“Well, what are they doing in the warehouse?” I asked.

“I wasn’t able to tell. Something is going on. There are scrying wards up. Not much of a digital footprint beyond the basics. Taxes, utilities, that sort of thing. Aldopous Inc. purchased the building about six months ago. Power, water and internet were all turned on then and they have been using nominal amounts of all three. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

I unwrapped a package of report notebooks and opened a box of pens from the office supplies on my desk. I started jotting down notes. “What do we know about the, uh, werewolves, that run Aldopous Inc?”

“Run of the mill were gang. Black Mesa pack. They are more coyotes than wolves. The clan structure of most were packs lend itself well to organized crime, so there are quite a few of them. “

“There are werecoyotes?”

“There’s a were-variant for most of the large mammals. Tigers, lions, bears.”

“Oh my,” I deadpanned.

Agent Ruthersford smiled. “The Black Mesa pack has operated in the area for a few years. Nothing big-time. But they have dabbled in human trafficking, which is troubling.”

“You think that’s the play here?”

“You’ll find that these metanatural plots often revolve around the control of humans. We serve as many things for the metas. Thralls, power sources, food.

“Food?”

“Quite a few of the supernatural races subsist at least partially on blood. Human blood is a favorite.”

“Do the weres eat people?”

“Not normally. They are part human themselves, so it would be akin to cannibalism. Not that it doesn’t happen. No, as powerful as the metas are, they must still operate in secret from society at large. The were-packs make excellent ground troops as they can pass as human and walk in the daylight. If I had to guess, I would say that Black Mesa is running the warehouse at the behest of a higher power, for a greater purpose.”

“Who? Like a vampire or something?” This conversation was blowing my mind.

“That’s what we are paid to find out, Agent Renshaw. A woman named Vanessa runs the Black Mesa Pack.”

“Just Vanessa?” I looked up from my scribbling.

“Just Vanessa. A mononym, like Cher. We know little about her. She came into control of the pack about six months ago.”

“The same time that Adolphus Inc. purchased the plant.”

Agent Ruthersford nodded.

“Well, maybe we should go talk to her. Right to the source.”

Teddy laughed. “I don’t think we would survive the encounter. We don’t know where Vanessa is, anyway. She’s been quite the mystery. Agents Faulkner and Santiago are going to run down that angle. Alicia has quite a few contacts with the clans. I am not hopeful though, we’ve tried looking into Vanessa and the Black Mesa before. Nothing has come of it.”

“Hmm.” I tapped my pen on my pad. “Then I stand by my suggestion from yesterday.”

“Personal surveillance?”

“It’s called a stakeout Teddy. And you’re buying the chili dogs.”

“Chili dogs?”

“You can’t have a stakeout without chili dogs. You’ll see. I know a place. But first, we have to stop by the armory.”

“Does young Daniel have more firearms for you? Aren’t you already quite well-armed?”

“We’ll have to go see.”

Young Daniel did have more firearms for me. We walked into the armory and Ben Jones greeted us with a smile and a wave. “Agent Renshaw! You got my note. Great, wait here. I’ll be right back.”

He came back with another long gun case and ammo can. He opened the case reverently.

“Shotgun?” I asked.

“Scattergun!” Dan enthused. “A good ol’ double-barrel coach gun!”

He pulled the double barrel from the case.

The shotgun was a wicked-looking Stoeger hammerless double barrel with a two-stage trigger. It had the same deep-blued finish as the Winchester but used a darker wood for the furniture. The stock and fore grip were almost black. It was a break action, and the barrels looked like someone had cut them down a bit more than was strictly legal. Dan pulled out a belt with notches to hold shotgun shells on a leather paddle and fit it around his waist, above his belt line.

“This will be great if you are in a situation where you need to switch ammo types quickly.” He demonstrated by breaking the gun open and pretended to take shells from the belt and jamming them home before snapping it back closed. “Cool, huh?”

“Very cool, Dan. Thanks.”

“The ammo can is full of the standard agency rounds in 12 Gauge. I made a special ammo for the double-barrel, though. It’s an area denial round. It’s full of pepper spray, tear gas, and a bunch of other things that meta naturals find irritating. Just point it at an area that you don’t want people to go to and give it a full squeeze. The irritants should aerosolize and linger in the area for about 3 minutes.”

“That sounds extremely useful,” I commented.

“Oh! One more thing!” Dan went on without missing a beat. Agent Ruthersford rolled his eyes. “No self-respecting cowboy lawman walks around without one of these.”

Dan pulled out a gleaming Bowie knife with a six-and-a-half-inch blade from somewhere under the counter. “It’s a Bark River with a custom wood grip I put on. It’s also got runes for sharpness and durability etched into the blade.” Ben handed me the knife open-palmed, like it was Excalibur.

I looked at the Bowie skeptically. “This is outstanding, Ben, but it’s a lot of knife. Where am I supposed to carry this?”

Dan had prepared for the question and quickly pulled out a couple of different sheaths. “This one will fit your Agency tactical rig.” He handed me a stiff Kydex sheath with Molle attachment points. “And for everyday carry. I rigged this up.” He handed me a complicated-looking leather sheath with some elastic straps attached.

“Is this an ankle rig?”

“Yep.” Dan beamed. “You can carry it point up, handle down on your lower leg for easy access. Or.” He slipped the sheath off of the complicated ankle rig and showed it to me. “Or. You can slip it on your pistol belt, right behind one of the Rugers.” He beamed. “Just like a genuine cowboy.”

“Let me see that.” Agent Ruthersford took the Bowie from me and inspected it. “Daniel, you know this is against regulation, not to mention stupid.”

Dan looked like a whipped puppy. “I know Agent Ruthersford. I’m sorry. I just wanted it to be something special.”

“Oh, it’s special alright. I won’t report you this time, but please use better judgment in the future.”

Dan found something extremely interesting on the floor. I slid the Bowie on my belt and collected the rifle bag and ammo box. I signed the paperwork that Dan slid at me to acknowledge that I was taking the gear. I winked at him as I walked off, and he smiled. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I was sure I could only make it worse for young Daniel.

“What was that about?” I asked as soon as we got on the elevator and headed for the garage.

Agent Ruthersford sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “The knife that Daniel gave you is special. The runes he inscribed on it are permanent ones. It will never dull, rust, bend, or break.”

“Well, that’s good, right? Sounds like a useful thing to have.”

“Most assuredly. But you have to understand a bit about how magic works. Mana, Chi, Shakti, whatever you want to call it. It’s drawn into this world from another. Mages have the ability to bridge those universes and draw the power needed to perform, well, magic. The power of a mage is dependent mostly on his ability to draw that power through. It’s partly hereditary and partly practice.

“That makes sense, but I am not sure what that has to do with the Daniel and the Bowie knife.”

“Remember how I told you the runes on your car and on your guns would have to be refreshed every so often. When a mage puts a rune on something, he draws power through the shroud and imbues it into that object. Then the rune activates, the power is spent, and the magic happens. The rune and the power stored there eventually weakens until it’s used up and then it disappears.”

“And you said the knife would stay sharp forever.”

“Exactly. Daniel, the fool that he is, used another technique. Rather than using his power to push mana into the knife, he actually pushed his power into the knife. That allows it draw mana from the void forever. Daniel plugged the magic in the knife into the wall rather than letting it run on batteries.”

“That sounds way better. Why doesn’t everyone do it that way?”

Agent Ruthersford looked pained. “He put his power in the knife. Permanently. A piece of Ben’s soul, if you will, is stuck in that blade. It’s constantly drawing power so you have a pointy piece of metal to stick people with.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. Daniel is now less of a mage having made that knife.”

“Why would he do that?” I asked.

“Because he’s an idiot? Because he thought it would be cool? Because he thinks you’re cool? Who can understand the minds of the young?”

I had to laugh a bit at that. Kids were kids, even magical ones. “Can he undo it?”

“He could undo it. Or if someone destroyed the blade in a certain way, the power would go back into the universe and eventually find its way back to Daniel. There’s also the possibility that he could never get it back. Or worse, if it fell into the wrong hands, a particularly evil-minded wizard could use it to dreadful things to poor Daniel.”

“I’ll give it back. Make him remove the runes.”

Agent Ruthersford chewed his lip. “It would hurt him. Insult him. It took Daniel considerable effort to make that knife for you. To refuse it would be akin to a slap in the face. Keep it for now. We’ll have to think of a way to return Daniel’s power to him without wounding his ego.”

The elevator dinged, and we walked into the parking garage. I wasn’t sure what to think. This was a different world, with different rules. I needed to tread carefully.

“Well, there’s nothing for it now.” Teddy walked over to his Bentley and removed his tactical vest and a bag from his trunk. “You drive today. You have a better nose for this sort of work.”

I popped my trunk and stored my rifle bags and Teddy’s gear. “No problem, T. But remember, you’re buying.”

“Chili dogs?” He asked.

“Chili dogs.”