No one should have expected much from a crew going by a name like "Burnt Tongue Coffee Drinkin' Cowboys," but Levi, who had spent plenty of involuntary time among these sorts of men, knew just what he would find when he walked into the nondescript office complex. A good thing, too: He would need the head start.

For the first few minutes, no one paid him any mind, busy as they were with raucous bet-making and heavy drinking over a football game on the break room's TV; this allowed Levi to make his way to the captain without being obstructed. Still, more than a few heads turned his way as he passed through the room, and by the time he entered the office, the half-hoarse whispering had already begun.

Inside, a grey-haired man dressed in combat gear that looked suspiciously like Dickies glanced up from paperwork splashed across his desk, checked a wall clock, and flashed a roguish grin so Hollywood perfect that Levi knew it had all been staged. "Levi, I take it?" The man sauntered around the desk and extended his hand. "Lew Wilkeson. Glad to have ya on board."

Wilkeson was the president of the Dallas branch of Vanguard Security and Technology, a private military company. Renowned for his tenacity and ability to lead, called 'Captain' as a nod to his illustrious military career, Wilkeson was the reason Vanguard managed to remain beyond reproach despite having its fingers in every American foreign policy disaster since Desert Storm. He was likable, just likable enough to trust; down-to-earth, familiar enough to feel real; and inspiring enough to convince men to follow him to Hell and, if they were lucky, back.

Levi shook the man's hand with a firm, sure grip. He'd done his research, as usual. "Glad to be here, Captain Wilkeson. Your detachment has quite the reputation."

"Do we now? Ha! Well, you come highly recommended yourself. From my boss, that is, so I gotta do as he says. But you ain't gettin' off clean, son. I intend to test you myself before we're in the field."

"Absolutely, sir. I'd expect no less."

"Now, for your first trial...." Wilkeson's expression turned earnest. "I hear you've done this sort of contract work before, so it probably ain't a new idea to ya, but the fellas out there, they ain't worked with, ah, nobody quite like you before. You might face some of their... preconceived notions."

Levi nodded.

"I hope you've got a thick skin, son. Those boys ain't trained to pull punches."

"I'd hope not, sir."

"Then let's introduce you to the gang." Wilkeson led the way out of the office.

Outside, the people gathered—mostly men, plus a few women—were pretending not to have been listening to the conversation and waiting for Wilkeson and Levi to leave the office. Wilkeson made his way to the center of the break room, where all eyes settled on him.

Levi followed the captain. He had a way of walking with his back perfectly straight, in long-legged strides that seemed purposeful to the point of art. With his short-cut platinum blond hair, his fair skin, and his faint blue eyes, he gave off an air of ethereality to which he'd become indifferent. His jeans were genuinely distressed; his dress shirt and jacket were also well-worn enough that they looked casual.

"Say, Cap'n," one of the men in front of the TV said, and Levi thought to himself, Here we go. "What's with the newbie? You drag him in here from a soap opera?"

"You know? I thought we recruited from the military, not frat row," another added.

Levi tilted his head back in a silent, mocking laugh.

"Now, fellas," Wilkeson chided. "This here's Levi. He's a contractor for our next mission, which is gonna be critical. Play nice, all right?"

"Oh," the first guy said. "He's the wizard."

"Warlock," Levi corrected.

The guy shrugged. "Who cares?"

Levi's lips curled upward, exposing his teeth. "You should."

"Look, Hector, man," a third man said to the first. "You heard what the Cap'n said. We gotta play all nice-like. You know our new contractor has feelings. We sho' can't hurt them, now can we? That'd be unconscionable."

"Stay in your lane, techie," Hector replied. "We ain't square yet. You keep talking, you'll be the one gotta do Levi's makeup for him."

The men laughed.

"Hector, cool it," Wilkeson warned. "We need a mage for this mission. As you well know, Vanguard doesn't keep mages on staff. That's why we've got Levi here. If you fuck this up by pissing him off, I'ma let him drop your ass in his cauldron."

"Oh, shit," a fourth guy said. "A mission that needs magic? Does that mean we get to kill pansies and creepers?"

Levi decided not to frown. He was used to hearing such coarse language—derogatory terms for Gifteds and nonhumans. Gifteds were ordinary people whose genetics lent them superhuman abilities, and the term "nonhumans" referred to just about everyone else—werewolves, vampires, faeries, and creatures less adaptable to pop culture.

As a warlock, Levi was technically human; he just happened to have an affinity for magick. But he was well aware that to the humans who filled this room, he was very much a "creeper."

And that they would relish an opportunity to kill his kind.

"This is a recon mission," Wilkeson replied, and he was pelted with boos. "Which is why I'm not bringing all of y'all! Just a group of five, not counting Levi and myself."

Hector nodded at Levi. "He already read in on it?"

Wilkeson gestured that he was.

"Wow... then I hope I ain't on your team of five." Hector leaned back in his seat, propped his feet up on the coffee table, and returned his attention to the football game.

With a slight wave of his hand, more for visual effect than for utility, Levi cut off the signal to the TV.

All eyes turned to glare at the mage.

"Well," Hector said as he pulled himself up to his feet and cracked his knuckles. "Guess I'll have to entertain myself by punching your face in."

"Welcome to try," Levi drawled.

Hector raised his fist, but Wilkeson leaned forward. "If you insist on making an ass of yourself and possibly throwing us all under the bus, Hector, at least take it to the gym."

The big man shrugged but complied. Levi followed him, and nearly everyone else in the room filtered into the gym as well. More a "fitness center" than a proper gym, that room included the requisite running and spinning and rowing machines, a small boxing ring, and an unused space for yoga.

Levi tucked his hands into his jeans and waited in the middle of the open space. "You sure you don't need your wand?" Hector needled, circling him.

"Pretty sure." Levi smirked.

Hector threw a mighty punch, clean and direct. By all measures, the blow should have broken Levi's nose, if not knocked him down completely. But there was a mild flash of colors instead, giving away the energy barrier that Levi had called up around himself, and instead he merely tripped backwards a bit before righting himself.

It took Hector four punches before he overpowered the shield. The last one finally bruised Levi's cheek and swung his head to one side. Recovering, Levi dropped into a sweeping kick and disrupted Hector's balance, then used the moment of confusion to punch the man in the gut and follow with an uppercut. Hector stumbled back and fell.

Swearing erupted around them, and a tall, reedy man jumped forward, coming from Levi's left. Levi did not see him and only sensed him right before the man bowled into him. Both men fell over, and the reedy man pinned Levi, throwing free punches at his face. Fortunately for Levi, the reedy man was not nearly as powerful or as well-trained as Hector.

After a few blows, Levi managed to grab both of the man's arms, cross them, and flip him away. Hector was getting up then, and the two men both came at Levi. Two other men and a woman joined the fray as well. By keeping his back to one wall, Levi was able to keep them from surrounding and overpowering him, but he was purely on the defensive, blocking and weaving among blows, blunting hits to his head and chest but taking the ones issued to his stomach.

Wilkeson watched from the other side of the room, leaning against the opposite wall.

Levi threw his weight against the reedy man's right side and was able to break through the press. Then, keeping light on his feet, he engaged his five opponents one on one or sometimes two, and by focusing on their weak points, he was able to knock each of them down at least once.

Soon, though, nearly all two dozen Coffee Drinkin' Cowboys were throwing punches and kicks at Levi, sometimes shoving each other aside to get hits in on the mage, and that was more than he could handle by hand. Murmuring a retrieval spell as he dodged hits, he reached his hand forward, and a wooden staff formed in it. He swung the staff in an arc in front of him, creating a blast of energy that pushed everyone back.

The men who were charging him at the moment all flew backwards. Some of them tumbled into their peers. A few made it through, only to be battered back by a gust of wind. In the moment of respite, Levi raised his staff and summoned two dozen shadow demons to battle on his behalf. As they engaged the men and women, Levi sent his staff away, tucked his hands into his pockets, and sauntered over to join Wilkeson at the other wall.

"Y'know, you're really puttin' a hurtin' on my boys," Wilkeson remarked with a faint smirk.

"They put a hurtin' on me." Levi flashed a grin. "Your Hector broke one of my ribs—right here, I think. I already healed it. I'll heal their wounds too. Just need to rest my magic a bit."

Wilkeson nodded. "Well, what do you think?"

"I think, barring any surprises, this mission is in the bag."

"And the odds of surprises...?"

"We'll face at least a few."

The demons dissipated. The fighters spent a few moments in confusion and then breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Once the dust and the magic settled, Levi flicked a healing spell over the room, and everyone present—Wilkeson included—felt their bodies repair and improve to peak health. Wilkeson looked astonished.

"We should get started," Levi said, his tone returning to that of perpetual boredom. He leaned off of the wall and strode back to the break room. Wilkeson followed at a distance.

"You. You. You. You—" Levi pointed at four people, the last of whom was Hector. "Come with me."

Still dazed by the shows of magic, the four men trailed Levi into the hallway. "What even the fuck was that?" Hector demanded. "Callin' up fuckin' demons? That's cheap shit, man."

"To be fair," the techie from earlier commented, "we kinda jumped on him with the full force of our present staff."

Hector snorted. "That's not even the same thing. He knew what he was getting into."

"And we knew he was a mage."

"Your point?"

The techie chuckled but did not reply. He knew when he was in one of Hector's unwinnable logic battles.

The small group filed into the break room, now almost docile. Not a soul among them missed the fact that they'd played right into Levi's plan for them from the start. He'd known who would be on the team with him, and he'd tested them, just as he was being tested by Wilkeson.

Levi pointed at a woman who was sitting alone on a sofa, reading a book. "You. Briefing."

They entered a small, noise-dampened conference room. Wilkeson closed the door behind them. Half a dozen chairs were set in a semicircle on the cold tiled floor, with a cart bearing a projector at the top of the arc. A small table bore a tall stack of manila folders and a cluster of flash drives. The lights were dimmed to none; only the projector's flickering beam provided any respite from the dark. Everyone felt at home.

"Take your seats," Levi said. "Let's talk about outer space."