The Guild was looking good. We were still two hundred thousand in the hole, but we were slowly beginning to recoup that investment.

I parked in the lot. We got out and headed for the building. The inside of the Guild had gotten a face-lift as well. The mess hall was back and the food was actually good this time, which made sense because nothing offended shapeshifters more than subpar dining options. Barabas had insisted on bringing back the koi. Originally a stream had run through the hotel floor culminating in a large pond. Barabas didn’t want the stream, but he did somehow find the money for the pond. He said it was therapeutic and got two of the Pack’s counselors to back him up. Now a large pond sat next to the dining area, complete with a bridge across it. Five big koi, three gold and two white, slowly glided in the shallow water. The mercenaries kept feeding the fish and I had a feeling the koi would get morbidly obese before too long.

About twenty mercs ate, swapped war stories, and checked their gear on the main floor, waiting for a job or relaxing after one before going home. A dozen voices said hello as we walked in. A second after we stepped through the door, I realized Curran was still in all of his warrior form splendor.

“Woo!”

“Cover up!”

“Rough morning, Curran?”

Curran grinned, showing his big teeth.

“Hey, Daniels, you better put him in check. There are children present,” Juke called.

“Where?” Collins asked.

“She means you, dickhead,” Santiago said.

“Come over here and say that to my face.”

“I would, but you too ugly.”

Tension seeped out of me with every step. This I knew. This was familiar. This was my world.

Barabas waved at us from behind the glass. The previous administrator of the Guild considered himself to be white-collar and fully embraced a personal office, expensive suits, and secretaries. The first thing Barabas did was gut his fourth-floor office and sell off the pricey furniture. Then he took over the smallest conference room downstairs, separated from the main floor by glass. He sat there now, wearing jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt, his desk filled with papers. His door was usually open. Mercs wandered in and out with questions. Usually Christopher hung out in the office as well, or somewhere on the Guild floor, reading a book at the table by the koi, or talking to the Clerk, depending on how he was feeling. Maggie was curled up in her little plush bed in Barabas’s office, but I saw no signs of Christopher.

If I were a winged god of terror, where would I be?