“You’ve reached Mirrah and Z, Leila speaking how may I help you?”

“Yes, good evening. I was wondering if you have cleaning services. It’s kind of urgent.”

May I ask who I’m speaking to?

Ah yeah sorry this is Nathan Turner.

Yes, knight Turner, your account has been created today, now what is it you need cleaned sir?

Monster corpses and Claymore mine damage, mostly. Oh, and a pair of rental vans.

…

…

May I inquire as to the location?

Nathan hangs up and sits back down in the living room couch. Martin hangs back, carrying a reinforced laptop case.

“So?”

“I got some kind of posh souding lady, says the cleaners will be there at nightfall and that I should under no circumstances be near to, or look at the concerned area. So Gwahin should be fine.”

The Yol looks smug, digging into gristles with her unstrung bow slung over her shoulder. Her bark and leaf outfit is much closer to armor than clothes today. Her new amber colored earrings shine softly in the lamp light. She still refuses to say where she got them from. This is the first item of clothing he has ever seen her wear.

“Silly human, of course I will be fine. Why! You should worry about yourself”

Awfully confident for someone who basically killed one Varog then went home. She probably shot him in the back too. Nathan decides to magnanimously let it slide this time, especially since he is currently immobilized and Gwahin has been known to hide thorns in cushions as a “prank”.

“That should be fine but remember it’s only a matter of time before Chauham comes knocking, better be prepared”.

At the mention of the name, Nathan notices Seren straighten up. The angry look on her face is somewhat lessened by the cold bag she is still dutifully sticking to her forehead. Nathan can already tell the bump will be spectacular but so far he is the only one who both lost consciousness and actually required stitches. Maybe it’s the Universe’s way of telling him he should retire and let the younger generations pick up the fight.

Nathan catches himself staring at Seren’s peach shaped butt and averts his eyes. Future generations his ass, this fight is squarely on them. Soon, the twins leave in their privatized armored transport, and Patience drives Seren North in her beat up Sedan. Sarah is already gone to see her son. Only Gwahin remains, looking at him with a strange expression.

“You need proper rest. Also! Don’t forget to take your medicine.”

“I won’t, trust me, especially the pain killers. By the way, are you sure Toothy is ok?”

“Yes mortal, yes, your horribly named Sylvian companion is fine. You will just have to make sure that he can sleep well by keeping his novelty teapot warm. “

There is a brief pause while Gwahin looks contemplative.

“I cannot believe I just said that.

“I bet you feel like your life is getting out of control huh?”

Nathan only half listens while Gwahin starts lecturing him on proper hospitality, Makka handling, proper fighting, storing enough meat jerky and frozen desserts for winter and how when she was young she would never have left a Varog even get close to her, yadda yadda yadda, let me just rest my eyes for a second.

Someone is going to die, Nathan is going to gouge out their eyes with a rusty spoon then strangle them with their own innards if they don’t stop shaking him awake right the fuck now and oh, it’s Gwahin.

“I’m listening, I’m listening!”

Gwahin looks dubious at best.

“You were talking about how stupid I was to jump on the Varog instead of letting myself fall.”

The Yol’s shit-eating grin only grows larger.

“That was six hours ago, it is now one in the morning.”

“Then why are you waking me, and why do you look so excited?!”

“It’s just like on TV! We are getting SWATed!”

…Fuck.

Someone is going to die. Nathan is going to flay them alive with sandpaper and wear their intestines like a flowery Hawaii garland.

“Mr Turner?”

“Mmrggnfl”

“Mr Turner!”

Nathan looks up to see the face of an Eastern looking man. Looks familiar.

“Right, Mr Turner, you know what I want to know.”

Nathan can tell that the guy’s nerves are frayed around the edges. He also knows that the guy wants something. What was it? Ah yes, information. He wants to know something.

“You’re ugly”

With this vital piece of information dutifully shared, Nathan considers his mission accomplished and goes back to his well earned sleep.

Someone is going to… Oh, what is that smell? Nathan grunts and lifts his head. On the cheap table of the bland interrogation room in front of him stands coffee. Not the abominable sock juice in plastic cup, but a genuine, freshly ground Arabica in a white mug with a stylized pig on it. The aroma wafting from it is almost enough to make him forget that he feels absolutely horrible. Then Nathan lifts his head again, and again, and again to finally rest on the bringer of caffeinated delights. Waking up next to Sarah was really nice, waking up to a Nordic mountain of a man… Not so much.

“Hum. Hi.”

Erkisen points a sausaged sized finger at the steaming mug and speaks with a rumbling voice.”

“Coffee.”

Ah, a man of few words, just what Nathan needs at the moment. He finally grabs the mug and takes a sip.

An explosion of savor hits him, smooth body and bitter aftertaste, not too acid. The coffee rolls on his tongue and wakefulness spreads through his mind with a speed more Pavlovian than chemical.

Erkisen does not seem to want to talk at the moment so Nathan takes stock. First thing, besides the coffee he feels that he’s been trampled by a herd of buffalos and then left to dry on a spiky rock bed for several days with his head held in a vise by what he assumes is a team of hardened Spanish inquisitors . Muscle pain, wound pain, hangover and the beginning of a fever rolled in one nifty package. The interrogation room in which he is still sitting is not well heated either so he is freezing on top of the rest. Why does everything have to be so damn painful anyway, why can’t it be a small pop up window in your field of view that says “Critical damage to starboard testicle” or something.

While still sipping, Nathan gets a good look at Eriksen. This guy is truly intimidating. His face is intimidating, his bulging muscles are intimidating. The fact that he is probably by himself the third highest mountain in the whole county is intimidating, and finally his posture speaks of leashed violence. Nathan is used to smarmy dipshits so Chauham is not too hard to handle but Eriksen is different, and he can’t enjoy the coffee with this dude just… Looming menacingly. Nathan cracks first.

“What do you want?”

“Chauham wants you on board but won’t get it. Know your type. “

Nathan lifts an eyebrow despite himself. So Chauham wants him as a recruit, not a prisoner?

“I don’t want you on board. Not good follower, think yourself too smart. Still want you as ally. ”

And as an afterthought:

“No offense.”

To be fair Eriksen is correct. Being a good follower is just as important as being a good leader and he cannot see himself following Chauham without trying to sabotage the arrogant ass every step of the way. If there are three people or more there is always politics, and this is what it’s about here and now.

Eriksen still hasn’t made a point so Nathan waits.

Eriksen takes a Ziploc bag out of a shirt pocket. He holds the item with two fingers and lets it hang in front of Nathan’s eyes. Inside, there are two very small metal balls looking slightly melted.

“This is what you get after a M18A1 Claymore mine detonates. Hundreds of the little fuckers everywhere.”

Eriksen’s stare drills into Nathan’s soul.

“Found those on the road just outside your house, could look for point of origin. Could have given it to agent Chauham but I didn’t . You owe me. You do your thing, but don’t burn bridges.”

Nathan nods.

Eriksen leaves without a word, an exit ruined when Nathan stops him because he needs to go to the closet, all because of a totally natural and physiological reaction to drinking a lot of coffee in the morning. Afterward, Chauham shows up in an impeccable charcoal suit looking completely refreshed, the prick.

The first thing Chauham does is to shake Nathan’s hand and point toward his family size side-kick.

“Good morning Mr Turner, I am agent Chauham and this is my partner, agent Eriksen. We met at the hospital remember?”

By the time Nathan finally understand what Chauham has done, it’s already too late. The agent is opening a red colored file with practiced moves. There is something ritualistic about it.

“Tell you what, you look like the silent type so I’ll talk and then we will see where that leads us. First things first, I am leading a newly created task force charged with identifying and dealing with, and I quote, “any and all occurrences that can be attributed to phenomena or entities separate from modern science”. You have to admire our government’s unwillingness to utter the term supernatural, but hey, here we are. “

Chauham’s dark brown eyes peer at every detail on Nathan’s face with an intensity that scares him. He thought he was savvy, world wise, that he could handle disgruntled coworkers and customers with ease. This is different. The agent in front of him is steering the conversation like a maestro by doing the only thing that could convince Nathan: he is actually making sense.

“What this means is that if there is anything that goes bump in the night or that is just too unconventional, my team and I will receive a notification. Now, you might think that it’s the proverbial needle in the haystack and that most stuff we would look into turn out to be mundane. You would be wrong.”

Chauham leans forward.

“See the reason why the people above have actually managed to come to an agreement is that there is a lot of stuff going bump in the night recently, and I think it’s getting worse.

Now you might want to think that in their infinite wisdom, the Departments of Justice and Homeland Security cooperated fully to provide us with a full range of experts, full support of local enforcement and a liaison with the department of Defense to face this completely new and unknown threat. Sadly, they didn’t. Instead we are treated like the dumping ground for out of favor agents and before you ask, no, I did not piss off anyone important, I volunteered.”

Chauham speaks with a strength that borders on fanaticism. He may still be gauging Nathan’s reactions but he truly believes what he is saying.

“So we are understaffed, our people are not the most motivated and that’s not counting those who still don’t believe in monsters, but that’s not the worst.”

Chauham is now close enough that Nathan could reach him, instead he schools his face to show indifference, a task that’s getting harder by the second.”

“No the worst is that all our experts, our resources, cryptozoologists and magical theory researchers are useless. None of the hypothesis we have work in reality. On October the 15th we lost almost an entire team to monsters like the one you, miss Nechayeva and officer Henkel killed. Our operatives had silver bullets, crosses, blades of cold iron. None of it mattered; we still took casualties including the hostages. I was getting desperate and then a few days later I receive a new report.”

Chauham sits back and slaps the table with a smile that reaches his eyes, making him friendly and approachable.

“Holy shit I could not believe my own eyes, two monsters dispatched with no casualties by an after sell manager and a business school student. Hostages saved!”

Nathan wants to add that Henkel was here too but manages to keep his trap shut.

“Aaaand it turns out that the after sales manager, who had no martial training or fighting experience whatsoever, had a close encounter with one of the monsters before and survived.

Now, I am not exactly sure how you manage to know all you know. You could be part of a secret organization … But I doubt it, they would have sent a fighter not a scholar.”

Wait what? Ah yes Chauham is still reading his reactions.

“So probably not that, regardless you know how to face them. I mean, a chainmail really? I still can’t quite believe it.”

Chauham laughs softly before leaning forward again.

“I don’t know if king Arthur is your ancestor or if it’s instinct or dumb luck and honestly I don’t care that much, what I want is to know how you know all of this. Now I could try and force you to tell us everything but I won’t , that would be counter-productive, instead I’m asking nicely.”

Chauham takes out two pictures from his massive file. The first is an Asian teen with a round face and an infectious smile. Her skin is sun kissed and her black hair messy, giving her a goofy appearance. The second photo is an old white man with blue eyes and short white hair. His face is clean shaven and sharp, making him look a bit like Julius Caesar.

“ We found those two among a fleet of abandoned rental vans. They remember being abducted but don’t remember being rescued.”

Nathan feels his brows furrow. A fleet? There were just three of them, and he had asked the cleaners to take care of those. He should have checked the vans himself or at least have Seren do it for him. Exhaustion had made him sloppy, or is there something going on he doesn’t know about?

“I need the person who saved five hostages successfully. I need the person who stopped the kidnappers three times in a row. I need the person who brought a chainmail to a gun fight and won. I think it’s you. You may feel proud about what you have done so far and you should be, but there is a lot more going all around the place and we can do something about it. I can provide you with intel, weapon, training, and the full support of the United States government. I just need you to work with me. We can do this together. Are you with me?”

Meanwhile, Nathan is thinking about Aaron Horowitz.

In the time when his dad was alive, they had gone to several fairs and events related to the European middle ages as a family. One of his favorite people and a regular fixture was Hebus the wise. Hebus the wise, real name Aaron Morowitz, was a man of great stature and great appetite, and a great, wizard-like beard. He had made a lasting impression on the young and impressionable Nathan by virtue of his sheer charisma. He would walk around talking to people and “Guessing” things about them and their personalities with the uncanny accuracy of the consummate con artist, but never accepted anything in return but heartfelt compliments. There were three notable things about Aaron Horowitz. First, Aaron was a retired lawyer at the tender age of fifty-one by virtue of being really, really good at his job and quite rich as a result. Secondly, he was married to a woman who looked like the love child of Monica Belluci and Salma Hayek. She would walk around dressed as a gypsy, giving young men palm readings and lifelong sexual fantasies. Thirdly, and the source of the two other points, Aaron Morowitz was insanely good at reading and manipulating people

During one of their conversations Aaron had revealed some basic tricks. For example, he would ask someone to remember something at the beginning of the conversation so he would know what they look like when they search their memories as opposed to when they lie. That was not a perfect method but it helped. Other tricks included mentioning an unacceptable option, like Chauham forcing Nathat to talk, and then the next option, like cooperation between them, looks comparatively more attractive. There were many, many more tricks but Nathan did not have the skill or inclination to learn them. Suffice to say that a glimpse at Aaron’s abilities has allowed Nathan to reach the fateful conclusion: Chauham is good. He knows what to say, and how to say it to get what he wants, but this time he will not get it.

It is not a question of making sense or not, from a purely pragmatic perspective, Chauham is right.

It is not even about him being a manipulative asshole. Nathan is a professional and can work with assholes, even for them. He has done it before. It’s ultimately about what Gwahin said. Magic is a story waiting to be written, an ancient tale that suffers no compromise and no hypocrisy. Magic is not suited for the modern world and by corollary; the modern world is not suited for magic. Nathan made a claim and cannot afford to go back on it and wait for someone else to make the decisions for him, else the weave will punish him. He is to be his own boss, the master of his domain and he cannot afford to follow someone he neither likes nor respects.

Nathan also cannot trust people with Gwahin’s existence, not yet. The temptation to study a live specimen would be too strong for some. No, he cannot do it. This is a path he has to walk, if not on his own, at least by his own choices.

“I am not sure who you think I am, but I must decline.”

Nathan makes sure he looks suitably contrite but Chauham has murder in his eyes.

“Very well.”

Chauham takes out a small recorder, probably for show, and starts in a chilling voice.

Interview with Nathan Mordred Turner…

The following hours are a gruesome game with one side showing in turn anger, patience and comprehension, with the other side applying Hebus the wise’s most valuable lawyer advice: when in police custody, shut the fuck up.

“After I leave this door, I can no longer help you”

“Lawyer”

“I am on the side of saving people, which side are you on?”

“Laaawyer”

“You lost your father when you were young, don’t you feel empathy for all those kids who will grow up without a parent because you want to play the lone ranger?”

“Lawyer lawyer lawyer”

That last one was kind of a dick move.

After a good two hours of that, Chauham finally throws the towel. One look from Eriksen is enough to remind Nathan of his promise. Swallowing his pride, he turns to the spotless agent.

“If you want my opinion, you can always call me.”

Wow, that was lame. Chauham’s gaze turns calculating while Eriksen just shakes his head. Cringe. Oh well. Nathan checks his hoodie pockets for a business card before realizing Chauham already knows his number and has tapped it besides.

Way to make an exit.