It was raining again. I remembered as a kid, on Halloween, it snowed once. A miserable trek for cheap sugar and cavities. For as much relief as I usually found in the gentle, steady pattering of it, rain in mid-November felt like a soft warning. I rolled and stretched, accidentally making contact with the wall past the end of my bed. It was obnoxious, being so tall, but I at least got to curl back up under my warm warm blanket.

The sun had already set over the city of Rouge Hills, which was normally a good sign, since I didn't have to deal with as many gawkers, but winter in Michigan meant more time for the nocturnally demonic to wander. With any luck, work would stay quiet.

Turning on my side, I grabbed my phone, making it the first light on in the house for the night. It was pleasantly cool, a side effect of having a house built before insulation was legally required. There was one new message in my business email, which was hopeful enough on a gas-money level, or if I was lucky, some new tires.

Psychometrics should technically have been in-demand amongst the mundane law enforcement community, since I could actually do it, but most of the inquiries I got were from the magical community. This looked to be much of the same; obvious Sobekian bloodstone, some sort of amulet, a stake, and…

"...the fuck?" I squinted as I zoomed in on the photo.

In tarnished silver, a spoon sat included among the rest of the trinkets. It didn't look particularly magical, being devoid of runes or sigils. But I can't see the back, I thought with a frown.

Panning over to the amulet, it didn't seem like anything I'd run across before, but it did have someone's sigil on it. That would have been enough to keep me occupied at work that night, just looking up who that might have been referring to, but that depended on how busy we were.

I could have gone cheap for four items, a bundle deal, but a stake in this subculture meant vampire hunter, and without an absolute certainty with regards to the remaining number of Slayers in the world, it could be one of them asking. I ran a free hand through my hair, pausing briefly at my horns. Whether or not I could tangle with one was always a mystery to me, and not one I was keen on figuring out, so I set the price at $850, handed out my availability, and sent off the reply. New tires, oil change, and some new clothes, I thought, plus the requisite tailoring. It would cover the HubWork office rental for that day, too, but what I needed to operate was so cheap that it barely factored in.

After I rolled out of bed, I wandered out to the living room. There was a fresh polyester uniform shirt draped across the chaise. Cool, I thought, laundry's tomorrow. The red-fielded company patch spoke little but lies. "WRH Security Logistics" was a cover, providing hourly employment to demons under the premise of serving wounded American servicemembers. If anyone looked too hard, they'd play off demonic features as disfigurement, and someone from the parent company dealt with doubts beyond that.

The dryer was full of clean undergarments, which meant I had three hours to get ready for work, and no menial chores to worry about, so I grabbed what I needed and headed to the shower. My vampire co-workers complained about troll smell on a good day, so I could never risk being less than hypervigilant on hygiene. As I turned on the water, I wondered who else was on that night.

"All right, everyone," our overly chipper manager said, "We have some new faces around, so before we change over, I wanted to brief you all on some new situations brewing."

I was glad I braided my hair. It was nicely plaited, and what better way to flex on vampires than to look good? Most of them never took the job as seriously, but if they'd read the contract, they wouldn't have such big fucking egos. The one with the shaved head was trying to stare me down, but doing that from a foot shorter was kind of comical.

"This is our veteran night team," Chuck explained to the new guys, "And of course, Suliya has been a strong presence here. Heads up gentlemen, if you're a little hot-headed, she is not the one to pick a fight with."

Being singled out, just because I was the tallest, strongest, greenest, and most-horned was kind of frustrating, due in part to the fact that it made me a target of ire. I tore the head off of one who not only did zero work, but had the gall to hit me. I've been told he has since been stuck in a weird company purgatory.

"And of course, these are our new supplementary staff members," Chuck went on, "Most have been turned in the last few weeks in preparation for some new concerns."

New concerns were bad news. The last time was two years ago, when they were guarding a warlock. Our old boss, Ziotakara, got trapped in a weird spell from the client's rival, which was a shame, because he was more about the work than the vibes. I couldn't stand Chuck's micromanagement and power trips.

"For the foreseeable future," he said, "We'll have a client in-house. Ms Freer, would you join us?"

A vampire, a young woman, stepped into the meeting room. She was dressed in some baggy jeans with a lace top, and basically nothing between us and the windows to her soul. Do you just get to have nips out when you're dead? I wondered as I fixed my gaze straight ahead at nothing.

"Team, this is Tessa Freer," Chuck gestured, "She'll be up in the suite for a month or so, and we're just waiting for a couple of things to blow over, so we're going high-priority on rounds. I want two person teams heading out at five-minute intervals, and if you perceive anything, it's report-in first, then fall back."

It can't be that important, I considered, because we're kind of a trash fire. Even being harsh, I wasn't wrong. This was low-tier stuff, working out at a factory on the outskirts of town at night. By all external measures, we were an auto parts manufacturer, just another one in the supply chain, and not exactly uncommon considering Detroit's Big Three were a half hour away. If anything, a highly visible security force belied the truth of the safehouse inside.

It angered me. Yes, cameras and spells could be hacked by a capable outside force. But the interior of the factory had more defenses for personnel, and as one of them, I was pretty invested in employee safety. Just… not when the other employees laid hands on me.

"Now, Tessa has agreed not to travel," Chuck interrupted her thoughts, "But she is also an extra-capable woman, and not to be trifled with."

"Why's that?" the overly-performative shaved-head guy piped up, arms crossed.

"I'm a Slayer," Tessa said, vamp-faced.

"Correct," Chuck nodded, "So if it helps, remember that you've got some very decent backup."

I felt the blood rise up in my face. She's probably the one likeliest to live, I thought, even with my regeneration.

"Can I ask," I finally spoke, "Who can we expect at the front door?"

"Ah, yeah," Chuck looked a little more hesitant, "That's where I'm gonna let Greel take the reins."

"Fucking hell," I growled, pointing at the dossiers spread across the desk, "Every hell, Greel!"

The roster of do-gooders was looking insane. There was a half-Tarrack Ash Williams wannabe, something called a Breagadoir, a girl named Aoife listed as a Scion, whatever that meant, and one of the buffest Slayers I'd ever seen. Like yeah, they're strong, but I'd never considered that there could be a Slayer with buff arms and rounded shoulders. What could she possibly be lifting? I wondered amidst exasperation.

"Out of anyone, you'll be okay," the middle-aged Stidinae demon shrugged.

"I still feel pain!" I threw my arms out as I protested, "I don't wanna get chainsawed by this 47-year-old Denji motherfucker!"

"Go do your round," Greel waved her off, "Take this guy, his name is Daniel."

"It's uh, good to meet you," the young blonde vampire nodded.

"Yeah," I replied, defeated.

"So," Daniel started awkwardly, "How long you been working?"

"Five years," I answered a little terse, "I'm just glad I could find anything besides sex work."

"You don't have any, like," he searched for a word, "Treasure or something?"

"Like you, I was turned," I looked off over at the berms that ringed the property, "I still have a social security number and my previous legal identity."

"That's really lucky," the young man said, seeming surprised, "My mom had a funeral for me, so, like, I'm persona non-grata until they put the paperwork through."

Some of the vamps got that kind of a deal. The company would work out deals to provide legal statuses for the recently deceased and otherworldly, but it took a lot of the paycheck. From what I could tell, they ended up keeping the subpar earnings equal to the federal minimum wage, rather than the higher Michigan one. Add in all the contractual stipulations, and it looked like indentured servitude.

"You'd be surprised how quickly luck turns," I said bitterly.

"Oh, like, did you get cursed?" he asked.

"I mean, I technically got what I wanted," I gestured to myself, "I wanted to be a strong, beautiful woman, but the demon who hooked me up added another descriptor."

"Giant?" Daniel laughed, "Or green?"

"Troll," I replied, resisting the urge to dust him, "I kinda hope they get you before me."

"You're a better target," he shrugged.

"Yeah, but I can pull a crossbow bolt out of my chest and be fine enough to keep fighting," I pointed out, "You'd be a bit of dust barely worth a vacuum."

"Is a Slayer actually that good?" Daniel frowned, "It kinda sounds exaggerated."

"Believe me, vampire slayers were made for killing your type," I said, "And they just so happen to be good at putting down most demons, too."

"I dunno, I feel like if there was a March of a Thousand Vampires, we'd be unstoppable."

I was eleven when the March of a Thousand happened, but I remember that the Twilight Apocalypse was only narrowly averted. Most of the Slayers died or were MIA, but no one knew who was still haunting the demon communities on Earth. Still a bounty on an accurate list, I knew.

"I mean, as long as it happens at night," I said, not really paying attention to him.

A certain, anxious queasiness rolled in as I hung up my temporary sign. Cosmic Consults was a dumb name, but masquerading as a cosplaying psychic, offering all the standards to curious humans, let me go out in public during the day. The real business, reading the psychic residue on inanimate objects, was rarer, but it was the real cash cow.

But work was increasingly on edge. My clients that day were unknowns. All the internet identity checks turned up digital ghosts, so they were using cover names and probably burner phones, throwaway emails. It was stupid to accept the reading, but I really needed the additional cash. And that guy keeps staring, I glanced over.

"Hi," I smiled at him, subtly reaching for one of my business cards.

"Hi, um," he looked immediately flustered, "Sorry for uh–"

"Costume's doing exactly what I intended, I promise," I widened my smile, "If you ever want a reading, I do little pop-up psychic readings. In character, obviously."

"Wait, so are you actually that tall?" his eyes poured over me.

"Cleverly disguised stilts," I sauntered over, presenting my card, "But I am kinda tall, even in my human form."

"Ah, 'Suliya'?" he looked back and forth from the card, "And what's your real name?"

"That's a secret for now," I replied coyly, "What about yours?"

"Ed," he replied, getting an uncertain grin of his own, "How often do you 'pop-up'?"

"Depends on demand," I tilted my head a little, "Just let me know."

"I will," he nodded.

I spun around and threw my hips into the walk. I felt like a bad bitch in a tight dress and some heels, just glad that someone saw. Would have been better if it was a cute girl, though, I thought, looking around the rental office halls.

The single, rented office room had a decent desk, and I began unpacking my bag. Crystal balls were sorta hacky, but with the mid-2010s resurgence of all the old stuff, I'd picked up a few. Different crystals held different meanings, and I used the common interpretations of them, plus an easy illusion spell, to perform different functions. Tarot cards as a good standby. Palmistry charts nearby, check. Aromatherapy scents, double check. Pylean runes were a specialty, given that most humans hadn't seen them and didn't understand how they were parsed. Men usually liked that one, second only to palm reads.

I set up my open hours, posted on the business socials, and waited. A handful of middle-class women from the more permanent side of the office building came in together, and I gave them the whole show. First illusions of the day were usually the crispiest, and creating little temperature differences on cue really got the 50% tip I neither suggested nor asked for, though that was after they insisted on checking for the machines. I invited them to look; Sunnydale Syndrome meant that a group of people could stare directly at magic and still deny its reality. When they couldn't find a shred of evidence, that's when I got the extra cash. I'd have traded it for the short woman's number.

They turned out to be the only casuals for the day. It was fine; they'd covered the office cost and a full-size lunch. A couple of triple patty burgers from a better-than-golden-arches chain, complete with bacon, jalapenos, and a vinegary habanero hot sauce from home. Complete with a small bucket of fries and a couple of energy drinks, and I was in heaven.

Hearing a shuffle, I set down the now-empty Red Bull can and looked sheepishly to the doorway. Oh, shit, I realized.

It was the Breagadoir and the Slayer Who Lifts. In the moment my eyes widened, the Slayer closed the door.

"Didn't think I'd see a pregnant troll in a mini-dress," the human woman said, taking point.

"Hey, I just ate," I protested, "It was a day's worth of calories!"

"It works for you," the man said, his voice a little monotone, "Very flattering."

"Not now, Vincent," the Slayer looked annoyed.

"Fine."

"We're just doing the reading, right?" I asked slowly, "We're not gonna fight?"

"Just the reading," the Slayer answered, "No fight. Though the price feels like you're asking for the octagon."

"It was because of the aliases," I insisted, "And what I'm now sure is a Slayer's item. I'm a little too non-human to deal with a zealous Slayer, ya know?"

The two looked at each other. They may have been moving the back foot, which I pressed.

"It's why I picked this building," I gestured, "During the daytime. Lots of witnesses? Higher profile for out-of-towners that get a little murdery."

"No one's getting murdery," the Slayer rolled her eyes.

"Alright, well," I shook my head, "Let's see the trinkets."

The seemingly human man offered up a little backpack, and I let the memories of it flow in. It wasn't any of the things they asked me to read, but I wanted to know what a Breagadoir was like. The dossiers at work were barely helpful.

His thoughts and feelings were a little more alien than usual. He was verbalizing the struggle between his demonic neurochemistry and the instincts of the human body, to everyone's chagrin. James, the visually human half-demon with a chainsaw, shot back the most. Olivia, the extra-strong Slayer, sometimes showed patience, but less in tense situations. Aoife, she was so beautiful that I couldn't stand it, and would flirt with everyone. I wished I knew if it was for social maneuvering or bisexuality, but I couldn't tell.

"Okay," I said through my sensing, "How often have the items been handled?"

"Once, then bagged," Olivia nodded.

"Right, good," I replied distantly. They've dealt with psychics before, I thought before I began removing objects.

The Sobekian bloodstone was the first thing I grabbed. Already I was getting flashes of the Hurod dealer that sold it. Instructions on its myriad uses, a combo with… The amulet. I reached for that next. Much of the same, but rather than the traditional summoning the stone was known for, the amulet was a conduit for using the Sobekian artifact thaumaturgically. The buyer? Tessa Freer. Awesome, I thought as the blood drained from my face.

"Oh," I played it off as surprise, "A Slayer who's been turned."

It was as much to instill confidence in my abilities as it was to hide the fact that I already knew that. A demon being afraid of a sociopathic Slayer was expected; my knowledge of her current whereabouts could be buried underneath. Olivia nodded while Vincent just stared ponderously.

The stake was a weird one. Traditionally, you make it straight, more like a weapon and less like the vaguely organic ornament this seemed to be. The thin little tip, up from a more solid spiral shaft, should have snapped off years ago, like on first use. It had been held by four separate Slayers, with Olivia being the latest. Prior, it was Tessa, then Buffy Summers, and a Slayer I wasn't entirely familiar with, Kendra Young. Must've died quick, I surmised. As far as I knew, the Big Two were Buffy and a woman named Faith Lehane, prior to the Potentials being awoken. It had a name, and over twenty-five years of history; Mister Pointy was well on its way to being the next Slayer artifact.

"Mister Pointy?" I asked incredulously.

"I didn't name it," Olivia shook her head.

"And the spoon?" I held it up, looking for clues.

"It was at the scene of a killing in town," Vincent said, "We're wondering if it's the dead Slayer."

"Ah, see, that is what I should be doing," I let the history in, "Actually solving crimes the way fake psychics only pretend to."

As with the others, I moved past the initial impressions, but I went too far. I got memories of the girl eating. A seemingly delicious soup with a side of… hilarious salad? I didn't understand, so I dialed forward. Chili stew this time, but a shadow in the background. A flash of sandy blonde and fangs, and the memories picked up again with the chainsaw guy picking up the spoon.

"Daniel Stolt," I said in recognition. The new guy. I was stunned.

"Not Tessa Freer?" Olivia's brow creased.

"No, this is a young guy," I shook my head, "18 or 19? Early college age. Vamp."

"We got that, thanks," Olivia rolled her eyes as she approached the desk. She began packing everything up while I sat, unsure of what to do or say.

"So, uh," I reached for any words, "If there's anything more I can do, help on the hunt…"

"You're a little pricey," the Slayer gave her a mirthless smile.

"I thought I was gonna be in trouble," I explained, gesturing pathetically, "You're a Slayer, I'm a troll, things have been looking pretty bad lately. It was an optimistic hope that I could make it comfortably into next month."

"Why do you need money?" Vincent looked confused, "Wouldn't you be at home under a bridge?"

"Okay, you seem a little spectrumy, so I'm gonna say this nicely," I took a breath, "I was human, I did not mean to be a troll, I want to have my life in the society I was raised in, free of baby-eating or bridge-dwelling."

"You forgot stealing women," Olivia sideyed me.

"Oh, I mean, I'm gay, so I'm still down for that," I joked. When they didn't laugh, I knew it was not the tack to take.

"Alright, alright," I held my hands up in a sort of surrender, "I'm asking to keep working with you because I may have some insight into what you're looking to accomplish."

Olivia marched up and yanked me forward by the neckline of my dress.

"Spill it," she growled.

"Please let go," I said calmly, staring right back into her dark brown eyes.

"Ah, Olivia," Vincent held up a finger, "Trolls are known–"

"I know," she replied, letting go of me.

I hadn't realized how quickly my body responded until she unhanded me. Heart pounding, blood rushing, whatever the troll equivalent to adrenaline was. I mean, might just be adrenaline, came the absurd intrusive thought. Everything I felt said it was fighting time, but I had to keep my cool at all costs.

"I need to know a couple things," I exhaled, trying to get my parasympathetic responses to kick in, "One, how do you-all pay your bills, and two, do you know anybody that can negate a high-powered magical contract?"

Work was different for the next couple of weeks. Knowing I could just quit at any time made me a little more open with my resentments to co-workers and the bosses. They were already fucking off during our shift, including the boy, who was now sipping on a blood bag like it was Capri Sun.

"I think you're taking it a little too seriously," Daniel said as a trickle of blood made its way down the side of his mouth, "It's just a job. Hell, if I hear of a big score, I'm outta here."

"You didn't read the fine print," I shrugged, "You're not going anywhere, dude."

"I doubt that," he replied smugly, "I've got prospects, and an eternally 19 year old body, I'll be moving up."

A red flash off in the distance. I looked over to see if he caught it, but he took a self-congratulatory drink of the blood. I let him take a couple steps ahead, then reached up and wrenched his head off. The dust coated my hands, and got into the scoring on my maglite as I signaled back. Two for the go-ahead, I clicked a couple times. I heard the Bronco roar to life before it leapt over the south berm. I wiped my hands on my shirt while I waited.

The old Bronco frame was lifted and used 48", seriously toothy tires, so I kinda knew they were gonna drive across a farm to get here. Helpfully, they ran up the old Waskevic farm that had been abandoned a couple months ago. They were dealing with a few too many weird things, and one that ate the husband, so Mrs. Waskevic high-tailed it out of state. The Slayer and her crew said they'd clear it out if anything looked off. Based on their being an hour late, I'd say they had.

I fed the demon hunters the real layout of the factory, with the safehouse suites on the west side, and the actual capacity of the present security force, along with the magical defenses. But instead of an impregnable fortress, we were going in through one of the doors security was told to run to in case the factory was invaded. The Bronco was here, and the big scaries poured out.

John Miller practically leap out of the driver's seat, chainsaw in hand. Half-Tarracks tended to look human, but I could see the bloodlust rising in him. Incurably violent brutes, even watered down. It probably took a monklike level of willpower to have lived a normal life.

Olivia Garcia hopped down out of the passenger's side. She had Mister Pointy in hand, and it was clear where she was going first. It was a complete 180 from the last time I met her, because now she put me at ease.

Vincent and the Scion climbed out of the back. The old 80's style cab had a door that swung open off the tail end as opposed to any sort of rear passenger doors on the sides, and Vincent ambled out the most awkward. I waved and pointed to the door.

"Going in here," I turned back to the group, "Splits are still Vincent, Olivia, and the rest of us on henchman duty, right?"

"Yeah, that's the plan," Olivia nodded, "But I need to be uninterrupted while I fight Freer."

"I still say it's not the time for vendettas," the middle-aged John glowered, "Plus I kinda wanna hit her with the DeWalt."

"Suliya! It's good to finally meet you!" Aoife bounced up to the front, "I'm really looking forward to working with you, and I love your hair!"

The girl had a heart-shaped face and mane of red hair on her own. She was also the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. Please don't let this be inappropriate or illegal to think about, I begged the heavens. I couldn't place her age, which made me more anxious.

She was the one I'd be transferring the contract to. Vincent claimed he wasn't powerful enough to void what I had with Wolfram & Hart, but given her extradimensional ties, Aoife and her patron or whatever were people the parent company was loath to tangle with. He could, however, use the origin point of the contract signing to rewrite terms, including my employer. He just needed half an hour for the ritual.

"Thank you," I managed, "We ready?"

"Yup!" Aoife happily held up a bastard sword, "It's mostly vampires, right? So, decapitation?"

"As long as you're using something other than sharp wood, yeah," I replied, "If you're strong enough, you can punch or pull the heads off."

"Good to know!" the young woman nodded, "Sometimes weapons break."

Well *I* know that, I thought, perplexed, is she new? Oh God, she's probably a kid.

"Let's move, already," John was practically vibrating with violence.

We jogged up to the emergency exit door, which sprouted a badge reader as I got close. Magitech had grown leaps and bounds since the aughts, and if anyone had it, it was her employers. I beeped in and held the door. I'm gonna be free, I thought, getting ready to fight.

"Down there and on the left, if you forgot," I said to Vincent.

"I didn't," he replied, walking briskly away.

"Alright, I'm gonna radio in," I nodded, "They'll clump up down by the lobby, though if we're unlucky, there's probably a couple on the west side. Olivia, there's an executive bathroom you can hide out in til they pass by."

:"Already have it memorized," Olivia nodded.

"They're supposed to be guarding Freer, so they might actually escort her forward," I warned, "Can you take them out before the odds are stacked."

"Yup," the Slayer replied, "I'm off to go do that."

"Suliya–" Aoife tapped me on the arm. I looked down the hall, and John was already marching his way into the massacre.

"Let's catch up, yeah?" I looked down at her. I had no idea what her powers were, but I'd been assured I didn't have to look after her in battle. Somehow, I was doubting that.

We jogged up, and reminded him not to start the motor till we knocked the door in. He just grunted and we were largely silent the rest of the way. I had half a mind to steal stuff, because who couldn't use a few extra computers around the house, but the worried side of me thought they might be magically geotagged, if not traceable over the internet. But I could wipe the hard drives, I considered. With the lobby doors in sight, I was ready to jump ahead and punch them across the room, but John stopped me.

"She's probably stronger," was all he said.

Oh, so *that* kind of "doesn't need babysitting," I noted, letting the girl go to the front. I silently questioned who she worked for that she was blessed with more-than-troll strength. She was more like a curvy model than an athlete. Stop, I told myself, stop thinking about her body.

The door blew inward, apparently striking a few guards based on the reactions I was hearing, and we leapt into battle. John's DeWalt roared to life, and so did he, starting to laugh as soon as he connected. We were all super-strong as far as I could tell, which helped when you were outnumbered by demons given the all-clear to fight.

A vampire shrieked, the high-pitched screams making it sound like a human on fire, and John cackled like a maniac as undead blood sprayed his face. Aoife was a little unpracticed, but so fast that I briefly stopped swinging just because I couldn't believe it. The bald one was squaring up, though, and it was finally time to prove who was better.

"Suliya, you traitorous bitch!" Chucked screamed from the corner of the room, "The parent company will torture you for the rest of your miserable puke-green life!"

"You wish," I said, blocking some punches, "I got a better deal than they could offer!"

"If you wanted a raise, all you had to do was ask!" her former warlock manager shouted, "You've worked here long enough for at least a five cent raise!"

"Five cents?!" I stepped out of range of a punch, "Man, fuck you, Chuck!"

With the outrage of that, I punched the bald vampire so hard I felt all the bones in his torso shatter. He was now stuck, laying immobile and groaning. Greel called out from a booth.

"Suliya, you've made a lotta connections here," he scolded, "Don't throw that away."

"Greel, I can cut you in on something that won't leave you enslaved in the afterlife," I walked over and stomped on the bald one's head, erasing him, "Just say the word."

"Oh," the demon replied, "Uh, do you get paid? Because I have an apartment downtown–"

"Downtown?" I looked absolutely baffled, "How much more do you make than the rest of us?"

"60k a year," he leaned into the mic.

"Chuck, I'm gonna torture you to death," I knocked an assailant away.

"I think not!" the human held out his hands. I was lifted off my feet, dangling as used telekinesis to hold me by my spine. It was alternatively excruciating, and causing some numbness that was a welcome break from the pain.

"Hey!" I heard Aoife's voice through the din, "She works for me now!"

I dropped stiffly on the ground, scrambling to at least sit up. The guards were starting to pile up on John, who, to be fair, did have the highest kill count so far. Aoife leapt in to help, and I stared at Chuck's two parts. The girl bisected him from his left shoulder to his lower right ribs, and his face was frozen in unfocused horror. Well, at least he's dead, I thought as my nerves repaired themselves. Someone kicked me in the face, and I felt my nose break.

"Agh, shit!" I held my face. I could get up now, so I hopped up as fast as I could manage. I set my schnoz so that it would heal normal in a few moments, and looked for the culprit. It was a woman named Katie, and she was one of the lucky ones that had those taser batons. She shot me as I swung, and I jittered and fell, but it was a booboo I'd quickly be free of. As soon as I got back up again, Katie turned and ran out the front door.

The weird part was that she reappeared in the lobby. I laughed.

"Oh, you're fucked, Katie," I said as I stalked up to kicking range.

"Please don't," she begged me.

I booted her right in the chest, causing her corpse to fly out the doors once more, and again reappear inside. It slid a few feet, leaving a sluggish streak across the high-polish floor, but not enough to repeat the cartoonish scene. I hadn't known she was human, but it made sense that she had a weapon.

With a guttural effort, John shouted and duplicated Aoife's slaying of my boss, albeit, a tad slower as the chainsaw chewed its way through Bol, the Taxni guard we had on staff. He didn't have to; Taxni were alive and had vital bits the same as we did, but far be it from me to tell him not to. Greel walked out from the booth as we finished up.

"Can you really get me out of here?" he asked, cautiously hopeful.

"Yeah, dude," I replied, looking at the blood absolutely dripping off of John, "It was in the rider. Me and you, if you chose."

"And we'll be working for you?" Greel pointed at Aoife.

"I never thought I'd have servants, but that's the way to get you away from Wolfram and Hart," the young woman shrugged.

"We should check on Olivia," John said out of breath.

"How much of that blood is yours, bud?" I asked, pointing at his wounds.

"I'll heal," he waved me off, "But if I pass out, I can take A- and O-negative."

"We can hit the snack fridge on the way," I nodded.

"That's not so bad," John said, elevating the blood bag, "Just cold."

"It'd be nice to cool down a little faster after combat," Aoife offered.

"It's November, it's forty degrees outside," he pointed out.

We walked slowly, keeping pace with the wounded madman, but the sounds of Slayers fighting traveled down to us. They were still quipping, but Olivia sounded like she was losing steam. I glanced at a clocked mounted above the cubicles outside the factory floor; Vincent would have been about halfway done with his spell, and the Slayers would probably have been fighting stalemate for a while. I knew she was stronger than average, I thought, recalling Olivia's well-muscled arms. What I didn't know was Tessa Freer's powers as an undead Slayer.

As soon as we ventured into the white-walled, white-tiled factory floor, Tessa threw Olivia into some big machine. The rollers off the end fell with an awful clatter, and the blue machine's insides were way more visible. Nothing was running; it was, after all, the middle of the night, and even the temp workers were gone by now. It was just damage to WRH Automotive's capital, which felt just fine to me. Fuck 'em, I thought, making a face and doing a little head tilt.

Except exhaustion wasn't as much of a thing for vampires, apparently, and it was much clearer seeing it than hearing it. I couldn't believe we couldn't jump in.

"Tessa!" I called out, "What kind of shit Slayer actually gets turned into a vampire?"

"And did you keep low-rise jeans?" Aoife figured out what I was doing, "Because that sounds like the only good luck you've had since 2005."

The two of us kept talking shit for a bit, allowing Olivia to get back up to even footing. It wasn't a steady improvement; Freer seemed to be tuning them out better over time. That is, until John finally said something.

"All hip bones, no ass," he said, loud enough to be heard over the tennis grunting of the Slayers.

"What are you even talking abou–?!" the vamped up Slayer's attention truly broke.

Olivia took the opening and absolutely buried that weird legacy stake in her opponent's heart. Tessa looked up.

"Goddamn it," she managed before falling to ash.

Olivia huffed, sweaty and covered in various machine-needed liquids, and then dropped Mister Pointy.

"Ow," she said, waving her hand. She looked up at us, put her hands on her waist, and nodded, "Alright, so I think I got it. Magic stake."

I took my own car to their headquarters, a $90,000 apartment in the bourgie part of town. We toweled down as best we could in the parking garage, since Aoife didn't want to deal with as much blood and dust as we got on the interior of the Bronco.

The amount of power and wealth at this girl's disposal made me feel like an idiot. Here I was, with a $40,000 house that I'll owe on for another decade, and here she was, at whatever age, about to employ me. I touched around my hairline, where there was still some grime. I hope her shower is big enough for me.

"Okay, so," Aoife clapped her hands together, "I know it's an apartment, but in the spirit of mid-Michigan, I have a 'mud room' of sorts for just this occasion."

We weren't in mid-Michigan. We were north of Ann Arbor and Ypsilanti, in what used to be farmland until Abraham Petrosyic decided he wanted to be the next Alexander Manoogian and founded Rouge Hills. The thing is, we never had the early 20th century wealth Detroit had, so a lot of our architecture looked about the same as they did when they were built in the Post-War Era. Manufacturing was big for a while, but became parceled out amongst out-of-state companies in recent decades, just feeding into the automotive industry.

But mid-Michigan? Nah, not half an hour from Detroit. Not near two college towns. We were, at best, another part of the working class feeding into Ann Arbor's economy, like Ypsi, and at worst, the latest city in the state with an uptick in the demon population.

We stripped down to whatever garments wasn't soaked, with the men standing outside until we switched into loaner clothes Aoife kept around. I had to wear a men's XL t-shirt, and it was still pretty snug. A second set was mysteriously supplied once we hopped out of the shower. This girl had basically everything and more.

The Scion also had some kind of invisible, intangible servant around. I thought maybe it was a ghost, but I couldn't tell. Whatever it was, it bussed around a food cart, offering us canapes and champagne. I wasn't used to drinking or celebrating victories, but that's because a drunk troll could get up to a lot of trouble. And having a crap job leads to few victories, I clenched my jaw.

"Anyone wanna toast?" Aoife looked around.

"Good fights, good mission," John offered. He looked odd to me in clothes I supposed were in-fashion loungewear for men Aoife's age.

"To new friends, and new heights," Olivia went next, holding up her glass.

No one had anything else, so we said cheers and took our sips. I was glad for the unseen servant, since I was eating more than the others, and it never failed to have a supply of fresh finger food. They went over a quick debrief, which I appreciated, since my old team never took that sort of thing seriously. And we got *paid* for doing that, I remembered with great annoyance.

"And new business," Olivia said, "I think we should start a proper company, at least as a cover for hunting."

"Can't exactly be aromatherapy," John scoffed.

"And no one hires private investigators," I said, "Believe me, I was looking for any other job before security."

"But you do have your side gig," Vincent pointed out, "You made at least $850 the day we met you."

"Yeah, I guess so," I scrunched up my face, "But you were a rare case. I set that price because it seemed dangerous, and you're one of the few that didn't cancel."

"Okay, so we'll lower prices on that," Aoife ticked her fingers, "And we'll call it a psychic investigation firm. That way we can do the real thing, the parlor trick stuff, and throw in some brief mentions of standard P.I. stuff. Do you have your license?"

"Technically, yes," I admitted.

"Then you're the face!" she said happily, "And we can list the rest of us as agents of the business, right?"

"Yeah, that's… exactly how it works," I stared at her, bewildered.

"Do I have to clock in?" John looked over to the Scion.

"I mean, we could probably just do salaries, that way, hours don't mean much, and we can all pay our rent," Aoife shrugged, "Plus it'll help since we have a lot to do at night."

We chattered for a while, falling off one-by-one. John and Greel went home first, followed by Vincent, and eventually, so did Olivia. I was about to follow her out, until Aoife insisted I stay.

"We should drink more," she said, "I've got a couple spare rooms, and there's one with a California king; I think you'll definitely fit in that one."

Stretching all the way out on a bed did sound enticing, especially if my limbs dangled less. Plus, it's like staying at a fancy hotel, I tried convincing myself, when do you ever do that?

"I'm big," I gestured up and down, "How strong is your booze? Also, are you old enough to drink?"

"I turned 21 this year," Aoife laughed, "And yeah, I've got something stronger."

Thanks for reading. I've been making characters with the Buffy and Angel Eden Studios tabletop RPG, and some of the concepts were fun to tool around with. Playing demons and half demons, realizing a chainsaw was one of the best melee weapons in the system, and toying with some other ideas that may come up in other stories.

There IS a reason it happens in Michigan.

There's a lot more I want to explore in this AU, which is mostly based on canon until the Season Eight comics, specifically the Twilight Event and how it all turned out, especially 18ish years after it was set. I didn't want to be too beholden to what's happened, but I also appreciate that the expanded canon happened.