There was a time when excitement and new challenges were common things in my life. Whipping recruits into form. Organizing and managing security details. Spearheading field missions to keep the streets safe. There was always something to do. It often meant fighting for my life, but policing supernaturals is a risky business. The mundane world’s ignorance to our existent made the job that much more challenging. It wasn’t a reach to say my job was uniquely exciting.

Poor decision making and policy breaking put an end to that excitement. The North American compound of Custos es Clypeus now had a new Chief of Security. The remnants of my old life were now locked in a trunk at the foot of my bed.

I had gone from the fresh mountain air of Lake Placid to an impoverished neighborhood in Albany, New York. From my double room in the compound’s housing facility to a seven-hundred-and-thirty-two-square-foot apartment. Drab mustard-yellow walls and a grunge-white ceiling were the confines of my new home. My apartment sat at the end of the hall on the top floor of the three-story building. It eliminated the possibility of me having to deal with heavy footsteps thudding above my head. Unfortunately, its positioning meant I had neighbors on either side of my apartment.

“By the gods, please finish,” I groaned, my eyes tightening with each knock against my living room wall. I turned up the TV and sighed before taking another swig of my beer.

Tim and Jessie were at it again and right in the middle of Cold Murders. I enjoyed watching the show about cold case files. It gave me a chance to come up with a list of supernaturals who could have been responsible. Instead of hearing the show’s closing synopsis, I was being subjected to the sounds of young love.

Thank Olympus, stamina was no longer Tim’s strong suit. I took the liberty of giving Jessie a few pointers from the Kama Sutra. She was a quick learner and cut Tim’s ten-minute performances in half. However, what Tim lacked in stamina, he made up for with tenacity.

A shattered picture of the Parthenon sat on the floor, wedged between the TV stand and wall. I stopped changing the frame and rehanging it after the fifth time their antics had knocked it off. Besides, it was the only picture I owned — my half-hearted attempt at decorating.

Two-day-old pizza sat on the modestly scuffed coffee table I bought from a thrift shop. I sat on a tattered burlap couch that was somewhere between green and brown. It only had a few tears, which was good, considering it came from a yard sale. Even my bedroom set came from the thrift shop. The only thing I actually shelled out for was my mattress set, which was ironic since I usually slept on the couch.

It wasn’t until a knock at the door that I noticed the absence of the other knocking. I ignored it and stood to go grab another beer from the fridge. The knocks took on a jolly beat, giving me pause.

“For crying out loud,” I muttered before trudging over to the door.

“Hey, Molly,” Jessie squealed.

Molly. The name still made me cringe, or maybe it was just the way Jessie said it. It had been two months since I’d taken up the moniker. I didn’t want to stray too far from my birth name when the CeC gave me the boot and offered to set up a civilian identity for me.

I could have stuck with Molpadia like some eccentric popstar. However, I was just a common girl living in a mundane world, and commoners had last names. Hence me becoming Molly Padia, a do-nothing Greek woman seeking her next venture in life.

Her voice had a natural bubbliness to it that came off as overkill when you first met her. A pair of tights and a blouse hung over one arm, and she held a ridiculously large make-up bag in the other.

“Jess…” I tried to match her energy with a smile of my own. An awkward silence wafted between us, leaving me struggling to maintain the sincerity of my smile.

“Molly, open mic night, remember?”

“Crap, I completely forgot.” I shook my head apologetically.

Jessie shrugged. “Figures, but don’t worry.” She held up her make-up bag, smiling proudly. “I’ve got you covered, Molly-wally.”

“Weren’t you busy a minute ago?” I asked, closing the door.

“More like twenty minutes ago.” Jessie giggled. “I just wanted to give him a little inspiration before his performance tonight.” She continued laying out beauty tools, letting me know I wasn’t getting out of this.

I enjoyed a brief, hot shower while Jessie rifled through my limited wardrobe to put together an outfit for me. After I finished, I got my hair together while Jessie cleaned up. Jessie got out of the shower and worked her magic.

“How’s a hottie like you single?” Jessie asked as I gave myself a once over in the mirror.

“You put this illusion together. You know I’m more of a lounge wear type of girl.” I have to admit, she did a damn good job with my make-up and outfit.

“Which is insane, because you’ve got legs for days and a physique to die for.” Jessie smacked me on the ass and giggled.

“I have thunder thighs, and most men find my height intimidating.”

“I do a leg work out three times a week, and my narrow ass still can’t get even the resemblance of a quad sweep.” Jessie stepped into view of the mirror and pouted at her narrow frame. “And, for the record, some guys enjoy climbing.”

By no means was Jessie the brightest star in the gods’ sky, but she was a skilled salon worker with a heart of gold. She even put together a flattering outfit for me. It was a white tank top with a plaid cardigan top, dark skinny jeans, and pecan boots with a modest heel. I might just get lucky, after all.

Jessie hip-nudged me. “So, are you ready to get lucky?”

“I don’t think I’ll meet anyone my speed at poetry night.”

“Uh-oh.” Jessie shot me a naughty grin. “Someone’s into bad boys.”

“Why are we talking about this?” I sighed, rolling my eyes.

“All I’m saying is sitting in your apartment in pizza sauce-stained t-shirts, eating days-old pizza, and chugging beer isn’t going to get those cobwebs dusted out.”

“Jess, my life is good as is.” I headed into the living room toward the front door.

“Really?” Jessie stopped and held her hands out, motioning to the room. “Your apartment looks like it was decorated by a forty-year-old man who still calls his mother ‘mommy.’ You only have one picture, and it’s broken on the floor.”

I scowled playfully. “I got tired of picking it up every time you and Tim knocked it down.”

Jessie shrugged. “It makes him feel manly.”

“He feels manly, and you go out and buy a forty-dollar shower head with increased water pressure.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her. Being frustrated and single was preferable to being in a relationship with someone who left me frustrated.

“You can always shop around for the bike you like,” Jessie said with a chortle.

I shook my head with a pursed-lip frown. “My days of miscellaneous sex are over.”

“Fine, date openly and wait until you find a guy you like. Then jump his bones.”

“I’m not into playing the sexual lottery. The odds of investing and not winning are too high.”

“Okay, you’re right. I’m just saying a girl has needs, and you don’t strike me as a toy kind of girl.”

“The gods gave me hands and an imagination,” I said with a half grin.

“Have wiccans gone progressive? Because you’ve mentioned gods before.”

“My religious upbringing is old school,” I said, hoping she didn’t ask how old school it was. I grabbed my keys and headed out the door.

We stepped into the hall and nearly trampled a smoke-gray cat. It let out a high-pitched yowl before darting between its owner’s legs and back into their apartment.

Mrs. Bedley’s apartment shared a wall with my kitchen. I met her pale-blue eyes. Crow’s feet struck out from their corners and tightened as her lips pushed her sagging cheeks into a smile.

“Sorry about your cat, Mrs. Bedley,” I said. “I should have paid more attention to where I was going.”

“Nonsense, Molly.” Mrs. Bedley waved me off. “The kitties are always in the way. It’s surprising they haven’t caused me to fall and break a hip.” She let out a tired chuckle. “You gals going out tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jessie smiled. “Tim’s performing at Renée’s tonight.”

Mrs. Bedley spoke through her smile, “The things one endures for love.” She gave me a once over and her smile regained its genuineness. “Molly, I used to have a shape just like that, in my hay-day.”

“Wish I could say that.” Jessie pouted.

“Not to worry, Jessie.” Mrs. Bedley patted Jessie on the hip while pursing her lips. “You’ll get there with puberty.”

“I’m twenty-four,” Jessie said, her shoulders sagging.

“Don’t fret,” Mrs. Bedley said. “There are plenty of men who prefer straight roads.”

A giggle escaped me before I could stop myself.

Mrs. Bedley either didn’t know or didn’t care that her words were a double-edged blade—a compliment and a slight. Either way, honesty always came from children, drunks, and the elderly.

“Thanks.” Jessie moaned, trying her best to remain civil after being insulted by the epitome of a cat lady.

“There are lots of starlets with the little-boy-build, and men love them,” Mrs. Bedley added, driving a proverbial stake through her neighbor’s chest.

Jessie gasped, completely speechless at the woman’s gall.

“Night, Mrs. Bedley,” I said, bringing this hysterically rude moment to a close.

The old woman bid us farewell, closing her door as Tim opened the door to his and Jessie’s apartment.

“Are you ladies ready for my words to caress your souls?” Tim asked, hugging Jessie from behind and kissing her cheek.

“Take it easy, Romeo,” I said with a forced smile. Hopefully, Tim was a better poet than he was a lover. If he wasn’t, I hoped he’d be just as short.

“You’re going to kill it babe.” Jessie spun to face Tim and hugged him tight enough to redden his face.

“This is going to be awesome.” My tone and smile dripped with sarcasm.

“Damn right it is,” Tim said, offering me a high five, oblivious to my lack of sincerity.

With an inch-high heel on my boots, I stood right at six-feet. I held my hand up high, forcing Tim to tiptoe in order to slap my palm. Jessie squealed with excitement, jumping and clapping her hands.

May the gods help me.