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you feel comfortable doing. This is leading to
pure, cold-blooded killing. No hope. No magic hit. Nothing to hold
on to. How am I going to keep you from insanity?”
    “ You won’t,” I said, trying
to ignore the truth in his statement. “But Philip will. Magic hits
aren’t real, but Philip. . . Philip is real.” I took a deep breath.
“I can do this for him.”
    Trecheon closed his eyes. He sat in
that pose for almost a minute before opening his eyes again. “This
is against my better judgement, but. . . I’m in too.”
    I frowned, splaying my ears. This was
not where I wanted it to go. “What? Why? I dragged you unwillingly
into this profession and you were more than happy to get out. Why
go back in?”
    “ Because you need a
partner,” Trecheon said. “And I’ll happily donate my job money to
you if it means you’ll get out of this business and get Philip
faster.”
    I paused, stunned. “Trech, I. . . I
don’t know what to say.”
    “ Don’t.” He held a hand
out. “Just say you’ll let me help you.”
    I pressed my lips together, ears still
splayed. “I don’t deserve your loyalty.”
    “ We rarely deserve the
loyalties we’re given, Neil,” he said. “Just let me help
you.”
    I glanced at the floor a moment, then
stood. I held my hand out to him. He took it without
hesitation.
    “ Thank you,
Trecheon.”
    “ It’s what friends are
for.”
    I wasn’t sure that that’s what friends
were for. Agreeing to do unpleasant jobs to help them attain
impossible goals. But I wouldn’t turn down his help. It would be an
insult to do so. As I released his hand, I realized I had been
wrong.
    He was a noble assassin.
    There was no magic hit. Not really.
And that was a disappointment. A hurt that would likely turn me
insane if I didn’t get out of this quickly enough. But there were
magic partnerships, apparently. Friendships. I clung to
that.
    I could only hope that I could live up
to that friendship, and that perhaps some of Trecheon’s noble
loyalty and kindness might rub off on me. And Philip.

About the Author
    R. A. Meenan was born in London during the golden
age of science fiction, but somehow time traveled to the Modern Era
(some say a mad man with a blue box was involved). She was dropped
on the doorstep of a house owned by anthropomorphic cats and though
they were disappointed she didn't have furry ears and a tail, they
took her in to teach her the ways of elemental magic. After setting
fire to her furry cat friends' tails one too many times (final
score – fire: 2612, cat's tails: 0) they called an exterminator and
sent her out on her way.
    Now an adult (physically, not
mentally), she ride-hops intergalactic military spacecraft, combing
the outer reaches of space and time, writing science fiction and
urban fantasy stories based on her experiences. She's also hoping
to find the perfect cup of coffee and a better way to grow
dinosaurs. Humans kind of look at her funny, but she's managed to
make herself an honorary ambassador for furry and anthropomorphic
aliens and space dragons.
    She carefully feeds and brushes her
wonderful husband Joe and the pair have four furry children (which
are really cats, but don't tell them that). She also spends her
spare time teaching essay-writing haters, molding them into people
resembling Actual Students and Lovers of English.
    She may not win the hearts of stiff
military men or students who want good grades for no effort, but
she certainly captures the spirit and imagination of time
travelers, magic users, nerds, Students-In-Training, and fantasy
lovers. Welcome to her nonsensical world. We hope you like it
here.
     
    You can email R. A. Meenan
at [email protected] or [email protected] . Check out
more of her works at www.zyearth.com . Sign up for her
newsletter! You can also follow her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/zyearthchronicles or on Twitter at @r_a_meenan .
     
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