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  An old Cherokee man was teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he told the boy. “It is a terrible fight between two wolves. One is evil — he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” After a few moments to make sure he had the boy’s undivided attention, he continued.

  “The other wolf is good — he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside of you, boy, and inside of every other person, too.”

  The grandson thought about this for a few minutes before replying. “Which wolf will win?”

  The old Cherokee man simply said, “The one you feed, boy. The one you feed…”

  And I felt like feeding one of my wolves today, by killing this one.

  Chapter 2

  I took a step closer to the beast, and the magical stick I had thrown was suddenly back in my empty fist. I clenched them both, and they flared brighter.

  I was a wizard, so I wasn’t really holding anything. I had created energy constructs with my magic, and used them like the familiar escrimas I so often trained with — two short sticks about twelve inches long each, wielded in either hand. They were quick and brutal with their efficiency, especially under my experienced control. Roland had taught me to train with all sorts of weapons as well as with my magic, encouraging me never to rely on one tool in my belt.

  “Stop!” Roland commanded from behind me, and I realized I was only a pace or two away from the monster now. I slowly turned, as if waking up from a dream. “That is not the way,” Roland growled. “Killing cannot be cold, premeditated. It must be fair, swift, and in response to a crime, never initiated solely from emotion. You know this.” His eyes glittered in the moonlight, both with anger and pain.

  I realized I was panting as I stared back at him, momentarily lost in my emotional storm. I had wanted so badly to make up for my mistake. For my failure. For my weakness. The batons winked out of existence as I consciously realized that I had been about to murder the beast. For hurting my friend. Roland was right.

  That was murder.

  “Help me, girl.”

  I urgently strode over to him, helping him to his feet with a supporting shoulder tucked under one of his arms. This got blood all over my shirt from his hands, but the silk was beyond saving anyway. Roland’s leg was a sheet of blood, looking worse as a result of the rain. Still, that much blood wasn’t good. “I’m so sorry, Roland. We need to get you fixed up,” I said, woodenly.

  “Aye, I reckon so. This wasn’t your fault, Callie,” he growled, trying to place some weight on his injured leg. His leg gave out, and he almost brought us both down to the ground, but I locked my legs, spinning us around in an awkward shuffle to support his sudden dead weight.

  I was staring at him, making sure he was okay when I saw his eyes widen, staring over my shoulder. I tried to turn my head, not able to maneuver quickly while holding him up. A blast of light flashed out from Roland’s palm, and I heard a yelp of pain behind me, then a loud crack.

  I managed to finally turn enough to see, and found one of the wolves nailed to the tree. It was the one missing half his jaw. The other beast — the one I had thought unconscious — was simply gone. Which terrified me. Was he watching us right now? Waiting to attack Roland the second I turned my back? But even injured, I knew Roland had nothing to fear from a single wolf — one he had already wounded. Likely, it had simply fled. But it was unnerving that the injured wolf had returned to save it. That spoke of cunning. And that concerned me. Monsters weren’t particularly loyal. Wolves were kind of the exception to that, working in packs, but again, these didn’t resemble the typical werewolf.

  Three flickering daggers pinned the wolf to the tree. Two held the monster’s legs splayed out to either side, his tail hanging straight down between his legs to rest in a muddy puddle near the roots. The third glowing dagger had hit the wolf-creature right in the throat below his ruined jaw, and his arms now hung limp at his sides, while his head hung over his chest, painting his black coat with a crimson shine.

  I shivered uncontrollably, and we both crashed to the ground. Roland groaned, but not just in pain. His eyes were fixed to the tree with a look of disgust and shame. I stared up at the wolf, frowning. His positioning looked almost like…

  “A Petrine Cross…” Roland whispered, sounding ashamed, and disgusted that he had accidentally made such a sign. Even though it hadn’t been his intent, of course. I had been about to say it looked like an inverted cross, not realizing it had an actual term.

  It did look blasphemous, though, and I knew many atheists, humanists, and the occult used it.

  “You were acting on instinct, it’s not like you chose for him to land like that,” I whispered, shivering. Blood dripped freely from the wolf’s ruined mouth, staining the pools beneath the monster crimson. He was dead.

  I wanted to run. To just sit there. To do something. To do nothing. I didn’t know what to do.

  It wasn’t the unfortunate symbol that bothered me. Well, not just that. It was death. I had assisted in the murder of another creature, even if it had been trying to kill us.

  “It will fade, girl. Shock. This wasn’t a man. He was a monster.” His eyes looked troubled.

  “Aren’t we all?” I whispered, more to myself.

  He flicked a steely glare my way, and I could see the pain dancing in the back of his eyes overshadowed by his anger at my statement. “Not like that. He would be a monster even if he wasn’t a Freak. He was a monster for what he did, not for what he is. There is a difference.”

  I nodded slowly, thankfully. Because the monster was some flavor of werewolf, or shifter. And I was a wizard. As was Roland. I already struggled with my feelings, my place in this world. I felt stained, unclean, because we weren’t like anyone else. We were different from the Regulars — the term we had applied to those who didn’t have magic in their blood. But some of us did have magic in our blood. We were Freaks, as some of the conspiracy theorists called us — those who did believe magic was real. They considered us abominations. Nightmares.

  We were outcasts.

  Roland was studying me, looking ready to chastise me further. Or to comfort me. I didn’t want either. I decided I wanted out of here. And Roland was hurt. He needed to be out of here. What was I doing sitting here feeling sorry for myself?

  I climbed to my feet, reaching out a hand towards Roland. He looked from my hand to my face. “Search him. He was our target, not the other one. I never heard anything about a wolf with a notched ear. Lord willing, he has what we seek.” I let out a shaky breath, meeting his eyes. I saw only resolve. The eyes of my master giving a command that he expected obeyed. Or else. I turned, walking up to the wolf. He hadn’t shifted back to human, and the blue daggers still flickered with icy heat, the blood burned to crust around the edges of the wound.

  I turned, frowning at Roland. “Do wolves wear fanny packs?” I asked, sarcasm trying to replace my disgust and anxiety.

  That brought a faint smirk. “Check his neck. Under the fur. He wouldn’t have risked leaving it out of his sight.”

  I turned back to the wolf, frowning as I carefully stepped around the bloody mud puddle. The flickering blades vanished, and the wolf crashed to the ground, right into the puddle, splashing me with dirty, bloody water. All over my fucking boots.

  “God—” I began to curse, knowing he had done it on purpose.

  A flicker of pain tugged at my ear, changing my curse to a yelp.

  “We do not use the Lord’s name in vain,” Roland recited, voice full of practiced warning.

  I pulled my hand from my ear, expecting to see blood. It felt hot to the touch, but he hadn’t broken skin. I locked angry eyes on him. “You could have dropped him before, or given me a heads-up.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” he asked. I turned my back on him. The monster was
now a naked man, lying at the base of the tree. And I saw that he was wearing a leather necklace with a small key below the gory hole where his jaw had been. I bit back my tongue, and quickly snatched it, giving it a sharp tug to break the cord, avoiding looking above his neck at the grisly wound.

  I shivered, walking urgently back up to Roland, very aware of the uncomfortable, wriggling sensation in my stomach that was trying to persuade me to vomit for a good half-hour straight. I handed him the key, and he let out a sigh of relief before pocketing it. “Good. At least some good came of this cursed night.” I reached out a hand, and he accepted begrudgingly. I tugged him up so he could support at least some of his weight on his good leg. He growled a lot, grunts and hisses escaping his lips, but I managed to get his heavily muscled arm draped back over my shoulder, and began shuffling us back to his car. It wasn’t that far. Half a mile, maybe.

  “Let’s get you to a hospital. Then we—”

  “The church,” he corrected. “No hospitals.”

  “But—”

  “The church,” he repeated with grim finality.

  I sighed, leading him into the darkness. “You owe me a new shirt.”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Perhaps you will dress better next time, girl.” Stubborn old man, I thought to myself.

  But I listened.

  After all, one must listen to one’s elders…

  Chapter 3

  Abundant Angel Catholic Church was an old, old building, made entirely of stone, brick, and mortar. It stood out from its neighbors on a hill between downtown Kansas City and the Plaza. A fifty-something year old man sat behind his desk, listening to Roland. Father David was a good guy, and although his office was clinically bare, it felt warm and soothing. I — as usual during meetings between these two — sat on a couch to the side of the room, doing my mime impersonation while Roland chose what to share.

  And what not to share with the good father.

  Because Roland was a man of the Catholic Church, one of the Vatican’s fabled Shepherds. I was just here to learn from him. His student. Despite spending the better part of a decade training with him, I had never felt truly comfortable in churches. I wasn’t against them, per se, but I wasn’t entirely open to them either. Well, after tonight, it seemed I did work for the church. Even if only as a temporary employee. Because I had no desire to become a Shepherd like Roland.

  Up until this evening, Roland had simply been training me, for personal reasons, or so he said. The wolves tonight had been the first time he had taken me out on a job where I was allowed to participate. I had been his driver before, even able to watch hunts from a distance, but never to stand by his side.

  I had thought we were going for ice cream tonight, a celebration of me being his best student, or something. But Roland was old school, and he had silently, sneakily taken me on a trial by fire. To assist Kansas City’s Shepherd on a hunt.

  The Vatican had twelve Shepherds, and their job was to wander the earth, from church to church, helping to serve those in need. Usually with an Old Testament-flavored hug and a kiss. They took care of all the dark stuff: exorcisms, abductions, vampires, possessions, monsters, and anything else that didn’t fit well into the mainstream narrative. Not that the typical Priest believed in these things, but when the Vatican sent an order, the church and Priests obeyed. But Father David did believe. He knew there were monsters out there, but only because Roland had spent close to a decade here. Longer than most Shepherds spent in one particular church.

  And that was all because of little old me.

  He had saved my life once, and I quickly discovered that the price of my salvation was to become his student. He had decided to stick around town after that, rather than hopping all over the world like his brother Shepherds. And he found his home in Abundant Angel Catholic Church with Father David.

  But Father David had been no stranger to me. Because he had also saved my life once when I was a very, very small child.

  I had spent years thinking of conspiracies that could have brought these two men together, intermeshed in a secretive plot to save my eternal soul, but had given up years and years ago, finally admitting how crazy I sounded. Simply put, I wasn’t that special. After telling Roland about my experience with Father David, he had simply said, ‘The Lord works in mysterious ways.’ And since Roland would never, ever lie about anything related to his god, I dropped it, and accepted that I was the luckiest woman in the world. Father David had once saved me, just doing his job, but Roland’s arrival almost fifteen years later had brought us crashing back together like magnets. Maybe Divine Intervention was real, but that was more than I wanted to think about.

  “You found it?” Father David asked, snapping me out of my reverie. He had short, thinning blonde hair and light eyes. He was as tall as a door, and sported no muscle to speak of, but I knew he jogged religiously. Ha.

  Roland grunted, shifting slightly in his wooden chair. He was a big man, built like an aged blacksmith, complete with black buzzed hair, a short, thick beard, and scarred knuckles. His face was hard, but kind. Loyal. Steadfast. He had bandaged himself up in his office before we came up here to talk with Father David. I had no idea why we were wasting time up here, though. Roland should have been at the hospital or something. Shepherds were immune to things like werewolf and vampire venom, but he was still leaking his holy wine all over the Father’s chair. But telling Roland what he should be doing was a good way to learn firsthand the various uses of the word smite.

  Understanding this from experience, I picked up a magazine and leaned back into the couch, pretending to read, and silently betting on how long it would take for Roland to pass out from his injuries. That would show him.

  I heard him set a metal object on the desk, and glanced up over the rim of the magazine. The key I had grabbed from the wolf. My Detective Comics hat came on as my mind rehashed the questions that plagued me since our meeting with the wolves. Where had the other wolf gone? Had the injured one attacked us to create a diversion so the other could escape? But the injured one had held the key, so that just didn’t make any sense…

  Father David’s lips tightened, but he made no move to touch the blood-stained key. “Have you checked the contents of the box?”

  Roland shook his head. “We were… preoccupied.”

  I snorted at his understatement. “You almost had your damned leg torn off,” I muttered under my breath, but I knew Roland had heard me, if not the Priest.

  “We…” Father David repeated slowly. “Is Callie officially working for you, now?”

  “No,” I said at the same time that Roland said, “yes.”

  We locked eyes with each other, and Roland chuckled before turning back to Father David. “Your magazine is upside down, girl,” he called over his shoulder. I scowled at his back, tossing the magazine back to the table with a whispered curse. “In a way, she works for me,” he amended.

  “I… see.” It was clear that Father David didn’t see. I didn’t see. Because I wasn’t going to be a Shepherd, bowing and scraping to a bunch of dusty old skeletons in Italy. Never. If Roland hadn’t been injured, I would have shoved one of my energy sticks down his throat. Well… I would have tried.

  “We will attempt to see if the key works after we leave here, but I wanted to speak with you first. The Vatican needs to know that there was more than one of them tonight, and that one escaped before justice could be delivered. They need to know that their information was faulty. Which caused me great harm,” he added in a tone as dry as gravel. “From now on, I do this my way. They will be notified once I’m finished with my good work, and will not interfere,” he leaned forward slowly, hulking over the desk, “until I say they can.”

  Father David shivered, licking his lips, even though it had nothing to do with him, because he wasn’t involved with Roland’s work. They were two arms of the same being that was controlled by the Vatican, and neither was in charge of the other. Father David was likely imagining sending that threate
ning message to the Vatican, and them possibly taking out their displeasure on the messenger rather than Roland.

  “I will do as you ask, but… couldn’t you have sent that message yourself? Perhaps you want to call in assistance,” he said nervously.

  Roland met his gaze, unflinching, but Father David’s shoulders stiffened. “Do you question me, Father?” he asked softly. Very softly. Like the sound a katana makes when leaving the sheath. Or a lone dead leaf dragging across concrete on Halloween night.

  It wasn’t a threat. It was just Roland’s way. He had one person who questioned him. His old master. The only other one he listened to was God. Or, I guess the Vatican. But even they couldn’t control him completely, and judging by his track record, they saw no need to press the issue. He accepted and denied jobs at will. No one questioned why anymore. Everyone else was not worthy of his time. Even if on the same side. Hell, he was the only Shepherd allowed to set up a permanent base rather than travel the world on call.

  “My apologies, Roland. I’m just trying to understand. Surely, you could have called them on your drive, and you could have seen to your injury before coming to me. I meant no offense, old friend.” And I knew he hadn’t. But something that wasn’t said by Roland was that this was a big extension of trust, a silent statement of his opinion of Father David. Neither said anything, but I knew Father David would eventually see that.

  But, like a depressing number of stupid, hairy men in the world, Roland just sat there in silence like a moss-covered boulder in a stream, unrelenting. It was almost laughable.

  Not feeling like dying today, I didn’t laugh, though.

  Roland pocketed the key, and staggered to his feet. “Keep this talk between us and the Vatican. And lock the doors, Father. We’ll see ourselves out.”

  Father David opened his mouth, but Roland was already shuffling away, fiery eyes latching onto me as he jerked his head for me to follow. I shot one last look at Father David, shrugged apologetically, and then followed my mentor.