

## Streamline Anthology

Edited by Casei Magnus

1st Edition

Mythistorica Press

Lillington, North Carolina 2016

Copyright © 2016 Mythistorica Press

All Rights Reserved

"Adimore's Lever" by FarPointBeta. Copyright © 2016 by FarPointBeta. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for "Adimore's Lever" by Casei Magnus. Copyright © 2016 by Casei Magnus. Used by permission of the artist.

"Charlotte and the Golden Parrot" by BookFish35. Copyright © 2016 by BookFish35. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for "Charlotte and the Golden Parrot" by M.C. McLamb. Copyright © 2016 by M.C. McLamb. Used by permission of the artist.

"Earl Gray and the Quest For Dairy" by Patrick Day. Copyright © 2016 by Patrick Day. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for "Earl Gray and the Quest for Dairy" by Casei Magnus. Copyright © 2016 by Casei Magnus. Used by permission of the artist.

"Mad World" by PandArchon. Copyright © 2016 by PandArchon. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for "Mad World" by HithHiril. Copyright © 2016 by HithHiril. Used by permission of the artist.

"Ouroboros" by Casei Magnus. Copyright © 2016 by Casei Magnus. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for "Ouroboros" by ThiaCrish. Copyright © 2016 by ThiaCrish. Used by permission of the artist.

"The Green Box" by SilentWillow. Copyright © 2016 by Silent Willow. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for "The Green Box" by Casei Magnus. Copyright © 2016 by Casei Magnus. Used by permission of the artist. Map illustration for "The Green Box" by SilentWillow. Copyright © 2016 by SilentWillow. Used by permission of the artist.

"Under the Influence" by Judy Dawn. Copyright © 2016 by Judy Dawn. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for "Under the Influence" by ThiaCrish. Copyright © 2016 by ThiaCrish. Used by permission of the artist.

"Wherever She Is" by B. Black. Copyright © 2016 by B. Black. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for "Wherever She Is" by ThiaCrish. Copyright © 2016 by ThiaCrish. Used by permission of the artist.

ISBN: 9781370532568

## Table of Contents

Foreword by Casei Magnus

The Green Box by SilentWillow

Charlotte and the Golden Parrot by Bookfish35

Adimore's Lever by FarPointBeta

Wherever She Is by B. Black

Under the Influence by Judy Dawn

Mad World by PandArchon

Earl Gray and the Quest for Dairy by Patrick Day

Ouroboros by Casei Magnus

About the Contributors

For all of the intrepid viewers and streamers

of

Twitch.TV

## Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please have them download their own copy — for free — at Smashwords.com.

## Foreword

I started writing on Twitch.tv in March of 2015. At the time, the site's terms of service required streams to be game-related, and as a result of that policy, I did my writing thing while hiding within the Music channel. I played tunes and refused to use my microphone, trembling in terror that the Twitch powers might discover my non-gaming stream and kick me off of the site. As a result, I kept my streams short and rare.

Even beyond the fear of losing access, those early days were gut-wrenching and painful. It's not an easy task to put an unfinished creative work out on public display, much less perform what is usually a very private art before a live audience. Would I be inundated with grammar fascists hell-bent upon picking apart every first-draft sentence, every new word, humiliating me in front of the entire Internet? Would they see through my facade of English fakery and realize that I'm just making this all up as I go along?

It turns out that the fears were unfounded.

Nobody cared. Mostly because nobody showed up.

Well, to be fair, a handful of friends I had made while watching other streams would pop in, mayhap stick around for a bit and ultimately wander off again, and those people were very kind. Not once did they condemn me for first-draft infinitive splits, voices of passivity, or other heinous crimes against English. They were very supportive of me and my writing, and while I don't see nearly enough of them these days, I can't begin to express my gratitude to them for making me feel welcome and comfortable with something that was entirely new for me. In my eyes, it validated the experience.

In the fall of 2015, the Twitch web site opened up the Creative channel and changed their terms of service. No longer focused exclusively on gaming, the site would allow artists and artisans of all kinds to explore their craft before a live audience like never before. Painters, illustrators, musicians, writers, game developers — anyone involved in any sort of creative enterprise — were given a venue to put their imaginations on display before a community of live viewers. This allowed me to crawl out of the shadows of the Music channel and be a lot more open about my craft.

Since, the community of writers on Twitch has been steadily growing, from a core handful in the pioneer days, to a diverse set of writers in both genre and style. There are writers published and self-published, new amateurs and seasoned professionals turning out everything from the tiniest blog post, to screenplays, to full-blown novels. The community tends to be friendly, mature, open, and engaging. We sail with one another in this digital sea, sharing our trials and triumphs, tips and tricks, thoughts and feelings, characters and plots.

This preface aside, all that you see before you was created before a live audience. The stories, the illustrations, the editing process — all of it has been an act of public creation by extremely talented individuals. They gave their time, their creative sweat, their frayed nerves, their boundless energies, all to an idea of an anthology created before a live audience, all without the notion of being compensated. Be certain to go and check out their channels and watch them work live. They are, by all my own accounts, an amazing lot, and worthy of your attention and notice. Without them, this book would be small indeed.

Casei Magnus

August 2016

## The Green Box

### by

### SilentWillow

Illustrated by Casei_Magnus

Cartography by SilentWillow

Gaff lay as low as she could atop the wall, fully aware that her silhouette was illuminated by moonlight. Still, she remained calm during those precious long moments, risking discovery, sweeping the ground beneath her for any signs of danger. The garden was quiet and undisturbed. If there had been dogs, they'd have come running by now — especially after the noise her grappling hook had made against the wall.

Satisfied that no dogs were in her immediate vicinity, she swung her leg over and landed adroitly upon the grassy lawn below. Without hesitation she slipped into the shadow of a large tree and crouched low. Gaff remained like this for a long time, ignoring the pressing time frame her client had established. Given that Gaff never killed, jobs like this required care and attention to detail.

Her client hadn't liked that part of her job specs.

"I want you in and out of there as fast as you can. If you have to kill a guard or two to bring me that box..." The client left the rest unsaid as Gaff held up her hand.

"Those are the terms. If you accept, we have a deal. If you don't like them — find someone else. I'm sure Henk and Fin at the Lady's Legs down by the boondocks will be happy for the work. Brutes the both of them, but..."

"I want finesse and delicacy. But I need that box before it gets moved over to the next county. King Thrulian and his daughter will not stay here any longer than it takes to cement Baron Drapple's support."

"How do you know that?" As she had asked the question, her client slunk deeper into the shadows, pulling his hood over his head all the more. Gaff had cursed herself for being the fool, as such directness had scared the man. She'd been so close to drawing him into the light she almost saw his face.

"Campton is a shit hole. The king doesn't like it here any more than the rats."

_Sounds like a personal observation,_ she had noted. Of all the conversation which they'd had that night, that little fact had stuck with her. Was her client somehow related to the king? Usually, for her jobs, Gaff never bothered with the 'bigger picture' beyond the requirements of the task, but for this job the bigger picture was too important to ignore. One did not simply steal from the king and expect to retain your head.

Gaff had learned from an early age that the closer to power that one got, the more it burned, and there was no greater bonfire than that of the king. She crouched in the deep shadows waiting for at least a half hour, listening, watching. Through the line of trees she could see the huge expanse of the villa. It stretched to either side of the main drive then angled around a fountain centerpiece. Even this late at night two carriages stood drawn and ready to go. Armed guards lined the stairs leading up to the villa entrance.

She sensed that there were more but could only see eight. The others must be on the other side of the villa's door. While she crouched and waited, she plotted her route to the villa over the lawn. She would move around the left side, using the hedges there for cover. At the midpoint on the left flank — the hedge broke near to the villa's side. She could cross there, perhaps swing up to the widow and gain access through that. It was not a hot night; but perhaps one of the windows would be open.

And if not?

Gaff would have liked nothing better than a day or two to scout the villa more thoroughly, but one didn't refuse the sums her client had laid upon the table. Three large money bags as a half-now, half-later type of deal? Who the fuck was she to refuse? Still, the better part of her had cautioned against greed, but her greedy side had won. It hadn't really even been a contest.

It was time to move. She skittered fox-like through the trees and hadn't gone more than a dozen or so paces before freezing in place.

Was that a dog she heard? She strained her hearing. Sure enough, two guards with a dog between them were beginning to roam across the lawn. They were headed directly for the tree line. Gaff tested the breeze and found that, thankfully, she was downwind of them. She cautioned herself, for that could change at any moment.

She reached into the bag on her left hip, opened a side flap and carefully drew out a copper pipe. Fishing deeper into the recess she found what she was looking for, retrieved a small wooden box between two fingers. Carefully she opened the box, saw that the darts were of the wrong color, closed it and put it on the ground. On the second attempt she smiled when she saw the darts. These were cut of glass, having a small vial that carried a liquid within. Its reddish tinge reminded her of bloodshot eyes.

_Red Z._ It was expensive as a top notch whore. As rare as the truth, and in larger doses it was deadlier than a pit full of vipers. It was one of the reasons she was thankful for the organization she had joined. It helped that they absorbed costs like this. In jobs such as this it was worth every penny, not to mention their gadgetry was top-notch. That popZ fella who ran it really knew his stuff. It took a lot to impress Gaff, and she'd been floored by his skills.

With deliberate care, she slipped the dart into the copper tube, took careful aim, and launched it toward the dog. It landed without breaking.

Shit!

Taking another, she repeated the process. It too landed in the soft grass, whole and happy. She cursed the makers for a glass indelicate enough to break in a grass patch. The dog and its handlers were closer than she cared to have them. Another ten steps or so and her night would turn ugly really fast. Gaff might be quick, but not quicker than a dog, and the bows the guards carried look well-used. The king's men weren't some dainty courtiers all pressed and ironed for looks. These were hard, well-trained men.

Taking her last _Red Z_ dart, she slipped it into the pipe and blew it directly at the guard, aiming for the plate grieve. It clinked against the metal and she heard the satisfying snap as the glass broke. Almost at once the dog spun around, sniffing the air around the man's shin.

"What the fuck is up with that mutt?"

"He's picked up the scent of something."

"Smells like shit."

"Devils take it! I must have stood in a pile of crap."

The dog had now become unsteady on its feet. It tottered drunkenly before collapsing, unconscious.

"What the fuck?"

Gaff watched as the guard wrestled with the stricken mutt, pulling on its leash. Reaching for the first box she had left at her feet, she flicked the tiny latch, retrieved the small pot inside. Taking a dart from her belt, she punched the point through the fabric lid and then slipped that dart into the tube.

The guard barely had time to react as the dart stung him at the back of his neck. Yeah, the popZ Agency had the best stuff! Magic ointments that could drop men in their tracks was the least of the toys she so enjoyed. She dosed both guards before they ever realized what was happening.

"Nighty night," she whispered, then scampered over to the fallen men to retrieve the two unbroken _Red Zs_ lying in the grass. No need to leave that expensive stuff lying around. Slipping the darts back into their wooden box, Gaff scampered away. She followed the edge of the tree line, and then angled away toward the hedges. When she'd gone about ten meters, she reached for the spice bag and scattered some pepper onto the ground. If the dog woke any time soon, tonight just wasn't going to be a happy night for it.

Gaff followed the hedge along the left of the villa and halted when it ended just fifteen feet away. Something at the back of her mind prickled and she froze. There were windows open this side, a lot of them. It might have been a hot and humid evening, but only one reason could account for so many windows having been opened.

House cleaning.

Before she had really thought about it, Gaff was bolting directly back to the wall. She might be noisy, but at this point she didn't care. The entire evening had been ruined! How could her client not have known?

Gaff reached the wall, snapped the grappling hook from her belt and swung it over the top. Behind her, a guard called out. Had she been seen? Gaff didn't turn around to look, but began hoisting herself up the wall as quickly as she could. She was over it and dropping down the other side without taking the time to ensure her landing was sound.

It wasn't. She felt her ankle tear with pain as she landed badly.

She saw the small group of soldiers at the same time they saw her. One reached into his tunic and retrieved a whistle. Blowing on it furiously, the small group bolted down the road toward her.

Farther away, more guards heard the whistle. Did it have to be so ridiculously loud? Gaff was bolting down the street toward the now-deserted market, where there were a lot of alleys and side streets in which she could possibly lose her pursuers. Not half way there, however, she saw a third group of men materialize out of the dark.

_Town Watch? Good gods alive! How many worms could actually crawl out of the same piece of wood?_ she lamented, changing tack in a heartbeat.

Gaff was thinking fast. If the direct approach to the market was out as an escape, then she could cut down along Hammer Street, and swing between Paliothian University and the Tatagon Theatre. She dashed along Hammer Street, trying to ignore the pain in her ankle as she moved across the wide cobbled road. She could hear the heavy clash of armored guards giving chase behind her. She didn't hear the arrow as it nicked her left shoulder, slicing the meat neatly as it whistled on past into the night ahead of her.

Gaff cried out, veering right, and began dodging between the theatre's colonnades, to throw off any other would-be archers. Just in time, too, as a number of shafts clattered and splintered against the wall. She ducked beneath a wagon, slipped along the wall and turned into a small alley way. To have this many men this close to the villa this late at night, it could only have meant one thing.

It had been a set up.

That much was all too obvious now. Gaff threw herself against the alley wall, reaching up tenderly to inspect her wound. It wasn't deep, but it stung like a bitch. The blood didn't look too dark in the evening light, for which she was thankful, since that meant nothing vital had been injured. She couldn't detect any residue of poisons either, for which she was especially thankful. Her client had been right about one thing: Campton was a shit hole and even the guards used poisons if they could afford them.

Still, it didn't make sense. Why the set up? If her client wanted something stolen, why double cross her before she delivered? It was time for answers.

Gaff pushed on, aware that pursuit was close behind. She could hear their voices calling out to one another as they coordinated amongst themselves, rapidly closing in their dragnet. Her heart was racing way too fast to continue evading for much longer. She could smell her own fear and felt the first pangs of exhaustion play along her muscles.

The streets were becoming too crowded for her liking, but thankfully she had another means by which to get around the city. Fishing into her bag, she took out two cat's claws and slipped them onto her hands. With these she would be able to scale the brick walls with relative ease. She would have preferred to put some on her shoes as well to make climbing that much easier, but a quick escape was more important now.

"You!" a voice at the top of the alley bellowed at her. "Come here!"

Gaff saw the large guard bolting toward her, drawing a nasty looking sword as he did so.

_Always the weapons,_ she inwardly groaned, _gods above why!_

Spurred by the rush toward her, Gaff leaped onto the wall, slapping her palms hard against the brick. Feeling the satisfying bite as the claws took hold, she heaved, climbing upward. She hadn't gone more than half-way up before she felt a powerful hand clamp itself around her ankle. Looking down, she saw the guard dangling by one arm, his powerful hand clenched around her foot before their combined weight tore them both down.

With an _oooff_ Gaff and the guard hit the street hard. The wind was driven from her lungs as she landed on top of him. His heavy armor saved him from most of the impact, but she was not so lucky. Her world swam and popped as she gasped for breath. Moments later, she felt his strong hands clasp themselves around her forearms like clamps. He spun her around, anger etched all over his misshapen face.

"When I scream stop, yer fucking stop!" he growled before backhanding her for good measure. Her head whipped back with the force, and Gaff felt the blackness drop behind her eyes like a curtain. Fighting off the sickening sensation of her impending doom, she went limp in his grasp. When the guard adjusted his weight to compensate for the sudden shift, she stiffened and propelled her palm upwards with all of her might, driving a cat claw as hard as she could into his chin. He recoiled backward, blood spouting across her face. The guard recouped almost at once, reaching forwards for her.

Gaff dodged the clumsy attempt easily enough, grabbing his left hand by a finger and yanking it hard. The guard bellowed and swiped at her with his other hand. It clipped Gaff against the side of her head with enough force to knock her back a step or two, but it was all she needed to be free of his reach. With a final kick to his knee, she was soon sprinting down the alley. She was almost free of it when two more guards appeared. She was about to stop and go back, but saw that they had not yet noticed her.

Gaff bolted through them. She clawed one across the throat and kicked the other somewhere low, missing the groin. It hurt her more than it did the soldier, as her injured foot flared intensely with pain again. The three collided and crashed to the ground. She was quicker to her feet than the two guards, but just as she took her first steps, a third guard sledgehammered into her back, slamming her hard onto the ground.

The lights went out. She was caught and she knew it.

The guard hauled Gaff to her feet by the roots of her hair, but she was too beaten to resist. The guard — the same man who had plucked her off the wall — now clutched a massive hand around a thick clump of hair. He angrily slapped her several times. It was all over, Gaff realized. She would be dragged to the nearest gaol and executed for the amusement of the crowds.

A sudden flare of desperation seized her. She struggled to grab the man's powerful wrist but he rocked her with a snap of his fist. More lights burst behind her eyes and nausea twisted her stomach as if she'd just eaten a rat.

A finger in the eye kills the most ardent love!

The words of her grandmother flooded her mind like a beacon of hope. Without thinking, Gaff fanned her fingers and shoved them toward his face. The man recoiled, dropping her as he clutched his injured eyes.

_Eyes, apple, groin, heel._ This had been her grandmother's mantra and Gaff followed it swiftly, executing each strike as fast and as furiously as she could. The big man staggered back, clutching his face, trying hard to breathe through his bruised larynx. Then Gaff was bolting down the road again, aware that the other two were following but with far less zeal than their counterpart had.

She bolted east, slipped between the row of trees in the center of Hammer Street and out past the fueller's yard. Then she scampered down the narrow road between the stables. Just a little farther on and she would come to safe ground. She could see the tavern's sign swinging beneath the lantern: _Lady's Legs_. Not her home ground, but at least she could count on Henk and Fin well enough, long enough. They'd turn her in if the money was good enough, and given the amount of soldiers out on the streets tonight, this night of all nights, the money would be more than enough.

Still, it would take time for either of the twins to arrange a price for her, and that's all she needed right now. An hour or two. Enough to rest up a little, fix her ankle, treat the wound in her shoulder, and maybe find out what the fuck was going on.

Gaff packed away her claws and slipped through the front doors, easiest way to get off the street. She saw Henk almost at once. The big bully-boy was serving drinks with a smile of broken teeth and scar tissue. He saw her skulk through the crowd then flashed her a meaningful toss of his head, glaring to the other side of the room.

Gaff looked in the indicated direction. A small group of the Town Watch sat drinking around a table. Fin was standing over them, laughing over some joke he'd shared. She grimaced. She'd have a lot less time than she'd hoped. Slipping past Henk at the bar, he followed her down the narrow corridor and into the small back room that served as a kitchen. A single man stood bare-chested over a sink, as he scraped the earth from a potato. She turned to face Henk as he stepped into the room behind her.

"Are you insane?"

"I had no choice."

"You could have just walked on by!" he hissed. She could smell the whiskey on his breath. "But no, you had to come in and say hello."

"Wait a minute. How the fuck you know about me?"

"It's all that those men have been talking about. Got your likeness pretty well sussed too. Whatever the fuck you did tonight has surely pissed someone off."

"That's just it, Henk. I didn't get the chance to do anything."

"Bullshit. Don't come to my house swinging your treacherous lies! No one goes to such trouble to station a detachment of guards in every tavern in the city looking for someone what's done fuck-all."

Every tavern? Gaff leaned with a thump against the table. A potato rocked and tumbled to the floor.

"Sorry," she said, fetching the vegetable from the ground when the cook looked at her sourly.

"So why all this trouble for me, then?"

"Stow it, Gaff. You must know what you done for all this attention."

"I'm serious, Henk, I haven't done shit. I was supposed to steal a box from the baron's villa, but I never got the chance."

"Which one?"

"Which one what?"

"Which villa? Park or Hark street?"

"The one on Park Street. What does it matter?"

Henk shrugged almost absently as if to suggest that if she didn't know it didn't matter.

"Don't play games, Henk, just spit it out. What do you know?"

He moved to the door, waving the cook out of the small room. He closed the door and leaned against it when they were alone. Henk was a big man, powerful and quick. She'd seen him move in a dozen fights, and wouldn't ever want to meet him on the wrong side of those hammer-sized fists. She was well aware that he was blocking the only exit from the room.

"Look, Gaff, it's not about what I know."

"What's it about then?" She slid innocently toward the rack of knives hanging on the wall, reaching for the onion the cook had left on the table.

Henk cocked his head quizzically, "Really? You have to ask?"

"I suppose not. So what is it we don't know then?"

"Come on Gaff, do you need me to spell it out?"

"Will you stop jostling me around, Henk?" Gaff said, noticing nervously, how Henk's hands seemed to be fiddling for something behind his back. Had Henk led her here just to sell her out to the guards? Had he trapped her in this small room so that she couldn't escape? Gaff swallowed against a mouth suddenly gone dry. She understood then that this was precisely what Henk had done.

She acted first. The onion hit him directly in the eye, a split second before his daggers came hurling toward her. Both missed, whizzing past her cheek.

"Bitch!" Henk yelped, eyes watering, then he was barreling his way blindly toward her.

_Not again,_ Gaff groaned inwardly as she stepped aside, reached for the pot of stew boiling on the stove and sideswiped Henk's skull with it. Hot stew splashed across the room. She got lucky. Henk collided against the table — powered on over it and hit the wall. He stood up groggily, teetered a bit, seemed to recover a little.

"I'm a gonna gut you—"

He never got the chance to finish. Gaff hit him with the pot and then once more for good measure. She saw his eyes roll up into his skull, then had to dance away as the big man came crashing down. He kissed the floor at her feet, face first into the splattered pool of cooling stew.

"At least you won't go hungry," she muttered, stepping over him toward the door. She listened intently for sounds that might mean trouble, but heard nothing but the sounds of music and raucous laughter. She cracked the door open, peered outside and was happy to see that the narrow corridor was empty.

Fin hadn't been alerted to her presence, then.

Gaff was about to take her leave via the back door, when something crossed her mind. On reflection, she closed the door, crossed over to the unconscious man and frisked him expertly. She found his key ring and tugged it with some difficulty from under his neck. She'd eyed the key to their safe once, a long time ago, and now that this opportunity had presented itself she meant to make the most of it.

She fumbled into her own pouch and found the block of soft clay she carried for just such purposes. Once she had pressed the key into the putty, she wiped it down carefully and then pushed the key ring back into place.

"Let's see who robs who now, goat-fucker!" she patted the unconscious man's cheek, and after thinking about it, gave it a solid kick. Normally she wouldn't have, but the man had tricked and betrayed her, tried to kill her. Or worse, sell her to the Night Guard. She felt a little payback was more than warranted.

_Damn, that stew actually smells delicious,_ she thought. She slipped into the corridor and headed toward the tavern's private quarters. She was hungry! She came to the door, found that it wasn't locked and swung it open ever so slightly.

"Fin? Henk? Is that you?" asked an elderly voice.

_The mother,_ Gaff realized. Blind, she knew, and confined to a chair. The room Gaff found herself in was neat and well kept. Comfortable. It even had a painting on the wall, from some patron, no doubt, in lieu of payment of a tab.

"Henk?" the woman asked again. She was sitting next to a fire that blazed and crackled handsomely. _The twins were doing better than expected if they could afford so much firewood,_ she noted. Moving quickly, Gaff navigated across the room, stealing a handful of small cakes that sat in a bowl on a table. She slipped open a widow across from the elderly woman and peered out. The window opened into an alley which appeared to be dark and deserted.

"Dear, don't open the window. It's chilly out."

Gaff said nothing as she ducked outside and gently closed the window behind her. The woman remained seated but she saw her speaking. _Probably thanking Henk for closing the window,_ she mused as she popped one of the sweet meat tarts into her mouth. Gaff walked casually, keeping to shadows and chewing the delicious tart.

_How had everything gone wrong so damned quickly?_ she wondered. Even for Henk and Fin to know about her — and to have set up a haphazard trap by locking her in the kitchen — meant that they had to have known beforehand what was going down. That could only mean that her client was the source of her betrayal. The only question now was: why?

At the end of the alley, Gaff hugged the shadow against the wall and stood perfectly still for a moment. She saw guards walking up the street to either side, so she opted to use the highway. Wriggling her hands back into the claws once again, she scurried up the wall to land softly on the roof of the building. It was, she knew, the fishmonger Piper Dreary's place. Even from up here, she could detect the faint stink of fish guts and rotting carcasses. Stealing away, Gaff came to the other side of the building complex, peered down the street and saw more guards. Any direction she went, she'd run into a patrol. Sinking to her haunches, Gaff cursed under her breath. There was nothing to do but sit. Wait it out. She could try going from rooftop to rooftop, but the clamor would draw the attention of those looking for her. Perhaps in an hour or two all the bustle would calm down. She could move on then.

Besides, she had some thinking to do. Deciding that the best course of action was to wait, Gaff stretched herself flat on her back and watched the few stars that peeked out from behind the clouds. She popped another tart into her mouth, wishing she'd been able to grab some more. They really were scrumptious.

It would be, she concluded, the very last time she accepted a job because of the money. No matter how much was dangled in front of her. Also, as soon as she could, she would be leaving this town. Campton was a large city, having perhaps twenty thousand people behind its walls, but tonight it felt awfully small. Awfully cramped. She had never imagined that she'd one day be amongst the most wanted persons in it.

From her nesting point, she could see the huge Tatagon Theatre breaking the skyline in the west. Even though there had been no show tonight, torches flickered in its hundreds of alcoves. Fisher folk and other river rats used the Tatagon Theatre as a beacon by which to navigate. Experience told her that was the way to go. Hire a barge and sail it down the river.

To where, though? She'd never been outside the city walls. In all her fifteen years, she'd never been but three times across the river. There, on the acropolis to the north, she could just make out the palace's rooftops. All her life, that red tiled monstrosity had dominated her skyline. Ironically, she'd never been close enough to it to know the baron who lived there. Gaff had only ever glimpsed the baron twice. She found him to be a pugly-looking man, with a crooked nosed and dark rings around his eyes. She'd first seen him at the Royal Wharf toward the center of the city where the Courthouses and gaols were.

Just a glimpse — but those eyes.

_What was in the green box, the one her client had commissioned her to steal?_ she wondered. Gaff spent a half hour staring up at the night sky, mulling it over. No matter how much she thought on it, she still could not fathom a reason for the betrayal. She wished she could go back and twist Henk's balls for answers. She now realized that opting to run while he was unconscious had been the poorer decision. She needed answers desperately.

Not for the first time that night, she found herself regretting how she'd never paid attention to the politics of her city. Life hadn't been easy for her as an urchin on the streets. Nor as a 'charge' of one of the taverns, working first as a scullery maid and then as a prawn hand. That was before she had become a pickpocket, a cat-burglar. She'd quickly learned the lay of the land so to speak, paying her tithes to the tavern on every job she took. She'd become a thief almost by accident, but thieving had come naturally to her, so much so that her reputation had grown faster than she could have believed possible. Pretty soon she had started raking in more jobs than she could deal with.

She'd changed tack about a year ago. Left her tavern — The Golden Goose — and hopped onto the freelancing wagon. The income had doubled almost immediately, but then so had the risk. In the tavern system she was protected, even guarded by bully-boys. Under the tavern system, her jobs were found for her, her clients pre-screened. Then, about a week ago, she'd met an agent of popZgap Agency. She'd never heard of them before, but had immediately liked what they had to offer. They had some extraordinary gadgets — some of which had saved her this very evening. Additionally, they'd offered an attractive health coverage plan. And of course, access to a very deep purse.

And all they wanted in return? Well that's the part that had never been made too clear to her. But, being young and stupid — she'd still agreed. And now this. Was being part of the popZgap Agency related to tonight's betrayal?

Somehow, Gaff knew that it was.

"Ya can't be lying there all night," said the soft voice, just slightly above and behind her. Gaff rolled and bolted to her feet, fumbling for her nightstick.

"Easy, girl. I mean you no harm."

She found herself looking at a shadow that was difficult to pinpoint. It stood no taller than a child, shifting beneath her gaze, like a reflection in a rippling pool.

"W-who are you?" she said. She found the nightstick and whipped it out.

Gaff knew that there were those who could employ magic to conceal themselves. However, she never believed she'd ever meet one, let alone stand face to face with one.

"Many names," said the male voice. She could detect a slight accent to it. In the trade quarter to the east, under the shadow of the city walls, she'd heard many different tongues spoken. In fact, she had heard so many dialects that she had often wondered how they all managed to understand one another.

"Many names what?" she asked.

"I have many names. But the one you need to know, right now, is the one that I most go by."

"And that is?"

"popZgap."

"Who?"

"You heard, so don't play coy."

"If that were true, that'd make you my—"

"Your current employer."

"I was going to say boss."

"I'm no one's boss."

The entire evening had just taken a turn for the bizarre. Gaff had never heard of popZgap before she had joined the Agency. Once she had, what she heard about it amounted to some gadgets and a name.

"So-so what can I do for — what are you doing here?"

"Saving your skin, it seems."

"I didn't think it was in need of saving."

"More so than you know. You've been set up."

"I know. I've been chased all over the fucking city—"

"Watch yer tongue. I don't abide by profanity. It dulls the mind."

Gaff frowned, glaring at the shimmering shadow as if to determine whether or not he was pulling her leg. "Any way, the question is — how do you know?"

"Because I'm the one who set you up."

"What?" The admission caught Gaff by surprise. She felt the tart she'd eaten earlier turn acidic in the pit of her stomach. "Are you being serious, or just fucking me around?"

"Language. That's the second offense — don't let there be a third. And no. I generally leave the joking to jesters."

"Why the fu-hell would you betray me? I belong to your fuc- your agency. By all the gods!"

"I said I set you up. I didn't say I betrayed you."

"I fail to see the difference."

"Moot point. But there is. I needed a patsy to draw a certain interest out."

"I could have been killed. Or tortured!"

"Yes to the former — and definitely no to the latter."

"You're awfully cocky for a—"

"A what? Short person?"

"Midget."

Surprisingly, the figure grinned broadly. Behind the wavering curtain that obscured him, Gaff could see a row of sparkling white teeth.

"What you need to know," popZgap said in a calm but quiet voice, "is that you were never in any real danger. Aside from losing your life during the chase that is. Oh, and in the kitchen with Henk."

"How do you know about that?"

"I just had a discussion with him. How else do you think I knew where to find you?"

"Henk didn't know where I was," she said defensively.

"Henk knows nothing anymore. Henk is no longer a piece in tonight's game."

"What have you done to him?"

"What I do to all my enemies. Introduce him to my other enemies."

"You're all cloak and daggers aren't you?"

"More cloak than dagger. As you should be, too. If you want to stay alive."

"That I do," she admitted, mostly to herself.

"Of course you do. Which is where I come in."

"Wait — I don't even know if I want you in."

"Of course you do. You just don't know it, yet. You've stepped into the middle of a stage far wider than you realize. It has a scope far greater than you can dream of — and you have no idea of your next step."

"How do you know that?"

popZgap actually chuckled a little, "Because you've been staring at the sky for the last half hour, munching on pastries."

"Just exactly how long have you been standing there?" she asked, feeling the hairs at the back of her neck prickle.

"Fifteen minutes or so."

She felt sick. How could he have been there all that time and she completely unaware of him? Gaff had always prided herself on her ability to detect people, to see 'oddness' before it manifested. This creature had just totally destroyed her faith in that ability.

"So do you know what I was signed up to do?" she asked, feeling the better tactic was to change the subject.

"I do."

"Because, let me guess. You sent me on the mission?"

popZgap waggled a hand as if to suggest both a 'yes' and 'no' answer. "I'm about to send you on another," he said matter-of-factly. "It's dangerous, to a degree. But it has to be done."

Gaff narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Relax. You can only die. Nothing worse than that."

"There's worse than death?"

He fixed her with a steady, unwavering look. "Far worse. Which is why I need you." The finger he leveled at her was just as daunting as if it had been the finger of death he was pointing.

"Before I actually agree or disagree to anything, please tell me more."

Uninvited, popZgap sat down, folded his legs under him, and snatched at the last tart she had. He popped in into his mouth and chewed it thoroughly. "The short and long of it is this: I need you to be captured so that the baron can interrogate you himself. Then I need you to kill him."

"Whoa there, buccaneer!" Gaff said scrambling away from him. "Say what, now?"

The small figure sighed, "I need you to go out there and be captured. With me so far?"

"Gotcha."

"So that the baron himself will come to torture you — or at least take a look at you himself."

"Gotcha."

"So that you can then kill him."

"Gotcha not! I don't do the killing thing."

"I had heard of this peculiarity of yours."

"So then you know I'm not putting you on."

"You won't actually be doing any killing, so don't fret about it too much."

"But you still want me to do the capture and torture part?"

"Sort of. More the capture bit. Torture, not so much."

"Okay, so I get caught. Get myself dragged to the baron's place, slapped in irons—"

"Technically, you'll be in irons before they drag you to the baron's place," he interrupted. "Hey, I'm just saying. For the sake of clarity."

"So then the baron comes to see me. Why?"

"Baron has a little girlie habit. Nasty and distasteful. Which is why he's been selected for removal."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Look, it's getting late. Time's pressing and our window of opportunity is closing. Will you do it or not?"

"I'm not done asking my questions. You don't get an answer 'til I am."

Showing signs of irritation, popZgap rose to his feet and crossed to the edge of the building. Gaff noted that he didn't make a sound. _Oh, to be able to move like that!_ she thought.

"Okay, so the baron comes, how does he get killed?"

"There's a certain item hidden in your backpack. Planted there last night when you met with the client. It's a rare gem. One the baron loves more than the girlies. It's coated with a toxin. If he touches it, he should be dead within moments."

"H-how the hell did you get it there without me knowing?"

"Stupid question to ask. Ask the most pressing question on your mind."

"How the hell do I get out? Once the baron kisses stone, shit's going to come down. How do I know the guards won't just cut my throat right then and there?"

"First, because you should be in his private quarters when all of this happens. Second, if you are, then that will give you plenty of time to make good your escape. And third, I won't be too far from you."

"Then why not do it yourself?"

"Because he has wards against me littered all over the estate. If we had more time, I would do it myself. But we have to move fast on this. After the baron is dead, and you're able to make it to the ground's enclosing walls, I'll be there waiting. So will your money and a carriage or barge, whichever you choose. They will have instructions to take you wherever in the kingdom you want to go. Farther, if you wish."

"How do I know I can trust all that you say?"

"You can't. But you have little choice."

"And if I don't?"

"Make no mistake, if you don't, you will not live to see the sunrise."

She hadn't expected that answer. Cold chills rippled down her arms, raced toward the pit of her stomach. She doubted very much this little child-man could beat her in a match of speed, but his was not a threat of bravado. He'd said it as calmly as if he knew there could be no other outcome. It was that certainty that she feared.

"Why have you done this to me?" she asked, unable to keep the tremor of fear edging her voice.

"Fate selected you, my dear, not I. Why are any of us tasked to do the things we do? Why do some people such as yourself spend an evening running over rooftops to escape capture — and do it for a living? Why do other folk sell fish and never — even for a moment in their dull lives — dream of confronting authority?"

"I don't know." She could barely raise her voice above a whisper. "But I should have a choice."

"You already exercised that choice when you took my money."

"I don't like you," she said. "I don't like this!"

popZgap shrugged, "What does it matter? Do you know why dragons have spells, my dear?"

"Spells?"

"Yes, why do creatures so large, so wise, so powerful — creatures that can breathe so much destruction down upon mankind or that could, flap its wings and cause a hurricane to buffet a city — why did the gods give them the ability to manipulate the arcane too?"

"Spells," she said.

"Spells," he said.

"I don't know. Why, then?"

"Because it doesn't matter."

"I don't really follow."

"When you're looking at total annihilation, then what difference does it make whether it's via fire, wind, or spells?"

Gaff could only shrug.

"That's why dragons have spells: because it doesn't matter. So, now, what is your answer? Will you do this or not?"

"Since I'm looking at total annihilation, what choice do I have?"

"That's the spirit."

"You're sending me to what could be my death and I'm supposed to have 'spirit' about it?"

popZgap returned from the ledge and looked up at her, "Spirit is what makes us heroes."

"You skulk around in shadows and play games with other people's lives. What do you know of heroes?"

"Miss Gaff," he said. "That's a most inappropriate question. Now, run along. Farther up the street you'll see a large patrol. Just remember to make your capture look convincing."

Reluctantly, Gaff stretched the stiffness from her body, feeling the ankle protest. She headed toward the ledge and looked down. It was a two story drop, too far to leap without breaking something, so she'd have to get down the slow way. Now that the adrenalin had drained from her body, the beating it had taken earlier protested loudly.

"I do have one question," she said, turning back to face her employer. The rooftop was deserted. popZgap had gone just as quickly and silently as he had arrived. Again that spooky creepiness ran down her spine.

"Fuck!" she swore, more as a way to release the growing tension than a means to express anger. She really, really didn't like this plan. At the back of her mind, no matter how she tweaked and twiddled the scenario, there was one small detail she could not see her way past. If things went wrong — and they _always_ went wrong — what the fuck was her back up plan?

Still, she did not doubt that popZgap would remain true to his word — if she did not do this she would not see sunrise. That little haze of black obscurity, the wavering curtain she could not see through, told her in no uncertain terms that he was playing a far better game. She wasn't even sure if she had the right cards. popZgap had even better toys than she did, and the fact that he could come and go as he saw fit — with no way to trace his coming or going — suggested that he could deliver on his threat. Gaff swallowed with difficulty. Her mouth was suddenly dry and the evening had taken on the scent of piss and death.

_What if I were to jump down and break my legs?_ The thought actually sounded tempting, and she would have given it serious contemplation had it not occurred to her that her employer probably would not accept broken legs as an excuse.

_Time to get this over with,_ Gaff told herself. Once more, she swung herself over the ledge, and using the drainpipe, she shimmied down toward the street. The piping rasped and scraped as she descended, but she didn't care. Since her objective had changed, what good was being quiet going to do her now?

Almost at once, things started going wrong.

"There she is!" Fin hissed. "Grab the bitch. She killed Henk!"

Almost at once, men from either side of the alley rushed toward her. She noted that none of them wore the city guard uniform. These were Fin's men.

"Stop!" she screamed loudly. The men slowed their rush toward her.

Fin came up to her, his eyes swollen with grief. He was a slender man, almost like a dancer, but of the two brothers, he was by far the more dangerous.

"Fin! Fin!" She held up her hands to stop him, backing up against the wall. "I didn't kill your brother."

Fin reached for her, and she slapped at his hands futilely. "You know me, Fin, I don't kill."

Her words stopped him momentarily, but then a darkness crossed his features. "You left him on the floor to drown in the soup!" The torture in his voice told her there would be no mercy for her. He snatched her by the front of her leather tunic.

_Oh gods!_ The set-up had just taken a turn for the worse. Gaff reacted without thinking. She hit Fin on the inside of his wrist, twisted it, and pulled so that he lurched forward with the suddenness of the attack. With her other hand, she open-palmed the base of his chin, snapping his head upwards. Even before Fin could regain his senses, she dropped to the ground, rolled away, and bolted for the small gap in the crowd of men. Her attack had caught them all by surprise and she was clear a good three feet before they were turning to give pursuit.

For the second time that evening, Gaff was running through the city streets. Free. As a small girl, she had learned that outrunning was the next-best-thing to outwitting. If she couldn't outsmart them, she could at least outrun them. So, she had learned to run!

She was long gone before the men had even gotten up to speed. Turning into King's Avenue she bolted down its length. Campton really was a shit hole! It was a city full of winding, narrow streets and haphazard planning. She loved it! Gaff found herself running along the river's bank. The mercantile district lay in quiet shadows for the evening, with only the tanneries at work, heating their stinking water vats. Three tanning houses serviced eight clothiers. Campton textiles were known to be among the finest in the land, and her cottons were soft and well-woven.

The baron may be a perverse son of a bitch, but there was no doubt that he'd done wonders for the industry of his city. Gaff had seen — and benefited from — Campton's economic boom since the baron had come to power. Under his leadership, wealth had flowed, industry flourished. Merchants from far and wide came to the city to trade. Some would even lose their purses every once in a while to the prospering host of pickpockets.

_Things were good!_ She had to admit this. So how then, had they gone so horribly wrong, and so terribly quickly? Why kill the baron if he was doing so well for the city? As she trotted along the river bank she passed the closed clothier stores and the long warehouse they shared. She took care to avoid their strong-arm guards. Hired security to watch over their wares. Whilst she didn't think they'd bother with her as long as she wasn't presenting a threat to their goods, she didn't want to risk it either. An overzealous guard could still ruin her day, but the guards on the warehouse roof watched her carefully as she trotted along the road. They did nothing more than observe as she slipped away. She was heading east toward the courthouse and gaol, where she fully intended to surrender herself. Not as the prospective assassin of the baron, though. Something about the entire rooftop encounter had begun to nibble at the back of her mind like a rat at a wooden crate.

_Something was off._ There had been just too much convenience behind popZgap's plan for her liking. _Something was off?_ She had to chuckle at her own sense of humor. Something had been wrong the whole fucking night.

Even as she saw the fishing boats being shoved off into the river, she understood that her time was running out. If the fisher folk were up and about, she knew there was about two hours before daybreak.

Gaff hurried down the road toward the Summoner's Office. It was an elongated, red-tiled building that also housed the pursuivant. Ever since the Summoner — Mr Tullyard by name — had been found murdered a week ago, the office had remained empty and unused. That had been a nasty business, Mr Tullyard's death. He'd been dredged out of the river in a fisherman's net. His body, swollen and sour-smelling, had fallen apart the moment the fishermen had dropped him onto the wharf for the sheriff to inspect. She'd not seen the corpse for herself, but it had been the topic of much interest around the various drinking dens. Much speculation, too.

Who would want him dead? How had he died? There were rumors of poisoning and foul magic, but Gaff had paid them no mind. How he had died was of little interest to her, then. Less so, now. Yet, she stopped for a moment to look the building over. Mr Tullyard had been found in the river, but had he been murdered here, where she stood, or perhaps in his office? Or altogether, somewhere else within the city and then dragged and dumped into the river? She knew Mr Tullyard was not the first corpse the river had given up. Perhaps in a day or two, would they be dredging hers up as well?

_Morbid,_ she told herself. Gaff was determined not to share Tullyard's fate. She hurried on, picking up her pace as she passed the three notaries. Their small, square houses looked quaint and distinguished. Gaff remembered the night she'd infiltrated all three for a client. She'd been hired to remove a crucial document someone of importance didn't want reproduced. She had convinced her client that she couldn't read. Not that it had mattered. She wouldn't have read the documents in any case, but it seemed to have put the client at ease. He didn't know which notary had the document, as it turned out, but whoever had commissioned its reproduction had commissioned all three to the task. She'd given the client all three and charged him a nominal fee extra.

Now, however, given her current circumstance, Gaff wished she'd at least read one of the documents. She made herself another promise then, the second of the evening. Number one, never take a job just for the cash, and number two — the new resolution — never go in blind as to the larger picture involved. No one ever wanted someone to do something without there being a boon or bane involved, and one thing she'd come to realize tonight: the banes were all hers.

Up ahead, the river angled northward, allowing her to see the high walls of the gaols. In the pre-dawn dark she could not yet see the guards walking their parapets, but she knew they were there. It was the only building on this side of the river that had been allowed to build defensive works. From the right, up one of the streets, she heard the tramp of feet as armored city guards marched down toward the river bank. Slipping quickly into the deep shadows, she waited and watched as they marched south. Gaff had once made a long and detailed investigation into the patrol routes of the city guards. She had taken mental notes of their movements, times, how many guards — whatever information she could. It had served her well in the past, but tonight their routines had all been different.

If all of this was for her, then they really, really wanted to catch her.

For a long time after the patrol had faded away, she stood there wondering the one question that had been bugging her for a while now: why? Why did they want her so badly? It wasn't like she'd actually done anything. She'd failed to meet her objectives during her rather feeble attempt to enter the Park villa. Surely that didn't warrant all of this effort. Who the fuck was she that they had to pay her so much attention?

_I needed a patsy._ Wasn't that what popZgap had told her? _To draw out a certain interest._ To do what, though? It sounded like she wasn't just being set up as the means of the baron's destruction, but instead it was as if she'd already done the deed. _He needed._ That's what popZgap had said. Past tense. So had her employer done something and subsequently set her up as the sacrificial goat? It hit her hard when she thought of it, how she'd totally forgotten one of the most important pieces _. The king!_ He'd been visiting the city. That's why the villa had been in the middle of a cleaning spree. He'd left the premises already. Everyone of importance who came to the city stopped at the villa while the baron sent barges across the river to fetch them over. The only place barges of any noteworthy size could berth was directly across the river from where she stood now. She peered across, trying to determine any detail she could, but nothing was visible through the early morning mist.

From across the river to the west, she heard the bells of the Monastery begin to chime, their sonorous ringing echoing across the still waters. Her time was almost up. On a whim, she slung her bag off her hip and unceremoniously dumped its contents onto the grassy knoll. She saw the green box almost at once. _So much for a secret compartment._ Taking her pick tools, she knelt, and with delicate attention she pried open the box's lid. True enough, within, sat the gem. It was larger than she'd expected and far more beautiful. It was a deep black onyx of some sort, glittering with a highly-polished surface.

She saw at once her mistake. Not polished. Coated. A thin film of transparent cream had been smeared liberally all over its surface. She surmised it was a coating of poison, except there was evidence of smearing. It was as if someone had already handled the gem, and if that were indeed the case, then that someone was probably dead by now.

_The ringing bells!_ They hadn't picked up their usual tune. Every day, for her entire life, the Abbey's bells rang in the morning. Their pealing always startled the martins that thatched everywhere in the city's roof lines. She had mistaken the hour. The bells were not due to ring until sunrise. Why then, did they ring now?

From the top of the road, she heard the fearful cry as the herald walked solemnly into the small square not ten feet from her.

"The king is dead! Long live the king!"

Dead? The king?

A wave of dizziness hit her. It wasn't the baron at all, but the king! The king had been the target all along. She'd been the fool selected to deliver the murder weapon and in so doing, deliver herself up as the murderer. It was all beginning to make sense now. She would return the murder weapon to the baron and in so doing, perhaps indict him as well. And if that was the case, what then? Who knows what else would happen after that? A war, perhaps?

Gaff did not know much about the politics of her city, let alone the greater play of politics beyond her city's walls, but she did not have to be a scholar to realize that when the head of a gang got gutted, a whole bunch of heads from a whole lot of people were bound to start rolling. And whilst she wasn't able to see every tendril of this macabre plot wriggling in the stew of shit that had become her life, she saw clearly what she had to do. More so now than ever before, Gaff was fearful. She began to pack her belongings, stuffing them all back into the bag before stopping.

"You little fucker!" she cursed with delight, as the importance of her discovery sunk in. The shrouded figure had not put the gem and its box in one of the hidden pockets of her bag! That could only mean that whoever he had been — he could not have been popZgap. The bag had been a gift, a signing and welcoming present. If it had been popZgap — as head of the Agency, he'd surely have known where any one of the six hidden pockets were.

Gaff's thoughts were interrupted. Along the other side of the river's bank, loud noises were rising. She peered through the darkness, trying to make sense of this. Across the way, she could see that the massive flat-roofed towers of the Concubine Halls were ablaze. The noises drifting across the river sounded like men at arms fighting! Even as the sun rose, shedding its soft, pastel light across the river, she could see the skirmish. It was the King's Guard, their sky-blue cloaks clearly visible! At first, Gaff couldn't think of whom they would be fighting against, but then it dawned on her. With the king dead, they must be fighting their way out of the city, against the Town Watch. City Guard, she corrected herself. That side of the river, the soldiers guarding the nobles and the wealthy were more professional, less corruptible.

She stood there, looking on in disbelief for some time, before it dawned on her that fires and struggles were now erupting on both sides of the river, as news of the king's death spread and factions splintered. _Chaos came quickly,_ she noted to herself dryly, _when the biggest head in the land toppled._ She knew that from now on, the city — and perhaps the very kingdom itself — would be a place of chaos and bloodshed.

Unless she stopped it. Unless she brought the gem and the guilty person to light. Right now, she had a fair idea of who the guilty person might be, thanks to one small detail that had been overlooked. To the north of the Concubine's Halls, a secluded residence stood isolated from the rest of the city. Its massive estate had often been the subject of drunken speculation, but there was one point all of it had in common: two magicians supposedly lived there. If the rumors were true, they were sisters — and had exclusive license to practice magic within the city. She'd never before been exposed to magic. Certainly the little man with whom she had chatted on the rooftop had been using it to conceal his — or as was most likely the case, _her_ — true identity

One of the magicians in the city (perhaps both) had plotted to kill the king. For whatever reason, they had done the deed. Gaff was now as certain of this as she could be of anything. She felt it in her bones!

Gaff didn't waste time trying to sequester a barge across the river. No bargemen would be available right now in any case. Given the fighting on the other side of the river, most would be hiding somewhere safe. She tightened the bag, secured the rest of her belongings, and dove into the water. It was chilly. She felt the current tug at her almost as soon as she surfaced. As a child, she'd known these waters well, had worked her earliest years in the tavern as a hire-out for a shrimper. Diving to the river floor, she scuttled for shrimp beneath the silt, filling her basket before swimming back up. It had been one of the happiest times of her life, a hard and profitless time, true, but still, one of the happiest.

Gaff took stock of her situation. She could swim across to where the fighting seemed to be thickest, try to scramble up the wharf and then slip through a city ablaze in turmoil. From there, it would be a long scamper through busy streets. She'd have to go through the merchant's stalls, perhaps along the Emporium complex itself, and then either along the river bank or down under the Palace walls itself. Either way, she'd have to pass the Concubine Halls where the fires and the fighting seemed to be thickest. Or, she could simply just allow the current to take her east, until she reached Saint Shellidan's Cathedral. There, she could swim ashore and work her way through the cemetery where they buried the rich folk. From there, she'd find herself directly behind the Mage's place.

Yes, she decided, she'd just go with the flow. A short, powerful swim brought her to the center of the river. Here, the current was strongest. More importantly, she'd be very much out of reach of any potential archers lining the river bank. Not that she expected to encounter any; it just made her feel more comfortable.

It took less time than she thought. As she rounded the steep bow in the river, Gaff began propelling herself toward the Cathedral. She noticed the collection of corpses that had already been washed ashore on the opposing bank. It reminded her of the story she'd once been told by that one sailor of fat seals basking in the sun. The image had stayed with her — because he'd likened them to bloated, black bodies.

Just like these.

Gaff came ashore and took a moment to reconnoiter the yard. She scanned the Cathedral grounds but saw no one. It seemed as if the rebellion — if that is what this violence really was — had yet to come to these grounds. She ran, more out of an effort to get warm and limber than for any other reason. She crossed the cemetery, with its stone obelisks marking the graves and darted around the far side of the Cathedral. She came to the Chapter House. Here, she saw a row of priests, carrying their golden staffs bedecked with jewels, walking in single, solemn file toward the Cathedral's chapel door. Gaff waited until the last of them had entered before bolting across the garden of roses, toward the distant wall that signified the end of her journey.

_Well,_ she thought demurely, _the beginning of the end, most probably._ Panting hard, but at least no longer shivering, she leaned against the rocky wall to catch her breath. Once her breathing had calmed, she stood back to assess the wall before her. It stood almost thirty feet high, constructed of rough stone. It would be easy enough to scale, but right now her muscles were strained with exhaustion. It had been a long, stressful night. She was not one of those oiled athletes the Gymnasium was full of, nor a wrestler or boxer that often toured from city to city. She was fit, though. She could run like the wind, but she had met her limits this night.

In the freshness of the morning air, the exhaustion hit her like a bull. She sat again, with thoughts of taking a rest, but she realized that she'd probably just end up falling asleep. The sun was welcoming, warm. Her wet clothing proved to be a cooling agent against her hot skin. The combined effect acted like an elixir to weaken her resolve and make her feel sleepy and tired.

What the fuck?

Gaff startled, bolting to her feet, nightstick in hand. Once more, the adrenalin rush kicked her wide awake.

"Good save, Gaff!" said a clearly-impressed voice from a door in the wall. A moment later, an elderly woman stepped out and turned to face her. She was dressed in a flowing gown of midnight blue, flecked with gold. The woman must have been a beauty in her younger days. Eyes of speckled gold were framed by long tresses of jet-black hair.

"Not many people have the fortitude of mind to resist a sleeping spell. I am impressed. More so by how you managed to figure it out." The woman paused for a moment, a concerned look creasing her face, "You did manage to figure it out, right? You're not here by happenstance, are you?"

"I did," Gaff said. "And I'm not."

The look of relief that crossed the woman's features seemed genuine. "Whew! For a moment there I feared I'd given myself away needlessly."

"You didn't."

"Well, if you don't mind me saying so, what gave it away?"

Gaff thought about it for only a fraction of a moment, saying, "Seriously? You think that wavering obscurity thing you had going was going to fool anyone?"

"Natch!" she slapped her palms together in mock frustration. "Overkill, I suppose. I'm not very good at this whole espionage thing, it seems."

"You're better than you think," Gaff said reluctantly. "You had me going for the longest time."

The woman smiled, but it was weak, as if she'd just grown bored and had better things to do than this. "So, what brings you here, then? Come for your little slice of justice, have you?"

"I guess. To be honest I hadn't thought it out that far ahead."

"Oh? Did you come through all that chaos in the city just for a little confirmation of your suspicions?"

"Yes, I suppose I did."

"And then what? Drag me off to the sheriff and say 'Look, here's the murderer of the king?'"

Gaff shrugged, "Like I said, I hadn't thought it through."

"Now I'm insulted that you thought you could just waltz in here and expect — what?" The last word was almost a shout. The woman had her hands clasped into tight little fists. Blue tendrils of arcane power crackled and lanced their way around her wrists.

Gaff knew that she had been stupid. Truth be told, she hadn't thought about this clearly enough. What had she expected? The bag was at her back, and with her hidden hand, she fumbled for something she could throw at the woman to distract her.

"It's rather a shame after all," the magician said. "You showed so much potential when I first settled on you to be our errand girl. You were smarter than most, but lacked the knowledge to make it work for you. You were hungry, more ambitious than the others, willing to take larger risks, push the bar, so to speak. And then you came all this way, without having thought it through?"

Gaff nodded ruefully, her fingers finding something in her bag, wrapping them around it. "It's been a long night," she said meekly. It was a weak defense, but at this stage what did it matter? "There was one other thing I had hoped to accomplish."

Curiosity got the better of the woman and the arcane power subsided. "And what is that?"

Gaff reacted with blinding speed, hurling the box at the woman. "I wanted to return your property!"

The woman acted instinctively, catching the thrown object with pathetic ease. "That's the sum total of your defense, to throw a box at me?"

Gaff smiled broadly, her eyes pointing to the magician's hand.

There, clenched in her gnarled fingers was the onyx gem, glittering like the beady eye of a black-mamba. Somehow, in transition, the gem had freed itself of its box.

"Oh, shit," the magician swore, her face paling almost at once.

Gaff grinned triumphantly as the elderly woman keeled over and crumpled into an untidy mess.

"Mind your language, bitch!"

## Charlotte and the Golden Parrot

### by

### BookFish35

Illustrated by M.C. McLamb

They said it was bad luck to have a woman on board.

It was worse luck, however, to openly defy the captain's direct orders so far from the shore. None of them wanted to chance an encounter with a particularly nasty sea creature or the hot-tempered king's men who patrolled the harbor. The gruff-looking crew of the Damp Dog simply glared at me and muttered curses under their breath as I crossed the swaying deck. I tried to keep my chin up and my face straight, but that proved to be challenging. My stomach churned with every wave. Lightheaded, I clung to the railing. I inhaled deeply, taking in the salty air. It whipped my long hair in my face and tangled it. With a groan, I put my hands to my eyes.

"You all right there, lass?"

"The spirits of the ocean must hate me," I breathed. Putting my hands down, I blinked and turned to face Captain Trypp.

He smiled at me, showing his rotting teeth. One of them glimmered gold in the sunlight.

"'N there I thought you didn't believe me when I told ya about 'm," he said with a laugh.

I placed my elbows on the cool, smooth wood of the railing and stared into the distance. There, shrinking in the horizon, was the town that had been my home for my entire life. I'd never been outside of Axbury. Mother wanted to stay there, no matter how bad things got. Eventually, my brother got an apprenticeship and that was the end of my dreams to become an explorer someday. Yet here I was. On a ship, sailing away from the streets I knew so well, never to return. Suddenly my eyes were stinging because of more than just the strong, cold sea wind.

"Charlotte?"

It was strange to hear the captain say my name, even though his deep, gritty voice sounded familiar. He was a stranger. A man I would see only once every one or two years. Never had I imagined I would be on board of the Damp Dog when it left port again, instead of sitting next to my sobbing mother on the pier.

"I am all right," I said, smoothing my worn dress. The fact that it was a couple of inches too short at my ankles proved to be a good thing as a sudden wave made me stumble sideways. I would have tripped, but I placed my feet firmly apart and squeezed the railing.

"No sea legs," the captain observed, shaking his head.

"I've never been on a ship before." It took effort not to pout.

"There be that. And you are half landlubber too."

"I dare say that is not my fault."

Captain Trypp let out a bellowing laugh. "Aye. Safe to say."

I glared at him.

"Clearly half pirate too. Come, lass. Let's make you look the part."

I followed him tentatively to the middle part of the ship, where one of the masts stood tall. Two broad-shouldered men with almost identical mean faces were filling buckets with seawater. One of them deliberately touched his collar as he spotted me, giving me an accusing look. The other put his bucket down roughly, spilling sea water over my thin shoes. I held back a shriek as the cold hit my toes.

"The sirens take you," the man hissed.

I wanted to back away, but Captain Trypp grabbed my shoulders. He looked at his crew member, who averted his eyes and got back to work.

"Don't mind them, lass. Superstitious idiots, the lot of 'm."

That didn't make me feel any better. Those superstitious idiots outnumbered me and I couldn't swim. I decided to stay close to Captain Trypp. I was pretty sure that he would protect me. He had never hurt me or my brother. Despite that, I hesitated at the door of the captain's quarters. When he gave me a nudge, I stumbled inside.

The room was surprisingly spacious. Tall windows lined the far wall. A shiny, dark wooden table dominated the center. There were some cabinets and a messy desk, a large trunk that very likely held clothing and a rack filled with bottles. I took a few more steps into the room and jumped. From a bed that was placed snug in a corner, two glowing yellow eyes met mine.

Captain Trypp cursed. "Get out o' here, before I give ya a face full o' me boot, ye furry-footed chowder chugger!"

The sleek cat with fur like oil stretched languidly, yawning without a care, before jumping off the bed. The animal landed with more grace than I had ever seen and walked toward us. It nuzzled the captain's legs, provoking another string of curses. Unfazed, it continued outside, glancing over its shoulder one more time.

"What a beautiful creature," I said.

"Aye." Captain Trypp sounded exasperated. "And she knows it."

He closed the door and opened the trunk. It was filled to the brim with unfolded pieces of clothing. He rummaged through them, gathered a few and tossed them to me. I managed to catch them.

"Put those on. I be waitin' outside. Give a shout when you are ready," he said.

I unfolded a pair of pants, made from rough-spun cotton. "These are boys' clothes."

He chuckled. "Aye."

Once I was alone, I allowed my tears to flow. They left hot trails on my cheeks and stung my eyes. My shoulders started aching as I forced back the sobs that came with them. As quickly as I could, I got out of my old dress and exchanged it for the pants and a creamy white blouse. The belt was too wide for me. Frowning, I looked down at my flat belly and scrawny legs. My skin was as white as milk and my feet had blisters on them. What kind of pirate was I supposed to be?

The sobs stopped and my cheeks started burning. I looked at the fiercely red, tear-streaked blotches on my face in a mirror above the desk. With some effort I ran my fingers through my hair. The long strands were a tangled mess and felt gritty. When I forced them into a braid, I noticed I was shaking. Exhaling, I sank down on the chair behind me.

It was the biggest mess I had ever seen on the small desk at which I was now sitting. There was a burned candle in a brass candleholder, the wax wrapping around it until practically only the handle was showing. Some silver coins lay half-hidden between pieces of parchment. Most of the sheets were blank, but on several of them I could see scribbles in Captain Trypp's crude handwriting. I recognized it from the letters he used to send to my mother. I grabbed one of the writings and held it, hesitating.

Another piece of parchment caught my attention. On the corner peeking out from under the chaos was an elaborate pattern of symbols. As I pulled it toward me, a detailed map of an island was revealed, surrounded by the beautiful symbols that ran across the border. A big X marked a spot on the island. With a jolt of excitement, I realized it was an actual treasure map.

"How's it going in there, lass?"

I grabbed the arms of the chair to prevent myself from falling out of it. Parchment crackled under my hand. As my heart still hammered in my throat, I quickly smoothed out the map.

"Yes?" I turned the chair around, just in time to see the captain enter. "I mean, it is going well. The clothes fit. Well enough."

He gestured for me to stand up, which I did.

"You all right?" he asked.

I nodded, sniffling.

"What are you holdin' there?"

Slowly I took out the map that I had been holding behind my back. The captain grabbed for it and I was too surprised to react. I stared at him as he put the map on the table and inspected it.

"Is that where we are going? Are we going to hunt for treasure?" I couldn't keep the thrill I felt out of my voice.

He frowned at me. "Aye, we be goin' there, but not you."

"What?"

"You will not be comin'. It's too dangerous and the Damp Dog is no place for women, let alone a little lass like you."

Before I could stop myself, I stomped my foot on the planking. "I am not little!" One breath later my cheeks flared with embarrassment. What was the matter with me? I was fourteen years old, nearly a woman. I was making a fool out of myself and it was not helping. Captain Trypp's brows pulled together in a frown and his eyes darkened dangerously.

"I... I mean," I stammered, "I can help. I can be useful. Please let me help."

I saw him clench his jaw. A sudden fear clutched at my heart.

"But... If I am not coming with you, then where...? What are you going to do with me?"

His shoulders relaxed, even though his frown remained.

"We be about three days away from Port Dalhurst. A friend o' mine, Lady Collett, will collect you once we get there," he said.

"Who is she? What does she want from me?" My nails dug in the palms of my hands as I squeezed them into fists.

"She will take care o' you. Give you a home."

I gasped. "You want to get rid of me."

"This isn't a proper home, lass. We be pirates."

"I am a pirate, too!"

"You are a girl. You grew up on land."

"But I have your blood. I am the daughter of Captain Trypp, the Sea Fox. I may have grown up on land, but I was born at sea. I can learn. I can learn how to be a pirate. I am a very good student, I will have you know."

"Charlotte..."

"Don't send me away," I said, tasting salt on my tongue. New tears started flowing. "You are the only family I have left. If you send me to Lady Collett, I will be alone."

"That's enough."

"No! You're my father. My mother trusted you."

"I said, _enough_!" Captain Trypp's voice thundered through the little room. "You are aboard my ship and I be the captain here. If you were any of my men, you'd lose your tongue. Now belay that and listen."

My legs were shaking so much, I had to sit down. I nodded silently.

"We will take you to Port Dalhurst and we will deliver you to Lady Collett unharmed. You have my word."

Staring up at the captain, I tried to glare at him. He was the stranger that sometimes came into my home, the man that would leave my mother shattered on the shore every time, no matter what she said. The dangerous pirate that she loved, against all advice from the townsfolk who judged her for it.

He raised a single eyebrow as he coolly met my stare. Sobbing, I lowered my eyes.

My mother was gone. This stranger was all there was, now.

And he didn't want me.

# # #

I don't know what I expected when I had finally resigned myself to my fate, but it was less than what I was looking at. Port Dalhurst did not just have a fortress. It had two. One towered in the distance: a square building of solid rock with four fat towers and tiny windows. It looked ominous in the light of the setting sun. Its smaller brother was at the docks. Only a wide street with an endless stream of people separated it from the water. It had more elegant towers and decorated windows that looked out over the ships and the sea beyond. The smell of fish and seaweed was carried on a strong breeze. The buildings that surrounded the fortress and lined the harbor were worn down by this constant current.

I turned around to face Captain Trypp, determined one last time to beg him to let me stay. I didn't care that his entire crew was staring at me intently. Yet the look in his eyes made me swallow the words.

"Here's luck and a fair wind to you," he said solemnly.

Mr. Geoffrey, his right hand man, came to stand next to me. He was a tall man. Not as broad shouldered as his comrades, with tidier clothes and a clean-shaven chin. My observations over the past three days had lead to the conclusion that his face was capable of only one expression; that expression people make when biting into a lemon.

"Hurry," he said curtly, "Before I tell the captain to throw you to the sharks instead."

I looked down at the plank. It might as well lead to open sea rather than the pier. I was already being thrown to the sharks, only these sharks didn't swim.

Exhaling slowly, I took a few steps down. Mr. Geoffrey followed closely, his breath on my neck. Shuddering, I hugged myself. I wanted desperately to look like a proper lady as I walked toward this uncertain fate, but I felt as if my stomach was filled with ice and fear made every nerve in my body tingle painfully.

Once my feet touched the planks of the pier, I looked back one more time. My heart skipped a sad beat as Captain Trypp turned his back on me.

"To work, men! We are leaving with first light. So no snoozin'!" he bellowed.

I was on my own, now. The aloof Mr. Geoffrey would bring me to a woman I knew nothing about and she would take me to God-knows-where. I had no idea what would happen to me. Captain Trypp said she'd take care of me, but he clearly didn't care much. He had promised to deliver me unharmed and he had honored that promise. Now that I was here, his protection had expired. Mr. Geoffrey seemed harmless enough, although I was sure he'd drag me to Lady Collett by force if I resisted. Lady Collett. I doubted she was of noble birth. I only knew one other low-born woman who called herself lady. She lived across the street with her girls back in Axbury. A jolt of panic ran through me.

I bit my lip and looked at Mr. Geoffrey as he took my upper arm and guided me onto the stone docks. He wasn't being very gentle.

No, no, no, this was not going to happen to me.

With a strong tug, I freed myself from his grip, glaring at him.

"I can walk myself, thank you very much," I said indignantly, piling on the drama.

His expression became even more sour, but he didn't say anything or try to grab me again.

We walked amongst the crowd now and I noticed that town guards were striking up conversations with pirates, while rich-looking folk haggled with rather shady merchants. Beggars sat beside fishermen who were repairing their nets. Children in fine clothes played with children in rags. Some young women in brightly colored dresses were gathered at the corner of a tall house. Their make-up was smudgy and they looked pale and tired. They giggled and flirted with passersby.

The daylight seemed to sharpen. The chaos moved slower and my thoughts became quiet. There was a thick crowd in front of me. Sailors and townspeople alike had gathered around a group of musicians. Children were dancing and the guards were watching calmly. Beyond them was a street leading into the town.

I looked over my shoulder, smiling at Mr. Geoffrey as sweetly as I could. He quirked up an eyebrow. My smile turned into a grin as I saw the sudden alarm in his eyes. Before he could do anything, I started running. I felt his fingers brush the fabric of my blouse. As soon as I reached the crowd, I ducked between two guards and vanished amongst the people. Swearing I would forever wear pants instead of dresses, I weaved my way toward the dancing children and nearly tripped over one.

"My apologies," I breathed as I frantically looked around. People were staring at me, but that was the least of my worries.

"Miss Charlotte!" Mr. Geoffrey's sharp voice sounded awfully close by.

With my heartbeat pounding in my ears, I made my way past the children and the musicians and kept going until I reached the street. Gasping for air, I collapsed against the side of the building.

"Are you all right, child?"

The voice sounded as sweet as the honey smell that wafted toward me. A thin woman came up behind me. I turned to face her. She looked pale and sad in the shadow of the building. Her scarlet dress was very revealing. I blushed heavily and averted my eyes.

"Yes, thank you," I said breathlessly. I hoisted myself off of the ground, leaning against the cool bricks.

"Miss Charlotte! Stay there!"

I froze. Mr. Geoffrey managed to follow me. The young lady looked me up and down and furrowed her elegant brows. I wanted to plead with her, beg her to help me, but I could barely breathe. For a painfully long moment, we just looked at each other.

Without saying a word, the woman nudged her head, gesturing me to go. Pushing myself from the wall, I muttered a quick thank you and hurried down the street. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw her block Mr. Geoffrey's path and turn his head to face her with a small hand. She was so delicate. I was sure I didn't have much time before he'd push her aside like a rag doll.

I forced myself to keep running. The muscles in my legs were burning, my breath wheezed on its way in and there was a nasty stinging sensation in my sides. I had to think of some kind of plan and quick. As I stopped to look around, a wave of nausea came over me. I was surrounded by tall, narrow houses with shuttered windows. They loomed over the street and the many alleyways that sprung from it, like a river with streams of cobblestones.

Some distance away, I heard Mr. Geoffrey call my name again. He sounded angrier than I had ever heard him. A blind panic threatened to overwhelm me, but I gulped it back and dashed into the nearest alleyway. The shadows were thicker here. I stumbled toward a pile of rubble. There were some crates and barrels, most of them empty and broken. There was an awful stench, but I didn't want to look for what caused it.

"Miss Charlotte! If I find you, the fish will have your guts for dinner!"

Choking back a scream, I pulled one of the crates off of the pile. It was damp and slippery and smelled as if something had died in it. Yet it was also big enough. I curled into a ball on the cold ground and pulled the crate over me with a strength I didn't know I possessed. Only a heartbeat later I heard footsteps come nearer.

I peered through a crack in the crate and saw Mr. Geoffrey's boots. He was standing so close; I could touch the polished leather. I bit my lip so hard it went numb and held my breath. I heard him rummaging through some of the smaller crates above me and he walked around the pile. I buried my face in my hands and waited. Waited for God to have mercy or the Devil sell me out, whatever happened next.

Mr. Geoffrey stood next to the pile for a moment, probably pondering on what to do. Then, by some miracle, he walked away, farther down the alley. I stayed where I was, in case he came back. I stayed until I couldn't bear it any longer. My muscles ached and I was colder than I had ever been in my life. The smell had probably clung to my clothes as well.

It took tremendous effort to get out from under the crate. Shivering, I hugged myself and looked up and down the alleyway. It was deserted, save for one emaciated cat that glared at me. Its yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness.

It was getting late. Luckily it was a clear night. The sky was littered with stars and a new moon peeked over the buildings. I made my way back to the street, where oil lamps were casting a warm, golden glow, but it didn't do anything for the cold. It was still shockingly busy.

Outside of what was clearly the inn, two men were sitting on a pile of barrels. They cheered with loud voices, sang songs out of tune and nearly fell down with laughter. With them was a woman, who drank as much as they did and showed them her slender, bare legs. A third man was passed out on the ground, an empty bottle beside him. I heard someone call and looked up. A blonde girl that couldn't be much older than myself winked at me and blew me a kiss. I turned around, confused, but then it hit me. I was wearing the clothes Captain Trypp had given me. Boys' clothes. I waved at her and hurried down the street.

I passed a man and a woman. I recognized her. She was the lady dressed in red who had helped me. I considered going over to thank her, but at the exact moment I stopped walking, she slapped the man across the face. The next moment he was attacked by a burly looking man shouting obscenities and wielding a spoon as a weapon. I jumped as several men up on a balcony started cheering the fighters on and firing their pistols into the air. I started to retreat backward, but my path was blocked. By a person. A very tall, broad person.

"What ya doing here, boy? 'Tis not safe." His voice was like thunder and his breath smelled so strongly of alcohol, my stomach lurched.

I looked up over my shoulder and saw the watery eyes in a red face grow bigger. Suddenly, there was a hand around my upper arm, like an iron clasp. The man spun me around and glared at me.

"You ain't no boy! What ya doing?" He shook me, hard. "What ya doing, huh? Foolish girl!"

The next thing I knew, my elbows connected with the cobblestones, sending flashes of pain up my arms and making my hands tingle.

"Get out of here!" the man yelled at me, moving in to kick me.

I crawled away from his foot and he almost lost his balance. He staggered, growling like an angry boar. Breathing fast, I got on my feet and ran. This was madness. I was not going to stay here. I'd rather try my luck with my father and his awful pirates. Maybe they would throw me to the sharks, but that was a kinder fate than what awaited me here. Did he think I was a fool?

It was easy to find the docks again. All I had to do was follow the sailors meandering their way back to their ships. Or the wrong ships. One of the men didn't live to regret his mistake as he wandered onto the nearest pirate ship, his royal navy uniform askew but very visible.

I spotted the Damp Dog just in time. Had I kept walking, I would have run straight into the crew members who were hanging around on the pier, near the gangplank. They were drinking, laughing, and playing cards, but they were also armed. They seemed jolly, but I was not going to try my luck. I was quite sure I had spent all I had tonight. There had to be something I could do, though. They would leave first thing in the morning and I would be stuck here.

Looking around, I spotted a collection of barrels, filled to the brim with nets. They were placed neatly in a corner formed by two connecting buildings. It made the perfect hiding place. My heart jumped into my throat with the appearance of Mr. Geoffrey walking briskly toward the Damp Dog, toward me. Praying he hadn't spotted me, I got in between the barrels and the buildings and ducked down. There was just enough space separating the two barrels to allow me to peek through.

# # #

"Oi! Mr. Geoffrey, sir," one of them said, mockingly making a salute. The others laughed and joined in, the one more successful than the other. The older man reached them and received their insults with cold indifference.

"What can we do you for, sir?" the thinnest one asked. He took a gulp, then seemed to realize something and choked on his rum as he and the others burst out laughing.

"Are you quite finished?" Mr. Geoffrey asked, his voice as sharp as shards of ice.

"Quite," one of the men hiccuped.

"Did you drop off that girl?" another inquired. "I want to pass out, now. Captain will be bossing us 'round on ungodly hours tomorrow."

I held my breath.

Mr. Geoffrey just regarded his fellow crew members for a long while. They crumbled under his gaze. When they all sat down, looking at their bottles or feet, he sighed.

"The girl is gone," he said slowly. "Keep watch till the harbor is quiet, then get some shuteye. And don't give me any nonsense about your hangovers tomorrow."

He strode up the plank and onto the ship, leaving the others to return to their cards, in silence this time.

Doubt beset me. Mr. Geoffrey had told them I was gone. I was free to do whatever I wanted. Maybe I could get away from this horrible port and... I bit my lip. And what, exactly? I didn't know where I was. I was all on my own and, if I were honest, still a child. I couldn't fight, I didn't know how to hunt. What were my chances, alone on the road?

Probably as good as my chances on the Damp Dog...

I waited until the pirates left. One of them had lost consciousness pretty soon after Mr. Geoffrey's departure. The others carried him on board. I had to stifle a scream of frustration when they pulled up the plank. As soon as everything was dark on deck, I hurried over to the ship and looked up. I instantly felt tiny.

"All right, Charlotte," I whispered, looking around frantically, "Think fast."

The ship was neatly tied to the docks, yet the anchor was down. It was not too far from the pier. Hesitantly I walked toward it, teetering on the edge, where the wooden planks made way for cold, salty water. My stomach dropped as I looked down into the blackness.

"All right. You can do this."

I took a few steps back, made a running start and leaped. As soon as my hands touched cold metal, I tried to grab and hold on, but the chain was awfully slippery. I hugged it and felt my feet hit the water. I gasped as the icy cold crept up my legs. My fingers closed around one of the links. I breathed out slowly, holding on tight.

The climb was awful. My pants were heavy with water and my muscles ached with the cold and strain. I was well aware of the sea beneath me. Even though the ship was docked, the water was deep. I forced myself to look up and keep going. I was exhausted when I hauled myself over the railing of the ship and plopped down on the deck like a freshly-caught fish, but I had made it.

# # #

Thirty-two hours later, I was standing on a beach.

I had always heard stories about stowaways and what happened to them when they were found. And they usually were. Having spent my entire life in a coastal town, I'd even met my share. By 'met' I meant 'looked them in the eyes as they were dragged off to whatever ill fate had chosen them'. Because of that, it was no surprise to me that the pirate who had discovered me had dragged me to Mr. Geoffrey like a sack of potatoes. He had proceeded to strike me, making my lip bleed and then had held me up to face him. He had ordered me locked up below decks to await the captain's decision on how to punish me. As I sat there in the damp, wooden space with rusty iron bars surrounding me, I prayed like I had never prayed before.

"Don't be in the way."

The gritty voice jarred me and I spun around to look at Splinter, the thinnest and tallest crew member of the Damp Dog. He always manned the crows nest. I remembered watching him climb the ropes and thinking of a monkey. A very ugly monkey...

"I won't be," I said, pouting.

A strong hand wrapped around my bruised upper arm and lifted my feet off the pale sand.

"You already are. Stop dreaming, little lady, and go stand over there," said Shaw, with his rumbling voice. He was a daunting man; all muscle, dark skin and even darker eyes. He scared me more than any other pirate in the crew. He scared them, too. He used to be a slave, until he used his bare hands to make sure he didn't have a master anymore. I stumbled painfully as he practically threw me toward a group of palm trees.

"I am not sure about this," Mr. Geoffrey commented, "Does she need to be here, captain?"

Captain Trypp seemed unaffected. "Would you rather have her roam around the ship alone?"

"No, sir, but a treasure hunt..."

"Are you afraid she will run off with the treasure?" He grinned as he looked up from the map.

His crew laughed and Mr. Geoffrey tensed up. "She is useless," he insisted.

Captain Trypp sighed and came striding my way. I braced myself, not knowing what was coming next.

"Hold out your hand," he ordered.

"My hand?" My voice quivered.

The captain made an impatient gesture and I obeyed. I held my breath.

"Here."

I stared at him as he gave me the map and turned to face his men.

"She has a job now, so quit your yappin'. We have a treasure to find. Shouldn't be too hard. Even you powder-wetting blowfish can do it. Let's go!" he shouted.

As everyone started to scramble, grabbing weapons and tools and gathering to form a chaotic semblance of a group, Captain Trypp addressed me. "You said you could read, yes?" he whispered.

"Yes." I nodded and looked down at the map. It was beautiful. Every detail was drawn with great care and skill. It must have been very expensive ink. The colors stood out against the aging parchment. They depicted a moon-shaped island filled with palm trees and rock formations. The thickest part of the island seemed to be covered by a forest of some kind. A red X was drawn at the southern edge. We didn't seem to be too far away from it.

"Don't just stand there, lass."

I hurried to the pirates gathered up ahead. "Yes, captain!"

It was ridiculous that almost the entire crew of the Damp Dog and their captain followed me as I maneuvered my way through the rocky landscape and I was sure all of them agreed on that. I could feel their eyes on my back, sending stinging sensations up my spine. I half-expected one of them to place a dagger between my ribs and I fought the urge to glance over my shoulder every step of the way.

To distract myself, I studied the map while I walked. The image of the island itself, though very fine, was quite plain, except for the colorful parrot depicted amongst the trees of the forest. The symbols that ran along the edges of the parchment, however, seemed to form some sort of pattern. I noticed that some of them repeated themselves and combined with others, as if they were forming...

"Words..."

Captain Trypp cleared his throat and as I looked up, I noticed everyone had stopped walking. They were all staring at me. Apparently I had stopped walking too.

"Don't tell me you are lost, lass."

"No, captain, I... It's just..."

"Keep movin', then."

"There is something written along this map, captain."

"It can wait. We have some treasure to collect."

His crew roared in agreement.

Startled, I turned around and started walking. The forest was nearby, we were almost there. It consisted of very lush and green trees. Trees usually were green, of course, but these were almost eye-searing green, with vines hanging from them like decoration and moss covering their gnarled roots.

There was a small image of one of those trees amongst the symbols on the map. I could also see a row of tiny parrots and then more of the unreadable words. There was a copy of the X woven into the pattern. This couldn't just be a decoration. I had no time to ponder over it, though, as I reached the edge of the forest. Looking around, I noticed there were fewer rocks here and the ground looked rather soft. It shouldn't be too hard to dig here, even though I was no expert at digging.

"Is it here, lass?" the captain asked.

"Somewhere between the forest and these rocks." I indicated a wide area. The X wasn't a very precise indicator for where the treasure chest was buried.

"You are in the way again!" Splinter said as he pushed me against a tree.

"I wish they would stop that already," I muttered.

As Splinter started to attack the earth with a rusty shovel, I walked to a boulder and went to sit on it. If they wanted me to be out of the way, at least I didn't have to dig.

# # #

The crew of the Damp Dog was scattered across the area, digging holes in the ground left and right. They had been at it for what must have been hours, but so far they'd had no luck. The light changed as the evening set in. My stomach rumbled, but I ignored it and stared at the ground at the base of the boulder. There, in the smoothed earth, were my scribbles. I used a thin branch as a pen and had been erasing and re-writing my attempts to translate the map countless times. Sweat trickled down my neck and I squinted my eyes.

"What are you doing there?"

Captain Trypp came over. He was the only pirate around that was not covered in sweat and dust. He looked down at my work and frowned.

"I am trying to translate this map," I said. I tried not to sound frustrated. Captain Trypp was the only reason I was alive right now and the only thing to keep it that way. He had told his men to release me when he heard I had sneaked onto his ship at night. When they had brought me before him, he'd actually looked proud. He had declared my 'pirate blood' was strong and had allowed me to stay.

He shook his head now and I worried he might change his mind. "Don't waste time with nonsense, lass."

I managed to smile sheepishly at him, but I knew it wasn't nonsense. The symbols formed words and I was so close to figuring them out. I could feel it. I waited for Captain Trypp to wander off and climbed on top of the boulder. Hoping that the night wouldn't set in too fast, I stared down at my scribbles.

It seemed like I was dealing with normal English. The letters were all replaced by a symbol to represent them. The 'a' was easy enough to find, as the text at first glance was littered with the same symbol that stood on its own. That helped me to figure out many of the other words, at least the ones with an 'a' in them. I discovered the words Atamamanan Island which, according to the map, was the name of the island. It was written in elegant normal letters along the outer edge of the drawn beach as well. That gave me even more letters to work with.

My scribbles were as complete as they could be. Relaxing my shoulders, I looked at the map and tried to read the text, starting at the words that follow the small depiction of the X.

At that place Atamamanan Island

A trail to follow for gold to be found

From where the cross touches the trees

Look to the skies where wings of pain abound

A trial of claws and feathers

For the treasure under ground

That didn't make any sense, did it?

I looked around at all the pirates toiling amongst man-made craters and hills of earth. There was no sign of treasure. No glint of gold, no sparkle of diamond, nothing. Every dirty face looked grim and disappointed.

"Curses! There's no treasure here," Shaw bellowed, throwing his shovel down.

"Maybe there was, but she has cursed it." Splinter pointed at me and sneered.

"That is ridiculous," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

"Oh, is it? Women are bad luck, everyone knows that. Methinks you are some kind of sea witch."

I looked Splinter straight in the eye. "Do you think I made the treasure disappear?"

"You could've."

I raised an eyebrow at him and he hesitated. I heard some of the pirates chuckle and tried to suppress the grin that forced itself on me.

"Enough o' that!" Captain Trypp went to stand in the middle of the destroyed landscape. "We've wasted enough time. Gather your things. We go back to the Dog."

I ran over to him and tugged his sleeve.

"Not now, Charlotte."

"But this is important, captain."

He glared at me.

"We can still find the treasure. The map was a trick. A riddle. We just need to follow the right trail."

This time he turned to face me. "Why do you say that?"

"The symbols on the map. I translated them."

He regarded me for a while, not saying a word. He looked at me the same way my mother would look at a chicken she was about to buy as she considered if it was worth the price. Eventually he gave a slow nod.

"Can you lead us there?"

I nodded and smiled. "I think so."

# # #

For the second time that day, I was being followed by pirates who most likely wanted to shoot me in the back. Quite literally, I might add. Maybe it was a good thing my father was a ruthless and insensitive captain. He had no scruples sending one of his men to Davy Jones' locker. They feared him and it was this fear that was keeping me alive.

My foot caught on a mossy root growing across the path I was following. I bit my lip and tried not to drop my torch. With all this underbrush that would be disastrous. There was a loud rustling sound somewhere above me, but when I looked up I saw nothing but a black canopy. The stars that dotted the sky seemed to laugh at me. I looked back at the trail I was supposed to follow. It was overgrown by ferns and other plants, making it hard to see, especially with the looming darkness. Countless roots made the walk difficult.

Everyone was deathly quiet as they trudged after me, except for a few hushed curses. There was no breeze and the air was heavy and humid. Bugs of all shapes and sizes were buzzing around the flames of our torches and hit our faces and hands. I was pretty sure at least two of them had bit me. My shoulder and the back of my arm itched. Sweat trickled down my neck and made my blouse cling to my spine.

"Do you see anything?" the captain asked. He sounded weary.

"It keeps going," I answered and heard someone groan.

The rustling sounded again. Suddenly there were leaves in my hair. With a jolt I remembered the riddle.

I wheeled around as the rustling intensified. "Eyes to the skies!"

The trees were almost shaking now. Leaves rained down on us. Many of them hissed as they came into contact with the torches. They fell to the ground glowing like embers. I covered one ear with my free hand as a cacophony of sound filled the forest. I tried to see where the screeching and raspy cries came from, but all I could see was a darkening night sky and a forest that was alive with chaos.

"What the devil is going on?" Captain Trypp bellowed.

"It's the forest, cap'ain. It's come alive to kill us!" Splinter waved his torch around in a panic.

Shaw grabbed his arm to stop him and glared.

"Don't be an idiot, man." The captain drew his pistol. "Don't just stand there. Grab your weapons."

I saw something move from tree to tree in the corner of my eye, but before I could turn to look at it, I flinched. Captain Trypp, who was standing right behind me, had fired his pistol, aiming at something up in the trees.

"What was that?" I shrieked.

"Animals," he said curtly. "Keep moving."

I looked down and started to walk as fast as I could, fighting every instinct to either keep my eyes on whatever danger was above me or duck and hide. Just as I thought we were getting away from it, there was a surprised yell, followed by a chilling scream of agony. Captain Trypp cursed loudly and the air filled with sparks and smoke as pistols went off. I had no time to respond. Something big and unexpectedly colorful came straight at my face. I realized it had claws the second it reached me. Blinding pain blossomed across my face and I felt hot blood. My attacker moved on with a flurry of emerald feathers.

I blinked against the spots that danced along the edges of my vision. Gingerly, I touched the skin of my cheek. My blood was sticky to the touch. A wave of nausea washed over me. I heard the next bird before I saw it and grabbed my torch with two hands. This time, I was prepared. I watched the crimson parrot until I could see the black pattern on its white cheeks. Flexing my muscles, I swung for it and let out a yelp as the wood connected with claws and fragile bones. The parrot hurtled toward the bushes farther ahead and vanished amongst the foliage.

There was another round of fire and Captain Trypp grabbed my shoulder. He had switched his pistol for his sword and swatted at the nearest animal. The parrot was the size of my arm. Fear made my stomach clench. The captain pushed me forward.

"Tell me we're almost there, lass."

I didn't respond. It took all my focus to keep stumbling on. Why did I want to go on this adventure again?

The path led into a clearing. At the command of the captain, the pirates formed a circle. The parrots seemed utterly fearless. They kept coming in waves, tearing at clothes, hair, and skin. Anything they could reach. Even the death of many of them did not make them waver.

"They must be guarding the treasure," I yelled.

Captain Trypp looked at me to make a retort, but his eyes widened and he grappled for his second pistol. I felt something hit my head and tug my hair with great force. The next moment, the parrot fell in front of my feet, blood smearing its blue feathers. Splinter was behind me, still holding up his dagger. He looked as surprised as I was.

"There is a cave here!" Mr. Geoffrey called.

"Get inside!"

Captain Trypp did not have to repeat that order. I was as much in danger of being trampled by panicked pirates as I was at risk of losing my eyes to vicious birds. Shaw pushed me over on his way to possible safety. By the time I had gotten back on my feet, I was the last one at the entrance, together with Splinter. He had to duck his head to get inside. A parrot came at us with a loud shriek, aiming for the man's exposed neck. I had lost my torch during my fall. As quick as I could, I grabbed a rock and threw it. My aim was true. All that practice with using pebbles to steal apples straight from the trees paid off. The bird swerved and disappeared into the canopy. Splinter stared at me for a moment. Then he smiled, ever so slightly, before ducking into the cave. I hurried to follow him.

# # #

The sudden quiet was awfully disturbing. I could only hear the trickling of water and shuffling of nervous feet. We all waited, holding our breaths, but the parrots seemed to have given up. Eventually I exhaled and started shaking uncontrollably.

"All right, men. Follow me. This bloody treasure had better be here," Captain Trypp said as he took one of the remaining torches.

Everyone followed him in silence. My cheek was burning and my knees and elbows were in agony. I looked at my belt and was relieved to see the map there, crumpled but in one piece. My clothes were filthy and my braid had come out of my hair. A laugh bubbled up from my chest and I couldn't stop it.

"What's this now?" Shaw asked as he walked beside me. He seemed particularly annoyed.

I just grinned at him.

"Charlotte?" Captain Trypp sounded surprisingly friendly. I wondered what he wanted. As fast as I could, I made my way past the other pirates, toward the back of the cave. The passage ended at a T. We could go left or right. Both corridors sloped down. The captain was standing next to the cavern wall. He pointed at some symbols that were etched in the stone.

"Well?" he asked impatiently.

My grin grew wider. "To the left."

"Ladies first."

I accepted the dagger he offered me and the torch. Carefully I descended farther into the cave, taking the left hand corridor. After a while, my grin vanished and doubt set in. I was about to turn around and confess to a group of particularly grumpy pirates that I had made a mistake, when I suddenly saw something up ahead. A bundle of pale light that shone down from somewhere.

I hurried toward it and found myself entering a huge cavern with a very high ceiling. The moon was visible through an irregular opening in that ceiling and it illuminated the cave floor below. Ivy grew along the stone walls, giving everything a green hue. In the middle of the gigantic natural room, was a man-made slab with engravings wrapping around it. I approached it and the light of my torch reflected against gold. Two ruby eyes stared at me from a golden face, cold and emotionless. It was the statue of a parrot the size of my torso. The detail in the feathers was striking, but not as much as the irony.

I turned around and grinned.

"Still think it's bad luck to have a woman on board?"

## Adimore's Lever

### by

### FarPointBeta

Illustrated by Casei_Magnus

Taking time to rest his legs, Adimore sat among boulders and small saplings in a glade not far from the mountain pass he liked to call home. He had been making his way around the mountain range, one massive step after another, trying to see who had been visiting during the night.

Adimore looked about, exhausted after a long day of searching. Carrying his heavy frame was difficult and food had become sparse as the birds and larger animals had fled from the oncoming winter. Adimore took a great deal of food to sustain himself, and, as was wise on the passage of every fall, he rested more than he explored and sat more than he walked around the foothills of his home.

A gust of wind passed, a flock of large birds, and then a batch of heavy clouds. Time passed slowly as he looked around, forlorn to face the tasks of the winter. As the largest creature in the mountain range, he would no doubt again be tasked with its occupation. And without surprise, some new savior or knight or champion would make his way, clad in all the physical trappings of a man of majesty, honor, strength, and courage, seeking to ruin Adimore's peaceful winter slumbers, his dank-cavern brooding, his prowling through and around the mountain forests.

Last year brought one such fool in the heaviest of armor, confident that nothing, not even Adimore's mighty fist, could smash directly down on him and make him several feet shorter in one hammer blow. Words were said, umbrage was taken, and Adimore waited as the latest lost, yet intrepid soul charged to claim Adimore's massive head. And he, as all such men, was in fact wrong about Adimore's fist, and wrong about the strength of armor.

_But that would not be for a month,_ Adimore thought as the breeze returned and his body cooled in the brisk air. He would be able to head back to the pass and clear it, prepare his abode, and see whether his love was returning this year. She hailed from several mountain passes over and had promised her return to him.

"It wouldn't be a year," she said the last time they spoke.

Nearly two years ago, they had just finished romping through a village called Ashwood, north of his home range, terrorizing all of the residents who had not actually seen a single Insidious Giant before, let alone a team of two. It was Adimore's idea, with Lillist playing along, bearing her upper and lower, oversized canines, smashing her fists on the ground and roaring at any farmer that would hazard an attack on her with a shovel. Adimore, knowing that Lillist would have to leave and couldn't be back by the time the snow had settled in all the crevasses of the mountain range, wanted to scare up a few of the nearby villagers to ensure that they would send a hero on a hopeless mission to kill him.

All of this raucousness brought to a close an otherwise quiet summer season.

He was right that she didn't come back that winter. He obliterated a man that would later arrive in heavy armor, rolled listlessly in his abode, and broke into the spring hungry, ready for a year of hunting and exploring even farther through the hinterlands to the south.

And until this winter came, the feeling of loss for Lillist never had struck him in the gut like it did over the past few days. It suddenly had become likely that Lillist would not to return this winter...again.

_Something had happened to her,_ he thought. Villagers? Trouble with family? An infected tooth?

He was willing to think of any excuse. But nothing he could conceive of in his simple mind would satisfy his gut desire to see her again, to commiserate with her, to terrorize with her. He picked at the dried, cracking, buckled belt constructed from a herd of antelope that he had trapped many years ago and wondered.

And then a call rang out from above.

It was a falcon, no doubt, and sounding the call of one trained by an Insidious Giant from the northern territories. It was unmistakable.

He turned his bulbous head and perked his ears and flared his nostrils, attempting to sense the good bird in any way he could. And one did appear just off the horizon, northwest of his glade and soaring ably, splayed across the autumn sky. Without a flap of its wing it dipped, then took an angle directly toward Adimore, bearing down on his forehead at an incredible rate of speed, becoming larger and larger at a faster and faster rate.

And then it swooped up, a shot from a geyser, and dropped a small object from the clutches of its talons.

Adimore stumbled to his feet, crashing through a sapling and leaping over a boulder to get himself under the object which by now glimmered in the sunlight as it plummeted toward the earth. He had churned each step into the ground and swayed his arms mightily, just as the object was to hit the rocky terrain, and jumped forward to catch it in his roughshod hands.

It was a bottle, its opening corked.

Adimore peered at the cloudy, bubbled glass of the bottle to see that it was clearly a product of human creation, a method of message delivery not used by Insidious Giants such as himself. Inside the bottle, there was a rolled up piece of parchment bound only with a piece of purple twine, tied with a bow.

A message?

# # #

With a pinch of his thumb and forefinger, Adimore smashed through the entirety of the neck of the bottle and its glass crumbled to dust under his massive fingers.

He turned the bottle's butt end to the sky and let the paper slip onto his hand, where it rested after rolling ever so slightly in his palm. He slid the twine from the coiled paper and unrolled it. English words were written on the single piece of parchment.

In an antelope's stride Adimore cast off to Ashwood Village to find the nearest, literate farmer. Through the foothills and until the land became flat again, on a dirt road and over the wagon ruts and past the bales of hay and loose oxen and thatched huts and shanty barns, Adimore reached a villager he had terrorized in the past, but for whom he had not held great animosity.

A moment during the spring season, he had been pillaging Ashwood for a few of its hogs, tossing about clods of dirt where the freshly planted crops had rested. The man gave out a great yell as Adimore took hold of his second hog to shovel it into his mouth. As Adimore turned, the man lunged with a pitch fork directly toward Adimore's leg.

As all pitchforks and knives and flails and daggers and swords and spears tend to do, this pitchfork bent pitifully against Adimore's hide. _The finest and thickest hide,_ he thought to himself. Adimore was always comforted by the assurance it offered. Even if all of those heroes ever reached him, they had yet to find a way to penetrate his last defense — his own skin.

Despite this attack, a flash of anger did not overcome Adimore, and he hesitated to stomp the man's head with his foot. He chose not to kill the man at all, in fact, and enjoyed watching him stagger back and curse at Adimore. The man was unafraid. He had no equipment like that of a knight or champion, and had no honorable weapon with which to attack. Dressed in barely a pauper's garb, he had no means to protect himself. But the farmer stood his ground.

Adimore bowed his head ever so slightly to the man and walked off, leaving the squealing, second hog behind.

And so the man tipped his hat and bid Adimore adieu. Adimore never forgot the gesture, and knew that the man may be able to help him that day.

So Adimore returned to the man's farm. As the man saw Adimore coming up the rutted path, he did not run or scream or pitifully beg. He stood there, nearly the height of Adimore's knee and fast to his pitchfork. It looked to be a new pitchfork. Adimore approached without snarling or roaring, ambling to within an arm's length of the man and extending the letter down to him.

The farmer read the letter to himself silently and looked back up at Adimore.

Adimore growled, "I can't read," and the farmer looked back down at the parchment and read its contents aloud:

"Greetings Insidious Giant,

The village of Oak Wharf requests your presence at the nearest possible convenience.

Despite our past quarrels, there is a matter that we have common cause to resolve.

We have come to learn that an Insidious Giant named Lillist has been captured and may be killed. We can help to free her if you help us for the winter.

Please depart immediately to meet with the undersigned.

So ever very truly,

[with signature]

Mayor Edgar Commerstock"

Adimore tilted his head as the letter was read. He looked up for a moment as if he heard the message from a divine spirit and, releasing his arms back, let a terrible bellow into the air. He huffed and grabbed the letter and made his start to the west, crashing through the farmer's split log fence and kicking up clods of dirt behind him that landed hundreds of yards away. He would run through the night, crashing through anything that might impede him.

By the next day, he knew, if he kept on his pace, he would reach Oak Wharf. He would reach his opportunity to get Lillist back.

# # #

Oak Wharf had changed since Adimore's last visit.

A prodigious wall of stone reached upward, three times as tall as Adimore, and cordoned the wharf from the mountain range nearby. The wall extended to each side, making obvious that the only way to enter the wharf would be through a gate at the midpoint of the wall.

The gate itself was a marvel to Adimore. He had never seen a human build something so big and tall. A drawbridge of doubly layered and bound logs opened to the front, while an arched gate and steel bars nearly as thick as the giant's arm clamped down to prevent entry.

As Adimore approached, he could see that parapets had been built into the walls, and from them arrows waived listlessly, extending back into the darkness of the wall innards. Occasionally, a glint would shine through the darkness and betray an archer's helmet in the dark.

Adimore's heart quickened. He feared archers. He could not smash archers from such a long distance as they would attack, and he very much disliked running to catch them one by one. It was tiring. And he thought himself lucky that that no champions ever came over the winters past with a long bow, as the only time that he had ever been scraped by an attacker, it was by such a bow, firing an arrow that launched at him faster than any bird could fly.

Then a great roar came from the gate, breaking through Adimore's line of negative thinking. Something screeched and moaned in the distance as a clicking sound whirred. The gate lurched upward, each tine rising into and through the archway that held it.

"Insidious Giant!" a call came from the inner portion of the gate at is rose.

Adimore stood looking in to the archway. A man on a horse came sauntering from beyond the gate's threshold. He was a pale-looking bald man, dressed in what appeared to be fine clothing. He carried no weapon, surprisingly. _Another brave human,_ Adimore thought to himself.

"Greetings, giant!" the man called out, now a horse-length away from Adimore, sitting at the height of Adimore's belt and shouting entirely too loud for this proximity. Adimore absorbed it by shrugging slightly away from the man.

"Hello," Adimore grunted.

"I am Mayor Edgar Commerstock," the man said loudly, extending his arm while saying so.

"Where is Lillist?"

"Ah...well, we will get to that my good man," Commerstock said, a hint of nerves creeping into his voice. Commerstock smelled like rotting antelope meat, which was normally pleasing to Adimore but at this moment it struck him as odd. On seeing Commerstock smile, Adimore noticed that the mayor's teeth were nearly rotted out.

"What do I have to do?" Adimore asked uncomfortably.

Commerstock turned his horse and it struck into a trot through to the wharf's walls, waving Adimore in behind him. Adimore's head fit just barely under the metal tines that undergirded the gate arch and followed along, one massive foot after the other.

Adimore was surprised as he entered. Past the threshold of the gate, the village of Oak Wharf was not spread out before him. Rather, two new walls appeared, extending away from the gateway wall and forming a long chute by which he and the mayor had to walk for nearly one hundred yards before it narrowed. It narrowed and narrowed a bit more and by another several giant steps the chute had become so narrow that it nearly brushed against Adimore's shoulders on both sides.

"An odd wall," Adimore said, puzzled. Mayor Commerstock looked back to Adimore from his horse, but did not offer a response.

After Adimore followed Commerstock even farther, the chute came to a dead end at a large wall. The mayor turned off to the right and entered a passageway with his horse. Adimore was forced to turn as he approached the end of the chute, but before he did he noticed odd holes in its end, three of them, each as large as his head. He looked inside briefly and only saw darkness.

"Over here, my good man!" the Mayor beckoned.

Adimore turned and lowered his head, dipping into the passage through which Commerstock traveled and leaving the narrow walls of the corridor behind him.

# # #

As he crossed a threshold into the daylight, Adimore squinted his eyes and raised his hand as he caught the rays of the setting sun.

A cheer arose from ahead. Trumpets played and, as Adimore's vision adjusted to the glare, he could see that flags of all kind waived up ahead. People lined a pathway into the heart of a small city with roads that all centered toward a town market. Thatched roofs and mud homes flanked a cobblestone street, one of many Adimore could see from his vantage that angled to a bustling city square. And beyond that, the docks and shanties and bobbing boats made the fishing wharf that dominated the western region of the mountain range.

Mayor Commerstock rode his horse up ahead, waving to the townspeople as they clapped for Adimore. They cheered affirmations of "Woo!" and "Hooray!" to him, some waving bits of cloth or a straw hat or a clutch of flowers. Adimore understood the meaning of none of this, but for the Mayor's vague words in his letter, read by the farmer. Regardless, he followed along toward the square.

As he stepped closer to the square, past the throngs of villagers, a woman ran out to him, stopping his progress. She was covered in the darkest of blood. It dripped from the garments of her upper torso and flowed down a dress to the cobblestone road. She raised her arms to Adimore. It had the stench of antelope flesh, his favorite dish since he had captured one in the plains northeast of Ashwood Village.

The woman held up the carcass, barely reaching the bottom of his knee with the offering. He snatched it with three fingers and tossed it into his maw, crunching its body between his rear teeth.

The raucous din that had overwhelmed Adimore as he walked the road quieted. Adimore noticed that several stepped back from the road as few villagers continued clapping. The Mayor looked back to see what was happening and, in noticing Adimore's mastication of the beast, spun back around on his horse and raised his arms to the crowd. The band launched a new fusillade of notes and the crowd again went back to clapping and cheering at their loudest. Adimore felt strange at the attention, but put it in the back of his mind, bringing thoughts of Lillist to the fore, wondering what needed to be done to save her.

He and the Mayor reached the center of the town, where a stand and dais had been set up.

"Please, Giant, do join me here," the Mayor said as he dismounted his horse, heading to the stage. He pointed to an area directly in front of the wooden pile that held the dais. Adimore attempted to raise a foot to the stage but Commerstock put his hands up, "It cannot hold you," he said calmly. Adimore lowered his foot and turned. The adoring crowd had filled in behind him, packing the square shoulder to shoulder.

"This," the Mayor grandly announced, "is our new friend!" he said from the lectern.

The crowd roared.

"Today marks an important day for Oak Wharf and all of its inhabitants. We meet new challenges by making new friends. I hope that his alliance will last all of our lifetimes!" the Mayor continued, raising his arms.

The crowd again gave out a great, collective roar. Adimore felt uneasy. The attention blanketed him, when usually, he cared only for dissonance, destruction, and chaos that came along with his prior battles with humans. This was not at all familiar.

Then a cleft began to form in the throng of villagers, groups of people stepping away to cut a path to the stage at the center of the square. A number of courtiers appeared, dressed in colorful smocks and carrying between them massive uncovered trays. Three had on them the carcasses of various animals, uncooked and overwhelming the bland smell of human flesh that befell the square. The new, savory aroma comforted Adimore as he watched a fourth group carry some small, unpalatable foodstuffs that seemed to have been prepared for the Mayor. And a fifth and sixth group came carrying jugs of wine and mead.

The Mayor stepped down from the stage and a group of peasants carried a banquet table to the square.

"It is a feast, my good friend," the Mayor said. He was handed a chair, and stood waiting as four men carried a cut log and placed it behind Adimore, giving him a place to sit at the banquet table and hunch to reach his food. The food was placed and Adimore and the Mayor sat, on the same side, near to each other and facing the expecting crowd.

They would eat and drink. The Mayor talked and talked, saying things about the wharf, and retching several times at the sight of Adimore eating, but for the most part confusing Adimore with his complicated words and meaningless attempts at conversation. The townspeople watched, many having to leave at the sight of the feast occasionally, but were present most of the time. But the two continued to drink and eat.

Near the end of the meal, Adimore noticed that objects began to blur in his vision and he was quite sleepy considering the time of day. The Mayor talked more, and continued to talk, and the sun set further, and more food was brought by colorful servers. A bird flew overhead, and the crowd blurred into itself, becoming one indistinguishable mass. Adimore found himself imagining that Lillist had wandered into the wharf and was coming to see him, and that together they would walk away to the mountain range and rest for the winter.

And as that image faded, so too did all of the other images of that day. Blackness slowly bled through Lillist, the townspeople, the banquet table, the Mayor, all until Adimore could see nothing more than a deep and undefined void.

Adimore fell into a deep sleep.

# # #

A clattering broke through the fog of Adimore's mind at a woodpecker rapport. He had been kept by a dream about a dream of his lost love.

The flittering light of several lanterns swung overhead, hanging on a wrought iron chandelier suspended perilously over Adimore's head. Adimore rubbed his face and eyes with his hand, attempting to wipe the daze off of him. He uncovered them and realized that he lay on his back, on a flat and hard surface, looking up at a ceiling in a strange, dimly-lit room.

Looking around, the clattering continued and to his side he could see a massive wheel made of wood that looked reddish in the light. The wheel was as large as any Insidious Giant, and like a water wheel that Adimore had seen in several towns around his mountain range, had cogs rising from it at around the wheel's largest edge. Spokes led from the outer portion of the wheel to a tight, inner circle, leading to a shaft that Adimore followed with his eyes. It was the width of the oldest of willow trees in the region. It led past his feet and to a platform.

"Impressive wheel isn't it, my friend!" a man's voice called out of Adimore's view. It was the mayor's voice. Adimore turned to his left arm and looked up. Mayor Commerstock stood on a balcony that stretched on two sides of the room, high above him and the wheel.

Adimore lifted his body up and swung his legs over the side of the table he had been sitting on.

"I specially designed that bed for you, sir," the Mayor said. Adimore looked down. It was perfectly hard and comfortable.

"And the room as well," the mayor pronounced. "It is dark, just as you like your winter home, from what I understand. I hope that you think it good quarters for the winter."

"For the winter? Why would I stay here?" Adimore said, despite noting that the dankness of the room was just to his liking. Moisture seeped from the walls, darkness dominated the room, and a rank smell of sumptuous flesh came from a door thither. So his question was counter to his interests. He hoped that the mayor would give him a good reason to wait out the season in this very room.

"Because you must be efficient! Your strength is needed here, running my machine! And in doing so, you can help me to help you find your love. Hopefully, we can bring her here, and then I can repay my debt to you," the mayor said cheerfully.

Adimore thought. He looked around. The entire room was built around this machine and quarters for Adimore. The wheels and shafts and ropes, with its wood and iron, jutted through each corner of the room and occupied every conceivable spot. From the giant wheel a shaft, to that shaft a crank, from that crank three more shafts, ropes and then wheels and gears and more gears. It was all so confusing to Adimore. Machines were not something he needed to learn in the mountains, or even for his adventures pillaging through the towns and homesteads of the countryside.

"What do I need to do?" Adimore said, curious as to why he would be needed over anyone else.

The mayor started down a rope ladder that extended drop from the balcony. "Look here," he said as he released the last rung, "it is simple. There is this lever here that you must pull when you hear the yeoman's horn. My assistant is set to blow the horn in mere moments."

And the horn blew, sounding of a wildebeest call.

The Mayor motioned to Adimore to approach a cast iron lever thicker than the trunk of a white pine, with a haft at its top, setting a rough, curved handle above its shaft. Adimore approached and, at first giving a light tug, moved the lever slightly but was pulled back by its heft. He was puzzled, as if this was a prank of some sort. The resistance was an affront to his strength.

Angered, Adimore set his feet and pulled harder, this time his arms rippling to budge the great lever. Adimore's feet pressed firmly into the platform. A great creak at first and then a terrible roar emanated from the base of the lever and the shaft turned and the gears cranked and the clacking that Adimore had heard before became more pronounced. Adimore continued to pull, encountering more resistance, but yet was able to bring back the metal rod to its furthest point backward.

Adimore turned to Mayor Commerstock, whose eyes were white as sea shells, even from Adimore's vantage on the chamber floor. Commerstock stood silent. The lever then made another great noise, drawing Adimore's attention as it released to its starting position again.

The room fell silent, save for a creaking sound overhead. Adimore had only heard this type of creaking sound only once before – while on the deck of a great sailing vessel, many years ago. As a boy, he had been captured by a group of townsfolk who hoped to take him to another land. He sat captive in a cage on the deck of the ship. A hellacious storm broke over the water though, just as the ship had cast off from shore. The great ship strained against the tossing waves and men shouted to bring in the sails, scampering about, being tossed by waves that cast over the bow of the ship. Many were cast into the sea, many hung desperately to rope lines, and still others were dashed against the quarterdeck, killed instantly.

But the ropes creaked, and did so loudly. Thunder cracked ferociously and lightning struck menacingly nearby. And between cracks from the overlord thunder and the flashes of light that precluded them, a crack came from the main mast – it had split in half. And in a moment rigging and wood and metal came crashing onto Adimore's cage, breaking it open. This was the last thing Adimore remembered before waking up ashore.

But the sound of the ropes creaking he would never forget. Now it haunted him in the very room he stood.

Mayor Commerstock began stepping toward an archway at the far end of the balcony. "Good luck, my dear man. Water closet is at the alcove opposite the meat room. And don't forget to listen for the horn!"

Adimore looked up to the pale man. "When does the creaking stop?" Adimore asked.

Commerstock turned. He cocked his head to the side and his eyes looked through a raised eyebrow. "About NOW!" he shouted upwards to the ceiling and a whoosh coursed across from above, followed by a hollow _thump_ that shook the cellar room. The ropes released and the wheels whirled. Commerstock said with a sigh, "Ah, sounds like everything is working quite nicely."

Adimore looked up, comforted that the creaking had stopped.

"Good job, my good man. No man or team of oxen exists that can pull that lever. The only flaw in its design. Only you can help us make it work now. Only you can help us meet our dire needs and what is," he flourished with his hand, "a very special time."

Adimore stood proud, puffing his chest out, fists to his hips. "You can call me Adimore," he said.

"Adimore," the Mayor repeated. "Very well then, Insidious Giant. I will see you tomorrow to see if you need anything further." The Mayor waived and made his exit through an archway at one end of the balcony.

The great giant looked to the other end of the balcony and the ladder had been rolled up and placed on the balcony. He was to be confined there for now. He looked at the machine for a moment and took in its vastness. But, before he could get lost in too much thought, his sense of wonder was interrupted by the scent of fresh meat.

It was time for a meal. He made way to the alcove from which the smell came.

# # #

And so several days followed like this, where Adimore would sit, just as he would to while away the time during the winters.

He waited for the horn to be blown, a souring bellow from somewhere outside of the cellar he occupied, and walked to the massive lever, then pulled it, and then the room creaked and moaned before releasing with a _whoosh_ and a _thump_.

Immediately afterward, Adimore would hear a splatter of sorts and look to the one alcove to see that fresh meat had been dropped from a chute above. It was always the finest game, something he would never have in his home mountain range during the lean months of winter.

And every so often, a knock could be heard from the balcony above him.

The balcony was too high to reach, so Adimore would at first just wait at the curious sound. Moments later, a small human woman would appear, old, with grayish blonde hair and black sackcloth robes, carrying a jug she seemed ill-suited to cart around. She would totter in onto the balcony and make her way to a bit of coiled rope at a point on the balcony, slowly unwinding the rope. On its end, a basket had been tied.

The woman placed the heavy jug in the basket and then lowered it down slowly to Adimore. Each time, she would leave in the basket a purple flower.

After inspecting the jug the first time, Adimore came to know that it would always be filled with some sort of spirit, be it mead or some distilled, fermented treat. And after that he would hear a knock and bellow upward, "Come in!"

And so the old woman with gray-blonde hair came, eventually daily. Adimore would drink whatever she would bring. He would sometimes even take the flower from the basket and examine it. But he would always sit back and dream of he and Lillist, reuniting after the spring came, finding the same love that they had before, wallowing in their passion for each other and wreaking havoc on the world once again.

The next day would come and he would pull the lever. Once, sometimes twice. And each day he would get new food and drink and live as well-fed and well-drank as he ever lived before.

He even picked up a habit of taking some of his extra drink and polishing stones on the floor, just to see them glimmer in the candlelight. They shone as the winter sun would through soot-black clouds.

And then after several weeks into his stay, he thought to himself every so often, _What does this machine do?_ He thought of it so often, in fact, that he decided that it was important he find out. So on a day after several weeks had passed he waited to pull the lever, for the room to creak, and for the _whoosh_ and _thump_. The woman appeared shortly thereafter. He waved to her as she slowly carried about with her duties and then called up.

"What does this machine do?" Adimore asked.

The woman hesitated as she lowered a new jug to the giant, slowly with one hand on the rope under the other. Without lifting her head to catch his eye, she stared forward with eyes glazed. Adimore saw her wrinkled human mouth dipped at its ends and her brow furrow to pinch the center of her face severely.

"It is an arbiter of the past," she said in a raspy growl, "an anticipant of justice, a rectifier of imbalance."

Adimore tilted his head. These were curious words to him. He did not know any of them.

The woman continued, "When you have finished your duty in pulling the lever each time the horn is blown, I promise you that I will help you understand the purpose of the machine. Will that do?"

"Yes, that will do," Adimore said, this time understanding, but without any chance of understanding what she meant. He took a new jug from the bucket.

The woman pulled the bucket back upward slowly, coiling the rope before she left. She walked out without another word, leaving Adimore to himself.

# # #

Yet another week passed. Adimore had pulled the lever in the morning, and now sat in the late evening, wondering.

He had pulled the lever so many times and shone so many stones and eaten so many carcasses and drank from so many jugs that he had forgotten their quantity. Had he even been good at counting, he figured to himself, he probably still wouldn't have the ability to count the number of times he had gone through each.

But in the prior weeks, it did not matter. This was his joy, pulling this lever that nobody had before been able to pull. He was handsomely rewarded at each application of his strength. And it was very much preferred to the months he would spend in his home mountain range, especially in a sparse season. Never before had he eaten so fully, drank so richly, as he did this winter. And his accommodations were just as comfortable, if not better, than that of his home. It was as dank and wretched as he could have dreamed.

So had not fretted as he did now. He was not restless as he was now, turning in his mind the possible functions of the gears and cogs and ropes.

The horn blew again.

This time, Adimore waited. He did not move to pull the lever.

Moments passed. The woman did not appear. The machine sat still, idle to its purpose.

Adimore paced to the vast machinery surrounding him. He started to examine the lever first _. Each thing is connected to another thing,_ he thought to himself, without knowing the names of all of these oddities, save for the lever itself, which the Mayor mentioned to him.

_The lever is straight,_ he thought. _It is connected to something else that is straight, but it is connected to a wheel._ He looked around. _It is the biggest wheel. It is flat like a table. Laid on top of that wheel is another wheel, and another three smaller wheels. And from three wheels, ropes wrap around them. They go into different directions in the room._

The horn blew again, this time with more force. Adimore kept his gaze fixed on the wood and rope and iron that was melded together before him.

And those ropes lead to three wheels. The wheels were in the very high ceiling. He had observed these wheels before. They were not flat to the room and they did not have ropes connected in the same way that ropes of the lower part of the machine were connected. The three wheels rolled the rope, he thought. They were not flat like tables, but standing like the wheels on a wagon.

A clamor could be heard upstairs. Voices were shouting to each other from where the old woman would appear. They were not inside the chamber, but close by. It broke Adimore's attention from the machine and from his thoughts about receiving another substantial meal.

For the first time, a smell arose from where he had defecated each day. It had been cared for regularly by some method, of which he was not sure. But the stench never bothered him before. Now the smell began to rise, tinging his nostrils and becoming inescapable in the chamber. Now the machine and the smell and the din above overwhelmed him.

_How do I leave here_? he thought anxiously.

Adimore heard the sound of a door assaulting a stone wall, and footsteps slapping the stone floor between the balcony and the entrance. A group of humans seemed as if they were approaching the balcony.

Thinking quickly, Adimore backed to the furthest point in the room, standing on the platform that presented the lever, and looked up. He watched as Mayor Commerstock marched across the balcony followed by a league of archers with bows in hand and quivers of arrow strapped to their backs. The gang formed a line the length of the balcony and looked down upon Adimore.

"My dear giant," Mayor Commerstock announced, "we need you to draw back on the lever. There is urgency in this matter." His voice was not pleasant.

"Why?" Adimore called up. "I want to know why."

Commerstock pulled his head back slightly, as if slapped by a petulant child, his face a combination of irritation and befuddlement. He looked around as if to share in the reaction with his comrades but the archers kept their gazes to Adimore. Commerstock then looked downward, placing his hands on the railing.

"My dear giant," he said again, now slowly and seething, "we need you to draw back on the lever yet two more times. There is no time for argument."

"But what does it do?"

"I will promise to tell you."

"When?" Adimore shouted up, his voice echoing in the room. The archers became unsettled, standing fast now. Some of their hands left their sides, ready to draw from each quiver.

Commerstock drew back from the railing, his faced marred with a scowl, wrenching his hands together and looking to the entrance. He looked back to the small archway but nobody was there. The men around him began to break their gazes from Adimore, looking to Commerstock. He looked around to them, cocking his jaw back and forth under his skull. He divorced his hands.

"It will be tonight," Commerstock said back coldly to Adimore, still not looking at him. "Promise to pull the lever two more times and I will promise to release you from here and show you what the machine does," he said, two dead eyes staring from his skull. "Do you agree?"

The men looked back down.

Adimore turned his back to Commerstock. He thought about all of the days he had been down here, and his new worries, and the stench that wracked this place. He could stay, but he would not know what he was doing here. He could leave, jumping up to the balcony and taking the head of one archer, tearing it from his body, and hurling it at Commerstock's head so that it crushes his skull. Fighting off all of the arrows that might be fired on him, he would then, one by one, break in half each of Commerstock's men, impaling some on the lever itself, hanging others by the rope, and dashing yet others on the shiny stones that constituted his floor.

But he needed to learn what it was the machine did. _Then, and only then,_ would he proceed.

Adimore reached and, setting his feet, leaned back and heaved against the massive iron lever. The machine churned. The ropes pulled and became taut. They strained against themselves. He turned to see that Commerstock dashed for the exit, his men following afterward in the clatter of heavy footfall toward the exit of the chamber.

In the distance, Commerstock could be heard issuing commands before the strain of the mighty machine was released with a _whoosh_.

Adimore stood alone in the chamber. No food fell. No old woman came in.

The horn blew again.

# # #

Adimore pulled the lever and waited for the release of the machine, with its _whoosh_ and _clamp_ sounds.

Neither came.

The machine sat taut and straining, the ropes again creaking. Now the stench of the room was overwhelming, unbearable even to Adimore. The chamber in which the food dropped was entirely empty.

Adimore was now resolute. He wanted to leave.

Adimore walked to the center of the chamber and eyed the balcony, and, crouching into himself, placed his hands lightly onto the floor. In one charge, his body exploded upward and hurtled toward the balcony, his one hand reaching out and ready to launch over the railing and onto the oak boards. As he grabbed the railing a terrible screech echoed through the room and as his weight had transferred to the wooden framing the structure began to give way.

Adimore's body continued upward anyway, and with the railing and boards still barely affixed to the sidewall of the chamber, he tumbled into the stone archway that led to where the old lady had come from and where Commerstock had led the archers. As he made his last roll from the boards they collapsed to the floor beneath.

Adimore looked over the edge of the archway and could see that the collapsed walkway had entirely missed crushing the machine.

He turned back and stomped with his head ducked through a corridor that led to a massive oak door the height of two men. Without lessening his pace Adimore lowered his shoulder and burst through the threshold, splintered wood and shattered iron ejecting from the gateway.

Adimore gathered his feet beneath him and looked outward to see that he was overlooking Oak Wharf. From his position he could see the entire town and its netting of roads that led to the market center where he had once, a long time ago, sat with Mayor Commerstock to eat.

Night had fallen but it was not entirely dark yet. A round moon hung above the horizon and cast its crimson light on the thatched huts and stonework of the village. Beyond it, boats sat still in the bay, tethered to the docks and undisturbed. No person stirred in the streets. A cool breeze cut directly to Adimore's nostrils.

"You are here to see the truth?" a voice rasped from below Adimore.

He looked down and saw what could have been mistaken for a heap of clothing on the ground. It was simply a lump but for the unmistakable voice. It was that of the old woman. He had never seen her from above before. She motioned with her arm for him to follow.

The woman moved slowly as they walked a path that was oddly familiar to Adimore. It was a path leading away from the village, and to the stone chutes and parapets that Adimore had seen when he first arrived.

"Why are we leaving?" Adimore asked down to the lump.

The woman said nothing and kept motioning. She reached the final threshold that Adimore remembered had led to the long, narrow chute of wall three times his height, just like the massive walls that protected the larger wharf. It seemed as if he and the old woman had walked in a large circle from where he had first met her. She pointed through the threshold.

Adimore was tired of questioning the woman and walked forward. He looked all around, taking in his surroundings. He saw the chute, its length obscured by shadow that had cast from the moonlit night. He turned to look at the wall he had previously seen on his way in. It too was cast in a deep shadow, but he ran his hand along the wall, still wondering why no other person wandered the village that abutted the wharf.

As his hand ran along the wall, it fell inward. A stone was missing. It was one of the holes he had seen as he had walked in. He continued to run his hand to other parts of the wall. There too was another missing stone. And another. There were three stones missing from the wall, leaving three holes that faced the long chute that led to the massive archway of the wharf.

Instantly, just as his own stench had distracted him near the machine, another stench broke his concentration from the wall. This stench he knew well. It was as familiar to his brain as his desire for chaos. It was born of battles that he had suffered over the years. Of fallen comrades.

It was Insidious Giant's blood.

Adimore pushed from the wall and started running toward the scent, affixing his eyes to the shadows, staring to each part of the wall that might reveal its source. And as the chute narrowed, a distortion he had at first ignored was unchanged by his approach. It did not dissolve, but became larger and more detailed.

A massive arm. Legs splayed apart on the ground. A torso, a pool of liquid beneath it.

Adimore slid to his knees at the body and reached for it, stopping his slide against its weight. He grabbed for the head and pulled it up, straining to see the face in the darkness. It was an Insidious Giant, no doubt, wearing finely-hewn skins of several large field animals, including a garment across its chest. It was a woman. The body was mutilated in two parts on the chest, however, terribly distorting the figure.

His gazed focused intently but still Adimore could not see who this might be. _This cannot be Lillist,_ he thought in a panic, looking for any signs that it was her, straining against the dark and the blood and the destruction of the body. The face itself was destroyed, blood and shattered bone occupying the space where it once was.

Adimore pushed through the terrible scene and forced himself to lean in toward the face, looking closely to see that a metal bolt was fixed in the corpse's skull. Examining the other holes in the body, he could see the edge of a similar piece of metal. He reached his hand in and pulled it out.

Looking at it in the moonlight, he could see through the blood and gristly bits that coated its surface a metallic spike of sorts. It was a sharpened, just as a crossbow bolt would be, but with some fins at its back edge. It was as large as a single human.

_What archer could fire this?_ Adimore thought, staring at the bolt in the darkness.

Then the old woman appeared again, near to the head of the fallen giant. She shuffled around Adimore and near to the pool of blood. She laid a small flower on the ground. It was purple. The woman shuffled away.

Adimore turned to watch the old woman make her way back to the village.

It was a long walk down the remainder of the path, with the woman covering little ground as each moment passed. He wondered about the flower, the three holes in the wall, the three holes in this fallen Giant, and the proximity of his chamber to this place.

"What happened to this giant?" Adimore called out to the old woman. She stopped.

The woman shuffled up to Adimore, slowly making her way to where he stood. She beckoned him downward and he leaned to her.

"It was killed by the machine," she said.

Adimore paused for a minute, still leaning over. _What does she mean?_ he asked himself. The woman again started to shuffle away.

"Can you tell me, did I save Lillist?" he asked before she got far. "Will she be coming back?"

The woman stopped again, her body heaving once under what appeared to Adimore to be a heavy sigh. She shuffled back toward Adimore, giving him a piece of paper. He looked at it but could not read it. He handed it back to her.

"I cannot read," he said.

So she read it for him:

"'Greetings Insidious Giant,

The village of Oak Wharf requests your presence at the nearest possible convenience.

Despite our past quarrels, there is a matter that we have common cause to resolve.

We have come to learn that an Insidious Giant named Adimore has been captured and may be killed. We can help to free him if you help us for the remainder of the winter.

Please depart immediately to meet with the undersigned.

So ever very truly,

[with signature]

Mayor Edgar Commerstock'"

Adimore stood, confused. Then noise came from above.

Adimore looked up to see the heads of archers bobbing briskly above him, filing along the walls overlooking the chute, running to its very length. Scores of helmets shined with a dull, red glare in the moonlight and bow sprigs wobbled beside them. The faces of as many men and women as Adimore had seen in the whole village were now perched above him, surrounding him as he stood in the narrowest part of the chute.

The old woman did not move. Her tiny head, hunched to the ground, shook back and forth. Her hands came into view, clasped together.

"I did not receive my meat or jug for the last pull," Adimore said. "It was what the mayor promised. That I receive those things," he said to the woman. "Do you know why they didn't come? Do you know why my quarters were not cleaned?"

The woman's head tilted. She seemed to be listening.

Adimore began thinking about adventures again. The spring was coming, he knew, and there was but more places to visit in the world. _Where will I go this year?_ he thought in the moment. A breeze blew again, but this time bringing fresh sea air into the chute. It reminded him of the slaughter at Jamison Cape, where he had crushed an uncountable number of villagers with their own ship, one that they had newly built. The slaughter was more spectacular because the massive frigate, loaded with barrels of food and dried goods, caromed and crashed about the corridors and corners of the village, causing yet more damage.

"Insidious Giant!" a voice called from above. Adimore looked and saw that Mayor Commerstock had positioned himself within the line of archers, his arms raised upward and his palms facing down to the giant. "You have commanded this machine against your people, and so it shall be commanded against you!"

Adimore stood for a moment, placing his hand to his chin.

"Hello mayor," Adimore called back in reply, waving. "What is my reward? I have worked for you," he said.

The mayor kept his hands up, but he was looking around with a raised brow to those who surrounded him. The archers also looked to each other, murmuring something that Adimore could not hear. The old woman started to shuffle away, this time moving at a quicker pace, reaching the end of the long corridor before disappearing from view. The mayor held his hands up to his archers, calling out to them. The din subsided.

Adimore called back up again, "What does the machine do?"

Again Adimore could hear murmuring above from all of the archers. Mayor Commerstock broke into intense conversation with those around them. Others argued between themselves, hands flying in the air, heated words exchanged, some men pushed and women shoved. Mayor Commerstock was raising his hands emphatically, shouting, but their arguments continued. Heads began bobbing out of sight now, their bow sprigs bobbing along with them, some directly past Commerstock.

Commerstock again came to the wall's edge, raising his arms, "This is to exact justice against you and your people for all of the—" and his voice was overwhelmed by the roar of voices from the walls. Yet more heads filed off of the walls directly past Commerstock. Eventually, Commerstock's head floated above the wall with a few archer's helmets.

Adimore stood, looking up, waiting for Commerstock's response. Commerstock looked down to him, silent.

Then only one head remained. Only Commerstock and Adimore stood and faced each other, lit only by the red moon. Adimore stared directly at Commerstock's tiny pale face, made smaller by his distance on the wall. Adimore wondered if he should jump up and confront the man as he stood by himself on the wall, unprotected.

But Commerstock raised his hands again.

"The machine has freed your friends," Commerstock said. He let the words hang in the night air. "And now," Commerstock continued without inflection, "it has freed you."

Adimore stood relieved to hear that his friends had been freed, as he believed the mayor, but was puzzled as to how it all happened.

The old woman reappeared from the archway.

She shuffled slowly and made her way to Adimore and the corpse that lay at his feet. As she passed him, she motioned with her hand for him to follow her. Adimore took one last look to Commerstock before he followed the old woman, stepping slowly while she shuffled.

He wiped his hands of the blood and shattered bone.

# # #

The old woman walked Adimore through the massive gates of Oak Wharf and past the walls and to the edge of the mountain range that abutted the fishing town.

Adimore looked around to take in the view of the mountains, gleaming purple against the night. They called to him. The woman stopped walking once the two reached the edge of a pine forest that led to the wilderness and, eventually, to a path that would lead Adimore back to his home.

He looked down on her, the old woman, and thought about crushing her under his foot. He let the thought go. He considered going to Ashwood Village and thanking the farmer there. He lingered on his ideas about the summer before regaining his focus.

"Do you know where Lillist has been freed to?" he asked the old woman.

She motioned again for him to draw near. He did.

She whispered to him, "She has not."

He asked where she was.

The woman whispered again, "She is dead."

And he asked how.

And the woman said, "Your ignorance killed her."

Adimore drew back.

She called up, "You worked the machine that caused her death, and that of all of your people. You pulled the lever, time and time again, and it fired those bolts into their bodies. And now you have paid the ultimate price for your life of terror."

Adimore stood, absorbing this.

"And now you can never enter the impenetrable city again, even with all of your great strength. The only thing you might do is kill me, a lady who may not live until tomorrow anyway. And so the village selected me to bear this news to you before you were killed by the machine. By the pull of the final lever."

He looked down now while she spoke.

"But I would not tell you. I thought it was pain enough that you would die the same ironic fate. And then the people agreed that the mayor should not allow the machine to fire again, to strike you. That they would be protected despite you being left alive, and you would be banished forever, and left alone, would die as the last of your kind."

His fists clenched.

"Because they could see that you could not even understand what you had done. You were so pitiful and ignorant that even while you were told of your impending death, that you could not understand what you had done."

A grunt escaped through his clenched teeth.

"That you had killed Lillist."

Adimore roared.

The sound shook the mountains and rumbled the walls of Oak Wharf and was so great, that in the same instant, it shuddered the old woman that stood at his feet. She collapsed to the ground, motionless, her arms still and pressed outward, her face into earth.

Adimore's chest burned and his gut collapsed into itself as he looked down on her. He staggered and, reaching for a tree near him, could not focus his grasp. Darkness washed across his eyes and Adimore took a step forward, feeling his foot sink into the earth and his body fall across it.

He did not stop falling. Light passed him and blackness engulfed him. Every bit of his essence accelerated downward until his consciousness disappeared, forever.

## Wherever She Is

### by

### B. Black

### (ScovilleAndBlack)

Illustrated by ThiaCrish

I _saw them on the rooftops the day before. All dressed in black with their hoods pulled up, like some kind of off-brand samurai. They watched her, waiting to make their move. Waiting until she was alone. I tried to tell her, but being seven gave me little-to-no credibility. She couldn't feel them, not like I could._

When she was in her bedroom, they sneaked in. And before she could don a nightshirt, they attacked. Dad had been working that night and I had just been tucked in after a day of shopping and ice cream. Vanilla with sprinkles, I still remember the taste.

I heard the scream from upstairs. But it was the sound of glass breaking and the thud of a body hitting the floor that made me jump up from my bed. I crept down the stairs to the second floor. Mama was standing in the hallway, sword in hand and facing a woman with blazing red hair.

Their swords came together in an indescribable sound. They danced around each other in a coupling more elegant than a waltz.

The red-headed woman swept mama's legs from under her and she landed on her back against the hardwood floor. A forced breath escaped her lips.

I watched in horror, yelling, "Mama!" when the other woman stomped down on her. The woman turned to look at me with sparkling green eyes that seemed to dance even in the darkness. She readied her long sword to strike me and I inhaled sharply, frozen in panic.

" _No!" mama yelled, scrambling to her feet and swinging her sword down on the redhead's shoulder like a lumberjack's axe on a chopping block. The woman howled and swung her sword wildly at me, cutting my cheek and a lock of my thick, dark hair floated to the floor. I recoiled harshly, crying out in pain._

A growl escaped mama's throat and she raised her sword again to deliver another blow.

The green-eyed woman whipped around suddenly and sliced mama across the stomach before she could react. Mama took in a sharp breath, falling to her knees and dropping her sword to the floor. It made a loud clatter on the floorboards, drowning out my screams.

# # #

Marisol ran, vaulting over the headstones in her path. Her long legs carried her leaps and bounds.

She had underestimated the situation and now, not only one but two Slayers were after her. She cut the corner of a mausoleum and hid just out of sight. She prayed that they would go in the wrong direction or even run right past her. But there was no hiding and she knew it. They weren't just hunting by sight, but by smell. The foul beasts always made her sick to her stomach.

"Dammit. What do I do?" she whispered to herself, closing her eyes just for a second to think.

The tiny scar on her face tugged in the Slayer's direction and she could hear the branches behind her snapping, the leaves crunching beneath their feet.

Marisol gripped the hilt of her sword as she felt them inching closer to her hiding spot. She readied herself, holding her breath and biting her bottom lip until the blood ran from it.

"Come out!" one of the Slayers demanded. His voice was shrill in the chill of the night.

Marisol let go of her breath and closed her eyes one final time before stepping from her hiding spot and into the bright spotlight of the moon.

"Okay, you got me," she said, holding up her hands in surrender to the men in front of her.

"Surrender now, Shard Child, and your life shall be spared," the one on the left spoke. He had a scraggly beard and dark, soulless eyes. The other shared his eyes but had long blond hair and sharpened canines. They both bore down on Marisol, backing her into the mausoleum behind which she had been hiding.

"And you'll just let me go?" Marisol gave a harsh chuckle. "I doubt that."

The blond growled at Marisol but his shorter partner eased him back.

"Easy, Norg. We want no Shard blood on our hands. Remember the Elders," he said, holding his sword across the chest of the blond's blue coat.

Marisol smirked at the blond, saying, "Yeah, wouldn't want that."

"We'll take you..."

"Like hell you will," Marisol said, as she pulled her sword and readied herself for the dance. To die by the sword was an honor but Marisol wasn't ready to be honored yet.

Both men aimed their weapons at her and Marisol jumped in headfirst, twirling and flipping. The sound of steel meeting steel filled the cemetery as Marisol fought them back enough to open up a path for herself, sprinting away at the first chance she got. She dashed across the graveyard and out of the closest exit, feeling the men hot on her trail.

Her little car sat in the parking lot just outside the gates. She fumbled for her keys, unlocking the door and sliding inside, throwing her sword onto the backseat.

The engine rumbled but wouldn't turn over. "Come on," she said. She tried it again but still couldn't get the car to start.

The Slayers appeared from the entrance, looking around for her. She ducked down in the car, turning the key and pumping the gas pedal. The car sprang to life, roaring awake. Marisol sat up and threw it into reverse, backing out.

The two Slayers ran after her. A thud came from the top of her car. The metal whined under the weight of the Slayer. She yelled and swerved in a panic when a sword stabbed down through the steel and fabric of her roof, slicing into her shoulder.

She hit her brakes hard. The blond toppled down the front of her car and onto the street, leaving his sword embedded in the roof of Marisol's car.

"Son of a..." She punched the gas and the tires squealed. The blond tried to get up but the car hit him and he fell to his knees. "Eat this," Marisol said as she rolled over his body with her car and sped off. She looked in the rear-view mirror and saw his partner running to his aid, but the blond was still on the concrete. Not moving.

A sinking feeling crept over her, but she kept driving into the moonlight, leaving her pursuers behind. She smiled to herself but her celebration was short-lived. The low fuel light flashed in green on her dashboard, distracting her.

"Dammit Mari," she hissed. "Always fill up."

She stopped at the first available fueling station and filled her car with gas.

Her house wasn't far from here. Just a few more blocks and she'd be home. The whole time, she watched behind her, making sure the Slayers didn't follow her home. That's the last thing she wanted.

She parked on the street, shimmying from underneath the bloody sword. Getting out, she jumped onto the hood of her car and pulled the sword from the roof. She wrapped it in a coat lying in her backseat before running up the stairs and into the old brownstone she'd called home for the better part of her eighteen years. She crept through the front door, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards and squeaky glass door handle.

She slowly made her way upstairs, passing the slightly-ajar door that led to her parent's room. She peeked inside, hearing the droning sounds of her father's snoring. A half-empty liquor bottle on the nightstand said more than enough. Just for this one night, she was grateful he had drank himself to sleep.

She continued her creep to the third floor of the house and dashed into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She sighed against the thick wood and sagged to the floor. Her princess night light gave off just enough light to see by.

Marisol unwrapped the sword slowly, careful of the bloody blade as she pulled it free and held it out in front of her. She admired the blue-threaded hilt and shining silver blade with its venomous-looking hook at the end. Tonight, she had won. She had faced what was most certainly her end but she came away with her enemy's blade. She smiled in the dim light.

# # #

Marisol tossed and turned on her mattress. Two weeks had passed and the wound on her shoulder still burned, itching with recognition. Her eyes snapped open, darting around her room in the light of the new sun. She rolled off her bed and grabbed her sword from underneath, holding it at the ready.

"Whoa," her dad, Jerome, said. He stood with his hands up in the doorway. His brown eyes were wide and his dreaded hair was wild from sleeping without a scarf.

Marisol sighed, deflating and letting her sword droop to the floor.

"Jesus, dad," she said.

"Jesus _me_? You roll out of bed like you're some kind of goddamned samurai and you Jesus me? And what have I told you about touching mama's stuff?" He held his hand to his heart, walking over to Marisol and grabbing the sword from her hand.

She fought a little, but let him have it after only a few seconds. She stood up straight, watching him hold the sword with the wrong hand. His balance was all off and his feet were too close together. She could take him down without much effort.

She crossed her arms, saying, "Mama would want me to have it. It's an heirloom."

"That's right, it's valuable. And look," he said, motioning to the blade and running one russet finger along the steel, "you've already scratched it."

"What? Let me see that!" Marisol stepped forward but her dad pulled the sword back. "It's just for protection," Marisol said as she let her bottom lip out in a pout.

"I'm your protection. Now get dressed or you'll be late." He smiled and walked out of her room with the sword in hand, closing the door behind him.

Marisol sighed, kicking the edge of her bed.

Her dad shuffled back through the door in a panic, asking, "What was that?"

"Stubbed my toe," Marisol lied, smiling wide.

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he backed out of the room, closing the door again.

Marisol let the smile fall from her face.

The small of her back burned and she turned to look out the room's only window, hanging just above her in a sea of plum wall paint.

She saw nothing. Marisol narrowed her eyes, darting them around the street below. All she saw were children walking hand-in-hand with their parents while wearing backpacks much too big for their bodies. Dogs were running and the mailman was delivering a bushel of envelopes into the mailbox. After another second, she relaxed.

She showered and combed through her wild, dark curls. She stood before the mirror, staring at the small scar just beneath her left eye and the new wound on her shoulder. She hated the marks on her tawny skin. Mostly, she hated the way they made her feel. They brought every nuance of lurking danger to her attention, making it that much harder to ignore.

As a Shard Child she healed fast enough and even faster if she was on the battlefield, but fast healing wasn't enough when every night there was something attacking you, tearing new holes in your skin. She brought out a pair of scissors, cutting the thread free from the now-ugly scar on her shoulder.

Marisol dressed and galloped down the two sets of stairs to the ground floor and into the kitchen. Jerome stood at the island counter, hunched over a bowl of cereal.

"Mm," he grunted as he motioned to her backpack on the other side of the counter. He hummed something that sounded like, 'have a good day' and Marisol mimicked him before leaving the house and getting into her car.

The school was farther away than was reasonable. She drove the whole way in silence, looking up periodically to the hole in her roof, thinking back to the sword she had ditched in her closet underneath some dirty clothes.

She was one of the last Shard Children, one of two to be exact. Her mama had warned her that this day would come, that the Slayers would converge on her and she'd have to fight for her life constantly. And here she was, in the thick of it. She couldn't even visit her mama's grave without being attacked and called a Shard Child.

Marisol pulled into the student parking lot ten minutes late.

She grabbed her bag and raced inside the old cathedral-styled building in record time, finding her way to her first classroom. Without all the other kids in the hallway, it made it easier to navigate. Inside the classroom, she made her way through the sea of her classmate's faces and took her seat in the back. Thankfully, the first period teacher hadn't made it yet, so she was scot-free.

"Hey," the boy next to her whispered and leaned in closer. His hair was black but streaked with a white line down the center. Everyone called him 'The Skunk' but Marisol just called him Ky.

Ky was her best friend, but he knew nothing about her night life. He couldn't know, not if she wanted to keep him safe.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Thought you were suspended," Ky said as he smiled a crooked grin.

"Why would I be suspen—" Marisol furrowed her brow and looked around the room to a girl in the front row. She had long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, although the bandage over her nose kind of took away from their beauty. "Oh."

The girl looked back at Marisol with a sneer.

Ky laughed, "Yeah, oh."

Marisol waved him off, saying, "You're talking about that? That was just a slap on the wrist."

"No, Mari. That was a punch in the face."

"Well, next time she'll know to keep my mama's name out of her mouth." Marisol rolled her eyes at Ky. He sat up straight in his chair and turned his attention to the lesson on the board when he heard the knob on the door jiggle.

The classroom door opened and in walked Mrs. Gilbreth, clutching her worn, leather handbag and fluffing her impeccable, bobbed hair.

"Good morning class," Mrs. Gilbreth greeted them.

A series of muffled heys and good mornings passed over the group.

"We have a new student today."

Marisol felt her before she saw her. The slow burn in the small of her back started again and Marisol tensed. She gripped the sides of her desk and readied herself for a Slayer to come through the door. Instead, a girl no older than herself walked in.

The girl waved to the class and stood in front next to Mrs. Gilbreth. She stood head and shoulders over the older woman with long, dark hair and relentless, dark eyes. Marisol couldn't pull her eyes away.

"Class, this is—I'm sorry, what'd you say your name was again?"

The girl gave a sideways smirk. "Haven," she said, her deep voice caressing Marisol's senses, hinting at the slightest bit of a Spanish accent.

"Right, this is Haven, and she's a senior. Why don't you tell us something about yourself?" Mrs. Gilbreth asked with a smile, plopping down in her wheeled desk chair. Marisol turned her attention back to Haven, narrowing her eyes. She took in everything about the girl from her smirk to the red leather of her jacket, right down to the low-cut Doc Martens on her feet. She was the poster child for rebellion.

"Uh, there isn't much to tell. I'm here from Barcelona," Haven said, letting her eyes roam the classroom. They landed on Marisol. Marisol shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but held the girl's gaze. The burn crept up between her shoulder blades.

"Ooo, that's interesting."

"Not quite," someone said, and the class gave a hushed laugh.

Haven shrugged, gripping the straps of her backpack.

"Is that all?" Mrs. Gilbreth asked.

Haven shrugged again.

"All right then, take a seat."

Marisol looked to the empty seat beside her in a panic, praying Haven chose the one across the class.

"Come sit here," a brawny boy called her to the farthest empty seat. Haven shrugged again and headed his way. Marisol sighed, relaxing her tense back but unable to shake the tingles.

# # #

The rest of the class went smoothly but Marisol couldn't help but cut her eyes at the mysterious new girl, Haven. Even the name evoked a feeling inside Marisol that she couldn't ignore.

"She's hot, right?" Ky asked, leaning in again, nodding his head.

"Who?" Marisol asked, playing it off.

"The new girl... Heaven. She's hot. I think I'm gonna ask her to sit with us at lunch."

"It's Haven, and please, don't," Marisol said underneath her breath, looking over at her just in time to catch her staring.

"Why not? She's new. Don't you remember when you were new, wishing someone would invite you over?" Ky asked.

Marisol shook her head and turned her eyes away from Haven. "I've never been new."

Ky ignored her, "And on top of that, she's a senior, like us. I think we owe it to her to—"

"We don't owe her anything," Marisol hissed at the boy.

Ky raised his hands, "Fine. But we're gonna look like jerks."

"I'll take that chance."

The bell rang and the class erupted in the sound of scooting chairs and zipping backpacks. Marisol blinked, and—just like that—Haven was up and out of the class.

Marisol jumped up from her chair and followed, grabbing her backpack.

"Yo, Mari. Wait up," Ky said as he scrambled to get his things together. Marisol didn't stop; she kept her speed until she was out in the hallway, lost in the thick crowd of high school kids. Her shoulders took a beating as she made her way through the crowd, looking for the girl who had made her spine tingle.

Haven had to be one of them. A Slayer. How else could she affect Marisol in such a way? How else could Marisol be able to feel her? She had to be a Slayer, infiltrating Marisol's school, waiting for her chance to pounce. There's no way Marisol would let that happen. She would jump her first. Now, if only she could find her.

"Mari!" Ky's voice called from behind her.

She looked around one last time for Haven before turning back to him.

"Didn't you hear me calling you?" Ky asked, panting.

"No, sorry," Marisol lied.

"It's cool. Come on, don't wanna be late," Ky said. He grabbed Marisol's wrist and pulled her through the crowd, toward their next class. Marisol tried her best to shake the eerie feeling, but all thoughts led back to Haven and the quickest way to kill her.

# # #

Marisol counted the seconds until English was over. Her stomach rumbled every five seconds. Every time, Ky would look back at her and smile. Thankfully, Haven wasn't in this class with them. Marisol could sit comfortably, ignoring the teacher and Ky's silly looks. Her back never stopped burning, but for now, at least with all these people around, she was safe.

The bell rang and Marisol made a beeline for the cafeteria, leaving Ky behind to find his own way. She piled her tray with as much food as she was allowed and walked over to her favorite table in the back of the large room, the one by the large, sunny window.

She sat, stuffing her face full of mashed potatoes.

The light from the window blotted out, leaving her in a cast of shadow. Marisol frowned, turning in her seat to see what was blocking the much-needed sun. That new, somehow-familiar burn seeped into her bones.

She caught sight of Haven, perched on the windowsill and biting into a shiny, red apple. She was picturesque, like a model or a movie star, with one jean-covered leg bent and the other dangling from her perch.

An internal battle began—whether to say anything or just let it go—but Marisol couldn't help herself. She said, "Hey, do you mind?"

Haven cut the corners of her eyes at her, taking another bite from the apple. "Hm?"

"You're blocking my sun," she said, motioning to the window behind her. Haven looked up at all the sun still streaking through the large panes of the window. She bit into the apple again, holding it in her mouth and sliding off the windowsill. She took a few steps toward Marisol's table and grabbed the chair next to her, flipping it around and sitting backward. She finished the bite and took the apple from her mouth.

"My mistake. I didn't realize I was in the way."

The sun hit Marisol's back again but somehow it wasn't the same. The chill of Haven had settled in.

Marisol shrugged and lied, "It's fine." She inched away as Haven got closer on her backward seat. Their thighs almost touched.

"So..." Haven started, "those Slayers are a real pain in the ass, huh?"

Marisol choked on her food. She looked at Haven through watery eyes. Haven smiled, placing a hand on Marisol's heaving back to help ease the choking. Marisol recoiled from her touch, standing from her chair. She looked down at Haven with narrowed eyes and clenched fists.

"I knew it! I knew you were one of them."

"Relax, I'm not one of them."

"Bullshit!" Marisol yelled.

"Seriously, keep your voice down," Haven said as she stood, facing Marisol and crossing her arms. "Frankly, I think that's quite insulting."

"You'd better start explaining, Slayer," Marisol said, grabbing her fork from the table and backing up, "or this is going to get real ugly, real fast."

"Whoa, relax. I mean it, I'm not after you," Haven said, getting up from her own seat. She set her apple gently on the table and balled her own fists in preparation. "I am you."

"What?" Marisol asked, confused. The words didn't make sense. Her gut twisted in knots and her stance faltered.

"What's what?" Ky asked as his tray clattered on the table. Both girls looked over at him. He smiled sheepishly before taking his seat. The girls looked at each other and slowly sat back down in their chairs, neither one of them taking their gaze away from the other. "I see you found the new girl. Guess what I said finally resonated with you."

Marisol sneered at him wordlessly.

"Yeah, I found her, actually," Haven said, giving a halfhearted laugh.

"I can't imagine why," Marisol said, still gripping her fork dangerously.

"Because you're in trouble," Haven hissed. Looking over at a puzzled Ky, she changed her frown into a smile, saying, "Cause of the girl... in first period."

"I knew it. See Mari, I told you that you were suspended," Ky said with a laugh.

Marisol ignored him, turning back to Haven, asking, "How do you know about that?"

"I know what I know. She's really hurt and you should watch your back," Haven warned.

"My back is covered."

"Oh yeah? Then what is that?" Haven poked the healing wound on Marisol's shoulder. Marisol winced and pulled away. "You can't keep having near misses. That's how you'll lose your head."

"What are we talking about?" Ky asked.

Marisol looked at Haven. "Nothing," she said venomously.

"Everything," Haven corrected, getting up from her chair and grabbing her apple from the table.

Marisol and Ky watched her vanish into the crowd of students before looking to each other. She had left, but the burn hadn't; it lingered where Haven had touched Marisol's back.

"Well, she's a weird one," Ky said with a laugh, "still hot though."

Marisol rolled her eyes, unable to take her mind off of what Haven had said. All the warnings she had given her. What had she meant by saying, 'I am you'? It was all too much for Marisol to think about right now. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and went back to work on her mashed potatoes.

# # #

Marisol said goodbye to Ky at the end of the day. She hadn't seen Haven since the cafeteria incident and she was relieved, to say the least.

"All right, Mari, remember: my house, eight o'clock," Ky said, placing a hand on Marisol's shoulder.

"I'll remember."

Ky smiled, saying, "Really? Cause that's what you said last time and..."

"I'll be there," Marisol said firmly.

"All right."

Ky left, hopping into his car and speeding away. Marisol did the same. She sped home with her music turned low and her senses on high alert. With the Slayers she had fought and now Haven, her life was one big mishmash of trouble. She needed to lie low until this had blown over—especially since she was technically weaponless and vulnerable right now.

She stopped at the gas station on the corner to fill up her car.

Parking on the street, she practically ran to her front door. She hurriedly closed the door behind her and checked through the peephole to make sure she wasn't followed. Laughter from the back of the house caught her attention.

"Dad?" Marisol called out.

"In here," Jerome answered from the kitchen.

Marisol shrugged and walked toward the kitchen, dropping her bag on the wooden floor. "So, I'm thinking Italian for dinner. I know this place downtown that will blow your—" Marisol stopped short when she felt the familiar burn in the small of her back. She looked up slowly and saw her dad on one side of the island and a smirking Haven on the other. Marisol's eyes widened.

"Hey, sweetie, how come you didn't tell me about your new study partner?" he asked, smiling at Haven.

Haven smiled back, taking another grape from the plate in front of her.

"I, uh," Marisol said as she clenched her fist.

"Yeah, how come you didn't tell him about me and you, Twinkie?" Haven teased, winking at her.

Marisol felt her anger rising in her chest. She'd been violated, her home had been violated. "Because there is no me and you, cupcake."

"Don't be rude, Mari," her dad said. "Why don't you two go up to your room and get to studying. I'll bring you snacks."

"Now you're talking, Mr. K." Haven jumped off of the barstool and walked over to Marisol. "Lead the way."

Marisol looked at her. She would take her to her room, all right. The next stop? _Straight to hell._ Marisol looked at her dad one last time. At least down here, he would be safe. She turned and Haven followed her up the stairs silently. They made it all the way to the third floor without a word. Marisol opened the door to her room and darted inside for the sword in her closet. She pulled the blade from her dirty clothes and turned it on Haven before she could react.

"Whoa." Haven put her hands up. "Is that... a Slayer's sword?"

"You shouldn't have come here. And now, you're dead." She twirled the blade through the air and brought it down in Haven's direction, but the girl was gone. She leaped out of the way, sliding across the room.

"Chill out," she hissed. "I told you, I am you."

Marisol swung again, this time piercing her bed as Haven dodged expertly. "What does that even mean? Stay still so I can kill you." The hook of the sword snared in the bed springs and Marisol lost her grip on the hilt.

"Just hear me out," Haven said, holding her hands up. "You're a Child of the Shard, right?"

Marisol fought to free the hook from the springs, stopping only when she heard Haven's words. "Yeah."

"So am I," Haven said. "I feel different, don't I? You feel different to me."

"How?" Marisol asked, eying her. "Why?"

"Because you're in trouble, dumbass. You killed a Slayer, that's a no-no."

"Yeah, like a billion years ago," Marisol said.

"Time is irrelevant. It happened, and now you—and everyone around you—are in danger."

Marisol thought about her Dad, Ky, even the neighbors. She dropped the hilt of the sword and it clanged to the floor. She raised her hands in a fighting stance instead. "How do you know all this? Have you been spying on me?" She opted to ignore Haven's jab at her for the time being.

"No. If I had, I wouldn't have let you kill a Slayer. Now they're gunning for you and even just by being here, I'm in danger right along with you." Haven sighed. "This could mean our extinction."

Marisol shrugged. "Then why are you here? You don't know me—you don't owe me anything."

"Because... because we're the last of our kind. We gotta stick together," Haven said quickly.

Marisol lowered her hands, saying, "That still doesn't explain how you knew about the Slayer."

"It's a ripple effect. Everyone connected with the Shard can feel it," Haven said. "Every Slayer was a Shard Child first and then something got to them. We don't know what, but—" Haven paused. "Didn't your mother teach you this?"

Marisol flinched at the question. "She died, remember?"

Haven hung her head. "Oh."

Marisol sighed. She didn't ask to be connected with the Shard; she'd never even seen one. She thought the Slayers were just a bedtime story made up by her mom to keep her in line. But now, standing here, she didn't know what to believe. Could Haven be pulling her leg? Could she just be another Slayer hoping to exact revenge?

"Look, I'm not asking that you trust me. I'm asking that you let me help you fix this. Word travels fast amongst the Slayers. They could be out there right now. We need to kill the source."

"The source?" Marisol asked. "You mean the second guy?"

"There were two?" Haven screeched.

"Yeah. Tall, blond, and angry had a friend: short, dark, and bearded."

"Which one is our dead guy?" Haven asked.

Marisol thought for a second, pretending she didn't think about that blond man every time she closed her eyes, "Uh, the blond."

"Well, that makes beard our target."

# # #

Night came, and the two girls set out for the cemetery. Marisol said goodbye to her dad, telling him that she was going to take Haven home. She wanted to tell him the truth, but she also wanted to keep him safe. He was the only thing she had left in the world. Mama always said, it's better for him to not know. Plausible deniability.

Before they left, Marisol sneaked into her parent's room and took her mama's sword again. It was like her good luck charm. Her deadly good luck charm. It wasn't the best sword. All the good stuff was in her mother's craft room next door, but her Dad kept that locked up tighter than Fort Knox.

Marisol drove Haven back to the scene of the incident. It'd been two weeks and she hadn't ever intended to come back. She would take the sacrifice of never standing at her mother's grave again to keep herself safe.

"It's just over there." She pointed past Haven and farther into the dark of the cemetery parking lot. Marisol parked in her usual spot and killed the engine.

"The scene seems to have been cleaned." Haven jumped out, running to the middle of the lot. "Nope, nothing," she hollered back.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Marisol yelled to her. "It has been two weeks."

"None of this is a good thing," Haven replied. "The second guy must've done it."

Marisol got out of the car and walked over to her.

"Take me to where they first spotted you. They'll probably be waiting for you to return," Haven instructed.

"It's right over here." Marisol led her into the cemetery and straight over to her mama's grave. Haven stared at the headstone, bowing deeply to it. Marisol watched her. "What now?"

"Now, we wait."

Both girls positioned themselves on the opposite side of the headstone, sitting in the dirt and shadows. They sat side by side with their thighs nearly touching.

"So," Haven said. "Your dad seems cool."

"Yeah, he's the best," Marisol said. "He worries too much."

"Comes with the territory, I guess." Haven shrugged. "My dad was never around much and when he was, he was too busy gambling away the house payment to give a rat's ass about what Mom and I were doing."

"Sorry to hear that."

"It's no biggie. Just reminding you how lucky you are."

"I don't need reminding," Marisol muttered.

The silence grew between them, but Marisol cleared her throat. "So what is a Slayer, actually? And for that matter, what is a Shard Child? Besides the obvious, I mean, you know, being a Child of this mystical Shard. And what are our mamas? Shard Women?"

Haven laughed low, saying, "No, they were protectors of it. It's their job to find all the pieces and keep them safe."

"Pieces? How many are there?"

A cracking branch in the distance sent both girls on high alert. Haven shushed Marisol and got to her knees, peering over the back of the tombstone. And there he was—short, dark, and bearded—just as Marisol had described. The stench of foul beast filled the air.

"I know you're here," he called into the night. "I can smell you. Come out and fight me!"

"Okay," Haven whispered. "I'll distract him and you go for the jugular." Marisol didn't have time to respond before Haven jumped up from behind the headstone with her fists raised.

He stepped back in apparent shock that she had been so close. "You're not her."

"No, I'm much worse." Haven jumped over the headstone and attacked, pulling no punches. She caught him across the jaw with a clean right hook and again in the stomach when he doubled over.

Marisol stood, sword in hand, and charged his back. She pierced through his coat, but the sword was stopped with a loud _twang_ on a metal plate underneath.

He laughed low, still trying to catch his breath from Haven's blow. Marisol moved back from him, readying her weapon again.

"You thought it'd be that simple?" he asked through gritted teeth. "You thought I'd just let you win?"

"Well, we were hoping." Haven moved in to hit him again, but he caught her fist and threw her into the tall headstone. Marisol heard her back pop as she toppled over it and to the ground. She groaned into the dirt.

"You!" he shouted, turning to Marisol. "You killed my companion. I was going to spare your life but you chose blood. Now, I must end you." He pulled his blade from his side and aimed it at Marisol.

"Who even talks like that?" Marisol quipped and prepared herself for the attack. But there was no preparation. From the first swing of his sword she felt his power bearing down on her. She twirled and parried his advances the best she could, grunting and sliding on the loose dirt. He paused for a second too long and Marisol was back in the game, twirling and slashing through the air.

Haven made her way to her knees before pushing herself up off the ground. She growled low and jumped back into the fight at the earliest opening.

"Argh," she grunted as she jumped in, catching her arms around his neck and bringing him down to the ground. His sword clattered and skittered away from his fingers, bouncing into the shadows. "Get his weapon!" Haven yelled to Marisol.

Marisol paused when she saw the chain around Haven's neck fall from her shirt. On the end of it was what looked like a piece of glowing glass. She'd never seen anything so flawless. It pulled at her, called her by name. She fought against herself to keep from grabbing it.

"Marisol!" Haven yelled again, snapping Marisol from her enchantment.

Marisol dove into the dark, searching on her hands and knees for the sword. She found its hilt and raised it proudly in the air. "I found it!" she yelled.

A sharp, stabbing pain hit her side and she dropped the sword in agony. The darkness lit up in a fiery glow of reds and blues. Marisol fell to her knees, holding her side, feeling the blood rush out and into her hand. She looked back and saw a woman kneeling down, picking up the sword. It was a woman with intense, red hair that seemed to be on fire. There was a blaze of freckles across her nose. The tiny scar on her cheek flared but Marisol didn't need her scar to know who the woman was. Her gut flip-flopped with recognition and she was rendered motionless.

"Inferna," the man whispered in terror beneath his breath.

"Marisol!" Haven screamed, letting the man go, getting to her feet. She ran over to Marisol and helped her stand back up. They both looked at the woman who stepped toward them.

"I always wanted to kill a Shard Child." Her voice seemed like it was sounding in Marisol's head rather than coming from her mouth. "And now, I get to kill the last two."

Marisol gulped, still holding her side.

Haven shored up her grip around Marisol's shoulders. "Like hell, you will." She pushed Marisol forward and they both took off in a sprint toward the exit of the cemetery. Marisol could hear only one set of footsteps behind them. She took a chance and looked back. The man in the brilliant blue coat ran after them on shaky legs but the fiery woman was nowhere to be seen. They ran through the front gates and out to Marisol's little car.

Just as they were about to reach the car, they split. Marisol took the driver's side and Haven took the passenger's.

"Get back here!" The man behind them gained speed but they were already in the car. Marisol turned the engine over and the man jumped onto the hood of the car to stop them. His sword came down hard on the windshield, leaving a crack in its wake.

"Are you shitting me?" Marisol yelled, motioning toward the crack.

The red-headed woman appeared in the open gates of the cemetery. She was floating there, at least two inches above the ground. Her lips were moving rapidly, her eyes glowing a royal blue.

"Just drive!" Haven yelled and Marisol hit the gas, sending the blue-coated man over the roof of the car and down to the pavement behind them. Marisol winced when she heard his bones clatter on the concrete but part of her wanted to throw the car in reverse and just end the fight. A greater part of her. A more rational part of her.

"Hang on." Marisol pushed the gearshift to reverse and stepped on the gas. When she heard the _thunk_ of her wheels running over him, her stomach sank. She threw the car back into drive and took off, making eye contact with the smirking redhead as she pulled away. That's how she knew she had messed up.

"Oh, shit!" Haven said, looking back at the limp man on the pavement. "You did it! You really did it!"

"Sorry," Marisol said, flying through a stop sign and turning the first corner she could. Cars honked their horns but she didn't care. The more distance she could put between themselves and the redhead, the better.

"You can't just keep hitting Slayers with your car! It's not a good look!" Haven laughed.

"I know!" Marisol whined, "but it's so easy. Sorry."

"For what?" Haven panted out.

"I don't know. Sorry you had to see that, sorry you had to be here? Take your pick." Marisol's side burned where the wound was. She felt through her shirt how bad it was. She took in a deep breath and didn't let on that she was hurting.

"It's my choice to be here, all right? I wasn't just going to let you die out here," Haven said. "Besides, as long as you don't hit me with your car, we're good."

Marisol ignored the jab, saying, "But you don't know me."

"But I do. We're sisters in arms." Haven looked back. "Doesn't look like we're being followed. Pull over up here," she said, pointing to a Rite-Aid up ahead.

"Why?" Marisol asked.

"We need to get you fixed up. You can't go on in that condition. It's not safe."

Marisol nodded, slowing the car and pulling into a curbside parking space. She killed the engine and groaned at the pain in her side.

"I'll be back. Don't die."

Haven dashed from the car, leaving Marisol alone. Marisol rested her head against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. She had done it again. Killed a man. No, not a man, a Slayer. They were no more a man than a dog. She would feel worse had she hit a dog. Still, the sinking feeling in her gut persisted. She had taken a life and got away with her own. Had she won? Marisol's side gushed and she placed a hand over it to stop the bleeding momentarily.

Haven returned quickly with a bag full of something Marisol couldn't readily identify. She hopped in the car and rustled through the plastic bag, pulling out a needle and thread. Once again, Marisol noticed the necklace bouncing on Haven's bosom.

"What is that?"

"What's what?" Haven asked.

"That gem on your necklace. It's beautiful."

Haven looked down at her necklace before quickly tucking it back into her top. "It's nothing. It's my mother's."

"Seems like something to me," Marisol pressed.

Haven sighed. "It's her piece of the Shard. She found it with your mother before we were born. They split it," she said. "It's what gives me my speed and strength. Didn't your mother give you hers? Before... you know."

Marisol shook her head. Her mama hadn't given her anything. But she hadn't planned on dying, either.

"Lift your shirt," Haven instructed Marisol. She threaded the needle and looked at Marisol with determination, adding, "and hang on to something."

"It's fine. I do this all the time. Better than racking up those hospital bills." Marisol winced as the needle went in, but Haven moved quickly and it was relatively painless.

"Done."

"Wow. That smarts." Marisol winced as Haven dabbed the newly-sewn cut with alcohol wipes and wrapped nearly her entire midsection with gauze bandages. Marisol watched Haven with narrowed eyes. She saw determination but also worry. She smiled at the girl.

"Better?" Haven asked, holding up her bloodied hands.

"Much." Marisol kept her smile. Haven used the gauze and alcohol pads to clean her hands.

"All right, well, let's get the hell out of here." Marisol nodded, focusing her attention back on the road.

A vibration in Marisol's pocket made her jump. She reached in grabbed her phone, looking at the name rolling across the screen. "Shit!" she exclaimed before pressing the answer button. "Hello?"

"You promised," Ky's voice came over loud and clear.

"I didn't promise."

"You did. You said you'd be here and now I look like a jerk."

"You don't look like a jerk."

"I do. A big ol' fat jerk. And now you're gonna tell me you're not coming."

"I never said that. I'm not saying that."

"So, good. You're on your way, then?"

Marisol hesitated, looking over to Haven. She was eying Marisol suspiciously. "Fine. I'll make an appearance but that's it."

"Hooray! I'll see you in ten."

Marisol hung up the phone, throwing it into the cup holder before turning to Haven. "You remember Ky, don't you?"

"Not really, no."

"Well he's hosting a get-together at his house and I kind of committed myself to it," Marisol said.

"Right now?" Haven asked. "You wanna go to a get-together, right now? After you just hit a guy with your car and almost bled to death?"

"See, now you're being dramatic." Marisol turned the corner, heading for Ky's house. He didn't live far from her, just a few streets over. He'd lived there for as long as Marisol had lived in her home.

"Those things literally just happened," Haven said. "I still have blood on my hands!"

"It's fine. This is my everyday," Marisol said, brushing her off.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, we good." Marisol gave her best toothy grin to the girl sitting next to her, but Haven just raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, well, just drop me off up here somewhere." Haven motioned to the street ahead.

"Oh, no you don't. You are not ditching me."

Haven scoffed. "I'm also not going to that party."

"Yes, you are! You can't just ditch me. I just hit a guy with my car! I have emotional drama going on," Marisol screeched.

"Thought that was your everyday?"

"Plus!" Marisol motioned to her expertly stitched up side. "I was stabbed. Do you not care at all?"

Haven threw her hands in the air, looking over at Marisol. "You're crazy! An absolute lunatic."

"So, you're coming then?" Marisol smiled widely.

"Just drive."

# # #

They arrived at Ky's house in ten minutes. The rest of the ride was silent, so Marisol turned up the radio and was now bumping some country music. She bobbed her head to the beat as she pulled into Ky's steep driveway. All the parking spots on the street in front were taken—by the other guests, she supposed.

Haven cut her eyes at her. Her face was deep-set in a frown, and her arms were crossed over her chest.

"You coming?" Marisol asked, reaching to the backseat to retrieve her jacket. With all the blood soaking her shirt, someone was bound to ask questions that Marisol just didn't want.

"Oh, so I have a choice?" Haven's eyes widened in faux shock.

Marisol laughed lightly, saying, "No." She opened the door and stood from the vehicle, stretching. Marisol's wound burned and made her regret the action.

"Careful," Haven said, getting out of the passenger's side. She made her way over to Marisol and lifted her shirt. "You'll pull a stitch." She surveyed her handiwork.

"Hey!" Ky's voice called out to them. "What's going on here, and why wasn't I invited?" Both girls turned to see him standing on the porch of the old Queen Anne home. It was painted a clear-sky blue, faded with time, cracking white trim and a semi-wrap-around porch that threatened to fall apart with the wind. The music could be heard on the front lawn.

Haven snatched Marisol's shirt down quickly and whipped around.

"Hey, Ky." Marisol smiled as he walked over to the two.

"Hey. I didn't know you were bringing a guest." He held his hand out for Haven to take and deepened his voice. "Hi, I'm Kyler. We met earlier. I was the one who swept you off your feet."

"That's funny. It really is. I'm Haven." Haven grabbed his hand and shook it firmly. Ky winced and pulled back quickly, but regained his composure.

"Indeed," he said, rubbing his hand. "Won't you ladies come inside for some libations?" He motioned to the front door and both girls followed him back inside the house. They waded through the crowd of peers until they reached the kitchen. They waved to Marisol as she shimmied her way through the crowd.

"Mari!" they yelled over the music and came in for either a hug or a handshake.

Haven wasn't far behind, and she leaned forward to whisper in Marisol's ear. "Ms. Popularity. I'm shocked."

Marisol shrugged. "Oh, you know how it is. People are attracted to power, even if it is subconscious. I'm sure you were just as popular."

"Er..." Haven stammered. "For different reasons."

Marisol looked back at her and Haven shrugged. "What? Were you like some type of athlete? Let me guess, tennis?"

"No but you're close," Haven laughed.

"Racquetball?"

They finally made it to the kitchen. The island counter was covered in red cups and empty beer cans. Ky picked up two empty cups and went over to the wet bar in the corner, pouring god-knows-what into them.

The music died down long enough for the girls to speak in a normal tone.

"Closer. I was my school's biggest whore."

Marisol's eyes widened and Ky turned in shock.

"What?" Marisol said, laughing. "How is that close to tennis?"

"Or closer to racquetball?" Ky added.

Haven laughed and shrugged. "Do you really want me to explain?"

"No," Marisol said.

"Yes," Ky countered. "So you just got around a lot?"

"No, a lot of people were attracted to me and then someone started some rumors. I got shunned. Long story short, I was branded with a bloody 'A'," Haven explained, taking the offered cup from Ky and sipping off of it. She frowned at the bitter taste and watched Marisol take a drink from hers.

"Jesus Christ, Ky. What is this, battery acid?"

"L.I.T.," he said, mixing another cup of it. "What do you mean you were branded with an 'A'?"

" _The Scarlet Letter_?" Haven looked to both of them. They both shook their heads. "Never mind."

"Well, I guess that's not so bad. I mean, it's not like your high school reputation follows you throughout your life, right? I'm sure you'll have the chance to reinvent yourself in college," Ky said.

"Yeah right, college," Haven said, taking another swig from her cup. "I'm just looking to make it past tonight. Which we almost didn't." Marisol jabbed her in the side quickly before Ky could turn around. "Yeah, reinvent," she said, clearing it up.

The three chatted for hours about any and everything. Marisol finally felt something close to normal, even though she had killed two people with her car and was on the run from the same crazy chick with flaming red hair who had killed her mama. The more she drank, the more she was all right with the whole situation. So what if there were hordes of Slayers after her? She was eighteen and feeling good.

"Well, we should really get going," Haven said, sliding off of the white-tiled kitchen counter on which she had perched herself. Her Doc Martens hit the floor with a loud clack.

"What? No," Ky said. "Sure you don't want another drink?"

"No, thanks. Someone's gotta drive this one home." Haven hiked her thumb to Marisol, who was now on her third drink.

"What? I'm fine. Perfectly-ly fine," Marisol stuttered. She would enjoy the buzz now before her healing kicked in and took all the fun away.

"Yeah, she's fine. My parents won't be home for a few days. You guys should stay and hang out with me," Ky whined.

Haven laughed. "Is that how long your party is going to last?"

"Er... no. These bums gotta go," Ky said.

Marisol snorted into her cup, draining the last little bit of her drink.

Haven turned to her and grabbed the cup from her lips. "Let me take you home."

"What? I'm good. Let me take _you_ home." Marisol's words slurred slightly and she laughed.

Haven rolled her eyes and felt the pockets on Marisol's tight jeans before pulling her keys from them. She turned Marisol toward the kitchen exit and led her out. "Okay, Ky. See ya at school!"

"See ya! Bye, Haven, thanks for coming."

"No problemo."

Outside, Haven let out a big sigh. She and Marisol made their way to the car and she took the driver's seat. Marisol steadied herself enough to slide into the passenger's seat and buckle her seat belt.

Haven headed toward Marisol's house silently, having turned off the country music she had been playing earlier.

Marisol looked over at Haven and smiled. "You're not a whore, you know."

Haven's eyes widened, clearly caught off-guard by the comment. "Uh, thanks?"

"I mean it. You flew all the way from Barcelona to save my life. Whores don't do that," Marisol said.

"Know many whores, do you?" Haven snorted.

"Quite a few."

The streets were nearly clear this time of night and the girls made it back to Marisol's house in record time. Haven parked on the street and killed the engine. "All right, this is it."

"How are you gonna get home? Where are you staying?" Marisol asked, unbuckling her seatbelt. She reached in the back for her mama's sword.

"Fairmont Hotel. I'm just gonna hitchhike. It'll be fine." Haven got out of the car.

"No way! That's dangerous," Marisol screeched. "You'll stay here for the night."

"No, I'm not really company material," Haven said.

"What does that even mean?" Marisol asked. "Nope, I won't hear it. You're staying here."

"You drive a hard bargain, you know that?" Haven gave in and followed Marisol to the front door of her house. Marisol stopped just short of the door, feeling the tiny scar underneath her eye twitch and burn. "What's wrong?"

"You don't feel that?" Marisol asked in a hushed tone, looking around on her quiet street. She looked left and right but saw nothing in either direction.

Haven quieted and closed her eyes. "I got nothing."

"Maybe it's just my imagination playing tricks on me." Marisol opened the door slowly but the feeling only got stronger. "Something's wrong." She called, "Dad?"

No answer. The TV in the living room was on and a cup of tea was still steeping on the coffee table. Marisol walked over to it and placed a finger in the tea. Still warm.

"Dad?" she called again. The burn on her scar persisted, pulling her toward the stairs.

Haven closed the door behind them and jogged to catch up to Marisol. Marisol took the stairs two at a time. The door to her dad's room was partially open. A dim light was coming from within.

Marisol placed her hand on the knob, whispering, "Dad?"

The light died and was replaced by a fiery glow of reds and blues.

Marisol inhaled sharply when she saw her dad strewn across the floor, unconscious. She ran over and fell to her knees beside him, feeling his neck for a pulse. When she found a good, strong thump against her fingers, she exhaled.

The door behind her shut and she looked back, expecting to see Haven standing there. Instead, the redhead loomed over her with a half-smile and a freshly sharpened blade.

"I've been waiting for you."

"What did you do to him?" Marisol ground out, getting to her feet and readying the sword in her hand. "Who are you?"

The redhead laughed. "I knocked him out. He was pesky, just like his daughter," she said. "Don't worry, it's only temporary."

A _thud_ hit the bedroom door and Haven's voice came rushing from the other side. "Marisol, open the door!"

"Haven! She's in here! Go get help!" Marisol yelled back.

"From where? Just open the door!" Haven twisted the knob but the door still wouldn't open.

"I can't! She's blocking it."

Inferna rolled her eyes. "I'm here to offer you a deal."

"Deal? For what?" Marisol still held her sword at the ready, saying, "Let me guess, you want something bogus for the exchange of my life, right? So, what? Like my freedom?"

"You can have your freedom. What good is your capture to me? I want to offer you a chance to become what you've been fighting," the woman said.

"Become what I've been fighting? You mean a Slayer?"

"Yes. What do you think a Slayer is? Why do you think they could track you so well? Just like your friend outside, you could feel them, too. They are nothing more than what you are: Shard Children who have converted to my side. The right side. You have fight, Marisol. Much more than your mother ever did. Join us." She took her left arm from her jacket and showed Marisol the line of shining pieces of glass embedded in her forearm. There were seven pieces in total—all in a neat line, down to her wrist. Marisol's eyes widened and she thought back to the piece in Haven's necklace. The redhead would kill Haven if she knew the girl had a piece of the Shard. She would kill her—and take it.

"You don't speak of my mama," Marisol ground out. "And what makes you think I would ever join you? Like you said, I've got too much fight." She lunged forward with her sword, but Inferna expertly dodged. They traded places in the room.

"Fine. You want a fight? I'll give you one. But when I leave you within an inch of your life, you'll reconsider."

"Never." Marisol reached over and turned the knob to the bedroom door. Haven charged inside and gunned straight for the redhead. Inferna tried to dodge again. Haven caught her by her waist, brought her down. They both tripped backward over Marisol's dad on the floor, fell to the carpet in a heap.

"Careful!" Marisol raised her sword, jumped into the fight. She leaped on top of Inferna and placed her sword at her throat. "Now who's within an inch of their life?"

"Still, you." Marisol and Haven both flew across the room, slamming into the wall. Haven slid down the wall but Marisol went through it and into the next room. It was her mother's hobby room. Swords and armor hung from the walls and most of her furniture was covered in thin white sheets to preserve them. No one had been in this room in ten years.

Marisol coughed and sputtered on drywall. She managed to pick herself back up. She could see Haven doing the same on the other side of the crumbling wall.

Inferna got to her feet quickly, held her hand out toward Haven. Her fingertips started to glow and four tiny fireballs launched from them.

"Haven, look out!" Marisol yelled.

Haven's head snapped up and she was able to dodge just in time. The fireballs hit what was left of the wall behind her. Pieces went up in flames and Marisol rushed to put out the fire before it grew. She grabbed the sheet from her mama's craft table and smothered the fire quickly.

A glint caught the corner of her eye and she looked back through the wall into the craft room. Sitting on the craft table was a shining piece of glass, half-made into a bracelet.

"You'll die this night!" the redhead growled. She charged both girls with her sword.

Marisol dove in front of Haven and barely parried the attack. Marisol lost her footing, falling back into Haven, who caught her easily.

Haven stepped in with an uppercut, catching the redhead across the jaw. Her head snapped back but her feet remained firmly planted on the floor.

Inferna threw her elbow and caught Haven in the side of her head before she could dodge. Haven crumpled to the floor beside Marisol, groaning.

"Haven!" Marisol yelled. She knelt down, grabbed one of the girl's arms and dragged her through the broken wall. She pulled her into the craft room and away from the menacing woman. Marisol took her back to the sheet-covered couch, leaning her against it. She laid her sword down and grabbed Haven's head to keep it upright. Haven's eyes fluttered between open and closed.

"Shit," Marisol said. "You gotta get up. I can't do this without you. I only know sword stuff, I don't have the stren—," Marisol stopped and looked over the craft table again, seeing the half-made bracelet.

It was for her. Her mama was making it for her, just like Haven's mama had made her necklace.

Inferna stepped through the wall with a smile on her face. "All alone, now. What's poor Marisol to do?" She raised her sword. "You can still join me or we can keep up this little tiff."

Marisol looked back at Haven and over to the bracelet. She dove for the table, grabbing her mama's gift in her fist. The glass broke in her grip, embedding itself into her hand. She cried out in piercing pain. The veins in her arm illuminated with a white glow beneath her skin. She felt power coursing through her arm, seeping into the rest of her.

The redhead's smile fell. "Is that—"

"A piece of the shard? Hell yeah," Marisol said with a smile. Even her voice sounded different. Deeper. Raspier. She picked her sword up again slowly, feeling its lightness in her hand. She twirled it between her fingers.

"You think you can defeat me?" Inferna asked before rushing Marisol, her sword raised. Marisol parried. The violent dance of clanging metal and sharp kicks continued around the room. Marisol was careful to avoid Haven as she pushed Inferna back through the broken wall, into her dad's room.

Inferna tripped over the drywall, fell backward. Her sword skidded toward Marisol's dad and out of sight.

"Argh..." the woman groaned. She tried to get to her feet, but Marisol kicked her back down, stabbing her with the sword. The blade pierced Inferna's black shirt, made contact with the soft flesh of her shoulder, touched the floor below. Inferna growled low in her throat.

"Ah, looks like someone is human after all. Not so untouchable," Marisol taunted.

Inferna bared her teeth. "You'll pay for that!" Inferna kicked Marisol away and stood.

Marisol stumbled but caught herself, pulling her sword from the woman's shoulder.

Inferna said, "If you think one shard is going to stop m—"

Marisol jumped back as the sword came through Inferna's chest. Her dad stood behind the redhead with the hilt in his hand, pushing the blade farther into her back.

Inferna coughed and looked down at her own sword. "No," she whispered, turning to look at Marisol's dad before falling to her knees. She fell forward face-first into the carpet. Her eyes were open, but lifeless.

"Dad!" Marisol smiled.

"Sweetheart," he said, dropping the sword and moving in to hug his daughter. They embraced over Inferna's lifeless body.

"Thank God, you're not dead."

"What's going on here, Mari? Who was that? What was she doing here?"

"Ugh," Haven groaned in the other room.

"I'll explain everything. I promise. But first, we have to get rid of this body," Marisol said.

# # #

Marisol looked over at her dad's shaking hands on the steering wheel. He was quiet. He must have looked in the rear-view mirror at least a thousand times. Haven dropped the trunk with a loud thunk.

She ran to the passenger's side of the backseat and slid inside with a huff.

"Did you get the Shards?" Marisol asked her.

Haven opened her clenched fist and showed Marisol the seven bloody crystals.

Marisol cringed and turned back around in her seat. "Gross," she said.

"Yeah, just be glad you're not holding them," Haven gagged. "I don't know how she could handle this many at one time. I feel like I can walk through walls...or kill everyone."

Marisol turned back to her and stuck her hand out. "All right, killer, hand 'em over."

Haven emptied them into Marisol's hand. She took a deep sigh. "I feel so much lighter." Haven slouched back in her seat and closed her eyes. Relief washed over her features.

Marisol clutched the Shards tightly, feeling their weight against her palm. She closed her eyes and let the power drain into her. She suddenly felt weightless, like she could float away. _Or kill an entire village._ Marisol's eyes snapped open and she threw the Shards into the glove box. She looked over to her dad and they stared at each other.

"I'm sor—," Marisol started.

Jerome held up a hand to stop her. "Don't. Don't apologize. I knew. I knew about your mama and I know about you. I just thought... I just thought if I could keep you away from it then things would turn out differently for you. You'd have a chance at a normal life."

"Dad..."

"I was wrong. You're something much better than normal." He smiled.

Marisol returned it, feeling tears burn the back of her eyes.

He said, "You get to be special and I should've never tried to keep that away from you."

"Thanks, dad," Marisol said as she leaned in and gave him a tight hug.

He coughed but hugged her back. "Sweetie, my ribs," he strained out.

"Oh, sorry," Marisol said, jumping back, smiling. "Still getting the hang of this super strength."

Haven cleared her throat. "I don't mean to break this up, but am I the only one that remembers the body in the back?"

"Yeah, we better get going," Marisol said.

"All right, hang on to your butts."

Jerome drove them to the outskirts of town and pulled into an abandoned field. Marisol checked the side and rear-view mirrors for any followers but saw no one.

"This is good," she said, signaling for her dad to shut the car off. Jerome did as he was told. "All right, come on, Haven."

"You girls be careful," Jerome said.

Marisol smiled back at him. "You bet." She winked and got out of the car. Haven met her at the trunk. Marisol looked to Haven and smiled.

Haven raised an eyebrow, asking, "What?"

"Nothing. Just glad you're here," Marisol said. She opened the trunk easily and looked down at the figure wrapped in her dad's floral bed sheet.

"Hey we're the last two, right? Gotta stick together." Haven shrugged, said, "Can't have you dying on me."

Marisol laughed but it turned into a grunt as she lifted the legs of the sheet-wrapped corpse. "I can't believe we're actually doing this."

"Yeah," Haven said, grabbing the head. "This is like something out of a movie. Covering up a murder?"

The two started walking slowly out to the middle of the field.

"Wonder if she had a family?"

"No, don't go all soft on me," Haven berated.

"What? It's a legitimate question."

"I don't want the answer to it. She was an evil bitch who got what she deserved." Haven grunted again as they walked farther into the field. The tall, unkempt grass came up to their thighs. They waded through.

Marisol directed her to a wet part of the field. "Too true. Let's set her down here." They let Inferna's body hit the ground with a _thunk_. "You got the matches?"

Haven nodded, pulling a pack of matches from her back pocket. "I don't think this is the best way to do this."

"Are you kidding me? You're wussing out?"

"No! I'm just saying. Burning a body?" Haven asked, bouncing anxiously from one foot to another. "That's some next-level shit."

Marisol smiled. "Look, we've killed her, put her in a trunk, brought her out to the middle of nowhere—it's the next logical step. Unless you wanna leave her for another Slayer to find and then we'll have to kill them, too."

"What about just burying her?"

"Nah, I wanna burn this bitch." Marisol struck a match and watched the red end explode in flames. She hesitated—but only for a moment—before dropping the lit stick onto the sheet. The fire didn't catch quickly like it did in the movies. It was a slow burn. Both girls stood back and watched the fire slowly eat at the sheet and engulf the entirety of Inferna. Marisol covered her mouth and nose as the stench reached her.

"I hope you see the irony in this," Haven said, covering her nose. She stared at the flames.

"Oh, it's not lost. Trust me." Marisol grabbed Haven's hand and led her back to the car. She couldn't stand to watch any more of the pyre. "So, what now?"

"What do you mean?" Haven asked.

Marisol stopped her just before they reached the car. She said, "I mean, is this it? Do you just go back to Barcelona and I go back to my old, boring life?"

"Your life was never boring."

Marisol shrugged, saying, "It definitely pales in comparison to..." She paused.

"To what?" Haven pushed.

"To having you around."

Marisol's eyes widened as Haven leaned closer and touched her lips to hers. She took no time in responding to the kiss, pulling Haven closer to her, if that were possible.

"Girls," Jerome called to them, clearing his throat awkwardly.

They broke the kiss and turned to him.

"Sorry Mr. K.," Haven said.

Marisol didn't say a thing. She just wore the biggest, goofiest smile. She was mesmerized. That deep burn that she recognized as Haven in the small of her back turned to butterflies in her stomach.

Haven elbowed her gently to get her attention.

"What? Oh, sorry, dad," Marisol said, blushing deep.

"Come on. Let's get home," he said.

As both girls got into the car, they breathed a sigh of relief.

"So, Haven, where to?" dad asked.

Marisol looked back at the raven-haired girl and smiled.

Haven gestured toward Marisol. "Wherever she is."

## Under the Influence

### by

### Judy Dawn

### (JudyDawn)

Illustrated by ThiaCrish

A little voice in Opal's head shrieked. She stumbled out the front door wearing one shoe, and her hands were coated in blood. Her knees scraped the cold cement as she fell to her chest. She barely even noticed the pain over the constant barrage of condemnations bouncing around her mind.

She had promised herself no more violent endings. Her weak shoulders couldn't carry the curse. With each death, she lost a piece of her humanity.

She lay there, drowning in a pile of mud for her rebellious actions.

The vehement scolding by her inner voice was relentless. Her head ached under the pressure. She placed a trembling hand on each ear and shouted, "Shut up!"

The unfamiliar pitch in her voice startled her out of the temporary insanity. Rational thoughts jumped forward. A fresh perspective opened her options and she whispered, "There's one more."

The limp muscles in her shoulders found new strength and she shoved out of the dirty pool. She stumbled back, fell to her bottom on the stairs, and glanced at the open door. Cool rain soaked her body and helped her gain insight.

She could change the next outcome, but she needed a ride.

Her legs shook when she stood. The ground shifted with each sludgy step toward her autopod. Opal climbed into the bubble-shaped vehicle and accessed an informational panel beside the navigation robot in the front seat.

After a moment, she said, "Take me to the Hub of this city."

"Flat Iron's Crossing is this city's Hub. It closes in an hour, ma'am," the robot replied, politely giving Opal the chance to reconsider her destination.

"Drive fast." She tripped on the second step climbing deeper into her autopod and caught herself with her bruised palms. She hated the whimper that fell through her clenched teeth despite her inner guards. So weak, she needed more strength. Strength cost freedom and climbing the stairs wasn't a justifiable cost.

The driving robot started the engine. "We will arrive in twenty minutes."

"Make it fifteen, Al." She righted herself and slammed the door behind her. "Go."

The vehicle's acceleration upset her stomach. Al said, "As you wish."

Her autopod wasn't anything special. The vehicle had a typical two-person couch, a galley kitchen, and a small bathroom stall in the back. She headed back there now for a change of clothes. Her injured knees ached on the way down the narrow hallway. She battled against her trembling body and opened the even narrower latrine door. The door clunked against the wall when she shoved it open.

"Damn." She hated the small design of her autopod. The toilet consumed most of the floor space in front of her. She didn't bother squeezing inside the room. She knew Al had little programming apart from the road, routes, and locations. He wouldn't care if she stripped.

She opened a cupboard above the toilet and retrieved one of the clean dresses stored there, and then she shifted to the kitchen sink for water. Her fingers shook while she unbuttoned her soiled clothing. She grimaced at her sickly form. _A bag of bones,_ the thought darted to the front of her mind. Nothing she could do about the side effects of her job.

Opal shrugged into the dress and fished out a rag from a drawer in the kitchen. She washed her ivory skin to a presentable shine. Dirt stuck to the fibers of the rag when she drew it through her mud-coated hair. The autopod didn't have a shower. Tight on time, she twisted and tied the dark strands into a knot on her head for a better public presentation. She kicked off her mud-caked shoe, cleaned her feet, and rinsed out the rag. The deep gashes on her knees stung with her brushing the wounds clean. She winced.

"Are we there yet?" Opal asked.

"A few more minutes, ma'am," Al said.

She swore. "Are you sure you've got the route correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Right." She mumbled, "Like the last time you drove me into a dead end alleyway."

She tossed the dirty, bloody rag back into the sink and adjusted some pearl buttons on her chest. Her foot bobbed with her mounting anxiety. She bit her lip, glanced out the small window above her head, and blew out a long breath. "Come on."

Light from the Hub appeared in the distance. Other autopods hovered in the parking areas. Some came and went, the public transpods. She fished out a pair of flip-flops and slipped them on then stood by the door.

A few moments later, Al said, "We have—"

"Finally." She didn't wait for the rest of the announcement.

Opal darted out of the autopod, rushed over the pools of rainwater on the cement, and shoved through the Hub's entry doors. She asked a young man and woman on the way, "Where's the sponsored vending machines?"

"Inside and to the right," the woman said as she moved through the door.

"Thanks." Opal hurried deeper inside the Hub.

People bustled about in the main area from one business to another. Stores, play centers, and eateries lined the outer walls of the huge room. In the center, kids played on a little gym. Patrons in groups laughed at whatever they were talking about. The noise level was reasonable.

Opal wasn't here to socialize like the rest. She wasn't here to shop. She needed to get to the Slip Chip vending machine. From there, she didn't know what would happen. She crossed her fingers for a second chance to right her wrongs today.

She turned right, hurrying through the crowd, toward a large anchor store with a vending machine sign above the entry. Panel screens on the walls flashed with ads extolling the virtues of nearby stores along her path. These days there were machines for everything from housewares to snacks. Businesses of the Hub sponsored the vending machines for patrons. They called it the vending daycare.

Opal entered a room a quarter the size of the Hub's center gym. Lights from each machine flashed off the walls and each other. High-pitched beeps and ditties echoed in her ears. She stood on her toes, identified the Slip Chip machine in the corner, and shoved through the crowd to get in line. On an exhale doubts swarmed her mind.

If this didn't work, she wasn't sure what she could do to make things right.

Tears threatened her clear vision. She swallowed back the heat of emotion and sniffed away her doubts. Her inner voice had her best interests in mind.

A woman half her age stood in front of her with blue-green strands of hair. She chewed bubble gum. The young woman said, "You okay?"

Opal nodded. "I just... I need this to work."

"I understand." The girl's expression softened. "That's why we're all here right? Another chip, another chance to change our actions."

Opal nodded. She shifted from foot to foot and looked over the woman's head. More than a dozen people stood in line. As she glanced around the room, her frustration grew in the form of pains in her chest. She cleared her throat and considered the girl. "How often do you come here?"

"Not very," she answered around a bubble. It popped between her lips.

"Shit!" Opal rubbed her forehead. This wasn't working. She needed someone who knew the regulars.

The girl gave her a pinched look. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry, I'm just... I was..." Opal glanced behind her at another person approaching. The man stood a head taller. Her attention was glued to this dark-haired man with a scar above his right eye. His smile was crooked.

"Hey," the man said.

"Hi," the young woman replied. "How's it going?"

Opal stomped down her surprise.

"Could be going better, that's why I'm here." He laughed.

The girl nodded with a smile.

Opal tore her attention away from him and frowned at her toes. She couldn't stand still. She had mud in places she cared to forget and couldn't, but a surge of hope fed her patience.

"What are you here for?" the man asked the young lady.

"I've got to make sure I study for my English test."

"You're a student?" The man's mouth opened in surprise. "You're willing to give up memories of today for an English test?"

"It's an important test." The student frowned. "What about you, Mr. Judgmental? What did you do? Rob a bank?"

"Actually..." The man speared his fingers through his hair.

"No way!"

The robber glared. "I didn't have the opportunity to be a student."

The student giggled and crowded Opal's space in line. "I so want to do that one of these days."

"Trust me, it's not a good idea." The robber frowned. "You have to go back every day to fix the evidence they find."

"Did someone die?" The student seemed morbidly upbeat about the topic.

"Fortunately, no, or I wouldn't be able to go back to change what happened."

"Right, no life or death changes." The student nodded. "What are you changing then?"

The criminal rubbed his forehead. He focused on Opal. "What?"

"I've got to change..." Opal couldn't find her voice or an impulsive explanation. Her hands shook and she brushed her sweaty palms on her thighs. She looked at him again. "I mean—"

"Yes?" His tone darkened.

The student straightened. "Hey, don't bully her."

The robber lifted his eyebrows. "You know each other?"

"No." The student frowned. "Doesn't matter anyway."

"You're right. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be," he said as he rubbed his jaw. "I'm under a lot of stress."

"Git it movin'!" a man shouted. Opal glanced at an older man behind the robber. The old man waved a black cane in the air. His face blistered with anger. "I don't got all day for this!"

The robber said, "Whoa, calm down, old man."

The old guy raised a bandaged hand. "I sawed off my finger and I'd like to change that," he raised his voice, "sometime today!"

Others in the front of the line glared at the old man. One flipped him off.

"Yeah, you prick, just move the line!" The old man continued in a low mumble, "Damn kids... don't... important these days."

Opal glanced around at the crowd and remembered her failure at the house. Her stomach knotted. She picked at the dried blood under her fingernails and waited for the right moment. Nobody else had to die.

The line moved forward.

Tension grew in her shoulders when she stepped forward again. Gravity weighed heavily on her weak knees. She wanted action. Each second she waited she risked failure.

"If'n you don't qualify for the chips, get the hell out o' line!" yelled the old man.

Opal glanced at the old man's bandaged hand. She couldn't imagine how hard he had it, adapting to a lost thumb. Everyone used their thumbs every day. She flexed hers, moved it back and forth. She imagined how things would go if she didn't have her thumb. Not to mention the tremendous pain the old guy must be in. The Slip Chips made sense for him.

"God, I hope I can get a bag of chips today," the robber said under his breath. "I don't want to lose my house."

Opal glanced at him. "You've got a house?"

"I've finally got things back on track despite the robbery and time traveling to fix everything." He nodded, glanced over Opal's head, and sighed. "I wish the chips didn't expire the same day you get them. It would save me a lot of time in line and I could hold this job I really like."

Opal lifted her eyebrows. "That's a change."

"I don't want to live looking over my shoulder or wondering if I'm going to get arrested walking down the street. If it's not the other guys after me for my share, it's the Time Police."

Her heart hit against her ribcage. She considered what his life must be like, always wondering, questioning his next moves. She wouldn't want that kind of life. Her hands shook while she rubbed at the lines in her palms filled with dried blood.

"You didn't say why you're in line," the robber inquired.

Opal looked at him, her mouth clenched and she couldn't find the words.

"Whoa, sorry, I didn't mean to make you..."

"No, it's okay. I'm just. It's just." She took a deep breath.

"Move this fuckin' line!" the old man bellowed.

The robber pivoted. "Okay, no reason to make this miserable."

"Want some gun?"

Opal's heart hammered against her ribs. "W...what?"

The student giggled and gestured closer to Opal's hands. "Gum. It's strawberry."

"Sorry, I thought you said something else. No, thanks though."

The student shrugged, shoved a new piece into her mouth, and smiled. "It'll be nice to pass my test. I'll keep my scholarship."

"Still seems silly. You lose so many memories each time you go back," the robber argued.

Opal straightened. "You'd be surprised at what people travel back in time to fix."

"What do you mean?" the robber asked, his brown eyes carefully scrutinizing her.

Heat exploded over her skin with his bold attention. "I mean... I just."

"What you doin' up there?" the older man yelled, not quite as loudly as before. "Just git your hand in the scanner. If'n it says you don't qualify, move on!" He mumbled, "Such a hard concept?"

Opal moved forward a few more feet. She observed the crowd and folded her arms. She sensed this wasn't the right time.

The student popped her gum, checked a pink watch on her arm.

The robber mumbled, "Come on. Come on."

Opal recognized desperation in his tone.

A man in a bow tie turned toward the student. "What time is it?"

"We've got twenty minutes before the machine shuts down," answered the student.

The bow tie guy swiped his thick finger over the sweat on his upper lip. He directed his voice to the front of the line, "Get this line moving!"

"Why are you so nervous?" the student asked, before blowing another bubble.

"I did something I regret. Isn't that why we are all here?" bow tie guy said, frowning.

"Yes, but what was it?" The student persisted.

"Are you a private detective or something?" The bow tie guy looked more closely at the girl. "You don't seem like a P.I."

"I'm not." The student threw her hands out. "We're all just standing here. I was trying to pass the time."

"And, I get the feeling, you're the type who isn't comfortable with silence in conversation?" Bow tie guy looked at Opal's fingers. "What's that all over your skin?"

She moved her hands to her backside.

He straightened his bow tie. "You commit murder or something?"

The student said, "Now who is intruding?"

His bow tie shifted when he shrugged. "I'm cautious about killers. So shoot me... er... forget I said that."

"You afraid she really did kill someone?" A giggle erupted from the student's mouth then she looked at Opal. "Did you?"

Opal bit her lip as everyone moved forward.

"This is taking too long." The robber jerked out of line. He had a gun in his hand. "Stay calm, everyone."

Opal couldn't catch her breath from the sudden wave of fear for all these people.

The student squealed and hugged bow tie man's arm. Her eyes were wide as she said, "W-w-what are you doing?"

The robber gestured to people near the machine. "Step aside and nobody gets hurt."

"You prick!" the old man said. "You've got to wait your turn like the rest of us."

"I'm the one with the gun, old man. Back off."

"A gun only fires if you do, son. Put it down and stop your bellyachin'. You're not gonna kill anyone," the old man argued.

A sputter came from the student. "He robbed a bank. He's probably capable of killing us all."

The old man smiled. "He's just afraid of facin' the law."

"Don't push me." The robber pointed his gun at the old man.

"Look, I'm aging by the second, use it or drop it," the old man taunted, brandishing his cane to prove his point.

"He's senile. Don't add murder to your robbery charge." Opal stepped in front of the old man.

The robber swiped sweat off his forehead. He nodded, quick, jerky movements. "Right, right."

"You don't need that kind of trouble." Opal was surprised at the calm tone of her voice while her body trembled in fear. Maybe she had confidence after all.

"Hey!" The old man shoved Opal's shoulder. "Get the fuck out of my way. This little prick shoots me, I'm released from this hell. No pretty girly is gonna deprive me of my destiny."

Opal stood unmovable. She said to the robber, "He's not worth it. There, the path to the chips is clear, that's what you want, right? Nobody needs to get hurt. Go get your chips."

"Right." The robber shifted toward the machine. "Don't move, anyone."

The student whimpered, hid her face in the bow tie man's sleeve.

"What's going on over here?"

Opal spotted a Hub guard behind the old man. The guard grabbed for his weapon. His eyes widened and his hands shook. He ordered, "Wait."

"Ha! Just give it up, you prick!" The old man swung his cane at Opal.

She fell to her knees and winced. One of her flip-flops broke. People shifted around the room. When Opal opened her eyes, the robber had the old man by the collar and was using him for a meat shield. The robber said, "Don't anyone move. I'll shoot this guy."

"Then shoot me," the old man said. "Empty threats are made by cowards!"

"Fuck, old man, you want to get killed?" asked the robber.

"Hell yeah. Were you not listening before?"

The robber shook his head. He shoved the old man to the floor and yanked Opal up. "Fine. I'll take her instead."

"No!" she screamed. "I don't have time!"

The criminal whispered in her ear, "I don't want a crazy old man to make matters worse. Get me a bag of chips. All I need is two of them. You can have the rest if you cooperate with me. Help me get out of this alive and we'll both get what we want today."

Her chest constricted as she agonized over the decision.

He leveled the gun to her forehead. He said to the Hub guard, "Don't be a hero. Put the gun down and kick it toward me."

The guard moved slow and did what the robber ordered.

The robber swept the gun under the machine with his foot and then yelled at Opal, "Get the chips!"

"Okay. Okay." She held her fingers out, no threat.

He jerked her off balance and she stumbled into the machine. The front panel warped under her weight. She winced when her tender knees struck the plastic case. She righted herself, placed a shaking hand on the scanning tray, and glanced at the number of people huddled on the floor. The machine's red lights flashed over their scared expressions.

"What the hell?" the robber asked. "Red lights?"

"I said I didn't have time!" she yelled back. "I don't have any chips left."

"You already went back today?" The robber's finger shook on the trigger. "You a time junkie?"

"Oh my god, I had no idea," said the student. "I can usually spot them a mile away."

Opal blubbered, "I'm—"

"Fuck you! Shoot her," the old man said from the floor. "Damn kids never respect the rules."

"Shut up, old man." The robber aimed his gun at the old man.

In the corner of Opal's vision, the Hub guard yanked out a concealed ankle gun.

The robber twisted and jerked.

A shot popped in the air.

The guard fell to the floor beside the old man. His weapon skittered across the floor and into the corner beside the vending machine. Blood seeped from a bullet wound in his shoulder. He hissed in pain.

The old man looked up. "You need target practice, you prick."

Surprise silenced the room.

The robber yanked Opal in front of him. With the vending machine at his back, he placed his hand in the scanner. "I can't believe I chose a time junkie out of all these people. Let's just hope they don't shoot you before I can get out of here."

Nobody respected a time junkie.

The vending machine scanned his hand and the red lights turned blue. Everyone waited a moment then a bag of chips dropped from the dispenser into a tray at Opal's knees. Someone in the crowd blew out a long breath.

"Get my chips, junkie."

"I'm not—" She pressed her lips together. Her hands trembled. She grabbed the small bag and looked at him. "Now what?"

He seemed confused. "Now... now..."

She looked around at the others and closed her eyes, so she could hear the whispers of her inner voice. Opal said, "Let's leave these people here. You've got what you wanted."

He jerked his head in a nod. "Right. Okay. But you come with me."

"I... don't..."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and practically lifted her off the floor. "I won't hurt you unless I'm forced to."

She shuffled her toes on the floor. "You aren't making things better for yourself."

"I'm going to walk out of this store." He raised his voice, pointed the gun at the Hub guard, "Don't call for backup and don't you dare come after me. Do you understand?"

The guard nodded.

"I'm serious." The robber's aggressive tone made Opal jump. "Don't try anything or she's dead."

Opal didn't struggle as they walked out the door.

"Don't make a scene. Move fast." He held her against him, at his side, and wedged the gun against her ribcage. The mass murder threat kept her moving anywhere he wanted her to go. She knew desperate people did impulsive things when backed into a corner.

Nobody noticed them as they hurried toward the exit. She didn't try to attract attention. She didn't want anyone else hurt.

A woman yelled, "He's got a gun!"

The crowd gathered in the center of the Hub, screaming children hid under their parents' guard. Luckily, the criminal ignored everyone and shoved Opal through the door to the outside.

She toppled off balance.

He tripped with her and his gun flew to the curbside.

Opal rolled away from the criminal's flailing arms. The Slip Chip bag fell from her grasp. She stopped her roll short of a deep puddle and her tender knees ached from her third fall today. Her fingers flicked the gun away. It fell a couple of inches onto a drainage grate.

The criminal's large body flew over hers. He slammed her head into the ground beside the puddle and retrieved his gun. He grabbed the Slip Chip bag from the grate. With a tight grip around her upper arm, he struggled to a stand and dragged her along the rough surface of the sidewalk before she found new footing.

Warm blood trickled down her shins.

"Where's your autopod?" he demanded.

She pointed. "Over there."

He thrust her ahead of him, toward the autopod. "You get in first."

She opened the door, climbed inside, and stood with her back against the kitchen sink.

He slammed the door and rested his gun hand at his side. His laugh caught her off-guard. "Damn that was intense. I didn't think I was getting out of there alive. Thanks for the help."

"What's next?" She folded her trembling arms.

He rubbed the handle of the gun against his temple with a casual spirit she didn't feel. He looked at her and said, "What do you think?"

"Ah... you're the guy with the gun." She fisted her hands at her sides. "You tell me."

He shifted to the couch and looked at the Slip Chip bag. "It's unbelievable, isn't it? What we do for a chance to change time?"

She shrugged.

"I need to get to a safe place before I eat one of these. You know, you wake up where you ate the chip, memory loss and all, left to figure out what happened? That is one serious fucking flaw. I hate that oblivious hangover."

She held his stare. In her case, she loved the mindless state of time travel.

He yelled at the driving robot, "Take me home."

Al said, "As you wish."

The autopod started. Opal held on to the counter when the vehicle jerked forward. She considered the robber. He had an athletic body and seemed capable of handling himself in a fight. There was a scar above his right eye, the scar she used to identify him. He held the gun with skill. She didn't doubt his ability to use the weapon. He would kill her if she provoked him. His easy demeanor on the couch seemed rehearsed.

She gestured with her chin at him. "What's your name?"

"Jordan Eaton. Yours?"

"Opal. Why did you rob the bank in the first place?" She adjusted her weight to remain standing while the autopod navigated.

"It's a long story." He rubbed his forehead, a nervous habit, she realized.

"We've got a few minutes before we arrive at my home." She shrugged. "There's only you, me, and the robot."

She didn't want to know the details. This was her downfall, an inner curiosity that she couldn't ignore. The more she knew—

"Is he a recording robot?" Mr. Eaton asked.

"No."

He shook his head. "My wife had some major medical needs."

"Medical needs?" Opal glanced out the front window. He didn't seem oblivious to the part of town they entered.

"She struggled with cancer." His eyes dimmed with each word. "I lost my job taking her to the treatment center. She didn't survive, but the bills keep coming even when she..." Tears swelled in his eyes. He shook his head. Red splotches bloomed on his almond-colored cheeks. "The money from the robbery only covered her treatment costs. I'm broke again."

"I'm sorry." Something in her chest constricted when she considered the sincerity on his face. Her inner turmoil settled. "What business were you in?"

He smiled without humor. Tears dropped clear of his cheeks. "Doesn't matter now, does it? All I want to do is keep my house, her memories, our life together. It's all I've got left. I miss her so much. If I go to jail, I lose it all."

"So, you eat the chips to preserve your history? The memories of her in the house?" Empathy formed in Opal's chest. "Tell me why you are— we're— going back today?"

"Someone interrogated one of the guys I was with and he spilled my name."

Opal closed her eyes and swallowed the rush of regret that surfaced in her mind. Violent images plagued her thoughts. Flashes of memories poked at her inner disappointment. She shook her head.

He continued, "...we weren't tight or anything. It was a job, you know. I signed up to be a hired gun. Turns out that I'm the fall guy. I am such an idiot."

"You were saying that nobody died?" She kicked off her flip-flops to under the couch then glanced out the front window. They were closing in on her home. She estimated a few more minutes. "That's fortunate."

"I stopped one of the guys from killing an innocent person during the robbery. All we wanted was the money. A lot like what just happened back there at the Hub with the guard. I just wanted the chips and I was out of time." He rubbed his forehead again. "They didn't tell the police that I saved a life. Nobody mentioned it."

"So, you go back to change what the guys say to the investigators?"

"I can't change free will. You know the Slip Chips say that there are no guarantees. People can, and will, do the same things no matter what you do to suggest a change in the events. I just go back and get more names of the investigators and I mess with evidence they gather. I erase interview tapes. Stuff like that." He shrugged and wiped the tears from his eyes.

He regained self control. "I'm hoping they'll close the case soon. I don't like to time travel. I hate trading memories of my wife to keep my house. But I can't—"

"How much money did you steal?" Opal interrupted. "If it wasn't much, you'll fall into the unsolved case pile eventually. They'll stop looking."

He glanced out the front window and frowned. "Where are we?"

Al turned a corner and stopped at a brick wall. "We have arrived."

"Home," she said.

Mr. Eaton stood. He kept the gun at his side. "You live in an alleyway?"

"I'm a junkie. You expected a mansion?"

He looked at her. "Anyone else... live here?"

"No. I scare off the others who even think about it."

He waved a hand. "You go first."

She nodded and opened the autopod's door. She took two of the three steps down before she looked back.

He fiddled with the chip bag in his hand.

She suspected he had second thoughts about the safety of her home. Before he could change his mind and order Al to go somewhere else, she asked, "What?"

"Nothing." He shook his head and stepped down.

Opal exited, shifted to the side of the door, and smacked a button on her right shoulder. A surge of energy powered her arms and made her heart race.

As he came through the door, his shoe landed on the slick ground. When she saw his gun hand, she grabbed the weapon. She shoved him against the sturdy side of her autopod. He grunted with the force, and using her artificial strength, she held him by an elbow at his throat.

His attention fell to her hands. "Are you part machine?"

"Mechanically enhanced," she growled in his ear.

"Were they right at the Hub? Are you a murderer? Were you there for your next victim?"

She laughed. "Not today."

"I don't understand." His eyebrows bunched in confusion. He slowly let go of the chips in his hand. "You can take them."

She smiled. "Thanks for cooperating."

He nodded. "Who do you work for?"

"Now I travel and you don't." She stepped back and kneed him in the stomach.

He doubled over. She kicked him in the head. He fell unconscious to the ground.

Her steady fingers moved a batch of his hair. He had a wireless accountability capsule at the base of his neck. The capsule transmitted a GPS location. She had first heard his name from the other member, the dead one in the house, and studied his routine to know when he would be at the nearest Hub.

Mr. Eaton was the last member of the Mithril robbery.

She whispered in his ear, "Amateur. The first rule of being a time junkie: remove the damn capsule so the Time Police can't track you down."

Opal stood, smacked the side of her autopod, and ordered, "Steel, put him in the cargo hold."

A robot on the side of the pod came alive. It was a flat, strong machine. If she didn't take out Mr. Eaton on her own, the bot was her backup plan.

Opal opened a trashcan in the alleyway a few feet from her autopod. She tossed his weapon into disarming electrical goo that neutralized it. She disengaged the mechanical enhancements in her arms with another push in her shoulder and marched toward the red brick wall.

"Open says me." The bricks fell back, made a door, and she smiled. "I love that. It's like parting an ocean."

Inside her lair, she tossed the packet of Slip Chips into a storage chest by the front entrance. She had a group of storage chests off to the right side of her hideaway full of unopened bags.

Buttons, screens, and keyboards lined the back wall. Supplies hung on the wall to her left. She grabbed a hydraulic injection gun, held the business end against her forearm, and shot it into her mechanical arms. Each use of her super arms cost her an expensive refill injection of liquid energy.

Story of her life, she never had enough money to support her habits.

Mr. Eaton and the rest at the Hub had it partially correct. She was a Slip Chip junkie. The missing word was _reformed_.

She stood in front of her electronic filing system and accessed the Mithril case. She wasn't surprised at the amount of money they had stolen. After all, she was hired to find them dead or alive. That kind of contract meant someone was pissed.

Opal shifted to a different scan pad and swiped her finger. More screens came alive. A panel slid open and exposed her direct line to the boss. The image flickered. She forced a smile. When the fat man's face appeared on the screen, her stomach knotted in disgust.

He smiled at her. "Hello Opal. Ready to make a payment on those new body enhancements, or do you want to order more injections?"

Irresponsibly traveling through time and space was the main motivation of Slip Chip junkies. Strained muscle tissues and damaged neurological patterns were side effects. The human body was frail, couldn't keep up with the technology.

The dispatcher had recruited her on death row in a time junkie facility. He offered experimental body enhancement benefits to support her favorite activity and she agreed to enforce his business contracts.

"Not yet, sir," she answered the gargantuan man.

"You reported an apprehension this morning."

She frowned, thought about her words, and said, "Things didn't turn out so well. I captured him, but he's dead."

"Dead or alive. That's what the client wanted. Do you have proof of identity?"

She swallowed bile at the violent memories that flashed in her mind. The idea of taking another picture of a mangled body wasn't on the top of her to-do list. She said, "It's all over his house."

When he shook his head, flaps of flesh in his cheeks waved. "The client is pressing me on this one. I'll send someone to clean it up. They can get me proof of identity."

"Thank you, sir."

"Have you got a lead on the last robber, Jordan Eaton?"

Opal's mind spun with thoughts of Mr. Eaton locked in her cargo hold. She should turn him over to the dispatcher. Something inside her soul, what was left of her humanity, kept her mouth shut.

Learning about his motivations for robbing the bank squeezed the last drops of blood from her human heart, a part of her that she thought she had destroyed years ago with the mechanical implants. Mr. Eaton risked prison for a house full of memories when he had already scored enough money to start over. He did it for love.

She couldn't imagine giving up her freedom for anything. She said, "I'm on it, sir."

"Good." He exhaled. "Get this job done."

"Yes, sir." She kept her expression under tight control.

He pointed with a meaty finger. "I'm not paying you to dally around. I can remove that tech in your body just as easily as I put it in there. I can end you—"

She switched the screen off. She wasn't in the mood for his sign-off lecture.

Her muscles ached. She headed to the shower behind the communication console.

The small shower was nestled in the corner with a sink and toilet. Her bed sat in the center of the small room. On the far wall, she had an animated mural.

Her movement in the room activated the meandering brook under a bridge. A breeze she didn't feel shifted the surrounding trees and birds she didn't see tweeted in surround-sound speakers.

Other than the anamural, the space was minimalistic. She liked things simple. Her job, her passion, her debts—those kept her on the move most days.

After her shower, she contemplated what to do with the robber she held captive. The other men involved were dead. The way things played out, he faced life imprisonment for organizing the robbery.

He didn't seem like a mastermind or a career criminal.

She puzzled through his haphazard kidnapping from the Hub. He had believed her about Al not recording the conversation in the autopod without blinking. His evident desperation to preserve the memories of his dead wife was proved by his routine. He hadn't removed the GPS capsule when he had plenty of time for it.

He wouldn't last a year in prison with hardened criminals.

Her inner voice nudged the rightness of her logic.

Opal sat on the bed, dried her hair, and scratched her temple.

Carrying the guilt of another death weighed heavily on her conscience.

Was it possible she still had a soul after all her surgeries and years of time travel? Could it be possible she still had humanity somewhere in her flesh? Was that scrap of humanity actually the inner voice that guided her every decision?

The idea made her smile. She laughed out loud. Tears pooled in her eyes. Warmth bolstered her limbs and she stood on stronger legs.

Opal exited the lair and smacked the side of her autopod to activate Steel.

The robot separated from the side then stood in front of her. He didn't have a voice. His main functions were security and carrying out orders. She considered the bot's cold disposition.

"Take Mr. Eaton to my holding room."

The bot pivoted and marched toward the cargo hold.

Opal had a holding room for bounty hunting contracts. She preferred not killing every criminal or junkie she apprehended. Mr. Eaton had comfort items like a bed and enough food for a short amount of time.

Steel wasn't careful with the prisoner. He lugged Mr. Eaton around like a sack of potatoes. Opal made a mental note for later: add species fragility to his script.

She exhaled, entered her lair, and settled on the bed with a bag. When her boss found out, he would likely reduce her benefits to a critical point. She popped open the Slip Chips to alter time.

The jelly chips carried a mechanical perfume infused with apples. Apples, she didn't know why, didn't care. The scent was comforting. Her muscles relaxed more with each inhalation. She reached in the back and fished out a jelly chip. When the semi-liquid square landed on her tongue, it melted. Neurological stimulant swam through the veins in her body to her brain.

Opal laid her head back and her eyes fluttered closed. Her mind floated in space.

In a dream, she rolled to face the door. Dark of the night turned to light of the morning multiple times. When time slowed back to real, Opal opened her eyes.

The stimulant telepathically connected her older self with her younger self.

She eased up, sat on the edge of her cot. Her mind swam in a frenzy of memories, what was and what is now. She glanced at the small travel clock perched on a box and sighed. Every muscle in her body ached.

Why hadn't the Mithril robbery taken place closer to her favorite timeline?

The body enhancements allowed her to travel back more than one day. A backup module in her brain regulated the timeline events for travel. It didn't alter details in its memory like a human brain. Opal could travel as far back as when the memory module was inserted in her head.

The robbery took place during her third month of duty.

Her lair was drywall and concept. She strolled out of the unfinished bedroom, through her undefined front area, and into the alleyway.

She stood for a moment. Her mind was flush with energy. Her thoughts merged into one and she took a back seat to the current timeline.

Opal had a meeting later today with the boss. She couldn't miss it. The excitement of a new life, a legal second chance, lifted her desperation.

She hurried to the alleyway entrance, called for a transpod with the lift of her arm, and grimaced. Her mechanics weren't completely integrated into her body. She was on recovery duty for the month.

She said, "Take me to Mithril Bank."

"Okay." The driver started for the destination. Transpods were manually driven. They had fewer perks than her autopod from the future timeline. She sat on a worn bench and a wall with a window separated her from the driver.

She rested her head back on the bench and closed her eyes.

Her mind floated, without thought, peacefully. The Slip Chip activation shock wore off over time. This high created junkies. The body didn't experience pain. The mind cleared all stress and memory. She just existed in a space of purity. Silent. Peaceful. Purity.

Minutes later, the transpod stopped. "We have arrived."

Opal blinked back into this reality, dug her new company coin card from her pocket and paid. She exited the transpod. It drove away while she stood amid the people hustling past her in front of the Mithril Bank.

According to the file she had about the robbery, the robbers entered through a side door.

Considering Mr. Eaton had saved a life during the robbery, she couldn't stop him from going through with the plan. Even Time Police had to abide by certain Slip Chip rules. Opal took a deep breath and marched in the front door with conviction. She found an opening at one of the standing tables and retrieved a deposit slip, pretended to fill out the information.

According to her file, the business had three floors. Offices were on the second floor, the main floor was for daily business, and the basement was the vault. To gain entry to the vault, the robbers needed codes and bioscans of all the approved managers.

There were three managers on staff. The managers met weekly. That meeting was scheduled for today, and they were gathered to discuss business, as usual.

The bank's front wall was made of glass panes. Account representatives sat at independent desks along the right wall. A series of open teller stalls lined the back wall. She couldn't count the number of customers at the ropes, but the bank wasn't in full operation.

Opal figured the robbers didn't want hostages. They wanted money.

Three security guards protected the bank. One was at the door, another was mingling with the patrons, and the third was in a shadowed corner.

A time junkie, like Opal, didn't register as a threat to anyone or anything in the bank. Everyone knew that junkies didn't have enough money for food, let alone a weapon.

Her heart clenched with the memories of her past. She struggled for food some days. Other days, she starved. She wasted spare time begging at Slip Chip vending machines scattered throughout the city. People noticed loitering when it came to the coveted invention. Her arrest resulted from a day when she didn't time herself.

She shook the recollection out of her head.

"Good morning everyone and welcome to our bank robbery." Two men entered from the side door and two more followed them inside. They held guns, were dressed in black Kevlar vests, and had tinted visors over their faces. Their mouths were clear of obstruction. They spread out to the four corners of the room.

In the right front, a man pointed his automatic weapon at the guard's head and said, "Don't reach for your gun or I will kill you."

"Everyone on the floor, face down. Do as we say and we will be out of here before you can count to a hundred," the one near the back right corner ordered. "On the floor!"

People dropped, Opal included, face down onto the vinyl tiles. Women squealed and men mumbled. Opal noticed a fifth man before she switched to looking at the speckled floor pattern.

"Close the blinds!" one of the robbers yelled. "Shoot the EMP."

A low hum activated and whirled a few times.

"Everyone stay quiet, keep your heads down."

"You're not going to use that, you twerp!" someone said.

"Shut up, old man."

Opal rolled her eyes, there's always one. She lifted her head and focused her attention on the argumentative patron.

"Make me," said the man.

The robber pointed his gun at the customer.

"Hold on. Chill out. We're not here for this." A second robber removed his visor and squatted by the old man. Mr. Eaton said, "These guys will kill you. Just shut up and do as we ask. Put your head down."

"I don't put my head down to criminals like you, kid."

The robber behind Mr. Eaton stepped forward. "Bullet in your head will shut you up."

"I've got a better idea," Mr. Eaton said. He punched the old man out cold.

Opal inhaled. Her chest tightened with worry.

"He won't remember a damn thing." Mr. Eaton stood.

The robber stepped back. "Whatever."

"Anyone else?" Mr. Eaton yelled. "I've got years of aggression built up." He circled around the room, stopped in the left corner, and glared down at the guard. "Don't even think about it."

He seemed to remember his visor and lowered it back into place.

She didn't know how long they had remained on the floor when the robbers gathered at the side door again. "Anyone who comes through this door after us won't live to see tomorrow!"

Opal shifted next to the old man. She patted his shoulder. "Sir, sir, are you okay?"

A guard joined her while he called the police through his wrist-talkie. "We have a 132 with a 135 in progress at the Mithril Bank. Requesting 129."

The old man groaned. His frail body rolled over and he looked at Opal. His wrinkled smile brought relief to the tight muscles in Opal's chest. She helped the man to sit, and asked, "Mr. Brawley, why did you provoke the robbers?"

He waved a hand then brushed at the bleeding gash on his cheek. "Stupidity, I guess."

"Do you realize you could have gotten yourself killed?" the guard asked.

Mr. Brawley nodded. He looked at Opal. "How do you know my name?"

"I've read about your cancer research." She smiled. "Here, let me help you up."

She and the guard lifted Mr. Brawley into a nearby chair.

The guard said, "I'm going to check on some other people. You're okay?"

"Yeah," said Mr. Brawley while he waved a hand. "Go."

Opal settled on the floor beside the man. She tore off her sleeve and pressed it against Mr. Brawley's cheek. "When they find these robbers, I hope you mention that one of them saved your life."

"Why should I?" he puffed. "They're punks."

"I think you'll find out one of them has a noble motive. His wife." Opal stood, stared at the man, and smiled. "Put aside your ego to save the life of a good woman. Listen to your inner voice on this one, sir."

"How do you know so much?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you a part of this?"

She patted his shoulder. "Just remember what I said, okay?"

He nodded.

Local police came in the front door. Chaos broke out in the room. Mr. Brawley waved down the newcomers. "Help, I need help over here."

The lead officer raised an open palm. "Okay, calm down, everyone, we're here..."

She used the distraction to exit the front door without anyone noticing.

Her smile widened as she sneaked through a crowd of uniformed officers and panicked customers. She couldn't go on record with testimony. Her ability to disappear was the major reason why she was chosen for her current job. She enjoyed the job, and after today, she loved it.

When she was clear of the robbery, she called a transpod. She ordered the driver to drop her at the medical facility that implanted her super arms. Keeping her current schedule guaranteed her timeline.

Opal leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She said a trigger phrase. The neurological implant in her brain stored enough biochemical energy from the Slip Chip activation for a return trip.

She appreciated the forethought of the inventors. Her self in this timeline couldn't get chips even if she wanted them.

Stimulant crept into her system. Her two minds separated as the telepathic connection was severed. Opal's body reacted to a change in momentum. No longer in the car, she gripped sheets on the bed. A spinning sensation confused her thoughts, her memories.

A few moments later, she opened her eyes to the anamural. Water sparkled as it flowed toward her into an animated pool at the base of the wall. She exhaled, focused on the bridge, and centered her mind into this time. The fogginess from the dream dissipated.

New tension and worry plagued her mind and muscles.

This was the first time she had bent the rules. Time Police weren't exactly authorized to go back without an objective related to the job, not even secret, independent contractors. Technically, she didn't change anything. She suggested a different course of action to the man whom Mr. Eaton had saved. Free will was maintained and the event happened the same way.

Opal eased off her bed, into the other room, and opened the Mithril file again on her interactive screen. A new script had been added to the folder. She opened it.

Mr. Eaton was the first robber caught. The local newspaper featured Mr. Brawley's notable kindness in aiding Mr. Eaton with the care of his wife. His wife survived the treatment, and Mr. Eaton was found guilty for his actions in the robbery. However, he returned his portion of the stolen money, and his sentence was minimal. He was assigned to community service for the American Cancer Society. He was an advocate for the cause.

Opal's shoulders lightened and she swallowed hard.

Her dread about the consequences of her actions outweighed the uplifting boost from helping out a good man who had made bad decisions. If she lost her job, she wouldn't be allowed to jump ever again. She also owed the company thousands of dollars for experimental upgrades. They would monitor her actions for the rest of her life. She would wave goodbye to her freedom.

She bit her lower lip at the speculation circling in her mind. If she didn't report to her boss, he would send investigators.

Opal shifted and swiped her finger. The panel slid open, his image flickered, and she forced a smile.

When the fat man's face appeared on the screen, he said, "Hello Opal. Ready to make a payment on those new body enhancements, or do you want to order more injections?"

"Not yet, sir," she answered. Sweat formed on her palms.

"You reported an apprehension this morning." He twisted in his chair. "We sent in a cleaning team and got your proof of identity. That concludes this case. Next time, try not to ruin a house with blood."

She frowned. The only record of her altering history was in her memory module. The module was used in disputes as evidence, but this case was now closed. Her boss, nobody, could reopen the case without an encrypted code.

The boss said, "No matter, dead or alive, that's what the client wanted. Are you ready for your next assignment?"

She swallowed and said, "Yes, sir."

When he shook his head, flaps of flesh in his cheeks waved. "I'll send you the file. Call me back when you've got a course of action proposal."

"Thank you, sir." Business as usual, she disconnected, and closed her eyes. Relief lightened the tension in her shoulders. She whispered, "Worth."

## Mad World

### by

### PandArchon

Illustrated by HithHiril

The silence was only broken by the sounds of the helicopters heading to the west. From what I could see, there were four of them, each moving toward a different area in the quarantine zone.

The aid had stopped coming regularly. A month ago, there were more than double the aircraft in the sky and they came at the same time each week. That was no longer the case. The drops were sporadic and spread too far apart.

I blocked the sun with my hand as the aircraft lowered the boxes. I didn't need to see the ground from where I was to know what was happening. When there had been enough supplies to go around for everyone, things had been more calm, civilized. Now, it had become a fight to see who could get to the drop first and who would leave alive.

This gave rise to multiple groups of survivors who had taken it upon themselves to reach every drop as quickly as possible, claiming it all, getting rid of anyone who tried standing in their way. And those were just the sane ones.

_Madness_. There was no other word for it. So quickly had the city descended into what it was now, and those outside the zone knew that was the case as well. That's why the supplies had been growing rarer and contact with the outside world had all but ceased. It seemed madder to leave an entire city to ruin, but I wasn't the one making that decision.

I stood and balanced on the metal beam, the remains of a skyscraper that stood only half as tall as it used to. I grabbed my pack from the corner of what was once an office, stepping over my sleeping bag and toward the door.

I started the ten story descent down the stairs, stopping along the way to listen for any sound that someone else might be in the building. It had taken me a long time to realize that silence didn't truly exist. Even now, there was a ringing in my ears. Yet silence was the most comforting thing for a survivor. It meant that you were safe.

The sun beat through the large windows at the bottom of the office building. The sounds of my boots echoed on the marble floor, filling the large entryway. Large chunks of concrete and rubble had fallen and made the front doors useless, but that was one of the main reasons I had chosen this building.

I made my way through the lobby and toward one of the side doors, making sure it latched closed behind me. With so many buildings around to choose from, it wasn't likely that someone would pick the same one, but those without the necessary precautions risked coming back to find their home destroyed and their stashes looted. It had happened to me once. It wouldn't happen again.

The metal door creaked and whined as it opened into the alleyway. I opened it only wide enough to barely fit through, the door closing on my pack before forcing it through. I double checked that the key still hung around my neck before shutting the door. The sun had started its slow descent, but it still gave me plenty of time to get where I needed to be.

It would be pointless to head for any of the drops. I expected them to come a bit later in the day, and had thought about trying for one, but it seemed that decision had been made for me. In the fifteen minutes since the helicopters had dropped the boxes and flown away, each piece of aid would have been taken. It would have likely left at least a few dead bodies around the area, those that weren't quick enough or lucky enough to make it out.

Moving through the city was slow going, but that was for safety more than anything else. It took me about three hours to get to my destination. Though I wasn't late, he was already there, sitting on a pile of rubble and looking at the city in the distance that lay unaffected, filled with people trying to forget what was happening in their own backyard.

He sat there, unmoving, but I knew he sensed that I was there. He always knew. I approached carefully, focusing on where I put each and every step. The rubble was loose and wasn't the easiest to climb, but I made it up after a minute, my legs aching and a few of my fingers bleeding from the sharp pieces of metal I had unfortunately gripped.

I stood next to him without saying a word and looked in the same direction, our backs to the sun and the blue skies. Dark clouds loomed above the city in front of us. I hoped the storm was headed in the other direction.

The man opened his hand, revealing a small scrap of paper within. I took it and placed it in my back pocket to look at later. We were too out in the open for my liking, though I know he picked this spot specifically because it was safe.

"Well?" I asked. "Where's the payment?"

"On delivery," he said, staring straight ahead.

"How many?"

"Four."

I tried not to show my surprise. I had never received so many for one job. Four would give me an entire month without needing to worry about going mad. I could even start a reserve and not have to go week by week like I had been.

I returned home and threw my pack on the ground as I reached the tenth floor. There was a strange sensation when taking the pack off each day. It made me feel like I could run faster than I ever had or jump higher than I thought possible. It was a feeling I never got to use, being too tired to attempt either.

# # #

I rolled over as the morning sun shone through the window. My body was aching and weary, though that had been normal as of late. The sun began to warm my back as if caressing the life into my muscles for another day. I groaned as I sat up, sitting against the wall and looking out of the office I had made my bedroom.

My knees cracked as I stood and walked out of the office, toward the opening in the wall that led outside. The cool chill of the morning breeze met with my bare feet first and then my face. From inside, it had looked like a warm day, but it was far from it. Still, it was likely the best thing for me right now. The cold air entered my lungs and invigorated me from within. My body began asking for warmth, but I stood there a minute longer. It would appreciate the warmth so much more if it knew a bit more of the cold.

I made my way inside, far more awake and alert than I had been even a few minutes prior. I opened the piece of crumpled paper before I left, committing it to memory just in case I lost it on the trek.

# # #

Two addresses. That was new. The first was a farther trip than I liked to take, but I had no choice. I preferred not to go more than ten blocks in any direction, but this would take me twenty blocks minimum. Plus the extra fifteen or so to the second address. Moving that far with a pack would tire me out, but I also might need the supplies on my return trek.

The sun beat down on me as I stepped into the alleyway, and I cursed at it. There were clouds in the sky, but they were sparse and thin. I exited the alley carefully, staying motionless for a minute as I took in my surroundings and listened for any sound. As I peeked my head out, I felt a cool breeze against the few drops of perspiration on my face.

I had planned out the route in my head before I came down, but I wasn't entirely sure which streets that far out had suffered massive damage and which hadn't. It wouldn't be incredibly difficult to make the necessary changes, but each second I spent rerouting was another second that I could be seen. And being seen was the worst that could happen. Well, until they caught you, at least.

Moving through the streets and between the buildings was slow going, but it was safe. The longer trek couldn't be helped this time. The paper said what it did. I couldn't return and ask for another address, nor would he give me one. Normally, my day was spent going building to building, hoping to find something that hadn't been looted yet; something that I could eat or drink. Anything else was a luxury. I had found that out very quickly. Sure, soap was nice. So was toilet paper. But they weren't necessities. They didn't determine whether I lived or died even though I may have thought that before.

Glass crunched under my boot and I stopped short, not taking another step. I stepped back and scraped the shards of glass from my boot, moving past the broken window that littered the diner I was cutting through.

The diner's kitchen and storage had been picked clean. Cabinet doors were strewn about the floor, remnants of a quick search that had likely taken place much earlier in the year. Some places were hit much faster than others. Diners, grocery stores, and pharmacies were cleaned out first, though they also had been the riskiest to loot. The city hadn't been fully affected yet, but panic is one of the most intense motivators I have ever seen. When uncertainty mixes with gut-wrenching fear, something changes in the brain. Looking back, it was hard to tell who was just scared and who had already been affected by the madness. It was like a switch being flipped that couldn't be undone.

The city had seemed to change overnight. It only got worse when we heard news that we wouldn't be allowed to leave. Quarantined. Still, we tried for some time to hold out hope that we would eventually get out. After all, they wouldn't simply leave the remainder of the city to die.

They did.

I knelt in the corner of the kitchen and pulled one of the canteens from my pack. I took two massive gulps and poured some over my head as well, closing my eyes for just a moment as the water rushed down my face, making small puddles on the linoleum floor.

The remainder of the glass crunched under my boots as I made my way out of the diner and back onto the street. I was only a couple of blocks away from my destination, but they were streets with which I was unfamiliar.

The breeze subsided quickly and the lack of moving air made it feel hotter than it truly was. I cursed, but I knew I had been lucky to have the breeze for as long as I did. The sun had somehow already begun its descent. Time seemed to go faster the slower I moved. It was one of the reasons I didn't like going out this far. Moving quickly wasn't an option. It was only done out of necessity.

I squinted against the sun as I read the numbers on the building across from me.

I moved against the side of the diner, staying in its shadow. Unfortunately, there wasn't much cover down the side of the street, nor did it look like any of the buildings would let me move through them with ease. Over the last couple of blocks, the streets had been filled with more houses than businesses. It made things easier in a way.

A street sign on the corner leaned to the side, the sidewalk holding on as best it could. I had made it to Elm, which meant the house I needed was directly opposite of me. I ducked into one of the nearby buildings, making sure I had a full view of the home.

# # #

The sun set behind the buildings in the distance, the last rays shooting over the horizon. I stood, stretching my legs. They had grown stiff from the hours I had spent sitting and had begun to ache from the day's events. I had watched the building as much as I could over the last few hours, but it became increasingly difficult as the light faded. There had been movement within, but very little. Whoever was inside was being very careful. I couldn't blame them.

What I had seen would have been easy to ignore if I wasn't looking for it, but small changes in the way that the blinds moved as they were pushed aside for a better look outside was enough. I had no idea how many people there would be, but I had to expect more than one. I laughed to myself, wishing I had been given more information than just an address.

I set my pack under the stairs and moved a few broken pieces of a desk to cover it as best I could. It was probably unnecessary, but a minute spent for some peace of mind was well worth it.

Darkness fell without hesitation. It had only been a few moments, yet it already felt like the middle of the night. The moon hadn't risen high enough to be of any help in lighting my way, not that it would have been of much use with the clouds filling the sky. I stepped outside and let the breeze rush past my face, inhaling deeply and holding the cool, night air in my lungs. I stepped off the curb and headed across the street, hunched over as much as I could muster without losing speed.

I flattened my back against the side of the home, thankful I had left my pack behind. The wet grass squished beneath my boots as I made my way toward the back. I listened intently for any signs of life from within the building, circling the home carefully and ducking beneath any windows I passed.

A trellis sat flat against the eastern wall of the home. I placed most of my weight on the first spot I could find and tested its strength. The wood bent slightly, but it felt sturdy enough so long as I didn't linger.

I grasped one of the rungs and searched for a small foothold. The wood bent, threatening to snap. I moved quickly, heading toward the small bit of roof that covered the back door and led to the second floor.

The shingles were rough under my fingers as I pulled myself up. I rolled myself onto the roof fully, trying to dampen any sound I could. My hands and knees moved across the roof and toward one of the windows.

The moon began to rise as I tested the window. It cracked open slightly. The locking mechanism looked like it had been completely torn off at some point, leaving small pieces of wood splintered along the edge.

The sound of my heartbeat in my ears made it difficult to focus on any sound from within the house. I lifted the window slowly, trying not to alert anyone downstairs. Of course, I was only hoping that they were all downstairs. It was impossible to know how many were in the home and where they were located.

I ducked inside as soon as there was enough space, closing the window behind me as gently as I could. I scanned the floor, trying to get an idea of the layout. I could see a faint light coming from downstairs, but the second floor was as dark as the night.

There were five rooms from what I could see. Four of the doors were wide open or slightly cracked, but the final one was shut. I moved toward it, carefully placing my heel down first and then placing the rest of my foot down. It was an older home which meant that there were likely plenty of floorboards that would give me away.

I smiled as I neared the door. All the practice I had sneaking out of my room when I was younger seemed to have paid off. I felt a laugh building in my stomach and tried to stifle it, but could only manage to lessen the sound as I laughed into my arm. One part of my brain screamed at me to stop while the other told me to let it out.

The laughter stopped as I heard voices below and multiple pairs of footsteps heading up the stairs.

I looked back at the window wondering if I could make it out in time, but knew if I left now, there was no way I would complete my job. I couldn't afford to fail. My hand wrapped around the handle of the knife on my hip, pulling it from its place. I crouched and slid myself against the small wall next to the stairs.

The knife entered beneath the man's chin as he turned the corner. He cried out in pain and surprise. I pulled the knife away and kicked the man toward the ground. He clutched at the wound, blood pouring over his hands like water from a garden fountain.

I turned to the second man, who was staring wide-eyed at the scene. I leaped at him, plunging my knife into his chest as we fell down the stairs. I used him to break the fall, but the impact still threw me off the man a few feet away. I rose to my feet and pulled the weapon from the man's limp body, scanning the bottom floor for any other attacker.

Laughter built in my stomach once more, but I pushed it away. The cries of the man upstairs filled the home. I would need to quiet him as soon as possible. The screams would pierce the quiet night for blocks and it was attention I didn't need. I took the stairs two at a time until I reached the top. The man's eyes met my own and seemed to beg for release. Silence retook the home a moment later.

I made my way to the closed door and turned the handle, only to feel resistance. My boot met the door with as much force as I could muster, splintering the lock and the inside of the door. A single candle burned in the room, casting shadows onto the wall.

A small figure sat in the corner holding her knees against her chest. She cowered from me as I approached, and it took me too long to realize I was still holding the knife in my hand, fresh blood running down its point and onto the rug.

I bent and wiped the knife on the rug, cleaning it as best I could before returning it to its place. I stepped back from the girl with my hands raised.

"I'm not here to harm you," I said. My first impression probably wasn't too encouraging, but I hoped she'd believe me all the same.

The girl moved her hair away from her face and looked me in the eyes through the darkness. She couldn't have been more than thirteen or so, though it was tough to tell in the candlelight. She reminded me of someone.

"I was sent here to get you," I continued. "I'm here to keep you safe. That's all."

I took another step back with my hands still raised, trying to give her as much space as I could in the small bedroom. She stood, not taking her eyes off of me.

"You killed those men," she said.

"I did."

"All of them?"

"Yes."

I lowered my arms as the girl walked toward me. She came close and looked up at me, as if trying to read my eyes. I stared back, unblinking, until she seemed satisfied.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked. I wasn't entirely sure what she had seen in my eyes, but it seemed to be enough. A part of me wished I had known it had been a girl I was meant to transport. The screams she had just been forced to hear wouldn't be easily erased from her mind.

"Where I was told to take you," I said. It came off a bit harsher than I had hoped, but it was the only answer I had. "What's your name?" I asked, hoping she would ignore my last response.

"What's yours?" she asked without hesitation.

I smiled. "Adam." It was strange to say my name out loud. I couldn't remember the last time I had needed to introduce myself to someone. A name doesn't have much behind it when it's never used.

"I'm Kari."

"Well, Kari, we should get you out of here."

The girl nodded and walked over to the candle. The flame flickered for a moment as her breath met it before extinguishing, small plumes of smoke rising upward and the smell filling the room. I turned and let her pass me, motioning for her to head out.

"Wait!" I yelled.

She stopped short.

I reached my arm outward. "Close your eyes and take my hand."

She hesitated for a moment before grabbing my hand. She placed her other hand over her eyes as I led her out of the room. I walked her around the first body at the top of the stairs, being careful to keep her out of the pool of blood that had gathered around the man's body.

We slowed at the stairs to make sure she didn't trip, passing by the second body with care. I opened the front door and led her outside. Thankfully, the porch had tons of rubble on it, offering good protection.

"You can open your eyes," I said. I kept my own on the street in front of us while listening for any sound coming our way.

In the fresh air, I realized how much I smelled like death. The stench of blood filled my nostrils. I would need to clean up.

We made our way across the street and entered the building my pack was in. Everything was undisturbed. I moved the pieces of furniture away from my pack and pulled it from its place. I grimaced as I tried to lift it, pain radiating from my side. I reached down and touched the area, my fingers returning covered in blood.

"Are you hurt?" Kari asked. She was on my opposite side, trying to get a look at the wound. I turned, making sure she couldn't see.

I reached into my pack and pulled out a flask of water, a bit of gauze, and some rubbing alcohol. I only hoped the wound wasn't too deep. The medical supplies I had were sparse and I had nothing to help close up a wound.

A small flame spouted forth from the matchbook as I lit a candle and placed it in the middle of the room. It didn't give off much, but it would light the area well enough to give me an idea of the wound.

I turned to let the light hit my side, though its placement made it a bit hard to see. I dampened the small bit of cloth I had and rubbed it slightly over the wound, grimacing as it barely brushed. I couldn't remember being wounded or feeling any pain. Perhaps the adrenaline had simply taken over and was now subsiding.

"Let me see," Kari said, bending closer to get a look.

I hesitated for a moment before lifting up my shirt again. At least she could tell me how bad it was.

I yelped slightly as my side began to burn, the pain pulsating for a few moments before disappearing. The rubbing alcohol dripped down onto the floor.

"You could have warned me," I said.

"Well I didn't exactly get a warning, did I?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but shut it. She had dealt with enough tonight. Too much, in fact, than someone her age should deal with. I only imagined how much she had been forced to grow up in the last year.

"I don't think it's too bad," she said.

"That sounds promising. I think."

"Looks like a knife slashed you or something. You're bleeding, but it could be worse."

"True enough," I said. "Hand me the gauze."

I wrapped it around my waist, not wanting to use up too much, but also not wanting to bleed through right away. I tightened it as best I could and tore it, letting my shirt hang back down. I turned at my waist and bit down hard through the pain.

"Seems I just won't be able to turn much, that's all." I grabbed one of the straps on my bag and dragged it behind me until I reached the wall and sat. I pulled out a granola bar and tossed it to Kari. She tore into it as if she hadn't eaten all day, leaving only a few crumbs a moment later.

"Do you want another?" I asked.

She looked at me as if she was embarrassed for eating like that in front of me. She nodded slightly. This one she caught and ate a bit slower, moving to the adjoining wall under the window and sitting beneath it.

"We should probably stay here the night," I said. It wasn't something I was looking forward to, but with my injury and the dark, I didn't feel confident heading out. "We'll leave early before the sun comes up."

"And then what?" she asked, still gnawing on the bar.

I shrugged. "And then I hand you off to the people I'm supposed to. That's about it."

She placed the empty wrapper on the ground beside her and pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on top of them. "Why did you come get me?"

"Because I was told to."

"Who told you to?"

"A man."

"Why?"

"So I can get paid."

"With what?"

"Pills."

The questions stopped as quickly as they had begun. Perhaps she hadn't been forced to mature as much as I assumed. Though, I couldn't fully blame her for asking.

"Why were you locked away?" I asked. I figured a few questions of my own couldn't hurt.

"I guess so I wouldn't run away."

"Any idea where they were taking you?"

"I don't know."

I stopped my questioning and let us sit in silence for a while. My eyes grew heavy as the small flame continued to dance in the middle of the room. The weight grew until I couldn't hold them open any more.

# # #

The faces of the two men I had just killed flashed in my vision. They stared at me, screaming, as I stabbed them over and over again, trying to stop their cries before someone heard. The sounds of laughter began to fill my ears, drowning out the screams. I looked for the source, but realized it came from me. The screams and laughter intermingled in perfect harmony like they were meant to be together.

I inhaled sharply as I awoke, my heart pounding and my shirt soaked with sweat. I wasn't sure how long I had been asleep, but the candle had either burned out or Kari had blown it out. I could see the shape of her under the window, looking in my direction.

"Were you having a nightmare?" she asked. I could sense a hint of concern in her voice. I wasn't sure if she had been able to sleep yet or whether she trusted me enough to try, but I hoped I hadn't been out for too long.

"Something like that," I said. My breathing returned to normal and I lifted up my shirt to take a look at the bandage covering my wound. It was difficult to tell without the light, but I could see the white gauze looked much darker than it should. I would need to replace it soon.

I held my finger up to my lips at Kari as voices passed the window. They didn't seem concerned with keeping their voices low which meant they didn't care if their presence was known. And that meant they weren't survivors like us. Their laughter was more than enough to give it away.

I was thankful the candle was out. Even the slightest bit of light and moving shadows could be enough to draw the attention of someone passing by, especially so close. I stood, fighting back the pain from my wound. I leaned against the door, pushing my shoulder into it and letting my weight rest on it. There was no such thing as acceptable risk. If something could be done to better the chances of staying safe, it needed to be done.

I stood there for some time, but the voices had passed into the distance and hadn't returned. Kari sat unmoving the entire time in her preferred position, curled up in a small ball. It somehow made her look far more vulnerable.

I made my way from the door and toward my bag, pulling out the medical supplies once again, cleaning and bandaging my wound. Now that I knew what I was working with, I was able to clean and wrap it myself with little issue.

"How long was I out?" I asked quietly, not daring to speak above a whisper.

"Not too long, I don't think," she said. "But it's tough to tell just sitting here."

I looked out the window and into the night sky. The moon was nowhere to be seen which meant it hadn't risen too high yet or it was hidden behind the clouds. We still had plenty of time before daybreak, but after the nightmare, I didn't want to stay here any longer.

"Do you need anything before we go?"

"Already?"

"I think it would be best to have as much cover of night as possible." I tried to ignore the pain as I put my pack on.

"No, I don't need anything." She paused for a moment as if contemplating whether she wanted to say more. "You aren't looking so good. Perhaps the wound was worse than I thought."

"No, I'm sure you were right. It isn't that."

"Oh," she said. I could tell she understood. She had lived out here long enough to know what happened to those unlucky enough to not get the supplies they needed. "Then we should get going right away."

I nodded and led us out into the crisp air. Leaves blew across the road, some breaking apart as they hit the pavement.

The moon rose slowly overhead as we walked. We took breaks often, mainly for my sake, as much as I hated doing so. It wouldn't do me any good to die before we got there.

A small thud came from the alleyway on our left we were approaching. I led Kari into the neighboring building and waited a moment for any other sound.

"Stay here," I said.

I climbed over the low windowsill and headed toward the alleyway, peeking around the corner only to see large garbage dumpsters littering the narrow path. A small raccoon poked its head out of the container and crawled out, frail and sickly. It looked at me for a moment before turning and heading the opposite direction in search of anything that would allow it to live a bit longer. I turned back to get Kari.

A hand wrapped around my mouth and pulled me into the alley. I reached for my knife, but my reach had been limited by the person that now had me. I could feel the sharp point of a knife at my back. I stopped resisting, raising my hands as best I could to surrender.

"I finally found you," the familiar voice said in my ear. The hand released from my mouth and the person unrestrained me. I turned and faced the woman.

"Shit, Allison, I thought I was dead," I said with a sigh of relief.

"You look it already from what I can see," Allison said.

"It's been a rough night."

She looked me up and down. "I'd say that's putting it lightly," she said, smiling. "I'm glad I caught you."

I furrowed my brow. "And how did you do that exactly?"

She shrugged and her eyes twinkled. "I'm good at what I do," she said. "There's no time for that, though. Did you get the girl already?"

My eyes widened. "How did you know about her?"

"I just told you how. I'm good at what I do. Do you have her?"

"I do."

"Do you know what she is?"

I waited a moment before answering. It was bad enough that Allison seemed to know far more than I did, but I didn't want her realizing how much more she knew.

"What do you know?" I asked, deflecting the question.

"Apparently a lot more than you do," she said. "From what I heard, the girl is immune."

"Not possible," I said. "Nobody has been."

"That we know of," Allison said. I could see the excitement in her eyes even through the night. "But there's also the chance she's the only one."

"Or the chance that nobody is," I said. Immunity wasn't something I had heard even once over the past year. It seemed too far-fetched.

Allison shrugged her shoulders and scrunched up her face. "I just thought I would tell you what I heard before you go turning her over to... well, whoever it is."

The silence built for a minute as I thought to myself. As much as I found it hard to believe, finding someone with immunity would be an invaluable asset.

"Why did you risk coming all the way out here just to tell me this?" I asked.

"I thought you'd want to know. Plus, I hate how little information we're given on these jobs. It'd be nice if we got a big win for once. If it's true, you could easily get more for the girl."

"We, huh?"

"Well, of course. Just because you didn't ask for the information doesn't mean it's free."

Allison turned down the alley, heading in the same direction the raccoon had gone. "Ultimately, it's your choice. But at least you have the information they didn't want to give you."

I watched as she took off running, her feet almost silent against the road. I waited a moment before returning to Kari, lost in my thoughts. Allison was one of only a few people that I trusted. We had run a few jobs together before and seemed to get along well. I didn't see her too much, but it was somewhat comforting knowing there was someone I could count on out here.

"Let's go," I said to Kari, motioning for her to head in front of me. I never liked talking or making noise when out in the open, but I felt like the answers I now wanted would be worth it.

"Do you know where we're headed?" I asked, breaking the silence.

Kari slowed her steps for a moment before continuing the pace. "No, and neither do you, remember?"

"And what about the people that had you in the home?"

"I don't know who they were," she said. Her voice had grown slightly tense and her answers were coming across a bit short. I didn't want to upset her, but I also didn't want to just let this drop. Not if what Allison said was true. But shutting her down would only make things worse.

I released the bottle on the side of my pack and unscrewed the top. "Here," I said, offering it to her. She looked at it for a moment before pulling it from my hands and taking a tiny sip.

"You don't have to worry. I have more."

Kari nodded and turned the bottle vertical, drinking the water in large gulps. She wiped the spilled drops from her mouth and handed the bottle back to me, half empty. I looked at her hands as I took the bottle. I thought I had felt something when I had grabbed them earlier and wanted to make sure I was right.

"Did those men do that to your hands? The reason for the scars, that is."

Kari looked at me and then down at her hands. She quickly pulled down the long sleeves of her flannel shirt until they were covered.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I shouldn't pry." If what Allison said was true, it would be amazing, but Kari was still just a girl. And I was still just a man she first saw with the blood of two others on his clothes, wielding a knife in the darkness. It wasn't my best entrance. Still, the scars worried me. They were new enough to still be large, but what had caused them had obviously happened some time ago.

"It's okay," Kari said. Her voice was far less tense. I had to struggle to even hear what she said, her voice had lowered so much. "I don't think I said it, but thank you for getting me out of that place. They... They weren't very nice."

"It was no problem."

Kari stopped walking and gave me a look I hadn't seen in a very long time. She pointed at my side.

"Okay, so it was a little bit of a problem," I said. "But you're welcome."

Satisfied with my response, Kari took off ahead of me. I could feel the gauze had completely soaked through again, but I didn't want to take the time to stop now. I had hoped the bleeding would have stopped, but the constant movement and strain on my body was making it hard to even begin healing.

My mind on the wound, I bumped into Kari without realizing. She had stopped completely and was pointing directly in front of us.

A group carrying torches turned the corner a few blocks ahead and turned down the street in our direction. I forced Kari to move, pushing her toward the side of one of the buildings nearest us. I thought about moving to the neighboring street, but I knew I couldn't guarantee that it would be any safer.

"There," I said, pointing at the metal ladder that went up the side of the brick building. "Go. Now!" I raised my voice as loud as I dared, following her up the ladder close behind. We reached the top and I took my pack off, setting it at the top of the ladder.

I moved next to Kari and peeked over at the group below. The closer they came, the louder their voices grew. Most of it was unintelligible and there was more shouting and laughter than actual conversation. They stopped abruptly as one of them called out in a commanding tone. There were ten or so that I could see from my position, with one standing on a small box at the front. Two others stood directly in front of him, facing the rest of the group. The torches lit their faces well enough that I could see the fear as clearly as if it were daytime. Two of them were still sane, then. Neither of them would live much longer.

I strained to hear the words being said, but the only sounds I could hear well enough were the frantic screams from the group and the laughter that made the night feel far more eerie than it had any right to. Some of the laughter seemed to speak to me and I held down a laugh of my own, only barely.

Kari was fixated on the group as much as I was.

"I don't think you should watch this," I said.

"I know what's going to happen," she responded, not taking her eyes off of them.

I sighed. "Then you should definitely know to look away."

"I'm not a child," she said, meeting my eyes for a moment with a serious expression. "Besides," she continued, turning her attention back to the group, "I don't think it's right that anyone should die with only the eyes of the mad upon them."

I shook my head, knowing that I wouldn't be able to convince her. I doubted it was the first time she had seen someone die, and I was in no position to order her to do anything. Cheers erupted from the crowd in maddening unison. My eyes returned to the scene just in time to see the man's throat slit from behind. The blood rushed forth and down his chest like a river that had once been held back by a dam. With his hands tied behind his back, he was unable to grab at his throat, instead falling over on the road, his body spasming until it lay completely still.

The woman next to him cried out, and I could hear the deep sobs that exploded from her chest, full of grief. They were cut short as her throat was sliced in a similar manner. She fell to her knees and then flat upon her face. She turned her head toward the man as the last bits of life left her body.

Laughter filled the air from a few in the crowd while the others whooped and hollered. One ran over to the man and kicked him in the head while another climbed on top and pretended to ride him like a bull.

I watched as one of them made his way to the woman, picking her limp body up and throwing her over his shoulder. Her weight threw him off balance and he fell to the ground, laughing. He stood again and called another to help him. They picked her up and placed her on the first man's back as if he was giving her a piggy-back ride. The flow from her wound had slowed, but was far from stopping and the blood covered the man's neck and back as he began moving down the street. The rest followed closely behind, invigorated from the scene. Other than the choppers that I had grown used to hearing, the sounds they made were the loudest I had heard in a long time and the mixture of laughter only made it worse.

I tasted bile in my throat and tried to swallow in the hope that it would go away. Kari watched them closely as they left. She was extremely engrossed with their parade and her eyes seemed to hold the slightest amount of pity, though I wasn't sure whether she was pitying the mad or the victims. Maybe both.

"We should wait here a little while longer," I said. As much as I wanted and needed to get to the destination as quickly as possible, it wasn't worth the risk of running into any stragglers. I sat up, gripping my wound and placing my back against the small ledge that we had been peering over.

"Are you sure?" Kari said. She glanced at me and then back down the street as the last torches faded from view.

"Don't worry. We have enough time. As soon as I drop you off, I'll be good for another month." Kari looked at me as if she was unsure. "We'll be cutting it close, but it'll be fine." I hoped that being truthful would somehow make her believe me more. "What about you?" I asked.

Kari hesitated for a moment before responding. "I'll be fine."

"I see," I said.

"I took a pill recently, that's all."

With the information that I had gotten from Allison, Kari's responses seemed more suspicious than they likely would have otherwise. I would have had no reason to question her in such a manner nor would I have doubted her. But, now...

"Good," I said. "At least we won't have to worry about both of us running out of time then, right?"

Kari nodded slowly. "I still think we should get going," she said. "You need to get that wound properly treated."

We both rose and headed toward the ladder. I grabbed my bag and grunted, trying to lift it up. It felt heavier than I knew it was. This wouldn't do. I dragged it to the corner of the building and took out as much food as I could. I filled my pockets, handing some to Kari as well and grabbed two containers of water. It would be enough for now. As for everything else, it would have to stay here. Depending on where I was taking Kari and how long I would be allowed to stay before heading back, I could always grab it on my return.

Our voices were low as we walked, only loud enough for the other person to hear. Our footsteps padded against the sidewalk until we finally reached the second address. I had been forced to lean some of my weight on Kari as we walked. My head began to swim more and more as my body begged for rest, and my vision began to blur and grow dark along the edges.

Kari opened the door and led me into the dark lobby of the apartment building. Thankfully, we didn't have to wait long before we heard footsteps down the hallway. Normally, I would have hid us both until we knew what we were dealing with, but I was no longer in the right state. I actually found myself not particularly caring who the footsteps belonged to, so long as they eased my pain and the heaviness in my head one way or another.

"You made it," a woman's voice said as she entered into our sight. "We were beginning to wonder." The woman motioned behind us and two men appeared from the shadows. "Don't be alarmed, we simply need to blindfold you before we take you to the actual facility. It's a short walk, I assure you."

Kari's hand gripped mine hard, and I thought I could feel her shaking.

The soft cloth tightened around my head, placing me in complete darkness. It was slightly comforting.

The walk was indeed short. Thankfully, they walked us slowly since we were blind. Kari held my hand the entire way. The silence faded away and was replaced with a multitude of sounds as we left the open and entered a building. There were more voices than I had heard in one place for a very long time.

They removed the blindfold from my eyes and I scanned the large medical room I was in. I squinted my eyes as they took in the blinding light. They had electricity. How did they have electricity? It was as if they walked us through a portal and into the past or far outside the quarantine zone.

"No," was all I could hear from Kari. She repeated it over and over, starting as a whisper and growing louder. The shaking I thought I had felt before was incredibly obvious now.

Her eyes filled with fear and she tried to shrink away from the grasp of the men that had led us here. Our hands were pulled apart and they began to lead Kari away down the lit hallway.

"Why did you do this?!" Kari yelled. She twisted her body toward me as best as she could. The fear was still present, but there was anger and betrayal as well. "Why would you bring me back here?!" She disappeared down the hall, her cries echoing long after she turned the corner.

"Where are you taking her?" I asked. Her screams made my heart pound in my chest. It ached.

"Just a bit down the hall," the woman said. "But first, we should get you all patched up. It's obvious you're not doing so well." She moved down a different hallway than they had taken Kari, and as I followed behind slowly, Kari's reaction burned into my head. We passed a few rooms on either side that had their doors shut, until we came to one that was open.

"This'll do for now," she said. "Take a seat right over there," she said, pointing at the small medical bed.

As soon as I sat, she was there with an entire tray of medical supplies. She took my shirt off, followed swiftly by the bandages, which she removed gently. She cleaned the wound as if she had done it a thousand times before, her hands already moving to the next tool before finishing with the last. I tensed as I felt a needle enter my side.

"Sorry," she said. "I probably could have given you a bit more warning. You'll be fine, but you've lost quite a lot of blood. The cut could have been worse, but it's bad enough to warrant stitches."

She sewed the wound closed as I clenched my jaw against the feeling of the needle entering my skin again and again. "I would love to give you something strong for the pain, but unfortunately we're waiting for our supplies to come in."

"Not a problem," I said. The pain had been bad, but I was happy to no longer be bleeding.

"I take it you got this when you rescued the girl?"

"I don't remember the exact moment, but it had to have been then, yes."

"Well, by returning her to us, you may have helped in saving the sanity of a lot of people. If all goes right, that is."

"How is Kari going to help keep people sane?"

"You were told what we do here, weren't you?" the woman asked, a shocked look on her face.

I shook my head back and forth.

"Well, I guess that can't be helped. They love their secrets, don't they? If you ask me, you should know as much as possible so you can complete your job to the best of your ability. "

The woman stood and wheeled the tools away to a sink in the corner. She dropped the items in and turned the knob. Water flowed into the sink until she shut it off after it had filled a few inches. They had running water as well. I guess it shouldn't have surprised me. I suddenly felt myself longing for a long, hot shower.

"All of us here are looking for a cure, Adam. We have been left here without any true help coming from outside the quarantine zone and we know that none is coming. So, we've taken it upon ourselves to work toward a cure. And you've now helped us get one step closer."

"With Kari?"

"Oh, yes. It seems children at a certain age are completely immune to the madness. They simply don't need to take the pills. We aren't entirely sure why, but we think it has something to do with the fact that their brain is still growing. I believed we were making progress with Kari until... well we had a small incident. One that has been fully handled now, thanks to you."

A laugh erupted from deep within me without notice. It burst into the room and then vanished as quickly as it had begun.

The doctor's face grew firm. She moved to a drawer and grabbed a small light, shining it in my right eye and then the left, spending about 10 seconds looking into each eye. "The issue with finding a cure is that it can take its toll on the subject. I'm sure you've noticed the lack of children and teens in the city. That makes it difficult for us to investigate a cure as quickly as we would like."

She turned off the light and returned it to the drawer.

"What kind of toll?" I asked.

"In most cases, death. The tests we do are necessary, but the end result is usually the same. Of course, once they're dead, they can't be used any longer. We've spent much time investigating the blood of these subjects, but we are now moving onto other areas. Any cure won't help those already mad, obviously. Once the switch has been flipped, there is no turning it back off."

"And Kari?"

"We are deciding which tests to run with her this time. There are a few we still wish to try. Some believe the blood is still the answer, so we will go down that route again. Over time, we'll be forced to move to more drastic measures. To think that we could possibly cure ourselves from the fear of madness and return to civilization? It will all be worth it."

I contemplated the woman's words for a moment as she moved around the room. She went into one of the closets and pulled out a clean shirt.

"This looks about your size," she said, not looking in my direction. She tossed the shirt to me.

"Thanks." I put the shirt on carefully, worried that I would ruin the stitches and have to get them put in again. I realized I wasn't entirely sure how I planned on getting them out when the time came.

"How many people have you performed tests on so far?" I asked.

The woman stopped what she was doing and looked up at the ceiling as if the answer would be written there. "Not as many as I would like, that's for sure. I'd have to check the records."

"Have you tried running tests on adults as well?"

The woman laughed. "Of course we have. The most useful subjects are those on the verge of madness, much like yourself. It makes it far easier for us to know if anything we do is prolonging the change."

My face grew stern.

"Oh, don't worry. Your wound there would prevent us from recording proper results, even if you did allow us to test on you. It's all voluntary."

"Except for the kids."

"I've found it's difficult for them to fully understand why they should wish to help. For one, their minds don't yet work like ours. They focus too much on the short term. So we make the decision for them."

I began to feel sick to my stomach. The type of sick that I knew wouldn't go away easily. Perhaps it was due to thinking about what kinds of things were happening in these very rooms. Maybe it was the injury in my side and the lack of blood. Or maybe it was the madness — with its long fingers on the switch in my brain — slowly pushing it upward.

I rose to my feet slowly. The woman looked at me with raised eyebrows. "You're free to wait a bit longer, if you wish. There's no rush."

"I'm feeling much better now. I think I just want to make it back to my own bed as soon as I can."

"Completely understandable. I hope you know how much you've done for us. Kari will be a great asset to our research."

I nodded and headed out the door, one hand on my side. It still throbbed, but it was definitely far better than it had been earlier. Now if only I could do something about my stomach and my head.

"Feel free to head out into the lobby when you are ready to go. I'll have someone lead you back to the building where we first met. You'll receive your payment then, as well." She smiled at me one last time as I left the room.

I headed toward the lobby, slightly hunched over. I kept my head down as much as I could, not used to the fluorescent lights. They were far too bright, even when bouncing off of the white tiles I was walking on.

I blinked and the tiles were suddenly covered with blood. It filled in the small cracks between each one and made its way quickly throughout the hallway. I closed my eyes for a few seconds and tried to take a deep breath. I opened them and the tiles had returned to normal.

I could see the lobby was empty as I arrived.

# # #

I had been looking down each hallway and into every open door I could on my way to the lobby and had finally found what I was looking for. I ducked into the room, hoping nobody had seen me. The room had a desk in the middle with a chair on either side and file cabinets lined the walls. I opened one drawer after the other.

I clasped my hand on one of the large folders and pulled it from the cabinet. Scrawled along the heading of the folder was the word "Records".

The folder wasn't as thick as I was expecting. I opened to find maybe twenty pages inside. The first page had a couple of dates on it as well as a few names that I imagined belonged to some of the workers here.

I turned to the next page and stopped. In the left column from top to bottom were names. Next to it showed the ages, the highest of which I could see was 17 years old. The third column listed the test that had been run on them along with the date. The final column held the result, of which all listed "failure".

The first few pages were the same. All were young. All had failed. Most of the procedures had been fairly basic such as drawing blood or blood transfusions. About the fifth page, the tests had begun to change.

I flipped through the final pages as fast as I could and they all shared the same result. The procedures had grown more intense and far more risky as time had gone on. The cure seemed no closer than when they first began. The only thing it seemed they had to show for it was these pages.

I returned the folder to its place and exited the room, my legs moving on their own. My pace quickened as I entered the lobby and went straight past, turning right down the hallway and away from the doors to the outside.

"Sir!" I heard from behind me. I turned, still walking, to see one of the men who had brought us here in the first place. I stopped, making sure my right side was turned away from him. He walked toward me, extending a police baton in his hand as he approached. I turned quickly and felt the stitches rip open on my side. My knife made its way deep into the man's stomach. The baton fell to the floor and bounced, landing at his feet.

I pulled the knife away and let the man fall. The right side of my shirt was soaked through with my own blood. I cursed, turning down the hallway once again.

"Kari!" I yelled. My voice echoed through the hallway and into the lobby. I fell to my knees as a baton connected between my neck and shoulder. I turned as well as I could, slashing my knife outward without fully knowing where the person was. I felt it connect and followed through until I was facing the second man who had brought us here. He grabbed his thigh in pain and fell to the ground. My knife met with the inside of his thigh and I slashed, trying to sever the artery.

I turned from the man and stood as his screams filled the air. I yelled as loud as I could for Kari, fighting through the sharp pain in my throat, which suddenly felt like it was being tickled. I giggled for a moment, which led to laughter. All those in the room took at least two steps back as their unblinking eyes watched me.

The laughter stopped as I opened a door. Kari was lying flat on a table with four people standing over her. She was hooked up to multiple machines and already had an I.V. in her. I held my knife straight out and faced the four as they stared at me in confusion and shock.

"Get away from her," I said. They backed away and I moved to the table. Kari's arms and legs had been strapped to it and her head was immobile due to one across her neck. My knife cut through each of the straps with relative ease, leaving the leather red and damp with blood. I could hear footsteps behind me as I helped Kari off the table. I could tell that she was scared, but she said nothing. I grabbed her hand and held her close to my side, moving toward the door with my knife out while making sure those in the room weren't moving.

We made our way down the hallway and into the lobby. The doors were directly in front of us.

"Adam, I thought you were smarter than this," the woman's voice said. Her heels clicked against the tile floor as she walked toward us, stopping ten feet away. I turned, moving Kari directly behind me.

"She could end up leading us to the cure, Adam. If you take her, you may be dooming everyone else out there. Without a cure, there's no hope for any of us. Surely, you've noticed the supplies have already grown more rare. They won't take care of us forever. They'll let us all go mad and die. Don't you want to do what you can to prevent that?"

My head felt heavy and her words sounded garbled as they entered my ears. I heard each of them, but they sounded as if I was listening through a tin can, like I had done when I was younger.

"If it's more payment you want, I'm sure we can reach a fair agreement."

The grin on my face grew wider than I knew it could. I placed my knife back in its sheath and turned on my heel, pulling Kari behind me as I bolted through the doors and out into the fresh air. It cleared my head for a moment as I took in our surroundings. I had no idea where we were. I pulled us down the street as fast as I could, ducking into the first alley that would shield us from anyone coming after us.

I pulled a scrap of paper and a pen out of my pocket and scribbled on it quickly. I placed the paper in Kari's hand.

"If you can find out where my pack is, you should head for that and grab what you need first. Either way, make your way to this address."

I took the key from around my neck and placed it around hers. "This will get you through the door in the alleyway. You'll have a bit of a climb after that, but you'll find where I was living. You'll be safe there."

"What about you?" she asked. Her eyes moved from my own to the blood soaking through my shirt and then back again. "We can find you a pill. If we just reach a drop fast enough, we can get you one."

I shook my head back and forth. "It's a bit late for that," I said. "Which is why you should get going right this moment. I'm going to turn around so I don't see which direction you go. I'm not entirely sure how this all works, but I don't want to take any risks."

Kari wrapped her arms around me. The hug squeezed my wound which kept my head clear for a moment longer. "Thank you," she said looking up at me.

She let go and headed down the alley, leaving me to stare at the sky in the opposite direction. The moon had begun its descent. Tears ran down my cheeks and began to dampen the front of my shirt as I fought against turning to watch her go. The ringing in my ears stopped and I was greeted with true silence for a moment. I smiled one last time at myself... and then the switch was flipped.

## Earl Gray and the Quest for Dairy

### by

### Patrick Day

### (DrSurgeonGuy)

Illustrated by Casei_Magnus

It was a bright Tuesday morning on the corner of Porcelain and Main. On this particular corner was an apartment building, and on the second floor of this building was a man. He was a wizened old man, who woke up with so many creaks and squeaks in his bones that you wouldn't put it past him to have a spare oil-can lying about close by.

This Tuesday morning was much like any other morning, with the same rituals played out in their entirety. One foot after another, which led him to the bathroom where he popped in his dentures.

"Lookin' good, aren't we, Earl?" He clacked his dentures in front of the mirror and gave himself a grin.

After that he went to the kitchen dressed in his morning robes and prepped his ritualistic Tuesday breakfast. This morning he was to eat a hearty bowl of porridge, and between every bite, a moment to comb his beard from top to bottom. It was the reason he had two chairs at the table; one was for him, and in the other sat the beard.

When he neared the end of the beard-combing ritual and the final bites of porridge, something interrupted him. It wasn't the flakes that glowed and flowed from the beard, landing on the floor with a fizzle that marked the tiles like a battlefield. Nor was it the small black wand that fell a few strokes later. No, it was the loud _thwump_ noise that repeated itself ad nauseam that caused him to turn off his hearing aids.

Eventually, and though he tried to hold onto the moments he had, the comb-strokes came to an end. He lifted himself with a hand settled on the arch of his back, and with a loud groan, traveled to the window.

The bird screamed in a strange human-like tone as it fell through the now opened space. It tumbled right into his porridge bowl, and toppled the whole mess over.

"Hello, Norbert," Earl said as he closed the window and turned his hearing aid back on.

The bluebird lifted the bowl from atop his head and took a moment from his screams to say, "Master! Oh Master! I've been struck down! Covered in a slime that will surely eat through my feathers and consume me whole! Run Master, save yourself!"

"It's just porridge, Norbert. Now get off the floor, you're making a mockery of yourself. And a mess of my floor, and at least I can clean that up..."

"But Master! I'm not a mockingbird!" said the bluebird, who gathered himself, and performed a tiny jig to clean himself of excess porridge.

"I've told you a thousand times Norbert, I'm no longer your Master. Besides, what happened to that nice girl bird you met? I liked that one, she distracted you away from me, after all," said the man, who heard the whistling of a teakettle.

"Oh, Master! That was twenty years ago! And she wasn't a familiar like me. But Master! That's not why I came! After all these years of searching, I found you! And not just a moment to soon!" said Norbert as he flapped to the counter-top.

The man poured the hot water into a nearby teapot, full of masala chai and watched the leaves swirl about the water.

"I have just found out that your nemesis has found you once again! Even now they're surely plotting your downfall! Oh, it's just terrible, Master!"

"Pray tell, which 'nemesis' is this? The Sorcerer of Blackwell? Sorceress? Mayhap someone from the Cult of Cathadab?" asked the man as he headed toward the fridge.

"Oh no! Your arch-nemesis! It's—"

"Again, you say these things that mean nothing to me. No one wants to be second fiddle you know. I have an entire portfolio of arch-nemeses, just because I kept forgetting about them. Honestly it worked in my favor once, the man was so shamed by the whole elaborate plot he had set up, as soon as he knew I had forgotten his existence, just threw his hands up and left. Regardless, tell me who it is already, will you?"

The man opened up the fridge and peered inside.

"It's Tiberius Mokka!" Norbert said.

"Oh drat..." said the man, frozen.

"I knew you'd eventually see reason, Master!" Norbert said as he brushed a wing over his forehead.

"I'm out of milk," said Earl, who picked up the empty half-gallon and shook it at the bird. "And it's masala chai too," continued the man. "Can't have masala chai without a dose of milk or a dollop of honey, and I'm out of both. I'll have to go to the store early today."

At this, the bird began another tirade, for which the old man once again turned off his hearing aid.

On his way to the bedroom, Earl remembered a lesson about age. You can tell how old a man is, if not in body but in spirit, by a simple fact: how long it took him to get dressed. Not for clothes to wear around the house, mind you, his robes were certainly comfy enough around the house. They'd get frowns outside despite his age.

When he reentered the kitchen, he just straightened out his tie over a pair of overalls. Norbert still rambled on, but decided this wasn't a clear indication of his age.

"I'm off, Norbert! Keep the place neat and tidy while I'm away, will you?" he said, and for a single regretful moment he turned a hearing aid back on.

Another reason he found himself not leaving by the front door was the hallway. Lately, it seemed as if he needed to walk twice as far to reach the stairwell.

After the long and tedious trek, he put one foot in front of the other. With a hand clutched to the railing at all times. Luckily, the side door led straight to the parking lot. There, right up front and center was his vehicle. He tapped the door handle with his wand and there was a small click. The door opened.

The other tenants had an understanding, that his car would be allowed the sole spot next to the side door next to the lot's exit. It wasn't that they liked him, or respected him for his age. No, it was because the last car to block or take up that spot had to make sure their insurance covered 'Random Acts of God'.

It wasn't a long way to the local grocery store, and truth be told, he didn't even need the car. However, it was a car, and like most of his possessions, if he could use it, he would.

When he got into the handicapped spot, he rubbed the wheelchair on the handicap tag that hung from the rear-view mirror.

"You're the only familiar I need."

The dank coldness of the produce ran over his body as he entered the _vwooshing_ doors. Earl tugged at imaginary robes and retreated with haste from the plum, peaches and bananas. Always the bananas with these places.

When he turned the last aisle into the dairy section, he froze and looked about. The entire dairy section was empty, so he called to a nearby employee, "Hello! You over there, could you tell me where you moved the milk?"

"Oh no, sorry about that, but... We're all out of dairy. Strangest thing, some gentleman bought it all this morning. Crazy, right?"

"He bought it all?!"

"Yeah, sorry. I'm sure the other store across town has some. We'll be getting another shipment tomorrow, though."

The employee sort of shrugged and left behind those two large doors with the rubber flaps.

"He- Wait! Ahh..." Earl said.

"Oh, what a coincidence to find you here, old friend."

Earl Gray let out a sigh, and turned. It was an old face, which had even more wrinkles per square inch than any other person in their age range. He was wearing robes much like the ones Earl had left back at the apartment, but copper-toned.

"Tiberius, what a surprise."

"Oh, no it isn't! I saw that familiar of yours! He must have been snooping on my plans, but you can't thwart this plan, Earl Gray!"

"So, was this your plan? Pretty bothersome, but there is that other store..." Earl said more to himself than the one who decided to wear robes that day. Shoppers nearby gave Tiberius some curious looks.

"No! I'll buy all the dairy at that store as well! But luckily I didn't buy all the dairy here, I left you a single carton, old friend!" he said, and went into a fit of trained laughter.

"Well, where is it then? Better not be that one-percent stuff."

"Right. Over. There," and he pointed past the prune juice and grocery-store quality iced teas, to a lone half-gallon carton of almond milk.

"Well, technically that isn't dairy. Since almonds don't have teats, but sure, why not."

Earl hobbled over to the door and thought to himself that this might not be too bad. Almond milk lasts for months on end and was probably just fine in a cup of tea.

"Yeah, I'll bite," he said and opened the cooler door. "Probably healthier, too."

The next thing he knew, he was flung into what he thought was the cooler. It wasn't a simple push by Tiberius, but what seemed like a powerful flurry of winds that carried him. It dragged him into a cooler that seemed much too deep, and behind him all he heard was the trained laughter of one Tiberius Mokka.

# # #

When Earl opened his eyes, he had a bump on his head and was flat on his back. The almond milk was still in hand, though, so there was that. Above him, instead of a concerned employee in a confined environment, there were clear blue skies with rolling clouds.

However, what became a more pressing matter was who actually surrounded him. Knights in armor with swords drawn and ready to strike.

"It's a witch!" he heard one say in an all-too-feminine voice.

"Of course it's a witch! Fell straight from the skies he did!" cried another.

"Umm... Not a witch. Wizard," Earl said as he propped himself up.

"Oh, just a wizard then? Well, I feel better!" and they all nodded in agreement.

The whole situation confused Earl, but he thought about it and said to the knights, "Why not take me to your... Queen?"

"Well, our queen's court witch would probably know what to do with a... lowly wizard," said the leader of the group. She held out a hand to help up Earl, and snatch the carton away.

"It's just almond milk," he said.

"Almond milk? Ain't that a type a nut?" asked the knight, who swirled the contents about.

"Well, yes, I was going to drink it in some tea when I got back home, you see."

"But almonds don't have teats!" said the former.

"Enough about that! We need to get this silly wizard to the castle!" said a knight.

They helped Earl onto a horse and rode off toward a castle in the distance. On the way, Earl saw huts and smelled the local farmlands. They were the stock farm animals: chickens, pigs and horses, but no cows to be seen.

As they rode closer to the castle, Earl let out a low whistle. It was one of the nicest castles he'd seen, although this one was maintained by a full staff and not a lone wizard and his panda familiar.

"So who's your queen?" he asked the knight he rode with.

"She is the noblest of queens, and purest of heart. Our Queen Eleanor," she said, loud and proud and with purpose.

"Ahh, I see. Thank you," Earl said. Surely, he wasn't even in his own timeline. Probably on another plane, as that was an easier spell to cast than going to alternate timelines.

Whomever the castle court witch was, hopefully she was not a fraud and knew the time/space coordinates for this plane. Otherwise, it'd be much harder to get back.

The castle itself sat upon a hill, with no moat to guard it. Beside the open gateway were two large banners. They were pink with yellow borders, and inside what looked like a decapitated bull head emblazoned in red. There were even little spurts of blood for detail, classy. He wasn't sure for which part of all this he had the most questions prepped.

The entrance-way guard did give them pause and asked the leader why they had returned so suddenly.

"We've a witch with us! We've decided to let Queen Eleanor decide his fate!"

"Well, actually he's the one to suggest that," said the knight Earl rode with.

"Whatever! We're here!" said the leader.

"A male witch? Someone that powerful shouldn't be near the queen," said the guard as they passed.

"I'm actually just a wizard," Earl said.

"Oh really? I mean, thought you were gonna be dangerous and all," she said, and that was that.

The castle courtyard was trimmed and looked much nicer than those he had seen in his own time. The flower garden that ran along the walls was an especially nice touch. He might even ask for some petunia tips for his own potted plants back home.

The first room they entered was the throne room; it was open and overlooked the courtyard. The walls were laden with the same banner that adorned the castle entrance. Against the opposing wall were two chairs, with the queen's taller and grander than that of her king's. He appeared to be a bubbly little man who wore more make-up than any other man Earl had ever seen.

The queen however, was tall enough to almost not seem out of place in her ridiculously tall throne.

"My queen!" said the lead knight.

"What brings you back so soon, Helen?"

"We've come with... a Wizard."

"A wizard? Not sure why you've brought him here. Are you sure he's not a witch?"

"Said so himself when we found 'im! Fell out of the skies he did, from what looked like a tornado, ready to threaten the land! He might have destroyed the queendom in one fell swoop!" explained Helen.

All eyes turned to Earl and he said, "Well, you see. It wasn't me! There was this other wizard, who cursed a... A door. It pulled me through and now here I am. I'm sorry about all this, but maybe you could tell me what year this is? Place maybe? Planar coordinates...?"

"Enough with your gibberish, Wizard! Court Witch Barbara would know best on how to deal with you! Barbara!" said the queen.

"I heard you well enough, my queen!" said the court witch, who wore robes much like Earl's pajamas. However, after one look at their guest, she almost turned on her heels and strutted out the room.

Earl looked at the witch and stared long and hard at her face. Through wrinkles and upturned nose that seemed to look down on you despite being a head shorter than he, there was a familiar, almost young-looking face. One he recalled instantly and blurted it out without a second thought.

"Barbara! Barbara Gillespie! Is that you?!" he said, in a way that shocked the rest of the room more than himself.

"Barbara, do you know this man?" asked the queen.

"Know me?!" said Earl, "Why, we went steady for a good eight years at least! I have to say, Queen Eleanor, the residents of this castle must not sleep well, given how much she snores, ha ha! Barbara, is this where you've been all this time?"

"S-steady?!" asked the queen, still shocked, "What does he mean by that, Barbara?"

"That's not important, Eleanor! Why is this MAN here?!" she said and turned toward said man, "Earl Gray! Why are you here?!"

Earl let out a sigh, saying, "Do you remember Tiberius Mokka?"

"Oh, by the Gods, again?!" and hands were thrown metaphorically into the air.

"Who is this Tiberius Mokka? A dangerous man? A witchy man?"

"Oh, my queen. He is a despicable man, not the most powerful, but certainly stubborn enough to cause problems. Earl, what happened exactly?"

Earl stepped forward, which caused a momentary hesitation with the guards. The queen raised a hand and they backed off, as Earl stood right in front of the two most important ladies of the land.

"I was on the most serious of tasks. One that demanded that I leave my own homestead, my castle. And it is of a simple matter that I ask you now, in that you may help me in this task, so that I may leave here and be out of your hair. Forever," he said with a somber tone that took years of practice.

"Oh Gods," muttered Barbara under her breath.

The queen was on the edge of her throne, however, and asked, "What is it that we can give you, brave wizard?"

Earl looked into Barbara's eyes and with the same attention to seriousness he asked, "Got any milk?"

Barbara reached a hand up to the top of her face and dragged it down. When her palm reached her mouth, she let out a loud but subdued scream. "See, this is why we're not 'steady' anymore."

"Look, if you could just tell me the planar coordinates, I can get back to my own plane and you can snore in peace."

"Yes!" she said, already on her way out. "I'll go get my charts now!"

"Wait!" said the queen, and Barbara halted. "This wizard said he wanted milk, correct?"

"Well, yeah, but I don't suppose you have a spare carton of Jerry's lyin' around?" Earl asked, unsure of how much sarcasm was really needed.

"Eleanor, you can't be serious," Barbara said as she stomped back into the room.

"We've been having a serious dairy problem ourselves. You will get those charts from Barbara, but only after helping us solve our own problem."

"I was going to solve that problem later today!" Barbara said.

"Then Mr. Gray can help with the dragon problem, it'd be easier that way, right?"

"Dragon?" Earl asked and turned to Barbara. "Dragon?!"

"It gets better," Barbara said with a look that meant _, I hope you weren't planning on going home in time for supper._

"This dragon, instead of destroying our queendom, gathering our riches, stealing our maidens, has instead been stealing all of our cattle. The dairy farmers have lost all their stock to this creature. This isn't just an ordinary dragon, Mr. Gray. It is a dairy dragon."

"Wow!" said Earl. "That is weird! And dumb! That is so dumb that if I could, I would leave immediately. Barbara! Why are you living in a plane with dairy dragons? Why?!"

"It's not like that isn't weird for this plane, Earl. Place is pretty nice, otherwise."

"Enough!" said the queen. "Barbara is to escort you, Mr. Gray, to the dragon's lair and you two shall put an end to this situation immediately!"

"What?! Why?" asked Barbara.

"Because if you don't, I'll have to put Mr. Gray in the dungeon, which would be pretty bad for the both of you. Bad for Mr. Gray because he'd be in the dungeon, and bad for you Barbara, because I'd be asking him all he knows about you before you became my court witch! Now, should I prepare you two horses... Or one?"

Earl hadn't seen a woman's face turn that shade of red since the last time he'd seen Barbara in person.

# # #

There was little fanfare when the two eventually left, on two horses. On the way to the horses however, a servant of the castle—drabbed in cloaks—bumped into him. The servant bowed and ran off, despite Earl's calls to say that it was all right.

Barbara had to practically lift him up onto the horse.

"It's been ages since I've ridden a horse, okay?"

"It's fine, it's all fine. Let's just get going," Barbara said, already paces ahead.

"So when did all this happen?" he said as his own horse bounded past hers.

"You mean becoming the High Witch of Burle?"

"Yeah," Earl said as he took control of his horse and led it back to hers. "How'd you find a plane that's both medieval and female-dominant?"

"Oh, it wasn't that hard. I just looked up various wizarding forums on the internet. Found the proper planar coordinates and... Yeah."

This answer satisfied Earl Gray, who just made a 'hmm' sound.

The rest of the trip wasn't so bad as either thought it'd be. There were certainly enough years that had passed to talk about on their trek to the mountain. When they reached the trail up the mountain, there was also a trail of smoke that almost seemed grounded in the way it floated and curved up the same path.

When they finally reached the summit, the smoke trail drifted into a nearby cave with a covered entrance. It wasn't going to be a problem though, as it was just a thick miasma of dragon vapor. It shifted and looked almost like a wriggling century egg.

"Well, looks like this is it, so what's the game- hey! Where are you going?" he asked as Barbara was already on her way back down.

"Queen Eleanor just said to guide you here! This is your 'quest', Earl! I'll see you back at the castle!" and with that she was already out of sight.

"That's just great..." he said as he lifted himself from the horse's saddle. "It's all right boy, you can just stay here." He made sure to give the horse a few love pats on the snout and stroke its mane.

He felt another odd sensation as he neared the cave entrance. When he finally entered, he knew why. It was like the hallway back home, as it stretched on and on. Smoke made his eyes water, and it was hot enough to make him sweat. After a while he just closed his eyes to calm himself, and finally he tried focusing on breathing in through his nose. That's when he smelled it.

It smelled like cow shit.

Eyes opened at this revelation and he peered about. There were certainly cows. Enough so that if each one was traded for a nugget of gold or gaudy piece of jewelry, this dragon would have a reasonably sized treasure pile.

The 'dairy dragon' was just as easy to spot amidst the crowd of cows as the cows themselves. It was a slender beast, whose head almost touched the ceiling. It looked like any other dragon he'd seen in tomes, and he approached with the same tact they advised: with stealth and caution.

"Moo!" said much of the cattle, who made a barricade of several tons of cow flesh. It almost seemed deliberate.

"Ooh! Now what do we have here?" said a voice most definitely not bovine in nature. It was surprisingly high-pitched in tone, and just as smooth in a way he never thought a dragon's should be.

Earl had never thought of partaking in a staring contest with a dragon, but here he was. This close up, he could easily reach out and grab one of the cat-like whiskers that grew from its nose.

"I see someone has finally decided to check up on why Davine has been hoarding all these cows! That's your reason, in'it?"

"Ye-he-hes!" Earl said as he found himself lifted into the air, the dragon's claws caught under the straps of his suspenders.

"Well, now that someone has finally decided to visit Davine..." and Davine paused, and waited with long lashes that blinked at Earl. It was the cough that finally led him on.

"Oh, uh... Why do they call you Davine?"

"Ooh! I was just waitin' for you to ask! They call me Davine! Because honey, have you seen these hips?" and the dragon posed in such a way to show off those hips.

"Oh yes, those hips are quite nice," Earl said, to which Davine showed off the biggest smile he'd ever seen. He continued, "Speaking of hips, what's with the cattle? Why aren't you eating them?"

The dragon's smile turned into an expression like that of a deer staring at headlights. A clawed hand covered its mouth, and the whole thing made Earl a bit uncomfortable.

"Why, you ask me if I'd eat a cow? Would any other dragon eat a maiden? Princess? No! These cows are important to me, they get me. They get me!"

A chorus of moos sounded off around them, as if the cows agreed.

"They umm... Get you?"

"Oh!" Davine said and turned its head up. "Why should I have told you! Of course a human wouldn't get it! Not even my own family gets it! They're all out there, terrorizing countrysides, gathering treasures! Kidnapping... Princesses!"

Halfway through the dragon's speech, Earl patted his body and searched in vain for his good ol' wizard stick. He couldn't find it!

When Davine ended its tirade, Earl found himself back on solid ground, "I told you why I have decided to hoard cattle. If you can't understand it, just go and leave me be with my friends!"

"Oh no! I can relate, Davine! I can, uhh... Relate all too well!"

"You do?!"

"Oh yes. Why, where I come from, I'm the only wizard that can't stand to wear robes!"

"Robes! So unfashionable! Despite cows being much more tolerable than robes, I feel like we've reached a common ground, Mr. Wizard. You know, I thought they would send a witch! But I feel much more comfortable that they sent a lovely little wizard like you along! Here, let's get you more comfortable."

Earl found himself back in the talons of the dragon before being placed onto the back of one particular cow. "This is Heather. What a doll she is! She's a bit grump at first, but the more you know her, oh! Ho! Ho! The more you'll love her! Haha, oh the companions I've made in such bovines like these!"

Earl patted Heather in the way anyone would an animal they'd rather have between buns.

"Now, I don't understand what it's like to wear clothing, we dragons don't wear clothing as you can see from my lovely hips! But surely, you are a statement, friend!"

"Thank you, Davine."

"Oh, no! Thank you, Umm... Oh! I never quite got your name! I was just so... Excited!" Davine said with a revived smile.

"It's Earl. Earl Gray."

"A wizard and an earl?! Oh, what a catch you would be!" Davine said, and in a much more hushed tone followed up with, "I can't believe I just said that!"

"So what were you saying before? About the cows, specifically?" Earl asked.

Davine looked at him and let out a long sigh, which let a cloud of smoke pass by Earl's head. "So I just feel... Oh, I've never explained it before! Not like this. It's a bit embarrassing, it certainly would be for the fam. That's my family by the way; the fam. Anyways. The fam has got it all in their heads that all dragons gotta steal pretty, pretty princesses and the like! I tried it once, Gray! But I just find princesses not so pretty... You, on the other hand. Has anyone told you your beard resembles that of a grand dragon?"

Earl found himself very self-conscious about his beard that flowed onto Heather's side. He just told Davine 'no' and let the dragon continue.

"Well, I just find myself so connected to my bovine brethren! There, I said it! Bovine brethren! I believe that in a past life, I was one of them: a cow. Do you believe in past lives? Oh, I'm sure you do, Gray!"

Earl once again searched his pockets and scouted the area for his wand, but it could not be found. After a few moments of silence he returned his gaze to Davine and saw that the dragon returned it with a passion.

"So, what do you think? I know that stealing these cows was completely awful! But Heavens to Betsy! By the way, what an amazing phrase that is! Learned it from Betsy herself! Say hello, Betsy!" and among the cattle a "moo" was heard.

"But what should I do, Gray? Certainly a powerful wizard like you knows how to get a dragon like myself out of a situation like this?" and Davine batted those reptilian eyelashes.

"Ahh, well. What if you just... Gave the cows back?"

"Heavens to Betsy, haha! There I go again! But seriously, I can't do that! They were eating these cows, Gray! Eating! How horrifying that must have been for them!" Davine said among a chorus of scared sounding moos that grew to an almost deafening pitch.

"Maybe if you took your cows and just... Up and left?"

"Oh, no, oh, no! Then my friends would just have me for defense! It'd take me a while to find another cave quite as nice as this one, Gray! And there are predators, or even worse: humans! You wouldn't eat my friends, would you, Earl Gray?" Davine asked. A pregnant pause later and its smile brightened up immediately, sure that he would have given the right answer.

"What if I take my cattle to your lands, Gray? I know we just met, but I'm ready to see where this... Relationship could take us."

Straight-faced, Earl said, "Davine, I'm not that kind of earl."

"Oh," Davine said with a claw to its mouth. "Gray, I'm running out of options!"

"Well, if you don't like that human farmers were using these cows in harmful ways... Maybe a dragon farmer would be better? Then you could protect the cows, and if the uhh, fam ever comes and visits, you'll have a treasure pile from the dairy business. Everyone wins?"

Davine stared at him with eyes that, if human, would cry.

"How much gold could I make by selling their precious, precious milk?"

"Well, if you have all the cows, you could sell it for however much you wanted to. We call that a monopoly. In this case, a milky monopoly."

"Oh! Milky Monopoly! What a good name for the new dairy farm I'm opening up! Thank you, Gray! I could just, oh, kiss you!"

"Oh, no, that's—" Earl started to say. Unfortunately, the dragons' talons found their way underneath the straps of his overalls once again. Up and away he went, where he was pushed repeatedly against pursed dragon lips.

When it was all over, Earl counted his blessings that he had a horse. Otherwise, he'd have to limp all the way back to the castle.

"Now, maybe I can treat you to dinner?" Davine asked.

"Oh no! I have to go! To tell the castle you'll be coming! To settle all the matters about your new dairy farm!" and Earl was already on his best foot forward.

"Well, I see. I'll be visiting the castle soon. Very soon, so you don't have to wait too long for me, my Earl."

# # #

The ride home went a lot slower this time 'round, as there was a lack of any conversation. True to her words, Barbara left without him. But this meant he could take in the country air and revel in that smell you'd only get in the medieval times.

Despite the soreness in his legs from dragon affection, he drove that horse back to the castle with a fierceness! The castle gates were still open, as was expected of his return. What wasn't expected were the brandished weapons once again at his throat.

"So. I took care of the dragon, if that helps at all."

"It doesn't!" said the queen, who sat under a rather large parasol. "You were the one who cursed us with the beast to begin with!"

"What," he said with a tone that matched that of his eyelids: flat.

"Don't try to deny it, Earl. I've told them everything," said an all-too-familiar voice.

"Tiberius Mokka! I was wondering when you'd show up," Earl said to the wizard, who wore an all-too-familiar cloak.

"Nonsense!" said Mokka, "I am the great and powerful witch, John Donut!"

"Wow! Way to get that creativity flowing!" Earl said, content to clap behind the spears still pointed at his throat.

"Insolence! Rebel!" Mokka jabbed a finger at his general direction and continued, "We need to throw this saboteur in the dungeon at once, Queen Eleanor!"

"Get off the horse, Mr. Gray, and tell us what you did to Barbara."

"Ya know, I'd love to. But you still have about eight or so spears at my adam's apple. Also, why would you think I did anything to Barbara?"

The queen made a gesture and this gave him enough space to get off the horse without the immediate threat of being stabbed.

"She was last seen with you! Mr. Donut has told us that you made her disappear in some surprise ambush!"

Earl was going to say something about this, but Mokka interrupted and said, "I promise you I can get the whereabouts of where your Barbara is, my queen. But it'll have to be done by myself. I don't want any magic from my techniques to hurt any of your guards. Besides, the screams alone will also be most unpleasant."

The guards guided Earl along with their spears, down into the basement. As far as dungeons go, this one wasn't the worst he'd been in. There were even multiple buckets in the corner, labeled accordingly! Earl thought this was very considerate of them. The cell he was thrown in even had a barred-up window that overlooked the other side of the hill.

"Leave us!" said Mokka, and the guards complied. He waited and after the echoes of footsteps ceased, he turned. "Looks like I've finally won! After all these years, I finally did it! Ha ha! How does that feel, Earl? Knowing that you've lost?"

"Oh..." Earl took a seat in the middle of that dungeon floor and he said, "I feel like I had a good run of things. Took you, what? At least eighty-seven years? Right? Good job Mokka," and he gave him two thumbs up.

"Hmm..." Mokka said as he busied himself with the whiskers on his upper lip, "No, none of my spells would do the justice of ridding myself of you. Besides, that'd be a wizard's death. You deserve something long and drawn out... and painful. Yes, extremely painful. Do you have any suggestions?"

Earl gave him a stare and a grimace.

Mokka let this all settle in with a silence almost painful enough to kill. After a while Earl let out a sigh and asked, "Are... Are you still thinking about it, or..."

"Oh, yes! I was! But now, I think I have it all figured out!" Mokka said with a clap of his hands, "A hanging! Oh how splendid! You'll die here, in another plane, with no love at your passing!"

Mokka turned and started to run up the stairwell before he popped back in to say, "I'll be back in a jiffy. Or an hour, whichever would make you feel even worse! I'll think about it on my way to the queen."

Earl just backed into the wall and started to curl his beard with his fingers. This was what he did when he had to have a serious think, and no one was there to watch. He sat there and thought so hard he didn't quite notice the bird that banged right into the bars of the window above. It was only when the bird finally flopped onto the floor and began to speak did he finally notice.

"Master, oh, master! What nefarious plans has Mokka planned for you?!"

Earl continued to twirl his beard around and said, "Well, murder. That's definitely the overall uhh... Plan, I guess. Kinda just wants to kill me and have that all over with. So how have you been?"

"Up to my beak with worry! But egad, master, what do we do?!"

Earl looked around and pointed to the wall next to the stairwell, "Well, I can see some keys hanging from the wall over there. You're a bird, go do your bird thing and get me out of here."

Norbert gave a salute and fluttered over to the keys. After a few hefty tugs it gave, and so did he. The bird fell like a wine glass shouldn't.

"So, how did you even get here, anyways?" Earl asked.

Norbert tried to drag the keys with his beak, then resorted to sort of a backstroke motion with his wings. Slowly but surely he made headway, as much a bird can.

"It wasn't easy, master!" said Norbert between huffs and puffs. "I had to call in some help from your local wizarding community! Said you were all real big chums!"

Earl brought a hand to his brow and said, "No! Not them, Norbert! They're a bunch of losers! As soon as I get back, they'll expect me to go to their meetings for a while. It'll be worse than Barbara's old book club!"

"Master, don't be so glum! I'm here, saving you!" said Norbert with a final tug of the keys. "Now we can just sit in here until they get bored! We have the keys after all, what good plans you have, master!"

Earl hefted himself up with a groan and took the keys. After he took those first few steps of freedom, he said, "No, bird. We're going to escape, find Barbara's room, and deal with Mokka."

Despite Norbert's pleas, he resisted the urge to turn off his hearing aids due to the threat of imminent death.

The courtyard, from what little he saw, was full of soldiers with their full intent on building a makeshift gallows. Mokka was in the center of it all, directing this way and that.

Earl went up the nearby set of stairs that led to the second floor of the castle. There was a long hall that twisted around like a half-moon.

Along the doors he sneaked by, he eventually found Barbara's. It wasn't the door itself that gave it away, but the familiar smell of oregano that always permeated from their private quarters. It was the reason he moved from the house they used to live in. It's not like she cooked, it was more of a potion-making deal, not that Earl was ever greatly interested in that side of wizarding.

Still, he opened the door and the room was empty, of course. The window curtains were pink, which matched the bedsheets, and the doilies. Barbara still had a rather luxurious lavender plush bear that she named "Mr. Snookums".

Earl waltzed to the pink ornate rug in the middle of the room and tried to kick it over. After this failed he groaned and bent down to move it, which revealed a small wand.

The end of the wand sparkled like a sparkler and he pointed it a moment at Mr. Snookums. Those beady little plush eyes stared at him, but in the end it wouldn't be worth it. An angry Barbara would be the worst thing that could happen to him today. However, he did pick up the small hand mirror that rested beside the bear.

With a new spry in his step, he walked back down the stairs. By tonight, he'd be back home drinking a nice glass of masala chai, with milk.

# # #

"No, no. Make it bigger, so he has to take at least three more steps up," Mokka said to the soldiers.

"We're running out of wood," said one of them.

"Well then, I suppose this will be fine. I'll go get the err... Murderer," Mokka said, already on the trip back to the dungeon.

There, he found Earl Gray where he was before, back against the wall. "Ahh! Good, right where you were! No escape, I see. Excellent!" Mokka said with a clasp of his hands.

"Haven't you gloated enough?" Earl asked.

"Hahaha! No. I don't think there's enough time for either of us for me to gloat as much as I feel the need to. Although your time left on any plane is about to end. Now, up on your feet, you're expected," Mokka said with a raised wand.

"Aren't I supposed to get a last meal? Any rights read to me? Somethin' like that?"

"Well normally yes, but we're in another plane, where there are dragons who collect cattle and a female-dominant society. So, no. No you don't. Now get up before I make you," he finished this with a twirl of his wand.

"All right, all right... Oh, these bones aren't meant for sitting on these hard floors for so long."

Earl groaned as he again had to lift himself up, hopefully for the last time that day. The door was already opened from a flick of Mokka's wand, and there he waited.

Earl took a few steps toward him before he reached for the back-up in his back pocket and said, "Fashala Ronda!" Out came a blinding flash of blue lightning that blasted Mokka into the stairwell.

"Now, Norbert!" he said, and from his overalls came the small bird, who flew right at Mokka. The wizard flinched, until he felt that the bird had flung itself right into his wardrobe.

Then, he sprang to his feet. "Oh, no! N-not this time, old friend!" as he started to pound his chest, or wherever he felt the bird last. "Scoota dooda!" and out from Mokka's wand, a burst of flame!

Which rebounded right back at him, as Earl had the pocket mirror ready.

"Curses! The only proper defense against a wizard: a reflective surface."

"That's right, Mokka! Now tell me where you hid Barbara!" Earl said as he stepped out of the cell.

"I'll tell you!" he said, as Earl lifted him up from the fiery barrage. "After I'm standing over your corpse!" He ran up the steps. At the top of his lungs, all while Norbert was still in his robes, he screamed out, "Help! The witch has escaped! The witch has escaped!"

Earl would have found himself quite happy with all this, but the thought of being swarmed by soldiers pushed him up the stairwell.

"Not your best plan, Mokka!" Earl said as he took in the surroundings. The courtyard was an even bigger mess than before, soldiers darted back and forth with not a single sword drawn. Earl readied wand and mirror.

"Shwiggidy Shwoody!" Mokka said, and from his wand a tiger was summoned like an ocean wave. It sized Gray up and dug knife-sized claws into the ground.

"Treq Pouiy!" Gray said as it finally pounced, and the tiger was turned into a fleet of monarch butterflies that fluttered off into the sky past the eastern wall.

"Why can't you ever die?!" Mokka said with feet that stomped the ground.

"Because you're an idiot," Earl said with an all-too-familiar tone.

"Mlijxh Zax'r!" Mokka said, and a serpent-like shadow slithered its way into the air and darted right toward Earl's pocket mirror. Despite his best efforts to prevent it, the shadow snake dove inside the mirror's surface and it turned just as black. White cracks formed within the surface and it shattered completely. Blackened shards of glass disappeared as they were hit by the sun's rays.

"Oh no, Barbara's gonna kill me for that."

"Not if I do it first!" Mokka said with a 'Huyt Qwas!' and from the tip of his wand, a fire-hose erupted, and the water knocked Earl right onto his rump.

"Hyut Gert!" said Earl, and a blast of wind started to blow the flood back! It was at this time that Norbert finally made his final move, and found a part of Mokka's body that caused a shiver to go down both their spines.

Mokka's grip on his wand loosened and the blast of air superseded the water at last. The tiny hurricane blew the robes up into the air and made it look like he wore a rather fuzzy cape.

Norbert took this time to escape. On his way out of Mokka's personal bubble, he flew right into one of the pockets of the robe and popped out its contents. It was a small jar, clear and shiny, which made the contents of the fragile glass container more visible. It was a miniature Barbara.

"Shala Bala Trala Dada!" Earl said as he redirected his wand, and caught the jar with a beam that caused it to hit the ground all too suddenly as it grew into the size of a glass cottage.

With Barbara returned, the soldiers regained much of their senses and drew their swords at Mokka. When the wizard finally regained his composure, he froze at the sight of the weapons.

"What's the meaning of this! It's not me that you should be pointing those at, and... Oh! Okay, Yeah, I-I see it now," Mokka said as he finally saw what Earl pointed at. Barbara had her arms crossed and looked generally peeved, but Earl was glad he'd seen her angrier than this.

"Oh, Barbara!" said the queen, who had finally descended from her throne room.

Barbara tried to speak, but found the glass prison made her voice warble and unintelligible. She then banged on the surface to no avail.

"Oh Hell-ooo! This is the right castle, right?!" said a voice that boomed from the distance. It was Davine, and it had finally arrived to discuss the dairy farm agreement.

It was quite the surprise to say the least. The soldiers once again threw their hands into the air in panic. Even the ones with swords drawn at Mokka joined the crowd, of which he took full advantage.

"He's going to get away!" Earl said, and prepared his wand. Unfortunately, a soldier bumped into him on her way to the dungeon. The wand fell, and he could see Mokka as he ran off. The wand, wherever it lay, was kicked and moved to who-knows-where. Earl moved as far as his knees would run, but Mokka, with his head start, would obviously get away.

"Someone stop him!" Earl said, but the command was lost above the crowd's frantic cries.

It was then that Earl looked up and noticed the shadow of Davine was upon them at last. Dragon wings fluttered and caused a lot of soldiers to topple over and seek shelter. Mokka let out a high-pitched scream as another shadow descended on him. No, it was not Davine, but the cow it had brought along. Davine had carried it in one of her talons, and let go a few feet from the ground where it happened to fall upon Mokka.

Fortunately, the cow seemed perfectly fine, although it would produce milkshakes for weeks after. The wizard Tiberius Mokka, however, would be found in a far worse condition. This was to change whenever they were to let Barbara out of her glass prison.

"Oh my! I didn't mean to hurt a fly on my flight!" Davine said, with no pun intended.

Davine was further surprised at the amount of praise for its apparent heroism. "Hero? Me?" it asked. When the praise continued, it said, "Oh, you're gonna make me blush! But please, continue!"

While that was going on, Earl found the backup wand and cut out a section of Barbara's prison. They shared a momentary smile as he helped her out.

"Welp! Glad that's over!" Barbara said. Earl just agreed, and she continued, "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Earl was confused as she walked over to the cow-ridden Tiberius. He rolled his eyes, though, as Barbara started to punt the man's most-likely-already-broken ribs.

"Tell me," asked the queen. "Has she changed at all?"

"Oh no, not at all. But, that's fine, not sure if I've changed much either since then."

"Well, we're glad you saved her, and us. I thought you took care of the dragon? Not that I'm complaining..."

Davine was still surrounded with newly-found fans.

"I did, but not in the way everyone thought I had. Then, that whole mess happened. Umm... I told it that it should become a dairy farmer. Told it to come and talk to you about it. So that uhh... Worked itself out, I think."

"Ahh. I suppose helping to save the queendom would be enough to warrant such an exchange of services without killing the beast," said the queen.

"Yeah, that uhh... Would be pretty rude at this point."

While the whole affair had left Davine happy, the face it made when it found Earl was out of confusion. "Ahh, let's go save the dragon from its fans," Earl told the queen.

As they approached, Davine's face brightened as it said, "Earl! Darling! So good to see you! I was going to apologize about what I did to your friend, but it seems I've made quite a few fans from it! But I'd really like to talk about that whole 'dairy farmer' thing you spoke to me about earlier!"

"Sure! Uhh, this is Queen Eleanor! She'll be the one you'll have to talk to about all this!" Earl pointed at the queen.

"Ahh! How-how do you do, my uhh, queen?" Davine reached down with an extended claw. It took a few moments before the two could shake in a way that didn't result in mishap or too much awkwardness.

"I'm doing marvelous, thanks to you! Are you sure you'd prefer the life of a dairy farmer? I think you would be quite a nice addition to my guard! Maybe we could start up an air force?! The way you drop cows like that!"

"Oh no! I could never do that to my bovine friends!" Davine brought its claws to the sides of her mouth in shock.

"Dairy farmer it is! But, do let us discuss this further!" Eleanor said to one of Davine's fans, "You! Go find a chair and table! And a long enough parasol!" She turned to Earl and said, "Now, Earl, I don't think you'd particularly care for politics. Could you go check up on Barbara for me? I think she's still... Yeah, she's still punting that guy in the ribcage. Go try and calm her down."

Earl agreed and walked toward Barbara, who had her hands supported on the cow as she punted away.

"Feeling better?" Earl asked.

She took a moment to stop and said, "Ehh... Yeah. Well, as much as I'm going to be for the moment."

"Great! Well, he's... Still alive! Good! So, what's going to happen, now?"

"Umm... Tiberius is going to be sent to the dungeons. Good news for him is that he's gonna get the best medical treatment that one can for abducting the court witch. Then, probably executed. Yeah, sounds about right. What about you?" she asked as she leaned against the cow.

"Go home, have... I suppose supper at this time of day. Look, I really just wanted to get some milk this morning. How do you deal with all this?"

"It took some time getting used to everything, but it's nice! Female-dominated society really puts things in perspective. But if you wanna stay for a while, I won't stop you."

"Well, I mean, I could stay for a—"

"No, no. You need that tea. You should go home immediately, Earl. Also, hey! Plenty of milk right here!" she said with a hearty pat on the cow's side.

"I'm uhh, fine. Really."

"Suit yourself. Let's go look at those planar charts."

The courtyard was mostly empty now, as most of the guards were sent away by Eleanor. They found some hiding behind the walls, with gazes stuck on Davine.

"At least that'll take some of the attention off me for a while," Barbara said as they walked back to her room.

The planar charts were inside the closet, and they studied them a while on the rug.

"By the way," Barbara said, with an extra wand in hand, "Found this, I kinda... Kicked it out of Tiberius's pocket. It's yours, right?"

So the two exchanged each other's wands, and found out the proper spell to travel to their original plane.

"So... Maybe you'd like to come back to our home plane for a while and catch up?"

"You know what, I'd love to, but the honest truth is: I'm good."

"Fair enough."

"Tell ya what. I'll send you a Christmas card. Tell ya how everything with Tiberius went."

"That'd be great."

So they transcribed the planar coordinates from where they were to where the destination was. With a cast of their wands, the scroll lifted itself into the air and burnt to a crisp. Ashes swirled about, and a moment later, turned into an ashen door-frame.

# # #

"What great luck! We can finally go home, master!" Norbert said, who they found had settled on the open window of Barbara's room.

"Oh, great. Norbert's here, so I can finally leave," Earl said with a sigh, "Come along, Norbert."

"At once, master!" said the familiar as it perched itself atop his shoulder. The two stepped into the seemingly-invisible doorway and found themselves somewhere familiar and yet cold, distant.

"Well, at least I can actually get milk here. Hey, how's it goin'?" he asked the stunned convenience store worker.

With a new half-gallon of milk in hand, Earl Gray walked home to find a foreign car in his parking space. He shrugged and decided to deal with it in the morning, if it came to that.

The hallway was a lot shorter than he remembered, but his smile vanished as soon as he opened that front door.

From the outside hall, one could see most of the kitchen. From the kitchen, the cow peered at him and let out a long, drawn out "Moo!"

They would later find a note from Barbara, that said this was Davine's present to him. She had told the dragon of Earl's milk situation, and they decided this was the best course of action.

Earl Gray just let out a sigh and asked Norbert if he would like some tea.

## Ouroboros

### by

### Casei Magnus

Illustrated by ThiaCrish

Jud watched Chance stumble across the deep, green grass, the expression of pure delight on the toddler's features matched only by his father's proud eyes. The boy tripped, catching himself on his hands without falling to his knees. For a wobbly moment, Jud thought that Chance would start to wail, but the little tyke pulled himself back up to his feet. Chance started his near-run again, heading in a straight line for his mother, wisps of blond hair blowing in the gentle afternoon breeze.

Grabbing the hem of Melinda's dress in his wee hand, Chance tugged at her, as if to demonstrate his victory over the vast distances he had traveled. "Ma-ma!" he said.

Melinda lifted him under his arms and kissed his forehead. She spun him around in a circle and set him down again.

Jud swigged at his beer, a non-alcoholic variety that tasted like cow piss. He hadn't had a real drink since a few months after Chance had been born. He'd missed his son's birth because he had been too blacked-out shit-faced to make it to Melinda's bedside. Subsequently, abstinence had been his promise to Melinda. To Jud's credit, he had managed to keep his word — in spite of his shitty job, his otherwise-shitty life, his dick of a boss and his family's Sisyphean struggles with money.

This barbecue was meant to be a celebration of this new turn of his life, a birthday party without the inevitable whiskey chasers. Absent were his old friends: Bucky Phillips, Ed Junior and Joe Bingham. Together, they made up the Four Bottlemen of the Apocalypse, who were almost daily fixtures in his hazy, alcohol-fueled Life Before. He didn't miss them. He had seen Bucky at the Piggly-Wiggly not more than two weeks ago. Jud had only been off the bottle for eleven months, but Bucky had looked far older somehow, with shaking hands and rheumy red eyes, his hair bedraggled and a shuffle in his gait, as if those extra eleven months of gin were a swizzle-straw that sucked dry the juice from between the icy rocks of his bones. Jud had avoided speaking to him, but it was unlikely that the man could have recognized Jud, given the stupor in which he had been sloshing.

Their new friends were filing into a loose line at the long table covered in open dishes of all the fixins' as they heaped potato salad, butter beans, fried squash, and coleslaw onto paper plates. Most of them were attendees from the Presbyterian church in Benton. They were as dull as buckets of rocks — simple folk with simpler minds. Melinda seemed to like them, and to Jud, that was all that was important. Hers was the only altar at which he worshiped these days. He would do anything for her and his young son, even if it meant spending the long, hot Sundays listening to a preacher drone on about salvation and the blood of Jesus instead of throwing back beers like the college quarterbacks throwing passes on the old tube.

The preacher was working the rusty handle of a manual hush-puppy machine, and as he cranked it, moist corn batter dripped and drabbed into a little vat of boiling oil, where they sizzled and popped until they took on their crispy, golden-brown coat, sealing the tender, delicious morsel within. Melinda had been worried about Chance straying too close to it, but Jud had been keeping a careful eye upon him. Chance was busy running between the parishioners far enough away from the fryer that he was satisfied the kid wasn't in any real danger.

The mouth-watering aroma of roasting pork dueled with the biting odor of burning oak. As Melinda's Uncle Joe lifted the clamshell lid of the grill to check upon the pig's progress, a billowing plume of white smoke rose up, sending smoke signals to the assembled picnickers: _soon, soon._

Melinda sidled up next to Jud. She took the near-empty bottle from his hand and replaced it with another, smiling at him. She stood on her tiptoes and pecked his cheek, whispering, "Happy birthday, Jud. I love you."

"I love you too, babe," he said, returning the smile. She looked radiant in her white sun dress. Jud had a hard time conjuring a more beautiful image of her than now, with the sun shining from behind her blonde curls, framing her face in an angelic halo. He was glad Chance favored his mother and not him. "Have I told you how good you look today?" He let his hand fall down her back and he cupped the curve of her ass.

"Only about five times," she said, giggling. She swatted his roaming hand away. "Jud! Not in front of the preacher!"

Jud grinned at her and winked, and she returned both before coyly biting her bottom lip and walking over to the table. He watched her break in line and fuss over the side dishes before licking a bit of potato salad off of her finger and starting a conversation with Polly Rogers. Was there ever a more beautiful woman? Jud didn't think so. Even though he didn't entirely believe in the God they worshiped each Sunday, he thanked Him for her nonetheless. It was Melinda who had turned his life around after all — not Jesus. She'd pulled him out of the puke-stained gutter, elevating him up to a semblance of manhood. _Thank you, good Sir, for my loving wife._

He looked for Chance and spotted him near Barnaby, the neighbor's smelly hound dog. Both had removed themselves from the congregation, across the yard. While the dog turned circle upon circle, nipping at his own tail, Chance squealed with peals of laughter, trying to grab Barnaby's floppy ears. Although there was some distance between him and his son, Jud didn't feel concern; the two were far enough away from the road that he didn't need to intervene. Jud grinned as he watched the little amateur rodeo playing out before him.

He pulled another sip from the bottle of cow-piss as a '71 Wrath came over the hill. Someone had obviously sunk a lot of money into her, souping her up, making her mean. Even more muscular. For a moment, Jud flashed back to the one he had owned, back when he and Melinda had started dating. Before they were married. Before his son was born. Before he had passed out and wrapped it around Merle Andrews' oak tree over on County Line road. His had been a burnt orange in color, but the one rising over the hill was such a deep purple as to be almost black, like the curtains hanging in a hearse, a bruised plum, or maybe Barnaby's once-velvet nose. The car's windows were tinted to near-opacity, and Jud couldn't see beyond them.

The throaty rumble of the glass-pack muffler followed the Wrath over the hill. Jud watched as it weaved back and forth across the yellow line. He was certain that its driver had more sheets to the wind than just three when it careened. Gravel crackled under its tires as it left the road, barreling straight across the yard. Jud only vaguely heard the screams of the congregation behind him. The bottle fell from his hand as he saw the car bearing down upon the part of the lawn occupied by Barnaby and Chance. _Oh God no, not my son!_

Jud jumped forward with thoughts of swooping in, rescuing his toddler from the oncoming machine born of steel and death, but he knew he was too late. He could only watch on in wide-eyed horror as the car struck his son and the old hound dog with a heart-wrenching thunk!

The dog disappeared under its tires with a yelp. Little Chance sailed across the yard in a lifeless, parabolic arc. Melinda shrieked, and all Jud could do was stare. His blood ran ice cold and his feet were mired in hardening cement. The Wrath kept charging across the yard, its back end fishtailing in the grass as it veered back toward the road.

As it remounted the asphalt and disappeared around the bend, Jud snapped back into the moment. He found himself running toward his truck, hand jammed into his pocket and fumbling with his keys. He had missed the plate number. As he slammed the door of his truck he could see a bloom of bright red spoiling the pure white of Melinda's sun dress as she cradled their boy's crushed head in one hand, screaming as his brains leaked through her fingers like gray fig preserves.

He popped the truck into reverse and floored it, whipping the old girl around 180 degrees in the grass before the stunned onlookers. Through his open window, he could hear his wife screaming.

"You get him, Jud! You get him!" she screeched.

He floored it and spun tires on the highway, the peal high-pitched and jarring. He didn't like to treat the old girl so poorly, but he needed to close the distance before his quarry could lose him.

"Let's go, girl," he muttered to the truck.

Up ahead, he saw the Wrath taking a hard left at the crossroads. The back end slid out from under it momentarily before it caught traction and straightened out again. Jud floored it until he reached the intersection, slowing down just enough to take the turn without flipping himself into a ditch.

The Wrath's choice of a left was a good one, Jud thought. They were heading away from the main thoroughfares, deeper into the twisting country roads where there were fewer vehicles and the boughs of trees made canopy tunnels through the deep backwoods. He would be able to catch the Wrath and —

And then what?

He would yank the driver out of the car and beat the shit out of him, pummel the sonuvabitch until his own knuckles — shredded and pulped — could take no more of the pounding. Whatever Jud could do to him, it wouldn't be enough. Not for killing his son. Poor little innocent Chance — and in his mind's eye, he saw Chance sailing through the air again, like a kite off its string, forced to the ground upon a gust of angry wind.

He crested the hill and he could see the Wrath on the next rise. At his current speed, he felt gravity slacken below him before pulling him back down hard. The old girl's shock absorbers squeaked and groaned in protest. She was taking quite the punishment. He hoped that she would be up to the task of catching the sonuvabitch, but even though she was only a few years younger than himself, she had always been mechanically trustworthy. As he red-lined her, he could hear her disapproving tone.

"C'mon, girl! C'mon!" he shouted.

His quarry was close enough for him to taste, now. Fifty yards and closing. McGee's Bend was coming up fast, and both of them would have to slow down, but it would afford Jud the opportunity to close the rest of the distance. These were his roads, after all, he had been up and down them his whole life. Knew them like the back of his hand. Could traverse most of them with his eyes closed. He had driven most of them while completely blotto, and had never had an accident, save that time he had wrapped his own Wrath around that majestic oak. He had walked away from the wreckage unscathed, an event Melinda had proclaimed as miraculous. Looking at the pictures of the twisted mass of burnt metal, shattered glass, and the crazy angles of the tires, Jud had agreed. He should have been dead. Something had plucked him out of that wreck. Saved his life. Gave him a second chance.

As the Wrath braked for McGee's Bend, Jud was on top of it, and he could see that the car bore no plates, no tags. Without a plate he could memorize and subsequently report to the police, this was assuredly going to end in the exact way he had imagined — with the ass-kicking to end all ass-kickings. Jud drifted through the turn, letting the back end of the truck slide as much as physics would allow. Coming out of the curve, the Wrath pulled away from him, but he had it now. The road was straight from here on out and there was no way the bastard could escape him. Not with the old girl's powerful engine thrumming on the straightaway. Not unless the devil behind the Wrath's wheel had a nitrous injector or a magic carpet.

As the Wrath attempted to pull away, Jud was on top of him again. He pulled into the oncoming lane in an effort to get beside the Wrath. Pulling forward, inching up, until they were side-by-side. A photo-finish by a nose. Jud split his attention between the car and any potential head-on disasters, but the road before them was empty. Clear. Unlike the over-tinted windows of the Wrath. He couldn't see the driver through them. Assuredly not street-legal. He could make out a vague shadow within, hunched over the wheel.

"Pull over!" he screamed. "Pull the fuck over!"

The Wrath was having none of it, and kept up its breakneck speed, trying and failing to out-pace the old girl.

Jud eased her over toward the Wrath's lane in an effort to crowd him off the road, but the Wrath echoed his maneuver with one of his own. The two vehicles kissed, sideswiped, swapped paint.

"Gah!" Jud yelled as he straightened his truck out.

Glancing up at the road, he just barely noticed the oncoming car. He slammed on the brakes and swerved back into the correct lane, pulling in behind the Wrath as the adrenaline ratcheted up another notch. Honking like a startled goose, the oncoming vehicle passed them.

Jud floored it once more, but the Wrath started to weave across the yellow line in an effort to keep the old girl behind him. Jud steadied his pace and patiently watched for his opportunity. He faked to the left and the Wrath matched the maneuver. Jud floored it, cutting right and pulling up to the passenger side of the Wrath. The old girl split herself between the asphalt and the shoulder as she inched the Wrath into the oncoming lane. The blacktop tore away beneath them. On this side of the Wrath's front quarter panel he could see a little red smear of blood contrasting against the black-purple paint, and Jud's stomach flip-flopped at the sight of it.

There was another oncoming car up ahead. While he would love to peel the villain off by a head-on collision, the people in the other car were wholly innocent of Chance's horrific death. Justice couldn't be served by the taking of innocent lives. Jud slackened his leftward push, allowing the Wrath to straddle the yellow line while the oncoming car slid to its shoulder. The three passed abreast. The third driver shouted something, but it was drowned out by his blaring horn as it shifted in pitch, faded.

Right as the car disappeared behind them, the Wrath veered to the right. The vehicles kissed again. This time, the old girl had trouble holding her position in the loose gravel of the shoulder. Her back end began to sway, so Jud rolled the wheel left and right to counteract it, and then _wham_!

The Wrath slammed hard into the truck, forcing her off the road fully. As her tires cut into the loose soil, Jud could feel himself losing control. He let off the gas pedal as the Wrath ran full-bore down the blacktop. Jud had no choice but to pull the wheel to the left to avoid an oncoming copse of trees, swinging the ass-end of the truck around. Jud could feel the left side lift as the old girl threatened to roll, but she came to rest in her proper, horizontal position, causing her shocks to scream as she swayed back and forth.

The truck was now facing the wrong direction, having almost performed a complete 180. In his rear-view mirror he could see the Wrath disappearing down the vanishing point of the horizon.

"Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck FUCK!" Jud yelled as he pummeled the steering wheel with the heels of his palms.

He threw the old girl into reverse, corrected her heading, burning rubber across the road as he put her in gear again. It was too late, though. The Wrath was gone.

# # #

Jud cruised up and down the adjacent roads for hours, searching for his quarry, sniffing out any sign of the Wrath's passing — hunting, hoping, praying he would find it. Each house that he passed he rubbernecked up their driveways, into their garages, and what he could see of their backyards, but the Wrath had vanished as if it had gone home to Jesus, plucked up from the twisted wreck of Jud's burnt-orange life, wholly unscathed.

Beneath his breath, Jud cursed his luck. He'd had the villain and had let him slip right out of his grasp! The driver of the Wrath had gotten the better of him and that felt careless. Stupid.

He wondered if Melinda was okay. He felt as if he should be at her side right now, dealing with the inevitable police, the ambulance, the coroner, the funeral home, the soul-wrenching grief — everything that skipped along merrily hand-in-hand with a tragedy like Chance's death. Finding the bastard was an unrelenting, unavoidable urge that pushed him onward, though, and he was just stubborn enough to keep going. Besides, Melinda had the Presbyterian congregation — they would be supportive in those places where he could not. Even so, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she needed him now more than he needed to be burning up the roads, looking for the Wrath.

Keep going. Keep looking. Keep chasing.

He had been riding the roads on fumes for so long his fuel gauge was screaming for something to drink. It all felt meaningless, circular, as if he were spinning tires uselessly while mired down in the muck of his own inability to act. In spite of this, he kept up the search, his palms twisting the steering wheel as if he were revving up a motorcycle, his teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

Steady, methodical, keep the vigil, you can find the villain, he thought.

Where could he have gone? There had been no sighting, not the slightest hint. No burned rubber, no deep-purple paint accidentally scraped across a mailbox, no dead children by the side of the road. Vanished. A ghost. That's what it was now, a vapor in a gale, almost as if Jud had imagined it. But he hadn't, had he? He certainly didn't imagine little Chance's head stove in and the way the blood and brains had flowed through Melinda's fingers. He couldn't have imagined such a thing had he tried — he lacked that sort of creativity. No, the memory was real, tangible, as visceral as if he could reach out and touch it, roll it over in his hands, smell it for the tragedy that it was. He shuddered involuntarily.

Concentrate. Stop thinking about it. For your son. For justice. Or was it revenge? Were they inseparable in this case?

The sun was going down. He needed to find the Wrath before it disappeared off the face of the earth. Not that he would ever hit-and-run, but if it were him — fleeing from the father of the boy he just clobbered with his car — he would have gone to ground. Hidden somewhere, taken the car off the road where it couldn't be seen. The Wrath was, after all, an obtrusive vehicle. There was probably an APB out on it already, called in by Melinda or the Presbyterians: _Calling all cars! Calling all cars! Be on the lookout for a dark plum '71 Wrath!_

Jud giggled madly to himself at the thought. Of _course_ , he was on the lookout, but he worried that the other car had just dematerialized. Jud had been up and down the roads — twice? three times? He'd lost count, and there had been no trace of his prey.

His shoulders sagged in exhaustion and disappointment. The shadows had grown long as the sun threatened to disappear, and the very atmosphere had taken on an unearthly hue of whiskey, a brown amber shroud that threatened to drown Jud's senses.

The old girl needed gasoline, and soon, only he didn't know where he was, much less the closest station. He tried to backtrack, but none of these roads looked remotely familiar to him as the sun sank lower and lower on the horizon. Clouds roiled in his mind, he was having trouble concentrating, and cogent thoughts kept bounding past him like herds of startled deer.

He saw it as he rounded a bend, the garish red neon burning like a balefire beacon, the big letters on the signpost that were all too familiar to Jud: BAR. The facade was faded brick and weathered-gray wood, with blacked-out windows and a neon sign advertising CLEAN RESTROOMS, except half the sign was flickering on and off sporadically, notifying potential customers of its LEAN TROOMS. The open sign was dark, while the fiery light of the BAR sign spilled out across the empty parking lot, casting the asphalt wasteland in a hellish glow. The lot was completely empty save one spot right near the door, the handicapped space with the rusted sign hanging askew on its pole. Parked there was the dark purple Wrath for which he had been looking.

Where in the hell had this bar come from? Even though he didn't know exactly where he was, he was fairly certain that he was still within the county limits, and though you could buy beer at the convenience stores and hard liquor at the ABC stores, liquor-by-the-drink was still against the law within the county. There were a few illegal liquor-houses and he had been to them all many times before going dry, but none had sprawling, empty parking lots and big neon signs advertising their wares, not if they wanted to avoid undue attention from the sheriff's department.

"Gotcha, motherfucker!" Jud yelled as he beat his palms against the wheel in victory.

He pulled into the parking lot — slowly, methodically — his eyes latched upon the dark-purple Wrath, carefully easing the old girl forward as if approaching a dangerous, wild animal. He parked the truck directly behind the Wrath, blocking it.

He slid out of the truck and slammed the door behind him. He approached the Wrath and banged on its window.

"Come on out, fella!" Jud shouted.

There was no response.

Jud reached down and tried to open the door, but it was locked. He walked around to the front, and while he couldn't entirely see through the tinted windows, he could tell that nobody was sitting in the car, unless they were leaning down.

He rapped on the driver-side window once more, but no response came.

Jud frowned to himself, scanned the empty parking lot as if there were answers waiting for him along the tree line. He hitched up his jeans and cursed under his breath. He pressed the flat of his hand to the hood, and there was no warmth. The car had been parked here long enough for it to cool down. He looked at the passenger front quarter-panel, and sure enough, there was dried blood there and the rakes of white where it had sideswiped the old girl.

Glancing back at the two vehicles, he walked through the bar's front door, causing a bell mounted above it to ring as he passed. He stopped just beyond to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

The bar was inviting, just the sort of place Jud would frequent had he not been on the wagon. Hung upon the walls were a collection of eclectic (and humorous) signs, such as _No Trespassing: Prosecutors will be Violated_ and _Today's Specials: Free Beer, Topless Waitresses, and False Advertising_. The bar itself was long with a brass foot rail and fittings, stained a rich mahogany color and polished to a glossy sheen. Behind it was a wide mirror with shelves displaying the varieties of domestic and imported bottled beer for sale. Mounted on the left side of the bar was a jackalope's head, and to the right was a chalkboard where someone had scribbled a snake eating its own tail. Pools of light collected along the bar as well as the tables scattered across the peanut shell-covered floor. A well-loved dartboard hung near the hall to the restrooms, and a couple of pool tables sat on the opposite side of the room. An old Rock-Ola jukebox was against the wall near the cue rack, its face flashing between red and blue.

The bar appeared empty of all souls save Jud and the bartender — an aged, balding man wearing a gray button-down shirt and black slacks. Over this he wore a crisp, white smock. He stood behind the bar, polishing a mug with a towel.

As the door closed behind him, the bartender looked up. "Welcome back, son," he said. "Come on in. Don't be shy."

Jud approached the bar. Welcome back? He couldn't remember ever having been here before, but then, memory of his drinking days was hazy at best. He hitched his thumb over his shoulder, asking, "You the owner of that purple '71 Wrath?"

"Nope."

"Where is he, then?"

"Nobody here but you and I, son," the bartender said. "You're the first customer of the evenin'."

"Do you know who owns it?"

"Not a clue," the bartender said. "Been sittin' there two weeks, at least. Considerin' havin' it towed. You interested in buyin' it or somethin'?"

Jud frowned. "No. I want to find its owner, or at least whoever was driving it today."

"Drivin' it? That car hasn't moved. Sittin' in the exact same spot. Have a seat, son, you look like hell."

Jud eyed the offered barstool warily, as if it could turn into something dangerous at any moment, reaching out a cold tentacle, snaring him, drawing him back into that world of Apocalyptic Bottlemen debauchery. "I, uh, shouldn't. If the guy driving that Wrath isn't here, I need to keep looking."

"Oh? Why is that then?" the bartender asked.

"Because when I find him, I'm going to beat the shit out of him."

"Sounds rather drastic," the bartender said.

Jud nodded, but found himself sliding onto the barstool, putting his feet up onto the brass foot rail as if he intended to sit a spell. "It is. You say that car hasn't moved? What about the white paint scraped down the side? That couldn't have been there last night."

The bartender continued to polish mugs with his towel, saying, "Hadn't noticed, really. So, what'll ya have, son?"

Jud licked his lips unconsciously as he studied the beers on the shelves. He thought of his promise to Melinda, the eleven months of total dry-mouthed sobriety. He forced himself to look away, letting his eyes fall onto the chalk figure of the snake eating its own tail on the chalkboard.

Stupid snake, he thought. Out loud, he said, "I- I can't drink. Made a promise."

"On the wagon, eh?" the bartender asked. "That's too bad. Had you pegged as a big tipper." He chuckled at his own joke. "Seemed like you could use one. Like I was sayin' before, you look like hell."

"Yeah, I feel like hell. Thirsty, too. You got any of those non-alcoholic beers?"

"Nope, sorry. Just the real thing here, son."

Jud licked his lips again. "Shit," he said.

"So what did the driver of that car do to you to make you want to give him a beat down?"

It all ran back over in his mind, the way the Wrath had tossed little Chance like a sack of flour, the way the boy's arms flopped as he tumbled across the grass, the yelp of that smelly dog as it was sucked under the tires. Jud chewed the inside of his cheek before saying, "Hit and run. Killed my kid. Kept right on going."

"Lordy," the bartender said with empathy. "No wonder you look the way you do. Losin' a child, that's tough. Killed him, you say?"

"Well, I didn't stop to check his pulse, but the way his brains were leaking out of his head? Yeah, I would say he was dead."

The bartender shook his head, saying, "Terrible thing. So, what's your name, son?"

"Jud."

The bartender nodded appreciatively. "Solid name, that. Old one. From Hebrew, means 'praised'."

"How in the hell do you know that?"

"Names are kind of my thing. Goes with the job, you might say. Give me another."

"Melinda."

The bartender chuckled. "Tough one, but you haven't stumped me. Combined name. _Meli_ , from Greek, meaning 'honey', and _linda_ , from German, meaning 'gentle, soft'."

"Chance."

"English. Good luck or fortune."

"Bullshit."

"That one means 'bovine excrement'," the bartender said. When Jud didn't laugh, he added, "Kiddin' aside, it's as true as you're sittin' here."

Jud found his eyes wandering down the line of beers again. He'd made his promise to Melinda in the hopes of being a better father to his son, and now his son was dead — crumpled up lifeless in a limp little lump in Melinda's arms. What good was that promise, now? He couldn't be a good father or a bad one, not any more, not after the sonuvabitch had run down his boy. He wavered on the edge of indecision. God damn, he wanted a beer. "Chance was my kid's name. Not much good luck there, eh?" he said woefully.

"No, I guess not," the bartender said. "I'm sorry, son."

"Not your fault," Jud muttered. "You know what? Fuck it, give me a beer, from the tap."

"You certain about that, son?"

No, he wasn't certain by any stretch of the imagination, but he was thirsty, angry, depressed. He needed to calm down, and a cold beer would be the perfect cap on an otherwise shitty day. Melinda would just have to get over it, wouldn't she? A broken promise and Chance's broken skull would just have to be the price of admission to Beer Land. "I'm certain," Jud said.

The bartender nodded solemnly.

Jud watched as he poured the amber, frothy liquid into a frosty mug, tilting it so that the head drained away. He licked his lips again in anxious anticipation.

As the bartender set the mug down before him, a little bit of the head rolled over the lip, cut a swath through the ice accumulated on its side and pooled up around its base. Jud knew that this was going to be the best beer he had ever had, the culmination of being forced to drink non-alcoholic cow-piss for almost a year.

Jud sucked the foam off the top of the beer, savored it by rolling it over on his tongue, then picked up the mug and threw back its contents in five large gulps, just as he had done when he hung out with the other Bottlemen of the Apocalypse. It went down cold, smooth, delicious.

"Easy, there, son," the bartender admonished.

When he was done, he rapped the empty mug onto the bar. More. He wanted more. "Gimme another." As the bartender refilled the mug, Jud said, "Why did it have to happen to him? He never hurt nobody. He was just a baby, had barely learned to walk."

"I can't answer that. Perhaps it was part of God's plan."

Jud grimaced. He eased a bit slower into the second beer, but it was just as satisfying. "You sound like those church folk I'm forced to hang out with on Sundays. God's plan. What kind of fucked-up plan involves killing kids?"

"I couldn't say," the bartender said. "You aren't meant to understand what goes on in the mind of the Lord. Even if you could say with certainty what the Lord was thinkin', it's doubtful you could even comprehend it. It's simply too big to imagine."

"Too big," Jud scoffed. "Here's what I think: scripture says that God rested on the seventh day. It never said He got back to work. I think He's still kicked back on some cosmic beach, drinking Himself into a stupor, laughing at us fuckers as we turn in circles for Him. That's what I think."

The bartender chuckled. "Well, I've never heard it elocuted in such a fashion, but perhaps, son, perhaps. Or perhaps not. God is known to administer tests of faith."

"Like Abraham?"

"Exactly."

"God stopped Abraham before he could sacrifice his only son," Jud said. He finished off the beer and set the mug back down. "If it's a test, then it's a fucked-up one, because I wasn't given that chance. Fill it up."

The bartender eyed him for a moment, and with a knowing smile, he refilled the mug again from the tap.

"Anyway," Jud said with a sigh, "what kind of all-powerful deity needs us to prove that we love Him? If you go home to your wife tonight and demand she prove that she loves you, likely by morning you'd be served divorce papers. Is God really so insecure?"

"Perhaps," the bartender said as he set the third beer down before Jud. "But—"

"And another thing, if He is truly omnipotent, then He knows how the test is going to end. Seems an exercise in futility, doesn't it?"

The bartender shrugged casually. "For Him, perhaps. The test isn't for Him, though, it's for us. He might know the ending, but we don't, and the test is perseverance of faith in the face of adversity."

Jud grunted, "Faith? Might as well test for ghosts. Can't test something that isn't there." He threw back the beer, drinking half of it.

"So, if it's not part of His plan, and not a test by Him, then there is a third option."

Jud quirked up an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Punishment."

"The wrath of God? What have I done to justify such a thing? I try to live a good life; I don't lie, steal, or covet the neighbor's wife's ass. I'm ten commandments square, barkeep."

"Are you?" the bartender asked.

"Yep." He threw the mug back again and finished the drink. He set it down and slid it toward the bartender. "Again."

As the bartender filled it a fourth time, he asked, "What about the first commandment, son?"

Jud shrugged. "And which one is that, again?"

"Thou shalt have no other gods before me."

Jud thought about it as he drank the fourth beer, and reckoned that he did indeed worship at other altars. There was Melinda. She was far more powerful than any deity that humans could imagine. He worshiped little Chance, though he supposed Chance was a lost god to him, now. Even more importantly, the altar at which he was sitting right now: the bar. Until eleven months ago, drink had been the most important thing in his life. Beyond Melinda, beyond Chance, beyond anything, really. God hadn't played much of a role in his life until Melinda insisted that they go to church. Could God really be punishing him for such a small thing?

"Maybe," Jud said sullenly as he placed the empty mug back down. "Give me another."

"You sure about that, son?"

"I'm sure."

The bartender did as he was bade.

The beer was still just as cold, just as smooth, but it didn't taste nearly so delicious as it had before, as if the entire keg had gone skunky between the fourth and fifth draughts, but flavor was of secondary concern under the current conditions.

He was getting quite the buzz on. Five beers wouldn't have put a dent into him eleven months ago, but during his year of abstinence his tolerance had plummeted, and now he could feel the warmth in his face, his cheeks had grown numb and his extremities were tingling. He welcomed the feeling like a long-lost friend, pulling it in for a loving embrace. The buzz between sober and smashed was the best time, before the alcohol could tip you — staggering — over that fine line between giggling and whatever kind of drunk you ended up becoming.

The bartender watched him drink it in silence.

When he finished, he pushed the empty mug toward the bartender with a smile.

"Another one, son?"

"I think I've hit my limit. Can't get too shitfaced. Besides, I've still gotta beat some justice into that fucker. Don't seem like I can put it away like I usedta."

"That's probably for the best."

"Prolly," Jud said. "So you dunno who owns the car, huh?"

"Not at all, son," the bartender said.

"How much I owe you?"

"On the house. Happy birthday."

Jud blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"Yep, son, I found our conversation to be most edifying."

"Liked it, huh? Well, that's good, that's real good. What's your name, anyhow?"

"Cyril."

"Nicetameecha, Cyril ol' buddy," Jud said as he reached into his back pocket and produced his wallet. He fished a $20 out of it, the only cash he had on him, and placed it on the bar top, careful to avoid the puddle of beer he had accumulated over his five rounds. "There ya go, Cyril. Nice talkin' to ya. Dunno if it helped, but the drinks sure did."

"See? I had you pegged as a big tipper, son, and I'm happy to be right. I do have one last bit of advice, though."

"Whassat?"

Cyril said without a trace of emotion, "Vengeance is mine, I shall repay, saith the Lord. Maybe you shouldn't seek out your own justice."

Jud frowned. He didn't want any more Bible talk — he was finally feeling better, the alcohol was fueling the Good Mood, in spite of the circumstances which had brought him to this place. "Yeah, maybe," he said.

As he stood up, the drinks hit him like a sledgehammer. He went from buzzed to full-on drunk, the room took an abrupt header, and he grabbed the edge of the bar in an effort to steady himself. He had watched Cyril-old-buddy pour domestic out of the tap, but domestic shouldn't carry that kind of a punch. It packed more than a wallop, it was like being hit by a runaway

(Wrath)

bus.

"Woah," Jud said as he let the room spin back into place.

"You all right to drive?"

"Yeah," Jud lied. "Issall good, it juss hit me preddy hard, ya know? Yasserve a fine beer, Cyril ol' buddy. Thanks."

Jud tried to make a line for the door, but it was as unsteady as a unicyclist juggling a dozen rabid jackalopes, like a wave snaking its way through a baseline of sobriety, weaving across, never following. He finally found the door, gave Cyril-old-buddy a salute, and pushed himself through. The bell jangled above him as he passed, and then he was standing on the front porch, looking out over the parking lot.

A low fog had rolled in, and the red neon cast the turbid vapor in a hellish-red hue, causing Jud to shudder involuntarily. The evening seemed too warm for fog, he thought, but it didn't matter, he would find his way home, slide into bed next to Melinda and offer her some warmth of his own.

He fished about for his keys, digging deeply into his front pocket as he braced himself with his other hand against the railing of the porch. He finally succeeded in pulling them out, having been caught upon the pocket of his jeans.

They felt different. He squinted at them through his watery eyes, studying them as if from some distance away, trying to internalize what was wrong with them, exactly, but he couldn't put his drunken finger upon it until he saw the Wrath's key hanging from his keyring. How had it appeared there? He hadn't owned one since the early 90's, not since he had wrecked his. He flipped through each key slowly, looking for the key to his truck, but it was entirely absent, gone. There was some trick here that he wasn't seeing, wasn't able to fully understand in his drunken state. He blinked stupidly at his keys, then scanned the parking lot.

Sitting in the handicapped spot — right where it had been before he had went inside — was the malevolent purple Wrath. There was no truck parked behind it. The old girl was gone.

Someone stole my fucking truck!

Jud turned to go back inside. Somewhere at the edge of his consciousness, he wanted to use the phone. Call the cops. Report this act of brazen thievery. He wheeled too far and staggered, almost doing a face-plant on the bar's porch, but managed to catch himself on the railing, steadied his balance. The neon in the bar's windows was now off. No more LEAN TROOMS. He stumbled to the front door and pulled on it, but it was locked.

What the hell?

He shuffled backward away from the door, trying to wrap his warped mind around these changing events, grasping at any sort of understanding of the new realities presented to him. He ran his hand through his hair as if that could help him make sense of things, tousling it. The fog in his brain was thicker than the one rolling across the parking lot, though, and he gave up trying to put the pieces of this puzzle together.

_Fuck it,_ he thought.

He looked at the keys in his hand again, almost fumbled them, and singled out the recent addition of the key. Surely it wouldn't fit the lock of the purple Wrath. It couldn't.

Jud weaved his way over to the muscle car's driver side. It still had the rough white streak of paint where she and the old girl had kissed on the road. He had a hard time finding the lock, bouncing the key several time off the lock plate, until it finally slid in — easy greasy — and clicked into place. As he turned the key, he half-expected it to seize in place, and he'd end up having to walk home, but it opened the locks with a resonant thunk somewhere deep within the door's innards.

Jud blinked in surprise before popping the handle and opening the door of the Wrath. He looked slowly around the parking lot, for even in his drunken state he knew that what he was doing was wrong, it would be construed as grand theft auto, felonious intent, but the parking lot was completely empty except for the turbid wisps of fog rolling across it.

He slid into the bucket seat and closed the door behind him. The black interior smelled of its leather upholstery, and as he got comfortable, it made a squeaky, crinkling sound. The floorboards were spotless, the black dashboard polished to a glossy sheen. The steering wheel was chrome, all except for the black snakeskin that encircled the outer rim, bringing the image of the snake on the wall back into Jud's mind. Why had the snake been eating itself? That position was — _what was the word again?_ — untenable. Unsustainable. _Stupid snake, stop eating yourself._

Jud managed to slip the keys into the ignition after a few aborted docking maneuvers, turned it. The Wrath rumbled to life in a guttural roar, the thrumming vibration rocking him like a lullaby dedicated to garages full of grease, oil, shiny tools. It felt good, manly, powerful. He gripped the wheel, tested the seat's distance from the pedals. It fit like a glove, as if he belonged there, tucked comfortably in the bucket seat, the cool feeling of leather under his palms. He revved the engine, probably harder than he should have — she had a sensitive trigger, this old girl — and the engine bellowed appreciatively. He knocked her into reverse, pulled backward, swung her out into the lot. He pealed the tires as he made the turn onto the road, and the back end threatened to spin out from under him. This was a fine machine, though, and she straightened out her course with no effort on his part.

Jud felt better than he had in almost a year; the alcohol had cut the edges from his nerves and had left nothing but a smooth, mellow, giddiness behind. He felt alive, electric, and he whooped as he gunned the engine and let the Wrath chew up the pavement. In the rearview mirror, Jud saw the red bar sign wink out, disappear into the fog behind him as he pushed toward home. Only — he didn't know where home was, exactly. Through the fog of his beers he vaguely remembered that he had become turned around getting here, and while this road looked vaguely familiar, he couldn't identify any landmarks with certainty. He squinted at the road, concentrating on keeping the Wrath within the lines.

He passed the Antioch Free Will Baptist church, and was satisfied that he knew where he was, finally. He hollered his victory and pumped his fist into the air. He was almost home. Melinda would be waiting for him, and he looked forward to wrapping his arms around her, showing how much he loved her with a big, sloppy kiss. He'd push her up onto the countertop of the kitchen, slide his hands up her thighs... Thinking about it made his loins twitch.

Patience. Soon enough.

Jud took the Wrath around McGee's bend like a pro, not easing off the gas, letting the old girl drift. Over the two big hills, and there was the crossroads. He did a California-stop, swung the old girl to the right, up the straightaway, and he was home.

The fog had disappeared behind Jud by the time he had made it to the crossroads, and the early evening was warm, clear — almost electric. The moon was peeking tentatively above the treetops, casting his front yard in a wan, ashen glow. He could see Melinda on the porch, wearing that lovely white sun dress that Jud liked. Little Chance was gleefully chasing Barnaby as the dog spun circles, nipping at his own tail.

There was a familiar red truck parked in Jud's spot, which belonged to Bucky Phillips — his old friend, one fourth of the Bottlemen of the Apocalypse, the best man at his wedding. Bucky had his arms wrapped around Melinda upon the front porch, sharing a kiss. They parted at Jud's arrival, trying and failing to appear nonchalant about their embrace.

"Da-da!" Chance cried in delight as he spotted his father's car, and he raced toward it in his toddler's sprint.

Was he imagining Melinda and Bucky together in the haze of his drunkenness? He didn't think so.

A wave of red rage descended upon Jud, clouding his vision with jealousy, hurt, anger, grief. His jaw worked and his hands gripped the snake-leather steering wheel hard enough to dig his fingernails painfully into his palms on the other side.

That fucking bitch.

He couldn't bear to think of her with Bucky, that prick puke of a human being. He couldn't imagine another man's caress and kisses upon her smooth skin. He wanted away from this place, to put as much distance between himself and his cheating wife as he could.

As the back end of the Wrath whipped around, he heard it — the sickening, gut-wrenching thunk followed by Melinda's scream. In the side-view mirror he witnessed the tiny form sailing limp across the yard in a lifeless, parabolic arc. Jud whipped his head around just in time to see Chance hit the ground and roll. Terror clawed at his throat as all of this seemed horrifyingly familiar, a tragic déjà vu couched in the fumes of alcohol.

Oh God no, not my son!

Throwing the car into park, he got out of the Wrath just as Melinda arrived at the boy's side. She knelt down, cradled him to her chest as a bloom of bright red spoiled the pure white of Melinda's sun dress. The boy's brains leaked out from between her fingers like gray fig preserves.

"You hit him, Jud! You _hit_ him!" Melinda screamed at him. "God _damn_ you!"

Drunken unreality swept over Jud as he fell to his knees. He tried to think back on this day and the events which had brought him here, watching his cheating wife cradle his dying child in her arms. Was this real, or just an alcohol-fueled daydream? Was the picnic real? The chase? The bar? Cyril-old-buddy? He and Melinda had been so happy once upon a time. Life was better in that daydream. He had been sober. He had loved and been loved and his son happily tugged on the ears of smelly hound dogs. If he could only rewind time and crawl into the bottle of that daydream, he knew that he would never crawl out again. Life was sweeter there, more comfortable, luckier, with a faithful wife and loyal best friend. Reality, though — this reality — was more than he could handle. He screamed his agony into the warm night.

## About the Contributors

### B. Black

### (ScovilleAndBlack)

Author

Black is a no-nonsense author who spends most of her time drinking tea and talking to a stuffed bear.

You can follow B. Black on Twitch, on Twitter, and on the web.

### BookFish35

Author

Kim "BookFish35" is an author and streamer from the Netherlands. She started out playing games on her channel, but when her first novel was published in her country of origin, she felt encouraged to bring her hobby and work to this platform. Next to being a proud participant and supporter of the writer community on the internet, she is currently working on several novels and other projects in several languages. She loves nature and it is her ambition to integrate this love with her work.

You can follow BookFish35 on Twitch and Twitter.

### Casei_Magnus

Author, Editor, Illustrator

Which came first: the Casei or the Magnus? Is he a particle, a wave, or does he paradoxically exhibit properties of both? Is he bound by the laws of relativistic physics or does he sculpt his own realities? Does he really exist or does he just pop in and out of the quantum foam without rhyme or reason? Is he a remote possibility or a definite probability? Would answers to these questions satisfy you? Do they matter? Does anything, really?

You can follow Casei Magnus on Smashwords, Twitch, or Twitter.

### FarPointBeta

Author

The author is a writing regular, but has little to his name except for a single, self-published work. He's currently working on an adult non-fiction piece, which is at about 100 pages long and features some hopefully, heady topics. It has been delayed due to the demands of work. FarPoint's typical week includes a great deal of writing, although most of it is in non-fiction. So, writing on Twitch and in his leisure time allows him to keep his fiction writing skills sharp.

You can follow FarPointBeta on Twitch.

### HithHiril

Illustrator

HithHiril is a creative soul from Germany and has been drawing all her life. Her art is a mixture of manga and western comic style. She's currently working on her first comic called "Parasarb", which will be available soon. She enjoys science fiction, horror, geeky and nerdy stuff, movies, art, making videos, and science. She has a weakness for wicked morbidity and a particular taste in music such as black metal, industrial, witch house, harsh ebm and many more. She is secretly a deep sea mermaid and is slowly transforming her appearance to it! She urges you to come to the dark side, for they have dark mermaids!

You can follow HithHiril on Twitch, Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, Youtube, and Facebook.

### Judy Dawn

### (JudyDawn)

Author

Judy Dawn writes science fantasy to encourage hope, love, and the pursuit of happiness. Her unprecedented style compels the imagination of readers as they smile from page to page. She lives under a rain-cloud in Washington State without a raincoat and believes life is a journey to relish.

You can follow Judy Dawn on Twitch, Twitter, the web, YouTube, Amazon, Facebook, and Linked In.

### PandArchon

Author

With a BA in English/Creative Writing, PandArchon prefers to write about fantasy over reality, probably because it's a lot more fun. He has worked in the gaming industry for the last five years and has been a writer on four different projects, the most recent for a AAA studio. Writing and gaming go hand in hand for PandArchon, and it isn't likely that he'll ever quit either one of them.

You can follow PandArchon on Twitch and Twitter.

### Patrick Day

### (DrSurgeonGuy)

Author

Patrick Day lives in Pennsylvania with two cats, and his girlfriend. He finds inspiration in mundane objects and magical conversations.

You can follow Patrick on Twitch and Twitter.

### M.C. McLamb

### (Eternity_Waits)

Illustrator

Morgan is a level 33 Female humanoid. Her battle skills include Visual Development and Illustration, though she has dabbled in the dark arts of graphic design and publication for print. Her accolades include a Bachelor's Certificate in Art and Illustration (Cum Laude), publication in The Gallery Publication at Rowan University (2014 & 2015), and being a resident artist for the novel publishing company Darkflame Books. Presently, she is a full-time freelance artist and streamer on Twitch.tv.

You can follow Eternity_Waits on Twitch, Twitter, the web, Instagram, Patreon and Facebook.

### SilentWillow

Author

Silentwillow has been an avid writer on a strictly part-time basis. He writes mostly fantasy based stories, poetry and novels.

You can follow SilentWillow on Twitch and Twitter.

### ThiaCrish

Illustrator

Thia has been an author and artist since the moment she first held a pen in hand. Someone had once heard the vague rumor of her being a goldsmith, but this has never been confirmed. She loves doing crafty things of all sorts, including crochet and knitting. Currently she's working on her very first book, so be sure to check out her Twitch channel when she's streaming, and don't forget to say hi.

You can follow ThiaCrish on Twitch and Twitter.

