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Babylon City. Vampires. Multiple bodies. Breach of Contract.

The words sit there, clean and clinical, like they’re not describing the kind of situation that gets people killed in creative and deeply unpleasant ways. My pulse kicks up anyway, because this is it. This is what I thought I was signing up for before I realized most of my life would be spent as a librarian with a weapons license. An actual hunt.

Around us, the room comes back to life. Chairs scrape, voices overlap, people already moving, planning, and halfway out the door. Teams form and move off in seconds. No hesitation and no second thoughts. That’s Hunters for you.

I don’t move yet. If I do, I’m half convinced this whole thing will turn out to be nothing but a dream. That I’ll blink and be back in the stacks, sorting ancient texts while someone else gets to do the interesting part.

Asha’s hand drops onto my shoulder. “Up,” she says.

I look up at her again, blinking stupidly, because I’m clearly incapable of learning.

She gives me a smile that isn’t a smile at all. It is sharp, humorless, and just a little bit feral. “We leave in twenty.”

I'M STILL NOT sure this isn't a practical joke when we reach the highway, half expecting her to shove me out at the next intersection and laugh in my face. But she doesn't, and we keep eating up the miles towards Babylon City at a, well, leisurely pace, befitting the car we're in.

Asha's car is nice, a minivan that somehow looks sleek and modern and is still roomy. Black, of course, but the tan leather seats are a pleasant surprise. Must be hard to clean, what with all the blood and guts someone like Asha wades through on a weekly basis. That's not where the surprises end, though. My stuff, meager as it is, takes up two-thirds of the back seats, all shiny, unused, and new. Asha's well-used bags take up the rest of the space. She has less baggage than I do. How did that happen?

"Give me the quick and dirty," Asha says, her eyes fixed on the road. Her fingernails are painted brown, tapping the wheel in rhythm with a nondescript pop song. She hasn't changed clothes and done nothing to her wild ponytail, but her demeanor has changed somehow. Less threatening, like she's actually a person. Or maybe it's just the reflection of the dashboard lights on her face. It softens her features.

I bite down on whatever sexual innuendo threatens to come out of my mouth, tap the tablet to wake the screen, and scan the case files. It's a mix of police case notes, insider info from our sources and spies, and a data mining summary made by our own techs. Rather underwhelming, but it'll do for now. It's not a big case, that much I could already make out. "Shortest version: Looks like some supe has developed a taste for theology students. There've been a few corpses," I count just to be sure, because damn, "seven at the moment, so the police have turned it into a serial killer case. Meaning feds, criminal profilers, and way too many eyes. We're supposed to take out the supe and make sure the case gets closed."

Asha interrupts me. "How do you know it's a supe?"

Blinking, I watch her profile for a moment. It's giving me nothing in the semi-darkness of the car. Blueish highlights dance across her cheeks, hitting her eyes when cars speed by and painting them black. I’d see more if I leaned closer, but she might bite my nose off. "I assumed. Why else would we get handed this case?"

"Sure, someone's already done the thinking for you. But occasionally, we are required to actually look before we kill. Make sure our being there and intervening is valid. We're not a brainless kill-squad out for supe blood; we have a job that has meaning. Never assume. Look at what you've got and make an educated guess. Then prove yourself wrong, because you better make damn sure you don't off the wrong person just because you got cocky."

Proving myself wrong feels counterproductive, but the longer I think about it, the more sense it makes. The theory of killing supernatural creatures is all nice and good, but killing is still killing. It can't be taken back, no matter how sorry I might be. Supes, supernatural creatures, are everywhere in the world, but only a tiny fraction of them ever make any sort of trouble. If all of them did, humans would have found out about them long ago, and we Hunters would have a much harder time doing our job.

A vast majority of the supes live their lives hiding from getting found out, trying to blend in and find family, friends, and a job. They aren't much different from the mortal humans they are hiding from, if you ignore how fucking scary they can be. Makes sense to take a hard look before I shoot a middle-school teacher just because they grow fur once a month. There are those who can't hide what they are, but they stick to the hidden districts—veils—dedicated to offering a home and normalcy to those who are either fed up with hiding, or unable to hide. In short, checking twice is better than shooting once. Or some such blah blah.

It’s a bit surprising that an efficient killer like Asha would think things through like this, but I don’t know a lot about her if I think about it. As a librarian, I have access to all the Hunter profiles and files, but from what I read in Asha’s file, she never gives away much about herself. I know she joined the Hunters because her boyfriend was a Hunter, and that they had a very violent falling out over him cheating on her. Violent enough that it ended up in her file, which means there were weapons involved. But there was nothing about her motives beyond that, which is unusual. I’ve never heard of anyone joining because of love. Love is not a good reason to ruin your life.

I wonder if Asha agrees after everything that happened.

I look back down at the display and flip through the pathology reports. They aren't as straightforward as I expected them to be. My mind totters over the pictures of dead people, doing its best to look without looking too hard, because ew. Two corpses have broken necks, the other strangle marks, three were found with a dagger stuck in their chests, one with a cut throat, and nothing seems to connect them except for their choice in majors. And dangerously low amounts of blood in their bodies that seemed to have vanished. Low enough that the pathologist made a note of it, because at least three of them wouldn't have survived even without the other injuries. I flip through the pictures, angle them this way and that, just to be sure. All fair-haired, of similar height, though with varying weights. None of them are skinny.

Ah. I snort.

Asha throws me a quick glance, then her eyes are back on the road. "What's so funny?"

"You know how in romance novels vampires always go for the spunky, pretty ones?" I ask, grinning. "I think this one broke the mold."

She smiles, and I swoon silently. The way her face lights up when she's happy, it's almost like she becomes another person, a short glimpse into who she might have been if she never became a killer. "Please tell me you read the Hunters' manual about vampires and not just cheap romance novellas."

"Of course. Check it out: Inexplicable blood loss followed by faux killings, a victim type, no flashy mutilations, no traces of magic; it all points to a vampire. Older, but not too old, because that's some sloppy cleanup-job if I ever saw one." I know I'm preening, but I can't stop myself. That bit of detective work cracked the moss on my under-used brain, and if all goes well, this case will drag out over a few days. Offer a few more challenges to kill the boredom that has me on the brink of being comatose.

"Good. Puppy has a head on his shoulders, that's a relief," Asha mutters, but she's still smiling faintly. "Now that we've established that it's a supe, what's next?"

She sounds like she's testing me or teaching me, and I'm not sure what to think about that. I'm a rookie, but not that much of a rookie. "Contact the locals, announce our presence, shake a few trees and see what falls out."

Another smile flutters across her lips, strangely wistful. It could be the dark though, so I try not to interpret anything into it. Asha overtakes a semi, frowning in concentration, and only picks up our conversation when she's safely back in the right lane. Not a hair's breadth above the speed limit, like her life is depending on it. It's weird, especially for a hunter. "You drive like my grandma," I say.

"And driving like that is how she got to be a grandma," Asha deadpans. "Now, this is your first stint in Babylon City, so shut up and listen. We're gonna meet all the supe leaders first, and they'll do their usual ritualistic 'it wasn't me' dance. When that's done and everyone feels safe knowing that we already know it was one of the fangers, we'll wait for the Vampire envoy to contact us and 'shake the tree', as you so eloquently put it. If we're lucky, that'll be enough to snap into action and get this over with. If not, we'll have to do some grunt work. Since Colton assured me you like poking at holes to see what happens, the follow-up will be your part of the job. Questions? Smartypants quips? Remarks?"

Was that a dig at my sexual orientation, or am I being too paranoid? I glare at her out of the corner of my eye, but her grin gives me nothing. But could I—, should I—, ...? I take the plunge. "So what got you and Colton talking about me and my holes? Are you being sweet on me?"

Silence, followed by a snort and then a braying laugh. Asha even takes one hand off the wheel to slap my shoulder and call me a 'bad puppy', but whatever tension was left is gone. By the time the highway signs proclaim 80 miles to Babylon City, I'm feeling pretty good about myself.