A/N: since my stomach and I are finally back on speaking terms, I've been on a bit of a roll with the recent chapters. Hope this is up to your liking.

"I'd heard you were considered one of New York's finest," came a soft voice from somewhere in the shadows of the underground parking lot.

Mac's head snapped up. He had just gotten out of his car and was reaching to get his briefcase from the backseat when the voice had spoken. It had been several days since Artie's warning and he hadn't seen nor heard from her since.

She quietly emerged from behind one of the many concrete pillars that were in the underground parking of the NYPD building. He blinked at her rather unusual attire; black fedora, slim black slacks, long fitted black blazer, polished black shoes, black gloves, and a dark red blouse that was open at the collar. Her only jewelry appeared to be a large gleaming silver medallion that hung from a chain around her neck. So used to seeing her in ordinary street clothes, it was a bit of a surprise to see her in formal wear.

In answer to her statement, he said, "I've been told I am, yes."

She began to walk towards him with slow, measured steps and said, "So I'm correct in understanding that you're a veteran cop as well as an experienced former Marine?"

"Yes," he replied, wondering where this was going.

"Then why the hell didn't you act like it, you stupid sonovabitch!" she suddenly exploded, rage etching her features.

His eyebrows shot up at the sudden verbal assault.

"I'm sorry?" he said, not liking this and wondering where the hell it had come from.

"You're supposed to be a cop! You're supposed to have more brains than most of the morons on the streets! Why the hell didn't you call for back-up before entering that goddamn alley! You knew better than that! For fuck's sake, haven't you done enough crime scenes where bodies have been found in dark alleys?" she yelled, gesturing angrily. "Use your fucking head, Stubby! You could have been killed, dumbass!"

"I didn't have time to call for back-up!" he snapped, becoming defensive.

"And I don't have time to attend another goddamn funeral! I've already attended two this month; I sure as hell don't want to attend another one, especially yours! Don't you know that little girl-voice thing is one of the oldest tricks in the fucking book? And you call yourself a man of science!" She spun around in disgust, throwing her hands up in the air. "Good grief, Stubby, what are you trying to do; send yourself to an early grave? 'Cause you're going the right way about it!" She spun back, stalked towards him, and jabbed a finger at him. "Your questions are going to get some good people killed if you don't back the hell off!"

"Then start answering the questions, damnit! There's something in your eyes, something that says you've seen a lot of pain, and I want to help you!" he protested. "But I can't do that if you won't answer my questions! Are you involved in a cult or something? Damnit, Artie, you're just a kid!"

Her eyes went cold and the hairs on the back of Mac's neck rose as a result. Then, with absolutely no warning, she struck.

He found himself being kicked viciously in the chest and slammed against one of the concrete pillars. Before he could move or react, something flashed past his eyes and hit the pillar with a metallic-sounding clang. He froze when he felt the cold touch of metal pressing against his neck. Without moving his head, he looked towards what was against his neck and felt his heart stop. It was a slim, steel double-edged dagger with no hilt and it was firmly in Artie's grasp. He carefully reached for his gun… and heard the unmistakable click of the safety on his gun being pulled back.

"Looking for something?" she whispered coldly, less than three inches away from his face.

One of his worst nightmares coming true, Mac looked down and saw his gun in her hand, aimed at his stomach.

"I can take care of myself, Stubby, obviously better than you can." she hissed. "Since you're so damn determined to know me, I'll tell you what I am; I'm a killer, not a kid, and I haven't been a kid for a long time. Matter of fact, I often wonder if I dreamed it all. I've killed before and I'll kill again. I draw the line at humans as part of my code, but there are others who don't follow that code. The Children aren't a cult, we're the Called; there's a difference. We stick together out of a need for survival, both for our sake and for dumb jackasses like you. Consider this your last warning, Stubby; stay the hell out of my world."

She stepped back, dagger and gun in hand. Calmly putting the safety back on his gun, she held it up to him with one finger through the trigger guard. "Here's your toy back; it's useless in my world," she said.

He accepted the gun and said, "You do know that carrying a concealed weapon is against the law?"

She just glared at him as she slipped the dagger back into its hiding spot under her blazer. "So arrest me, asshole; I could do with a good night's sleep; haven't had one in a long time."

Deciding to let the subject drop and try and turn the tables on her, he asked, "What was it that was in that alleyway?"

"A fucking nightmare, that's what! I'd been tracking that thing for over two weeks and the little girl voice is its favorite bait trick! And then you get involved, damn near get yourself strangled, never mind clobbered senseless, and I ruin my favorite jacket taking the damn thing down!" she gripped. "And that was just a small one!"

Mac's eyebrows shot up at this typical display of teenage behavior. "You're pissed off because the… monster… ruined your favorite jacket?"

"Yeah, no thanks to you!"

"I'll replace the damn jacket!" he snapped.

"That's not the point, you moron! It was a nice jacket and I swiped it off a cop!"

"Which cop?" he asked suspiciously.

She smiled sweetly. "One I hated. Boy-oh sure had good taste in clothes, especially for one who looked like a certain Greek Adonis."

He hesitated as he remembered some rumors Stella had passed on to him from the cop grapevine. "What did you do?"

She grinned broadly and said, "Some things you're better off not knowing."

"Artie…" he warned.

"What! I didn't do anything… much," she protested indignantly. Then she sighed heavily. "Look, Stubby, all said and done, for some stupid reason I like you, okay? I've seen too much death and sorrow. I've lost too many friends and too much family. I don't want to loose you and I sure as hell don't want to attend your funeral any time soon, all right?"

"It cuts both ways, Artie."

She shrugged and said, "Who says you'll be attending my funeral? Girls like me, we don't get funerals, just memorials, if we're lucky." He opened his mouth to say something and she raised a silencing hand. "Leave it at that, Stubby, leave it at that." And with that, she began to walk away. "Oh, by the way, how did the cop look with blue hair?" she called over her shoulder.

"Artie, what did you do?" he demanded suspiciously.

She didn't reply directly. Instead, as her walk turned in to a sashay, she began to sing, "'Cause I got friends in low places / Where whisky drowns and the beer chases / My blues away and I'll be okay / I'm not big on social graces / Think I'll slip on down to the oasis / Oh I got friends in low places."

Mac didn't know whether to laugh or groan.