The Night Beat

for us before we go?”
    Clyde was quiet for a few moments. “Take along a hellhound. And a daemon cat.”
    Ralph’s growling got louder. I continued to ignore. “Who’s on duty?”
    Clyde brought one of the banshees over. I covered my ears instinctively. I noted that Jack did the same. He was a fast learner.
    The banshee did her shriek of the dead thing. After the sounds stopped reverberating in my head I heard the sound of toenails clicking on the marble floors. So it wasn’t a surprise to see a big cat and dog skid around the corner and come to an impressive, screeching halt right in front of me. They each put up a paw and saluted, too.
    “Hansel, Gretel, good to see you, and glad you’re here.”
    Jack sidled up to me. “Um, Hansel and Gretel?”
    “Code names,” Hansel’s middle head said. The right and left heads usually let the middle head do the talking -- it stressed other beings out a little less.
    “We were really siblings, in the old days,” Gretel said in the half-snarl, half-purr that was daemon cat speech. She stood up on her hind legs and put her paw on Hansel’s middle head. “What’s the situation, Major?”
    Jack looked around and then stared at me. “Major?
    I shrugged. “Down here, yeah. I’ll try not be insulted by the shocked look on your face.”
    “We use military titles,” Maurice said. “It makes it less confusing when we chat with humans. For example, Amanda and I are both Captains. Ken’s also a Major, because he’s an overachiever.”
    “Heading fast for Lieutenant Colonel,” I added. Hey, Ken and I weren’t an item any more, but we were still friends and I was proud of him.
    Jack gaped, then looked around. “Monty? And, uh, him?” he pointed to Ralph.
    “I’m the Major General of Dirt Corps. I’m dotted line into Necropolis Enforcement, in that sense.”
    “And Ralphie’s a Second Lieutenant,” Maurice said. “Though he acts like he’s the being in charge.”
    “Werewolves don’t need ranks,” Ralph snarled. “We have a pack leader and we follow his lead.”
    “Her lead,” Amanda said sweetly. “Since Vic’s the leader of this team.”
    Ralph started to argue but I gave him a long look and he shut up. “Let’s get moving. We can brief Hansel and Gretel on the way.”

Chapter 11
     
    “You know, we should get H.P.,” Amanda said. “Or at least Edgar.”
    “Why Edgar?” Maurice asked. “This isn’t his specialty.”
    I thought about it. “Yeah, but something’s wrong. What we did should have left no trace. But there’s a strong one if Jack can feel it.”
    “Thanks a lot,” Jack said.
    “Not an insult,” Ken replied. “But human senses are weaker than undead senses. If you can feel it, it’s strong.”
    “Nice to know I’m the team mine canary.” At least he said it with a grin.
    I activated my wrist com. “Count?”
    “Yes, Agent Wolfe? Is there a reason we’re chatting or do you just feel lonely and unloved?”
    “I’d like to have Edgar with us.”
    There was a significant pause. “Not H.P.?”
    “Well, H.P. did his thing earlier and I know he’s having fun helping indoctrinate the new recruits we bagged. Besides, something’s off, and that usually means human intervention in some way.”
    “You’re the field agent in charge.” The Count didn’t make this sound like a stirring endorsement.
    I pulled out the big gun. “Ken agrees with me.”
    “Oh, fine.”
    I hated having to do it, or admit it, but Ken was the best agent we had. He was probably the best undead in centuries. I knew the Count was grooming him to be his replacement. Even eternal undeads can crave retirement, after all.
    Ken had the whole package -- handsome, brilliant, fastest learner around, photographic memory, natural leader. One of the few newer undeads who could interact naturally with the ones who’d been undead for millennia as easily as one formed the day before. Compassionate and caring without being sappy, gentle and kind while never being weak, never made someone else feel like they were less than he was unless it was necessary for his team’s survival. And yet, somehow, I’d dumped him. And didn’t regret the choice. Maurice felt there was something seriously wrong with me, and he was probably right.
    “Edgar will meet you outside the OLOC,” the Count informed me.
    “What’s he doing in Prosaic City?” There was a significant lack of an answer. I did the math. “H.P. was already worried and he asked Edgar to take a