"Now, why in this good earth would you want to do something like that?"

Agent Twenty-Three bit his tongue to silence the groan trying to escape as the hidden knife pressed into his side. The creature dressed in black breathed cold air into his ear as he continued. "I am just here to enjoy the holidays, like you. Must we devolve into violence so early in the night?"

The agent released his hand from the handle of the gun, but he did not let it stray far from his hip. "I ain't here for my own pleasure, monster."

"Ah, yes." The monster moved around to the back of the agent, keeping the knife against the agent's body as he trailed it behind him. It rested the point of the blade on the small of his back before its sickly green head leaned over the agent's shoulder—in the direction of the group of young girls who walked not far in front of them. "You are here for them."

Agent Twenty-Three had to resist lashing out right then and there. He was always bad at controlling his temper, but it wasn't just about his own safety this time. He had to remember that.

"It's very admirable," the monster went on. "None of them smell like you, so I assume you aren't here because of a daughter or niece."

The agent could not stand how its voice sounded. So normal. Like it wasn't attached to a thing of the night that lived to eat dead flesh. Fresh or not.

"It's a favor to a friend," the agent hissed, loathing every second spent in conversation with the monster. "A very powerful and influential friend. Not even a bottom feeder like you would be able to slink away should anything happen to his daughter."

"You wound me, agent. Is it so hard to believe that I am not here tonight to do you or your fellows any harm?"

"Not hard. Impossible."

The agent and monster came to a stop when the group of girls reached the first house on the block. They watched the little gathering laugh and playfully shove each other as they ran to the front door in silence.

"Is it the knife I have kept to your back?" the monster whispered in his ear.

"Trick or treat!" the girls shouted in unison when the door opened, revealing a beaming old woman dressed as a toilet paper mummy.

"My, my, don't you all look frightening," the old woman said. The group of girls giggled in response as they held out their bags. "Who are you all supposed to be?"

"I'm a witch!"

"A corpse bride!"

"The last of the Mohicans!"

"And which one is the oh so special daughter?" the creature asked into the agent's ear. Its breath was the smell of rot. Of death. "The witch? The bride?"

The girls thanked the woman after they received their candy and cut across the lawn to reach the next house quicker. Agent Twenty-Three reflexively moved to follow and call after them—but was stopped in both regards when the knife moved to his throat.

"You need to learn to give young women space, agent," the monster spoke. "They need to learn to be independent. If you hold on too tight, they'll slip through the seams."

"Either kill me or let me go. Enough with your pointless babble," the agent responded, his voice a barely controlled rumble in his throat.

"I assure you, agent, my babble was anything but pointless."

The monster removed the knife from the agent's neck. In an instant, the agent grabbed the monster's wrist and was prepared to twist the arm free from the body when a young girl's voice called out.

"Daddy? What are you and Mr. Yori doing?"

"Just a conversation, darling. One among grown-ups," the monster answered. Agent Twenty-Three did not miss the smile riddled with rotted teeth. "Go back with your new friends. Your daddy and Mr. Yori will be along shortly."