shoulder-length brown hair swinging perfectly as she stood up.

“Totally pissed off, ” Kaylee said.

Three more pushes mostly to the people in front of her. They slammed backward against the wall, leaving an even goopier trail than Stanley had. The two with the weapons—one man, one woman—unsnapped their holsters, pulled out the guns, and didn’t even get to the safeties before Kaylee knocked them back.

That left three people standing near the table where they’d all been looking over some plans. Three—two men, one woman. The men were sobbing, begging. She was watching Kaylee.

Kaylee shut the men up, left the woman.

She held Kaylee’s gaze. The brains behind the operation, then.

“So, ” Kaylee said casually. “Close to any of them? ”

“What do you mean? ” she asked.

“Feeling their loss yet? Because I know a great potion that’ll help you feel a hell of a lot better. ”

Then her lower lip trembled. She knew what Kaylee meant.

“Your idea? ” Kaylee asked.

“Hell, no, ” she said a little too quickly. “Why would anyone do that? It’s so heartless. ”

“It’s not heartless, ” Kaylee said. “You just need to be a person without much of a soul. The killing doesn’t impact you then. ”

“Like you, ” she said.

“Two peas in a pod, you and me, ” Kaylee said, and killed her. Maybe a little too slowly. Maybe enjoyed it a little too much.

Kaylee didn’t have to try to hang on to the bits of herself any longer. There was no Dex anymore, nothing really to strive for.

She was good at what she did.

And she never touched a goddamn thing.

She disappeared out of the room, ended up in her dingy shower. Peeled off the clothes, dumped them into the bucket of bleach she’d left for just that purpose, and then tossed them, dripping, into a garbage bag.

She showered, poured the bleach down the drain when she was done, and felt absolutely no better.

But Kaylee felt like herself again.

No lingering effects from the damn potion, no desire for a better life.

And the anger, mitigated the right way, for the right reason.

It would build up again. Nia knew that. Hell, Kaylee knew that.

She preferred it that way.

She didn’t want to meet anyone, not again. No potion, no nothing, would make her ever step into those forevers again.

She couldn’t bear another hospital room, another goddamn broken promise.

He said: Forever.

She should’ve said: Fuck you.

But she hadn’t. She never had.

And she knew she would regret that little decision from now on.

Until forever.

Amen.

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