Avon cornered Twenty in the mess hall before we were due on patrols while I distracted Twenty-one. The kid acted like he’d never seen pancakes before, and I showed him how to slather on enough synth-butter and pseudo-syrup so that the resultant mix spilled onto the reconstituted eggs. I didn’t demonstrate Avon’s habit of adding peanut butter to the mix, because eww.

A was, as usual, too good to join anyone for breakfast. It was like the little shit subsisted on air and nerves.

“I don’t like it.” Avon’s voice was muffled by the shirt he pulled off over his head. After frowning at the sticky patch on the front, he tossed it in the hamper for later, then grabbed a clean one. “Twenty said the dose is wrong. A said something about that on their first night, too.”

“A agreed the dose was fine and thanked the medico for the privilege.” My wrist comp showed we had less than five minutes before we were due at the transport, so I chugged my third cup of caf-blend instead of savoring it like it deserved. “But Twenty-one said he couldn’t sleep after his dose — so why are they getting them at night?”

Avon’s head tipped to the side, and even with the bond dampened, I knew he wanted to push me on something.

“Wasn’t Dia promoted a few cycles back?” I bent to adjust my bootlace, and if that helped me avoid Avon’s disappointed look, so much the better. “If he’s not over this grand experiment, he’ll know who is.”

“And that gets us what?” Avon grabbed his pack, checking the pockets.

“We can have Dia switch the dosing schedule to morning.” It’d cost us, sure, but Twenty-one deserved to sleep. “And an extra, what, 12 hours, between whatever cocktail they’re getting? Shouldn’t hurt anything, then they’re sitting pretty.”

“That…” Avon frowned and settled the pack on his back. “You didn’t even look at Twenty this morning, did you? He’s down probably 15 pounds, jumping at shadows and clinging to Twenty-one. Keeps asking after a ‘Lea’ — you’ve not seen another of them, have you?” He shook his head and continued without letting me answer. “The bags under his eyes make him look like someone decked him.”

“With his attitude, are you sure they didn’t?” I hurried on before Avon could scold. “So a dose tonight and another in the morn—”

An obnoxious chirp interrupted me. Avon shook his head while I answered my wrist comp.

“Where are you?” Tracer's tone was muted by the digital transmission, but he was pissed.

The time read 0702, and I rolled my eyes.

“In the hall — scritch — almost to — crackle — launch bay.” My authentic comms breaking up sound effects had Avon rubbing his forehead, even as he tugged me out our door. I grabbed a wrapper, strayed from the trash bin after last night’s fiasco, and rustled it near the pickup.

“Move it. You’re holding everyone up.” Tracer disconnected the call.

Pitching the wrapper in a bin, I grinned at Avon. “He totally bought it.”

***

I slapped at the sharp pinch on my arm. Blood and black carapace adhered to my hand as I pulled it away. With a scowl, I wiped it on my fatigues and suppressed the urge to scratch the bite. 

Ahead, Tracer had point and carved a thin path through the green hell. The red wolves followed at his heels like the good little doggies they were, with Avon between them chatting quietly. Sim and Vista covered the rear and Twenty-one bounced at my side. I only half-listened to his jabbering, too busy glaring daggers at Avon’s back.

I’d known something was wrong with us as soon as we’d gotten off the lift and the collars released our bond. A faint whine had hummed through it, setting my teeth on edge. I’d grabbed Avon’s arm to pull him aside when Tracer interrupted. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m talking to my brother.” I’d stopped to glare. “Got a problem with that?”

“We’re all on warning because you couldn’t haul your asses to the lift on time.” Tracer’s breath washed across my face, and I braced so I didn’t flinch. “My squad isn’t getting whipped because you want to dawdle. Move out.”

And Avon? He’d just patted my arm before heading into the green hell like it was any other day.

Except he wouldn’t even walk next to me, and what the fuck?

It didn’t track. Why was he so focused on getting in with the shifters? Look at them, thick as thieves, and for what? 

“I don’t fucking get it!” I scorched a bramble branch that swung toward my face as the breeze picked up strong enough to cut through the thick greenery. With reluctant diligence, I doused the flame before it could spread.

“Wow!” Twenty-one’s grin distracted me from my misery. “Can I try?”

“Why the fuck not?” I rolled my shoulders in a futile attempt to release the tension. “You remember how?”

Granted, he hadn’t pulled it off last time, but he’d been close enough my skin had tingled from the energy flux.

“Think so.” Twenty-one’s nose wrinkled as he focused. Gradually, his face flushed and the energy built. He held there, poised in unbearable tension. 

My teeth ached in response. Vista and Sim fell back a couple of paces, and Avon shot a look over his shoulder. Worry fizzed down our bond, oddly muted, and I sent a pulse of reassurance flavored with a bit of fuck off. If he’d listened earlier, we wouldn’t be on different pages now — he didn’t get a say at this point. Anyway, Twenty-one just needed to—

“Let it go.” I grinned at Twenty-one’s wide-eyed glance. “Pick a target and release.” And if whatever he targeted happened to fall on, oh, say, someone who was often four-legged? I wouldn’t cry.

Twenty-one blanched and the energy vanished without a trace. He didn’t acknowledge it, spinning to the north with a slack-jawed expression.

“I didn’t know they were so fast!”

“They?” Tracer followed Twenty-one’s gaze, then shouted, “Incoming!”

“Damn.” Vista shifted, but they were on us before she finished.

Devil-red with twin pairs of dragonfly-like wings and sinuous, snakey bodes, the trio of fliers homed in on us as if we carried a beacon. One headed for Tracer, another for the roaring bear making a target of herself. 

The other? Straight for the weak link.

Spindly legs dangled, tipped with razor claws that flashed toward Twenty-one, who stood there with his thumbs up his ass. I shoved him down, then reached through our bond toward Avon. Staticky nothing answered, and I stumbled. My misstep saved me — the devil’s claws swiped through where I’d been as it flew backward to strike again.

“Fuck off!” I threw a fireball that splashed across the foliage behind the creature. Without Avon’s power woven with mine, the flames had nothing to burn. 

With a gut-wrenching yank, Avon pulled on our bond. The static cleared. Drawing on both of our powers, he forced all three devils into the physical plane. My head spun at the abrupt draw and I’d have fallen if I wasn’t already on the damn ground. I tried to shake it off, literally shaking my head, but before my vision cleared, the sharp bite of claws in my shoulders promised I was in trouble.

Had the shifters decided to take me out? My heart raced and I clamped my jaw on a scream.

The claws latched tighter and the weight grinding my knees into the dirt lessened. A cool wash of relief melted my bones — none of the shifters with us flew. Except — I hadn’t really seen how Sim moved, other than tangling with a couple devils. Could he fly? My heart thumped in my ears.

My brain caught up as my feet lifted clear of the ground. The fucking devil was hauling me off.

“What the hell?”

Still on the ground, Twenty-one jumped, flailing at my boots. I’d have laughed if terror wasn’t icing my veins — he looked fucking ridiculous. Anyway, as my feet cleared Avon’s head, I knew it wasn’t a laughing matter. 

Spangles still dazzled my vision, but the height gave me a good view of the battle. Tracer and the wolves — who’d also shifted — shredded the devil that’d targeted them. Sim and Vista were going to town on theirs, and somehow Sim had gotten Tracer’s machete. 

Which left Twenty-one staring at me in dismay and Avon juggling the spellwork that kept the devils solid while our bond faded into static again. Then there was me, of course, being carried off, like some fucking damsel in distress. 

And I saw Avon’s jaw clench. Watched him turn away. Felt his magic, through the fuzz, as it twisted away to focus on the devils the shifters fought.

Hurt and rage fought for supremacy. That was okay — the fear died beneath their flames. Ultimately, rage won. Fire burst from my skin, crawling up the devil’s legs. It leapt from the insectile limbs and roosted in the delicate, lacy wings. They crisped like the ancient, translucent paper we’d found discarded on base. 

Satisfied exhaustion dulled the rage, but not before I’d succeeded. The devil’s jaws — poised above my head — gaped open and, below, Twenty-one clapped his hands to his ears. The shifters flinched, too, but continued their various assaults. There wasn’t time to piece that together, though — I plummeted through the air. Realization broke through the last of the rage. It was, perhaps, unwise to destroy the devil’s wings so high above the ground.

My muscles tensed and I screamed internally, trying to get them to relax. Surely that would hurt less when I hit? 

A solid form whomped into me, coiling tight and trapping my limbs. My heart tried to explode from my chest and I fought to focus enough to summon at least a small fireball against this new foe. Through the staticky bond, Avon yanked again. My head spun.

Dizzy again — still? — I struggled helplessly against the pale, scaled flesh that bound me. With a jarring thud, we smacked the ground. The coils fell away. I scrambled, crawling on my hands and knees, desperate. 

Even my jacked-up bond with Avon drowned beneath the overwhelming need to get the fuck away. 

When I ran into something that didn’t fold beneath me — rough and solid against my face — I dragged my flames away from Avon’s control and sent them spiraling outward. The green hell crisped in a flash and, when the light died away, my eyes cleared at last. I faced a fully grown tree in a circle of ashed leaves. My breath was harsh in my throat and I could feel it rasp — but I couldn’t fucking hear anything.

A hand fell on my shoulder and I jerked away, falling on my ass and flailing as I spun around. My hands were caught and another aggressive pull kept me from defending myself with fire. Focusing on my assailant, my breath caught in a sob.

“Avon.” I felt my lips moving, but couldn’t hear it. Movement behind him pulled my attention — all I saw was fur and scales. “Get the fuck away from me!”

I yanked at the bond, trying to get enough control to defend myself. A tug of war ensued — Avon siphoned my power away as fast as I collected it. At the same time, his lips moved, saying something, but it was like he was a million miles away. I couldn’t even focus enough to get the gist of it through our bond. Short, sharp gasps failed to pull oxygen into my lungs and shadows edged my vision.

Then Avon tugged my trapped hands. I fell onto him, resting my forehead in the crook of his neck. The smell brought me home. Sweat. Plant juice. But underneath it, pure Avon. I inhaled and pulled him deep into the recesses of my lungs. Again and again, each breath slower than the last. Gradually, the rush of blood in my ears diminished and his words came through. 

Steady assurances.

That he had me.

That I was safe.

That he wouldn’t leave.

Bitter acid burned in my mouth, and I turned my head away from his neck. The shifter squad had backed off, taking Twenty-one with them to form a perimeter at the ashy edge of my clearing. Most of them faced outward. Tracer and Twenty-one watched me. The latter’s worried expression was an open holo display. The former? As unreadable as the green hell itself.

And for the first time ever, I didn’t believe Avon. Because he’d chosen to help them when I needed him.

I locked that memory down hard. Too gently, I pushed Avon away.

“Let me up.” My voice was a hoarse rasp.

“Nova?” Avon frowned and brushed a bead of sweat off my brow. “You okay? You feel—”

“Fine.” I shoved to my feet, limbs shaking. Forced Avon back. Tightened my hold on our bond.

Nothing was getting through.

“Nova…” Avon reached for me again as he, too, rose.

“We’re clear?” I asked with my unfocused gaze on the green hell.

“Almost.” Tracer led the squad a short distance back to the fallen devils. They’d lined the semi-tangible corpses up in a row. He knelt next to the one missing its wings, pointing to an extra appendage on its abdomen.

Bile rose in my throat and I took a swig from my canteen to wash it down.

When he sliced the devil open with his machete, translucent red orbs spilled onto the ground. Hastily, I turned to face the green hell and scanned the unforgiving overgrowth.

“What’re those?” Twenty-one asked. Something squelched obscenely. “Ew. It popped.”

“Eggs.” Avon’s tone was grim. “We have to—” He tugged on the bond and poured frustration down it when I didn’t budge. “Nova! Don’t be a dick!”

Shock and hurt whipped me around to face him and some of that slipped through. Avon stumbled back and his surprise let me quash the bond again.

“Nova?”

I grabbed the emergency pin from my kit and slammed it into the ground. 

“Ninety seconds,” I said over my shoulder as I hauled ass into the green hell, resuming our disrupted patrol. My legs steadied with each stride until it seemed like nothing had happened. Once clear of the pin’s range, I slowed to a walk.

Twenty-one caught up first, falling in at my side, and the rest of the squad fell in behind. 

When the pin reached its countdown, flames erupted, devouring the devils and leaving an ashed circle. Maybe it would become another patrol drop point.

A heavy atmosphere clogged the remainder of our circuit, stilling even Twenty-one’s endless questions. Once back at our pickup point, Tracer sent a report of our encounter. Thankfully, the lift wasn’t late. The buzz of my collar coming back online announced its arrival as much as the racket of its engines. For once, getting locked inside my own head was a relief and I relaxed, watching the tiny sparks dance over my vision. Flux burn — always a promise that I’d overreached — wasn’t unexpected. 

Whatever. Everyone did it.

But it left me feeling raw and exposed, even behind the collar’s block.

When the lift landed, I grabbed the seat closest to the door and stared past everyone as they clambered past me. They left the seat beside me open. 

Avon scrambled aboard last. He stopped in front of me and I focused on a chip in the paint next to the door. Was it shaped like Queen Elizabeth? Or more like Elvis Presley? With a sigh and a pulse of exasperation against the collar-blocked bond, Avon took the open seat and strapped in.

The lift took off with its usual roar. Avon shoved a headset at me, which I pretended not to see as I started a movie on my wrist comp. Not projected, of course, but on the tiny screen. The sound was drowned out, but I mouthed the dialog along with a unicorn as she questioned a butterfly.

As soon as the lift touched down, I was out the door. Showering and changing in record time, I was almost out of the detox room before a still-dripping Avon yanked me back.

“Hold your damn horses.” He pulled me to the stacks of clean uniforms and started dressing one-handed. “Pull your head out of your ass. Whatever you think happened out there—”

“Whatever I think?” Indignation forced the words out. “I know what — No.” I shook my head and pulled loose. “Not doing this.”

I darted away into the hall, ducking around a few corners to get out of sight quickly. Then I paused, allowing the dizziness to pass, and checked a hidden sub-folder on my wrist comp. The black market changed locations frequently, and I tried to avoid the one space outside of human control where mages and shifters mingled freely. I hesitated to visit it now — my muscles ached and the flux burn took me down a peg, too. 

And Avon—

Shaking my head to clear that dumb-ass thought, I turned to navigate my way into the decrepit bowels of the base. The filth darkened the grey walls. Cracks lined the floor. The door, once I found it, was welded shut with a jagged hole carved out of the wall next to it. Tattered layers of dark cloth draped inside the hole, obscuring sight and muffling sound. 

I bit my lip. Every fiber of my being screamed that this was a terrible idea. But I needed leverage with Dia and this was all I had.

Popping my neck, I shoved the curtains aside and stepped into the darkness.

It wasn’t pitch black or some spooky shit like that. Nope. It had the same low-energy emergency lights that lined every hall and room, except here they were turned on. Bipedal forms drifted among scattered tables filled with contraband like whiskey and chocolate. My eyes latched onto a brown- and silver-wrapped bar. I’d had chocolate once. My stomach churned and I swallowed down bile. Candy wouldn’t help with Dia.

I wended my way through the booths and bodies. A harsh glare fended off the murmured solicitations. Clear in the back, another hole led to the credit changer. I stepped through.

This space was less cluttered and lamps increased the light to a level that seemed blinding after the main room. 

“You lost, sweet thing?” The female sat at a desk, fatigues unbuttoned to display an uncomfortable amount of cleavage. My eyes fell on the twisted links of the mage’s collar thus displayed, and I froze.

Vestiges weren’t unheard of, but they were fucking terrifying. Normally — mercifully — when one twin mage died, the other followed soon after. If they were fast, medicos could sometimes sever the bond before the survivor’s body shut down. If they were ordered to. It left a vestige — half-crazed and longing for what they no longer had. I would fight to the death before I let them keep me alive if Avon was gone.

“Sweet thing?” The vestige walked around her desk and reached toward my face. 

I flinched back and tried to cover it.

“I’m not sweet.” I scowled to prove it. “Or lost.”

“Oh?” The vestige leaned back on the desk and toyed with the twisted links of her collar. “What brings you here?”

“This is the credit exchange, right?” I leaned back, too, propping a foot against the wall, and folded my arms across my chest. As a power move, it was meh. But it left me ready to launch across the room at need while looking relaxed. “What do you think I’m here for?”

“Feisty, huh?” 

The vestige’s laughter made my skin crawl. It… wasn’t all there. I tapped my wrist comp, projecting a display with the bulk of my savings. 

“What’s the exchange rate? I need market credits.”

The base credits they paid us in were — like everything else they gave us — traceable. Black market credits were untraceable and, by using unmarked chits to transfer the base credits, mage and shifter alike skirted around that oversight.

“For that much?” The vestige snorted, walked back around her desk, and flipped open a paper book. “I’ll give you thirty for the lot.”

“What? No way.” I shut down the display. 

“That’s small potatoes, sweet thing.” Her smile held a manic edge. “Hardly worth my time. Unless you’re offering something else?” A ragged-nailed finger traced the side of her breast, leaving a faint red mark on the pallid flesh.

I shuddered in revulsion and headed for the door.

“Aw, did I frighten you? Don’t go yet.”

Pausing, I half-turned so I could keep an eye on the vestige.

“How about this? I’ll give you a bonus on this transaction — bump you up to the next tier. And you’ll owe me a favor. Anytime. Anywhere.”

I considered it. But there were things I wasn’t willing to risk, even if I needed the credits. I turned away again.

“Okay, okay. You’re a patrol mage, right?” Envy twisted her voice. She was once a patrol mage, too. “Take some pins out on your next patrol. Charge them up. And I’ll double your credits. Half now, half on delivery.”

Sixty black market credits… wasn’t great. But it could work. Then again…

“Five pins. And all up front. You’ll have my base credits, after all.” I faced the vestige again and this time I didn’t flinch. 

She curled a finger over her chapped lips and studied me. Then she extended a hand.

“Shake on it?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

“What? You think it’s contagious?” She smirked and the crazy shone brighter. “It is,” she promised. “But not the way you think.”