House of Wyn

Chapter 1

Jennings

Gremlins were the most frequently dropped off kills from the agents. Nasty little things, always stealing things and eating children. They were fascinating to look at though. One of the agents actually brought in a whole body this morning. It was dead, thankfully, but it was the first time I’d seen one complete and not just a head.

Their skin was a soft lavender that I was almost mesmerized by. I was careful not to actually touch it, but I couldn’t help but examine them closely.

These weren’t a species that required reports. Sometimes we asked for details if the specimens were particularly battered, and always if they brought something in alive. It wasn’t often that we received a living monster. Monsters were to be killed before they killed someone. And when their entire being was basically a weapon—claws, teeth, barbed tails, horns, etc.—it was safest to kill as soon as possible to avoid being injured.

The world wasn’t meant for monsters. It was our responsibility to protect the innocent, especially those who didn’t know that the monstrosities were there and therefore could be ridden by a demon or hypnotized by a fairy. Or fall under a spell by a witch.

So in our perspective, there was no room in the world for monsters. Humans were here first.

Arguably, humans weren’t really. Nature and animals were. And humans were doing their best to kill it all.

“Twenty-third this week.”

I looked up at Pansy, a middle-aged clerical worker who had just transferred to this office. She was… interesting.

“An imp, two fairies, and a grell.”

She spoke as if this were the best job in the world. I get that they were monsters, but we handled dead bodies. I’m not sure we’re talking rainbows and sprinkles as her tone suggested.

Instead of answering, I nodded and continued to input the data concerning the last gremlin that was dropped off. This time, just a head and a hand. Why a hand? The agent didn’t give me an explanation. I noted it all the same.

When I finished the report, I bagged the remains up and sealed them in one of the hazardous material bags before stuffing it all in a box. I sealed it and stuck the box into the specimen cabinet in the wall. Someone on the other side would pull it out and do what they do to dispose of them.

Sometimes I think back to the thing that I ran over. That man with horns. I’d been nearly hysterical by the time Mitch showed up. I hadn’t known him then, and at the time I hadn’t thought anything of his sudden appearance. Cops dress in suits sometimes, right?

He was handsome, kind, and took care of everything for me so by the time the actual cops showed up, the only thing left was the massive dent in my car. Mitch had the cops convinced that I hit a deer.

I still didn’t know what that thing was. I’ve been here four years now, married to Mitch for two, and although I’m perpetually fascinated by the stories he tells me, I have a different appreciation for the job these days.

I’ve seen monsters. But my first was when I accidentally hit one as it ran into the road like an animal. In the following weeks, more details of him had come back. It was the horns I noticed first because men didn’t have horns. But his dead eyes were not human. The sharp, nasty teeth weren’t human.

The rest of his body never stayed in my memory. Try as I may, I can never remember it. Just the head. Because it was human and yet, it wasn’t at all.

For months, I had nightmares that the monster was living and chasing me. Biting me. Ripping me apart.

Getting stuck in those memories made me shiver.

Tuning them out, I turned my attention back to the computer until Pansy stopped at my desk.

“I’m heading into the closet to file. You have anything?”

Nodding, I stood and picked up the file box behind me. I gather a lot of paperwork in a week. We’re largely digital but for some reason, they like a paper trail of all the cases and agents, too. I didn’t question it.

“Thank you,” I told her as she took the box and headed into the closet at the end of the hall. I could see it from here. She propped the door open and flicked the light on. A minute later, I heard her phone begin playing music.

Her excitement might be out of place, as mine had initially been, and she was a bit strange, but the girl was meticulous when she filed. There was never a damned thing out of place. And she frequently came back with reports of misfiled papers that she moved to their appropriate place.

We now referred to the closet as Pansy’s office. She was master and keeper of records. Could pull one out without looking for it. Knew where any of the records were that weren’t in the closet. She just knew. It was an amazing bit of organization. Kinda wished I could hire her to organize our house.

I smirked at the thought and once again, turned back to the computer. I maintained the calendars and the inquiry email as part of my job. There were three directors working out of this office, my husband among them. I made sure that their calendars were synced so they knew where they needed to be, as well as confirmed all their appointments.

For a secret organization that most of the world doesn’t know about, they have an awful lot of meetings with political and legal figures. But I suppose, if a monster can parade around as a human, that means killing one could look like murder when really, we’re ridding the world of all the dangerous things that threaten our safety and peace.

At noon, I locked up my computer and drawers before poking my head into Pansy’s office. “I’m going to grab lunch,” I told her.

She looked up with a smile. “Okay. I’ll keep an ear out for the door.” She turned the music off as she spoke.

The woman might be a little weird, but she was a good worker. Even if she considered killing monsters as exciting an event as a three-year-old would seeing a mermaid or unicorn.

It was incredibly muggy out so instead of walking, I hopped in my car and drove the mile down the road to my favorite bistro. The owner was a very large, but super kind man. Sometimes, I was half convinced that he wasn’t human. I wasn’t sure why but every once in a while, I just got that impression.

However, it was hit or miss whether he was there or not. As the owner, he wasn’t always working but doing whatever owners did.

As soon as I walked in, a smile grew on my face. It smelled like heaven in here. I took a minute, oblivious to blocking the door, and took a deep breath. Fresh bread. Chocolate. Soup. Oh, and their pot pie was heaven.

Now that I was basically salivating, I opened my eyes and stepped up to the counter. The menu wasn’t huge. There were ten items. But they mastered those ten offerings like no one else.

“Miss Jennings,” Edison greeted me with a wide smile. His voice was deep, gruff, always giving me the impression of an animal growl. Maybe that was why I always thought he wasn’t completely human.

“Hi, Edison,” I greeted in return. “What’s the best today?”

He chuckled. “Honey, everything I make here is the best.”

I grinned because he knew I agreed. I’d likely spend my entire paycheck here if given the opportunity. “Well, I suppose since I can’t choose between them, I’ll get my go-to.”

Edison smiled. “Mediterranean grain bowl it is. Would you like a drink? Lassi perhaps?”

A lassi wasn’t a conventional bistro drink. They were actually Indian in origin, but man did Edison make delicious lassis.

“Absolutely. I’ll go with the traditional mango lassi, please.”

“I’ll have that right up for you, Jennings,” he said after he rang me out.

I didn’t know much about Edison except that he created the recipes himself, listened to his customers when they requested a menu item, and treated his employees well. This last one wasn’t only an observation because in the last year that I’ve worked at ORKA, there hasn’t been a single change in employees here. That said a lot.

I waited, watching as Edison and his employees cooked and interacted. They took turns at the register. There was chatter and laughter. Edison’s booming laugh always made me smile. It was one of those you know he felt in his belly, tipped his head back, and let it out.

It wasn’t long before I had a to-go bag in my hand, and I was heading back to my car. Sometimes I ate at the bistro, just to watch the joyful companionship. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy working for ORKA. There was something to be said about knowing you’re doing a civic service every day and doing it without getting public recognition.

Police and firemen had difficult jobs. They constantly put themselves at risk of personal injury in an effort to keep the cities safe.

We did too, but we did so where no one else could see.

There were actually a lot of people who worked at ORKA though we didn’t see many in the front. Our job was clerical and basic interaction with the agents when they come in. Like most agencies, there was a distinct line between the top and bottom employees. Although I was considered a lower employee, because I was the wife of a very important director, I was treated differently.

That didn’t change the way others were treated in my presence. They weren’t rude or unpleasant, but it wasn’t like watching Edison with his employees. There was no comradery or laughter. It was impersonal pleasantries and nothing more.

Even so, I opted to sit in the breakroom and eat my grain bowl. I was almost moaning with every bite, it was so good. I managed to keep the inappropriate sounds to myself though, which was fortunate since I wasn’t alone in the breakroom.

There were a few members of the disposal unit seated at a table, silently eating their bagged lunches from home. A director and a couple managers at another table, talking quietly. Their disapproving expressions indicated that they were discussing work. Then there were a couple individuals at their own tables like I was.

It was fine. I took out my phone and began scrolling through social media until I finished. When I returned, I sent Pansy on lunch and went back to the routine, mundane work of logging. Mitch had given me a special project of proofing the index. Ensuring that it was consistent from entry to entry and getting rid of any typos that I found.

I took great pride in keeping the index clean and professional. And it was fascinating to see that there was so much new information added daily. I received many emails telling me entries were updated and then I’d go in and make sure they were professional and clean. But my favorite thing was just reading about all the monsters.

There were almost two dozen different species consisting of demons, fairies, witches, and imps. Some were more dangerous ones that we knew little about like storms. I didn’t know what they were but only that they somehow were a fucking dangerous force. There were large bounties on the heads of two that ORKA knew about.

Recently, there had been a mass influx of new species that the agents have been seeing but they were all question marks. Not long ago, there had been an ambush of monsters that had killed a whole lot of ORKA agents as they tried to protect a family.

I was in the middle of an email when the door to the waiting room opened. I looked up, peering through the one-way glass and my eyes went wide. I barely recognized the agent since he was such a bloody mess. Enormous gouges and tears throughout his body. Part of his scalp was flapping, exposing his skull behind it. His lip was split. I’m not talking like someone punched him. It looked like someone took a knife to his mouth and cut through his lip.

The drastic condition he came in as he collapsed on the ground didn’t give me time to panic or even for bile to rise as I saw so many injuries that exposed parts of his body that were never meant for the eyes to see. Quickly, I hit the emergency button under my desk before getting up and throwing open the door.

This agent’s name was Marty. He’s been in town for three years and was an excellent gremlin hunter. He was so good at his job, that he was one of the few agents who consistently brought us the heads of various other species as well.

“Marty,” I said as I rushed to his side, crouching down. Careful not to get into any of the copious amounts of blood that was pooling everywhere. I wanted to roll him over, to see his face and try to get him to talk to me, but I didn’t dare touch him. “Marty, can you hear me?”

I didn’t get a chance for anything else as hands gripped my arms and gently pulled me to my feet. I knew without looking that it was Mitch. He pulled me back against his chest, my eyes stinging with tears while my heart raced.

Three other men dressed in white hazmat suits came in and rolled Marty over. Now that I was close, he was worse than I thought. There couldn’t be a single inch on him that wasn’t battered. It looked like someone had used him as a punching bag, or as though they’d used him as a scratching post. And the monster had wicked claws.

“What did that?” I asked quietly, hearing the way my voice shook. Not just my voice, but my entire body trembled.

No one answered for several minutes as the three men examined Marty. I wasn’t sure if Marty was living at this point. His chest didn’t appear to be rising at all. If he was breathing, his breaths were so shallow, they were imperceptible.

One of the men in white looked up at Mitch and shook his head before the three of them picked up Marty. A panel in the wall opened and I spied a sterile hallway where they disappeared.

“They aren’t sure,” Mitch said gently, stroking my hair with a gentle hand.

“He’s not going to live, is he?” I asked.

Another quiet minute went by before he answered, “It’s not looking good.”

It was one thing, tragic, yes, when you hear about agents dying in the line of duty. It happens more frequently than I’d care to admit. But it’s a very distinct feeling when you know the agent who was murdered in cold blood. It hits differently. They’re not just a part of your community. They’re someone you know. Someone you’ve spoken to. Not just a name and a face, but a life with personality.

“This is why we hunt monsters,” Mitch said, his voice hard and severe. “Because they attack innocent men.”