“You stupid witch. Stay out of this.” Of course, that was when the kid lifted his hand and a black thread of something coiled from his palms. A supernatural using a gun against other supernaturals? Wasn’t there a rule about that kind of stuff?

Liam didn’t wait to see what the kid could do. Leaping forward, he covered the distance between them with ease, and took the kid to the floor. Pimple face’s head smashed against the fake tile floor with a resounding thud and his eyes rolled back in his head. The black smoke, or whatever the hell it was, faded and drew back into the kid’s hands.

Pamela sucked in a sharp breath. “I think he’s a necromancer, like Anne.” She pushed him with her toe. Sith/p>

Liam took in a slow breath, couldn’t get past the stench of rot and knew this form wasn’t going to help him anymore. Breathing out, he let the change take him and within seconds stood on two feet. Pamela handed him his clothes as she turned her back.

Without hesitation, Liam scooped up the fallen gun. If it worked in the hands of a supernatural, he wanted it. He tucked it into the back of his pants, a feeling of familiarity rolling over him. Sure, he could use a sword, but a gun was his weapon of choice, and always would be.

Milly, though, had no such qualms. She watched him dress, her eye calm and assessing, but she said nothing. He forced himself not to hurry, knowing this was a power pull with her. She wanted to make him nervous, to put him off balance.

“Not going to work, Milly,” he grumbled as he pulled his shirt over his head and slipped on his shoes.

“What’s that, Liam?” Her eyebrows arched high, giving her a falsely innocent look.

He turned his back on her and crouched beside the kid. Even in this form, the scent of rot was strong. “Pamela, can you lace this kid up, stick him so he can’t do anything?”

“I can stick him on the wall, but I can’t stop him from raising dead things.” She swallowed hard, the gulp audible. Rylee said Anne freaked out Pamela worse than the zombies she’d raised. Weird.

Putting a hand to her shoulder, he gave her a squeeze. “That’ll be fine. You and Milly stay here, keep an eye on him. I’m going to search the house for Agent Valley.”

Pamela pinned the kid to the wall in seconds, her lips tight. Leaving them, he started through the house. Kitchen and living room were empty, as was the bathroom and two bedrooms. A full circuit left only one more door. He opened it and stared into the dark stairwell.

“Son of a bitch, it’s always the basement.” Above his head dangled a string and he pulled it, but the light didn’t flick on. A low moan echoed up to him, the hairs on the back of his neck rising with the noise.

He shook his head. “Like a damn horror movie. Wait for it, O’Shea, next you’ll see an image of your dead parents.”

A shallow breath and he started down the stairs. While a flashlight would have been great, he didn’t really need it; a light source came into the basement from somewhere, maybe a ground level window. His eyes adjusted to the low level with ease.

One more step and he was on the concrete floor, which happened to be covered with a think layer of water.

“Shit on a stick. Valley, what have you gotten yourself into?” He did a slow turn. To his right was an open area and a few chunks of wood, to his left another door with a faint glow coming under the gap at the bottom. The basement seemed to be circular, similar to the house above. If he wanted to, he could run tiny laps down here. A moan and a thump against the door to his left drew his attention. His feet splashed in the water, but with each step the smell of death intensified. Forcing himself to crouch, he touched the water and brought the smell to his nose.

Gagging, he stood up fast and fought not to puke into what wasn’t just water, but a slurry of old blood and viscera.

“Fuck, that is nasty.” Doing his best not to think about what he stood in, he made his way to the door. Hand on the knob, he twisted it. In the backlit room stood Agent Valley, swaying on his feet.

“Sir?”

His ol Sstid it. In d boss seemed to stare right through him, teeth clicking together twice before he really seemed to see Liam.

“O’Sheaaaaaaa.” He raised his hands and lurched forward. Liam caught him, felt the lack of resistance in Valley’s flesh, fingers inadvertently driving through to the bone.

“Sir, what’s happened to you?” What the fuck was going on here?

Agent Valley was interrupted with anything he might say by screaming upstairs.

Liam spun, taking Agent Valley with him. “Sir, we have to get out of here, because if I know Pamela at all—”

An explosion rocked the foundation of the house when they were halfway up the stairs, the timbers around them shivering and then collapsing completely.

Lunging and dragging his old boss, cringing as chunks of flesh heaved from the agent’s arms, Liam managed to get them both to the top of the stairs.

Pamela was there, pulling at his arms. “We have to go, Liam. That lady from the police station is here.” Shit, things just got better and better.

Behind Pamela stood the pimple-faced kid, who appeared to have regained consciousness. He stared at Liam and Valley.

“Don’t hurt him.” Was all the kid managed to say. Liam chose not to point out there was no hurting someone who was already dead and rotting.

“Come on, let’s go.” With a single heave, Liam tossed Agent Valley over his shoulder, the older man’s gut squishing and squirming in a most viscous way.

Nothing to do now but run.

And hope to hell there was enough of Agent Valley left when they stopped running, he could tell them what the hell was going on.

Trolls, while not particularly clever, fast, or empathetic, were truly not fun to deal with on a large scale. And a large scale was exactly what we were looking at with at least thirty surrounding us.

Doran glanced sideways at me. “Let me try to calm this before you start lopping off more heads. I’m not sure even you can manage this many.”

While I didn’t put my swords away, I did give him the benefit of the doubt. He was right, there were too many for me to be thinking I could manhandle the situation. A bit of finesse every now and then didn’t hurt. Usually.

He cleared his throat and raised his hands into the air, effectively silencing the crowd. “Boys, you have a slight problem inside the bar. One of your leaders has been ambushed by those who were supposed to be helping him.”