The back office of the Slipgate Diner was a claustrophobic box of drywall and peeling paint that smelled of stale receipts and lemon floor cleaner. It was a mundane sanctuary, a place for taxes and inventory lists, yet lately, it felt like the control room of a sinking submarine.
Marcus Hale sat in his leather swivel chair. The springs groaned beneath his weight as he leaned back. He stared at the phone in his hand. It was a sleek, black smartphone, a piece of technology that felt absurdly fragile compared to the heavy iron broadsword leaning against the filing cabinet.
The ground beneath the diner hummed.
It was not a sound one could hear with ears. It was a vibration that traveled up through the concrete foundation, through the soles of his boots, and settled in the marrow of his shinbones. The tectonic plates were not shifting in any natural way. The frequency of the openings, the tears in the fabric of reality that allowed things like Pig Men and Glimmucks to crawl into Texas, was increasing.
Two months ago, Marcus did not believe in dimensions. He was a man of logistics, structural integrity, and high-tensile steel. He had come here to renovate a diner, not to become the warden of a trans-dimensional gateway. Yet here he was, sweating in the air-conditioned chill, preparing to make a phone call that terrified him more than the monsters did.
He needed an engineer. He needed Raina.
He scrolled through his contacts until he found the name. Lorraine "Raina" Vexler.
His thumb hovered over the call button. The girls—Eira, Liri, and Pearl—had been briefed, though "briefed" was a generous term. They knew he was calling a woman from his past. They knew this woman was dangerous. They knew she was connected to the people who had nearly gotten Marcus killed years ago.
To the minds of a warrior princess, a sorceress, and a siren, "dangerous woman from the past" translated immediately to "enemy combatant."
Marcus pressed the button. He brought the phone to his ear, listening to the trill of the ringback tone. It rang once. Twice. He expected voicemail. He expected a disconnected number.
"Marcus?"
The voice was instant, sharp, and unmistakably her. It sent a jolt of adrenaline through his chest that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with history.
"Hello, Raina," Marcus said. His voice was gravelly, unused to the softness required for diplomacy. "It's been a while."
"A while," she repeated. There was a pause, filled with the crackle of a distant connection. "I heard you were dead, Marcus. The reports from the extraction zone were... conclusive. Scorched earth. No survivors from your unit."
"I'm hard to kill," Marcus replied. He picked up a pen and began clicking it rhythmically. "You know that."
"I do," she said. Her voice dropped an octave, shifting from professional surprise to something warmer, something that coiled around his ear like smoke. "God, it is good to hear your voice. I assumed you were a ghost. Where are you? Are you safe?"
"I'm in Texas," Marcus said. "Weedfield. I bought that place we talked about. The diner."
"The Slipgate," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice. "You actually did it. You retired to flip burgers."
"Something like that," Marcus said. He rubbed his temple. "Look, Raina. I'm not calling to catch up on old times. I have a situation here. A structural situation. I need.. "
The door to the office creaked open.
Marcus stiffened. He looked up to see Pearl slipping through the gap. The Siren was wearing one of his old oversized t-shirts that hung off one shoulder, exposing the smooth, pale curve of her clavicle and the intricate, shimmering skin that dusted her skin like iridescent freckles.
She did not look like she was there to ask about the lunch special.
Pearl closed the door softly behind her. She looked at Marcus, then at the phone, her large, oceanic eyes narrowing with playful malice. She tiptoed across the linoleum, her bare feet making no sound.
"Is that the bad lady?" Pearl whispered. The sound was melodic, carrying a harmonic resonance that made Marcus's teeth ache pleasantly.
Marcus covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "I am on the phone, Pearl. Out. Now."
Pearl ignored him. She giggled, a sound like water rushing over pebbles. She moved around the side of the desk, her hips swaying with an exaggerated, liquid grace. She came to a stop right next to his chair.
"Who are you talking to, Marcus?" Raina asked in his ear. "I heard a voice."
"Just the radio," Marcus lied quickly. "Bad reception out here."
Pearl leaned in. She smelled of sea salt and ozone. She placed a cool, damp hand on Marcus's forearm, her fingers tracing the veins that ran up to his elbow. She leaned her torso forward, pressing the soft swell of her chest against his bicep.
"Tell her to go away," Pearl whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. "We don't need her. We have magic."
Marcus gritted his teeth. He tried to pull his arm away, but Pearl clung to him, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. She began to hum a low, vibrating note that resonated in his chest cavity. It was a Siren song, distinct and powerful, designed to cloud the mind and induce a state of euphoric compliance.
"Raina, listen," Marcus said, his voice straining as he tried to push Pearl's head away with his free hand. "I think there are geological shifts happening here. Deep crust issues. Vibrations. I need to know if the Corps has any active monitoring stations in the sector."
"Geological shifts?" Raina sounded skeptical. "In Weedfield? That area is stable. Boringly stable. Unless you're talking about fracking, but even that wouldn't cause what you're describing."
Pearl escalated her assault. She swung a leg over Marcus's thigh, straddling his knee. She looked up at him, batting her eyelashes, and ran her tongue slowly over her upper lip. She grabbed his hand—the one holding the pen—and placed it on her waist.
"Marcus?" Raina said. "Are you still there? You sound... breathless."
"I'm here," Marcus wheezed. He pinched Pearl's waist, trying to tickle her into submission, but she just arched her back and laughed silently, wiggling against his leg. "I just... moved some boxes. Heavy boxes."
"Right," Raina said. The skepticism remained, but she moved on. "To answer your question, I actually have some news. I'm not in D.C. anymore. I'm in Northern Mexico. Coahuila. We're working a project near the border."
"That's... close," Marcus said. He finally managed to get a grip on Pearl's hips and physically lifted her off his leg. He set her down on the floor. She pouted, crossed her arms under her breasts to lift them, and stuck her tongue out at the phone.
"Very close," Raina said. "About four hours from you, if I drive fast. Which I do."
Pearl, realizing she had been ejected, let out a dramatic, heartbroken sigh. She did a little pirouette, her t-shirt flaring out to reveal the curve of her backside, and then pointed two fingers at her eyes and then at the phone, signaling that she was watching. She slunk out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Marcus exhaled. "Okay. Mexico. What are you doing down there?"
"It's messy, Marcus," Raina said. Her tone shifted. The playfulness vanished, replaced by the cold steel of business. "We're cleaning up messes. Similar to the Op where you lost your team."
The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Marcus stopped clicking the pen.
"You mean the Op where we were sold out?" Marcus said quietly. "The Op where we were left to die because the extraction chopper never came?"
"I didn't know, Marcus." Raina's voice was urgent now. "You have to believe me. I was told it was a standard secure-and-hold. I handled the logistics for the cover. I dealt with the cartel contacts to ensure plausible deniability for the agency. They told me your team would be overlooked. That you were off-limits."
"We were target practice," Marcus said.
"I know," she whispered. "And I have hated myself every day since. I thought I sent you to your death. When the reports came back... Marcus, I fell apart. I'm the one who scrubbed the files so your families would get the pensions. I made sure the official story was a training accident."
Marcus rubbed his face. The anger was there, a hard knot in his gut, but it was old anger. It had cooled into a dull ache. And right now, with the Slipgate vibrating beneath his feet, he couldn't afford the luxury of a grudge.
"It was war," Marcus said, repeating the mantra he had used to survive the last few years. "Things happen."
"Not to you," Raina said fiercely. "Not to us. I never stopped caring, Marcus. You know that. That night in Berlin... that wasn't just stress relief for me."
The door creaked open again.
Marcus closed his eyes. Lord, give me strength.
Liri glided into the room. The Sorceress looked like a queen who had just descended from a throne of clouds. She was wearing a silk robe that Marcus recognized as one she had conjured out of thin air earlier that week. It was a deep, midnight blue, tied loosely at the waist with a silver cord.
She carried a tray with a single cup of tea.
"Refreshments, my lord," Liri said. Her voice was pure velvet, projected just loud enough for the microphone to pick up, though she made it sound like a whisper.
"Who is that?" Raina asked sharply.
"Waitress," Marcus said immediately. "Bringing me coffee."
Liri placed the tray on the desk. She didn't leave. Instead, she walked around the desk, her movements fluid and predatory. She stopped behind his chair. She leaned down, her long, platinum hair cascading over his shoulders like a curtain, shielding him from the rest of the room.
"She sounds shrill," Liri whispered into his ear. She began to massage his shoulders, her thumbs digging deep into the trapezius muscles. Her hands were hot, radiating a magical warmth that soaked through his shirt. "You should hang up. We can practice... levitation."
"Coffee?" Raina asked. "Since when do waitresses call you 'my lord'?"
"It's a theme diner," Marcus lied, his voice tight as Liri's fingers worked their way down his chest. "Medieval theme. Look, Raina, about the past. I believe you. I know you wouldn't have burned us on purpose."
"I wouldn't," Raina said. "I would burn the world down before I let anything happen to you. That's why I want to see you. I have a visa. My paperwork is impeccable. I can cross the border whenever I want."
Liri frowned at the mention of the visa. She realized the massage wasn't working fast enough. She spun the chair slightly so Marcus was facing her. She hiked herself up onto the edge of his desk, the silk robe falling open to reveal long, flawless legs. She leaned forward, grabbing the lapels of his shirt.
"Hang. Up." Liri mouthed the words, exaggerating the movement of her lips. She ran a fingernail down the buttons of his shirt, popping the top one open.
"Marcus?" Raina said. "Are you listening? I said I can come up there. Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow is... soon," Marcus stammered. He caught Liri's hand before she could undo the second button. She looked at him with feigned hurt, her lower lip trembling. She leaned her forehead against his, her eyes staring deeply into his, swirling with magical intent.
"Is it too soon?" Raina asked, her voice vulnerable. "If you've moved on... if there's someone else..."
"No," Marcus said. "No one else. I live alone."
Liri scoffed audibly. She grabbed his face with both hands and kissed his forehead, then his nose. She moved to his mouth, but Marcus turned his head sharply, causing her to kiss his cheek with a loud smack.
"What was that?" Raina demanded.
"Fly swatter," Marcus said. "Big flies in Texas. Huge."
Liri pulled back, looking offended. She slid off the desk, re-tied her robe with an aggressive yank, and glared at the phone. She made a gesture with her hand, and the papers on Marcus's desk swirled into a mini-tornado for a second before settling back down. She pointed at the door, signaling that she was going to get reinforcements.
She exited with the dignity of a scorned empress.
"You're killing bugs while we discuss our future?" Raina asked, sounding amused now. "You really haven't changed. You're still the most unromantic man I've ever met."
"I'm practical," Marcus said, wiping sweat from his brow. "And if you come up here, you need to know... the situation is complicated. The geology. It's not just rocks moving."
"I like complicated," Raina purred. "And I'm good at fixing things. Remember the embassy in Cairo? I fixed that."
"You blew up the east wing," Marcus reminded her.
"I fixed the problem," she corrected. "The building was collateral."
The door flew open with a bang.
It wasn't a sneak attack this time. It was a breach.
Eira stood in the doorway. The Valkyrie—or near enough to one—filled the frame. She was not wearing her armor. She was wearing a towel. A very small, very white towel that was struggling to contain her athletic, muscular frame. Her blonde hair was wet, slicked back, giving her a severe, intense look.
She marched into the room like she was storming a beachhead.
"Marcus," she barked. She didn't whisper. She didn't try to be seductive. She was simply, overwhelmingly present.
"Who is that?" Raina asked. "That didn't sound like a waitress."
"Plumber," Marcus said, his voice cracking. "Pipes burst. Water everywhere."
Eira stopped in front of him. She looked down at him with crossed arms. The towel slipped a fraction of an inch. She grabbed the arms of his chair and leaned down, bringing her face inches from his. She smelled of soap and fury.
"She is the poison," Eira whispered, her voice a low growl. "Disconnect the line, Marcus. Or I will sever it with my teeth."
"I'm wrapping it up," Marcus hissed at her, covering the phone.
"Wrap it up faster," Eira commanded. She spun the chair around so he was facing away from the desk. She then straddled his lap, facing him.
Marcus's eyes widened. "Eira, get off!"
"No," she said stubbornly. She wrapped her powerful legs around his waist and locked her ankles. She placed her hands on his shoulders. "You are distressed. I am providing tactical comfort."
"Tactical comfort?" Marcus squeaked.
"Marcus, what the hell is going on over there?" Raina's voice was getting suspicious. "I hear wrestling."
"Just... struggling with the pipes," Marcus gasped. Eira began to bounce slightly, testing the chair's hydraulics, or perhaps testing Marcus's resolve. She leaned forward and nipped at his earlobe, not gently.
"Ow!" Marcus yelled.
"Did the pipe bite you?" Raina asked dryly.
"Sharp metal," Marcus said. He tried to push Eira off, but she was immovable. She was a statue of muscle and determination. She began to run her hands through his hair, messing it up, scratching his scalp with her fingernails. It felt fantastic, which was the problem.
"Look, Raina," Marcus said, trying to focus on the ceiling tiles while Eira began to kiss his neck, moving lower toward his collarbone. "If you want to come up, come up. I can use the help. But I have to go. The... water is rising."
Eira pulled back and looked him in the eye. She smirked, a dangerous, triumphant expression. She leaned in close to the phone, which was still pressed to Marcus's ear.
"Glub, glub," Eira whispered.
"What?" Raina asked.
" nothing!" Marcus shouted. "I'll text you the address. Don't bring any weapons across the border, they frown on that."
"I never go anywhere without my toys, Marcus. You know that. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Goodbye, Raina."
Marcus pulled the phone away and hit the end call button with a force that nearly cracked the screen. He let his hand drop, the phone clattering onto the floor.
Silence descended on the office, execpt for the hum of the air conditioner and the heavy breathing of the two people in the chair.
Eira stopped bouncing. She looked at him, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. She didn't get off.
"She is coming," Eira stated.
"She is coming," Marcus confirmed, closing his eyes.
"She is a serpent," Eira said. "I could hear her voice. It slithers."
"She's an engineer," Marcus groaned. "And she might be the only one who can figure out why the basement keeps trying to eat us."
"We do not need her," Eira said, tracing the line of his jaw with a wet finger. "We have swords. We have spells. And..." She leaned in, brushing her lips against his. "...you have us."
The door opened again. Liri and Pearl stood there. Liri was holding the tray of tea. Pearl was holding a plate of cookies she had stolen from the kitchen. They looked at Eira straddling Marcus, saw the phone on the floor, and smiled.
"Mission accomplished?" Liri asked, arching a perfect eyebrow.
"The line is severed," Eira confirmed, climbing off Marcus with a grunt of effort. She adjusted her towel, which had perilously loosened during the tactical maneuver.
Marcus slumped in his chair. He looked at the three of them—the beautiful, terrifying, impossible women who had taken over his life.
"You guys are the worst," Marcus muttered. "The absolute worst."
"We love you too, boss," Pearl chirped, skipping into the room and shoving a cookie into his mouth.
Marcus chewed the cookie. It was oatmeal raisin. He hated oatmeal raisin.
"Get out," Marcus said, though there was no heat in it. "All of you. I have to prepare."
"Prepare for what?" Liri asked, setting the tea down.
"For the shark in the dress suit," Marcus said, looking at the dead phone. "And for the lies I'm going to have to tell her to keep her from shooting all of you."
The girls exchanged glances. They didn't look worried. They looked like cats who had just spotted a new mouse.
"Let her come," Eira said, cracking her knuckles. "We will be on our best behavior."
"That," Marcus said, picking up his aspirin bottle, "is exactly what I'm afraid of."