Hank raced down the sidewalk, his face contorted with fear. He skidded to a stop beside us, his breath coming out fast and heavy. Hard, dark sapphire orbs replaced the vibrant blue sparkle of his eyes; they had changed as they always did with any kind of heightened emotion. There was only one other time I’d seen him this distraught. Eight months ago. When I was dying. When he hovered over me in the dark alley between Mercy and Solomon Streets, willing me to live, calling for backup over and over again until his voice broke and praying to a God he had never had much faith in, making every promise in the book if only I’d survive.

“Damn it, Charlie. Are you okay? Did the medics check you out? God, you’re a mess.”

“I’m fine.”

He briefly examined the chaos of the scene. His jaw started to twitch. Never a good sign. He propped both hands on his hips, his voice clipped and tight when he spoke. “You did this?”

Feeling stronger, I picked up my firearm slowly, ignoring the pain, and slid it into the holster under my left arm. “I got one round off,” I said, not meeting his intense gaze. “The other two, guess I just got lucky.” I warned Bryn with my look to be quiet. “They may look strong, but they don’t know how to fight dirty.” It was lame, I knew, but what else could I say? That a weird surge of strength had possessed me and allowed me to kill two jinn with my bare hands? Yeah, right. Even I didn’t believe it. There had to be some other explanation.

Hank dragged his fingers through his hair, looking from the bodies to me and then back again. “You had better hope none of these guys were from the local jinn tribe …”

I couldn’t entertain the thought of jinn retribution. Not right now. Instead, I walked away, passing the paramedics as they placed the bodies in bags, to the officer on the scene to give him my statement.

About a half hour later, Hank and Bryn walked, or rather stalked, me to my car.

“I can’t believe you came down here alone,” Hank muttered, finally breaking the silence.

I’d seen it coming. “I come down here alone all the time. So do you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to wait for your partner. I’d think you’d have learned your lesson by now.”

Oh, hell no. He wasn’t about to make me feel guilty about this. I grabbed his arm, standing toe-to-toe with him. “I did learn my lesson, Hank. I was already down here getting Bryn to babysit. And you and I both talk to Auggie, to get the scoop, whenever we’re here. Alone or not. I didn’t attack the jinn or go after them. They jumped me. So get the hell off my back.”

Enough of this crap. I left them both standing in the plaza, went to my car, and then peeled away from the curb.

My entire body shook like a mini-earthquake as I drove to Station One. Aftershock. I managed to find a parking space in the back, near the dumpster where no one would see my car. Adrenaline still coursed through my veins, making me feel like some kind of junkie who needed a fix.

What did you do, Charlie? The question kept repeating over and over as I rummaged through the glove box for napkins, found a handful, and then began scrubbing the blood from my face, neck, and hands. The better question to ask myself was: how did you?

I yanked down the mirror, stunned by the red-and-black blood-streaked face staring back at me. I didn’t recognize this person—gaunt, wide-eyed, and scared shitless. Everyone said Bryn and I bore a close resemblance, though my hair was more on the brown side than auburn, but looking in the mirror I saw no resemblance to anyone human at all.

I could be an extra from Night of the Living Dead.

The scent of blood, iron, and tar filled the car, and as soon as I noticed, my stomach curdled and a cold sweat broke through my achy skin. Unable to hold it in, I opened the car door and puked on the concrete. Twice.

My lungs couldn’t fill fast enough with air and it took several seconds for my breathing to return to normal. Once it did, I grabbed the keys, ignored the shaky legs, and hurried into the back of the brick building, heading up the back stairs to the showers.

I didn’t allow myself to think or feel the hollow ache in my stomach, just went straight to my locker, undressed, grabbed my toiletries, and stepped into the shower.

Hot water stung my skin, almost too hot, but it had to be that way. I needed to be clean. Bloody water and thick suds pooled like pink cotton candy at my feet, sliding off my hair and skin as I scrubbed and shampooed until, finally, the water ran clear.

It had all gone so wrong. And Auggie. Poor, harmless Auggie was dead, and I should’ve been dead, too.

Again.

Ever since that night eight months ago, I’d hardly gotten into an altercation of any kind while on the job. Sure, we had runners, ducked a few punches, and exchanged fire a few times, but nothing like this. I had told myself the last time, when I woke in the hospital alive and saw Emma’s pale face: I’d never take another chance. Even if it meant letting a crook go.

So why had I wanted to fight? I’d purposefully invited an ass-kicking. I could have run, just as Auggie urged me to, yet I hadn’t.

Lately, I didn’t know who the hell I was anymore.

Screw this. I should just retire to a desk job. It was the right thing to do and the only option if I wanted to raise my child and be a good mom. She needed me to be there for her. She needed that kind of stability in her life. Not someone who might never come back from her shift.

My palms flattened on the shower wall. I let my head fall low between my shoulder blades. My throat closed, and my chest hurt, but it was the right decision. It had to be.

After I stepped out of the shower and dried off, I inspected my naked body in the long mirror. Bryn had been right. Somehow, I’d healed. I closed my eyes tightly and shook the cobwebs from my mind. When I opened them again, nothing had changed. It was almost too much for one day. A sharp laugh escaped me, sounding awfully demented in the quiet of the locker room.

“There has to be some explanation,” I whispered, studying my body. My swollen eyes had healed, though dark circles lingered beneath. My split lip was almost gone. A few ugly bruises colored my left rib cage and collarbone, and there was a faint yellow bruise on my jaw. Otherwise, I looked my normal self: tall, lanky, and fit.

My hand rubbed my flat stomach. It still amazed me that I’d grown a child in that small space—and that my boobs had skyrocketed from a 36B to a 40C. Will, my ex, had loved every second of that. The memory made me smile.

We all looked alike: me, Bryn, and Emma. The same big, light-brown irises flecked with gold and copper, the same high cheekbones and determined chins, the same lips—you could pick out a Madigan anywhere by our lips. They were full, more puckered than wide. Well, that’s what I thought when I’d watch Emma sleep. We each had a right-sided dimple—except Bryn; she had a matching pair—and straight noses, with just the faintest tilt.

I saw my sister and my daughter in the face that stared back at me, a face that nodded with a single-minded purpose.

I dressed quickly in clean street clothes: jeans, boots, and a deep red V-neck T. Then I hooked my badge onto my belt loop, replaced my shoulder holster and firearms, dried my hair with one of the wall-attached dryers, and then twisted it up with a clip. The tension eased out of me as I regarded my image in the long over-the-sink mirror. Minus the mascara and clear lip gloss I usually wore to work, I looked like the same old Charlie. Hair up. Small diamond studs in my ears. And my T-shirt of choice. The cotton V-neck. I slipped Bryn’s charm over my head, finding comfort in the weight and warmth of the disk as it settled between my breasts.