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wooden crates. Sunlight punched into the building through the holes in the roof. The hangar had no floor, its dented metal frame resting on packed dirt. In the very center of the dirt sat a perfect ring of barely visible white stones. The stones shimmered weakly, wanting very much to be invisible, trying to slide out of sight into nothing.
    An environmental ward. A good one, too.
    “Anybody home?”
    A kid stepped out from behind the crates, dangling a dead rat by its tail. He was short, starved, and filthy. Ragged clothes, patched, torn, and patched again, hung off his skinny adolescent frame. His brown hair stuck out in all directions like the needles on a hysterical hedgehog. He raised his right hand, fingering a knotted hemp cord, from which dangled a dozen bones, feathers and beads. His shoulders were bony, his arms thin, yet he stared at me with unmistakable defiance. It took me less than a second to recall that stare.
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    “Red,” I said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
    The recognition crept into his eyes. He lowered his hand. “Sokay,” he called. “I know her.”
    A dirty head poked above the tower of crates and a thin girl climbed into view. Ten, maybe eleven, she had the waifish sort of look that had little to do with her petite frame and everything to do with being underfed. A wispy cloud of grimy hair framed her narrow face, making the deep circles around her eyes seem even deeper. She looked tainted with adult skepticism, but not beaten yet. Life had abused her and now she bit all hands first and looked to see if they offered food later. Her hand clutched a large knife and her eyes told me she would be willing to use it.
    “Who are you?” she asked me.
    “She’s a merc,” Red said.
    He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a stack of papers, held together by a string. He dug in it with dirty fingers and deposited a small rectangle in my hand. My business card, stained with the brown whorls of a thumbprint. The print was mine; the blood belonged to Derek, my werewolf boy wonder.
    Derek and I had been trying to drag ourselves home after a big fight that hadn’t gone too well.
    Unfortunately, Derek’s legs had been torn open and Lyc-V, the virus to which shapeshifters owed their existence, decided to shut Derek down so it could make repairs. When we met Red, I was trying unsuccessfully to load my bleeding, unconscious sidekick onto my horse. Red and his little band of shaman kids helped, and I had given Red my card and a promise of help if he should need it.
    “You said you’d help. You owe me.”
    Now was not a good time, but we didn’t often get to choose the time to repay our debts. “That’s true.”
    “Guard Julie.” He turned to the girl. “Shadow her, sokay.” He darted to the side and out the door. I followed and saw him scrambling up the slope like a pack of wolves was snapping at his heels.

CHAPTER 4
    “BASTARD!” THE GIRL YELLED. “I HATE YOU!”
    “Any clue why he took off in a hurry?”
    “No!” She sat down cross-legged on the crates, her face a picture of abject misery.
    Alrighty then. “I take it you’re Julie.”
    “You’re real smart. Did you figure it out all by yourself?”
    I sighed. At least she had dropped out of street speak for my benefit.
    “Just because my boyfriend thinks you’re all that, doesn’t mean I’m going to listen to you. How are you going to guard me? You don’t even have a gun.”
    “I don’t need a gun.” A small hint of metallic sheen within the crates caught my eye. I approached the Page 24

    pile. “Any clue what I’m guarding you from?”
    “Nope!”
    I peered into the space between the crates. A broken bolt, stuck tight in a board. Blood-red shaft. The fletch was missing, but I bet it had three black feathers. My bowman had been here and had left his calling card.
    “What are you doing?” she asked.
    “Hunting.”
    “Hunting what?”
    I wandered to the ring of stones, crouched, and reached for the nearest rock. My