Clark woke to his phone ringing. He rolled over and picked it up, holding back a groan—he'd only gotten to sleep an hour ago. Ellie woke up more times during the night than any other three-year-old he'd ever heard of. Well, almost any three-year-old. According to his parents, Clark himself had been worse.

Sitting up, Clark answered the call. "Hey, Lex."

"Hey, Clark. Did I wake you?"

"No, uh, I'm awake."

" . . . Right. Well, hey, listen, we got word of a case over in Fort Collins."

"Colorado?"

"Yeah. We think there's a Rakshasa hunting out there."

"Rakshasa?" That wasn't a creature Clark had heard of. Then again, it had been quite a few months since Lex had called him about anything Clark had heard about. Clark had already brought Lex anything and everything he could use from werewolves and vampires, ghosts and poltergeists, witches, demons, wraiths . . . Now, anytime Lex called, it was about some obscure monster Clark had never heard of.

"Rakshasa appear in human form, shape shift into clowns to get children to let them into the house, and feed on the parents."

Clark winced. "What powers do they have?"

"Well, shape shifting, obviously. Speed, strength, enhanced senses, but only a fraction of yours. Invulnerability to anything but brass. Oh, and, ah. They can turn invisible."

"Yikes." This wouldn't be one of the easier ones. "What do you want?"

"We'd love him alive. There's a lot we don't know about Rakshasa. They can't enter a home without being invited, and their metabolism is slow enough they only eat every few decades."

Clark rubbed his forehead, switching the phone to his other ear. Sometimes Lex just wanted blood or saliva or skin, or a corpse collected from another hunter—Clark never made the kill himself. Bringing back a live subject was a lot harder, especially since Lex had forbidden him from hitting anything in the head if Lex wanted it alive. It didn't matter how many times Clark explained that he could control his own strength.

But Lex also paid a lot more for live specimen, and he was making really good use of everything Clark brought back. And Clark usually did well enough with a tranq gun. He just wasn't looking forward to fighting an invisible enemy.

"Clark? You still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Clark said. "And uh, yeah, live subject is fine."

"Great. Drop by the lab, I'll get you some new darts with brass tips. I'm sending the details to your parents."

Clark sighed. That had been the other condition of their deal. Clark's parents always had to be in the know about where Clark was going. They didn't necessarily have to hear all of the dark and gritty details—Clark's mom definitely hadn't wanted to—but they always knew where he was. Again, Clark had tried to explain that he was nineteen, and he'd been running off to save people from mutants since his freshman year of high school. But his parents had, of course, taken Lex's side.

"What's that? Oh, hang on, Chloe wants to talk to you."

Chloe's voice spoke up: "Hey, Clark, I'm sending you more information about the sightings, so you can check out the addresses. Be careful, okay?"

"We'll fly out Sam and Dean if we don't hear from you by end of day."

Clark had totally given up telling them that was unnecessary. "Thanks. See you soon."

"See you."

Clark caught his breath, panting behind a panel in the old warehouse. Why was it always an old warehouse?

The Rakshaka couldn't stay invisible forever. But it could stay invisible for a long time at once, and it could run as fast as he could. He couldn't attack it directly; he couldn't outrun the thing; he couldn't hide from it, because it could hear his breathing as well as he could hear it.

Creepy laughter echoed from around the corner, and he aimed his tranq gun, eyes darting from place to place, only to be thrown up against a wall.

Clark groaned and fell to the floor, darting out to grab the gun before it could snatch it away. He closed his eyes and listened, and when he was sure he knew where the thing was, he fired.

Clark was fast. His trigger finger was fast. But the dart was slow, compared to the Rakshasa.

Clark cursed and lowered the gun. He couldn't sneak up on it if he couldn't see it. How was he supposed to deal with an invisible monster? He'd never done that before . . .

He blinked. He had.

It had been years, but his freshman year of high school, some creeper from his school had made himself invisible and attacked Lex. Clark had knocked in into a rack covered in paint cans.

That was it.

Clark darted out of the warehouse. He knew he only had a second or two before the Rakshasa knew he was gone, but that was all he needed.

He'd seen a convenience store on the way into town. He darted in through the open door, far faster than the security camera could track, swapped a can of spray paint for a few dollars—it wasn't conventional, but it was better than stealing—and raced back to the warehouse.

The thing was still laughing. Clark pocketed the tranq gun for a moment, and just started spraying in the direction of the laughter. The Rakshasa was fast enough to dodge out of the way of most of the paint.

But not all of it.

"Gotcha," Clark whispered, and he fired the gun.

It was almost four when Clark lugged the Rakshasa out of the empty house over his shoulders and began the run back to Smallville.

Well, four according to his phone—he'd hopped a time zone, so it would be five back home. Lex considered five to be end of day, and Clark hadn't called. He'd hurry back and just make the deadline.

He arrived at the security gate outside the lab just after five, only slightly aware of how ridiculous he must look lugging a clown around—he'd done weirder. Clark let the gate scan his thumbprint and retina, and he carried the sleeping mass into the room where Lex always prepared new specimen. Lex was waiting there, working on a computer model. He stood as Clark lay the body on the metal table.

"Oh, perfect. Thank you."

"No problem."

Lex looked down at his watch. "Cut it a bit close."

"I would have called, but . . ." Clark looked down at the creature.

Lex smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Really appreciate this, Clark. I've already wired you the payment."

"Thanks." Clark smiled back, and it was a real smile. Of course, he had mixed feelings about what he was doing. It was weird to work for his best friend, and he didn't like the "safety rules." Besides, the whole concept of bringing monsters in to be studied was uncomfortable, even if the alternative was that they'd be killed.

But at the end of the day, it was a lot better than the life of most hunters. Most hunters survived by the skin of their teeth and lived off of credit card scams. This was good, honest work. Lex always treated Clark well, paid him more than fairly, and listened to his concerns, never pushing him into anything he truly didn't want to do. Clark and his family didn't have to take charity from anyone, and Clark didn't have to lie to his parents or his closest friends.

"We still on for dinner with your family Friday?" Lex asked.

"Pretty sure Ellie would stage a revolt if we cancelled it."

"See you then. And, uh . . . might wanna change your shirt before you head home."

Clark looked down at what he was wearing. No bloodstains, but his shirt was sweaty, dirty from the times he was thrown around, and torn in several places. This happened a lot; Lex had a room in the lab building with extra shirts. "Thanks."