Fall had come in with a vengeance. Most of that vengeance had been in the form of screams of pain and burning, so the reports said. I was on a train, headed to the Greek border. Riddle, the second of one of the more bloodthirsty of the four, one Suspira, had been spotted at a small town there. The town just so happened to be one of the places where train engines were still made, at a secret factory underground. So far Riddle hadn't found it yet, but she was jerking the entire populace around in one of her mazes, so it was only a matter of time before one of them cracked.

There was always one, after all, in any group.

I looked up from drumming my nails on the table in front of me... I had managed to cut them down, I didn't want them interfering with my trigger pulls, but the memory of the perfectly shaped nails was not one I could shake so easily. I still had the strawberry nail polish on them because Alicia wouldn't tell me how to remove it. I'd tried to ask Sylvie, but she hadn't said a word to me; not even a hello. Sarah just didn't see me at all. She said hello, but didn't even glance my direction when I tried to ask.

I'd find some way to get this paint off... even if it killed someone.

Speaking of Sylvie, she and the rest of Dustin's team were on the train, watching me. Diesel was off playing pool in the game car (which seemed like a dumb idea to me, I mean the train was moving) with Dustin, but Sylvie was right there, staring. The presence of Plague to my right at the bar was the only thing that kept me from going over there to ask her what her problem was. After all, I was pretty sure Plague had the remote to my collar, and well... it was Plague. I didn't want to move too much and attract her notice. Heck, I didn't dare ask her about the paint, for fear she take that as interest and start painting my face.

She'd already had her way with my clothes, I wasn't about to give her any other encouragement.

I was in plainclothes and not a Hunt uniform, but the pants were tight and hard to move in, the shirt was just small all over, and the boots went halfway up my knees. It all clashed with my hat, but I had no idea how to make the thing shrink or hide the way witches did. Or other witches did.

Because I was officially a witch; the announcement had been made while I'd been asleep. The Gloom hadn't lied at least, he'd said outright that it was because of a Wyld Hunt experiment gone wrong, and hadn't omitted his own blame. Though he hadn't thrown Emil or Merlin under the bus either. The results of the announcement were mixed.

On the one hand, some apparent sympathy had been generated; they could keep their pity. On the other hand, I'd received my fair share of 'the enemy among us' looks while gearing up and checking out for our current mission – as if they were waiting for me to snap. I couldn't really blame them for that either, but it was annoying.

It wouldn't be nearly as annoying if I actually knew how to do the things they suspected me of, oddly enough. As it was, all the stares and whispers had made me... uneasy.

“We're going to have to do something about that hat of yours when we arrive.” Plague said, idly rolling an empty shot glass across the bar.

“I'll handle it when I get in uniform.” Getting geared up was more serious now; some girls in the Hunt had been confused as witches before, and attacked while doing their duty. If I showed up in plainclothes next to a bunch of hunters, there would be talk. Such talk wouldn't be limited to whispers out here.

“Yeah, good plan. The seamstress should be done altering the uniform by the time we arrive.”

I felt a cold pit open in my gut. My danger sense was going off, with full dread. I turned to Plague and asked, as casually as I could. “You actually bought a seamstress on the train with us?”

“Of course. We can't have hunters looking bad, it reflects on all of us!”

I goggled. While she looked clean and kept, with only her wild hair betraying her, and Sylvie looked imma....immac... whatever that word was, many was the hunter that looked like a bum. In fact, bum was my favored look; it stuck out less, even when in uniform. Do it right, in fact, and you were wearing the uniform without looking like it.

Wait a minute... why did I care about having a uniform made to fit me? I could just pick up a stock one from somewhere, the main thing was the jacket anyway. And how did the seamstress know my sizes anyway? Wasn't stealing my clothes enough for Plague?

It wasn't. “Don't give me that look, us hunters on the other side of the fence have different considerations regarding image. Considerations that mean we can't just throw anything on and go in the morning. If you'd simply stayed on your side of the fence we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

Great, she was mad. I'd have to check my bed for fleas every night. And my drinks for a little extra. At least she can't rot certain things off like she threatened once. One of the worst ways to be safe, but it was still safe.

“I don't think I'll really have that problem.” Sure I wouldn't; I didn't really look all that different – and I'd only been mistaken for a witch by people who didn't know me one – dozen or so times. Not that often, really.

At least it was fewer times than Alicia had on being confused for a girl.

The only thing I really needed to worry about were my guns anyway. It would be pretty hard to mistake me for a witch with those visible. I'd also be wearing a 'generator' – which was only a case; the Hunt didn't want to risk a real generator on me, and technically it should be useless for me anyway. I could feel the connection of my guns, after all – that connection they had to my old generator still there, and something I could feel out and push my new power down.

All it took was a touch. I was fairly sure that I could shoot my biggest toys, too. Well provided they didn't break my arms; A quick glance at my chicken-boned wrists showed how likely that was. If I had any bone in my arm bigger than a pencil I would be amazed. Shooting my normal guns hadn't been an issue so far at least, so I was able to contribute.

My ammunition had been returned and I was allowed to take a few shots at dummies before we left. The recoil had been enough to give me pause, but there was nothing wrong with my aim. Well, at least against stationary targets.

The power flowed from my hands to the ammunition, converting it to the good stuff, and a full salvo from the colts barely caused a dip in the warmth I felt, the lava warming me from the inside like a liquid hug. It flowed like a trapped animal, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, always pacing.

...And I was getting way too poetic. Next thing you know, I'd be writing books or something.

I could probably stuff my hat into the generator casing, next to the ammo I was keeping there (since my current clothes didn't have pockets for some stupid reason). I mean, it was armored and all, but the idea weirded me out for some reason. I needed skin contact, which meant the plan of just dropping it back down my uniform shirt and trusting my jacket to conceal it was still on.

Yeah, nothing could ever go wrong with that foolproof plan. At least I'd be able to do that with the uniform shirt; the one I had on now wouldn't even cover the full surface of the hat.

I stared out the window and watched the scenery roll by. Farmland and some gentle hills, mostly, rather dark even in the sunshine. It was kind of a regional thing or something. It made me want a drink. Then again, this whole situation seemed to signal happy hour for me.

The next thing that slid across the bar was a bottle, and it was full. A mojito, really?

Oh well, there was rum in it; that was something.

The next thing that slid down the bar was a book; an old one on police procedure and tactics? “What is this for?”

“To read, silly. You look bored. Go ahead, it won't bite you.” Plague replied.

I wasn't so sure of that; I'd seen what happened to people who read these things. It became like a drug addiction or something, and the next thing you knew you were like Emil, locked in a dark basement somewhere and cackling while you thought up your next evil plan.

“Go ahead, there are some useful tidbits for fighting witches in towns in there. Something better than the 'make a stink and hope she's arrogant and comes to you' plan you seem to favor.”

I saw no reason to reinvent the wheel. “That is what works best.”

“Only for witches with egos. Or ones that fear the hunt. When your prey is neither, what do you do?”

I turned to her, frowning, the liquor already warming, competing with the – other stuff. “I wouldn't know, it's never happened.”

“Well, that's probably true,” Plague stated with a frown, then saluted me with her bottle. “In that case, I'll tell you. You miss. Your prey goes underground and gets away. Proper investigative techniques, more than just asking random people if they've seen anything odd, can be useful. So can the combat section. If nothing else, the section on hostage takers and negotiation is worth the read.”

I drained the bottle; another slid down the bar. “You think I don't know that stuff? You really think I don't know how useful observation is, real observation? You really think I don't know how to ask questions, the right questions? If I've gotten lazy at all, it's because the prey has too. They used to actually hide; they aren't doing that now. The last witch we tracked? She was just living in a cave outside of town, and leading anyone and everyone right to her with her stupid guards! Seriously, the modern witch is stupid. Doing all that investigative crap is a job for the scouts, and they are welcome to it.”

And if I didn't find the strongest witches, the truly old, doing things my way – well, they would come to me, or I'd find out what rock they'd crawled under. I had found Olivia, after all.

“Speaking of the scouts, have you ever given thought to joining them?”

I almost dropped my new bottle. What was she on?!? The scouts were amazing, I had nothing but respect for them. But basically, they were glorified paid informants, people who tracked down the strange and unusual and called in the tips to us. Many of them didn't even travel, just settling down in order to get a feel for a place, and then calling us when a new witch came to town.

None of them fought, their shield was their invisibility; they could be anyone. Their sword was a call to us. Weapons could out them as unusual after all, get them arrested... or 'encouraged' to move on, in some places. Not even the Hunters knew who they were, and mistakes could always happen. Being a scout was gutsy in the extreme.

That said, there was no way I could see a witch and not fight. I could tell, as I met Plague's eyes, that she knew it too.

She sighed. “Right, just not in you to give up the fight, retire to some out of the way place with a hot tub and mountain view, and charge our gennys when we stop by.”

That was oddly specific and sounded more than a little wistful. And the way Plague was staring off into space was a little creepy.

Too much attention from Plague could be a very terrible thing. I opened the book to cover myself; if I appeared to be busy she would go back to spinning glasses around and leave me alone. It seemed to work, though she still stared at me.

What was really creepy was that Sylvie still hadn't said a word. As far as I could tell, she hadn't even moved. Her gaze was on the scenery outside the left of the train, but her focus was on me; I could feel it.

I didn't blame her really, if the view to the left matched my view to the right, only the things inside the train were worth looking at here.

The book was boring. Well, except for the combat section. Some of the way street to street was mentioned was very familiar. The tactics using high numbers of people were rather stupid, it was just asking a witch to notice and fireball a busy street, but they probably worked for the time.

And then I could stop torturing myself because the train was slowing. We were entering the town. What was the name of it again? Radish, radiation...Oh right, Radomsko. It didn't seem to be much, but was bigger than I expected; the sign said the population was just over twenty-six thousand. There could be more than that... but the entire place was empty. There wasn't even a dog barking in the distance to break the silence.

We slid to a stop smoothly, right in front of the station. A discarded piece of paper caught my attention briefly as the train's passing disturbed it. A newspaper from the looks of it, and it was yellow. It had taken us two days to get here, so very few should be dead. And just as important, the engine plant hadn't yet been found out, so no one had turned.

I got up, but Plague stopped me. “Uniform, Sasha, and your hat. Next car over, room 4.”

Oh, right. I took the hat of and started to the back. I wanted some fresh air and direct sunshine, but the rules said we should stay put and watch for ambush. Not that I cared about the rules, but if I couldn't be first off the train it was best to be seen following them.

It was scary how quickly I could forget about the hat. How natural it was. I found room number 4 and knocked.

“Get in here, Sasha.”

I knew that voice. Out of all the seamstresses in Central, Plague had to get her? She does good work and all and worked fast when needed, but she was a mean old biddy. I plastered a smile on; best to get this over with.

“Auntie Adeline, how are you?”

She looked the same as ever, except maybe smaller. She seemed to shrink more every year. Now she was up to my shoulder. Her wrinkles had wrinkles, but her hair was tied in bun so tight it seemed to straighten her face out. Her gnarled hands were working on a dressmaker's dummy... a female one. The lower half of the uniform was a black skirt with white pinstripes, to match the jacket.

She looked up from the sleeve she was fondling, her eyes crystal clear and intense. “Cut the shit and get over here.”

I got over there. She gave me a once over and started around. “Even more scrawny, aren't you? You need to eat more.”

Then she groped my ass. I shook her hand off and gave her my best glare. “You still have good muscle tone at least. Good to see Plague was right about the measurements. I thought she was lying to me.”

“You should have known better.” Nobody lied to auntie Adeline.

She smacked me in the arm. “Well? Strip, we don't have all day. Try it on.”

I stripped while Auntie Adeline took a cigarette out of the silver case she always carried, and lit up.

Taking the skirt off the dummy gently, I put it on first. Skirts weren't exactly my choice in uniform code; they didn't protect anything and didn't have pockets. With my old gear, my clothes would form a barrier; the generator would shunt power through them. But with the female hunters, skirts weren't exactly unpopular; how did they handle it?

“My legs are going to get shot off.”

Auntie Adeline took a drag and blew a long smoke ring. “It was short notice. Deal.”

I was a bit less gentle with the shirt. “Thank you ever so much for your concern.”

Auntie snorted. “Just don't get hit. Rely more on that ridiculous speed of yours. Or wear long socks.”

Hm, she was right, I could do that. “You don't happen to have any of those handy, do you?”

She took another drag from her cigarette. “Nope. Didn't think to pack them. Here.”

There was a sort of sleeve in the white dress shirt, set on either side of my shoulder blades. Auntie snagged my hat and folded the top of it. Even though I felt the pull, the terrible feeling of my self contracting, I kept my twitching hands to my sides and watched.

Auntie Adeline settled the sides of my hat in the sleeves, leaving plenty of space to contact my shoulder blades. She handed the shirt back, and I put it on as fast as I could. Which was a bit slower than I could normally move; Auntie watched with open curiosity.

As soon as the shirt settled I felt better and finished in no time.

I wasn't a judge of skirts, but the one I had on hugged my hips without clinging to them. The shirt fit perfectly, with just enough space to tuck in and not bind at all. Shrugging the black jacket on was a breeze, and it fit too. A glance in the full-length mirror placed off to the side confirmed the guess that with the jacket buttoned I'd look like an undertaker or something. Well, if undertakers wore skirts.

Also, the shirt seemed to do something to my figure. Or maybe it was the jacket. I unbuttoned it.

Something cloth like slapped me in the face, and I caught it. “I did have time to pack some of those.” Auntie Adeline said, starting another cigarette.

I unfolded what appeared to be gray shorts. Very small stretchy gray shorts.

Auntie Adeline took a drag from the fresh cigarette. “Don't give me that look. That's your size. Put them on so you can kick without giving everyone a free show.”

Spoken like someone who had never been in a fight to the death before. I pulled them on to shut her up and put my new boots back on, and I was done. I looked at Auntie, and she grunted.

“You'll do, I guess. Now get out of here. There are a few more uniforms just like that one, they will be in your room by the time you get back, but that's no excuse to roll in the dirt like you always do. Don't make more work for me.”

“Got it.” I was out the door before she could say anything else. That went well, really, she was downright pleasant today. She was probably in a good mood due to the suffering of others; like a vampire or ghost or demon, something like that.

I went out the nearest door, turning my face into the sun and closing my eyes. The breeze smelled fresh, and it wasn't too hot or cold. Even if it was a bit more breezy than I was used to in the leg region.

“Sasha?” Ivan asked. I turned to face him, to find him looking at my skirt.

He looked up and I shrugged when his eyes got far enough. “I had to look the part, Ivan.” Now more than ever went unsaid, but he understood it.

“But still, isn't that... impractical?”

I nodded. “Sure is, but Auntie Adeline was behind it.”

Ivan shuddered; he was even less of a fan of the old lady than I was... She liked him. And wasn't that all kinds of terror to think about? “I suppose that explains it.” He settled on, finally.

I knew how he felt. But looking past him I found a mystery. Alicia had seized up again, eyes wide, and was muttering. She hadn't bothered to find my eyes yet, her own eyes still on my clothes. Behind her, Dustin was doing much the same; I adjusted my holsters and drew.

“Alicia, am I going to have to shoot you?”

That snapped them both out of it, Alicia took a step back, hands out, even as Dustin's face hardened. “Save it for the witch Sasha.”

The or else was silent, but it was there. Dustin made it more clear, by almost raising his weapon. Which was pretty gutsy, since we both knew he wasn't fast enough. If anything, I was faster now. Whatever; I eased off and put my colt away.

“Sometimes you have to act to get Alicia's attention, Dustin. You of all people should know that.”

This scene and these people were boring. I passed Diesel on my way to meet up with Plague, and he fell into step beside me easily, without a word to break the now easy silence. The only sour note there was how he had to hold back to match my stride. We all grouped up, split up into our groups again, and walked through the empty station. It looked to have been left in a hurry; there were bags and stuff everywhere; I could almost picture the milling, screaming crowd.

The town was a maze, but not Riddle's kind of maze. It was empty, however, with the food in the market starting to rot. There was less stuff here, scattered around. Some small pools of blood. And in the town square, there were four bodies, all headless, all cut in several places and bled out. No sounds at all, except for the flies.

As senior and more powerful hunter, Plague had command. “Diesel, Ivan. Cut them down and bury them. Sasha, North. Alicia, West. Dustin, East. Sylvie get South.

We settled into the cardinal points, watching for ambush as Plague double-checked the bodies for traps. I wasn't too worried. Sure, Riddle had done as much before, but she knew that we knew it. So if she were going to spring an ambush on us, she'd have done it before now.

Burying the fallen and giving last rights went without incident. More importantly it went fast; the wonders of all our practice. Plague recited the correct prayers herself.

Then she polled us. “Thoughts?”

Well the mission was still to find the townspeople. “The most likely place for one of Riddle's mazes is Northeast; just outside of town is a huge field and farmland she can take over. She doesn't like to walk too far out of her way after all; she's lazy.”

Everyone was frowning at me now. Plague had asked for opinions, and I'd given mine first. Clearly, they didn't like that. I raised my hands and stretched; the sky was very blue and very empty. It always paid to look up.

It took a moment, but the others stopped glaring and stepped up. Ivan was first: “I know standard procedure, but it would be a bad idea to split up. If we do and find the maze, it will separate us.”

Dustin's response was immediate – and stupid. “Why? It's simple, whoever finds it you simply pop a flare and wait at the entrance for the rest of us.”

Plague answered before I could. “Because Riddle's maze can shift, and sometimes the entrance just swallows you. At least, that's what I've heard.”

I wondered who she heard that from; there weren't many to escape Riddle's mazes. None of us had met Riddle before, not even Plague. It would be interesting to see how those powers offset each other.

“Alright, everyone take a point. Stay within sight, go high, and scan for the maze.”

“Northeast,” I called and started off. No one objected, picking their own directions.

I ran to the edge of town, right where the buildings started doing that petering out thing they tended to do. I picked a bakery and entered, heading upstairs through the back with no hesitation. It was three stories, with a balcony. It was as empty as the rest of the town of course, and with luck the baker and his family – I spotted a stuffed lion and a wooden train set among the scattered stuff – would never know I was here.

The balcony was nice, if bare. There was a small rooftop garden, some vegetables, and flowers. And pretty much right where I predicted was a large maze, made of plant matter. I pulled my mini-flare gun and set it off, just as I saw a flare streak through the sky just to the north of me.

My binoculars revealed the maze was made of wheat and vines, so that was a field after all; Riddle tended to use the local plants.

Regardless of what it was made of, it would be deadly to anyone inside it.

I really didn't want to walk down the stairs. I really hadn't thought this plan through enough. I had a grapple I could use, but that would mean leaving it behind. One of the houses near this one was a two-story, and one next to it was a single story. Screw it, that was my way down.

I took a running start and all but floated over the narrow street gap, hitting the other side easily with a soft thump; the roof didn't even give. It was an angled surface but it took less than a second to adjust my balance and stop the slide. Another small run and I hit the next roof over, making even less noise; a small adjustment and I was back on the ground with none the wiser. I gauged the jumps from this angle; they weren't anything I would have hesitated at before, and not bad at all. It was nice to know my body still worked.

I might have needed a little less effort to sling myself around, but it was hard to say. The run to Plague seemed faster too. I wasn't sure why that was since I wasn't taller. Was I lighter? I wasn't smaller, so I shouldn't be lighter. But I felt lighter, somehow. I set off another flare, showing anyone coming to my last location that I was on the move to meet up with Plague.

It was probably a waste of a flare at this point, but it was standard procedure, drilled into hunter heads from childhood.

I reached Plague first; she was hanging out on top of a carriage house, of all things. Like everything else, it was silent; there were no horses. She was also farther away from the maze than I had been. I joined her on top to find her peering over the lightning rod. A good way to get hit in my opinion, but Plague was Plague.

Ivan was next, but he stayed off the roof and settled for scanning around the maze. Alicia was next, and joined Ivan silently, scanning closer to us.

Dustin, Diesel, and Sylvie showed up all at once, walking right down the road. Plague jumped down.

“Alright, are we ready? Food and water and relief bags all packed?”

“Same as a half-hour ago, Plague.” I stated as I landed easily next to her. “Let's go. Riddle already knows we're here.”

It was best to assume that, and for some reason, I was sure I was right. Well, more sure than usual.

Plague stepped in front of us and turned on her heel, back to the maze. I wasn't sure I'd do that even from this distance, but I'd keep an eye on it anyway. “Alright, it shouldn't have to be said, but I'll say it anyway. The priority here is the hostages. We save as many as we can, and killing the witch is secondary. To that end, we're all going in; if Riddle feels her escape route is open, she's more likely to take it instead of killing everyone.”

Or she'd just kill everyone on her way out; it wasn't like she couldn't do both. I guess there was some doubt about how much control she had over the mazes she set up, but even if the answer wasn't total, it was close enough. Whatever, I wasn't in charge. But killing Riddle would save many lives, so if I saw the shot, I was taking it.

Nothing jumped out at us on the walk over. I belatedly realized our contact for this mission was missing when I spotted the crude wooden smiley faced welcome sign in front of the entrance to the normal looking topiary style maze. Perhaps he'd been smart and pulled out.

Plague didn't even hesitate. I was right behind her.