Author's Note: It's time to meet my favorite character to write. Now, I am not especially pleased with this chapter. The dialogue didn't really come to me as easily as I felt it should have, and I've edited the crap out of it several times. I'm reasonably satisfied with how it is now, but there is plenty of room for improvement. If you kind folks can think of some things that would improve the quality, I'd be ecstatic to hear your suggestions. I promise, next chapter is way longer, way better, and with 95.6% more wub-wub. (Kidding, wub-wub isn't welcome here.)

Chapter Four

Despite my bold proclamation of the previous night, I was not very excited about the idea of deliberately going out and trying to hunt down Red Court vampires. With the war between the White Council and the Court, a significant massacre would be noticed by both sides, which would likely blame the other. If I lost, the Reds would attack the Council in vengeance for failed wizardly aggression. If I won, the Reds would attack the Council in vengeance for successful wizardly aggression. And either way, the Council would wonder who the hell was in Boston, barbecuing vampires with a full member grade talent. While they couldn't be bothered to get off their collective ass to protect innocents, they sure as hell were good at moving to punish vigilantes.

This could very well lead me to a Warden-sponsored execution. I hoped they'd bring their own popcorn. I could always do nothing, and just let the geis turn my insides into my outsides. Either way, I ended up dead. I really hoped a third option would present itself soon. Regardless of that, I needed answers, and to be prepared. Perhaps the Reds would respond better to a known independent operative than they did to most wizards these days. Yeah, sure, I was just begging to have my face ripped off at this point.

I set out that morning with a stern order for Mary to not leave the house. I couldn't protect her if she wasn't behind the wards, and keeping her around for the hunt would only up the chances of her biting the dust, not lower them. After breakfast, I siphoned as much power as I dared into the gem that sustained my wards. By the time I left, the magical hum of power was almost audible.

At least I was in a clean suit and tie. One that wasn't stained with my own blood, at least. I stepped off the stoop of my home and into the cold autumn air.

The Red Court ran, among many other things, prostitution, with bordellos ranging from ratholes to palaces. One of their nicest establishments was within walking distance, and the foul creature in charge probably had the information I needed.

Before I waved down a taxi, I double checked my coat's pockets, taking inventory of my various little tools. It was a formidable selection, though I was missing one very important thing. Backup.

With that in mind, I hailed a cab and told him, not the location of the Red whorehouse, but the address of one of my oldest friends.

Sam lived in a much nicer house than mine. Honestly, it was closer to an estate than a house. His Patron was more in tune with mortal affairs, and rewarded him with power in both the magical and monetary senses. No, I'm not jealous, shut up.

I paid the driver, and set off down Sam's long driveway. It was a bit of a walk, to be honest. Still not jealous. Reaching his house, I knocked three times on the door, and Sam himself opened it. He was a tall man, with platinum blond hair and a physique that made Hugh Jackman look like a pansy. He didn't even work out.

Sam always answered his own door. He wasn't born into privilege, and had to claw his way to the top for it. As a result, he never had, and likely never would, employ servants, preferring to do everything himself.

As the door opened, I found myself staring down the barrel of a rather large handgun. "Oh. Hey Sam, what's up? Can I come in?"

Sam's green eyes glared at me from the other end of the gun. He was young, at least a few years younger than I. But something about Sam suggested a much greater age than he possessed. Though he sometimes acted like an immature idiot, I considered him the voice of reason in our little duo. "I dunno. Can you?" He asked. With that, he moved back several paces, keeping the gun trained firmly on my center mass. I kept my hands up where he could see them, and crossed the threshold into his home.

Immediately I felt the lion's share of my magic cut off from my mind, and I squirmed a little at the sensation. Still, I understood his precaution. With the sheer number of creatures that could imitate the form of another, asking me to cross the threshold was an almost certain guarantee of who I was. Illusions would break, cut off from their source of power; and most shapechangers would be unable to cross at all.

His manner immediately jocular, Sam deposited his gun on a side table near the door (to this day, I swear he puts it there to make attempted robberies more interesting) and pulled me into a bear hug that threatened to crack several ribs. Again. "Good to see you Jase! What have you been up to?" Sam had never possessed a drop of magical talent on his own. His Patron couldn't just give him the power to cast spells, so, instead of magical power, his gifts came in the form of massively increased physical capabilities. His reflexes were faster than even the best human's, and he could easily crush bones with his bare hands.

I had never actually found out who his Patron was. Among those of us who have traded servitude for power, it was considered impolite to ask. Likewise, he had no idea who I served. If I had to guess though, I would say his master was one of the lower orders of dragon. Definitely one of the nicer ones, judging by his lack of burn scars.

I smiled weakly at his boisterous enthusiasm. "I'm doing pretty well, Sam. I was wondering if you wanted to come along on a little job of mine."

His eyes sparked with excitement. "Is it gonna be dangerous?"

My smile grew. "Utterly. Vampires and whatnot."

"Awesome!" He exclaimed, "I haven't had anything interesting happen in months!" He clapped me on the back and said, "Just chill out here for a few minutes, I need to grab my stuff." Sam practically sprinted back into the house; no doubt off to gather together a truly frightening amount of weaponry. If the police ever raided his house, they'd put him in jail for the next few centuries.

We had met several years ago when both of our Patrons tried to send us to kill the same guy. After a few misunderstandings, we laughed the whole thing off and had been friends ever since. We had both saved each other's lives so often that we would come recruit the other for help without even thinking. I had debated bringing Sam with me to Arctis Tor, but he rarely dealt with the fae, and limited exposure was almost always a good thing where Sidhe are concerned.

A great crash echoed from somewhere in the mansion, and muffled cursing followed shortly afterward. I smiled to myself. Sam reappeared shortly after, dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, with a loose, knee-length leather jacket thrown over it. His shirt read, in red letters, "Bite Me."

I laughed about that on and off the entire way to the Red Court's headquarters. Sam lived by the idea that if you had to go into dark places and confront horrific nightmares straight out of the twisted imaginings of humanity's darkest possible ideas and myths, it was best to laugh at them.

We rode in his car, which was also ridiculously nice. I hoped my magic would burn out the stereo. Still not jealous.

"Jay, I get what we're doing, I get why we're doing it, and I'm all for killing the bastards, but is kicking in the front door a good idea?" I frowned and shrugged.

"It's the only way to get what I need. I have to kill the people coming after my . . . responsibility, before they get another bite at the apple."

He glared at me. "You shut up. You shut the hell up with the puns. It is only funny when I do it!"

I leaned back in the seat of his car, grinning smugly. Sam managed to maintain his glare for a full three seconds before we both started laughing. After we had finished laughing ourselves silly, I said, "I know, it's not ideal, but I can't be sure who among the Reds knows and who doesn't. Best to just kill all of them after I get the information I need."

He looked at me askance. "And how important is this 'Marion Roberts' you're responsible for?"

I shrugged. "Apparently very much so. I don't see how, but 'ours is not to wonder why, ours is but to do and die.'" Sam raised his fist silently in a show of brotherhood. We among the magically indentured servants considered the Light Brigade to be kindred spirits. "All I know is that my orders are to keep her safe."

He nodded sympathetically. We'd both been through the 'only get told what you need to know' routine by our Patrons. Suddenly he smirked. "Is she pretty?"

I rolled my eyes. "That's not what this is about and you know-" I stopped and sighed. He'd literally never let this go. "Ah, to hell with it. Yeah, she's good looking."

Sam stared at me. "And you left her at your house. Alone. With the Red Court and possibly Winter hunting her down?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "It was all I could think of. I mean, I can't bring her with us, and you know my feelings about the best defense. Now, the threat will be eliminated for a much longer period of time."

Rolling his eyes, Sam remarked, "For a self-proclaimed coward, you sure are a bloodthirsty bastard." He sighed. "Any idea why your boss wants you to keep her safe for just two weeks? Seems a bit…" He thought for a moment, "Insufficient."

I shrugged, "No idea, man. I'm just a pawn in this game."

Sam parked his car a block away from the Red Court's building. We both got out and walked to the door. It was honestly one of the most innocuous buildings I had ever seen in my life. If anything, it looked too normal. Something was off.

I narrowed my eyes and really focused on the building itself. There was definitely some sort of spell on the building, a 'don't even bother looking here, nothing interesting to see' sort of mental influence. Anyone who passed wouldn't even see the building, unless they had some specific business there that made them concentrate enough to pierce the illusion.

It was clever, subtle magic; which only worried me more. Something with that kind of talent would be a heavy hitter in the magic department. Suddenly, the kicking in of doors didn't seem so wise. I turned to Sam and said, "New plan, we try diplomacy."

"Meet and greet the monsters?" he snorted. "Fine, let's just get it over with so negotiations can fall apart and we can all go back to violence." He glanced at me askance. "Knowing you, it's gonna happen before negotiations can even begin."

I glared at him. "Hey, it could be different this time. You don't know."

Sam smirked knowingly. "Just please try not to get me killed. I was gonna get an addition built on to the armory."

"Shut up, Sam."