I followed them onto the interstate, then a county highway, then on a loose dirt and gravel road. The drive took about an hour. They pulled off the road and drove through a forest for another twenty minutes. I was glad Gregory had the foresight to get me a Jeep instead of something low riding. The armored Suburban pulled off to the side of what appeared to be an old, abandoned shack. It looked like it could have been an old moonshine hut. I rifled through my duffle, pulled out my twelve gauge, and loaded it with alternating shells of buckshot and slugs. Whatever this creature was, if a couple mags of 7.62 from an AK didn’t stop it, I wanted the most destructive tool available. The shotgun had a round drum mag with a 25-shell capacity plus one in the chamber. I stuffed a couple spare ten round straight mags in my back pockets.

I got out, threw my shotgun sling across my chest, and walked over to the two men. They were armed with full auto AK’s and standing twenty feet from the torn and broken shack door.

“You ready?” The man with the cigarette asked.

“Sure am.” If things got dicey, I could most likely fall back on the silver tipped rounds in my 1911.

“After you then,” he motioned to the shack.

I clicked the light mounted on my shotgun and entered the shack. The old building was torn to bits. The walls were covered in massive claw marks. In the center of the shack, the floor had been ripped up, the splintered boards revealing a badly marred steel trapdoor. I noticed the door was welded shut along three of its four edges. I looked back, and the twitchy man was carrying in a portable acetylene torch; his AK hanging ready at his side. What in the world are they keeping down there? I hoped it wasn’t some form of rare monster, because, depending on what it was, I would not be able to let them leave with it alive. “What’s in the hole?” I asked, looking at the two men.

The one with the cigarette smiled back at me, leaning on the door frame, looking out into the woods. “Don’t worry; it’s not dangerous. Just worry about keeping us safe as we get it out. The monsters are likely to show up soon. We don’t have much sun left.”

I walked back out of the shed and pulled my Jeep alongside the shack. If there was going to be a shootout, I wanted my non-armored car to be able to drive out. Fall was approaching. I could smell it in the cool air. The leaves weren’t quite turning, but it wouldn’t be long now. The forest was dense. I would hate to be lost in it with whatever creature was out there. As I walked back to the dilapidated building, I could hear the acetylene torch cutting through the steel trapdoor. I stood at the doorway across from the man puffing on his cigarette, who was watching and waiting, as the twitchy man worked.

“So, you hunt monsters, then? I can’t say I had thought that was a real job before last week. Are there many of them out there?” He seemed genuinely interested. It was my policy not to discuss work with most people, but he knew more than most, albeit not much.

“More than most people think, but it’s generally not a problem. Where people get into trouble is when they start looking for them. If you don’t pay them any mind, they stay in their lane for the most part.”

“Do they really? I can’t help but find that hard to believe.”

“Well, not all of them. Clearly my existence is proof of that. You shouldn’t run into anything else, though, if you don’t look for them.”

“Hm, what about you? Are they attracted to you? You must be neck deep in this stuff.”

“I know for the most part what lines not to cross, what is too far, but you are right. I am more likely to be killed by a monster than most.”

“You’re crazy,” he said taking a long drag. “After this mess, I’m done.”

“I don’t think I’m that insane. Electricians die from being shocked at a higher rate than most. Sketchy armed men die, but they die by bullets more often than most. If we wanted a safe job, we would be accountants.”

The man snorted, “you’re damn right.” He glanced back at his companion. “How’s it going?”

The twitchy man looked up after a moment, twisting his torch off. “We will be on our way in no time. Just finished cutting though.” He started beating the trapdoor with a hammer to break the slag free that was keeping the door shut. Then, he produced a handle with suction cups on the end and slapped it on the door. He pulled on it, but the door wouldn’t budge; he must have missed a section. A moment later, as if in response to his banging, a shriek erupted from the darkening woods. Followed by a second. The three of us locked eyes. The skittish man shook the handle violently. When it didn’t budge, he stood up. “Screw it. I’m not going to die trying to get this open.”

The other man took a long drag on his cigarette. He looked me up and down. “You’re on the clock, but you can come with. I wouldn’t blame you,” he nodded to the armored SUV.

“Go ahead. I will handle this,” I said it with so much confidence, I almost forgot about the little butterflies drifting around in my stomach. I like my job. I’m good at it, but you can never get rid of those freaking butterflies.

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The two men ran to their armored car and climbed in. A moment later, the engine roared, and they were speeding away. I took a deep breath in through my nose and let it out slowly. I walked over to the trapdoor and gave it a good yank. It screeched and bent up a little on the right side. I pointed my light at the door and shone it along the cut. There were two sections about an inch thick that were not cut through. I let my shotgun hang and quickly lit the torch. My heart was racing as I adjusted the flame. I had cut through one of the two missed sections when I heard the distinct sound of a collision, then something rolling downhill, and the panic horn of a car echo through the woods. It had to be the armored Suburban.

The sound of trampling feet tore past. I grabbed my shotgun in one hand, the lit torch in the other. I kept the barrel pointed at the door; my eyes still adjusting after cutting with the torch. Nothing came through the front door, but it wouldn’t be long. I haphazardly cut through the last section with my left hand as I kept the gun trained on the front door. I set the torch aside, yanked on the door, and prayed that what was down there was safer than what was outside. The trapdoor screeched open, and I pointed my shotgun down, illuminating a ladder that descended into a steel shipping container with blankets or cushions at the bottom. I popped the handle from the top of the hatch and tossed it down. I twisted shut the torch’s valves and tossed the whole kit down onto the blankets. I climbed down, pulling the hatch shut over my head. Holding the door shut with my body weight, my shotgun tucked under my right arm, I scanned the storage crate. The crate was furnished with a bed and chest of drawers as well as other pieces of furniture. It looked like a little apartment.

A young woman in her twenties sat in the back, her eyes wide. We stared at each other. A shriek erupted, and the trapdoor pulled up an inch to the sound of claws grating on metal. I grasped the handle with both hands and hooked one of the ladder rungs with my foot for stability. I strained to keep the trapdoor closed as the beast, or beasts, tore at it, prying it up with their long talons. Moments later, the young woman was beneath me, climbing up the ladder and clipping the end of a ratchet strap to the handle I was clinging to. She jumped back down the ladder and began ratcheting down the strap. The shaking and rattling through my bones stopped as the strap tightened. I hung there as the creatures struggled against the strap. The young woman backed up from me to the other side of the cargo crate.

I dropped down, landing on the blankets. I looked at the girl. She was staring at me, face void of emotion. I put some distance between me and the rattling trapdoor, keeping my back against the side of the crate so I could watch the girl and see the trapdoor at the same time. She didn’t look particularly dangerous, but, in my profession, pretty girls are often not what they seem. We stood in silence for a long time, listening to the scratching and rattling from the trapdoor. Eventually, the girl sat down on the floor, leaned against a recliner, and rested her head in her hands. A little while later, she slumped down to the ground, presumably asleep. I spent the rest of the night glancing from one side of the container to the other. At 5am, my alarm went off. The creatures above gave up hours ago, but I could hear them occasionally pacing above us. The girl looked up at me, startled awake.

“Sorry,” I mumbled as I pulled out my phone and switched it off. She sat up and leaned against the recliner.

“They will leave when the sun rises,” she said softly, “they always do.”

I nodded, “figured as much. None of the disappearances happened during the day.”

She looked at me, eyes large in the dark. “Do you know what they are?”

I shrugged, “no, but I have dealt with similar things. What about you? Do you know?”

She glanced away. “No. What are you going to do with me?”

The question threw me off guard. I looked at her more closely. She was slim, dressed in jeans and a purple t-shirt with an unbuttoned flannel over the top. Her face was angular and elegant. Her skin was pale and her long black hair hung down to her thighs.

“I don’t know. Why are you down here?”

“I have been in a private collection for a few years now,” she still didn’t look at me. “You’re not like the other men. You smell different.”

“What do you mean?”

She suddenly locked eyes with me. “Like dead things. They cling to you.”

Well, she wasn’t human. People don’t smell death. I could imagine the death that must cling to me. “What are you, vampire? No, you would have already tried to bite. Elf? Fae? Something like that?”

She glanced away again. “Something like that,” she muttered.

“Private collection? Is it all humanoid?”

She just looked away, not answering. It seemed likely. I would have to find it and put an end to it. Hopefully, it wasn’t Hobbs’ contact, though it was looking like it was. If so, Hobbs would just have to deal with the loss. “Well, the sun should be up; we had best get going,” I told her.

She looked at me. There was dark bitterness in those sad, fearful eyes. I held her gaze. She did not budge from her place curled up against the recliner. She closed and opened her large eyes as if bracing herself. “What will it cost me?” Her voice was quiet but firm.

“Cost you?”

“You reek of death and murder. You seem capable of anything. I am a valued collectable. No one dares to touch me.”

I couldn’t leave her here. That was not an option. She could: A) be dangerous, and B) certainly have information I need. Besides, leaving her here seemed wrong, but I get her point. If I could smell the death on people, I wouldn’t trust me either. Never mind the fact she was a beautiful young woman. “If I were to touch you, it would be to end your life,” I stated flatly. “If you are dangerous, then that is what you should be expecting. If not, I will turn you over to a woman who specializes in rehoming the Fae and Elven folk who are unlucky enough to cross back to this world.”

“You are very reassuring,” she looked at me still wary and distrustful. I dug into my pocket, pulled out Grace’s business card, and I tossed it to her. It slid across the floor to her feet. She picked it up. She studied it for a long moment then looked at me. “You will take me to her?”

“I will. We will need to deal with these creatures that are hunting you first. I’m not going to bring that mess to her; she has enough on her plate.”

The young woman got up slowly, holding the card in her hands. “Are you lying to me?”

“No, I am not in the business of locking people in cages underground.”

“You think I’m a person?” She asked in a soft skeptical tone.

“Of course. You look like me.”

“I’m not human.”

“You look like a human, don’t you?” She looked down at her feet. “Well, you look close enough to me.”

She looked at me, brow furrowed as she tucked the business card into her back pocket, “you’re strange.”

“Yeah, well, my experience has been strange.” I stated

“I’ll come.” She replied softly.