5. Cassian
CASSIAN
Idon't budge from her stoop for the next three hours.
The night is damp and buzzing with fog, all sodium-yellow and distance-softened, like the set of a supernatural detective show with serious atmospheric ambitions.
I'm flanked by a detail of my best officers: Margo, ex-soldier and full-moon lunatic; Ravena, the only witch on the force and a stickler for protocols so esoteric even I can't keep up; and Alaric from the Night Patrol, whose presence is less official but considerably more terrifying, which was the intention.
"Nice place," Alaric says, leaning against the rail with all the undead smugness of a cat on a hot car hood.
His eyes are luminous tonight, like brine left to ferment in a glass.
"Bit of a security risk. The side windows probably don't even lock."
I look at him.
"We're here to deter, not judge her décor."
Alaric snorts, running his tongue over one fang like he's considering the flavor of my lecture.
"I still say this has all the notes of a phantom. Or a demon with a flair for the dramatic. But if you want wolf patrol, I can do wolf patrol."
"Do your job, Ric."
He gives one of those theatrical bows only vampires can manage without looking like idiots.
"Already on it, boss."
He glances at the window, where a blink of movement reveals the backlit slink of Gomez, Liza's black cat, considering a leap to the radiator.
Margo and Ravena are doing a perimeter sweep, fielding calls from dispatch and occasionally shooting me looks that are equal parts we got you and so when's the wedding?
I ignore them.
Mostly.
My phone vibrates.
A text from Zadok:
Zadok: Hex-breaker confirms the envelope is clean. Coins are ordinary but handled by someone with a weird signature, whatever that means.
He attaches a photo of the bouquet from her office with the words:
PURIFY THIS
in all caps.
Classic Zadok.
I text back:
Me: If you see anything, let me know. Standing by for updates.
I type it exactly like that, no unnecessary words, because I have a reputation and because typing out full sentences makes me feel like I'm sending a love note, not an investigative memo.
I pace the short sidewalk, scanning every passing car, every set of footfalls.
The feeling in my chest isn't entirely professional.
More like standing at the lip of the bay at midnight and seeing a shape in the water you know isn't just driftwood, but you can't be sure until it's too late.
I shake it off, roll my shoulders, and prepare a speech for Liza about listening to her instincts and that just because she's got a demon mayor on speed dial doesn't mean she's bulletproof.
At 9:43, the porch light flicks on.
The door opens, and there she is.
Liza, in civilian mode, hair loose and cat in her arms, looking like she's been waiting for me to check in and is already annoyed it took this long.
"You're making a scene," she says, her voice low and a little tired.
"Good," I reply. "Scenes are hard to ignore. Means we're doing our job."
She eyes my entourage.
"Is that Alaric?"
He waves with a little flourish.
"Evening, Liza."
She narrows her eyes but says nothing.
I step forward, tilting my head like I'm checking her for injuries.
"Can I come in for a minute?"
She rolls her eyes, but she lets me through the door.
Gomez shoots past my feet, then loops back to weave figure eights around my boots as I wipe the dew off my sleeves.
Her apartment is small but not in a bad way—just compact, built for efficiency, nothing wasted.
The air is heavy with the scent of the bakery takeout they'd delivered earlier, and on the kitchen table is a short stack of paperwork beside a mug that says NOT TODAY, SATAN.
She waits for me to sit, then hovers for a second, less city administrator and more... something else.
"You're sure you're not hungry?"
I shake my head.
"Already ate. Even the coffee here is setting off a new ulcer."
I take a seat, and she does too, curling both feet under her like she's bracing for an argument that history has already decided for her.
We sit for a minute, her cat on the table between us.
Liza curls her hands around the mug, then looks up.
"Did you find anything?"
"We're working with what we have. Whoever did this, they're careful. Left almost no trace. But Zadok thinks it's someone with a personal grudge or a very weird sense of romance."
She makes a face.
"It doesn't feel like romance."
"Most obsessions don't," I say.
"Do you have enemies?"
She shrugs.
"Could be something old. Or amateur. I have family in Thistlebrook, but nobody from there would do this. And no one from home has the guts to cross the bridge into Blackthorn. I think they believe madmen run wild here."
I file the nugget away.
"Anyone you've fought with over city work? Permits, closed businesses, the usual suspects?"
She gives me a look like I've just asked if she moonlight as an arsonist.
"The only people angry at me are the ones who wanted to be on the Pumpkin Fest committee."
Then, after a second:
"There was a guy who wouldn't take no for an answer about renting the rec hall for a midnight event, but he gave up after Zadok threatened to ban him."
I make a note.
"We'll keep an eye out. For now, we're rotating shifts until this blows over. And we're getting you security charms in the morning."
"Cassian," she says, her voice lowering. "I don't want my family scared too."
That's the part that finally cracks me.
I lean in, elbows on knees.
"I can put someone on them. Quietly. You want that?"
She nods.
"Yeah. If you could. My parents are old-school; they'd try to fight a stalker with a rolling pin."
I smile because I know the type.
"Done. First thing in the morning, I'm sending Ravena to check in, and we'll put a glamour up around their place. No one gets through unless I say so."
She sips her drink, and for a moment the lines around her mouth soften.
"Thanks."
I want to rest my hand on hers, just for a moment, to steady her or myself or both.
But I don't.
Instead, I focus on the cat, who is now demanding full attention and pawing at my badge.
"You ever consider moving?" I ask. "Somewhere less... haunted?"
She catches my meaning.
"No. I like it here. It's nice knowing monsters are people too."
I laugh, and it feels stupidly good, which makes me clamp down on it quickly.
"Fair enough. But you let us handle the monsters for now."
She nods, then sits very still, her head cocked.
"Do you ever get scared?"
It's a weird question, but after tonight, I kind of get it.
"I'm scared every day. That's why I'm careful."
I lean back, giving her space.
"We're not invincible. Even the big bad wolf can get got. That's why you called me."
She considers that for longer than is comfortable, then says:
"I think I called you because you're the only one who doesn't treat me like glass."
"Maybe I should," I mutter.
She snorts. "You'd suck at it."
We fall into silence again, the sound of the bay in the background, foghorns and far-off laughter from the next block.
After a while, she gives me a little smirk, a flash of her old spark.
"You want to sweep the apartment? Or are you just here for the company?"
I repress a smile.
"If I said both, would you throw me out?"
She stands, stretching.
"Come on. I'll show you the world's smallest kitchen and the place where I keep my collection of cursed coffee mugs."
We do the circuit—front windows, back stair, a closet full of old coats and cat toys.
Every sound is normal.
Every space is as it should be.
Liza walks a little closer to me than usual, and when she laughs at something dumb I say, it sounds less brittle than before.
At the door, she hesitates.
"You'll let me know if anything changes, right? With the... case?"
I nod, but this time, when I speak, it's a little less chief and a little more me.
"You'll be the first to know. I promise."
She holds my gaze, and for a second, I forget about the fog, the flowers, the sense that something is winding tighter in this weird little town.
I remember every time she's defused a brawl with a joke, every late-night text about a lost cat or a resident too nervous to come to the station.
I remember why I wanted this job.
And it isn't for the badge.
Her lips part just a little.
I almost say something completely inappropriate, but instead I step back, give her space, and let the moment pass.
"See you in the morning, Morales."
She grins.
"Don't get eaten."
I almost wish something would try.
At least that way I'd have an excuse to see her again before tomorrow.
I close the door behind me, take a deep breath of wet air, and signal to my crew that it's time to rotate shifts.
I'm supposed to feel better about the situation, but as I glance back at the apartment, a ripple of unease curls through me.
Whatever this is, it isn't over.
But if anyone thinks they can get to her, they're going to have to go through me.
And, maybe, a very determined cat.
I head out into the fog, and for the first time in a long time, I think about what it means to be hunted.