CHAPTER ONE
I stepped into the lobby of Haven and did a double-take.
I immediately noticed the heightened security strategically placed around the lobby, though they were working hard at trying to blend into the decor of the reception area. This only made them stand out more. I easily counted six security personnel spread out around the space.
Whoever trained this group needed to brush up on the “hiding in plain sight” lesson of the curriculum. I stepped to the closest guard, who eyeballed me warily.
I could tell from his energy signature that he wasn’t run-of-the-mill security. This was a group of high-level mages. Roxanne wasn’t relying on just wards and runes anymore—she had raised the stakes and she was betting it all on the house.
“When did Roxanne hire your team?” I asked, looking around at the group of mages still trying desperately, and failing spectacularly, to blend in. “She expecting another attack?”
Tall, muscular, and wary gave me the once-over, determined I wasn’t a threat, then looked down at my ever-friendly, super approachable hellhound, and paused.
Peaches was giving him his best hellhound grin, and I struggled to keep a straight face. All this did was scare the security mage, who took a step back, letting his hand drift to his side, and to his weapon.
“What kind of dog is that?” he asked, pointing at Peaches, who was doing a horrible impression of Fangs and Cuddles. “I’ve never seen that breed before. What’s wrong with his eyes?”
“He’s not a dog, actually,” I answered, lowering my voice and leaning in conspiratorially. “He’s more of a hellhound. That’s why his eyes glow.”
“Hellhound, right, sure,” the security mage said. “Pull the other one.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t in the convincing mood, and he was just doing his job. He didn’t have to believe me and I didn’t have to make him. No harm, no foul.
“Why the extra security? Is the hospital on lockdown?”
“You ask a lot of questions, Mr.—?”
“Strong, Simon Strong. I know Roxanne.”
“Who?” he asked. “Do you have some ID, Mr. Strong?”
“No need to get all Fort Knox on me, big guy,” I said, reaching for my wallet and stopping when I saw him tense. Things were not developing well. “I was just asking about all the extra security.”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss details, sir,” he said. “I don’t know a Roxanne. No one here does. Please remove the ID slowly from your pocket. Thank you.”
“Seriously,” I said, handing him my license, “everyone knows Roxanne. I mean everyone.”
I proceeded to grace him with my best Sting rendition of the classic. Clearly, he was dumbstruck by my virtuosity, because all he could do was stand there in shock.
I had that effect on people.
Then I realized there was a good chance he wasn’t on a first-name basis with the Director. It made sense. She may have just hired them. She would have made sure to keep it professional, after all. I paused my version of Roxanne, which was so amazing even Sting would weep tears of applause, and clarified my association with Roxanne—the Director, not the one who didn’t have to put on the red light.
“Director DeMarco? She’s a good friend of mine,” I said, looking around. “Is she around?”
I noticed the glance he gave his team. Subtle he was not. The glance was basically a message of, “harmless lunatic on the floor, escort out with minimum attention,” to the rest of the team. I saw them move. They were pretty good, and approached at oblique angles. No one had a weapon drawn.
Smart move, kept things de-escalated…except that trying to box me in was the exact opposite of de-escalation. Trying to box in my hellhound—my very overprotective hellhound—was the opposite of a smart move. It bordered on suicidal, unless—of course—you had a large bowl of pastrami in your hands.
However, I did appreciate the effort. It looked like they had paid attention during the “coordinated attack” lesson. It wasn’t their fault that they hadn’t trained for the possibility of encountering an offspring of Cerberus.
It was hard to plan for every contingency—especially hellhounds.
Two of the team, the ones furthest away from my location, resembled boxers as they slowly bounced on their toes. The other three were forming a cordon to make sure I had limited options of exit. Primarily, my options were limited to the exit they chose.
They approached carefully. I’d like to say it was because I was such an imposing figure, but I’d be lying. It was more likely due to the now alert hellhound by my side who sensed the team closing in on our position.
Peaches gave off a low rumble, which stopped everyone in their tracks.
In retrospect, mentioning Roxanne by name may have been a mistake. This team was especially twitchy. It could’ve had something to do with Haven being attacked by Evers not too long ago. Or having parts of the building blown to bits—none of which, I promise, was my fault. I may have been on the scene, but I was definitely not the cause of the scene.
I moved my hands slowly into the air in a surrender po÷se as Peaches entered rend-and-maim mode.
“Listen, we really don’t want any trouble,” I said. “Trust me on this. What’s your name?”
“Everyone calls me Tank,” he said, putting his hand on his holster. I was glad I had kept my jacket closed. If he saw Grim Whisper, things would go sideways fast. “You can call me Mr. Tank.”
“Okay, Tank,” I said, extending my hand as he examined my license. “I’m just here to see a close friend. No trouble and no shenanigans. Just here to see a recovering friend.”
“What are you?” Tank said, narrowing his eyes at me. “You’re reading all over the place, but I know for a fact that you’re no mage.”
“No,” I said, “I’m a little more complicated than that.”
There was nowhere that conversation could go, except south. I opted on the side of discretion and limited my response to the bare minimum.
“I bet,” Tank answered slowly, blading his body away from me. “How about we take this conversation into the office? I’m sure we could find this Roxanne friend of yours. Get you all sorted out and on your way.”
“You’re not paying attention, Tank,” I said, repeating his name deliberately to increase his focus. “Your team thinks they are dealing with a threat. I am not, in any way, shape, or form, a threat to you.”
“See? That’s good,” Tank answered, as his team slowly closed in. “The last thing anyone needs today is a threat. I know you don’t need one, and I certainly don’t need one. Here you go.”
He handed me my license, which I returned to my wallet, inadvertently causing my jacket to open. This in turn revealed my oversized holster which held Grim Whisper. This caused Tank to open his eyes, first in wonder, followed immediately by a look of suspicion, and lastly by a decision for overt violence…directed at me.
“I have a perfectly good explanation for—”
“Gun!” Tank yelled as he drew his weapon and aimed at my face. “Get on the floor…now!”
I want to say that what happened next wasn’t my fault, but I’d be lying. Some of it was my fault.
Most of the blame lay with Peaches.
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