When the duty sergeant paged us to the tac room, I thought we were in for another so-secret briefing. My eyes rolled of their own accord as the door opened with a hiss of compressors, revealing one sergeant manning a comp panel in the depressed center, surrounded by ranks of chairs bolted to the floor. I always wished for a bag of popcorn when I came here: it seemed like just the place for a show.

A sharp squeal and the distinct smell of burning electrics caused the sergeant to swear and punch at the comp. Sometimes the base’s old tech didn’t interface well with the newer stuff the humans had come up with, but they kept trying. Persistent bastards.

Futile yen for snacks aside, there was nothing secret about the incursions we’d faced for the last two decades. Sure, the humans had tried to keep things under wraps. Surprisingly, that didn’t end with the first half-eaten corpse some normie found on their morning jog. Nor the second, or even the fifteenth according to the human-centric history stuffed down all our throats.

But the first time one of those joggers ran into an enslaved shifter tearing into one of the invading devils? Well, stop the press, as they used to say.

The sergeant’s narrowed gaze followed me into the room — he was looking for an excuse to vent his frustration — and I suppressed another eye roll until I was seated behind him. My twin slumped into the chair on my right; the metal creaked in protest, and I smirked.

Despite being twins — born of the same womb-pod, even — Avon outweighed me twice over, and it was pure muscle. It suited him and his physical-magic focus. Our emerald hair and onyx eyes, though? They spoke true of our kinship.

Of course, the grey fatigues looked equally terrible on us.

My leg jiggled restlessly as I tapped my wrist comp, hoping for more information. I grimaced and slouched back when the message to report to the tac room was the most recent. When the door hissed open, Avon jerked upright in his seat.

“Shifters,” he said, and I slumped lower with a groan. That was all today needed.

“Mages,” the leader said. His voice was level, but he led his team of four to the other side of the room, where they murmured.

Over the sergeant’s head, I studied them. 

Slim and muscled like a sighthound, the leader had blond hair and tawny skin, of a shade that would go pale if he weren’t outside constantly. He was shorter than me — a fact which had me grinning — and on the surface, there wasn’t anything to mark him as notable. His presence, however, drew the eye like a candle on the open plain at midnight.

Not that I’d ever been out on a plain at midnight.

The rest of the shifters were equally unexpected. A brunette with small breasts and muscles that rivaled Avon’s sat behind the leader’s right shoulder. Two redheads — one with blue eyes and one with green — sat on either side, and their build was so average I’d have dismissed them as humans without their heavy chain collars. Tall and thin, the last sat closest to the sergeant with a stillness that whispered of a cold-blooded nature to those who knew the signs.

All told and considering the last dozen shifter teams we’d worked with had been whelped in the same litter, they were unusual, to say the least.

I opened my mouth, a half-thought-out taunt ready on my tongue, when the door whooshed open again. 

The gold bars on the collar of the officer who entered snapped my mouth shut. The duty sergeant would ream my ass for picking a fight with the shifters, or maybe send me to a corvée for a day or two. The lieutenant could have Avon and me both in the bastille so fast my head would spin. 

As the lieutenant’s gaze swept the room, the scars beneath my fatigues burned. We didn’t want to return to the bastille.

The lieutenant glanced from the shifter team to my brother and me, then shook his head. He took the steps down to the comp panel two at a time with a bouncy spring, looking back when he was halfway.

“Get down here.”

Halfway from my seat, I realized he wasn’t talking to us. Three figures in crisp new fatigues filed in the door and down the stairs. Sinking back, compared the newcomers to my — admittedly prejudiced — stereotypes. A strange energy slithered into the room with them. They didn’t wear collars with the squared links of a shifter or the rounded links of a mage, but instead, three-inch black bands molded to their necks. All three were tall, though the skinny one in front was the tallest. Of the other two, one had broader shoulders and the last seemed … hesitant, somehow. And, by all the humans held holy, so young. After five years fighting incursions, Avon and I were an ancient twenty. In comparison the newcomers — especially the last — were children.

Avon pressed his arm against mine on our chairs’ shared armrest, providing what comfort he could without drawing attention. He knew I was remembering all the mages who hadn’t made it past their first incursion because he was remembering the same.

The lieutenant chivied the newcomers into a satisfactory approximation of parade rest, then gestured to the duty sergeant who flicked a setting on the console. Larger than life, the lieutenant’s holographic projection filled the air above the central pit. In a peculiarity unreplicable by modern methods, the projection seemed to face all corners of the room at once; the effect was especially creepy if you were trying to sneak in late.

“General Cleavus is implementing three new experimental squads. You’ll form the first: a shifter team, a mage team, and one of these…” The lieutenant frowned at the newcomers. “Things. In theory, they can sense the devils from a distance. You’ll either prove it or not.” He shrugged.

I leaned forward. Mages could sense the broken energies where an incursion happened. Shifters could smell the trails left as the devils spread. The humans bound us together in uneasy squads; the mages found the breaks, the shifters tracked it down, and together… 

Well, on a good day the incursion was put down and we returned to the base.

“Tracer, you’ll lead the squad.”

Stiffening, I bit my lips to keep from protesting. Squads with shifter leaders tended to bleed mages like arterial flow. Even knowing it wouldn’t help, I wanted to protest. Instead, I met my brother’s eyes, renewing our silent vow; if one of us fell, the world would burn until the other did, too.

It wasn’t elegant, but it worked for us.

I tuned back in to the briefing in time to realize the lieutenant was offering Tracer his pick of the newcomers. The unprecedented freedom startled a protest from my lips after all. Fortunately, a sharp siren wail drowned my foolishness, and the thin newcomer jumped a handspan from the carpeted floor, coming down with wide eyes and cringing.

I nearly laughed — that one wouldn't last long — but bitter resignation for my own fate distracted me from my gallows humor.

Unless this experimental squad overturned today’s roster, Avon and I were on call for incursion support. I nearly vibrated in place — the captain who’d ordered us to stand ready outranked the lieutenant below, but the lieutenant was acting as General Cleavus’s mouthpiece. Regardless of whose orders we followed, there were better-than-even odds someone would decide we’d chosen … poorly.

The redheaded shifters glanced at Tracer; I hadn’t paid attention to the shifter roster posted this morning, but it was possible their duty called, too. The lieutenant scowled and gestured at the sergeant. After a brief fumbling, the shrill sound cut off, leaving a ringing in my ears. The dull wail from the alert continued beyond the sealed door.

“We’ll pick this up when you get back. Get to it.”

We — shifters and mages alike — leapt from our chairs. 

“Hey, what about—” 

My blood went cold, and I turned from the door. The hesitant newcomer stumbled backward, and the thin one had stepped between him and the officer, bending low in a misplaced, courtly bow.

“Pardon, my lord, this one begs. This one is not local; perhaps if the issue could be seen firsthand?”

The lieutenant’s scowl deepened and focused on the spokesperson.

“It’s sir,” he said tightly. “Everyone here is sir to you, and if I have to tell you again to speak when spoken to, whatever passes for your grandparents will wish they’d never been born.”

Practice silenced my sharp intake of breath, and my fingers caught in the collar around my neck. I turned away before the lieutenant decided to include us in whatever punishment he had in mind. But it was too late.

“Tracer.” The lieutenant’s raised voice halted us all. “Take the maggots with you. The fresh meat, too. Your test squad is live now.”

***

In the lift on the way to the incursion, Tracer introduced his team. The brunette, Vista, shifted into a bear at will. The redheads, Nyleve and Evelyn — I rolled my eyes at the human’s idiotic naming of twins — were red wolves. Sim was a water dragon; flightless, but deadly in his environment. 

Tracer said nothing of his shift form.

“Avon,” my brother said. “Power mage.” He tipped his head toward me. “Nova’s a fire mage.”

Leaving the shifters to Avon, I watched the newcomers, who sat on the far end of the cabin’s bench seats, on the opposite side with the shifters spaced between us. Their chin-length dark hair provided a shocking contrast to ours; Evelyn’s inch-long buzz was the longest, and she was probably going to be forced to clip it shorter soon. As for the newcomers’ personalities, the thin one was still — nearly as motionless as Sim — and had pale green eyes that darted around as if trying to make up for that stillness. The broad-shouldered one smirked at the redheads, clearly trying to start something. The last…

“What’s a power mage? I mean, fire is obvious, but — Oh, and you can call me 21. This is—” 

“A, sir.” The thin one quietly cut him off. He clutched a distinctly non-regulation pack — blue and cream plaid — between his knees. 

How in the hell had he gotten that past the officers?

“And C.”

“Not C,” the broad-shouldered one said. “If he’s 21, call me 20.”

“But he said—” 

“And ‘A’,” 20 said, still smirking, “follows directions. It’s dangerous.”

A’s mouth snapped shut, and he went even stiller. 

I wouldn’t have taken a bet he was breathing. 

I rubbed my forehead and leaned into Avon’s shoulder to whisper softly enough the shifters wouldn’t hear over the thrum of the lift’s motors. 

“What are the odds a medevac would meet us if  ‘A’ strokes out?”

Green eyes met mine, and A visibly drew a breath and eased it out. I suppressed the urge to swear, but nudged Avon. A flick of his brow told me he’d caught it, too; this ‘A’ had heard me. 20 and 21 were whispering to themselves and pointing out the window, though, and the shifters seemed oblivious, too. I’d swear I hadn’t miscalculated my volume. Avon pressed his elbow against mine, and I leaned forward, bracing my arms on my knees, and breathed.

“You’ll all need to follow directions,” Tracer said, his gaze heavy on the newcomers and only slightly less so on Avon and me. “Or the cleanup crew will have a few more bodies to scorch.”

“Yeah, well if any of you get in our way, there won’t be anything left for the cleaners.” A flicker of flame danced over my fingers, and a warning twinge jolted from my collar. I released the energy, leaning back against the bench, and the collar returned to its steady tingle.

“Do you promise?” The question was soft and driven home by green eyes that finally stopped their restless search.

“What?” I stood, bracing my feet against the lift’s motion. “You got a death wish?”

“Apologies, my— Sir.” The green eyes looked down. “Just moving toward the void.”

Sim’s laugh caught me off guard, and I turned my glare on him.

“Aren’t we all?” he asked.

“Enough.” Tracer tapped his wrist comp and a map display filled the center aisle. As I allowed Avon to pull me back to my seat, he continued, “The reports say at least five devils came through the incursion, then split up like usual. The half-patrol that found it’s tracking two, but they’d already divided to cover more ground.” Tracer’s voice was grim, and the bench creaked as someone’s fingers tightened on the frame.

I leaned against Avon, wondering which mages’ rooms would be cleaned out tonight. A half-patrol against one devil had a decent survival rate. Half of that was suicide.

No one asked whose idea it was to divide the patrol further.

“The good news is they came through in the middle of about five miles of abandoned farmlands.”

The land would be overgrown, filled with brambles and poison ivy, but wouldn’t have humans wandering around getting eaten.

“The patrol did drop a pin — the lift’s less than five minutes out from that beacon, and we’ll start from there. Nyl, Eve. We’ll need your noses. Everyone else, stay human and mobile.” The shifters nodded.

“And what, we divide in three and go after them?” Avon’s jaw clenched. “That’s a stupid idea.”

“No,” Tracer said, darting a glance at the lift’s cockpit, then lowering his voice. “No. We’ll stick together. Find one, take it out. Return to the incursion point and find the next.” He met each squad member’s gaze, lingering on Avon. “We watch each other’s backs. Play it safe.”

“And us?” 20 yawned. “What do we do while we’re following directions?”

“What can you do?”

“Watch the…” A paused, green eyes searching. “Energy patterns, sir. Once it’s known what to look for, these ones can search.”

“That’s it?” Rolling my eyes, I huffed. It was official — A was for asshole. “We bleed and you search.”

“Well, A and 20 have claws,” 21 said. “I don’t, yet. Maybe tomorrow? But that might be helpful. And A can yell really loud.” He wiggled in his seat, and I could only stare. 

He thought A was loud?

“And we’ve been practicing. I pinged A almost a whole mile away yesterday.” He beamed at me, then turned to Tracer. “So once we know what pattern to find, maybe we won’t have to go back to the incrusion point.”

“Incursion,” A said.

“Yeah, incursion.” 21’s smile faltered. “Is… is that enough?”

“It’s a start, pup,” Tracer said, ruffling the boy’s hair as the lift landed with a bone-jarring thud. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Outside the lift, the pin had cleared a 500-foot radius around the incursion point, delimited by a solid wall of green. Charred plant debris crumbled to ash beneath my boots, puffing up to coat my grey pants.

Grey on grey; if we stayed within the circle, we’d return to the base with none the wiser that we’d left to begin with. I scanned the tangled flora beyond. Who wants to look clean?

After the lift took off and angled out of sight, the tingling in my collar flicked off. 

“Yesss!” I rolled tendrils of fire around my fingers and grinned at Avon. His pleasure and relief to be free — however temporarily — welled in the back of my brain, and our bond tightened as if it had never been blocked. 

The shifters flexed and stretched, and the redheads’ flesh and bones twisted and broke, reforming into red-coated wolves. They began quartering the ashen circle, noses to the ground.

The newcomers gawked like tourists, with 20 and 21 kicking up ash and A spinning in a slow circle.

“Knock it off!” My shout stopped them, though 20 kicked at the ash once more, looking straight at me. One of the wolves dodged the resulting cloud with a growl. 

“Bastard,” I muttered and walked to the incursion. Kneeling, I brushed ash off the pin — a broad-headed rod sunk into the earth. “Hmm. Benton’s gotten stronger.”

“If he gets much stronger, they’ll have him in the field.” Avon watched the perimeter, following our painfully-new shifter teammates. If we’d had even an hour in a training field, we’d have a feel for what to expect. For example, Sim slipped along that edge, studying the greenery as if it held secrets.

With a snort, I shook my head. Of course, it held secrets. Five so-called devils had slipped through like mist, leaving very little trace. But what Sim thought he’d find was beyond me.

The twins padded up to Tracer, and one — I thought it was Evelyn, but couldn’t tell for sure — shifted back. The other shifters gathered close. After sharing a glance, Avon and I ran over to join what had to be a strategy session. If the shifters refused to talk with us there, we’d know where we stood. 

Tracer eyed us briefly, then nodded to his teammate.

“Def five,” maybe-Evelyn said. “The earlier half-squad headed north and northeast. Leaves an east-ish trail, due south, and north by northwest.”

“If we take the northerly one, depending, we might be able to pick up the other squad.” Vista rolled her shoulders. “Provide a bit of support.”

My head jerked around and my mouth fell open. The bear’s suggestion bordered on outright insubordination. My stomach knotted at the thought of the consequences if we were caught, but guilt followed on anxiety’s heels. It sucked to leave mages flapping in the breeze because of the human’s careless orders. Still… my back burned with remembered pain, and Avon stepped toward me and bumped my shoulder, providing what support I’d accept in front of outsiders.

His attention was still on the perimeter, though; right now, he focused on the spot where 21 poked at the unbroken greenery. 

Out of reflex, I checked for the others. Shifters and mages around Tracer — check. 20, smirking and studying the redhead’s ass, loitered near enough I could probably backhand the smarmy look off his face. If he had a problem with smallish shifters in fatigues, he’d need to get over it, or someone would help him. A…

Frowning, it took me a minute to find A. It was the motion that caught my eye; she was sprinting at 21 with a small, silvery blade in her hand.

“Shit!” Unprepared, it took me a minute to muster a fireball, and by then, A was too close to 21 for me to lob the missile and not take him out as well. Normally, that wouldn’t stop me; he was no mage — nothing to me — and if I could take out a threat without endangering my brother, the collateral damage could fall where it may. But that puppylike enthusiasm in the lift haunted me, and I hesitated.

In that hesitation, calamity struck.

A red, translucent stinger stabbed out of the overgrown plants. The second before A tackled 21, it found its target, biting deep into the boy’s shoulder.

His scream would haunt my dreams that night.

The silvery knife flashed out, striking through the stinger. The momentum as the blade caught on nothing whipped A’s arm around, and I could almost hear his elbow pop. His wide-eyed stare when the stinger stabbed again was comical, and I huffed a small laugh even as I sprinted to the side to get an angle on the attacking devil.

“Amatur.”

A shoved 21 over, letting the stinger strike the ground between them, then dragged him away. Their scrabbling raised a cloud of ash that obscured the devil, and I swore. We didn’t have a wind mage to clear it.

“Sim!” Tracer’s command was answered by a sibilant hiss. Sim’s dragon — long and slender, with silver-accented black scales — twisted across the clearing. Dampness filled the air; not much, but enough to suppress the ash cloud and allow us to see the devil as it emerged.

It was ugly; a ram’s body with cloven hooves bigger than my head sprouted a scorpion’s stinger from its rear. Massive, curled horns crackled with unspent energy. The whole was armored with a thick carapace. As if that wasn’t horrifying enough, it wasn’t entirely corporeal; the row of saplings it stomped out of flexed more from the breeze than its passage.

Thanks to my brother, that didn’t last. Avon wrapped it in a spell that made it real enough to strike, and it bellowed in anger.

Now, if we’d had a human officer, they’d pull out their gun with its fancy armor-piercing or exploding round, and the devil… Well, at least it would feel it, even with that armor. But humans didn’t trust shifters or mages with guns, and officers didn’t risk their necks if there wasn’t a wide-scale incursion. So we got to do things the hard way.

I slammed my magic into the carapace, eating away at it and creating weaknesses that the shifters could exploit. The red wolves got there first, nipping at the devil’s ankles like terriers worrying a bull. Sim coiled around the stinger, immobilizing it, and Vista catapulted into its side, claws tearing.

The red wolves dodged the acidic blood as it dripped, but it melted Vista’s fur, leaving weeping sores on the flesh beneath. The stench made my stomach churn, but I didn’t have time to be sick.

My flames focused on the wounds Vista inflicted, burning them deeper and wider. The devil bellowed again, and either that or its stomping hooves had the earth shaking enough to throw me to the ground. I rolled, with half my attention on digging my flames into the devil and half on getting my feet back beneath me. Sim fell next as the devil released a noxious cloud of gas from its rear.

I’d laughed the first time I’d seen it happen; what fifteen-year-old didn’t like a fart joke? But this wasn’t a mix of methane and carbon dioxide released in the dorms after lights out. This was a potent knockout gas, that left Sim limp and humanoid on the ground.

Fortunately for us, it was also extremely short-range, and the other shifters were able to dodge back long enough for it to dissipate. Then the twins slipped in, shifted, and dragged Sim clear while Vista raked her claws down its foreleg. The stinger was left unimpeded now; I focused my attention on it. If I could eat enough of the carapace, Avon might be able to rip the thing off.

Wordless disagreement bubbled in the back of my head; Avon had other plans. Swearing, I redirected my magic, coming together with Avon’s as he landed an uppercut on the devil’s pointed chin. Each blow’s target, I focused on, too, and the devil staggered as if winded. 

Then the tail came back into play, and before Avon could react to my warning it darted toward him. The breath froze in my throat and I couldn’t even curse.

Then a machete swept through the air, severing the stinger in a shower of acidic blood. Avon fell back, yanking his soaked shirt over his head. Tracer thrust the machete — and, boy, was I kicking myself for missing the fact that he’d brought a machete along— into the devil’s throat, carving a deep slice. Blood fountained, but Tracer sprang clear with the grace of a dancer. The contrast was disturbing as he, with a boost from Vista, leapt to the devil’s shoulders and hewed into its neck, severing the head.

Even I, at my most cynical, had to admit he looked fucking awesome riding the thrashing corpse down.

However, coolness didn’t help my brother. My back ached as I ran across the ashy ground to where he curled, teeth gritted against the pain. Checking the damage, I brushed a finger along the rapidly spreading red edge.

“Avon…” I swallowed, knowing what needed done but not wanting to do it. Black eyes more familiar than my own met mine and resolve — not my own, but my brothers — hardened my spine. Balancing care and thoroughness, I burned the acid blood from Avon’s back, halting its progression across his flesh. The echoed pain and the nauseating blend of sweet and putrid made my head swim.

The shifters regrouped while I dealt with that issue as best I could, and when Vista staggered over and sat, I gestured toward her burns. She nodded and cursed the whole time I charred the blood into submission.

In a way, I was glad — I picked up at least three phrases to use the next time the arsenal mages told me no. 

By the time Sim staggered over, groggily slumping next to us, Avon had recovered enough to question him.

“I didn’t know dragons could use water magic.” 

My lips curled; especially in a fight for our lives, Avon didn’t miss a trick.

Growling, the twins stepped between Avon and Sim. Vista, still swearing, looked to Tracer, who watched us through narrowed eyes.

I cleared the last bit of devil blood from Vista and balanced my weight on my toes. If they were going to fight us over this, we wouldn’t go down easy.

“The humans won’t hear it from us,” Avon said finally. “We just need to know how that affects the squad’s tactics.”

After another tense moment, Tracer nodded, first at Avon, then at Sim.

“Outside of a river or lake, it won’t change much.” Sim scrubbed an ashy hand across his face. “I pulled what moisture I could from the plants, but it’s hard.” He waved at the wall of plant life which was, now that he pointed it out, wilted and browning. He hesitated, searching Avon’s face, then mine. “You swear you won’t tell?”

An inarticulate shout interrupted our moment, and I rolled my eyes, hoping only Avon caught my spiking anxiety.

“May not have to,” I grumbled and stood to look at 20, wrestling on the ground with 21’s corpse. Except…

I blinked. 21 was doing a really good job of fighting 20 off for a corpse.

“What the hell?” I extended a hand to pull Avon to his feet, then paused and offered a hand to Vista. She chuckled and accepted, but didn’t let me take any of her weight. 

I’d have punched her if Avon’s whispers of peace and let it be hadn’t stopped me. Besides, I wanted to know how 21 had survived the devil’s venom.

Tracer was the first over to the newcomers, and he separated them, seemingly unruffled when 20 jerked loose and went for 21 again. With a stern, “Walk it off,” Tracer spun 20 away, then knelt next to 20.

A strip of cloth — obviously intended to act as a bandage — tangled around 20’s shoulder, unsecured and useless. The flesh beneath was red with a deep pit, but the skin was intact and the discoloration wasn’t spreading.

“You can heal venom?” Tracer asked.

“Venom? Is that what burned?” 20 shook his head. “Nope. I was screaming and thrashing around — it was worse than when—” His mouth snapped shut and darkness shuttered his eyes.

“Shh, pup.” Tracer patted his head. “You’re safe here.” 

I bit back a laugh at the thought that anyone was safe hunting devils, but he was safer here than with the humans.

The devils would kill us, sure, but it’d be over faster.

“So what did heal you?” Without outward sign of the pain lancing his body, Avon crouched next to 21 and inspected his shoulder, too. “None of us have that skill.”

“A called it a force-heal. It’s not fix-fixed, but it’ll hold.” 20 rotated his arm, wincing when he stopped halfway around.

“Where is A?” I searched the incursion point. “He’s not here.”

“Ran off,” one of the redheads — Nyleve? — said. “About the time we pulled Sim clear, he jerked around like someone’d shouted his name, then ran off.”

“Stupid fucker,” the other twin muttered, and I smiled — maybe we would get along with this team.

Tracer sighed and tapped his wrist comp.

“Where?” The question, I knew, was directed at his team, but the answer didn’t come from them.

“That way.” 20 and 21 said, pointing in unison toward the south. 

The hair on the back of my neck rose; their tone was sure and free of both immaturity and hostility, like they’d been taken over by an outside force.

The shifters murmured uneasily, and we all exchanged glances.

“Do we follow him, or follow one of the trails?” Avon asked the question that was on both our minds.

“We can’t chase after him now. The devils come first.” Tracer looked from 21 to 20. “We’ll find your…” He trailed off, seemingly unsure how to describe the relationship between the newcomers.

“That was a devil, then?” 20 asked, jerking his chin toward the crumbling remains at the edge of the clearing.

“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “What kind of dumbass doesn’t know that?”

“Dumbass?” 20 stepped toward me, eyes flashing red and sharp fangs descending inside his open mouth.

Rattled, I pulled my flames up to encase my fists. Whatever he was, whatever dental enhancements he possessed, he’d burn just like anything else.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to get the one by A first, then find the others?” 21 leaned back, bracing his hands, with a puzzled frown.

“What?” I asked. 

Now I sounded like the dumbass. I rolled my eyes.

“There’s something that feels just like that with A.”

“It’s not just like that,” 21 muttered, the light fading from his eyes as he shrugged. “But it is similar.”

“Nyl and 20, you’re on point.” The redhead I’d thought was Evelyn shifted and stood next to 20. “20, you’ll need to show the way, but Nyl knows what to watch out for. Listen to him.”

20 scoffed but nodded.

“Vista, you’re rearguard — make sure nothing comes up our 6.” Tracer extended a hand and pulled 21 to his feet. “Everyone else, stay alert.”

“What about A’s pack?” 21 asked. A cream and blue plaid backpack flopped on the ground where he’d lain as if he’d been using it for a backrest.

“What about it? Pick it up!” 20 started walking south.

“Aw, come on! I’m injured!” 21’s pouting face had me stifling a chuckle. “My shoulder…!”

“Fine!” 20 stomped back and collected the bag, groaning as if it weighed a ton. “God, you’re such a baby!”

“Are you?” Avon asked as the squad moved out. “Younger than him, that is?”

“Oh yeah,” 21 said, tripped and righted himself, drifting from one side of our group to the other. “I’m the youngest. 20’s lots older than me — he’s gotten to…”

Tracer was right — 21 was just an excitable puppy. I listened to him ramble with half an ear while doing my best to make sure he didn’t wind up a dead puppy.

***

The green hell went on forever and I was ready to burn the whole place down. Sweat ran down Avon’s back — a caustic fire in his burns that drained our strength and attention. 21’s rambling — interspersed by the most naive of questions — had slowed almost to a halt while he panted against the heat. It added to my worry; if he ran his mouth around an officer, especially one who’d given him a gag order, the consequences would be — 

I shoved the thought — and the nagging question of why I cared — away and checked on Avon.

“I’m fine.” His lips twisted into not-quite-a-smile, and I wished I didn’t know what he was thinking. “It’s barely been a half hour. Have patience.” He offered me his canteen, and I wanted to decline, but he’d push and I’d wind up taking a drink anyway. So I sipped my own damn water, thank you very much.

“20’s flagging.” Avon’s attention drew mine past the oppressive plants to the head of our little parade just as 20 stumbled.

“That’s all this needed.” I found Tracer; he watched the bastard, too, and couldn’t have missed it. “He’s going to call a halt.”

Next to 20, Nyleve paused and whined. 20’s head came up and he licked his lips. But 21’s reaction?

“Oh, wow. How does something smell so good and so bad at the same time?” His nostrils flared.

I sniffed and caught just a hint; death tainted the wind.

“Change out,” Tracer ordered, and the shifters found new positions; the wolves trading spots, Vista and Sim moving to opposite flanks.

“And we do — what?” I scowled at Tracer’s exasperated glare. The heat was probably getting to him. Nothing to do with me being a sarcastic ass.

“20, get back here with 21. Shut up and don’t get killed. Nova, if you and Avon can separate, back Sim and Vista. If not, back Eve on point.”

My mouth fell open, but I snapped it shut before he noticed, I think. Shifters either didn’t know or didn’t care that most twin-mages had trouble with physical separation. Avon and I could usually tolerate some distance — it was an asset in the field — but with Avon already injured, I followed him to the point without a word.

And I could feel his silent laughter about that minor miracle, too.

With tendrils of fire wrapping my knuckles and my senses straining for a hint of a devil, I slipped forward until the wild brush abruptly ended. The circular clearing beyond lacked the crisp definition of the one we’d started in — only winter slowed the plants as they reclaimed their own — but it did have shoddy tin buildings and plowed fields with tiny green dots sprouting in even rows. The fields were planted with other things, too, and I forced my eyes away from the shattered corpses to search for the devil that created them.

“There’s no corvée on the map.” Vista’s voice carried perhaps further than she’d intended, being so shrill and all. Who knows — if I’d be walking over the dismembered bits of potential family members, maybe I’d have been a bit high-strung as well. But the square links in the chains provided all the reassurance I needed that this didn’t touch me.

“Must be an old map.” Avon stepped over an arm and pointed toward one of the buildings. “There.”

A long red tail protruded from the wall, hinting at either a snake or lizard form.

I hated snakes.

“Avon?” Tracer didn’t ask the question, and I bristled until the trickle of Avon’s amusement cut me off.

“Not from here. And better if we can draw it out of the warehouse.”

“If you force it into this plane there, what happens? It takes damage?” Tracer glanced at Avon, then back to the devil.

“Not much — that’s just a shell of corrugated metal, not a hardened building. The thing’ll collapse, but it’ll just piss the devil off.”

“Right.” Tracer fumbled at the buckle across his chest, pulling the harness that held his machete free. “Let’s taunt it.” Hesitating, he glanced from 20 to 21, then sighed and handed the weapon to 20. “Just don’t stab anyone on our side, okay?”

“What’s the fun in that?” 21 smirked and fondled the blade’s grip, then yelped as Tracer knocked him to the ground, pinning him by the throat.

“This isn’t a game. We will die if you’re screwing around. But if that happens? I promise you’ll go first. And you don’t smell like you want to meet A’s ‘void’.”

20 nodded slowly, agreeing to the implicit command to shape up, but anger burned in his eyes.

And I knew how dangerous that made a person.

A nudge from Avon drew me from my fond fantasies of what would happen to my enemies once they were at my mercy. Everyone was back on their feet, and Tracer had shifted into a long-legged, silky-eared dog. I grinned at how cute he was, and Avon elbowed me again.

The squad jogged across the fields, dodging dismembered bits and nearly-whole bodies. As we approached, the tail slithered into the building, and a very snakey nose poked out. The devil knew we were there but was too full to play. About 50 feet out, Tracer put on a burst of speed, streaking across the ground like he’d been bred for it.

‘Cause, you know, he had.

Nearly at the nose, he circled right and barked at it, yapping and leaping away as the nose followed. And I had to admit, in terms of annoying it was an 11 — right up there with snoring in a communal dorm and oatmeal for breakfast. The devil must have thought so, too, since it lunged out, snapping jaws big enough to swallow Tracer whole. 

Hell, the fangs could fix him up like a shishkebab.

The dog dodged with the same grace Tracer’d displayed against the last devil, slipping away, staying at the edge of the snake’s reach. Luring it out. It was a deadly dance, and one misstep would leave him broken and bloody. His team knew it — spread out, hyper-focused on the fight, and lunging forward an inch at a time before settling back. 

Then the tail slipped free of the building and it was on.

Avon forced it physical, and my flames ate at the armor. The red wolves and Vista harried its sides and Sim fucking wrestled it in a writhing tangle of black and red. 

Made it hard to aim fireballs, though.

20 ran in, eyes glowing, and sank his claws into the devil’s neck; the machete flopped uselessly at his side. Panting, Tracer shifted to grab the weapon — and I smirked, wondering what he’d give to be able to shift with the blade as easily as he did his fatigues — then slashed off the snake’s head. Only this time, we coordinated well enough that everyone stayed clear of the blood spray.

Well, I say everyone, but 20 didn’t get clear — blood coated both hands, and he lazily licked them clean, revealing acid-etched skin. If I’d had anything more than water in my stomach, I’d have been sick.

“What’s it like?” 21 ran up, swinging A’s pack — and when had he gotten that? “Can I taste?”

“Get your own.” 20 shoved him away, and 21 turned toward the devil’s head.

“No, pup.” Tracer stopped him. “Was that the devil you sensed?”

“Oh, yeah.” 21 nodded and waved his arms, still holding the bag. Tracer caught it, stilling 21. “It’s just like before. Should we look for another?”

“Not just the same,” 21 grumbled. His hands were clean and the skin knitted back together while he spoke. “Shouldn’t we fetch A?”

Which raised an interesting point — where was the asshole? I looked at the half-eaten leg next to me. Maybe it was long enough to belong to the green-eyed idiot, but who could tell?

Abandoning the pack in Tracer’s grip, 21 ran to the building the devil had hidden inside and smacked face-first into it.

“Ow!”

“You need a door,” 20 said, angling off to walk around the corner. 21 ran after him.

“Why could the devil go through the wall when I can’t?”

“I don’t know. Why do you have so many questions?”

“A said…” 21’s voice faded off as they went around the corner.

The squad — shifters and mage, all burned, sore, and tired — stared after them. I was too hot and sticky to deal with this shit.

“I’ll see what I can dig up when we get back. There’s got to be something in the comps.” Though Avon said it, we both knew I was the one who’d search. Nothing in the archive escaped my attention and I’d yet to get caught.

Tracer nodded in appreciation and led the way around the corner. Weariness turned my bones to gold, though — Avon snickered at my internal note that I was too valuable for them to be anything less — and all my brother’s tricks wouldn’t keep us going much longer. The shifters looked no better. If we had to take out another devil, someone would die.

The panel doors stood open, leaving a gaping hole big enough to fly a lift into the building that provided the only light. Inside, thin pallets and threadbare blankets littered what we could see of the packed-dirt floor, scattered either by the devil or — far more likely — the corvée’s work crew. Avon’d been wrong about the construction, though; a corrugated metal ceiling creaked above our heads, supported by far too few posts.

The building had a second floor.

We followed the echoing sounds of 21’s chatter into the darkness and, at Avon’s mental nudge, I spun a whispy ball of flame to light the way. It made it easier to avoid the bodies.

“—so we followed the energy, like you said, and it felt exactly like the one with the horns, but—” 

“It wasn’t the same.” A soft voice I’d tried to purge from my mind interrupted.

“Yeah, it was.” 20 turned away, spotted the pack in Tracer’s hand, and snatched it away. “There it is.”

This left the asshole in plain view, kneeling on the ground at the base of a metal ladder. His face was turned away, facing into the darkness, and his lips — or at least the part I could see — twisted in the worst excuse for a smile I’d seen in my life.

21 held out the bag — the plaid stained from its adventures — and A left him hanging, refusing to accept the blasted thing. Then he extended a hand, palm up, and a red orb hovered above it. 

I pulled my flames — lighting the cavernous space from end to end — and snarled. Avon stopped me, a whisper of patience in the swirling anger, and I didn’t end the asshole then and there.

Sometimes I wish I had, but Avon says it wouldn’t change anything.

“That doesn’t feel like an incursion.” Avon wanted to look closer, but spared my sanity and stayed back. “What is it?”

“Energy, sir.” A shrugged one shoulder but still didn’t face us head-on. “20’s… strained. This one can share.” And 20 leaned toward the glowing bit of power, I saw, restrained only by Tracer’s heavy hand on his shoulder.

Relief melted my gold, leaving Avon to brace me up. A hadn’t — somehow — summoned a devil to kill my brother. My fire died back to illuminate our immediate area.

“That’s what you did before, when you helped 21.” Avon smiled, and if the asshole had any sense, he’d accept it like the blessing from above it was.

“Yes, sir.”

“Could you do the same for someone else? Vista was burned in the fight.”

Tracer made a harsh noise in his throat, as if he didn’t like his teammate’s weakness being exposed.

“No, sir!” A’s head snapped toward us before twisting away again, and for a moment I thought I saw a dark shadow on his cheek. For a moment I almost cared. “People can’t be force-healed. They have to be true-healed.”

See, that right there — that was what pissed me off about the asshole. People had to be healed right. 21? Leave him exhausted and in pain. Flames wreathed my knuckles again and I begged Avon to let me hit him, just once.

Instead, 20 pulled free of Tracer, lunging forward to snatch the ball. In exchange, he threw the pack at A, who clutched it with one hand, then lowered it to the ground. 

The energy sank into 20, and his smirk took on a malicious edge that hadn’t been present before. Avon repositioned himself so he was a little more between 20 and me, and I glared, wordlessly conveying my opinion of his willingness to be in the clear line of danger.

Meanwhile, A opened the backpack — still one-handed, and why would the idiot make things harder? — and threw a large canteen to 21.

“Share.” 

A plastic tube was next, and Avon caught it and read the label.

“Burn cream?” He wasted another smile on A, while I, again, refrained from punching the asshole. 

How dare he notice my brother was hurt?

“Only the one, sir. You’ll…” Green eyes glanced up, then back at the pack, and he finished in a whisper, “have to share, too.”

“Thank you. It’s very thoughtful.” Avon twisted the cap open and squirted a bit of the white paste into my hand; I barely had time to snuff the flames. “Make yourself useful,” he teased and handed the tube to Tracer.

Trying not to wince in sympathy, I smeared the cream across Avon’s back. The crinkle of wrappers announced the latest treasure from A’s bottomless pack. Some sort of nutrient bars — probably hard as rock and just as tasty — were passed around. I scowled when it was soft and sweet.

I hated oatmeal, and raisins looked like shifter pellets.

20 gave his to 21, but his evil grin turned on A.

“You’re stalling.” He inhaled, sniffing deep. “Drop the illusion.”

A froze, then licked his lips. Peculiar energy — the same I’d marked when they entered the tac room — pulsed, and it was like a song playing below the threshold of conscious hearing stopped. In its place, moans and sobs joined the metallic creaks of the ceiling.

Wordless, Tracer jerked his chin, and the twins leapt over A to clamber up the ladder.

“Shit! They’re not all dead!” 

More sobs, mixed with terrified questions, cascaded from above. Vista and Sim started for the ladder but stopped when Tracer held up a hand. The ceiling creaked and threatened to collapse, and one of the twins warned those above to hold still until they could be evacuated.

Tracer’s narrowed eyes didn’t leave A, who still wasn’t facing us. Hadn’t, in fact, appreciably moved since we arrived, though he now held some sort of sewing kit in the one hand he consented to use.

“Illusions, deceptions, mirages,” I said. “How did you hide the corvée shifters from the devil?”

“You had it right the first time.” 20 leaned close, all but sharing A’s breath. “If that’s the illusion…” He giggled — an oddly childlike sound — and peeked back at Tracer before focusing on A again. “Drop the mirage.”

“If you insist—” A turned toward him, lips so close they could kiss, and revealed a gash across his cheek deep enough that his blood-stained molars caught the light. “—then grab the other end of the tendon. It’s slipped back up into the muscle.” He hooked his left ankle under his right, leveraging them both to pull them from beneath him as he rolled to the side enough to reveal the missing hand. It was embedded up to the second joint in the mess of open tissue that used to be — I was quite sure — an intact knee. And a bizarre lack of blood gave an altogether too-good view of all the bits and pieces that had been ripped apart.

I turned and lost the bar onto the floor. Then, just when I thought I’d been humiliated enough, A made it worse.

“21? In my pack — the foil packet with red chewables.” An odd lisp distorted her words, leaving me wondering how a mirage had hidden that. “He can start with one, but another’s ok if it doesn’t help the nausea.”

Avon, the bastard, laughed. Out loud.

I rinsed my mouth from my canteen and declined the foil packet. If a certain asshole would stop being gross, I wouldn’t have a problem. As it was, the shifters our squad helped down the ladder had to dodge my barf as well as A’s sprawled not-quite-a-carcass.

I ignored the wails as the survivors started identifying the fallen.

“What’s a tendon look like?” 20 asked, poking around in the wreckage of A’s thigh. “I didn’t have anatomy lessons like you.

A blanched pure green — the first real reaction I’d seen — and guilt twinged because I knew what would make me react like that. Even A didn’t deserve that. Probably.

Too kind by half, Avon stepped up.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a suture kit,” he said while he fished around and found the missing tendon end. “I assume you want to stitch these together, but sewing thread…” I cringed at the mental close-up Avon inadvertently provided.

“It doesn’t need to hold long, sir.”

“I think, considering the circumstances, you don’t need to call me sir. Avon is fine if you need to get my attention. Give me the needle.” 

I ground my teeth, unable to stand anything. Collecting 21, who still held A’s pack, I stomped outside, and we gorged on soft oatmeal bars.

It was a long wait for the evac lift, and I never could find anything else in the fucking pack.

***

When the lift arrived, two humans disembarked and organized the corvée shifters into work parties for cleanup. I should have known better than to expect they wouldn’t have to pick up the pieces. But one human relayed that other squads had dealt with the remaining devils, so we were cleared to take the lift back to base.

The medbay was our first stop, and the medico stuffed Avon into a sterile little room with an exam bed, a rolling stool, and a sink. The door stood wide and would remain so unless a patient was required to strip fully, affording no privacy. The grey walls matched our uniforms, and one day I’d lurk by the door and see how long it took the attending mage to notice me. But in the meantime, I took the stool, and the table’s paper sheet rustled under Avon’s ass.

While the medico cleaned Avon’s burns — with me glaring daggers to make sure she was gentle — I did some spelunking in the archives.

“The half-squad was a total loss.”

Avon winced and leaned forward to give the medico better access.

“Jimson’s memorial’s tonight.” There was never a body for us to, I dunno, moon over, so mages’ final ceremonies tended toward promptness. Those who attended wouldn’t be late for dinner.

Avon grunted and, even with our bond locked tight — the humans on the lift had seen to that before coming in range of any spellwork — I knew he was sick with frustration at the pointless waste. Silence fell, unbroken by the thrum of ventilation that ran constantly in rooms the humans used, and when the medico left with a bowl of medical waste — most of which would be recycled — I leaned close.

Before I could whisper what else I’d found in the archive, a surprisingly loud voice echoed in the open door.

“Sir, that’s the wrong dose! Please—” 

Avon’s attention sharpened, and I smirked when the medico cut A off.

“It’s the right dose. Says so right here — once daily.” Something — maybe a box? — rattled. “Read it yourself.”

“It says 21, sir. That’s—” 

“Enough. Stop arguing and take the injection.” A heavy sigh drifted down the hall, and I’d bet anything the medico was shaking her head. “You should be grateful we’re doing this, you know. Seeing a medico daily, and not a thing wrong with you?”

Frowning, I shot a glance at Avon. I didn’t like the guy, but his injuries were real, right? Avon shook his head, gesturing for me to keep quiet. I did, but I rolled the implications through my head.

“Yes, sir.” A’s voice was flat. “It’s the right dose. Thank you.”

“Finally! Next time, don’t hold me up — I’ve the other two of you to deal with, then a bear shifter that actually needs me.” After the tap-tap of the medico’s hard soles faded down the hall, Avon crept over and slid the door shut. The medico — a mage like all of them — probably wouldn’t report us.

“What the hell?” Anger made it hard to keep my voice down, but I tried, knowing how sound carried in the medbay. “He was playing us!”

“Did you even look at him in the lift?” Avon grimaced. “Watching his cheek knight back together — it was like a fucked up time-lapse.”

That cooled my fury; it took a lot to make Avon swear. I licked my lips.

“So…why didn’t he fix it sooner? Before we got there woulda been nice.” I shuddered at the memory of a cheek gaping over teeth, Avon’s fingers sinking into a mess of sliced muscle, and the asshole’s complete lack of fucks given.

“I suspect,” Avon said with a glare, “he was busy fixing the punctured lung and not bleeding out. How strong do you think he is?”

For once, I was glad our bond was locked when we weren’t on missions. I’d take the hurt I felt at Avon choosing to defend A over me to the grave. My wrist comp was fascinating, at least until I schooled my features.

“Isn’t that the problem?” I asked eventually. “We don’t know.”

Silence fell between us, unfathomable and crippling.

“He’s more likely to hurt himself than us. Besides, weren’t you digging up that dirt?” Avon crossed the gap first, with words and actions as he opened the door, then came back to sit on the exam table. Coated in a thick, puke-green cream, the burns on his back served as a stark reminder that I could have lost him. Clearing my throat, I bumped his shoulder with mine in apology, keeping well clear of his damaged back. He leaned into me, accepting it.

“It’s… ah, got some heavy encryption. General’s seal.” Keeping my voice low, I shrugged. “I can bust in and everyone and their fuck toy’ll know. Given time, I should be able to weasel in, though. Maybe a week?”

“Aw, you’ll live up your movie time for it?” Avon knew exactly where I’d find the time for the side project. “Tell you what — you find a way in and I’ll watch The Last Unicorn with you.”

He hated that movie; the first time I’d found it in the archive, we’d watched it together and he’d woken up screaming for a week. A month later, the devil we hunted down had been a massive bull with six-foot horns. Those nightmares lingered for months.

“Yeah? On the big projectors?” My lips twisted into a grin.

“The big…?” Avon scrubbed his face. “Fine. Yes.”

“Score!” I sprang up and did a goofy victory dance, uncaring how loud I was now that the topic was innocuous. 

A buzz from my wrist comp, coinciding with a ping from Avon’s, stopped me. Fresh arrived in my inbox — a message from Tracer. A flick of my fingertip sent it where it belonged. 

Spam.

“Tracer’s asking for feedback from the squad.” Avon rolled his neck, careful not to stress his back. “About which of the newcomers would be the best fit.” He glanced up with an arched brow. “You got it, too?”

“Huh. Must be a system glitch. Nothing here.” I reclaimed my stool. “I’m hungry. Are you cleared to leave yet?”

“You’d know if I were.” Avon tapped his comp. “And didn’t you eat yourself sick on those cookies?”

“What? No! Those weren’t cookies. Some kinda nasty nutrient bar. It was my civic duty to dispose of them. 21 graciously helped.”

“Right. Anyway…” Avon flicked a setting on his screen so the message projected. “I’m not comfortable with 20. There’s something…” He shook his head.

“Fuckers fucked up,” I agreed. “So’s A. 21… well, he’s not bad.” If you could handle endless naivete and puppy-like enthusiasm for everything.

“So 21’s our recommendation.” Avon tapped away, then sent the message, closing out the projection as it went.

“I’m bored.” Groaning theatrically, I flopped onto Avon, resting my chin on his shoulder so I could check his back. The healing gel was nearly exhausted, with the puke-green fading to a clear coating that would protect the newly-grown skin for a day or two, then slough off. 

Avon shoved me off and stood, only to push me onto the exam table while he took the stool.

“Get some sleep. I’ll guard the door.”

Even bond-locked, Avon knew my eyes burned and my muscles shook with the aftereffects of channeling my flame magic through two fights. Avon would crash just as hard, but the injection to speed his healing left him jazzed for hours.

Each time.

At the unwanted reminder, I choked down a whimper and buried my face in the paper sheet. Avon reached up to rub circles on my back, his touch grounding me as sleep pulled me down.