The violence in Jim’s eyes evaporated, replaced by fear. “A cell?”

Knowing the cops would arrive in mere seconds, I said clearly and slowly, “That’s what I said. Unless you run as fast as you can back to the car.”

It was the first order of the night that he actually followed.

As the bald guy shouted after us, we sprinted across the road, back through the scraggly trees and leaf-strewn brittle grass, past the pile of cans and packages the Mazikin had been going through. I slowed when I saw a homeless guy motionless on the ground. His hands and neck had been severely bitten, probably as he tried to keep the Mazikin from stealing all his worldly possessions and dragging him back to the nest. His cheeks were striped with claw marks, and his eyes were wide and fixed. He was dead.

I took off running again, catching up to Jim, and we fled through the side streets, block after block, until we made it back to the car. I pulled Jim down as a cop car streaked by, headed north, lights flashing and sirens blazing. Then I unlocked the doors and dove into the front while Jim climbed into the back. I caught my breath for a second and then fumbled with my phone, texting Malachi a rendezvous point several blocks south of our location. I trusted him to have a map of the area memorized already—at least I could depend on him.

“Wait, are we going back to the Station?” Jim said. “That’s so stupid! I thought we were supposed to be killing all of these Mazikin things. You let that one go!”

“Shut up!” I yelled, banging on the dashboard. “My God, do you not realize you could have gotten both of us arrested? Are you still drunk? Chasing a screaming woman through a populated area? Threatening to hit her in front of a bunch of witnesses? In complete violation of my orders! Don’t say another word, Jim. I fucking swear I’ll stab you if you do.”

The realization seemed to have sunk in. Jim wisely stayed silent as I drove us to the pickup spot. Malachi texted that he and Henry would be there, but it was still the biggest relief to see them standing at the curb. Henry slid into the backseat while Malachi folded himself into the front passenger seat. He sat back and put his seat belt on as I lurched onto the street, cutting off another car.

“What happened?” he asked.

I shook my head, knowing that I’d start yelling again if I tried to explain.

“We saw one,” Jim said from the back. “In a park. It had killed some old guy.”

I slowed down and drove more carefully, feeling Malachi’s eyes on my face. “But you didn’t follow the protocol,” he said.