The buzzer went off like a taser to the brain.

  I flinched hard enough to nearly drop my phone. Midnight. No one buzzed at midnight unless it was a drunk neighbor or a wrong number. I shuffled out of bed in wrinkled pajamas, scratching at my chest and blinking against the kitchen’s harsh light.

  “Yeah?” I croaked into the intercom.

  A voice crackled back, warm and polite: “Delivery for a Daniel Mercer.”

  My brain stalled. “...I didn’t order anything.”

  “Compliments of the house. You understand.”

  I didn’t. But my stomach growled anyway. Time for pants and a pair of shoes, I supposed.

  Here’s the thing you need to know about me: I’m a Null. Which is a fancy way of saying I’m the wet blanket of the supernatural world. Witches, vampires, naga, gorgons—if they touch me, or sometimes if I just concentrate really hard, their powers short out. Magic fizzles, charms die, curses flatline. Handy in a bar fight. Less handy when you’re trying to keep a low profile.

  Oh, and because the universe is a jerk, I’m also what they call a Signal—a ripple in the pond. Which means I don’t just snuff out weird things. I attract them. Creepy things. Hungry things. Occasionally hot supernatural girls. Mostly creepy things though, like a delivery bag with teeth. True story.

  Basically, I’m the world’s worst Wi-Fi hotspot. The free kind that steals your personal info while you’re just trying to get a donut.

  And if that wasn’t enough, I’ve somehow ended up with three not-girlfriends. Emphasis on the “not.” Elly, Lily, and Euryale. All supernatural. All gorgeous. All way, way out of my league. And yet, through some cosmic mix-up, they’ve let me hang around. They’re not my girlfriends. Except… they might be. Sort of. At least, that’s what people assume when they see us together. But me? I’m more the type who wants a movie-watching buddy, maybe a Comic-Con wing-woman who doesn’t mind garlic bread breath. Not… whatever this living situation of mine is.

  Which brings me back to the present... To the buzzer. To the food I didn’t order.

  Two minutes later, I was riding the ancient elevator down to the lobby, the kind that rattled like it was negotiating with gravity the whole way. The doors creaked open to reveal an Asian man in his forties waiting with a paper bag that smelled like happiness and MSG.

  “You Daniel Mercer?” he asked.

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  He handed me the bag without ceremony, no tablet, no cash exchange, no receipt. Just dumplings. He even gave me a little bow, which somehow made it worse.

  “I really think—” I started, fumbling for words.

  He cut me off with a slight smile. “Compliments of the house. Payment is due.” He said it like it wasn’t about food at all. Like it was about something heavier, something already hanging around my neck.

  My pulse skipped.

  I took the bag, because what else do you do when a stranger shows up in the middle of the night with food you didn’t order but absolutely wanted after smelling it?

  The deliveryman turned and left, not toward a car, not even toward the restaurant row two blocks over. Just… walked into the night. Calm. Final. Like his part in this story was already finished.

  That’s when I noticed someone. Something.

  Across the street. Just beyond the halo of a broken streetlamp. A figure, still and tilted just a little too far, head cocked back like he was memorizing my ceiling through three floors of concrete.

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  I froze. The bag crinkled in my grip. The man’s shape seemed wrong, his edges blurred like he’d been sketched with the wrong kind of pencil. When a passing car’s headlights swept over him, he was gone.

  I stood there, in the middle of the lobby doorway, dumpling bag clutched to my chest like a security blanket, trying to convince myself I hadn’t seen anything.

  Back upstairs, in the safe-but-not-really-safe glow of my kitchen light, I opened the bag. Steam poured out. Neat white cartons, each one heavy and fragrant. And on top, a folded slip of rice paper, ink brushed in sharp, deliberate strokes:

  “Payment is due. —J.”

  I swore under my breath. Jade. Of course.

  Because why wouldn’t the terrifying travel agent who moonlighted as a dragon call in her favor through a late-night takeout order? Why wouldn’t she weaponize my stomach against me?

  Yeah, Jade’s a dragon. The old kind. Fire, scales, claws, greed. Except these days, she looks like a kindly Asian grandma that runs a travel agency as her cover, managing supernatural territory like a mob boss with frequent flyer miles. And unfortunately, I owed her. Because last month, to save Lily—my favorite succubus who’d been kidnapped by an ancient evil hellbent on capturing me (long story)—I’d burned through every favor I had. And when that wasn’t enough, Jade had stepped in.

  The thing about dragons, though, is that they always collect. Favors and debts are their hoard.

  I stabbed into a dumpling with the chopsticks, chewing slow, like the carbs would absorb the dread.

  Behind me, the pantry door creaked.

  A faint scratch.

  I turned, heart lurching into my throat. The door was ajar, just a sliver, and something gleamed inside. A dozen glittering eyes, reflecting the kitchen’s weak light.

  The Pop-Tart Spider.

  I groaned. “Not you again.”

  It tilted its head. Mandibles flexed. Frosting—or saliva—dripped from its jaws. Then, in a low, jagged rasp, it spoke.

  “PAYMENT… IS DUE.”

  I dropped the chopsticks. How had it known?

  I stared at the dumpling box on my counter like it held the secrets of the universe. Or maybe just salmonella. Either way, it sat steaming on my counter like it belonged there, which was probably the point. Plus, it smelled awesome.

  My thumb hovered over Elly’s name for a long minute. Elly. Best friend, fae gremlin, professional chaos artist. She was the one who always showed up in a tight spot—usually laughing, sometimes armed, and once with a live raccoon I still don’t want to talk about.

  She’s not your ordinary girl next door. In fact, she had pointy ears when she felt like showing them and star-shaped pupils if her eyes caught the light just right, on account of being Fae. She’d also used my shower more than once and left it smelling faintly of ozone and Irish Spring. And maybe she’d even avoided picking up foot fungus, but I didn’t ask. Didn’t seem gentlemanly.

  Her name in my phone wasn’t “Elly.” It was “Pixie Gremlin.” I regretted letting her pick it.

  She picked up on the second ring. “Daniel, my good boy. What did you break this time?”

  “Why do you assume I broke something?”

  “Because you only call when you’re in trouble or hungry. And because you’re you.”

  Fair. I sighed. “Look, I need a plus-one.”

  “For what? A LAN party? Intervention? Secret midnight wedding to Lily?”

  I choked. “No. God, no. It’s about Jade. She called in one of her… you know, favors. I’ve been summoned to her office.”

  There was silence on the line, then a slow whistle. “Ooooh, the dragon summons. Classy. And terrifying. You’re bringing snacks, right? Or a human sacrifice?”

  “Neither. Just me. Which is why I thought maybe…” I trailed off, picking at a chopstick wrapper.

  Euryale had taken me to Jade before, made the introductions. Which meant, by default, she was the obvious choice. But the thought of her standing there, arms folded, watching me fumble through another supernatural debt negotiation?

  No thanks. I didn’t need a myth with a supermodel type figure judging me; I needed a friend who could call me an idiot and still have my back. Elly wasn’t safe, exactly. But she was… human-shaped safety. At least when she wanted to be.

  “Maybe I should go with you.” She didn’t ask. She declared.

  “Yeah.” I tried to keep it casual. “Backup. Someone who speaks fluent magic and doesn’t get steamrolled by cryptic grandmas.”

  “Fluent magic, sure. Not steamrolled? Debatable. But yes, I’ll come. Meet you out front?”

  “Yeah. Noon?”

  “Done. Wear something better than the shirt you’ve had on since Tuesday.”

  “It’s Thursday.”

  “Exactly my point.”

  I almost told her then—about the thing I thought I saw across the street. The watcher. The wrongness in the air that hadn’t left me since. My mouth opened. Then closed.

  “Say words, Daniel.”

  “It’s nothing,” I said instead.

  Elly clicked her tongue. “Lies sound weird coming from you. Don’t practice too hard, you’ll hurt yourself.”

  “Yeah, yeah. See you in a bit.”

  When I hung up, I told myself I’d done the smart thing. No reason to dump extra paranoia on my best friend. If there was even anything to dump. I told myself it was strategy. That she’d soften Jade up with her fae grin and sarcasm. Truth was, I just wanted her there.

  It was selfish. But then, what part of my life lately wasn’t?

  But when I glanced back at the window, I could’ve sworn the shadows on the far sidewalk were still a little too thick.