“I see.” Mary picked up the pen. “You don’t count them as people? Aren’t some of them intelligent with languages and cultures of their own?”
“They usually have languages, yes. We don’t talk about their art preferences and religious beliefs before I shoot them.”
At least she didn’t deny that the magical existed. Unless she was humoring me. I squinted at her. She’d lost some of her unfazed expression and was tapping the pen on her notepad.
“Most of my contracts come from the government,” I said, deciding that flippancy might get me in trouble. “And even with the ones that don’t, I do my research and make sure they’ve committed crimes—usually, they’re horrible crimes, like killing and eating people—before going after them. I don’t bug anyone who’s just hanging out here on Earth.”
“It’s my understanding that these beings are essentially illegal immigrants, here without permission and not granted rights by most of our governments.”
“Yes.” I was relieved she had some facts right.
“And we lack a way to deport them, so it can be difficult to deal with them.”
“Yes.”
“Are they granted trials or a kind of unprejudiced judgment before you’re sent in to execute them?”
“Not typically.” I shrugged. “It’s not my job to question that.”
“Hm.” For the first time, she scribbled something on her notepad.
Her writing wasn’t firm. Which was too bad, because I would have had to climb into her lap to read her notes.
I frowned at her, tension replacing my relief. “Are you supposed to judge me? Is this like with the pen out there?” I jerked a thumb toward the door.
She looked confused as she followed my pointing thumb, but she recovered quickly. “I apologize if you feel that I’m judging you. That’s not my intent. I’m trying to understand your job so I can see how it could be a source of stress for you.”
“Well, it’s like this: on Friday night, while you were going home to be with your family, a dragon threw my Jeep twenty feet up in a tree. That was after I climbed down a cliff, risking falling to my death, to get in a fight with a wyvern, who could have killed me with her poisonous blood even if her beak, talons, and psionic powers hadn’t been enough. Also, I don’t think my insurance is going to cover the loss of my Jeep.” What did it say about me that that bothered me more than any of the other stuff?
“Those do sound like harrowing events, and I’m sorry you had a rough few days.”
The sympathy surprised me, though I supposed deflecting and defusing anger was what therapists were all about.
I settled back in the chair. “Thank you.”
“Would you say that was a typical week for you?”
“The wyverns, yes. The dragon and the Jeep, not so much. The week before, assassins broke into my apartment and tried to kill me in my sleep. But I was awake, since I hardly ever sleep anymore, enjoying some hot cocoa, so I shot them before they got me. The week before that, I was up by Stevens Pass killing a sasquatch that was eating hikers.”
She scribbled more notes. “Do you enjoy your work?”
“Not that many people are qualified to do it, and I’m good at it.”
Her eyebrows took another climb.
“It takes someone with a recent magical ancestor to sense magic and the magical. My father was an elf. Or maybe still is an elf. I don’t know much about him. My mom said he took off in the mass migration that left the world free of elves and dwarves.”
I hadn’t meant to talk about my family. I frowned, not sure whether she’d tricked me or I’d betrayed myself. When I’d been younger, I’d dreamed of my father coming to visit, of meeting him and finding out what he was like, but I’d long since gotten over that. Maybe I’d speculated a bit in my early twenties, when I’d finally come to believe he was an elf, but I didn’t care anymore. He had left Earth, and I was never going to meet him, and that was just how it was.
“So you’re good at your job, and that makes you feel compelled to do it.”
“Yes.”
“Would you do it if you were mediocre at it?”
“If I were mediocre at it, I’d be dead.”
Judging by her expression, that wasn’t the answer she wanted.
“I don’t dislike my job. I like helping people, and I like challenges. If I didn’t do this, I have no idea what else I’d even be qualified to do.”
“It’s never too late to retrain for another career.”
“I don’t want another career.”
“Good to know.” Mary set down her pen. “Let’s assume that you don’t find hunting down these magical beings, or being hunted down in turn, stressful.” Her face twisted, as if she had a hard time believing that. “I find that chronic stress, which many people deal with, often stems from a clash between what we think society wants from us and what we believe we want. The expectations of others, whether perceived or genuine, can be a great burden.”
“No kidding.”
“Does it bother you that you’re sent out to kill these intelligent beings when they haven’t received trials or a fair hearing?”
“No.”
At least it hadn’t until she’d pointed this out. Wasn’t she supposed to make my life easier, not more conflicted?
“They’re not ambiguous cases.” Usually. “And I purposely don’t get to know any of them. I just show up and do the job so they can’t go on hurting people.”
“So you distance yourself from them.”
I shrugged. “I guess.”
“And how is your relationship with your family?”
“Fine,” I said tersely, debating whether to warn her that she was straying close to my list.
“Are you married?”
“Divorced. A long time ago.”
“Children?”
“One.”
“Does she live with you?”
“Are you kidding? Didn’t you hear the part about assassins coming to my apartment? It’s been broken into eight times since I moved into it last year. Twice when I was there. I have four deadbolts, and I sleep with Chopper and Fezzik on the bed next to me.”
“Are those… dogs?”
“No, my sword and my gun.”
“Ah.” She started writing notes again. “So your daughter lives with your ex-husband?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you see her often?”
“No.”
“So more distance.”
“Yeah, yeah. Look, let me sum this up for you. My job is dangerous, it makes my life dangerous, and so I don’t form relationships because anyone close to me could become a target for someone on a revenge mission. That’s not hypothetical. That’s happened to me—to a friend. Yes, it’s lonely sometimes, and yes, I get that people are supposed to be social creatures, but the only way I could get out of the loop I’m in would be to quit my job and move to the other side of the world. I’ve tried quitting before, but as soon as someone gets killed and I see that the mundane authorities aren’t able to do enough, I have to go back to it. I can’t stand by and do nothing when I know I could help.” I flopped back against the backrest, more frustrated than relaxed by this chat. “I don’t want to talk about my job.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Can’t you give me some breathing exercises to do when I feel tense?”
“There are about twenty thousand meditation and breathing apps in the app stores,” Mary said.
“That’s your advice? Go download apps?”
“Actually, I don’t give advice. I’m just here to listen to you and help you figure out solutions on your own.”
“And that’s what pays for the leather couches and marble floors?”
“Those came with the building. I just rent the office.”
“Wonderful.” I checked the door to make sure there weren’t any threats about to barge in and closed my eyes. A headache was burgeoning.
“If you like, you can try the 4-7-8 breathing technique. Whenever you feel agitated, inhale through your nose for four seconds, hold your breath for seven seconds, then exhale slowly for eight seconds. This helps switch your body from a flight-or-fight state to a relaxed state by activating the parasympathetic nervous system.”
I opened an eye. That sounded vaguely useful.
“Are there other people like you?” Mary asked. “In your, ah, industry?”
“There are some mixed-blood humans who gather intelligence in the office I work for, and some of the police have experience with the magical, but I’ve been the go-to assassin in the Pacific Northwest for the last ten years. There are others in other parts of the country and around the world.”
“Are there conferences?”
“Oh sure, and I get the industry magazine.”
“I’ll take that for a no.”
“Nothing for assassins specializing in the magical. I don’t do hits on humans or hang out with people who do. I’m not a bad guy, damn it.” Maybe it was hypocritical of me to find killing acceptable as long as I didn’t prey on my own kind, but it was what it was.
“The reason I ask is because, since you don’t believe normal humans can protect themselves against your enemies—”
“They can’t.”
“—then perhaps you could forge friendships with other mixed-blood colleagues, people who could take care of themselves.”
I couldn’t keep from making a face. “The guys I know are cocky assholes who are in it for the money.”
“And the magical themselves? Those who haven’t broken laws? Would they not have the power to protect themselves?”
“Some of them do. Some are here hiding on Earth because they don’t have much power. But I don’t talk to them unless I’m questioning someone and trying to get a lead. They’re not in love with me. They have lots of unflattering nicknames for me. They always seem to know what I do.”