I hate clubs. Always have. The music’s too loud, the drinks are watered down, not enough grilled cheese, and the kind of people who like clubs are the same people who laugh when you spill beer on yourself. But tonight, I walked into the place like I owned it, because Elly not coming back was way worse than looking like a jackass.

  The place was full of Alterkind: glamours leaking under the strobe lights, wings brushing shoulders, and horns catching the neon. A troll in a hoodie worked the door like it was just another shift, and nobody even blinked when a pair of dryads walked by, smelling like sap and illicit smoke.

  I didn’t have Lily’s perfect smile or Elly’s way of making people trust her, but I had one thing that mattered: desperation. That’s contagious if you shout it loud enough.

  So, I shouted, “Your friends who went missing? The cousins who didn’t come home? They’re not lost. They’re catalogued. Filed. Tagged like library books waiting to be shelved. One by one, stolen away by a heartless creature.”

  “The Curator is collecting you,” I said, loud enough that the bass couldn’t hide it.

  Eyes turned. A gargoyle with a chipped jaw jeered: “Why should we care what you say?”

  I stepped forward, leaned in close, and kissed him on the cheek. My lips burned against stone. He blinked, too surprised to move. The cragginess of his flesh faded, become a softer, still grey, version of human skin.

  “Because I’m the Null, the one you’ve heard about around town.” I paused to let that sink in.

  “And they already tagged me,” I said. “So, you don’t have to listen to me. I’m already waiting to be put on the shelf. Which means I’ve got nothing left to lose, and I’m not going down without a fight. How about you?”

  A ripple went through the crowd—murmurs, laughs, someone clapping like it was a joke, someone else whispering like it wasn’t.

  And then I was in it, pressing palms, dropping names, listening hard, trading sweat and spit and too many smooches. My cheeks stung, my throat was raw, and by the end I’d made sure half the room left with one phrase stuck in their heads: The Curator is coming for you.

  I left reeking of smoke and strangers, hating every second of it, but I knew the word was spreading. Even if I hadn’t made any new allies, at least I’d warned them. And who knew? Maybe some of that spit-equity would pay off.

  Lily didn’t need desperation. She had a smile sharp enough to cut glass, and right now she was wielding it like a weapon.

  I trailed her through half the city that night—poker dens where Alterkind flipped chips like they were bones, coffee shops that never closed and smelled like chicory and secrets, even one tarot circle tucked behind a laundromat that reeked of incense and regrets.

  Lily walked into every room like she owned it. Not like Elly, who disarmed people with honesty and brusqueness, but with something sharper, practiced. She leaned in just close enough to make someone forget their suspicion, laughed too loud at jokes that weren’t funny, brushed sleeves just enough to make the monsters blush. Even I almost forgot to breathe once or twice.

  And the scary part? It worked.

  A vampire broker, all pale cheekbones and bad cologne, slid her a marker scrawled in blood. “Future considerations,” he muttered, eyes flicking at me like I was an inconvenience.

  A kelpie in human skin pressed a token into her palm, water dripping down his wrist, smelling of riverweed and low tide.

  Even a hag in the tarot circle leaned across the table and handed Lily a little cloth bundle of herbs, whispering, “When the ledger comes, burn it. Burn it and breathe.”

  In this way, many offered their support, magical tokens or promises of bodies to assist us in the fight.

  By the time we stumbled back into the street, Lily’s pockets were heavy with favors. Mine were just stuffed with lint and nerves. Lily had a way about the darker side of the Alterkind that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to achieve.

  She caught me staring at her, eyebrows raised. “What?”

  “You’re terrifying,” I admitted.

  “Networking,” she said, slipping past with that sharp smile again. “Turns out rage looks good on me.”

  And for once, I didn’t argue. Most things looked good on her.

  Wars require weapons, and I was answering a Facebook ad that one of my RuneScape friends had suggested for hand-forged weapons and shields. It seemed like a good idea. After all, Mjolnir II hadn’t exactly carried the battle the other day. Still, my expectations were low.

  The forge smelled like burning iron and optimism. Sparks popped out of the anvil like fireworks as a mountain of a man hammered away, arms black with soot, beard frizzed where fire had kissed it.

  Then he looked up, and his whole face split into a grin.

  “Well, I’ll be. SirDumpsalot, in the flesh.”

  I froze mid-step. “Oh, God.”

  “SirDumpsalot!” he bellowed again, like the walls needed to know. “From the RuneScape adventuring guild! You still carting cabbages into boss raids, or did you finally learn how to grind without filling your inventory with junk?”

  My ears went hot. “It’s Daniel Mercer—”

  “Nope.” He wagged his hammer at me like a judge delivering a verdict. “Not if you want the goods. We’re guildies, man. You’re Dumps. Always Dumps.”

  Beside me, Lily leaned in with that too-polished smile. “Is this… important?”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Important?” Axemaster dropped the hammer with a clang, then heaved open a chest like it was a dragon hoard. Inside: swords with ridged hilts, knives sharp enough to peel atoms, shields banded in cold steel. The kind of weapons that looked like they should come with a quest log.

  “This is raid loot,” he said. “You’ve been telling me for years that you had no life outside the game, Dumps. Just tech support and takeout food, you always said.”

  “That’s pretty accurate.” I shrugged.

  “Maybe it was, up until that elf pic slipped out, and these other girls in your life, like this way-out-of-your-league arm candy here, they’re not just run of the mill, either, are they?”

  I grimaced. “Yeah, I’m kind of playing backyard hoops, and she’s all pro.”

  “I’m a succubus, actually.” Lily announced matter-of-factly, linking her arm through mine. “And Danny is most certainly my type, league or not.”

  “So, from now life to this. You show up with an actual succubus and tell me there’s a real fight with supernatural creatures…” He looked almost reverent, soot-streaked eyes wide. “Dumps… my dude… we’re about to save a real elf.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I hate this timeline.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, thrusting a sword into my hands like it was destiny. “I’ve been grinding blacksmithing for this exact quest.”

  He pulled out a dozen more weapons from racks and shelves, showing off the wares. “See? Feels right.”

  He stood back and admired his handywork. “Man, Scopes, Goblin, and Pwned are gonna be so jealous, Dumpsy.”

  “Mercer. Daniel Mercer.” I repeated, to no avail.

  Eury’s great aunt’s townhouse felt like a museum where the exhibits judged you for breathing. Every flat surface was crowded with statues—marble faces, wooden busts, clay heads—most of them half-veiled like they were ashamed of being seen. The air smelled of rain on stone and something faintly floral, like the ghosts of old bouquets.

  Eury bowed low at the threshold. Her golden eyes were still dulled from the burn, but her tone was formal, almost brittle. “Aunt Theona.”

  I stayed near the door, hands in pockets, pretending I wasn’t the same idiot who’d once been propositioned by this woman in a hotel room. Lily had nearly strangled me for even listening. Theona had merely smiled and accepted the Blushfruit instead of, well, me.

  Theona didn’t move at first. She watched Eury the way a cat watches a bird decide whether or not to fly. Then she rose, smooth and deliberate, every inch of her shimmering in that slow-motion grace only gorgons have. Her eyes were molten gold behind the veil.

  “New generation or not,” she said, voice like gravel poured through honey, “you’ve still got teeth. I’m pleased you came home intact.”

  Eury lifted her chin. “I didn’t come for approval.”

  “No,” Theona purred. “You came for debt.” Her gaze slid past her niece—straight to me.

  I tried for a polite smile. Failed immediately.

  “Well, well,” she said. “The null returns. I half-expected you’d reconsider my offer once your succubus stopped supervising you. We gorgons are magnificent lovers, after all.”

  Eury made a strangled noise. “Aunt!”

  Theona waved her off, amused. “Relax, darling. I’m teasing your friend.” She stepped closer, the air cooling with every measured click of her heels. “Tell me, Daniel Mercer—do you still refuse to share that calming tone? It would have made such beautiful children.”

  “I, uh,” I said eloquently, “stand by my fruit-based contribution.”

  That earned me a low laugh, dark and delighted. “Shame.” She turned back to Eury. “Your taste in allies is still fascinating.”

  Eury’s hands curled into fists. “We need help, Aunt. The Curator has one of ours.”

  Theona studied her for a moment, then sighed. “I suppose family counts for something.” Her eyes flicked toward me again. “Even the borrowed kind.” She crossed to a shelf, lifted a small obsidian charm, and pressed it into Eury’s palm. “Protection against tagging. One use. Don’t waste it.”

  Eury bowed again, murmured her thanks, and dragged me toward the door.

  “And, Euryale, I will consider joining your fight.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Theona.” Eury bowed.

  I did the same, less gracefully, earning a mischievous wink from her.

  We’d barely cleared the front steps before she gripped my sleeve hard enough to leave marks. “Do not,” she hissed, “ever mention this again.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said—though, honestly, I might have nightmares about it.

  It was midnight in the park, frost turning the grass brittle under our feet. Zorka insisted on barefoot, of course. Her brace was gone, but she moved like she’d bitten the pain, and it had learned to obey.

  Dozens of shifts over the last 72 hours had accomplished much in the way of healing. Apparently, cracking bones to shift forms meant she could heal quickly if she could manage the shift.

  She planted herself in the middle of the field, tilted her head back, throat bare to the moon, and howled.

  It wasn’t a human sound. It ripped through the night, raw and furious, shaking something in my ribs I didn’t know could shake.

  The city answered. Dogs barked across blocks, their calls weaving into hers. Somewhere above the tree line, something winged circled once, then veered off like it was paying respect. Even the streetlights seemed to buzz quieter for a beat, as if listening.

  When she dropped her head back down, she was grinning like a lunatic, hair wild, breath steaming in the cold. “See?” she panted. “They hear me. Even hurt, they hear me.”

  I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets, trying to keep the shiver out of my voice. “Pretty sure the cops heard you too.”

  Zorka barked a laugh, almost a second howl. “Good. Let ‘em come. I’m faster.”

  The alley was darker than usual, like the shadows themselves didn’t want to stick around. The stink of wet cardboard and fried grease hung low, thick enough to coat my tongue.

  That’s when he stepped out—SilentWatcher. Heavy coat buttoned to the chin, hood pulled low, notebook clutched to his chest like a holy book. My least comforting acquaintance.

  The first time we’d met, he hadn’t had much to say. He’d been nervous, twitchy, more worried about his own neck than giving me anything useful. I couldn’t blame him. The Curator’s Collectors don’t misfile, and SilentWatcher looked like the kind of guy who triple-checks every lock before bed. But now… now his shoulders had a different angle. Paranoia with purpose.

  “I saw where they put her,” he rasped. His voice sounded like someone who’d been chewing on broken glass for a decade. “Filed in the Curator’s drawer. Fourth cabinet. East wing. Pocket dimension with iron teeth.”

  The words hit like ice water poured straight into my ribs.

  “Hard to breach,” he went on, eyes flicking to every corner of the alley as if someone was eavesdropping. “Harder to leave. But she’s there.”

  My mouth was dry. “And you just… know this?”

  He tapped his temple, sharp enough to make me wince. “I keep watch. I keep notes. The Curator collects things.” He leaned closer, and I caught the reek of old coffee and ink. “I collect intel.”

  He pressed a notebook into my hands. It was thick with scribbles, symbols, dates. I flipped through and caught flashes—maps of alleys, sketches of doorways, names half-erased, strange marks that looked like ledgers scrawled in shorthand.

  I looked up at him. “This is insane.”

  SilentWatcher’s grin was a thin crack across his face. “Insane is what keeps you ahead of him.” He stepped back into the shadow, his voice lowering. “Your move, Mercer.”

  And just like that, he was gone, swallowed by the dark.

  I clutched the notebook to my chest, pulse hammering. It felt heavier than it should’ve, like the paper inside already knew it was written in blood.

  A shopping cart squeaked as it rolled around the corner, piled with conspiracy clippings, rusted radios, and three half-empty bottles of cough syrup. Tin Can grinned, missing a tooth.

  “You’re building an army, huh?” he said, wheeling up. “Knew it. Knew it when the laundromat register screamed your name. I been waiting.”

  He dug through the cart, pulled out a tin-foil hat, slapped it on Daniel’s head. “Protection from mind probes. Also helps with AM radio.”

  Daniel sighed. “You’re crazy.”

  Tin Can shrugged. “So’s your plan. Perfect fit.”

  Back on the street, ward candles flared in windows. Rats scurried, carrying notes between alleys. The mannequin in the thrift store wore a new scarf, stitched with runes tighter than barbed wire, a show of support from Elfnet for their stolen sister. Neighbors nodded at me, silent but resolute.

  For the first time, the block looked less like a home and more like a staging ground for war.

  Three days. Broken as we were, we had names, weapons, promises, and enough madness within us to attempt the impossible.

  It probably wasn’t enough. But it was what we had. And for Elly, it would have to be.