I looked down at the last box of bullets, unopened, as John wiped the sweat from his brow. “I thought Chief was joking,” he said. “Damn.. it’s going on six.”

“He wasn’t, but we won’t talk here.” I sighed. “Yeah, they’re about to close up. Take me to the bar?” I said softly, my ears straining to hear someone else. I gathered the safety glasses and headphones while John grabbed the box of bullets, all the trash and a small bucket full of our spent brass. We went through the shop, dropping the trash in the bin and everything else on the counter.

The building was dark as we pulled up. I knew Emily was in the apartment, but the conversation wouldn't disturb her downstairs. I cut the lights on, after making my way across the room and behind the bar. I grabbed a cheap bottle of single malt, two glasses, and a metal lunch box from behind the counter. I walked to a table,where John had found a seat, and joined him, pouring two glasses. I slid one to him.

“Thanks. What’s in the box?” he asked.

“You’re about to find out. Hand me your guns.” I held my hands out.

“No this shit again… Where do you get off?” Great.. He’s pissed off again.

“Just shut up and hand them over,” I said, sighing loudly. I opened the box to reveal solvent, a soaking tray, small tools, cleaning cloths and gun oil. “I’m going to clean your weapons you dumbass.”

“Oh,” he said as he just…deflated. “Why?”

“I take meticulous care of the guns I use. A part of me expects others to do the same.”

“You going to clean your guns now, too?” he asked,

I shook my head. “Tomorrow or the day after. I’ll clean mine, and Chaz’s guns. It’s a weekly thing for me. But the slide on your Glock is getting a little gunky. And I’d hate to see the Barreta…”

I had the Glock halfway disassembled by the time he spoke again. “So you aren’t human…”

“Nope, not even close.”

“How old are you then?” he asked, watching me work on his gun.

“If I said, ‘Old enough to remember the Biblical flood’ would you believe it?” I replied

comically.

“Not sure, did you see it?” he fired back, with a smirk on his face.

“Actually we didn’t. Mother and I left the region before the ark was even started. The

flood killed a lot of us, though. It was another ploy to rid the world of us.

“Rid the world of sinners? Demons?” he asked, now hanging on my every word.

“No. To rid the world of dragons. We’ve been brought to near extinction countless times

since the birth of this planet and our transplantation here. Since the birth of man, we have had the ability to walk around like humans, and able to hide from our oppressors.”

“Wow. It’s almost too hard to believe. So is this body of yours that old?”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“It is not. This body was that of a Mayan priestess, sacrificed to a false deity. I was granted it about 300 years before the Christian movement started in the Middle East.”

“So Christ was real?” he asked, thoroughly enjoying this.

“No clue. Was on this continent when all that went down. I heard stories, rumors and the like, but nothing definitive.” I sighed, staring down at John’s Glock. It was cleaned, oiled and ready for him. I handed him the magazine, and the gun itself, then started on the Barreta.

“Now, my turn for questions,” I said softly, looking at him.

“Sure, go ahead.” He smoothly slid the magazine home, chambered a round, and set the safety, before returning it to its home.

“What’s your story?” I said, pausing to look at him.

“Just a South Carolina momma’s boy, I guess. I worked as a mechanic to pay my way through school, then joined the academy after graduation. I worked my way up to SLED, then had a case that went badly. It was a drug bust… but they wouldn’t go down. I emptied my Glock into one, and it didn’t even seem to notice. We’re trained to save lives, but bringing these monsters down just felt like murder. head shots.. like in a zombie flick. I had a friend that had just gone to work for the US Marshal’s office, and she pulled some strings to get me here, under Chief...”

I worked on the gun as he spoke. His silence drew me back to his face. His eyes were glazed over. He was reliving the trauma again. I placed my hand on his to bring him back.

My tone was then subdued. “Tony is a good cop. always has been. He wasn’t wrong. I’ve been in Asheville since its beginning. I had been playing vigilante when he caught me and brought me in. He was this wet behind the ears beat cop with a sense of justice. I started out as an informant for him, which let me continue as I was. Not too long after we met, street gangs started moving into Asheville, looking to take over. I was just orienting myself with the local groups when all hell broke loose. I helped run the other gangs out of town, and helped Tony with some key arrests. That helped him move up a little, but the rest was all him.”

“So you are involved with the Serpents?” he said, a scowl now forming on his face.

“Yes and no. This gang is being pushed into going legit... getting off the streets and making an honest living. There are practices I have a problem with, which they don’t do. heavy drugs I have a problem with.”

“But not…” he started as if asking a question.

“Pot is becoming more legal, and I have no issues with it. Also, You cannot stop those who enjoy sex as a profession. I make sure those who are in that business are well taken care of, and are given legit options if they decide other employment… just like the girl who came in with you the other day.”

“So you’d admit to aiding and abetting prostitutes?” he fired back.

“First, I’d admit to nothing. I get the children off the streets, and give the women who want out of the life a better alternative. If an honest adult wants to make money on her back, why not? I’ve ‘dealt’ with the poor excuses of flesh who tried to put children on the street corners, and make sure that the escorts that do work have high school diplomas and access to health care. The health care thing is something new I’m trying to get in place. I can get some on Government plans, but I want to do more. Hence this place.”

“So you plan to use this place as a front for the prostitution?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“A front? Really? Like I would need a way to launder money. I want to give them a job, with health benefits. I’m trying to get the people I need to actually run this place. Which reminds me. I need to find me a bookkeeper. Handle payroll and stuff.”

He laughed, cheerfully. I didn’t intend to amuse him, but this did ease the tension between us. “So they call you Madrecita? ‘Little mother’?”

“It loses something in translation, I guess. It’s a term of respect and endearment that the Serpents the 80s started using after I started helping them. It stuck.”

“Makes sense,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I need to get going,”

I followed him to the door, locking it before heading downstairs. Emily was buried in the covers, nestled on the edge of the bed, muttering a children’s rhyme in her sleep. I disrobed, took a few minutes to braid up my hair, and crawled into bed.