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You will never see tomorrow's sunset, or yesterday's sunrise.

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* Dani -

‘What am I doing here?’ Dani asked herself once again. It was as if the words echoed inside her skull. Each time her thoughts quieted, that distant, ever present reverberation came back, demanding an answer she didn’t have. She’d been asking herself that question, over and over again; each time an expectation was broken, each time a revelation came and nearly broke the flimsy damn that held back her emotions. And each time it did, she became less sure of an answer. And now, here she was, sitting in an Italian supercar, being driven across Seattle in the company of not one, not two, but three of the most dangerous individuals she’d ever heard of.

Any one of them ‘should’ have been reason enough to stop her,, a Church sanctioned Demon Slayer, from getting into the rear passenger seat. Instead, she’d climbed in, willingly, eagerly, all while knowing full well that she was heading towards a bloodbath. The clink of her rucksack, filled to the brim with her ironmongery, would make sure of that.

‘What do you want to do?’ That was the other question that echoed in her mind, the one posed to her by a one Ian Cale.

She dared a glance at the Necromancer, reclined without a care in the front passenger seat. He wore, what Dani thought at the least, a very casual ensemble, considering the nature of the people they were to be meeting. Dressed in well fitting jeans, a lightweight jacket left open, and a pale grey t-shirt almost the same shade as his stubbly chin, along with a set of battered trainers, he looked like someone dressed for an evening with the boys. Not, as it was, on his way to meet representatives of a criminal empire. Compared to her though, he was eminently more presentable. She turned away, back to looking out her window, narrowly avoiding meeting those emerald, almost luminous, green eyes.

“That’s up to her,” He’d said the last time those eyes had met her own. “What do you want to do?”

She still wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. She knew she needed to act, to perform some task to show her gratitude over the efforts she’d learnt about over breakfast. Replaying the events of that morning blurred her vision of the world outside her window. She’d awoken with her body thrumming in happiness, warmer than she could ever remember waking.

And yet, as the lull of sleep sang its Siren’s call, her years of training told her something was very wrong. For one thing, the cot she claimed in the 9th Order’s conclave was ‘not’ this comfortable. Wiping away the sleep encrusting her eyes, and plucking a few lashes for her trouble, the scent that had roused her finally registered.

“Pancakes?” Ian had asked.

Dani had been so startled by the voice, she’d almost made it upright from her prone position in a single jerk. She might have made it too, if it weren’t for the sudden betrayal of her haven of slumber. With a gasp of surprise, legs locked together by entangling blankets, Dani hit the floor with a thunk.

“Smooth,” A voice remarked.

She had extricated herself with a mighty kick, spun on her ass, and saw Ian, frying pan in hand, frowning at her. His thick shaggy black hair was unkempt, as if he’d combed it with his fingers and been satisfied with the results. It obscured his preened brow, but thin lips turned down at the corners was enough to tell he wasn’t amused.

But Ian hadn’t been looking at her. She’d followed his gaze to the far corner. That time, she had made it to her feet. Squatting in the corner was the scariest gargoyle Dani had ever seen. The… ‘thing,’ bedecked in black rags, never moved. It remained motionless in a way no living soul could hold. Aside from the executioner's hood that hung low over it’s face, the creature resembled a stocky Mummy.

“Grim…,” Ian started. It looked like he was about to say more. Instead, he’d sighed, shaken his head, and turned back to Dani. His smile had been easy going, revealing a surprisingly charming dimple. “Pancakes?” He’d offered again.

She’d needed to swallow before she could get the words out. “Uh, no?”

She’d expected anger at the dismissal. She’d expected, as she watched him move to the table, for a cadaver to come out of the closet and start cleaning. She’d expected a lot of things. What she hadn’t expected was an apology.

“Sorry ‘bout the couch,” Ian said. “Ember figured it’d be best to leave you to sleep, rather than move you to the spare bed.”

Belatedly, Dani took account of herself. She was still dressed, though someone had removed her boots. They’d arranged her so she wouldn't be stiff, even going so far as to provide her with a pillow. She frowned at that. Barring waking up in a cell, or not at all, she'd at least expected to have been violated. There was something wrong with a Succubus, let alone a Necromancer, with morals.

“Talkative, ain'tcha?” Grim said.

“Give her a break,” Ember had said, striding into the room and stealing Ian’s plate. “She’s been through enough without having to deal with your bullshit.”

Ember, currently driving, was a Succubus, and a powerful one at that. The specifics of the contract she shared with Ian were lost to Dani, but, whatever they were, she’d never heard of a Necromancer controlling a Demon. And considering she’d been doing this from the age of sixteen, Dani felt she would have heard of such a thing. As a Slayer she’d worked to hunt and exterminate Ember’s kind from the face of the Earth. After all, it was the Church’s sacred duty in it’s role to protect humanity from that which lurked in the dark. Or, so she’d been told.

Sitting directly behind the Succubus, currently in her human form, Dani couldn’t see Ember all too well. Then again, she didn't have to see the raven haired beauty for memories to fill in every terrifying detail. The moment where wings, black as midnight, had alighted, the moment where Hellfire had appeared, a volcanic crimson light ready to consume her flesh, had been a tipping point in Dani’s life. The time before, and every shockwave since.

The 9th, the military branch of the Church, had taught her that Ember’s insolence wouldn’t be accepted by her summoner. That Ian would flare up, use the shackles of whatever infernal contract bound the Demoness to his will, and punish Ember for her impunity. Again, her expectations were wrong. Ian had simply bided his time, waited until the fork, laden with pancake, strawberry and whipped cream, was almost to her mouth, then knocked her elbow.

He didn’t physically touch her, but the effect was all the same. A tingling prickle, much like an electrical charge, shot along Dani’s arm as Ian flexed his magic. The invisible shunt was enough to tip the whipped cream from mouth to nose. Ember’s eyes flared and Dani froze, ready to dive for cover behind the sofa she was halfway back to sitting on. Instead, Ian narrowly dodged a retaliatory salvo of white foam, retreating to the kitchen and the waiting batter mix.

Three more volleys, either deflected, caught, or incinerated by flaring shields, and Ian was begging for a ceasefire. This, was not what Dani had been expecting. She’d found herself taken in by the scene. So much so, she didn’t realise she’d regained her seat, and was smiling slightly at the spectacle.

“-I’ll buy you coffee!” Ian, frantic after watching Ember snatch up the can of whipped cream, offered.

A pregnant pause, Ember’s bright ruby eyes narrowed. “It had better be good coffee.”

“That’s all it takes? A coffee?” Grim had mocked. “Since when did you get all mushy?

It was then that Dani realised the voice wasn’t coming from the creature, but the ancient leather book it held in one hand. Now that she was paying attention, she could almost hear the whisper of moving paper hidden within Grim’s voice. It oddly reminded her of gentle waves rippling against a sandy shore.

‘Ian’s Necronomicon. Of course.’

She hadn’t been the only one staring at the tome. Ember shot the Archive of Necromantic magic a filthy look, and would have undoubtedly launched into a tirade of scorn, but Ian beat her to it.

“Careful,” He’d smirked. “Out of everyone here, you’re the one who’s got the most to lose if you go mushy.”

Ember snorted while Grim dramatically lamented “Kids these days. No respect for their teachers.”

“You know you’re almost funny when you try,” Ian taunted right back. “I think you’d look good as an origami swan.”

“It’s called a crane you moron,” Ember got in on the game.

“Am I wrong?” He’d said, giving a wink Dani’s way.

“Hey, don’t go getting any ideas,” Grim sniped, manifesting to point a stiff spectral finger at the speculating Necromancer. “You still need me.”

“I need you like a hammer to the head,” He’d grumbled with a small smile.

“Might knock some sense into you,” Grim groused. “Remind me why you’re risking your ass ‘again?’ Oh yes, that’s right. Some leather-bound bitch is wanting to make you her beating-boy and you jumped at the chance.”

“Don’t worry Archie,” Ember grinned wickedly, “‘You’ll’ always be his number one leather bound bitch.”

Dani couldn’t help herself; she’d laughed. She didn’t understand these people. She’d almost gotten them killed! And they were trying to make her smile?!

For the first time that day, Dani asked herself the question that would become a mantra. ‘What am I doing here? Why didn’t they kill me? Why didn’t they turn me over to the Inquisition?’

Then it happened. The introspective question had lessened the tight hold Dani held over the repressed memory. It had exploded from the furthermost recesses of her mind like a grotesque dragon of loss and betrayal. It clawed at her heart, refusing to be ignored now that it was free from its encasing. Even as a memory of a memory, the tightness in her chest forced Dani to clench her fist around her seatbelt. She swallowed the sickening bile rising in the back of her throat.

‘Not here, Chevallier.’ She snarled at herself. ‘Focus! You need this!’

“Are you well?” The golem, Scraps, and final occupant, asked.

“Fine,” She lied. Learning that the creature was a Revenant, a flesh golem crafted from various bodies, and empowered by Ian, had somehow been easy to handle. Many of the more powerful Mages could craft summons of some sort or another. That it could fucking speak was another matter. “Just, driving…”

Scraps nodded his head in understanding. “I too prefer my own movements.”

“Huh?”

“I find that my vantage is restricted while within the confines of anothers vehicle.”

“It’s faster though.” She tried to grin. When the Revenant tilted its head in consideration, Dani added, “Right?”

“I believe this vehicle can travel through distances faster than I can, if that is what you mean?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Whether it was the baritone that was easing her away from the brink, or the British accent, she wasn’t sure. She was simply relieved to draw a deep breath.

‘Get it together,’ She repeated. ‘You wanted to be here. YOu asked to be here.’ Those were the rational thoughts, the ones she focused on. However, there was another, more secretive, thought. One that she didn’t like because it said something about her. ‘You can’t handle another day alone.’

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

It was true. Yesterday, Ian had left her to attend a grand meeting between the gangs that ruled the underworld. Left alone in his apartment, Dani had tried to remain positive. But with each passing hour her anxiety had grown. He owed her no loyalty. She had nowhere else to go, and he knew it. So, after a day chewing her fingernails to painful nubs, after hours of feeling more and more like a jig-saw whose pieces had been crammed together, she couldn’t handle further isolation. She had to be here. She had to be part of this. She had to repay the debt that was growing between herself and Ian. Especially, now that she knew what he’d had the Inquisition Agent do.

Back in the kitchen, Dani had remembered that Agent. It was a fuzzy memory though, as if viewed from far away, or through a misting fog. She could remember the Sorcerer slipping into her mind, remember how she’d touched her mind, and how they’d experience, together, the means by which the 9th ensured compliance.

Dani was there. The heat of the flames. The chanting of the crowd. The sickening stench of burning flesh and cooking fat. She watched his skin blacken. Heard his screams rise above the chanting, above the celebrations. His thrashing. His pleading.

“Are you alright?” someone asked.

Dani clung to the words like a lifeline. She hauled herself forward, but she felt the pressure within building. She’d needed a distraction, something momentous to break the train from it’s track.

“What happened with the Inquisition Agent?”She said, wincing internally at the squeak in her voice. “The one you brought here last night.”

Ian’s frown was fuller now. The thick treads that lived on his brow furrowing like a well ploughed field. “Are you-”

“Tell me,” Dani had practically panted. “Please, I need to know.”

All eyes were on Ian. “We’re not exactly sure. I’m not good at the whole putting protective Wards on others thing-”

“An understatement,” Grim muttered.

“So I figured,” Ian continued emphatically, “I’d best ask someone who does it for a job. Whose better at putting up screens than the Inquisition?”

“Wait you… She… But I,” Dani had suddenly found it difficult to swallow for an entirely different reason. The dreamy fugue state she’d arisen from suddenly made sense. She hadn’t been sleeping, her mind had been shielded, protected from Scrying and detection. ‘He asked her to put…’

But the inquisition weren’t known for their charity. The Inquisition, the magically involved branch of the FBI, was designed to keep the supernatural world a secret. Compulsions, Memory adjustments, Wards, and Enchantments were theirs to implement and enforce; not always willingly. And as the ones responsible for keeping the underworld hidden, they had a ‘special relationship’ where Necromancer’s were involved.

‘What did he trade for this? What did this cost him, and why did he risk them for me?’ Dani, as was becoming habitual at this point, lacked the answers. Rolling down the window to enjoy the cool wash of morning air, she reflected on the matter.

It was clear Ian held a certain power, Mages often did, enjoying status and standing within the Factions, but there was something more at play here. A Mage’s power and influence was irreversibly tied to the power and influence of their Faction. If a Faction was influential, so was their Mage. If the Mage was powerful, the Faction could exert greater influence. It was the double edged sword that put the crosshairs on the Wizards, Witches and Warlocks as their Factions pushed them onto crystal pedistals.

And yet there was something deeper at play here. Mages of lowly street gangs did ‘not’ trade with the FBI. Dani watched Ian bobbing his head along to the punk rock music, eyes closed, mouthign along to the words. It was an almost infuriating characteristic of the man, an informality to the way he acted.

‘Are we off to kill some people, or on a joy ride?’ She grumbled.

Typically, this sort of self-assurance that Dani would have attributed to arrogance, a cocky swagger to his own inflated self-importance. A notion that melted against the ribbing and self-deprecation the same way chocolate would melt against a house fire.

As to who held all the answers, Dani wasn’t sure if it was Ian or Ember. She suspected Ian. Either which way, whomever held the answers was holding them tight.

“Look,” Ian had continued when it became clear she wouldn’t, shifting in his chair. “Don’t worry about it. She owed me a favour. If you’re gonna be sticking around, best not have 9th bozo’s following me around.”

Dani felt herself floating in a blend of contradiction. The need to move, to escape, had lessened some. She could breathe again, now that the constricting python had released her. Instead, her throat felt clogged by an unswallowable balloon, connected by chain to a weighted hook anchored in her stomach.

“Is she staying?” Ember had asked pointedly.

“That’s up to her,” He’d replied. “What do you want to do? We got a spare bed if you want it. ‘Till you figure stuff out.”

There eyes met, and the intensity of that gaze held with it the force of a typhoon. A jade sea of luminous swirls, dark clouds, around the pupil of calculating introspection. It was, at one and the same time, the oldest and coldest gaze that had ever inspected her. His words had buoyed the balloon against it’s tether until it had rubbed the back of her throat into a tacky rawness. It was as if the maple syrup that coated Ian’s fresh stack was instead flowing past her lips. She sniffed, inhaling the sickly sweet scent in an attempt to ground herself.

“But!” Ember had said, too loud by half. Jumping Ian with a rattle of cutlery, “If she’s staying, she’ll contribute.” This had not been said to Dani, but at Ian. He’d eyed her with the cautious wariness young children adopted when exploring a foreign dish. “We’re not running a charity.” Ember had continued. “Bathrooms that way.” Ember dismissed with a flick of her finger. “Make yourself ready. We’re meeting the Kin at eight.”

Dani fled with the grace of an avalanche. She made it inside the room, slammed the door, locked it, reached for the tap, knocked over the porcelain soap dispenser, barely caught it, got the water running, and finally managed to chug directly from the outlet. The stickiness in the back of her throat slipped, plugged her airway, and Dani spewed out the greater part of a mouthful over her reflection.

What followed were long, slow minutes of open mouthed breathing, each inhale accompanied by the swirl of her tongue over rapidly drying lips. She’d felt the shame of it all, the mounting dread of an oncoming encounter she had no idea how to handle.

‘What am I doing here? What am I doing here? What am I doing here?’ She caught sight of herself, meeting her eyes. A voice she knew came to her then, the little rhyme he’d made for her. ‘Pick a point, hold on tight. Remember to breathe and you’ll be alright.’

They held one another’s gazes, the determined resolve of her reflection seeping back into her. With a nod of approval, Dani watched her reflection sigh away it all, letting go of each detail she couldn’t possibly contain, allowing for her mind to settle on distance, gaining space for her to be herself.

The tension bled out of her muscles, her grip on the sink eased. She would do nothing but worry herself sick if she tried to understand Ian from a handful of interactions.

“What am I doing here?” She’d whispered the words aloud.

‘What you’re doing here is gambling on the people that told you the truth,’ Her reflection replied. ‘You gambled on them once, is it that much to do it again?’

‘No…’ She admitted, a morose weight settling down about her shoulders. She’d picked her path and she wasn’t the type to change it once her mind had been set. ‘But a Necromancer?’ Her doubts voiced.

‘Does that matter?’ Another part answered.

‘I thought I was getting involved with a Warlock!’ She protested.

‘Only one rung on the ladder of power separates Warlocks from Necromancers. What’s the big deal?’ Her reflection continued to reason amicably.

‘It’s a massive difference! Necromancer’s are at the top of the pyramid! Besides, a Demon of Ember’s power shouldn’t be with a Necromancer.’

‘Neither should a Demon Slayer, and yet here you are. Offered shelter and given protection, and guaranteed it by him thanks to the Inquisition Agent.’

Dani felt guilt consume her as the logic of her plight invoked her notions of loyalty.

She met her eyes again, and a retort was not immediately forthcoming. Whatever she could muster she knew would be feeble against the actions the young man had gifted to her.

‘Some benefit of the doubt wouldn’t be too much, would it?’ Her reflection seemed to ask.

She grunted irritably. It did…, didn’t mean she had to like it. Convictions reset, Dani knew what she wanted to do. Whatever they had planned, she wanted to be part of it. And whatever ‘it’ was, she was sure her experiences would help. Thus Dani had emerged from her cocoon, embraced her rebirth, and climbed into the back of the Lamborghini.

“Close the window,” Ember called over her shoulder. “Time to start earning your keep. What do you know of the Kin?”

‘How does she do that?’ Electing to forgo pursuit of yet another answer, she turned her mind to the task. “How about you tell me what you know, and I’ll fill in any gaps?”

“Alright,” Ian nodded. “I know they’re a family run Faction. Their home base is in Pioneer Square. Unlike the other Factions, they’ve got two champions, dunno their names, but their powers revolve around animating shit. I can tell you it’s not related to Necromancy, but beyond that I haven’t got a clue.” Ian paused, checking items off on his fingers. “Yeah that’s about all I know about them. As to why we’re going to meet them, that’s a longer story.”

“Is it important?”

“Not really.” Ian shrugged. “The Tiandihui were muscling in on their territory, paying the Vampires to sabotage, and setting themselves up as the benevolent benefactors.”

“What was the price of this benevolence?” Dani was pretty sure she knew the answer. The Chinese gang had a reputation.

“You can’t guess?”

“The Castile sisters.”

“Got it in one.” He said, disgust evident.

Dani felt an odd sort of satisfaction from Ian’s tone. While the Church, and by extension the 9th, were politically neutral, hating everyone equally was a sort of neutrality, she’d nevertheless enjoyed any expedition that hampered the sexist cult.

“Anyway,” Ian went on. “I saw what was happening and needed an excuse to get the Night Watch involved. Busting open some coffins seemed as good a reason as any.”

Ember guffawed. “Oh yes. Purely altruistic. Nothing to do with revenge.”

“I don’t like being shot at,” Ian replied smoothly. “And it worked, didn't it?”

“I’m not complaining. The look on that smug son-of-a-bitch’s face was priceless.”

Ian’s responding smile was positively sharklike. “I’m glad you approve.” Turning in his seat, “So…, anything to add?”

“Uhh w-well kind of. I mean, it’s just a hunch, I don’t have any proof, but I’m pretty sure one of the backers of the Factions is double dealing.”

Ian hummed in assent. “Yes… The clearing… that would make sense.”

Dani’s last mission for the 9th, in all its grand detail, had been to cause mayhem at a ‘well known’ secret delivery. The Night Watch - the Faction Ian, Ember, and the rest belonged to - were making a delivery to the Werewolves. Whatever the cargo was, it was apparently worth it’s weight in influence. Three other Factions had gotten themselves involved in the simple transport job. Her former Order had found out and sent her in to disrupt the handover. That act stumbled right into the Delridge Militia. They’d shown up for a supposedly easy snatch and grab. Most likely with the intention to sell it back to either The Night Watch or the Shifters at a premium. Economic sabotage the name of the game. Throw in the bullet holes that indicated the Night Watch had encountered some difficulty in ‘getting’ to the drop off… The meeting had been so well known, it was almost comical.

Dani fiddled with the seams of her weatherworn jeans with a calloused finger, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Hmm?” Ian turned to face her.

“For shooting the Werewolf. I wanted to make them think it was Delridge. I didn’t know the Night Watch had a Mage. I hoped you’d get away and leave the Militia to take the fall.”

“And then I had to go and save the Shifter.” He smiled.

“How inconsiderate of you,” Grim laughed.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Ian asked.

“No.”

“Okay, shut up.”

“Like I said, no respect.”

The smile Dani scraped onto her features was limp at best, and a watery grimace at worst. Joke as they may, it wasn’t lost on her the danger she’d placed the Night Watch in. The enchanted bullet had taken the Were in the heart and chaos erupted. Job done, Dani had made for her retrieval point, unaware that the Night Watch had stuck around to protect Ian. It was easy to blame him for what happened next, but the truth remained that she was the one that pulled the trigger.

Halfway to her retrieval point, Dani heard someone gaining on her. The 9th didn’t kill humans, or so they claimed. Dani knew many Slayers that enjoyed toeing that line. She wasn’t one of them. She’d faced her tail, fought them, won…, and then Ember showed up. She was defeated - that was to be expected, but when the Faction member pinned her with her own gun, and the Demoness started speaking, her world crumbled. There were too many truths in her words, too many secrets revealed, too many questions Dani needed answers to. She’d missed her pick up, and turned her back on her home. Not that it was much of a home to begin with.

‘That’s what I’m doing here.’ The tears that once threatened to reappear fled as a swelling indignant frustration reinforced the dam.

Every Slayer was granted a seventy-two-hour grace period to return after each mission. If they didn’t… Dani knew the 9th Order, sworn enemy to all things magical, didn’t take kindly to turncoats. She knew the penalties, knew the punishments, but she couldn’t disregard the revelations Ember had sunk into her so viciously. Embers barbed comments had buried themselves deeper than any claw the Demoness could have landed. They rang too true. Ember had pried open the door and Dani couldn’t leave it half opened, not after she’d given so much of her life to the Order. She had to know, she just had to.

Instead of returning she’d sought out Ian, where he in turn shattered the last vestige of her old world by removing her magical trace. Considering the 9th weren’t supposed to have any Mages to cast such a spell in the first place, it was all the proof she’d needed to abandon that old life.

All that she’d known about the world, was quickly unravelling simply by being in the presence of Ian and his family. Family was the only name she had for them, as family were the only people that could get away with such crass insults. She kept waiting for something to happen to corrupt her view of them. Where were they hiding the decapitated bodies of children? The ravaged nuns-turned-sex-slaves the Order spouted on and on about?

“Okay, okay, enough, enough.” Ember called a halt to the bickering. “We’re here.”