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“Relax, Kara,” Pellini said gently. “It’s just the Horsemen.”
“Oh.” I blew out a breath. “It’s possible I’m wound a teensy bit too tightly.”
“Can’t imagine why.” He gave my shoulder a light punch then turned as a dozen horses and riders accompanied by a massive bear-like dog came trotting around a bend in the road. The DIRT 1st Cavalry Unit, more commonly known as the Twelve Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Riding at the front of the formation was Marcel Boudreaux—a former coworker who used to be Pellini’s partner in the Investigations Division. He and I had never much liked each other either, but his feelings had shifted to outright animosity around the same time Pellini and I found common ground. Boudreaux suspected I had something to do with the death of J.M. Farouche—a local businessman who’d been a major figure in his life since he was a kid.
Didn’t help that he was right. Though I hadn’t pulled the trigger on Farouche, I sure as hell didn’t stop the guy who did. Nor would I have. Farouche needed to be taken down.
At the sight of me, Boudreaux barked out a command. The riders turned their horses our way. Though Boudreaux and I had our differences, I’d actually come to, if not like, respect him a great deal more. His dreams of being a champion jockey had been shattered in a terrible racing accident, and his hopes of making a difference as a cop had fared only slightly better. Yet a little over a month ago, he’d shown up at a mid-level rift with half a dozen other riders and announced that they were ready for action, insisting that the horses were highly trained and wouldn’t spook. The regional commander wanted to send him on his way, but I intervened—without Boudreaux’s knowledge. Boudreaux knew horses and police work, and we were in serious need of a mobile unit that could operate in woods and ruins and trails—places where even four wheelers couldn’t go.
Since that first day, Boudreaux had added another six riders, including one who handled a Caucasian shepherd—two hundred pounds of demon-killing canine perfection. The cavalry unit had proved to be invaluable, both in hunting down flightless demons as well as patrolling evacuated areas for human looters and lawbreakers.
Boudreaux brought his horse to a stop a dozen feet away then made a show of shading his eyes and looking over the parking lot. “I see a net,” he finally said, brow furrowed in mock confusion. “But where’s the enormous demon you were supposed to catch? Don’t tell me that Kara the Great and Powerful let it slip through her magical fingers?”
A chuckle rippled through his unit, but I kept a pleasant smile on my face. “It self-terminated,” I said with a shrug.
He smirked down at me. “Then it’s a good thing we knew what we were doing.” He gestured behind him then reined his horse to one side. A pair of riders moved up with a wiggling bundle slung between their horses. Flashes of sharp, bone-white teeth and midnight-black reptilian hide showed through the layers of graphene netting.
Pellini stiffened. “It’s a kzak,” he murmured under his breath.
My heart sank. Pellini had close ties with a kzak named Kuktok, though we didn’t know if the demon was still alive. While I sincerely hoped that Kuktok was indeed alive and well, I mentally crossed fingers that this captive wasn’t him. No way in hell would Pellini let Kuktok be taken off to be experimented on and worse.
I summoned a bright smile and an impressed expression. “Nice work!” I said then boldly marched forward to inspect the kzak. It snarled and thrashed within the netting, glowing red eyes giving me a pissed look as it gnawed at the graphene without effect.
Pellini moved up beside me, and his soft exhalation was all the answer I needed. It wasn’t Kuktok. “Yeah, these things are fast,” he said. “Y’all kicked ass.”
I glanced over and saw the struggle on his face followed by the grim acceptance that he could do nothing for this particular kzak.
“Horsemen!” Boudreaux thrust a fist into the air. “Time for a . . .”
“BEER!” The riders shouted in enthusiastic unison.
“And a shower!” someone cheerfully called out.
Laughing, Boudreaux wheeled his horse. “Later, losers!” he called over his shoulder, and then he and the rest of the cavalry unit headed off with their prize.
Sighing, I scrubbed both hands over my face. “I’d better get going to see Cory before the Feds get here.”
Pellini tore his gaze away from the Horsemen and echoed my sigh. “Yeah. I’ll be by as soon as I finish up here.” He climbed onto the four wheeler, cranked the ignition and began to head off.
“Pellini, wait!”
He stopped and frowned at me over his shoulder.
I jogged to catch up and gave him a hopeful grin. “Can you give me a ride to my vehicle?”
“Seriously? You can’t walk a quarter mile?”
“I’m lazy.”
He shrugged. “I can respect that. Get on.”
Chapter 3
There weren’t a lot of perks that came with being the DIRT Arcane Commander. Being A.C. meant a fuckton of headaches and responsibility, hectic travel in military aircraft, pitched battles against otherworldly creatures, and of course mountains upon mountains of paperwork. A reasonable person might have expected the rank to at least come with unlimited chocolate donuts, but sadly even those were a distant memory.
However, the one perk that almost made up for it all was my DIRT-issued vehicle: a brand spanking new Humvee. This wasn’t the watered down SUV version that entitled yuppies drove, either. It was the real deal—fully loaded and armored and able to go through all sorts of muck and rubble as well as handle steep inclines and side-slopes. And yes, after I got it I might have gone off road a few times and roared up a levee or three even when there were perfectly fine roads available. After all, I needed to be sure it lived up to its reputation, right?
I leaned in and cranked the engine to get the air conditioning going, grabbed a bottle of water and took several long glugs, then spent the next several minutes peeling off my tactical armor. The gear was specially designed to protect against demon claws and teeth, and had saved me from serious injury more than once. I also didn’t mind that it looked seriously badass, especially when I was all kitted out—full uniform, armor and helmet, with a Glock on each thigh, a combat knif
