Being an observant person is both a blessing and a curse. Sure, I can pick up bad vibes from people before most do, but the wait to be confirmed correct about them feels like an eternity.

Meanwhile, my friends eye me warily, as if I’m constantly searching for their imperfections to pick apart and warn the others about.

As if I didn’t already notice them the moment we met, yet I kept them around for a reason.

Don’t tell them this, but… I like them.

Bridget (anxious attachment), smiles brightly at me from just outside the glass door to our office, a steaming to-go cup of coffee in each hand.

I’ve told her that she doesn’t have to do this every day, but, well… you know.

We’re working on it.

I give her a big smile and gratefully take the offered cup with a heart scrawled on the lid.

Hoo boy.

“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately.

The overt affection can only mean she’s unsettled and wants to ensure that at least we’re still good.

Her blue eyes dim a bit.

Wavy honey brown hair sways around her face as she shifts anxiously from foot to foot.

“It’s Connie,” she whispers the name of our boss, the one with abandonment issues.

My eyes flick up the fourth floor of the glass building at Bridget’s back and return to hers expectantly.

She whispers a spell under her breath and then the sounds of the outside world muddle from within our soundproof orb.

Bridget still speaks in a whisper.

“She said she’s okay, but she’s been acting strangely since that last mission.”

I nod, because of course I noticed, but I’ve learned not to be the first to mention it.

Taking down a horde of especially rambunctious werewolves would normally have Connie on a high for weeks, but after she uncharacteristically returned from the mission last, she’s been moody and snapping at every little inconvenience.

And as the leader of the regional coven of hunters, inconveniences are literally her job.

“She got turned,” I deduce aloud.

Bridget recoils like I called for Connie’s death.

I kinda did.

Witches and paranormals go hand in hand, but that’s about as far as their contact can safely go.

The most prevalent result of either one marking the other is a feral variant, the very kind our coven is tasked with eliminating.

I curse and take a deep drink of my coffee before unfortunately being forced to relent so I can breathe.

My exhale is a resigned sigh that Bridget understands implicitly.

A wave of her manicured hand dissipates the bubble.

She wordlessly follows my defeated stride inside.

The lobby is empty, as always.

Decor would get in the way of the security wards we have in place atop the corporate facade.

It’s not until we enter the elevator that I realize the most pressing of our issues.

If it’s true, and Connie now has werewolf essence wiggling around, she’ll be able to smell the negative emotions that Bridget is currently stinking up this tiny space with, and blow the investigation before it can start.

“Bridge?” I say as sweetly as possible.

She startles.

I can work with that.

“I’m going to need you to go straight to my office,” I tell her.

She really has perfected the wounded puppy expression.

“I’m going to talk to Connie,” I explain, “I know you can hold your own, but I’d feel better knowing you were safe either way.”

I can tell she already agrees, but outwardly makes a show of considering it before reluctantly accepting.

She didn’t immediately say yes!

My girl is growing up so fast.

The elevator doors ping open to reveal Tasha (perfectionist with superiority complex) behind the receptionist desk.

“You’re late,” she says, without looking up, which I’ve come to accept as her daily greeting.

We walk past without acknowledging her, undoubtedly ruining her day, and head into the open office space.

It looks so much better in here without those cubicles.

My design suggestion went ignored until we had a break in a couple years back.

Herding rogue vampires is already a nightmare, but doing so through a labyrinth of cubicles?

Forget about it.

Bridget peels away from my side as I head straight for Connie’s office, wading through the tension that thickens by the day.

I feel the eyes of my coworkers on me and then a chorus of exhales of relief as I open the boss’ door without knocking and close it behind me.

Connie is standing behind her desk in the center of the room, walled with bookshelves buckling under inherited information.

And I’ll be honest.

She’s not looking too hot.

Her spider silk blouse is stretched taut over her arms, braced on the ancient desk that she’s staring a hole through.

The infamous sleek black bob of hers looks like she drove here with the windows down and her head hanging out.

I guess if she’s turning into a big dog, that’s a distinct possibility.

The witch’s normally ageless face is harried, worn, and admittedly a little terrifying once she seems to realize she’s not alone.

Expressionless, her nostrils start to flex as she sniffs out who dared to enter her lair.

I tsk in disappointment.

Her eyes flick up to mine.

Gold has overtaken the iris and sclera entirely.

I cringe.

Wolf eyes just do not suit her complexion.

It’s the least of her problems though, as she inhales deeply, audibly, and spits in a rough accusing growl at me, “Vampire.”

I frown and clarify, “Half.”

The government is so assured that the fear of turning feral would keep species from intermingling, but my witch mother and vampire father didn’t much care beyond their nauseatingly adorable obsession with each other.

The result of which was learning the truth when I was born, one that made it immediately obvious that they weren’t the only rebellious lovers out there.

Families like mine live on lies, the threat of anyone learning that it’s possible for children to have the full power of both parents, without complications, is a prospect much too dangerous to advertise.

I’m brought back to the present, almost embarrassed by how openly Connie telegraphs her intent to attack me.

I sigh and use my speed to tackle her to the ground before her muscles have even finished tensing to launch.

My fang pierces my tongue.

I weave a spell with the combination of magick and blood until I’m sure that she’s completely restrained to her ugly ornate rug.

I know she doesn’t mean for me to see it, but there’s a flash in her eyes that I recognized since our first mission together.

Big ol’ abandonment issues.

She’s afraid I’m going to forsake her to her fate, and now she can’t even leave and pretend it was her choice to part ways, just to satiate her insecurity.

I rise and place my hands on my hips as I assess my splayed out boss.

Gods, I hate that rug.

While there’s no accounting for taste, I do appreciate having someone else that knows my secret.

I hate to do it, but I step back from her a bit like I intend to leave, just to provoke that fear of hers so I can utilize it.

She inhales sharply.

My arms sag at my sides as if I’m the one caving to her desires.

“Alright,” I pretend to relent, “what if I don’t tell anyone about your situation as long as you don’t tell anyone about mine.”

Connie is already nodding before I’ve finished speaking.

Her voice is more normal when she whispers, “But how am I going to hide this?”

Can’t say it doesn’t feel great to have my leader entrusting me with their open ignorance.

I wave off her concern and supply her with another secret.

“I‘ll find you a pack to run with so you won’t go feral.”

She snarls at the word.

I snap my fingers and point at her.

“Yeah. Like that!”

Her huff of a laugh makes her creepy eyes fade away until I’m confident I can release her bindings.

She sits up more gracefully than someone who’d been snarling just moments ago, nervously attempting to smooth down her hair.

With a clearing of her throat, she speaks in the aloof yet authoritative tone that I’ll never admit I missed.

“How do you know a pack will help?”

I raise a shoulder.

“It’s worked so far for Bridget.”