(Pov Special Warfare Operator Third Class Rodriguez)
May 19th 2026. 01.00 Pm
Rodriguez's knee bounced up and down as he waited in the medium-sized, darkened meeting room at Malmstrom Air Force Base. They had flown in the day before, only being told hours before. Or he at least hadn't been told before then. He suspected the lieutenant knew more. But she hadn't said anything. He wasn't unaccustomed to missions that required some secrecy, but this felt excessive.
More worrying was the tall, oddly dressed brunette who had just entered the room and was talking to the lieutenant before the briefing started. It wasn’t often you saw a woman in her twenties wearing a tennis skirt and a ruffled blouse on a military base, with an armed guard. Let alone when she simply waltzed into a classified mission briefing. The hint to why, though, was the last part of her apparel. A wide-brimmed pointy hat, a witch hat. And as she wasn't being laughed at by anyone and no one in charge gave her odd looks, it could mean only one thing. A theurgist, a witch. One of those extremely few magic users the United States had.
He didn't like it.
“Okay, everyone, let's just get this show on the road.” The lieutenant pressed a button on her remote. The image of a young man showed up on the next slide. His name was listed next to the image: Jason Smallers. “We have been drafted by the Federal Magics Regulatory Board to help them with a case. They have invoked clause three of the twenty-eight amendment, so we are not currently under our normal chain of command. Ms. Morris will conduct the investigation, and we will assist her. Our internal chain of command remains, but we report to and take orders from her and the board, no one else.” She motioned towards the witch. “Ms. Morris, if you would.”
I am sorry, what? They were under civilian command? Or that was as close as it got; no theurgist in the US was a civilian technically. Though he didn't know exactly what they were, they simply weren't civilians.
The witch stepped forward, giving the assembled operators a slightly awkward smile. “Hello everyone, I am Cassandra Morris. Hopefully we won't need you for that long. Anyway.” She cleared her throat. “The target is Jason Smallers; he's 18, still in high school, and lives with his parents.”
Rodriguez felt his eyebrow rise slightly. Are we being brought in to black bag a fucking high schooler? It was more almost surprising that the lieutenant didn't look surprised at all.
“On the tenth of May, a ritual was conducted in the barn seen here.” She clicked her remote, using a laser pointer to highlight a barn shown on the next slide. “The ritual itself failed, but it was still unlicensed practice. We are reasonably certain Jason Smallers was the practitioner based on recovered search data. How he got a hold of the information needed to actually conduct the ritual is unknown. Finding that out is our top priority. As such, he is to be apprehended, and any texts on the matter are to be seized. As are any other things he used to conduct the ritual. We need to know how he got it and where it came from. And asking him while he's alive is preferable to trying to have his corpse possessed to do it when he's not. It's certainly more likely to yield useful information. So again, he is to be apprehended. I don't want a dead teenager on my hands if it can be avoided. After which you will do some preliminary investigation there before bringing him here. But the lieutenant will brief you on that.”
Rodriguez blinked; he didn't know they could do that. What the fuck. The notion was to some degree utterly terrifying. Even death couldn't keep secrets from these people. Though he didn't doubt that came with some limitations.
“Divination thus far has confirmed that there are guns in the house; however, they also indicate that the target does not have access to them, as his mother has the only key. He is unlikely to be armed. Any questions?”
A hand went up further back in the room. Which the witch quickly acknowledged.
“Is there any risk of a magical combatant?” The gruff voice sounded like Chief Smithers'.
Ms. Morris shook her head. “We don't believe so. There is nothing to indicate anything like that. As well, theurgists and witchcraft in general is not useful as combat magic, the exception being pact magic, but that shouldn't be too big of an issue. It's extremely unlikely those rituals could have been conducted covertly. If it does so happen that something like that is present, beyond a pact witch you are to withdraw immediately, and a better equipped team will be brought in to handle it.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly at that. Most of the guys had somehow at some point convinced themselves they could take on something like that, the actual monsters, not just the strange humans. And they might be able to, if properly equipped and given some training, but he doubted they could do it single-handedly.
The lieutenant always tensed up when she overheard it but said nothing. Rumor was she had spent a few years in Scandinavia working with some mercenaries hunting creatures like that before her commission. The rumors also said she had gotten some enhancements while she was there. Either way, she rarely talked about the former and never the latter.
He wasn’t sure if he believed those rumors. However, there was something to it. Like the short sword she kept on her person at all times, and the weird pendant she always wore.
“Well then, if there aren't any further questions for me. I will turn things back to the lieutenant, for how the operation will be conducted on the ground.” The witch stepped back.
The lieutenant took the remote, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword as she started walking them through the plan.
(Pov Chloe)
May 19th 2026. 06.00 Pm
Chloe's hands moved swiftly as she diced the carrot in front of her. The knife made a soft thudding sound against the wooden cutting board. The savory smell of vegetable stew filled the room, and the sound of a wooden ladle knocking against a cast-iron pot sounded periodically.
“Are the carrots ready?” Jason's voice contained a certain warmth, one that it had acquired since their first date. One that made it hard not to smile. Especially at moments like this.
“Yup.” She couldn't keep the smile out of her voice as she handed him the chopping board.
Her hands moved deftly as she peeled and chopped the potatoes. They were added to the stew in short order. The remaining vegetables followed suit with increasing speed.
“So the secret–” Jason rummaged through the fridge; it gave her an amazing view of his ass as he leaned forward slightly. His jeans might be a little tight, tighter than the ones he normally wore at least. Not that she was going to mention it or complain about it. “--is to add a tiny amount of cheese. It adds this solidity to the stew; it's fantastic. It's in all my grandma's recipes. Though you can't use too much.”
It took nearly forty-five minutes before the stew was done, which she had to admit was surprisingly fast.
He was right, of course; the stew became thicker, gaining a rich umami flavor that played especially well with the bits of carrot. I am gonna grow fat, aren't I? She failed to stifle a moan of satisfaction as she took another bite.
Jason smirked at her. “It's good then?”
She sighed heavily, dramatically putting her hand to her chest. “Yes, it's good. Truly, the passing of your late grandmother was a loss for all mankind. The culinary knowledge of ages, lost to the winds of time. If only I could have tasted this nectar of the gods.”
Jason chuckled slightly, playing with an odd-looking pendant around his neck. It looked almost like it had… buttons.
She liked these little moments; they meant a lot more now that they were actually dating. Or rather, she didn't get the same tension in her chest she had gotten in the past.
The rest of dinner passed quickly, as time tended to do when you enjoyed yourself. As they were loading the dishwasher, Jason was about to start hand-washing the pots. That wouldn't do; there was no way she was letting him do the dishes and cook. She had some pride after all. She could pull her own weight.
“Ohh no you don't, mister. You cooked, so I clean.” She put her fists on her hips.
Jason blinked. “But we both cooked.”
The image of a six-year-old staring dumbly at his mother while mumbling that he did, in fact, have breakfast today flashed through her mind.
“Well, you did most of the cooking; all I did was chop some vegetables.”
“But, Chloe, that's most of what goes into making a st–”
“Ah, ah, ah.” She interrupted him. “No buts, mister. If we were gonna watch Netflix, can you maybe set that up as I finish up this?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, sure, I gotta go upstairs and grab my laptop.”
Chloe turned back to the sink, filling it quickly with warm water. She hummed as she started washing the pot.
And yet, I'm feeling like
There is no better place than right by your side
I had a little taste, and I'll only spoil the party anyway
Click
She quickly dried the pot and turned around to put it back in the cupboard.
As she completed the turn, she screamed at the gun pointed at her.
(Pov Jason)
May 19th 2026. 07.30 Pm
A short, shrill scream echoed through the house. He recognized the voice instantly; it was Chloe's. His heart almost stopped.
“Chloe, you okay?” He shouted as he hurried towards the door out of his room.
What the fuck happened? Chloe wasn’t the type to scream if she experienced pain, at least not cutting yourself on the knife in the dishwater type of pain. Certainly not like that.
He didn't get an answer.
“Chloe?” He shouted again, not quite as loudly this time.
He hadn't heard anyone fall; at least he thought he hadn't. The house was old. It wasn’t hard to hear anyone fall on the other end of the house. Why isn't she answering? Maybe she had fallen on something that dampened the sound?
He sped up as he walked towards the stairs. As he was about to start walking down them, he saw the reflection of a person in a window, which was then reflected in the hallway mirror.
Fuck!
More importantly, the man was wearing what looked like body armor and was carrying a rifle. Their gazes locked. The man had seen him.
Jason started moving only a split second after the armed man started hurrying towards the staircase. His heart was throbbing in his ears as he ran back into his room. Shouts followed him down the hallway, ordering him to stop and show his hands.
He slammed the door shut. He would have locked it if he had a key, and there wasn't anything he could easily use to block it.
I should have gone for the guns. He knew the idea was stupid the second he thought it. His mother had kept the keys on her since his father's… Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Even if he had a key, it would only get him killed. There had to be more than one intruder; after all, someone had to be controlling Chloe.
She could be dead. No, that doesn't make sense. They were too well equipped to be some random gang, and why would anyone even attack them… Jasmine's warning flashed through his mind, the risk of a raid because of Sophia's ritual. If they were government agents, then it was even less likely they would have killed her. Also, shouldn't they then have a warrant or something? Shouldn't they be here for Sophia? Did they not know it was her?
The boards at the top of the stairs creaked as weight was put on them. He heard his name shouted again with a demand that he come out.
He leaned against the door, putting his weight against it to buy whatever time he could. He needed to do something. The feds couldn't figure out it was Sophia, and they really couldn't learn about the clans.
His fingers fumbled with the pendant around his neck, stopping above the button. He pushed. The small lamp lit once. His heart felt like it was going a mile a minute.
His hands shook slightly as he reached for his phone. He needed to let Jasmine know what was happening. Sure, the pendant might tell her where he was and that it was an emergency, at least now that it was active. But that wouldn't prepare her for what was going on.
Someone pushed against the door, moving him slightly. It was enough for him to drop his phone. “God damn it.”
“Jason Smallers, open up and come out with your hands in the air.” An authoritative voice sounded from the other side of the door.
He needed to buy time. He didn't really have any choice but to trust that Jasmine would keep her promise. He dearly hoped it wasnt the only or even the main reason, but the clans didn't want the government to find out about them.
“Hold on a second, I am naked.” The words stumbled out of his mouth, loud enough that he knew they heard them. It was unfathomably stupid, but it was the best he could come up with. I am naked? Really? He didn't for a split second actually think they would care. After all, people who broke into other people's houses dressed like a first-person shooter protagonist didn't tend to be the most considerate of people.
It was quiet for a heartbeat before he heard someone snort. The same authoritative voice dead-panned. “We have a camera trained on your window. I know you're not naked. Now open up.”
“No.” He could hear, though not quite feel, the tremble in his voice as he said it. It was a simple word, and it was the only one he could come up with in that moment. It was perhaps only marginally stupider than his previous answer.
“No?” Disbelief dripping from every word.
He hesitated before he spoke. “I don't wanna?”
“That's it. Eagle two, breach.”
Damn it, damn it, damn it. Jason could barely hold on as something slammed against the door. The pendant knocked softly against his chest.
That was bad; they couldn't find it, or at least they needed to do so as late as possible. If they found it too soon, help might not come at all.
He had barely gotten the thing inside his T-shirt when something slammed back into the door again. This time he was sent flying across the room, the sound of someone falling coming quickly after.
Lying on his stomach, he kicked his legs frantically, trying to move away from the door, only for him to encounter some resistance. It wasn’t like the wood of a door, if only because doors didn't tend to make a sickening crunching sound when you kicked them.
Doors didn't tend to scream either.
Before he managed to turn around, a knee pressed down on his back, and his arms were pulled backward; something cold pressed around his wrists.