Mr. Finney crossed paths with Klaus as he headed for the carriage house. They stopped, eyeing each other in the dim light. Klaus could close the gap in two gigantic steps, and Finney knew it. But then Klaus would have to answer the council for a whole slew of infractions. The Brit knew the Prussian would never risk that.

“I do not appreciate your tossing your vermin in my rooms for interrogation.”

“And I do not appreciate your tone of voice. What a funny pair we must make.”

They continued to stare each other down. Finney had no intention of breaking, even as Klaus’s eye began to twitch deeply within his heavy, obscene face.

There was something there, but Finney still couldn’t put his finger on it. Even his aid, after searching through all the available information for the past two months on Klaus, was unable to come up with any viable motive or sign of deceit. It was like when you walked into a house you knew should be empty, but something just tickled at the back of your brain saying you weren’t alone.

Whatever it was, though, Finney would figure it out. It was just a matter of time, that was all.

Finally, Klaus grunted and walked past him, heading for the rear of the house. He walked right through the garden, stomping over the low hedgerows and sputtering rose bushes, heedless of the trail of destruction he was causing with each step of his giant feet.

The Brit swung his attention back to the carriage house, with its partially cracked door. It was a brick and wood building, the kind with two large doors that swung open at the middle. The doors were only of the only portals Klaus could comfortably pass through, and he’d naturally chosen that as his quarters for the duration of the mission.

Finney set his face with his customary look of grim determination and headed towards it, going through the side door. Before he could even push his way in, the smell of the Prussian hit him. He smelled a slightly vinegary odor, like from fermented food, and yeast from heavy beer.

Still, he soldiered on and entered the building. What was a foul odor in pursuit of your duty?

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light. Outside, it had been almost complete darkness, with just the moon shining overhead and a bit of light from the men’s patrol lights behind him to light the path. The dim yellow light of the lamps Klaus had brought in seemed garish in comparison.

“Ah, ladies,” Finney said as he stepped in, sweeping his eyes over his two newest captives. “So good of you to join us.”

Before they’d arrived, the little building had contained mostly gardening implements, no actual carriage, and the men had quickly set to clearing it out and arraying all the contents along the far side of the building. Now there was a large feather bed, a couple lamps, and two particularly irate ginger-headed women occupying it.

“Fuck you,” said the younger one, the girl who worked as the technical department at the security agency.

“Lacy!” Genevieve Richter said to her granddaughter. “What are you doing?”

“And fuck that creepy ass giant!”

Mr. Finney had to hold back a guffaw of laughter, had to hold it back so hard that he was fit to burst. “She has some spunk, doesn’t she, Gran?”

If stares were lethal, then Gen would have struck him dead right then and there. But luckily for Finney, they were not. Besides, even if they were, he doubted she’d be able to kill him. Nothing had yet, not even time itself.

Neither said a word, though, in response. They just stared out at him balefully with those blue eyes of theirs, glowering as they adjusted their cuffed hands.

“Nothing?” Finney asked. “No comments from the peanut gallery, as they say? Fair enough. My men tell me you were picked up trying to pass through one of our little blockades at the edge of town. That you tried to actually ram it. Pretty ballsy, pardon my French. I imagine it was you, Lacy, that had that grand plan?”

The older and younger woman exchanged a look, and Gen seemed to hang her head in shame.

“Oh ho,” Finney said, clapping loudly. “It was you, wasn’t it, Gran, my dear? Quite the surprise, that is. Quite the surprise. So, what happened? No, no, don’t tell me. Your little wolf protectors cut you loose, didn’t they? Tossed you aside? Did they tell you they couldn’t protect you and their mates at the same time? Was that it?”

Lacy sighed, looked away.

He’d found a sore spot with that one. Now was the time to twist the knife. “Don’t worry,” he said. “He was right. Neither of you are one of their mates.”

The younger woman hung her head a little and sniffled.

“And humans don’t matter to these creatures, not like we matter to each other,” Finney continued in a knowing, sympathetic voice. “We’re a completely different species from them, and they only drift in and out of our world as myths and legends, forgotten by time. They don’t think of you as one of them, and that’s why you were tossed out with the garbage, left to fend for yourselves. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, being taken in by them. I’ve seen it happen plenty of times in my travels.”

Lacy swallowed, her throat bobbing up and down like a chicken with its head on the block.

“They use people up and spit them out. Toss them aside once they’re done with them. They flash their magic shifting, pretending to be better than us. But they’re not. They’re ultimately as monstrous as the creatures they turn into, and no more magical than you or I. Just genetic freaks with interesting blood that has strange properties. Freaks, I’m telling you. Nothing more than freaks.”

Gen gave him a sneering look. “Why are you even bothering to tell us this? Do you get some sort of sick glee out of tormenting us?”

He suppressed the smile that was desperately trying to spring to his face, and slowly shook his head. “No, Gen. I’m not. I’m telling you all this so you can choose to help us. So you can choose to aid us in tracking down these monstrosities that have discarded you, offered no protection from us. Who have just sent you and your poor, helpless granddaughter on your way to fend for yourself. Because look where they really sent you. Right into our arms, Gen. Right into our protection.”

Gen frowned as she stared at Mr. Finney, her lips pressed so tightly together they’d gone stark white. They were white even with her pale complexion, like someone had drawn on her mouth with a whiteout pen.

She was close to breaking, Finney knew it. So close. Just a nudge or two more and she’d be falling right into his hands and then he’d–

But she just laughed. A loud, raucous sound like Finney hadn’t heard in ages, not from the people he worked with, not from the people he hunted. And certainly not from the people he kept prisoners. It ricocheted inside the tiny carriage house like a bullet from a shotgun, bouncing around the walls and in the rafters, this mad cackle of hers.

Cold anger gripped him and his hands tightened into hard fists, his knuckles cracking and popping like dry kindling being snapped before a fire. “What are you laughing at?” he shouted.

She continued, though, and her granddaughter joined in.

“What?” he shouted as he looked from the older woman to the younger and back again. “What is it? Why are you laughing?”

“You think they’re the monsters?” Gen asked between guffaws. “You think those sweet boys are the monsters?”

“When you have fee-figh-fo-fucking-fum living out here in the garage?” Lacy added.

Both women burst out laughing again, body-wracking spasms of genuine humor that shook even the chairs they were cuffed to.

“Enough!” Finney shouted. No one laughed at him, no one. Especially not two women, both his juniors by decades. He demanded respect, and for people to act accordingly. This was too much. “I said enough!”

“Shrek!” Gen shouted. “He has Shrek out in the clubhouse, and he thinks Peter’s bad!”

Her granddaughter laughed again, her head tilted back, her voice sounding out over the yard. “I bet he can’t even sing!”

“I said enough!” Finney shouted again, his voice going up an octave, nearly cracking, as he fought to control himself and hold back his hands from wrapping around the older woman’s neck. “Enough!”

Both continued to laugh, to make light of his entire life’s work. Of him.

He lunged at Gen.

Her laughter choked off finally as his hands closed around her throat, her eyes bulging with terror.

“Grandma!” Lacy screamed, trying to rise from her chair.

Finney ignored her and just tightened his grip on the old woman’s throat. “Enough!” he growled, his hands closing over her carotid artery, his palms crushing down on her windpipe.

The old woman gasped, trying to knee him in the ground over and over.

He took the hits and ignored the pain. They only seemed to sharpen his senses more and more, focusing them to a razor’s edge as the old woman’s face turned from pale to red, and from red to purple. Just a few more seconds and her eyes would pop like grapes.

“Grandma! Stop it, you piece of shit!”

A heavy weight hit him in the side, sending him off balance and sprawling across the floor in surprise, knocking the wind from his lungs.

“Grandma!” Lacy screamed again at her gasping, coughing grandmother, this time from the floor. The younger woman must have flung herself, chair and all, right at him. She was like a little terrier, that one, or an angry Chihuahua.

Finney knew what to do with angry little dogs, though. You just put your boot to their neck and step down. Breathing heavily, his mind still a rage, he clambered to his feet.

To his left, Gen continued to cough. His handprints were a bright pink and scarlet on her neck, almost like a placeholder for right where his hands would return to. Just as soon as he was done with the younger one.

“Lacy,” Gen said, coughing, “I’m okay, honey.”

He advanced on the toppled young woman, her ginger hair in distress like a fiery halo on the floor around her head. His lips twisted into a sadistic grin as he raised his boot over her head. He was going to enjoy this. Oh, yes.

“Keep away from her, you bastard!”

“Say goodbye to Grandma Gen, Lacy, my dear.”

Lacy looked up at him, her eyes gazing right past his boot. They seemed to stare into his bottomless ones, void of a soul. She didn’t flinch. “Fuck you, asshole.”

“That is enough, Mr. Finney,” said a man from behind him in a deep, rich French Moroccan accent. “Stand aside.”