I'd been in this city for a month now, and the more I learned, the less I understood.

The Nightside, they called it-the hidden, magical heart of London. I'd never heard of such a place-not in my time with the wizard Everson Croft, nor during my year as captain of Legion-the most elite unit of Centurion, America's greatest PMC, dedicated to dealing with the supernatural.

At first, I'd protested at being part of a merc outfit. I'd been an US Spec Ops captain for years, serving to protect my country, not for money. But that had been before that fateful mission to the Middle East.

I had thought that would be the end of my service, and then I would return home, to be with my fiancee, Daniela. But fate had other plans.

I was bound to the spirit of the Great Protector, the Blue Wolf, by an old woman desperate to save her people from their-and the Blue Wolf's- old enemy, the White Dragon. The following year took me all over the world, protecting mankind and finally saving it, though only through the sacrifice of a friend.

As I sat down on the barstool, I thought of him, and my old team. Olaf. Rusty. Yoofi. Takara. Sarah. Did they even know I was gone? When Legion had been disbanded, we'd said goodbye, but... not like this. Things like this were not supposed to happen anymore.

I was brooding, I knew. The wolf inside me didn't like it-its reaction to things that upset it was to rip them apart- but I'd learned to shackle my instincts. I couldn't let myself go, even in a place like this.

Strangefellows was, allegedly, the oldest bar in the world. Much like the rest of this city, its location constantly shifted, and not everyone could find it.

I'd never heard of it before I got here. When I'd mentioned that to its owner, Alex Morrissey, he'd snorted.

"Wish I was you," he'd said.

Alex was a thin streak of misery, scowling when he wasn't frowning. In his late twenties, he dressed in all black, including a beret he considered stylish. He wore it to hide a premature balding spot.

Rumor was that Alex was bound to this bar, like his ancestors before him, and couldn't leave it. I was prepared to believe anything, at this point.

"You're doing it again," said a gruff voice. I looked up from my keg of beer-drunk for the taste, not to get buzzed. Not that I could, with my wolfish healing.

Alex was cleaning a spotless glass, while several filthy ones were spread across the bar. I didn't comment.

"What?" I asked.

"Sulking. Can you not bring down the mood? The place is already so downmarket I couldn't drive it upwards with a chair and whip."

"Jealous I'll steal your shtick?" I quipped. He scoffed.

"You wish. Now, are you going to drink that or just glare a hole through it?"

"What's the rush? Not like the place is busy tonight," I gestured at the bar, which was occupied by about half of the usual unusual suspects. Two undines drinking each other. Ghouls arguing over finger food. A vampire nursing a tall glass of blood.

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It had taken all my effort, at first, not to go feral at the sight of so many supernatural predators. The Blue Wolf was, before all, a protector. But it could also adapt.

"That's because you scare them, Wolfe," Alex grouched. He'd hired me a few times to play bouncer when the usual ones, Betty and Lucy Coltrane, had been indisposed. I'd built something of a reputation after a werewolf had tried to jump me to prove how hard he was. I'd smashed him through the floor and, after he'd been dug out, Alex had offered me some work.

I noticed the bartender's mouth twitching, his equivalent of a grin.

"Something funny?"

"Yeah. Wolfe, the blue werewolf? Are you a comic book character?"

I went back to my beer. You can't get along with Morrissey when he thinks he's being funny.

The door opened, and my ears perked up. Two sets of steps, one heavy and measured, the other light and quick. Man and woman?

I glanced over my shoulder, to look at the newcomers. He was tall and dark, wearing a white trenchcoat. She was well-dressed, and tried to exude calm. And failing.

She didn't belong to this place, I could tell. Her face was similar to many I'd seen in my time with Legion-poor, scared folks who'd been tormented by things they had though impossible.

Protect her, my wolf growled.

The two came down the noisy metal steps, installed to prevent sneaking, into the pit that housed the bar proper. The man had a vibe that reminded me of Reginald Purdy, Legion's overseer-he was here to help you, for a price.

"Alex," the man said, sitting down on a barstool. His companion reluctantly followed. "Long time no see. Still miserable?"

"Not until you came in. When are you going to pay your tab, Taylor?"

Taylor smirked. "Care to introduce me to your friend?" He asked, looking at me.

"Jason Wolfe." I stuck out my hand. Surprised, he shook it. His grip was firm and strong, for a human.

"You're pretty calm for a werewolf, Mr. ...Wolfe," Taylor said.

"Yeah, I get that a lot. But I'm not a were. Just look like one."

"Silver doesn't affect you?" He asked innocently. I frowned. Already probing for weaknesses?

"Won't you introduce me to your lady friend?" I asked.

"Of course. She-"

"My name is Joanna Barrett," The woman, Joanna, cut him off. Her voice was a seasoned smoker's rasp, and trembling. She sounded shaken, and looked worse.

"Are you new to the Nightside, miss?" I asked, trying to calm her down. She nodded quickly.

"My daughter, Cathy, is missing. She ran away from home and came here, to the Nightside. I hired Mr. Taylor to find her."

Taylor frowned even as my protective instincts flared. "Do you need some help?"