Younger Gods 1: The Younger Gods by Michael R. Underwood

responders.
    Taking another inventory of my borrowed supplies, I despaired at the thought of trying to summon and bind a foreign spirit in an area that had so recently been agitated. The spiritual residue of the conflict was thick in the air. There was a feeling of disruption that it seemed even the civilians could feel, and the spirits would feel it even more intensely.
    From behind me, I heard, “Jake?”
    I whipped around, my heart racing. The tension bled back out as I saw Antoinette, approaching with a cluster of three other women. Two had sturdy builds; another was short and slight but well muscled. They were all wearing multicolored tights, but also wore underwear over the tights in what I took to be a traditional roller-derby style. One was East Asian, one Hispanic, the other black, a cross section of the famous diversity of the city.
    They were also equipped with hard pads on their knees and elbows, as if they were preparing for brightly-colored urban warfare. Each of them carried a bag over her shoulder, and both Antoinette and the slight woman had roller skates slung over the opposite shoulder, the laces tied together.
    This could only be the derby of which she spoke earlier. I’d meant to research it further, but it was far from the top of my priority list.
    “Are you all right?” I asked. Antoinette looked bruised and sweaty.
    “It’s just practice,” she said.
    “Who’s this guy?” asked one of the sturdy women.
    “Customer at the store. He’s helping me find the bitch who wrecked the place.”
    “You a cop or something?” the slight woman asked.
    “No. But I know the culprit. Antoinette, they won’t let me in to help. I need to help, and they won’t let me do anything.”
    Antoinette sighed. “Let the police handle it. I can make introductions later.”
    “I didn’t come all the way down here just to be a helpless bystander,” I said, my voice firm.
    Antoinette shrugged. “I told you not to come. You wasted your own time.”
    I cracked my knuckles and felt my face go hot. At home, when something went wrong, everyone pitched in. When an Exxeven broke the binding circle three years back, everyone leapt to action, wielding warded blades and gem-laden nets, and shouting incantations to force the being out before it could erode the walls and collapse the house.
    Collapse the house . Had Esther loosed an Exxeven? Once loosed, the Watchers had little desire to return to the depths. If there was one loose in Brooklyn, there would be more deaths tonight.
    “Do you know what caused the collapse? If it’s an Exxeven, and it’s still loose . . .” I said, the hairs on the back of my neck standing at terrified attention. It had taken the whole family to corral the Watcher back into the circle and banish it. I was not up to the task by myself.
    “We . . . should talk about this later,” Antoinette said, an odd tone to her voice.
    I looked up and around, searching for the shadow against black of an Exxeven in the darkness. Millions of people in the city, countless voices to swallow and add to their cacophonous chorus.
    “But what if it’s loose?” I reached into my bag for the jadeite. It would help me distinguish natural from preternatural colors, and perhaps pick out the Watcher if it was lingering nearby to feed upon the chaos.
    Antoinette put a hand on my shoulder and spoke through gritted teeth. “We’ll talk about it later. Go home. The neighborhood takes care of its own.”
    I took a breath, ready to make it clear that I was not going to abandon these people, but as I saw the odd looks from Antoinette’s companions, I realized that they did not know what had happened, likely did not know anything of the occult. She had partitioned her life, perhaps stepping away from her mother’s world, only to be dragged back in by her death and Esther’s arrival.
    I sighed out the breath and nodded.
    “Tomorrow morning. The store?”
    She nodded. “See you later, Jake.”
    The shopkeep