Chapter 1: Wrong

Warren's fists flew fast and true, the punching bag before him absorbing the blows without protest. Sweat dripped down his face, down his body, as he worked out the frustration, the helplessness, the overall sense of failure that permeated his very being.

The obviously well used punching bad was just one of the many pieces of workout equipment that Warren kept in his garage. He spent a fair amount of time working out yet lately he seemed to spend more time working out than not.

Unbidden, unwelcome, the familiar image of Josh, dead and cold laying on the wooden porch of his enemy's house flashed into his mind.

Warren cried out in personal agony as his last punch flew and he stopped, leaning against the abused bag just a bit as he shook his head.

He and Josh hadn't really been close. Though they had spent every day together for a little over a month, there had always been a sort of clash of personalities between the two men. Warren considered Josh more of a coworker than friend. In fact, he was closer to Ilia and Dallas, though he hadn't seen either of them since that night, than he ever had been to Josh.

The night Josh died, the night Warren failed in his task.

The Mythical Creatures Regulation Committee, the MCRC, was tasked with the job of promoting mythic relations, laws, and rights throughout the world. Warren worked for the criminal division of MCRC, under Jack Cross, and dearly loved his job.

Warren, himself, was a mythic. A haltija, a mythic that was a close cousin to the elves. His kind shared many of the same traits with them. They both had long, pointed ears, longer even than other mythics such as fairies or sirens. Both species had jewel bright eyes, Warren's were a spectacular shade of green, and both could be poisoned with alcohol.

However, the key difference between the two was that of nature and coloring. Elves tended to be pale, with fine hair, and were the most peaceful of all the creatures on the planet. Musically inclined, artistically superior to nearly everyone, and deeply philosophical; elves were a species of mythic most every one loved and respected.

Haltija, on the other hand, couldn't be more different. Warren had thick, black hair that he really needed to get cut at the moment, as well as dark, olive colored skin. The biggest difference, though, was that of personality. Haltija were aggressive, protective, and, more often than not, domineering.

All haltija, regardless of gender or religion of background, developed, right around puberty, a connection to something. A connection so strong and deep and lasting it bordered on obsession. This bond, this mania, this reason for living, was called a vaki. It was intensely personal, incredibly important, and completely unforgettable.

Sometimes it was a simple thing. Warren's father's vaki was his house, the building itself and the small plot of land around it was what he connected to. Other times, it was obscure and odd. Warren knew of a haltija is who's vaki was the migrational path of monarch butterflies. Not the butterflies themselves, but the path they used to migrate along.

Warren's vaki, his reason for living, the thing he must protect above all others, was MCRC itself. The people, the building, the idea, the rules they set in place for the mythics they helped. This made him incredibly valuable to Jack. Because of the vague nature of his vaki, he could be called upon to protect any and all parts of MCRC. A building, done, a person, done, argue for hours for the advancement of mythics, done.

Warren's last assignment, only a week ago now, had been to protect the MCRC employee Josh. Easy enough to do, the guy was a computer expert, it wasn't like he was going to be in very many dangerous situations.

It was the only failure Warren had on his record.

Josh, it had turned out, was a traitor. He had been working for the very guys Jack had been trying to find and take down. He had paid for the crime with his life, not because of something MCRC did, but because of what the other guys, a group called Intrebari, had done.

And Warren hadn't even been there. By the time he had reached the house Josh had already passed on, Ilia had been crying over his corpse, and Dallas was telling Jack what had happened over the phone.

Josh had been a traitor, he didn't have much in the way of friends, and he had absolutely no family. Yet, despite that, he had been an MCRC employee, protecting him had been Warren's assignment.

And it was a failure that Warren was not coping with well.

He hadn't really left the house since he had returned to it, taking advantage of his vacation and sick days. He didn't really give prior warning but Jack hadn't called to chew him out so he knew his boss had taken care of it. Just as sure as he was that when Jack had decided he had taken enough time, he would call him back in.

As if his thoughts had traveled across town and planted themselves in his brain, Warren's cell phone, that sat on his weight bench, started ringing Secret Agent Man, Jack's ring tone.

Warren twisted his body once, slammed his knee into the side of the bag one time before turning to pick it up.

He barely said 'hello' before Jack cut him off.

“Get your ass in my office.” the older man said without preamble. “I got a job for you.”

Warren sighed. He still felt angry, the relentless workout he had been forcing himself through for the past week had done little to take the edge off of it. And the anger was all directed at himself. He was a failure as a guardian, he failed at his reason for existing, and he still felt helpless. In no mood to get back to work.

“I'm sick.” Warren said before coughing in an incredibly obviously fake way. Either Jack was going to let him off or not, the skill level of his acting wouldn't change anything.

“My office. Now.” Jack ordered, his voice uncaring. “We don't have much time.”

“My, your people are so...disobedient, Jack.” Warren heard the second voice in the background.

“Is that Mr. Ozera?” he asked, unable to keep a grin off of his face. “Are you two in the same room at the same time? Has blood been drawn yet?”

“Hush, Warren.” Jack's voice was curt and Warren could just see him glaring at Mr. Ozera. “We need you here now.”

“And can you hurry before they kill each other?” The beautifully familiar voice sang through the phone and Warren was unable to stop his muscles from jumping at the sound.

“Is that Brook?” his voice was quiet. Just a week ago, he had been unable to get the woman out of his head. They had gone on a single date, had the time of their lives, and Warren had promised to call. But with what had happened to Josh, how terrible he had felt for the last week, he hadn't done so. He felt bad, he wanted so badly to call, to be near her, but he was in no shape to be fit for company. The sense of worthlessness that hung over him like a dark cloud made him unwilling to seek her out. He was worried she would be mad.

“I'm the referee.” Brooklyn said, he could hear her smiling through the phone. Warren realized he was on speaker and fell silent.

“Crispin says we're on a time limit.” Jack spoke for his assistant.

Crispin, who had been the number two for MCRC criminal for a little over half a year, was a siren. Siren's weren't naturally violent mythics, and in fact differed in appearance only in their pointed ears from regular humans. However, they were categorized as a dangerous mythic because their voices had the power to overtake anyone with a will weaker than their own. Crispin, before working for MCRC, had been an ordinary civilian and spoke using sign language to avoid stripping people of their free will. Warren had never heard the man talk, he had no idea if he could fight off Crispin's thrall, but he didn't really want to try either. So he either needed to text you to communicate or have someone standing here to translate for him.

“We really need you, Warren.” Brooklyn spoke up, her voice practically hypnotizing him. He just knew Jack had been the one to ask her to ask him. It was just the sort of underhanded, effective thing he would do. “You're the best man for this job.”

Warren half sighed, half groaned in frustration. Before Josh died, before he failed, he had spent a great deal of time thinking about Brooklyn. More than even he thought of MCRC. He was even beginning to suspect that his vaki was changing, an incredibly rare but not unheard of occurrence. However, when Josh died, a death he wasn't even on time to witness, he felt his focus snap back into place. Maybe, he thought, if he hadn't been so distracted by Brooklyn, maybe if he wasn't letting her pull him from his vaki, he would have been able to stop what had happened.

And maybe that was one of the reasons he hadn't ever called her back when she called him.

Part of him really didn't want to face her. It had only been a week since he had turned away from her, he wasn't sure he could face her again without worrying about whether or not he could focus.

Then again, she didn't sound mad. She sounded just as pleased and happy as she had the last time he had seen her. He could just imagine her sitting in Jack's spartan office, probably wearing soft, inoffensive colors, maybe even with her adorable half-moon, rimless reading classes perched on her beautiful little nose. She would undoubtedly be jumping between pleasure and annoyance at the two men, men who hated each other dearly, who she both loved.

Because it was just a fact of life around criminal that Jack Cross and Victor Ozera hated each other with a fiery passion that came from the same mule headed, alpha male place. They were just too similar to ever get along. Like two wolves trying to lead the same pack or a pair of male gorillas competing for mates and territory. There was just a primal disagreement between the two. It was funny at times, scary at others, and Brooklyn was one of the few who got along with both men without having to chose a side.

It was probably that sweet, nonabrasive attitude that she had. She was just the kind of person who could adapt herself to the stronger personalities around her. Warren thought it was adorable the way she did it because she adapted herself to them, but never really submitted. He knew for a fact she scolded Jack whenever she felt he needed it, it wouldn't surprise him if she did the same to Mr. Ozera who was, technically, all of their boss.

“According the information we got from Ilia,” Jack continued speaking as if he hadn't stopped at all, “there is someone high up in MCRC who is working for these people. Intrebari.” Jack said the name with his teeth clenched, almost grinding them. A habit Warren knew Jack only had for things or people who were either particularly annoying or particularly threatening. “We've been thinking about how to find them. Get your butt over here so I can tell you in person.”

Warren rubbed his hand down his face because he knew he had no choice. Even if he didn't go, he knew Jack would just come beating on his door. Then he would pay in some horrible way for making Jack go out of his way.

“Fine.” Warren agreed, he heard Jack cut the call off before the word even finished his lips.

Part of him wanted to just go as he was, old raggedy sweatshirt and gym pants that he worked out in when his garage was cold in the dead of winter as it was now. It would be a little rebellion, showing Jack that he would show up but he was in no way going out of his way to do so.

But Brooklyn was going to be there. And Warren never wanted her to see a bad side of him, isn't that why he told himself he was ignoring her now? She was beautiful and amazing and glorious; he couldn't show up around her dressed as a slob.

Consigning himself to a quick shower he knew he couldn't not take, Warren aimed a quick kick at his punching bag before leaving the garage, grumbling the whole way.

XXXXXXXXXX

Brooklyn spent a great deal of her life observing. People, places, things; anything and everything. Nothing was free from Brooklyn's piercing gaze. She wasn't that good at it in that she couldn't not make it obvious she was staring. She just watched and would inevitably be questioned as to why she was doing it by someone who looked mad and self conscious and she would always stutter and look away. Brooklyn had long got over her little speech impediment, she could hold long conversations without stuttering once. However, when she was surprised or scared, she always lapsed into her stutter again.

It didn't matter, of course, if she had a speech impediment because she spent most of her time in the MCRC library that was just on the other side of the MCRC complex here in Paradise Falls. She rarely needed to talk to anyone which was good because she was awkward and not all that good at it.

However, on the rare and unavoidable occasions in which Victor and Jack were forced to share the same room, Brooklyn found that the bulk of the conversation fell to her.

The two men were too busy glaring at each other or pointedly staring away.

Even though Crispin, who Brooklyn thought was an absolute dear, was standing in the room just behind Jack on the right, he couldn't say a thing as a siren. He was rather attractive with curly blonde hair that dusted the top of his ears and a face that had a beautiful Greek cast to it. He had just started to grow in a bit of a beard and was going with a different style every few days as he tried to find one that suited his face. Brooklyn thought that the stubble looked rather good on him herself. He was smiling, his hands behind his back, as he looked between the two of them looking completely unconcerned.

Mr. Ozera had protested Crispin's assignment as Jack's assistant. Not because he had anything against mythics, of course he didn't. He was the head of MCRC, their face in the media and their voice in the government. But he pointed out that Crispin's power could give their enemies a weapon against them, saying that he was using it to manipulate Jack in some way. Jack, of course, did what he wanted and refused to demote Crispin. He was a good worker, great at his job, and willing to do even the most menial and mind numbing tasks. Sirens, Brooklyn knew, weren't popular in the world and most employers didn't want to hire them out of fear for their power. That being the way it was, Crispin tended to work harder than anyone else as if he was trying to prove himself.

Jack was sitting in his desk, trying not to tap his pen irritatedly on his desk and making a serious effort not to grind his teeth. Jack had only recently begun to develop gray in his otherwise jet black hair. His jaw was permanently set in a bit of a scowl but he had a smile that could knock a girl of her feet even if he was a bit older. He had no wife, married instead to his job, but he did have one daughter. Tina, a sort-of friend to Brooklyn. Tina was a great deal like her father and had also gone into work for MCRC but she didn't work criminal. She studied non-humanoid mythics. When last Brooklyn checked, she was in Africa studying thunder birds.

Victor, a tall, wiry man who had gone completely gray many years ago but his face remained unlined and unmarked and his piercing gray eyes could look through any and all comers. Brooklyn had never seen Victor not wearing a suit. Even when he dressed down he wore a dress shirt and slacks. He had a strong, chiseled face and carried himself with the sort of assurance of a man who knew exactly how to get his way no matter the subject at hand.

The confidence and just a dash of arrogance was a trait Jack and Victor shared. Jack's, though, was more raw and dark whereas Victor's was refined and lofty.

Brooklyn liked both men equally, and couldn't help but find the tense, heavy silence between them just a bit amusing.

“So, Brooklyn.” Victor smiled at her making Jack glare at him as if angry he dared speak.

“Yes?” Brook smiled up from the chair she was sitting in. Victor had chosen not to take the second seat, most likely because he didn't want to be seated in Jack's office.

“How is work?” he asked, pointedly ignoring the glare Jack was sending him. Neither man looked particularly happy about being in the same room.

“Wonderful.” Brooklyn said honestly, folding her hands into her lap.

Brooklyn worked in the library and, to her frustration, she very much looked the part. The plain brown hair pulled out of her face and into a loose bun, a simple brown skirt and white button up shirt as well as a pair of sensible brown flats was an ordinary look for her. She didn't wear nail polish, she didn't wear make up, and, if she ever tried to wear bright colors, she always seemed to mismatch them. Her reading glasses, which she wasn't wearing at the moment, really just set the whole look off.

She was the quintessential, five foot tall, demure librarian.

“I saw your paper on merfolk culture in Science Journal.” Victor smiled just a bit in praise. “I was so proud.”

“Thank you.” Brooklyn beamed. She spent most of her time in the library but her area of study was humanoid mythics. The Mer-culture study had been her most recent paper. “I'm working on a new paper on the differences in brain activity between elves and haltija right now.”

“Wonder where the inspiration for that came from?” Crispin signed with a grin, neither Jack nor Victor being able to see it.

Brooklyn blushed just a bit. Of course she had only started on the research after meeting Warren and getting to know him. Actually knowing a haltija had turned her interest towards the two very similar mythic species. But there was no reason they needed to know that. “How about you, Victor?”

“Wonderful, wonderful.” Victor said. “There is a bill coming up in congress now that would force all 'dangerous' mythics to register themselves with the city they're living in. Ridiculous, of course, and an enormous violation of rights-”

“We're already on your side, no need to try and win us over.” Jack said, putting in a great effort to not roll his eyes.

“If the people don't learn to respect and live beside their fellow earthlings, we are going to keep having this problem.” Victor continued as if Jack hadn't spoken.

Everyone who was considered powerful in MCRC was very much human. Crispin was the first mythic to be as high up as he was and he was still just Jack's assistant. However, no one but Jack seemed to want to change that. Humans just trusted other humans better. It was a sad thing but true and what MCRC fought against every day of the year. Brooklyn, who wasn't technically an employee of the criminal division, knew that better than Jack. She served all four divisions of MCRC equally and had seen a great deal of mythic racism in her time here.

“You wouldn't want to have to register with your city like some common criminal, would you, Crispin?” Victor turned to him.

Crispin shrugged indifferently. “It's not the worst injustice my people have faced.”

“Just because you have the potential to be dangerous, doesn't mean you are so.” Victor turned back to Brooklyn. “Treating a person like a criminal for no reason at all is just wrong. If there were packs of mythics running around hurting people, it would be different but the statistics don't lie. There is more human on human and human on mythic violence than-”