Smalls. Among monster hunters, we're celebrities. My grandfather led the team who killed the giant spiders that took over Grand Central Station back in the 50s. My father saved a school bus full of middle-schoolers from a gang of pigmen. Costed him a few fingers and an ear, but added to the family mythos. Me? I became a courier in a mailroom.

"Mr. Smalls, are you listening?"

I look away from the window and the receding city behind us. The two men sitting across from me wear identical black business suits and sunglasses. Standard issue government agency uniforms. They'd introduced themselves as Agents Holmes and Watson. I'd laughed hysterically, thinking my supervisor had put them up to it. When no one seemed to find it funny, I'd sobered up real quick.

"I asked whether you are listening, Mr. Smalls." This is Watson. Tall, blond hair, square-jawed, and as friendly as a colony of fire ants in your boxers. He doesn't smile, doesn't joke. I bet he always chews his aspirin.

"I... I was distracted," I admit. "Could you say that all again?"

The van goes over a pothole and we're all jostled about.

"Mr. Smalls, this is all very important, a matter of national security." Holmes is thin with a thick gray beard. He tries to appeal to my sense of patriotism as if I haven't spent my life as a black man in America. I love my country, but it needs to see a therapist if it expects to mend our relationship.

"I understand how important things are, I'm just not sure I'm the right man for this."

"You volunteered for this," Watson reminds me.

"You didn't actually give me a choice," I grumble.

"What was that?" he snaps. Watson never smiles, and he seems ready to wring my neck at the drop of a hat.

"Calm down, partner." Holmes, the peacekeeper.

They're trying to play good cop, bad cop, but I've been a master at reading people since I was a toddler. If I ever lost my usefulness to the US government, Holmes would be the first one to get his licks in. I'd made a joke about him resembling a moor hound a few days ago. The face he'd made told me everything I needed to know.

These men are not my friends.

"Look, could you just repeat what you said? This situation would be a lot for anyone to deal with. Cut me some slack."

The two agents look at each other for a moment. Holmes adjusts his shades and plasters a smile on his face.

"Three weeks ago, it became a matter of public record that beings of supernatural nature live among us."

The public has generally seen monster attacks as freak occurrences or hoaxes. The pigman attack that made my dad famous had been written off as a drug related abduction. Those in the business have always known about the monsters, but the average joe has no idea or didn't until...

"You mean, we all found out members of The Patriots' offensive line had contracted lycanthropy from a strip club in Vegas." I correct. "On national television."

"Since then, representatives of these beings have come before a congressional committee, asking for official recognition and asylum."

"Annnddd being an election year, our friends on Capitol Hill couldn't turn down an opportunity to make friends with future voters."

"Mr. Smalls," Watson grumbles.

"Sorry. Go ahead."

"The AD Initiative is a pilot program designed to assess the safety of allowing these beings to live among us and intermingle. It is a joint effort by the FBI and the SOC."

I chuckled. "The Supernatural Occurrence Commission. I have to say it: They sound like those clandestine groups you see in movies like the men in black or something. I mean a whole government organization just pops up, fully staffed and equipped, in a matter of a couple of weeks? I honestly think these jokers were around the whole time."

Again Holmes and Watson exchange looks. The latter's sour expression becomes downright rotten. Shit.

"So you're SOC... I assumed you were both FBI. Sorry. I'll shut up and listen."

"For reasons I'm not at liberty to discuss, you were placed on a short list of candidates. You and the other volunteers will be ambassadors of mankind."

Lofty words, but I didn't volunteer. Makes me wonder if the others had a choice either.

"We are heading to a faerie circle, where we will meet your host family. As discussed, you will live with them for a year with biweekly check-ins where you will be given a physical and psychiatric evaluation."

"I hope it's less intrusive than-"

The way Watson leans forward, makes the words escape me.

"It's just the doctor damn near put his whole hand up my-"

"Mr. Smalls."

"I'm sure he was feeling around for my lunch."

Watson grabs me with a hand meant to fight bears. I'm so glad he's not a doctor. He tightens his grip and I squeak like a chew toy.

"Wait. Locke, calm down. We're supposed to brief him and escort him to the rendezvous point, not hurt him."

"Wait, your name is Locke Watson? Please tell me yours is John Holmes."

Holmes looks away, tugging on his collar.

"I can't believe it. Actually, I don't believe it."

"Mr. Smalls, focus. Fine. Yes, my given name is Jonathan. Curiosity sated? Good!" I am pissing them both off. "There are rules you will need to follow once you cross the veil into the LN. We've been assured you can drink the water and many of the supernaturals eat the same kinds of foods we do. So we're not worried about your nutrition, however, refrain from consuming too many items you can't identify. We're still negotiating an FDA survey. As of right now, we don't know what exotic food from the other side will do to you."

"Shut him up, I hope." Watson wipes his sweaty palm on me and leans back. The absence of his hand is nearly as heavy as the weight of it.

I have a few questions, but I give him this small victory while I chew over everything. Pun intended.

"No drugs or alcohol. Like the food, we aren't sure what effect they will have on you. No traveling without your host family." Holmes pulls an index card out of his breast pocket and scans the blocky writing. "You'll be expected to participate in any cultural activities the hosts and the locals engage in and you'll be required to make yourself a useful if not valuable part of the household."

"It sounds like I'm some kind of foreign exchange student," I observe.

"It's exactly like that."

The driver speaks for the first time since Holmes and Watson collected me from my apartment. "We'll reach the rendezvous point in five minutes."

"Five minutes. Copy," Watson responds.

"Copy," Holmes repeats.

"Wait, am I- Copy!" I shout a bit too loud.

The two agents look at me like I'm an idiot. Even the driver shakes his head in the rear view mirror.

"One more thing," Holmes says, massaging the bridge of his nose. "For your own safety, you are not to have intercourse with the natives."

"Sex? With the monsters?" I laughed long and hard. Then I thought about it. "Wait, why not?"

"Sexually transmitted diseases, Mr. Smalls. We don't know how our biology will intermingle with theirs."

"Are we trying to avoid a repeat of what The Spanish did to The First Nations when Columbus led them here?"

"That and we're trying to avoid your dick falling off, smartass." Watson looks out the window as if he's as eager to get this over as I am.

Statistics

Word Count: 1231

Total: 1231