"If you try to put me in a cage, I will have no mercy when I get out of it."

[knkfics]

A/N: Well, now that I've gotten Swift's sidestory done, maybe I can get back to working on the things I should be working on. =D

I hope you've all enjoyed this, please drop me a comment to let me know!

Chapter Seven

Whitney sat in the passenger’s seat with her hands folded in her lap, composed and unexcited. Swift was holding her surprisingly legible notebook in one hand, steering with the other, but she was needing it less than she had thought. “Coming up there’s going to be a left turn,” she said, her head cocked to one side. “It was right by the mechanic’s shop.”

“Gotcha,” Swift said, flipping his turn signal. He was amazed by all the things that Whitney had heard. Sure, now that she mentioned it, he could hear the whirring of machinery, the noise of whatever they called that thing that jacked the cars up. But he wouldn’t have been able to identify it.

“We’re about halfway there, I think,” she said. Swift consulted his clock and her notebook and concurred.

“What are we going to do once we’re there?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “We’re gonna drive right the hell past it.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said.

It didn’t work out that way.

Her directions were perfect. They led the pair directly to what Swift could tell was the facility, both because it was a solid brick building with no windows and because he could feel the pulse of his wards around it once they got close. He gave it a close look, slowed slightly, and then drove past it.

His tire made a clunking noise. The car lurched forward.

“What the - ” Whitney began.

“Shit!” Swift said, as his engine began to rattle and shake.

“What is it?”

“They hexed the car,” he said grimly. He pressed the accelerator to the floor, but all that did was make the rattling worse. With a curse, he twisted the wheel, but it was no good; the car shuddered and rolled to a stop. “Well, we’re screwed,” he said. “Reardon saw it coming.”

“What are we going to - ” Whitney asked, but before she could finish her sentence, the doors of the car were yanked open and they were both dragged out. Swift barely had time to look around for Reardon before they were hauled into the facility. It looked the same as it ever had. Reardon was lounging by the bar.

“Well, well,” he said. “Tommy Baker. What am I going to do with you?”

“How about you let me and Whitney go?” Swift asked, hoping that his big mouth might keep Reardon amused long enough to think of something clever.

Reardon tilted his head to one side. “I don’t see a positive outcome for me in that scenario,” he said.

“Hey, it was just a suggestion.”

The two of them were roughly shoved into chairs, back to back, and tied down with their hands behind their backs. Swift thought this was a fairly sensible precaution. He did wards with his hands, most of the time, and even if they were tied to the arms of the chairs, he could still do them. Of course, he could do them without his hands, too. They would just be much weaker. But none of Reardon’s men knew that.

“What’s with the bondage gear?” Swift asked, trying to hold onto his bravado. “I figured you would just kill me.”

“Hardly,” Reardon said. “I need to know who you’re working for. I doubt you did all this on your own. You’re too smart for that. Where’s the percentage in crossing me? You wanted to know the actual location of this facility for a reason, Tommy, and I want to know what that reason is.”

“And why the fuck am I going to tell you if you’re just going to kill me anyway?” Swift asked. He could see all his wonderful plans going in the toilet. Even his backup plan, his ace in the hole, was going to be useless if his hands were tied behind his back.

“You underestimate me, Tommy,” Reardon said. “You should know better.” He gestured to one of his men. “Give it to him.” To Swift, he added, “It’s a slightly refined version. My formula is basically complete at this point, but now I don’t dare release it onto the market, because I don’t know who you told about it.”

“Well, thank God for small favors,” Swift said.

He knew that Reardon was going to kill him. But he also knew Reardon was done. When Nikolaos didn’t get the signal he was expecting, he would search for the GPS chip on Swift’s phone, which was in the glove compartment of his car. One way or another, DSI would take Reardon down. It was a small comfort.

In practice, what it meant was that there was no reason not to talk beyond general principle. Back before the supernatural world knew about DSI, not betraying its presence was paramount. But these days most demons knew about it, and tried to steer clear of its agents when at all possible. Telling Reardon who he was would lose DSI nothing, and would at least gain him a quicker death.

Of course, if he came right out with it, Reardon probably wouldn’t believe him, and would torture him anyway.

All this went through Swift’s mind in the few moments before one of the men handed Reardon a shot glass full of dark red liquid.

“I told you,” Swift said, trying to stare Reardon down. “I told you that if you ever forced that down my throat again, I’d kill you.”

“Pardon me if I fail to quake in my boots,” Reardon said, but Swift noticed that he personally did not approach him. He gestured to the man holding the glass, who started forward. Swift clamped his mouth shut. Another thug came over and pressed down on the hinges of his jaw, forcing it open. Just as the first demon came forward with the glass, Swift threw up a ward. It was weak and fizzled out after less than three seconds, but resulted in the man dumping the drunk on Swift’s lap instead of into his mouth.

“Shit,” the man said. “How’d he do that? His hands are tied.”

“You God damned goons have no idea how wards work, do you,” Swift said. “Seriously, what did I waste all my time explaining all their uses to you for?”

“Still,” Reardon murmured, “that you could do it without so much as a symbol, that’s impressive. It really is a shame that you betrayed me, Tommy. I did warn you about the consequences.”

“Oh, yeah,” Swift said, “but given that I never actually worked for you to begin with, this isn’t technically a betrayal. Just, you know, a revelation of my true colors.”

Reardon gave him a stony look. “It could have gone easily for you,” he said. “On the drug, you wouldn’t have even known you were dying. It would have been quick. Painless.”

“No thanks,” Swift said. “Choke on it, you bastard. When I go out, at least I’m going to know I’m doing it. I’m not going to lie down and let you cut my throat.”

“Fine,” Reardon said, with a shrug. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a rather large knife. Swift swallowed hard. “Your little friend isn’t using her eyes anyway . . . so she won’t miss them after I cut them out.”

Swift made a hissing noise. “Don’t you dare touch her, you bastard,” he said. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Well, I can’t torture you,” Reardon said. “What if I went too far and you died or lost consciousness? She is here and important to you, which makes her an ideal recipient. Don’t you agree?”

“Eat shit, you cocksucker,” Whitney replied.

“And she’s such a charmer, too,” Reardon said. “I think I’ll cut your tongue right out of your foul mouth.”

“No, Jesus,” Swift said. “Don’t you fucking touch her.”

“I’m just curious, understand,” Reardon said. “Did you two actually know each other beforehand?”

“Uh, yeah,” Swift said. “I asked her to marry me when I was fifteen. Your research probably didn’t turn that up, though.”

“How romantic,” Reardon said, with a snort. “Very well, Tommy, you have until the count of three before I start removing whatever facial features suit my fancy.”

Swift’s stomach clenched. “Don’t bother counting, you sadistic asshole,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Tommy!” Whitney was obviously shocked.

“It doesn’t matter, Whit,” Swift said. “He’s gonna kill us whether I tell him or not. If I tell him, at least he’ll stop dragging it out.”

“Very astute.” Reardon put the knife away. “Well?”

“I work for DSI.”

Reardon laughed. Then he saw the look on Swift’s face and the laughter died away. “You’re serious.”

“Yep. Sorry. You think the government doesn’t need thieves? Think again. Did you seriously think I had magicked myself out of prison? No, boss, it doesn’t quite work like that. They bought my services by getting me out of jail. And that’s why I’ve been spying on you. But I haven’t told my contact where your facility is, so even though they know it exists, you’re safe to release your product. Go ahead. Have a jolly good time.”

“Who’s your contact?”

“No way am I telling you that, no matter what you do to either of us. Getting myself killed is one thing. Someone else, quite another.”

Reardon stood back. “Good enough. But I’m not going to kill you, Tommy. Your girlfriend, sure; I don’t need her. But you’re too good at your job to waste. I already have a man down in Keystone picking up a binding spell strong enough to hold you. Sooner or later, I’ll figure out who your contact is. They’ll come looking for you.”

Swift went still. Quietly, he said, “You want to kill me, boss.”

“Oh? Is that a fact?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is. Because if you try to put me in a cage, I will have no fucking mercy when I get out of it.”

Reardon laughed. “Get back to work,” he said to his men, ignoring Swift’s words altogether. “When Hendricks gets back with the binding spell, we’ll kill the girl. We’ll keep her until then, as a down payment on Tommy’s good behavior.”

The group of thugs let out a chorus of mean, unsettling laughs, before they went back to their business. It was early in the day, so the first floor of the building was deserted. They all went back to the second floor, where the labs and processing facilities were. Reardon went with them, presumably to his office.

Swift let out a sigh. “I’m sorry I got you into this,” he finally said.

“Tommy?” Whitney’s voice wobbled. She was clearly on the edge of tears and trying to hide it. “I know that this . . . this sounds really stupid and whiny, but I . . . I don’t want to die. I just got free. I don’t want to die now.”

“I know. That’s why I’m sorry. And it doesn’t sound whiny, for Christ’s sake. There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to die.”

“This from the guy who just asked Reardon to kill you.”

Swift was quiet for a long time. “Working in DSI . . . you get used to the idea,” he finally said. “I joined nearly ten years ago. Probably half the people who were there when I started are dead now. It’s a scary job, fighting scary things. It’s worth it. But we’re not all really equipped for what we’re up against. There are probably only three or four guys in the entire department who could take Reardon on and walk away, and I’m not one of them.”

“Doesn’t it scare you?”

“No,” Swift said quietly. “It . . . it disappoints me, because there’s still a lot of shit I’d love to do. But I know that death isn’t the end. Working in DSI, you can’t help but know that. I’ve . . . I’ve seen things, Whitney, things that . . . death isn’t the end. I’m not real anxious to meet my maker, but if I go down protecting people . . . that’s enough for me, I guess.”

“What about your friend?”

“He won’t come until I give him the signal, and I can’t give him the signal with my hands tied behind my back. I didn’t figure this, Whit. I’m sorry.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“If it helps at all, and it probably doesn’t,” Swift said, “I’ll make sure your name gets put on the monument for DSI agents who die in action. Not sure how I’ll do it, but I’ll manage it somehow.”

Whitney actually laughed. “Oh, you son of a bitch,” she said, the tears obvious in her voice now. “What the fuck kind of suggestion is that?”

“The only one I’ve got.”

“How . . . how long do you think we have?”

Swift thought about the location of the facility as compared to other parts of the city. “Probably about an hour, but maybe less. I’m not sure when Reardon sent the guy out for the binding spell. When he gets back with it . . .” An idea struck him, suddenly. “Hey, are you wearing any jewelry? A watch, even?”

“What? No. No point in wearing a watch I can’t see, is there? Why do you ask?”

“Thought maybe I could do a set of wards for you, but with my hands behind my back like this, I’d have to have a physical circle already made. It was worth a try.”

Whitney was quiet. “Can you . . . can you reach the back pocket of my jeans?”

“I think so. What’s in there?” Even as he asked, Swift was wiggling around, trying to stretch his hands and fingers to get into the pocket. His long fingers had always been an asset on some of the finer points of his job. He hooked them into the pocket, pulling the fabric, and managed to squirm the tips of his fingers inside. They touched a piece of string, and he pulled it out. He couldn’t see it, but suddenly he knew what it was. “Jesus Christ, Whit. You kept this?”

“Always,” she whispered, and let out a sob. “Oh, God, Tommy. I would have married you. Morrow always promised that someday he’d get you out of jail. He’d bribe a judge, stage a jailbreak, whatever. I knew . . . I knew he didn’t mean it, but I couldn’t stop hoping. When he told me you had died in prison . . .” She let out a shudder against his back. “I hated you for that. For dying when I fucking needed you. That was the worst day of my life. Even worse than this one.”

Swift rubbed his fingers over the ratty string that he had tied into a circle to symbolize a ring. Then he grabbed Whitney’s hand in his. Suddenly he was glad that they had been tied this way. “Put out your ring finger,” he said, and she did so. He slid it on. His words were more firm than he would have expected. “With this ring, I thee wed. Okay? Say it.”

“W-With this ring, I thee wed,” Whitney said. Her voice trembled.

“There. Now we’re married. We can do the paperwork later.” Swift squeezed her hand. “Now, I hate to make you a widow five minutes after I’ve made you a wife, but I’m going to use the ring to do a set of wards for you. As strong as I can make it on our limited time frame. Reardon’s gonna have to untie us before he kills you, so - ”

“What? He is?”

“Hell yeah. He wants me to watch. I can’t watch him kill you if we’re back-to-back like this. So he’ll untie you. But they won’t be able to touch you.” Swift scanned the room. “The door is directly to your left, about twenty yards. Just run, Whitney. Don’t stop, don’t look back. Er, metaphorically speaking. Just run. The wards will protect you until you’re not in danger anymore, as long as you don’t waste time.”

“What about you?” she asked.

Swift didn’t hesitate. “I’m going to fight him so hard that he won’t have any choice but to kill me. He will not get that binding spell on me. It’ll buy you time to get away.”

“I don’t . . . don’t want it to end like that.”

In his mind, Swift was already setting up the framework for the wards he was going to do. “Whitney . . . this is like Silverston’s house. I know this may be a little bit hard for you to understand, but I’m a cop. You’re a civilian. It’s my duty to make sure that you get out of here alive. I can’t do anything else.”

“You really have changed,” Whitney said, then shook her head. “No. Not really. You would’ve done the exact same thing if we’d been caught when we were kids.”

“I guess so,” Swift said, with a laugh. “When you get back to civilization, go to the police station. Tell them who you are and that you were working with an undercover FBI agent and that you need to talk to his supervisor, Connor Connelly - ”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, that’s his name, no joke. Connelly was originally with the FBI, if they call the main New York City FBI number it’ll get routed to him. Tell him everything. He’ll make sure you’re taken care of. Now be quiet, because I don’t have a lot of time to do these wards and I want to make sure they’re kick-ass.”

Whitney shut up. Swift left his fingers on the makeshift ring and put up layer after layer of protective wards. They would keep her safe from both physical and magical harm, at least for a little while. They were nowhere near as strong as someone like Nikolaos could do, but for the twenty yards to get her out of the facility, they should hold up.

“Okay,” he said, wanting to save some of his strength for the fight ahead. “That’ll do.” He hesitated. “You’ll be okay, right? I mean, making it back to civilization?”

“I’ve been blind my whole life, Tommy,” she said. “I’m used to making it through the dark.”

“Heh. That you are.”

Realization hit him, sudden and startling.

“What?” Whitney felt him tense, heard the sharp intake of breath.

“I think . . . think I may know how to get us both out of here.” Swift scanned the room again. The path to the door was fairly obstacle free; they were in the no man’s land between the entrance and the casino tables. The few times he had been there when the club had been open, it had been used as a dance floor. They weren’t too far away from the bar, though. That was the important part. “Jesus, if I can pull off the ward I’ll need . . .”

“What’s the plan?” Whitney asked.

Swift told her.

Whitney laughed. “You’re fucking out of your gourd, Tommy.”

“Yep. Think it’ll work?”

“I think I’d rather die trying it than be your widow.”

“Okay!” Swift flexed his hands, pictured the ward in his mind, let it slowly gather in his hand. There would be no margin of error. He would need to have it ready the moment his hands were free.

He had come up with his plan just in time. It was less than ten minutes later before Reardon came downstairs to let somebody in. Swift didn’t recognize the man that came in, but he recognized the silver chain in his hands. Binding spells could be done without them, of course, but if Reardon wanted to purchase one without bringing a mage to his stronghold, this was the only way.

Swift tensed as they approached. His plan hinged on the fact that they would untie him before they put the binding spell on him, so they could do it with his hands in front of himself. He wouldn’t make much of a thief with his hands behind his back. But if, for whatever reason, they bound him before he was untied, there was no way he could get away. Whitney would still be able to, but not him.

Much to his relief, Reardon brought out a knife and jerked it through the bonds that were holding him, then Whitney’s. They were both hauled to their feet and then separated, standing about ten feet apart. Swift didn’t bother to worry about whether or not Whitney would keep track of where the door was. She would.

“Well, Tommy,” Reardon said, “do you have anything to say to your girlfriend before I cut her throat?”

“Nope,” Swift said, “but I’ve got something to say to you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Reardon was amused.

“Yeah. You’ve got a lousy memory. Who do you think vetted the damned security on this place?”

Swift cupped the ward in his hand and flung it at the fusebox behind the bar. It hit, clung, and dug into the power lines.

The room went utterly dark.

With absolutely no windows, without electricity, there was no way to get light. Reardon’s men had not been prepared, and there was a general shout of confusion as they tried to get themselves organized.

“Whitney, here!” Swift shouted.

Moments later, arms wrapped around his shoulders. He flinched involuntarily, but gathered himself as Whitney flung herself onto his back, putting her legs around his waist. The wards he had put on her would offer him some limited protection - and most importantly, they would protect his back.

“To your left!” Whitney shouted, and Swift ran. He bulldozed through the crowd of goons, slid through it like a greased eel. Arms grabbed for him, and he batted them aside. With the help of the wards, they couldn’t quite grab him. “Two o’clock!”

Swift struck out blindly. His fist connected with something, and he heard someone grunt and stagger backwards.

“Behind us!”

The crowd was closing in. Swift spun three-sixty, kicking whoever was behind them in what was apparently a tender spot, if the noise they made was any indication. Sharp pain went through his newly-healed arm; someone’s knife had gotten through a weak spot in the wards.

“Wall!” Whitney gasped out, just before Swift crashed into it. “Door is to your right. About five feet.”

Groping for the handle, Swift made his way along the wall. He grabbed the door and yanked it open. At that moment, he became extremely glad that Whitney’s ward protected his back; he was a perfect silhouette against the light of the street. It was dusk now, but compared to the inky blackness of the facility, he stood out brilliantly. He heard three different gunshots before he slammed the door shut.

It took about three seconds to yank out the key that he had given Reardon, sealing the door shut unless they wanted to go through his wards.

Whitney sniffed. “I smell blood.”

“Yeah,” Swift said. “It’s mine. Which is totally okay; I needed it anyway.”

“If you fixed the door, can they get through?” Whitney asked, as he bolted down the alley.

“If they want to waste the time ripping the wards apart, sure,” Swift said, “but Reardon’s smarter than that. The back door will still open; I can’t change the key without laying my hands on it. They’ll go out that way.”

“How long before they catch up?”

“With me dripping blood like this? Three minutes, tops. Here, get down.”

They had stopped in a dim alley. Whitney scrambled off his back and tried to figure out what he was doing from the noise. She couldn’t. “What now?”

Swift swiped his hand through the blood dripping down his arm and drew a circle around them. Then he began to draw symbols. “Wards can be done in just about any medium you want,” he said.

“Can you do wards strong enough to stop that many people?”

“No, and I can’t do wards strong enough to stop Reardon at all. But it’ll slow them down for a few minutes. I can keep putting up layers while they keep breaking through them.”

Whitney trembled. “How much time?”

“Five minutes. It’ll be enough. Trust me.”

“It’d be nice if you’d fucking explain yourself - ”

Swift didn’t answer. He was busy putting up the wards.

“Hey, over here!” One of the thugs was standing in the mouth of the alley. Swift sat down with his hand on the main symbol and poured all his concentration into it. Bullets began to whine in the air, ricocheting off the wards and causing no small amount of chaos.

“Don’t fire, you idiots!” Reardon shouted from somewhere. “You’ll kill us all! Just break the damned wards, it can’t take that long!”

Whitney heard the small splintering noise as one of them shattered the outer layer. “Tommy,” she whispered.

Swift didn’t reply, so wrapped up in the magic that she wasn’t sure that he heard her.

Moments later, she heard a thud. Nobody else seemed to hear it. It was followed by another. The sound of a body hitting cement. Then a third. Yet still nobody noticed. Compared to the shouting and the pounding on the wards, the noise seemed inconsequential. Whitney craned her head, trying to hear what was going on.

Then there was a scream. It cut off abruptly and was followed by a thud that was more of a splatter.

“What the - ” One of the goons said.

Swift looked up suddenly, jerked out of what he had been doing. “Yes,” he said, a hiss of fierce satisfaction. “He’s here.”

“What?” Whitney asked.

Swift wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. “Everything’s gonna be okay,” he said. “The cavalry is here.”

She could hear the chaos now. People were screaming and struggling to get away, trying to locate the enemy. Even if she had not been blind, she couldn’t have found him any more easily than they did. One the brief occasions he was seen, it was only as a dark blur as he darted from target to target, leaving carnage behind.

Nikolaos killed thirty demons in less than three minutes.

When the field was clear, he let his sight spells drop and nodded to Swift. “How’d you get into this mess?” he asked, coolly professional, with no injuries and barely a speck of blood on him.

“Oh, you know me,” Swift said. He took down his wards and stepped out to shake Nikolaos’ hand. “Always getting into trouble. Did you get Reardon?”

“How the hell should I know? It’s not like you sent me a dossier.”

“No,” Whitney said, “someone is still breathing.”

Nikolaos looked at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Hey, if she says she can still hear someone breathing, it’s because she can,” Swift said. “Where?”

“There.” Whitney pointed precisely to an empty space.

“The wall is breathing?” Nikolaos asked.

Swift casually picked a gun off one of the bodies, aimed where Whitney was pointing, and fired. This was met by a curse.

“Good sight spell,” Nikolaos said, impressed.

“Where, Whitney?” Swift asked, and sighted the gun along where Whitney’s finger traveled. He could hear the footfalls as well, and pulled the trigger a second time, aiming low. The bullet hit Reardon in the back of the calf. The sight spell flickered in and out as he collapsed to the ground.

“You want me to - ?” Nikolaos asked, but stopped talking when he saw the set expression on Swift’s face. “Okay. He’s all yours.”

Swift could vividly recall when Reardon had spoken those words to him about Wright. It seemed like a lifetime ago, though it had only been several days. It had disturbed him then. It didn’t bother him now. Reardon was a demon, and he had never been Swift’s friend. He wasn’t doing this to get revenge for himself. He was doing it to protect other people. Somehow, it made all the difference.

“There’s your bad memory acting up again, boss,” he said, checking to make sure the gun had bullets left as he started forward. “Very first time I met you, I told you I had assassin friends. I bet you thought that was just bullshit. It wasn’t.”

Reardon pushed himself up onto his hands. “All right,” he said, “you win. Go ahead and torch the warehouse. I’ll take it somewhere out of the country. You people at DSI are all about protecting America. You shouldn’t have any problem if I go to Hong Kong.”

“You know what? You’re right. And if all you had tried to do was kill me, I might have let you. But I warned you that if you tried to put me in a cage, I wouldn’t have any mercy. So you’ve got no right to expect some.”

Swift pulled the trigger. He kept pulling it until the gun was empty.

Then he let out a slow breath. “Okay,” he said. “That’s done.”

Nikolaos’ flicked blood off the end of his knives and said, “I’ll take you back to HQ.”

“Thanks.” As if in a dream, Swift offered his arm to Whitney. After an endless moment of hesitation, she put her hand on it. “Which way to the car?”

~~//~~\\~~

Epilogue

One thing was clear from the way Connelly was tapping at his desk: he was not amused.

“Nikolaos,” he said, “being in that the last time I spoke to you was two weeks ago, I know for a solid fact that you did not have a kill order for any of those demons, and that it is, in fact, quite possible that you just killed a number of humans alongside them. Which DSI does not allow or approve of.”

Nikolaos was unruffled. “Doesn’t matter,” he said.

“And why do you say that?”

“Because it was a private contract,” Nikolaos said, “not a job for DSI. And as you well know, I’m allowed to do whatever I like on my private contracts as long as nobody finds out a DSI agent did it.”

Connelly looked like a migraine was developing. “Assisting Swift on a DSI assignment is not a private contract.”

“Sure it is. He called me, not you. He paid me, not you.”

“And exactly what did he pay you with?” Connelly asked.

“Money, obviously. My standard fee.”

Connelly looked at Swift. “Dare I ask how you were able to afford the exorbitant rates that I know Nikolaos charges for private contracts?”

“Easy,” Swift said. “Reardon was paying me for all the jobs Tommy Baker did for him. I’ve got stacks of cash lying around. I figured I would donate the vast majority of it to charity, but a small down payment on Nikolaos’ saving my ass seemed reasonable.”

“I see.” Connelly twitched. “And your excuse for killing Reardon when you did not have a kill order?”

“Hey, you told me,” Swift said, “that I could break laws in order to keep my cover, if I needed to.”

“That isn’t really what I meant.”

“Well, you know, we crooks are pretty good at following the letter of the law instead of the spirit.” Swift saw Connelly’s severe look and softened somewhat. “Honestly, boss? I didn’t have time. I had no idea when Reardon was gonna turn around and bite me in the ass. Since I would’ve had to go through Mika if I wanted to keep my cover intact, it would’ve taken more time than I had. If I had found the warehouse and gotten away clean, I would’ve brought it back to you so you could dispatch it to whoever you felt was appropriate. But once he had me captive, I didn’t have much choice.”

“Fair enough,” Connelly said, with a sigh. “As for you, Miss Ford - ”

“This is the part where he offers you a job,” Nikolaos said, leaning back in his chair.

“Don’t call me Miss Ford,” Whitney said. “Please. That’s what Reardon called me, patronizing bastard. Whitney’s fine.”

“Also, your name is Mrs. Battersby now,” Swift said, looking smug.

Whitney elbowed him in the ribs. “If you seriously think I’m changing my last name to Battersby, you’re even crazier than I thought. And that’s saying something. Anyway, why would you give me a job? It’s not like I have magic.”

“No, but a lot of our agents don’t,” Connelly said. “All you need to get a job here is basic familiarity with the supernatural world, and an open mind. And as it seems that you have both balls and brains - ”

“Which makes you twice as good as Swift,” Nikolaos put in.

“ - then I think you would have no problem fitting in as a field agent once you’ve been trained.”

“I don’t know.” Whitney shifted slightly. “Now that I’m free, I’m not real anxious to start answering to anybody . . .”

“Don’t worry,” Connelly said with a sigh. “You won’t be the only person bad at listening to orders. As is evidenced.”

“I’ll think about it,” Whitney said. “Uh, you know I’m blind, right?”

“It was rather glaringly obvious from Swift’s debriefing, yes.”

“Just checking.”

Connelly gave the group a quick glance. “Whitney, Nikolaos, you can go. Swift, I want you to stay for a few minutes.”

Swift groaned, clearly anticipating another lecture. Nikolaos punched him on the shoulder before guiding Whitney out of the room.

Once they were gone and Nikolaos had shut the door, Connelly studied Swift for a few moments. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“What?” Swift asked, startled by the question.

“I know that this was the first time you’ve killed anybody. So. Are you okay?”

Swift wearily pushed both his hands through his hair. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I feel like I should be upset, that I should be guilty or worried about what kind of person I am on the inside. But the truth is that I’m not. I don’t feel much of anything about it. It was my job and I did it. Is that bad?”

“I don’t think it’s bad,” Connelly said. “Or even particularly unusual. This is something that most police officers and people in the military have to deal with eventually. The fact that you’d gotten so far without ever killing was mostly due to your singular talent. The emotional response may come later. If it does . . . I want to make sure that you know you’re not alone. And that you’ll come to me if you need to talk. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Swift nodded and relaxed. “Thanks.”

“I’ll have Nikolaos take you home.”

“Okay.”

Swift met Nikolaos and Whitney in the hallway. From the sympathetic look in Nikolaos’ eyes, he figured that Nikolaos knew why Connelly had kept him behind. Swift didn’t really want to talk about it, so he looped his arm around Whitney’s waist and said, “C’mon, Whitney. Let’s go find some stars.”

~~//~~\\~~

~finis~