This is a series of short stories, detailing the adventures of Chelsea Childling. You can start with her origin story or pick something from the index.
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Rita’s haunt sat full as the dusk rolled towards dawn. More monster hunters trickled in as their fights finished. Some looking to get paid, some looking to get drunk. Chelsea was looking to get going. She just had to wait until Rita had some time to talk.

So she waited at her favorite table, tucked away in the corner. She liked watching people as much as she hated being in a crowd. When a chair scraped the floor beside her, she turned, ready to do battle for her ability to sit alone.

All annoyance fled as she looked into deep brown eyes under unruly dark curls. “Morgan!” She flung herself at her former hunting partner. “I thought you were out of town.”

Morgan squeezed her back. “I was. Just got in.”

“You missed a fairy hunt with Bart and George.”

Morgan chuckled and joined Chelsea at the table. “That’s a damn shame.”

“So where were you?”

“Ohio.” The answer was short and hot.

Chelsea nodded. Morgan had family in Ohio. “So… not a good trip, then?”

Eyes searching the ceiling, Morgan took some time answering. “I finally came out to my mom.” Chelsea grabbed Morgan’s hand, but said nothing. Eventually, Morgan started talking. “Of course, I’m ‘confused’, and fell in with a bad crowd here. They are encouraging my ‘delusions of gender.’”

“And the monster hunting?”

“Yeah…” Morgan took a took a drink of beer. “Didn’t even try to get into that with her. She already thinks I’m crazy cause I’m trans.”

A sympathetic chuckle rose in Chelsea. “I never told Sister Mary Clarence either, for about the same reason.”

“Really?” The intrigue in Morgan’s voice was enough for Chelsea.

“Yup. I had a history, suicide attempt, depression, anxiety, stay at a mental hospital. I was not about to say anything about real monsters.”

Morgan sighed. “Yeah, I can see that being a significant factor.” They drank in silence for a while. Finally, Morgan rubbed at tired eyes. “I just, that thing with my mom… I’m so accepted here. Like nobody, and I mean nobody bats an eye at me. I want gender neutral pronouns, cool. I want to change those to specific pronouns, no big deal. Not one person has asked about surgery, or–”

Chelsea waited, but Morgan seemed to be done with words. “You find a new partner yet?”

A shrug set dark curls to dancing. “Bart and George mostly. I mean, people are cool, but I know them. Even if Bart does switch up using male to female to gender neutral on me.”

“Really?” Chelsea tried not to laugh, but Morgan’s smile meant she mostly failed.

“Yeah, he’s not all clear if I’m male-to-female or female-to-male, and honestly, I think it’s legit because he could not care less. He’s just happy to have a young hunter listening to him.”

Chelsea waved a hand at her former partner, indicating the baggy, nondescript clothes, and messy bobbed hair. “It’s not like you help in that department.”

A glint of anger ignited in Morgan’s dark eyes. “Good. It’s nobody’s fucking business, and I’ll let them know when I’m ready for it to be.”

Unable to stop herself, Chelsea stood and threw her arms around Morgan. “Damn right.” She sat back down. “Though, to be honest, I think it’s good you feel safe here. Safe enough to demand pronouns, anyway.” She sipped at her beer. “Which ones you using these days?”

“As of this weekend, back to gender neutral.” Morgan frowned at the ceiling. “After talking to Mom, I kinda want the safety of uncertainty.”

“Cool. I think I might be weirded out thinking of you as–”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “I am.”

“I know.” Chelsea touched her chest. “That’s my issue. Not yours. You present yourself a certain way, and that’s how you are, to me. You’re just… Morgan.”

Tears rose in Morgan’s eyes, but none fell. “That’s… Like I know who I want to be, but that’s not all that I am. I never, ever wanted to be defined by my body. I don’t see how or why that has to change just because I’m changing my body. I really don’t see how my gender matters to anybody who isn’t me.”

She clinked her beer against Morgan’s. “It never mattered to me, and still doesn’t. Or to Bart, like literally.”

Morgan found a weak smile. “Or to George or Rita or Jim.”

“Jim?”

The smile faltered completely. “My old partner, Rita’s grandson.”

Once more, she waited in silence. Morgan hated talking almost as much as Chelsea did, but sometimes, you had to help your partner get stuff off their chest. Even if you didn’t hunt together anymore.

Morgan picked at the red and black label on the beer. “My dad, he was killed. A reaver.” Morgan sucked in a deep breath. “And, of course, nobody believed me when I said it was a vampire. I thought I was going insane. But then I met Jim. He was hunting reavers, not that I knew it, but he believed me.” Chelsea waited for Morgan to finish draining the bottle. “And not just about the monster. He believed in me, in who I knew I was and wanted to be. He didn’t just let me be me, he encouraged it. He took me to the clinic to get meds, he…”

“He loved you.” It hurt to say, given her current situation with Jackson and Amber.

Morgan finally wiped at overflowing eyes. “Yeah, he loved me. It was an amazing few months, best in my life. And then those fucking melon-heads…”

They sat in mutual silence for a few moments, then Chelsea grabbed their empties and headed for the bar. Morgan seemed to appreciate being left alone.

Rita herself came to take Chelsea’s bottles, a long, grey braid hanging over one shoulder. “Been trying to git over to ya’. Helluva night though.”

“I figured.”

“I got a job fer ya. Out in Missouri.”

She nodded. “Great. Text me the details. I want to spend some time with Morgan.”

Rita broke into a wide grin. “Morgan, huh? Well, if ya need a place to stay fer a few days, so you can see Morgan, I can help ya out.”

“And the job?”

“Can wait until yer done.”

Chelsea leaned on the bar. “Why you old busy-body.”

“Who you callin’ old, girlie?”

“The busy-body playing match-maker.”

Rita snorted. “Yeah, I’m nebby, and Morgan is one a’ mine, who don’t smile much unless yer around.”

“I have enough relationship issues on my plate. Morgan doesn’t need to be added to them.”

“You ever find Amber?”

“Yup.”

Rita waited expectantly, but Chelsea felt zero desire to retell the tale. She bricked up the hole opening her chest and met Rita’s green laser gaze with open hostility.

The old bartender snorted and pulled out two fresh bottles from the cooler. “Next round is on me. And I’ll git you that info once we slow down a bit.”

“Thanks.” Chelsea gestured with full hands. “For the beer and the job. And taking care of Morgan.”

“Oh, I’ll alway take care a’ Morgan. Fer m’grandson. But who’s gonna take care a’ you, girlie?”

“Guess I’m gonna learn to take of myself.” She shrugged and headed for Morgan, fully intending to enjoy her time with her friend.

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