THEIR FINGERS LIKE FISHHOOKS, the pair of boys trawled the depths of the dumpster outside the Silver Spoon pawnshop in the City of Truct, Nation of El. They were alone on the streets of their midnight playground, up to their elbows in orange rinds and plastic bottles. Then the older of the two—twelve as of last week—held aloft his prize, a scuffed and discolored r0b0-d0gz Hassle-Free Companion mark four. “Nice! From before they added holograms.”
“What, so it always looks the same? That’s dumb,” said the younger boy, ten.
“You don’t want it? Guess it’s mine then.” Even if it was too busted to be his toy pet, he might be able to sell it for scrap at the junkyard.
“There’s no way that battery still works.”
“Shut it. Is that the remote? Give it here, Pawal, I wanna see.”
“It’s mine, Tomik. I found it.”
“What are you going to do with a dead remote, eh?” Tomik’s quick hand latched onto the plastic controller.
All the windows overlooking that street corner were dark and bolted shut. So, the boys’ antics—as far as they knew—went unnoticed, though their grunts echoed up and down the way as they wrestled over ownership of the item. A rat scurried out of their path, hiding beneath one of the many nearby rusting, bald-tired cars.
Pawal stopped struggling.
Tomik frowned at him. “I knew you’d surrender.”
“I saw something, just now,” said Pawal. He pointed. “In the window. There.”
Suspecting a trick, Tomik clutched close his new possession as he traced his friend’s grubby-fingered gesture to the front door of the Silver Spoon.
“Something moved, fast. Like it dived away when it caught me looking at it,” said Pawal, and he grinned. “Maybe it’s a ghost.”
Tomik stared at him. The broken r0b0-d0gz model fell onto the sidewalk between them with a clack-clack.
Pawal said, “You wanna go find out?”
“Who, me? You’re the one who saw whatever it was.”
“What, you scared, Tomik?”
“Not on your life. I—”
The door to the pawnshop creaked, gliding open.
Tomik tensed. Pawal chuckled and slapped his friend’s arm. “This is amazing. We have to go in.”
Tomik took a step back. “I don’t know about this.”
“Come on. Tell me this isn’t the most interesting thing that’s happened in forever. Let’s just take a quick peek. In and out.”
The shop’s ratty awning flapped lazily with a sudden gust of autumn wind. The little bell hanging from the door handle tinkled.
“You first,” said Tomik.
“It was my idea. Do I have to do everything myself?”
Pressing his clammy palms and nose against the window, Tomik’s breath fogged the glass. He couldn’t see anything inside. Total darkness. “Fine. We’ll go together. Fair?”
“Fair.”
They spat into each other’s hands and shook on it.
Voices cracking, they counted down: “One, two, three!” And they dashed forward, across the threshold, and into the dark of the shop.
For a few moments, the only sounds the boys could hear were their own shallow breaths. The faint bit of streetlamp light that entered the building only extended as far as their toes; in front of their noses, the shadows were heavy, the air as thick as a sheet of obsidian.
Finding the place completely empty, they looked at each other, ready to laugh in triumph over their fears, laugh in relief that there’d been nothing to fear in the first place.
The door slammed shut behind them.
“Hey! That’s not funny!”
“I didn’t do that. You did!”
A creaking of floorboards made them turn on their heels, and they watched, knees locked, jaws clenched, and eyes wide, as a tall man-shaped shadow sloughed off the wall and lurched toward them.
Its arms extended, bent at an unnatural angle, the figure jerked and spun its snapping limbs as it approached. Its feet never once touched the ground, nor could its face be seen in the gloom.
It stood over the boys, now, and the only details they could make out were the whites of its eyes and the blood on its teeth.
They opened their mouths to scream.
Responding to a call about a noise complaint, deputies Saskow and Zej sped toward the scene of the disturbance. Their squad car’s built-in Virtual Intelligence continuously flashed the codes for vandalism and breaking and entering, noting that the suspects had been described as “delinquent teens” by the witness who’d made the call some fifteen minutes prior.
“Here we go again: some teenagers break a window, and another busybody is woken from her much-needed beauty sleep,” said Zej through a yawn. “Oh, no. Call the mayor. Schedule an emergency meeting with the Viceroy.”
A particularly juicy bug splatted against the windshield.
Saskow shook his head and gripped the steering column a little more tightly, trying to wake up both his hands and himself. He could have easily flipped on the autopilot switch, but he didn’t want to drift off before he got there. He needed to focus, stay alert. One more misstep on the job and he could kiss his credentials goodbye.
“I’m sure this isn’t a burglary. Just kids being kids,” he said. “I’d be willing to slap a ten down on it.”
“Oh, sure. I mean, what else is there for our energetic youth to do in this town—besides break a bunch of stuff that isn’t theirs? It’s not like I don’t have any sympathy for them, but all I’d wish is that they’d occasionally take a week off.” Zej rolled his shoulders. His neck cracked loudly. “You’re probably right, Sas, but I’ll take that bet anyway. Maybe add a sliver of excitement to this shift. At least, if I get popped by some trigger-glad misckie, I’ll earn ten gelders for my pains.”
“Don’t think you have to worry about that, what with Urra and their gang getting picked up by Central two days ago.”
“Really? First I’m hearing of it. So, Urra finally became someone else’s problem? It’s shaping up to be a good night.”
“Here’s hoping it stays quiet.” Saskow cracked his knuckles. A minute or two later, he said, “There it is.” Pulling the car alongside the curb, leaving the violet emergency lights flashing, he popped open his door and got out. He poked his head back in for one more swig of lukewarm coffee from his thermos, and then gestured for Zej to take point. The other deputy drew his service weapon, and the two approached the front door of the Silver Spoon.
The beam of his flashlight showing him nothing but empty shop, Saskow rapped the window with the back of his hand. “Truct Sheriff’s Department. We know you’re in there, you little sneaks.”
“Come out, kiddos,” said Zej, “and the worst you can expect is a slap on the wrist.”
“Don’t make us come in there.”
They waited. No answer.
Zej grumbled, “How shocking.”
Saskow reached for the handle, but the door opened, swinging inward, well before he touched it.
There were no motion sensors that Zej could see. “Okay, that’s cute,” he said, gripping his pistol more tightly. “You’ve had your fun. Get out here. Now.”
Silence.
Zej entered first, his partner following closely behind, their flashlight beams sweeping the room. He nodded toward something on the ground. A boot. They got a little closer, and noted that it was attached to a man, a very large and still one.
When they caught sight of the man’s face, they recoiled; the flesh had sagged inward to the point of looking like melted wax.
No sign of anyone or anything else.
Swallowing, Zej said, “I’ll be collecting on our bet later, partner. Is this—”
“Doyen. The owner. Yeah,” Saskow whispered. “Can’t tell if he’s breathing.” He checked for a pulse, pinching the unmoving man’s wrist, and immediately jerked his hand back.
“What?”
“His bones.” Saskow was trembling now. “They’re—well, see for yourself.”
Zej shook his head, grabbing Doyen’s meaty arm. He dropped it straight away. When the arm struck the floor, it sounded like a bag filled with shards of glass. “They’ve been—they’ve—”
The deputies’ attentions turned once more to Doyen, whose expression was strained, and whose eyes had been closed—should have been closed. Now, the lids opened, and the eyes flicked to the right, locking with Zej’s.
The deputy screamed, springing to his feet, leaping toward the door.
It slammed shut before him. From behind, Saskow shouted, “Holy Plutonia, what is—”
And they watched as Doyen bolted upright, his head jiggling awkwardly, his every movement putting to mind a marionette on strings. He lifted off the ground, and each of his twists and spasms sounded like the bunching up of huge wads of printer paper.
“Zej!” Saskow yelled.
Clutching his pistol in a death-grip, the other deputy grabbed the door’s handle with his sweat-slick free hand. It wouldn’t turn—locked.
Zej kicked the door as the corpse of Doyen drifted closer and closer.
“Out of the way.” Forehead drenched, Saskow aimed his weapon at the locking mechanism and fired three plasma rounds, punching three small, irregularly shaped, orange-rimmed holes in the metal. He shouldered the door open, the force of his leap sending him rolling onto the sidewalk beyond.
Zej vaulted after him, and, within seconds, they were back inside the squad car. As Saskow jammed his thumb onto the communicator’s switch, Zej grabbed his elbow and pointed at the Silver Spoon.
The front door was again shut and appeared entirely undamaged.
The two deputies hurried through every gesture and sign they knew to ward off evil.
Tremors running from his elbow to his jaw, Saskow put the speaker microphone to his lips. “Get the Sheriff down here.”
Gaze fixed on the pawnshop’s entrance, Zej barely registered Saskow’s growl. “You had best wake him up then, Wita. We have a, uh—There’s a—just get Lowing involved. Now.”
In the driver’s seat, Zej started the car and, slamming his foot down, backed the vehicle up. Its tires squealed; its engine backfired.
After a few moments, within the shops and apartments surrounding them, lights switched on. Curious and worried faces watched Zej park the car on the opposite side of the street, get out, dash over to the trunk, and retrieve a rifle. Leaning on the hood, his sights remained fixed on the front door of the Silver Spoon.
He didn’t dare blink.
The electric streetlights, set on tall, rusted poles, finally flickered out as the early morning washed with inky gray light the narrow, two-story brick and concrete shops and townhomes. Somewhere nearby, growling hungrily, a dog could be heard knocking over a metal trashcan.
Two hours, four deputies, and a dozen cups of coffee later, and the Silver Spoon had been thoroughly cordoned off. The deputies busily walked the perimeter, warning away the bolder of the onlookers who had, by now, formed a small crowd on the sidewalk across the street from the pawnshop.
Sheriff Lowing leaned through the open driver’s side window of his vehicle and over the receiver, listening. When City Councilman Kulch had finished screaming at him, he took the opportunity to interject. “Yes, sir. I understand.” The round face surrounding his mustache flushed. More colorful interruptions followed, peppered with a few explanations and several threats. “Cameras? Now? How much time—No, I have no idea how they found out about—Sir, all due respect, my men know better than to blab to the media. I—Yes, sir. Well—Frankly, we’re not equipped to contend with whatever this is. It’s like something straight outta one of the old stories, and—Hello? Hello?” He stared at the speaker for a few seconds. “Hung up on me. That sonova…” To Deputy Saskow, who stood at attention, he said, “Listen, I’ve just been informed that news’s got its nose all in this. We’ve got maybe half an hour before the eyes of the whole Nation are on us. It’s about to get political.”
“Sir, I hope you know that Zej and I would never—”
Lowing looked at him from over his purpled, drooping eyelids. “What? ‘Course. I know full well you kept a lid on it. It’s those Triple-I rats we have to thank. They must have been listening in on our chatter. Or they hacked our comms. Either way, don’t much matter: the chuckleheads from their Puur HQ are inbound. If we’re gonna avoid being made fools of, live on the midday news, we need this wrapped up as of five minutes ago.” The sheriff faced the steadily growing crowd of gawkers, raising his voice. “Alright, everyone, I’m gonna need you all to take another good few healthy steps back.”
Someone in the crowd challenged him: “People heard gunshots a while ago. From inside the building. Have you arrested anyone?”
“Is this a manhunt?” demanded someone else.
“Why won’t you just tell us what’s happening?”
Lowing rubbed his temples with thumb and middle finger. “The noises you heard must have been bursting pipes. What we’re dealing with here is nothing more interesting than a gas leak. But that’s why you’ve got to move back. There’s a risk the whole building will go up.”
“What about the children?”
Glaring at the cluster of faces, searching for the one who’d spoken, Lowing said, “Children?”
“Yes, sheriff, my mother’s the one who called your office. She said she saw two kids break into the building. Where are they?”
The back of his neck, his chest, his armpits, nearly every bit of him growing increasingly saturated with sweat, Lowing said, “There may or may not be two minors inside the building. We are doing everything we can, I assure you.”
“Everything you can?” a woman said. “My son’s been missing for hours. No one has a clue where he’s gone, and you haven’t done anything to find him. For all I know, he’s in there right now, and you’re sitting here on your thumbs, you useless—”
“Ma’am, please. We have the best and brightest out there looking for your child. We take our job of protecting and serving this community with the utmost gravity, I swear.” Dabbing at his forehead with his pocket kerchief, he added, “We’ve called in a specialist. They’ll be here any minute now.” He stared hopefully down the length of the street toward the point where it curved into a tunnel. “I know this is particularly difficult for you, ma’am. Just, let’s give it another few minutes.”
Finally, a taxi cab trundled up to the curb and jittered, with one last backfire, to a standstill. The front passenger door opened, and out stepped a lanky young woman in a frayed duster.
With a bandage-covered arm, she waved the cabby off. Her thumb flicked across the screen of her phone, a bright blue bubble expanding from between her lips. Four more chews, and she spat her gum onto a little piece of paper, neatly folding and tucking it into her inner jacket pocket. This action revealed a bandolier strapped to her chest, its loops holding glass containers, like soda bottles, each of which was filled with a different vibrantly colored liquid. Though her hair had begun to gray, her face revealed that she couldn’t have been older than nineteen, and was probably even younger than that.
Her long ponytail swished against the back of her duster as she walked right up to the Silver Spoon’s front door. There, she paused, fingers lingering above the handle for just a beat too long. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the milling public, the deputies, and the sheriff.
Lowing shook his head. “See, there’s our specialist now. Right on time.”
Murmurs exploded through the crowd as the young woman opened the door and stepped into the darkness.
Alone inside the Silver Spoon, Alina K’vich drew a long, halting breath. Dust dancing along its edges, a single gray shaft of sunlight was all that held the shadows at bay. Shadows that pressed against her like sweaty bodies in a packed subway car.
During the entire cab ride from her home to this place, she had puzzled over a troublesome thought: unlicensed and unproven as Alina was, Sheriff Lowing must have been truly desperate to have called on her.
Now, she understood why. Even outside the building, she had felt it—a shapeless terror—seeping through the door. Inside, the feeling became overwhelming. Like static-charged air. Like the buzz of battery acid on the tongue. There waited for her, inside the pawnshop, something old. And cunning.
No sign of the kids. There’d never been much hope for them; there was less now.
Phone in hand, she “borrowed” the wireless Aetherthread signal from a nearby unprotected network named “GET UR OWN CONNECTION PIETRE.” She checked her Phys-i and Niima bars—real-time displays of her own vital and magical energies—and found both to be full. (She didn’t need an app to tell her how healthy she was feeling or how deep her magical reserves ran, but seeing the small-font “100%” status displays was reassuring. And jailbreaking her phone to be able to show those stats had taken a lot of effort, so checking the bars often made that whole ordeal feel like less of a waste of time.)
Once connected to the web, she pulled an Auggie bottle from her bandolier and chugged the glowing amber potion, scowling as the bitter viscous liquid went down. Pocketing the empty container in her pouch (waste not), she burped a fiery breath.
Her focus exploded. And then there were two realities: the physical world and another one parallel to it. The second of the two was usually private, unseen by others. But, today, she needed to open that secret door, fling it wide, reveal what lay inside.
Called by many names—mind-world, dream-world, etherium—by many different peoples, this place (or non-place) existed within every sentient being. It almost always remained locked away behind the impenetrable vault doors that separated the individual from their own unconscious.
Magic, however, could access it because Niima—magical energy—derived from the life’s energy within every living thing. The potion she’d just taken acted as an amplifier of these energies, broadcasting the ebbs and flows of this inner sphere of her existence.
The process did not have to be unpleasant, but it never failed to be intense. She steadied herself against an antique armoire, her thoughts scattering, recombining. After a few tumultuous moments which made her feel as though she’d just dived over the edge of a waterfall, she was able to sculpt the needed images in her head with perfect control. She saw with her mind’s eye a slideshow of her fiercest thoughts and feelings. Thanks to the potion, she could now flip through these pictures and video clips at will.
Casting aside the mind-stuff she didn’t want, she weaved the rainbow bursts of her mental movies, focusing on the sights, sounds, tastes, scents—what she needed to feel in this moment.
What she needed to feel in order to lure it out.
Snagging Mracis’s stuffed lion and running off as he cried.
Spending her grandfather’s money on a box of firecrackers, when he’d asked her to go buy eggs and milk.
Standing in front of the window display and praying for the pair of shiny water-walking sneakers on the mannequin’s feet.
She caught hold of the thread she’d been looking for.
It sounded heady and thick. It smelled red.
Hopefully she would be proven right about the nature of the creature, that it would be attracted to her desire for riches. If she turned out to be wrong, well…
For her plan to have any chance of succeeding, she would have to heighten the intensity of her desire, make it drunk off her fantasies. Make it careless.
She thought of the drag races in Tinniby, of betting every penny to her name. She thought of what she’d do with all that money, all the scores she’d settle, all the expensive dinners she’d buy. The luxury.
Sooner than expected, she found that she wasn’t in the pawn shop anymore, but outside it. She had been transported to the country, near the highway. A long, straight road. The place where the races were held each month. She knew it well. There, many times, she’d slapped down her hard-earned money. Hoping for a chance at a better life. She had yet to win.
Good news: the plan was working so far. Already, the creature attempted to rope her in with its illusions.
Crouched in the middle of papery, brittle brush and nettle bushes, she focused on refining the shape of her desire.
She imagined it—the rush of air as the cars screamed past, the press of other cheering spectators against her, the jingle of coins in their pockets, the rustle of bills. She thought of how many times that moment of hope had soured; she remembered losing all her cash, and how she’d conjured dreams of stealing, cheating, begging, all so she could throw down just a few more gelders. To squander everything on the thinnest of chances, to walk the blade’s edge, thinking only of herself. Her own gain, at the cost of everyone else’s.
There it was. She could feel it. Watching her.
Eye-less sight in shadow-less dark. And hunger. So much hunger. Like it had never once been satisfied, though it stuffed itself to bursting.
Every target has its weakness. Her grandfather’s words, strands woven into the fabric of her thoughts. Knowing your prey is both the first step and the last.
Well, the creature she now hunted certainly knew how to weave a powerful illusion. This was no ordinary demon. It had spun her web of fantasies into a vision so real-looking that she couldn’t tell the difference between it and the pawn shop in which she must still be standing. This place certainly felt, looked, and sounded real, even though it was all in her head. The Silver Spoon had faded like a dream touched by morning sunlight.
Whatever lay in wait for her would be the most dangerous enemy she’d ever faced. She’d have to remain on her guard at all times. Or risk her soul.
Fueled by her artificially enhanced and broadcast desires, something leaned in, a shadowy presence, unseen, but clawing and sucking at the very air around her. A starved thing, it pawed and gulped, and Alina got the distinct impression of claws. Tentacles, too. Teeth.
When she licked her lips, her tongue lapped up dewdrops. As the moments wore away, eroded by the silent storm of desire swirling from her and around her, it took every effort to remember that she wasn’t really in that place she’d fixed in her imagination.
Her one advantage, for now, was her prey’s unawareness of her purpose. She concentrated, straining to not reveal her true motives, and threw back the hood of her tattered old coat.
Well, she’d set a really solid trap. Now, to find out who it was for—her target or herself.
Her breath fogged in front of her on that field of gray morning. She rose, took a step, the blue grass crunching under the heels of her knee-high hiking boots.
“Delicious,” said the voice then, caressing the syllables of her language like someone tasting a delicacy for the first time. “Such craving.”
Hands at her hips, she cocked her head. She waited.
A wisp of mist encircled her, wafted past her, joining with another. Then another. After a few seconds, a figure began to take shape within the moisture. A lopsided grin, a quirked eyebrow, a thin nose, slit-like nostrils. The thousands of dew droplets hovered there, revealing the ghostly outline of a man’s body. Next, color flooded the figure—porcelain-white skin, gray three-piece suit, golden eyes.
It adjusted its red tie with ring-heavy fingers, the platinum glowing palely, blending with tentacles of soft luminous mist.
“Who—” it cleared its throat. The word had come out sharp, like a rusty nail jabbed into the ear canal. The creature had the decency to look embarrassed. Tugging at the knot of its tie again, it said, in a more human-sounding voice, “Why, who are you, my beauty, with your skin the hue of hazel fay and eyes like purest olivine?”
“I’ve been looking for you,” said Alina. She mustn’t let it know anything about her. Not even her name.“Who I am is not important. We’re here to talk about you.”
“Oh?” said the man. No—not a man, she reminded herself. An almost-man, and barely even that.
The apparition’s features took a turn for the strange, elongating, warping. Its shadow no longer bore the same shape as it did. “You won’t tell me your name, then?”
“You first,” she said, watching tentacles erupt from the shadow, then fade.
“Tut-tut.” The creature waggled a platinum-ringed finger. “Nice try. I see your games now. It seems you have me at somewhat of a disadvantage.”
She nodded. The less she said aloud, the better.
“And yet, by your caution, you unmask yourself, girl. You are an Aelfraver.”
Damn it. She glared at it.
“The truth is revealed.” A swirling, wriggling mass, its shadow stretched out. Rearing up behind her. “It has been some several decades since I’ve tasted one of your kind. Tell me, how many of my people have you destroyed in your short career, young hunter?”
Though she tried, she couldn’t let that provocation go. “None,” she grunted.
“None?” It took a step forward.
She, a step back. “I don’t kill.”
It chuckled wetly. “Foolish.”
From the Sheriff’s descriptions, her guesses about this supposed “ghost” had been right on the money, but she didn’t yet know how old or cunning her opponent truly was. So, she’d have to play this game of questions a little longer.
Even as she mentally ran through the list of relevant spells and counter-spells, she nudged the conversation in a different direction. “You don’t look exactly like Doyen.”
An interested smile from the gold-eyed non-man. “Who?”
“The owner of this shop. The one you killed. Your disguise, though—it’s hardly perfect.”
The creature scoffed, spreading its fingers, pressing a palm to its chest, its expression a parody of innocence. “I didn’t kill him. I’m like you. I do no harm. Intentionally.”
“Oh, you’re telling me he twisted his own bones, till they snapped? And what about those two kids? They asked for it?”
“As you wish.” The non-man shrugged. “All I say unto you is this: I did not kill them.”
“Then what did?”
“Their desires.”
“That’s ridiculous, and not how anything works. You seriously expect me to believe that you made them want stuff to death?”
“Sweet girl, this mask of bravado ill fits your inviting face. You misunderstand, besides; I repeat, I did not kill them. I merely partook of their essence, and, perhaps, in the case of the older one, got a mite… carried away in my appetites.”
“So, that’s it? You’re a sloppy eater? Why didn’t you drain him slowly, for years? Like the rest of your kind does? Probably, no one would have noticed till he had one foot and two elbows in the grave.”
“You genuinely care to know the answer? I was bored. Now, don’t you strut about, wearing the mask of concerned mother, chiding me for playing with my food. What fun is life without play? What does it matter if I make a game of the monotony of consumption?” Something rippled across its forehead. Like a worm wriggling beneath the flesh. The non-man dismissed her scowl with a wave of its hand. “A man must eat.”
“You’re not a man.” Alina crossed her arms. “The mayor’s wife wears fox fur. Doesn’t make her a vixen.”
“What a sharp wit.” The creature leaned in. Its red tie swayed between them like a lolling tongue, and its smile began to fade. “Goodness, how I do grow weary of your mockery. Best take care, now. You have seen of what I’m capable when left undistracted.”
“I’m honestly getting tired of this myself. The children you took, where are they?”
“My, how you focus upon such humdrum. I would rather talk about you some more. What you want—”
“The boys,” Alina insisted. “Are they alive? Let them go, and then maybe we’ll talk.”
“Hmm. How badly do you want them to be safe and sound, eh? Enough to take their place?”
Her insides burning partly from frustration and partly from fear, Alina slowly nodded. “Let them go. Free them, and I’ll stay.”
The un-man grinned, its eyes rolling backward. For a split second, she thought she could see a second pair behind them, a pair that blinked sideways. Made her think of bog-dwelling bottom-feeders and serpents inside their damp holes, waking.
“Your terms are agreeable,” said the creature.
Half-shrouded by mist, two translucent forms—smaller, and shadowy but humanlike—stood up. They solidified, becoming people again, and Alina recognized them from the pictures Lowing had messaged her earlier—the missing children, Tomik and Pawal.
The boys spun in place for a moment, heads bobbing, expressions advertising their confusion at their surroundings.
She shouted at them, “Run! Run straight forward, as fast as you can, and don’t look back. Don’t stop until you’re with your parents.”
Appearing unsure of where the command had come from, looking through her as if she weren’t there, the boys took off at a run, and soundlessly passed straight through her.
“As you can see,” said the gold-eyed man-like creature. “I have granted your requested boon. Now you simply must stay here with me.”
The illusion surrounding Alina remained as she watched the boys disappear from view in the direction of the front door of the pawnshop—a door that she could not see, trapped as she was within her dream-web of a world.
Well, she’d done it: she now found herself alone with a voracious predator.
“How do I know that wasn’t an illusion, just now? As if I can trust you, that you’ve really let them out.”
“You wound me,” it said through its toothy smile. “But you have my word that I did as you asked. In my supreme honesty, I confess to selfish motivations: any Rel’ia-tuakr such as I could see you are far more interesting than those little brats and their nebulous needs. Perhaps they’ll be more flavorful once they… ripen. You, however, are the much better catch.” It licked its dry lips. “Now, it is your turn. Tell me more about your wishes, girl. I can make them come true, you know.”
“Like you did for Doyen?”
“Doyen was lower than a Liliskur—a worm.”
It was her turn to smile. “And what does that make you, goblin?”
“Do not goad me. There will be consequences.” The color drained from its face and suit, and it looked much like a moving, centuries-old, sepia-toned photograph. “Do you even know who I am, stripling?”
“A stupid little greed-feeder who can’t work up the nerve to take on princes and prophets, so he sticks to shopkeepers and kids in podunk towns.” She snorted. “I’ve seen what you are, and I’m not impressed. You just leave the real hunting to real hunters.”
“Insolent.” Its face grew longer and longer still, until its chin dropped below its waist. Its suit spread out behind it, tearing, wrapping around its arms and legs, which split into two or three pieces each. Then its eyeballs fell out, replaced by triangular mouths—rows of razor teeth in each. “Do you see now, child, to whom it is you speak so flippantly?”
“Pfft,” said Alina, standing in the shadow of the hulking beast. “Third-rate tricks. Seen better.”
She was halfway through her defiant reply when the multi-limbed monster with its mouth-eyes pounced on her. She was pitched backward, her spine slamming against the damp earth of the imagination-twisted world in which they’d trapped each other. Pinned to the ground, she stared at the writhing, pinkish, green-veined, scaly midsection of the demon. Then it lowered its bulky, lopsided head, and opened its third and largest mouth, shattered teeth protruding from the waist of the false-man shape it had worn up until moments ago. The red tie was now actually a slobbering fleshy red tongue sliding up the side of Alina’s cheek.
The creature said, “Gaze upon my glory.”
She choked on the stink of its durian-mixed-with-week-old-cat-crap-breath. “To think,” she gasped, “that I’d be put outta my misery by a two-bit, no-name, bottom-of-the-barrel scavenger like you.”
“Little mammal,” it bellowed in her face, smacking its fat, veiny lips. “You will respect me, for you are in the presence of royalty. I am a prince of my people. It is a terrible honor you receive now, Raver-girl, to be devoured by the great Osesoc-ex’calea!”
That name. Alina mentally cycled through the vast number of Aelf encyclopedias under which her grandfather had buried her childhood. Was it Tinochlese?
The pressure of its talons on her chest and shoulders.
Oronorish?
The stench of its withered maw and flapping, grasping tongue.
No, it was Iorian! And it meant—
A wicked grin on her face, Alina said, “Ergon’a’tleth al-tilithlin, spirits of the earth and sky, by their names, I call upon you, Osesoc-ex’calea. And by your name, ‘Hubris,’ I bind you.”
There was a pause. The monster’s mouth-eyes chewed on their eyelid-lips.
Osesoc-ex’calea guffawed, and streams of steaming saliva spilled over Alina’s face and arms. Through its laughter, it said, “To think that so feeble an incantation—writ by a doomed and forgotten people—could have given you even the slightest power over me! You simpleton, you dog-brained blusterer. I have had my fill of your childish games. Now, I shall have my fill of you.”
The demon’s weight crushed her body, squeezing the air from her lungs.
“Ah-ha,” said Alina weakly through half-lidded eyes. “That was just a distraction. You’ve fallen right into my trap.” Clutching something in her hand, she thrust her fist forward. “With this talisman, I—”
A flick of one of its tentacles, and the demon snatched the thing from her grip. The object it held—her cellphone—shimmered as the screen lit up. Osesoc-ex-calea inspected the foreign item between its talons. “This?” it said, its right mouth-eye nibbling gingerly on the corner of the phone. “This is your holy weapon? Perhaps I should return to the void, if such is the depth to which Aelfravers have sunk. You lot can provide no more sport, I now see.” It turned its mouth-eyes to Alina again. “I have had far and away enough of this. Prepare to be consumed by Hubris, and consider it an hon—”
“Iingrid,” Alina enunciated, “send my drafted message to [email protected], subject: ‘Osesoc-ex’calea Hubris Demon DO NOT OPEN – K Thanks.’”
The demon looked at her, then the phone, then her. And, though it retained zero human features by this point, it appeared confused.
She finished her command with, “Text body: blank. Send.”
Her phone’s Integrated Intelligence software sounded a dainty chime. In the voice of an annoyed middle-aged school principal, it said, “Sending message.”
The demon’s mouth-eyes swallowed—its unique way of blinking, perhaps. “What in the seventy-seven hells was th—?”
From the phone’s screen, a flash of blue light speared Osesoc-ex’calea, raking across its spined and thorny flesh. It roared in agony, and then dug its talons into the earth, bracing itself as its face was sucked up against the phone, which now floated ten feet in the air. Its claws tearing up the earth and grass, the demon’s face, head, and shoulders were crushed and drawn into the 5.8-inch display.
The demon’s distorted, garbled scream was clipped short as the rest of it was pulled into the cellphone. And then Osesoc-ex’calea was gone.
There was no weight on Alina’s chest any longer, nothing pinning her down. The drooling evil thing had vanished into thin air.
She chuckled quietly to herself, coughing.
The phone fell to the ground and pinged one more time.
“Message sent.”
Alina lay still for a few moments, holding her breath.
Iingrid said, “Message delivered.”
Alina let out a heavy sigh. “Thank you, Iingrid.”
The dust settled.
She was no longer in the field by the road but back in the Silver Spoon. The dark closed in on her, but that was alright. It was a familiar darkness, a non-threatening one. A darkness specifically lacking in demons.
Her phone had fallen on the ground. She crouched and snatched it up. Her Niimameter—the measure of her remaining magical power—had dropped to 2%. Close call. Alone in the dark, she shook her head.
She flipped on the flashlight. It immediately petered out. Low battery.
Unsteady, knees shaking, she found the front door, but not before slamming her foot into the base of a tarp-covered harpsichord. Limping now, she slipped out of the pawn shop.
The one element that had carried over from the fantasy world was the fog, thick as a blanket and leaking from the shop into the street. She could barely make out the people on the other side.
As she walked over to them. The townsfolk gasped and muttered to one another.
Sheriff Lowing, the curling edges of his frizzy mustache twitching against his doughy pink cheeks, said, “Ya made it. And? You get whatever it was?” Thumbs looped through his belt, one wrinkly pant-leg in front of the other, one of the deputies added, “Was looking dicey there, for a hot minute.”
A wad of cash passed from one deputy’s hand to the other. Both men looked relieved and embarrassed.
“Where’d the fog come from?” Lowing asked, tensing. “We need to get everyone outta here?”
Alina shook some of the numbness from her brain. “That? No, it’s an illusion. Mostly. The stuff’s spilling out of the pseudo-reality that was created when my potion-enhanced thoughts met the demon’s, uh—what’s the word I’m looking for?—hangriness. That kind of thing can happen when a powerful Aelf is met head-on with magic.”
“You’re sure we’re okay standing here?”
“I mean, it’s magic. There’s no standard safety guidelines or warning labels, if that’s what you’re looking for. Niima surges have side-effects sometimes, sheriff.” Alina rubbed her neck, feeling the bruises developing. “What about the kids? Did they come out?”
Sheriff Lowing stepped forward. “They’re here. Shaken and dirty, but that’s about average for them.”
Alina followed his gaze, and locked eyes with Tomik and Pawal, who were wrapped in blankets, crying, clinging to their parents, but safe. Shaking, Alina let out a shuddering sigh. “All’s well that ends well, except for Mr. Doyen. Guess that means the job’s done, though. So.” She held her open palm between herself and the sheriff. “The bounty.”
“What was it, though?” said Lowing, doing far less reaching for his wallet than Alina would’ve liked.
“The Aelf? Oh, I had it pegged for a Greed-feeder. I was wrong. Turns out you were dealing with a demon. They behave similarly, but demons are much worse.” She shrugged. “Anyway. The big bad is done for, and that’s all that matters. Took care of it for you. Won’t be bothering you again. Now.” She tapped her fingers onto her still open palm. “My payment, if you please.”
“You killed it, then. Thank Buthmertha for that.” He nervously eyed the skies, watching a Skye-Eye News drone carrier rocket toward the scene of the crime. It was still a fair distance away, but, at its current speed, would arrive within minutes. “They’re almost here. C’mon, let’s see it then.”
“Huh?”
“The trophy, Alina. The head or claw or whatever you pulled off the monster. I need a bone to wave in front of the slobbering press.” He pointed a chunky finger at the gleaming carrier bristling with tiny camera drones.
“Trophy? Hang on, we agreed—”
The sheriff’s mood made an about-turn, his ruddy complexion darkening on the way to purple. “Am I missin’ something? Were you not able to recover any part of it after you put it down? Was it a ghost or some such?”
“It wasn’t a ghost.” Alina pressed her fingers to her forehead, a migraine oncoming. “I just told you what—”
“Okay, so, demon, yeah. Still.” The sheriff nodded toward the building. “Are you tellin’ me I have to stand in front of the eyes of the entire Nation and the Gods and my old mother and tell our countrymen that they’ll just have to—what—take my word that the situation’s been resolved? There’s got to be something—some kinda proof the beast is dead.”
Alina cleared her throat. “Dead?”
“Am I speaking Tinochlese or something? How are we failin’ to understand each other, here?”
Syllable by syllable, Alina explained, “As I told you before, on the phone, when I took this job: I don’t kill. Not the Aelf, not anybody.”
The sheriff took a reflexive backward step as if he’d been physically stricken. “You—you—” with thumb and forefinger, he rubbed his eyes for a solid few seconds—“let the monster go? Little lady, do you have even the tiniest inkling of what it is you’ve done?”
Alina glowered at him. “Aside from saving the hostages? And all of you? You wanna know all about the incredible, difficult service I just provided? Let’s get technical! That was not your average Greed-feeder, which any bozo could’ve handled. It was an ancient demonic prince. I had to put myself practically in its jaws and play to its arrogance, all so that I could trick it into revealing its name. And that’s when I used my modified version of the spell Uindval Drakehammer’s Irresistible Command—”
“What? What are you even goin’ on about? I don’t need to hear—This is terrible. Gods have mercy, I can hardly even look at you right now.”
Alina talked over him, “Basically, I bound the demon to a cloud-storage account I made, breaking it into a billion fragments of compressed data, and, using a spamming program freely available online, I sent a digimail to my friend’s account. A digimail, by the way, that is the only key to unlocking the Aelf from its new forever-home. The key that is forever out of its reach.” She took a breath. “Now, will you be paying me with cash or app? I don’t have a HivePay implant, but I’ll gladly provide you my GelderPass info. Could also do MoneyPlz. Whatever’s faster.”
The autopiloted camera carrier had arrived, obscuring the sun. Hundreds of circular drones peeled off it, and these zoomed in all different directions, capturing wide-angle, bird’s-eye, and three-sixty-degree footage of the scene, the people, and the sheriff’s department.
Lowing turned to one of his deputies. “Zej, I need you to get these people in line. Put the kids up front with me. If we play up their rescue, maybe there’s still a chance to sidestep this firepit. By Buthmertha.”
Lowing turned to Alina again. “The fact that you’ve left a demon—Mr. Doyen’s murderer, the abductor of two innocent children—roaming free… Frankly, I’m disgusted.”
“It’s not ‘roaming free,’” she snapped. “It’s trapped in a combination cloud-storage and program loop that—”
“Shut up. Just shut up. You’ve left me to deal with an unholy mess. And, somehow, you want me to give you four hundred gelders.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I took care of your ‘monster’ for you.” She gestured emphatically as she spoke, as if she were chiding a dog for dragging its rump over a new carpet.
“Ms. K’vich,” he said, his voice gone cold, “this is just unacceptable. I took a chance on you, girl, and now you’ve gone and made me look a right fool. Which I must be for having hired you on in the first place.”
“What?” she shouted, the fog muffling the echoes of her voice.
“For all I know, you didn’t do anything. Because you ain’t got no proof for me. Maybe you think you can pull one over on old Mr. Lowing, huh? You head into a dusty old building, fabricatin’ all sorts of tales about what’s goin’ on in there. You’re probably sittin’ inside, twiddling your thumbs, while Doyen’s killer is long, long gone. You find the kids hiding under some junk and send them out. Then you hang back for a while because you need everythin’ to look above-board. At last, you step outside, babblin’ nonsense. Heck, for all I know, you found a fog machine in there and flipped the switch to add to the mystery of this whole situation.” He growled at her, “You Aelfravers and your malarkey—honestly. Most of you are the absolute worst, cheating honest folk outta their hard-earned money. I thought we could maybe, maybe trust you. Given what stock you come from. But, clearly, your granddaddy was the exception that proved the rule. You’re nothing like him, I can see now. He was a master of your craft. He knew how to deal with beasts like that one in there.” The sheriff jerked a thumb toward the Silver Spoon. “He’d kill ‘em and return with proof of the deed, put everyone’s mind at ease, ‘cause he knew that’s what it takes to keep the peace. That’s my job, you know, keepin’ the peace. And it’s why I can’t abide this betrayal of my trust. How do I know, without seeing the corpse with my own two eyes, that you actually got him? Maybe you both struck a deal in there and you let him go easy, so you could collect the reward.”
“Are you kidding me, Lowing? I was fighting for my life. How dare you treat me like I’m some child playing dress-up? Worse, you’re accusing me of—what—entering into a contract with a demon?” She took a breath that caught in her throat. “This is my job. I’m good at it. You’d never talk to my grandfather this way. Know what I think? I think you’re looking for a reason to rip me off.”
“The fact that you’re only worried about your pay tells me everythin’ I need to know about your priorities. Dimas K’vich,” said the sheriff, drawing himself to his full height (five inches shorter than Alina), “was a true man of action. Why I went and hired a no-name unlicensed pretender, I’ll never know. Woulda been better off tackling this problem myself.” He sighed. “You were one of our own, so maybe I figured I’d give you a fightin’ chance. Well, look what good it’s done me. That demon’s probably out there, plotting its next attack. And you want me to pay you based on what, huh? Your dang word?”
“The word of a K’vich,” said Alina.
“I believe I speak for the town at large when I say ain’t no K’vich here. From where I’m standin’, you’ve put us all at risk. We’re just fortunate those kids turned up safe. And you’re lucky I don’t put you under investigation, girl. Go back to school, Alina. Get yourself an education and an honest trade. You just aren’t ready. The world’s too big for—”
“A ‘little lady’ like me?” Alina glared at all of them, hate in her eyes and bile in her throat. “You’re screwing me out of money. Money that I earned. That’s all this is. You’re stiffing me because you know I won’t hit you back. Well, that’s what you think. That’s the real gamble, here.” She let slip an acidic laugh, hissing as it passed her lips. “You’ll regret this one day. All of you.”
“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t catch those threats. And you’d best get out of my face, Alina. I may be lettin’ you off for now, but, if—after today—I’m still sheriff, there’ll be a reckoning.”
“Thieves,” she barked, and she turned away from all of them.
The townsfolk watched her retreat like a kicked dog. No one stood up for her. She didn’t need them to, but the gesture would’ve been appreciated.
Scumbags. The thanks she’d get for saving them all? Bean milk and old cheese for dinner. Again.
The sheriff called after her, “One day you’ll have to decide, Alina. Do you wanna be like your granddaddy and make a fair living actually helping people? Or, are you plannin’ to cling to your tall tales and nonsense? You hurt yourself as much as others, actin’ as you do, abusing your heritage.”
Alina grinded her teeth, pressed her fingernails into her palms. But she didn’t look back.
She swatted a shiny, platinum-colored camera drone out of her way. It bounced off the nearest wall and zipped over to the crowd instead. There, already, several people were giving their accounts of what had happened that morning. Or what they’d thought had happened.
The deputies ushered the two moist-eyed children up to Sheriff Lowing, who smoothed his mustache with two hands and cleared his throat. The swarm of cameras circled around him like flies.
Of course, Alina didn’t stick around for his speech.
She walked the several miles back to her grandfather’s empty school.
She couldn’t afford the cab fare.
END OF CHAPTER 1
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