P. Stormcrow

The street lamps buzzed and flickered above as Finn strolled down the quiet sidewalk, hands jammed into her leather jacket. Her gaze darted back and forth while she kept her senses sharp. If anyone was following her, she would know. The murmurs of conversations punctuated by the occasional laughter and yelling drifted from the establishments that were still open, but the pavement itself, littered with trash, remained almost empty. 

“Steady.” 

She couldn’t reply to the voice that whispered in her ear, but it comforted her to hear Damien, nonetheless. They may not have seen eye to eye on this operation, but he had insisted on coming along and staying close by. After all, they were partners. Keeping her pace even, she kept moving until she arrived at the bar greylord339 had set for the exchange to take place. A sign with the head of a dog swung on a rusted horizontal pole and beneath it in simple lettering was the bar’s name. The Wolfhound.

At least it wasn’t some stereotypical dark alley. Finn paused, sucked in a breath and regretted it as the nauseating scent of old grease mixed with something rancid nearby filled her nostrils. And she thought she lived in a shit-hole of a neighborhood.

Here we go.

She pushed the nondescript door open and stepped inside.

Conversation came to a halt as all eyes turned to her.

The amount of leather left her wondering if she had entered some sort of biker bar, but that wasn’t what made her skin crawl. No, there was something sinister about its clientele, with their too-sharp features and hungry predatory stares. It reminded her of a darker version of O’Doul’s, the pub they frequented. Damien had always joked about dwarven beer. Was there an ounce of truth in there?

No. They dealt with the paranormal. She was not about to take a wandering trip into fantasy land.

It’s okay. Back up is close by. If shit hits the fan, they’ll be here in thirty seconds. She repeated the words to herself in her head. Her first instinct was to hunch in on herself to ward off the gazes, but she knew at a place like this, it would be a mistake. Not prey. She straightened, squared her shoulders, tilted her chin up and strode forward.

Finn stopped at the bar and turned toward the bartender, a wiry old man with tattoos covering almost every inch of his skin all the way up to his neck. But before she could ask, he jerked his head towards the back of the long and narrow room.

She followed the direction he indicated and found three men staring at her. Three that matched the photos Agent Allen had shared with them all. Except somehow they seemed so much more menacing in real life, as if the photographer had failed to capture their essence. An uncharacteristic sliver of fear crawled up her spine, and she had to suppress a shudder.

The oldest of the three, grizzled with a salty beard and long shaggy hair nodded towards her in acknowledgement while the other two continued to watch her progress.

“Greylord339?” She kept it down as she spoke. Online monikers always sounded weird spoken out loud.

“You the buyer?” he asked in return.

“Yeah.” Finn wore her usual civilian outfit, torn jeans, a band T-shirt, Led Zeppelin, and a leather jacket, but she still felt overdressed compared to them in their worn leathers.

The three rose from their seats and slid out of the booths. “Let’s go.”

Panic welled up in her throat. Moving location was not part of the plan.

“Wait. Where?” Finn called out and winced on the inside as she realized what a rookie mistake that was.

Salt-and-pepper raised a brow as they moved to encircle her, towering over her much smaller frame. “You didn’t think we were going to just make the exchange here, were you?”

Fuck.

“Abort, Reed. Abort.” Her partner’s voice whispered in her mind. Who knew a motion sickness patch could be spelled to work like wearing a wire?

Nevermind that. No, I can do this.

She stood her ground and placed her hands on her hips. “We agreed to this place because it’s public.” Though they tried anything, she very doubted the patrons here would come to her aid. “What you are proposing puts me in a vulnerable position.”

Another guy, this one with a heavy set and a pattern shaved into his buzz cut, barked with laughter. “Kitty’s got claws.”

Son of a bitch. You’re going down first.

“Well, at least a mini roar.” The third of the trio spoke at last, his voice hoarse from smoking too much, reminding her of gravel. His shoulders seemed so wide, Finn wondered how he could fit through doors.

Okay, so you’re going down first.

Salt-and-pepper studied her for a moment, then dug into his pocket and threw down a white glove. “A token then, we for your protection.” The last part, he said with a sneer. “I presume you know how to use it.”

She recognized it for what they had promised online for the exchange. But this wasn’t the true prize she was after. “Not much of an insurance.”

He shrugged. “You’re welcomed to leave. Good luck finding similar goods, though.”

Don’t fuck it up. They weren’t Ms. Callaghan’s precise words, but it was her intent. This was their one shot. 

“Don’t do it.” Damien again.

“Fine.” She snatched the glove from the table and put it on. Warmth tingled along her skin and crawled up her arm, but she wasn’t about to admit she hadn’t the faintest clue how to use it. Despite being boxed in, she half turned and waved towards the door. “Lead the way.”

“Damn it, Finn.”

She wishes she could tell him she knew what she was doing. Instead, she glanced at Salt-and-Pepper as Muscles took point. When the former bowed with a mock flourish, she glared at him, then continued to follow his partner.

A short distance later, they arrived at a gray van with tinted windows.

“Seriously?” 

“No worries, kitten, we’ll drive you back here. You are our customer.”

“You better. The payment’s with my people. I don’t show up? You won’t get a cent.”

Smoker chuckled and shook his head while Salt-and-pepper grinned for the first time. 

“Huh, she’s not so dumb after all,” Muscles mused.

“Keep with the peanut gallery and you’re not going to get a very good customer service rating either.” Finn knew she was pushing her luck, but she was getting a feel for these men.

“Okay, okay, in you go,” Salt-and-pepper ushered her inside.

“I like her sass,” Muscles muttered, swinging to the passenger side up front.

“Aw, pumpkin.” Finn gave him a smug smile.

“Careful,” Damien whispered in her ear again. He was nagging, but there was something comforting about that.

Smoker broke into a full laugh as he pulled himself into the back after her, but that was the last quip she got in before they sped away. Terse silence filled the carriage. No one spoke a word, and Finn had no desire to initiate conversation either.

Although they didn’t blindfold her, the coverings over the windows made it hard to discern anything and by the eighth turn, Finn gave up keeping track. And when the car began jostling much more than it should, she had to admit that maybe this was a bad idea after all.

The van came to a halt with an abruptness that surprised her. She snuck a glance at her watch. They had been driving for only fifteen minutes. Did the team follow? What was the range of the communication spell? The sudden radio silence was unnerving her.

“Right this way.” Muscles opened the door from the outside.

The scent of pines and needles filled the air. Crickets chirped nearby, a cacophony that should have brought up memories of camping trips with her dad when she was young. But now, they sounded more like a warning than a fond reminder. Finn glanced past his shoulders, just making out the dark outlines of tall trees. The only light source was the still-on headlights of the vehicle they came in. It hadn’t been that long of a drive. How the hell did they make it out of the city already?

She emerged, and the world tilted sideways.

“Sorry kitten.” 

For the next few minutes, opposing magic waged a war over her consciousness as her warding bracelet grew white hot. Vertigo hit her as someone heaved her body up and threw it over his shoulder, as if she was a sack of potatoes. Murmurs crescendoed into shouting, then fell away once more. Flashes of light. Faces. Sleep tugged at her and she tried to recall why she was still fighting to stay awake. When whoever was carrying her set her right side up again, she wondered why she was sitting on a hard thing and not curled up in her bed instead. She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, but they wrestled her into another. She grumbled wordlessly in complaint.

“Would you look at that? She really is just like a cat after all.”

The comment, picked out from among others, made her giggle. Giggle? She didn’t giggle. What the hell?

“Search her.”

“Wait,” she muttered, but the word came out slurred. Not even her worst bender was this bad. Think, Finn. Think.

Someone lifted her arm. And the darkness swallowed her whole.