P. Stormcrow

Don’t run into him. Don’t run into him.

It was a mantra she kept repeating in her head as Finn peered out of her unit. All morning, she wished she had gotten a little more drunk so that she would forget what had happened last night or not get drunk at all. 

It’s okay. She just had to get out of the building without running into him. Leaving early was going to be worth it.

She eased the door open and winced when the damn thing creaked loud enough to echo down the hall. But there was no soul in sight. So far, so good. She took off for the stairs, glancing over her shoulders to check that the other unit’s door remained closed, only to run smack into a solid wall.

“Ow.” She jerked her head up to stare up at Ethan’s gentle smile through her sunglasses even as he reached out with both hands to steady her.

“Woah, good morning to you too.”

Shit! Wait. How did she not sense him? Her instinct would have told her if someone was around, but how did it fail so utterly this time?

“You all right?”

Her cheeks grew hot, but she cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses as she looked away. “I’m fine.” 

He released his hold on her, but the warmth of his hands lingered, making her skin tingle beneath her jacket. She risked a peek, only to find him in a simple T-shirt and shorts. From his disheveled hair and flushed face, it was clear that he had just returned from a run. Did he not go to bed later than she did? How the bells did he get up even earlier than her, much less for a jog. 

And why the hell was someone that fucking wholesome living in a hellhole like this one?

Idiot. “You know this neighborhood is not the safest, right?” She blurted out the rhetorical question before her cynicism took over and made her bite her tongue.

The grin on his lips grew wider. “I’m being careful, I promise.” He turned his head sideways and tapped his ear to draw attention to it. “See? Not even any music.”

She didn’t need a promise from him. But she didn’t want to stumble across his broken body from being mugged, either. Regardless, she shouldn’t care. 

The image of him bandaging her hand flashed in her mind’s eye.

No, that kindness and naïve optimism were going to get him into trouble, especially at a place like this. 

Forget it. Keep her distance. “I need to—” she pointed at the stairs behind him.

“Oh right.” He stepped aside for her and she hurried past him, not daring to look back until he called out again.

“Hey Finn.”

Out for reflex, she skidded to a stop and half turned. Reflex. Yes, that was it.

He looked as if he wanted to say something but he shook his head clear instead and gave her a wave. “Have a good day at work.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” She didn’t quite run out of there, but she walked as fast as she could without being too obvious, her heart pounding the entire time.

He hadn’t asked her out.

Why hadn’t he asked her out? Had she imagined all that last night after all?

Finn shook her head at the insanity of that train of thought. No, she needed to focus. Today was the day. They’re going to catch the damn killer.

The painkiller was kicking in by the time she got in the car and started the drive to the base. The wound remained a dull throb through the trip, however, reminding her of the embarrassment last night, but she counted her fortunes that at least she didn’t end up in the hospital and that it was her left hand. 

It wasn’t until she walked into the warehouse and saw Jackson that she realized she had forgotten her coffee on the counter in her haste to leave. Shit.

“Hey morn—what’s with the glasses?” Jackson tapped his own face as she made her way to her desk.

She knew she couldn’t hide forever, but still it was with great reluctance that she lowered her shades, revealing the bloodshot eyes she had noticed earlier from her reflection in the mirror.

Jackson’s eyes widened in shock, but he didn’t say anything until his gaze fell on the bandages wrapped around her hand. “What happened?”

There was no answer that would get him off her back, so Finn shrugged. “Accident.” She knew he at least had some suspicion of her drinking habits, but he hadn’t brought it up yet. Was he about to now?

“Hey, your phone’s ringing.” Some agent she had yet to meet or catch the name of pointed at Jackson’s desk. 

He looked as though he had more to say, but sighed and went to retrieve the receiver. Three nods later, he hung up and turned back to her, his lips set into a thin line. “We’re meeting Newman and his team there with backup. Go get ready and prepare for hostiles. I’ll go speak with Ms. Callaghan.”

Finn had taken the time to memorize what it meant to prepare as a Stranger but it didn’t stop her hands from trembling all the same when she packed the basic wards and standard equipped athame. She wasn’t certain why they had athames considering none of them were witches, but she couldn’t dispute having a good sturdy knife as part of the kit.

She was just throwing in the last items as Jackson returned.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.” Finn handed Jackson his own messenger bag and slung the other one over her shoulder, while she scanned for anyone else coming with them.

“The director is assembling a task force. They’ll follow behind us soon, but let’s go meet Newman before their team gets in over their heads.”

Although Jackson said it all with a kind of casualness, Finn failed to suppress the shudder that coursed through her body. The chills stayed with her all the way to their appointed meeting place, staged blocks away from the address Satellite had found for them.

There was no good morning’s as they arrived. It wasn’t that type of morning, anyhow. Instead, they all exchanged grim nods as they caught up to Newman, directing more agents around him. Finn glimpsed the coffee in the older agent’s hand, and a sliver of craving shot into her consciousness.

“Warrant came through an hour ago. Your team and mine will be on standby. Jackson, you’re with me to knock on the front door. Reed, I’ll need you in case things go south. Coordinate the teams, bring them closer.”

Her mouth hung open but no words cams out. The last thing she expected was to be benched. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Sir—”

“Newman—” Jackson started at the same time.

“I don’t want to hear it.” Newman spun around to face them in full. “Your personal life is none of my business, Reed. But you look like shit and I’m not risking you on the field.”

He didn’t wait for a rebuttal, but walked off. Disappointment welled up within as her cheeks reddened with embarrassment. She should have known it would come to this one day, but it stung nonetheless. 

Jackson met her eyes, but the concern was almost more than what she could handle at the moment. “We’ll talk later.” He patted her on the shoulder, but before he stepped away, she caught his arm.

“Be careful.”

“Of course.” He grinned and winked, trying to affect his usual cavalier demeanor, but she read the tension in the way he held himself.

She watched as he joined Newman, anxiety settling in the pit of her stomach at the conversation she would have to have with Jackson. But soon others came to pull her attention away with their questions. With great effort, she tried to focus on helping them organize, but the thought of her partner walking into danger without her induced a whole new profound sense of unease.

Fuck, maybe she should cut back on the drinking.

A CB radio close by sparked to life. “Approaching.”

Finn scanned the perimeter they had set up. Fuck this. They didn’t need her here. She shoved her hand into her bag, grabbed the slap bracelet, and snapped it on before she rushed after the two men. 

The door to a most normal looking house opened just as she arrived. Finn wasn’t certain what she was expecting, but it was definitely not the bespeckle white haired old man that stood at the entry way with a perplexed expression on his face and a leather apron tied around his waist. No running. No resistance. He simply remained there, head cocked to one side, as he listened to Newman talk.

She slowed to a jog, then to a stop.

Innocent until proven guilty.

From the corner of her eye, she spied movement and her heart leaped to her throat.

A gnome. A fucking gnome. She reached inside her bag and approached, each step nice and slow. The porcelain doll had only attacked after they had gone at it with a knife the previous day so hopefully if she remained harmless, it would stay passive. But before she got close enough to call out a warning, the old man stepped back and allowed both men in, shutting the door behind them.

And leaving her very alone with the killer gnome golem.