I find my window cracked open before I even get near it. The glass is fragile, because everyone and anything lives in this building, and cheaper glass means cheaper replacement jobs for the Elf who owns this place. But finding my window in shards of glass all over the floor isn’t a good omen as I slowly slink in, feeling like I’m the one breaking into a random person’s home. My sneakers crunch on the glass. My knuckles whiten as I grab the hilt of my sword but don’t draw it. Not yet. I look around from where I stand, but the trail of violet smoke vanishes in front of me.

That’s only because there’s carnage in my apartment. So much of it that I nearly fall to my knees. My hand drops from my sword in disbelief as I gape at the one bedroom room. My small TV is now in bits and pieces in the corner of the room. My crappy old PlayStation, formerly held together with tape, nowhere to be seen. The single set of cutlery, plates, mugs and glasses are shattered on the floor, mingling with the insides of my couch/bed. I feel like crying. I really feel like letting the tears tumble, because my fridge is partially empty, but there’s not a single thing inside of it, either. My clothes are all over the place, some of them hanging from a now fully broken ceiling fan.

My bow and arrow are still there underneath the floorboards, and so are the tiny bootleg potions I got from a Witch for Old World dollars. At least those are fine, but…everything else isn’t. My whole life is this entire room.

And neither is the tiny leather pouch I used to keep under the floorboards.

Someone had come in and wrecked everything and left with half my stuff. It’s a freaking miracle my bow and arrow, vials of potions and the tiny rune tattoo gun and its dry pot of ink are still here, considering they had gone through the trouble of ripping up the floorboards and taking chunks of the wall clean out of the plaster. I can see the guts of my apartment. The rusted metal pipes and the shitty wiring. The rats scurrying around and the nosy little Gremlin infestation I’ve had for months now who keep scampering past the holes, curious for something they can get their grubby little hands on. Gods, I think, sitting on what’s left of my couch. What a fucking day so far.

I wait for the sadness to come seeping from my eyes. Nothing happens. I sit there, my hands in my hair, nails digging into my scalp, staring at the floor between my filthy Converse. Then I sit back against the couch, partially illuminated by the strip club that operates out of the apartment opposite my window. Shades of purple and red and blue shade me and my apartment a patchwork of different colors, making the shadows move and dance, too.

I don’t even know where to begin, or even if I should begin.

I guess the dead lady needs help.

But I can’t let go of my sword, and that sadness I was expecting to feel is bubbling away inside of me, fermenting itself into a cocktail of anger. Someone had come in here and stolen my shit. Something had come in here and stolen my shit and trashed my apartment. Gods! The nerve of those bloodsucking bastards. I know who's gone and done this, and I know exactly why they’ve done it, too. The dead lady is a mystery to me. I don’t know who she is or why she had died running away from my apartment, but all because I owed these guys a little silver?

Note to self: don’t borrow money from lone-Elves. If I was any less of a person, I would have gone and had my sword in their stomachs, but you know what? I’m better than that. Instead, I’m gonna go kill one of their own.

Unless it’s not the Elf I borrowed money from who’s done this, but I guess we’ll find out.

I bring the potions with me, stuffing them inside of my bag and changing my filthy t-shirt for a slightly less filthy t-shirt hanging off the ceiling fan. My body aches as I put myself into a new pair of jeans and a cropped hoodie that really only covers my chest, leaving my stomach and all its scars out in the open. I’ve just noticed that today’s latest scuffle has left a claw wound in my thigh, which immediately starts seeping into my jeans. I swear and take them off, use my teeth to rip apart an old t-shirt and wrap it around my thigh. Guess it’s summer somewhere, I think, grabbing a pair of shorts that’ll show enough leg to not have my newest injury seeping into my clothes. Blame the runes on my arms and the shot of Nectar I sometimes take. The spiralling black markings on my arms fend off most of the aching and agony, and I figure one more sip from a honey-yellow vile of warm liquid will do the trick to heal me up. I cough and gag, the taste too sweet, but heck, it means that I’ll be good for the next day.

Or be physically dead and not notice it until I’m hacked into pieces. Again, let’s go find out.

I pick up my bag and make sure I’ve got what I need. Some Soul Chalk for portals, a single Drachma for the MageCo help line if I’m really deep in the gutter, and my lucky charm rabbit teddy bear, who I gently squeeze and hitch to the side of my bag, right alongside the short ax I keep with me at all times. Easier to take off a head with an ax than a sword, fun fact. With that, I stand up and swing my leg out of the apartment and scale down the fire escape, briefly wondering what I should do with the dead woman. On the one hand, someone is gonna come eat her. The N.S.P.D. will shrug and ask, What body? because there’s nothing here to begin with, so for her sake, I decide to take her head with me, too. I don’t know her, but she’s probably got answers for me. If I can get her to a ‘mancer, then hopefully she’s not been dead long enough for her soul to slip too far into the afterlife. Besides, I think. She can’t just die in some alleyway, that sucks. I make a knot out of her hair and hang her on my belt, head on my thigh.

I might have had a shitty day, but that won’t stop me from making someone else’s day even worse.

My first stop is a rancid old motel several blocks away from where I live. This area of the city reeks of rot and decay and cursed magic spilling out of old, poorly maintained Maglines. The luminous violet wires droop over the street, running along the parking lot that acts as a courtyard in front of Moe’s Motel. I stand at the end of the lot with a thumb on my Walkman, hitting pause to the music as I stare at the four story building. Blue roof tiles, yellow paint and old posters advertising MageCo’s newest tv with the latest features, like color and sound. This place is old. Very old. The guys who live here aren’t the kind of guys who play nice with human girls, but I’m pretty pissed.

So I walk up the stairs to the rooms at the top, and come face-to-face with one ugly bastard of an Orc. He grunts and looks me over, a cigarette in his mouth and the vest he’s wearing stained with sweat. The guy reeks, and he looks at me like I’m going to be his ticket to affording a shower. He pushes off the door he had been leaning against and folds his arms, his tough gray skin wrinkling. He spits the cigarette at my feet, and I smile at him, too.

“Hey, Bobby,” I say. “Long time no see. How’re the wife and kids doing?”

“Still looking for their bodies,” he says, his voice a baritone abused by cigarettes and, you know, ‘cause he’s an Orc. They’re not very well known for being articulate. “Hired a guy. Doing the work for me. Getting close.”

Let’s hope not—I didn’t dump them in the river just to see if they’d float.

“Ricky in tonight?”

“Busy.”

“It’s urgent,” I say. “And he owes me.”

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“I said he’s busy,” Bobby snarls. My hand drifts to the sword, but I think better of it. Protective runes or not, fighting him in a narrow stairway, and with a three story jump to break my fall, is for sure not a good decision.

But I also can’t let what happened to my apartment slide. What is he, a coward? Come beat the crap out of me like last time, or take a fingernail (like last time), but you don’t come fucking with my home. That’s my place, and those had been my clothes, my fridge, and the little slice of sanctity I’ve got. So you know what, Bobby?

“I’ve got booze,” I say to him. His dull yellow eyes finally light up, thick brows raising. “Free of charge.”

“What kind?” he grumbles, grabbing my backpack from my hands. He rifles through my stuff, then finds the bottle of Nectar—the only bottle I’ve got. It’s hard to find that stuff on the black market, and even harder to get it without shelling out an arm or a leg and some organs to MageCo for the official stuff, and when I tell you it hurts me physically to watch him down half of it in one swig, I can feel it deep in my chest. I watch as he blinks, then huffs out a burp of air that reeks of honey and somehow light, according to the magetubers who are expert tasters or whatever. Bobby sways a little, shakes his head, then forces my bag onto me. “Good stuff, this. Keepin’ it for you.”

Yeah, I bet big fella, I think, watching him giggle.

“So does that mean I get to see Ricky without any hassle?” I ask him.

He sweeps his arm past him, so out of his mind on a bottle of mind-root potion I labeled Nectar that he’s now just sat down hard on the metal floor. A drop of Nectar taints almost anything golden, be that water or wine or anything else you can think of apart from blood. It’s too strong to drink in large gulps, even if you’re an Angel. I once knew a guy who tried downing two hard swallows, but it’s better to not speak about Alan the Homeless—poor bastard, and he still owes me five Drachma. But nevermind that. Bobby should have known that he wouldn’t normally be able to drink Nectar so easily. The taste alone would have burnt up his throat, and the magic would have just outright either killed him or mentally stunted him (which, I mean…the joke is too easy to tell). Not my problem though if the guy can’t read and goes off sight alone. Orcs, huh? Gotta love ‘em. I step over his legs.

I knock on Ricky’s door, the final one in a long line of rooms filled with Vampires and whoever it is they’re fucking tonight. He runs a brothel, a protection racket, and I guess he’s a lone shark, too. Say he’s a businessman.

I just call him a thieving Elven asshole.

I bang on the door again, this time with the side of my fist, making the weak door rattle. I hear swearing and the sigh of an exasperated woman, then I listen to the clicking of locks and bolts getting moved aside. I slide my sword out of its sheath, and when he finally opens the deadbolt enough to peak an eye out into the open, I jam the blade into the gap, twist, and shatter the chain lock with one swing. Ricky yelps and stumbles backward as I slam my foot against the door, swinging it hard against the frame, splintering it. The hooker on the bed screams and grabs her clothes. Human, nothing monster. Booze bottles on the floor. Cash in a duffle bag. The TV is on, and he’s on the floor on his butt, scooting backward as I stand over him. I point the end of my sword at his smooth, pale, terribly handsome face. He’d be drop dead gorgeous if he wasn’t so pot-bellied and foul-smelling. And half Orc.

Terrible mix, I know. Really unfortunate conception. How his mother did it, I do not know.

“YOU!” he says, gold chain dangling from his fat throat. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?”

“My house got fucked with, Ricky!” I snap. “I told you I was gonna be good for this month.”

For extra measure, I throw the pouch of coins at his face, just to make my point clear. He winces, the pouch dropping to the musty, cigarette-stained carpet and spilling the coins onto it. The woman’s eyes widen, and I dare her with a look on my face to even try. She huddles on the bed, duvet tightly wrapped around her bony shoulders.

“What the fuck has that got to do with me?” he says, standing up again, trying to keep his baggy jeans up with one hand as he fumbles for his belt. “If I wanted to send you some kinda signal, I woulda had you beaten, kid.”

Oh, I know exactly what you mean. “I know you sent one of your boys my way. Vampires. Smelt them.”

His hooked nose shrivels. “Bloodsuckers? No way, kid. Not me. I don’t work with ‘em.”

I point my sword at him and he flinches again, stumbling over a beer bottle as I press him, getting deeper inside the grungy little motel room. “Listen,” I say calmly. “You better start telling me the truth, Ricky. Fast.”

“I’m telling you, kid! I’m innocent! Why the hell would I fuck with you when I know you’d react this way!” He winces again as I put my sword to his throat. The thing is, Ricky and I both know he’s not the top dog in this little organization of his. He’s a front man. A runner or another hydra head in this mess he’s in, but he’s the head I deal with most, and a head that just loves to make it clear that I’m a human and that means I should be down on my knees begging him for so much as a quarter of silver. Maybe it’s been a shitty night, or week—or month, because I wouldn’t usually be like this. I’m a nice person. A normal gal just trynna earn an honest living. But tonight? Well…

“I’m gonna gut you, Ricky.”

“What the fuck’s the matter with you?” he cries. Panting hard, he looks me over, then says, “Hold on a sec, you’ve been out on a hunt for three weeks, anyway. Ain’t so much as heard from you or gotten a call from you, Kace. Thought you musta died at some point ‘n’ something came and ate you. Almost had a funeral ‘n’ everything. But there’s these things called email now. Faster than those little pigeon portals. If I wanted to screw with you, I would have done it a long time ago. And besides, why your place! You’re poor, kid. Broke. That’s like stealing the dough out of an Ogre’s pockets—there ain’t none!” He points a stubby, gold-ringed finger at me. “I am innocent.”

I hear the noise of coins behind me, and say over my shoulder to the woman, “If you’re stealing from me, it’ll be you.” Which is a bluff, ‘cause I don’t do humans. Just not in my job description. “Then who was it, Ricky?”

“How should I know?” he says, waving his stubby arms. “It could be some two-bit thugs, for all I know.”

“But like you said,” I mutter, “I’m kinda flat, so why even bother going in there?” And maybe it’s just me, but you don’t really trust what the Monster has to say. “I found claw marks on my walls and floor. I smelt blood.”

“And you think I hired someone, spent all that money, to ruin your place?” He scoffs. “I coulda gotten someone to torch your entire buildin’ if I was gonna spend money on something stupid like that. It ain’t me.”

“Then who?” I ask, tightening my jaw.

“You’re a Mage,” he says flatly, dryly—he stares at me, and I stare at him; the reflection of our eyes glinting on the edge of my blade. “You’ve got plenty of enemies. Some of ‘em are even in this motel. So anyone.”

He’s got a point. I sigh and drop the sword. Ricky quietly exhales, his gut lowering over his belt buckle as he finally shuffles away from me, grumbling underneath his breath. He glances at the woman’s head on my hip, then moves along, because he’s not been paid to care about her one bit, and I guess that kinda means he also doesn’t know anything to do with her. Either that, or he’s lying. I don’t trust easily. Not in this business when your money maker is a sword and the hands that swing it. One moment you’re sharing a beer with someone, the next they’re on you in an alleyway trying to rip your throat out. New Salem kinda sucks that way. But you know what sucks more?

That the Monster might be telling the truth. I’ve got people who don’t particularly fancy me.

I’m an acquired taste, I’ve been told.

But that just about narrows it down to almost any Vampire in this city. Great. Another eternally long night.

“By the way,” Ricky says, my pouch of coins now bouncing on his palm. He sits on the edge of the bed as the human lady wraps her arm around him and begins kissing the back of his neck. “I’ll be taking this as damages. You emotionally scarred me, Summers. That kinda stuff gives a guy ptsd! I’ll be waiting for next month’s pay.”

“What!” I say. “That’s ridiculous. If you wanna see scarred, I’ll show you what that—”

The human woman’s eyes flare a fiery red color. I curse and swat at the back of my hand before I can drop my sword, killing the small flame she’d summoned. I swear and flex my fingers, staring at the bright pink mess of skin she’s left behind. She goes back to kissing his neck and nibbling his ear, one solitary eye still focused on me.

“Have a good night, Kace,” Ricky says. “Hope you find those good for nuthin’ thieves.”