I've been editing with an eye for the volume of profanity and I've been surprised by how much I use, to the point where I've been toning it down a little. You loose that shock value when it's as frequent as it is in real life. Strange, that.

***

“It’s good to see you,” Alayna said slowly as I entered the room. She spoke in the common language, which cheered me some. But it didn’t make me overlook her appearance.

“Alayna, you look like hell!” I exclaimed. She cocked her head at me quizzically, and I cursed myself for my stupidity. I switched to our native tongue and repeated myself, adding, “What happened?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. Time. The doctors say that…it…something…is catching up…” her brows furrowed in concentration. From behind me, a nurse saved her.

“Her condition is stable,” the wide nurse said, with a small smile. “But the drugs that they gave her were dangerous. The addiction is catching up to her body. She did fine for awhile because she’s hardy, and her Elven adrenaline certainly didn’t hurt. But now the addiction is catching up, and hitting hard.”

“What’s going to happen?”

The nurse shrugged. “She’s going to go through withdrawal, of course. She’ll get the shakes, sweats, possibly paranoia, the works. I’m not going to lie to either of you,” she nodded sadly at Alayna, who was struggling to follow the conversation. “It’s going to hurt.”

“Do you know what they were using?”

She nodded, looking at the chart in her hand. “The lab thinks that it was probably ketrotestrosine.”

I stiffened. “Ketro? She’s just a kid! Why would they resort to something as strong as fucking ketro?”

“What…is this…Ketro?” Alayna urged, grabbing for my hand.

I took a deep breath and turned to explain in Elfish. “Ketrotestrosine is a very dangerous drug. Part of what it did to you when they shot you up was to shut down your nerve senses. Not to say that you don’t hurt,” I shook my head. “It just doesn’t go through your brain the same way. Someone could hit you in the face and your leg could hurt. It also causes flailing when you’re coming down off of it, hallucinations and muscle atrophy during and,” I blushed, embarrassed, “increased sex drive.”

“That explains those times…” she looked at me, fear beginning to dawn on her face. “What else?”

“Alayna…ketro, when it’s used in high dosages for long periods of time, can actually begin melting the brain.” When her hand reached up to touch the top of her head, I grabbed her wrist. “Alayna, we can treat this. We can make you better again. They’ll flush the remnants out of your system with another drug. It binds with ketro and it flushes it out in your urine.”

“Will it…” she swallowed, daring to look at me, her brilliant green eyes swimming with fear and pleading. “Will it hurt?”

I wanted to lie to her so badly. But I didn’t. I took her in my arms, as she shook. “Yes. I’m so sorry, Alayna.”

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said after a moment. “I need to give you an injection of Tentrosol.”

I’d forgotten about the injections. Or rather, I’d forgotten that being stuck with a needle that felt like it was full of fire would freak Alayna out. “Hey,” I said, pulling away from her. “The drug that will make you better has to be injected into you.” She stiffened and I hugged her with one arm. “It will burn, but it will make you better. Did you…do you want them to put it in your arm or do you want them to put a line in your arm? It will be one needle, but it will help reduce how badly it hurts when they give you more medicine.”

She stared at me for a long moment, tears running down her face. “Lucifel. What do I do?”

I shook my head. “Trust us. We won’t hurt you. The withdrawal will hurt, the medicine will burn, but we will make sure nothing else hurts you. I promise. I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt. The best way to make the medicine not hurt as badly is…” I swallowed, not wanting to tell her. “It would be best to give you the one needle all the time and drip the medicine in. It will hurt less.”

She nodded, looking at the wall. “Do it then.”

“She’s approved an IV line,” I said to the nurse. “Watch her, though. I don’t think she’ll like it very much.” I hugged Alayna, but she had already stopped sobbing. She braced her hand against me, pushed me away a foot or so. When I looked at her, she shook her head, not opening her eyes. I understood, and left the room.

*&*

Erica Bloom’s address was in a nicer part of town—nowhere near a cemetery, much to my disappointment. I pulled into the driveway of the pale green house, the trailer halting behind my car. There were garden gnomes on the front lawn, like she had said, and the door was a bright red. I locked the car and walked up to it, swallowing my trepidation. I had nothing to be afraid of, and everything should be afraid of me. I had clad myself in my most fearsome attire. The tattoo was hidden, unfortunately, by my long black trench coat. When Erin had given it to me last year, she’d quipped that no badass is complete without one. She was right. Of course, that was only because you can hide a crazy amount of firepower under a trench coat that you can’t with a sweater and jacket. Aside from my bandolier, I had two guns at my hips, two more crossed behind me, one in a shoulder holster, and the Slayer hidden in the side of the coat. The weight was slightly off, but I balanced it out by adding more paraphernalia to the other side including clips and powders and back-up dice and a lock picking kit. I wouldn’t use it, but it would help level me out, and it was good to have it in the coat anyway. The silver knives strapped on the inside of my tough boots and my forearms were probably too out of the way to do any good, but the one slid into my belt was handy.

It wasn’t that I suspected one pathetic undead to be worth that much firepower. I was being intimidating. Wearing all black and packing enough firearms to take down the entire OWLE squad was just to freak him out and let him know that I meant business. Hell, I only had the single clip for the Slayer, and it was already loaded. Of course, I had one in the chamber, but only because I always have one in the chamber with a full clip. That extra shot has saved my life a time or two more than I care to recall.

I paused at the door. It was quiet inside; not a good sign with a hostile. I opened the bottom most pouch and pulled out my black-lacquered dice. The twelve-sided dice have the traditional numbers, but a series of other images as well, should specificity be needed. And by the time I’m willing to draw the dice, it usually is. Closing my eyes and giving a moment’s concentration, I threw them up in the air, and caught them behind my back. Slowly, I let one and then the other clatter to the pavement. I took a step back and looked at them.

Both showed up with definitive arrows, pointed unerringly at the door. I nodded curtly, pausing long enough to swoop them up, before opening the door. I didn’t bother to knock—the dice had been very positive about the direction, so why waste time with pleasantries?

Directly in front of me was a stairway. To my left, a wood paneled floor led through a sitting room and into the kitchen. To the right, a gray rug covered the floorboards, leading into plush looking living room, with another door to the kitchen beyond. The room was complete with several recliners, a coffee table, and a big screen TV. Perched in a chair directly in front of it, was a man, clearly days dead by the smell of him. But he turned around and looked at me with what I supposed was surprise on his face. After a week, facial expression is pretty iffy on a dead guy. For all of the stench, Tom Bloom appeared to be alive and kicking. Well, kicking, anyway; he wasn’t alive. Not anymore.

“Tom Bloom,” my voice reverberated across the room. He stood staring at me, his wife hovering in the door to the kitchen.

“YOU!” He screamed, turning at his wife and pointed a rotting arm. I could see the crude stitches where she’d patched him up before. “You called one of them? You promised never to bring one of those abominations into our home!” He stood, advancing on her menacingly. Erica cringed against the door.

“Tom Bloom,” I repeated, commanding him to look at me. “Your borrowed time is over.”

He continued to threaten her as if he hadn’t heard me. “You said you would keep that filth out of our home, my home! You lying bitch!”

“Tom Bloom,” I was getting sick of booming his name across the house. “You have no more claims to this realm.”

His tone turned pleading, “I thought you loved me! We were going to live together, continue loving each other! Please…why would you do this if you loved me?”

I saw her being to soften at his pleading tone, and I took control of the situation, strolling leisurely over to them. “You have not left this world as you should. Your time has been revoked. You may no longer walk this earth. Return to the Unseen Paths.”

Erica looked between us, and finally said softly to me, “Please…” I didn’t let her ask me to stop. That would make the resting illegal, and I didn’t need that shit today.

“Your soul rots with your withering corpse. Who you once were decays and flakes away, leaving you with just the basest, cruelest nature.” Erica flinched, and drew back her pleading hand. Reaching into one of my pouches, I pulled out a shimmering white powder. “I banish you.” The crescendo of my voice mimicked a rising tide and I was all but shouting at him. “I banish you from this world forever more!”

“You can’t make me leave!” He threw himself at me, hoping to kill me before I exorcised him. He was still in mid-leap when the Casting flew from its holster and I fired two rounds in quick succession. Both hit their mark, obliterating his kneecaps. He whimpered in pain on the floor before me. Erica’s fist was stuffed in her mouth, stifling her cries.

I threw the powder around him, and it hovered in the air, clotting his lungs. “This world no longer belongs to you. You no longer belong to it.” I advanced, weaving past the chair, until I was standing directly before the whimpering corpse. “Return to the Unseen Paths.”

“Please,” he begged. I ignored him.

“Your soul’s time to move on has more than passed. Take your leave of his plane.” I reached out and grabbed him by the throat, then pulled upwards. But his corpse merely crumpled to the ground. I had grabbed his soul only, and held it by its throat. Beyond us, I felt a gateway to the Hidden Roads opening. I turned, and threw him in, saying, “The Unseen Paths call to you. Be gone from the world that is no longer yours to the world that is not ours. Be gone and return no more, or suffer my undying wrath. Be gone!”

The shimmering white powder vanished, and the body lay quietly before me. The only sound was the soft sobbing of Erica Bloom to my left. I ignored her, bending over to the body. The sprigs of thyme, withered and dried, were clutched tightly between his teeth, but at my touch, his jaw parted and the thyme fell apart. When he had been possessed still, it had been only a pale white impression on his tongue, but when he was properly dead again, the thyme died too. The other herbs combusted, smoldering harmlessly on his rotted body. Only when I knew he was no longer habitable did I turn to Erica.

“He’s gone now,” I whispered. She nodded, still sobbing. “He won’t come back. You can move on, now.”

“What…what will you do?” she managed.

“I will take him to the cemetery and I will lay him to rest again. He will be reburied and unless you have a necromage as powerful or more powerful than me, he will not rise again.” I reached under him and grabbed the corpse unceremoniously, one arm supporting his upper back, the other holding his knees. “If you would be so kind as to open the door?” I hadn’t remembered closing it behind me, but when the power rages through my head, I don’t always remember everything.

She scurried to open it for me, giving me a small smile as I exited her house. “At least the smell will be gone soon,” she gasped. “And I understand what you mean about moving away.”

I gave her a small smile, understanding her residual fear. Then I walked to the car, and gave the trailer’s gate a blow from my knee. It opened obediently and I slid the corpse in. With a nod to the widow, I latched it again and got in the car. Next stop, cemetery.

Erica Bloom had picked the ritziest one in town, much to my dismay. I had already called ahead, though, and they had set up to re-bury the body. I’d had to make an appointment and leave a deposit. But on the plus side, they were ready to bury him when I returned with the body. The resting rite went quickly, the gravediggers looking as if I was just wasting their time, but they bore with it. They were professional about it, and prompt, which I appreciated. I’ve had to leave bodies in open graves before because I couldn’t wait any longer for the reburial. Worse, I’ve had to bury them myself. Not my favorite way to end an evening.

They reburied Tom Bloom promptly, even settling some of the dirt. I waited, hovering around the edges until they were done. They scurried quickly from the graveyard, but I ignored them. I pulled out powdered rosemary, mixed with a few other herbs, and scattered it over the grave, intoning words that were engraved on my soul. “Rise no more into this world. I seal you into the Unseen Paths. Never return.” I could probably have easily called them the Afterways—their informal name—but it was never too safe to take shortcuts with the risen dead.

I dusted off my hands, and was walking back to my car when I heard it. I’m still not sure how I heard the hammer clicking on a gun, but I dove for the dirt immediately. Bullets whizzed above my head, coming from far to my left. The Casting was in my hand as I crawled to a gravestone. Peeking around it, I saw the shooter in the wane moonlight. When he stopped to reload, I returned fire. It was at least five hundred yards, a nearly impossible shot in the dark. But I excel in the impossible.

The first bullet missed him entirely, but the second ripped through his hip. I heard him wail and I fired again, the third taking him through the left shoulder, missing his heart by about six inches. The next shot tore through his other shoulder, incapacitating his shooting arm. He screamed even louder, howling at the sky in pain. I gave it a moment, then stood. I kept the Casting out as I advanced on the body. I was about a hundred yards away when gunfire erupted from behind me. This shooter was better; his bullet ripped through my calf. I fell to the ground, and heard the nearer one chuckle. I spared him a glance, and to my horror, I realized that he wasn’t human, or a vampire.

He was an elf.

“What the fuck…?”

“You’ve been condemned, Lucifel,” he said to me hoarsely. “You’re an abomination. We’ve come to exterminate you.”

“Fuck,” I said again, and he laughed. “Laugh at this,” I snapped, and pointed the Casting at him, aiming for a deadly, almost-point blank shot. He froze. “How many of you are there in this cemetery?”

“If I told you, you’d shoot me. If I don’t tell you, you’ll shoot me. What’s the point?”

“If you tell me the truth, I’ll shoot you clean and kill you. If you don’t tell me, I’ll shoot you in the balls and let you bleed to death.”

He turned white. “Three more.”

I nodded curtly, although I knew my chances to be somewhere between impossible and really impossible. In short, I was dead. It was just a matter of time before my own people killed me. “What clan?”

He looked at me quizzically. “You know you’re going to die, right?”

“I’d figured that one out. What clan?” If it was the Blood Hands, I’d be up against shooters as good as me. The Swift Feet would mean I had no chance in hell running—not that I did anyway with my leg—but I might gun them down. Seeing Eye would have been shooting spells, not bullets. If he said it was the Winged Bough, I’d shoot him on the spot. No one from my birth clan would seek to kill me. Would they?

“Death’s Touch,” he said softly and I nearly swore. The Touch would fuck me up good. I wasn’t sure how I’d made their hit list, though. They took on anything, true, but their prices were insanely exorbitant. They worked magic and bullets, leaving very little area to maneuver out of a hit. This was a big-league hit.

“Who paid?”

He smiled at me, “Does it matter? You won’t get to confront them.” Bullets sang around me, coming too close for comfort. Then again, any bullet zinging near you is too close. My calf throbbed. I pulled some rough bandages from my coat, blessing whatever had convinced me to put them there to balance out the Slayer. They slowed the bleeding on my calf, at least. Before me, the assassin had fallen back, looking beaten. I aimed the Casting between his eyes and took a deep breath.

“From this world, find your feet upon the path to the next. May the stars light your way.” He opened his eyes long enough to look at me quizzically for the blessing of the dead, and then I shot him. My heart clenched with the pain of killing one of my kind, even if he was prepared to kill me. But I couldn’t let murder incapacitate me just yet. Later, when I could mourn, I would. Now, I had to save my own life.

Three shooters still out there. I took a deep breath and tried to make my brain develop a brilliant strategy to save my ass. All I got was “Don’t Die.” Wow—succinct. Gotta love the brilliant strategies.

They hadn’t sniped me yet, although I was sure there was a buddy out there who could. So my best bet was…what? I reached into my pocket and found my cell phone. I covered the glow with my palm as I hit the button and it dialed. The secretary patched me directly into Coil, judging from the brisk hello. I’d have to send her flowers if I lived through this. I waited a long moment, ignoring Coil’s repeated “Hello” before I snapped the phone shut and darted to another area. Reopening it, I hit redial and ducked barely in time to avoid a round of gunfire.

“Shit, hello?” Coil’s voice was almost too loud. I pushed down the nine, holding it for a long moment before shutting the phone. I slid from my hiding place to yet another. As I settled behind another stone, a spray of bullets peppered the place where I’d been, to my relief. I’d thrown him off, evidently. Silently, I pushed redial again, still covering the glow with my palm. Coil picked up and I pushed a sustained tone again. Another nine. I prayed that when he traced the call, he’d figure out that was the grid on the tracking system, according to my best guess. I left the phone open and Coil stayed quiet for several long moments. When he said quietly, “Lucifel?” I tapped the one and closed the phone.

More shots erupted, aimed unerringly at me this time. One grazed the side of my arm and a swallowed a startled scream. The Slayer was in my hand in no time and I shot back at him. I must have been more careful, or a better shot or something. He screamed, once, long enough for me to pinpoint his face, approximately, in the dark, and I fired again. The scream stopped. Either he was dead or faking it. Either way, I moved to another stone and shot another round before I called Coil again. He made a very soft murmur and I stayed on the line. Or rather, I left the phone on, set it upside-down and moved to another stone. “Lucifel?” Coil asked finally. “Stay there, Lucifel. We’ve traced the—“ I never got to hear the end of his spy-movie-esque platitude.

A single shot erupted and the phone silenced. Number two (three, actually, counting the rat as the first) was shooting. Coil was coming, and we both knew we only had a little while to play this out. So the shooters, if they had brains that weren’t buried up their asses, were pulling out the stops. Which meant I had about ninety seconds to live.