I stood up from my knees and stretched my back. It was getting late in the day, and I was getting tired of cleaning up all this dust. I wondered if Pemberton could conjure up a wind demon to blow it all out the window without getting a grievance filed against me when I noticed the horse standing in the road, facing the house. I froze mid-stretch.

  The mare stood absolutely still in the road, watching the cottage with unnatural patience. Sixteen hands of shadow and smoke that drank in the afternoon sunlight rather than reflect it. Her coat rippled like oil on black water, mesmerizing to watch. I tried to follow the waves as they moved over her, but couldn’t as they disappeared or merged with others. It was hypnotic. Some instinct told me that I’d lose myself forever if I stared for too long.

  Purple fire burned in her eyes—not flickering like normal flames, but cold and steady like someone had trapped dying stars in her skull. Her mane and tail didn't hang like normal horse hair. They flowed upward and outward like smoke caught in a breeze that didn't exist, tendrils of darkness reaching toward nothing. When she shifted her weight, her hooves left frost patterns on the packed dirt road despite the warm day.

  She didn't stamp, snort, or do any of the everyday horse things. Just stood there, burning eyes fixed on the cottage, waiting.

  "Pemberton?" I called down the stairs toward the office without taking my eyes off the nightmare standing in my front yard. "Pemberton! Is that one of my specialists out in the road?"

  "That would be your psychological warfare specialist, Captain." His voice drifted from the workroom, completely unbothered. "Noctura Tenebrae. She's early. Quite surprising that she's out in the daylight, actually. That may have something to do with why she was assigned to you."

  I stopped briefly in the bedroom and thought about grabbing my mace. I didn't even know if it was possible to club a horse to death, but it would have made me more comfortable to have a weapon, the same way I used to carry a .38 snub-nosed revolver in my back pocket when I would go grocery shopping. I decided against the weapon on the basis that she was assigned to my team and if the prior two demons were anything to go by, I had nothing to fear.

  I stepped out onto the porch and down the two rotted steps to the path and looked at the nightmare for a moment before approaching. She was beautiful in the sort of terrifying way a supermodel is. You love to look, but you're afraid that you'll burst into flames if you try to touch. Well, aside from the blood seeping from her hooves. At least she's not as scary as the Demon King.

  This time, the fear that took me at the thought of my boss did cause my knees to buckle, and I stumbled forward, lurching into the mare. She was surprisingly warm, and I felt comforted immediately upon touching her. The crippling fear I'd brought unto myself by simply thinking about His Royal Smokiness evaporated in a moment, replaced by a sudden vision of a vast meadow where bunnies frolicked as starlings flew overhead. Bunnies.

  "Noctura, eh. Psychological warfare specialist indeed. I like you."

  She huffed and bowed down on one knee before standing back up.

  The mare can use the barn as her own. She's well-mannered. Have her tell that idiot out there to hurry up, I'm getting hungry. Just how long does it take to catch a mouse?

  I turned just in time to see Tengen disappear back into the house, leaving me to wonder if the horse had bowed to her or to me. In any case, I relayed the message and watched the mare make her way around the corner of the house, freezing the grass as she went. I was going to have to keep her out of the garden, or our paltry few carrots would be stunted.

  I took a moment to rest on the porch, settling into one of the old rocking chairs, testing it carefully to ensure it would hold my weight. I suddenly wished that I had a cigar and a cold beer, and wondered where Mum kept his stash or if he just conjured stogies up whenever he wanted one. Either way, he was going to share that secret before the sun went down. That had been the best cigar I'd ever smoked.

  Yo, Bozo. The house isn't going to clean itself up.

  "Yes, Mistress," I thought.

  Damn straight. Now you're getting it, ape.

  I stood up and was about to go inside when I noticed a figure jog across the bridge that led back out to the wilderness. I was puzzled for a moment at the figure's motion until I realized that it was a woman jogging towards me. The woman jogged closer, and my brain shut down.

  She was tall, five ten at least, with auburn hair flecked with flashes of red, pulled back in a practical ponytail that swung with each stride. Her body was all lean muscle and curves that moved with athletic precision. She wore tight running gear that left little to the imagination, muscles flexing visibly beneath copper-toned skin as she approached. By the Light, I love yoga pants.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Golden eyes met mine, and I forgot how words worked. She bent forward at the waist to stretch first one leg and then the other. I swear I could see her belly button straight down her cleavage. I couldn't stop looking. I needed to be sure if I'd seen it or not.

  "Captain!" She stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, not even breathing hard despite what must have been miles of running. A slight sheen of sweat made her skin glow in the afternoon light. I wanted to lick it off her. "Calista reporting for duty!" She bounced when she smiled, broad and genuine, revealing perfect white teeth. She looked like a pinup girl when she saluted me.

  I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

  Small curved horns swept back from her temples. A slender tail swished behind her for balance. She was a demon. A succubus. I knew this objectively. My brain insisted this was important information. I'm sure it was lying to me.

  "I... you're... the infiltration specialist?"

  "That's me!" She bounced up the steps, and suddenly I was back in high school physics class thinking about Newton's Law. An object in motion tends to stay in motion. She got way too close, radiating warmth and energy. Did I need to do something specific to breathe, or was it automatic? I couldn't remember.

  "I brought my gear. Where should I set up? Do you have a training area? I saw some good running trails on the way in. Some free weights would be nice. Is there a pool? I love tanning."

  "There's only one bedroom. It's upstairs. It's my bedroom. We can share it. I don't mind." None of that passed through my mind before it came out of my mouth.

  He he he he he he he. This will be so much fun. She can stay.

  "Oh, a House Cat! I had no idea you were so well endowed, captain." Her hands rested on my chest for a second before she gave a little curtsey to Tengen and bounced into the house. "I need to properly introduce myself properly to the lady of the house."

  And then she was gone, leaving nothing but a cloud of pheromones in her wake. I thought I wanted a smoke before. I needed one now. I made a mental note to speak with Pemberton about hell's rules concerning nocturnal activities with one's coworkers. Wow. Just wow.

  Hey monkey-boy, she's been inside for ten minutes. Get back to work. I'm not paying you by the hour.

  Ten minutes? No way. The cat had to be lying to me. I sat down on the stoop and pulled my shoe off to shake something out. I barely saw the missile before it hit me. The missile turned out to be roughly eighty pounds of overexcited puppy.

  He hit me like a linebacker, all flailing paws and lolling tongue. Sleek black fur, ember-red eyes, and four distinctive russet-colored paws that looked exactly like he'd stepped in paint. Or was wearing little boots.

  "Boots," I gasped as he licked my face with supernatural enthusiasm. "Your name is Boots."

  He wiggled so hard his entire back half wagged. Smoke curled happily from his nostrils. His tail threw sparks and left scorch marks wherever it smacked the porch steps.

  Then he spotted Tengen in the doorway.

  Every muscle froze. His ears flattened. The wagging stopped instantly.

  Tengen arched her back, fur standing on end until she looked twice her normal size. Her tail puffed into a bottle brush. She made a sound that belonged in a leopard's throat, not a cat's. Or in Hell. I was pretty sure I'd heard it earlier in the day.

  Boots whined—high and pitiful. He rolled onto his back, exposing his belly, paws tucked against his chest. A puddle spread as fear took over his bladder.

  Tengen stalked forward, put one rear paw on his snout with evident disdain, then turned and walked back inside.

  He can stay. But he sleeps outside. Maybe the mare will put up with him. Hopefully, something eats him.

  Boots scrambled up, tail wagging again, completely unbothered by his humiliation.

  "Pemberton!"

  The diminutive demon appeared at the front door a few moments later. "Oh. Oh dear."

  "Is this supposed to be our tracking specialist or security specialist?"

  "I imagine that it is our tracking specialist, though it appears that he may require a bit of training to reach full effectiveness."

  "When does the security specialist arrive? Any idea? Maybe he can train him."

  "I believe that he is on the porch now."

  "How is that possible? We were just—" I stuck my head out the door only to see a statue on the porch. I stepped back onto the porch and slowly circled the statue.

  He stood maybe three feet tall, carved from dark grey granite that had weathered over time. Compact and muscular, built like someone had compressed a linebacker into gargoyle form. Bat-like wings folded tight against his back, sharp talons on his hands and feet. A blunt snout with small fangs, and eyes that, as I leaned closer, had the faintest amber glow deep in the stone. Maybe. It could have been my imagination.

  Small cracks spiderwebbed across his skin. Chips missing from his shoulder, his left ear. The kind of wear that came from years, maybe centuries. His expression looked worried. Anxious, even, frozen in stone. Not the fearsome guardian beast you'd expect perched on a cathedral.

  "This is Krag," Pemberton said from the doorway. "Your security specialist."

  "My security specialist is a statue named Craig?"

  "It's Krag. He's a gargoyle, Captain. They only move when—"

  "When nobody's looking. Right." I stared directly at Krag's stone face. "So how do I talk to him?"

  "You don't. Not while you're watching."

  "What am I supposed to do, wear a blindfold?"

  "That might work. I don't know. I don't deal with security personnel. Not my department."

  I kept staring anyway, searching those faintly glowing eyes for some sign of life. Clapping in front of his nose. Pretending to punch him in the face.

  Nothing.

  I shook my head, convinced I'd been had with a demonic fast one, but I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of acknowledging it. As I went back into the house, I said over my shoulder, "You're too heavy for this rickety porch, Krag, and certainly too heavy for the roof. Keep watch from the ground, please. I don't want you to get a workplace injury."

  When I looked back as I was closing the door, the statue was on the ground next to the steps.