Wolfe rolled over to see Shel, still asleep underneath the blankets except for her head. Her face was at peace, with wispy strands of her red hair across her face. She breathed easily, just noticeable enough to show she was alive. Wolfe marveled at her beauty in the soft, slightly red-tinted light of the late morning sun coming in through the windows of the Hellmouth Institute.

Shel twitched suddenly, her face creasing with worry even though her eyes were closed. Wolfe reached across the blanket and gently stroked her hair.

She gave another violent twitch and then snorted, sitting up in bed, staring around groggily. One of Wolfe’s t-shirts was draped around her frame. Wolfe himself slept in the buff, but Shel had lived in a tiny trailer with multiple siblings, and she was rarely comfortable naked, unless the two of them were specifically engaged in sexy activities.

Speaking of engaged… “Good morning, my badass fiancée.”

Shel blinked her eyes, and she held her hand up, staring at the emerald ring she hadn’t taken off even to sleep. Wolfe appreciated that she liked it, but leaving it on overnight struck him as crazy.

“So, it really means new beginnings?” Shel asked as she stared at the ring. “The emerald, I mean.”

“That’s what the lady said at Michelle’s, and she seemed pretty sure. She said her fancy story didn’t make mistakes about that stuff.”

Shel’s eyes lit up and she threw her arms around him, hugging him hard and kissing his neck. “I love the sound of that. I love the ring, and I love you too, most of all. Thank you. For… everything. That sounds about right.”

Wolfe couldn’t stop the smile that split his face, his heart warmed to hear it all. But he gently disengaged, pulling back from her. “When we’re done with this whole thing, we need to get married, and then go on an amazing honeymoon.”

She smiled again. “Where would you go?”

Wolfe hadn’t given it much thought—he had been focused more on thoughts of safe, worry-free nights with Shel then where they spent the days.

But he did his best to give it some honest thought as he stared into her eyes. “Maybe Rome? We could maybe compete in the Coliseum Arena, then visit the Temple of Mercy, perhaps. Maybe some of the Chosen of Raphael will have advice for you.”

She smiled. “It’s a date.”

Wolfe nodded, but his own face went serious. “Right now, though, we have work to do. We need to get ready, and then we’re going shopping—one way or another.”

Shel tilted her head at him, mimicking Cereboo’s questioning head tilt. “Why did ‘shopping’ need a dark threat appended to it?”

“I’ll talk about it later, for now, let’s get ready.”

“How do we do that?” Shel asked.

Wolfe stood, casting aside the blankets and rooting around for a pair of workout shorts. “The same way we do every morning—eat some fluffy scrambled eggs, and follow that up with a quick workout.”

“And then shopping?”

Wolfe nodded.

Shel got out of bed, walked silently over to her dresser, and took a pair of workout shorts and a smaller t-shirt out before heading out into the hall, presumably for the bathroom.

One of the few things that Wolfe didn’t like about his new living situation—besides the omnipresent demonic décor—was the fact there was no ‘master bedroom.’ So he had to go outside to get to a shower.

On the other hand, this floor alone had ten bathrooms, each with its own shower. Which wasn’t the worst. So Wolfe grabbed a towel and headed for his own date with a hygiene ritual.

***

“So, are we hunting today, my alpha?” Malviere asked from the back seat of the truck.

Wolfe stared out the crack-free windshield of his spare modified black Ford f150 as he drove down Ninth street, through the heart of one of Noimoire’s main commercial districts. After the last couple years, Wolfe had learned that for him, been prepared meant assuming he would have a car filled with lead at some point. He wasn’t going to let that slow him down this time.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“No, Malviere, we aren’t going to hunt, at least not right now. We’re going to shop—"

“Booo.” Malviere interjected

“—for hunting tools,” Wolfe finished.

“What?” Malviere asked, excitement returning to her voice. She leaned forward over the seat, her head appearing between Wolfe and Shel.

Shel chuckled from the front passenger seat where she sat staring out the window, next to Wolfe. She was now dressed in tight faded jeans and a pink blouse that exposed her belly button, under a large jacket left hanging open. Wolfe knew she kept her own police Glock-17 in a holster hidden by the jacket.

Wolfe answered Malviere. “I need to get better gear. I nearly got myself killed when I went after the Weeds, because I did things like I always do—I relied on my natural talent and my Edge, and now, my cards. But I almost got killed doing it. I don’t want to do that again, and I really don’t want to subject Shel to that. So, instead, I’m going to get what we need.”

“What do we need?” Malviere asked, the normal-to-the-point-of-banality conversation made more interesting by her voice.

“You’ll see,” Wolfe replied smugly.

“You do know that I can’t use anything that will alter my stats unless it’s a part of the Great Game, right?” Malviere asked.

“I’ve always wondered about that… what happens if I put a bullet-proof jacket on you, for example?”

“It won’t work,” Malviere said with certainty in her creepy, echoing voice.

“Well, I wanna try,” Wolfe said, suddenly feeling mischievous and like he was thirteen years old again for no reason he could discern. “For science.”

“To see what happens and laugh your ass off?” Shel asked with laughter in her voice.

Wolfe solemnly nodded.

Shel changed the topic. “I don’t know exactly what you’re trying to get, but I doubt if you can actually get better weapons—or any weapons, quickly. This is Illinois twenty-twenty-six. Getting guns is very hard, even for an investigator working with the police. Getting serious hardware will be nearly impossible.”

Wolfe smiled a shark’s smile. “Well, if it comes to that, I have some ideas about how we might get some upgraded weapons as well.”

“It makes me happy when you smile like that,” Malviere said as she hung over the back of the seat and stared at him. “It means that some bad guy, somewhere, is definitely going to go see Cerberus soon.”

“Or at least have a very bad day,” Shel said, smiling at the comment.

Wolfe saw his target and turned into the parking lot. It was a massive Jack’s Sporting Goods store. A bit of online research had showed him that with the ever-increasing crime rates in Noimoire, Jack’s had started carrying most of the things that Wolfe would need.

He parked his spare truck a ways back from the front, deep into the parking lot where his vehicle wasn’t near anyone else. Once he turned the truck off, he exited onto the pavement. There was a slight chill in the early afternoon air, despite the sun shining down on them.

Shel and Malviere followed him out, and Cereboo jumped down from the cab. Each fell in around him, almost automatically from all their time together. With Wolfe just a hint in the lead, the four of them walked toward Jack’s. A few people followed him with their eyes—Cereboo and Malviere cut a distinct picture, and while deckbearers were relatively common, seeing someone with cards out wasn’t. Most deckbearers, Wolfe included, preferred to keep a slightly lower profile, but since Adam and his cronies clearly had a bead on Wolfe, he preffered his companions out and ready. In fact…

“Shel, just in case things go south, can you bring Sorenia and Liurenia out?”

Shel touched her chest in the ubiquitous fingers-splayed pattern and pulled her cards. She had six in front of her—four in the main set and two off to the side.

She touched the first one, and Sorenia appeared.

She briefly sent Malviere an irritated glance before giving a slight bow to Shel. “Thank you for bringing me forth, deckbearer.”

Cereboo woofed happily and ran up to Sorenia, jumping up and licking her. As always, the three-tongues-to-one-defending-hand contest went in Cereboo’s favor.

A moment later, Liurenia appeared as well.

The whispers and stares intensified, and a few children were pointing at them.

But Wolfe wasn’t worried about it. He had already been discovered by his enemies, at some level. Although the Weeds honestly might not know he had been involved in the assault on them. Regardless, it was best to be protected physically if anonymity couldn’t shield him any longer, and four companion cards would make it hard for anything but a sniper shot or massive bomb to finish him off.

Wolfe walked to the front of the store. People moved away from his entourage, giving them a free path into the store, and Wolfe took it. He pushed through the large glass doors into the interior, where he found himself surrounded by a bevy of mannequins covered in team jerseys, boxes of tennis shoes, hats with logos, and the like. He could easily see more practical gear surrounding the central part—fishing poles on one wall, baseball clothing and accessories in another. But he wanted something a bit more specific.

A young lady, not nearly as polished as the one from Michelle’s, but still looking at him with respect, stepped to his side. “May I help you, sir?”

Wolfe had been in many stores in his lifetime, and stores of this caliber didn’t normally have sales staff approach customers. I could get used to the deckbearer treatment.

He nodded to her. “I’m looking for the clothing section—specifically, the line of armored clothing that the internet says you carry here.”

The internet? Shel mouthed, silently laughing.

But the lady just nodded like it was the most reasonable thing she’d ever heard. “Of course, sir. Right this way.”