The eastern sky was beginning to show the first signs of sunrise when I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment building. The two-and-a-half-hour drive had passed in a haze of loud rock music and black coffee that I'd picked up at a truck stop on the way. I didn't really like coffee, certainly not black, and the drink had left a bitter coating on my tongue, but it was better than crashing because I fell asleep.

Even with the heated seats, the long drive had given my muscles time to tighten and cramp. My back and shoulders ached nearly as much as my head, and I had a throbbing pain in my hip. Stiffly, I climbed out of the car, every part of my body protesting the movement. I carefully limped my way through the gravel parking lot that was more potholes than anything else. The heavy back door squeaked, loudly announcing my arrival to any of the neighbors who happened to be awake this early.

My building was a large two-story brick house that had been converted into apartments a few years back, two on each floor with extra storage in the attic and basement. It wasn't bad as far as old buildings went and even had a bit of rustic charm with its original wood trim and high ceilings. The pipes rattled, and it took forever for hot water to reach the second floor but everything worked, for the most part, and when it didn't Todd was quick to respond to any complaints. You didn't want to go around scraping the paint, but at least you weren't going to find mice or roaches running around.

It was nice not to have to live in a slum but what really mattered was the landlord, Mrs. Vannote. She was pleasant if a somewhat absent-minded older lady who accepted cash, didn't run background checks, and never asked questions. As long as you were on time with the rent and didn't have the neighbors complaining about the noise, she didn't look too closely into who you were or what you were doing. Which was kind of surprising, since I’d always associated women her age as being incessant busybodies.

Of course, it meant that some of her tenants weren't always upstanding citizens, but I had no room to complain as far as that went. I had never had any problems with anyone, and her lack of interest in who I was or anything else about me had been a godsend when I was fifteen trying to pass for eighteen. I'd been here for almost a year now and my biggest issue had been a neighbor's dog that didn't seem to like me too much.

I paused to check my mailbox in the main hall, nothing but the usual junk, before climbing the steps. I shared the second floor with a college student, and I could hear her moving around in her apartment. My previous neighbor had been less than friendly which had suited me fine, but he had moved out a little over four months ago, and Sally had moved in. She tended to want to talk whenever she knew I was around, and no matter how carefully I tried to avoid her, she had the uncanny knack of always catching me out in the hall. In less than a week I'd known more about her than I'd ever known about any of my other neighbors. Tiptoeing down the hall, I unlocked the deadbolt as quietly as possible, slipping into my apartment.

Flipping the lock behind me, I threw the mail on the kitchen table before stumbling into the living room and practically falling face first onto the couch. I was supposed to check in with Jason at eight, and I knew I should be feeling anxious about the missing shifter, but fatigue had pushed any concerns I should have had to the back of my mind. I remembered laying on the couch thinking I'd close my eyes for a second, but it was only a half-formed thought before sleep overtook me.

The apartment was dark when I woke, and it took me a moment to realize that the pounding I was hearing wasn't lingering noise from my dreams. Groggy, I wiped the grainy residue from my eyes as I sat up confused and disorientated. I'd been dreaming about home, and it took a moment for my mind to comprehend why I was laying on an uncomfortable couch and not a bed, snuggled beneath my yellow comforter.

The digital clock on the shelf read six p.m., and someone was pounding on my door, each strike causing the wood to tremble in its frame. It wasn't a very sturdy door, and it sounded like they were going to break through any minute. As my mind began to clear, I realized whoever was pounding on my door was calling my name. I recognized the voice.

"Desirae, open the door, or I'm coming in." Ben yelled, and I cringed at what my neighbors were probably thinking. They were probably thinking of calling the cops if they hadn't already.

"One second," I called out, my voice thick with sleep. I wasn't sure I had said it loud enough to be heard, but the pounding stopped.

My neck felt stiff from the odd angle I'd slept at, and my mouth felt like I'd tried to eat a bag of cotton balls. I hadn't even bothered to take off my coat, leaving me uncomfortably warm and dehydrated. Shifting on the couch, I took off my jacket. I was disgusted to find that the dried mud from my jeans and coat had broken off in chunks, coating the couch cushions and floor in a layer of dirt. A quick check of my phone showed I'd slept through more than a dozen calls, the last a little over an hour ago. All were from a private number that I was sure was Jason's newest burner phone. Flipping on the living room light, I went and opened the door.

"You look like shit, kid," Ben said, as he pushed past me, not even waiting for an invitation.

"Sure, come on in," I muttered, closing the door behind him while trying to stifle a yawn. "Why are you here?"

"You had Jason worried when you didn't check in." He walked through the living room and down the short hall, peering into my bathroom and bedroom as if he thought I might be hiding someone in there. "He asked me to pay you a visit, make sure you were okay," he continued, returning to the living room. He moved to sit on the couch but changed his mind when he saw the fresh dirt scattered on the cushion and ground into the tan fabric. "So, what happened? Why didn't you check in?" he asked, sitting in the too small armchair instead.

Sighing, I walked over to the breakfast bar that separated the small kitchen from the only slightly larger living room. "Has he spoken with the client yet?" I asked, leaning against the counter, taking some of the pressure off of my still sore back.

I had wanted time to think about what I was going to say before I contacted Jason and having Ben suddenly here was throwing me off a little. It's not that I distrusted him or Jason but I didn't exactly trust them either. I knew exactly what they were and where their loyalties rested, squarely with themselves.

"Not that he mentioned. Are they going to complain?" he asked, leaning forward studying me. Their business relied heavily on reputation and word of mouth; an unhappy customer was unlikely to send others their way.

It had crossed my mind that Jason and Ben already knew what I was bringing across. They held no real allegiances to anyone or anything, and for enough money, they would probably even sell out each other. I didn't want to believe it, but there was always the chance that they'd known exactly what I'd been heading into.

I wanted to hint around, maybe find out how much he knew before I admitted to anything. I fumbled around for a way to lead into it, but a rapidly approaching headache left my mind feeling foggy and my thoughts scattered. "He was a shifter," I finally admitted, unable to think of anything else to say.

"What?" He asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I brought a shifter through," I said again, inwardly flinching at the admission.

I'd been watching for a reaction, any reaction, but he was so quick that he was on top of me before I realized what was happening. Grabbing my arms, he pushed me until my back rested against the door.

"You brought a shifter through the veil." He leaned forward, his voice all but hissing with accusation. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I didn't want to die." I tried to snap back, but the tremor in my voice sounded more scared than angry. It was too much like what the shifter had done. The wood door against my back felt like the cold wall of the alley, and I could swear I felt a knife pressing against my neck though both of Ben's hands were gripping my arms. "It's not like he gave me much of a choice."

"There's always a choice," he said, letting go of me and taking a step back. "Dammit Desirae," he said, running a hand over his bald head. "This whole thing works because we fly under the radar. This is not under the radar. Are you even sure it was a shifter? How do you know?" He asked.

"Probably because he practically melted in front of me when I cut off his awen," I said, readjusting my shirt.

It was comforting that he at least seemed genuinely taken aback by my announcement. Concern bordering on fear colored his dark eyes and whether it was for the shifter or what the Council might do when they found out didn't matter, the fact that he was afraid at all made me feel better. He hadn't known.

"Listen, I'm sorry, okay, but can you honestly say you or anyone else would have let him kill you rather than take him across?" I asked, knowing full well that he wouldn't have. "I tried, I seriously tried to lose him in the veil. There's a chance that he might be dead for all I know."

"What do you mean? What happened to him?"

"He looked dead when I went to get my car," I said, not wanting to talk about what happened in the veil. "But he wasn't there when I got back. There's a chance he didn't get far."

"I need to know exactly where you brought him out at." He said, grabbing a sheet of paper from the notepad on the table and pushing it towards me. "Is there anything that's going to bring a sniff nosing around?" He asked, a sharp edge creeping into his voice as he passed me a pen from his pocket.

I didn't want to admit that I'd left the weave open, which definitely increased the odds of the wrong person feeling it and coming to investigate. I was already on thin ice, and I wasn't sure how he'd handle that bit of news. Fortunately, his phone rang saving me from having to answer.

"Yeah, I'm here now." It must have been Jason. "No, she's fine, but we have a problem." He tapped the table and pointed at the paper he had given me before stepping out into the hall, closing the door behind him. I thought about locking it but it wouldn't have made a difference.

Tiptoeing forward, I pressed my ear against to door to listen. Ben's voice raised a few times, clearly in some kind of argument with Jason, but he'd walked down the hall, and I couldn't quite make out what he was saying. Giving up, I turned back to the table, picking up the pen and paper. I had mostly driven country roads, but I quickly sketched him a rough map with the major roads and landmarks I could remember. We were grasping at straws, and I knew it. The shifter was long gone, but at least it felt like something was being done, even if it was too little too late.

"Have you told anyone else?" Ben asked, stepping back into the kitchen the accusations back in his voice. He put his phone back into his pocket and grabbed the map, studying it.

"No, I swear. I was exhausted, and I fell asleep. I was out until you woke me," I promised. "I haven't told anyone, but you guys need to. Notify the Vanguard or someone," I pleaded.

I might have left the Tuathan community, but that didn't mean I had abandoned all loyalties. There were only a few reasons for a shifter to come over to this side of the veil and none of them were good. Infiltration, assassination, whatever the game was, the proper authorities needed to be warned. You didn't get to where Jason and Ben were without having friends, or at least reliable contacts, in high places and I was sure they could get the information to whoever needed it, if they wanted to.

"You need to keep this to yourself," he said, slipping the map into his jacket. "We'll handle the rest."

I nodded in agreement. I never used to be a suspicious person, but nowadays my survival practically demanded it and Ben's words didn't inspire much confidence. He was going to try to sweep this mess under the rug, and if he thought for a second that I was going to disobey or cause problems, I had a feeling that he'd sweep me under with it.

"Jason says you technically completed the job, so here's your payment," he said, reluctantly withdrawing a large white envelope from the inside of his jacket. He held it against his chest for a moment, studying me, as if he was having second thoughts, before finally handing it to me. I could guess this was one of the things he had been arguing with Jason about out in the hall.

Smuggling was a profitable business; it wouldn't be worth the risks if it weren't. My standard fee was five grand, and from the weight and bulge of the envelope, it was all there. Hesitantly I reached out, grabbing the money. Ben and Jason weren’t the generous types nor were they usually willing to part with money on technicalities. If I hadn't already been uneasy about my future prospects with them, the fact that he was handing over the money after the mess I'd made, would have set off warning bells in my head, as it was they were already ringing loud and clear.

"Lay low for a while; we'll contact you," he said before walking to the door.

With a promise that I would do as he asked he left. Closing the door, I leaned back against the wood and slid down to the floor, pulling my knees up to my chest. Staring at the blank white paper, I absently turned the envelope back and forth between my fingers. I had hoped that telling Ben would relieve some of the guilt that had been building in the pit of my stomach but if anything, it had made it worse. I had no real confidence Jason or Ben would notify anyone. They had too much to lose.

I couldn't decide if I wanted to laugh or cry. The last twenty-four hours had been a complete disaster and it didn't look like things were going to get better anytime soon. Dirt scratched my skin as I rested my head on my knees and I realized I was still wearing last night's torn, dirt crusted clothes. I felt grimy, and even after sleeping all day, I was drained. Five minutes in the shower and I might actually be able to think straight.

Dragging myself off of the floor, I stumbled into the bedroom. Wanting nothing more than to put on a pair of warm flannel pajamas, I made myself pull out a sweater and jeans instead; regardless of what I decided to do, I had a feeling I wouldn't be staying here much longer. Turning on the shower, I started getting undressed while giving the water time to heat up. I glanced in the mirror and immediately regretted it. Even after nearly ten hours of sleep I still had dark circles and a definite sallow tinge to my eyes. Scratches marred one of my cheeks, and I couldn't stop my hand from shaking as I ran a finger along the thin line of dried blood that marked my neck.

Pulling my hoody off, I winced as the fabric that was sticking to the wound on the back of my head tore free, taking part of the newly formed scab with it. A fresh trickle of blood slid through my hair and down my scalp. My hair, with its thick chestnut waves, was usually my best feature, but now it was an oily matted mess.

As I finished undressing, I took note of the various scrapes and bruises that covered the rest of my body, but other than a large bruise on my right hip and the abrasion on my head, nothing seemed to be too serious. Though with the way my thoughts still seemed slow and scattered I was pretty sure I had some kind of concussion.

Twenty minutes later I was back on the couch feeling considerably cleaner and somewhat less sore. A piece of gauze and some tape formed a makeshift bandage on the back of my head. The rest of my injuries had been superficial, needing no more care than a good cleaning. While showering, I had decided that I definitely couldn't trust Jason and Ben to do the right thing and once I'd reached that conclusion, there was only one option left. But knowing what I needed to do and mustering the courage to do it was two different things. It's just a phone call, an anonymous phone call, I chided myself after having sat there for several minutes staring at my phone.

Hitting the screen, a little harder than necessary, I dialed the ten digits every Tuathan knew by heart.

"Danu International, how may I direct your call?" a pleasant voice answered immediately.

"Vanguard unit please," I said my voice breaking slightly at the end.

"One moment please," the voice said, followed by cheerful hold music.

"Vanguard, Agent Klein speaking." A much less pleasant voice answered a few seconds later. "Can I help you?" he repeated when I didn't answer right away.

"I'd like to report an illegal crossing," I stammered, pushing the words past the lump in my throat.

Otherworld was only about the size of Montana. The limited area and the Faye's unique connection to their world allowed them to monitor the veil on their end. Each court covered their own realms, and as for the areas that neither court claimed, well you didn't want to be crossing over into them anyways. It wasn't the same on the Earth side. Even if we had the same connection to our world that they did, the sheer size made monitoring impossible.

"Name?" he asked, a keyboard clicking in the background.

"Can I be anonymous?"

There was an audible sigh before he continued, sounding even less interested than before. "When and where did it occur?"

I hesitated, unsure if I should give him the Earth side or Otherworld crossing point.

"When and Where?" He repeated, his words terse.

"Last night in Galicia." I blurted.

Giving the location in Otherworld was pretty much admitting I had been involved, at least in some way, but the Earth side crossing was just a little too close to home. Not to mention Ben would kill me if he thought I had sent the Vanguard to where he was presumably checking for the shifter. That’s if he wasn't already planning to come back and kill me anyways.

There was a moment of silence from the other end of the line before he spoke again, the indifference gone from his voice. "What's your name?" This time it was a demand rather than a request.

I hung up the phone. It rung again almost immediately. I sent it straight to voicemail. It rung again a minute later, this time I let it continue ringing. Could they trace the call? Of course, they could. Should have thought about that beforehand. My phone was one I'd picked up at the local Walmart, with no contract and nothing attaching my name or address to the number but it still had a GPS chip.

I resisted the urge to go look out the window as if someone would already be in the street watching. Why hadn't I at least left my apartment before calling? It wouldn't take them long to figure out who I was. I hadn't bothered with a fake name when I rented the apartment. A quick review of the mailboxes downstairs would send them straight to my door.

There wasn't much I could do about it now. I had already half decided that I didn't trust Jason and Ben enough to stay, but now there really was no choice. I could either wait here for the inevitable knock on my door; if they were polite enough to knock, or I could run. If I left now, I might get enough of a head start to avoid any sniffs that tried to follow. Ben said I needed to lay low, what I needed to do was disappear. Start a new life somewhere else.

Cursing myself for being so stupid, I left my phone on the couch and went into the bedroom. Pulling a duffel bag from the closet, I rummaged through my drawers, throwing in a couple of pairs of jeans, some sweaters, a few Tees, and my sneakers; stuffing socks, underwear, and a few toiletries into the remaining crevices. I zipped up the bag and surveyed the room, not wanting to forget anything. There wasn't really anything to forget. The room was practically empty, my entire existence shrunk down to a single duffel bag.

When I first ran away, I'd been broke, but since falling in with Jason, I made more than enough money to live comfortably, but I just couldn’t bring myself to care about anything anymore. I had no motivation, no drive, my hobbies replaced by TV and too much sleep. The only thing I had made time for was running, which was more to keep myself sane than anything else. That had become my life, every bit as sad as it sounded.

But I didn't plan for this to become permanent, there was no way I was smuggling for the rest of my life. My current situation was bred from desperation, and temporary. I had no intentions of continuing down this path. Even if I wasn't motivated to live my life now, I was motivated for the future. A future where I didn't have to look over my shoulder or worry about who was knocking at the door.

Almost every extra penny I made went into a savings account for college. Get my GED, graduate college, and then live the rest of my life discreetly among humans. Never having anything to do with the Tuathans or magic again. That had been the plan. But now it was all falling apart.

Throwing the duffel over my shoulder, I took one last look around. I don't know why; I wasn't going to miss this place. I'd never considered it my home, just somewhere to stay so I wasn't out on the street. I unhooked the apartment key from my keyring and set it on the counter before grabbing my coat and purse. I didn't bother engaging the lock behind me. If anyone came looking for me, hopefully, they'd try the knob first and save Mrs. Vannote the hassle of having to replace the door.