Mob Sorcery / Lowlife Enforcer - Ch1

Chapter 1

Vince’s finger snapped back and forth along his phone, playing some mindless mobile game while he sat inside a warehouse full of corpses. Dozens of unlabeled crates towered over him on countless pallets. They were unlabeled and unmarked, save for the recent bloodstains and scorch marks.

Nothing else moved in the warehouse. Old halogen lights bathed the place in the warm glow of electricity and, given the 24/7 nature of the operation, a steep electricity bill. As much of a shithole as this place was, Vince idly wondered why the landlord hadn’t switched over to more cost-effective lighting.

He finished a game on his phone and looked around. Other than a few stains on his old tan parka and cargo pants, Vince looked unruffled by the scene around him. At least a dozen men and women lay dead. Some brutally slain, with dismembered limbs, scorched faces and chests, or holes blown in their torsos. He sat some distance from the carnage, distancing himself from it.

Notably, several of the corpses appeared non-human. One lay almost twice Vince’s height, with curly goat horns as long as his arms and biceps corded with furry muscles strong enough to bend steel.

Not that raw strength mattered in the city of Aulfair. Built by magic almost a century ago on the US’s west coast, it remained the largest bastion of demihumans, immortals, and magic-users in the States today.

A series of clunks and clacks alerted Vince. He slipped his phone into his pocket and stood, eyes scanning the open walkways between the pallets of crates. One of the long sliding doors shuddered and slid free.

His mouth moved silently, and a red shimmer appeared around his body. He doubted he’d need the defensive spell, but Vince would be one of those corpses if he was the sort to take chances. Humans like him needed every advantage they could get in a fight.

A pair of suited men stepped through the open door. No, not men. Or at least, not human men. Both possessed pale red skin that could almost pass as a strong tan, but the ring of stubby black horns around their heads gave away their true nature.

Demons, just like the massive corpse on the ground.

Small red badges, roughly the size of a thumbnail, flashed in the light of the warehouse from their lapels. The moment Vince spotted them and recognized the faces of the demons, he relaxed. The red glow vanished from his body.

At the same moment, the demons froze. They saw the corpses and the bloodbath.

“What the fuck happened here, V?” one snapped.

The other ignored him and let out a guttural roar back out the door, shouting in a language Vince didn’t understand. Fortunately, a tiny magical earpiece in his ear came to his rescue.

“Boss, something’s fucked. Everyone’s dead!” the other demonic enforcer shouted in a demonic language.

Vince raised his hands, palms open. “Hey, do I look dead?”

The demons gave him a flat look. Neither appeared armed, but Vince knew better. Immortal beings like them didn’t need to cast a spell to use magic.

One demon rolled his eyes, but cautiously approached. “By now, I don’t even know. You should be. Humans don’t tango with demons and walk away unscathed.”

“Tell the cops that. Pretty sure they have plenty of humans in their ranks. You wouldn’t be using this shitty warehouse to move all this ‘merchandise’ if you were untouchable.”

“No human, by themselves, unaided,” the demon corrected.

Vince snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

Several more figures emerged through the doorway, all wearing similar dark suits to the first two demons. Each bore the same inhuman appearance and horns. One stood as tall as the corpse on the ground, and his suit appeared comical on his immense frame. The same red badges glittered on their chests.

Yet that was the dress code of Immanuel’s enforcers. They weren’t common thugs, hired to sit around and guard crates like Vince, but the elite thugs. Everyone needed to understand the difference, even as they were beaten into a bloody stain on the ground.

Immanuel being one of the largest corporate conglomerates in the city, that is. Run and staffed almost entirely by demons, its claws stabbed deep into the financial veins of much of the USA. Fitting for the spawn of Hell.

Behind the guards came another demon, but one in a classier suit, no badge, and a long black coat. He walked with the aid of a cane, and one of his legs glowed with arcane runes with every limping step he took. Silvered hair cascaded down his back in a loose ponytail, but it was the deep embers in his eye sockets that captured Vince’s attention.

A deep sense of fear rushed through his body, causing his muscles to tense and goosebumps to ripple across his skin. Vince met his employer’s gaze for the first time in months.

“Quintus,” he said, barely able to speak.

The barest hint of a smirk rose to the ancient demon’s face, and Quintus twitched a finger on his cane. That sense of utter dread left Vince.

Quintus Hierum usually needed no introduction. He ran much of Immanuel’s less savory operations and his name suggested he had seen literal empires rise and fall. The fact he had come here in person indicated that he’d known something would go awry with the job.

“It’s been some time since we’ve spoken, Vincent. I do hope you’ve been well. Tell me, in your own words, what happened tonight?” Quintus asked softly.

Vince rolled his shoulders in an attempt to usher feeling back into his body, then gestured at the huge demonic corpse nearby. “Big Bob found out what you’re moving in the crates. Had the bright idea to sell them to somebody else, fake a battle to make it look like we’d been attacked, and we’d split everything. There was a disagreement.”

“And you lived?” one of the demons interrupted.

Silence fell, so deep and powerful that Vince felt pressure against his eardrums. Quintus turned his head just far enough to glare at that demon with one baleful eye, before returning his gaze to Vince.

“Continue,” Quintus said.

“That’s basically it. We disagreed. I won the argument,” Vince said.

“Ah. The oldest form of debate, I see.” Quintus glanced around with a long, discerning look. “As talented as you are at magic, this seems like a poor decision by you. Surely you would have gained more by agreeing? If the battle ended like this, almost every enforcer I hired agreed with Roberth.”

It took Vince a moment to realize Quintus was referring to Big Bob, the massive demon who had led the attempted rebellion.

“The moment I spent a dime, I’d be dead,” Vince said. “Assuming you didn’t kill us all on the spot. You’re here, Quintus. One of Bob’s ‘allies’ ratted. It was a shit plan, born out of desperation by greedy morons.”

“And you aren’t desperate?”

“I’m desperate to live. Can’t pay bills if I’m a corpse.”

Quintus grinned and two rows of razor sharp teeth gleamed. “This is why you’ve come far, boy. To be driven by one’s base desires is to be little more than an animal, and to die like one. But you think at least one step ahead of your kin. And to think, is to be.” The demon turned his back and waved a hand in the air. “Give him the agreed bonus. Clear out the warehouse. We’re done here.”

Then he stalked out of the warehouse with his posse, leaving Vince alone with the first two suited enforcers. They shrugged at Vince’s look.

One reached into his pocket, pulled out a metal band full of $100 bills, and began counting them out. A lot of them, it turned out.

Vince remained silent.

“What, no reaction? No jibes? No smartass remarks?” the other demon asked with crossed arms.

“I’m used to tests. I’ve been doing jobs for Quintus since my balls dropped. This might be shitty drudgework, but Immanuel won’t let anyone dumb enough to even think of crossing them live,” Vince said.

“It’s a shame you were born a human. We’d have you doing way more than drudgework otherwise. Even a tail would be better than nothing.”

Dignifying that with a response would be demeaning, so Vince merely waited to receive his pay. He flicked through it once he got it. A little over double what he’d expected, and he’d expected a lot for tonight given the risk of the warehouse being hit by a rival or the cops.

“This is massive,” he said, genuinely shocked.

“Yeah, well, it’ll be your last for a while,” a demon said.

“What? Why?”

Raised hands. “Hey, it’s nothing personal. There’s a big conference coming to town next week. Cops are cracking down hard, as they don’t want anyone to fuck things up and make us look bad in front of all these asshole sorcerers from around the world. So it’ll be a few weeks before things return to normal while we lay low.”

That explained why Immanuel had risked moving so much stuff at once, and probably why Bob had gotten such a huge offer to betray them. Half the underworld ran on illegal imports of magical catalysts, and even legitimate businesses needed the stuff. Once the catalyst supply dried up for the next few weeks, prices would skyrocket.

Which meant Vince would be in high demand after a dry spell. The hard part was making this cash last.

“Well, you have my number,” he said.

“So long as you’re alive. My money’s on you pissing off the cops during the crackdown and getting your teeth kicked in.” The demon grinned, then waved at the door.

Vince grumbled under his breath but got a move on. Hanging around here any longer bored him to tears.

Rundown streets and buildings greeted him outside. Not a single car or person was in sight, and the silence creeped him out. He crossed the empty car park while pulling out his phone.

An unanswered message on his phone reminded him that he’d been invited to drinks by a friend. Given it wasn’t yet midnight on a Thursday, he wasn’t about to pass up the chance. Every day was a weekend for an enforcer like him, given the hours they worked.

Then he flicked across to another app, called “Wings”. A map of the nearby streets appeared on his phone along with several cartoon pairs of bird wings flying all around him, and a request for his destination. It had been prefilled with his home.

Vince glanced up at the sky. It looked pitch black. But more importantly, it appeared empty. The app suggested there should be a veritable storm of avian demihumans fluttering above him, waiting to ferry him to his destination at the tap of a screen. Like every overhyped, overpriced gig economy app, it lied.

But getting a taxi to come out to one of the seediest parts of the city, at this time of night, seemed like a difficult proposition. Walking to a slightly less shitty area would take an hour, assuming nobody tried to mug him. Sure, he wasn’t in danger, but beating up dumb muggers took time and might attract police attention he didn’t want.

The industrial district used by Immanuel and plenty of other unsavory operations sat well south of the city proper. Although it technically rubbed up against the harbor that split Aulfair in two, that was only because a port stood there.

If Vince wanted to get anywhere, he needed to take a jaunt northwest. The real action in Aulfair centered on either side of its harbor. Either on the northern, more business-focused side, or the southern side with its entertainment districts closer to the city center and the tourist-friendly waterfront.

So, begrudgingly, he input the address of the bar he wanted to visit on that waterfront. After a moment, he also added a middle visit to a fast-food place on the way. He was hungry, so shoot him.

Then, after a tap, all those “nearby” pairs of wings vanished and the long wait began. The timer that promised to connect him to a flier ran out. Twice. Three times, a flier accepted, then immediately cancelled.

Finally, after over five minutes of waiting, a new face popped up and didn’t immediately bail on him. Nicki, a harpy, with a 4.7 star rating.

The rating alone explained why she was picking him up, as she must be desperate. He’d never seen a flier with a 4.6 rating and had heard falling that low got one booted off the app. Vince wondered if he was going to be dropped from a thousand feet in the air if he refused to tip.

After a few minutes, an attractive, if lanky, figure with massive black wings descended from the air in a rush of wind. She circled him for a moment, then cautiously landed directly in front of him. Her massive black eagle wings folded neatly behind her back, while a second pair of smaller wings attached to her hips fluttered about, as if trying to maintain her balance.

Nicki stood nearly as tall as Vince and looked roughly his age, with a shock of bright red hair and white highlights along her long bangs. Skintight gray lycra covered her body from head to toe, leaving only her face uncovered and little to the imagination about her lithe, toned body. Bird-like bony legs and talons protruded from beneath her knees, as unlike other species of birdfolk, harpies appeared far more beastlike. Large, padded cushions surrounded her talons.

She folded her arms and looked him up and down, then glanced at their surroundings. “I’m not going to get shot standing here, right?”

“Not shot, no.”

She sighed. “First job of the night, and it’s in a shithole with a jackass who thinks he’s funny. You are going to tip, right?”

Damn, she really had gone straight to the tipping right of the bat. Then again, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and Vince needed a ride.

“Yes, so long as you don’t give me a terminal ride to the pavement,” he said.

“Deal. Carry or hang?” she asked.

“Hang.” He eyed her talons. “That padding isn’t just for show, right?”

“I’d be worse than fired if I put my claws through your heart, honey. Just don’t move too much. You can hold onto my legs if you like.”

Then, without another word, she leaped into the air and shot above him. After circling, Nicki carefully hovered over Vince and lowered herself so that her massive talons sat squarely over his shoulders. They snapped shut over his body, fast enough that he didn’t see them move.

Runes glowed in the padding around her talons. Presumably, magic inside them kept Nicki’s inhuman strength at bay and prevented her talons from carving Vince apart like the prey humans had historically been to harpies. He gripped her bony legs and they flew off.

The city glowed beneath him, but he didn’t particularly care to look at it. Years ago, when he’d taken his first ride with a birdgirl, he’d marveled at the jawdropping sight of Aulfair stretched out below him. Time and familiarity withered his excitement. He instead thought about how he’d stretch his paycheck out for the next three weeks.

Once they left the airspace above the seedy part of town and approached the city center, hundreds of avian demihumans emerged from the darkness around them. From other Wings transporters carrying people, to couriers with crates and parcels, and just various people out for a flight at night.

The airspace above Aulfair was largely free of technology and dominated by the various flying demihumans of the city. Mostly birdfolk, as they were officially called.

Nicki brought them down on the southern edges of the city center, but still several blocks away from the bustling nightlife. They landed on the balcony of a two-story fast food joint. Other birdfolk took off and arrived around them, and those leaving usually carried food. Wings delivered food, as well as people.

A glowing golden logo above the doorway beckoned them to enter. They did so, descended the stairs, and joined the small crowd around the counters.

In the fancier parts of the city, they’d switched over to big touchscreen kiosks and all the staff dedicated themselves to handing out food instead of taking orders.

Not here. A couple of touchscreens gathered dust in the corner, bearing pieces of paper declaring them to be out of order. Staff manned the registers, taking orders from customers.

Between orders, they eyed Vince. Not because of the bloodstains, which he doubted anyone noticed or cared much about in these parts.

No, it was because he was the only human in the joint.

Almost every staff member bore a pair of wolf ears and a large, bushy tail that had been tied to the back of their shirts to keep them from knocking things over. The customers appeared to be more mixed, but that merely meant some catfolk, birdfolk, and other demihumans mixed in with all the wolffolk.

Nearly half of Aulfair’s population was some variation of non-human, whether it be a demihuman like the birdfolk or an immortal like the demons. Entire swathes of the city, including major segments of the city center, remained absent of humans.

Wolffolk dominated much of the older residential areas of Aulfair, which included the edges of the city center. Male demihumans bustled in the kitchen, out of sight of the customers that management remained convinced preferred the sight of young, pretty women. There might be some truth in that approach.

The curious and sometimes hungry gazes of a couple of the younger wolfgirls behind the counter suggested Vince might be one of the only humans they’d met outside of school, even.

“You’re a popular guy,” Nicki said drily. “You’ll buy me a cheeseburger, right?”

“Is that in lieu of a tip?” he asked, ignoring her first comment.

She clicked her tongue and wandered over to one of the counters.

With nothing else to do, he did the same.

The tail of the wolfgirl behind the counter attempted to break free of its restraint as he approached.

But, right as he stepped up, a burly wolffolk man placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll take over here. You do fries.”

The wolfgirl looked up at her manager as if he’d just cancelled Christmas and her ears flattened against her head, but she slunk off all the same. The manager took her place and fixed Vince with a glare.

“You are going to pay today, Vince?” the manager asked.

“Last I checked, Daryl, you take the cash upfront, then give me my food. So, by definition, I always pay,” Vince said.

Fuck, he ran low on cash sometimes, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d bounced on a meal here. The hell was Daryl giving him a hard time for?

“There have been some unsavory characters conning the younger staff into giving them free meals in exchange for… favors,” Daryl said, his hard, beady eyes making his opinion of said favors very clear.

A couple of the nearby staff stopped and looked over, their ears pricked as they eavesdropped. Given the excellent hearing of demihumans, everyone in the store knew what was going down.

“And I’m sure you’re going to regale me about all the times I’ve done that, right, after accusing me of that shit?” Vince asked. “I buy food here, Daryl. You can fuck off with your implications.”

The manager narrowed his eyes almost to slits. Several long seconds passed.

“What do you want?” the manager grunted out.

If this were any other night, Vince would give some smartass answer, just to push Daryl’s buttons. The two men had gotten along terribly for years, since they’d first laid eyes on one another.

Tonight seemed like a dangerous time to test Daryl’s patience, however. The strain of his muscles beneath the cheap white shirt of his uniform warned Vince that any funny business might be met with a solid blow to the jaw.

Beating up fast food managers wasn’t Vince’s idea of a good time, to say nothing of getting thrown in the slammer by the instant police response after doing so.

“Gimme a large cheeseburger combo,” Vince said.

After far too long of a wait later, he tracked down Nicki in the restaurant itself. Her food had vanished, presumably already eaten. He dug in, while she nibbled on his fries.

“I’m not one to give advice—” he began to say after she stole some of his food without asking.

“Then don’t,” she said. “You know, most trips here are for takeaway, right? Most fliers don’t appreciate having their time wasted like this.”

“You’re charging me by the minute.”

“Yeah, because you’re a fucking dope.”

On the one hand, she was right. Vince had just been told that he needed to ration his cash for three weeks and here he was, paying like a buck every two minutes to eat fast food with a cantankerous harpy.

On the other hand, he was hungry and about to spend a hell of a lot more than a few bucks on tonight’s drinks. Alcohol at clubs made Nicki’s company positively cheap by comparison.

Which was, in a way, pretty sad. The fact he could effectively buy Nicki’s time for so little said a lot. Not that she had to socialize with him. A flier with Wings could just hang around on the balcony and play with their phone while still charging him. This was, technically, good service.

She continued to eat his fries, which made him glad he’d bought a large. But this was why her Wings rating was pretty poor. Most customers don’t appreciate their ride eating their food while being so cold. Unless they were into tsunderes.

“Done? Let’s get a move on,” Nicki said after dumping the trash.

They returned to the balcony and took off. This time, they went due north, toward the harbor. If Vince looked west, toward the Pacific, he’d see a veritable train of ships sailing in and out of the port.

Their flight path took them over the city center itself, which bustled with the city’s nightlife despite the time. Nicki took them all the way to the upscale waterfront. Fancy plazas and boardwalks lined the harbor, and small tourist cruises bustled about in the water, the ships’ lights ablaze in the night.

She brought them down on the second level of a two-story boardwalk. Restaurants continued to serve customers on the boardwalk one level beneath them, but the masses of people lined up here wanted one thing only.

Alcohol. Well, that and social activity. The clubs and bars along the waterfront provided both. Marble facades gave the area a bourgeoisie appearance, although Vince found them tacky.

“You said you’d tip right?” Nicki asked the moment she landed.

Normally, the birdfolk just took off after finishing the ride. The way she shifted her weight from foot to foot suggested she really needed the tip.

He recalled her earlier comment. If he was her first job of the night, and it was close to midnight, how bad off was she?

“I’ll tip in cash,” he said.

She frowned. “You can just use the app.”

“Sure, and how much do you receive?”

“I’m required to tell you that I get all of it.”

“Sure you do.”

She snorted, then placed a hand on her hip as he opened his wallet. Her eyes practically burst from her skull when she saw the mass of notes in it.

“This pays for my rent,” he said drily.

“Oh. You get paid in cash,” she muttered, disappointed, then took the notes he handed her while biting her lip. “Uh, thanks. Seriously. Especially after…”

“The bitchiness?”

She winced. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

“I’m used to much grumpier people, but I imagine it’s off-putting to most.”

“You’re not a ray of sunshine, either, you know.” She glared at him, then sighed. “Uh… you do trips like this often, right? From weird places, at weird times?”

He nodded.

She shook her wrist, and he finally noticed a tiny smartwatch on it. “Let’s exchange contacts. You need to get somewhere, at any time other than 9 to 5, I’ll get you there at a better rate than Wings… if you include the tip.”

Figured she had to be specific. Then again, if she held up her end of the bargain, having a flying taxi on call might be useful. Not every attempt to get a ride from a seedy part of the city ended as successfully as tonight.

He held his phone against her watch and they exchanged info.

“I’ll let you know when I need a lift from the club,” he said.

Her face brightened up, then she smoothed it back out to her usual resting bitchface. “Right. Yeah. I’ll be around.”

She wandered off. That alone told him that she planned to loiter until he left the club, as she should have flown off to get another job.

Shrugging his shoulders, Vince beelined to his destination. A neon sign read out Prefect Lounge, and a line of young men and women snaked back and forth out the front. Most of them were demihumans, dressed to the nines for a night out.

Vince ignored the line. A pair of bouncers in t-shirts and cargo pants kept the line from going anywhere, and it appeared the club was full. People left, nobody entered.

One of the bouncers spotted Vince and raised his hand. “V, how’s tricks? Heard you had a big job tonight.”

“Too big.” Vince came to a stop and bumped fists with the bouncer and exchanged a nod with the other one. “Paid well, though.”

“I’d hope so. Dunno how you deal with that shady shit, still. Too dangerous for my blood for too little pay.” The first bouncer shook his head. “You’re old enough to start thinking about safer work, man. Find some heiress and be a bodyguard. Or help us keep the peace.”

“Safe and boring,” Vince said drily.

“Not tonight. Pola and her pack have half the club to themselves. Steer well clear, unless you want to spend the rest of your short life being used as a toy by fifty horny wolfgirls.” The bouncer’s serious gaze made his otherwise ridiculous warning hit hard.

Although, as a native of Aulfair, Vince knew well enough not to laugh it off anyway. Large groups of demihumans could be dangerous as it is, due to the relative lawlessness of the city. But Pola?

“The hell are you doing renting out half the club to a fucking gang leader? She’ll burn the place down,” he said.

“Not my idea. The boss reckons that if she causes trouble, we can just bill her rich sister.”

“You can try. Richer, smarter folk have tried getting blood from that stone. Usually, she takes their blood instead.”

The Lionetti sisters, Pola and Alessia, had a reputation, and it was the sort that a smart man ran away from screaming. Pola led one of the most vicious wolffolk gangs in the city and Alessia controlled a “family” business that dated back to the founding of the city. Vince briefly considered bailing on his friend tonight.

Then again, his friend had been here for a good hour now. Things couldn’t be so bad.

“Is Ronin still here?” he asked the bouncer.

“He hasn’t left and a battalion of cops haven’t shown up to save him, so I’m assuming he’s here and safe,” the bouncer said drily.

“A fair call.” Vince gave the bouncer a thumbs up, then headed inside.

Some of the folks waiting in line bitched, then shut up when the bouncers threatened to kick them out of the line.

Red and blue light cascaded across the club interior, alternating to the beat of the bouncy EDM echoing from the speakers. Despite the name giving off an old school vibe, all the furniture looked sleek, dark, and slick under the lights. The two upper levels of the club housed tables, stools, and booths, with a dance floor on the lower level.

Vince instantly spotted the fifty or so wolfgirls lounging across one half of the club. They wore a variety of clothes, but tended toward darker colors and flashier outfits, such as the fur-lined jacket one showed off to a few. Dozens of wolf tails wagged as the girls slugged back what appeared to be copious amounts of rum and whisky, judging from all the empty bottles laying on the tables around them.

One spotted him entering and matched his gaze. Her eyes instantly narrowed and she licked her lips, but he broke eye contact and turned toward the bar on the opposite side of the club.

Internally, he wondered why all of Pola’s gang were women. He hadn’t heard anything about the Lionetti Family comprising entirely of women. Did the sisters who ran it have a personal preference?

Contrary to what the line outside suggested, half the chairs inside the club remained empty. Most of the patrons filled out the dance floor, which the wolf pack steered clear of. A half-dozen bouncers stood on the far wall, studiously pretending not to closely observe the criminal wolfgirls opposite them. No staff members stood on that side of the club, leaving that bar open to the pack.

But the bar Vince wandered over to was manned by two bartenders. A few people lingered nearby, but only one sat on the stools lining it.

That man raised his pint of beer in greeting to Vince as he approached. He was the same age as Vince, but looked far better groomed. Clean-shaven instead of stubble; a closely hewn haircut instead of the growing mess that Vince needed to do something about; and some smart casual clothes that actually matched the “smart” part of the label.

“Long night, Ronin?” Vince asked as he slid onto a stool beside his old friend.

“Nothing special. Spent most of it going over preparations around the city borders and some of the extra patrols we’re setting up for the next few weeks,” Ronin said. “Big conference coming up.”

“I’ve heard. You pulling extra shifts?”

“Maybe. Are you?” Ronin narrowed his eyes.

“The opposite,” Vince said drily. “While you cops wind up, we criminals wind down.”

“You’re not a criminal, Vince. If you were, I’d be arresting you. Independent enforcers are a valued part of the corporate landscape of Aulfair, even when they’re involved in less respected business.”

Vince tried not to laugh. “Right. Tell that to the last fine I got hit with after I got caught doing that ‘less respected business.’ Took out months of pay.”

“You got an infringement, not a conviction. It’s like a parking fine, only for protecting drug dealers.”

The two men stared at each other, then shook their heads and laughed at the absurdity of it all. A bartender took this as his moment to interrupt, and Vince ordered himself a beer.

Ronin eyed Vince closely. “You did get paid today, right?”

“I can buy my own beer,” Vince said defensively.

“Sure, but answer the question.”

“Yes, Dad, I got paid.” He rolled his eyes. “When did you decide to parent me? We went to school together. Our grades weren’t that different.”

Ronin shrugged. “It wasn’t the grades that separated us.”

They had, in fact, both gone to school together. But life had a way of taking different paths.

Ronin enforced what little law existed in Aulfair, and Vince helped the shady corporate conglomerates get around it. One of them had a stable job and salary, the other struggled to pay rent.

Life sucked sometimes, but Vince had learned long ago that bitching about it did nothing. Terrible things and awful people existed everywhere and inevitably saw success, often without trying. He had to make do with what he had. And what he had was a friend.

A beer slid in front of Vince. He glanced at the bartender, who shook his head.

“On the house. Somebody hooked you up with a tab tonight.” The bartender frowned. “A three-week tab, actually.”

Vince opened his mouth and instinctively looked at Ronin, but his mind caught up to what he’d been told before his friend even denied he’d put the money down.

“I get it,” Vince said. “I’m guessing you can’t tell me which demon put the money down?”

“No, but sounds like you know exactly who did.” The bartender nodded, then wandered off to pour some drinks for another customer.

Ronin frowned into his beer. One didn’t need to be a psychologist to know he was unhappy.

“I’m not bitching about free alcohol, Ronin,” Vince said as he took a swig of his drink. “Especially as I’m without a job for three weeks, based on the tab.”

“I told you ages ago to stop taking jobs from Quintus. He’s bad news. The worst. Immanuel is…” His friend bit his lip. “The conglomerates all seem the same from the outside—big, single-race dominated companies driven only by a lust for wealth and a reckless disregard for the law—but Immanuel is worse. The dragons are greedy, the foxes arrogant, the lions prideful, the vampires uncaring…”

“But the demons actively despise everyone else. I know. You’ve told me. Hell, that propaganda gets pushed everywhere.” Vince shrugged. “They’re far from the only conglomerate with skeletons in their closet.”

Some noise erupted from the far side of the club and a couple of bouncers shot away from the wall. Vince looked up, but Ronin drew his attention back immediately.

“Yes, but they’re the ones who will turn you into one of those skeletons at the first opportunity. There’s a whole damn city full of awful companies to work for. Surely, you can find another one to employ you to run illegal catalysts under our noses?”

“I do more than run catalysts,” Vince said defensively. “And—”

The sound of a steel table being smashed into another steel table interrupted him.

The shouting of the bouncers reached fever pitch. The bartenders vanished, while the patrons either rushed for the exit or the dance floor.

Both of them cursing, Vince and Ronin rose to their feet. Red and blue glows rippled around their bodies as they wordlessly cast barrier spells, but Ronin slipped a pair of silver knuckles over his fingers. He used a fancy magical focus for his spells, but that was too rich for Vince’s blood. Those silver knuckles could probably pay his rent for half a year.

Vince had used his own focus once, but he’d lost it in a rather nasty encounter with the cops.

Howling, jeering, and general drunken cheer roared from the crowd of wolfgirls, who wavered on their feet while watching a single of their kin flatten the entire club’s security.

The wolfgirl in question wore an oversized black fabric jacket that fell to her knees with sleeves so large they made her look like a child. She couldn’t be more than five foot four, and had the frame to match, save for a slightly more impressive chest. Her skirt and top looked designer, probably because they were.

Vince instantly recognized her. Even if she hadn’t just flattened over a half-dozen enforcers within thirty seconds without even trying, most men would easily recognize her hallmark appearance. Glowing green eyes, a single ragged silver wolf’s ear, a scarred stump in place of the other, and long silver hair that cascaded down her back in a curly mess.

Pola Lionetti, the leader of the Lionetti Family’s enforcers and a vicious gang lord.

Her eyes fixed on the only two men still standing on this level of the club, as no other bouncers had emerged. Ronin tensed, ready for anything.

Then Pola narrowed her eyes at Vince. “I know you. You’re an Immanuel thug, aren’t you? The fuck are you doing on my turf?”

Read Chapter 2