Chapter 2

Being placedon desk duty sucked. Even worse, the punishment wasn't because I'd failed to do my job. I'd captured the Spriggans. Done so without loss of life and yet, instead of being commended, I'd been disciplined.

So unfair.

Some people might have pouted or whined, even yelled. Having been around the block a few times in my thirty-five years, I'd reached a maturity level that allowed me to accept my boss's decision without resorting to the stomping of my feet or quitting. Although I was tempted. Inaction didn't suit me.

As if being stuck inside the precinct didn't blow enough, I also didn't get to work on active case files. A part of me hoped I'd be able to prove a point by making a few calls, searching a few databases, and piecing together some clues to solve a crime. I was a damned good agent.

Instead of showing off my skills, I got sent to the basement to deal with the stash of boxes recovered from the storage unit. To my surprise, according to the info Kowalski messaged me, the criminal who stashed them turned out to be none other than my last boss. The crooked one. Apparently, rather than having old CA case files digitized, she'd chosen to steal and hide them away for no reason anyone could discern.

My task? To check every single one of those files against our databases before shredding them. If the file was missing online, then I got the lovely task of inputting them one by one. It should be noted, typing was not one of my strong points.

I grimaced as I entered the musty room with a single tiny—and dirty—window covered in bars. The boxes numbered seven in total and had been stacked in a corner. My workspace consisted of a dented metal table, a chair that appeared on its last legs, and an ancient computer. A sticky note beside it had log-in instructions.

I spent the first three days of my punishment bored out of my mind and annoyed. Turned out all of the records needed to be manually added to the database of cryptid crimes. My slow and painful hunt and peck at the keyboard meant each missing report took me ages to add. It didn't help the things I had to update were stupid.

Gnome stole a lawn ornament. Who cared? It happened a decade ago.

Fairies got drunk on fermented fruit. Again, a nothing burger.

A neighbor's dog pissed on a witch's roses and caused them to wilt. Why had anyone even bothered writing the complaint down?

On and on the list of petty crimes went, both a waste of paper and my time. None of these needed to be saved forever. I could have shredded them all and the world wouldn't have known the difference, especially since most of the case files went back decades.

The last box with the most mildew and rodent damage made me sigh. The chew and piss marks made the files more challenging to discern, and once I did, I could have screamed, as it was just more dumb shit—warlock made it rain Popsicle dicks for a Pride parade, a goblin stealing garbage cans, a child found in the ashes of a house that burned down. A little girl with pink hair and no last name.

I blinked and reread the last file in disbelief.

Holy fuck. The report was about me. I was that child. An orphan whose memories started the moment social services took me into custody. Despite trying everything—therapy, magic, even hypnosis—I couldn't remember anything of my past. Not even the fire.

As I'd aged and asked questions about my origin, the social workers blew me off, claiming the details about my rescue had been lost.

I hadn't believed them, so at eighteen, I'd signed up to become a Cryptid Authority agent, thinking I'd have access to more details about my rescue. However, it turned out they spoke the truth. The original case file had gone missing.

Until now.

I held it in my hand, a folder not very thick, as it contained only a few pages, and yet I trembled. Despite my curiosity, I found myself unable to flip from the first to the next page. Instead, I stared at the earliest known picture of me. Solemn-faced, my eyes too big for my face, my hair the same shocking pink of today. I wore an oversized shirt. Someone must have given me the one off their back to hide my nudity.

As my shock wore off, I pored over the details, sparse as they were.

My story began with a house fire, one already blazing hot and furious before the fire services even arrived on the scene. Given the inferno-like conditions, it was assumed no one survived. Meaning, they didn't risk anyone's life sending them in to look. Rather than waste a ton of time or resources, they let the flames peter out on their own.

Only once the smoke cleared did the investigating fire marshal notice a child sitting amongst the ashes. Hugging her knees, head pressed to them, her pink hair a curtain around her naked body.

Convinced the tyke must be cryptid, the fire marshal called in the Cryptid Authority, who swept in and bundled the little girl off for testing and questioning.

The blood and DNA samples labelled me as human. At the time, I showed no evidence of being gifted in any way, nor did anything in my appearance set me apart, unless the pink hair and surviving the raging blaze counted. Since they couldn't identify me and no one stepped forward to claim me, the CA placed me in the foster care system, which, in my case, turned out to not be horrible. My foster parents were actually decent folk. Unlike others in the system, I didn't get shipped around and had a normal childhood if we ignored how I'd gotten orphaned in the first place.

According to the report, questions about my parents—who my family was—went unanswered. I couldn't explain a single thing. I didn't know or remember how I got there. I had no memories of parents or guardians, or anyone for that matter. Just my name.

The investigating agents lost interest in my case. It fizzled off to nonconclusive and then disappeared entirely. Until now.

I would have liked to have read more but for two things. One, the last few pages had gotten damp and were now stuck together, and two, my phone went off with a text from the boss.

My office. Asap.

Was that an I'm-out-of-the-dog-house-come-see-me or a you're-about-to-be-on-my-permanent-shit-list request?

Only one way to find out. However, first, given no one had a clue what hid in the boxes, I stashed the file about me in my oversized purse—which I carried not because I kept a shit-ton of girl stuff on me, but more because it acted as my lunch bag and was big enough for the books I liked to read when my shifts were slow.

As to those who would clutch their pearls at my minor theft, too bad. I didn't feel the slightest bit guilty. My file had already been lost for thirty years, and I doubted anyone gave a damn other than me. Besides, I didn't need anyone else knowing about my mysteriously fucked-up childhood.

I headed up from the dungeon to the main floor and exited into the bullpen, where it seemed everyone clustered around something. Or I should say, someone.

A tall man stood amidst the agents with his back to me, his hair a lustrous black with a blue sheen, his shoulders broad. Whoever he was, he had everyone enthralled. Me, I had a meeting with the boss to attend, so I stalked past to knock on Kowalski's door.

"Come in," barked my boss.

I entered to find Kowalski sitting behind his desk looking peeved, which, I should add, seemed to be his permanent expression.

"You wanted to see me, sir." I started with a respectful tone. I could always resort to freaking out later if he tried to punish me further.

"I did. Am I right to assume you'd like to get out of desk duty?"

"Hell yeah." I didn't even attempt to curb my enthusiasm.

"Good. Because I'm going to need all agents on deck."

"Has something happened?" I'd not heard of any problems; then again, I didn't have a ton of coworkers I chatted with. I tended to keep to myself.

"No issues yet, but it appears that one of the super prison escapees might be heading our way."

I well remembered the scandal from last year, as every CA office had gone on high alert for weeks, with good reason. A prison for the most dangerous cryptids had been destroyed, releasing a great number of its inhabitants. While some had been caught, many still remained at large.

"Any idea of what we're keeping an eye out for?"

"A chimera who was in captivity for more than three decades for crimes against humanity. As far as we know, she's not in town, but there's been a report of her popping up a few hours away."

A chimera? How rare. There were only a handful left in the world. What little I knew about their species stated they were usually adept at fire magic and could shift into a beast shape that varied. Some had wings. Others, three heads. I even recalled an image of one with a serpentine tail. The one other thing I knew? They were considered dangerous.

I did so love a challenge.

I barely contained my excitement as I asked, "You want me to see if I can scry for her?"

"Already been tried. She's wily and knows how to hide her tracks. All the CA expert could do was confirm that the chimera was in the area around the fires because she left behind traces of her essence."

Interesting. I didn't have the kind of powers to pick up specific cryptid essence from sites, otherwise I'd have been tempted to try it myself, just to get a beat on this woman.

Kowalski continued. "The only reason we even caught wind of her is because of the fires she's been causing. In the most recent one, she was actually caught by video surveillance breaking into a mobile phone store. It burned down right after. Given her propensity for arson, I'll want you to personally start investigating all nearby blazes to see if you can connect her to any of them, so we know if she's made it into town yet."

I didn't groan despite knowing most of the fires I'd be checking out would be benign in origin. Sometimes being a CA agent meant doing a bunch of dull and repetitive footwork in the hopes of finding a clue that would lead to the culprit. On the bright side, arsonists sometimes hung around to admire their handiwork, so it was possible I could end up making an arrest. "Am I apprehending, or is there a termination order?" While the Cryptid Authority did its best to arrest rather than kill, in some cases we had no choice. The lives of those we protected had to come first.

His eyes snapped up to meet mine. "You are not to approach the chimera under any circumstances. You are to investigate the fires, and if there happens to be a sighting of the chimera then you call for backup—call me. Do not speak to her. Do not give her a chance to speak to you. Their kind are tricksters and murderers and cannot be trusted."

"Yes, sir. On it, sir."

"Not quite yet, Smith. There is one more thing." Before Kowalski could tell me what that thing was, someone knocked on his door.

"Come in," called out my boss.

The stranger from the bullpen entered, even prettier from the front than the back. His native ancestry showed in his smooth tanned skin and dark eyes.

"Hey, Abe." The man greeted my boss with familiarity.

"Koda, glad you could be here on short notice." Kowalski stood and offered his hand for a shake.

"My pleasure to help."

I had a bad feeling about this, which my boss confirmed a second later.

"Agent Marissa Smith, say hello to your new partner, Agent Koda Whiteclaw."

"Partner?" I exclaimed. "I don't need a partner."

"You do if you want out of desk duty," my boss growled.

My lips pinched. I did want out. Still… I eyed the good-looking man. "Hold on… Koda Whiteclaw. I know that name."

"You should," my boss said. "He's the one who recently busted that underground pixie drug ring." They'd been selling their drunken glitter to humans, leading to a sharp increase in indecent exposure incidents. "He also tracked down the stolen beanstalk seeds." They'd been stolen from the museum, and there'd been fear they would be planted, giving the very ornery giants living in Cloud Plane over Earth access to the planet. They were apparently still pissed about the whole Jack-stealing-the-golden-goose incident.

"So he's the CA's super-agent darling. Good for him. I still don't want him as a partner."

"Oh, so you'd rather return to the basement?" Kowalski arched a brow.

"No." I didn't sulk, but only because I bit my inner lip. "He better not be as useless as my last partner." Not a really high bar given Ralph's only real skill? Knowing the locations of the best greasy spoons.

At my complaint, Koda Whiteclaw's lips split into a smile. "I'll do my best to not disappoint."

"How about you just stay out of my way?"

"I assure you I am quite capable."

I would have loved to argue that point, but I'd heard of him. Everyone had, hence why he had his own little fan club.

"This is non-negotiable, Smith. You will work with Agent Whiteclaw."

"If I must," I muttered. "Was that all?"

"Almost." My boss slid over a folder marked Classified. "I've already briefed Agent Whiteclaw on our chimera, but here's the official file."

I flipped it open and frowned at the slim sheaf within, most of it redacted. "You've got to be kidding. It doesn't even have a decent picture!" The grainy image within—clearly a screengrab from a surveillance video—showed an indistinct woman who could have been anyone.

Even Agent Whiteclaw was on my side. "This is kind of useless."

"I'm aware it's not much," the boss apologized. "I'm working on getting more info."

"These fires, we're sure it's the chimera causing them? Could be another cryptid with fire."

"It's the chimera," Kowalski confirmed. "Fires are her MO, and we're not going to chalk it up to coincidence when we have a high-risk criminal who just so happens to be around when one of their signature moves is occurring. Besides, I have it on good authority it's her."

"I'll want a copy of the video you mentioned."

"Unfortunately, I can't do that, as it appears to have been misplaced."

"Of course, it was." I held in a sigh. "Very well. Guess I have my work cut out for me."

I'd almost forgotten about Whiteclaw until he murmured, "Don't you mean we?"

I glanced at him. "That will depend on you. My last partner's idea of help was eating and napping while I did all the drudgery."

Whiteclaw's brow arched. "Then I can see why you prefer working alone. If it helps, I never nap and would never dream of eating while watching you work."

If he actually meant that, then maybe this wouldn't suck balls. "Speaking of eating, I need lunch. How do you feel about tacos? I know a place close by where we can stuff our faces while discussing how to tackle this."

"Lead the way, partner."

I did, sauntering cockily out of my boss's office, happy to be out of the dungeon. As for the extra sway in my step that wiggled my fine ass? Entirely for my new partner's benefit. Sue me. He was damned cute.