by TJ Nichols
“You’re still the best we have… at passing for human.”
Edra nodded and then remembered his boss couldn’t see him. “I’ll work with the cops, but I don’t know if they’ll work with us.”
“We need this to succeed. We need to integrate. It’s been ten years. Everyone needs to change and adapt. They’ve offered us this chance, and we’re going to take it.” Ardel rested his hands on the window frame and glanced at the protesters. “However, humans talk out both sides of their mouths. They lack honor. You will liaise with them, but I don’t want the anti-mytho crowd getting any more fodder. We need to tighten things up before this election.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you are to cover up whatever you can before the humans can investigate it.”
The cold left his skin along with the silver, and Edra was visible again. “You want me to keep investigating mytho crimes, but not report them?”
“I want you to work with the human cops where appropriate and make sure mythos don’t look guilty.” Ardel gave him a look, his brilliant blue eyes the only reminder of the beauty he’d once been. “I’m sure you’ll make the right decisions about which cases require human involvement. It’s not that much different from what you do now.”
Except that Edra didn’t work with humans at all. When people came to Mytho Servo with a grievance, Ardel handed the case to Edra, and he ensured it got settled and did his best to keep the cops out of the way. Carly did the more friendly stuff. He only got the ones she couldn’t smooth over with talk. There was a reason he’d carried a sword as a knight—not everyone liked justice. Nothing much had changed. Between Carly and him, they policed the mythos and kept them out of trouble. It was hard to help a mytho once the humans were involved. The cops saw monsters and automatically assumed guilt. “Do I have a human counterpart?”
“No. Liaise with the Special Investigators Division as required.”
Edra scowled. “They’ve taken us so seriously in the past. What happens when one of us gets killed? Will that go to homicide? That’s right. They don’t see us as people. They think we should all be in the zoo.”
Ardel stared at him. “Things are changing. We have to work with them, not against them. This is an opportunity.”
But for who? He forced out a breath. He didn’t want to be the face of Mytho Servo. He just wanted to help his people. “You actually believe that?”
“They requested the liaison.”
“Someone to blame?” He didn’t trust a human as far as he could throw one.
Ardel shook his head. “Keep us clean, shut up the anti-integration mob, and maybe we can get a mayor who’ll do something.”
Or maybe the mayor was just hoping to use the mythos for political gain the way everyone else did. “Have you seen the protest on our doorstep? They hate us.”
“They fear us. We’re their monsters. We need to prove we’re not.”
Edra was putting in his best effort already. Everyone was. But what was normal for mythos was often wrong according to humans. No, he couldn’t eat a stray dog for dinner—or buy one from the pound for a snack. Ogres couldn’t have log throwing contests without a permit or solve their problems with wrestling matches that horrified humans, even though no one got seriously hurt. Ogres were hard to kill. Two years ago a cop shot one seventeen times, and the ogre threw a car at him and then went home to sleep it off. The cop wet his pants.
“They’re the monsters.” Only the European Union had managed to give an apology for the collapse and took steps to treat the mythos fairly. He wished he’d found himself over there instead of in San Francisco. But at least he wasn’t in West Africa where mythos were actively hunted.
Ardel swept his long hair off his face. “Regardless of what the cops do or don’t do, I expect you to put in your best effort or, passing or not, I will remove and replace you. You’re on a three-month probation. If you muck this up for us, it will cling like naga shit to your file.”
Edra swallowed and nodded. “I understand, sir.”
Officially they were now working with the cops. Unofficially? Who knew what was going on. If the pro-integration mayor didn’t get in, there was a good chance they’d all be rounded up and put back in internment camps.
EDRA CLOSED the file on the mytho store owner who had a shoplifting problem. The human cops had done nothing to help, because the shoplifters were human. If it had been mytho shoplifters in a human store, the kids would’ve been locked up after their first offense. But the humans were too busy dealing with human issues, and the mayor had made it clear he didn’t care about mythos, so why should anyone else?
Ten years was long enough for everyone to stop freaking out and make a plan forward. The mythos had been forced to adapt, and the humans needed to catch up. With his new title, he was going to step into this case and make the human cops do something.
On his way out of the office, he grabbed a set of keys for one of Mytho Servo’s unmarked cars. In the first three months, four of their marked cars had been set alight—unsurprisingly, no one had been charged. Edra made his way across town to the shop. Mythological Services wasn’t broken into districts the way the human police force was. It covered the whole of San Francisco and was modeled on something similar that had existed in London, Paris, and Frankfurt since the first year of the collapse. Five years ago LA, New York, and San Francisco had decided to copy them.
The shop looked like any other suburban store, but it was in the middle of what had become a mytho neighborhood. The area was run-down, the houses in need of a coat of paint, but the air of depression that had existed two years earlier was gone. The well-kept gardens held all manner of plants. Even the weeds in the sidewalk were thriving.
He parked, got out, smoothed his tie and jacket, and walked into the store.
The aroma of fresh bread and rotisserie pig head hit him hard. He hadn’t had time for breakfast after the bride-fight fiasco.
The young man behind the counter, who was too pretty to be anything but an elf, watched him warily.
Edra flicked out his tongue, the only thing that marked him clearly as mytho, and the man relaxed. “You the owner?”
“Nah, my dad is.”
“He around?”
“Yeah. Why?” He was a boy really. It was hard to tell with elves because they always looked like teens, but the voice gave him away. It hadn’t reached the musical tones that an adult would have. This teen would’ve been young when the collapse happened—too young to remember what their old world had been like. It was probably easier that way.
“I’m from Mytho Servo.” He should have used the full name, but no one did.
The teen crossed his arms. “’Bout those humans?”
“Let me talk to your dad.”
The teen turned on his heel and stalked out the back.
Edra watched the pig heads turning on the spit. They wouldn’t be ready for hours, but he could come back at dinnertime. Or he could eat whatever was already in his fridge. There were leftovers from the roast beef he’d cooked last night.
It wasn’t the same as fresh roasted pig head, though. That was a treat, a reminder of home he couldn’t afford all the time. He turned away and glanced around the store. There were a few other traditional mytho treats—or at least as close as they could make here—along with more human things like dried pasta, cereal, fruit, and vegetables. Humans still lived in the area—some were too poor to move away and others had found the price of their houses had dropped because of their neighbors.
A tall man with long blond hair came out of the office. He wore jeans and a bright blue T-shirt, but he still carried himself as though he were important, like rank still mattered. He’d been one of the Elvish King’s archers before the collapse.
“Archer Vlash.” Edra nodded in greeting.
Vlash didn’t smile. “Do not call me that. That man is dead.”
Yeah… so was Knight Tendric. He didn’t mind his old title, but some mythos didn’t like
being reminded of the past. He’d misstepped already. “I received your complaint.”
“Then you know the problem.”
“I want some more information.”
“It was in my report. I put in the complaint because the insurance company told me to. I complained to the SFPD too. They haven’t turned up. I do not expect them to.”
Edra opened the file. “Human boys have been coming in and stealing?”
“Yes.”
Edra glanced up at Vlash. “The more you give me the more I can help.”
“You will arrest the humans? I do not think so. You don’t have that power.”
Edra wasn’t a cop, so he had no actual power to do anything more than smooth things over and make sure the mythos didn’t do something reckless.
“I have other skills.” He could lurk around invisible and scare the pants off the kids, but that would only stop them for a while. He doubted anyone would approve of feeding the troublemakers to the dragons, and dragons didn’t really enjoy eating humans. They tasted strange, apparently.
Vlash lifted one fair eyebrow. “So do I.”
“No paying the Strega for curses.” That was the last thing they needed. Strega magic was patchy at best—the collapse had affected all mythos, some more than others.
“I have hired some extra security.”
There was something about the way he said it that made the hairs on the back of Edra’s neck ruffle. “What kind of security?”
Please not a chupacabra. Once they had a scent they didn’t stop until the victim was dead. One didn’t really hire chupacabras, though they were most definitely animals, the kind of guard dog that few could handle.
“Some ogre friends of my son.”
The average ogre was eight foot tall. Even when ogres were still in school—and many dropped out because they weren’t that bright—they were bigger than the average man.
“If they hurt anyone—”
“You will assist,” Vlash said smoothly, his voice laced with magic that had no effect on any kind of dragon, greater or lesser.
Edra forced a grin. “It’s easier to assist before people get hurt.”
Chapter 2
JORDAN KELLS drew a careful black line along his eyelid and gave it a practiced flick at the end. He added mascara to make his blond lashes longer and turned his head to check the look. Then he added red lipstick. It was too much for where he was going, just to the bar with friends, nothing more. But the siren song in his blood begged for more. Maybe he could plead fatigue, skip the bar, and go to the den instead.
Jordan swallowed hard as the temptation grew. He never should have gone the first time. Every time he went back, he was risking his job. He should know better. He should be better.
He rubbed the lipstick off his mouth and took the big gold hoops out of his ears. As much as he liked the way they looked, he was certain that someone would take offense, and he could live without that trouble—trouble that would be too hard to explain at work.
Jordan ran his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t cut it while he was working undercover, but even though it didn’t reach his collar, it was far too long for the office. He’d already been warned. He liked it longer, but it would be gone tomorrow. Everett would make him SFPD-regulation short again, so even though he didn’t wear a uniform, he’d still look like a cop.
He put smaller earrings in—little hoops to go with the one stud that was higher up the curve of his ear. There’d be no more of that come Monday. But he’d had the piercings for over ten years, and they wouldn’t close over fast. As much as he was looking forward to changing branches, he already dreaded the rigidity of appearance.
As the satin of the camisole rubbed over his skin, his nipples hardened and he smiled. His pulse hammered with need. He didn’t need Bliss… but it was so much better than hooking up. He shouldn’t even think like that. What had started as a way to get in with the criminals who were fencing stolen items—sometimes mytho items—had become something more. Not addiction. He wasn’t an addict. He just enjoyed it.
The risk was an ogre ax aimed at his spine. One blow and his career would be crippled. He never found that stolen axe. It vanished into the black market, and it still irked him that he’d only managed to get what he felt were the middle men. But everyone else was pleased with his progress.
“No Bliss. Don’t fuck this up.” He heard too much of his father in his tone. You’re a fuckup, a good-for-nothin’. I’m a fixin’ to wallop you good, boy.
Jordan pulled on a black shirt that hid the red satin, but the lace of his briefs was still visible beneath the hem, and he had a semi just thinking about Bliss. He had to stop, and tonight was a good time to test his resolve. He’d have a few beers and go home alone. For half a second he considered changing out of his red lingerie and into sensible boxer briefs so he could at least attempt to pick up.
He wasn’t picking up in this shit. Men got entirely the wrong impression when they saw it. If Devon hadn’t been able to handle it after they were together for two years…. He wouldn’t dwell on that idiot either. Lingerie hadn’t been the end of that relationship. It had just been the final nail.
He pulled on his jeans and boots and checked his appearance again. He looked okay. Not too male, not too female. Then he flicked his hair. First time he’d had longish hair since the day before he turned twenty-one and cut it off to join the police force. He left his badge and gun in his apartment, topped up Sinner’s food and water—he’d probably get home before the cat did—and made his way to the train that would take him past Justice Hall and onto Fifth Street.
His phone buzzed. Pete and Mason were already there, and he wasn’t sure he could deal with Mason’s matchmaking tonight. Mason was always trying to see everyone happily partnered up, but maybe some people were best left single. He forced his nerves to settle, even though the need for the easy high of Bliss was hot and hungry in his blood. It felt like a lover who had spent all day sexting, and he was on his way to meet him. Jordan closed his eyes and counted back from ten.
It didn’t work. He needed to get laid.
Where would he be going tonight if the collapse hadn’t happened three months into his degree? To a club? Dancing, drinking, picking up? He wouldn’t be thinking of Bliss, that was for sure.
The hairs on his arms prickled. When he opened his eyes, a man was staring at him. Jordan was tempted to stare back; he’d learned young not to give ground, but he couldn’t be bothered tonight. He just wanted to unwind and enjoy a weekend off while he wasn’t on call and didn’t have to keep up a false identity. Jordan looked away, but the man didn’t. He muttered something under his breath that Jordan chose not to listen to.
These days anything too “other” attracted the wrong kind of attention, even here, thanks to the mythos. He raked his fingers through his hair and leaned back, but the man continued to stare. Growing up in Texas before the collapse, he’d been too other, and the kids at school had been merciless.
His father wasn’t much better.
Instead of playing football, he’d done track—something that had prepared him well for the academy. Jordan still ran. He liked the peace and the burn in his lungs. He’d left home as soon as he’d finished school. College had been his escape and San Francisco a miracle.
A group of teens got on the train, along with a small knot of assorted mythos. They kept close together even though ogres and vampires didn’t usually socialize. Safety in numbers. Maybe the ogres were acting as bodyguards. Jordan didn’t let his gaze linger, but the man’s attention shifted to the mythos. Jordan wasn’t big on prayer—it was better to act—but he hoped that things didn’t sour. Then he’d have to step in and his night would be over.
His skin was hot, and his blood sizzled with anticipation, unwilling to believe there was only beer on the menu tonight. He tried not to bounce his leg as he sat and watched, on the alert for trouble.
When the train stopped, it was a relief to step out into the cool night air. W
ith every step he was aware of the rub of fabric, and the way it moved against his skin. He should’ve put on something else. It was another risk. Every time he dressed up, he was sure someone at work would find out. Once he got his hair cut there’d be no more makeup. He needed to conform and fit in, even though he’d never kept those promises in the past.
He went into the bar and noted that it wasn’t too far from the satyr vice den—only a block around a corner. He could be there in ten minutes and Blissed out in another ten—a few hours lost in ecstasy that lived only in his mind… and the mess in his pants after.
The bar was noisy but not overly full. He found Mason because he was tall, and Pete by default. No one else was there yet, and from the looks of it, they were not on their first beers.
“Hey, you started without me.” It had taken a year of watching how he spoke to take the y’all out of him.
“You were taking too long getting pretty.” Pete grinned. “Almost look like an elf. Got a hot date after?”
He snapped his gaze to Pete. Did he know? “Nah, just wanted to dress up.”
But the satyrs at the den called him the Elf. It was how he got in, even though he lacked the pointed ears.
“I’ll find you one. There’s a TDH with a leather jacket over there. Just your type.” Mason put an arm around his shoulder and turned him so he could see the man in question.
He was nice-looking… but… no. Jordan looked away. “I’m not looking for anything more than a beer.”
“You’ve been single for ages. Think of your hand.”
He didn’t need a hand on Bliss, but he swallowed down the retort. He couldn’t share that. They knew about the lingerie because he’d confessed after too many tequila shots one night when he was recovering from the breakup.
Pete had been shocked. And Jordan had gone into far too much detail about the websites that specialized in male lingerie.
Pete handed him a beer. “So, dead bodies next week?”
Why had he told them he was moving to Personal Crimes? “Yes.”
