Looking up at the tall, decrepit brownstone everyone eyed suspiciously when they passed by, Grayson Marks sighed. Even regulars – boring humans without a drop of supernatural blood in their system – gave it a wide berth, although they were undoubtedly the most unobservant creatures on Earth.

It stunk. Like a rotten corpse lying underneath a pile of fox shit. Gray’s pup whimpered at his side, the smell assaulting its sensitive nostrils.

“It’s all your fault, you know,” Ralph informed him.

Two years ago, Gray might have bothered asking what the hell he was talking about; now, he knew better. Asking any question of Ralph, outside of the basic professional courtesies, was just a recipe for a headache.

Of course, the man didn’t need any encouragement to share his warped logic.

“You arrived early this morning, so you could have had your pick of the missions. There’s an enquiry at one of the Wolf’s clubs. A club, Grayson. With sexy women in short skirts.”

Outwardly, Gray paid absolutely no attention to the dark haired agent walking next to him. They headed towards the barricaded door of the abandoned townhouse where they’d been sent, and Gray knocked, his expression, stern and indifferent. Inwardly, he was kind of wondering why he hadn’t had a look at the assignment board. One of the Wolf’s clubs? Damn.

“But no, you had to get started on your damn report, instead. By the time I got there, it was this dump, or a report of screams in an attic. In Roxbury. Screams, Grayson. You know how I feel about ghosts.”

“There’s no such things as ghosts.”

He’d know. Gray had a perfect understanding of what happened to those who died; they couldn’t linger for long in this dimension. They could be recalled, but the result was a little more alarming than your average Poltergeist whenever that happened.

“Well, there could be,” Ralph reasoned stubbornly.

“There isn’t,” he repeated, before calling to the pup, standing a few feet behind him. “Remus?”

The pup whimpered again, and laid down on the floor, making his intention of staying the hell away from that house known. Gray rolled his eyes. “Stay, then.”

When he turned back to his partner, the man was still arguing in favor of the existence of ghosts.

“Dude, we’ve recently learned there’re a dozen dimensions on this very planet.” That was an oversimplification, but most people liked to think that way. Plus, it was nine, not a dozen. Gray didn’t point it out. He wasn’t supposed to know more than anyone else about the other worlds. Never mind the fact that he actually came from one of them. “Nothing’s impossible. There could be someone else standing right where you are and jerking off in your mouth.”

Gray closed his eyes, wondering what he’d done in his previous life to be saddled with such a partner. That image? It wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. He was going to have to brush his teeth as soon as they got back to the headquarter.

Quite suddenly, just then, the door he was knocking on disappeared and an ugly, red, extremely pungent worm with long teeth and tentacles lunged at his head. It was just five feet away, coming from the staircase right in front of them. Some greenish slime poured out of a hole that might be its mouth, or its ass; he didn’t want to know. Holy shit. Remus had had the right idea; he should learn to listen to his pup.

In other circumstances, Gray would have been able to do something about it within a moment’s notice, but he’d had a heavy breakfast which was attempting to make its way back up.

Before the oversize worm got too close, Ralph’s enchanted double headed axe lodged itself in the whirling creature, which exploded in a thousand little pieces, smoking and smelling like fried manure.

Gray then remembered. He put up with Ralph because the guy was the best agent of the PIA. Except for him, maybe.

Not that he’d tell him. Every god knew Ralph’s ego didn’t need stroking.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Gray blurted, heaving.

Most demonic creatures generally fried when in contact with positive energy, like the spells coating their weapons, and the result was never pretty, but it had been a while since they’d encountered anything half as disgusting as that thing.

“I’d normally tell you to get it together, princess Gray, but can’t actually blame you today. It there a spell, rune, or artifact intended to lose our sense of smell? We could totally use something like that right now.”

“There are at least a dozen different kinds of solutions; none of which are at our disposal at the moment.”

“Well, remind me to add something like that to the shopping list for next time.”

Ralph was the first to walk in, covering his nose with his sleeve.

Whoever had called in a disturbance talked of noises indicating squatters, but the local police department had referred the case to the Paranormal Investigation Agency after their men had come back behaving in an unusual manner, and having forgotten their initial purpose.

It was a minor, routing investigation; the kind that would never have ended up on Gray and Ralph’s workload, if things hadn’t been so quiet recently.

The PIA investigated paranormal disturbances that weren’t resolved by local sups, in order to protect innocent human beings. That included everything from rogue vampires to stupid teenagers dabbling in magic and getting in over their heads. Gray and Ralph were part of the Alpha unit, the crème de la crème. Rogue vampires, feral shifters, dark object swallowing up entire towns? That was their jam. But for the last three months, the reports of major activities like these had considerably dialed down, so they were passing time with cases like this one.

“I’ll take upstairs,” Ralph offered, retrieving his axe with a grimace. “And another pair of gloves I’m gonna have to chuck out.”

They wore their combat suits, soft, malleable materials that didn’t hinder movement, fitted with smart compartments where they could hide weapons. It looked like a super hero costume, but it could still stop a bullet. Each suit cost a clear seven figures, and throwing any part of their apparel out without valid cause was unheard of. Today, Gray was going to countersign on Ralph’s request, attesting that burning the gloves was a necessity. God, it really stunk.

You could fix it, said a bored, taunting and familiar voice.

That voice was the one and only thing Gray truly feared, and every day, it spoke to him, like they were old buddies.

It was right, though. He could clear the room with a wave of his hand. The basic tidying up spell he’d learned in his teens to clean his room would probably do the trick. Alternatively, he could cast one of the spells he’d mentioned to Ralph, preventing them from smelling that dreadful mixture of shit, death and demon. But giving in, tapping into his power, was exactly what the voice in his head wanted. He knew better. Gray would never use magic; not unless it was a matter of life or death.

Ignoring the voice, he walked to the first door on his right and opened it to find what could have been Miss Harvisham’s drawing room, pulled right out of Great Expectations. It seemed like whoever had inhabited this house had left suddenly, right before supper, leaving their food on the table, untouched; rats had ravaged it, and left trails of poop as a thank you. Spider webs ran from one wall to the next. He closed the door. No one, demon or otherwise, had entered that room in half a decade.

On his left, the kitchen was left in a similar state. Then, there was a library. Gray frowned, standing in the doorway for longer, this time. It had also been taken over by insects, dust and mold, but he felt something else underneath it all. Walking in, he headed towards the bookshelf closest to him, and found that the steady layer of dust had been disturbed there. Someone had pulled a book out, and taken it.

Gray scanned the shelf, finding plenty of classics, some romance books, but also something he wouldn’t have expected in a place that screamed “regular” like this house did.

The Crown, by Rebecca Ann Wright. It differed from the rest of those innocuous volumes because, while it had been published as a work of fiction a long time ago, before the Age of Blood, they now knew it was an historical report written by a warlock at the end of her life so that her knowledge wasn’t lost.

Plenty of humans owned it, of course, but it had never been a best seller. Finding it in a place infested by demon scums was no coincidence. They were in a sup’s house.

A curse yelled from upstairs startled him; leaving the book behind, he ran out to find Ralph running towards the stairs. “Move, move, move. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“What?” Ralph didn’t run; ever. It was one of his many problems.

Gray opened his mouth to say something and regretted it as soon as his nose picked up on a scent.

Never mind the first tentacle worm. It had smelled like a breath of fresh air in comparison. For fuck’s sake, what did these things eat?

The monster in front of him was the size of a horse, as long as a whale, and moved faster than a cheetah.

“We can’t leave that here,” Gray screamed, all the while letting his feet carry him out of the house as quickly as he could.

“Don’t worry,” said Ralph, instantly making him wonder if it was the end of the world.

When Ralph said don’t worry, it meant he had a plan. One of his last plans had involved jumping out of a moving plane without a chute.

They’d almost reached the door when Gray caught a movement on his right; a flash of red, green and white, heading right to Ralph.

Shit. He launched himself at his partner, knocking him out of the way just in time; a sharp jolt of pain hit him on his back, but he ignored it, helping Ralph back on his feet, before running out as fast as his feet could carry him.

As soon as they leaped out the door, the entire building went up in flames. Remus ran around in circles excitedly; the puppy was weirdly fond of explosions. Gray groaned.

“How many warnings are we going to get before you understand the memo? We aren’t supposed to use those charmed explosives unless there’s no other choice, dammit.”

Ralph laughed. “Tentacles. Teeth. Ten feet high, sixty feet long. Pretty sure the boss will deal.”

Two hours later, it looked like the boss wouldn’t deal.

“An entire building? Again?” Patricia Dotts screeched, her entire face practically purple. She looked like she might need to use the toilet, which wasn’t unusual.

Still, Ralph was terrified of the harpy, with good reason. As the head of the field department, she had the power to give them the worst kind of punishments. Gray sighed and did what he had to do to get his colleague out of a week of 4am PT. No one deserved that.

“It was just that townhouse, Dotty. No surrounding building was affected,” he assured her, his voice soothing, sending her that look. The one that turned her purple face back to a slightly more normal, red shade. “And it would have had to be completely obliterated given the concentration of demonic energy, trust me.” Lies. Although anyone with a bit of sense would have indeed burned it to the ground after sniffing it. “We charmed it, so no regular will see it’s gone until we can get the clean up team to rebuild it. It’s all good.”

Patricia vaguely resembled her plump, friendly self again.

Three, two, one…

“Oh well, if you say so, Grayson. I just wish Ralph here could warn us and log it in properly like you always do, so we can send the right team to ensure no one is disrupted. Ralph, you’re lucky to be paired up with such an outstanding agent. Please attempt to learn from him.”

She trotted away back to her desk. As soon as she closed the door, Ralph said, “I owe you one. Again.”

“Yep.”

“And also? I hate you.”

* * *

The basement where they were tucked away wasn’t anyone’s idea of a prison; for one, there was no lock on the door, and it also contained everything a bunch of twenty-somethings might have wanted. Flat screen, books, computers, and a gym, amongst other things.

The gym area was where they stood today. Tria, Daphne and Jase were perfectly still and silent, each one of them at one end of the triangle drawn on the training floor. Then, all of a sudden, although no one had given a signal, they all moved.

An outsider looking in would have assumed that they were trying to kill each other. Jase used every inch of his hulking figure to launch himself at Daphne, who evaded him just in time, drop kicking his head as she was at it. Tria was the vicious one; she let them exert themselves before attacking both, jumping in the air and kneeing Daphne right on the chest, before flipping towards Jase. He was waiting for her, holding a man-sized punching bag that he then threw at her.

In fact, they were just letting off some steam. The last few days had been stressful for them. As discussing the matter troubling their minds hadn’t helped, they’d opted to work some frustration out of their system instead.

They’d started without warning, and they stopped as quickly. One second, they were seemingly attempting to tear each other apart, and the next, they sat calmly, not a hair out of place, their breathing controlled, their stances relaxed.

An instant later, their door opened in front of three outsiders.

There was an older man, walking in front of two field agents; they were easy enough to recognize, with their tall frames, muscular builds, and their air radiating cockiness.

Tria Winters was used to them, and regardless, she wasn’t prone to gawking. She’d seen too much in her lifetime to be surprised or impressed by most of what this world had to offer; yet, she gawked, then. So judge her. One of the two agents – the taller, and leaner one – was that hot.

His dirty blond hair was a little long on top and cropped short on the sides. There was the outline of a tattoo running from his neck and plunging under the tight, dark compression shirt that hugged his defined torso. Lucky shirt. She saw some ink peeking from his sleeves, suggesting that the design was extensive. He wore a combat uniform, and reeked of the unbearably confident attitude most field agents sported. Normally, Tria rolled her eyes; today, she was practically certain there was a bit of drool at the corner of her mouth. Not that it mattered. No one saw her mouth under the mask she generally wore at work.

While her attention was mainly focused on the hottie, Tria trailed the two other men from the corner of her eye. Of course she did; her mind never shut down enough to stop assessing threats.

The second agent was also in his combat gear. He stood a little shorter, slightly bulkier than the hottie, with darker wavy hair, and a mischievous expression. To actually be fair in her observation, she had to admit that they both belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. That being said, Tria observed the second newcomer with all her customary indifference.

Andrew led the small party, holding himself like he was of some importance. Hilarious. The fifty-nine-year-old man was the only full-fledged, regular human in the room, and it showed. His imposing frame and intense dark eyes would have commandeered attention in any other company, but here, the only real power he possessed was strapped to his jacket – a badge saying Andrew M. Crawford, Director.

Andrew’s gaze swept the “office” where her team worked. Office was a term used quite loosely in their case. It was rarely used as such. Right now, Daphne hunched over her computer, frantically typing, while Jase played video games. None of them were actually working, and the presence of the man who was technically their boss didn’t phase them at all.

“Tria,” the Director called out, when he saw her perched on her favorite spot: the alcove at the far corner of the room. There was relief in his tone when he found her there and it made her narrow her eyes. It meant he needed her – which was never a good thing.

She jumped down and walked to the Director, doing her very best to avoid looking at the hunk behind him, and only failing three times.

She never liked meeting new people in the Agency. They looked at her with obvious disdain because of her appearance. Most Agents ranged in various degrees of weird, but no one else wore a medical mask to cover the lower part of their face, and a pair of glasses so large and dark they could basically be qualified as a ski mask.

“Tria, meet Grayson Marks and Ralph Daniels, the best field agents we have.” Ralph hid a grin, but Grayson didn’t seem phased by the praise, rolling his eyes. “Gray, this is Tria Winters, head of this research team. She, Daphne and Jason know more about the paranormal world than all of us combined.”

Gray’s brow rose by an inch; he was visibly doubtful about that last statement, with good reason. Daphne was twenty-two, and looked even younger. Jase seemed more engrossed in his video game than any adult ought to be. And she was just a weirdo with the medical mask. Still, he extended his hand. Tria shook Ralph’s first, but then, she moved her hand to return the hottie’s greeting. Instead of shaking it like a civilized, twenty-second century male, he lifted it, and dropped his lips on the back of her palm, smirking against her skin.

Tria didn’t say, or do anything, because the instant their skin touched, her entire body froze.

What the ever fucking hell was that? Her mind raced through thousands of possibilities and settled on incubus. The man had to be an incubus to get that reaction out of her. He was also a prick who knew exactly what he was doing; she could tell from his annoying smirk.

Ralph was rolling his eyes, and muttering something that sounded like, “here we go.”

Glaring behind her glasses, she pulled her hand back, and cleared her throat. Eventually, she remembered how the whole speaking thing was supposed to work.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”