ã€ŠBullets &amp; Spellsã€‹


 Double Crossed

    ¡°Well, that could¡¯ve gone better,¡± I say to myself trudging along. Holding my side as best I can to stop the bleeding. The cut across my arm doesn¡¯t make it any easier to hold the bullet that just missed my kidney. The stab wound in my leg also isn¡¯t doing me any favors but it¡¯s not like I have anywhere, in particular, to walk to. Really I¡¯m just looking for a quiet place to pass out and die.

    I find what I¡¯m looking for, a little stairway about a block away from the bloodbath I just left behind. I slide down as painlessly as I can, which is to say not at all, onto the small steps and let the late-night summer breeze do what it does. It blows my black hair into my face where it sticks to either sweat, blood, or some gross mix of the two. There isn¡¯t anyone out this late in this part of town, so when morning comes whoever finds my body is in for quite the surprise.

    ¡®Being close to death really brings out the macabre in me, huh?¡¯ I chuckle at my own joke and immediately regret it as my bruised, possibly fractured, ribs rub against the thing I¡¯m leaning on. A small part of me wants to get up; I know there¡¯s work to be done. But now that I¡¯ve sat down I know I stand a snowball¡¯s chance in Hell in getting back up. The last bit of adrenaline leaves my system and all the pain that I¡¯m actually in floods my nerves.

    The parts of me that aren¡¯t bruised, cut, stabbed or shot are just plain sore from the quite literal fight for my life. Everything hurts.

    ¡®It just figures that I¡¯d die on some random step, I always thought I¡¯d die somewhere sorta cool. Like an expensive penthouse or something. Instead, I¡¯m going to die in the street just like all the other poor bastards in this city.¡¯ I stretch my legs out as much as the pain will allow me. Might as well get somewhat comfortable.

    ¡°Can¡¯t beat this view though,¡± I say to myself, referring to the empty sidewalk and abandoned liquor store across the street. I make myself laugh again, hurting myself in the process. ¡°Okay, no more jokes, girl. Let¡¯s just sit here and bleed.¡±

    I start counting my breaths, wondering which will be my last. I hope I¡¯m not counting for too long ¡®cause I don¡¯t want to get into the triple digits.

    When I get to the forties I see something weird. Or someone, rather. It looks like a woman wearing a...puffy black dress? Can¡¯t really see out of my left eye since it¡¯s swollen from the right hook that big guy gave me. And my right, I¡¯m just now realizing, has a cut above it. The blood is dripping into my eyes making everything look pinkish. The stranger approaches and squats right in front of me. From what I can make out she has a worried look on her face.

    45¡­

    46¡­

    47¡­

    ¡°Are you ok?! Do you need help?!¡± She asks. She hesitantly reaches out to help before she thinks better of it.

    ¡°Why would I need help?¡± I deflect. ¡®What¡¯s a woman like this doing out here?¡¯

    ¡°You¡¯re bleeding all over the place!¡± She points out.

    ¡°Really? And it¡¯s not even that time of the month.¡± I laugh at my own joke and my entire body makes me pay for it. The jolt of pain from my side makes me sit up a bit straighter. ¡°Sorry, that was just too good to pass up, ¡± I mumble through the pain.

    51¡­

    52¡­

    53¡­

    ¡°Let me help you!¡± The woman reaches into her dress pocket to probably get her phone. I grab her wrist to stop her.

    ¡°No ambulances, no hospitals. They¡¯ll call the cops,¡± I explain. The last thing I need is the cops asking questions.

    ¡°What¡¯s an ambulance?¡± The woman asks. Did I hear that right? I have lost a lot of blood, maybe I¡¯m going a little crazy.

    58¡­

    59¡­

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± I say, trying my best to wave her off. ¡°Unless you have a first aid kit in that pretty lil¡¯ dress of yours, there¡¯s no way for you to help me.¡±

    62¡­

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you want my help?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t want your help. There¡¯s just a lot going on here that you don¡¯t understand and I¡¯d rather not get you mixed up in this.¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not just going to let you-¡±

    ¡°STOP!¡± I say as loud as I dare. She just stares at me.

    67¡­

    68¡­

    69¡­ Nice.

    70¡­

    ¡°Look, just get outta here, ok? You can¡¯t help me and I¡¯m not looking for companionship on my death step.¡± I take a moment to try to get comfortable again which I¡¯m realizing is impossible given the situation. ¡°You seem like a nice chick. You shouldn¡¯t have to see someone die right in front of you, even someone like me. It¡¯s the kinda shit that stays with you and you don¡¯t want that stain on your soul. So beat it, let me clock out in peace,¡± I say hoping that¡¯s enough to deter her. But to my surprise, she furrows her brows in determination.

    ¡°What makes you think that I¡¯ve never seen someone die before?¡± I¡¯m taken aback by that. The stranger takes a necklace out of her pocket and says something in a language I don¡¯t understand. I think she¡¯s praying or something and then suddenly a bright light envelopes us. I have to close my eye to it.

    The light fades and I open my eye. I must¡¯ve passed out because I¡¯m not on the step anymore. I¡¯m lying down on something, in what looks like an abandoned apartment. The paint of the walls are chipping off and there¡¯s dust everywhere. She¡¯s walking around, looking for something.

    ¡®Did she carry me here? There¡¯s no blood on her.¡¯ She finds whatever she¡¯s looking for and comes over to me.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± She asks while she kneels next to me.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Daisy Silver,¡± I lie. It¡¯s a fake name that I routinely use. I don¡¯t remember if I met a person with that name and I liked it or if I just made it up. Doesn¡¯t matter.

    ¡°Ok Daisy, were you shot?¡±

    ¡°No, I fell and landed on my sharpened pencil.¡±

    ¡°Daisy,¡± she says sternly.

    ¡°Sorry, can¡¯t turn off the sarcasm. Yes, I¡¯ve been shot,¡± I answer.

    ¡°And the bullet is still in there?¡±

    ¡°I hope so, otherwise this is a painful kidney stone.¡±

    ¡°Alright Miss Joker, were you shot anywhere else?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± She rubs her hands together.

    ¡°This is going to be...unpleasant,¡± she says. She pulls my shirt up a bit to see my wound better. ¡°Stay still.¡± Not like I¡¯m doing backflips or anything. I focus on the ceiling to dampen the inevitable pain of her digging out the bullet. I feel it getting pulled out, but oddly not whatever she¡¯s pulling it out with. Clenching my teeth, it¡¯s all I can do to not scream out in pain.

    I lean up a bit to see the bullet get tossed to the ground and I sigh in relief as it ends. Her hands aren¡¯t bloody at all and she offers a small bottle to me. It has a yellowish-green liquid in it.

    ¡°Drink this, quickly,¡± she commands. I don¡¯t know what it is but it¡¯s not like it can hurt, right?

    ¡°Bottoms up I guess.¡± I put the bottle to my lips and the drink is the worst thing I¡¯ve ever tasted in my entire life. It¡¯s how I imagine gasoline, battery acid, gorilla sweat, and rotten milk, all blended together and filtered through a boxer¡¯s underwear would taste. I want to vomit but she holds the bottle to my mouth.

    ¡°You have to drink it all at once. I know it¡¯s bad but do it.¡± I force myself to keep drinking it and it somehow gets worse. I manage to swallow it all and almost throw up. The thought of tasting it again is the only thing that keeps it down. Honestly, I want to smack her for making me drink this when I realize the pain isn¡¯t as bad. In fact, I feel much better. The wounds on my stomach and leg are gone.

    The blood is still there but the cuts are closed. I¡¯m still sore, and my eye is swollen but at least I¡¯m not bleeding out anymore.

    The woman wipes away the blood on my stomach with a cloth. Her touch is gentle, careful, despite having just miraculously healed me. Her bare hand goes over my stomach, her skin is soft and warm against mine. I want to push her hand away but I''m suddenly very tired.

    ¡®Plus it does feel nice.¡¯

    ¡°Are there any other injuries here?¡± She asks.

    ¡°No,¡± I answer. My ribs don¡¯t hurt as much as they did before. The woman still runs her hand over my body. I can feel the slight flinch she has every time she runs over one of my many old scars. Too many to count. Or maybe not but I¡¯ve never bothered to.

    She undoes my jeans button and pulls them down.

    ¡°I usually have to do more to get a girl to pull my pants off,¡± I drowsily say. Each passing second has me more and more exhausted.

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure you do,¡± she jokes back. ¡°I¡¯m just cleaning the blood off you.¡± By the time she¡¯s done with that, I can barely keep my eyes open, but then she gets to my face. Wiping the blood and sweat off it, I can finally get a good look at her.

    She¡¯s a very pretty Asian woman with an angular face, tanned brown skin that looks smooth as silk, steel-gray eyes, and a cascading waterfall of hair that matches her eyes in color. It¡¯s long, thick and reaches her waist. Her face is close enough that I can feel her breath on mine. Even her eyebrows and eyelashes are the same gray. That¡¯s a serious dye job.

    ¡®Damn, she¡¯s gorgeous.¡¯ I could look at her all night, but I can feel myself succumbing to sleep. As if reading my mind she says,

    ¡°You must be exhausted, you should rest. We can talk in the morning.¡± That¡¯s right, I have questions for her, and things to say. But for now, I have to sleep. The woman produces a pillow from somewhere and rests my head on it.

    I turn on my side and take the pillow to hold to my chest. This is the only way I can sleep. I look for the door and find myself at ease when I find it.

    The last thing I see before I close my eyes is her getting a chair and watching me rest. Normally something like that would unnerve me and I wouldn¡¯t be able to sleep, but I guess I¡¯m too tired to care. I slide into slumber.

    When I wake up from another dreamless sleep there¡¯s light coming in from what I now realize is a broken window. In the morning light I can see just how derelict this apartment is. No one has lived here in years, evident by the layers of dust on everything. Scratches on the floor tell me that heavy furniture was dragged out of here at some point. Probably stolen.

    Then there''s the stuff she¡¯s brought in, including the cot I slept on. She has a small dresser, several wooden cases with some kind of symbols on them, a stack of books tied together, and a large mirror.

    The woman herself is sleeping in a chair that looks like it was carved from the same wood as the floorboards. When I sit up and put my feet on the ground she startles awake.

    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± She asks. At some point changed into another puffy dress, this one is green with frills at the hem. She has a sort of gothic look to her.

    ¡°I¡¯m feeling pretty good all things considered,¡± I answer. I touch where all my cuts are, or were. ¡°What did you give me?¡±

    ¡°It was a mending elixir,¡± she says matter-of-factly.

    ¡®Oh, course it was.¡¯

    ¡°It heals cuts and knits bones back together,¡± she explains.

    ¡°How? That isn¡¯t possible.¡±

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s quite possible. It¡¯s simple magic, really.¡±

    ¡°...Magic?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she answers. I rub my temple and wonder if I got a concussion when that dick in the leather jacket hit me in the head with that paperweight.

    ¡®I must¡¯ve because it sounded like she said magic.¡¯ Maybe I¡¯m hallucinating. But it would explain a lot.

    ¡°So, you¡¯re saying that magic is real?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be an effective witch if it wasn¡¯t, now would I?¡± She replies. A witch. It figures with how my night went, this is how my morning should go. I scan the...witch¡¯s face. I¡¯m very good at reading people, and most people are easy to read. None of her gorgeous features are strained to keep a straight face the way people get when they tell a lie. She believes what she¡¯s saying. And I suppose I do too. It¡¯s the only conclusion that makes sense. Given the evidence.

    ¡°Ok. You¡¯re a witch and magic is real. And you gave me a uhh healing potion?¡±

    ¡°Mending elixir,¡± she corrects me.

    ¡°Right. Why does it taste worse than actual poison?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s to prevent addiction to it. It¡¯s made in such a way that it tastes like the worst thing to each individual. So that drinking them is seen as a last resort and not to be abused,¡± The witch explains.

    ¡°That¡¯s actually pretty smart. It¡¯s not something I¡¯d want to drink regularly. Either way, it did save my life,¡± I say now thinking about what this means for me.

    ¡°You don¡¯t sound too happy about that,¡± she notices. I shake my head.

    ¡°Well, since you stopped my death that means instead of just being dead, now I have to find out who orchestrated this.¡± Regardless of magic being real, I still have very real world problems to deal with. ¡°And why...or just who.¡± I get up. The cuts and probably fractured ribs are healed but I¡¯m still sore. I wobble a bit before I can steady myself. ¡°When I find out who, I can probably figure out the ¡®why¡¯. Or not. I won¡¯t lose sleep over it.¡± The witch straightens in her seat.

    ¡°What about whoever did this to you?¡± She asks. A look of concern on her face.

    ¡°Oh, I wouldn¡¯t worry about them. I might¡¯ve looked bad-¡±

    ¡°You did look bad,¡± she interrupts.

    ¡°But the bastards who jumped me ain¡¯t exactly coming home for Christmas, if you catch my drift.¡± The witch shakes her head.

    ¡°No, not really.¡± I suppose a witch wouldn¡¯t get that particular euphemism.

    ¡°They¡¯re dead. There were seven of them, they double crossed me after a job. They tried to kill me, and since they weren¡¯t very good at it, I killed them instead,¡± I explain. She just blinks at me.

    ¡°A witch comes to the city and saves an assassin. Sounds like the start of a bad joke.¡±

    Chapter 1 End

 Meet N Greet

    The witch stares at me for a moment.

    ¡°You¡¯re an assassin?¡± She asks. I nod.

    ¡°That¡¯s what I said, isn¡¯t it? Well, assassin might be a much. Makes it sound more ¡®exotic¡¯ than it really is. Maybe ¡®hitman¡¯ is a better word. You know what? It doesn¡¯t matter, the point is that I get paid to seriously injure and kill people,¡± I explain. The witch has a surprisingly calm face.

    ¡°Why are you telling me this? Seems like the sort of thing you¡¯d keep secret.¡±

    ¡°Well, you did tell me you¡¯re a witch. Pretty sure you''re not gonna call the police.¡± I roll my shoulders and groan at the pain left in my body. ¡°You got any other potions that¡¯ll heal me up quick?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but they¡¯ll taste as bad as the other one,¡± she answers. The taste from the first elixir is still in my mouth.

    ¡®Not worth it.¡¯

    ¡°I¡¯ll just deal with the pain. Anyways, see ya around I guess,¡± I say as I head for the door.

    ¡°Wait, you¡¯re just leaving?¡± She asks. I stop just before the old door that¡¯s barely on the hinges. It¡¯s not really a door anymore, I guess.

    ¡°Well since you saved my life I have things to do. Hopefully whoever tried to have me killed thinks I¡¯m dead, and I can cause them to slip up. People always slip up when things don¡¯t pan out.¡± I grab the doorknob. ¡°And I really need a shower and something tells me the plumbing here ain¡¯t great.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t even stay for a cup of tea for the woman who saved your life?¡± The witch inquires. I¡¯m about to say something sharp and sarcastic when I turn to look at her. She has a cute little pout like a sad puppy or something. Like me having tea with her is really something to get upset over.

    ¡­

    ¡®Oh, what the hell?¡¯ I let go of the doorknob and walk back over to the witch.

    ¡°Don¡¯t see why my plans for gruesome revenge can¡¯t be put on hold for a drink.¡± She jumps out of her seat with excitement, clapping her hands.

    ¡°Oh, great! I¡¯ll get some. Please sit.¡± She starts to search through her various belongings. I sit back on the cot. ¡°What kind of tea would you like?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m more of a coffee woman, really,¡± I reply.

    ¡°Coffee?¡± she asks with genuine bewilderment.

    ¡®Of course, she doesn¡¯t know what coffee is.¡¯

    ¡°Never mind. I¡¯ll take whatever you got.¡± The witch pulls out two teacups with plates from her small dresser. After she hands me a pair, she looks over a selection of skinny metal flasks with something scribbled on them. She eyes all of them before she picks two. Bringing the chair closer, she sits across from me. I hold out the cup and she tilts one of the flasks. More liquid than should be possible comes out of it.

    More evidence that magic really exists and that this chick isn¡¯t crazy. The tea she pours out fills my cup and it¡¯s hot enough to steam. I¡¯ve never been one for flowers, so I don¡¯t what scents are hitting my nose right now. It is a lovely blend though. It reminds me of summer a bit. After she pours herself some we both sit back. I slowly sip and in my expert opinion, this is definitely some kind of tea. I can¡¯t name what flavors these are except a hint of strawberries. The others are plants I¡¯ve never tasted before. I¡¯d ask but that¡¯ll probably lead to a discussion of flowers and I¡¯m not up for that.

    ¡°I just realized that I never got your name. Seems like we skipped a few steps,¡± I point out. She perks up at the realization.

    ¡°Oh, how rude of me. My name¡¯s Hazel,¡± she answers. I stop drinking for a moment.

    ¡°You¡¯re a witch and your name¡¯s Hazel?¡± I ask her.

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s right.¡± I laugh a little.

    ¡°So I can call you Witch-Hazel?¡± I laugh at my own joke. ¡°That¡¯s a flower!¡± I sip my tea. ¡°Or a plant or whatever.¡± Hazel frowns.

    ¡°Your name is Daisy,¡± she remarks. A twinge of guilt hits me. She thought my name was Daisy this whole time.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± I begin to apologize. ¡°My name¡¯s not Daisy. I lied on reflex. Comes with the territory I guess.¡±

    ¡°What is your name?¡± Witch-Hazel asks. I sip my tea as I wonder if it¡¯s really a good idea to tell her my real name.

    ¡®What¡¯s the worst she could do, curse me or something? Actually, maybe she can. I should watch myself around her. Well, whatever.¡¯

    I lower the cup from my lips.

    ¡°My name is Hollyhock,¡± I admit. She narrows her eyes at me while a small smile comes across her face.

    ¡°Do you know what a ¡®Hollyhock¡¯ is?¡±

    ¡°I always assumed that since the woman who named me isn¡¯t a native English speaker, that ¡®Hollyhock¡¯ is either something from her mother language or a butchered attempt at an American name,¡± I explain. Witch-Hazel opens her mouth like she¡¯s going to say something but she decides against it. Sipping her tea instead.

    ¡°Maybe so,¡± she says coyly.

    ¡®Is Hollyhock a thing?¡¯ If it is, she¡¯s not gonna tell me. I fish my phone from my pocket, only to discover that when I was stabbed in my leg last night, the knife also went through the screen. Reducing it to some kind of artistic statement rather than a useful device. ¡®Guess I¡¯ll search it later.¡¯

    Rather than get mad at the thought of all the apps I¡¯ll have to redownload, I decide to keep the conversation going.

    ¡°So you¡¯re a witch. Shouldn¡¯t you have like, green skin, a big nose, and warts?¡± An image of a cartoon witch appears in my head.

    ¡°What you¡¯re describing is an anti-Semitic stereotype. Made to reinforce the idea that Jewish people are, to put it mildly, heretics,¡± she educates me, sipping more of her tea.

    ¡®Oh.¡¯

    ¡°Really?¡± She nods.

    ¡®Well, that¡¯s fucked up. Gotta unlearn that.¡¯

    ¡°Ok, so witches just look like people. Got it. Can you do anything with magic?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s an age-old question, debated by people much smarter than me. But there are rules to magic.¡±

    ¡°Rules, huh? We talking things you shouldn¡¯t do or things you can¡¯t do?¡± I finish my tea and Witch-Hazel refills my cup.

    ¡°There are things considered taboo: like raising the dead for self-gain or bringing certain elemental creatures to this plane of existence.¡± She finishes her tea and refills her cup. I try to keep a straight face as she casually mentions elemental creatures which I assume are amazing and the fact that she can raise the dead. ¡°And then there are things that simply can¡¯t be done. Much like the laws of physics, they¡¯re the limits of magic.¡±

    ¡°Every action has an equal and opposite reaction,¡± I name one of them. I suppose those years being schooled are paying off.

    ¡°Ours are straight forward. ¡®The more complex the spell, the more energy it takes,¡¯¡± she cites. ¡°Some spells have a lot of moving parts. If one doesn¡¯t get the right amount of energy the results can be catastrophic.¡± I guess that makes its own kind of sense.

    We sit in silence for a little bit before I have to ask the obvious.

    ¡°Sorry if this sounds rude, but what are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean? Here? This space is abandoned right?¡±

    ¡°I meant here in this city. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever heard of witches running around in these parts so you¡¯re not from here; I¡¯m guessing. So what are you doing here?¡±

    She heaves a deep breath, taking a moment to answer my question.

    ¡°The place where I grew up: IronHenge, is a ¡­ancient place. Which is good for magical beings. They like things as they were. No need to change when a conjuration spell will do.¡± She does a vague gesture with her hand and purple smoke comes out her hand and lingers in the air for a moment. ¡°We only pay attention to major world events. Wars and such, anything that might affect the flow of magic. The news that trickles in is...enlightening. This world is getting bigger, faster, more powerful. In the time of bows and arrows and swords: war wouldn¡¯t have concerned us. But now you have weapons we don¡¯t understand, and ways of delivering them beyond anything magic can do. If your world ever finds ours, I¡¯m not sure we could survive.¡±

    ¡®Whoa, that¡¯s deep.¡¯

    ¡°You came here to see how to defend your magical home?¡± She shrugs.

    ¡°That¡¯s what I proposed to the High Council anyways. But they rejected my idea and I was bored out of my mind. So I kind of...snuck out.¡±

    ¡°You snuck out?¡±

    ¡°Yes! I¡¯ve been dying to see the world outside of IronHenge and my first day out, I run into you! It¡¯s all so exciting!¡± She exclaims. Exciting isn¡¯t the word I¡¯d used to describe this recent series of events but whatever.

    ¡°So you left your home to what? Explore? With no plan or guide?¡± Again, Witch-Hazel shrugs.

    ¡°You don¡¯t always get to look before you leap,¡± she remarks.

    ¡®I thought she was crazy for saying magic is real. Now I know she¡¯s just crazy.¡¯ I like her.

    ¡°So why¡¯d you come here to the city of Oleander?¡±

    ¡°It was one of several places I picked. Then I pulled it out of a hat,¡± she reveals. I want to tell her she has extremely bad luck for getting Oleander City as her travel destination; easily the worst city to live in on this side of the country, she¡¯s likely to get stabbed or worse before the day is over.

    But her coming here did save my life, so I keep quiet. I finish the second cup of the best and probably only tea I¡¯ve ever had in my life.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯d wish you luck but you have magic so I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be fine. I have vengeance to enact.¡± I get up again and she stands with me.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Can I come with you?¡± She asks. I pause a moment to make sure I heard her right.

    ¡°You want to come with me?¡± She nods. ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear the part where I said I¡¯m an assassin or that I¡¯m currently plotting revenge?¡± Ok, ¡®plotting¡¯ is a strong word, ¡®seriously thinking about¡¯ is more apt.

    ¡°You¡¯re the first human friend I¡¯ve made! You¡¯re more interesting than anyone I¡¯ve ever met and you can show me around your city. Please!¡± She begs. Witch-Hazel has a strange idea of what friends do. I don¡¯t think giving emergency medical attention qualifies as bonding time.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a tour guide and I¡¯m not a  babysitter either,¡± I say, pointing a finger at her. She closes the distance between us.

    ¡°I can take care of myself. Don¡¯t forget who saved you,¡± she says with more steel than I thought her capable of. Underneath that fancy green dress of hers is a woman with a spine. I really like that.

    I didn¡¯t notice before because I was bleeding to death but she¡¯s the same height as me. Her gray eyes burn into me with a fierce determination I¡¯ve seen in only a handful of people.

    ¡®God, she¡¯s hot.¡¯ I scan her face again. She isn¡¯t flinching at all, I can¡¯t talk her out of this. ¡®Then again, having a witch by my side could be useful.¡¯

    ¡°Fine,¡± I say. Just like that her stern expression is gone and she¡¯s smiling ear-to-ear. She claps rapidly and purple sparks shoot from her hands.

    ¡°You won¡¯t regret this! Oooooh this is going to be so much fun!¡± She says while she puts away her cups.

    ¡°Just don¡¯t turn me into a frog or something if you get your pretty dress dirty.¡±

    ¡°Deal,¡± she giggles.

    We exit the rundown building out into the scorching heat of summer. It takes me a little while to realize where the exact hell I am. We¡¯re on Barley Street, a mile or so away from where she found me.

    ¡°How¡¯d you get me over here?¡±

    ¡°I teleported us,¡± she says casually.

    ¡°You can teleport?¡±

    ¡°Well, ¡®teleport¡¯ isn¡¯t really the best word for it but I knew you¡¯d understand that so yes,¡± Witch-Hazel explains.

    ¡®I feel like she just called me dumb or something.¡¯ I decide not to say anything about it. ¡®First things first. I have to make a call.¡¯ I start walking to a more populated street, away from this health concern of an apartment complex. Witch-Hazel follows close behind. Out of the corner of my one good eye, I can see her looking around at the buildings. They¡¯re not much to look at, so I¡¯m guessing where she¡¯s from is a proper village. I¡¯d rather show her the nicer part of this city.

    When we finally start to see people I put my arm around Witch-Hazel¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Play along, hold me up, don¡¯t say anything,¡± I instruct her. She complies and I start walking with an exaggerated limp. I put on my best ¡®vulnerable hurt girl¡¯ face and approach the nearest guy.

    The look of shock on his face when he sees me reaffirms how bad I must look right now.

    ¡°Excuse me, sir. Can I use your phone?¡± I ask in my saddest voice.

    ¡°Oh my god! Are you ok?¡±

    ¡®Dumb question.¡¯

    ¡°We got attacked by a bunch of guys. We managed to get away but I need to call my mom!¡± I lie.

    ¡°Should I call 911?!¡± He asks.

    ¡®What did I just say? Does no one listen?¡¯

    ¡°My mom has my insurance information, I have to call her before I go to the emergency room. Please.¡± He reluctantly hands me his phone. I quickly dial the number I know by heart.

    After a few rings the voice I need to hear answers,

    ¡°Who is this?¡± They ask.

    ¡°Mom, it¡¯s me: Daisy!¡± Upon hearing my fake name, they relax.

    ¡°Oh, Holly. Why are you calling from this number?¡±

    ¡°I lost my phone,¡± I explain. It¡¯s close enough to the truth.

    ¡°Ahhh ok, you good?

    ¡°No, I got attacked. Can we meet up?¡±

    ¡°Sure, usual spot?¡± With no concern about the fact that I was attacked.

    ¡°Okay, see you in a bit.¡± I hand the guy back his phone. ¡°Bless you, sir,¡± I say to him. And although he still looks worried, he nods and goes about his way. Even though the gentlemanly thing would¡¯ve been to make sure I get where I¡¯m going.

    When we get a block away I stop doing my fake limp and walk regularly.

    ¡°Do you always lie to strangers?¡± Witch-Hazel asks.

    ¡°Only when I need help. Not everybody would be as unfazed by who I am as you are. Especially in this city.¡±

    ¡°And why would that be?¡± There¡¯s about a million ways to answer that.

    ¡°It¡¯s a long story,¡± I simply say. We walk for a few blocks before I come across my favorite group of hoodlums. The kids are playing with the basketball I bought them. I have to remember to buy them a new hoop stand, theirs is barely held together with broken broomsticks and duct tape. Rye, the smart-mouth of the group, sees me first.

    ¡°DAMN, HOLLY! You looked like you got fucked up!¡± The nine-year-old says for his friends to hear.

    ¡°Yeah, I was in a fight; what¡¯s your excuse?¡± All his friends cheer for my joke.

    ¡°What can I say? Yo mama likes it rough,¡± he retorts. Neither he, most of his little friends, nor I have mamas but the jokes still fly.

    ¡°That¡¯s weird, I didn¡¯t know she was into beastiality.¡± All his friends lose their minds with laughter. They quiet down when Witch-Hazel approaches. Their eyes look her up and down, and who could blame them? She¡¯s sticking out like a sore thumb in that big dress of hers.

    ¡°Who¡¯s the hottie?¡± Wheatley, the oldest of them, asks.

    ¡°She¡¯s new in town and MY friend. So no scamming her, guys.¡± They give me dismissive looks. ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Holly,¡± they say in unison. I take the basketball from Rye¡¯s hands and throw it through the hoop without looking.

    ¡°I¡¯ll buy you guys a new hoop stand, ok? Stay in school.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s summer!¡± They all point out.

    ¡°You know what I mean!¡± I say as we walk away.

    We get a block away when Witch-Hazel asks,

    ¡°So, you like kids?¡± I shrug.

    ¡°I have a soft spot for street urchins. I don¡¯t want them winding up like me,¡± I reply. She doesn¡¯t have anything to say to that, letting us walk in silence for a bit.

    ¡°Where are we going?¡±

    ¡°To Two-Lips diner,¡± I answer.

    ¡°What¡¯s a diner ?¡± she asks.

    ¡®She knows what is and what isn¡¯t  anti-Semitic rhetoric, but not coffee or a diner?¡¯

    ¡°It¡¯s like a smaller, shittier restaurant,¡± I answer. Maybe that¡¯s an unfair thing to about diners in general when it¡¯s this specific diner I have a problem with.  As we walk past the small garden of tulips for which the diner is named. The cheap but reliable air conditioner blasts my face with dry cold air, sending shivers down my spine. As expected this early in the morning and in this heat, there are no other customers.

    The checkered tiled floor and the red seat cushions gives the place a 40¡¯s vibe. Windows are as dirty as they''ve ever been, dust blown by rushing cars make for poor views from the booths. Not that there''s anything worth seeing anyway. I lead Witch-Hazel to the booth that I usually go to when I''m here.

    She sits next to me instead of across. I''m not sure which I would''ve preferred. She picks up the menu and starts looking it over.

    ¡®Wonder what kinda food she had growing up? What¡¯s magic food like?¡¯

    ¡°Are you going to order something?¡± She asks me.

    ¡°Absolutely not. I wouldn¡¯t recommend the food here.¡± I idly play with the salt and pepper shakers.

    ¡°Why not?¡± I don¡¯t know how to explain to her that this isn¡¯t a real diner and it¡¯s just a front for what goes on in the basement. Anything I say will bring up more questions and possibly cause some trouble.

    ¡°They have a terrible chef here. If you¡¯re hungry I¡¯ll take you somewhere better but we¡¯re just here for business.¡±

    ¡°Mhmmm, it¡¯s always business with you, isn¡¯t it, Hotshot Girl?¡± A voice says. I turn to see a waitress with a smug look. She called me by a certain online handle I use. I only have one good eye to look out of. I don¡¯t know her pretty face from a can of paint and the ugly red waitress uniform does nothing for her, but I recognize the curves of her body anyway. Even with clothes on.

    ¡°¡®Sup, Chica En Fuego?¡± It¡¯s best we call each other by our usernames. Or at least that¡¯s the rule I put on our relationship. If exchanging faceless nudes, spicy texts, and the occasional video chat with a girl you¡¯ve never actually met can be considered a relationship that is. Either way, I make it a point to not look at her name tag. Which is hard considering her sizable chest.

    ¡°¡®Sup? That¡¯s all you have to say to me? You ghost me for a week, then you just pop up where I work? What kinda game you playin¡¯?¡± She scolds me, very unprofessional for a waitress I must say. I didn¡¯t even know she worked here.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been busy,¡± I say, pointing to my bruised eye. She¡¯s unconcerned. With her ¡®charming¡¯ personality I know she¡¯s just been hired as eye candy by that scumbag manager. Smart move, really.

    ¡°You¡¯re always busy,¡± She gestures to Hazel. ¡°Who¡¯s she?¡± Hazel no doubt senses the hostility and tries to diffuse the situation.

    ¡°I¡¯m new in town and she¡¯s just helping me get acquainted with your city.¡±

    ¡®Acquainted. So fancy.¡¯

    Chica scoffs.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you liked them scrawny,¡± she jabs. Rather than dignify that with a response I decide to take the high road.

    ¡°Can we some water please? Plenty of ice, it¡¯s so hot out,¡± using the voice I used in some of our video chats. She shifts a bit, my voices stirs something in her.

    ¡°Sure.¡± She walks away before turning around. ¡°Word of advice, honey,¡± she addresses Witch-Hazel. ¡°She doesn¡¯t know how to love.¡± Chica leaves on what is the most cutting remark I¡¯ve ever heard from a waitress. I''m too surprised to say anything. I mean it¡¯s true but no one wanna hears that shit in a diner.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I like this place,¡± Witch-Hazel simply says. She graces me with a small smile. It makes me feel a bit better somehow and I can¡¯t help but laugh a little.

    ¡°Like I said, it¡¯s a shitty restaurant.¡±

    ¡°What was going on between you two?¡±

    ¡®Where to even begin with that?¡¯

    ¡°It''s ...complicated.¡± it¡¯s honest at the very least. She shrugs with a knowing smirk.

    ¡°You¡¯ll explain it to me one day,¡± she says with the utmost confidence. Like she knows it for a fact.

    ¡®God, how can she be so cocky? And how come I like it so much?¡¯

    We hear the door opening and the person I¡¯ve been waiting to see comes in. Sitting in the same booth, across from us.

    ¡°Larkspur, this is Hazel. Hazel, this is Larkspur my...co-worker.¡±

    ¡°Hey.¡±

    ¡°Hello.¡±

    ¡°Okay, now that this meet ¡®n¡¯ greet is over. Let¡¯s get to business.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re lookin¡¯ good, Holly,¡± they greet me. Larkspur is the most androgynous person I¡¯ve ever met. Them being non-binary is a happy coincidence. Any masculine features they have are countered by feminine ones. Coalescing into one dark brown-skinned being that many people tend to overlook and in our line of work that¡¯s a good thing. They¡¯re wearing a purple tank top, showing off the many tattoos that complement the first one we both got.

    A skull surrounded by, crowned with, and overflowing with bay leaves paints both our deltoids. Symbolizing who we are a part of, what we¡¯re capable of and willing to do.

    ¡°Thanks.¡±

    ¡°Your last job give you that much trouble?¡±

    ¡°No actually, the client did this to me,¡± I explain.

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t act like you don¡¯t know! You put me onto that job,¡± I accuse. Larkspur is a stoic person, it¡¯s always been hard to read their face. The most minute micro-expressions they have when they lie are nowhere to be seen. They¡®re telling the truth...maybe.

    ¡°After I finished the job, I went to get my payment and instead they jumped me!¡±

    ¡°Why? You do something to piss them off?¡± That¡¯s a fair question to ask.

    ¡°No, I followed their instructions to the letter and they tried to kill me. They didn¡¯t even say anything. The only reason I survived was ¡®cause I heard one of them take the safety off his gun. Turned into a bloodbath real quick after that. And the briefcase was empty! After shooting and stabbing me, the least they could¡¯ve done was have something in there,¡± I recount.

    Larkspur grimaces at my story. It¡¯s a lot to take in and I could be lying.  If I were on the other side of this conversation, I¡¯d think I was lying. But I¡¯d have to be stupid to lie over such a small job. Then again, I¡¯ve never been accused of being smart.

    ¡°And what about her?¡± They gesture to Witch-Hazel. ¡°How does she-¡± interrupted by the fantastic service of our waitress.

    ¡°Two waters. Ice.¡± Chica leaves again. Hazel lifts her glass to drink and I put my hand over it.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do that.¡± She definitely spit in it.

    ¡°As I was saying,¡± Larkspur continues. ¡°Who is this?¡±

    ¡°This is Hazel. She saved my life. After I got out of there, I was two steps away from kicking the bucket when she found me. Patched me up, let me rest at her place, and here we are.¡± Larkspur looks Hazel over. She sits there with her hands folded. I didn¡¯t consider the fact that she might not understand everything that¡¯s happening.

    ¡°I have to make a phone call,¡± Larkspur says, getting up. I guess they didn¡¯t set me up but I have to make sure.

    Hazel, bored, takes the condensation from the glass. All the water pools in her palm and starts to float like a bubble. With the flick of her index finger, it starts to change shape, turning into a flower of some sort. Little strands of purple energy guide the water. I¡¯d be impressed with the display of magic if I wasn¡¯t trying to find out who betrayed me.

    She drops the flower as Larkspur comes back.

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna have to come in. Boss wants to see you.¡±

    ¡®Ugh.¡¯

    ¡°Both of you,¡± Larkspur elaborates. I turn to Witch-Hazel.

    ¡°Look at you. One day in the city and you¡¯re already meeting the leader of the Bay Leaves.¡±

    Chapter 2 End.

 Things Change

    ¡°You ever rode in a car before?¡± I ask Witch-Hazel as Larkspur leads us to their whip.

    ¡°No, I¡¯ve ridden a horse before,¡± she offers.

    ¡°Cowgirl, huh? You ever ride one in reverse?¡± I chuckle to myself.

    ¡°Why would I do that?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just making a dirty joke, don¡¯t worry about it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re so fucking gross,¡± Larkspur says. ¡°You¡¯ve never been in a car before, Hazel?¡±

    ¡°The town I¡¯m from is...technologically stunted,¡± she answers.

    ¡°That sounds like hell to me. I couldn¡¯t grow up in a small town like that.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all I¡¯ve ever known.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough,¡± Larkspur says, starting the car. They put a radar detector on the windshield, a device to alert us if cop cars are nearby. I get in the backseat with Witch-Hazel.

    We take off and she looks out the window like this shitty city is fascinating. I¡¯d point out the few interesting things but I¡¯m too concerned with what I¡¯m gonna say.

    ¡®How do I talk my way out of this, while also learning who¡¯s behind this?¡¯ I don¡¯t think she tried to have me killed. Because if she did, I¡¯d definitely be dead regardless of any magic potion. She¡¯d probably do it herself. Either way, I can¡¯t rule out the possibility.

    We get there faster than I thought we would. I open the door for Witch-Hazel and introduce her to the headquarters of the Bay Leaves. A huge, ancient and ornate Catholic church. Built by skilled masons back when this city was promised to be a beacon of religious devotion. Supposedly the American equivalent of the Vatican. A real long time ago. One too many scandals and grisly murders has left this particular church abandoned by the general public. That is, until we moved in. Augmented and renovated to fit our needs, this fortress is the main base of operations for the skilled killers I had the pleasure of growing up with.

    ¡°Welcome to my stomping grounds,¡± I say.

    ¡°Is that another dirty joke? Because I don¡¯t get it,¡± Witch-Hazel replies. Larkspur snickers at the miscommunication.

    ¡°No, I grew up here. Learned everything I know here...most of what I know anyway,¡± I add.

    ¡°Stop with the innuendos,¡± Larkspur commands.

    ¡°Never,¡± I refuse. We walk up the long stairway to the church at the top we see a man knocking on the reinforced wooden door.

    A middle-aged man who I¡¯ve heard called ¡°falecido¡± so much that I thought it was his name. There are a ridiculous amount of stories him getting shot and then being seen walking around the next day. I didn¡¯t believe them until I saw him get shot four times in the chest by a delivery guy whose bike he was stealing. And then saw him the week after. No matter how much the world wants him to die, he doesn¡¯t.

    He¡¯s knocking on our door, peddling the only business he¡¯s ever been in; selling stolen bikes. He¡¯s slamming the flat of his hand on the door, just screaming to get the attention of anyone ignoring him inside. The bike he has to offer is rusty and definitely belongs to a kid.

    ¡°Falecido, what happened to that $200 I gave you two days ago?¡± Larkspur asks. They believe that falecido isn¡¯t worth the energy to hate or pity. Certainly isn¡¯t worth the attention that killing him might bring. I disagree but it¡¯s a moot point.

    Falecido loudly mutters something incomprehensible. Larkspur takes out a few bills.

    ¡°Here¡¯s $100. I don¡¯t want to see you again.¡± Falecido scuttles away to sell his bike elsewhere. Hazel looks at him with an investigative eye, watching him scuttle away. She has something to say but chooses not to.

    Larkspur enters the code on the keypad and the door unlocks.

    We enter the revived church. The columns and ceiling are tagged with graffiti from the various denizens of our city who have broken in before we settled here. Where I assume stained glass windows once were are bricked up; this reduces possible points of entry.

    Most of the pews have been refurbished into tables that now hold guns, knives, and other such instruments of pain. Numerous members of the Bay Leaves and potential recruits mill about with their business.

    ¡°Next time he comes around, I¡¯ll shoot him in the fucking face!¡± I hear Kadupul yell from somewhere. Many of the Bay Leaves loudly agree in a chorus of praise.

    ¡°I got stuff to do, she¡¯s in her office,¡± Larkspur says before walking off. I lead Witch-Hazel to the back and ascend two flights. When we get outside her door, I ask Hazel to wait there.

    There''s no need to knock, she knows I''m here. I push the dark wooden door and enter. I don''t know if this was the original pastor¡¯s office, but now it belongs to Tamara.

    It reflects her, how her mind works, and what she thinks is important. The office is an eclectic mess. Trophies and trinkets she¡¯s earned over the years are scattered and about the space with no real sense of design. These are things she¡¯s taken from people who have given her trouble in the past. It¡¯s a reminder to herself of her strength. There¡¯s been a lot of people who wanted her weak, dead, or out-of-sight and she¡¯s taken something from each of them after she¡¯s taken their life. The office is crammed with these reminders.

    I walk over to one of the two open seats on the other side of her desk. She sits there, her computer screen on, a laptop open, and her phone in her hand. She¡¯s using all three, reading something from her phone and typing it into her laptop while occasionally checking her computer screen. I know better than to interrupt this process and wait patiently.

    All the things I know for sure about Tamara can be written on an index card with space to spare. She¡¯s white, European. I don¡¯t know where she¡¯s from but English isn¡¯t her first language, but it¡¯s one of many she knows. She sometimes slips into another without realizing it. When she came to this city, how she started all this, and why is a mystery I¡¯ll probably never solve.

    She doesn¡¯t look like the head of an organization of assassins. She never wears suits, smokes cigars, or talk with a slow menacing voice. It¡¯s what allows her into certain places and take advantage of situations. She¡¯s short, enough so that people think she¡¯s a small girl in a big city. It¡¯s through the extraordinary acts of violence I¡¯ve seen her commit with unrivaled ruthlessness that let me know the truth about her; she¡¯s a big shark in a little pond. The only hints of danger you can see on her are the scar that slices through her lips and the tattoo on her arm. Hers is different than all of ours, the skull only cries bay leaves. That and all the muscle she could fit onto her tiny frame.

    Tamara blows her long hair out of her face. I don¡¯t know what color to call it, reddish-brown I guess. From this distance, you¡¯d think the freckles on her face were dirt. She scratches her big pointy nose the way she does when she¡¯s thinking.

    Tamara finishes with whatever it is, putting away her phone, closing her laptop, and leaning back in her seat. The light from the only remaining stained glass window washes over her. I always thought it was odd that this window doesn¡¯t have any religious iconography on it, instead, it has only a fig tree.

    ¡°Remind me to thank Larkspur later for dealing with falecido. I simply wasn¡¯t in the mood,¡± she says. It¡¯s moments like these that remind me that she''s not that much older than me. When I was a kid I thought she was an adult but recently I realized she''s only a few years older.

    ¡®Not that I know how old I am.¡¯

    ¡°Did you go see Digitalis?¡± Our de facto doctor.

    ¡°No need for Digit. I¡¯m fine, besides the eye.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah,¡± she examines my eye. ¡°Get some ice on that.¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you call for backup?¡± I show her my destroyed phone. She laughs at my misfortune.

    ¡°Here, wait a sec.¡± She pulls out a phone from one of her drawers. ¡°It¡¯ll take a while to encrypt another phone so take that one. Just don¡¯t look through the pictures.¡±

    ¡°Oh? What¡¯s on there?¡± I reach for the device but Tamara grabs it first. She quickly deletes all the photos off the phone.

    ¡°It¡¯s better if I remove the temptation entirely,¡± she says before she tosses the phone back.

    Tamara folds her hands.

    ¡°So, tell me what happened.¡±

    ¡°I did the job. Easy. Two marks. When I went over to Scutch Ave to collect the money. They decided to double-cross me. Danny thought killing me would be a better alternative to paying. He¡¯s not making that mistake again,¡± I explain. Tamara stares at me the way she taught me to look at people. She wants to know if I¡¯m telling the truth.

    ¡°How many of them did you kill?¡±

    ¡°Seven. Three on the fourth floor, four on the way down.¡± The bodies should still be there, it¡¯ll corroborate my story. ¡°Few gunshots, rest were stabbed.¡±

    ¡°Quiet, doesn¡¯t jam or run out of ammo. Just like I taught you.¡± I nod. ¡°Why do you think they tried it?¡±

    ¡°Honestly, I have no idea. Thought we were cool with the Dead-Nettles,¡± I say.

    ¡°Not really, we¡¯re not cool with anybody. The arrangement we have with every piece of shit in this city is that we don¡¯t take sides...still you¡¯d think they¡¯d be more grateful considering how much they¡¯ve hired us lately.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m saying! Didn¡¯t they hire four of us for stuff?¡±

    ¡°Five,¡± Tamara corrects, pointing at me.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    ¡°You can¡¯t think of anything else?¡± She asks.

    ¡°How much did they promise to pay?¡±

    ¡°Not much. It was a simple job, 15k,¡± I answer.

    ¡°Danny and them deal in girls. That¡¯s couch change to them. They¡¯d know that trying to kill one of us is worth more trouble.¡± I think back to that moment. Meeting in that office, I knew something was off, that maybe they wanted to hire me for another job. How easily Danny lifted up that briefcase. He said something before I heard the safety go off on one of his guys gun.

    ¡°Danny said something. Before they tried to kill me. He said ¡®we have to reap what we sow¡¯,¡± I recall. ¡°I thought he was trying to make the occasion grander but now, I think he was trying to send a message.¡±

    Tamara takes out something I¡¯ve never seen her without. Copper brass knuckles, one of a twin set. She slips her fingers into them with practiced ease. Anyone who doesn¡¯t know her would think this is an intimidation tactic. Anyone who knows her knows it is, but it¡¯s also how she thinks about annoying situations. Her thumb plays over a tiny button that when pressed once releases a spring-loaded blade hidden in the base. Press again and the blade shoots out. As a kid she promised one day that she''d tell me the story of how she came by the unique weapons. She never did, but after I saw her kill five dudes twice her weight with them, I know it¡¯s not a pretty story.

    Tamara mutters something in what I think is Greek.

    ¡°As you know, I¡¯m not a rash person,¡± Tamara begins. I once saw her kill a man because he blew smoke in her face, though she did warn him. ¡°I¡¯d like to shed some light on the situation before we do something regrettable. I can¡¯t say what their plan was yet, but we don¡¯t react, we act on intelligence!¡± Tamara slams her fist on her desk. She has that thousand-yard stare she always gets before setting on the warpath. ¡°I¡¯ll get a cleanup crew, then I¡¯ll see what I can find out. If this was a message, I¡¯ll send one right back. I¡¯ll show every last bastard in this damn city, what happens when you fuck with one of the Bay Leaves!¡± It¡¯s rages like these that I feared so much as a child. It doesn¡¯t take much for her to kill a person when she¡¯s perfectly calm, so who knows what she might do when she¡¯s mad.

    ¡°If any dumb motherfucker gets the idea that we can be messed with; I¡¯ll splatter their brains all over the-¡± she stops to do something much scarier. Tamara rolls her shoulders and her head, pulling back all her anger in an instant. She distills her fury, focuses it, clearing her mind for now. It¡¯s one of several mental techniques she¡¯s taught us, but I¡¯ve never been able to do it that fast.

    ¡°I promise you that I¡¯ll find whoever¡¯s behind this,¡± Tamara says in a chilling voice. Even though it¡¯s a promise to help me, I¡¯m unnerved all the same. ¡°And I¡¯ll make them pay.¡±

    ¡°I know you will. So long as I¡¯m there when you go after them.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± she agrees. She puts away the brass knuckles and assumes her normal demeanor. ¡°Sorry, I forgot to ask how you made it out of there.¡±

    ¡°Almost didn¡¯t. I would¡¯ve died if not for Hazel,¡± I answer.

    ¡°Ahhh yes, this Hazel I¡¯ve heard so much about. Tell her to come in.¡±

    I walk over, open the door, and gesture for Witch-Hazel to enter. When we take our seats again, Tamara looks her over.

    ¡°Where are you from?¡±

    ¡°IronHenge,¡± she truthfully answers.

    ¡°Never heard of it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a small town, not even on the map.¡±

    ¡°Hmmm, I bet it isn¡¯t. What¡¯re you doing in our fair city?¡±

    ¡°Oh, just seeing what city life is like.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit.¡± Tamara says, surprising both of us. ¡°You¡¯re lying. No one comes to Oleander City unless they¡¯re running or hiding from something or someone. Strange girl shows up on the same day someone decides to kill Holly. When shit like this lines up, it¡¯s a sign of change. Things change all the time, especially in this city.¡± Tamara stands to emphasize her next point.

    ¡°Whether you¡¯re a good or bad change is yet to be seen. But no matter what, me and mine intend to survive.¡±

    Hazel opens her mouth to defend herself but Tamara raises a hand. ¡°Don¡¯t bother, it doesn¡¯t matter. What does is that you saved one of my best killers. And you did it without knowing who we are, so that means you¡¯re probably a good person. The world is in short supply of those.¡± Hazel and I exchange a look.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she replies.

    ¡°Hollyhock and I owe you one. More her than me, but still. Whatever or whoever it is you¡¯re running or hiding from, I¡¯ll keep an ear out on the street. If someone...unusual shows up here, I¡¯ll let Hollyhock know. Okay?¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± Tamara sits down.

    ¡°The Bay Leaves owe you a favor. I hate owing favors. So if you need anything, say: someone killed, let us know and we¡¯ll do it for free. Or at a heavy discount.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure I won¡¯t need anything like that,¡± Hazel says.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so sure. Around here, a bullet to the head solves a LOT of problems. And if Holly here gives you any grief, let me know and I¡¯ll smack her around. I raised her to have some manners.¡± I flip my middle finger at her. ¡°See? A woman of sophistication.¡± Witch-Hazel laughs a bit.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be the first to know,¡± she replies.

    ¡®Great, last thing I need is these two ganging up on me.¡¯

    ¡°Holly, here.¡± Tamara opens another drawer and takes out a roll of hundreds. She tosses it to me. ¡°That should be about 10k. I want you to lay low for a while, and you should have some change in your pocket.¡± She nods to Hazel. ¡°Take her somewhere nice when this is over.¡± Tamara opens her laptop and that¡¯s our cue to leave.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I say. ¡°I will.¡± I hold the door open for Hazel.

    ¡°Hold up,¡± Tamara says. I hear keys flying through the air and catch them. ¡°Take the green car, it¡¯s too hot to be walking.¡±

    I nod, ¡°I appreciate it, Tamara.¡±

    ¡°Of course, I need my workers at their best. Dying of heatstroke prevents that,¡± she replies.

    There are many things I¡¯m thankful for when it comes to Tamara. She found me in that hellhole, taught me to survive, gave me a roof over my head, a cool tattoo, and a crew to rely on. But the thing I¡¯m most grateful for is that she never did that creepy thing where she pretends we¡¯re all family. She may have raised many of us, but she doesn¡¯t act like she¡¯s our mom. We¡¯re investments and every job we complete are her efforts paying off. She could¡¯ve, but I think having that aspect of honesty is what makes us so loyal. Clarity is a luxury in our world, so we all flock to her.

    Tamara dismisses me with a wave, getting back to whatever it is that runs this operation.

    I lead Witch-Hazel to the parking lot, which she desperately wanted to see for some reason.

    ¡°Your leader is an interesting woman.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s a word you could use,¡± I remark. I¡¯m about to crack another joke when I see a bizarre sight; three dudes who aren¡¯t Bay Leaves hanging out in our parking lot. They gotta be drunk, high, dumb, or some combination of the three. Because no one in their right mind would be chilling here. They take notice of us, well, they notice Witch-Hazel since she¡¯s wearing a big puffy dress and looks like a model.

    ¡°Damn, girl. You lookin¡¯ real fine. Hotter than this weather,¡± one of them says.

    ¡°Wanna have a real good time with us?¡± Before the next stupid idiot says the next stupid thing, I interject.

    ¡°Do you guys know where you are right now? Or who you¡¯re talking to?¡± One of them sucks his teeth.

    ¡°Ain¡¯t no one talkin¡¯ to you, with your busted up face.¡± As much as I want to cave in their skulls, I have much bigger fish to fry. These dickheads will have to get taught a lesson by someone with time on their hands.

    ¡°Yo baby, do the carpets match the drapes?¡± One of them has the nerve to say. I briefly wondered the same thing but I didn¡¯t ask like an asshole. Witch-Hazel, who doesn¡¯t know she¡¯s being hit on, turns to me.

    ¡°What does that mean?¡±

    ¡®Oh boy.¡¯

    ¡°I¡¯ll explain later.¡±

    ¡®Probably not.¡¯

    ¡°Look,¡± I address the trio of wasted carbon. ¡°Don¡¯t y¡¯all have some other parking lot to disappoint your mothers and all of mankind in?¡±

    ¡°You want another black eye?¡± One of them puffs out his chest.

    That¡¯s it: saying something gross to Witch-Hazel, and threatening me is all it takes to convince me that these guys deserve the ass-whooping I¡¯m about to give them.

    Fighting three people, even when you aren¡¯t sore and very tired, isn¡¯t a good idea. But if you do have to, and I really do, you have to control the pace of your opponents.

    ¡°Can I see your belt?¡± I ask him. I find that in situations like this people are more likely to listen to odd requests. I don¡¯t know why but they are and this guy is no exception. He takes off his belt and hands it to me. ¡°Thanks.¡± I take a second before I whip it straight into his face, hitting him in the eye. He yells out in pain and holds his face.

    ¡°That¡¯ll teach you to keep your eyes to yourself.¡± Then I notice blood dripping between his fingers. I look at the belt and realize I grabbed the wrong end and hit him with the buckle part. It¡¯s not what I meant to do but it¡¯s already done.

    ¡°Guess now you¡¯ll really have to,¡± I say. His companions don¡¯t absorb the message that I¡¯m not to be fucked with from this minor display of unintended violence. They rush at me; I sidestep one of them, wrapping the belt around his arm. I step forward and pull, hearing the familiar POP! that lets me know I dislocated his shoulder. As he screams out in agony his other friend comes at me from the side. I kick his legs from under him, as he falls I bring my elbow to his face. When I turn around to ready my next attacks, I see Witch-Hazel calmly watching. With her hands behind her back, like she might intervene.

    I unwrap the belt, use it to pull the same guy¡¯s neck and slam my knee into his face. He falls back like a bag of bricks. The guy I just elbowed gets to his feet. He takes a boxer¡¯s stance and tries to jab at me. I lean out of the way, hook my arm across his chest, and with all my force clothesline him onto the hot asphalt.

    Surprisingly, the guy with the bleeding eye stands up. He pulls out a butterfly knife and points it at me.

    ¡°Really? You want to lose your other eye?¡± He tries to stab me in the gut, but thanks to his recently compromised eyesight he doesn¡¯t come close. I grab and twist his wrist, he bends down to one knee. I aim the knife in his hand right at his good eye.

    ¡°I think we can both agree this isn¡¯t how we wanted this interaction to go,¡± I say to him. He nods. ¡°I bet this morning you thought you¡¯d have two eyes by the end of this day.¡± Again he nods. ¡°Now look, I have more important things to do than kill motherfuckers like you in parking lots.¡± I lean in closer and whisper ¡°you¡¯re only alive cuz I don¡¯t want to kill in front of her. So consider yourself extremely lucky a bloody eye is all you¡¯re getting away with.¡± He nods rapidly. I let go of his wrist, kick him in the chest, and throw his belt back on him.

    I look around at my handiwork.

    ¡®Could¡¯ve been better.¡¯

    ¡°C¡¯mon Hazel.¡± She steps over the men and walks next to me. We get to the car Tamara lent me, it¡¯s an awful green car. Low profile like everything else in the lot. We get in, I start the car and immediately turn on the A/C. Hazel is looking at me but isn¡¯t saying anything.

    ¡°Yes?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Did you have to use such force?¡± She asks with more curiosity than I¡¯d thought she would.

    ¡°Yes. And they got lucky, I¡¯m still sore. Otherwise they really would¡¯ve got it.¡± She stares at me for a bit.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she says, seemingly satisfied with my answer. Hazel leans back in the seat and lets the A/C cool off her skin.

    ¡®She¡¯s so...accepting.¡¯ I pull out of the space and head to the road. In what is the least illegal thing I¡¯ve done all day I pull out my phone and call Digitalis.

    ¡°Hey, Digit. There¡¯s three assholes in our parking lot and someone beat the shit outta ¡®em. One is missing an eye, another has a dislocated shoulder, the last guy might have some broken ribs I dunno.¡±

    ¡°Was that someone you?¡± Digit asks.

    ¡°Yes. Look either help them or kill them, really it¡¯s up to you.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see. Bye.¡±

    ¡°Bye.¡± I hang up the phone.

    ¡°Where are we going now?¡± Hazel asks, not minding the last bit of my brief conversation.

    ¡°Somewhere...safe,¡± I answer.

    It takes about 40 minutes to arrive. An apartment complex in the ¡°nicer¡± part of Oleander City. We take the elevator to the 5th floor and I lead the way to room 546.

    ¡°After you.¡± I hold the door open for her. She enters and takes a look around. I kick off my boots and touch a switch that activates the A/C in here.

    ¡°What is this place?¡± She asks.

    ¡°This is my home.¡± I gesture around. ¡°Welcome.¡± Her face lights up at the revelation, a wide smile springs forth. ¡°It¡¯s not much but you were living in a shithole.¡±

    ¡°True,¡± she replies.

    ¡°So if you ever wanna come over or something then-¡±

    ¡°Great! I¡¯ll move in right away!¡±

    ¡®Move in?¡¯ Before I can say anything Witch-Hazel pulls out that strange necklace I saw before and chants something. In an instant, a bright light flashes and when it fades, all of Hazel¡¯s stuff is here in my living room. She claps with joy and starts moving things around. I was inviting her to come over anytime, not move in with me. But now she¡¯s got all her stuff and she looks so happy to be here that I can¡¯t in good conscience tell her to move back to that abandoned apartment. So I guess she¡¯s living with me now.

    ¡®Things change indeed.¡¯

    Chapter 3 End.

 May I?

    The more time I spend with Hollyhock the more intriguing she becomes. She kills people for a living and has no issue resorting to violence over an insult; yet she¡¯s kind to children, patient and willing to help strangers. She doesn¡¯t even know she¡¯s named after a flower. When I moved my things here to her apartment, I expected some dissent. But she shrugged and went along with it.

    This is going to be fun.

    ¡°Okay, I¡¯m gonna give you the quick tour. This is the living room and kitchen,¡± Hollyhock introduces. Her voice is deep and raspy. At first, I thought it was because she was hurt when I met her; but this seems to be her natural voice. She doesn¡¯t smell like she smokes, her teeth and fingernails aren¡¯t yellow either. So if I had to guess, I¡¯d wager that she cried a lot as a baby.

    The assassin gestures around, besides my newly transported things, the room is rather plain. White carpet except for the tiled kitchen section, which is also white. I¡¯m not sure what I expected of an assassin''s apartment. Something more spartan, perhaps. But this is decidedly...pedestrian.

    ¡°Couch. Ottoman. Fridge. Do I have to explain what a fridge is?¡± She asks. I shoot a look at her.

    ¡°I know what a fridge is,¡± I reply. She¡¯s so silly, like I wouldn¡¯t know what that is. There is one object that confuses me, however. ¡°What is that?¡± I ask, pointing to a flat, rectangular, black thing. Hollyhock looks at me, at it, and then back at me.

    ¡°That¡¯s a TV,¡± she says. I look at the object.

    ¡°It is not, you liar,¡± I accuse. Hollyhock narrows her good eye at me.

    ¡°Are- are you being serious right now?¡±

    ¡°I know what TV¡¯s look like, Holly! They¡¯re not this wide and they have a back thing attached to them.¡± Hollyhock stares at me before laughing like an idiot. She laughs and laughs and laughs until it starts to irritate me. She puts a hand up in surrender as if I¡¯m doing something to her. Which I¡¯m considering.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t mean to laugh in your face but, that is just too funny. You¡¯re telling me, in your magical hometown, you have TV¡¯s with backs?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s correct.¡± She wipes a tear from her cheek.

    ¡°TV¡¯s haven¡¯t needed backs in, like, a decade. World¡¯s gotten faster and smarter while needing less space,¡± she says. Hollyhock picks up a remote and turns on her ¡°TV¡± and the image of two men arguing displays on it. The image is so clear and defined that it looks as if they''re actually trapped in there.

    ¡°Great spirits of Arcadia! Look at that.¡± I press my face against the screen, I can barely see the pixels on it. ¡°This is as good as a scrying dish! Better even, because it¡¯s not wet!¡±

    ¡°Mmhmm,¡± Hollyhock nods. ¡°That¡¯s what the guy who sold it to me said too.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t know what a scrying dish is. But yeah, it¡¯s a good TV that I definitely didn¡¯t steal from a mob boss I killed,¡± she says, which makes me think she definitely stole it from a mob boss that she killed.

    ¡°Anyway, here is my bedroom where my own kind of magic happens, if you catch my drift,¡± she says with a wink. I do. The room doesn¡¯t have a sense of coziness like most bedrooms do. It didn¡¯t think that was possible. Her bed is pressed against the wall in the corner away from the windows. The room is clean and tidy, with dressers and a hamper. Only a few things indicate a personal touch to the room, posters of what I guess are movies, various objects I can¡¯t identify on a desk, and a chair with wheels. And then there¡¯s exercise equipment that dominates one side of the room.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re thinking this is too plain for an assassin¡¯s place. So I¡¯m gonna let you in on a secret.¡± She leads me into the room and approaches the wall. It¡¯s only on a closer look that I realize something is amiss with it. She presses against a spot and a panel opens up. The panel has an indent where she puts her hand. A green light scans the appendage and the panel closes. As it does, a satisfying CLICK comes from somewhere else in the wall. A larger part of the wall recedes and slides to the side. It reveals a hidden room which I¡¯d been expecting to see.

    We enter her den of death. The room¡¯s walls are covered in guns, more guns than I knew existed, all manner of knives, and other things I assume can kill people or aid in the endeavor. Hollyhock walks in and approaches a small safe on a table. I explore the weapons on her wall. She has a knife with a raindrop Damascus pattern in its blade. I reach to grab it.

    ¡°Be careful, that¡¯s a poisonous blade,¡± she says without turning from the safe.

    ¡°How did you know I¡¯d reach for this knife?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the most interesting one there. You¡¯ve made it clear that unique things catch your eye,¡± she explains. Holly opens the safe and tosses in some of the money her boss gave her.

    ¡°What poison is on it?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s made of thallium if you believe it. Don¡¯t know who worked that into the blade¡¯s edge or how, but it¡¯s nasty stuff. One cut from that and you can ruin someone permanently.¡± She closes the safe, pulls a knife from her back pocket and puts it on the table, not caring to place somewhere on the wall. ¡°Anyway, that¡¯s the whole tour. C¡¯mon.¡± As we exit her secret room I realize how much sense the rest of her apartment makes.

    She wouldn¡¯t want it to look like a killer¡¯s place. A wolf in sheep¡¯s clothing. Like the Bay Leaves headquarters, it presents as ordinary, safe. Only a few know the danger within.

    ¡°Okay, I¡¯d hate to seem inhospitable, but I¡¯ve had blood and sweat in my hair all day and I desperately need a shower,¡± Hollyhock says. She leads me to the living room and grabs the remote. ¡°Guess you can watch TV while you wait.¡± She changes the screen from whatever was playing to something that asks for an ¡®Email and password¡¯. ¡°Hold up a sec,¡± she says while pulling out her new cellphone. She quickly scrolls for something and puts the phone to her ear. After a moment or two, she starts talking.

    ¡°Yo, Larkspur, it¡¯s Holly. Tamara gave me her phone. What was the FlickHub login again?¡±

    ¡­.

    ¡°Why would I get my own account when you have one? C¡¯mon now!¡±

    ¡­.

    ¡°Oh, so you can use my DriveBai account but I can¡¯t use your FlickHub?¡±

    ¡­.

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve noticed! You don¡¯t see me being stingy over it, do ya?¡±

    ¡­¡­.

    ¡°Thank you. Was that so hard? See ya later.¡± She hangs up the phone and enters the information she just received. The TV shows a grid of different things. Holly hands me the remote. ¡°There¡¯re thousands of shows and movies on here. You use this to scroll through,¡± she shows me the corresponding buttons on the remote. ¡°And this to select stuff. Have fun watching!¡± She turns from me, pulling off her ruined shirt.

    My eyes travel down her form, past her scars and tattoos I spy the dimples of Venus. The little divots capture my eyes as they hint at her butt, that I''m trying not to stare at.

    ¡®I¡¯d love to rest my thumbs in them while I-¡¯ I shake my head to get rid of that particular ley-line of thought.

    ¡°Let¡¯s not get carried away,¡± I say to myself. Looking around the room, I realize how rude I¡¯m being. Bringing all my stuff here, so disorganized, cluttering up her space. ¡®If the Primus Witch saw this, she¡¯d skin me alive and then feed me my skin.¡¯ I take a moment to organize my belongings which, with a wave of my hand, takes 20 seconds. My things float at my discretion wherever I direct them with my eyes.

    Now that the living room is clutter-free, I turn my attention to this fabulous TV.

    ¡°There are so many choices to pick from,¡± I say to myself as I peruse the virtual collection. I pick the with the most interesting cover. A bloody sword with a crown on its crossguard with the title ¡®Regicide¡¯. I watch the series for I don¡¯t know how long, but Hollyhock comes out again.

    ¡°This show, huh? They need to come out with new episodes already,¡± she regards what I¡¯m watching. The assassin is wearing a sports bra and some kind of shorts. Now that she¡¯s clean I can take in Hollyhock as she really is. Her skin is a deep brown that reminds me of the cokoaconuts of home. She is scarred all over her body and she augments them with tattoos; calling attention to them rather than drawing focus away.

    I¡¯ve seen many tattoos, a lot of which actually move across the skin. But unlike the vain artisans who want to show off their art skills, Hollyhock uses the ink to show herself off. To show what she has survived, the things she''s endured and embraced.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    ¡®Gods, I love the way her mind works.¡¯

    There are many but my favorites are the ones just above her hips, they look like they''re from old stab wounds. Around the thin lines, kiss marks are tattooed in red with striking detail.

    In Ironhenge, there isn¡¯t much need for muscle gain as most magic only benefits from muscle conditioning. So Hollyhock is easily the most muscular woman I¡¯ve ever met. The power of her body is evident in every line, curve, and bump. Limbs thick with muscle on her otherwise slim frame and abs you can wash clothes on.

    She¡¯s a rather handsome woman. A strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, generous lips, and a nose that I can tell has been broken before. ¡®I could fix that.¡¯ Her one good eye is brown like a smoky quartz gemstone, it scans me like I¡¯m an interesting question; which I suppose I am to her. Her hair is void-black, cut short on one side, on the other, it¡¯s shaved like how I see many men wear their hair. A scar interrupts her hairline by her right eyebrow, she has an arrow tattooed on it. My sensitive nose catches the smell of lavender or the crude chemical imitation of it. And the shea butter she rubbed into her skin.

    When we both realize we¡¯re staring at each other for too long she flashes a smile at me. She¡¯s missing one of her left molars.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re sweaty,¡± she begins. ¡°Would you like to take a shower?¡± I¡¯d rather sit and watch this show but I should clean myself.

    ¡°Well, aren¡¯t you a welcoming hostess?¡± I stand while pulling my soap and shampoo to me. Hollyhock watches the objects float through the air; her mind no doubt forming questions. The assassin shows me to her bathroom and instructs me on how to operate it. She leaves me with a towel. I strip off my dress that has collected a fair amount of sweat from me. The small bathroom, having recently been used, smells of Hollyhock. A shelf on the wall has bottles of products I don¡¯t recognize.

    ¡®Are all these hers?¡¯ I step into the shower, the water is already warm as it flows over me. I wash with a soap that not only cleans and keeps my skin moisturized, but heightens the sensitivity of the epidermis. It helps me stay alert to the slightest changes in air pressure, temperature, and other such factors of any magic around me. While I probably don¡¯t need it here in this city, it¡¯s still a habit I¡¯ll maintain. Plus, I like the smell of plumeria it leaves. As I scrub my back I slowly brush my fingers over the large patch of scar tissue between my shoulder blades.

    I focus on washing myself rather than the memory that threatens to come to mind. After I rinse the shampoo from my hair, I leave the shower to wrap the towel Hollyhock provided around my waist. With no patience to dry out my long hair, I pull the water with a simple hydrophile spell. The low-level magic barely registers to me as the water forms in an orb that floats above my hand. I toss the orb into the shower and it splashes against the tiles.

    When I exit the bathroom Hollyhock is dressed in black jeans and a white tank top. She¡¯s lying across her couch, legs crossed. She looks up from her phone at me.

    ¡°So about your dress-¡± she stops herself to sniff at the air. ¡°What¡¯s that smell?¡±

    ¡°Plumeria, it¡¯s from my soap,¡± I answer, thinking that¡¯s what she¡¯s referring to. The assassin shakes her head.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t smell like a flower.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s my shampoo, it has a Modiamora enchantment on it,¡± I reply. ¡°It smells different to everyone,¡± I further explain. ¡°Usually a favorite scent, or something important.¡± I put some of my gray hair to my nose. ¡°To me, it smells like the jasmine flowers outside my favorite mentor¡¯s house.¡± I hardly notice the scent anymore. ¡°What does it smell like to you?¡±

    Hollyhock stands up and closes the distance between us.

    ¡°May I?¡± She asks softly and gestures to my hair. I¡¯m so used to people playing with my hair without asking that I¡¯m briefly shocked by the request. Physical touch is quite common in Ironhenge.

    ¡®I suppose here people ask before touching someone¡¯s hair.¡¯

    ¡°You may,¡± I answer, respecting the custom. She slides a callused hand into my hair, lifting a few strands to her nose. A frown forms across her face when she can¡¯t immediately place the scent. She uses her other hand to pick up more of my hair, holding it in her palms like it¡¯s something precious.

    The intimacy of this moment is only made more substantial because of how softly she asked me. If she just grabbed it I¡¯m could¡¯ve dismissed this as a playful curiosity. But now this seems deeply personal and I¡¯m a part of it.

    Hollyhock nestles more of my hair with great care as if afraid it might break. She takes more fragrance into her lungs, pressing her face with a deep longing to understand it. Warmth spreads throughout my body, especially my face when I remember that I¡¯m standing here in nothing but a towel. Only a few millimeters of cloth separates me and the assassin.

    She finally lowers my hair. I¡¯m about to make a joke along the lines of ¡®That good, huh?¡¯ when I look at Hollyhock¡¯s face.

    She¡¯s crying. Tears roll down her confused face. If she notices them, she doesn¡¯t wipe them away. She just blinks.

    This is the same woman who made jokes while she was dying, who fought three men and has probably killed far more in her career as an assassin. Yet, she¡¯s crying in front of me. I can¡¯t help but feel that I¡¯ve witnessed something I wasn¡¯t meant to.

    She wipes away the long gone tears.

    ¡°What does it smell like?¡± I cautiously ask.

    ¡°It-¡± her voice hitches a bit, her composure not yet regained. She clears her throat. ¡°It smells like¡­¡± she searches for the words, her tongue glides over her top teeth ¡°like a storm after a heatwave? Does that make any sense?¡± She asks, genuinely unsure herself.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know? Is there some moment that fits?¡± Hollyhock just shakes her head.

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t remember ever smelling that before,¡± even as she says it she sounds unconvinced. I can practically see the gears in her mind turning as she searches for a memory of it. Something akin to fear plays across for her face. Then she looks down at my chest and remembers my state of dress. She takes a step back and her face takes on a neutral expression. Just like that her walls are back up.

    ¡°Well, whatever. Your soap smells better anyway.¡± If I didn¡¯t just see her crying I would believe she wasn¡¯t bothered. But now it¡¯s too late; in the space of twenty seconds, she¡¯s revealed something intensely esoteric about herself without meaning to. Another layer is added to her.

    ¡°May I?¡± I ask. Gesturing to her hair like she did mine.

    ¡°You may,¡± she answers. I step closer. I run my hand through her hair. The tight black coils are still somewhat damp. My fingers idly cruise through as I take in the shape of her head for no real reason. As I explore the shaved part of her hair, I see her eyes dart down for a second to see I¡¯m in a towel. I feel warmth flood into her body. The disadvantage she had me at now becomes my advantage. The short hairs are spiky as I run my thumb over the scar on her temple. I look at her swollen eye.

    ¡°I can heal your eye, if you want,¡± I offer.

    ¡°If I have to drink another one of those potions or whatever, I¡¯d rather not.¡± I chuckle, remembering how her face looked as she drank it.

    ¡°No, I can do it with a simple spell. No gross aftertaste.¡±

    ¡°Then please,¡± she answers. I hesitate for a second.

    ¡®What if they notice? No, it¡¯s small. It should be fine.¡¯ A noise, a beep chimes somewhere, we both ignore it.

    Deep purple smoke rolls from my hand. The color of my aura has always caught people¡¯s attention. I picture in my mind what I need to do. Trauma swelling is caused by blood and other fluids rushing to an area of the body to prevent further injury. I seep magic through her pores, cooling the area.

    She chuckles.

    ¡°It kinda tingles. Is it supposed to?¡± I nod, focusing. Next, I gently push the water, white blood cells, and blood. The swelling reduces immediately.

    ¡°Whoa,¡± Hollyhock says, blinking her fixed eye. ¡°That felt weird.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll still be sore, so try not to get punched in the eye again.¡±

    ¡°No promises,¡± she jokes.

    I don¡¯t know if I cupped her cheek or if she turned her head into my hand. Either way, I¡¯m holding her face. This close I notice something for the first time. There are flecks of emerald green in her eyes, small, but there. She has a slight smirk on her face as we hold each other¡¯s gaze. My arm pulls her closer slowly.

    A ringtone plays from Hollyhock¡¯s new phone. She clears her throat and we separate while she answers.

    ¡°Hello?¡± This close I can hear the other person.

    ¡°Hey Tamara, you get the pictures I sent you?¡± A woman says in a sultry voice.

    ¡°Oh, Koki¡¯O. This is Holly. Tamara gave me her phone.¡±

    ¡°What?!¡± Koki¡¯O says, annoyed ¡°why didn¡¯t she tell me that?¡± Hollyhock shrugs.

    ¡°Why does Tamara do anything she does? What kind of pics did you send?¡±

    ¡°None of your business.¡±

    ¡°Those kind, huh?¡± The assassin says with a chuckle.

    ¡°Whatever, bye.¡± The phone call ends. We look through the messages and see pictures of a woman, who I assume is Koki¡¯O, in various stages of undress.

    ¡°Yeah, she¡¯s been trying to bump uglies with Tamara for a while now if you know what I mean,¡± she explains. From the context I do. With the mood changed I decide to change subjects.

    ¡°What were you going to say when I came out the shower?¡± She tilts her head for a second.

    ¡°Oh, I wanted to talk to you about your dresses.¡±

    ¡°What about them?¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t wear them. I mean you can, but no one dresses like that around here and it¡¯s gonna draw attention. And as an assassin that¡¯s not what I¡¯m hoping for.¡±

    ¡°Well, I think that walking around naked would draw more attention. Is that what you¡¯re hoping for?¡± She quickly looks me up and down again, remembering that I''m in a towel.

    ¡°No,¡± she turns away to pick up a stack of folded clothes and offers them to me. ¡°Here, these should fit you.¡±

    The offering consists of a pair of gray joggers with a drawstring waist, white camisole top, and a blue plaid shirt about four sizes too big. I only know what these things are because of a fashion magazine that somehow made its way into Ironhenge.

    ¡°I¡¯m supposed to wear these forever?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m taking you shopping for clothes! So hurry and get dressed.¡±

    Hollyhock, ever courteous, lets me dress in her room. Putting on the clothes, I realize there¡¯s no way that they could fit her. Meaning they belong to someone else.

    ¡®An ex-lover?¡¯ I shove the thought from my head. Hollyhock gives me a thumbs-up when I exit her room. She rolls up the sleeves of the oversized shirt and ties the front into a knot over my navel. Making me look more modern.

    ¡°Now about that hair.¡± With a twirl of my finger, my hair ties itself into a bun. ¡°Perfect.¡±

    We exit her building to her car. While she drives, music blasts from the radio. Nothing I recognize but Hollyhock sings along, occasionally messing up the words.

    ¡°I just took a DNA test, turns out I''m 100% that bitch!¡± She has an awful singing voice but the confidence of a world star diva. It¡¯s cute.

    After a half-hour drive, we arrive at a boulevard lined with stores on both sides of the street. Hollyhock pulls up in front of a store with a sign that reads ¡°Heartbreakers¡± in blood red. She turns to me and says,

    ¡°Let¡¯s get you some clothes.¡±

    Chapter 4 End.

 Thats My Sob Story

    Hollyhock opens the car door for me.

    ¡°This is the first store we¡¯re gonna check out. Then we¡¯ll-¡±

    ¡°STOP BISCUITS!¡± A voice shouts. A creature runs down the sidewalk towards us. People just barely get out of the way for it.

    ¡°Watch this,¡± Hollyhock says to me. She stands still as it gets closer. ¡°SIT!¡± The creature sits. It looks like a weird, skinny, short-haired wolf. She pets it as it obeys, parking itself in front of her. A little girl runs up behind it.

    ¡°Biscuits, I told you to stop running!¡± She grabs a leash attached to its collar. ¡°Thank you, miss.¡±

    ¡°No problem. You just gotta be firm with dogs. He¡¯s a Whippet, right?¡± The little girl nods the way kids do when someone guesses correctly.

    ¡°Mhmm, it¡¯s my first time walking him by myself!¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Hollyhock kneels to be at eye level with the kid. ¡°Well he¡¯s a big dog so wrap the leash around your hand like this.¡± She shows her how to do it, stands up and ruffles her hair.

    ¡°Alright, kid, get out of here.¡±

    ¡°Thanks again miss!¡± They walk off.

    ¡°She called me ¡®miss¡¯. Gotta love kids,¡± the assassin remarks.

    ¡®That was the most adorable thing I¡¯ve ever seen.¡¯

    ¡°That was a dog?¡± I ask instead of commenting.

    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯ve never seen a dog before?¡±

    ¡°No, the people back home keep more eccentric creatures as companions. Such as wolves, or Farnooks.¡± Hollyhock narrows her eyes at me.

    ¡°What the fuck is a Farnook?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a bit of a debate actually,¡± I start. ¡°See they-¡± Hollyhock shakes her head.

    ¡°Y¡¯know what, forget I asked. I don¡¯t want to have nightmares from whatever awful thing you¡¯re about to describe,¡± she interjects. I shrug.

    ¡°Your loss.¡± The assassin holds the door open for me.

    ¡°After you,¡± she says.

    As we enter the store, Hollyhock leads me to the front.

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± she says, leaning on the counter. The clerk is turned around, is folding something.

    ¡°Give me one second, sir,¡± she says without looking back. Hollyhock turns to me just to raise an eyebrow. The clerk turns around to see the person attached to the voice. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± The clerk clumsily corrects herself. Hollyhock waves of the apology.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it.¡± She must be used to people making that mistake, with her voice being so deep and scratchy. ¡°My friend here is new in town, figured I should get her some new outfits. I was hoping you could get someone to help her out,¡± she explains. The clerk quickly looks at Hollyhock¡¯s arm. Not to observe the impressive amount of muscle, but the Bay Leaves tattoo on her deltoid.

    She quickly swallows.

    ¡°Certainly ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Do I look like a ¡°ma¡¯am¡± to you?¡± Hollyhock asks. The clerk is unsure of how to respond. ¡°Anyway, money is no object. So make sure she gets taken care of. ¡° the clerk nods and speaks into some device on her shirt. Another employee comes by and whisks me away from Hollyhock who just winks at me.

    The employee takes me around the store asking a variety of questions I¡¯m unsure of how to answer and showering me in compliments.

    ¡°What are your sizes?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, all my clothes are tailored.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± She looks me over like she¡¯s trying to create a solution in her head. ¡°Where are you from?¡±

    ¡°A small town, it¡¯s not even on the map.¡±

    ¡®Technically it¡¯s the truth.¡¯

    Between her questions and showing me different garments, I peer over to Hollyhock who¡¯s been standing in one section, looking at jackets. She¡¯s testing each one with strange criteria. Rubbing the fronts of them between her fingers, I have no idea what she¡¯s looking for. I¡¯m taken to the other side of the store for more clothes.

    When the employee decides she¡¯s picked out enough, she stuffs me into a small room with a mirror and curtain.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go get your friend, you just try on the first outfit!¡± She says from the other side. And so, for the second time that day, I strip for no particularly fun reason. I make sure that I don¡¯t turn so that I can¡¯t view my back in the mirror.

    ¡®I¡¯ve seen it enough.¡¯ I browse through the collection, putting anything that¡¯s backless to the side.

    The first thing I pick is a black sheer lace blouse. The fabric is soft against my skin, going up my arms, and travels down to my hips. Loose enough around the waist that it flaps a bit as I turn.

    Paired with it are shorts that have a flowing stretch of fabric attached to the back, giving it the feel of a skirt. The heels the employee picked fit well, even if the straps do bite into my skin.

    ¡°You wanna show me what you picked out, or do you want some assistance?¡± The assassin says from the other side of the curtain. I step out. She whistles, looking me up and down.

    We¡¯re the same height, but these heels give me an inch or two over Hollyhock.

    ¡®I like them.¡¯

    ¡°Damn girl, let me get your number,¡± she says.

    ¡°My number?¡± She dismisses my confusion with a wave of her hand.

    ¡°Never mind, let me see the back.¡± She twirls her index finger in a circle. I turn around and feel her gaze pan over me. She moves the fabric from the back of the shorts. ¡°Mmmm, your ass looks good in those,¡± she says.

    ¡°Why does that matter? Are people going to look?¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah, asses are the new tits.¡±

    ¡°...I can¡¯t tell if you¡¯re joking or not.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never been more serious in my life.¡± I just roll my eyes at her. ¡°Does that fit okay?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll fit fine. I¡¯ll modify them later.¡± She raises an eyebrow, a question forming in her mind but she decides not to ask.

    ¡°You want to try on anything else? We have all day.¡± I shake my head.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t come here to try on clothes. Show me around your city.¡± Hollyhock flashes a smile at me.

    ¡°Alright, Witch-Hazel. We still have a few things to pick up, but I¡¯ll show you around.¡± She grabs the attention of another employee. ¡°She¡¯ll wear these out,¡± she says.

    Back at the counter, she pays for my clothes and the black jacket she picked out with a fold of hundred dollar bills.

    She deposits the clothes into the back of the car and we take off. Despite the heat, she puts on the jacket she purchased.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to tell you everything you need to know about cities like this, Witch-Hazel.¡± She rolls down her window, leaning on her arm. ¡°You can judge any city by its infrastructure.¡± The street ahead of us is mostly empty and she slows the car down. Hollyhock waves her hand out the window. ¡°You¡¯ll notice there aren¡¯t any public buses here.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s a ¡®public bus¡¯?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a communal car for people who don¡¯t have one,¡± she explains. ¡°Anyway, that¡¯s fine because we¡¯re in Saffron Cro, the ¡®nice¡¯ part of town.¡± The edge with which she says ¡®nice¡¯ doesn¡¯t escape my notice but I don¡¯t comment on it.

    ¡°Everyone here can afford a car ¡®cause they all have nice jobs, there are plenty of supermarkets, private schools, and the emergency services have a 5 to 10 minutes response time,¡± she lists.

    ¡°All in all, it¡¯s a fine place to live, if you got the dough,¡± I raise an eyebrow at her ¡°money,¡± she explains. I nod, understanding.

    ¡°Tell me, you got money back in IronHenge?¡±

    ¡°We do have currency,¡± I answer. ¡°A system of bronze, silver, and gold coins. But mostly we trade goods and services. No one really cares about coins,¡± I explain. Looking out the window, I observe the tall buildings as we cruise along. There¡¯s more steel and glass than I¡¯ve ever seen in my life all on one structure. Buildings back home are much wider than they are here. Smooth roads, rather than the weathered cobblestone streets I¡¯m used to.

    ¡°Hmmm, well out here everybody cares about money. It determines everything. If you can keep a roof over your head, have heat and power, food in your stomach, and clothes on your body.¡±

    ¡°But people need those things just to live,¡± I point out.

    ¡°I know, shit¡¯s fucked,¡±

    ¡°Surely they can¡¯t cost that much.¡± Hollyhock merely scoffs.

    ¡°Sorry, I don¡¯t wanna be rude,¡± she says while she turns the car. ¡°I¡¯m getting off-topic. Outside this little slice of easy living, you¡¯ll find things are quite different.¡±

    The street under us elevates to an incline that takes us up to a long narrow stretch of road, separate from everything else. Hollyhock speeds up enough that I¡¯m pushed back into my seat.

    A few moments of driving, she speaks up again.

    ¡°This is the real Oleander City,¡± she points out my window. The cityscape is much less impressive than the one I just saw. The buildings and houses close enough to see look rundown, much like the one I first set up in. What I thought was an anomaly seems to be quite standard. Splashes of graffiti all over, cars with no windows or wheels, cracked pavement, the look of downtrodden people fly by as Hollyhock presses harder on whatever makes this vehicle move.

    Despite the subpar conditions, I sense what rests under the city. The intricately woven strands of pure magical power that crisscross our planet; Ley Lines.

    ¡®They¡¯re so rich and deep here¡¯ I pool magic behind my eyes. The Ley Lines of Oleander City spring to life before me. Iridescent light of every possible color across the spectrum bathes the city. I¡¯ve seen Ley Lines before, but never this many or so untapped.

    They meet the blue sky at the horizon, one pure color of reality clashes with an eclectic blend of color that can only exist with magic.

    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± escapes from my lips.

    Hollyhock scoffs again.

    ¡°Then IronHenge must be a true shithole,¡± she remarks. I pull back the magic from my eyes, blinking away the excess smoke.

    ¡°You just don¡¯t see what you have. The charm¡¯s underneath it.¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ¡°Yeah, if you can get past the sixty-point-nine murder rate.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means but I¡¯m sure you¡¯re not helping lower that statistic, right?¡± Hollyhock cocks her head to the side and shrugs.

    ¡°That¡¯s fair,¡± she says with a chuckle. The assassin turns the wheel quickly and the car heads down a ramp to the ¡°Real Oleander city.¡±

    Closer up, the city does seem to be in dire straits. It¡¯s a sorry sight compared to Saffron Cro.

    Sometime later, Hollyhock stops the car and gets out.

    ¡°I have to get something real quick,¡± she says through my open window. I get out to join her. She opens her mouth to protest but decides against it. We walk into an alleyway, on the left wall is a simple iron door. Hollyhock knocks on it six times in a pattern.

    Two quick, one, two quick, and one again.

    A panel slides and a pair of eyes look at her for a moment before the panel slides back into place. The door opens on what sounds like a thoroughly abused hinge. We enter a backroom filled with metal crates except for a desk, behind which sits someone poring over a book. The pair of eyes that let us in is perched on a crate, doing something on their phone.

    We walk over to the desk. Upon closer inspection, the book is a ledger; encrypted with some kind of cipher. If I cared enough I could definitely break it, but I don¡¯t. Besides, a cursory glance around the room suggests it is for the import and export of whatever is in these crates.

    ¡°Hello Hollyhock,¡± the man writing into the ledger says without looking up.

    ¡°Hey Clingstone, surprised to see me?¡± She asks.

    ¡°Why would I be surprised? You always come by after you finish a job.¡± He finally looks up at her with a confused expression. This man, Clingstone, is bald but has large, wild, brown eyebrows. They remind me of Magipillars, little fuzzy creatures that love places of potent magical energy.

    Something tells me that his forehead isn¡¯t one of them.

    ¡°I guess I do,¡± Hollyhock comments. After her betrayal last night, she¡¯s suspicious of everyone it seems.

    ¡°So,¡± he closes the ledger and gives me a look over. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡± His voice of as smooth as his head.

    ¡°Daisy Silver, she¡¯s new in town, and she¡¯s been around the block,¡± Hollyhock answers for me. I recognize the alias but not the phrase she used. Clingstone looks me over once more and shrugs.

    ¡°If you say so. C¡¯mon, got something you¡¯re gonna like.¡± Getting up from his chair and Clingstone leads us over to an open crate. He produces a metal briefcase from inside.

    ¡°Here we are,¡± he opens the case. A gun of some kind lies in black foam with three sleek metal cases that I guess holds the ammo for it. I¡¯ve never actually seen a gun before. ¡°Desert Eagle, hot and fresh for you. Should you decide you want to make a statement.¡±

    Hollyhock takes the weapon in her hand. She inspects it like a Wizard inspects a tome or a relic. She closes her left eye and looks down at the top of it. Pulls a little lever and something slides out of it, then she pulls the top and catches the bullet that flies out.

    ¡°This it?¡± She asks. Clingstone smiles.

    ¡°Of course not. You¡¯ll notice these,¡± he picks up one of the metal packs. ¡°Hollow points, for when you¡¯re really trying to be bold.¡± He puts it down and picks up another. ¡°Explosive. For when things get messy,¡± he says with a wink. ¡°And the Pi¨¨ce de r¨¦sistance,¡± he announces the last one.

    ¡°Depleted uranium rounds. We¡¯re talking bleeding-edge shit here.¡± Hollyhock takes the case, popping one bullet out to examine.

    ¡°Uranium? Isn¡¯t that radioactive?¡± She asks, still holding the bullet. Before Clingstone can answer, I do.

    ¡°It¡¯s what¡¯s leftover from the uranium extraction process. It no longer emits harmful radiation,¡± I answer, remembering my lessons on the earth sciences. If I had to guess what benefits they serve as bullets then I¡¯d think it¡¯s because, ¡°it heats up quickly, very dense, so reaching a high velocity will make it punch through anything and burn on the way through,¡± I explain. They both look at me in surprise.

    ¡°That¡¯s right. Your friend here knows her stuff. These will go through body armor like nothing.¡± The assassin nods.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take it, two clips of the explosive, and three of the hollow points. Send it to the usual place.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll give ya an extra clip of the DU for old times sake,¡± he replies.

    ¡°You¡¯re a real peach, Clingstone. Catch you later.¡±

    ¡°Hold on, does your friend here want anything?¡±

    ¡°No thanks,¡± I answer. ¡°I don¡¯t need any guns. I can take care of myself.¡±

    ¡°She can,¡± Hollyhock chimes in with a quirk of her eyebrows.

    We get back to the car and drive off. She turns to look at me.

    ¡°You¡¯re just full of surprises, huh?¡± I feel like she should be watching the road instead of me.

    ¡°I figured you¡¯d know about it, miss assassin.¡±

    ¡°I know what depleted uranium is,¡± she replies, finally turning back to look forward. ¡°I wanted to know if he did.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°If someone is selling something that dangerous, they should understand it. Otherwise, he¡¯d sell it to any idiot who can-¡± she swerves around a man running in the middle of the street. ¡°GET ON THE SIDEWALK, SHITHEAD!¡± She yells out the window. The man enraging her is the one called ¡®Falecido¡¯. I twist in my seat to stare at him, feeling a small pull in my chest.

    It¡¯s unusual.

    ¡°What was I saying?¡± She asks me, but I¡¯m focusing on him to figure out what¡¯s going on. But all I see is a man chasing after someone on a bike.

    ¡°Something about idiots,¡± I absentmindedly respond.

    ¡°Right, between the Cleavers and the Ru-Mexs firepower like that is trouble. Unless they take out the Dead-Nettles.¡± She turns the car so I face forward again. ¡°How¡¯d you know about it? The bullets, I mean.¡± I shrug.

    ¡°¡®You have to understand how things truly are in nature, before you can change it with magic¡¯,¡± I repeat the phrase that¡¯s been drilled into me by my instructors over the years. ¡°A thorough education of the sciences is key to effectively utilize magic.¡±

    Hollyhock considers that for a moment.

    ¡°I guess that makes sense...kinda.¡±

    We sit in silence for a moment. ¡°It¡¯s been a long ass day and something tells me this is just the first of many with you,¡± she says, notably soft to me.

    ¡®The first, huh?¡¯

    ¡°I just realized I didn¡¯t eat all day, you hungry?¡±

    ¡°Yes. The last thing I ate was some Omninuggets.¡±

    ¡°What are those?¡±

    ¡°They magically change to the tastes of your favorite things,¡± I explain.

    ¡°That sounds dope, you have any left?¡±

    ¡°No. I ate them all.¡± She just shakes her head.

    ¡°¡®Course you did. I¡¯ve been meaning to get groceries, but to be fair to myself, I almost died. What kind of food do you like?¡±

    ¡°...What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Like, what sort of cuisine do you enjoy?¡± I sincerely have no idea what she means, food back home was just food.

    ¡°The edible kind?¡± I answer. She snaps her head towards me, opens her mouth for a second, and then closes it.

    ¡°Forget it, let¡¯s get something to eat.¡±

    She pulls the car over in front of a small store, leading me inside. There are shelves all over containing plastic packages that I assume to be snacks. Hollyhock goes to the counter and whistles.

    ¡°Yo, Ock!¡± A petite man walks up to her call.

    ¡°Holly, you still haven¡¯t been killed?¡± He replies in a thick accent.

    ¡°He¡¯s mad cuz I made his sister realize she¡¯s gay,¡± she explains to me.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m mad cuz you ghosted her.¡±

    ¡°Whatever, that was months ago. Let me get two chicken over rice.¡± The man scoffs and disappears to another section of the store. The sound of a stove turning on finds my ears, the sizzling of something hitting its heating surface.

    ¡°That¡¯s the second time I¡¯ve heard you ¡®ghost¡¯ someone. What does it mean?¡± The assassin leans on the counter to look me over again.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to have to teach you slang, aren¡¯t I? ¡®Ghosting¡¯ means cutting off contact with someone,¡± she clarifies.

    ¡°Why¡¯d you ghost them?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re too clingy, wanted to get too close. And with my...lifestyle, it¡¯s best for them not to go down that road with me.¡±

    ¡®Noble, in a way.¡¯

    ¡°Hmm, and what if you find someone who¡¯s not only okay with it but can handle herself?¡± She pauses for a moment.

    ¡°Then I guess she and I can get close,¡± she suggests with a wink. My face heats up a bit.

    ¡°HOLLY! YOU WANT WHITE SAUCE?!¡±

    ¡°YEAH!¡± She answers back. ¡°Ok, quick slang tutorial.¡±

    She educates me on how people colloquially here while we wait for our food. From greetings, slick terms, insults, and variations of a certain word that she told me not to say.

    ¡°Here¡¯s your food. You¡¯re lucky your friend is with you, otherwise, I¡¯d spit in it!¡± He says.

    ¡°Love you too! Peace out!¡± She dismisses his hostility.

    The assassin takes us back to her place. She hands me my food as we sit on the couch.

    The chicken is delicious, its spices spit fire across my tongue that the rice and tomatoes extinguish before it overpowers my whole mouth.

    ¡°So, tell me, is it hard to kill people?¡± I ask her. The question has been on my mind since she told me that she¡¯s an assassin. Hollyhock doesn¡¯t flinch at the question. I doubt she flinches at much.

    ¡°Hmmm, light dinner conservation,¡± she wipes her mouth. ¡°Nah, human beings aren¡¯t that hard to kill. Poke them hard enough with a stick and they die,¡± she answers.

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant and you know it.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I know,¡± she says, more serious this time. She takes another bite of her food. ¡°Ummm, at first; yeah, it was. But once you do it so many times, it doesn¡¯t carry the same weight as before. You spill enough shit on a carpet, after a while, it doesn¡¯t matter what else stains it,¡± she asserts. ¡®Stain¡¯ she used that word when we first met. She didn¡¯t want the stain of seeing someone die on my soul.

    ¡®She isn¡¯t as cold as she thinks she is.¡¯

    ¡°How¡¯d you get into this line of work?¡± I¡¯m not interested in my food anymore, putting it on the table next to us. She puts down her fork.

    ¡°I was raised into it,¡± she says. Her eyes lock onto mine as a steely expression takes hold of her face. ¡°For reasons, I¡¯ll never know, I was on my own as a kid. I don¡¯t know how I survived so long in this city by myself. My earliest memory is digging through garbage for something to eat. Being a beggar here isn¡¯t a viable option, most people aren¡¯t that much better off than you, and those that are usually can¡¯t afford to help.¡±

    She pulls her legs up onto the couch and our knees brush each other.

    ¡°And it was like that for years. I was either scavenging or straight up stealing food to keep myself alive. But the place where I was squatting,¡± she stops to explain ¡°staying without permission. A gang was moving in. I think they were the Cleavers, anyway I got out of there and went to Saffron Cro. Figured it was a nicer place, could steal some better food.¡±

    A laugh escapes her mouth, but it¡¯s cold and hard. She deposits her food next to mine.

    ¡°I kinda had this fantasy, in the back of my mind, that some rich person there would see this poor, dirty, little black girl and adopt her out of the kindness of their heart.¡± She closes her eyes to think about it. ¡°But that didn¡¯t happen. In fact, the first day I was there someone saw me dumpster diving and called the cops on me. Can you believe it? I was a kid, maybe nine or ten, I honestly don¡¯t know.¡±

    Hollyhock smiles as if the memory is funny to her now, but I see the pain in her eyes.

    ¡°The cops in Saffron Cro come faster than a virgin in a brothel. I tried to run but I was malnourished and the cop had a car so it was hardly fair.¡± Another fake smile flashes across her face for a second. ¡°He threw me in the back and I was thinking he¡¯d take me to the station to get a meal at least.¡± The edge of her countenance dulls as her voice gets quieter. ¡°He didn¡¯t take me to the station, the precinct, or juvie.¡±

    I watch her neck as she swallows air, recollecting the event. She drops her head and stares blankly at her own legs. ¡°Instead, he drove me out to Hemlock Estates. He dragged me into one of the houses there. His place was sparse, he lived alone in a house too big for just him. It didn¡¯t even look anyone really lived there. I got tossed into some room and he handcuffed me to a radiator,¡± she gesticulates a handcuff around her wrist. ¡°There was a bed in there, too big for a kid but there was kid stuff in there.¡±

    She¡¯s quiet for a moment.

    ¡°I still remember the stench of the room, it always smelled like sweat; grown man sweat. The scratches on the floor from the door always opening and from the bed being moved constantly. And that camera on the tripod, aimed at the bed. I don¡¯t know how long it was but that cop came back, looking at me like a piece of meat.¡± Hollyhock frowns. I¡¯ve never seen her look so furious.

    ¡°He told me that no one was gonna find me, cuz no one was looking for me.¡± Tears well in her eyes and her voice catches in her throat. ¡°Bastard told me what he was gonna do to me and that he¡¯d hurt me if I didn¡¯t go along with it.¡± A chill runs through my body. If she doesn¡¯t say it then it must be truly heinous. ¡°I spit in his eye. Got ready for his fist across my face. But it didn¡¯t come. He just left. Left me in that room, still handcuffed,¡± she continues.

    Even though I see her in front of me, a grown strong woman, I feel that scared little girl instead.

    ¡°Might¡¯ve been a day later or maybe two when he came back. He had snacks in his hands. And I was so goddamn hungry,¡± she says while clutching her stomach. ¡°Sick son of a bitch said I could have them if I agreed...I couldn¡¯t eat them fast enough, Witch-Hazel.¡± She braves a smile for me. ¡°Nothing like eating a honey bun after starving for a few days. Damn near choked on it.¡±

    She stops to blink the tears away. I regret asking the question. Regret that I¡¯ve trudged up what is obviously a painful time for her. Regret that she¡¯s shared so much with me and I¡¯ve barely shared anything with her.

    ¡°I was getting ready for...what was to come. He turned on that camera and that¡¯s when my life changed. The door crashed off its hinges and standing there like an angel of justice was Tamara. The cop didn¡¯t have his gun on him, he already had his belt off. Not that it would¡¯ve done him any good. Tamara already had hers out and ready. Put one in his head, two in the chest. Dead before he hit the floor. Tamara saw her target first, then me. Koki¡¯O came into the room second, she was watching her back. They got me out of there and took me in. Gave me a name, taught me to read and write, and how to kill. That¡¯s how I became a Bay Leaf-¡±

    I can¡¯t hold back anymore, I lurch forward and wrap her in a hug.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry that I made you talk about that. I should¡¯ve known it wasn¡¯t a happy story. I¡¯m sorry that you had to be alone all those years and I¡¯m so sorry that you had to go through all that,¡± I say so fast I¡¯m not sure if it was coherent. Tears start to trickle down my face. ¡°I¡¯m sorry that this world has been so cruel to you when I¡¯ve been so fascinated with it.¡± Though I took her by surprise, she returns the hug. Wrapping her strong arms around my back.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay. That¡¯s my sob story, lotta people have one, especially ¡¯round here,¡± she assures me with a pat on the back. The pounding in my chest is so strong I¡¯m sure she can feel it. I lean back and start to wipe the tears from my eyes.

    ¡°Branches of Yggdrasil,¡± I say ¡°You must think I¡¯m such a fool, crying over something that only happened to you.¡±

    ¡°Nah. It¡¯s...nice. Nice that you care enough.¡± She glides her tongue over her teeth. ¡°I¡¯ve never really told anybody else that story. Tamara and Koki¡¯O obviously know since they were there but, no other Bay Leaf knows that about me,¡± she confesses. I¡¯m stunned.

    ¡®How can she just trust me like this?¡¯

    Almost like she read my mind, she says,

    ¡°If you wanna make it even between us; you could tell me about yourself,¡± she proposes. I nod in agreement, take a deep breath.

    ¡°I also never met my parents.¡±

    ¡°Oh shit, this oughta be good.¡±

    Chapter 5 End

 Kind Of A Mystery

    ¡°Back in IronHenge,¡± I start explaining. ¡°We have a different approach to child-rearing.¡± Hollyhock crosses her legs and leans back to listen.

    ¡°People are allowed to marry whomever they want, but having a child is a different matter. It originated from a mandate a few hundred years ago, blood-feuds, personal slights, or what you call ¡®beef¡¯,¡± I try the colloquialism she taught me. ¡°Between families and houses, had almost destroyed the entire magic society. It coincided with the Byzantine-Ottoman Wars, though I¡¯ve heard that certain events were directly intertwined. Anyway, a truce was called and what was considered drastic measures were taken. Families and houses were broken up. Cerebral altering magic made them forget each other, that they were related. Loyalty to blood was erased. From then on, no matter who you are, if you have a child they will be erased from your memory.¡±

    Hollyhock, the assassin, looks horrified.

    ¡°You...take babies...away from their parents?¡± She asks.

    ¡°Well, there is a grace period of a year, so that child is healthy, but usually by the time that they can walk they¡¯re taken. Plus I don¡¯t take anyone. It¡¯s done by an organization called the Copper Cloves. They created the spell and only they know how to perform it, obviously, the members are incognito and the whole thing is kept tightly under wraps.¡±

    ¡°The secret organization responsible for taking kids and wiping parents¡¯ memories of them...is called the Copper Cloves?¡± She asks.

    ¡°The secret organization responsible for, I¡¯m guessing dozens of murders...is called the Bay Leaves?¡± I ask. She tips her head.

    ¡°Touch¨¦.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Look,¡± the assassin raises her hands ¡°far be it from me to judge your culture and way of life. But that sounds completely fucked up.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been that way for so long, that we just accept it.¡±

    ¡°Okay, but you know that it¡¯s fucked up, right?¡±

    ¡°Dead ass,¡± I try another colloquialism. She shakes her head.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s one word: Deadass. Not dead ass.¡±

    ¡°Deadass,¡± I correct myself. She nods in approval.

    ¡°Why do people even bother having kids then?¡±

    ¡°People be fucking,¡± I say with a shrug. She bursts out laughing and I must admit, it is nice to see her smile. The assassin wipes a tear from her eye.

    ¡°So you have no idea who your parents are?¡±

    ¡°Well, no. But, I always suspected this one couple,¡± I answer. ¡°They have this little shop where they made special candies. I went there a lot as a kid. They¡¯d give me free samples sometimes.¡± Fond memories spring to mind, picking out which treat I wanted to try next, and the smell of sugar in the air. ¡°All I¡¯ve been told is that my ancestors were from a place called Taiwan.¡±

    ¡°Heard that it¡¯s nice this time of year,¡± she comments.

    ¡°Really!? I¡¯ve always wanted to see it!¡±

    ¡°Oh, sorry. That¡¯s just a thing people say when someone mentions a place. I¡¯ve barely ever left Oleander City.¡±

    ¡°Ahhh.¡± I figured as much.

    ¡°So what was your childhood like? Hopefully better than mine,¡± she adds with a small smile.

    ¡°I would say so. We were raised in shifting cohorts; based on evaluations by our rotating mentors, we get placed in different cohorts that they think would benefit us best. If there¡¯s potential we continue in an apprenticeship with¡­¡± I realize I¡¯m rambling.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I must be boring you. Talking about school.¡± She gives a dismissive wave.

    ¡°No, no it¡¯s dope. I wanna hear about this. Tell me about your magic world, regale me,¡± she says with a grandiose gesture with her hand.

    ¡°What do you want you to know?¡±

    ¡°Why can you do magic and I can¡¯t,¡± she asks with no hesitation.

    ¡°You could,¡± I answer. ¡°Every living thing has the potential to do magic.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t cast any spells lately, is it ¡®cause I¡¯m low in fiber?¡± She jokes. I laugh a little bit.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of a few people who were innately capable of magic learning to do so. It would take many years of practice, elevating your perceptions of everything. I think in your case-¡±

    ¡°Nah,¡± she interrupts me ¡°sounds like too much work. I already trained once in my life. Did you have to do that?¡±

    ¡°Not exactly. Most of us at IronHenge have the ability to manipulate magic from a young age.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Well, the most commonly accepted theory is that while developing in the womb, the mothers¡¯ magical energy also reaches us.¡± Gently, I cup Hollyhock''s face. ¡°When the brain is forming,¡± I say while running a finger down the center of her head, stopping at her forehead. ¡°Magic energy pools here in the parietal lobe.¡±

    ¡°Part of the brain that deals with the senses,¡± Hollyhock replies, looking at me past my hand. Clever assassin.

    ¡°Correct. Exposure to magic makes the brain form a special little lobe to perceive it, and then from there, one can recognize the magic in themselves,¡± I explain, dropping my hands to my side.

    ¡°So you have magic ¡®cause your momma had magic. Seems rigged.¡± I shrug.

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s just a theory, it hasn¡¯t been proven or disproven yet.¡±

    ¡°Why don''t you do an MRI on a person with magic and a person without it?¡±

    ¡°What the hell is an MRI?¡± I ask. The assassin shakes her head.

    ¡°Never mind,¡± she waves the question away. ¡°Hmmm. What¡¯s something fucked up you could with magic? Like, could you make someone¡¯s heart stop?¡± I ponder the question briefly.

    ¡°While I see how you¡¯d find that useful.¡± She tips her head in acknowledgment. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be that simple. It would depend on a person¡¯s aura.¡±

    ¡°Do tell.¡±

    ¡°As I said before, everything living thing has magic. Our forms keep the magic we naturally create around us called ¡°auras¡±. They differ in color, size, density, and movement for all of us. Without a trained eye, they¡¯re invisible. Needing to be drawn out to be seen, so normally they surround us like a second skin; protecting you from minor magical...I guess you¡¯d call them afflictions.¡±

    ¡°Okay, that¡¯s terrifying to think about.¡±

    ¡°But, unless you were depleted your aura would reflexively stop anything from trying to pierce your body.¡± I tap my chin in thought as I theorize. ¡°It would take a significant amount to get through it though. Would it be worth it as a one-off shot?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, depends on how much you need them to be depleted,¡± Hollyhock says.

    ¡°I¡¯m getting off-topic. What else do you want to know?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your aura look like?¡± She asks. I raise my hand and let a little of my power seep out. The deep purple magic floats away like smoke. ¡°Our auras radiate off us, like how we radiate heat.¡± I watch a small plume of my magic rise into the air between us. ¡°Until it slowly comes undone by the entropy of existence.¡±

    ¡°Bleak,¡± Hollyhock comments.

    ¡°I was going for ¡°dramatic¡± but whatever.¡±

    ¡°What does my aura look like?¡±

    ¡°Excellent question. Let¡¯s find out.¡± I move closer to her on the couch. Pressing my hand against her chest, feeling her heartbeat inside her. Slowly close my eyes.

    ¡°You looking for auras or copping a feel?¡± She says, no doubt with a smirk on her face.

    ¡°Hush,¡± I snip back. She hums an agreement. Truth be told, I¡¯d only need to feel her pulse, which I could do somewhere else. But what she doesn¡¯t know won¡¯t hurt her.

    The heart of an assassin beats underneath my hand, speeding up at the physical contact. Cute. When it settles into a steady rhythm, I pulse magic between beats until I feel the push of her aura resist a bit. Like antibodies rushing to fight a virus, it surges from within her to phase pass her bones, muscles, and skin.

    I open my eyes.

    The first thing I notice about her aura is how bright it is, pure orange. Many people have shades of different colors in their auras, specks revealing the impurity of their energy. But hers, like mine, is one single color.

    It¡¯s dense around her, almost the width of two fingers. Hard to see through. I wonder if this is how all auras look when released for the first time or if just hers is exceptionally strong. But the most jarring of all is its movement. Her aura forms large spikes, constantly shooting out at her surroundings seemingly at random. It would take a master¡¯s level of control to shape her energy to perform in such a way, but since that¡¯s not what¡¯s happening; her aura is naturally this...hostile.

    The spikes advance and retreat in rapid motions, sinking through the couch, the table next to us, and one goes through my head. But since it¡¯s intangible I don¡¯t feel anything and the furniture suffers no damage.

    I watch her aura for a moment.

    It¡¯s said that our auras always reveal who we really are, deep down inside. Hers, attacking everything around her is fitting given her line of work. But the brightness of it astounds me, for someone who works in a surreptitious manner to be this bright is baffling. Though, I suppose it¡¯s not really up to her.

    It¡¯s a shame that fate decided that she should be here, living this life. If she were born and raised in IronHenge, with an aura like hers, she¡¯d make an excellent sorcerer.

    ¡°What do you see?¡± Hollyhock asks. I realize I¡¯ve just been staring at her in silence.

    ¡°It¡¯s a vibrant orange. Pure in color, very rare.¡±

    ¡°Orange? Really? Never thought of myself as an orange person,¡± she comments.

    ¡°It¡¯s not like having a favorite color. It¡¯s a portrayal of your soul almost. Who you are, in your core,¡± I clarify.

    ¡°I¡¯m just surprised that it¡¯s not completely black.¡±

    ¡°You joke but black auras exist. Exceptionally rare. And those who have them are said to have unmatched magical power. But there hasn¡¯t been one in almost a millennium.¡± Hollyhock scoffs.

    ¡°Well, who needs them? I say purple and orange are good enough, she suggests, offering her fist in a sign of hospitality. We touch knuckles lightly and she flashes a smile at me.

    The assassin and I trade stories as time goes by. I hardly notice the hour until she yawns loudly.

    ¡°I hope you don¡¯t think I¡¯m boring, but I¡¯ve had an eventful twenty-four hours and I¡¯m exhausted,¡± she says while standing. In an unexpected display of flexibility, she stretches her back and arms in one smooth motion. ¡°Plus, if I learn any more about this magical world of yours, I think my head might explode,¡± she adds.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°This magical world of ours,¡± I remind her. ¡°Magic has been around you all this time, you¡¯ve just never known it.¡±

    ¡°Shit, you¡¯re right...It would explain a thing or two I¡¯ve seen.¡± She turns around and looks at me expectantly. I don¡¯t know what she wants so I sit, raising an eyebrow at her.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sitting on my bed,¡± she explains. I look down at the couch.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to sleep here?¡±

    ¡°This ain¡¯t a mansion and I only got one bed. You¡¯re the guest so you get it.¡± She beckons me to rise with her hand. ¡°Up, up, up!¡± The assassin demands. I stand, placing myself right in front of her.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me the big, bad, Bay Leaf assassin is afraid to sleep in the same bed with a woman,¡± I tease. In IronHenge, communal rest areas are common. Sleeping next to a total stranger isn¡¯t unheard of, but I¡¯m assuming it¡¯s different here. She steps closer, her arms akimbo. I match her posture to further annoy her.

    ¡°I ain¡¯t never been scared to sleep with a woman.¡± She raises her chin a bit and so do I. ¡°How ¡®bout you?¡±

    ¡°Yes, scared that she¡¯s all talk and,¡± I step closer ¡±no action.¡± Our faces inches apart.

    ¡°I think you know.¡± Not to be outdone, the assassin closes the modest distance between us. Her chest brushing against mine. ¡°I¡¯m about that action.¡±

    I may not know everything about this outside world, but flirting is universal. The room is silent but her actions say enough. She tries to keep a cool face but I catch those smoky quartz eyes of hers flit down to my lips. It¡¯s only for a split second, but that¡¯s all that needed in moments like these.

    But moments like these are so easily disturbed, shattered by a knocking on her door.

    Her eyes go cold, calculative, no longer focused on me.

    Stalking over to the front door, she reaches into a bookshelf. Her hand finds what she¡¯s looking for without diverting attention from the door. She pulls a book titled ¡°Sparks Between Us¡± to reveal it¡¯s just a cover for a small gun hidden there.

    Suddenly I wonder how many other weapons she has hidden in plain sight. The assassin holds the gun behind her while she peeks through the door viewer. She groans in annoyance, all the tension in her body melting away in an instant. Tucking her gun into her back pocket and opening her door. A worried woman standing there.

    ¡°Daisy,¡± the woman calls her by her fake name. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to bother you this late but my son just got back, and that creepy guy is trying to steal his bike!¡± She rapidly says. Hollyhock makes a noise like a frustrated guliti, clenching her jaw. She holds up her pointer finger at me,

    ¡°One moment.¡± She turns to the woman. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of it,¡± she says with finality. With that, she goes down the hallway and out of sight. Leaving me standing in her apartment, with a stranger looking at me.

    The woman gives an awkward wave and I return the gesture.

    ¡°Hello! Sorry was I interrupting something?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I answer bluntly. Normally I¡¯d have more grace but I¡¯m slightly too annoyed to care. The woman picks up on this.

    ¡°I¡¯ll just,¡± she quietly says while closing the door.

    Left alone, I decide to change into something more fitting to sleep in.

    <hr>

    Lying on her bed, wondering what I¡¯m going to do next, Hollyhock comes back. She puts her gun and fake book back. Another groan escapes her mouth.

    ¡°Okay, now I¡¯m really exhausted,¡± she says. ¡°Damn falecido.¡±

    ¡°Come here then,¡± I call from her bedroom, without a hint of innuendo. Neither of us seem to be in the mood. She looks at her couch forlornly.

    ¡°Alright, since you¡¯re desperate to sleep in my big, strong, arms,¡± she jokes. Kicking off her shoes, she doesn¡¯t bother changing clothes.

    ¡°Whatever you want to tell yourself,¡± I counter as she climbs onto the bed. Her weight makes us sink further into the soft mattress. The assassin gives me a pillow and grabs one to hold to her chest. Another gun with a long barrel was hidden under it.

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± she picks it up and tosses it very expertly onto her dresser across the room.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it dangerous to throw a gun like that?¡± I ask.

    ¡° ¡®S not loaded,¡± she drowsily answers. ¡°G¡¯night.¡± Her eyes close and she curls up to fully embrace her pillow. I close my eyes to slowly wind down. A bit of panic settles in me at the intense quiet.

    I thought this before, but Hollyhock sleeps like she¡¯s dead. Her chest is barely moving, the rest of her is eerily still. Though I know rationally she didn¡¯t just die in her sleep I still check her breath, holding my hand inches from her mouth. A whisper of a breath goes over my skin.

    ¡®She¡¯s alive.¡¯ The worry in me settles. I¡¯m about to put myself to sleep when something springs to mind.

    Something Hollyhock said before she came to bed, it¡¯s been bothering me all day. The man they call ¡°falecido¡±, has an unusual magical presence about him. It¡¯s as if he can manipulate magic, but there¡¯s something off about him.

    ¡®Besides his fixation of stealing bikes.¡¯ If he has innate magic, what is he doing here? It¡¯s unlikely that he wouldn¡¯t know if he has magic. There¡¯s more to this than I¡¯m seeing.

    I quickly look at Hollyhock, who¡¯s still asleep. She¡¯s recently been in contact with him. I mentally rifle through the spells I can use to help track him. Two will prove useful. I prepare the first, drawing out Hollyhock¡¯s aura. It¡¯s still chaotic even as she sleeps. Jutting out to pierce everything around her.

    I whisper the incantation I need for the first spell, showing the remnants of all magical energy she¡¯s been in contact with. When the spell activates, a rainbow of colors appears before her aura. The spikes hold onto little pieces of other auras, even the magical energy of some of the objects I brought with me.

    ¡®Fascinating. I wonder if she could-¡¯

    I¡¯m not here to speculate what magic she¡¯d be good at. I search through the myriad of colors, recognizing quite a bit of my own deep purple. Most of these are inert, save mine and one other. It¡¯s a sickly green that makes my skin crawl, the same way it did when I first came across the falecido.

    I pull the energy towards myself and prepare the second spell. It¡¯s a simple tracking spell, pointing me to the source of whatever magical energy I put into it.

    I quietly and quickly get up, slip on a pair of Hollyhock¡¯s shoes, and head outside to hunt my quarry.

    <hr>

    In hindsight, I should¡¯ve grabbed something to wear on top. Walking around this late in a silk camisole is drawing the attention of the few people still out. The spell only points straight in the direction I need to go, so I have to navigate around the numerous buildings of this city.

    He seems to have to settle for the night, the tracker pointing in one solid direction for a while now.

    After quite a bit of walking, I come across a small park. The sign declares this little slice of nature as Parsnip park.

    Small palm trees, wild grass, and a few benches dot the what can barely be called the landscape.

    I find the man I¡¯m looking for in a pile of empty bottles that smell of alcohol, lying face down on a filthy blanket that I wouldn¡¯t wipe my shoes on.

    He doesn¡¯t stir as I approach him.

    I draw out his aura, the sickly green miasma raises only from his torso in thick vapors.

    ¡®As I suspected, this isn¡¯t his aura.¡¯ I crouch and prepare a bioelectric reactive spell. It takes shape as a small pyramid in the palm of my right hand.

    ¡°Witch-Hazel and the falecido? What will people think?¡± The raspy voice of Hollyhock says from behind me. I nearly jump out of my skin in surprise.

    ¡°FIELDS OF ELYSIUM!¡± I curse aloud, clutching my chest.  I didn¡¯t notice her standing only three feet from me. I vaguely recall Tamara saying she was one of her best killers. I suppose she wouldn¡¯t be an effective assassin if she couldn¡¯t be stealthy. She tilts her head to the side.

    ¡°Fields of Elysium,¡± she tries the expletive out. A quick shrug indicates it¡¯s not to her liking.

    ¡°What are you doing sneaking up on me?!¡±

    The assassin puts a finger to her lips.

    ¡°Are you trying to wake up the whole neighborhood? I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t want everyone knowing about this secret date in the park,¡± she jokes. But she has a point.

    ¡°Right, I don¡¯t want to wake him up.¡± Hollyhock scoffs.

    ¡°Him? He¡¯s toasted,¡± she observes. The assassin kicks him in the side, he groans but otherwise doesn¡¯t wake. ¡°Earthquake wouldn¡¯t wake him up. So whatever witchy things you have planned for him will go unnoticed.¡±

    ¡°Speaking of unnoticed, how did you find me?¡± I ask her.

    ¡°Would you believe me if I said I put a tracker on you?¡± She says with a straight face. I immediately examine my body to find it. ¡°Nah, I¡¯m fucking with you. I woke up the second you got out of bed. So I just followed you. You¡¯re not very quiet,¡± she adds.

    ¡°I see, I¡¯ll try to be quieter in the future.¡± She dismisses it with a wave of her hand.

    ¡°If you told me where you were going, I could¡¯ve driven you. You wouldn¡¯t have had to walk into that porno store.¡±

    ¡°That was embarrassing, but I didn¡¯t want to bother you. I thought it would be best if you got some rest.¡±

    ¡°Hey, you moved into my place, I bought you new clothes and dinner. I¡¯ll let you know if you¡¯re bothering me,¡± she says with an oddly genuine smile. ¡°So what¡¯s so important that you had to disturb this,¡± she gestures to the man ¡°fine, upstanding citizen, in the middle of the night?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± I kneel back down and prepare my spell again. ¡°I have a feeling that there¡¯s more to him than meets the eye.¡±

    ¡°So he¡¯s more than a bike stealing drunk?¡±

    ¡°We just have to find out, don¡¯t we?¡± The spell reforms in my hand and I bring it to the crown of his skull. My energy instantly traces the outlines of his brain, showing where the electricity in his brain should be spiking.

    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Hollyhock asks.

    ¡°I¡¯m mapping the electrical output of his brain,¡± I answer. ¡°It¡¯s low, minuscule.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s sleeping, shouldn¡¯t it be?¡± I shake my head.

    ¡°No, the sleeping brain has much more activity than this. He isn¡¯t dreaming, his body isn¡¯t doing anything it should.¡± I point out different spots. ¡°All these should be lighting up, but they¡¯re not. Unless he just slipped into a coma, and even then there would be more activity in the medulla here.¡±

    ¡°Maybe he died,¡± she says with a shrug. ¡°¡®Bout time.¡±

    ¡°No, his brain is still active. Just barely. And his aura isn¡¯t natural.¡±

    ¡°So what¡¯s it all mean?¡± The assassin asks, crouching next to me.

    ¡°This man is dead. He¡¯s been dead for quite some time. And someone brought him back with magic,¡± I answer.

    ¡°Are you fucking with me right now?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m being quite serious. I think this man is a revenant, a halfway gone soul brought back to fulfill a purpose of some kind.¡±

    ¡°Like stealing bikes from kids?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe it is. Whoever performed the spell would know.¡±

    ¡°Who did it?¡±

    ¡°Believe it or not but I don¡¯t know every magician in the world.¡±

    ¡°Well, you should.¡±

    ¡°Do you know every assassin in the world?¡±

    ¡°Maybe I do, you don¡¯t know how many there are. So what do we do about this guy?¡±

    I look him over.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to do. The magic that brought him back keeps him alive. It¡¯s very potent too. That¡¯s why he¡¯s survived all these years, despite the residents of this city trying to kill him.¡±

    ¡°So there¡¯s no way to kill him?¡±

    ¡°Not unless the magic runs out. Or maybe if his body suffers irreparable damage.¡±

    ¡°Like an explosion?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I suppose an explosion would do the trick.¡± Hollyhock raises an eyebrow like she just got an idea. ¡°Don¡¯t blow him up,¡± I scold.

    ¡°Fine. But why does he talk like that?¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s see.¡± I adjust my spell to send out ultrasonic pulses to get a more detailed look. ¡°This is just a guess, but whoever did this poorly restored the left hemisphere of his brain, or it was badly damaged already. His constant bike stealing and alcoholism must be proclivities from when he was alive. Can¡¯t imagine the purpose of having him do this.¡±

    ¡°So it¡¯s a shitty job?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s either a pretty good rush job or a really shitty regular one,¡± I clarify. ¡°Though one typically doesn¡¯t rush a necromancy job. Then again, I¡¯m a witch, a wizard would know more.¡±

    ¡°What does you being a girl have to do with it?¡± She asks. I stare at her, narrowing my eyes so that I might understand what exactly she¡¯s saying. Then it hits me.

    ¡°You think that only women are witches and men are wizards.¡± Less of a question and more of an observation.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she answers matter-of-factly.

    ¡°Wizards and witches are just proficiencies. Jobs. There are female wizards, male witches, nonbinary sorcerers, and a whole spectrum of identities with various other jobs.¡±

    ¡°I get it, the magic world is a diverse one. So you don¡¯t know a spell to undo this?¡±

    ¡°Why are you so hellbent on killing him?¡± I understand she doesn¡¯t like him, but this seems beyond personal.

    ¡°Cuz before I joined the Bay Leaves, I found a bike that I was gonna sell, but then this motherfucker,¡± she kicks him again and he doesn¡¯t wake. ¡°Stole it from me! Could¡¯ve got like fifty bucks for it too. Instead, I had to eat trash out of a fucking dumpster from a seafood place, and I fucking hate seafood!¡±

    ¡°Tragic as that is, I¡¯m not going to kill him. Truth be told I don¡¯t know many necromancy spells.¡±

    ¡°But you do know some?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but we can discuss that later. You need some sleep,¡± I say, realizing how tired I am. ¡°We both do,¡± I add. She stands up with a groan.

    ¡°Yeah, guess you¡¯re right. Not like he¡¯s going anywhere.¡± She smacks her neck. ¡°Let¡¯s go before these mosquitoes eat us.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s a ¡°mosquitoes¡±,¡± I ask. She offers me a hand up and I accept, grabbing her calloused hand.

    ¡°IronHenge sounds like a paradise, besides the whole baby-napping thing. A mosquito is a flying insect that sucks blood for food,¡± she explains.

    ¡°Oh, so like a vampire?¡± Hollyhock blanches at my comparison.

    ¡°Please tell me you¡¯re messing with me,¡± she skittishly asks. The assassin looks around like one might attack her this very moment. I know I should tell her that most vampires prefer much cooler climates than Oleander City has. But she also seems to be on the precipice of a nervous breakdown.

    ¡®Maybe I shouldn¡¯t overload her with too much knowledge of the arcane.¡¯

    ¡°I was joking,¡± I lie.

    ¡®Hopefully, this doesn¡¯t come back to bite me in the ass...or the neck. Okay, I¡¯m tired.¡¯

    ¡°Deadass?¡±

    ¡°Deadass,¡± I reaffirm her. The relief on her face is instant.

    ¡°Thank God. I don¡¯t need to deal with that shit.¡± I didn¡¯t see it before, she¡¯s holding a jacket that she swings around my shoulders.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± the assassin leads me back to her apartment.

    We walk for a bit before she asks,

    ¡°So now what are you gonna do?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I mean there¡¯s an undead guy walking around this city when there shouldn¡¯t be. Somebody had to do it. It¡¯s kind of a mystery, ain¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°It is rather strange, I hadn¡¯t heard about anyone leaving IronHenge to do...this. Maybe I should look into it.

    ¡°So nobody just pops out for a quick resurrecting the dead?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely not, we have very strict rules about using magic in the outside world,¡± I explain.

    ¡°Have you broken any of them?¡±

    ¡°Several,¡± I answer with a shrug. ¡°But I don¡¯t really give a shit.¡± Hollyhock loudly laughs.

    ¡°Oleander City is already corrupting you!¡± She slaps me on the shoulder and pulls me closer. ¡°You¡¯ll do just fine here!¡±

    Chapter 6 End

 "Whats Wrong With You?"

    Hollyhock takes me back to her home. With no grace or ceremony, we lie on her bed. She curls into a ball, holding her pillow to her chest like before. She¡¯s asleep in seconds. I¡¯m envious of this ability of hers, to suspend her thoughts of the day and just...rest.

    I stew on all that I¡¯ve learned, including the undead man I met today.

    ¡®Who could¡¯ve done that? And why?¡¯

    There are a few magicians I know of that could perform such complex magic, but I can¡¯t think of any logical reason for them to do so. If they ever left Ironhenge, I can¡¯t imagine them coming here just to resurrect an alcoholic bike thief.

    Though it¡¯s unlikely that someone from one of the other Arcanniums did this, it¡¯s more unlikely that there¡¯s a powerful magician on their own out here.

    I can¡¯t think anymore, my head hurts.

    I turn on my side to look at Hollyhock as she rests. Lying so still.

    ¡®Did she learn to sleep like this? What advantage would that serve in her line of work?¡¯

    I scan down her form, the curve of her collarbone, where her chest barely rises and falls to let air into her body. Over her heart, or rather, just right of where it is, lies a tattoo. I can just make out the scar it covers. Long and thin, like a stab wound from a blade. Next to it, written in cursive are the words ¡°Close, but no cigar.¡± With a smoking cigar covering it.

    ¡®Life has been so hard on you, Holly. And yet you still turn it around with humor.¡¯

    I almost reach out to touch the scar but think better of it.

    Lying on my back I look at her ceiling.

    ¡°Maybe I should make a sleep potion,¡± I say softly.

    ________________________________________________________________________

    I don¡¯t know when I fell asleep, but I can feel that I¡¯m in my third R.E.M. cycle. Or maybe it¡¯s my fourth, I lost count after my second. It¡¯s a strange imagining wherein I¡¯m on a cliffside that I don¡¯t think exists. The sun is low. I can¡¯t tell if it¡¯s rising or setting.

    Very near the edge of the cliff stands a figure with their back turned to me.

    Though I¡¯ve only known her for a day, I recognize the silhouette as Hollyhock. She¡¯s holding a gun in her right hand, and a bouquet of flowers in her left. The flowers are those of her namesake, vivid orange hollyhocks.

    She turns back to look at me. Thick black smoke rises from where her neck should be in lieu of a head.

    The headless Hollyhock readies her gun and grips the flowers tighter. Though she has no eyes, I feel her staring at me.

    ¡°So what¡¯s it gonna be?¡± She asks.

    I think the sun is rising.

    ________________________________________________________________________

    I wake up but keep my eyes closed as I hear metal clanking and Hollyhock grunting. I slowly open one eye to watch her lift a bar of some kind with large black metal discs on it.

    I don¡¯t know how much it weighs, but the way it shakes the ground as she puts it back on the rack I¡¯m guessing it weighs a lot.

    She stands up and walks over to a thick cylinder bag hanging from the ceiling and chained in place to the floor. Hollyhock rolls her shoulders for a few moments then begins assaulting the bag with a barrage of punches. She gives a sharp exhale with each impact, hitting the same spot over and over. The impetus she possesses shakes the bag and the chains violently.

    I examine her body as she exercises, wearing a tight black crop top or maybe it¡¯s called a sports bra, I don¡¯t know. Her orange shorts are tight on her juicy ass. The assassin bounces on her feet, staying on her toes. Despite being wrapped in muscle, she moves like she¡¯s lighter than air.

    My eyes are drawn to the power of her arms, the strength of her back, the length and the thickness of her legs. Wearing so little I can see more of her tattoos, but there are still more hidden from view under her clothes.

    I push away the thought of pulling off what little clothing she has with my teeth.

    ¡®Keep it cool witch-bitch.¡¯

    I watch her in silence as she delivers a few kicks.

    The assassin pulls an earbud out and without turning to look at me says,

    ¡°I can practically feel you undressing me with your eyes.¡± With my ruse revealed I sit up to more fully see her.

    ¡®Didn¡¯t think my gaze was so heavy.¡¯

    ¡°Hmmm, I think I went a bit further than that,¡± I reply with a tilt of my head. She pulls out her other earbud with a smile crossing her face.

    ¡°Care to share?¡± The velcro of her gloves tears into the air while she takes them off.

    ¡°Where¡¯s the fun in that? I¡¯d rather you guess,¡± I answer. A chuckle escapes her.

    Hollyhock calls me over with a gesture of her pointer finger. Sliding out of her bed, I approach the assassin.

    ¡°If you want to watch me work out, you should get a closer look,¡± she says in as sensuous a voice she can make. ¡°You ever throw a punch before?¡±

    ¡°Never needed to. Magic is very useful, and keeps my hands clean.¡±

    ¡°Hmm, I don¡¯t doubt it. But.¡± She pulls me closer by the hips. ¡°Out here that¡¯s not exactly an option. As much as I¡¯d like to see you shoot a fireball at a guy, I think you should do something more lowkey. I wanna teach you some self-defense.¡±

    Hollyhock maneuvers behind me.

    ¡°Hold up your arms and make a fist.¡±

    I oblige. She takes my hand and adjusts it.

    ¡°Put your thumb outside your fingers, not tucked between or under them. You can dislocate your thumb if you punch something like that. Now, punch as hard as you can.¡±

    My fist hits the bag, barely moving it.

    ¡°Power comes from more than just moving your forearm,¡± she instructs. Her rough hand goes over mine. Her strong arm overtakes mine. ¡°First, make sure your hand is in line with your wrist.¡± She points with two fingers. ¡°It lets the force of the impact travel down your arm.¡± From my shoulder, her hand glides down to my hip. ¡°You should turn in to the punch with your whole torso.¡±

    Hollyhock presses herself against my back.

    ¡°You gotta use your hips, that¡¯s how you get a longer reach.¡± Her words tickle the back of my neck.

    I don¡¯t understand all the social cues of this world yet, but I¡¯ve been around the cauldron enough times to know when a woman is flirting with me.

    So, of course, I let her do it.

    I feel the curves and lines of her body as she presses deeper against me. All the softest and hardest parts of the assassin that I want to run my hands over embrace me.

    ¡°Try again,¡± she says.

    I punch again and notice the difference.

    ¡°Now that¡¯s how you throw a punch.¡±

    ¡°Well, you¡¯re an excellent mentor, very hands-on.¡± I turn around to face her. ¡°I learn better by example.¡±

    ¡°Well then,¡± she leans in closer. ¡°I got a few other things I can teach you.¡± I wrap my arms around her waist so that our bodies meet.

    ¡°I have a lot more I could teach you,¡± I flirt back. She follows suit, wrapping her strong arms around my waist.

    ¡°Will those lessons be hands-on as well?¡± She says in a low voice, inching closer to my face.

    ¡°I only hope you can keep up, otherwise you¡¯ll need supplementary assignments.¡± I get close enough to feel the heat from her face radiate into mine.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know any more school euphemisms, so I¡¯ll just¡­¡± The assassin leans in to close the small gap.

    Just then her phone rings and the irritation on her face matches mine. She walks over to answer it.

    ¡®Why do I even bother? Fate clearly amuses itself with these interruptions. How¡¯s a witch supposed to get some when the mood keeps getting ruined?¡¯

    I fix my hair a bit.

    ¡®If Floribunda was here she¡¯d probably laugh her head off.¡¯ A twinge of sadness pulses through me at the thought.

    The assassin stands, silent, listening to whoever it is that called.

    <h1 style="text-align: center">??????</h1>

    ¡°I wanted to know if you¡¯re well enough for a job,¡± the voice of Tamara says to me. I instinctively reach for where I was shot earlier. There isn¡¯t any pain at all, not even a dull ache.

    ¡®Magic is scary.¡¯

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m at a hundred percent. You couldn¡¯t get another Bay Leaf for this?¡±

    ¡®Tamara has the worst timing in the world.¡¯

    ¡°I could, but a job like this requires...what¡¯s the word? Precision. That¡¯s something you¡¯ve always excelled in. Things will play out better if this looks like an accident.¡± On the phone, she sounds like a little girl, which is always weird to think about when she tells me to kill somebody.

    ¡°And how¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°You do this right, and we can have the DeadNettles having a problem with the Purlanes, from there we can pull a few strings. See who wanted you dead.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m in.¡±

    ¡°Good. Come in for details and gear.¡± She ends the call. I tuck the phone into the waistline of my shorts.

    ¡°Aight, I have a job to do, so we¡¯ll pick this up later,¡± I say to Witch-Hazel. I start mentally counting all the weapons here in case Witch-Hazel explores the place.

    ¡°Okay, won¡¯t take me long to get changed,¡± the witch replies. I pause at the implication.

    ¡°No, this is a solo kinda thing,¡± I explain.

    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°...Did I ever mention I kill people for a living? I feel like I made that pretty clear. This isn¡¯t some nine to five office job. This is dangerous shit I deal with.¡±

    ¡°How exactly do you plan on teaching me about this world if you hide from it? You and what you do is intrinsic to this world, and I¡¯d like to see it,¡± she counters.

    I narrow my eyes at her for a second.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry if this sounds rude as fuck but there¡¯s no other way to ask this. What¡¯s wrong with you?¡± She leans back and raises an eyebrow at me.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I mean, are you one of those people that are like attracted to serial killers or something? Like, do you have a mental or personality disorder that attracts you to danger or something? You can tell me. I won¡¯t be mad.¡±

    The witch has a look of surprise, then she starts laughing.

    ¡°Gods and Goddesses! WOW! Okay. Do you always imply someone has a disorder when they¡¯re around you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve told you mad times that I¡¯m an assassin. I¡¯m a trained killer. And yet you¡¯ve been acting like everything is roses and sunshine. Why aren¡¯t you scared?¡±

    Witch-Hazel scoffs a bit.

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m aware of what you do. You¡¯ve made that clear. But I don¡¯t think you¡¯re as ruthless as you say. You haven¡¯t tried to kill me yet.¡± I don¡¯t miss her emphasis on the word ¡®yet¡¯. ¡°But, and I¡¯m sorry if this sounds rude, I¡¯m not afraid of you. I don¡¯t find you that threatening,¡± she says.

    I can¡¯t hide the shock in my voice, ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    She shrugs.

    ¡°I¡¯ve met creatures beyond your comprehension, so a nonmagical human isn¡¯t something I¡¯m worried about. Plus the first time I met you, you were bleeding out. Maybe you¡¯re not as dangerous as you think you are,¡± she taunts. I know it¡¯s a taunt, a dumb one at that. But knowing that doesn¡¯t stop the rage building inside of me. A clash of my pride in what I¡¯m capable of and common sense saying I don¡¯t have to prove myself to her wars in my brain.

    ¡®Do not bring her on an assignment.¡¯

    Magic is real, all logic I have is useless.

    ¡°Get dressed quick, I can¡¯t keep the boss waiting.¡± I turn around to look through my dresser when I hear a WHOOSH of air. Witch-Hazel is fully dressed in one of the outfits she picked yesterday.

    ¡°Get dressed quick, can¡¯t keep the boss waiting,¡± she throws back in my face. I can¡¯t help but laugh a bit.

    ________________________________________________________________________

    After I get dressed I meet Witch-Hazel in the car.

    We drive in silence for a while before I find something to fill it.

    ¡°How¡¯d you get here? To Oleander City, I mean. Did you teleport?¡±

    ¡°No, you can only do that to places you¡¯re familiar with. Besides, that would take too much energy, the distance is too great,¡± she explains.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Ironhenge in relation to here?¡±

    ¡°I have no idea really. From what I¡¯ve worked out, it¡¯s somewhere in the Eurasian Steppes but that¡¯s a needle in a huge fucking haystack.¡±

    ¡°So if you didn¡¯t teleport, how¡¯d you get here?¡±

    ¡°I traveled via Ley lines. It took a couple of stops though, I got turned around in Brazil for a bit.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s a Ley line?¡±

    ¡°They are areas laden with magical energy, they¡¯re all over the planet. They encompass the globe in a complex net. Some go all the way around, some only for a few hundred miles. Some are weaker than others. Performing magic on one rich with energy is much less draining, as you can draw from the earth,¡± she explains.

    ¡°How does that let you get to the other side of the world?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a spell that, should a Ley line be deep and rich enough, surrenders your physical form and travel along it in whatever direction you face. You just have to know when to get off.¡±

    ¡°Like a subway?¡± She shrugs.

    ¡°Sure. If a subway makes you lose all sense of self in an infinitely dark yet blinding way.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what a subway is.¡±

    ¡°Oh, then yeah. It¡¯s like a subway.¡±

    ¡°Where do Ley lines come from?¡± I ask, curious about the subject.

    ¡°They¡¯ve always existed. The earliest records of them call them different names, but only recently has anyone begun to look into why they exist.¡±

    I make a sharp left turn.

    ¡°What¡¯s the most accepted reason?¡± I ask. I¡¯m not sure what good it¡¯ll do for me to know this stuff.

    ¡°There are two popular theories. One suggests that the entire planet, being a living thing, has an aura.¡± She sticks her hand out the window.

    ¡°And that Ley lines are parts of it that we can perceive and even draw from. Some go as far as to say that auroras are visible pieces of Earth''s aura. That they¡¯re so potent, they can be seen by the non-magical eye.¡±

    ¡°So we¡¯re all just leeches then?¡±

    ¡°Basically. The other theory is for the more pragmatic sorcerer or warlock. It suggests that the electromagnetic field that protects Earth from solar flares and such chips away from time to time, falls and gets absorbed into the earth and that¡¯s where Ley lines come from. Personally, I think it¡¯s far fetched and there¡¯s very little evidence to support it.¡±

    ¡°So I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re leaning to the other theory then.¡± Someone honks their horn at me and I wave a middle finger at them.

    ¡°I honestly haven¡¯t thought about it much. But it certainly has a sense of balance to it, y¡¯ know?¡±

    ¡°No, not really.¡± I stop at a crosswalk with a lady who looks like she¡¯s a hundred years old walking by herself. ¡°Life, to me, has just been a series of chaotic fuckin¡¯ whirlwinds. That includes you too. If there is a balance to this, I don''t understand the scale,¡± I comment.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°Maybe you¡¯ll face a tipping point soon. I could be your lucky charm,¡± the witch says with a giggle. I scoff but can¡¯t hide my smile.

    ¡°Think I¡¯d rather have a four-leaf clover.¡±

    ¡°Does a four-leaf clover heal your wounds?¡±

    ¡°Touch¨¦.¡±

    I finally pull up to Bay Leaf headquarters.

    ¡°Stay here, I won¡¯t be long.¡±

    She opens her mouth to protest but I point at her.

    ¡°I¡¯m serious. I already shouldn¡¯t bring you, so you¡¯ll stay in the car.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± Witch-Hazel pouts.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± I exit the car and enter the den of assassins. Someone I haven¡¯t seen in awhile is leaning back in a seat while juggling three grenades. Being as clumsy as she is, this isn¡¯t something she should be doing. I grab two out of the air and look her up and down.

    My skin isn¡¯t exactly a blank canvas, but she collects scars like they¡¯re going out of style. The ones that I can see are from all manner of things. Blades, bullets, she has a pretty nasty burn near her elbow, and something I suspect to be the bite mark from a dog.

    All of us Bay Leaves have dangerous lives, so the amount of scar tissue might suggest she¡¯s particularly unskilled. But the truth is that she¡¯s impossible to kill. Nothing seems to be enough to stop her.

    She gives me an annoyed look.

    ¡°Why do you always have to ruin my fun, Hollyhock?¡±

    ¡°Because I don¡¯t like exploding first thing in the morning.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t knock it ¡®til you try it.¡±

    A bear of a woman with pale white skin, a short crop of blond hair, and startlingly blue eyes make up this Bay Leaf. She has a bruise on her left eye like someone punched her in the face.

    ¡°Nice black eye, Susan.¡±

    ¡°I got it from a sucker punch. Stabbed the guy in the dick, then the neck.¡± She pulls out a knife and starts twirling it between her fingers.

    Susan is an anomaly, not just because she¡¯s physically incapable of feeling fear, but because I¡¯ve been led to believe she had a completely normal upbringing. Her parents are alive, she knows them, and they¡¯re normal people. How she fell into this line of work is beyond me.

    ¡°Nice. Listen, I¡¯d love to swap kill stories with ya, but the boss wants me.¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± she does a wave of her hand. ¡°Don¡¯t let me keep you.¡± I place the grenades on the table next to her.

    ¡°Catch ya later.¡±

    Walking into Tamara¡¯s office, I find her standing in front of an old, large cork board that she only takes out while on a warpath. In true conspiracy nut fashion, she has red strings linking different photos to each other. The sticky notes she¡¯s put on there are in at least three languages. I don¡¯t know if this was intentional.

    ¡°Someone had a fun night,¡± I comment.

    ¡°Hmmm took me a while to find red string. All I had was green for some reason.¡± She briefly turns to look at me before returning to her board. ¡°I hate green. Anyway, here¡¯s the first string to pull.¡±

    Tamara pulls a photo from the board and hands it to me.

    ¡°This is Jeremiah Bastian.¡± The photo shows a young man in his mid-twenties maybe, sitting on a red sports motorcycle. Black leather jacket with an arrow pin in the lapel. He¡¯s smiling at whoever took this picture. The number one is painted in white on the side of his bike.

    ¡°Jeremiah here runs a speedy smuggling business for the DeadNettles. Mostly around Oleander City, but he does business out of town occasionally. Money, drugs, weapons, sometimes diamonds, and sometimes V.I.P¡¯s. If they want something somewhere quickly,¡± she flicks the photo. ¡°They call him. And they have.¡± I follow Tamara as she walks over to a map of the state.

    ¡°Source says he¡¯ll be going to Lantanas City later today. He prefers long roads to rush down so he¡¯ll take Hyperion Drive.¡± She points to a long highway. ¡°You¡¯ll kill him here.¡±

    Her voice is clinical, she¡¯s no longer talking about a living man, he was dead the moment she handed me his photo. I just have to make him realize it.

    ¡°There will be ¡®construction ahead¡¯ which will keep away any prying eyes. This has to look like an accident so that the DeadNettles think that it was us. The Purlanes will think it was someone else and we work from there. Digit has the gear you need for the job downstairs. Jeremiah has also been known to take a few hit jobs also. So he¡¯ll likely be armed, make your move first and make it first,¡± she instructs.

    ¡°Always,¡± I reply.

    Tamara turns her attention back to her board. Before I leave her office she stops me with a question,

    ¡°What¡¯s going on with you and that girl? Hazel?¡±

    My hand is on the doorknob and my grip gets tighter when she finishes her question.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I mean are you friends, friends that fuck, are you her sugar mama, or is it something more substantial?¡± She hasn¡¯t turned around to face me yet.

    ¡°I¡¯m more of a glorified tour guide, actually,¡± I clarify.

    ¡®That sometimes flirts with her.¡¯

    ¡°Just remember we don¡¯t get to live normal lives. The people out there,¡± she gestures to the stained glass windows. ¡°They get to go on dates, sit at a coffee shop and talk about...taxes or whatever. What we do eclipses everything, there is no room for anything else.¡±

    I¡¯ve heard her give this sermon many times over the years. Not always addressed to me, but meant for my ears as well. I¡¯d ask why she¡¯s giving this speech now but I know the answer.

    Tamara adjusts something on her board.

    ¡°Just because she saved your life doesn¡¯t mean you get to-¡± she stops for a moment. ¡°Have to spend it with her.¡±

    If I didn¡¯t know her any better, I¡¯d think there was a shade of regret in her voice. But I do know her better.

    ¡°Okay, you have someone to kill and I don¡¯t pay you to listen to my rants. Get outta here.¡±

    The door opens before I do anything, standing before me is six feet and three inches, two hundred and twenty pounds of woman all wrapped in a periwinkle three-piece suit. Her long black hair rolls down to her shoulders. A deceptively kind face with gentle features smiles warmly at me. Light brown skin and honey brown eyes with lines cut into her thick eyebrows. You¡¯d never think she¡¯s a seasoned killer.

    ¡°Ahh, Hollyhock, mea aloha. Morning,¡± Koki¡¯O greets me.

    If Tamara is the brain of the Bay Leaves, then Koki¡¯O is very much the heart of us. For whatever that might be worth. While the rest of us are cold, calculative machines that Tamara has created, she¡¯s a...well, human being. A warm one. What she¡¯s doing here, let alone acting as the right hand of Tamara is one of life¡¯s biggest mysteries.

    ¡°Hello, Koki¡¯O.¡± I look her up and down. ¡°Nice to see you dressed.¡± The pictures she sent to the woman at the board behind me spring to mind. She¡¯s very sexy, but I¡¯ve never felt the urge to get with her. Which, for me, is very strange.

    If the tree of a woman feels embarrassed, she doesn¡¯t show it. A playful smirk goes across her face actually.

    ¡°Do you want me to hurt you?¡± She asks sweetly. A very violent memory surfaces from when I was younger and sparring with Tamara. I wanted a different opponent and thought that Koki¡¯O would go easier on me. I was wrong. Very wrong. I don¡¯t know what it is about her that makes her punches hurt more, but they just do.

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t. So, excuse me.¡± I get out of her way.

    ¡°Tamara! Ko aloha makamae e ipo!¡± She greets the boss affectionately.

    ¡°Hello, Koki¡¯O,¡± she replies cooly. Why Tamara doesn¡¯t accept Koki¡¯O¡¯s advances or flat-out reject them is an enigma to me.

    ¡®I mean, is she straight or something?¡¯

    And why Koki¡¯O flirts with her and only her is also confusing. I¡¯d ask what she sees in her but I¡¯m not sure I really want the answer.

    I head downstairs to the basement, where our more specialized gear is kept.

    I walk past Kevlar vests, a spool of fabric that should distort thermal imaging, several laptops tracking various things, and a special chemical compound that I don¡¯t understand and have given up trying to.

    Towards the back, Digitalis is hunched working on something. At a glance, it¡¯s some kind of explosive. He briefly looks up to one of the monitors on his table before continuing his work.

    He takes a long drag from his cigarette, then addresses me. The fact that he smokes is proof of his significance within our organization.

    The boss doesn¡¯t let any of us smoke anything. Mostly due to health risks, but she also just hates the smell. Digitalis here gets to smoke because he¡¯s irreplaceable. Our mechanic, doctor, techie, and most importantly: our tattoo artist. He makes sure we can get our jobs done in the best of style.

    ¡°Heya, Holly. Heard about your brush with death and how someone patched you up. You ain¡¯t cheating on me, are ya?¡± He rubs his face and scratches at his five o¡¯clock shadow.

    ¡°Maybe if you went outside more you could¡¯ve saved me.¡±

    ¡°No fuckin¡¯ way, me being in this crypt keeps you motherfuckas alive.¡± He puts out his cigarette. ¡°Lemme see your injury.¡± He gestures with his hand.

    ¡°Not much to see, to be honest.¡± If any other man asked me to lift my shirt I¡¯d break his neck, but Digit has proven his disinterest in other humans many times. I oblige and he comes closer in his rolling chair.

    The dark skin of his thin, lanky fingers goes over my abdomen with a trained manner. This close I can see a little cut on his slightly pointed nose. His hair is dreadlocked and orange. I never asked if it¡¯s natural or not. His dark eyes seem to look through everything.

    ¡°You said you got shot right?¡± He asks.

    ¡°I say lots of things.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see any sign of a gunshot or anything. What kinda healing did you get?¡±

    ¡°Magical.¡± If you can¡¯t come up with a lie, the blunt truth will suffice. He lights another cigarette.

    ¡°Whatever. Anyway, you got a guy to kill so check this out.¡± He gets up and walks me over to a table with a number of half-finished projects. ¡°Here¡¯s the first part.¡± He picks up a tool that resembles a gun but the barrel is too big, long, and there¡¯s no hammer.¡°This is a pneumatic air gun. Think ¡®harpoon gun¡¯ but we¡¯re not shooting spears. Bit of compressed air, this shoots a projectile fast and relatively silent. But,¡± he hands me the air gun.

    ¡°This is what you¡¯ll have to shoot.¡± He holds a long, thin black cylinder for me to see. ¡°This is a tungsten alloy core, with a carbon-fiber casing. Practically indestructible.¡± He bends it to no avail, then hands it to me. It¡¯s much heavier than it looks. The carbon fiber makes it easy to grip. ¡°You know what to do with that, right?¡±

    I nod and tuck the air gun and rod in my jacket pocket.

    ¡°Make sure you bring it back. Wasn¡¯t cheap. You¡¯ll find a bike in the lot, it¡¯ll fit your needs. Bring that back too if you don¡¯t mind.¡± Digitalis tosses me the keys. ¡°I¡¯ll call when he¡¯s getting there.¡±

    ¡°See ya later, Digit. By the way, I need you to do a treatment on my jacket.¡±

    ¡°Drop it off later,¡± he replies, bored.

    I exit through a hidden stairway that leads to the parking lot. A jet black sports bike, ready to go, is the first thing I see when I get up the stairs. There are two helmets waiting on it. This is either a happy coincidence, or someone knew I was bringing Witch-Hazel.

    I hop on, turn the key, and the engine roars to life underneath me. The constant rumble is a promise of its speed. It handles well enough, but I can feel the tenuous relationship it has with balance.

    I pull up to the front of the building where Witch-Hazel is patiently waiting in the car for me. I half expected her to run off somewhere and get into trouble.

    ¡°Hop on,¡± I tell her while offering the helmet. She comes around and sits on the bike like it¡¯s a bench. ¡°Put your leg on the other side and hold onto me.¡±

    ¡°For safety or you want me to cop a feel?¡±

    I lurch the bike forward and she almost falls off.

    ¡°Two things can be true. Put on your helmet.¡± She obliges and we take off.

    Rushing past buildings, zipping between cars and disobeying several traffic laws. We reach the outskirts of Oleander City and head towards Hyperion Drive.

    As Tamara promised, there are roadblocks in front but no actual construction workers in sight. I speed between them and go down this long and empty road. With no other cars around, it¡¯s easier to appreciate the natural beauty of the highway. Redwood trees rise high into the sky on both sides, there¡¯s something total and domineering about them. These wooden skyscrapers make you feel tiny like this is the loneliest road in the world.

    But then, Witch-Hazel holds onto me tighter.

    ¡®I¡¯m not alone. And I have a job to do.¡¯

    A few miles into the road, I pull over and stop, parking the bike behind one of the trees. I ready the weapon, loading the cylinder into the barrel. Witch-Hazel lifts her visor.

    ¡°These trees are gorgeous! They at least have to be at least a thousand years old.¡± She exclaims.

    ¡°Yeah, probably.¡± I shrug. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t really know.¡±

    ¡°What are we doing here?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here to kill someone. His death will help me figure out who tried to kill me.¡± I check the sight on the weapon. It¡¯ll suffice. ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t drag you out here for an impromptu nature hike.¡±

    ¡°Hollyhock, have you considered the possibility I don¡¯t need something from you to keep me interested; that I simply enjoy spending time with you?¡±

    I think on that for a second.

    ¡°No. I hadn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Well, you might want to give it some thought.¡± She gets up and takes off her helmet, shaking her long hair free. ¡°When¡¯s your target supposed to show up?¡±

    ¡°Not for a while, but we¡¯ll hear him coming.¡± I check my phone and it amazingly has a signal all the way out here. ¡°This is the worst part of the job: the waiting.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d figured, if anything, it¡¯d be the fact you could be killed,¡± the witch retorts. I disagree with the wave of my hand and a scoff.

    ¡°You can get killed doing any job. And most don¡¯t even offer health insurance.¡±

    ¡°You keep saying ¡®health insurance¡¯ like that¡¯s a real thing but I don¡¯t believe you. I¡¯m honestly expected to believe that people willingly refuse medical attention because they can¡¯t afford it?¡±

    ¡°For the thousandth time, yes. Needing a doctor costs a lot of money in this world.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fucking insane, how do people live that way?¡±

    ¡°One day at a time I suppose. I don¡¯t want to talk about the nightmare that is the American healthcare system. Talk to me about anything else.¡±

    It¡¯s strange, having a casual conversation while I wait for a man to show up so I can kill him. Even on the few occasions that I worked with others on a job we never talked like this. I can¡¯t help but wonder how much of my life Witch-Hazel is going to change.

    As we talk, she tells me about a magical creature called a guliti. A unique creature that goes through a rapid evolutionary process, starting its life in the water. It sees creatures on land and decides it wants to do that too. The fish crawls up on land and forces its body to breathe air and walk. After this, it sees the creatures of the air and wishes to fly as well. It changes its body and takes to the air. They live the rest of their days flying high in the air, never coming down until they die. Gulitis always die in mid-flight and land back in the same body of water they started in.

    ¡°Do they do that on purpose?¡± I ask Witch-Hazel. She shrugs.

    ¡°Some druids say it¡¯s just in their nature. That they always end up where they belong.¡±

    The phone rings and I answer immediately.

    ¡°Target is two minutes out from the road,¡± the gruff voice of Digitalis says.

    ¡°Okay.¡± I hang up. ¡°He¡¯s about to be here so step back.¡± The witch gets back on the bike and holds onto me.

    ¡°Just drive. I promise I won¡¯t slow you down.¡±

    I open my mouth to protest but I can tell this is another thing she won¡¯t back down on. I rev the engine to life and wait. I hear a powerful motorcycle rushing in our direction. I peek out the side. At the speed he¡¯s going at, he¡¯ll reach and pass us in no time.

    ¡°Hold on tight!¡± Witch-Hazel has a death grip around me as I twist the throttle and the engine beneath us screams its power. We take off like a bullet and I pull us alongside the target.

    With a number one painted on the side and the same leather jacket with the arrow pin he was wearing in the picture, that¡¯s all the confirmation I need to know this is the right man.

    At first, he doesn¡¯t notice us, his attention is on the long road ahead of us. He does a double-take when he finally looks over.

    I don¡¯t need to see his face to know he¡¯s deciding between flight or fight. But these few moments are all I need. My eyes go to his front wheel and I watch the spokes cycle as the world slows down around me. I ignore everything that isn¡¯t relevant. The sensation of speed, the wind pushing against me, the feel of the handlebars in my hands, the pressure of the woman holding onto me. All that matters is the speed of his wheel and my distance to it.

    ¡®With Witch-Hazel on the bike, if he decides to speed up, I won¡¯t be able to catch him. If he takes out his gun, things will get complicated quickly.¡¯

    But I¡¯m not one of Tamara¡¯s deadliest assassins for no reason.

    Before the neurons in his brain can fire off a signal to his muscles to grab his gun, I''ve already drawn mine and aimed it at his front wheel. If I miss this shot, this all goes to hell.

    So I don¡¯t miss.

    I pull the trigger on the air gun and the tungsten cylinder flies out. It goes halfway through his wheel before a spoke catches it. The spoke carries it to the fork and from there: his death is finalized. I swerve away to avoid getting caught.

    The clank of metal against metal is drowned out by the engines going but soon it¡¯s only one.

    With his front wheel stopped, his bike goes up, him along with it. Jeremiah meets the pavement first before his bike meets his body in a disastrous manner. Though it is brief, the sound of bones snapping is unmistakable. The cacophony of a human skidding across asphalt is nothing compared to that of a motorcycle crashing. It skids in defiance, wanting to speed along effortlessly but its velocity dies. The bike stops.

    I carefully slow down so that I don¡¯t leave any skidmarks. Maneuvering the slowing bike back around, I pass the destroyed one and stare at the destroyed man.

    ¡°Stay here,¡± I order. Dismounting the motorcycle, I approach Jeremiah in his dying moments. His left arm and both his legs broke on impact, the bones pierce the skin, exposing them to the open air.

    He¡¯d be screaming in agony if it weren¡¯t for the wet coughs. A sign of blood filling his lungs. No doubt punctured on a broken rib. His helmet has broken open, revealing his bloodied face as he looks up at me.

    Jeremiah tries to focus through the pain to give me his best angry look. A pathetic attempt to spit at me ends with blood dripping down his chin. But that¡¯s just to distract from what his right arm is doing. Miraculously, his gun has landed within arm¡¯s reach.

    His fingers are swelling up in the body''s misguided attempt to protect itself. I¡¯m not big on giving false hope. Or taking chances. I put my boot on the gun and slide it out of his reach.

    ¡°Fuc- fuc¡­.¡± his last insult drowns in his mouth. I watch the light fade from his eyes, his body grows stiller, and the man dies. After seeing a sight like this so many times, I don¡¯t feel anything about it.

    I pick up the gun, remove a messenger bag the corpse was carrying, and call Tamara.

    She answers immediately.

    ¡°Target had a bag, what should I do with it?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s inside?¡± I check the contents,

    ¡°Bags of heroin that have burst open and some money,¡± I answer.

    ¡°Get rid of it,¡± she commands. ¡°No need for that shit to get out there.¡±

    ¡°Got it.¡± I hang up and walk away from a job well done.

    <h1 style="text-align: center">????</h1>

    I¡¯m trying very hard to keep composed after watching this series of events unfold. Perhaps I was in denial this whole time. Hollyhock said what she was, what she does, but some small part of me didn¡¯t believe it.

    It¡¯s not the death itself that disturbs me necessarily, or even that she directly caused it but the way he died. Choking on his own blood, I could hear it from here. The sound makes my skin crawl and brings to mind a memory I want more than anything to forget.

    But this is reality washing away the fantasy I made in my head about life without magic. In my world, there are creatures that can only exist on the periphery; that due to their nature cannot live in the majority. Predators, beasts, monsters, whatever they¡¯re called they serve a purpose.

    Hollyhock and the Bay Leaves may live this world, but their entire existence is reserved for the places out of sight, for the shadows. And knowing what I know about her, Hollyhock didn¡¯t have much other choice but to live this way.

    She may know her world, but she¡¯s on the outside looking in. This is where she truly lives. On the outskirts. On a long lonely road without much room for anything else. This is what she does to survive.

    I suppose it was absurd to think I could enter this world in any normal capacity. If I want to be here, I¡¯ll have to live on the edges as well.

    I look up at Hollyhock as she watches a man die.

    ¡®If she can live her whole life this way, I can survive a month or two.¡¯

    The assassin recovers the black cylinder she shot into the wheel. It doesn¡¯t seem to have any damage.

    ¡°What¡¯s with the bag?¡± I ask to distract myself from the dread settling in my stomach. I can only hope that my voice came out steady.

    Hollyhock is unfazed by the life she snuffed out, or the gore she caused.

    ¡°Gotta get rid of it. Thinkin¡¯ about burning it but then I need a mask for the fumes and that¡¯s a whole thing. Maybe I¡¯ll just-¡±

    I take the bag from her hands and concentrate.

    ¡®Anything to take my mind off¡­ Concentrate Hazel.¡¯

    I throw the bag up as high as I can. Before it begins its descent I send a ball of fire from my hand; the heat can be felt even as it flies away. The bag is incinerated, not even a fiber is left.

    ¡°Will that do?¡± Hollyhock is still looking at where the bag was.

    ¡°Uhhh yeah. That¡¯ll do.¡± Her gaze comes back to earth. ¡°Sometimes I forget you have magic, then you do something like that.¡± She tucks the stolen gun into her jacket pocket. ¡°You okay?¡± Genuine concern is in her voice.

    She¡¯s the same Hollyhock as before, it¡¯s me that had to fully realize what she is.

    The assassin. The woman who cares about kids. Who gave me a place to stay. Who shared her tragic story with me. Who¡¯s put up with my ridiculous requests.

    I nod. The dread I feel is slowly dispelling.

    ¡°The way he died just reminded me of something.¡±

    ¡®Something. Is that all Floribunda is to me now? Just a memory?¡¯

    The assassin solemnly nods. Death may no longer bother her, but she knows it can bother others.

    ¡°Ain¡¯t a good way to go.¡± She looks back at him. ¡°But the drugs he smuggled hurt a lot of people. And the people he worked for have hurt even more.¡±

    She gets on the motorcycle and drives us to where we were waiting before. Hollyhock brushes the dirt the bike disturbed to erase any trace of our presence.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go home,¡± she says. We drive off, leaving this stretch of road behind.

    When we get back into town Hollyhock stops at railroad tracks while a train comes along. We¡¯re the only ones on this side of the track. It blocks the sun as we wait.

    ¡°I remember you said you¡¯ve seen someone die before. But you never said how or why,¡± she observes.

    Floribunda comes to mind. Whenever death is mentioned she always appears in my thoughts.

    ¡°I¡­..it¡­¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to talk about it now if you don¡¯t want to. I don¡¯t know if talking about stuff really helps. But if you ever want to, you know where to find me.¡±

    ¡°Bleeding out on some stairs somewhere?¡±

    That gets a laugh from the assassin.

    ¡°Oh sure, not in the apartment you¡¯re not paying rent for.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s ¡®rent¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Ironhenge sounds like a paradise.¡±

    We sit in silence and watch the train go by.

    ¡°I know that this isn¡¯t the tour experience you were hoping for. Abandoned churches, back room meetings, and orchestrating accidents in isolated roads. But that¡¯s how this world operates. And these might be bad people, but I don¡¯t enjoy killing them. I never have. It¡¯s never been personal, and now that it is...I still don¡¯t. I just wanted you to know that.¡±

    I hold her tighter.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to defend yourself to me. Not now, not ever. I don¡¯t have the right to judge you. I just wanted you to know that.¡±

    The train passes. The gates rise. The sun lands on us again.

    ¡°You ever have a cheeseburger?¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t say that I have.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s get a couple.¡±

    Hollyhock revs the engine and we go back into Oleander City.

    Ch. 7 End.

 A Lot of Firsts

    The assassin drives us to another restaurant. The sign says ¡°Dandy Lion Diner.¡± With a lion wearing a suit and holding up a platter of food.

    ¡°Thought you said diners are shitty?¡±

    ¡°I said the diner we were at before is shitty. This one¡¯s okay.¡± She takes out her phone and calls someone. ¡°Yo, Larkspur, I¡¯m at Dandy Lion Diner. Come pick up the motorcycle and drop off the car. Thanks. Bye.¡±

    We enter the establishment, there a few other people here. We sit opposite each other in a booth towards the back.

    The assassin looks out the window, a neutral expression on her face. The death she caused and witnessed doesn¡¯t seem to be on her mind.

    I can¡¯t get the sound out of my head. It¡¯s just the same as-

    ¡°Welcome, I¡¯m Rhonda!¡± A waitress interrupts my thoughts. ¡°I¡¯ll be your server today, let me know when you¡¯re ready to order!¡± She hands us a couple of menus.

    ¡°Thank you, Rhonda,¡± Hollyhock says, with a voice so polite it almost surprises me.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I follow suit. The waitress springs away. Hollyhock leans back and rests her right arm on the seat while looking through the menu.

    ¡°How do you do it?¡±

    ¡°You just pick what you want to eat from this catalog of food.¡±

    Her insinuation that I don¡¯t know how to order food at a restaurant immediately pisses me off. Though, I¡¯m not being clear on what I mean.

    ¡°...I mean how do you...do what you do, without it disturbing you?¡± She nods, understanding.

    ¡°The first few times it did disturb me. Hell, the first time I ever did it I threw up. But that day was a lot of firsts for me.¡± She recollects with an uncomfortable look. ¡°Ugh. Anyway, don¡¯t get me wrong, the people I¡¯ve killed aren¡¯t saints. Each one was a monster or helped the monsters. But I never attach a feeling to causing their deaths.¡±

    She looks out the window.

    ¡°You know how you see a sunset, and it¡¯s the millionth time you¡¯ve seen it but you still feel¡­¡±

    ¡°Small¡± ¡°Whole,¡± we say simultaneously.

    The assassin presses on.

    ¡°No matter how many times you see it, you still feel that way. But I don¡¯t let myself feel anything when I kill, not rage, disgust, pride.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°Nothing. You don¡¯t attach feelings to something like that, and you do it more efficiently.¡±

    I¡¯m not sure if I completely agree, but it seems to work for her.

    ¡°You have any allergies?¡± She asks, changing the subject.

    ¡°That depends on what those are,¡± I reply.

    Hollyhock narrows her eyes.

    ¡°Now I know that you¡¯re fucking with me. There¡¯s no way you don¡¯t know what allergies are.¡±

    I shrug.

    ¡°I really don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡± I start looking over the menu. ¡°What¡¯s an ¡®IPA¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Some kind of beer,¡± she answers. ¡°Don¡¯t change the subject, you know what allergies are, you¡¯re a doctor.¡±

    ¡°You changed the subject first, and I''m a witch, a big difference.¡±

    ¡°I changed the subject ¡®cause it¡¯s not exactly lunch conversation.¡±

    The waitress comes back, placing two cups of water for us and utensils.

    ¡°You ready to order?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Rhonda,¡± the assassin speaks politely again ¡°We¡¯ll take two cheeseburgers, make mine a double.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll have a double also,¡± I add. Hollyhock lifts an eyebrow at me.

    ¡°With waffle fries and orange juice. Y¡¯know what? Make it an orange soda, it¡¯s been a long day.¡± The assassin says with a smile. ¡°I¡¯ll work out later.¡±

    ¡°Sure thing, dear. And what do you want to drink, hon?¡± She turns to me.

    I didn¡¯t really look at the menu.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have the mint tea.¡± I vaguely recall that being on there.

    ¡°Ok, darling. Anything else?¡±

    ¡°Is the pecan pie any good?¡± Hollyhock asks.

    ¡°Made it myself!¡±

    ¡°Well, in that case, I¡¯ll definitely take a slice, warmed up with some vanilla ice cream, please.¡±

    ¡°Okay, dears, should be in ready in about 15 minutes.¡±

    Hollyhock nods and hands her back our menus.

    ¡°Look, you¡¯re clearly asking about it because of some issue that you don¡¯t want to address. I¡¯m sorry if death makes you uncomfortable but I did make it clear that¡¯s what I deal in.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not death that¡¯s necessarily the problem. It¡¯s just¡­¡± It¡¯s been years, I¡¯ve thought about it countless times, dreamt about it, and I can barely say it. She looks at me with concern slowly tightening her face.

    ¡°Don¡¯t talk about it if you aren¡¯t ready. Let¡¯s change the subject again. What¡¯s to be done about the undead guy walking around, stealing bikes?¡± She picks up the knife and twirls it between her fingers. ¡°What¡¯s your first step to tracking down whoever did this to him?¡±

    Happy for the change of topic, I start hypothesizing on ways to do that.

    ¡°Necromancy isn¡¯t my strongest school of magic.¡±

    ¡°Naturally,¡± Hollyhock replies.

    ¡°But it works like any other magic; it always leaves a trace. Problem is that his reanimation must¡¯ve happened a while ago. There isn¡¯t too much of the original magic left to track. At least, not on the outside.¡±

    ¡°You saying that you¡¯d have a better chance if you dissected him?¡±

    ¡°Not dissection exactly, it¡¯d be more ripping the energy out of him destroying anything along the way.¡±

    ¡°That sounds good, do that.¡± Her knife twirling is at an alarming speed.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m not doing that. For several reasons. No, I¡¯ll try something else.¡±

    I snap and a few books I need appear in front of me.

    ¡®Intros to All Schools of Magic. Vol. 1¡¯

    ¡®Glossary of the Undead: Know Your Corpse!¡¯

    ¡®Beginner''s Guide to Necromancy: Start With the End¡¯

    ¡°It freaks me out when you do that,¡± Hollyhock comments.

    ¡°And I find your knife spinning unsettling.¡± With a defiant look on her face, she flings the knife from one hand to the other, spinning it as soon as she catches it. Hollyhock then stops and places it on the table.

    ¡°Okay, no more knife spinning. I¡¯m here to help you, any way that I can. What can I do?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m getting a few ideas, but I need to check some things,¡± I reply as I open my books.

    ??????

    I lean forward to look at her books, but I can¡¯t seem to focus my eyes on the words. The letters move about the pages, and the images stretch and distort the more I stare at them.

    ¡°Am I having a sudden, severe attack of dyslexia, or is something wrong with your books?¡±

    ¡°Neither,¡± the witch answers. ¡°It¡¯s ocular magic, only I or permitted people can read this.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m not a ¡®permitted¡¯ person?¡±

    ¡°Do you know how to read traditional Mandarin or ancient Greek?¡± She asks.

    ¡°...Do you know how to break a man¡¯s neck without him noticing you?¡±

    ¡°...No.¡±

    ¡°Then we both know things the other doesn¡¯t then, huh?¡± She rolls her eyes at me.

    ¡°I could track the caster if I could find another person they reanimated. Have you heard about anyone else acting unusual?¡±

    ¡°This is Oleander City; everyone is unusual. But the Bay Leaves have contacts in a few morgues. I¡¯ll see if any of them have noticed any dead bodies that have gone missing,¡± I offer.

    ¡°That would actually be very helpful,¡± Witch-Hazel says. ¡°Ask if any bodies have turned up with any yellow discoloration on their heads.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°It¡¯s a sign that a body was unsuccessfully resurrected or is no longer reanimated,¡± she explains. ¡°Whoever is doing this might be running experiments, there¡¯s bound to be some discarded ones.¡±

    I take out my phone and text Kadupul, our resident liaison.

    Yo, can you put out a feeler with your friends in the morgues?

    They¡¯re not my friends but sure. What are they looking out for?

    Bodies that gone missing or with yellow discoloration on their heads.

    ¡°How big will this discoloration be?¡± I ask Witch-Hazel as she closes one book.

    ¡°It¡¯ll vary, depending on different factors. But it¡¯ll mostly be on top of the head,¡± she clarifies.

    It¡¯ll be on top of their heads.

    What is this about?

    Kinda hard to explain. Just let me know, ok?

    Fine. I¡¯ll ask Xyla to keep an eye out.

    Xyla?

    You still see her?

    She¡¯s definitely disturbed. She doesn¡¯t even do us favors for money. Think she just likes seeing dead bodies.

    Y¡¯all fucking?

    ¡­.Goodbye Holly

    See ya.

    ¡°I asked so that¡¯ll cover any recent bodies, what¡¯s your plan for any that are buried or disposed of?¡±

    ¡°Hmm, I have an idea but it¡¯ll take some time.¡± She closes her books and snaps them back wherever they were. ¡°In the meantime, why don¡¯t we eat?¡±

    Rhonda comes back with our food, placing our items before us. The smell of hot oil, sizzling meat, and the scent of Witch-Hazel¡¯s mint tea find its way to my nose.

    ¡°I¡¯ll bring you your pie in a little while, honey.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡± The witch stares at her tea like it just asked her a hard math question. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°Why is there ice in this cup?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s iced tea,¡± I answer.

    ¡°Why would anybody want ice in their tea?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s 91 degrees outside. She probably thought you¡¯d want it cold.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the point of drinking tea cold? That practically defeats the whole purpose of drinking it.¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s more refreshing that way,¡± I comment. I sip my orange soda, the ice cubes clink against each other as the bubbles pop making a pleasant sound. ¡°I could ask her to bring you a hot one.¡± The witch dismisses the idea with a wave of her hand.

    ¡°No no, I don¡¯t want to trouble her. Besides, wouldn¡¯t be much point in leaving my home if I didn¡¯t have a lot of first times, right?¡± I lift up my drink to toast.

    ¡°Here¡¯s to a lot of firsts.¡±

    ¡°To a lot of first,¡± she repeats. We clink our glasses together.

    Witch-Hazel takes a bite of her burger as I pour ketchup on the side for my fries.

    ¡°Holy shit,¡± she says with her mouth full.

    ¡°Too hot?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she swallows her food. ¡°This is really fucking good! The cheese and the meat? Hestia¡¯s Tits!¡±

    ¡°¡®Hestia¡¯s tits¡¯? You¡¯re just making these up now.¡± She doesn¡¯t acknowledge my barb and she starts wolfing on her burger. ¡°Jesus Christ, it¡¯s not going anywhere! Have some fries before you choke.¡±

    Witch-Hazel eats one and upon realizing how good it tastes her face lights up.

    ¡°If all the food out here is this good, I might just stay,¡± she comments.

    ¡°I¡¯m not enough incentive for you to stay?¡±

    ¡°Is that an invitation for me to...eat you?¡±

    Someone in the booth behind me clears their throat loudly.

    ¡°Seems our conversation is too obscene for SOMEONE! So, let¡¯s switch it up. What did you do for fun back in Ironhenge? Potion brew offs, speed enchantments, betting on unicorn races?¡±

    ¡°Oh, Gods no!¡± She stops scarfing her fries. ¡°That¡¯s a recipe for catastrophe!¡± I take a huge bite of my burger.

    ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°Unicorns can¡¯t be tamed by any means. Magical or otherwise. They¡¯re very intelligent and extremely arrogant.¡±

    I pop a couple of fries in my mouth.

    ¡°I honestly can¡¯t tell if you¡¯re fucking with me at this point.¡±

    ¡°No I,¡± she puts her hand on her chest over her heart, ¡°I swear on my life, I¡¯m not fucking with you. Unicorns are VERY dangerous creatures if you ever encounter one-¡±

    ¡°Where would I ¡®encounter¡¯ a unicorn?¡± She shrugs.

    ¡°There¡¯s a few hundred or so left. Some are here in America, there¡¯s a slim possibility you could run into one,¡± she explains. ¡°Unlike non-magical horses, they aren¡¯t prey animals, if by any chance you do meet one, it¡¯s vital that you don¡¯t pose a threat, otherwise it will try to kill you.  It¡¯ll also kill you if you try to treat it as just an animal. We had a whole class on them once.¡±

    ¡°How would it know I¡¯m doing that?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re very intuitive. It¡¯s been theorized that they can read minds.¡± She tries to sneakily grab my fries but I slap her hand away. ¡°I¡¯m giving you valuable information that I shouldn¡¯t be sharing, and you can¡¯t spare me some fries?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m paying for them. Back to unicorns, can¡¯t I just shoot it?¡±

    ¡°You better not miss, that¡¯s all I¡¯m saying. Many have died on unicorn hunts, almost every part of their body can be used for potent magical brews. A small piece of their horn is invaluable.¡± Witch-Hazel finishes her burger. ¡°But enough about them, you¡¯re probably not gonna meet one so,¡± she shrugs.

    ¡°What about dragons?¡± I¡¯m curious about whatever magical creatures exist.

    ¡°The last ones died during what you call World War Two,¡± she explains. ¡°Though not because of anything non-magical humans did, it just happened to match up like that.¡± Witch-Hazel sips her mint tea and twists her face in disgust. ¡°This has way too much sugar in it.¡±

    ¡°We Americans like our tea sweet,¡± I explain.

    ¡°Well, it tastes like candy.¡± She then drinks it all anyway. ¡°I¡¯ll stick with my own tea.¡±

    ¡°Leprechauns?¡±

    ¡°Real. Rare. Reclusive.¡±

    ¡°Elves?¡±

    ¡°No. Not in any sense.¡±

    ¡°Pegasus¡¯? Pegasi?¡±

    ¡°Hunted to extinction during the Peloponnesian War.¡±

    ¡°Mermaids?¡±

    ¡°Near extinction, not enough fish to eat, pollution has altered where they stay. It¡¯s estimated that they¡¯ll be gone in twenty-thirty years or so.¡± She says it with a note of melancholy, but with the interest like mermaids are a normal occurrence. Though, I suppose to her they are.

    ¡°Uhhh, I don¡¯t really know any other magical animals. Most of my knowledge comes from movies and shit.¡± I finish my burger only to realize that Witch-Hazel has already cleaned her plate. Must be hungry. ¡°How about werewolves?¡±

    ¡°Hey look, here¡¯s your dessert.¡± She points out. Rhonda places a thick slice of pecan pie between us. The honey brown treat is warm and a healthy dollop of vanilla ice cream atop it is slowing melting.

    ¡°Here you go, sugars. Enjoy.¡± She gives us two spoons with a wide smile. ¡°I¡¯ll be back to check on you in a little while.¡±

    ¡°What does that taste like?¡± She leans forward and inspects it.

    ¡°Well,¡± I pick up a spoon and scoop up a big helping of ice cream and pie. ¡°You tell me.¡± I offer it to her. The witch gives a coy smile before dipping her head and slowly closes her mouth around my utensil. She thinks on it like she¡¯s tasting a fine wine.

    ¡°Hmmm.¡± Her eyes are locked on mine and she licks a bit of ice cream from the corner of her mouth, knowing I¡¯m watching. ¡°I¡¯m detecting a hint of pecans.¡±

    ¡°Oh really? Didn¡¯t think you¡¯d pick up on that.¡± She chews slowly.

    ¡°Brown sugar, honey from a summer harvest, some extract of vanilla, pinches of cinnamon, and some kind of syrup I¡¯ve never tasted before,¡± she lists.

    ¡°You have a very smart tongue,¡± I reply.

    ¡°I prefer calling it...experienced.¡± She takes the spoon from my fingers, spinning it as I did the knife. ¡°Let¡¯s hear your thoughts on it.¡± Witch-Hazel offers me up some with the same spoon I just had in her mouth.

    I take the bite. The soft crunch of the pecans compliments the warm gooeyness of the filling, and the ice cream melts into sweet milk.

    ¡°It reminds me of the first time I had ice cream. It was a hot day like this, ¡®cept the HQ didn¡¯t have AC at the time. It was too hot to train so Tamara let us go do whatever. I was practicing my reading when Larkspur saw me, I was sweating bullets over my little kid book. They took me to a store and bought me some ice cream sandwiches.¡± I laugh a bit as I remember what happens next. ¡°I ate those shits so fast and got a mean ass brain-freeze. I start clutching my head like it was gonna explode.¡±

    She laughs in a melodic way, light and ascending.

    ¡°Oh I¡¯m glad you think it¡¯s funny, ¡®cause Larkspur thought it was hilarious. They just sat there laughing at me, meanwhile, I¡¯m thinking I¡¯m about to die.¡±

    The witch laughs harder and I have to say I like the way it sounds.

    I want to hear it more often.

    ¡°You enjoy my pain way too much.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d be open to enjoying your pleasure too,¡± She says with a sultry smile.

    ¡°Well, come get some.¡± We lean towards each other. No distractions, no sudden interruptions. Just us and-

    The door to the diner violently opens and some asshole yells,

    ¡°HANDS UP THIS IS A ROBBERY!!!¡±

    Through all the sudden gasps the witch and I at the same time say,

    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be fucking kidding me.¡±

    I immediately stand up and walk over to whoever is ruining my good time. It¡¯s two of them, both armed. Despite the stupid half masks they¡¯re wearing, I learn all I need to know. Their eyes show how young and afraid they are. There¡¯s no way they could be older than sixteen.

    ????

    I¡¯m convinced that Fate has a personal problem with me kissing Hollyhock. She stands before the thieves¡¯ guns, unafraid. But I know full well that she isn¡¯t bulletproof, I prepare a spell in my hand under the table. I whisper an incantation, needing to project it fast if things go south.

    ¡°GET BACK OR I¡¯LL SHOOT!¡± One of them yells at her.

    ¡°Oh yeah, how are you gonna do that with the safety on?¡±

    The thief inspects his gun for a second and that¡¯s all she needs. Twisting his wrist and pulling the gun from him, she points it at the other thief.

    ¡°Put the fucking gun on the counter, now.¡± He complies, clearly taken aback by the sudden turn of events. ¡°Good.¡± She grabs the gun, briefly looking it over. ¡°Serials filed off. Who gave you these guns?¡±

    ¡°I, uh, we,¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s so hard to understand about my question?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t tell you,¡± one of them says.

    ¡°Why? Is the person who gave it to you holding a gun to you right now?¡±

    ¡°It was Newt!¡± The other one answers.

    ¡°There, was that so hard?¡± She tucks the guns into her waistband and I dispel the magic in my hand; she¡¯s got the situation under control. ¡°Now get the fuck out of here and don¡¯t do dumb shit like this again!¡± She scolds. ¡°You got your whole life ahead of you, go apply for a job at a supermarket or something.¡± They nod quickly and run out of the diner.

    Everyone in the diner starts clapping for her but the assassin raises one hand.

    ¡°Stop,¡± she commands and everyone immediately does. Hollyhock approaches the counter where our waitress is standing. ¡°This is for the bill, for the disturbance, and something extra not to call the police about this.¡± She places a few hundred dollar bills before her. ¡°Alright?¡± The waitress nods in agreement.

    ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± Hollyhock gesticulates with a jerk of her head. I rise from my seat and join her.

    ¡°My compliments to the chef, everything was delicious,¡± I say.

    ¡°The pie was slammin¡¯¡± Hollyhock adds. On that little bit of praise, we exit.

    ¡°So, do you have any other methods to catch our necromancer?¡± The assassin asks. It¡¯s somewhat strange hearing her use magical terms, I don¡¯t mind it though.

    ¡°Looking for someone reanimated by them is still our best bet. I have some other things we could try, but it¡¯s a bit conspicuous.¡±

    She nods in understanding as she unlocks the door to the car for me.

    ¡°I hate to derail us but there¡¯s something I have to take care of.¡±

    ¡°Does it have anything to do with this ¡®Newt¡¯ person?¡±

    ¡°It does. He¡¯s a member of the DeadNettles, the gang that wanted me killed. Don¡¯t know if he was a part of that, but it doesn¡¯t matter. Giving guns to kids is never a good idea. I want to know what the bastard is thinking.¡± Her voice is lined with anger. Seems whenever children are involved, she takes a keen interest.

    ¡°You really do like kids, huh?¡± She stashes her newly acquired guns in the glovebox and starts the engine.

    ¡°I just think kids should have to worry about school and the stupid stuff they like, not about having to steal to survive.¡± Her voice gets a bit less angry. ¡°It¡¯s too late for me, they still have a chance.¡±

    If it means that much to her, I want to help her.

    ¡°Anything I can do?¡± The car lurches forward and we take off. She thinks it over for a moment.

    ¡°Can you give me a magical disguise?¡±

    A wide smile comes across my face at the opportunity to do magic on Hollyhock.

    ¡°How fast do you need it?¡±

    ¡°Soon. Real soon.¡±

    Chapter End.

 Well, That Was Fun

    We pull up in front of a building, it¡¯s nicer than most of the places around this area. There¡¯s a neon sign of a woman holding a rose up to her mouth like it¡¯s a microphone.

    ¡°What is this place?¡± I ask.

    ¡°It¡¯s a karaoke bar,¡± the assassin answers, her voice somewhat distant. I noticed on the way here that she seems angry. Though no one was hurt, much, this ¡®Newt¡¯ giving guns to young men has rubbed her the wrong way. The Falecido pisses her off and he only steals bikes from young people. I can¡¯t imagine how mad this makes her.

    ¡°Okay, stay still, I need to concentrate. If you move I¡¯ll have to start over.¡±

    ¡°Aight, try not to make me look too weird.¡±

    The first thing to do when disguising a person is to hide any distinguishing features they have. In Hollyhock¡¯s case, it¡¯s her tattoos and scars. I create a pliable sheet of energy that takes in the shape of her face. It copies the deep brown of her skin, creating a blank version of her face. I fill in the lines in her hairline and eyebrows just to be safe.

    Then I start adjusting the main features: the eyes, nose, and mouth. I give the eyes more space, making them somewhat smaller and for added measure change the colors. A little yellow in the sclera, change the iris to emerald green. I turn the point of her nose slightly up. Her mouth, her lips, I like their shape as is.

    ¡®Seems a shame to change it.¡¯

    But this is important. Narrower and thinner lips, I straighten the Cupid¡¯s bow and lower its position entirely.

    Then what every good disguise needs: a new distracting feature to focus on. A thin scar that travels under her eyes and across her nose bridge. I raise her cheekbones and make her jaw smaller.

    With that, her disguise is complete, I can¡¯t recognize her as herself anymore. I push it onto her face and it meshes perfectly.

    ¡°Done,¡± I announce. The assassin opens her eyes and explores her new face in the mirror.

    ¡°Whoa, that¡¯s really fucking weird.¡± She touches her face to make sure it¡¯s her. ¡°How long will this last?¡±

    ¡°As long as I want, as long as I¡¯m near you,¡± I explain. She considers it for a moment.

    ¡°Fine. I¡¯d need your help anyway.¡± She points to the glovebox. ¡°Give me the patch in there.¡±

    I oblige, opening the compartment and handing her a white patch. She peels a layer off it and slaps it on her deltoid, covering her Bay Leaves tattoo. She rubs it in circles and then the material starts to change color, matching her skin tone. In a few seconds, it completely blends in.

    ¡°How does that work?¡± I ask.

    ¡°No idea. C¡¯mon, stay close.¡± She exits the car, walks to the building, and takes out her phone. Tapping something on her screen her phone goes black for a few seconds. Then comes back to life showing a video of people walking around.

    ¡°What are you watching?¡±

    ¡°This is a camera feed from inside,¡± she answers. Hollyhock taps the screen and it changes to another room.

    ¡°How are you seeing that?¡±

    ¡°This building has a thing called WiFi, it lets things like my phone connect to other things like the internet. The security system here runs on the same WiFi network, sloppy, and my phone has a program that lets me use certain things connected to WiFi,¡± she explains quickly all while tapping through to see through different cameras. ¡°Like these security cameras.¡± One of them cycles into a women¡¯s restroom. ¡°This place is disgusting,¡± the assassin mutters under her breath. She cycles faster and finds who she¡¯s looking for. She starts following him with the cameras.

    ¡°C¡¯mon.¡± She enters the building and walks with such great intensity that it¡¯s hard to keep up with her.

    ¡®Maybe I should start exercising.¡¯

    I follow her up a flight of stairs, she goes up two or three at a time, making it to the next staircase before I can catch up. When I have her in my sights again, I can see her fists balled up, anger practically coming off her in waves. I should calm her down but I¡¯m not sure how I¡¯d go about doing that. Or if I even want to. Hollyhock pulls open a door marked ¡°Men¡¯s¡± and heads inside. By the time I catch up she¡¯s standing outside one of the stalls. I catch a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, I know it¡¯s not her face but even still she looks distant.

    The assassin takes a deep breath and uncurls her fists, but the anger emanating from her is still there. It¡¯s worse if anything.

    ¡®Should I say something?¡¯

    A man exits one of the stalls, it¡¯s not the one she¡¯s looking for. He goes to wash his hands but she speaks up,

    ¡°Get out. Right now,¡± she says in a low voice. He¡¯s smart because he nods quickly in agreement and makes a hasty exit.

    Then a pasty, lean man exits one of the stalls. He zips up his pants and fixes his shiny belt.

    ¡°I would not go in there, just committed a war crime in that stall,¡± he says absently, not looking at either of us. Hollyhock allows him the courtesy of washing his hands. Or more likely things are about to get physical and she doesn¡¯t want his dirty hands on her. The man, disgustingly, washes his hands briefly before running them through his greasy black hair.

    He turns to look at the assassin.

    ¡°God just be making anybody, huh?¡±

    With that, Hollyhock delivers a quick punch to his face. A hollow thud lets me know his nose is broken. Blood starts gushing to confirm it. His eyes involuntarily tear up and he pulls out a knife. Before he can get the chance to use it, she grabs his wrist, pushes it back, and palm strikes the hilt of the knife driving it in between the tiles of the wall; taking it out of the fight.

    She follows with the back of her fist across his face. At this point, it¡¯s more of a beat down than a fight. He spins away and hits his head on the counter. Newt tries to get his feet under him but Hollyhock presses her foot to the back of his knees, effectively keeping him in place. She slams her hand on his head.

    ¡°You and I need to talk,¡± she growls in his ear.

    ¡°About what?!¡± He pointlessly struggles to get up.

    ¡°Your little side gig, selling guns to kids,¡± she can¡¯t keep the anger and disgust out of her voice.

    ¡°Their money was green, what more is there to think about?¡± Clearly, this man doesn¡¯t fully understand the position he¡¯s in.

    ¡°¡®What more is there to think about?¡¯¡± She repeats as he pulls him by his hair. ¡°How about this?¡±

    She starts brutally punching him in the face with her free right arm. He moves his hands to defend himself but it¡¯s like a man trying to stop waves on a beach. Her strikes are relentless and I think she won¡¯t stop. She¡¯ll kill him before she gets whatever she needs from him. I rush over to grab her arm and in the instant I do, she turns to look with a ferocity I¡¯ve never seen before.

    It doesn¡¯t last long, however. She softens her expression for me.

    ¡°What?¡± The assassin asks.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to kill him before you get your info,¡± I point out.

    ¡°I was just trying to knock him out,¡± she counters. Then she takes a look at his bruised and bleeding face. He meekly fights to stay conscious, slowly turns his head from side to side. ¡°But I might have gotten carried away,¡± she admits.

    ¡°If you need him unconscious, let me,¡± I offer. She moves out of my way, letting Newt fall. He tries to get up and retaliate but stops when I put two fingers to his forehead.

    I concentrate a small pulse of magical energy through my digits. It fires quickly, phasing past his skull and overwhelming the synapses of his brain. He immediately collapses.

    ¡°What did you do to him?¡± She asks while washing the blood off her hands.

    ¡°Gave his brain a little too much to handle. He¡¯ll be out for as long as you need him to be,¡± I explain. The assassin looks at her phone and sucks her teeth.

    ¡°Are you epileptic?¡± She asks.

    ¡°If you¡¯re asking if I¡¯m prone to seizures, then no, why?¡±

    ¡°¡®Cause his friends are coming here. Pick him up and stay close to me,¡± she answers.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll handle them, just pick him up,¡± she assures me. For a brief moment, I can¡¯t help but wonder what my days would¡¯ve been like if I picked someplace else to visit. But the thought passes and I lift the man off the ground. He doesn¡¯t weigh much, but then again I¡¯m not used to lifting bodies without magic. I groan and slump him over my shoulder. He smells awful and his belt buckle is cold against my neck.

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    Hollyhock cracks her knuckles by flexing her fingers. She does something on her phone and turns to me.

    ¡°Make sure to stay close,¡± she reiterates. The assassin waits with a hand on the door handle. I¡¯m about to ask what she¡¯s doing but then I hear it, footsteps of a large man approaching. Just as it sounds like he¡¯s right outside, the assassin shoves the door open. It crashes into his face, he backs up holding his nose, not seeing Hollyhock bring her leg up to kick him in the chest.

    The large man falls hard to the ground, his head clatters against the tiled floor. Hollyhock stomps on his face to firmly knock him out. I step out of the bathroom to see there are six other men in the hallway making their way over to us. This doesn¡¯t seem to alarm her as she pulls out her phone. She taps something on the small screen and then the lights start rapidly flashing. Their confusion provides her with all the opportunities she needs.

    The first man she walks up to, she punches in the throat, grabs his head, and slams him into the wall. He crumples to the ground. The second is trying to focus on her but the lights are hurting his eyes. She swiftly kicks the side of his knee, and as he lets out a horrible scream she drives her elbow into his temple. Before his body hits the floor she moves to the next one.

    I should find this situation worrying, scary, or at least exciting. If, oddly enough, I didn¡¯t find it so fucking sexy. Here she is, outnumbered, just recovered from serious injuries, and yet she¡¯s picking these men apart. Her clothes threaten to come apart as she twists and turns in her deadly dance. One of them comes close to landing a hit but she weaves out the way, countering with a knee to the torso and slamming her elbow into the back of his head, flipping him in the air.

    ¡®Goddesses above, she¡¯s phenomenal.¡¯

    While I was focusing on the articulation of her powerful limbs, I miss her dealing with the other two.

    The assassin delivers a series of quick punches up the last man¡¯s torso and punctuates it with a devastating blow to his jaw. She doesn¡¯t bother to see if he can get back up. Hollyhock just cocks her head for me to keep moving. With a tap of her phone, she sets the lights back to normal.

    ¡°Well, that was fun,¡± she says. Relieving me of the weight on my shoulders, she takes Newt and we quickly exit the building.

    She tenderly and carefully throws his unconscious body as hard as she can into the back seat. The assassin starts the car before asking,

    ¡°Can you wake him up whenever?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I answer. Even after getting this guy, she hasn¡¯t calmed down, the anger fuming in her makes me wonder what she plans for the man in the back.

    She stares ahead, calculating something. When she reaches whatever conclusion she needs, we start off to our next destination.

    Hollyhock drives in silence for a few minutes before she decides to turn on the radio. An upbeat song comes on but the only reaction she has to it is the tapping of her fingers on the wheel.

    It¡¯s getting dark by the time we get to wherever we are.

    The building we¡¯ve parked in front of isn¡¯t finished. The skeleton of the structure is done, but the walls aren¡¯t there. Given the state of some of the pillars, I¡¯d have to guess it¡¯s been left to the elements for years.

    The assassin grabs a knife from under the seat, tucks it into her boot, and gets out of the car, dragging our passenger from the back. I follow suit, staying close to her. She pulls him by his collar into the site.

    ¡°Sometimes when people are building something, they run out of money to finish it. This is one of those times,¡± she explains to me. ¡°It happens a few too many times in this city. But abandoned construction sites are great for privacy.¡±

    As we ingress, the assassin grabs an old rusty chair and takes it with her. We enter a yellow steel cage of some kind. She lets go of Newt to press a button on a panel and the cage groans to life and starts lifting us.

    ¡°Thank god this elevator still works,¡± she says. ¡°I wasn¡¯t in the mood to free climb.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯re we doing here?¡± I ask Hollyhock. ¡°I understand giving guns to those young men was horrible, but it was the actions of a greedy man. What can you possibly hope to learn from him?¡±

    The assassin licks her top row of teeth before answering.

    ¡°He¡¯s greedy, yes. But he can¡¯t be that stupid. The guns he gave them aren¡¯t cheap. Not something two kids who think they have to rob a diner could buy. So, unless sleeping beauty here is into charity, there¡¯s something else going on.¡± The elevator takes us to the top floor.

    ¡®This is her world, I have to assume that she knows what she¡¯s doing.¡¯

    Hollyhock opens the elevator and continues dragging Newt.

    She props him up in the chair she took and ties him with some discarded cable she finds. She then ties the excess to a pillar and tips his chair over the edge of the building until the line is taut.

    ¡®Falling from this height would certainly kill him.¡¯

    ¡°Wake him up.¡±

    <h1>??????</h1>

    Witch-Hazel uses her magic to wake Newt up. I¡¯d asked how exactly it works but I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s a long explanation. I don¡¯t have the time and it doesn¡¯t matter.

    Newt wakes up groggily. Seeing this piece of shit draw breath pisses me off. When he realizes where he is, he starts freaking out.

    ¡°What do you fuckers want?!¡± He screams and flails around.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do that if I was you,¡± I tell him. ¡°Seven stories, more than enough to kill you.¡± He calms down somewhat. ¡°This,¡± I gesture to the cable holding him in place. ¡°Is your lifeline.¡± I pull out the knife and rest it against the cable.

    ¡°Lie to me, tell me something I don¡¯t want to hear, make a corny joke.¡± I slowly saw the cable. ¡°Get it?¡±

    ¡°FUCK YOU,¡± he tries to spit at me but it falls short before my feet. If it had reached me, I¡¯d¡¯ve killed him right then and there.

    ¡°So you want to die, is that it?¡± I start moving my knife up and down.

    ¡°Look, if you want money, I got plenty of it!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t doubt it. How much did those kids pay for the guns?¡±

    ¡°Hundred bucks,¡± he answers.

    ¡°A hundred for two guns, to kids who never used them before? That¡¯s bad business. There¡¯s no way you need the money that bad.¡±

    ¡°Well, I have a couple of child support payments to make,¡± Newt jokes. I resume sawing the cable. The knife makes little progress into the metal rope, but the vibrations are what¡¯s really scaring him. ¡°Wait wait wait!¡±

    ¡°I already said I don¡¯t like bad jokes,¡± I remind him. ¡°Don¡¯t bullshit me.¡±

    ¡°Okay, okay, just put the knife away!¡±

    ¡°You think you¡¯re in a position to negotiate?¡±

    ¡°I remember stuff better when my life isn¡¯t hanging on by a thread.¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡± I tuck the knife back into my boot.

    ¡®Not like it was doing much anyway.¡¯

    ¡°Why sell guns to kids? You must¡¯ve sold a bunch for those kids to have heard about you.¡±

    ¡°Here¡¯s a better question,¡± he proposes. ¡°How do you even know about it and why do you care?¡±

    I forgot that I was wearing a disguise. Turning to Witch-Hazel I ask her to drop it. I think she knows what asking this actually means, but she obliges anyway. The witch waves her hands and whatever magic shrouded my face dissipates. I rip the chameleon patch off my shoulder and put it into my pocket.

    Newt doesn¡¯t recognize my face, but my tattoo sparks familiarity in him. If he thinks it''s strange that my appearance changed, he keeps it to himself.

    ¡°Okay, you¡¯re a Bay Leaf, that¡¯s the how. Doesn¡¯t answer the why.¡± He¡¯s trying to act calm, but there¡¯s an unmistakable strain in his voice now that he realizes who he¡¯s dealing with.

    ¡°I answered your question. You don¡¯t need the money, so what¡¯s the bigger plan here?¡±

    ¡°Anyone ever tell you that you¡¯re paranoid?¡±

    I take the knife back out.

    ¡°Hey hey hey, no need for that!¡± He pleads. ¡°It¡¯s an optics thing. We give some dumb fucks guns, drugs, whatever other bullshit that''s illegal and the HCPD gets some easy busts.¡±

    ¡®The HCPD. Why am I not surprised? Every gang in the city has a precinct in their pocket. They¡¯re greedier than a swarm of locusts.¡¯

    ¡°So you raise a little hell, HCPD gets to swoop in and look like knights in shining armor. What do the DeadNettles get out of it?¡± I prod.

    ¡°I really can¡¯t say. They¡¯ll kill me if they find out I told you,¡± he begs.

    ¡°I¡¯ll kill you right now if you don¡¯t!¡± I explain to him.

    ¡°If I tell you then I can¡¯t go back to them! My life will be over!¡±

    ¡°Then I hope you can survive a seventy-foot drop!¡± The sawing continues.

    ¡°Stop!¡±

    I keep at it.

    ¡°STOP!¡±

    The cable starts to split, Newt teeters further and further back.

    ¡°IT¡¯S A SCHEME! IT¡¯S A SCHEME FOR ORGAN HARVESTING!¡± He confesses. I stop my blade.

    ¡°What?!¡± Witch-Hazel asks. Even she can¡¯t be indifferent to what he said.

    ¡°We got this scheme to get a bunch of nobodies arrested, they go missing with our contacts in the police, and we take them and well, you can figure out the rest,¡± he explains, like it makes this all better.

    ¡°So those two kids you sold guns to; you were hoping the cops would arrest them, just so you could steal their organs later?¡±

    ¡°Actually I was gonna snitch on ¡®em. The organ game is a pretty penny. You know how much rich fucks who don¡¯t like waitlists will pay for a fresh kidney? Or a clean liver?¡± Newt replies with almost enthusiasm in his voice. I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯m angrier or revolted by what I just heard. A brief glance at Witch-Hazel confirms she has a similar dilemma.

    ¡°Now let me go!¡± He demands.

    ¡®Poor choice of words.¡¯

    ¡°Sure,¡± I reply.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± he heaves a great sigh of relief. ¡°This is killing my back.¡± I make my way over to the pillar where the rope is tied.

    ¡°Yeah, I bet.¡± That¡¯s when he pieces together what¡¯s about to happen.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± He stupidly asks. I tilt my head at the question.

    ¡°Letting you go.¡± I pull the knot the cable was in and gravity does the rest. The cable whips away from me and Newt plummets to his death, screaming all the way. I hear the crash of his body on the ground, then the silence of the city.

    It¡¯s not a good, decent man I killed. He was a true piece of shit that wanted to ruin the lives of at least two young men. Who knows how many more. It could¡¯ve been Rye and the rest of his friends that got caught up in this foolishness. So no guilt or remorse grips me thinking about the death I caused; instead, a deep relief washes over.

    I can¡¯t say if Witch-Hazel feels the same. She¡¯s definitely disturbed. The more time she spends with me, the more I show her how horrific and ugly this world is. Like an unnecessary truth that I¡¯m forcing upon her. She doesn¡¯t say anything as we both head to the elevator. The decrepit, rusty death trap takes us back down.

    ¡°Killing him may not stop this plan at all,¡± Witch-Hazel suddenly says. ¡°But it spares two victims for now.¡±

    A bit of silence comes.

    ¡°That¡¯s more than enough sometimes,¡± she imparts. I don¡¯t know how to respond, or if she even wants a response.

    ¡®What has happened to her in her past?¡¯ A question for another time. The elevator reaches the ground floor and we exit. The corpse of Newt isn¡¯t too far from us but I don¡¯t bother to look at it for more than a second.

    Now that I¡¯ve had time to think about it, Tamara¡¯s probably gonna be pissed that I did this. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I can only hope to god it isn¡¯t her.

    I look at the screen and thankfully, it¡¯s not. Instead, it''s Kadupul calling. I answer it.

    ¡°Hey, you know that weird favor you asked about dead bodies? Turns out my contact at the morgues found a stiff that matches your description. I''ll text the address. Better head over there quick.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I reply. ¡°Sounds like we got a lead on your necromancer. Someone found a body that matches what you said,¡± I explain to Witch-Hazel. Her face lights up at the news.

    ¡°Take me there! It¡¯s about time you step into my world.¡±

    Ch. 9 End

 â€œItâ€™s Just Life Hereâ€

    Driving to the morgue, I can¡¯t help but think about what Newt told me. The DeadNettles have run drugs and guns for years, they make a neat little sum of money. Why get into the organ game? Why the change in direction? Something must be going on.

    ¡°Your police,¡± Witch-Hazel speaks up, ¡°Aren¡¯t they supposed¡­ I don¡¯t know, not let gangs run organ harvesting schemes?¡± She asks. A bitter scoff escapes me.

    ¡°I think you already know how I feel about the police. The bastards in blue don¡¯t give one shit about the lower class. They protect themselves and the rich; anyone other that is a nuisance at best to them. Cops steal, rape, and kill more than any gang in this country, they get away ¡®cuz of a shiny badge. They are the maintainers of the status quo, and this country has a dogmatic, fiendish love of the status quo. So the cops can never do anything wrong enough for people to demand actual justice from them.¡±

    ¡°Surely not all of them can be bad, right? There must be good ones,¡± she asks innocently. It¡¯s a fair question.

    ¡°Let me answer that with another question: if a man kills someone, and his colleagues protect him from all consequences of it, do you think they¡¯re good people? You think the family of the person he killed appreciates the effort they¡¯ll go to to make sure he gets off, scot-free?¡±

    ¡°No, I suppose not.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what police do, they cover each other''s asses so nothing happens to them. So that they don¡¯t have to do better, hold themselves to a higher standard. So no, there aren¡¯t any good cops in my book, because they all stand together.¡±

    I briefly check my phone to make sure I¡¯m going the right way.

    ¡°But it is grisly, even for them. Either they¡¯re being ignorant to what happens to the people they let disappear, or they just don¡¯t care. But that¡¯s an issue for another time.¡±

    We¡¯re not far from the morgue now.

    ¡°What are you gonna do about this necromancer?¡±

    ¡°I have a few questions to ask, hopefully, they¡¯ll shed light on what''s going on here.¡±

    ¡°And if they¡¯re not the talking type?¡±

    The witch considers my question for a moment.

    ¡°Guess I¡¯ll have to make them talk,¡± she says with certainty. I hadn¡¯t thought about how powerful she might be, but then again, I have nothing to compare her against.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t think torture was in your wheelhouse,¡± I comment.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think that there were necromancers in the non-magic world. Plus, I didn¡¯t say anything about torture, I know several spells to get the truth out of someone.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t offer that when I had to tie a bowline around a pillar to Newt.¡±

    ¡°I don''t know what a bowline is, but you had that.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so it¡¯s like that?¡± I ask as I park the car.

    ¡°It¡¯s like that,¡± she counters.

    ¡°Whatever, we¡¯re here to see your corpse.¡± I get out of the car and open the door for Hazel. ¡°How long you think this¡¯ll take?¡±

    ¡°Why, you got a hot date or something?¡± The witch asks as she gets out. It¡¯s a short flight of stairs to the entrance. This late at night there¡¯s no one out in the streets of this part of town. I hold the door open for her.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know where all this sass is coming from, but I can always leave you stranded here,¡± I point out. She stops in the door frame and turns to me.

    ¡°I think you¡¯d be bored without me,¡± Witch-Hazel teases. I lean in closer, putting an arm over her head. I feel that heavy gaze of hers scan me up and down.

    ¡°What makes you so sure?¡±

    Her index finger cradles my chin.

    ¡°I¡¯m a very exciting person,¡± she answers with a sweet voice.

    ¡°And humble too,¡± I propose. She traces a path along my jaw, her fingertip glides over my throat and hooks the collar of my shirt. Gently tugging she beckons me forward and like clockwork, we¡¯re interrupted by a sharp whistle.

    ¡°As much as I''d like to let you crack on, you¡¯ll make the dead people uncomfortable,¡± Xyla Polly interrupts us. She¡¯s a dark-skinned, thick-set woman. She has on her signature combat boots, caked in mud like she just went hiking through the woods. A light brown tweed skirt covers her full thighs, a cozy black sweater, and a cardigan with a skull pattern.

    It¡¯s kind of a librarian look, but I guess morgues are like libraries in a way.

    ¡°Now come on in. It¡¯s rude to keep people waiting,¡± Xyla says, her Irish accent sails through the lobby. Witch-Hazel rolls her eyes and follows her. I clear my throat and head inside. Xyla takes us to one of the rooms. The silver doors that house a corpse shine as we walk by.

    ¡°So when ye first asked about yellow discoloration on the bodies, I thought you were acting the maggot. But then I remembered a report on a John Doe we got a month ago.¡± She leads us to a compartment and opens it. A middle-aged man slides out before us. His pale skin is blotchy, the stitches on his chest from his autopsy are poorly done but they¡¯re not the only medical scars he has. I spy a poorly healed incision on his side, probably to remove a kidney. Given the slapdash nature of the scar, I¡¯d say it wasn¡¯t with his consent.

    ¡®Rough life.¡¯

    ¡°M.E said he died of a heart attack. No one¡¯s come by asking about him. It¡¯ll be a couple of days before he¡¯s found a plot at the pauper¡¯s graveyard,¡± she says, her accent plays around with the words. I have to wonder why she¡¯s living here in Oleander City, it¡¯s not an easy place to settle in. Though I suspect the high murder rate is the main appeal for her.

    ¡°He¡¯s in his mid-fifties maybe. Pretty open and shut case,¡± she explains, disinterested. ¡°But then.¡± She ties her black dreads into a quick ponytail. The locs that form her bangs have always reminded me of fingers for some reason. I¡¯d probably find her cute if I wasn¡¯t so put off by her personality. ¡°Here, right at the crown of his head, we have some yellow discoloration.¡± Right where she points there¡¯s a line of yellow skin. The shape of it reminds me of an open wound.

    ¡°The medical examiner chalked this up to jaundice, given the cirrhosis of his liver, it¡¯s not exactly surprising.¡± She turns to look at Witch-Hazel as if she just realized she¡¯s here, which should be impossible because of how gorgeous she is. ¡°You¡¯re a new face,¡± she says. The diener looks her up and down. ¡°Ye don¡¯t seem like a Bay Leaf.¡±

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°She¡¯s not, just came into town a couple of days ago,¡± I interject. A normal person would ask more questions but Xyla is already bored with Witch-Hazel and turns back to me.

    ¡°So what¡¯s your interest in our yellowed friend here? This some kind of poison you guys are trying out?¡± She asks, excitement gleaming in her eyes.

    I¡¯m not sure which I find more disturbing, the idea that she thinks the Bay Leaves would poison a random homeless man or the fact that she¡¯s visibly thrilled by the notion.

    ¡°No.¡± Xyla isn¡¯t sworn to secrecy about what the Bay Leaves do, she just helps us because she loves our handiwork. But telling her we¡¯re trying to track down a necromancer seems like a bad idea.

    ¡°You kill anyone today?¡± She asks, something like lust dripping off every word. Xyla¡¯s the type of person who¡¯s fascinated by serial killers beyond wanting to know about their minds. If I had to guess, knowing a group of assassins is a wet dream come true for her. I look past her to Hazel. The witch does a motion with her hands that I don¡¯t understand, so I make no reaction to it. She quickly rolls her eyes, points to Xyla, and makes a talking gesture with her hand.

    I turn my attention back to the diener.

    ¡°Matter of fact I killed two people today.¡± Her face lights up at the news.

    ¡®Make this quick, Hazel.¡¯

    ????

    While Hollyhock distracts her I quickly get to work. I open the man¡¯s eyes. They¡¯re glassy and absent. The sclera is a little bloodshot but otherwise no yellow is in them. Jaundice usually starts in the eyes, so it being localized on top of his head tells me he¡¯s who I¡¯m looking for.

    I press three fingers on top of his head and send a small pulse of magic. By how easily it passes through his skull confirms it. Someone has created near-microscopic holes where his frontal and parietal bones meet to more easily access the cerebellum.

    The pulse comes back later than it should. The motor part of his brain has been severely damaged, maybe even destroyed. Whoever this necromancer is, they put too much energy into this part and it overloaded.

    ¡®They¡¯re either an amateur or desperate.¡¯

    I¡¯m not sure which is more dangerous.

    I can detect faint remnants of the magic that once poorly attempted to animate this man. It¡¯s not much but I can figure something out. I hone in on the unique resonance. It feels like a tremor that shakes my bones as I focus on it. The intensity of the leftover magic leads me to believe that the necromancer in question is quite powerful.

    ¡®Great, nothing worse than a morally corrupt magician who¡¯s powerful.¡¯

    Right then and there I think about what this path could be leading me to. Is chasing an unknown necromancer really something I want to do? I could just spend my days enjoying my time with Hollyhock. The assassin has enough on her plate without helping me chase down a wild magician.

    ¡®Apathy is the cause of continued cruelty. It¡¯s indifference that kills the soul,¡¯ Floribunda¡¯s words echo in my head. If she were here, she wouldn¡¯t hesitate for a second to pursue this.

    So I won¡¯t either.

    Once I¡¯ve scrutinized the magic signature I pull my hand away and try to settle the tremors coursing through my arm.

    ¡®At least it won¡¯t be hard to miss this feeling.¡¯

    Whatever conversion Hollyhock and Xyla were having seems to have reached its end. She seems to notice me again. She strikes me as the kind of woman who doesn¡¯t care about anything but her interests.

    ¡°Where¡¯d you say you were from again?¡± Xyla asks.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s in from Thailand, pulled Oleander City out of a hat as a vacay spot,¡± Hollyhock fabricates. The best lies have a grain of truth to them.

    ¡°Well, let me be the first to say this about America; this is a country that worships killers. Doesn¡¯t matter the reason, all that matters is the count. Mass murderers, serial killers, here in this country they get the spotlight, praise even. If your¡­¡± she looks to Hollyhock ¡°friend here, had a flag on her shoulder, she¡¯d be covered in medals by now.¡±

    ¡°Xyla, spare her your diatribe. You ready, Hazel?¡± she asks, concealing what we came here for.

    ¡°Yes. There¡¯s work to be done,¡± I answer.

    ¡°Well, wait a second. I just remembered another body that came through with some yellowing,¡± Xyla chimes in.

    She leads us to another compartment and slides out another corpse. This one is a young boy, he shows signs of malnutrition, along with bruises and scars besides the autopsy ones. It¡¯s hard to tell but he¡¯s maybe ten years old.

    Hollyhock tenses next to me and averts her eyes, finding the rest of the room more interesting. She shifts to her back foot.

    ¡°Report said the cause of death was multiple organ failure. Probably drank or ate something he shouldn¡¯t have,¡± Xyla explains flatly. She doesn¡¯t show any sympathy for the deceased, unlike the assassin. ¡°Same deal as the other, no one¡¯s claimed him. We can¡¯t find any family.¡±

    Hollyhock is staring at a tile on the floor.

    ¡®They target people that no one will miss, which seems like a lot of the population.¡¯

    Through the boy¡¯s short haircut I can see the yellowing effect on his head. But Hollyhock grows more uncomfortable next to me. I could get a faint amount of magic from him, but I doubt it¡¯d be useful. Plus Hollyhock looks vexed by the boy.

    ¡°You can close it, we have what we need.¡±

    ¡°Any use?¡±

    ¡°It was very useful. Thank you, Xyla.¡±

    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t say that wasn¡¯t interesting. Don¡¯t be a stranger.¡±

    ¡°Yeah yeah, see ya,¡± Hollyhock says, practically dashing from the room.

    ¡°Goodbye,¡± I quickly say to catch up with her.

    Hollyhock quickly makes her way to the car.

    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± Seeing a dead child isn¡¯t easy, but she seems deeply troubled.

    ¡°I knew that kid,¡± she answers. ¡°Well, ¡®knew¡¯ is a strong word. I saw him a couple times, name was Bahi.¡± She holds the car door open for me. I get inside and she enters as well.

    ¡°Did he have any family you know of?¡± She shakes her head as she starts the car.

    ¡°Nah, his mom OD¡¯d when he was young and you¡¯d have a better chance of winning a scratcher than seeing the pops around,¡± she explains.

    ¡®What¡¯s a scratcher? Not important.¡¯

    ¡°Rye and them try to look out for any kids like that, on their own. But he was always distant to them, thought cuz he didn¡¯t have a family that he didn¡¯t need one.¡± She shifts the stick that controls the car. ¡°Now he¡¯s cold in a freezer,¡± she says barely above a whisper, and tilts back in her seat.

    The car is running but we aren¡¯t moving as Hollyhock stares blankly at the roof.

    I reach out to her, hesitate for a second, but then grab hold of her hand. A gentle squeeze brings her back. She acknowledges it, softly squeezing my hand in return.

    ¡°That''s life here, sometimes it¡¯s just short,¡± she says. It sounds more like she¡¯s trying to assure herself rather than me. She presses down on the pedal and we start moving. ¡°So did you get what you needed?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I answer, happy for the change of subject. ¡°I can set up some devices that¡¯ll let me know if the necromancer casts any magic in the city.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah? How¡¯s that work?¡±

    ¡°Normally it tracks a unique magical signature with a sample, but I don¡¯t believe there are any other magical beings here. So if and when they cast strong enough magic, it¡¯ll pick it up and I¡¯ll be able to find them. And necromancy requires strong magic.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m guessing you¡¯ll want a high vantage point to get more range?¡± She proposes.

    ¡°Yes, actually. How¡¯d you know that?¡± She shrugs.

    ¡°What you described sounds like a listening device, guess some things still apply in the magic world, huh?¡± She stops at a red light.

    ¡°I guess so.¡±

    ¡°You said a unique magical signature. What¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s hard to describe to someone unfamiliar with the concept¡­.it¡¯s like a fingerprint but with a sensation.¡±

    ¡°And our predatory necromancer, what¡¯s their signature like?¡±

    ¡°It feels like a tremor that starts in the body. Very unpleasant. They¡¯re quite powerful as well.¡± The light turns green.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll get this fucker,¡± she says with such confidence. I¡¯m sure she doesn¡¯t fully know what she¡¯s getting herself into by helping me. But I appreciate it all the same.

    ¡°Just try not to get too beat up, I don¡¯t want to use all my potions on you.¡±

    ¡°You think just ¡®cause you¡¯re cute you can be fresh with me?¡± I cock an eyebrow.

    ¡°You think I¡¯m cute?¡±

    ¡°Girl, you¡¯re gorgeous,¡± she answers without missing a beat. Her phone vibrates in her pocket. She hands it to me. ¡°Who¡¯s that from?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s from Tamara. She said: ¡®Get here, now.¡¯¡± The assassin¡¯s neutral expression doesn¡¯t change but she just says,

    ¡°Fuck.¡±

    Chapter 10 end.

 "Promise?"

    We arrived at the headquarters of the Bay Leaves two minutes ago but we¡¯re still sitting in the car. Hollyhock is biting the knuckle of her thumb.

    I¡¯m sure that Tamara knows we¡¯re outside.

    ¡°That supposed to help you think of something?¡± I ask her.

    ¡°You straighten your posture every time you want to assert yourself,¡± she notes.

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t!¡± Though as I say it, I feel my spine going straight as an arrow.

    ¡®I suppose some lessons are harder to forget.¡¯

    The assassin chuckles.

    ¡°When you¡¯ve been caught doing something you shouldn¡¯t be doing, assume the other person knows everything until they confirm they don¡¯t,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m thinking of what she could ask me and what I¡¯ll say.¡± She scoffs. ¡°Whatever, fuck it, let¡¯s just go.¡±

    We get out of the car.

    ¡°¡®Let¡¯s¡¯?¡± I ask as we head up the stairs.

    ¡°She¡¯s going to ask you to come inside and ask you your thoughts on this.¡±

    ¡°Why would she do that?¡±

    ¡°I think she¡¯s starting to suspect you¡¯re more than just a tourist. She won¡¯t prod too deeply into your business, but she¡¯ll try to pull what she can from you. So try not to look all magicky.¡±

    ¡°Magicky?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you usually have this look that¡¯s like ¡®I can magic my way out of anything.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t use magic as a verb.¡±

    ¡°Or what? You¡¯ll magic me?¡±

    ¡°Maybe I will, I know a spell that¡¯ll rip your tongue out.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what hands are for,¡± she points out.

    ¡°I was kidding, have you actually ripped someone¡¯s tongue out before?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t ask questions you don¡¯t want answers to,¡± the assassin counters. She opens the door for me.

    ¡°Fair enough.¡±

    Though it¡¯s late, there are several members of the Bay Leaves up and about. The nature of their work has them active at all hours I imagine. Though some of them are just casually talking to each other. A few are preparing the various tools of their trade.

    ¡°Anyone got another ricin tablet?!¡± An assassin with a prosthetic arm asks.

    ¡°Yeah!¡±

    ¡°Over here!¡±

    ¡°Yep!¡±

    ¡°Yo!¡± Several answers at the same time and flock to supply them. I even see Hollyhock tap her person to check if she has any, but she doesn¡¯t seem to.

    ¡°I really need to go grocery shopping,¡± she mutters to herself suddenly. Don¡¯t know why a deadly poison reminds her to get food but whatever.

    We head upstairs to Tamara''s office.

    The door is unlocked, the woman who summoned us is sitting at her desk, her head resting in one hand. The other hand is fiddling with something. It has four holes big enough to fit fingers through.

    Hollyhock braces herself.

    ¡°Tamara,¡± she says. Her leader tucks the device away.

    ¡°Now,¡± she starts ¡°I might be wrong, but maybe I¡¯m not. I could¡¯ve sworn I told you to take this nice young woman to a nice restaurant.¡± She points at me briefly before turning her attention back to Hollyhock. ¡°¡®Take her out on the town when things calm down.¡¯ I think was more or less what I said.¡±

    There is a pause. Hollyhock doesn¡¯t have a quick-witted remark like she usually does, showing respect.

    ¡°And yet, I heard that someone beat the shit of several DeadNettles in a karaoke bar and kidnapped one of them. To top it all off, I heard there was a girl with gray hair seen in the middle of all this.¡±

    Tamara turns to face me.

    ¡°Does an assault and kidnapping count as a night out on the town where you¡¯re from?¡± She asks. It¡¯s a rhetorical question, obviously, but she peers at me like one does a puzzle. She wants to know if my response will help her solve me.

    ¡°We had a nice meal at a diner. But it was...interrupted.¡±

    ¡°At Dandy Lion¡¯s Diner?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Heard about that too,¡± she says. Seems nothing gets past her in this city. She turns back to Hollyhock. ¡°So how does a random act of vigilantism lead you to assault and kidnapping?¡±

    ¡°It was kids holding up the diner, Tamara. Couldn¡¯t have been older than fifteen,¡± Hollyhock begins to answer. I thought they were older but that doesn¡¯t matter right now. ¡°The guns they had weren¡¯t something kids could afford. They told me that Newt sold ¡®em the pieces. So I went to go see him.¡±

    ¡°And put half a dozen people in the hospital.¡± Tamara stands up. Hollyhock shrugs.

    ¡°They¡¯ll live,¡± she dismisses them.

    ¡°What if one of them ID¡¯s you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d be surprised if they could ID themselves. But don¡¯t worry, I had a Chameleon patch on and there¡¯s no way they would recognize my face,¡± Hollyhock answers.

    ¡°How¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°I had a mask on,¡± she replies. ¡°Simple but effective.¡±

    ¡°Well masks are good for many things, but I doubt the truth is as simple as that.¡± Tamara looks at me again. ¡°Hazel, why would you go along with this?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s important to Hollyhock, and if I may, she learned something rather disturbing.¡±

    Tamara seems satisfied with my answer. She sighs deeply.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Medically skilled and covers for your ass too. Better treat her right, Holly.¡± The leader rubs her temples. ¡°What did you learn that¡¯s so damn disturbing?¡±

    ¡°DeadNettles have an agreement with the cops. They¡¯re giving guns and drugs to people who have no other option for money, they get caught, cops throw them in a cell and they disappear a few days later. It¡¯s an organ harvesting scheme, I¡¯m guessing cops¡¯ll get a percentage. Plus they get to look like they¡¯re cleaning up the streets.¡±

    Tamara for the briefest of moments has a look of disgust.

    ¡°How¡¯d you learn this?¡±

    ¡°Newt told me like his life depended on it.¡± The meaning is clear to her.

    ¡°You heard this?¡± Tamara asks me.

    ¡°I did, I was there when he explained his gang''s scheme. Sounds truly vile,¡± I respond. Tamara shakes her head.

    ¡°Where¡¯s our snitch now?¡±

    ¡°Dead in a construction site over on Gardenia ave. No ones gonna see the body for a while,¡± Hollyhock answers.

    ¡°This city used to have limits in its depravity,¡± Tamara says. She paces around her desk. ¡°Christ, that¡¯s grim. I¡¯ve met a lot of people who do fucked up shit, I¡¯m no exception, but treating people like cattle? Like they¡¯re just-¡±

    The door to her office slams open and a rather tall and beautiful woman comes in with two plates of steaming hot food. She¡¯s wearing an apron that says ¡°Kiss the cook!¡±

    ¡°Dinner¡¯s done, ku''uipo!¡± She announces, then reads the room. ¡°Oh, sorry. Were you in the middle of saying something dramatic like you always do?¡± She asks Tamara.

    ¡°No,¡± she lies. The woman tilts her head. ¡°I lost my train of thought,¡± she amends. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter, Hollyhock just told me something and we need to strategize.¡± The steam rises from the plates so delightfully.

    ¡°Can we strategize over dinner? I made your favorite, barbecued chicken with baked paprika potatoes, and roasted bell peppers,¡± she pleads. The food smells delicious.

    ¡°It can wait.¡±

    ¡°I also made eclairs.¡±

    Tamara¡¯s stomach audibly growls. The woman with the food grows a wide smile.

    ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll be there in a minute,¡± she concedes.

    ¡°Don¡¯t keep me waiting,¡± she replies and leaves the room.

    ¡°Why were you two visiting the morgue?¡±

    Hollyhock looks over at me for an answer.

    ¡°I was searching for some evidence that someone from my side of the world might be here in Oleander City,¡± I supply. That examining gaze of hers goes over me.

    ¡°And did you find any?¡± She asks, taking a step closer. I feel my spine going straight again as I answer,

    ¡°Unfortunately, yes.¡±

    ¡°Is it something I should be concerned about?¡±

    ¡°It probably is, but it¡¯s nothing I can¡¯t handle myself.¡± She locks eyes with me for a moment. If she can tell I¡¯m hiding something, she doesn¡¯t show it.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m sure Hollyhock can be of some use to you. I trained her to be useful. And it¡¯s only fair that she pays you back, right?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to make use of Hollyhock''s capabilities,¡± I chime in.

    ¡°See that you do. I wish you a pleasant stay in our city, as fucked as it becomes. Wouldn¡¯t want people from your past ruining things,¡± she says knowingly. ¡°Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, dinner¡¯s waiting for me.¡±

    She ushers us out of the room and with the inquisition done we leave the building entirely. As soon as we reach the stairs Hollyhock heaves a big sigh of relief.

    ¡°Thanks for having my back in there, it went MUCH better than I thought it would.¡±

    ¡°That was nothing, you should see my mentor interrogate people.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s hope I don¡¯t. I have a hard time keeping up with you, I¡¯d hate to meet the person who taught ya everything.¡±

    She claps her hands suddenly.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough for one day. You hungry?¡±

    ¡°Weirdly, yes. When I smelled that chicken I almost asked for some.¡±

    ¡°Koki¡¯o is a great cook,¡± Hollyhock says. ¡°I might try one of her recipes tonight.¡± She then tilts her head up and looks at the night sky.

    ¡°Fuck it, I¡¯m too tired and I still have to grocery shop. I¡¯ll cook for you tomorrow, okay?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a date,¡± I reply.

    ¡°Aight so we¡¯ll shop, get a quick bite, ko, and then we¡¯ll wake up bright and early to do whatever it is you need to do.¡±

    ¡°Solid plan.¡±

    ¡°Now get your pretty ass in the car.¡±

    ??????

    It¡¯s late at night when I drive us to a small store. It¡¯s, by the loosest definition, a grocery. I grab a cart and lazily push it around. There¡¯s almost no one here, and a song I haven¡¯t heard in a while plays on the radio. Witch-Hazel hums along with the melody as she strolls alongside me, browsing the aisles.

    ¡°Have you heard this song before?¡±

    ¡°Sometimes your music makes it to an Arcanium, this one is the latest hit.¡±

    ¡°The latest? This song came out like five years ago,¡± I explain.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t say they were always current.¡± She picks up a box of pancake mix. ¡°Do you know how to make pancakes?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I answer ¡°Do you want that for breakfast?¡± She nods enthusiastically. ¡°Throw it in the cart then.¡±

    She has a giddy smile on her face as she puts it in.

    ¡°You¡¯re like a little kid.¡± I pick up a bag of flour.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t had them in sooo long. I haven¡¯t had sweets for some time.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s just say that having a few extra pounds back home is frowned upon.¡±

    ¡°Ahh, I see. Well, feel free to eat whatever you want around me.¡±

    ¡°Oh good, because I was wondering how these taste,¡± she says grabbing a case of gummi worms.

    ¡°Go ahead, try one.¡± She tears the plastic packaging open and shoves a few into her mouth. Her face lights up tasting the sugary snack.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t had candy in forever!¡± She says around a mouthful of it.

    ¡°As long as you promise not to get a cavity or something.¡± I pop one in my mouth. ¡°Do you have grocery stores back in IronHenge?¡±

    ¡°Not in so many words, we have places where you can buy stuff. Not like this though. They¡¯re much smaller.¡±

    ¡°How big is IronHenge?¡±

    ¡°Planning a vacation?¡± She inquires.

    ¡°Just wanna know about your hometown. The ¡®separating children thing¡¯ is a massive red flag.¡± I look at the price of the cornbread mix. ¡°But there are probably some good qualities to it, right?¡±

    ¡°You can gloss over that?¡± She asks.

    ¡°This country does it too. At least your place has a reason,¡± I answer.

    ¡°It¡¯s hard to say how big it is. This is the only other city I¡¯ve been to. Plus there¡¯s a lot of spatial magic in IronHenge, making certain places bigger than they actually are. But Oleander City is definitely bigger.¡± She looks at the boxes with me. ¡°What¡¯s cornbread?¡± She asks.

    ¡°It¡¯s like a muffin, it can be sweet or savory,¡± I explain. ¡°What¡¯s your favorite dish?¡±

    She thinks about it for a moment.

    ¡°I got into this one meal where the chef would imbue the noodles with positive emotions from their actual life. People who had their love reciprocated, spouses of a wedding, birthdays, graduations, things like that people. They¡¯d cook it for their friends to share the happiness. They¡¯re called quasar noodles.¡±

    ¡°Why are they called that?¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s because it sounds cool.¡±

    ¡°Ahh.¡±

    I get us the rest of what I need and the insane amount of snacks that Hazel wants.

    Before we head home I take us to a drive-thru, and we get chicken sandwiches and fries. Hazel feeds me mine as I drive us home.

    We enter my cozy abode and put away the food. Crawl into bed and as I go to curl up, Witch-Hazel turns and she puts an arm around me. I put an arm around her.

    ¡°You have my back, right? If things take a turn for the worst?¡± She asks.

    ¡°What makes you think they might?¡± I ask back. The witch takes a second.

    ¡°A lot has happened in this city since my arrival. Things that were festering under the surface have suddenly come to light. Destiny, it seems, has much in store for us.¡±

    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t believe in destiny. Never been one for luck either, but I probably used up all mine meeting you that night. And I haven¡¯t come across a problem that couldn¡¯t be solved by bullets.¡± I hold her closer. ¡°And some spells probably wouldn¡¯t hurt either. But yeah, I got your back since you already had mine.¡±

    Witch-Hazel nuzzles her face in my shoulder nook.

    ¡°Promise?¡± She asks, her voice tickling my skin.

    ¡°I promise,¡± I answer.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what we¡¯re walking into, and I don''t know how it¡¯ll go. But however it ends up¡­¡± her voice is tired, ¡°I¡¯m glad I met you,¡± she says before drifting off to sleep. No doubt she¡¯s crashing from her sugar high.

    I stare at that beautiful face of hers.

    ¡°Me too. Me too.¡±

    Ch. 11 End

 "I Made You Pancakes"

    I¡¯ve honestly never slept better, even if my shoulder is kinda sore from having Witch-Hazel on it. I lift her delicate head off of me and sneak outta bed. Though I get the feeling she¡¯s a heavy sleeper. I stretch my back and arms a little and she doesn¡¯t react.

    ¡®Yeah, she¡¯s out like a light.¡¯

    It¡¯s a strange sight to see her in my bed, resting like she wants to be there. She¡¯s in no rush to leave. And I¡¯m not waking her up to get her out of here, just the opposite in fact; I¡¯m about to make her breakfast.

    It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve cooked for anyone other than myself but I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a bad thing. I open the pancake mix and go through the steps of making the batter. I know Witch-Hazel will want it sweet, so I add a couple of handfuls of chocolate chips to the batter. Then a dash of cinnamon for the smell. I melt butter on the pan as it heats up.

    I pour the batter on the hot pan and listen to that sizzle.

    By the time I make a short stack of them I hear her shuffling on my bed. She shifts some more, then stops. I¡¯m not sure if she¡¯s awake but then I hear her groaning.

    ¡°Those gummi worms left a bad taste in my mouth,¡± she announces.

    ¡°I told you not to eat them before you went to sleep. Go brush your teeth, or whatever witches do.¡± I hear her get up.

    ¡°Is that cinnamon?¡± She asks.

    ¡°It is, I¡¯m making breakfast. I have mouthwash in the bathroom, go use it.¡±

    ¡°What the hell is mouthwash?¡±

    ¡°Clean your mouth, girl, or no pancakes!¡±

    ¡®I bet a mom would act like this.¡¯

    That was a weird thought. For several reasons.

    I focus again on making breakfast. I fry up some bacon and scramble some eggs. I set two plates for us on the coffee table and Witch-Hazel soon joins me. She has her hair up in a ponytail that makes me think about how slender her neck is. The shirt she¡¯s wearing is a little loose on her and just in between her shoulder blades I see a small shiny patch of skin, like a burn. Before I can get a better look at it, she lets her hair flow down. Whether it was intentional or not I can¡¯t tell.

    The Witch makes a bottle float over to her. Its clear glass lets me see the reddish-orange liquid inside. The colors swirl around like oil and water.

    ¡°Can you make anything float or just magic stuff?¡± I ask her.

    ¡°Telekinesis wouldn¡¯t be very useful if I couldn¡¯t. Besides, everything on some level is magical,¡± she explains. ¡°You, along with every living thing, have auras. It radiates out of you and gets absorbed by everything.¡± She gestures around. ¡°This place has your energy. Your HQ has a great deal of it. Magic permeates everything. But yes, I can make anything float. Within reason.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s in that bottle?¡±

    ¡°Magic stuff,¡± she plainly says.

    ¡°I made you pancakes, I can¡¯t get more than that?¡±

    ¡°We have a very magic-involved day ahead of us, I don¡¯t want to overload you.¡±

    ¡°C¡¯mon girl.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a flavoring of sorts. Here, try it.¡± She pours a bit on my stack of pancakes, it¡¯s a viscous liquid almost like syrup, despite how quickly the colors shift around. I slice a small part of the pancakes and taste the syrup.

    It doesn¡¯t have a taste, per se, the pancakes are sweet but the syrup didn¡¯t activate anything on my tongue. Rather, I feel a warmth on the back of my head. It doesn¡¯t feel like it¡¯s coming from my own body, but like it¡¯s being projected onto me. Like the sun is shining in this very room. Then comes a smell.

    The scent of grass and fresh air fills my lungs. I even feel a breeze blow across my face.

    ¡°I can tell by the look in your eyes that you¡¯re feeling it. That summer sun on your back, breeze on your face, and the grass beneath you.¡±

    Just as she says it I feel the tickle of grass on my legs. I see that I¡¯m in my apartment, but all my other senses tell me that I¡¯m sitting on a grassy hill on a sunny day. I only had a little bit so it wears off quickly.

    ¡°What is that stuff?¡±

    ¡°I can never remember what it¡¯s called. It has some long uninteresting name,¡± she answers.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know the name of something you brought with you?¡±

    ¡°You know the name of everything in your world, all the time? What¡¯s that?¡± she points to something.

    ¡°That¡¯s a fridge,¡± I answer

    ¡°That¡¯s on me, I made it too easy,¡± she says with a disappointed face, but she soon cracks a smile and laughs. ¡°These pancakes are delicious, I just thought that they¡¯d be even better on a hillside.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. And one day maybe I¡¯ll take you to a real hill for a picnic.¡± I turn on the TV and put on a nature documentary. I mute the narrator and let the rolling grass hills do the work. ¡°Close enough, right?¡±

    ¡°Close enough,¡± she says.

    We idly chat while finishing breakfast. While I put away the dishes she grabs the things needed for her device. We head down to the car and she starts assembling it with something that looks a lot like a screwdriver.

    ¡°You need me to drive slowly?¡± I ask her.

    ¡°It¡¯s not explosive if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking,¡± she responds. ¡°I just need to rig this together.¡± I start the car and start driving to where I think will be helpful.

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°I thought the thing you were gonna make would be entirely magic.¡±

    ¡°Sometimes having a little engineering skill is better than a pure magic construct. Less energy.¡±

    ¡°What is that you¡¯re using?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a flathead screwdriver. You¡¯ve never seen one before?¡±

    Feeling incredibly stupid, I decide to change the subject.

    ¡°What do you think this necromancer is planning?¡±

    ¡°Whatever it is, can¡¯t be good. Necromancy is an extreme school of magic, only allowed in specific circumstances. If this magician is out here performing it, sometimes tells me they want it kept secret. Which again..¡± she groans with effort as she tightens a bolt. ¡°Isn¡¯t good.¡±

    ¡°At least they¡¯ll be old, right? The Falecido has been like that for a couple of decades, at least. Unless they were fresh outta magic school they havta be at least fifty or older, yeah?¡±

    ¡°Chronologically speaking yes, but most magical beings aren¡¯t as subdued by age as you might think. As we become more attuned with our magic and the magic around us, our bodies adapt to it. Most people don¡¯t reach their prime physical state until their sixties, and some only get more powerful with age,¡± she explains. ¡°My mentor, in fact, is a woman of eighty. But looks no older than maybe forty-five.¡±

    Huh.

    ¡°How old are you?¡± I ask. She laughs a bit.

    ¡°I¡¯m twenty-seven, so don¡¯t worry you¡¯re not hanging out with an old lady. How old are you?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I answer. ¡°Tamara found me when I was maybe six or seven? It¡¯s guesswork really.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Right. Sorry.¡± I shrug.

    ¡°It is what it is. Guess you could say I¡¯m a twenty-something-year-old.¡±

    ¡°What does that mean?¡± I dismiss the comment  with a wave.

    ¡°Forget it...so you guys live longer?¡±

    ¡°We do, but most of the oldest living magicians died during World War Two. The oldest man I know is around a hundred and thirty.¡±

    ¡°Yeesh. Must¡¯ve seen some crazy shit.¡±

    ¡°Shit you wouldn¡¯t believe.¡±

    ¡°Well a tell me about it later ¡®cause we¡¯re here.¡±

    I pull up to where a radio tower is housed. There isn¡¯t much else to see around here. The witch gets out and looks at its peak.

    ¡°That¡¯ll do.¡± I get out of the car as well. ¡°How¡¯d you know about this?¡±

    ¡°The Bay Leaves have a few devices up there as well. Figured one more can¡¯t hurt.¡± We walk up to the tower. It¡¯s about five hundred and twenty feet tall. There¡¯s a ladder in the middle that leads all the way up. I hold out my hand for the device. She places a small white stone with several line etchings into a nook.

    The lines light up with a deep purple that I recognize to be Witch-Hazels magic. She concentrates for a moment, holding her hand over it. Then gives it to me. The device looks like a small satellite dish, except it¡¯s made from some natural material I can¡¯t place. Feels like bone. The rest is steel made into a simple rig to hold the dish in place.

    ¡°How¡¯s this supposed to stay up there?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll stick to anything you press it against. So just find a nice spot and press it hard.¡±

    ¡°Aight.¡± The device won¡¯t fit in my pocket so I hold the dish between my teeth as I start to climb. A couple of rungs up I feel Witch-Hazel looking at me. I remove the device.

    ¡°I can feel you staring at my ass!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t have it be so visible then! What else am I going to look at, gravel?! You decided to wear those tight jeans today!¡±

    ¡®These jeans do make my ass look great.¡¯

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean,¡± I say while shaking it around a little. ¡°These are my normal climbing jeans.¡± I go back to climbing.

    ¡°How¡¯s the view from up there? It¡¯s great from down here is all I¡¯m saying!¡±

    I halfheartedly roll my eyes and chuckle.

    ¡°Herv,¡± I say with the device still between my teeth.

    ¡°What was that?!¡± She yells up to me.

    ¡°Muffin!¡± I mumble.

    ¡°You know I have heightened senses, right? I  can hear and see better than you!¡± I point my middle finger at her.

    ¡°Can you see that better than me?!¡±

    ¡°I will fly up there and spank you!¡± She threatens.

    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you fly up here?!¡±

    ¡°I was going to but you wanted to climb yourself! So very chivalrous!¡± It¡¯s hard to see from up here but she pretends to swoon like a maid or something. I shake my head and keep climbing.

    Finally reaching the top, I look out over the city.

    Oleander City; it isn¡¯t the nicest place to live, but most who live here are decent people just trying to make it through the day. You can see the class divide clearly this high up, where uptown stops and downtown begins. A one street difference separates the quality of life in the city.

    Of the millions who live, so few know about the deeply evil scheme that goes on in the shadows. And of those few, just Witch-Hazel and I know about the undead that potentially roam the street.

    ¡®It¡¯s a lot to think about.¡¯

    I shake my head and focus on the task at hand. I stick the device to the pole, aiming it towards downtown. It stays put and starts slowly pulsing with Witch-Hazels energy. I guess it¡¯s activated.

    With nothing else to do up here, I make my way down. I let go and grab the rungs again a couple of seconds later, I get down much faster than I got up.

    ¡°Never seen anyone go down a ladder like that before that,¡± the witch comments as I reach the bottom.

    There¡¯s an easy joke in there.

    ¡°You haven¡¯t seen me go down on anyone either.¡±

    ¡°And you call me the perv. Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±

    Once we get back to the car I ask,

    ¡°So, how accurate is that thing?¡±

    ¡°Depends on how much magical energy they¡¯ll expend, since it¡¯ll be a lot, I¡¯ll have a pinpoint location for them.¡±

    ¡°Hmm, then we¡¯ll roll on them, you ask your questions, then what?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I don¡¯t know what I should do after that.¡±

    She¡¯s quiet for a while.

    ¡°You¡¯re a smart witch, I¡¯m sure something¡¯ll come to ya. And I¡¯ll be there to help figure it out.¡±

    She chuckles a bit.

    ¡°It might be a while before we get any sign of this necromancer again.¡±

    ¡°Then we can get ready and you can teach me how to fight a zombie maker.¡±

    ¡°I imagine my training in medical care wouldn¡¯t prepare you for it. Just stick close to me when it happens, I¡¯ll keep you safe.¡± I scoff.

    ¡°I can handle it.¡±

    ¡°You say that now,¡± she comments.

    I¡¯m about to respond but my phone starts vibrating in my pocket, which is never a good sign. I pull it out to see Tamara is calling me.

    ¡®She always knows to call at the most inconvenient time.¡¯

    ¡°Can you answer and put it on speaker?¡±

    ????

    The assassin talks me through the process of answering and ¡°putting it on speaker.¡± Tamara''s voice comes through.

    ¡°Hollyhock, where are you right now?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m getting off Redwood ave, why?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s something I need picked up nearby, and you¡¯re the closest. It¡¯s already been paid for, so just get it from the guy and take it back to me. It¡¯s important.¡±

    ¡°Got it, text the details,¡± Hollyhock says. She hangs up the phone. ¡°I sure do get called a lot on my days off. One quick stop, and we¡¯ll get back to who¡¯s gonna keep who safe talk,¡± she says to me.

    ¡°Okay, but it¡¯ll be me protecting you.¡± She sucks her teeth.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get cocky now, you haven¡¯t seen what I¡¯m capable of yet.¡±

    Ch. 12 End.

 "That Was...Intense."

    I keep thinking about the question Hollyhock asked, ¡°Ask your questions, then what?¡± I hadn¡¯t given any thought at all as to what would come after. Should I report back to IronHenge? That sounds like the smart thing to do. But then they¡¯d find me. Would contacting another Arcanium be wise? I can¡¯t say I know how to do that though. What would I even say?

    ¡®Hey I¡¯m a witch from IronHenge and I found a necromancer in a human city, can you help me out?¡¯

    Maybe it wouldn¡¯t be the strangest thing they¡¯ve ever heard.

    Hollyhock sings along with the song on the radio, driving us to her latest task. Hopefully, it goes quickly; I have several things to prepare if we¡¯re to face this necromancer. A few of the charms I already have on hand, but there are elixirs and salves I have to mix by hand.

    ¡®I wonder if Hollyhock has any lithium at her place?¡¯

    ¡°We¡¯ve arrived, should be in and out of here,¡± she tells me.

    ¡°What is this place?¡± There¡¯s a wide opening in the building. A couple of cars sit inside, one is lifted by some mechanical apparatus. I can smell oil and some kind of chemical through the windows.

    ¡°It¡¯s an auto repair shop, they fix cars here. Well, on paper they do. It¡¯s really a money-laundering front.¡±

    She pauses as she sees I don¡¯t know what that means. ¡°They use this place to cover their paper trail. The money they get from less than legal means,¡± she clarifies. ¡°Man we¡¯re looking for is called Fye Kuss, supposed to be a real creep. Let me do the talking and we¡¯ll get out of here quick.¡± She no longer insists that I wait in the car like a child, so I guess that¡¯s progress.

    I follow her into the store, though there are tools about the place, there isn¡¯t anyone working here. No customers either. I can hear music playing somewhere in the building below us. Hollyhock walks to the rear-facing wall and feels around for something. She soon finds it, a hidden panel that she pushes in. Part of the wall retreats into itself to reveal a descending stairway. The music comes through louder, it¡¯s chaotic and grating like dragon scales against stone. Or like a computer being struck by lightning if that were to make a noise.

    Ignoring it, Hollyhock treads downwards and I follow. The door closes behind us after a brief moment. As we ingress, the interior changes to suit a parlor of sorts. It¡¯s nicely furnished if a bit dingy. It¡¯s either an upscale dive spot or a dirty fancy place. More than grime on everything, there¡¯s a vile stench in the air, many heinous things have been committed here. No doubt Hollyhock senses that too.

    The lights are somewhat dim. I imagine it¡¯s designed that way to add to the almost sinister atmosphere.

    There are several people here, doing various things. Their eyes examine us as we enter but they are otherwise not on alert. Some are just sitting, drinking, and talking, others count money and packages of things I¡¯m sure are drugs. Three stand around a pool table holding their sticks. I¡¯ve only seen pool played once in an old movie, I wonder if Hollyhock would teach me if I asked her.

    They all orbit around a man on a brown chaise lounge. Though the man I assume to be his bodyguard stands tall and aware next to him; the man in the chair is reclined, relaxed, as if he is in a dream. His golden brown skin is moisturized, making him shine a bit under the lights. His close cropped hair is dyed plant green. He has tattoos on his rather chiseled face of teardrops coming from his eyes.

    A thin body wrapped in a silk robe, and nothing else. He reaches to the table covered in different foods and picks up a fig. The garment is patterned with cherubs flying every which way. This Fye Kuss bites into the fruit without opening his eyes. I don¡¯t know if he knows we¡¯re here. He slowly, deliberately chews, smacking on it to let everyone know he¡¯s eating.

    I can smell rich scents coming off of his somewhat exposed chest. A mixture of things, lavender, something citrusy, coconut, and I think eucalyptus. They¡¯re just hints of it though, not like he bathed himself with the strange blend but more like it rubbed off on him.

    He¡¯s beautiful, hedonistic, and judging by the way he eats; narcissistic.

    ¡°Yo, Dicho! Change to something else!¡± One of the men says.

    The song playing from the speakers changes to something softer and slow.

    Hollyhock rolls her eyes and instead looks to the bodyguard and nods her head. The rather large man bumps Fye Kuss with his knee.

    ¡°Boss,¡± he says ¡°you got company.¡±

    ¡°Oh yes, I know,¡± Fye Kuss replies. His voice is a golden, melodic thing. ¡°I was sensing them with more than just my eyes. Trying to picture in my mind who came to visit, but I suppose sight has its advantages.¡± He talks like some soothsayers I know, as if words were invented for him and everyone else is just playing at it.

    He has startlingly green eyes and he locks them onto Hollyhock first. A smile that could peel paint stretches across his face.

    ¡°My, you¡¯ve quite the figure. So many tattoos.¡±

    Hollyhock is only wearing an orange tank top, so her strong arms and all her tattoos are on display. She doesn¡¯t respond to his observation.

    ¡°What do I have to do to see your uninked skin?¡± He asks.

    ¡°Let me peel yours,¡± she answers.

    The bodyguard frowns and looks at her more seriously but Fye Kuss just laughs. It¡¯s a short, abrupt chuckle that rolls from his throat.

    ¡°So feisty!¡± He then turns to violate me with his gaze.

    ¡°And you, my exotic beauty, are you as harsh as your compatriot here?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m actually meaner.¡±

    Again, that laugh of his comes out. He finally deigns to sit up straight and look at us.

    ¡°Can I interest you ladies in some cheese? They¡¯re quite good.¡± He picks up a knife and twirls it around before hovering it over a platter with an assortment of cheeses.

    Hollyhock licks the top row of her teeth.

    ¡°My boss paid you for something, I¡¯m here to pick it up,¡± she asserts.

    ¡°Oh, boo. You¡¯re no fun. And you?¡± He turns to me. ¡°Would you like any?¡±

    ¡°No, thank you. I had a big breakfast.¡±

    Hollyhock smiles just a bit at that. Fye Kuss groans in annoyance as he stands up.

    ¡°Business and pleasure can coexist, you know?¡±

    ¡°The business was with my boss, so there¡¯s no pleasure to be had here,¡± she counters.

    ¡°Just as well, I¡¯m a bit spent anyway, and I figure you¡¯d need my full vigor to get you going,¡± he says. Hollyhock looks like she might throw up in her mouth. He walks over to a desk, opens a drawer, and retrieves something. A large yellow envelope. He turns it over in his hand and then gives it to Hollyhock.

    It has a number of papers inside by the sound of it.

    ¡°That¡¯s everything she asked for. I had hoped for a bigger challenge but the pay was good so I shouldn¡¯t complain,¡± Fye Kuss says. Hollyhock looks over the envelope, I¡¯m guessing she doesn¡¯t know what could be inside.

    ¡°Can I fold this?¡± She asks.

    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s just paper,¡± he answers. ¡°Now would you like some cheese?¡± Hollyhock remains silent as she folds the envelope twice and puts it in her back pocket.

    ¡°No,¡± she answers, then turns to leave. I follow her closely.

    ¡°You remind me of this girl I had sent over earlier, so determined, so serious about her job.¡± Hollyhock ignores him. ¡°She couldn¡¯t have been older than fifteen, that one.¡±

    With that, she stops dead in her tracks.

    The song changes again, to something with a hard, quick beat.

    ¡®If he had kept his mouth shut for even a minute longer.¡¯ We were near the stairs, we were almost gone.

    I chance a glance towards Hollyhock. The assassin stands there, expressionless. There¡¯s no tension in her body, she almost looks serene despite our environment and what we just heard. I cannot fathom what she¡¯s thinking as she stares blankly ahead.

    She licks the top row of her teeth.

    She turns around and walks back to him.

    She ignores whatever it is that he says.

    She grabs the knife he had and stabs it clean through his hand.

    The impact is so great it breaks the cheese platter underneath and anchors him there.

    As he howls out in pain his bodyguard moves to retaliate. He tries to grab the assassin by her shoulder but she shrugs him off quickly, grabs the back of his head, and slams it down onto the knife.

    With amazing accuracy, she managed to stab his eye out with the hilt. Hollyhock punches him in the forehead to get him off the knife. He recoils in pain, holding his now empty eye socket. The assassin pulls the knife from the table and Fye Kuss¡¯ hand and swiftly swipes it across his bodyguard¡¯s throat. A river of blood flows from his neck.

    Hollyhock puts the knife in the forearm of Fye Kuss, who hollers out with renewed agony. She kicks his bodyguard in the chest to let him bleed out on the floor.

    Two men approach me, they think grabbing me will stop Hollyhock. I quickly prime a spell, superheating the air around my hands, and press them against their faces.

    I hear their skin sizzling before their screams come out.

    They crumble to the floor, writhing in pain. I look up to see the men who were playing pool rush at her. They swing their sticks at her but she deftly dodges them. One man tries to hit her in the head but she steps towards him, cutting off his angle, and grabs his wrist. In one fluid motion, she twists, grabs the stick before it falls, breaks it over his head, and stabs it into the man coming up behind her.

    The assassin spins around to deliver a kick that makes the stick fully penetrate his torso. She grabs a beer bottle and smashes it over the head of the man she just abused with the stick. Holding the remains of the bottle she stabs it into the throat of the last pool player. His blood gushes out through the bottleneck, spilling it on the floor.

    The last living pool player, with his vision compromised by the glass shards in his face, doesn¡¯t see the pool of blood as he tries to do something against Hollyhock. He slips and bangs his head once more against the pool table, but he isn¡¯t in pain for long as the assassin stomps on his chest, breaking his neck.

    Another man approaches me, he¡¯s disturbed by the carnage Hollyhock unleashed, and he¡¯s perplexed by what I did to his friends. They¡¯re still rolling around on the ground in pain. He doesn¡¯t understand what I did to them but knows he doesn¡¯t want it to happen to him. His eyes flit between me and Hollyhock, trying to calculate his odds.

    Turns out it doesn¡¯t matter because the assassin comes from behind him and snaps his neck. He¡¯s dead before he hits the floor.

    That¡¯s when I see the haunting look on her face. It is a vacant, empty expression. There is no anger, disgust, or even exertion. Nothing. Her face is a blank slate as she snuffs out another life. I¡¯m taken aback by it.

    I don¡¯t get much time to examine her face as more people come after us.

    Before my latest assailant can close the distance between us I tear a ligament in his knee with a strong pull of telekinesis. He falls like a sack of bricks.

    Hollyhock runs to one of them and he tries to land a punch on her. She jumps, turning her body horizontally, and kicks the man behind him while clotheslining the first man. Her arm wraps around his neck and as soon as her feet touch the ground she tightens and lifts her arm to break his neck.

    I can¡¯t understand why they keep trying but the man she kicked rushes to get at her. Faster than I can see she pulls out a knife that I didn¡¯t know she had and drives it through the bottom of his chin. It isn¡¯t lethal, but the pain makes him stop. Hollyhock raises her arm up to look him in the eyes.

    It¡¯s cold indifference that stares at him.

    She pulls the blade from his mouth and lodges it deep into his eye. She doesn¡¯t flinch or blink as blood flicks onto her face.

    I thought, for the briefest moment, that she would leave him at that. None of what she did should kill him. The assassin takes the knife out of his eye socket and punctures his stomach with it a few times. He¡¯ll bleed out for sure.

    Hollyhock moves away from him and heads towards Fye Kuss, the man who triggered this mayhem.

    A man who I didn¡¯t see earlier steps in her way and pulls a gun on her. I try to get a spell ready but the assassin barely registers him as a threat.

    ¡°Not so tough now, are y-¡± She punches him in the throat before he can finish. She takes the gun from his hand, pulls back the hammer, and shoots him in the chest.

    The last conscious man who isn¡¯t pinned to a table puts his hands up.

    ¡°Wait I just drove them! I-¡± The rest of his plea probably wouldn¡¯t have changed the outcome.

    She puts a bullet between his eyebrows and he falls, dead. The assassin throws the gun on his body. She turns back to Fye Kuss who is still desperately trying to unpin himself. He saw the massacre unfold and doesn¡¯t want to be a part of it.

    But he has to know by now it¡¯s out of his hands.

    Hollyhock approaches and he pathetically tries to fend her off by throwing any objects within arm''s reach. She lets them hit her. I can¡¯t decide if it¡¯s more degrading or not.

    The assassin pulls the knife out.

    ¡°WAIT, WE CAN TALK THIS-¡±

    She plunges the knife straight into his heart with practiced ease. The only thing he has to say now is a death rattle. The stab was more than enough to kill him, which is why I¡¯m surprised that she pulls the knife out to stab him again. And again. And again.

    She speeds up and stabs harder each time, getting blood all over herself and the corpse of Fye Kuss.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    My stomach turns watching the mutilation.

    ¡®Should I stop her? Can I stop her?¡¯

    She raises the knife high as she can and gives one final stab in his chest. The impact is so great that I can hear some ribs cracking from here.

    The assassin drops the bloodied knife and stops to breathe. Even with the man¡¯s blood splattered on her and breathing heavily, she has no emotion on her face.

    In the space of a few minutes, she¡¯s spilled more blood than I¡¯ve ever seen and killed more people than I thought possible.

    This is what she¡¯s capable of.

    Hollyhock catches her breath and then walks away without even the slightest hint of feeling.

    She walks past me without saying anything and I snap out of my shock to realize that the three men I incapacitated are gone.

    Hollyhock heads up upstairs and I go up. She opens the hidden door and as soon as she takes a step a man yells out as he swings a socket wrench at her.

    The assassin throws herself to the side, dodging the blow, plants her hands to catch herself, and flips back upright. The socket wrench hits drywall instead and gets stuck.

    I duck under the tool-wielding man to get out of the stairway and see he¡¯s one of the men I burned. The man whose knee I injured is crawling to escape the shop.

    The other burned man swings a heavy metal cross at Hollyhock but she sidesteps it easily.

    The man with the socket wrench sees me and tries to take a swing at me. But his eyes are damaged, he can¡¯t tell how far I am from him so he hits air mostly. When he swings again he tries vertically, I move to the side and trip him.

    I turn to see how the assassin is doing. Her opponent swings, misses, and hits the ground instead. His metal cross is exhausting him as he struggles to lift it back up.

    That¡¯s all the opportunity she needs.

    Hollyhock swings her leg up high, making almost a perfectly straight line, and brings it down hard on the back of the man¡¯s head. The force of the kick takes his neck to one of the arms of the cross and breaks his tracheae if not his neck entirely. He falls over, for the last time.

    The man I¡¯m fighting gets to his knees and swings at me again. The socket wrench would¡¯ve connected with my thigh if Hollyhock hadn¡¯t caught it just in time.

    I don¡¯t know when the assassin made it over here, but she snatches it out of the man¡¯s hands and brutally assaults him with it. Caving in his skull, she stops when he stops moving.

    The man with the knee injury managed to stand up and tries to limp his way out. Hollyhock throws the wrench at his back, making him fall over. Right above him is the car on the lift mechanism. The assassin walks over and presses a button that makes the car descend.

    The man hysterically tries to crawl away but the assassin''s boot on his one good leg keeps him in place.

    ¡°LET ME GO! LET ME GO, YOU CRAZY BITCH! PLEASE!! I¡¯LL DO ANYTHING!!!¡±

    If his pleas for mercy even register to Hollyhock she makes no sign of it; she¡¯s looking at him as though he weren¡¯t real.

    The lift gets closer and closer.

    His fingertips are bloody from scratching the pavement.

    Metal meets human bones and concrete.

    One of the most horrifying screams of agony I¡¯ve ever heard come out of the man as he¡¯s crushed to death. The air leaves his lungs quickly so the only sound heard is mechanical whirring and bones snapping.

    I have to turn away before I see too much. With everyone who was in the building dead, I assume that Hollyhock will get into the car and we¡¯ll talk about this at some later point.

    It¡¯s then I remember what my mentor taught me about assuming.

    The assassin walks past the car and starts heading down the sidewalk. I run to catch up with her.

    ¡°Hollyhock, that was...intense,¡± I say while walking backward in front of her. ¡°But you got what you needed.¡± She does not indicate that she¡¯s listening to me. The assassin isn¡¯t even looking at me, but past me somewhere. ¡°Why don¡¯t we get in the car and-¡±

    She pushes me out of the way like I¡¯m just an obstacle. I almost trip and fall into the street. A spike of anger quickly rises in me but I quell it fast.

    ¡®She¡¯s not herself.¡¯ I have to remember that.

    Her walking pace is fast, that or I really need to exercise more.

    ¡°Hollyhock, you have to calm down and listen to me. We-¡± I hear signs of life ahead, people, lots of them. And with Hollyhock covered in blood, it won¡¯t be long until someone tries to intervene or call the cops and that won¡¯t help the situation at all.

    Luckily, one of the first basic spells a witch learns is how to remove blood from something. It¡¯s harder to do on a person that¡¯s walking so fast but I have no other choice.

    It takes some concentration considering I¡¯m walking backward but I pool all the blood off her body and toss the blood orb into a nearby storm drain.

    If there are consequences to what I just did, I¡¯ll have to suffer them later, I¡¯m too busy right now.

    While she still has a vacant expression, Hollyhock at least doesn¡¯t look like she massacred a room full of people. It¡¯s an improvement. A step in the right direction.

    She weaves her way through the other pedestrians and even stops at crosswalks when cars are driving but still refuses to listen or acknowledge me. It makes me wish I took those psychology classes I was offered a few years ago. Maybe then I¡¯d know what to do or at least then I¡¯d know what¡¯s going on with her.

    We¡¯ve been walking for over half an hour and the sun shows as much mercy as Hollyhock did to those men back there. My feet are aching and an uncomfortable amount of sweat has gathered everywhere on my body.

    ¡®How the fuck do people live here without climate magic?¡¯

    I¡¯m about to pointlessly beg Hollyhock again to stop when a violent tremor takes hold of my body. It¡¯s all I can do to keep myself standing upright. I feel a powerful pull towards somewhere.

    The aura receptor we put up is picking the necromancer¡¯s magic.

    ¡®So soon?¡¯

    I detach a portion of my magic so that I¡¯m not overwhelmed by the sensation but can still feel the pull. The necromancer isn¡¯t too far from us.

    ¡®Us.¡¯

    Hollyhock is a block away from me now.

    I can catch this necromancer right now and lose her, or stay with her and lose this chance for who knows how long?

    ¡°LOKI¡¯S FUCKING BALLS!¡± I curse aloud as I make my decision.

    I run after Hollyhock who¡¯s still the same. She continues to walk, not paying me any mind.

    I follow her for twenty minutes and the magical sensation of the necromancer wears off. They¡¯re done with whatever abomination they were creating.

    ¡®Really hope I don¡¯t regret choosing you.¡¯

    After killing that many people and going on this long walk, I¡¯m worried Hollyhock might get a heat stroke but she perseveres. She turns a corner and it occurs to me that I don¡¯t know if she has a destination. Hollyhock knows this city but that doesn¡¯t mean she¡¯s going anywhere in particular.

    I don¡¯t know where we are but it looks like a decent part of town. There aren¡¯t any tall skyscrapers but there also aren¡¯t any abandoned buildings either.

    She turns once again but into an alleyway this time. The building on the right side seems new, freshly painted. The one on the left has exposed brick walls that have been subjected to the elements for decades. There¡¯s a cement brick wall that makes the alleyway a dead end. It¡¯s been painted too, but not well. I can see faint remnants of graffiti under the white paint.

    Hollyhock walks to a spot between the wall and the dumpster that the older building uses. She puts her back against the wall and sinks down to sit.

    ¡®Goddesses above, she¡¯s finally taking a rest.¡¯

    I sit across from her and take off my shoes to rub my feet.

    ¡°You¡¯re cute but you aren¡¯t marching shoes,¡± I say to the footwear. Might as well talk to them since Hollyhock isn¡¯t talking to me. I look up at the assassin in question.

    She¡¯s breathing heavily, much heavier than she should be. Her breathing gets faster and I spring to action.

    ¡°Hollyhock? Are you okay?!¡±

    Her rapid breath is the only answer I get.

    ¡°Holly, if you can hear me, you¡¯re hyperventilating! I need you to try and calm your breathing!¡±

    Tears start streaming from her eyes and her face twists into a portrait of fear. Her breathing doesn¡¯t get any slower and she¡¯s curling up into a ball.

    Panic sets in me.

    ¡®WHAT DO I DO? WHAT DO I DO?!¡¯

    Years of medical training fly out of my brain as I watch Hollyhock fold into herself. All I know for certain is that she¡¯ll seriously hurt herself if she doesn¡¯t stop.

    Her phone rings in her pocket.

    ¡®This godsdamn phone always rings at the worst time.¡¯ I struggle to get it out of her pocket and see who¡¯s calling. The screen says it Koki¡¯O.

    ¡®She¡¯s nice, maybe she can help.¡¯

    I answer the phone,

    ¡°Hey, you have that thing Tamara asked you to get? She¡¯s bugging me about it.¡±

    ¡°Koki¡¯O this is Hazel, Hollyhock¡¯s hyperventilating and she isn¡¯t responding to me!¡±

    There¡¯s a pause before she says,

    ¡°Are you on Daisy Avenue?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, we¡¯re in an alleyway somewhere!¡±

    ¡°Do you see a neon sign of a doughnut getting eaten?¡±

    I look around for what she described. I see it at the front of the old building.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I answer.

    Another pause.

    ¡°Shit. I¡¯ll be there as fast as I can. If you can, keep her calm,¡± her steady voice reassures me.

    ¡°Okay.¡± She hangs up. I take a deep breath and focus. Hollyhock is still crying, holding the sides of her head, rocking back and forth. ¡°I hope you can forgive me for this one day.¡±

    I press two fingers against her forehead and send a pulse of energy, knocking her out. She slumps forward into my arms.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to be okay, I promise,¡± I tell her. I think I need to hear it more than her. Not that she can hear it.

    Some gravel is digging itself into my legs, and Hollyhock is heavy but I endure it all to hold her. It¡¯s no comfort to her that I rub my hand in circles on her back, but it relaxes me a bit.

    ¡°What has this world done to you?¡± I say softly in her ear. Her breathing is normal and it tickles my neck. I wish this didn¡¯t have to happen for me to hold her this close. I wipe away her tears with my shirt.

    We¡¯re hidden from view behind this dumpster; I wouldn¡¯t want to spin an explanation for this.

    ¡®You¡¯ve never seen a woman hold another unconscious woman in an alley before?¡¯

    Instead of thinking silly thoughts, I cradle my chin in Hollyhock¡¯s shoulder.

    I don¡¯t know how much time passes when a large shadow is cast over us.

    I turn to see it belongs to Koki¡¯O. She takes Hollyhock from my arms and easily carries her.

    The assassins almost resemble a mother and her child like this.

    ¡°Come on,¡± she says with the nod of her head.

    Koki¡¯O leads me to her car, like many of the Bay Leaves vehicles it¡¯s unremarkable. A beige so plain that I feel like I¡¯ll forget the second I stop looking. But I suppose that fits the needs of assassins. She carefully places Hollyhock in the backseat, putting a seatbelt on her as well.

    We get in the front and the first thing she does is turn on the a.c. Heavensent cold air breezes over me as Koki¡¯O drives off.

    ¡°What set her off?¡± She asks me.

    ¡°Fye Kuss commented on being with a young girl. A fifteen-year-old.¡±

    Koki¡¯O makes a noise of disgust.

    ¡°He''s dead?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I answer.

    ¡°Tamara was going to kill him anyways,¡± she says. ¡°He outlived his usefulness. So let¡¯s just say that Hollyhock was being proactive. She kill anyone else?¡±

    ¡°Everyone who was there.¡±

    ¡°How many?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, lost count in the fighting. More than ten.¡± She mumbles something.

    ¡°Cleaning crew is gonna have a field day.¡±

    An awkward silence falls between us, I¡¯m not sure what to say or ask.

    ¡°She told me once,¡± I start to say ¡°how you and Tamara saved her from that cop¡¯s house. So I know she has her trauma.¡±

    ¡°That was a crazy day from start to finish, you think you¡¯re there to cut a loose end from a dirty cop, and you find a girl he kidnapped,¡± Koki¡¯O replies. ¡°There are lotsa crazy days around here¡±

    ¡°I know she¡¯s particularly protective of kids, but why¡¯d she go to that alley?¡±

    Whereas Tamara is like a safe, Koki¡¯O is an open tome. Her knit eyebrows show she knows something, if not the whole truth. How else would she have known where Hollyhock and I were?

    ¡°It¡¯s not my secret to share,¡± she says with a note of finality. Something tells me I won¡¯t get more out of her. ¡°But yeah, she¡¯s always had a soft spot for kids. She¡¯d never admit it but it¡¯s a sign of a kind heart.¡± She laughs a bit. ¡°Makes you wonder what kind of person she¡¯d be if life didn¡¯t serve her a plate of hot shit. Certainly not no killer.¡±

    She looks up in the mirror to check on Hollyhock.

    ¡°Did you give her a sedative or something?¡±

    ¡°Trade secret I¡¯m afraid.¡±

    Koki¡¯O laughs again.

    ¡°Tamara said you like to hold your cards close. Fair enough, we all have secrets to carry. Just make sure you can handle the burden.¡±

    With that bit of ominous advice, she turns on the radio.

    When we arrive at their HQ Koki¡¯O picks Hollyhock up and takes her inside.

    The Bay Leaves go about their business until they see Hollyhock. Many of them ask about her. Unease quickly spreads throughout them all.

    ¡°She¡¯s fine,¡± Koki¡¯O firmly answers. That alone assures them as they warily get back to whatever they were doing.

    Her word carries a lot of weight around here.

    Koki¡¯O takes Hollyhock to a room off to the side. There are several cots all over the room, many have personal items on them, which makes me think they¡¯ve been used recently.

    ¡°Think of this as a sleeping area,¡± Koki¡¯O explains. ¡°Recruits stay here or those of us who need to sleep an assignment off.¡± She carries Hollyhock to a cot in the corner and gingerly puts her down. She pulls over a chair for me to sit in. ¡°This used to be her spot. Always that brooding kid in the corner,¡± she says with a smile. Odd that it seems a fond memory for her.

    ¡°No one else should come in for a while so you¡¯ll have some privacy.¡± She goes to leave before turning around again. ¡°I forgot, did you get what we needed from him?¡±

    In all the chaos that happened, I completely forgot why we were there.

    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s in her back pocket.¡± I reach to get it. This proves a difficult task given how unconscious she is and the rotund dimensions of her ass. The envelope is, amazingly, none the worse for wear. Doesn¡¯t even have any blood on it.

    I give it to Koki''O who unfolds it and she gives it a once over. A cocked eyebrow signals she has some inkling of what¡¯s inside.

    The tall assassin goes to leave but stops once again.

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t think she can have it all, that girl,¡± she says. ¡°Thinks a life in the shadows can''t have moments of light. So she never got too close to anyone,¡± she turns around to face me ¡°not like she has with you.¡±

    She turns the envelope over in her hands.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know you, and I don¡¯t know where you¡¯re from or where you¡¯re going, but you¡¯ve been good for her...Hollyhock looks at you like you might solve all the problems in the world, you might not see it yet, but she does.¡±

    The warm buzz of happiness I feel is quickly squashed when I see her scowl.

    ¡°So know when I say this, it¡¯s not a threat, but a promise,¡± her voice takes an exhortative tone. I sit up straighter but still feel incredibly small in her presence. ¡°Whatever responsibilities you have are your business, but if you end up breaking this girl¡¯s heart,¡± she points to Hollyhock ¡±then you better not show your face in this city again. Understand?¡±

    I nod.

    Koki¡¯O¡¯s harsh scowl turns back to her usual sunny face.

    ¡°Good! Alright, watch over her, I got stuff to do!¡± She leaves like she didn¡¯t just threaten me. When she closes the door I wait a moment before letting a breath go that I didn¡¯t know I was holding.

    ¡°Seems a lot of people care about you, Hollyhock.¡±

    She lies there unconscious.

    ¡°Oh, right.¡± I look around the room again to make sure no one is here. Then I press two fingers against her forehead. A small jolt of energy and her eyes open.

    ¡®Oh wait, what if she¡¯s still out of it?¡¯

    Hollyhock calmly looks around, seeing a familiar environment. She slowly leans up and looks at me.

    ¡°How did we get here?¡±

    It¡¯s nice to hear her scratchy voice again, even if it is confused.

    ¡°What¡¯s the last thing you remember?¡± I ask her.

    ¡°We were getting something from that creep, Fye Kuss. Did you teleport us back?¡±

    ¡®She doesn¡¯t remember. That¡¯s not...ideal.¡¯

    Hollyhock takes my silence as an answer. She gets up and examines her hands.

    ¡°My arms are sore, and there¡¯s blood under my fingernails,¡± she notices. ¡°My feet hurt too.¡± She starts breathing faster and I tense up. ¡°Did I kill someone? Did I kill Fye Kuss?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I admit.

    She grabs the sides of her head.

    ¡°FUCKING FUCK!!! SHITSHITSHITSHIT!!!¡± She screams.

    ¡°Hollyhock,¡± I try to keep my voice calm. ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡±

    ¡°IT¡¯S NOT OKAY!¡± She yells at me, she then takes a deep breath. ¡°It¡¯s not okay, this has happened to me before!¡±

    That hangs in the air for a second.

    ¡°I- I¡¯ve forgotten shit I¡¯ve done before! I don¡¯t remember any of it but I come back with blood on my hands.¡± She runs her hands through her hair frantically. ¡°I¡¯m fucking insane!¡±

    I stand up.

    ¡°You¡¯re not insane,¡± I sternly say to her.

    ¡°What sane person kills people and doesn¡¯t even remember it?!¡±

    ¡°What day is it?¡± I ask her.

    ¡°Huh?¡±

    ¡°What day is it?¡±

    She answers correctly.

    ¡°Where are you right now?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m in the Bay Leaves headquarters, in the sleeping area.¡±

    ¡°See? You¡¯re not insane. Just mixed up is all.¡±

    She sits back down and wipes tears that are falling down.

    ¡°I was really hoping it wouldn¡¯t happen again, that you wouldn¡¯t ever see me like that,¡± she says through some sniffles.

    I pull her into a hug and she reciprocates it.

    ¡°I¡¯m just glad that you¡¯re safe and back to your usual self,¡± I tell you.

    ¡®Now doesn¡¯t seem like a good time to tell her about the necromancer. She feels bad enough already.¡¯

    ¡°But what if I forget you? What if I hurt you?¡± She says. I chuckle a tiny bit to lighten the mood.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you could forget me even if you tried. And you didn¡¯t hurt me, so don¡¯t worry about it.¡±

    ¡°I...didn¡¯t scare you?¡±

    ¡°No, you-¡±

    I saw her kill in some of the most gruesome ways ever, but I hardly flinched, I barely felt anything. They weren¡¯t good men but they were still human beings, and their deaths meant nothing to me.

    ¡®What the fuck is wrong with me?¡¯

    Ch. 13 End.

 "Wading To Treading"

    ¡°Have you calmed down now?¡± I ask the assassin. She¡¯s had quite the day and I feel like I should get her in a more stable mood before I tell her that necromancer was active just over an hour ago.

    ¡°No, not really,¡± she runs a hand over the shaved part of her head. ¡°But I¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    She pats the space behind her on the cot for me to sit there.

    I sit behind her and she leans back to rest on my thighs.

    ¡°I¡¯m tired, what time is it?¡±

    I answer her.

    ¡°Shit, really?¡±

    Her body is warm and heavy on me, but I don¡¯t protest. She crosses her arms over her eyes.

    ¡°Can I get an hour of rest?¡±

    I can¡¯t tell if she¡¯s asking me or the universe.

    When I put my hand on her chin she doesn¡¯t flinch like I thought she might.

    ¡°You can take all the time you need,¡± I answer her.

    Hollyhock¡¯s skin is dry and some salt is leftover from her sweat. I gently brush the crystals off.

    ¡°You swear I didn¡¯t hurt you?¡± The assassin asks. With half her face covered, I can¡¯t tell what her expression is. She pushed me out of the way, it didn¡¯t feel great but didn¡¯t hurt that much.

    ¡°No, you didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Would you tell me if I did?¡±

    ¡°If you did hurt me, I doubt you¡¯d need me to tell you.¡±

    That came out harsher sounding than I meant it.

    ¡°What I mean is, even then you had some idea of what was going on. You didn¡¯t hurt me or anyone else that wasn¡¯t involved. We walked through a crowd of people and you did nothing to them.¡±

    She inhales deeply through her nose and exhales from her mouth.

    ¡°That¡¯s good, I suppose.¡± I thought she was going to say something more but she stays silent. There¡¯s a lot I have to say and a lot I want to ask, I have to keep my mind off the questions creeping into my mind; why wasn¡¯t I scared? Why didn¡¯t I feel anything for the men she killed? This isn¡¯t an area of myself I want to explore at this time, not when there¡¯s so much to be done.

    ¡°I remember the first time I killed someone, that day was a lot for me,¡± she starts to say. I haven¡¯t heard this story before. ¡°I was maybe sixteen but, I don¡¯t know my age so who knows, and it was kinda high profile but lax. Every Bay Leaf killer has to do a mission like this without backup, to see their competency for it. I chose the job. Some up-and-coming rock star. He thought he was hot shit, ego preceded his actual fame.¡± She recalls.

    ¡°Son of a bitch did a gig a club, afterparty got a little too wild. He forced himself on a girl, she was a prostitute, so the cops did nothing when she reported it. Piece of shit was set to be a headliner at a concert a few days later.¡± Her arms are still over her face. ¡°The girl¡¯s pimp hired us to make an example of him. So I went to the concert, he played like he didn¡¯t know what instrument he was using. Honestly don¡¯t know how he had any fans. They finished their set and I went backstage and waited. He snuck off to snort something, coke I think, he found some secluded corner.¡±

    She breathes deeply.

    ¡°I had practiced with guns for years before that day, thought I was used to their weight but that summer night, felt like I was carrying an anvil in my hands. He didn¡¯t hear me walk up behind him, between the crowd and stuff being set up, but I swore he would¡¯ve heard my heart beating if it wasn¡¯t for all that. I knew the band that was about to play had fireworks planned. The whole time I¡¯m standing behind him, sweating like I was the one about to die, trying my hardest to keep the gun steady. If he turned his head even a little, he would¡¯ve seen me. But he kept looking forward, enjoying his high, staring into space. The fireworks went off and I pulled the trigger. To this day I don¡¯t know if it was ¡®cuz I wanted to or if I was startled.¡±

    She raises an arm to make a gun gesture with her hand, fires it, and puts her arm back down.

    ¡°The bullet came and went through his head and no one else knew. He didn¡¯t even know what killed him as he slumped forward. Blood and brain were everywhere. Immediately felt sick, had to swallow my vomit and keep it pushing. I grabbed a bottle of something, it was vodka, drank some, and didn''t feel better at all. Ran back to the crowd to blend in...the band people came to see was playing. Now they knew how to play. People were going wild, some girl pulled me into a portable bathroom. She was high as a kite on ecstasy, she was either looking for a girl called Rayla or her name was Rayla, but I don¡¯t know why she¡¯d say her own name. Had my first kiss right then and there, she didn¡¯t mind the taste of alcohol, and I desperately needed the distraction. Minutes later and I was having sex for the first time too. It was terrible all around, I didn¡¯t know what I was doing, and she might¡¯ve just been looking for a distraction too.¡±

    Hollyhock shakes her head.

    ¡°I¡¯m saying all this ¡®cuz every significant event in my life has been tied to death. It¡¯s inseparable from me. I don¡¯t want it to be something I can just black out, fucked up as that sounds...I sound like a maniac.¡± She sits up, uncovering her face. ¡°I just don¡¯t want to forget shit anymore.¡±

    ??????

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°I want to show you something,¡± the witch says to me. She turns to face away from me, moves her long hair to the side, and lifts her shirt.

    There, between her shoulder blades, is a patch of severely burned skin. It¡¯s just a bit bigger than my hand, shaped like a crater. The center over her spine got the worst of it. It healed as best as it could, the skin lighter and shinier than the rest of her skin, but the center still looks red and raw.

    ¡°Jesus Christ,¡± escapes my mouth.

    ¡°It looks worse than it is,¡± Witch-Hazel comments.

    ¡°It looks pretty fuckin¡¯ bad. Like a third-degree burn,¡± I counter.

    ¡°Well, you¡¯d be correct.¡±

    ¡°Does it hurt?¡±

    ¡°Just the opposite, I can¡¯t feel anything at all there. Been there for two years now.¡±

    ¡°Goddamn,¡± I say. I move to put my hand on the burn but think better of it, instead, I rest it on her right shoulder blade.

    ¡°I got this for being cocky,¡± she says. ¡°We have magic duels back in IronHenge as a part of our education. For witches, it¡¯s just to make sure we can handle ourselves if a dangerous situation arises. But I was breezing through my opponents, fellow witches who don¡¯t have much affinity for combat magic. I asked for a sorcerer, someone who would know how to fight. I wanted something more.¡±

    I can¡¯t help but wonder what face she¡¯s making, turned away from me.

    ¡°They obliged my request, getting a sorcerer that had nothing better to do. They might¡¯ve expected a quick fight, but I didn¡¯t give one. The sorcerer was the more experienced fighter, but slower than me. I kept myself upright throughout the fight, didn¡¯t yield, and didn¡¯t hold back. It wasn¡¯t easy but I knocked him down, flat out on his face. Watching him struggle to get back up, I thought he had enough and would either submit or pass out. I turned my back on him to get my next opponent. I got hit with a fireball the next second. Went through my clothes in less than a second, since I didn¡¯t have my aura shield up. Fell to my knees quicker than that. If someone hadn¡¯t taken the heat out as quickly as they did it would¡¯ve reached bone. It hurt all the same. I blacked out.¡±

    ¡°What happened to the asshole that did this?¡±

    ¡°I think he died a year later, fighting a-¡± she stops as if remembering something ¡°a creature of some kind.¡±

    She pulls her shirt back down and I slip my hand out. The witch turns around to face me.

    ¡°I know it doesn¡¯t exactly line up with what you¡¯re going through, but I never fully healed this because I learned an important lesson from it. Never turn away from something until you know it¡¯s done.¡± She fixes her hair.

    ¡°I just wanted to share something with you since you¡¯ve shared so much with me,¡± Witch-Hazel says. ¡°But maybe I¡¯m getting ahead of myself.¡±

    I gently rub her arm.

    ¡°Nah, it was big of you to tell me. Couldn¡¯t have been easy, but thanks.¡±

    Her hand finds mine for a moment, soft skin resting on my super dry skin.

    ¡°Get some rest, we have something to do later, and I don¡¯t need you passing out on me.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± I ask.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you in a bit, so rest up, I¡¯ll back in a bit.¡±

    ¡®I am exhausted.¡¯

    ¡°Fine, but only an hour, okay?¡± I demand. She pushes me back onto the cot.

    ¡°Sleep,¡± she makes a demand of her own. Witch-Hazel gets up to go somewhere.

    The cot is harder than I remember.

    ¡®Did I really use to sleep on this thing?¡¯ My legs go over the edge of it, my feet dangle somewhat uncomfortably. ¡®Where¡¯s she going?¡¯

    ??????

    I approach a Bay Leaf who I¡¯ve met before, Larkspur I believe their name is.

    ¡°How is she?¡± They ask.

    ¡°She¡¯s...shaken, but fine,¡± I answer. Larkspur shakes their head.

    ¡°Last time that happened she came back with a dislocated shoulder and was missing a tooth. Least you were watching out for her this time,¡± they comment. Seeing what she can do, I have to wonder how many people it would take to put her in such a state.

    ¡°She¡¯s resting right now, but can you tell me how to get to Tamara¡¯s office?¡±

    Larkspur shows me the way and leaves me.

    I enter the room to see the short leader of the Bay Leaves staring out a window.

    ¡°How is she, Hazel?¡± she asks without turning around.

    ¡®How¡¯d she know it was me?¡¯ As if she heard my thoughts she answers,

    ¡°Your shampoo is really strong, smells just like this chocolate shop I visited in my youth.¡± She tilts her head. ¡°Wonder if they¡¯re still open,¡± she mutters to herself. ¡°So, how is she?¡± Tamara asks again.

    ¡°She¡¯s fine, no injuries. Not physical anyway.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± the response I¡¯m offered. Tamara walks away from the window to a bookshelf. She pulls a fake book to reveal a hidden mini-fridge. She grabs a couple of bottles and a glass. ¡°Want a drink?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± She just raises an eyebrow at that and pours herself a drink. It smells like beer and lemonade. She lets the bottles stay on her desk and swirls her drink around.

    ¡°Better ask your question before it burns a hole in your head,¡± she says while returning to the spot I found her at.

    ¡°Did you do this to Hollyhock?¡± I ask point-blank. Tamara sips her drink before answering,

    ¡°If you¡¯re insinuating that I somehow afflicted Hollyhock with a fugue state psychosis, then you think me too much of me.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, you seem resourceful.¡± She sighs.

    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t purposefully traumatize her in such a way that she sometimes goes on killing sprees. It¡¯s not exactly good for keeping low profiles.¡± she sips her drink again. Sensing my dissatisfaction with just that she continues. ¡°It¡¯s happened to her before when she was much younger. Quite a few times, actually. I hoped that she would grow out of it, but it seems like it¡¯s here to stay.¡± She stares down at her drink, swirling it like there might be an answer in the liquid.

    I know she¡¯s hiding something. Koki¡¯O knows what it is but won¡¯t share it. I have half a mind to use a truth-seeking spell on her.

    ¡°Just so you know,¡± Tamara starts. ¡°You¡¯ve been in dangerous waters ever since you came to this city. And with this, you¡¯ve gone from wading to treading in them.¡± She sets her drink down and walks over to me. Despite being below my eye-line, she doesn¡¯t turn her head up to look at me; making me crane my neck down. ¡°I just hope you¡¯re a strong swimmer if you¡¯re going to accuse me of shit.¡± She burrows into me with her dark brown eyes. ¡°I¡¯m the fucking shark around here, and don¡¯t think for one second you¡¯ll be spared my teeth.¡±

    She doesn¡¯t know I could incinerate her right here, right now. And why would she? In her sphere of influence and knowledge, she¡¯s completely unaware of the horrors lurking in her city.

    Tamara of the Bay Leaves may be hiding something, but she¡¯s not the problem I need to deal with. Not yet anyway.

    I let her threat go. Fighting Hollyhock¡¯s boss isn¡¯t going to get me anywhere.

    ¡°I was being rash, excuse me,¡± I offer. ¡°I¡¯m going to get Hollyhock and go.¡±

    ¡°See that you do, and try not to let her get into any more trouble.¡±

    I don¡¯t respond as I leave. Heading back to the sleeping area, I gently rouse Hollyhock. The assassin wakes up immediately, maybe she wasn¡¯t even asleep.

    ¡°We have a necromancer to hunt down,¡± I tell her.

    Ch. 14 End.

 "You Think So?"

    ¡°So let me get this straight,¡± the assassin says. A strange turn of phrase. ¡°While I was...out of it, you felt the necromancer¡¯s magic, but chose to chase after me instead while I was acting like a maniac?¡± she asks. Hollyhock opens the door to her apartment and lets me in.

    ¡°Will you stop calling yourself crazy? You¡¯re not crazy.¡±

    ¡°If it walks like a duck,¡± she says, turning on the a.c.

    ¡°Huh?¡±

    ¡°...It¡¯s a thing people say. I¡¯m just saying if the shoe fits.¡±

    ¡°In any case, yes, I felt their magic.¡±

    ¡°Fuck...my bad,¡± she faults herself.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t tell you to make you feel bad. I told you because we have to act fast. It was a little over an hour ago. I have to prepare a potion, I need a map of the city, and I need your help,¡± I say.

    ¡°Is there time for me to get a quick shower?¡±

    I¡¯d actually like one myself, and I almost suggest we take one together but that would prove far more distracting.

    ¡°Yes, it¡¯ll take a little time to make the potion anyway.¡±

    ¡°Aight, quick five-minute shower,¡± she says. The assassin starts undressing as she heads to the bathroom.

    I go to my trunk to get the needed ingredients. Turns out I have some lithium with me. I grab a handful of Rosemary leaves, Dokuvisc spores, cocoocoa dust, and the rest of the ingredients I need.

    The minutes go by as I grind them together in a mortar. The pestle, made from the skull of a T-Rex, performs the job excellently.

    When I notice Hollyhock again, she¡¯s already dressed with a towel on her head. The assassin turns on a device and checks something.

    ¡°What is that?¡± I ask.

    ¡°A printer,¡± she answers.

    ¡°Now you¡¯re bullshitting me, printers are huge.¡±

    ¡°You really need to update your technology in IronHenge, huh? Next, you¡¯re gonna say that you still have cassette tapes.¡±

    ¡°Why, what happened to them?¡± I ask. She just shakes her head.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter, I¡¯m going to make some coffee, you want some?¡±

    ¡°You keep saying coffee like it¡¯s a real thing¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no fucking way you don¡¯t know what coffee is, I¡¯m not buying it,¡± she replies.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to buy it,¡± I mumble under my breath.

    ¡°What was that?¡± She asks.

    ¡°Nothing!¡± I say clearer. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to have a beaker, would you?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, let me get my mad scientist kit. You want me to get you a microscope too?¡± Hollyhocks answers.

    ¡°My mentor always says that sarcasm is a soul screaming out to be taken seriously.¡±

    ¡°Your mentor sounds like someone I¡¯d like to shoot in the face.¡±

    I briefly consider the possibility of them meeting and the results are disastrous.

    ¡®That wouldn¡¯t end well.¡¯ I find a beaker that I took with me.

    ¡°Never mind, I found one.¡±

    ¡°Phew,¡± she says ¡°that¡¯s a load off my mind.¡±

    ¡°Keep up the attitude, missy. See where it gets you.¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s where you are, I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll be interesting,¡± she responds. ¡°Wanna make coffee but I don¡¯t want to wait.¡± The assassin prepares a pot for ¡°coffee¡± and then gathers the pictures she ¡°printed out¡±. I add water from lake Logres to the beaker and set a small fire under it. The beak floats in place just a few inches over the counter. Opening up the cupboards I realize that a lot of Hollyhock¡¯s dishes are identical.

    I guess she doesn¡¯t mind it, and she did live alone so what would it matter? I grab one of her orange mugs and wait for the potion to finish boiling. Hollyhock assembles the papers on her low table in the living room.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    ¡°Okay, I have a map of the city.¡± She produces a pen from her pocket, checks her phone, and draws a little circle on it. ¡°This is where we were when I blacked out. You¡¯ll have to walk us through what happened.¡±

    I wanted to ask her why she walked to that particular alley, but it doesn¡¯t seem like she¡¯d know the answer. Only Tamara or Koki¡¯O know but won¡¯t share. Hollyhock wants to focus on the necromancer instead, so we will.

    I walk over and examine the map, usually, this is done with a live map but it¡¯s detailed enough to work.

    ¡°When we start, I have to ask that you be as quiet as possible. I want as few distractions as possible.¡±

    ¡°Okay. You still haven¡¯t told me what it is,¡± she gestures to the potion brewing. With a turn of my hand the beaker spins in place.

    ¡°Have you ever taken a focus enhancing supplement before?¡± I ask her. She licks the top row of her teeth.

    ¡°I unintentionally did cocaine once,¡± she answers.

    ¡°....how do you unintentionally do cocaine?¡±

    ¡°I was fighting this guy, he threw an open bag of coke in my face and I reflexively inhaled. I was grinding my teeth for the rest of the day. Also cleaned my entire apartment.¡±

    ¡°Okay well this is like that but much stronger and without the crash. It¡¯ll put me in a state of hyperfocus and memory recall, I¡¯ll retrace our steps and we¡¯ll get a general location of the necromancer.¡± I make the beaker and mug float over to me.

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t make my coffee come over here too?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m too busy.¡± I pour my potion into the mug. She sucks her teeth at me.

    ¡°You just wanna check out my ass while I walk over there,¡± she says, getting up. I can¡¯t even refute the claim because my eyes immediately land on it. The assassin grabs a mug from her cupboards, if she thinks it¡¯s weird she has identical dishes she makes no indication of it. Once she pours her brew she comes back and sets her cup close to mine.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she holds her pen in her hand and takes a sip of her drink ¡°ready?¡±

    I sip mine, the taste of cocoocoa overpowers the other ingredients, making it a sweet concoction. Almost instantly I feel my heart beating faster to pump blood quicker through my body. Everything around me comes into extreme detail. The sound of the air conditioner roars but I soon push it out of my mind. I close my eyes before it all becomes too much.

    A knock blasts from the door. Hollyhock gets up to answer it.

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry to bother you, but we¡¯re having a bake sale at church and I realized that I don¡¯t have any tupperware. Do you have any I can borrow?¡± a voice asks, it sounds like the woman who interrupted us before. She seems to have a knack for it. Hollyhock stands in the doorframe to block what we¡¯re doing as if she¡¯d understand it.

    ¡°Yeah, hang on a sec,¡± the assassin responds in a soft voice. She doesn¡¯t close the door and walks very quietly to her kitchen. Grabbing some things from her cupboard she then gives them to her neighbor.

    ¡°Thank you so much! I¡¯ll return them as soon as possible.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Hollyhock says before closing the door. She comes back to me, ¡°Ready?¡±

    I nod.

    Thinking back to earlier today, I recall in exact detail what we were doing in the auto shop. I followed Hollyhock as she walked to the left.

    ¡°We went to the left,¡± I say aloud. Hearing the pen on the paper I continue detailing our path through the city. As the high alertness feeling dulls I sip my drink again and put it down. We keep up this routine for a few minutes until I hear Hollyhock sip her drink and make a noise.

    ¡°What the hell?¡± she says aloud. I open my eyes to see we accidentally switched places with our mugs. Hollyhock just drank mine.

    ¡®That¡¯s not good.¡¯

    ¡°You probably only have a few seconds before it takes effect so I need you to listen carefully to me. That potion is going to increase your heart rate to have more blood go to the memory parts of your brain.¡± She sits up a bit straighter and I can hear her heart beating louder in her chest. ¡°You¡¯re about to have a clarity of mind you probably never felt before. Anything you might think of, even things that are deeply buried, will consume your thoughts; so try to keep an even breathing rate, and just focus on the task. It¡¯ll wear off in a little while.¡±

    She nods rapidly.

    ¡°Okay, I can do that.¡± Her eyes are dilated and she¡¯s clenching her jaw. I¡¯m not actually sure how quickly it¡¯ll wear off for her. I¡¯ve practiced with this potion many times, I know how to focus on one thing at a time, but she must have a million things she¡¯s thinking about right now. Then again, I saw her display incredible focus in chaotic situations, maybe she¡¯ll be fine.

    I grab my mug and move it closer to me.

    ¡°We¡¯re getting close,¡± I tell her, keeping my eyes open to watch. She¡¯s jittery as she traces the pen along the map. ¡°I felt the pull of the necromancer to my right, pass the other side of the street. Feels like¡­¡± It¡¯s hard to gauge a distance of a magical pull ¡°Maybe, forty meters away?¡± Hollyhock draws a ¡°V¡± to encompass the range.

    ¡°We¡¯ll check the buildings around there, see if there¡¯s anything that¡¯ll fit the description,¡± Hollyhock says. ¡°I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll find something.¡± She then quickly looks around, like she¡¯s searching for something.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± I ask her. The potion is starting to wear off for me.

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m good, I¡¯m wired but good. I¡¯m cool. I¡¯m cool.¡± She answers, then her eyes land on the TV. Hollyhock moves closer to it. The device is turned off, so only her reflection is visible on the screen. She stops before it, sitting on her knees. ¡°You think my parents would recognize me?¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± The potion has worn off for me.

    ¡°If they¡¯re still alive, if they were in this city, you think they recognize me on the street?¡± She asks again, touching her cheek. ¡°Pass the scars and tattoos, you think they could see each other on my face? Whose eyes I have, which nose I inherited, who I smile like?¡±

    The thought that she¡¯d ever want to meet or know her parents never occurred to me, maybe it never occurred to her either. I don¡¯t know what to say.

    ¡°Yes, you have very unique features,¡± I tell her.

    ¡°You think so?¡± She doesn¡¯t turn from the screen, still examining her face.

    I walk up and put a hand on her shoulder.

    ¡°Yeah. Come on, we have a necromancer to catch.¡±

    She looks at herself one more time then stands up. I hold her hand to keep her focus somewhere.

    ¡°You okay to drive?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m fine.¡±

    ¡°Good, because I still don¡¯t know how to.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll teach you.¡±

    Chapter 15 End

 "Better Luck Next Time"

    ??????

    ¡®Jesus fucking Christ!¡¯ I can¡¯t believe I just asked Witch-Hazel all that. I hadn¡¯t thought about that shit in years and promised myself I would never say it aloud.

    ¡®I drink one magic potion and suddenly I¡¯m spilling my guts to her. Why don¡¯t I just give her my diary and psych eval?

    I probably should get a psychological evaluation.

    ¡®Nah, who has time for that?¡¯

    I have the ac running in the car but my face is hot from embarrassment. I desperately try to keep what little cool I have left. Witch-Hazel, thankfully, doesn¡¯t bring it up. Whether it¡¯s because she wants to respect my privacy or because we have something more important to do; either way I¡¯m grateful to her.

    One of the cleaning crews for the apparent massacre I created returned the car back to my place. It explains why I was so sweaty when I woke up, I must¡¯ve walked for miles in this heat. I couldn¡¯t snap on a cooler day?

    ¡®Focus Hollyhock! We¡¯re not going to think about your deteriorating mental health, we¡¯re trying to catch an asshole who¡¯s reanimating dead kids. All that other shit is on the back burner.¡¯

    I turn a corner.

    ¡°If you ever want to talk about it, we can,¡± Witch-Hazel offers. ¡°I can¡¯t give any advice, but I can listen.¡± She runs the back of her neck.

    ¡°If it¡¯s all the same to you, I¡¯d rather not talk about it. Ever,¡± I counter. It came out harsher than I intended, so I follow up with, ¡°but thank you, for caring enough to offer.¡±

    My face gets warmer.

    We sit in silence for the rest of our drive. I head down the street of our destination. The apartment buildings around are relatively new, but they aren¡¯t as populated as they should be. Hardly anyone is out and about here, all because of one building.

    ¡°I remember the city was hyping this area up,¡± I tell her. ¡°Supposedta be a great economic boom. Office buildings one side of the street, on the other side: cozy apartments. No need for long commutes, keep your paychecks close to home,¡± I explain further. ¡°They were gonna open a supermarket, and other stuff to cut down on traveling. A city scum¡¯s wet dream, basically.¡± I pull into a largely empty parking lot.

    ¡°It was a bit cart before the horse, if y¡¯know what I mean.¡±

    ¡°Hmmm, in IronHenge we say ¡°don¡¯t count your phoenixes until they¡¯re reborn¡± but it''s the same principle.¡±

    ¡°....right. So anyway, one company set up shop in one of these buildings. I don¡¯t know what they did but they didn¡¯t do it well, one of the employees came and shot the place up. Twelve died, the business shut down, other businesses pulled away, and rent around here plummeted.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that good?¡±

    ¡°It is, but the jobs around here evaporated, defeating the whole purpose of the place. Now it¡¯s practically a ghost town.¡±

    We exit the car out into the humid heat of the afternoon. Across the street is the building that caused all this: Chrysanthemum Offices. It¡¯s still new and shiny on the outside, but the distinct lack of activity around it raises flags.

    ¡°Seems a good a spot as any to check first. You sure you felt it around here?¡±

    ¡°Definitely, now that I¡¯m closer I can sense their magic a bit,¡± Witch-Hazel explains.

    ¡°Then let¡¯s go floor by floor-¡±

    ¡°Hand over your wallets!¡± I¡¯m interrupted by a rough-looking man. His face is skinny, and his clothes are way too big for him. He has a rusty half scissor pointed at me, an unsteady hand holds it. His eyes anxiously shift between us quickly.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    I sigh and take out my wallet, I thumb through some bills and gather them in my right hand. His eyes widen at the money.

    ¡°Here¡¯s three hundred dollars, it¡¯s yours but I wanna ask you a question first,¡± I offer. He turns his attention to Witch-Hazel.

    ¡°Now you!¡± My arm immediately moves to get between her and him.

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t have any money, keep that pointed at me before I feed you your teeth,¡± I warn him. He nervously swallows and turns back to me.

    ¡°Has anyone died around here recently?¡± I ask the would-be thief.

    ¡°Fuck kinda question is that?¡± I roll my eyes.

    ¡°Has anyone who died around here gone missing? Their body not where it was before?¡± I probe further. He sniffs loudly.

    ¡°There was a stomach virus going around ¡®bout a month ago.¡± He wipes his nose. ¡°Killed a few of the people that stay in that building,¡± he nods towards Chrysanthemum Offices. His eyes dart back and forth between the money and me. ¡°Heard a coupla ¡®em disappeared, don¡¯t know more than that.¡±

    I reach my hand out, offering the money freely. He looks at the blade in his hand, then to the money, then finally at me. I can tell he wants to ask for more, but he looks me up and down and thinks better of it. He takes his money, shiftily looking at us both the man darts away.

    ¡°It¡¯s always something,¡± I say. Witch-Hazel is looking at me with a smile across her pretty face. ¡°What?¡± I ask her. She chuckles and shakes her head.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± she says with a laugh ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    ¡®God, her laugh is so nice.¡¯

    ¡°No, what is it?¡± I ask again.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± she counters. If she doesn¡¯t want me to know then she¡¯s not going to tell me.

    We cross the street and enter the building; what was supposed to be the lobby of a prominent office is now an impromptu shelter for the homeless. There are bedrolls, mattresses, and some tents scattered about the place. Various things to cook food on and personal effects take up the rest of the space, but there¡¯s no one here. Given how hot it is in here, it might just be the occupants are trying to avoid heatstroke, but I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s been here for a while. Witch-Hazel looks around with a careful eye, searching for something specific.

    ¡°I sense something above us,¡± she says.

    ¡°Let¡¯s hit the stairs.¡± I pull out the pistol from the back of my jeans and head to the stairwell. We go up flight after flight until Witch-Hazel indicates we¡¯re here. It¡¯s the fourth floor that we end up at. It¡¯s the floor that the shooting happened, bullet holes in the walls, and dried blood splatters that no one cleaned are the first things my eye catches. Like the lobby, there are signs that people lived here, but not recently.

    The smell of death hangs in the air, the heat doesn¡¯t do it any favors. It doesn¡¯t take us long to find the source. Toward the front of the building where some windows have been opened, there¡¯s a line of bodies underneath tarps. I¡¯d say this is more than a ¡®few people¡¯. If these are the victims of the stomach virus, I see at least a dozen bodies. Whoever put them here, lined them up side by side. It makes it easy to see that some are missing, the gaps between bodies are an ominous sign our necromancer was here.

    I look around cautiously while Witch-Hazel goes to examine the bodies. Dust has settled a lot of stuff around here, a broken laundry basket holding some clothes, a can opener, a solar-powered charger, and a small hot plate. I can¡¯t imagine anyone living here leaving those by choice.

    ¡°Five bodies are missing,¡± Witch-Hazel notices. ¡°The necromancer was here for certain. They¡¯re either perfecting their methods, they¡¯re finding more suitable people, or perhaps both.¡± She stands up and looks over the other corpses.

    ¡°What would make someone more suitable?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Well, a lot of that is up to the necromancer. The condition of the bodies and rigor mortis factor into it, but I can¡¯t say what they¡¯re looking for, without seeing who¡¯ve they already reanimated,¡± she comments. ¡°Your bike thief is the only one we¡¯ve found but he seems to be one-off. These people,¡± she gestures to the gaps ¡°they¡¯re a part of something. Something big.¡±

    ¡°How do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Reanimating one or two bodies I could understand, but this necromancer has at least five from here today. Who¡¯s to say they don¡¯t have more? They could have an army.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not good,¡± I note.

    ¡°No,¡± she says ¡°it¡¯s not.¡± She says something in a language I don¡¯t understand. ¡°The further down this road we go, the darker it gets.¡±

    ¡°Darkness doesn¡¯t scare me, girl,¡± I tell her. The witch shakes her head slowly.

    ¡°It¡¯s what I¡¯ll do in the dark that has me hesitant. What¡¯ll have to be done to end this grim story,¡± she looks me right in the eyes ¡°I just hope you¡¯re ready for it.¡±

    I want to joke, but her tone lets me know she¡¯s being serious. She¡¯s concerned for my well-being. It catches me a bit off guard.

    ¡°Whatever to stop this nightmare, I¡¯ll have your back,¡± I reassure her. She nods solemnly and looks back at the bodies.

    ¡°We still have to catch them,¡± she says.

    ¡°We¡¯ll have better luck next time,¡± I promise.

    Chapter 16 End

 "There It Is."

    We explored the rest of the office building and found more traces of the informal settlement, but no one else is currently living there. With the amount of useful and sentimentally valuable things adding up my suspicions form into a question.

    ¡°Hey, Hazel,¡± I start.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Is it possible to make a virus with magic?¡± I ask while examining a food wrapper. I saw a few like this one in this building. They aren¡¯t brands I recognize: Banna-Bites, Know-Me Meatsticks, Bola-Bola Buns. The wrappers are cheaply made.

    ¡°It¡¯s possible to do anything with magic,¡± she reiterates for me. ¡°It would require a good understanding of virology, a high level of magical articulation,¡± she ponders aloud. ¡°But it could be easily countered by another magician,¡± she points out.

    ¡°What about a bunch of homeless humans who don¡¯t know magic exists?¡±

    I can see the point I¡¯m trying to make click in her head.

    ¡°You think the necromancer killed these people?¡± she asks.

    ¡°You said that they could be perfecting their method. Why wait for people to die, when they could speed up the process?¡± I find another of the wrappers. ¡°If a dozen or so homeless people die from a virus, it¡¯s not going to raise too many eyebrows. This could be a way of speeding up whatever the fuck they¡¯re planning.¡± I come across a toothbrush and toothpaste in a sandwich bag. ¡°A lot of the stuff here is useful, it¡¯s not stuff they¡¯d leave behind. I think everyone who was living here died.¡±

    ¡°And everyone else would be too scared to come in here,¡± Witch-Hazel adds. ¡°So they could come and do what they want without being disturbed...Gods and Goddesses.¡±

    ¡°I think this food is how they did it,¡± I note. Taking out my phone, I search the names of these snacks and nothing turns up. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of these, and the internet hasn¡¯t either.¡± I drop the wrapper. ¡°This necromancer might¡¯ve made these, put a virus in ¡®em, and waited for it to do its job.¡±

    I look around again, but the more I see the more it unsettles me.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if it¡¯ll help, but I¡¯m gonna put out more feelers to catch this monster; but Hazel, what are we walking into?¡±

    The witch shakes her head and claps dust off her hands.

    ¡°The only reason that I can imagine someone would need to reanimate this many dead people is to make an army,¡± she answers.

    ¡°And with the lengths they¡¯ve gone through, it¡¯s probably to ambush or invade something. They might have beef with one of your... what did you call your magic cities again?¡±

    ¡°Arcaniums,¡± she supplies.

    ¡°Right. They could be building this army to invade one of them. Hopefully,¡± I add.

    ¡°Hopefully?¡±

    ¡°I think your magic cities have a better chance of understanding and surviving this rather than Oleander City,¡± I explain. ¡°This place is shitty enough without a horde of the undead running through the streets.¡±

    Witch-Hazel nods.

    ¡°Fair enough.¡±

    ¡°Do your arcaniums have defenses? Like guards or something?¡±

    ¡°We have sorcerers, I would compare them to your cops but they¡¯re actually useful and help people.¡±

    I laugh a bit.

    ¡°You think they could handle this?¡± I ask while heading to the stairs.

    ¡°Depends on the arcanium, and how fast they could respond,¡± Witch-Hazel answers, following me. ¡°Is there something you¡¯re trying to say?¡± She catches what I¡¯m leading to.

    Stolen story; please report.

    ¡°I¡¯m not saying that I want us to die getting this creep, or fail to find them, but every plan needs realistic pessimism. If¡± I stress ¡°we can¡¯t stop this guy, is there someone else who can?¡±

    I go down a flight of stairs before I realize Witch-Hazel isn¡¯t following me. I look back at her, she has a curious look on her face. She¡¯s examining me.

    ¡°Would it really be so painful for you to be more hopeful?¡± She asks.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I answer ¡°...until recently.¡±

    The Witch tilts her head a bit and I suck my teeth at my corny addendum.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, there¡¯s nothing else for us here.¡±

    The Witch obliges and we exit the office building. It seems all it¡¯s good for is death.

    We get back to the car and in the miserable heat, I ask an important question.

    ¡°Wanna get some ice cream?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± she answers.

    ????

    ¡°There¡¯s gotta be an ice cream truck around here, right?¡± Hollyhock says while whipping around a corner.

    ¡°A truck? Can¡¯t we just go to a store?¡± I propose.

    ¡°Nah, when it¡¯s hot like this, you need a cone in your hand immediately.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re just making stuff up as you go along.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what everybody does. Oh, shit, there¡¯s one!¡± She maneuvers the car and parks behind the truck. ¡°I want a waffle cone, with chocolate,¡± she says while getting out of the car. There¡¯s a group of small children, they¡¯re producing coins from their pockets and counting them.

    ¡°You kids want ice cream?¡± Hollyhock asks the group.

    ¡°We¡¯re tryin¡¯ see how much money we have,¡± one of them answers.

    ¡°I ain¡¯t ask if you had money, I asked if you wanted ice cream.¡± With that, she takes out a couple of hundred dollar bills and hands them to the man in the truck. ¡°Let ¡®em get whatever they want,¡± she says to him. The kids flock to the truck and her.

    ¡°Hey, this lady¡¯s buying us ice cream!¡± A kid screams.

    ¡°Oh, word?!¡±

    ¡°Forreal?!¡±

    ¡°Bet!¡±

    Other phrases of acknowledgment ring out in the area. The crowd around her gets bigger. Kids hurry to make their pick and the man in the truck rushes to get them. Hollyhock haunches down to hear what a particularly short kid has to say. She then picks her up so she can see the menu. That¡¯s when I see it.

    ¡°There it is,¡± I say to myself.

    A rare, genuine smile stretches wide across the assassin¡¯s face. She¡¯s swarmed by kids and couldn¡¯t look more in her element. Rather than the cold, unfeeling person, she claims to be, here is the woman who cares about others. Who spares people trying to rob her, whose heart breaks for the dead, and buys ice cream for a bunch of kids on a hot day.

    There is a light in her eyes I haven¡¯t seen before.

    This is a side of herself she either ignores or isn¡¯t aware of.

    When the crowd of kids all have their ice cream they wave goodbye to Hollyhock and she waves back to them. She gets her ice cream and picks the same for me. We lean against the car while enjoying our cold treats.

    ¡°Nothing like ice cream to spread some joy,¡± she says. She takes a small bite out of the cone.

    ¡®Would she let me say she¡¯s cute? Or would she deflect it?¡¯ The assassin catches me looking at her.

    ¡°What?¡± She asks, a small smile remains on her face.

    ¡°Nothing, nothing at all.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem like nothing,¡± she notes. I catch her eyes flit down to look at my lips. I¡¯ve caught her doing it before.

    ¡°Eat your ice cream,¡± I reply, nudging her in the shoulder. ¡°Who knows when you know who will strike again?¡±

    ¡°Hopefully not today, I¡¯m about to knock. It¡¯s too damn hot to be running around, looking for dead bodies. How does that creep do it?¡±

    She doesn¡¯t seem too concerned that anyone might overhear our conversation.

    ¡°They¡¯re probably using climate magic. You use it in a large area or localize it around yourself to control the temperature.¡±

    ¡°How come you don¡¯t use it?¡± The assassin takes a mouthful of ice cream, getting some on her nose. I shake my head a bit.

    ¡°Too much work.¡± It¡¯s a good half of the full reason. Hollyhock uses her pinky to clean her nose and then licks her fingertip.

    ¡®Gods and Goddesses, her lips look so kissable.¡¯

    The ice cream truck drives off and with it, the shade that kept us a little cooler. We chat and finish our ice cream before it melts.

    ¡°Think this day will throw another curveball?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s a curveball?¡±

    Hollyhock sighs.

    ¡°You think this day will have any other unexpected surprises?¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t surprises by definition unexpected?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re starting to get me tight,¡± she says. ¡°Aight, let¡¯s-¡± her phone buzzes in her pocket. ¡°Speak of the devil.¡± She doesn¡¯t finish the saying and answers the device. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°Hollyhock, I¡¯m in a situation, need your help ASAP,¡± the voice I recognize to be Larkspur says on the other end.

    ¡°Ping your location, I¡¯ll be there stat,¡± Hollyhock says with no hesitation. ¡°Can you stay on the line and give me some details?¡±

    ¡°Yes, and Holly?¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°Bring some heat with you.¡±

    Ch. 17 End.

 "Feed The Streets"/"Just A Pawn"

    I hold the phone while Hollyhock speeds to where Larkspur is. They fill her in on the details,

    ¡°You know about the DeadNettles organ running scheme?¡±

    ¡°I should, I¡¯m the one who found out about it,¡± Hollyhock points out.

    ¡°Sorry to ask, but Tamara told me you blacked out and forgot again.¡±

    Hollyhock is silent at that for a moment. She makes a face.

    ¡°Fair,¡± she says after a pause.

    ¡°Anyway, a few of the people they took broke out and they¡¯re on the run. Some of them tried to get back home, others have nowhere to go. I got them all together, and I¡¯m tryna get them on a train to GoldenRod City.¡±

    ¡°You bought them all train tickets?¡± Hollyhock asks.

    ¡°Paid in cash through a third party, I¡¯m not an idiot, Holly. I hid them away but one of the kids was hungry and went out to get some food. A cop saw him, and now we got dirty plainclothes after us, a few DeadNettles too. From what I picked up on their chatter.¡±

    Hollyhock sighs.

    ¡°How long ¡®til they¡¯re there?¡±

    ¡°Ten.¡± Hollyhock slams down on the gas. The car violently speeds up.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be there in five,¡± she responds. ¡°What gear you got?¡±

    ¡°Nothing loud,¡± they answer. ¡°Wasn¡¯t expecting a fight but here we are. I got a G24, two clips for it, and a PK74. Just one clip for it. Whatcha got?¡± I don¡¯t understand a word of it.

    ¡°Whatever¡¯s in the trunk, I got the green car. You got a mask?¡±

    ¡°Nah.¡±

    ¡°There should be a couple in the back. What¡¯s the plan?¡±

    ¡°Fry the pigs, pluck the nettles and scrub any evidence of us being there. They don¡¯t want anyone else to know about this fuck up, so it shouldn¡¯t spread more than this.¡±

    ¡°And then?¡±

    ¡°I got a van and I¡¯ll drive them to the train station by myself, I just need to not get shot on the way there.¡±

    ¡°Picky, picky, picky,¡± Hollyhock says while swerving around a corner. ¡°I¡¯ll be there soon.¡±

    After more haphazard driving we arrive at the location. It¡¯s a wide building with two floors. Hollyhock gets out of the car hardly a second after she parks it. The assassin quickly maneuvers to the rear of the car and pops open the trunk. By the time I get back there, Hollyhock pushes a button that flips the compartment around and reveals a hidden cache of weapons. It¡¯s a veritable arsenal of deadly-looking things and things that I¡¯m sure help with killing.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been driving with all this, the whole time?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, all our vehicles have weapons stocked. Don¡¯t want to be caught with our pants down.¡± She grabs what I think is a rifle. The assassin checks that the weapon is functioning properly. ¡°Listen, we¡¯ve had this talk before but this time I¡¯m serious; you have to stay here.¡±

    She holds up her hand as I open my mouth.

    ¡°It¡¯s not that you can¡¯t defend yourself, but you don¡¯t know how to use guns and Larkspur is in there. ¡®Less you want them to see you do magic, you¡¯re staying here,¡± she asserts.

    ¡°That¡¯s fair, but I don¡¯t like the idea of you getting into a gunfight,¡± I counter.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been doing this shit for years, I¡¯ll be fine and you being here will be one less thing to worry about.¡±

    The summer heat weighs on us both for a moment.

    ¡°Fine,¡± I utter.

    ¡°The windows are bulletproof, if you see someone sketchy then you duck down,¡± she instructs while grabbing and checking more weapons. ¡°I¡¯m leaving the keys with you, if you feel you¡¯re in danger press that square button on the dash.¡±

    ¡°What does it do?¡± I ask. Hollyhock straps a holster to her thigh with quick and practiced ease. She then tucks a pistol into it.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have much time, just stay safe, please.¡±

    ¡°Only if you do the same.¡±

    The assassin picks up a durable-looking mask and puts it on.

    ¡°No promises,¡± her voice is muffled through the mask. It¡¯s a frightening matte black visage, a few scratches indicate it¡¯s been used before and that it works. She grabs a vest and tightens it around herself. She¡¯s loaded up with weapons, ammo, and protective gear for her and Larkspur in a short time. ¡°Stay,¡± she reiterates.

    I oblige, sitting in the car I can¡¯t help but feel the littlest bit impotent. Though I suppose I¡¯ve interfered with her world enough.

    ??????

    While I doubt she¡¯ll stay in the car, but for now I have peace of mind.

    ¡®Plausible deniability is the best kind of deniability.¡¯

    Thankfully there¡¯s no one out in the streets to see me walking around with a small armory. I approach the side door of the warehouse that Larkspur told me about. I knock twice then once so they know it¡¯s me.

    The door opens with a horrible groan, and there they are with a PainKiller submachine gun aimed in my direction.

    ¡°Thought you said you¡¯d be here in five?¡± They start.

    ¡°¡®Hello Hollyhock, thank you for coming to help me in this inconvenient and dangerous ass plan¡¯,¡± I dictate. Larkspur sighs.

    ¡°¡®Hello Hollyhock, thank you for coming to help me in this inconvenient and dangerous ass plan,¡± they say back to me, albeit flatly. We shut the door and place a large steel security bar over it.

    The building is an old warehouse, it seems like it violates a lot of work safety laws. But for our approaching fight, it works well. There are large crates all over the place and rusted shelves stocked with various products that aren¡¯t for sale anymore.

    ¡°I had to make sure no one saw me walking around with this stuff, ok?¡± I lie. Larkspur wouldn¡¯t let me hear the end of it if I said I brought Witch-Hazel with me.

    I hand over the gear and help put it on at record speed. With the helmet on we turn on the radios near the ears. A bit of static comes through first.

    ¡°Check,¡± I say.

    ¡°Copy,¡± Larkspur replies.

    ¡°You want the Koji-52 or the Balsam-45?¡± I offer both assault rifles to Larkspur who looks them over.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take the Balsam,¡± they grab the rifle from me and do a quick check. The Balsam-45 is a sturdy Russian rifle, heavier than most, but unlikely to jam and shoots straight. And if you run out of bullets it can cave in a skull with ease.

    ¡°I always liked these steadfast workhorses,¡± Larkspur comments. I hand over the clips for the Balsam and move the clips for the Koji further up my vest. The Koji-52 is a fast-spitting gun that can empty a clip quickly with precision, but rushing the reload leads to disaster.

    Tamara made us train day and night with this gun to make sure we never fuck it up. Just holding it in my hands reminds me of the sessions of just taking the clip out and putting it back in.

    ¡°Just admit you¡¯re scared of the Koji,¡± I barb.

    ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t feel like having a gun exploding in my hands,¡± they counter. I have one clip for the PK74 to give and one backup for mine. We attach the submachine guns to straps and clip them to our side. I have two GoldenSeal Pistols on my thigh holsters.

    I make sure the G24¡¯s are on full auto and hand over a clip to Larkspur. Pulse flashlights of 60,000 lumens, and a couple of Karambits, all our gear is loaded up.

    Larkspur tugs at the collar of the vest.

    ¡°This shit is so hot, you didn¡¯t have any jackets?¡±

    ¡°My jacket isn¡¯t ready yet. Where¡¯s yours?¡±

    ¡°Needs to be treated,¡± they answer. ¡°I¡¯ll tough it out.¡±

    We¡¯re ready.

    ¡°What¡¯s the sitch?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Besides the side door you just came in, there¡¯s only one entrance to this place. They know we¡¯re here, but they¡¯re expecting a bunch of scared people. They¡¯re not going to be on guard. The undercover cops are here just to keep whatever cops that are still somewhat decent in this town away. And the DeadNettles coming are hoping to fix this before they get blamed for this shitshow.¡±

    ¡°How many?¡±

    ¡°Five cops and six Nettles.¡±

    This amount of recon lets me know that this wasn¡¯t just a series of random events. And Tamara didn¡¯t order this. Larkspur got Digit to bug the phones of everyone involved and planned this. Except for the shootout part.

    ¡°So we wait for them all to come in and take them out quickly before they can get their bearings,¡± I suggest. Larkspur nods.

    ¡°Hard and fast. Like that job back in winter.¡±

    ¡°Ugh, don¡¯t remind me, that one guy died and fell on my leg. Needed a brace for a month.¡±

    ¡°And Holly...thanks, seriously. I-¡±

    I cut them off with a raise of the hand.

    ¡°Think nothing of it,¡± I say.

    I know that Larkspur lost someone dear to them due to human trafficking. To them, it¡¯s the most fucked up thing to do to another person. I knew after I uncovered this organ-running scheme something like this would happen.

    There¡¯s no professional necessity behind this; this is a personal vendetta.

    But Larkspur has always had my back, so I¡¯ll have theirs.

    Larkspur nods in appreciation that I spared us both a mushy gratitude fest.

    ¡°We make it through this, you¡¯re taking the heat from Tamara and you¡¯re buying me dinner for a month.¡±

    ¡°Christ, hopefully, one of them will kill me,¡± they joke. I almost make a joke back about the necromancer, forgetting that Larkspur doesn¡¯t know about it.

    ¡®Wonder how they¡¯d take the fact that magic is real. Barely feels real to me.¡¯

    ¡°We¡¯ve never been lucky our whole lives, I wouldn¡¯t bet on it now,¡± I say instead.

    ¡°Preach.¡±

    The large overhead door at the front rattles as someone tries to open it.

    We wordlessly go to the best locations for the ambush. Larkspur waits behind the door on the second floor. I¡¯m on top of a shelf, the shadows hiding me.

    No one ever looks up anyway.

    The first one through the door, though dressed casually, is very clearly a cop. From the steel toe boots, regulation buzz cut, to the baggy shirt hiding a vest underneath, the only way the guy could look more like a cop is if he was fucking a donut.

    The rest amble in, having a dumb conversation that I tune out while I assess them. They couldn¡¯t be more of a mismatched crew. All the cops have heat on them and anxiously look around. I guess they have the most to lose. The DeadNettles leisurely make their way through the warehouse, a couple of them look annoyed if anything. One of them holds the keys to a car, expecting a quick retrieval.

    The shot-caller of them holds a Thistle .22 and judging by how he carries the pistol, he knows how to use it too. He doesn¡¯t know we¡¯re here, but he¡¯s prepared for anything.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    All the cops have Palmetto 6¡¯s, standard issue; though I suspect these particular guns have ¡°gone missing¡± from their inventory.

    Having a dirty cop who knows about this scheme in our pocket would be useful, but Tamara refuses to ever work with the police on principle. Besides, none of them can be allowed to survive the day.

    I wait with my finger by the trigger as they further ingress.

    ¡°Cops all got standard issue irons and vests,¡± I report to Larkspur. ¡°Four of the Nettles definitely have heat on them. The one in a checker pattern shirt has a Thistle .22.¡±

    ¡°Copy,¡± Larkspur¡¯s quiet voice says.

    ¡°You sure this is the place?¡± One of the cops asks.

    ¡°Saw the kid go in here, it¡¯s gotta be!¡± a DeadNetttle answers.

    ¡°Let¡¯s just get this done quick and quiet before we¡¯re on the chopping block,¡± the leader of this crew asserts.

    They spread out to search, the one with the keys in hand hangs out by the door. I aim at his head.

    ¡®How many people am I going to kill today?¡¯

    I immediately push the thought out of my head and tighten my grip on the Koji-52, taking the safety off and making it on semi-auto.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to check upstairs!¡± one of them announces.

    ¡°Cop coming your way,¡± I report to Larkspur.

    ¡°Copy. On your signal,¡± Larkspur says. I brace my shoulder against the stock and close one eye.

    ¡°Time to feed the streets,¡± I say.

    ????

    Even though the AC is on, I¡¯m sweating sitting here in the car. I haven¡¯t heard any gunfire yet. I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s good or not. It¡¯s nerve-wracking just waiting here. My habit of leg bouncing wants to emerge but I instantly hear my mentor¡¯s voice admonishing me.

    ¡°Spend your energy on something useful!¡± She¡¯d say.

    It¡¯s hard to find some-

    I involuntarily let out a scream of pain as I sense the trembling magical signature of the necromancer. With its intensity, they have to be close and performing powerful magic. I dull the connection to the aura receptor again and look in the direction the pull is coming from.

    ¡®Again? So soon?¡¯ The necromancer being active twice in one day is not a good sign. I hope that Hollyhock will make it through her fight because I can¡¯t let the necromancer slip through my fingers again.

    I get out of the car and into the terrible heat I walk. Straightening my back, squaring my shoulders, and tightening my fists I head towards the necromancer.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see if my training pays off,¡± I say to myself.

    ??????

    I pull the trigger and whatever brains the driver had are now decorating the walls. Before he even hits the floor, I pivot to aim at the nearest dirty cop. Two bullets create new airways through his temple. I hear Larkspur¡¯s gun go off upstairs. When the rest of them ascertain the situation, I backflip off the shelf and toss the flashlight to my left. The bright pulsating device catches their attention and they head to it rather than where I am. I take a moment to switch to full auto, look at where I threw the flashlight, and examine the shadows it creates. Two of them took the bait.

    A quick bit of trigonometry and I aim for where their torsos should be. Holding down the trigger, a surge of bullets fly out and tear whatever¡¯s on these shelves and the people behind them to shreds. They fall and knock over a shelf which quickly results in a cascading domino effect. The Koji is empty.

    A cop moves to my side and has me dead to rights but in the distance, Larkspur gets him in the knee. He falls and I finish him off with the PK74. The gun turns him into a holey, bloody mess.

    ¡°Six down,¡± I say.

    ¡°Five to go,¡± Larkspur responds.

    ????

    I hear guns going off in the distance but decide to concentrate on the task at hand. Getting closer I see where the necromancer is committing their latest heinous act. A surprisingly large house that seems out of place in this city area. It¡¯s dilapidated with plants growing and dying all over it. A man is lying in the overgrown grass in front. I think he is alive, with a strange rubber hose tied tight around his bicep and a needle protruding from a vein. He looks in my direction vaguely, but his mind is miles away.

    ¡®This isn¡¯t who I¡¯m looking for.¡¯ I walk past him and head inside the house. It smells horrible here and I find some more people who are also hardly aware of my presence. Most are alarmingly thin and visibly ill. Upstairs I hear footsteps and sense the magic stronger than I ever have.

    I pass more fatigued people and ascend the stairs. In a room that probably once served as some kind of parlor, I see the magician I¡¯ve been hunting.

    Their back is to me as they¡¯re hunched over what I assume to be their latest victim, the necromancer does their twisted magic. They have long, dark and shiny hair that¡¯s tied up in a messy bun. One long, dangly gold earring catches the fading sunlight and reflects onto their flawless olive-toned skin. Broad shoulders, strong and lithe muscles do their work.

    There¡¯s a distinct shimmer in the air around them that climate magic produces. It explains the outfit they¡¯re wearing in this absurd heat. High-waisted pants with black, red, and white vertical stripes. The pants are tight enough to show off thick thighs with a shapely ass. A black long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Hot pink leather heeled boots. But the main draw of their attire is the iridescent crushed velvet half cape. It¡¯s a glistening chartreuse thing that reaches down to their hips.

    I feel like I¡¯m getting a heat stroke just looking at them. A stair creaks under my weight and the necromancer snaps around to look at me. The front of their shirt has a deep cut that goes past the sternum. Their exposed chest is lathered with glitter-infused oil. A sharp jaw frames their face with prominent cheekbones. Thick eyebrows and long luscious lashes sit above piercing violet eyes that stare at me.

    ¡°Get rid of her,¡± their sensual voice commands. From my right, a colossal man steps into view. It doesn¡¯t take more than a second to see that this is a corpse. His unnaturally pale skin hangs too loose from his body and there¡¯s no light in his brown eyes.

    It doesn¡¯t change the fact that the walking corpse is the tallest human I¡¯ve ever seen. He towers over me as a monolith of undead muscle. Whatever he did when he was alive serves him well in death, giant hands ball up into fists. Behind him the necromancer teleports away with their latest acquisition, leaving me with the giant.

    ¡°Not that matters,¡± I say to the recycled bodyguard. ¡°But you¡¯re just a pawn.¡± I clench my fists.

    ??????

    Larkspur shot last so now all the attention is on them. The last remaining five have grouped together, creating a makeshift cover with knocked over shelves and large crates. They all shoot at Larkspur who only has a steel beam for cover. I reload the Koji-52 and advance on them. When I think they¡¯ve forgotten about me, the DeadNettle in the checkered shirt turns around in my direction.

    I somersault into the shadows again as bullets sail by and hit the wall instead of me. Larkspur turns on their flashlight and tosses it right behind the group. Instinctively, they all turn to look at it and are dazed by the bright light. Two of them move out from behind their cover and Larkspur vacates their skulls with the Balsam. One of them falls on the flashlight, bringing darkness back to the warehouse.

    ¡°Three left, two cops and a Nettle,¡± I report. ¡°Watch out, the Nettle is sharp.¡±

    ¡°Copy.¡±

    One of the cops comes towards me or where he thinks I am. I wait around the corner. His rapid breathing gives me a good idea of where he is. He shifts his weight in my direction. I dash out, moving his gun away from me with my left hand. My right hand has the Karambit in a reverse grip. I slash his throat before he can even process what¡¯s going to happen. A river of red flows from his neck.

    He¡¯ll bleed out in seconds.

    He futilely grabs at his throat and I grab the collar of his hidden vest. I let him fall back slowly to quietly get him out of the fight. His blood spills all over my hands.

    ¡°One more down.¡±

    ????

    The lumbering giant swings his fists slowly but I can feel the immense strength behind each of them. He could kill me with just one punch.

    I could easily end this fight with magic¡­ but I shouldn¡¯t.

    Another punch glacially moves past me.

    ¡®How hard can it be to kill someone with just your hands? Hollyhock does it.¡¯ I wish she was here with me. After I duck under another punch I try to remember what the assassin caught me.

    ¡®Keep your wrist straight,¡¯ her voice says in my head. I punch the giant corpse in the side of the knee like I¡¯ve seen Hollyhock do. It was a bad idea as my entire forearm hurts the second I make contact. I might as well have punched a brick wall. If it even registers to the giant it doesn¡¯t matter as he slaps me with the back of his hand. The impact knocks me clean off my feet and I feel my jaw dislocate. I spin through the air and roll on the floor to get some distance between us.

    Pain lights up the nerves in my face. I take a deep breath, put both my hands on my jaw, and push up quickly. The bone painfully pops back into the joint. I suppress a groan, open and close my jaw quickly to check. The giant lurks over to me and lifts a mighty foot up to stomp me to death. Just before it crushes my rib cage I roll out of the way. His foot goes through the floorboards. I kick him in the side to knock him further off balance and run into another to look for anything to use against him. Like the rest of the house, this room has been stripped bare.

    ¡®Isn¡¯t this America? Aren¡¯t there supposed to be guns everywhere?!¡¯

    The giant has gotten out of the hole and is coming over to me. The only thing I see that¡¯s useful is a large bookshelf that is devoid of books.

    ¡°It¡¯ll have to do.¡±

    When the undead goliath comes into the room and approaches me I think for almost a second that he looks annoyed. I wait till he gets close enough and push the bookshelf with all my strength.

    It breaks apart as it hits him. I pick up a plank that came loose and bash it over his head. The wood splinters fly back into my eyes.

    ¡°FUCKING WRATH OF HORUS!¡± I stumble back and try to get them out of my eyes. Then I feel his massive hand on my chest and shoves me back. I bear the pain of opening my eyes and I¡¯m glad I did because I almost took a trip down a flight of stairs. Instead of falling down and breaking my neck, I hit my back on the doorframe.

    The burn mark between my shoulder blades flares in agony at the contact. Pain makes my knees tremble and blurs my vision for a moment. My opponent has cleared the debris off of him and gotten back up to his feet. I¡¯m in worse condition than he is from this fight. Sweat drips from my forehead and rolls into my eyes. It doesn¡¯t help get the splinters out.

    ¡°This is what I get for not wearing sunglasses,¡± I mutter to myself.

    The undead man starts running at me. If I don¡¯t get out of the way he¡¯ll surely crush me. This is why I¡¯d love for my legs to act like they know what they¡¯re doing.

    At quite literally the last possible second I sidestep him. He tears through the door frame and plummets down the stairs, but not before his foot hooks mine and pulls me with him.

    We tumble down the stairs and I hit every single part of my body on the way to the ground floor. With a resounding boom, he lands first and scares some of the more conscious occupants of this old house. They get up and run away from the fight, some carry out others.

    A gash has opened up on my forehead, blood leaks over my left eye. The parts of me that weren¡¯t in pain before join the chorus of screaming nerves.

    It¡¯s at this point that I realize I can¡¯t win this fight without magic.

    I¡¯ll have to be quick.

    ¡®Pain is the greatest distraction for the mind,¡¯ my mentor always says. I don¡¯t have time to prime spells for both combat and recovery, so with a deep breath, I push the pain away to the furthest corners of my mind. It won¡¯t make me feel better, but I¡¯ll be able to concentrate.

    The giant gets to his knees.

    ¡®You¡¯ll have all the time in the world if you prime the spell right. Never rush it,¡¯ my mentor advised me once. I straighten my hands and small intense flames come out of my fingertips, focusing on pulling in more oxygen. The flames get hotter and hotter until they change color. When they turn a white-blue I connect each of the flames; forming an arrow shape around my hands.

    ¡®This is relatively small magic, it should be fine.¡¯

    The giant stands up, looking only somewhat hurt. He jabs right at me and I sidestep closer for my attack. Thrusting my right hand forward, flames thousands of degrees hot sear through undead flesh and bone. I extinguish the flames on that hand. His thick arm is severed and the wound is cauterized instantly. Though I doubt blood would¡¯ve come out anyway. With the limb gone he¡¯s off balance, falling forward. I spin out of the way and he slams flat on his face. I maneuver behind him.

    He struggles to get back up with one arm but it won¡¯t matter. He straightens his back and I end this fight; thrusting my left hand through his neck. The spine and all that muscle provide little protection against my fire. I extinguish the flame as I snap my hand back. His heavy head rolls off his shoulders, landing with a thud. The giant¡¯s body remains upright for a moment, the smell of burnt flesh stinking up the place. Then like the rest of him, it falls.

    With a great big sigh, I dismiss the magic from my hands and the pain washes over me again.

    ¡°Okay, back to the car.¡±

    ??????

    ¡°Last cop is right behind the crate,¡± I inform Larkspur.

    ¡°Got it.¡± Larkspur brings out their PK and because this isn¡¯t a movie the bullets go right through the wood and into the man hiding behind it. He falls over dead and through the holes, I see something like cotton stuffing inside the crate.

    ¡®Are there toys inside these crates?¡¯

    ¡®Concentrate.¡¯

    There¡¯s just one guy left. I¡¯m sure all this gunfire has caught someone¡¯s attention, some unaffiliated police might come and I¡¯d rather avoid the clusterfuck that will be.

    ¡°No one lives forever,¡± I say to myself. Running as fast as I can, I rush towards him. My parkour training pays off as I hop off of and over various objects and close the distance between us. By the time he notices me I breeze by him, and slide on the floor with my G24¡¯s drawn. The fully auto pistols virtually vertically bisect him as I hold down the triggers. His blood splatters onto me and he falls backward. The last one to know about the escapees is dead.

    I put the guns in the holsters and sigh.

    ¡°Fields of Elysium, that worked.¡±

    ¡°¡®Fields of Elysium¡¯?¡± Larkspur says as they approach.

    ¡®Did I say that out loud?¡¯

    ¡°It¡¯s...whatever.¡±

    ¡°That was dumb, stupid, and dangerous,¡± Larkspur chastises.

    ¡°Yeah, but how badass did it look?¡±

    ¡°Pretty fuckin¡¯ badass, not gonna lie.¡± They offer a hand and help me get up. ¡°Thanks again.¡±

    ¡°Wait ¡®til you see the dinner bills you¡¯re paying for,¡± I say with a chuckle. I give a quick look around at the death and destruction we¡¯ve caused. ¡°You sure you got the clean-up on this?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, cops¡¯ll say this was a shootout between them and some punks. They¡¯ll want to distance themselves from what these fucks were really doing here.¡±

    ¡°Just get those people out of here, and come back safe. I can¡¯t spend your money if you¡¯re dead.¡±

    ¡°Fuck you, Holly,¡± they say with affection. We give each other dap and separate.

    It¡¯s a miracle I make it back to the car without anyone seeing me. I¡¯m drenched in sweat under this vest and mask, can¡¯t wait to get this shit off. That¡¯s when I notice Witch-Hazel isn¡¯t in the car. Can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised by that.

    What does surprise me is when I see her walking, correction, limping back to the car. My heart drops in my chest at the sight of her. Blood is dripping down her gorgeous swollen face, there¡¯s a bruise on her fist, and she looks like she might pass out from pain or heat.

    I take my mask off and let it fall in the street.

    ¡°What the hell happened to you?¡±

    ¡°Should¡¯ve stayed in the car,¡± she says.

    ????

    The assassin has blood splattered on her.

    ¡°What happened to you?¡± I ask, pointing to some of it.

    ¡°None of it¡¯s mine, or Larkspur¡¯s,¡± she says sternly. ¡°You didn¡¯t answer my question.¡±

    Figures she wouldn¡¯t let it go that easily.

    ¡°While I was waiting in the car, I felt the necromancer¡¯s magic nearby. You had your thing to deal with, so I took care of it,¡± I explain. The assassin is looking me over, though I know she heard every word I said.

    ¡°Did you get them? You stop them?¡± I shake my head.

    ¡°No, this,¡± I gesture to all of me ¡°was from a fight with their bodyguard. The necromancer got away though. Guess it¡¯s your turn to take care of me now,¡± I laugh a bit but Hollyhock doesn¡¯t join in. She takes my bruised hand in her bloodied one and holds it dearly like I might slip away.

    ¡°You got the motherfucker who did this to you?¡±

    I nod.

    ¡°He¡¯s resting in pieces,¡± I answer. Hollyhock sighs in relief and presses her forehead against mine.

    ¡°Good,¡± she replies. The pain and heat are tremendous, but with Hollyhock here with me now; it seems much more bearable. For a second I wonder if this is how she felt when we met. Bloodied and beaten. Then again, she wasn¡¯t expecting me, and I never expected any of this.

    ¡°What did they look like, the necromancer?¡± She asks.

    ¡°Kinda sexy, to be honest.¡±

    ¡°What?!¡±

    Ch. 18 End

 "Fun While It Lasted."

    When we get back to Hollyhock¡¯s place she gets to taking care of me right away. I would point out that I could heal myself faster, but the assassin has a delicate touch and a willful attentiveness. She tells me to sit and I find myself pinned to my seat. Ice packs for my bruises and peroxide to clean my cuts. I didn¡¯t even notice all of them.

    Hollyhock tenderly dabs at the cuts with cotton balls, saying ¡°sorry¡± under her breath every time I flinch from the sting.

    ¡°I guess in your line of work, you come across cuts all the time,¡± I say to fill some of the silence. The warmth from her hand caresses my cheek as she cleans the cut on my forehead.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she says ¡°one time I-¡± she stops to think about it. ¡°Never mind, it¡¯s...grim.¡± She gets another cotton ball and cleans a cut on my arm. I probably got it from rolling down the stairs.

    ¡°I think we¡¯re past grim here,¡± I point out. Hollyhock licks the top row of her teeth.

    ¡°I once stapled a guy¡¯s stomach together while he was holding in his own guts,¡± she says, focusing on my injury. ¡°Pipe bomb hit him bad,¡± she quickly adds. The assassin breathes in deep recalling the memory. ¡°He went by Heuchera. He was new to the Bay Leaves, not even a killer; he was helping out Digit.¡± She shakes her head ¡°Beautiful young man, killed in such an ugly way.¡±

    She lets that hang in the air for a bit.

    ¡°These cuts aren¡¯t that deep, you won¡¯t need stitches, which is good because I suck at it. Now lift up your shirt,¡± Hollyhock requests.

    ¡°I¡¯m not exactly in the mood for fooling around, maybe in-¡± The assassin rolls her eyes at me.

    ¡°Your back is bleeding,¡± she points out ¡°let me see it.¡±

    ¡°Oh...I¡¯m hurting all over so I didn¡¯t notice.¡±

    ¡°Yeah yeah, sure. Just turn around.¡±

    ¡°Hmmm, you¡¯re talking so rough with me. It really-¡±

    She doesn¡¯t let me finish that sentence and turns me around herself with her strong hands and lifts my shirt.

    ¡°Flirt with me later,¡± she says. Our roles from when we first met are now truly reversed. I can feel her eyes scanning my back, just below the burn scar. ¡°It¡¯s not too bad a cut,¡± she says. ¡°You still didn¡¯t tell me what happened exactly.¡±

    ¡°I sensed the necromancer doing their magic, went after them, and-¡± I wince as a sting comes from the cut.

    ¡°Sorry, go on,¡± Hollyhock replies.

    ¡°They were trying to reanimate another body. When I came upon them, they teleported away.¡±

    ¡°Why would they do that in front of you?¡±

    ¡°They probably didn¡¯t think I¡¯d survive fighting their bodyguard. It was a huge man, even bigger than Koki¡¯O.¡±

    ¡°That is big,¡± Hollyhock comments. ¡°Well, you won the fight, so that¡¯s what matters.¡±

    ¡°You would¡¯ve been proud of me, I punched him in the knee and kicked him in the head.¡±

    ¡°That explains the bruises on your hand. Now I just...oh shit, I forgot you could probably heal yourself.¡± She takes her warm hands off my back.

    ¡°I appreciate you cleaning the cuts all the same. I¡¯ll just let these heal on their own. I don¡¯t want to waste energy or a mending elixir for this.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I used enough magic today. I¡¯ll be fine, I always heal quickly anyway.¡±

    ¡°If you say so. I¡¯ll dress your wounds.¡±

    Hollyhock does good work on the bandages, she asks if she¡¯s doing it correctly when I remind her I rarely use things of this nature.

    ¡°I guess when you have magic. shit like gauze and tourniquets kinda go out the window, huh?¡± she notes. The assassin then picks me up and carries me to her bed.

    ¡°I can walk,¡± I inform her.

    ¡°I saw you limping, stay off your ankle,¡± she counters. I¡¯m gently placed on the bed and she looks through her drawers.

    ¡°Is this to get even with me for saving your life?¡±

    ¡°I gave you a place to stay and made you pancakes, we been even for a while; this is to make you owe me,¡± she says. Hollyhock offers me some clean clothes to wear.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to pay you back, then. What¡¯s the plan now?¡±

    ¡°The plan is we¡¯re gonna make a plan in the morning. It¡¯s been a long ass day.¡± She props me up on some pillows. ¡°Neither of us died so let¡¯s take that win, and try to get this ¡®kinda hot¡¯ necromancer later,¡± she says with a notable amount of sarcasm.

    ¡°You¡¯re only saying it like that because you didn¡¯t see them.¡±

    ¡°Hush, change, and go to sleep.¡±

    We both change out of sweaty, bloody clothes and lie down to sleep. Hollyhock puts her arm around my shoulders and cradles me against her. She falls asleep in moments but I stay up a bit longer. I want to linger in her warm softness.

    I drift off, cozy, sometime later.

    When I wake up Hollyhock is already up, and freshly showered by the looks of it. She dries her hair and looks over me.

    ¡°How¡¯d you sleep?¡± she asks.

    ¡°Just fine. I want to make a plan.¡±

    ¡°Take a shower and we¡¯ll talk plans,¡± she counters. ¡°Being clean makes for better plans. Plus you smell like ass.¡±

    I sniff myself and it isn¡¯t pleasant.

    ¡°Gods and Goddesses, I do.¡± The assassin nods her head slightly.

    ¡°I¡¯m the one who slept next to you.¡±

    I throw a pillow at her while she laughs.

    After a much-needed shower, I dry off, change, and meet Hollyhock in her living room. The assassin looks like she¡¯s pondering something.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go over what we know,¡± she starts. ¡°You felt the necromancer¡¯s magic twice in a day. This means they¡¯re progressing faster in whatever they have planned. I¡¯m guessing by now they know you killed their bodyguard, and I¡¯m gonna go out on a limb and say it wasn¡¯t in a way a normal human could?¡±

    ¡°Not exactly,¡± I answer.

    ¡®I hadn¡¯t thought of that. I should¡¯ve gotten rid of the body.¡¯

    ¡°So that means they now know there¡¯s another magical person in this city. We¡¯ve lost that element of surprise, that¡¯s fine. Now we have to think of what their next move could be. Could they have left the city entirely?¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t felt their magic again, so they haven¡¯t teleported away¡± I reply.

    ¡°And to do that would require a lot of magical energy?¡±

    ¡°With the army of resurrected, they might have? Definitely.¡± The assassin nods.

    ¡°That¡¯s good. They can¡¯t leave without you knowing, although is there a way to hide magical energy?¡± Hollyhock asks. Though she has little knowledge of magic, her lateral thinking brings up questions that I normally wouldn¡¯t consider.

    ¡°There are a few,¡± I answer after a moment. ¡°The Arcaniums do this on a large scale. But for small personal uses, there aren¡¯t many viable options.¡±

    ¡°Such as?¡±

    ¡°There are a handful of powerful artifacts that could do such a thing, but most are safeguarded in IronHenge, and if any were missing there would be sorcerers scouring the globe for them,¡± I explain.

    ¡°But the chance isn¡¯t zero?¡± the assassin notes.

    ¡°It¡¯s not likely, but not impossible, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°Hmmm,¡± Hollyhock hums. She stands up and starts to pace. ¡°What else could they do to hide?¡±

    ¡°They could have set penetralia wards in whatever lair they operate from. But they would¡¯ve to have done this beforehand. And since they¡¯re in a human city, I don¡¯t think they went to such lengths. Those wards require constant magical feeding and they seem focused on their necromancy. If they were to set them up now, I¡¯d detect it. They probably only have concealment spells to make it look different.¡±

    The assassin absorbs the information.

    ¡°Is there a more convenient way to hide magic, something that doesn¡¯t require magic?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call it convenient but there are special types of metal that magic can¡¯t affect, or permeate. There are lots of names for them but we mostly call them anti-magic metal. If the necromancer had a lot of it they could, in theory, make a sort of dome of magic insulation.¡±

    ¡°And where would one get these metals from?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re iron and titanium from meteorites. Like King Tutankhamun''s dagger or Excalibur,¡± I elaborate. Hollyhock blinks at me.

    ¡°Okay, noted. So unless they have any of these things, and it¡¯s unlikely they do, then they can¡¯t make a move without you picking up on it. Still, they could be anywhere in the city, only the two of us know about them. And they have a horde of undead under their control. The only chance we have of stopping them is to catch them off guard, and for that, we have to find them soon.¡±

    ¡°Are we going to canvas the city?¡± I ask.

    ¡°...I have an idea, do you have another one of those aura receptor things?¡± Hollyhock asks.

    ¡°Yeah, I could make another,¡± I say. ¡°Are we going to put it on another tower?¡±

    ¡°Nah, get it ready and follow me.¡±

    While I prepare another aura receptor, Hollyhock goes into her secret armory. A moment later she reemerges with a large rectangular gray case that¡¯s almost as long as her. Judging by the strain in her arm, it¡¯s quite heavy. I follow her to the elevator, we go up to the top floor and then we take the stairs up to the roof. Hollyhock looks around quickly, when she spots nobody she walks out. The assassin opens up her case. Inside sits pieces to something that resembles a small airplane. She quickly attaches the pieces carefully and I see I was right.

    The small plane is the same nondescript gray as the case. It has one large propeller in its mid-section behind its wings. The wings have what I recognize to be solar panels covering them. Optimized for weight, the rest of it is thin including the tailpiece. The front part of it has the most bulk, including the part I believe houses the battery, and a camera on the nose.

    Hollyhock sets it down next to her and goes back to the case, she removes more equipment and something that added the most weight. A large pneumatic air cannon. The assassin attaches the smooth steel barrel and sets up the tripod under it. Once the entire machine is assembled to her satisfaction, she powers up an electronic device that she holds with both hands. Two sticks protrude from it and several buttons along with a small screen. I assume it controls the plane and that the screen shows what the camera on the plane sees.

    ¡°Is it ready?¡± She asks. I hand her the new aura receptor, she takes it and produces black strips from her pocket.

    ¡°Velcro,¡± she quickly explains. She removes a clear layer from the back of the strip and puts it on the back of the aura receptor. She then does the same to the plane, firmly pressing against it. It stays in place and she puts the plane in the air cannon. Adjusting the angle of the tube and slightly turning a dial, Hollyhock prepares to launch it. She looks around in the sky for a bit, checks something on the controller. With the push of a button, a loud quick BANG rings out, and the cannon fires. The plane flies forward into the sky. Hollyhock pulls down on one of the sticks and it flies higher up still. She stops its ascent, flips a switch, and puts the controller away.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    Before she turns to me, Hollyhock takes out her phone and calls someone.

    ¡°Hey Digit, I just launched a Ghost Orchid drone, so don¡¯t freak out about that...I can¡¯t tell you what it¡¯s for...No, I¡¯m not- look can you just send the tracking info to my phone?... Then don¡¯t tell Tamara¡­ YOu could just as easily NOT tell her¡­ With all the shot going on you think she¡¯ll notice one drone?... Yeah, of course¡­ Thank you. By the way, when¡¯s my jacket gonna be done?... That long? Okay, thanks bye.¡± She hangs up and turns to me. ¡°The drone will circle the city in intervals, if the necromancer does anything, you should be able to sense it no matter where they are.¡±

    ¡°How long will it stay up there?¡± I ask, gesturing to where the drone was.

    ¡°Well, if the weather holds up, which it always does, it can stay up there for weeks. Hopefully, we won¡¯t need that long though. It¡¯ll tilt to face the sun and use that charge during the night.¡± I know that given the nature of her work, the tools and gear Hollyhock has isn¡¯t something regular people would have, but all this seems like she shouldn¡¯t have it.

    ¡°Where do you get this equipment from? Is this stuff that anyone can have?¡±

    ¡°No, this is some cutting-edge shit. I once asked Tamara where she gets this gear from and she told me not to worry about it, so that was the end of the conversation. If I had to guess, she has some contacts from her past life, before she made the Bay Leaves,¡± Hollyhock speculates. ¡°But she never told me about it, so it doesn¡¯t matter. Now, I¡¯m gonna get things ready, you should prepare too. When we find ¡®em, we¡¯ll havta rush ¡®em.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the nice thing about magic; my weapons are always ready.¡± I look at my hands. The bruises are gone along with all the pain. I peel off the bandages to see my wounds are fully healed. I deposit the bandages in my pockets and Hollyhock looks over me.

    She looks for any signs of the injuries I had last night. There aren¡¯t any.

    ¡°Do all magical people heal this fast?¡± I shrug.

    ¡°I always have.¡± She just shakes her head.

    ¡°I have some calls to make,¡± says while packing up the case. ¡°I don¡¯t know how many we¡¯ll be facing so I¡¯ll go for overkill. Better to go over the top, know what I mean?¡±

    ¡°Not really, but how long do you think it¡¯ll take you to get ready?¡±

    ¡°¡®A Bay Leaf is always ready, no matter what.¡¯,¡± she quotes. ¡°Tamara always says that. But in all seriousness, a coupla hours and I¡¯ll have everything together. Let¡¯s hope the necromancer doesn¡¯t do anything too soon.¡±

    Hollyhock calls various people who drop off more and more cases. She places them in more hidden places around her home. We then wait on edge for any sign of the necromancer.

    We play the waiting game, hours go by, and the day ends. Hollyhock and I fall into a rhythm as the days breeze by us. We wake up, have breakfast paid for by Larkspur, and compulsively check the drone footage. Hollyhock doesn¡¯t get any more assignments, but from the sound of her occasional calls, they¡¯re getting something together. The days blend together and before I know it a week has passed.

    Spending this time with Hollyhock has been wonderful, even with the miasma of anxiety hanging over us we¡¯ve managed to enjoy each other¡¯s company. Part of me wants to continue like this, but I know it can¡¯t; one way or another this will have to end.

    We go to bed after another fruitless day, Hollyhock lets me cuddle with her and we drift off to sleep. A dream enthralls me, I¡¯m in a room that doesn¡¯t exist with Hollyhock. The assassin has smoke rising from her neck like before. She¡¯s leaning against the wall, nothing in her hands but her arms are crossed. She taps her bicep with two fingers to an erratic beat. Despite having no face, I can tell she isn¡¯t looking at me; but at something behind me. I can¡¯t turn my head to see what she¡¯s looking at. It seems like she stands up a bit straighter, but it¡¯s the wall behind her getting closer. The walls slowly close in on us.

    When the room is half the size it was, Hollyhock turns to look at me.

    ¡°Clock¡¯s ticking,¡± she says.

    I wake up to the assassin doing chin-ups, she¡¯s showing off; doing them with her arms wide and alternating between them, Hollyhock does a series of one-handed chin-ups. All while smiling at me. She drops down and her face lights up with an idea.

    ¡°So, it¡¯s been a week and we been worrying our asses off while a whole lotta nothin¡¯ happened,¡± she says while crawling onto the bed. ¡°You know what that means?¡± She¡¯s practically straddling me while she asks. Sweat dripping off her, she¡¯s close enough to kiss.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Means we should go out. Celebrate. You ever been to a club?¡±

    ¡°Several,¡± I answer. ¡°IronHenge is known as the party Arcanium.¡±

    ¡°Well then, if we don¡¯t find anything today, let¡¯s hit a club. Unwind a lil¡¯.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t want to unwind right now?¡± I suggest.

    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± She straightens up ¡°I need a shower.¡± She didn¡¯t pick up on my signal. Hollyhock gets off the bed and goes to her bathroom. I hate to see her go, but I love watching her leave in those tight workout shorts.

    ¡°Pick a sexy outfit!¡± she calls back to me.

    After her shower, we check the drone footage and see much of nothing. I sense no magic just like the past week. The afternoon bleeds into the evening. It seems destined that we¡¯re going out. The assassin makes a whole spectacle of it, insisting that we dress in separate rooms and showcase our outfits to each other.

    I exit the bedroom when I¡¯m dressed. Hollyhock waits on the couch but springs to her feet when she sees me.

    ¡°GOOOOOOOOOODDAMN, Girl!¡± she exclaims. Hollyhock makes a fist in front of her mouth and circles around, fanning me with her free hand. Warmth spreads to my face as she examines me all over.

    I have on a deep purple form-fitting sleeveless dress with a low-cut front and a side slit on my thigh held together by heart-shaped chains. A rhinestone choker since diamonds are expensive in the nonmagical world apparently. Bands of enchanted gold travel the lengths of my arms. A very minor enchantment, they stretch and constrict to fit me perfectly. Black stilettos shoes with trees for heels. My hair is done in an intricate braid that I let my magic handle. I put on some enchanted eyeshadow that shows shooting stars soaring across my eyelids. I don¡¯t think anyone but Hollyhock will get close enough to notice.

    ¡°You realize you bought me this dress, right?¡±

    ¡°Well, I got good taste then.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not looking too bad yourself,¡± I note. Hollyhock stops circling me and lets me take a good look at her. Ripped blue jeans that fit her perfectly, and high-top red sneakers make up her bottom half. Up north is a crop top black mesh shirt. It shows off her abs and tattoos and does nothing to hide her breasts. I try not to linger on them too long as I check out the rest of her. She has on an orange half sweater. Really it¡¯s more like an eighth of a sweater, there are only sleeves and a neck part.

    She didn¡¯t do anything to her face or hair which is fine because they¡¯re always perfect.

    ¡°Not bad, huh?¡±

    ¡°Not bad at all.¡±

    ¡°Get your sexy ass in the car.¡±

    Hollyhock drives us to the club with the windows down, it¡¯s a cool night. After ten or so minutes of driving, we arrive at our destination: a place called Kava. We park across the street.

    There¡¯s a line of people waiting outside and I get annoyed at the idea of standing there. But Hollyhock grabs my hand and we briskly towards a large man at the front of the line. He¡¯s the one letting people in and with a bump of fists, lets Hollyhock and I walk in with no issue. Much to the dismay of the people waiting.

    ¡°He owes me a favor, long story,¡± she quickly explains to me.

    The club is dim, loud, crowded, and several degrees warmer than it is outside. Telltale signs of a good time.

    We enter the crowd, so many beautiful people moving their bodies freely. Being free with each other. Hollyhock takes us to the bar, I can barely hear her over all the noise. She yells something at the bartender who somehow manages to pick it up. A moment later he comes back with two drinks in small cups. Hollyhock hands one to me.

    ¡°TO HAVING A FUN NIGHT!¡± She shouts over the music, she clinks our glasses then downs her drink in one go. Her face twists at the taste of it. I give it a brief sniff. With all the smells of everything going on, it¡¯s hard to pinpoint which is coming from my drink but I decide I don¡¯t care anymore. I throw my head back and down it. There¡¯s a light heat to it going down my throat, it tastes like tequila. Like a weak tequila.

    ¡°DO THEY HAVE ANYTHING STRONGER?!¡± I ask Hollyhock. I feel like I drank water.

    ¡°STRONGER?!¡± She asks back with disbelief. ¡°THIS STUFF¡¯S PRETTY STRONG TO ME!¡±

    ¡°THIS MIGHT AS WELL BE JUICE!¡±

    ¡°ALRIGHT, I¡¯LL ASK!¡±

    The strongest drink they have offers only a slight burn to my throat. I¡¯ve had potions with more kick but it¡¯ll have to do. A few drinks in and we head back into the crowd to dance. I knew Hollyhock said she doesn¡¯t drink much, but I didn¡¯t expect her to be a lightweight. She sluggishly bobs her head side-to-side as we dance. Her eyes lazily look over me and she can¡¯t stop smiling. I¡¯m not even close to feeling any sort of buzz but I let myself flow with the music.

    The song changes and a lot of people, including Hollyhock, yell out in excitement.

    ¡°THIS IS MY FUCKING SONG!¡± She yells. Whatever¡¯s playing has a slow beat with a man rapping. The assassin slurs and mumbles the words as she gets closer. What she¡¯s saying doesn¡¯t sound close to what he¡¯s saying but she presses on. Then, with crystal clarity she says,

    ¡°But in the mean time it''s lights please¡±

    The lights in the club get even dimmer in that second, almost pitch black. There¡¯s hundreds of other people here, all going along with the song, but right now only she and I exist in this world. Our bodies meet, her strong arms drape over my shoulders. I put my arms around her waist. Hollyhock presses her forehead against mine, locking her eyes on mine and raps softly to me,

    ¡°Lights please

    Lights please

    Turn off the lights

    For now everything just seems so right

    And how you make the darkness seem so bright

    Feelin'' like things gon'' be alright¡±

    That seems to be the only part she knows well since she goes back to mumbling. We sway left and right as the song plays. The hook of the song comes back and she raps along again.

    The song ends and with it the lights turn back up and  Hollyhock lets out a holler.

    ¡°I HAVEN¡¯T HEARD THAT SONG IN SO LONG! IT¡¯S HOT IN HERE, ARE YOU HOT? I¡¯M HOT!¡± She fires off. Hollyhock struggles to take off her not really a sweater and ties it around her waist. A more energetic song comes on and she lets out a laugh.

    She pulls me in close, taking my hands in her hers.

    ¡°I always see you staring at it,¡± she whispers right in my ear. She maneuvers my hands to her hips,¡°let¡¯s see if you can handle it.¡± Then my hands glide over to her ass. I involuntarily bite my lip. My heart was beating fast before, but now it¡¯s pounding.

    She chuckles as I brave a squeeze. Hollyhock turns around and starts grinding against my thighs. She bends over, gyrating her hips every which way to the beat of the song. And it¡¯s a fast beat.

    ¡®Qetesh, Nanaya, and Aphrodite; she has no idea what she''s doing to me!¡¯ Those unbelievably soft cheeks are about to have me ruin this dress.

    ¡°I NEED ANOTHER DRINK!¡± I request. Hollyhock stands upright to hear me.

    ¡°HMMM?¡± She asks.

    ¡°ANOTHER DRINK, PLEASE!¡± It takes her a second to process.

    ¡°COMING RIGHT UP!¡± She walks away to get it. I wipe away the sweat from my forehead.

    ¡®Not something I can do in public and sober. I¡¯ll need at least a buzz before I start acting unwise.¡¯

    Through the crowd I see Hollyhock trying to get the attention of the bartender. He¡¯s swamped with orders that all seem to be going to one side. At the other side of the bar there¡¯s a small crowd, they¡¯re all surrounding one person who looks somewhat familiar. I move a little closer.

    The group of people have bought drinks for the one in the center who barely touched them. They¡¯re laughing at something someone said. The crowd parts a little and I see them more clearly.

    They have the same style as before, wearing a half cape and a half buttoned shirt.

    The necromancer is at the bar, flirting with several people.

    Just as I recognize them, they turn and look in my direction. By the way they glare at me, there¡¯s no doubt they recognize me as the one who killed their bodyguard.

    We hold each other¡¯s gaze for a moment, with a mutual understanding of our predicament; we can¡¯t exactly have a magic duel in a club full of nonmagical humans. But we can¡¯t let the other get away either. We¡¯re at a stalemate.

    Hollyhock comes to my side with a drink in hand.

    ¡°HERE YOU GO!¡± She says. I don¡¯t turn to look at her just yet.

    ¡°THAT¡¯S THEM RIGHT THERE!¡± I alert her ¡°THAT¡¯S THE NECROMANCER!¡±

    She snaps to look where I¡¯m staring.

    ¡°THEM, IN THE CENTER?¡±

    ¡°YES!¡±

    ¡°THEY ARE KINDA HOT!¡± She admits. ¡°IT WAS FUN WHILE IT LASTED!¡± She says, pouring the drink out on the floor. Despite being drunk she has a very focused look on her face. ¡°WHAT¡¯S THE MOVE?!¡± She asks.

    ¡°WATCH THEM!¡±

    The necromancer stops staring at me and goes back to whatever conversation they were having. A smile plastered on their face as they talk. Hollyhock and I split and try to get closer. Easier said than done with this crowd. The necromancer flicks their eyes back to where I was and upon seeing I¡¯m no longer there, they stand up. They make a quick excuse to their admirers and start to escape.

    They¡¯re much closer to the exit than we are, but Hollyhock shoves her way through the crowd with greater ease than me. People start to get out of her way after a while, letting her close the distance faster. The necromancer pushes a door marked ¡°emergency exit¡± and an alarm goes off. Panic quickly spikes through the crowd. Hollyhock stays on them while I struggle to keep my footing with the rush of people shoving me around. I lose sight of them both in the chaos. I feel that trembling in my bones, letting me know the necromancer has used magic.

    Fear rises quick in me and I forget myself. I send out a strong wave of telekinetic energy and knock over dozens of people. With the path clear I rush to the door. I bash it open and see Hollyhock looking around.

    ¡®Eye of Horus, she¡¯s safe.¡¯

    ¡°I don¡¯t see them,¡± she informs me ¡°they just disappeared.¡±

    ¡°They teleported.¡± I reach out with all my senses to feel where they primed the spell. There, in the alley I sense where they blinked away.¡°I¡¯m going to follow their path!¡±

    ¡°Go! I¡¯ll be here,¡± Hollyhock says. I feel another tremble.

    ¡®They teleported again!¡¯ I¡¯ll have to hurry. I go through the first rift, and end up in another alley somewhere in the city. I have no time to look around, I rush towards the next one. This time I¡¯m pulled down by gravity as I plummet from the sky. The urge to teleport away nearly takes over but I realize that¡¯s what they want. I feel their magic further below me. So against all my instincts I let myself fall. The wind is cold and harsh. I watch the city get closer and closer and then I slip through their magic again.

    Water crashes around me, this time I can¡¯t control my panic. I thrash around in an effort to orient myself. I finally grab hold of something above me and pull myself up. I pop out into sweet life giving  air and see I¡¯m in someone¡¯s private pool. Lights turn on in the house behind me. Whoever¡¯s pool this is, probably won¡¯t be open to my explanation. I follow the trail of water that the necromancer surely left behind.

    They teleported only a few feet away.

    This one takes me next to a large abandoned building but I see the water trail and feel their magic ahead. I¡¯m about to go through but stop when I see another water trail, leading into the building from the rift I just came from. They doubled back, thinking I would just keep going through rifts.

    I back up and look at the building. It looks like a few malls I¡¯ve seen in movies but it¡¯s devoid of life and looks like it has been for a long time.

    ¡®This is it, this is where they¡¯ve been hiding.¡¯

    Wanting to keep the element of surprise this time, I teleport away back to Hollyhock.

    When I reappear next to her she practically jumps out of her skin.

    ¡°That¡¯s one way to sober up,¡± she says while clutching her chest. ¡°Did you find them?¡±

    ¡°I found their home.¡±

    ¡°Then it¡¯s time to end this.¡±

    Ch 19. End.

 "Its Over/Goodbye"

    ??????

    ¡°You said it was an abandoned mall?¡± We make our way back to the car and it occurs to me that Witch-Hazel is soaking wet. And not in a fun way. But I feel like the moment to ask about that has passed.

    ¡°I think that¡¯s what you call them, yes,¡± Witch-Hazel answers.

    ¡°There¡¯s only one abandoned mall in Oleander City. That I know about anyway.¡± I wobble a bit as I try to open the car door. ¡°Thank God for everybody rushing out like that, cuz I didn¡¯t feel like paying for those drinks.¡± We get inside the car and Witch-Hazel looks me over.

    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re okay to drive?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a forklift, I¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    ¡°What in Odin¡¯s beard is a forklift?¡±

    ¡°Y¡¯know, you not knowing stuff is starting to get in the way of¡­¡± Shit, I¡¯m drunk ¡°my jokes.¡± A burp escapes my gut and the smell burns my nostrils. ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll be good in an hour.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have an hour, who knows if the necromancer will stay put? Here, drink this.¡± With a snap of her fingers, Witch-Hazel produces a vial of black liquid in her hand and offers it.

    ¡°What is this, anti- anti¡­anti umm¡­drunk potion?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s like a palate cleanser for your body. We use it when you don¡¯t want a bunch of different elixirs and potion effects in your body at once. Drink some and take deep breaths,¡± she explains. I take the vial and look it over. The liquid inside looks black as tar but moves like water.

    ¡°Does it taste bad?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s actually quite sweet,¡± she assures me. We don¡¯t have a ton of time for me to sober up and I shouldn¡¯t use assault rifles while drunk, so bottoms up I guess.

    I take off the glass topper and take a swig. It goes down easy, tastes like cinnamon, sugar, and some kind of fruit; honeydew maybe? I should eat more fruit. I-

    My heart starts beating at an uncomfortable rate and I clutch at my chest.

    ¡°That¡¯s normal, just breathe deep, you need the oxygen,¡± Witch-Hazel says. Trusting her, I let go of my chest and focus on breathing. My heart works at an obscene pace, circulating all my blood swiftly. It¡¯s a strange sensation, rather than becoming less intoxicated over an hour or so I¡¯m more alert and steady by the second. In a minute or two, my head is clear and all grogginess has left my body.

    My heart returns to a normal pace.

    ¡°Whoa, that was¡­what¡¯s a stronger word than weird?¡±

    ¡°Peculiar,¡± Witch-Hazel provides.

    ¡°That was peculiar. I kinda want some more though. What other fun concoctions do you have?¡± I¡¯m definitely not drunk anymore because I can say ¡°concoction¡±.

    ¡°I have a brew that could temporarily turn you into anything you¡¯re thinking of.¡± I briefly think about what I would turn into. A knife? Could I turn into a gun?

    ¡°That sounds like a blast, but I¡¯ll pass for now.¡±

    ¡°Oh, is the big bad assassin too scared to try a transmogrification drink?¡±

    ¡°Like how you bitched out back in the club? You had a chance with all this!¡± I wiggle in my seat a bit. The witch is taken aback.

    ¡°I was hoping you forgot about that,¡± she says while scratching her cheek.

    ¡°It was like ten minutes ago. This isn¡¯t some fanfiction where I forget everything cuz I was drunk. We finish this fight, you better not be all bark and no bite, know what I¡¯m saying?¡± I punctuate with a wink.

    ¡°¡­what¡¯s fanfiction?¡± She asks.

    ¡°UGH!¡± I start the car.

    ????

    Driving at record speeds, the assassin gets us back to her apartment quickly. The second she closes the door she starts undressing, which in any other situation would excite me but we can¡¯t fight in these clothes.

    ¡°Give me three minutes,¡± she says, heading to her hidden armory.

    I peel off my dress, kick off my shoes, and redo my hair into a simple braid crown. I hadn¡¯t expected to get into a magical fight out here but being prepared is a key principle of a witch.

    I retrieve a deep purple dress from my wardrobe. The hem goes halfway down to my thighs, as I¡¯m sure a lot of running will be involved.

    It¡¯s the most enchanted piece of clothing I own, its plain appearance betrays all the complexities that have gone into it. Each thread is woven from the silk of a Vexikof spider, an already intrinsically magical material. When even a small amount of magic is poured into it, its durability is exponentially higher than that of steel.

    That¡¯s nothing to speak of the wards embedded into the garment. There are shield wards on the outer side of the forearms to help deflect harmful magic. Near the wrist is a ward attuned to my eyes only, it shows the path of any primed spell I cast in the form of a red line. A more complex ward sits at the small of the back, it shoots out an intense burst of air; propelling me through the air in any direction for a moment. The rest are quick primed spells, all defensive.

    I slip the dress on, securing the sash about the waist. It¡¯s a little tighter than I remember, but it¡¯s fine. Now I have to decide what shoes I¡¯m going to wear.

    ¡°Here, wear these,¡± Hollyhock offers. The assassin is dressed in all-black tactical-looking clothing. Over her clothes are harnesses and straps that I¡¯m sure will hold various guns soon. She¡¯s holding a pair of tall black boots and socks. The boots look like they¡¯ve seen their fair share of long days and rough nights.

    ¡°Believe it or not, these are the nicest boots I own, so make sure you give ¡®em back, ¡®kay?¡± Hollyhock kneels and puts on the footwear for me. The assassin doesn¡¯t seem to realize the intimacy of her actions. She tenderly slips the socks on and ties the boots, ¡°that¡¯s not too tight, is it?¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s not,¡± I answer her, ignoring the heat rushing to my face.

    ¡°These are steel-toe boots, don¡¯t want your dainty little feet to get hurt do we?¡±

    ¡°There isn¡¯t a thing ¡®dainty¡¯ about me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re looking pretty dainty to me,¡± she says back with an odd smile.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see how dainty you think I am after this fight.¡±

    ¡°Good, keep that energy,¡± she replies as she stands back up. ¡°I need to get my finishing touches in here.¡±

    We walk into her hidden room and the assassin quickly grabs, loads, and stashes different guns and ammo for them on her person. Two pistols at her sides, a small-looking shotgun with a vertical grip is clipped to her belt, a rifle she strapped to fit on her back, and she ponders between two knives. She picks the one she called the Ratkiller before, putting it in a neat little sheath.

    Hollyhock opens a locker in which three jackets hang from a rack. She rubs the sleeves between her fingers, testing some quality they have.

    ¡°This one,¡± she says, picking a dark orange leather jacket. From the way she takes it off the hanger the jacket is heavier than it looks. The inside has several pockets to which she adds ammo clips and a few other things. Slipping her arms through the sleeves, she rolls her shoulders to check if it fits right.

    ¡°Won¡¯t you be hot in that?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Better to be hot than cold,¡± she says back in a practiced manner. ¡°Sweating is better than bleeding. But if you catch me getting a heatstroke, you can do whatever magic you need to save me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to do that. Are you ready?¡±

    ¡°Not quite, can¡¯t forget the headwear.¡± She grabs a helmet like the one she wore before, this one is notably more scratched up. A couple of things click into place and the helmet is secured around her head. ¡°Hate this thing, messes up my hair,¡± she comments.

    ¡°Now, for the pi¨¨ce de r¨¦sistance,¡± she opens the case Larkspur gave her some days ago. From it, she takes out a rifle with a very large ammo container. How many bullets the box can hold I don¡¯t know but I¡¯m guessing a lot. Two legs stick out from the barrel to hold it up.

    ¡°The Sorrel-115,¡± she announces. ¡°It¡¯s got enough ammo for all our problems. Hopefully.¡± She holds the large gun and cocks it. ¡°Ready when you are.¡±

    I put my hand on her shoulder and teleport us over to the lair of the necromancer. When we appear there, Hollyhock shakes her head.

    ¡°That¡¯s going to take some getting used to. Think I prefer driving.¡±

    ¡°Convenient though, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t deny that.¡± She hoists her gun up and looks the mall over. ¡°Hiding in plain sight, classic.¡±

    ¡°Why is this place closed? Don¡¯t people love shopping?¡± I ask. Hollyhock takes out her phone and looks something up.

    ¡°Apparently like twenty years ago, a sewage line burst under the place, and no one wanted to go back. No one¡¯s touched the place since.¡± she shrugs. ¡°Guess no one wants to shop when the place smells like shit. Not everything in Oleander City is tragic. Sometimes it¡¯s funny.¡±

    ??????

    I put my phone away in a secure pocket. With the light machine gun in my hands and all the weapons I brought with me, I hope I got enough ammo for this fight.

    ¡®How many people could they have raised from the dead?¡¯

    ¡°It may be a little late to ask this but if one of them bites or scratches me, I won¡¯t turn into one, right?¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± she makes a face as if I asked her to send me to Mars.

    ¡°Will I turn into a zombie if one of them bites me?¡± I repeat.

    ¡°These aren¡¯t zombies, Hollyhock. They¡¯re undead,¡± she thinks she explains.

    ¡°Name one difference between those two things,¡± I demand.

    ¡°The ¡®difference¡¯¡± she does air quotes ¡°is that one is a fictional creature, whereas the other is just a reanimated body.¡±

    ¡°Before I met you all this shit was fictional. So, excuse me if I want a little clarity.¡±

    She sighs.

    ¡°They don¡¯t need to eat flesh to sustain themselves. They don¡¯t need to eat, period. The necromancer controls them, so stop them, we stop the undead. If one scratches or bites you, you¡¯ll be fine. I mean, you¡¯ll probably need some disinfectant because these are dead bodies we¡¯re talking about. But you won¡¯t turn into one.¡±

    ¡°See? A simple, reasonable explanation for this magic bullshit. Anything else I should know?¡±

    ¡°Aim for the head or the spine,¡± she says.

    ¡°Definitely zombies,¡± I say under my breath.

    I look the witch over. She¡¯s dressed like she¡¯s going to a party, a cute little purple dress. But she chose it for a reason, so I¡¯m guessing there are magical qualities to it. I¡¯m always ready for a fight, but I can¡¯t help but wonder if she is. After seeing her limp back from her fight, I have doubts about her capability for violence. This necromancer seems more than capable of it, can Witch-Hazel handle it?

    Even as I think that, she stands there; her back ramrod straight, shoulders squared, a focused frown on her gorgeous face, she¡¯s flexing her fingers, and there¡¯s an air of determination coming from her. If Hazel isn¡¯t worried, then I shouldn¡¯t be.

    ¡®And it¡¯s not like she¡¯s alone. She has me.¡¯ I take a small earpiece out of my pocket.

    ¡°I almost forgot, here,¡± I offer it to her. ¡°In case we get separated, we can keep in touch. It¡¯s fixed to the one in my helmet.¡± Hazel puts the device in her ear. ¡°You ready for this?¡±

    She turns her head.

    ¡°Let¡¯s end this,¡± she says.

    The witch takes the lead, ¡°let me check for any trap wards.¡±

    I follow behind with my rifle at the ready.

    ¡°What¡¯s a ward, exactly? You¡¯ve said that before.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s like a preset spell that you put on a place or object. They perform one spell, but with greater intensity and duration,¡± she explains.

    ¡°Got it, like a landmine.¡±

    ¡°Sure, if that helps you understand.¡± She sticks out her hand, deep purple smoke rises from it and flows into the mall. After a moment, she closes her hand. ¡°I only sense camouflage and sound wards.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s a sound ward?¡±

    ¡°In this instance, it blocks any noise from escaping,¡± she tells me. I feel like I could¡¯ve figured that out. ¡°They¡¯re not expecting us,¡± she hypothesizes.

    ¡°Or they¡¯re expecting a spectacle,¡± I observe. ¡°It¡¯d be rude to keep them waiting.¡± I push the door open and we enter. As soon as we step in the temperature around us drops significantly. Compared to the seventy-two degrees it is outside, it feels like it¡¯s¡­below thirty degrees here. The chemical treatment my jacket went through reacts to the sudden temperature drop and makes it more flexible. I see Witch-Hazel¡¯s breath in a cloud of mist.

    We progress carefully, I check all the corners instinctively, finger near the trigger. Witch-Hazel stays close, her eyes darting around, no doubt looking for some magical fuckery.

    It doesn¡¯t smell like a sewage line burst open under here. In fact, it smells nice, like a flower. I can¡¯t be bothered to think about which flower though.

    ¡®Could this asshole have made a magic stink bomb and cleared everyone out? Effective, non-lethal, and pretty funny.¡¯

    We walk further into the mall, entering the atrium I guess. A massive skylight lets the moonlight pour over us.

    Witch-Hazel suddenly stops and tenses up.

    ¡°They¡¯re here,¡± she says softly.

    I turn the safety off my gun.

    ¡°Well then!¡± A velvety voice says somewhere from behind us. We both snap around to locate it. ¡°Seems I wasn¡¯t able to throw you off my trail!¡±

    The undeniably sensual voice is coming from somewhere on the second level. I can¡¯t see them yet.

    ¡°I was hoping for my big reveal to happen in a grander setting than this, but a stage¡¯s a stage all the same I suppose!¡±

    ¡°Enough theatrics!¡± I yell into the dark. ¡°Let¡¯s see that pretty face of yours!¡± I raise the rifle to aim down the sights.

    ¡°You¡¯re just a human,¡± they observe ¡°what are you doing with this sorcerer?!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here to kill the asshole that¡¯s been preying on my city for god knows how long!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a sorcerer!¡± Witch-Hazel interjects. ¡°An Arcanium didn¡¯t send me! This doesn¡¯t have to end in violence!¡±

    ¡®Sweet Hazel, everything in this city ends in violence.¡¯

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so! I¡¯ve worked too long, suffered too much, and spent too much time in the darkness for you two to fuck it all up!¡± The necromancer says back.

    ¡°I just wanted you to know I gave you a way out of this!¡± Witch-Hazel responds. ¡°Whatever happens from here on, is your fault!¡±

    I switch my gun to semi-automatic.

    ¡°If you¡¯re the first I¡¯ll have to go through to get to IronHenge, then so be it!¡± Hearing that Witch-Hazel clenches her fists as bright hot lights form around her hands. The necromancer steps out from the shadows. ¡°They¡¯ll-¡±

    I don¡¯t wait for the next monologue and fire a shot at their head. The bullet seems to hit an invisible wall because it stops in mid-air and falls harmlessly.

    ¡°It¡¯s rude to shoot people while they¡¯re talking!¡± The necromancer informs me.

    ¡°It¡¯s rude to raise the dead and attack a city!¡± I fire back.

    ¡°They have it coming, and now, so do you!¡± They quickly raise an arm. Suddenly, hundreds of the undead appear and start to encircle us.

    Some at a quick glance look like regular people while others have further deteriorated. As if the sheer number of them wasn¡¯t threatening enough, most of them are holding weapons. Knives, axes, machetes, one heading directly towards me is holding a sickle, and some even have guns.

    I switch my rifle to full auto.

    ¡°We split up, give them a chase, take them out in waves, regroup and take out the rest, got it?¡± I quickly formulate. Witch-Hazel nods.

    ¡°Got it. Good luck, don¡¯t die,¡± she says.

    ¡°I¡¯ll try!¡±

    We run in opposite directions towards the horde. I hear something similar to an air cannon firing. It came from where Witch-Hazel is but I deny myself the urge to look back. She can take care of herself, she has to. Besides, I have my own undead to deal with.

    As they see me running towards them, they brace themselves, thinking I might tackle my way through them but I have no such plan. I reach inside one of the pockets and pull out a thermite grenade. Pull the pin and toss it at them. I zip my jacket back up and a couple of seconds later it detonates, creating a pool of fire a couple thousand degrees hot.

    Those that weren¡¯t lucky enough to move out of the way are immediately set on fire. They scream out in pain and I rush and jump clean over them to make my escape. Running past various stores I brave a look back and see they¡¯ve started running after me. Not slowly either, like zombies would, but at seemingly human speeds. A big part of my plan was very dependent on them being much slower but that just means I¡¯ll have to be faster.

    ????

    I soar over the crowd of the undead with the help of my booster ward. To have made this many, and control them all at once, the necromancer must be more powerful and skilled than I thought. What we¡¯ve come across were just flukes. This is what it¡¯s all been amounting to.

    When I lose thrust I sail back down to earth and land on one of them, snapping his neck with the impact. I hit the ground running and start making my way to find an ideal location. I hear something that sounds like a fireball exploding where Hollyhock ran off to. I¡¯m hoping that she¡¯s the one who caused the noise, the thought of her being hurt already isn¡¯t going to do me any favors.

    The abominations start chasing me and I prime a spell of ice. I let it coat the floor behind me to give myself a headstart, I¡¯m not that fast of a runner, and ice isn¡¯t an element I¡¯ve mastered. They slip and fall but then they start to crawl over each other, spilling out onto the unfrozen ground.

    I go over Hollyhock¡¯s plan again in my mind.

    I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be able to hold back anymore.

    ??????

    A couple of bullets zip past, nowhere near me, fired from the armed undead. Running and shooting is hard enough, doing it as a reanimated corpse probably adds some difficulty too. I¡¯m guessing the guns were for a crowd of people and not a single person used to gunfire. The necromancer didn¡¯t count on someone like me coming along.

    I run into an office supplies store, jumping over a knocked-over shelf. The place isn¡¯t even ransacked, everything that was here all those years ago is still here. Including a big ass printer that I almost trip over.

    I¡¯m hoping they can¡¯t see me as well in the darkness. Years of training drilled into me make me move slowly and quietly. I observe them from the shadows. They¡¯ve started looking around for me, spreading out. Seems they¡¯re independent of each other. Though they work for the necromancer, individually they work their own way. They have the numbers to find me quickly. I have to start thinning out the herd soon.

    Towards the back of the store, I see desks and head over. A strong-looking wooden desk is where I decide to start my massacre. I kneel and set the Sorrel-115 up on its bipod and take a deep breath. Aim slightly up where their heads will be.

    I slam my fist hard on the desk twice. It catches most of the undead¡¯s attention. I slam it twice again. They start rushing over into a narrow passageway made by the shelves. When they move together they act as one, creating the perfect bottleneck.

    ¡°That¡¯s it, come to mama,¡± I say while moving my free hand to hold the stock against my shoulder.

    I pull the trigger hard.

    ????

    Just barely keeping a lead on the horde I resolve to start exercising after this is all over. Cardio, if nothing else. I head to a staircase and let my booster ward carry me most of the way up. I slam down on the metal steps, only a few away from the top. I ascend to the next floor and prime a spell.

    Fire has always come naturally to me. Though not often used in witchcraft, I''ve studied many forms of the powerful school by myself.

    I clap my hands and a ball of fire blazes to life in the space between them. Feeding the flames, the ball gets larger in milliseconds. I churn the flames inside to give it the consistency of magma. When the ball is half my height I push it forward and let it spill out. The liquid fire pours over the abominations. They only have half a second to scream out before their bodies get too damaged to function.

    The fire cascades down, washing over dozens of them. The smell of burning flesh soon overpowers the ever-present scent of lavender that the necromancer enchanted this place with. The undead crawl over each other only to be hit with another wave of fire.

    My arms tremble while I maintain the spell.

    ¡°That¡¯s it, come to mama,¡± Hollyhock¡¯s voice says through the earpiece. Hearing her say those words in that voice excites me in such a way that I lose focus.

    ¡°What the fuck?!¡± I say, before hearing a barrage of bullets firing.

    ??????

    ¡°What the fuck?!¡± Witch-Hazel says through the earpiece. The gun spits lead at the rushing horde. The bullets tear through the decaying flesh easily, each shot goes through two or three of them at a time, but there¡¯s so many that it hardly matters.

    ¡°Sorry, forgot you could hear me,¡± I yell over the gun to Witch-Hazel.

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s distracting. Could you not do that?¡± She requests.

    ¡°I can¡¯t really talk right,¡± I inform her. I turn the gun left and right to kill more of them but they just keep coming. The pile of permanently dead bodies is starting to become a problem. It¡¯s preventing me from shooting those still coming and from what I hear there¡¯s a lot left.

    ????

    Hollyhock has opened fire with her big gun and I need to concentrate.

    ¡®Focus, witch-bitch! Can¡¯t get distracted like that.¡¯

    The undead that weren¡¯t burnt to a crisp climb over the charred remains of their comrades to get at me. Some of them fall over the side on the way up. It¡¯ll take them some time so I retreat to find another narrow path when a group of them burst out from one of the stores behind me.

    ¡°Zeus¡¯ dick!¡±

    ¡°Are you okay?!¡± Hollyhock asks.

    One of the abominations has a knife and with startling speed tries to stab me. The blade meets the enchanted silk of my dress and gets deflected, I still feel it scrape against my rib but my blood stays inside my body. I grab the knife holding undead by the face and prime a fireball in my hand.

    Its head explodes in a fiery mess and I have to close my eyes to keep gray matter from flying in.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine, keep fighting!¡± I relay.

    ¡°Copy!¡±

    I dash backward, priming another spell. Lightning is infinitely more complicated than fire, much harder to control, but undeniably powerful. Manipulating positively and negatively charged molecules at such rapid speeds is difficult for a lot of magicians.

    Not me though.

    Jewels of lightning form around my wrist like a bracelet. I aim with two of my fingers and the ward on my sleeve activates. The red line appears, tracking where my spell will go. Bringing my thumb down, I fire off the first bolt as the abominations group together.

    With a loud thunder crack, it surges through the air, punching holes straight through the chest of seven of them. They fall over, gone forever. The others are next as I aim at them.

    ??????

    Witch-Hazel says she¡¯s fine so I have to believe her.

    I haven¡¯t been counting my shots but the Sorrel-115 still has more to give. The river of lead still flows against the mountain of bodies closing the distance bit by bit. They¡¯re getting uncomfortably close before I can put bullets through them.

    A dreaded click hits my ears. The Sorrel is spent and more of these poor bastards are coming.

    I rise to my feet and kick the desk forward for whatever time it could buy me. Before I can reach for my pistol a bullet tries to burrow its way into the side of my skull. It must be a small-caliber bullet as the helmet stops it from making a tunnel through my brain. Still feels like I got punched in the head but it¡¯s better than the alternative. I shake it off quickly and grab my pistol.

    I put a couple of shots through the nearest window and sprint towards it. The glass shatters harmlessly against my treated jacket and helmet, but a shard cuts through my pants, putting a gash a little above my knee. I¡¯ve had worse cuts. The momentum of the jump makes me crash against a pillar. I use it to get my footing, pulling the Koji-52 that¡¯s strapped to my back forward. Safety gets turned off and I fire off several pulse shots through the heads of more undead.

    I must be crazy because I¡¯m hearing cracks of thunder. A quick glance at where it¡¯s coming from and I see Witch-Hazel on the second floor striking a group of undead like a beautiful storm on legs. I focus back on the horde running at me. The Koji does what it does best and puts down several of them. It seems that they¡¯ve finally thinned out as there aren¡¯t dozens running at me at a time anymore.

    ¡°You can shoot lightning?¡± I ask Witch-Hazel.

    ¡°I can do lots of things. I have magic, remember?¡± She replies. My gun clicks. Empty.

    An undead with a machete tries to get a little too friendly with my face. The corpse swipes at me and I sidestep and wrench the blade from his hand. Spinning on my heel, I take his head clean off.

    ¡°Did you make that fireball sound I heard earlier?¡± Witch-Hazel asks.

    ¡°Thermite grenade,¡± I explain. More of the undead come after me. I start slicing heads off left and right. ¡°Think I can get a blast over here?! I need to reload my gun!¡± Two seconds later a bolt of lightning crashes into the horde accosting me. It catches their attention long enough for me to reload and I start shooting again.

    ¡°Thank you!¡±

    ¡°Are we even now?¡±

    ¡°Fight¡¯s not over yet!¡±

    ????

    While I was saving Hollyhock, making us even, in my opinion, an abomination grabs my hair from behind. They pull my head back and another tries to stab in my neck. I activate the shield ward on my forearm; the magical energy instantly forms a solid disk that bisects the knife-wielder at the torso. The smell alone turns my stomach.

    I slam the shield into the head of whoever the fuck is pulling my hair. I turn around, prime another fire spell, and release a stream of fire from my hands.

    ¡°Jesus fucking Christ! How many people has this asshole zombified?!¡± The assassin asks.

    ¡°They¡¯re not zombies!¡± I set one after another on fire and finally get some space.

    ¡°The terminology is really important right now?!¡± I hear her grunt with effort.

    ¡°Anyway, it¡¯s this city¡¯s fault! How can this many people die in one city?!¡± I stop the spell and let my hands cool off.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°On average, there are over a hundred deaths here every day,¡± she informs me. I run, jump off the handrail, and use the booster ward to reach the floor above. I struggle to pull myself up over the handrail but I¡¯ve gained some distance and bought myself some time.

    ¡°You just know that off the top of your head?¡±

    ¡°Well I contribute to the murder rate, might as well know a few other statistics,¡± she says. ¡°I think they¡¯re thinning out! You got any magical way of telling us how many are left?!¡±

    ¡°Not quickly! And we still have to deal with the necromancer!¡±

    ¡°Then keep the fight going! We¡¯ll regroup later!¡±

    Hollyhock¡¯s assessment seems right, there aren¡¯t as many abominations chasing me. I start priming a more complex spell while I have the time. Purple triangles of my energy start forming in the air around me.

    Suddenly a massive hand grabs my shoulder and slams me against the handrail. A very tall undead has a hold of me. The spell shatters as I lose focus and its hand grips my throat.

    I can only get out a croak for help before life starts getting squeezed out of me. My vision gets blurry when a bullet finds its way through the center of the abomination¡¯s forehead. It lets go of me and falls over for good. I hold my throat and turn to see Hollyhock who stopped dead in her tracks to save me.

    ¡°Good shot!¡± I hoarsely say.

    ¡°Anytime, babe!¡±

    ??????

    Stopping to save Witch-Hazel allowed the last of my horde to catch up with me. There are only a dozen or so of them left but they all have weapons, one has a firefighter ax that looks pretty menacing. She swings it at me and I use my rifle to block it. I kick her in the chest and she lets go of the ax; I take hold of it and swing it into the skull of the nearest undead. A quick bash with the butt of my gun to another and then I make a hasty retreat.

    I run to the nearest escalator and ascend to the next floor. I need all focus to load this gun while running. Escaping from these undead makes me grateful for all the years of running exercises Tamara put me through. I used to think they were hell, but they¡¯re serving me well now.

    The undead are only an arm¡¯s length behind me. I don¡¯t think they can get tired. So the longer I run the more likely they are to kill me.

    ¡®RUN! RUN! RUN! FASTER!¡¯

    I give it everything I got and push myself as fast as I can go. The Kudzu shotgun clipped to my side keeps banging into my leg, right on the cut I got earlier.

    ¡®Ignore it!¡¯

    One last burst of speed, I jump and turn around in the air and hold down the trigger. Bullets tear through the last of the undead and I fall, hitting the ground hard. Breathing techniques that have been drilled into me help me catch my breath. My muscles are screaming in relief that I¡¯ve stopped moving for a moment. My breath fogs up the inside of my helmet.

    I look up at the trail of dead bodies. I¡¯ve killed more people tonight than I have in my entire life as a Bay Leaf. All of them had lives of their own, they died, were turned into tools for someone else¡¯s bidding, and I ended them again.

    So much death. It¡¯s all my life seems to add up to.

    ¡®Get up Hollyhock. There¡¯s still a job to do.¡¯

    I pick myself up off the floor.

    ¡°Are you doing ok?¡± Witch-Hazel asks.

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m fine, just catching my breath,¡± I respond while looking around for her. I see her on the third floor still. Something is floating around her producing small amounts of light. She¡¯s looking at me rather than the horde making its way over to her.

    ¡°Let¡¯s regroup under the skylight,¡± I say ¡°finish them off together.¡±

    The witch nods and jumps from the third floor. I reflexively lurch forward as if I could possibly catch her from over here. But then her descent slows and she lands safely and gracefully. I, on my human legs, walk to the escalator.

    ????

    One undead is still moving towards the assassin, but someone shot them in the leg, probably her. They hobble over. She unclips the shotgun from her side, loads it, and aims.

    Where there was once a head, there isn¡¯t much left after she pulls the trigger.

    When she gets closer, the assassin examines the spell surrounding me.

    ¡°What¡¯s uhh¡­all this?¡± she gestures to the floating glyphs.

    ¡°It¡¯s something I whipped up, I-¡± I stop myself when I see her leg. ¡°You¡¯re bleeding.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, cut by some glass. Nothing serious.¡±

    I wave a hand over the wound and it closes up. It looks like it never happened. Hollyhock looks at her leg.

    ¡°What, no nasty elixir for me to drink?¡± She asks.

    ¡°Why? Do you want one?¡±

    ¡°Thanks but it looks like we¡¯re out of time,¡± she says, tracking a group of abominations on the second floor. She loads her weapon. I look past her and see a new group getting together.

    ¡°I suppose you¡¯re right.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have many more clips for this gun.¡± The assassin gets closer and stands behind me. The last of the undead swarm toward us. Hopefully.

    ¡°Are you good on energy?¡± She inquires.

    ¡®The amount of magic I¡¯ve used is concerning, but we don¡¯t have any other choice.¡¯

    ¡°I¡¯m fine, worry about your bullets,¡± I answer.

    ¡°We go back to back and cover each other, got it?¡±

    ¡°You got it, babe!¡±

    ???????

    We brace ourselves against this new tide of unfortunate souls. They flood to us like they know their release lies here.

    Two of us versus so many of them.

    They don¡¯t stand a fucking chance.

    Wordlessly, we open fire simultaneously. Rapid priming glyphs send bolts of magic through skulls with the simple point of a finger and bullets torrent mercilessly with deadly precision.

    Despite never having fought together before, and having wildly different methods, we operate like a well-oiled machine. Covering each other¡¯s blind spots and rotating in sync to maintain our perimeter, it¡¯s as if we¡¯re a gestalt of defense.

    There is no witch or assassin.

    We act as one.

    Overwhelming power and perfected skills combine to make a savage hurricane of technology and magic which destroys any that stray too close.

    ¡°RELOADING! COVER ME!¡±

    ¡°I GOT IT!¡±

    An empty clip drops and a fresh one gets levitated into the gun.

    ¡°THANKS!¡±

    The glyphs perform the task well despite just being improvised.

    ¡°I NEED TO PRIME MORE GLYPHS! GIVE ME A SECOND!¡±

    ¡°COPY!¡± A thermite grenade gets tossed to provide ample cover.

    The mall comes back to life with the sounds of gunfire and magic being flung. When there¡¯s no more ammo for the Koji it gets detached and dropped and the Kudzu comes out to play. It punches holes through the undead bodies like they were paper.

    ¡°WATCH YOUR HEAD!¡± A fireball sails by and explodes in the mass of abominations. Years of training make for a quick reload of the shotgun. These shells are explosive and push back more of the horde with each shot. When there¡¯s no more ammo for that, twin GoldenSeal pistols get unleashed. The pair make short work of the undead. Spell after spell gets primed, devastating waves of the corpses. A shot fired from one of the undead tries to pierce a lung but is stopped by the chemically enhanced jacket and a shot is returned in kind.

    When the ammo runs dry the Ratkiller is unsheathed. The toxic metal it¡¯s made from won¡¯t do anything to the already deceased, but its razor edge in skilled hands will.

    The last of the undead start to close in. Eager, it seems, to meet their demise; they run to us. The Ratkiller probes the brain of the first undead to get too close. It¡¯s swiftly pulled out and finds its way into another. A whip made from fire whooshes to life and wraps around the neck of an abomination, with a strong tug it gets pulled forward and a strong arm punches its head off.

    ¡°Thanks for the follow-up!¡±

    ¡°Always!¡±

    An undead tries to bite a thick bicep. Human teeth on a living person couldn¡¯t bite through an ordinary leather jacket, let alone this one. Still, they futilely persist until a strong telekinetic blast dislocates their jaw and the Ratkiller severs their spine.

    ¡°That motherfucker just bit me! LIKE! A! ZOMBIE!¡±

    ¡°OH, MY GODS! SHUT UP ABOUT THE ZOMBIES!¡±

    We clean up the rest of the undead, the last one gets dropkicked into a fireball, roasting them as they fall.

    Finally, a moment of peace lets us catch our breath. We look at each other and at the same time say,

    ¡°You¡¯re amazing.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re awesome.¡±

    ????

    Simultaneous compliments given, the assassin searches through the bodies while cleaning her knife and putting it away. She finds a pistol and quickly checks it.

    ¡°Hope that was the last of ¡®em.¡±

    Unfortunately for us, we both hear scrambling somewhere in the darkness. Hollyhock aims her newly acquired gun towards the source.

    Out from the darkness come children, some crawling with unnatural speed, others running like adults. All of them are screaming in soul-shaking horror.

    And Hollyhock, bless her heart, freezes. Even though she has to know that they aren¡¯t living children she can¡¯t bring herself to harm them, she actually lowers her gun. I can¡¯t see her face but I can feel the dread coming from her.

    The little monstrosities get closer to her and she still doesn¡¯t move. I reach out with telekinesis and wrangle them all together. I compact them as closely as I can, wishing I could shut their screaming up. As soon as they¡¯re close enough I ignite the hottest fire I can underneath them. They¡¯re incinerated in seconds so that Hollyhock won¡¯t have to see their bodies.

    The ashes fall down and the apprehension gripping Hollyhock leaves her.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± she says in a shaky voice. She clears her throat. ¡°Let¡¯s get this asshole.¡±

    ¡°Here I am.¡± The Necromancer has appeared near us. ¡°Come-¡±

    Hollyhock interrupts them again by rapidly firing her gun, getting her nerve back. Again the bullets stop before they reach and fall on the floor. It¡¯s an interesting spell. It can¡¯t be simple telekinesis; bullets are too fast to catch that way.

    ¡®Perhaps a stasis field?¡¯

    ¡°We¡¯ll have to talk about your manners at some point,¡± the necromancer reprimands her.

    ¡°Fuck you!¡± The assassin remarks.

    ¡°And by the way, these aren¡¯t zombies.¡±

    ¡°FUCK YOU!¡± The assassin says with even more venom in her voice.

    ¡°Why would you start in with the zombie thing?¡± I ask.

    The necromancer sighs and looks at me, annoyed.

    They¡¯re wearing a satiny black overcoat with white lace trim, cinched at the waist. A gauzy shirt peeks from underneath with a solar pattern embroidered into it. Pleated black pants, tight at the waist, and cuffed at the bottom to show off their boots. Shiny, black, and buckled, the boots are bedazzled with rhinestone skulls.

    Their coat and the shirt under it are open, to display a blood-red cameo necklace that rests in the center of their chest. The cameo is enchanted, it has a moving image of a young child¡¯s face. The child is laughing with a brilliant smile and dazzling violet eyes.

    All of their clothes are enchanted, the necklace has an extremely powerful ward on it from what I can tell. I know they¡¯re assessing my dress¡¯s enchantments as well.

    ¡°Do you know how many years of work you two have undone?¡±

    ¡°Do you know that these are people? Real people, that you¡¯ve been using for this?¡± Hollyhock points out.

    ¡°Since when does a Bay Leaf care about people?¡±

    Hollyhock cracks her knuckles.

    ¡°How do you know that?¡±

    ¡°There are few people in this city with your skills and equipment. You and yours kill so much, it¡¯s only natural I would know about you.¡±

    ¡°Why were you planning to attack IronHenge?¡±

    ¡°Your use of ¡®were¡¯ implies I¡¯m no longer doing so.¡±

    ¡°We just took out your entire army,¡± Hollyhock says.

    ¡°Along with your creepy children,¡± I add.

    ¡°You took out some of my army, and the children were to be shock troops. Some psychological warfare.¡±

    ¡®That¡¯s actually quite devious.¡¯

    ¡°Where¡¯s the rest of them?¡± Hollyhock asks.

    ¡°I¡¯m not telling you that!¡±

    ¡°I bet they¡¯re in the basement,¡± she says to me.

    ¡°....¡± The necromancer¡¯s silence makes me think the rest are in the basement.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t answer my question: why attack IronHenge?¡±

    ¡°And after I tell you, should I offer some champagne and ambrosia? My reasons for wiping out that Arcanium are my own. And what those reasons are don¡¯t matter because I¡¯m going to kill you both.¡±

    Their teal blue aura starts spreading over them like a rapidly growing fungus. The fact that they¡¯ve controlled all these corpses and still have the energy to fight speaks volumes of their power.

    But I¡¯m not tired either.

    I¡¯ve dueled other magicians before but this will be the first time there won¡¯t be a witch on standby. Only one of us gets to walk out of here.

    And I¡¯d like to walk out with Hollyhock.

    The necromancer quickly primes a spell and fires it at the assassin in question, hoping to take her out first. A magic bolt flies toward her and she backflips out of the way. I have to wonder what her training entailed as she elegantly spins and twists in the air dodging more magical blasts, keeping her footing among the numerous dead bodies. She finds a pillar to find cover behind.

    ¡°Leave her alone!¡± I prime the lightning spell I used before and fire off three shots. The necromancer deflects the first two but the third lands in their chest. Rather than being electrocuted, the necklace protects them; dispelling my lightning.

    ¡®It¡¯s a protection ward.¡¯

    Before I fire off a fourth shot, the necromancer fires another two bolts, one comes at me from an angle. I activate my shield ward to block the first, then turn the block the second. The impact staggers me backward and when I recover the necromancer is already right in front of me.

    ¡®Shit.¡¯

    They deliver a strong left hook right across my face, making me spin onto the floor. They follow up with a kick to my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I can barely get my hands under me before they grab me by my collar and pin me against a pillar. One arm presses me by the neck, their free hand primes a thin magic needle; sharp enough to pierce my dress. They pull back to stab me.

    ¡°HEY!¡± Hollyhock yells. She found another gun and fires a few shots. Again the bullets never reach their mark but the necromancer is sufficiently distracted. I activate a ward on my shoulder and squeeze my eyes shut. A bright light is produced from the ward that blinds the necromancer. They release me and cover their eyes. I drop to the floor, coughing my lungs out. Hollyhock throws her gun and it smacks against the necromancer¡¯s head.

    ¡®Whatever the spell is protecting them, it only stops things traveling fast.¡¯

    I sweep my legs and trip the necromancer. They fall flat on their face and Hollyhock sprints over to us. She gets here when the necromancer gets up to their knees, so Hollyhock drives hers into their chin. The necromancer reels back and puts up their fists to fight. They might be very muscular for a magician, but it¡¯s nothing compared to Hollyhock. I start priming a complex ice spell.

    Even if they weren¡¯t just blinded, I don¡¯t think the necromancer could put up much of a fight against the assassin. They jab at her but might as well be moving in slow motion with fast she sidesteps, landing a punch to the solar plexus. She then grabs and twists their wrist, the assassin gives a quick hit to the back of their elbow. She pulls back her arm to deliver a more devastating palm strike that¡¯ll break the arm.

    But the necromancer sends a quick blast of telekinesis right at her helmet. It makes the front part crack. The impact would¡¯ve broken the neck of a weaker person.

    But Hollyhock works out.

    She slams her head forward into the necromancer¡¯s. Her helmet falls apart and she has a furious look on her face. She breaks the necromancer¡¯s arm clean in half. They roar out in pain and Hollyhock grabs them by the hair and slams her knee into their nose. She follows up with a devastating barrage of punches to the face. The assassin lands four of them before the necromancer pushes her high into the air with a blast of telekinesis.

    She goes up maybe forty feet in the air before she starts falling. I can¡¯t move my arms away from the spell I¡¯m priming so I reach out with my mind to grab her. Using even simple spells with only the mind takes a toll, but it¡¯s either that or she dies.

    I manage to grab her just before she hits the ground. Her body weight is a strain on my telekinesis, so I ungently drop her. Better than the forty feet it would¡¯ve been, she only falls three feet.

    ¡°THANK YOU!¡± she shouts in appreciation. In that time the necromancer administered a restoration spell to fix their arm. Just as I¡¯m finished with my spell.

    I fling the large ball of ice at them. They counter with a fire spell, which I was hoping for. The ice ball explodes and reforms into a large sort of dome cage sucking all the oxygen from the flames. I make the structure of the cage protrude spikes to skewer the necromancer but they somehow block them all in time.

    Hollyhock still hasn¡¯t gotten up.

    ??????

    I don¡¯t care how sexy this motherfucker is, nobody flings me that high in the air. Can¡¯t even get back up from the pain though, I feel like I got hit in the chest with a battering ram. This jacket has saved me once more, but I think it''s done for. If I get hit like that again, it¡¯ll go right through me. I take some deep breaths and push the crushing pain away.

    ¡°This fight isn¡¯t over,¡± I tell myself. As if I need to say that, I catch a glimpse of these magical people fighting. Seeing shit I¡¯ve never seen outside of a movie, I¡¯ll likely get killed if I go back into the fray. I prop myself up on my elbows.

    ¡®Should¡¯ve just died the day I met Witch-Hazel, that would¡¯ve been easier.¡¯

    I violently shake the thought from my head.

    ¡®That¡¯s quitter talk, Tamara didn¡¯t raise a quitter! I¡¯m a fucking Bay Leaf! This asshole tried to reanimate Bahi! This asshole made the Falecido, the asshole who stole my bike! They inadvertently ruined my life!¡¯

    Rage fills my body, I get up to my feet and pull out Ratkiller. I look over to see Witch-Hazel being overpowered by the necromancer in a clash of elements. My earpiece is gone, so I have no way of letting Witch-Hazel know this, but I need her to hold out for a bit.

    I exhale and stalk towards them like I have to so many targets before. I sacrifice some stealth for speed. The necromancer won¡¯t hear me over the magic clash anyway.

    By the time they sense me, I¡¯m already right behind them. The Ratkiller slides nice and easy into their kidney. Warm blood trickles out to coat the handle. They scream out and swing their arm back to hit me. I duck under it and swipe up to slice the Brachial artery. They go to hold the wound on their arm. Witch-Hazel falls over to catch her breath. She¡¯ll have to be fine, my opponent is right in front of me.

    The poisonous metal would start causing nerve damage in a normal human. But with how fast they fixed their arm, I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s going to take a few more cuts to do the trick.

    They reach up to do something but I quickly slice the back of their hand. I learned my lesson: that I don¡¯t want to get too close. I need to be able to dodge whatever they might throw at me. The necromancer can¡¯t decide between healing their wounds and attacking me. Good, it gives Witch-Hazel more time to recover. I start to circle them, hoping to move us both away from Witch-Hazel. I lunge forward and they flinch so I pull back. I lurch forward again but switch the knife to a reverse grip and slice their thigh.

    We play our game of cat and mouse for a while. I feint to the left, throw the knife to my right hand and slice their calf. They reach for the knife again, I drop it into my other hand and give them a cut just under their floating rib. They¡¯ll have to stop to deal with the pain eventually.

    The necromancer takes off their fancy coat and throws it at me. An age-old trick. I somersault underneath it, but something grabs me. Shadows shot out from the coat and wrapped themselves around my arms and legs.

    ¡®Oh, right. Magic.¡¯

    The coat pulls and slams me on my back. My arms are forced to my sides. I try to break free but I might as well try to bend steel, I can¡¯t get any leverage at all. The shadows squeeze my wrists until I let go of the knife.

    ¡°Too scared to fight me without your BDSM coat?¡± I taunt. The coat moves my arms up like I¡¯m about to be crucified. Historically, not a great sign. I try in vain to get up. All those push-ups and crunches I did and I can¡¯t even escape a piece of clothing.

    ¡°Yes, actually. Pride is a stupid reason to get killed.¡± They healed their wounds and saunter over to me. I can¡¯t see Witch-Hazel from here. The necromancer grabs the knife. ¡°You¡¯ll make an excellent soldier.¡± They straddle me and turn the knife over in their hands.

    ¡°You have an interesting aura,¡± they note.

    ¡°Thanks, I got it on sale,¡± I quip while still trying to get out.

    ¡°It¡¯s a shame you¡¯ll never get to use it,¡± they say while zipping my jacket down. They lift the blade up to stab me in the chest.

    It looks like this is it for me, so as a last act of defiance, I spit in their eyes. The necromancer slowly wipes their face.

    ¡°That was disgusting,¡± they comment.

    ¡°Worth it.¡±

    They lift the blade up high.

    ¡°I SAID LEAVE HER ALONE!¡± Witch-Hazel shouts. The necromancer stops to look at her. A look of despair takes them over. I turn my head as much as I can to see.

    Witch-Hazel is standing there screaming her lungs out, the magic rising from her is so thick it doesn¡¯t look purple but pitch-black. She then catches on fire.

    ????

    ¡®Maybe I should¡¯ve ignored the necromancer¡¯s experiments. Just enjoyed my days with Hollyhock.¡¯

    I¡¯ve used far more magic than I planned on using.

    All of this ends tonight.

    IronHenge should send sorcerers to deal with this.

    My lungs can¡¯t get enough air into my body. All my limbs hurt so much, and I think one of my ribs is cracked. Fire burns deep within me somewhere. I roll over to my front to see Hollyhock, brave Hollyhock fighting the necromancer. She¡¯s using her knife to slice them up.

    ¡®Thank Gods and Goddesses for her.¡¯

    I just need a couple of moments to get back to fighting shape. I focus on healing my rib. Ignore the rest of the pain I¡¯m in.

    Then I hear a thud. I look up to see Hollyhock pinned to the floor by the necromancer¡¯s coat. She can¡¯t break free. The necromancer walks over to her.

    ¡°Leave her alone,¡± I meekly say. I can barely hold myself up. The throbbing pain my body is in makes it hard to concentrate. Fire rises from deep. The necromancer gets on top of her.

    ¡°Leave her alone!¡± I say again. My head is pounding like it¡¯s going to split in two.

    The necromancer has her knife and lifts it up to use it.

    ¡°I SAID LEAVE HER ALONE!¡± I shout.

    Fury quickly consumes me.

    The most dangerous magicians are the ones that let their emotions take them over, they endanger everyone around them and themselves. They run the risk of burning out their lifeforce. I know that but I can¡¯t help it. I¡¯ve already seen someone I love die, I¡¯m not doing it again!

    Fire is barely held inside me.

    This world has already hurt Hollyhock so much. I will NOT be the reason she dies!

    All the pain has left my body as I stand, but my head is in agony. I have to scream to alleviate it.

    I can¡¯t hold back anymore.

    I let the fire wash over me.

    ??????

    Witch-Hazel, almost instantaneously, moves to be right next to us. The necromancer barely has time to block as she swats them like a fly. They hurtle backward, skipping like a stone on water. With a twitch of her finger, the damn coat lets go of me. I roll off it and she sets it on fire. She advances on the necromancer preparing another spell in her hand.

    I¡¯m awestruck as I look at her. Flames cover her head to toe, resting just above her skin. The heat has me sweating but she¡¯s unfazed by it. I¡¯ve never seen her look so enraged before. She aims a hand at the necromancer. From her palm comes a stream of fire that looks like it should be propelling a fighter jet. The necromancer delays painful death by making a magic shield. How they can withstand the heat alone is beyond me. The rising temperature is making me dizzy.

    The necromancer must hate IronHenge with a passion because they stand up against the fire. I feel unsteady and trip over a corpse. Not too far from me I spy a Thistle .22 and start moving to it. I crawl over the piles of dead bodies.

    Witch-Hazel is standing still, letting her endless fire do all the work. If the necromancer getting up and moving towards her troubles her she makes no indication of it. She prepares a spell in her other hand. The necromancer gets closer and closer.

    I grab the Thistle .22 and check it. The name is a bit of a misnomer, the twenty-two not referring to the caliber it shoots but the number of bullets that comes within a standard clip. It¡¯s fully loaded. Hopefully, I won¡¯t need all twenty-two shots.

    The overwhelming heat has me drenched in sweat, exhausted. But I focus up as the necromancer gets closer to Witch-Hazel.

    One deep breath.

    Inhale. Aim. Exhale. Squeeze.

    The bullet doesn¡¯t get stopped this time. It digs its way into the necromancer¡¯s thigh.

    ¡°Take that asshole.¡±

    They fall to one knee. Witch-Hazel fires a second stream of fire. The necromancer¡¯s shield fails and the fire takes them. Their necklace protects a small part of their body but it hardly matters. Witch-Hazel bears down on them, torching the necromancer and the surrounding ground. Her face twists in anger.

    ¡°Hazel!¡± I shout at her. She snaps to look at me. ¡°It¡¯s over,¡± I tell her. She reluctantly extinguishes the flames in her hands. Without the oppressive heat, I find the strength to stand up and walk over. I still hold the gun at the ready. But I don¡¯t think it¡¯s necessary. What¡¯s left of the necromancer is a charred crisp that rests on their knees. Their necklace remains untouched, a young child¡¯s face still laughs on it.

    Satisfied with her handiwork, Witch-Hazel relaxes and the flames over her body dissipate. She looks the necromancer over.

    Suddenly they laugh.

    ¡°Figures all my work would be undone by a human and a...what?¡±

    ¡°A witch,¡± she supplies. The necromancer laughs again. I can¡¯t imagine the pain they¡¯re in just by doing this.

    ¡°Undone by a human and a witch.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, nothing a few thousand bullets and spells can¡¯t do,¡± I conclude. Witch-Hazel turns to me.

    ¡°You¡¯ve said that before,¡± she notes.

    ¡°Okay, well they didn¡¯t know that, now did they?¡±

    The necromancer laughs again.

    ¡°You two are cute.¡± they sigh. ¡°It¡¯s probably for the best that it ended like this. I¡¯m not sure what I would¡¯ve done after. At least it wasn¡¯t a boring sorcerer who killed me¡­You¡¯re very powerful.¡±

    ¡°Why did you want to attack IronHenge?¡± Witch-Hazel asks once more. The necromancer looks down at their necklace.

    ¡°As your friend said before: fuck you.¡± The necromancer crumbles, falling over and dying. I scratch the back of my head.

    ¡°Well, that was rude,¡± I say. Witch-Hazel is just standing there silent. Before tonight, I had no reference to gauge how powerful Witch-Hazel is. Now that I do, I¡¯m a little scared. Not of her, but that entire fight was terrifying. I should stay on her good side.

    With the necromancer dead, I guess the wards they placed are gone. The temperature here starts to match what¡¯s outside.

    ¡°You good, girl?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Yes I¡¯m...fine,¡± she says.

    ¡°You sure?¡± She seems okay, all things considered. Her dress has a few scratches on it, but she¡¯s otherwise unscathed.

    ¡°Do you want to get your things?¡± She asks. That honestly sounds like a huge pain in the ass right now. I¡¯d rather eat glass than traipse around this mall looking for my guns. I look over the Thistle .22 I picked up. This thing helped kill the necromancer so it''s coming home with me.

    ¡°Nah, we¡¯ll deal with all,¡± I gesture around ¡°this shit later.¡±

    Witch-Hazel hasn¡¯t taken her eyes off the necromancer.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never killed so many people at once before,¡± I say. It¡¯s an obvious statement, I¡¯m not some super mass murderer or anything, but it¡¯s to get to what I think the problem is.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t kill anyone,¡± Witch-Hazel says ¡°all these people died long ago, you just let them rest. The only person who died was them. And I killed them.¡± There¡¯s a thick tension in her words.

    ¡°You did what you had to do,¡± I assure her. ¡°It was either this or they would¡¯ve attacked your home. How many innocent people would¡¯ve died?¡± She sighs.

    ¡°You¡¯re right, I know you are. I just...wanted to know why. What would¡¯ve driven them to do all this?¡± She gestures around. I shake my head.

    ¡°We don¡¯t always get those answers. Trust me, it¡¯ll drive you crazy thinkin¡¯ about this shit. Accept you did a good thing, ¡®cause otherwise,¡± I shake my head again. ¡°I don¡¯t really know what to say but-¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to say anything. You being here, fighting for me, was more than enough.¡±

    ¡°Anytime, babe. C¡¯mon, let¡¯s go home, get some sleep.¡± She nods solemnly.

    ¡°Home,¡± she says. ¡°That sounds nice.¡±

    Despite the ominous way she said it, she teleports us back to my place.

    It¡¯s nice to not be smelling hundreds if not thousands of corpses.

    I¡¯m dead tired, but I should shower, but I might pass out if I have to stand for another minute.

    Witch-Hazel still seems troubled. I guess she¡¯s earned that right. The zipper on my jacket is busted, I¡¯ll just pull the whole thing over my head because I can¡¯t deal with this bullshit right now.

    A knock comes at my door.

    ¡®Can I not get one moment of peace? Just one? Is that really so much to ask?¡¯

    Witch-Hazel looks at the door.

    ¡°It¡¯s probably one of my dumbass neighbors, hold on,¡± I tell her. Need to mentally psych myself up as I approach the door. I tuck my new gun in the back of my pants.

    ¡°Wait!¡± she says, a worried look on her pretty face.

    ¡°What?¡±

    The door suddenly unlocks itself and I feel like gravity has increased on me. I collapse to the ground, hitting my head first.

    Walking through my door like she owns the place, is a tall, older, and slender Black woman. Wearing an all-black outfit of a corset top to highlight her frame, and a gathered skirt to show off her legs. Being on the floor I get a good look at her pristine all-white high-top sneakers that are untied. They look brand new.

    Her left arm is at her side and the right rests on her hip. If I didn¡¯t know magic existed, I¡¯d find it odd that her right arm is translucent chartreuse green. Many rings on both hands. She has copper-brown skin and jet black Bantu knots sit on her head. From what I can see of her face she has high cheekbones, a sharp chin, and ruby red eyes.

    The mysterious woman barely acknowledges me and walks past. The door closes on its own. She approaches Witch-Hazel who¡¯s curled into herself; like a child who¡¯s been caught doing something bad.

    As soon as I can get up, I¡¯m beating this bitch¡¯s ass.

    ????

    Mentor Acacia, it had to be her. Out of all the magicians in IronHenge, she had to be the one to find me?

    ¡®Of course she had to. Her proteg¨¦ sneaks off to the other side of the world, and she¡¯s not going to handle it herself? I wonder if anyone else even knows I¡¯m gone.¡¯

    I knew if I used too much magic they¡¯d find me. I was just really hoping it wouldn¡¯t be from a fight for my life.

    This is what I¡¯ve been dreading since the first day I came out here, and now it¡¯s even worse because of her presence. Anyone else I could¡¯ve maybe persuaded or at least outran. But she¡¯s like a stone wall and she can chase anything or anyone down.

    I quickly glance at Hollyhock to see her struggling to get up.

    ¡°Focus,¡± Acacia says, her voice as strict as always. I divert all my attention to her. ¡°You already know what I¡¯m going to say, yes?¡±

    I nod.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s not waste time, gather your things.¡±

    ¡°No one¡¯s¡­gathering shit,¡± Hollyhock says, strained. The assassin has gotten up to her knees. My mentor looks at her, surprised, somewhat. The spell she used is supposed to completely immobilize a person, but it¡¯s usually for people who are much physically weaker. ¡°Hazel¡­isn¡¯t going¡­anywhere.¡±

    Upon hearing her say my name, she turns back to me.

    ¡°The human knows you?¡± She asks in Latin to disguise our conversation.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I admit.

    ¡°You know the laws about that,¡± she says.

    ??????

    I¡¯ve had enough magic fucking me up for one night, I really have.

    My jacket might as well be made out of lead right now, the gun concealed under it is like a fifty pound weight. Think I might pull a muscle in my neck trying to look at them. Whoever this bitch is, she¡¯s lucky I¡¯ve been fighting all night. Otherwise, I could possibly be standing right now.

    She and Witch-Hazel start speaking in what I think is Latin.

    ¡®Who the fuck speaks Latin anymore?¡¯

    I reach for my gun.

    ????

    Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Hollyhock reaching for her gun. It¡¯s not going to help the situation at all.

    ¡°Am I straining your attention?¡± Acacia asks.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m listening. I just think-¡±

    ¡°What you think, doesn¡¯t matter. The law states that any non-magical human that sees any sign of magic must have their memory wiped.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s more to this than just that,¡± I start to explain ¡°she-¡±

    ¡°Save your excuses. Perhaps, if you hadn¡¯t run away and exposed this human to our ways, she wouldn¡¯t be getting her mind wiped. But that¡¯s the reality we¡¯re living in.¡±

    ??????

    Holding the gun in my hand feels like I¡¯m carrying the entire world. It¡¯s taking everything I got to not have my shoulder dislocate.

    ¡®Just you wait, bitch.¡¯

    The two of them have started arguing it seems. I¡¯m waiting for Witch-Hazel to shoot her with a fireball or something.

    God, this gun is heavy.

    ????

    ¡°Wait!¡± I shout at Mentor Acacia. She gives me a look that could level a mountain.

    ¡°Who do you think you¡¯re yelling at?¡± She seethes.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s just that she has a life here, people depend on her, good people.¡± She doesn¡¯t need to know the whole truth. ¡°Wiping her memory will affect all of that.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care if she¡¯s the president of this godsforsaken country. We don¡¯t get to pick and choose when it¡¯s convenient for us to follow our laws. ¡± Mentor Acacia walks closer to Hollyhock and I get in the way.

    ¡°She gave me a place to stay, took care of me, and she saved my life! That has to count for something!¡±

    ¡°It means she¡¯s a decent person, a rarity for sure in this world, but it changes nothing.¡±

    ??????

    I finally got this damn gun in a horizontal position and then Witch-Hazel gets in the way. I can¡¯t keep it up for long so I let it rest as much as I can.

    ¡®What are they saying?¡¯

    ????

    ¡°Wait, wiping her memory completely is too harsh. Just¡­just wipe the time we¡¯ve been together. You know how long I¡¯ve been gone. I¡¯ve been with her since the day I left. She lived a completely non-magical life before we met. I¡¯m begging you, please.¡±

    Mentor Acacia has no reason to oblige my request, I know she doesn¡¯t.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go back to IronHenge with you with no trouble, and I won¡¯t let anyone find out about this. Just don¡¯t take all her memories, please.¡±

    I¡¯d rather not be in conflict with her, but Hollyhock is worth it.

    Mentor Acacia stares at me, and I don¡¯t know what she¡¯s thinking or what she sees in my eyes.

    ¡°If it¡¯ll get you to come back peacefully, then fine; I¡¯ll only take the time you¡¯ve spent together,¡± she agrees. I sigh in relief.

    ¡®It¡¯s better than everything.¡¯

    ¡°I know it doesn¡¯t matter but can I have a moment to say goodbye?¡±

    Mentor Acacia rolls her eyes and makes a sound of disgust. She walks further into the apartment to give me some semblance of privacy and takes off the immobilization spell on Hollyhock.

    ??????

    The feeling of intense gravity has disappeared. But I¡¯m still drained from the effort.

    Witch-Hazel turns around and kneels so that we¡¯re eye to eye.

    She can barely hold in her tears. Those soft hands cup the back of my head and she pulls me in for a kiss.

    ????

    It¡¯s a frenzied, desperate kiss we share. Those lips I¡¯ve wanted to taste for all these days are finally on mine. I gently put a hand on hers holding the gun. She obliges my wordless request and drops it. I put my hand back on her head and she pulls me closer by my waist.

    ¡®Gods and Goddesses, I want to kiss her forever and ever.¡¯

    ??????

    Her lips are unimaginably soft. It¡¯s almost as if they were made for mine. Despite all the shit I¡¯ve been through the last couple of hours, I feel more serene than I have in years.

    I feel her tears wet my cheeks and the tingling sensation of her magic on the back of my head.

    It¡¯s our first kiss, so why does it feel like a goodbye?

    ????

    I only have but so long to copy Hollyhock¡¯s memories. Of all our time together. My hands light up as I perform the complex spell.

    We both lean deeper into the kiss.

    I want her to remember this, I need her to remember this. To remember my touch, remember me.

    Even though I know she won¡¯t.

    ??????

    Witch-Hazel pulls away from the kiss that left me breathless. She takes my face in her hands and looks at me with those beautiful gray eyes of hers.

    ¡°Goodbye,¡± she whispers. Hazel stands up and backs away, taking her place is the green arm bitch.

    ????

    ¡°I¡¯d say you should thank my proteg¨¦ that I¡¯m not completely wiping your memory. And that it¡¯s a sign of my gratitude for taking care of her, but you won¡¯t remember it anyway,¡± Mentor Acacia says to Hollyhock.

    ¡°What?¡± She replies since that was in Latin. My Mentor rolls her eyes again and groans in disgust. She puts her right hand on Hollyhock¡¯s temple. The assassin tries to fight her off but it¡¯s too late.

    ??????

    Her hand on my head is not a pleasant experience. It feels like tiny explosions all over my skin, and that¡¯s before the pain in my head starts.

    ????

    Hollyhock grits her teeth against the pain of having memories forcibly taken. She yells out in agony and I force myself to look because I brought this upon her.

    When the ordeal is done, she falls over, unconscious.

    ¡°Gather your things and let¡¯s go,¡± Mentor Acacia demands.

    I look at Hollyhock.

    Even though there¡¯s no way for her to know this, I vow to get her memories back to her.

    I promise I will.

    This isn¡¯t goodbye, it¡¯s a see you later.

    I teleport all my belongings out of her apartment, making it look empty and cold once again. Then finally we leave her there on the floor.

    Ch. 20 End

    Volume 1. End

 "Oh God"

    Volume 2: That Which Is Brought To Light.

    ??????

    I¡¯ve woken up to pain before, a regular occurrence in my life, but this is excruciating.

    Every single muscle in my body is screaming in agony as if I ran three marathons. The pain in my head is worse than any I¡¯ve ever felt. Every thought feels muddy yet sharp, foggy yet acidic. Like someone took my brain out, put it in a blender, and poured it back into my head.

    I can¡¯t bear to open my eyes, I don''t think my brain can handle any more information.

    There¡¯s a horrible pain in the center of my chest as if I was hit with a battering ram. And behind that is a worse pain still; my heart aches, it beats like it¡¯s broken.

    Each involuntary pulse sends a trembling pain throughout my torso. It¡¯s like I miss someone or something.

    Or maybe I just survived a heart attack.

    ¡®Do heart attacks make your entire body throb in pain?¡¯

    The only part of me that isn¡¯t hurting are my lips. They¡¯re tingling, tiny fireworks go off all over them.

    I cautiously bring a hand up to touch. There¡¯s nothing on them, nothing that I feel anyway. But the tingling sensation persists.

    ¡®Did I kiss someone?¡¯

    The instant the thought crosses my mind, a tear rolls from my eye. The instant after that a surge of pain spikes in my head. Feels like barbed wire scraping against the inside of my skull. I can¡¯t help but recoil at the pain.

    I have to get up, I have to find out where the hell I am, and what happened to me.

    My eyelids hurt to open, and I¡¯m blinded by the¡­morning light? Coming through my window? I look around quickly.

    ¡°I¡¯m home.¡±

    This is my floor I¡¯m lying on.

    ¡®How did I get here?¡¯

    ¡°Oh God, please tell me I didn¡¯t black out again,¡± I beg no one. ¡°Please, I don¡¯t want this to keep happening.¡±

    ¡®At least I¡¯m somewhere safe.¡¯

    I look down to inspect myself. I definitely wasn¡¯t wearing these clothes before. It¡¯s hard to tell from all the pain I¡¯m in, but my hands and shoulders hurt in a way that comes from shooting guns all night. The smell of gunpowder rises from my hands. Along with something else, it smells like decaying flesh and a flowery scent. Lavender, maybe?

    ¡®What the fuck was I doing?¡¯

    There¡¯s a cut on my pants, there¡¯s dried blood underneath, but no open wound. I tug at my shirt to look at my chest to see a large bruise. It¡¯s bigger than a fist, almost a perfect circle. I can¡¯t think of anything that could cause this damage. Unless I got hit by one of those swinging log trap things.

    ¡®That¡¯d be something.¡¯

    ¡°How did I get home?¡± I ask the air. ¡°What¡¯s the last thing I did?¡±

    That horrible pain surges in my head again. I curl up at the sensation. Holding my head, I feel a bruise on my temple.

    Through the pain, I can only remember doing a job for the DeadNettles. It was easy, I still have to collect my payment. I think. Did I miss it?

    Before anything else, I have to get up. It¡¯s not without some difficulty that I manage to get my arms and legs under me.

    ¡®I¡¯ve never been this sore before.¡¯

    I stand up, unsteady. Maybe my phone can give me some answers. I take it out and to my surprise, it¡¯s not my phone. It looks like one of Tamara¡¯s. The passcode I usually use doesn¡¯t work. I try it again and fail. If this is a Bay Leaf phone, a third failure and the phone will self-destruct, destroying any info I could get from it.

    That¡¯s when I notice the date. It can¡¯t be right. It¡¯s not the next day, it¡¯s the next month.

    A horrible dread pools in the pit of my stomach. There¡¯s no way this can be the real date. Maybe this phone is displaying wrong info, which happens sometimes with all these encryptions. I convince myself that¡¯s correct.

    A series of knocks come from my front door, but whoever it is might as well use a jackhammer on my forehead.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be right there!¡± I answer, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. Then I notice the gun on the floor. It¡¯s a Thistle .22, not a gun I¡¯d usually use. Years of training have me inspect it quickly. It hasn¡¯t been modified the way Bay Leaves typically do. It¡¯s missing one bullet. Seems old too. I tuck it in the back of my pants and trudge over to the door.

    Looking through the peephole, I spy my neighbor standing on the other side. I slightly open the door for her.

    ¡°Hi!¡± she says, her cheeriness immediately annoys me. ¡°I just wanted to return these to you before I forgot again.¡± She offers a set of orange plastic food containers, my containers. I open the door more to accept them.

    ¡®When did I give these to her?¡¯

    The pain in my head surges again. I drop the plastic to hold my head. In my recoiling, I stumble back a bit.

    ¡°Oh, what¡¯s wrong? Migraines? I get those too. Hold on, I have something for those.¡± She goes back to her own apartment. I want to protest, but it¡¯s taking everything I got to stand up.

    My neighbor returns a moment later with a couple of pills and a bottle of water in her hands. She guides me to my couch and offers her medicine.

    I probably shouldn¡¯t accept it. Taking unknown pills from what is basically a stranger is a recipe for disaster. But she, and everyone else in this building, have had background checks done by Digit. There¡¯s nothing to suggest that she¡¯d poison a neighbor.

    And I desperately want the pain in my head to stop.

    I take the pills and the water. She helps herself to closing the shades in the room.

    ¡°Here we go, just lay down and feel better.¡± She gently pushes me down. She¡¯s either noseblind or the most polite person in the world. Because I can smell me, and I don¡¯t smell great.

    ¡®Why am I letting her take care of me?¡¯

    She looks around for a moment, looking for something that she doesn¡¯t find. She shrugs and picks up the containers, puts it on my counter, and leaves my apartment.

    ¡°Take care of yourself,¡± she says, gently closing the door.

    Now that I¡¯m lying down, I don''t want to get back up. Though I can¡¯t remember what, I probably have important shit to do. At the very least, I need to shower.

    I¡¯ll get to it later, after a quick nap. The pain in my body dulls from the medicine, but my head is still in so many forms of pain. It shouldn¡¯t be possible that my head feels like concrete yet not there at all.

    I pointlessly try to relax for a few minutes before the strange phone in my pocket starts to ring. I think I¡¯d prefer it if a rocket launched right next to me.

    I answer the damn device as fast as I can to stop the ringing.

    ¡°What?¡± I ask the caller, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice.

    ¡°Damn, Holly, wake up on the wrong side of the bed?¡± Larkspur¡¯s voice comes through.

    ¡°Not exactly,¡± I answer, looking at the spot where I woke up minutes ago.

    ¡°Listen, Tamara said she has something to announce, and she wants all of us there. You still have the car?¡±

    ¡®The car?¡¯ Thinking about that makes my head hurt again.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be honest with you, Larkspur. I feel like shit in a blender right now. I¡¯m not driving anywhere.¡±

    ¡°You hungover? Hazel¡¯s not looking after you?¡± They ask.

    ¡°Who?¡±

    The pain in my head gets so much worse in an instant. It¡¯s as if someone drove a white-hot metal spike through my skull. I see spots dance before my eyes.

    Every ounce of my willpower comes together to keep me from screaming out in agony.

    ¡°Aight that quick huh? Withdrawn,¡± Larkspur amends. I want to ask what they meant but the pain is drawing tears from me. I wipe them away as they continue, ¡°I¡¯ll come pick you up then. From her tone, Tamara sounds pretty serious.¡±

    I don¡¯t want to get up, but I won¡¯t find answers on the couch.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I reply.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be there in 20.¡± With that Larkspur hangs up. I stare at the phone in my hand. It could answer some questions I have, but I have no way of getting into it.

    Doesn¡¯t matter, I¡¯ll get my answers from Tamara. She¡¯s set my head on straight before, she can do it again.

    With Larkspur on the way I really do have to shower, I can¡¯t go around smelling like the dead. Or whatever I¡¯m reeking of.

    My clothes stick to me as if I¡¯ve been sweating in them all night, which is possible. After I peel them off, I stand in the shower, hoping the water will somehow take the fatigue out of my body.

    It doesn¡¯t.

    As I wash, I discover another bruise on my torso. It¡¯s consistent with other bruises I¡¯ve gotten from bullets stopped by vests and treated jackets. It hurts like it¡¯s still fresh. I must¡¯ve gotten it last night. That bruise, at the very least, is explained. I still have no clue what caused this bruise on my chest.

    No matter how closely I look at where the gash was on my pants, I don¡¯t see evidence of a cut. It¡¯s possible that whatever cut it just missed my skin but I find that unlikely.

    My self-inspection doesn¡¯t uncover any new injuries. I wash thoroughly until I don¡¯t stink anymore and find some fresh clothes. There are more clothes in my hamper than I remember, which results in another headache for me. I ignore the clothes in my drawers I don¡¯t recognize and get dressed quickly. Black jeans and an orange t-shirt.

    I finish drying my hair when Larkspur calls.

    ¡°I¡¯m outside,¡± they declare. I heave a big sigh. The soreness in my body will go away. The bruises will fade in a week or so. But this pain in my head, it feels different, like an open wound on my brain. Each thought threatens to open it further.

    At least if it was a brain hemorrhage I¡¯d be dead already. But I know the signs of one and this isn¡¯t that. I don¡¯t know what this is, but I don¡¯t think it¡¯ll go away easily.

    ¡®I shouldn¡¯t keep Larkspur waiting.¡¯ I put on some boots and head to the street where Larkspur waits in a blue convertible. It¡¯s a slick vehicle that should be driven by a trust fund idiot, or a divorced man going through a midlife crisis.

    ¡°Little conspicuous, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t planning on being stealthy in this. Get your ass in the car.¡±

    I hop in the passenger seat and Larkspur briefly looks around as if expecting someone else. They then shrug and start driving.

    ¡°Where¡¯d you get the whip?¡± I ask. No way Tamara wants this car a part of her fleet.

    ¡°Guy who owned it had an unfortunate accident in his home,¡± they explain. ¡°Real shame, broken neck.¡± Larkspur is the best at making a death look accidental.

    ¡°Hmmm,¡± I respond. Larkspur helped me steal the TV I have in my apartment, but a fancy car seems a bit too much. My head is still pounding. I rest it in the palm of my hand as I lean on the windowsill. I hope the breeze from moving will ease the pain.

    When we stop at a red light Larkspur turns to look me over.

    ¡°I know you said you weren¡¯t feeling well, but you look like elephant shit,¡± they remark. I simply show my middle finger.

    ¡°My head is killing me.¡±

    ¡°You drink too much last night?¡±

    I rub my temple that has a bruise on it.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I answer honestly. Maybe I did get really drunk and get into a gunfight. Doesn¡¯t sound like something I¡¯d do, but it¡¯s certainly an explanation.

    ¡°There are some painkillers in the glove compartment if that helps. Dude was probably addicted to them.¡±

    I shouldn¡¯t mix medicine like that. I don¡¯t want to be throwing up later.

    I shake my head in response.

    Larkspur gently taps my shoulder before driving again.

    ¡°Hope you feel better then.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I idly say.

    The drive to Bay Leaves HQ doesn¡¯t make my headache go away. I still climb the stairs, ignoring the soreness of my legs.

    As we walk in, I notice things are busier than usual. Most of the time we¡¯re only here to pick up certain things, get modifications done, or shoot the shit while doing all three. I¡¯m seeing Bay Leaves I haven¡¯t seen in quite some time. It¡¯s all of us. Whatever Tamara has to say must be serious.

    Larkspur peels off to talk to someone and I work my way into the crowd. I receive and give some greetings, and friendly jabs. I notice Tamara, she¡¯s been looking at me for some time. With a simple cock of her head, she signals she wants me to follow her to her office.

    The dread in my stomach grows a little larger.

    By the time I reach her office, she¡¯s on a phone call. She¡¯s speaking Greek with the person on the other end. Their conversation is happening fast and I only know a little Greek. I catch the words ¡°killed¡± and ¡°two¡± of something. I think she said bullets. Most of my knowledge of other languages revolves around violence and death.

    Tamara ends the call with a phrase. If I had to guess it¡¯s somewhere along the lines of ¡°keep me posted.¡±

    Tamara looks around for a second like someone else should be in the room. Then her eyes focus on me. She looks me up and down, making a quick assessment.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡± She asks.

    It¡¯s a rhetorical question as she¡¯s about to list what¡¯s wrong with me.

    ¡°You look tired, exhausted actually.¡± She gets closer. I keep looking forward as she circles and examines me. Her hand reaches up to move my hair out of the way. She¡¯s quite a bit shorter than me, so she has a better angle to see the bruise I was hiding. She lets my hair go back and walks to her desk again.

    ¡°Exhaustion and bruises can be explained,¡± she says. ¡°¡®Occupational hazards¡¯, I think you call them. But you have that look in your eyes like you¡¯re trying to catch up with the rest of us. So what¡¯s wrong, Hollyhock?¡±

    She leans on her desk, waiting for an answer.

    Tamara taught me how to lie well, and how to detect lies. There¡¯s no point in not telling her the truth.

    Doesn¡¯t mean there isn¡¯t shame though.

    ¡°I¡­think I blacked out again,¡± I admit, hanging my head a bit.

    ¡°Don¡¯t lower your head,¡± she notes. ¡°You¡¯re not a child being scolded by your mother.¡±

    I shrug off the barb and raise my head.

    ¡°Where did you wake up?¡±

    ¡°My place,¡± I answer. Tamara quickly squints when she hears that.

    ¡°What¡¯s the last thing you remember?¡±

    ¡°I did a job for the DeadNettles, taking out a small drug den that popped up on Peach Ave..¡±

    Tamara¡¯s eyes go wide for a second. There is a rare look of concern on her face. The life she has lived makes it hard for things to surprise her. Still, she¡¯s shocked by what I just said.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­the last thing you remember?¡± She confirms.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I answer. I want to think on it harder but my head still hurts, and I don¡¯t want her to see that.

    Tamara, for a moment, is speechless. Her mouth is open, but no words come out. She knits her eyebrows and decides to tell me,

    ¡°Hollyhock, that was over two weeks ago.¡±

    I feel like I¡¯m in a free fall.

    As though the world itself has been suddenly and violently pulled from under my feet.

    The dread pooling in my stomach has taken over my body.

    Cold sweat is running down my neck.

    Each breath I take wants to turn into a gut-wrenching scream.

    I didn¡¯t even notice I¡¯m kneeling on the floor, my legs gave out on me.

    ¡°Two weeks? I blacked out for two weeks?!¡± It¡¯s stupid to ask, she just told me so. But Tamara solemnly nods.

    ¡°It seems so.¡±

    I want to curl up and die. Two weeks. For two weeks I was on autopilot, doing God knows what. I¡¯ve blacked out for hours, a day at most before. But two weeks?

    My arms are the only thing holding me up and they feel like jelly.

    ¡°Get up,¡± Tamara says. With just two words I¡¯m back on solid ground. I don¡¯t want to get up, so she extends a hand to help. ¡°We don¡¯t stop until the job¡¯s done or we¡¯re dead. You got any life left in you?¡±

    That phrase, I¡¯ve always hated it. She¡¯d always say it if I fell during training. If I didn¡¯t get back up, she¡¯d have me run laps around the HQ. What I hate most about it is that it works.

    I take hold of her hand and get up to my feet.

    ¡°Now look, I¡¯ll fill you in on what I know. We¡¯ll see if that triggers anything, alright?¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± I respond.

    She lets go of my hand and walks over to her desk.

    ¡°You did that job for the DeadNettles and they double-crossed you when you came for the payment. They wanted you dead and you did what you were trained to do. Any of that ring a bell?¡±

    I shake my head.

    ¡°No, I just remember doing the job, not getting paid for it. Or not paid for it, I guess? Why¡¯d they try to kill me?¡±

    ¡°They were hiring us a lot lately but now it seems they were just trying to find you. Something¡¯s changed with them; from them trying to kill you, to getting into the organs game.¡±

    ¡°What?!¡± I ask. Tamara frowns briefly but returns to a neutral expression.

    ¡°About a week ago, you discovered that the DeadNettles are getting into the black market organ scheme. They¡¯ve been¡­what¡¯s the word?¡± She searches for a way to say it ¡°setting people up to be arrested so that the bastards in blue can then let them be taken away without anyone noticing. Grim, even for this city. And somewhat beyond their means,¡± Tamara notes.

    ¡°So what have I been doing?¡±

    ¡°I told you to lay low. An impossible ask, it seems, for you. But, you seemed mostly fine.¡±

    ¡°Mostly fine? What does that mean?¡±

    ¡°You were talking and walking around like normal. When you blackout, you shut down. But these past two weeks, you talked to people and were present when they talked to you. That¡¯s why I- we¡­none of us thought anything was wrong,¡± Tamara elaborates. ¡°There was an incident that was worrying. But it¡¯s been taken care of,¡± she then adds.

    ¡°An incident?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to give it to you straight, you blacked out, killed Fye Kuss and twelve other people. I wasn¡¯t there, so I don¡¯t know what set you off but Koki¡¯O brought you back here.¡±

    ¡°¡­I killed thirteen people during a blackout? And you¡¯re just now mentioning this?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve killed during your blackouts before, Hollyhock. No one the world is worse without,¡± she dismisses. ¡°I was going to have Fye Kuss killed anyway, you were just¡­proactive.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re saying that as if killing thirteen people in a fugue state is perfectly normal,¡± I point out. ¡°And that me blacking out and then blacking out again is something I shouldn¡¯t worry about.¡±

    ¡°What do you want me to say, Hollyhock? That I think you¡¯re crazy? That you¡¯re insane and I¡¯m going to have you put down? Is that what you want? The fact is, you did what you did. There¡¯s not a damn thing you can do about it. Fye Kuss was a big information broker but he was also a creep, you killed him, end of story. It¡¯s not important.¡±

    ¡°And what is more important than my mental wellbeing?¡±

    ¡°Dealing with the living. The fact remains that the DeadNettles tried to kill you,¡± she reminds me.

    ¡°Okay. So after the job they tried to kill me, but,¡± I gesture to myself  ¡°they didn¡¯t finish the job. What happened after?¡±

    ¡°You came back here, a little worse for wear, but you made sure none of them walked away. You killed a courier for me, kidnapped and killed another DeadNettle, that¡¯s how you found out about the organ running scheme, the business with Fye, helped Larkspur with something, and that¡¯s all I care to know about. You were doing some unusual things in your spare time, but I can¡¯t say I know too much about it.

    I pace around a bit.

    ¡°Like what?¡±

    ¡°You were going to different places all over town, I don¡¯t have the first idea why. You had some agenda you kept to yourself.

    ¡°Did I meet somebody?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Then what the fuck was I doing?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t say.¡±

    ¡°So you have no idea why I woke up sore, smelling like gunpowder?¡±

    ¡°Up until a few days ago, I¡¯ve been trying to gently find out why the DeadNettles tried to kill you.¡± Tamara picks up her brass knuckles and flexes her fingers over them. ¡°Then I decided I don¡¯t give a shit.¡± She inspects the mechanism that shoots the blades hidden inside.

    ¡°I can¡¯t magically get your memory back, but how does revenge sound?¡±

    I don¡¯t remember being attacked by the DeadNettles. I did think it was odd they were hiring us a lot recently, and Tamara has no reason to fabricate a reason to attack them. But is it still revenge if I can¡¯t remember the act? Then again, if they find out I¡¯m alive they¡¯ll just try it again. It¡¯s always better to act than react.

    ¡°Revenge sounds good,¡± I answer.

    ¡°Trust me, it feels even sweeter.¡±

    In her life, I wonder how many times Tamara has gotten vengeance? She doesn¡¯t seem the type to let sleeping dogs lie. And whatever life she had before must¡¯ve made her some enemies.

    ¡°Come, it¡¯s time for the big reveal.¡± She walks over to the door and holds it open.

    ¡°Reveal for what?¡±

    ¡°The war plan.¡±

    We go back to the other Bay Leaves, it takes less than ten seconds to get everyone focused on Tamara.

    Our leader puts her hands behind her back.

    ¡°As you all know, the DeadNettles have been bold lately. Too bold. Whatever they¡¯re planning doesn¡¯t matter because they decided to attack one of ours.¡±

    All eyes land on me for a moment. The weight of so many assassins¡¯ gazes would make most uncomfortable. Not me though.

    ¡°To attack one of us is to attack all of us. To try and kill one of us, is to try and kill one of us. And what do we do when someone tries to kill us?!¡± Tamara asks.

    ¡°KILL ¡®EM BACK!¡± We all shout back.

    ¡°YOU¡¯RE GODDAMN FUCKING RIGHT!¡± Tamara preaches. ¡°The streets of Oleander City are going to run red with the DeadNettles blood! A strong message of what happens if you fuck with us!¡±

    Koki¡¯O stands up, her energy the polar opposite of Tamara¡¯s. Her usual warmth is completely gone.

    ¡°We¡¯re doing the ¡®Harvest¡¯ strategy,¡± she announces.

    I¡¯ve been a part of the Harvest strategy before. Like most Bay Leaves plans, it¡¯s extremely aggressive and straightforward. It involves knocking over several small time operations at once and waiting for them to congregate after. They will gather together to discuss their next steps, unaware that¡¯s exactly what we want. Get them all in one place, then do what we do best. A key part of it requires an insider, who¡¯ll leave an opening for us. I have to assume that Tamara and Koki¡¯O already have their mole.

    ¡°We have the blueprints for the DeadNettles HQ, we expect all of you to know each nook and cranny before we strike the final blow,¡± Koki¡¯O says while holding up a folded manilla envelope. My head hurts a bit looking at it. ¡°I¡¯ll send out copies later. For now, I¡¯ll assign you all to groups of three and give you targets.¡±

    ¡°No lone wolf shit, stick together and be ready to strike when we give the say-so. We clear?¡± Tamara asks.

    ¡°Clear,¡± we all say back.

    ¡°Finish up whatever you have going on or put it on hold. Dismissed,¡± Tamara ends the gathering. Everyone goes back to whatever it is they were doing. Though the new plan is on my behalf, I don¡¯t feel like hanging around the HQ.

    I head out and get halfway down the stairs before I realize that Larkspur drove me here. These stone steps aren¡¯t exactly made for sitting, but I¡¯ve spent many hours idling on them.

    The sun has come out in full force, trying to bake my already fried brain. I really can¡¯t remember anything from the past two weeks. Any hope that I was getting better has been annihilated.

    ¡°You gonna sit there and mope all day?¡± Larkspur asks from behind me. I turn to see them and Kadupul walking down to meet me. ¡°C¡¯mon let¡¯s go.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m starving,¡± Kadupul declares. ¡°What¡¯re we gonna eat?¡±

    I know what this is; Tamara asked them both to keep an eye on me. She wants to make sure if I blackout again there¡¯s damage control, or someone to put me down. Can¡¯t say I blame her. It¡¯s what I¡¯d do. At least she picked the right people for it, I joined the Bay Leaves at the same time as these two. We¡¯re friendly with each other.

    I¡¯ll go along with the babysitting for now.

    ¡°How about that Mexican place on Oak Blvd?¡± Larkspur suggests. I stand up and head down the stairs with them both. They flank me like bodyguards.

    ¡°That the one with the banging enchiladas?¡± Kadupul asks. ¡°Thought it closed down?¡±

    ¡°Shit, you might be right,¡± Larkspur says. I look Kadupul over, I haven¡¯t seen her in a while.

    She¡¯s exquisitely beautiful, she looks like she should play femme fatales in movies; instead she¡¯s in the shadows here with the rest of us.

    A lean and sleek face, long shiny black hair, and autumn leaf brown skin. A pair of honey brown eyes are her most dangerous weapon. I¡¯m not one known to miss a shot, but Kadupul has freakish accuracy.

    She can put a bullet between someone¡¯s eyes while they¡¯re in the backseat of a moving car from a mile away; which would sound like an exaggeration if I hadn¡¯t seen her do it. She takes ¡°impossible shot¡± as a challenge. She doesn¡¯t work out as much as me, not needed much for her skill set, but she¡¯s not exactly a twig.

    She takes a spliff out from her pocket and lights it, taking a long pull. There are large diagonal scars that take a gap out of her lips and some of her right nostril. She¡¯s had the scars for as long as I¡¯ve known her. When I asked her what she got it from she said it was from barbed wire. I¡¯ve seen barbed wire scars before, they aren¡¯t that straight or deep. But if that¡¯s what she says they are, then that¡¯s what they are.

    ¡°What¡¯re you looking at?¡± She asks, exhaling a cloud of smoke and sighing with relief. A pungent and unfamiliar scent fills the air, it¡¯s a different blend from what she usually smokes.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± I answer, ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you in a while, forgot how pretty you are.¡±

    ¡°We saw each other like four days ago,¡± she replies. The look in her eyes tells me that Larkspur is staring daggers at her over my shoulder. ¡°Oh sorry, Tamara told us you blacked out again.¡± True to her nature she¡¯s a straight shooter.

    Larkspur groans in disappointment. My head hurts for a moment. The-casual-friends-hanging-out angle lasted for about a minute.

    ¡°Anyway, you¡¯re not too bad yourself, hot stuff,¡± she adds with a smile.

    These are empty flirtations we trade with each other. They¡¯ve never gone past somewhat saucy compliments. It¡¯s weird; Kadupul is attractive, but I don¡¯t think I want to have sex with her. The very idea is kinda weird to me. Whether she senses that from me and feels similarly I can¡¯t say.

    ¡°Guess I¡¯m chopped liver over here,¡± Larkspur comments.

    ¡°Of course you look good, Lark,¡± I offer. Their hair has grown out from a Caesar since I last saw them, which certainly supports the whole ¡®blacked out for two weeks¡¯ thing. They have a scar on their jawline, got it from a knife. A kinda feline face looks at me with what I can only guess is concern before looking away.

    Kadupul passes me the spliff,

    ¡°Wanna hit?¡± She blows smoke from the space of her scars. The offer is tempting, might ease the pain in my head. But I decline, Larkspur takes it from me and pulls.

    ¡°Nah, my head is fucked up as it is. ¡®Sides, last time I smoked with you we ended up breaking into that donut place to eat those cinnamon donuts you love.¡±

    Kadupul lets out a laugh that sounds like a lawnmower starting up.

    ¡°I forgot about that, those things taste better when they¡¯re stale.¡±

    ¡°Disagree,¡± Larkspur says, blowing the smoke away from me. ¡°What is this shit? It burns.¡± They pass it back to Kadupul. She laughs again.

    ¡°I don¡¯t even know, it¡¯s new.¡±

    Larkspur groans as we get into the convertible. Kadupul gets in the back and lies across the seats, putting her feet up on the windowsill.

    ¡°We didn¡¯t pick a place to eat,¡± I remind them both.

    ¡°What do you wanna eat?¡± Larkspur asks. I don¡¯t have an appetite right now, but I should eat something.

    ¡°Chinese,¡± I pick at random. ¡°Some wontons should be good.¡±

    ¡°Could go for some lo mein,¡± Kadupul says from the backseat. She offers the spliff to Larkspur.

    ¡°I¡¯m good, and don¡¯t get any ash on the leather.¡±

    ¡°Yeah yeah.¡±

    The rest of the day goes by in a blur, or maybe I¡¯m just not paying attention. My head still hurts even after getting something to eat. Larkspur and Kadupul come back to my place. I zone out as I watch whatever it is that they want. Larkspur puts on a sci-fi show about a bounty hunter or something. After that we watch some isekai anime at Kadupul¡¯s insistence. Then a vampire movie but I can¡¯t concentrate on it.

    The hours seem to fly by, it¡¯s late before I know it. Their assignment from Tamara probably involves an overnight observation. Which would explain why they haven¡¯t left yet.

    ¡°You guys can fight over who gets the bed,¡± I say. ¡°But lemme get a pillow for the couch.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Too scared to sleep with your fellow Bay Leaves?¡± Kapudul proposes.

    ¡°Phrasing,¡± I counter.

    ¡°We¡¯re not letting you sleep on the couch in your place, Hollyhock,¡± Larkspur states as a matter of fact.

    ¡°We can share the bed, just like when we were younger,¡± Kadupul recalls. After a job years ago, the three of us laid low in a motel and at her suggestion shared the only bed.

    It reminds me of what an anomaly she is in the Bay Leaves. Most of us are orphans with no family to speak of. But not only are her parents alive, she knows and has a relationship with them. They live somewhere in India, and they¡¯re career criminals too. I¡¯ve been led to believe that she has siblings too.

    Her casually suggesting we all sleep in the same bed, definitely really reinforces the siblings theory.

    Larkspur doesn¡¯t have any objections. Then again they might still be stoned from earlier. I¡¯d rather sleep in my bed as well.

    I relent.

    Larkspur takes the spot next to the wall, they always sleep putting their hands behind their head. Kapudul lies next to the edge, she crosses her arms across her chest and puts a leg on top of the other. How she can sleep like that is beyond that. Leaving me in the middle. I can¡¯t curl up like I usually do. But the warmth of their bodies is¡­a welcome comfort in my bed.

    My pillow smells strange. There¡¯s the smell of my shampoo and something else; it¡¯s flowery and there¡¯s an even stranger scent. Like rain after a heatwave. Tears come to my eyes for some reason.

    I wipe them away and will myself to sleep.

    I usually don¡¯t dream, but I¡¯m definitely in one right now.

    There¡¯s a silhouette of a person; a woman, I think, with really long hair. She¡¯s setting a fire around us but it¡¯s not hot.

    Her blank face stares at me.

    I don¡¯t say anything to her, she doesn¡¯t say anything to me.

    Ch 21. End

 "I Swear"

    ????

    I look at Hollyhock on the ground. This is the best outcome and it still hurts to see. She just risked her life fighting for me and this is the reward she gets, unconscious on her floor, bound to wake up in immense pain and profound confusion.

    This is the price I have to pay for involving her in my world.

    She almost looks peaceful.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Mentor Acacia says.

    I feel my heart shatter, the pieces land here in the home of the woman I love. I swallow the lump of emotions forming in my throat.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I manage to get out. Mentor Acacia teleports us to the street, and from there she locates a ley line. Even in the world of magic, traveling by ley line is a strange sensation; it¡¯s as if your body, your entire being melts. Every molecule separates and joins with the magical veins that flow all over this planet. Becoming one with everything, yet being nothing at the same time.

    Your mind reduces to only your location, where you¡¯re headed, nothing else. You can¡¯t feel anything in a ley line, besides the bits of magic from all living things, like the blood cells of a giant creature.

    Without sensing the passing of time, we travel to the other side of the planet. We reform just outside of IronHenge. It was past midnight in Oleander City, so it¡¯s well into the afternoon here.

    Our Arcanium is nestled in a valley in the Altai Mountains, a divide between the western and eastern steppes that overall make up the Eurasian Steppes.

    Access to fresh water and tucked away from the eyes of modern civilizations, it¡¯s a place of great natural beauty. Perfect for hiding a magical city.

    To a regular eye, one would see an open expanse of grassland and the mountains behind it. But I can see the slight warping around the air where the camouflage hides IronHenge. Similar to seeing heat rise but stuck in a distinct semicircle.

    My things are already here, waiting to be carried back home¡­this is my home after all. Where I should be.

    Normally there would be sorcerers on guard, watching from the other side of the invisible wall. Perhaps Mentor Acacia used her considerable influence to get them to turn a blind eye for a time, or maybe she knew the guards'' patrol shifts. It doesn¡¯t matter either way I suppose, as long as no one sees the great Acacia has let her apprentice slip away from the Arcanium.

    With a wave of her hand, a section of the wall that has guarded this place for millennia opens up.

    Given its size, one can see most of the Arcanium from any hill.

    IronHenge is a city of multifarious design. When it was being developed, magicians from all over the world brought their cultural backgrounds into their buildings. With the help of spatial magic, we haven¡¯t needed to build up as modern cities do. Then again, there aren¡¯t millions of us living here.

    It¡¯s a stark difference to Oleander City, glass and steel no longer dominate the horizon. The earth breathes underneath our feet without miles and miles of concrete and asphalt to suffocate it. The air is pristine, and the weather is controlled.

    When I first left IronHenge, I wondered how long it would take me to get homesick; now I can¡¯t stop thinking about the woman I left on the other side of the globe.

    We walk along, my things get teleported back to my place with a snap of my fingers.

    I should feel some ease being back here, but it¡¯s all I can do to keep the dread pooling in my stomach from consuming me.

    My mentor, on the other hand, is relieved. She takes a deep breath in as if the air in Oleander was toxic gas.

    I half expect a lecture from her, but I know better.

    ¡°Breathe a word of this to no one,¡± she simply says. As Mentor Acacia turns to face me, the afternoon sun gets caught on her high cheekbones. She stares at me with those ruby-red eyes; in all her decades they''ve said more than I ever could.

    ¡°I told your peers you¡¯ve occupied yourself with your studies; I suggest that you go along with that. Rest, you have lessons tomorrow.¡±

    No doubt she found me because of how much magic I used, similar to how I found the necromancer. I used a large amount, so a rest would be best. Whether this is a mercy on her part, or to show she wants my very best.

    Either way, she goes off in her own direction, certain I won¡¯t try leaving.

    I start walking home, not in the mood for teleporting.

    The streets of IronHenge aren¡¯t particularly busy at this time of day, and few people see me. If they can detect how downtrodden I am or notice my disheveled appearance, no one says anything about it.

    These roads that are so familiar to me, the people that I¡¯ve known all my life, the sights, sounds, and smells; they should provide some comfort. But as I walk back I dig my nails into my palms. This pain is what I deserve for what happened to Hollyhock.

    And it¡¯s all I can do to keep myself from bursting out into tears as I trod along. I feel the cracks in my heart getting wider the further I walk away from her.

    Without actually paying attention I somehow made it home. Before I get to the door it opens and Azalea walks out. A wizard I¡¯ve known for as long as I''ve lived here. She¡¯s constantly late for something and rushing everywhere. I get a glimpse into her house before she closes the door. She nods at me in greeting before rushing off to whatever it is she has to do.

    Homes in IronHenge react to the unique magical signature of a person. Azalea and I share the same building but have completely different homes when we open the door.

    I grab the knob and enter my home.

    It¡¯s just as I left it. Signs of my current studies are all over the place, open tomes, and bookmarked texts on various afflictions and their treatments. The hardwood floors are illuminated by the round windows, letting in the sunlight when my dark mood doesn¡¯t appreciate it.

    My plants are still alive, thanks to the wards I left in place. I did miss them. I missed the way the wood slightly buckled under my weight, though it sounds a bit creakier than I remember.

    I missed this place¡­I just wish I could¡¯ve shown it to Hollyhock.

    I look at my bed, my pillows and covers call out to me to get some rest. I should sleep, I can¡¯t feel anything other than the anguish twisting in my chest, but I¡¯m sure my body is exhausted.

    But more than that I stink.

    I need a bath and it¡¯s probably the only thing in the world that could make me feel better.

    I change out of my stinking clothes, too exasperated to put them in the hamper.

    It¡¯s only then that I realize I still have Hollyhocks boots on. They still have the signs of the fight, but they¡¯re still good. I take them off and slide them under my bed for safekeeping.

    Slipping a simple orange linen dress over my head, that fits a bit snugger than it should, I grab some towels and my basket of hygiene things. Some homes in IronHenge, mine included, have private bathrooms. But I grew up using communal bathhouses, there¡¯s something about them I prefer more than the bathing in my home. Unless I have company over.

    But I¡¯m¡­painfully alone right now. So I head up the road, it¡¯s a short walk.

    Bathhouses are some of the largest buildings in IrongHenge, this one ¡°The Elephants Ears¡± happens to be the biggest. It¡¯s fairly popular, but that doesn¡¯t factor into why it¡¯s my favorite one.

    As soon as I step in, the familiar warmth embraces me, and the smell of cleaning sundries meets my nose. Stepping into the atrium where the largest baths are, I gaze up at the dome ceiling. At the center is a huge skylight with a kaleidoscopic effect on it to sprinkle a myriad of colors on the waters. Like the roads outside, there aren¡¯t very many people here. Most bathe in the morning or evening. A few of the people that tend the waters and the various services here mill about. There is a small group of elderly people sitting in tepid water, chatting about something.

    Magic, the more it is used, can have certain age-defying effects on the body. Then some spells directly slow the aging process. Magicians with low magical capabilities forego such spells, as it requires a near-constant flow of magic. And there are those that may or may not have the magical depth for it but choose to refrain. Whatever their reasons are their own. One could ask a witch to cast the spell on them, but to put the spell on someone else takes a great deal of magical energy.

    In any instance, they sit and enjoy each other¡¯s company and life, I suppose; while aging with grace.

    In the time I spent in Hollyhock¡¯s world, I often saw and heard how afraid of aging non-magical people are. From what I¡¯ve seen of how their world works, I can¡¯t exactly blame them. I have no right to either. Here, a person doesn¡¯t have to earn a living. Homes are given freely, there¡¯s always enough food; and IronHenge, out of all the Arcaniums, is the most secure. The same cannot be said for the rest of the world.

    The elderly group pause their chat to greet me, some asking each other if I¡¯d been here in some time. I nod politely back at them, not in the mood to talk.

    I head to the back, undress, and shower off the sweat, blood, and dried bits of viscera that decided to be an unpleasant souvenir. I half expected to discover small bruises or cuts but there are none.

    Cleaner than I was before, I go to my favorite pool. The water is hot, even by magical beings'' standards. I¡¯m not sure why they even have it, I¡¯ve hardly ever seen anyone sit in it for more than a second. Maybe they made it just for me.

    The water cradles me up to my shoulders as I dip down. This particular pool has a natural rock formation instead of a tiled bench. The heat of the water enveloping me reminds me of the fire I let consume me earlier. The rage I let take over. Thinking about it makes me tense up. I dig my nails in my arms remembering why I got so fucking angry; for Hollyhock. Seeing her lying there, about to die for me.

    My nails break the skin but I don¡¯t care.

    Then I think about how I left her in her apartment, powerless to do anything to help. Tears well up in my eyes at the still fresh image in my mind of her screaming in pain. I can¡¯t even imagine what she must have thought of me at that moment. Beyond the pain and confusion, what did she think of me standing there; just watching her?

    Some people come in, peeking up from my sorrow, and realize I know them. I¡¯d really rather not talk to anyone right now. I sink further down into the water as my tears become too much to hold back. My hands unclench and move to hold my shoulders while I cry, my tears immediately mixing with the bath.

    There isn¡¯t anything in the world I wouldn¡¯t give to be held by Hollyhock right now. Not that I¡¯ve earned such a blessing. My trembling hands make a poor substitute for the assassin¡¯s strong, steadfast ones. But they¡¯re all I have for now. I curl up and let out a scream as grief breaks my heart more and more with each passing second.

    Not a soul hears me. No one to comfort me while I drown in this agony I brought upon myself. I could just let the water fill my lungs to douse the inferno burning inside me. End this horrible day more peacefully than it began.

    But that won¡¯t make things right. It won¡¯t fix things and it won¡¯t get me answers.

    The need for that is greater than any self-pity that threatens to devour my soul.

    It has to be.

    I finally come up for air.

    There¡¯s work to be done.

    I finish bathing and head home. If people say hello to me on the way, I don¡¯t notice.

    With no time to stop, I quickly unpack all my things and start selecting tomes to research from. I pause briefly at the sight of the stone I used to detect the necromancer, but let it stay by itself in a trunk.

    Anything that contains information on cerebral magic, cognitive functioning, neural pathways, and especially any magic that is memory-related gets laid out on my desk. I have a mostly tangential collection of texts of what I need, but it¡¯ll do for now.

    I copied Hollyhocks memories, the time we spent together, but I¡¯ve never seriously studied the brain in relation to magic. What I did was like a magical snapshot of her brain and what Mentor Acacia did was like altering a photo; blacking out certain parts.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    This form of magic isn¡¯t often needed in witchery, it¡¯s curious that Acacia knew how to do it. The Copper Cloves are the main authority on such things. Due to the nature of their work, they are an opaque organization, steeped in secrecy. It¡¯s unlikely they¡¯ll share the finer details of memory magic with me.

    Even if I understood this magic better, it needs direct contact with the person in question. Which is a problem since I¡¯m over 6,000 miles away from Oleander City.

    I start writing down notes on anything I find useful along with a rudimentary list of texts I¡¯ll need to research later. The hours slip away as I delve into my readings.

    A disturbing fact I learned about the memory spell is that one affected by it will experience immense pain when they try to think about what they¡¯ve lost. This negative reinforcement curtails any further probing. Here, we all know about the spell and willingly submit to it. But it¡¯s only for one thing and we know not to think about it. Hollyhock won¡¯t know about it, she won¡¯t know about magic at all. She¡¯s going to wonder what she forgot and she¡¯ll be in pain each time.

    Just as I¡¯m about to exhaust the last tome I have, I hear a knock at the door.

    Snapping out of my research haze I go to answer it. Who else should I see on the other side than my friend Barlow? He has a wide, bright smile for me that I¡¯m in no mood for.

    He, as a living being, couldn¡¯t be more handsome. His skin is so dark he almost looks purple in certain lights. With facial features that seemed to be carved from obsidian and bubblegum pink hair; his is a bright soul that shines through any darkness that hangs over me.

    I¡¯d rather be miserable, the idea of me being cheered up while Hollyhock is hurt and confused sends needles into my spine. Then again, it¡¯d be easier to lasso the moon than stop Barlow from brightening up someone¡¯s day. Even this late at night.

    ¡°HAZEL! It¡¯s been so long!¡± He exclaims while coming in for a hug. It¡¯s a brief one as he pulls back and looks deep into my eyes.

    He¡¯s wearing a deep blue dress, not at all traditional given its asymmetrical design and slim fit. There are scenes of nature depicted on it. A deer sipping from a lake, a phoenix in flight over a grassland, a guliti fish swimming in a river, and various other things. The garment is enchanted so the embroidery moves. The deer looks up suddenly as the phoenix flies over its head. The fish swims and avoids rocks along the way. And though I can barely see them because of the dress¡¯s length, he wears his favorite pair of sneakers. They¡¯re jet black with gold leaves that decorate them and pulse with light. The interval at which they pulse is linked to his heartbeat, I suspect.

    His eyes are gold like a polished coin, they shimmer as he examines me.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± He asks. I turn to walk back to my tomes.

    ¡°Quite a bit,¡± I answer. Invited in, he steps inside and looks around. Without even looking at him I can sense the gears working in his head.

    ¡°Your mentor said you¡¯ve been studying rigorously.¡± He looks at my desk, the many open tomes support that claim. Then he notices the crates I unpacked my things from. ¡°But something tells me there¡¯s more to the story than that.¡±

    I close one of my texts and briefly look at my notes. I¡¯ll need much more research material.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡± He asks in a way that¡¯s far less rude than the question suggests. I look him over.

    There¡¯s no point in lying to him, even if he didn¡¯t know me from years of friendship, he¡¯s a Seer, and a very good one; for his age. Seers can gaze through others'' intentions, knowing the objective truth. More powerful Seers can see past events that occurred and even certain future ones. The magic behind that isn¡¯t something I¡¯m deeply familiar with, but I know it has something to do with detecting large amounts of magical energy.

    I motion for him to sit and he obliges, sitting on the edge of my bed. I scratch my head as I think about the best way to tell the story.

    Perhaps as an influence from my time with Hollyhock, I check the windows and around the rooms to see if there¡¯s any possible way someone could be listening in. Barlow looks at me quizzically the whole time.

    When I¡¯m satisfied I sit back in my chair.

    ¡°Girl, what is the problem?¡± He asks once more.

    ¡°What I¡¯m about to tell you, you can¡¯t share with anyone, got it?¡±

    ¡°Who would I tell?¡±

    ¡°You could tell Hellebore,¡± I suggest. He was hot and heavy with him last I heard. Barlow dismisses the thought with a wave.

    ¡°That¡¯s over with, he couldn¡¯t handle my ¡°Seerness,¡± he says with air quotes. ¡°So what is it?¡±

    I have missed Barlow too. He¡¯s seen me through dark times, back when my life was¡­simpler. When my world was just IronHenge, now it¡¯s much bigger and far more complex. If I tell him, I¡¯ll be bringing him into this world too.

    Hollyhock, amazing as she was¡­is, didn¡¯t do it alone. She has a support system, and people she can depend on. And something tells me I¡¯ll need one as well.

    I look Barlow in his eyes again. I may not be a Seer, but I need his truth desperately.

    ¡°Can I trust you?¡± I ask.

    Barlow likes to experiment with lots of different styles. One day he¡¯ll be dressed in a Baroque art deco suit, the next a South American-inspired outfit. He¡¯ll bounce around with hairstyles and colors on a whim. But he always has on his gold jewelry. His wide plate ear cuffs that track the stars, and a lip cuff. It has no magic in it, but it still looks nice.

    He takes them off and holds them in his right hand. This is his way of showing a promise.

    ¡°You can trust me, Hazel.¡±

    I let out a deep breath.

    ¡°I left IronHenge,¡± I start off. His jaw drops in sheer disbelief.

    ¡°YOU-¡± he adjusts his volume ¡°you did?!¡±

    I nod.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?!¡±

    ¡°You were with Hellebore at the time, I didn¡¯t want to shake things up. Besides, I didn''t think I¡¯d be gone so long.¡±

    ¡°Where did you go? Please tell me you went to Moscow!¡±

    I shake my head.

    ¡°Moscow? No, I picked a place at random. I wound up in a place called Oleander City.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m guessing things didn¡¯t turn out great from your haunted face.¡±

    ¡°No, no it didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Tell me everything, don¡¯t leave a detail out.¡±

    I start telling him the whole story. From meeting Hollyhock, finding out what she does, exploring her city, discovering the reanimated man walking around, uncovering an organ stealing scheme, unveiling a threat to IronHenge by way of a necromancer¡¯s army of the undead, fighting said army with Hollyhock.

    Watching Barlow¡¯s expressions change during my story cheers me up somewhat.

    I end the story with Mentor Acacia coming to get me.

    ¡°And¡­here I am again,¡± I finish. Barlow runs his hand over his hair. He stares off into the distance to process what I¡¯ve told him.

    ¡°Seed of Sobek.¡± He rubs his jaw and puts his jewelry back on. ¡°I mean, damn girl!¡±

    I can only nod in agreement at the situation.

    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s weigh the matter.¡± He holds out both his hands. ¡°You left the Arcanium without permission, made contact with a non-magical human, and told them about magic. That¡¯s not good.¡± He lowers his left hand and raises the right. ¡°You uncovered a plot to attack IronHenge and stopped it. That¡¯s good.¡± He lowers the right hand. ¡°But you have no proof of that. Not good.¡± He makes the necessary adjustment.

    ¡°You pissed off Acacia, one of the most respected figures in IronHenge. Bad, very bad. But she also didn¡¯t tell anyone about it.¡± He closes his hands. ¡°Ambiguous. I¡¯m not sure what to think about that. It¡¯s definitely not good, her keeping a secret like that. But at least you won¡¯t get in trouble with the council. That¡¯s something.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not something I¡¯d need right now.¡±

    ¡°Then we also have the fact that as a result of meeting you, Hollyhock¡¯s life might very well be ruined.¡±

    ¡°I feel terrible enough about it, you didn¡¯t have to say it like that.¡±

    Barlow puts his hands up.

    ¡°I¡¯m just stating the facts as they are. Sorry.¡±

    We sit in silence for a while.

    ¡°Sounds like you really care for her,¡± Barlow says. I bite my lip and nod. It felt strange to tell him about Hollyhock''s mental issues, it¡¯s not something I should share but it¡¯s relevant to the situation.

    ¡°I do. And I just fucked up her life and left.¡±

    ¡°If there¡¯s one thing I know about you Hazel, it¡¯s that you don¡¯t just leave things. You¡¯ll make it right if it¡¯s the last thing you do.¡±

    ¡°Thanks.¡± I wish I could fully believe him. He picks up on the shred of doubt.

    ¡°I¡¯m serious. Look at what you¡¯ve already done by yourself.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t by myself, Holly was with me.¡±

    ¡°I meant magic-wise, but okay.¡± Barlow leans back into my bed. ¡°She must be something else. For you to be singing her praises like this.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s more than something. She¡¯s¡­¡± I can¡¯t find the words that¡¯ll do her justice. He throws up his hands.

    ¡°You¡¯re no Soothsayer, but I get what you¡¯re trying to say. We have to help her so what¡¯re we going to do?¡±

    ¡°We?¡±

    ¡°Oh come on, you tell me a heart wrenching story like that and expect me to say you¡¯re on your own? You couldn¡¯t stop me from helping you!¡±

    I crack a smile.

    ¡°Thanks, Barlow. What would I do without you?¡±

    ¡°Probably go insane and end up as a warning tale for young ones.¡±

    ¡°You might be right there. The way I see it, this is a two-pronged issue; I may have stopped that necromancer, but I couldn¡¯t find out why they wanted to attack IronHenge.¡± Barlow shrugs.

    ¡°Why does it matter?¡±

    ¡°They made an army. Someone doesn¡¯t just do that because of a minor issue. Who¡¯s to say that it won¡¯t cause someone else to do the same? If I don¡¯t figure out what made them so angry, something like this could happen again.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a good point. It¡¯s odd that no sorcerers were investigating.¡±

    ¡°The necromancer was careful, living in a large city and not causing enough trouble to alert the Arcaniums. Still, I think someone should¡¯ve noticed a magician missing, especially one that powerful.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s also true. Okay, so we need to do some digging around, but I think that¡¯s a problem that can wait a bit. Every day you can¡¯t give Hollyhocks memories back is potentially a mental health bomb.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s already deeply concerned about losing her mind. Not being able to remember more than two weeks is not going to do her any favors. The sooner I can get back to her, the better.¡±

    ¡°But Acacia is definitely going to keep a close eye on you. She¡¯s not exactly going to let you just let you leave again.¡±

    ¡°She didn¡¯t report me, she must have a reason for it. Not that she¡¯ll share it with me.¡±

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s because you¡¯re her favorite student ever and she¡¯ll let you have one misadventure.¡± I scoff.

    ¡°I¡¯m her pride and joy, can¡¯t have me traipsing around the globe, mixing with all the little people,¡± I counter. The disconnect between Mentor Acacia coming to get me and not turning me in is very curious. Perhaps there¡¯s something there that I can use as leverage or maybe I shouldn¡¯t push my luck with it.

    I don¡¯t like this; there¡¯s something I¡¯m not seeing. Something happening just behind me, but I can¡¯t turn my head to look. Not yet at least. It bothers me, but I¡¯ll just let it be for now.

    ¡°If, and that¡¯s a big if, there¡¯s some sort of conspiracy; it¡¯ll be better if we don¡¯t make any noise about it yet,¡± I put forward. ¡°We need some proof of¡­something. Whether it¡¯s about whatever pissed the necromancer off, or why Mentor Acacia didn¡¯t turn me in. One of those things, and we can get some momentum into the other. Maybe.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t going to be easy, is it?¡±

    ¡°Hollyhock made it seem easier to be honest. But she did kidnap, threaten, and kill a guy.¡±

    Barlow nods.

    ¡°And this is the woman you need to help?¡±

    ¡°She fought for me when she had no reason to. Our world, our Arcaniums meant nothing to her, she still risked her life. She-¡±

    ¡°I was joking. Gods and Goddesses, you are smitten.¡±

    ¡°I just¡­she¡¯s already been through a lot. The thought I¡¯d destroy her whole life while I get to go on just¡­makes me disgusted with myself.¡± Before I start crying again, Barlow lays a hand on my shoulder.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll get you to her,¡± he says, giving a comforting squeeze. He looks out the window. ¡°It¡¯s late. Get some sleep, we¡¯ll work on this tomorrow.¡±

    I squeeze his hand back in agreement. Barlow walks to the door but lingers there for a moment.

    ¡°Floribunda would love that you¡¯re still willing to do the right thing,¡± he says. The comment is left hanging in the air for a moment, then he leaves.

    Floribunda.

    I haven¡¯t heard that name said aloud in a long time. Feels like I¡¯m the only one who still remembers her some days.

    Her death hangs heavy on my mind now. Another life ended because of me.

    I won¡¯t let Hollyhock be added to the list of deaths caused by my arrogance.

    It¡¯s years too late for me to do anything for Floribunda, but I can still help Holly.

    They both deserve better.

    I rub my eyes, unsure of how I¡¯m still awake. Won¡¯t be able to find out the truth and set everything right if I collapse.

    I lie in my bed. It¡¯s familiar, and soft, but conspicuously cold by myself.

    With how much magic I had just used, I know I should be exhausted; but I¡¯m not.

    Nothing¡¯s the way it should be. I don¡¯t even know myself as well as I thought I did.

    I have an inordinate amount of questions and not nearly enough answers.

    But I¡¯ll make sense of all this. I have to.

    Minutes tick away as I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. It¡¯s a slowly moving map of the stars, they provide neither answers nor comfort to me.

    I reach over the side and grab the boots I took with me. They¡¯re covered in filth from our fight, nicked and scuffed in places, but they¡¯re still strong and can protect what¡¯s important; just like Holly. The covered-in-filth part doesn¡¯t sound that nice when I think about it but the point is these boots are all I have of her to keep. I probably shouldn¡¯t have them on top of my clean dress but I don¡¯t care. I hug the boots close to my chest and imagine they¡¯re Hollyhock. They lack her warmth but strangely do give a modicum of comfort.

    I close my eyes but open my mouth.

    ¡°I swear, Hollyhock.¡± I hug her boots tighter. ¡°I¡¯ll fix this, I¡¯ll get your memories back.¡±

    There¡¯s no way for her to hear this vow, it might be a sad attempt to make myself feel better, but I need her to know this; somehow, some way I need her to know I won¡¯t stop.

    ¡°I swear I¡¯ll get back to you, so please hold on. If not for me, then for yourself. You deserve that much. Please hold on.¡±

    I repeat the promise to myself and to her again and again. Instead of the woman I love, sleep finds me somewhere in the night. I drift off but solidify in my mind what I¡¯ll have to do.

    Find out why the necromancer wanted to attack IronHenge, why Mentor Acacia didn¡¯t turn me in, and get back to Hollyhock to restore her memories.

    Even if I have to burn this Arcanium down to do it.

    Ch. 22 End

 "Between Us"

    ??????

    I wake up at the same time as Larkspur, but Kapudul is already awake. She¡¯s scrolling on her phone and spins her lighter in her other hand.

    ¡°It¡¯s really hard to masturbate in a bed with two other people,¡± she posits first thing in the morning.

    ¡°You ain¡¯t flickin¡¯ the bean in my bed,'''' I say as I sit up. I don¡¯t know if she¡¯s joking or not.

    ¡°And what if I already did? What¡¯re you gonna do?¡±

    ¡°Might set you on fire.¡±

    ¡°Can you two shut the fuck up?¡± Larkspur interjects. They might wake up at the same time as me, but they always ask for five more minutes of sleep.

    ¡°No one tells me to shut the fuck up in my own bed.¡±

    ¡°Not even as dirty talk?¡± Kapudul ponders.

    ¡°How is that dirty talk?¡± I counter. She chuckles.

    ¡°You have a lot to learn, young one.¡± I groan, not dignifying that with a proper response. She takes a spliff out of her pocket. ¡°Can I smoke this in here?¡±

    ¡°So I can get a contact high every time I lay my sweet head? I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    Larkspur shoots up.

    ¡°I will murder both of you and even Tamara won¡¯t be able to find the bodies.¡±

    ¡°Someone¡¯s crabby,¡± I nip back. ¡°I¡¯m gonna take a shower.¡± I climb over Larkspur and grab a towel.

    ¡°You¡¯re showering without me?¡± Kapudul prods.

    I present my middle finger which gets a laugh from her.

    I¡¯m not as sore as I was yesterday. I stretch, letting the hot water relieve some of the tightness. I know that my body will recover; fatigue, soreness, bruises, and cuts all fade with time. But this pain in my head, I feel like it¡¯s something else. I sense that it¡¯s not just a regular headache, the way it sharply occurs and dissipates almost feels like it¡¯s attacking me.

    I should get it looked at with an MRI or CT scan, I¡¯ve never been sure what the difference is between those two.

    Then again who has time for all that?

    I finish showering and get dressed.

    ¡°Y¡¯all can take a shower if you want,¡± I say to both of them. They start playing rock paper scissors for who gets to go first. While that¡¯s going on I walk into my living room. I look at the spot where I woke up from my two-week-long blackout.

    It¡¯s surreal to think about.

    I try to pick some clues from my surroundings. There are imprints in the carpet from something heavy and rectangular being there. The lines don¡¯t match any cases I have to store weapons, so it¡¯s from something else. If I had to guess I¡¯d say they belong to a trunk of some kind. Question is, whose trunks were they?

    The clothes I don¡¯t recognize in my drawers let me know I went shopping during the blackout. They aren¡¯t exactly my style, but who knows what I was thinking then?

    I could go wherever I bought them, and see if I could gain any info that way. But a minimum wage employee probably wouldn¡¯t care enough if I didn¡¯t do anything crazy, which I don¡¯t believe I did. I probably paid with cash too.

    That¡¯s a dead end.

    Kapudal walks up next to me.

    ¡°Doing a little detective work?¡± She accurately guesses. Her joint rests between her lips, unlit.

    ¡°Trying to,¡± I answer back.

    ¡°It¡¯s not every day that you have to solve a mystery about yourself,¡± she notes. On instinct, she grabs her lighter and moves it to light up, but stops when she sees the look I give her. ¡°What¡¯ve you got so far?¡±

    ¡°These imprints on the carpet. Whatever was here was there for a while.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not our weapon cases,¡± she notices as well. ¡°Might be a regular trunk, an old one though.¡±

    ¡°What makes you say that?¡±

    She shoos her finger at the impressions.

    ¡°They don''t make luggage like this anymore. Or it¡¯s really fancy ones.¡±

    ¡°How do you know that?¡±

    She shrugs as an answer.

    ¡°Don¡¯t even know.¡±

    I want to pry further but something tells me there¡¯s no point.

    ¡°When I woke up I smelled gunpowder on myself, that and rotting flesh. You heard anything about that?¡±

    She shakes her head.

    ¡°Nah, it was a quiet night, as quiet as they get around in this city. No one heard about a Bay Leaf poppin¡¯ off. Which is weird cuz you asked to borrow the Sorrel-115.¡±

    I balk at that.

    ¡°I asked for what?!¡±

    ¡°The Divorce Lawyer itself.¡±

    ¡°Why the fuck did I ask for that?!¡±

    Kapudal, almost cartoonishly, shrugs again.

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t tell me. Or anyone. I was hoping for the juicy details later but¡­well y¡¯know.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. How disappointing for you.¡±

    ¡°Look, you could¡­¡± Kapudal starts but seems to remember something. She squints her eyes and closes her mouth.

    ¡°I could?¡±

    ¡°Nothing, forget it.¡±

    ¡°I already have,¡± I point out. ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing, it wouldn¡¯t help you. I¡¯m sorry I mentioned anything.¡±

    For as long as I¡¯ve known her, Kapudal has rarely ever said ¡®sorry¡¯. But she sincerely means each time. Which is how I know she won¡¯t share any more info on the subject. Larkspur probably told her not to talk about whatever it is she¡¯s hiding. It might be in my best interest and could be better for my sanity, but the fact that they¡¯re not sharing something just might drive me crazy¡­crazier.

    ¡°Whatever,¡± I reply. ¡°We have bigger things to worry about.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, what?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re taking out the DeadNettles.¡± I remind her.

    ¡°Oh, that. Honestly surprised it took this long.¡±

    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°They started shaking things up, disturbing the balance. Someone was gonna take ¡®em out, just happens to be us.¡±

    I sit on my couch.

    ¡°What makes you so sure?¡±

    She twirls the spliff between her fingers.

    ¡°They¡¯re young, hungry, a dangerous mix. But they don¡¯t know what they¡¯re doing; where they¡¯re going.¡±

    She sits on my coffee table to face me.

    ¡°They¡¯re like little dogs, thinking they¡¯re wolves ¡®cuz they survived a week outside. Losers were bound to piss off the wrong people.¡±

    ¡°They pissed us off.¡±

    A sadistic laugh escapes her mouth.

    ¡°They got the shittiest luck. We¡¯re gonna fuck ¡®em up. Their ancestors are gonna feel it.¡±

    She stands up to yell,

    ¡°Larkspur, hurry up!¡±

    A muffled, ¡°FUCK YOU!¡± is heard in response.

    ¡°Here¡¯s hoping we manage the fallout.¡±

    She doesn¡¯t have to explain what she means. The Bay Leaves have maintained balance in this city by holding ourselves to a certain professionalism. When one of ours is hired and killed on the job, that¡¯s business. We get caught in a crossfire between two or more gangs, that¡¯s life. The attempted double cross, which I have no memory of, demands professional retaliation.

    But nothing about what we have planned feels professional. We¡¯re going to wipe out a whole group. No exceptions, a total wipe.

    All for me.

    I hadn¡¯t thought about it like that until this moment, but the balance of this city will shift; because of me.

    Who knows how the Argonos will react?

    ¡°You look like you just realized some shit,¡± Kapudal notes.

    ¡°You could say that.¡± If she won¡¯t share what she was going to say earlier, I¡¯ll keep some thoughts to myself as well.

    Not surprisingly, she sees what I¡¯m doing. She gives an understanding nod.

    ¡°How ¡®bout breakfast?¡± She asks, changing the subject.

    I walk over to my fridge to see it pleasantly full. Though I don¡¯t remember getting any of this. There¡¯s a lot of sweet stuff in here also.

    The pain in my head spikes again at the thought. Rubbing my temple, I start grabbing eggs to feed my babysitters.

    Kapudal likes her eggs scrambled and Larkspur likes omelets. I fry up some bacon, cook some grits with cheese, and make some hash browns. By the time I¡¯m done with everything they¡¯re both done showering.

    I serve my fellow Bay Leaves their breakfast. Kapudal puts something on the TV because she got the remote before Larkspur. The show is about pirates or something, I¡¯m not paying much attention. We peacefully finish our food.

    Larkspur¡¯s phone vibrates and they check it.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± they say while typing a response. ¡°We got some stuff to do today. One¡¯s light work, other¡¯s heavy. You up for it?¡±

    An interesting question.

    Am I?

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m up for it,¡± I answer.

    ¡°You sure? Tamara says it¡¯s fine if you¡¯re not. She can get someone else.¡±

    My eyes go to the spot where I woke up from my blackout. I feel the gazes of Larkspur and  Kapudal on me for a moment.

    If I¡¯m not doing anything I¡¯ll be thinking about how I¡¯m obviously going insane. I¡¯d rather not sit on the sidelines while all this shit goes down.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± I say firmly. Larkspur raises an eyebrow but accepts my word.

    ¡°Ight, I¡¯ll tell her.¡± They text back a response.

    Things are rapidly escalating if Tamara is texting rather than calling. She¡¯s more confident speaking English than her writing it, but the overall situation demands speed.

    ¡°What¡¯s the first thing?¡± Kapudal asks.

    ¡°We gotta grab a guy out of some hotel. It¡¯s in uptown so we have to be discreet.¡±

    ¡°Must be one important dude,¡± she comments.

    ¡°When?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Soon as possible,¡± Larkspur says. When Tamara says ASAP she means right fucking now. ¡°I¡¯m ready if y¡¯all are.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m ready, let¡¯s get this shit done,¡± Kapudal says. I get up wordlessly. No more needs to be said.

    We head down to the car and Larkspur drives us to the hotel. It¡¯s nice, not too ritzy.

    Tamara sends details on our target. Name¡¯s Shenzhen. We have his picture and location, but not what room he¡¯s in. We¡¯re sitting in the car outside scoping it out.

    ¡°There¡¯s one receptionist in the lobby,¡± Kapudal spies. ¡°Computer¡¯s right in front of her. She¡¯s hot too.¡±

    ¡°We could do ¡®Frat Bros,¡¯¡± Larkspur suggests, ignoring Kapudal¡¯s comment. ¡°Someone pulls the data from the computer, we go and grab the guy, get out.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll distract the receptionist and get the data,¡± I volunteer.

    ¡°Hey! I wanted to do it!¡± Kapudal chimes in.

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t distract a four-year-old. Remember that time at the Cactus club?¡±

    ¡°That was one time! You can¡¯t keep bringing that up! Rock paper scissors for it!¡±

    ¡°Jesus Christ,¡± Larkspur says, leaning their head back in annoyance. I accept her challenge.

    Kapudal always chooses scissors first then chooses rock when she¡¯s not high. Don¡¯t know why or how she doesn¡¯t realize this by now.

    She loses, much to her surprise.

    ¡°We¡¯ll get ready, go do your thing.¡± Larkspur grabs a device that mimics electronic keys.

    I load up the breaching program on my phone and link to theirs.

    Walking over to the hotel, I sag my jeans a bit, add some bounce to my step, and start chewing some gum.

    I enter the lobby like I belong there. When the receptionist takes notice of me, I make eye contact with her.

    ¡°Gotdamn!¡± I exclaim. ¡°I must be sleepwalking, cuz you look like the girl of my dreams!¡± I lean on the desk. She looks me up and down; I see the gears in her head turn, trying to decide if I¡¯m a man or not. Her eyes glide over my chest.

    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m not really into girls like that,¡± she says.

    ¡°Shit, baby, me neither. But I¡¯m willing to try anything once¡­or twice,¡± I say with a sly chuckle, inching closer to the computer. My phone vibrates to let me know it¡¯s starting its breach. The receptionist is a pretty Black woman, maybe in her mid 20¡¯s. Permed black hair is done up in a ponytail, red lipstick, and simple pearl earrings. She¡¯s checked off every box of the receptionist type.

    ¡°You¡¯re real bold, you know that?¡± She says with a chuckle of her own.

    I need to keep her attention off the computer.

    ¡°Nah, bold would be telling you exactly what I¡¯d do to you; if you let me.¡±

    She chuckles, revealing a cute gap between her teeth. Can¡¯t help but feel flattered, she leans in closer, and her attention is totally on me.

    ¡°And, hypothetically, what would that entail?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± I look at her name tag ¡°Jasmine. That wouldn¡¯t be workplace appropriate, would it?¡±

    I hear Larkspur and Kapudal enter the lobby but don¡¯t turn to draw attention to them. Jasmine doesn''t pay them any mind either.

    ¡°You don¡¯t work here¡­?¡± she¡¯s asking for a name.

    ¡°Daisy,¡± I supply. A sharp, quick pain spikes in my head but I ignore it. ¡°I may not work here, but I could clock in some hours with you.¡±

    She laughs, covering her mouth with her hand.

    ¡°Hours, huh?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, baby. Best believe I got the stamina to have you going ALL night,¡± I say while licking my lips. Jasmine notices, her mouth slightly open.

    ¡°That a promise?¡± She asks. Her eyes scan my arms, observing my muscles. My Bay Leaves tattoo is hidden underneath my sleeve, but the way she¡¯s looking at my other tattoos tells me she likes them.

    I have to keep my phone close to the computer in case they haven¡¯t made it to the room yet. I¡¯ll only know they made it when they¡¯re back down here.

    ¡°It¡¯s a guarantee. I¡¯ll have you moaning ¡®til the sunrise, not that you¡¯ll see it.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°Cuz I¡¯ll have your eyes rolling to the back of your head.¡±

    She bites her bottom lip.

    ¡°And what if I said I had a man?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d say ¡®fuck that nigga.¡¯ What he don¡¯t know won¡¯t hurt him. ¡®Less you wanna call him while we knock boots?¡±

    Jasmine readjusts herself in her seat, slightly tugging at her skirt. Her cheeks are flushed.

    ¡°You¡¯re nasty, you know that?¡± She says with a barely contained smile.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have the first clue, babygirl. ¡®Course you could find out. Do you want to?¡±

    Jasmine bites her lip again, seriously considering my offer.

    ¡°It can be our dirty little secret?¡± She asks.

    ¡°Dirty, yes. But ain¡¯t nothing ¡®little¡¯ about what I can do to you. I won¡¯t tell no one, ¡®less you wanna call some friends in for some extra fun?¡±

    She picks up a notepad and playfully hits me in the arm.

    ¡°You¡¯re a freak!¡± She says that, but her smile betrays her words. She¡¯s not completely against the idea.

    ¡°I could be your freak, baby. Just say the word and I¡¯ll have you changing your bedsheets.¡± She hits me with the notepad again.

    I hear the elevator doors open.

    ¡°Dude, you¡¯re way too drunk! You shouldn¡¯t have killed that bottle of tequila!¡± Kapudal says. She and Larkspur are carrying our target. It looks like they¡¯re all walking in a drunken stupor but a close look would reveal that Shenzhen is very unconscious. Not that Jasmine gives them all a proper look, her attention quickly goes back to me. It¡¯s so overt, it¡¯s covert

    The trio exits the lobby and I know my fellow Bay Leaves will do what¡¯s needed.

    I have to keep my phone next to the computer so that they can erase all security footage and logins. In the unlikely case that the police start looking for this guy, they¡¯ll have nothing to go on. Jasmine might lose a few hours of work, but she¡¯ll keep her job. That is if she doesn¡¯t say anything to anyone. Not that she was paying much attention.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    ¡°Since you have that out, how about writing down your number?¡± I ask her. She wants to play hard to get, tilting her head like she¡¯s thinking about it, but she reaches for a pen. Her handwriting is nice. She rips the page from the notepad and offers it to me. As I reach for it she pulls it away.

    Our flirting game isn¡¯t over just yet it seems.

    ¡°What makes you think I¡¯m so easy to turn out?¡± She inquires.

    ¡°Nothing worth doing is ever easy. And you definitely seem worth doing.¡±

    ¡°That was corny.¡± She twirls the paper between her fingers.

    ¡°I might be a lil¡¯ nervous.¡± I lean in closer, my face inches from hers. ¡°Or I might be saving the good stuff for later.¡±

    She hands me the paper.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get cocky.¡±

    I take the paper.

    ¡°Never.¡±

    My phone vibrates with a chime. A text from Larkspur simply reads ¡°Done. Let¡¯s go.¡±

    ¡°I havta go, but I¡¯ll text you when I got everything ready.¡± I step away from the desk.

    ¡°What¡¯s ¡®everything¡¯?¡± She asks, standing up from her seat while I¡¯m a few feet from the door.

    ¡°Well, that would ruin the surprise, wouldn¡¯t it baby?¡± I tuck the paper in my back pocket, which I feel her take a look at.

    I walk out and down the street a bit to where they moved the car.

    ¡°Orange undies, huh?¡± Kapudal comments. I look down on reflex. With no need to expose my boxer briefs anymore, I fix my jeans.

    ¡°Your stud persona won¡¯t be joining us?¡± Larkspur jokes.

    ¡°Fuck you,¡± I reply.

    Shenzhen is unconscious in the backseat. Kapudal put a seatbelt on him and has him leaving on her shoulder, so it looks like he¡¯s sleeping.

    ¡°How¡¯d you get him?¡±

    ¡°The ol¡¯ punch and inhale,¡± Larkspur answers. Kapudal shows me a rag she carefully holds. They punched the guy in the stomach and made him inhale chloroform.

    I get in the car and Larkspur drives off.

    ¡°You just keep chloroform on you like that?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Not all of us are as charming as you. Plus I already knew we¡¯d have to do something like this. Always best to be prepared.¡±

    ¡°So, did you get that chick¡¯s number?¡± Kapudal asks.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to keep talking like an asshole, you know that right?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s hard to turn off,¡± she replies with a shrug. ¡°Did you get it?¡±

    I show her the paper.

    ¡°Nice, you gonna call her?¡±

    I look at the paper as it flaps in the wind.

    ¡°Nah,¡± I say before letting it go. ¡°Liability.¡±

    That¡¯s what I say, but truth be told I¡¯m not in the headspace for one-night stands nor am I looking for a fuckbuddy. It seems blackouts kill my sexual appetite.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna report you for littering,¡± Larkspur jokes.

    ¡°I¡¯ll turn you in for the illegal u-turn you made.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t get turned in?¡± Kapudal interjects.

    ¡°Girl, you smell like a dispensary. Wouldn¡¯t need a drug dog to charge you with possession,¡± Larkspur replies. Kapudal laughs as she lights her spliff, taking a deep pull from it.

    We drive off with our victim back to the Bay Leaves HQ. Heading back has us a bit on edge but no one takes notice of us. When we get back we start the awkward task of getting Shenzhen up the long stairs, with me having to carry his legs.

    Everyone instead directs us to where Tamara is waiting for us: the basement.

    Not a good sign; for Shenzhen that is, we¡¯ll be fine.

    If Tamara wants him in the basement she¡¯ll be waiting in the back, where an industrial walk-in freezer waits. Years ago I asked Tamara why this church has such a thing, and she told me it was probably used for food banks and drives. I, personally, find it hard to believe that any institution in this city is capable of purely doing just good. Everyone has something shady going on the side. But my suspicions of why we have it, one: are baseless, two: don¡¯t matter. Whatever the reason is, we have it and we make good use of it.

    Digit usually stores stuff that must be kept at cool temperatures, as a freezer does, dangerous chemicals, and sophisticated electronics that are too delicate for environments above 20 degrees. But we do also sometimes keep food in there.

    Tamara is leaning against the entrance as we approach. She motions with her head for us to enter.

    ¡°Take off his shirt and shoes,¡± she says.

    There is a single wooden chair and some rope in the center of the room. We need no further instruction and start tying him tight to the chair. The zero-degree temperature has goosebumps popping up on my skin and I start shivering a bit.

    Predicting this, Tamara offers us jackets. They are an invitation for us to stay. Digit enters, already bundled up and carrying a laptop. As I zip up I look around and see on a shelf that someone got the rocky road ice cream that I like. I¡¯ll make a plan to get to it later, but first, we have a more pressing matter.

    ¡°Wake him up,¡± Tamara says to Digit. He obliges, producing smelling salts from his pocket. Holding it under his nose for a moment and he comes to. Digit moves back to stand with us.

    ¡°Wha? What happened?¡± he asks. He gets startled when he sees the five of us. ¡°Who are you? What¡¯s going on?¡± None of us answer. Digit scratches his burgeoning beard. The last time I saw him he was clean-shaven, which felt like a day or two ago, but I know it¡¯s been a while. I wonder if he¡¯ll dye it orange like the rest of his hair.

    ¡°WHO ARE YOU, PEOPLE?!¡± Shenzhen asks again, thinking maybe we didn¡¯t hear him the first time. Tamara isn¡¯t answering for three reasons; the first is this is an intimidation tactic. Plain and simple. The second is that she wants him to become sufficiently cold. She wants to see him shivering before she starts. The third is likely that she¡¯s thinking of how to angle this. We watch him, to his terror, in silence. He pointlessly struggles against his bindings, shivering while trying to get out.

    This goes on for two minutes before Tamara asks,

    ¡°Do you watch movies?¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± He stops struggling.

    Tamara takes a step forward.

    ¡°Movies,¡± she clarifies, ¡°those pictures that move with sound? Got people walking around in them? Do you watch them?¡±

    He nods his head.

    ¡°Uh, yeah?¡±

    ¡°Do you watch a lot of action movies? You look like you do, but I don¡¯t want to assume.¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± he asks again, reasonably confused.

    ¡°I¡¯m speaking English, aren¡¯t I?¡± Tamara asks Digit.

    ¡°It¡¯s English if I ever heard it,¡± he answers.

    ¡°Okay, so I am speaking English; so what are you not understanding? Do. You. Watch. Action. Movies?¡± She asks far more pointedly.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he replies.

    ¡°Then you¡¯ve probably seen this scene before,¡± she gestures around the room. ¡°There¡¯s a person in a chair,¡± she points to him ¡°and a person who wants information from them¡± she to herself.

    ¡°Now, in these movies, the person in the chair¡± again she points to him ¡°often refuses to tell the other person¡± points to herself ¡°what they want.¡±

    She steps closer.

    ¡°This, of course, gives the person in the chair¡¯s friends time to rescue them. But please understand that no one is coming for you. The fact that you¡¯ve been captured means that either the people you work for are too incompetent to protect you, or don¡¯t trust you enough to keep you safe. The result is the same: you in this basement with us.¡±

    She rests her hands on her knees to be at eye level with him.

    ¡°I¡¯m a busy woman and I have a lot of shit to do. I¡¯ll give you a chance to make this pain-free; give me access to the DeadNettles accounts, transferring all of it to an account of my choice.¡±

    Digit opens the laptop and it has some program running, I assume it¡¯s related to bank accounts.

    ¡°Not only will you walk out of here without a hair on your head hurt, but I¡¯ll also let you keep some to disappear with. Fly off to wherever the fuck you wanna go, how does that sound?¡±

    Shenzhen spits at her, but she moves her head in time.

    ¡°Go fuck yourself, bitch.¡±

    He doesn¡¯t know how much he just fucked up doing that. She would¡¯ve let him live, or kill him painlessly. Now he¡¯s going to suffer.

    Tamara sighs, disappointed.

    ¡°In those movies, when the torture starts, the victim,¡± she stresses ¡®victim¡¯ ¡°swears they won¡¯t tell their captors anything. For loyalty, fear, or pride. If you withhold this information out of loyalty, I¡¯ll let you know right now it¡¯s misplaced. The DeadNettles not only don¡¯t deserve your loyalty, and they won¡¯t be around long enough to appreciate it. They¡¯ll all be dead before the month is over.¡±

    ¡°What?! What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Seems he didn¡¯t get the memo,¡± Digit notes. Tamara continues, circling Shenzhen.

    ¡°If you want to stay quiet out of fear, I must repeat my previous point: the DeadNettles will soon be gone. You have nothing to fear besides me, right now.¡±

    She¡¯s back in front of him.

    ¡°And you don¡¯t want to say anything to maintain your pride, I¡¯ll just say that pride is a stupid reason to get hurt.¡±

    A sharp pain erupts in my head. Colors flash in front of my eyes and I sway a bit.

    ¡°You alright? Kapudal asks. Larkspur and Digit also turn to me. Tamara is focused on Shenzhen.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I assure them. The pain is fading as fast as it came.

    ¡°In those movies, they always have some elaborate torture scheme. Me? I prefer simple things. A cold room, defenseless you, and my hands. The cold makes everything hurt more,¡± she says while pulling his ear. He screams in pain.

    ¡°That was for trying to spit on me. You¡¯re lucky I¡¯m in a good mood, normally I¡¯d kill you outright for that. But I¡¯ll make the offer again. Transfer the money to the account, and you¡¯ll live and be richer for it.¡±

    Shenzhen, perhaps not fully understanding the position he¡¯s in, counters with,

    ¡°Go. To. Hell. They¡¯ll come looking for me and kill all of you.¡±

    Tamara looks him up and down. Then she delivers a punch right into his solar plexus. A strike like that would make a man crumble to his knees but he¡¯s firmly held in place by rope. He coughs desperately, recovering from the pain.

    ¡°I told you I was a busy woman. I made you the offer. You had the chance to get out of here and you chose this instead. I hope you¡¯re happy with your decision.¡± Tamara puts on her special brass knuckles. ¡°Now I have to take what I need from you!¡±

    He isn¡¯t fully recovered from the first strike when Tamara gives him three more across his face. Blood starts dripping from his mouth from the second punch. She grabs a fistful of his hair and gets close to his face.

    ¡°You chose this,¡± she hisses before slamming her knee into his nose. He falls over, backward, his body weight crushing his hands. He yells out in agony once more. Tamara, ignoring him, turns to us.

    ¡°You three can leave, I¡¯ll send you details of the next assignment in a bit. While I get better acquainted with our friend here.¡± We all nod and leave. As the door closes behind us, I hear Tamara pick him up and tap his shoulder. ¡°You know we¡¯re just getting started, right?¡±

    On that note, we leave. The jackets were needed in the freezer, but two steps out of it and the heat makes an ungentle reminder that it¡¯s here.

    We get out of the basement and discard the jackets on some church pews. Heading back outside into the blazing sun I follow Larspur and Kapudal to the car.

    It isn¡¯t until we start moving that I realize I don¡¯t know where we¡¯re going. I should ask, probably, but it hardly matters.

    I lean my head back, let the sun bake my face and the wind cool me off. When the car stops I open my eyes. We¡¯re at a convenience store, Larkspur is still in the driver''s seat while Kapudal is inside.

    ¡°How¡¯s it going?¡± They ask me.

    ¡°Good as it gets,¡± I answer. It¡¯s a lie, things could be significantly better. Larkspur taps a finger on the steering wheel. Kapudal comes out a moment or two later, with a bag in hand. We drive off and again I lay my head back.

    I can¡¯t tell if I¡¯m actually falling asleep or if my brain¡¯s just conking out, I open my eyes when we stop moving again.

    Larkspur drove us to Parsley Park. It¡¯s more of a botanical garden than a park really, with no space to run around or picnic. Or whatever else people do in parks. We stopped near this little hill where you can observe most of the flowers the park has to offer.

    ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± Kapudal says to me. I follow her and Larkspur to a bench overlooking the flowers. We all sit down, the metal is uncomfortably hot from the afternoon sun. Kapudal pulls tubs of ice cream from the bag, and a package of plastic spoons. She got cookie dough for herself, Neapolitan for Larkspur, and Rocky Road for me.

    ¡°You know my favorite ice cream flavor?¡± I ask.

    ¡°I saw you eyeing it back at HQ, plus I¡¯ve seen you scarf this shit down like your life depended on it.¡±

    I open the carton to see the peerless perfection that is rocky road. The heat softened the ice cream but not melted it completely.

    I, with great restraint, dig in. We three eat our frozen treats in silence for a moment. Because of how hot it is, there¡¯s virtually no one else around.

    I know this is just a preamble to both of them asking me how I am. There¡¯s no such thing as free ice cream on a hot day¡­still it¡¯s nice. It reminds me of when Larkspur and I were kids eating ice cream on the curb. We didn¡¯t meet Kapudal until a few years later, by then we were all teenagers, a little too grown for such a childish thing.

    Now it¡¯s like she was there with us. Would we have gotten along as kids?

    Larkspur enjoys a good portion of their ice cream before letting out a sigh. It¡¯s a sigh I¡¯d recognize anywhere. Comes before a question.

    ¡°You good?¡± They ask.

    I shake my head, unable to lie about this.

    ¡°Physically, I feel fine; it¡¯s just pain, nothing we ain¡¯t used to,¡± I start. Kapudal takes one last spoonful and rests the carton by her feet. Her eyes and her attention are on me. ¡°This shit pops up outta nowhere and fades quick. Like a mental bullet digging through my brain or something.¡±

    Larkspur nods, asking me to continue.

    ¡°Mentally, I feel like I¡¯m going in circles. Whenever I think about how I lost all that time, my head hurts, but I can¡¯t not think about it, y¡¯know? There are little signs and reminders that things have changed everywhere. It¡¯s like I died and came back to life.¡±

    A sharp pain spikes in my head again. I put my ice cream down on the ground.

    ¡°Think I¡¯d prefer that to everyone knowing I was around but having no memory of it,¡± I add.

    ¡°And emotionally?¡± Kapudal asks, forever the straight shooter.

    I shake my head again.

    ¡°Can you keep this between us? I know Tamara asked y¡¯all to watch me, probably wants a report or something. But what I¡¯m about to say, can this shit stay just between us?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°Absolutely.¡± They both answer simultaneously.

    Lying was no small part of our training. Saying what a person wants to hear is a huge chunk of that. They could be lying to me, but who could blame them? I might forget this tomorrow, or the next day, next week, next month, whenever. Who¡¯s more perfect to lie to than a person with such a flimsy memory?

    But I want to believe them, I have to believe that they are genuinely concerned; not because Tamara told them to be, but because they want to know.

    I believe them. For better or worse, I believe what I¡¯m about to share with them will stay on this little hill.

    ¡°I¡¯m,¡± I start to answer, ¡°not scared of dying. I don¡¯t think there¡¯s a single Bay Leaf that isn¡¯t aware that what we do has its dangers. We all know a stray bullet, a jammed gun, an empty clip, or a lucky punk with a clean shot and it¡¯s over. Sure, we¡¯re better trained, got better gear, cleaner goals than the wannabes we face; but we¡¯re not invincible.¡±

    I take a moment to gather my thoughts.

    ¡°But we do the best we can and more often than not it works for us. I¡¯m not scared that I might get shot today, or tomorrow.¡± I realize my hands are trembling. ¡°I¡¯m scared I won¡¯t know about it. That I¡¯ll be on autopilot during a blackout and I might die like that, I¡¯ll have no control. It¡¯s like I¡¯m locked in the trunk of a car with a drunk driver at the wheel. We could crash into a fucking gas truck at any second and there wouldn¡¯t be a goddamn thing I could do to stop it.¡±

    Larkspur sharply exhales.

    ¡°Fuck, man,¡± Kapudal comments. ¡°Shit sounds like a nightmare when you put it like that!¡±

    I nod in agreement.

    ¡°¡®Cept I¡¯m already awake. Damn near feels like any time I close my eyes could be the last. I could slip into another blackout right now and not even know. Y¡¯all already know how I joined the Bay Leaves. One of the promises I made to myself then was "I''d never be that powerless again. Not if I could help it.¡± Looks like I¡¯m letting that little girl down. It¡¯s just not how I imagine myself going.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯d you imagine yourself going?¡± Larkspur asks. They ask out of genuine curiosity, not in a ¡®mental health check¡¯ way.

    I lean back into my seat, and my hands have stopped trembling.

    ¡°Realistically? I¡¯m in a shootout, outnumbered, broken armor, I¡¯m out of ammo, and some fuckhead gets a lucky shot on me.¡±

    ¡°It would take all that?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you couldn¡¯t catch me otherwise,¡± I answer with a chuckle.

    ¡°And ideally, how would you go?¡±

    I laugh at my answer,

    ¡°Death by exhaustion from an orgy.¡±

    Kapudal and Larkspur burst out laughing.

    ¡°I¡¯m talking about me and twelve of the finest ladies!¡±

    ¡°TWELVE?!¡± Larkspur shrieks. ¡°You need a dozen?!¡± We laugh our asses off.

    ¡°How ¡®bout you, Kapudal?¡± Larkspur manages to get out between laughing fits.

    ¡°Well,¡± she coughs. ¡°I was gonna say me and a skilled sniper trade shots in an epic duel. We both shoot each other at the same time. But now I¡¯m stealing Holly¡¯s orgy of death.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t get in my orgy!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not above sloppy seconds, once you¡¯re dead I¡¯ll take ¡®em.¡±

    Larkspur is laughing so hard that they fall off the bench and knock over their ice cream. Kapudal and I start laughing even harder.

    I have to hold my sides for air. My head hurts but it¡¯s a different, almost pleasant, pain from the one that¡¯s been tormenting me lately.

    When our

    ¡°I really wanted that too,¡± Larkspur says after they calm down.

    ¡°Let the ants have it,¡± I say. The sun has turned it back into milk by now.

    We all calm down after a pause.

    I needed this, even though I didn¡¯t know I did.

    I want to thank them both, but I trust they know that I¡¯m grateful already.

    We enjoy each other¡¯s company in silence before Kapudal asks,

    ¡°Are you gonna clean that up?¡±

    We dispose of our ice cream, unfortunately, the only trash can around has holes in it, so some leaks out.

    Larkspur gets a call.

    ¡°Hello?¡­ We¡¯re at Parsley Park¡­I¡¯ll ask.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Tamara wants to know if we¡¯re good for another assignment?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m good to go,¡± Kapudal answers.

    They both look at me for a response.

    After my confession, they¡¯re understandably trepidatious about me going into the fray. But this is the job, this is the life. If it ends like this, at least I¡¯ll be conscious for it.

    ¡°Who needs killing?¡±

    Larkspur goes back to the call.

    ¡°We¡¯re ready¡­Got it, on our way.¡±

    They hang up and start walking to the car.

    ¡°We¡¯re heading over to Dionaea Street. Taking out a DeadNettles drug den there.¡±

    ¡°Gear?¡± I ask.

    ¡°In the trunk. Fully stocked,¡± they answer.

    ¡°Targets?¡± Kapudal asks. We¡¯re all in the car, Larkspur barely waits for us to put on our seatbelts before speeding off.

    ¡°Less than ten, no civilians confirmed but show restraint. We¡¯re in and out, anyone who doesn¡¯t fight doesn¡¯t need to die.¡±

    ¡°Understood.¡±

    It¡¯s a 15-minute drive to our target. It¡¯s an old brick warehouse, probably been used for criminal activity since its construction. Hell, maybe even before.

    It¡¯s as shady as shady buildings get.

    This is just an inventory spot for them. Hitting this by itself would disrupt them quite a bit, but we have simultaneous attacks on 6 different locations planned. Causing widespread panic in the DeadNettles.

    The streets have been cleared out, possibly by whoever did the scout work. The only cars left are parked by the warehouse and they belong to the DeadNettles.

    We walk to the trunk to see what gear we got.

    Inside we find bulletproof vests for Kapudal and me, Larkspur has their treated jacket. A trio of new helmets for us.

    Kapudal always has trouble getting her hair into the helmet, so I do it up for her. In return, she makes sure my vest is on right. I imagine this is similar to how someone would tie their younger sibling¡¯s shoes.

    In stock are four karambit knives, three smoke grenades, two frags, two thermites, and a high-powered flashlight.

    The ballistic inventory has two assault rifles, Larkspur takes the Balsam-45 and Kapudal takes the Koji-52 before I can.

    I grab a Hyssop-09 submachine gun; it¡¯s American-made. It¡¯s a snug, easy-to-maneuver weapon, with a high rate of fire and a standard fifty-bullet cartridge to match. This one comes with an ammo tracker, letting the user know how many bullets are left in the magazine. Best used in close quarters like this, extraordinary accuracy is not the main reason people use it.

    I pick up a GoldenSeal pistol and put it in my thigh holster and clip the Hyssop to a harness.

    When we all have our helmets on we tap the sides to link up the radios. A quick check confirms it works.

    Then we hear Tamara¡¯s voice on all our radios,

    ¡°Phase 1 of Harvest. Strike teams ready?¡±

    We hear a series of status checks.

    ¡°Dionaea team, ready?¡±

    ¡°Ready,¡± we answer at the same time.

    ¡°Heads on a swivel, people. This is routine work but don¡¯t get cocky. I expect you all to come back. Over and out.¡± Tamara disconnects.

    ¡°I¡¯m taking point,¡± I tell Larkspur and Kapudal. They don¡¯t argue with me, they just nod and ready their weapons.

    We cross the street and go by a side entrance.  This might be a quick hit but we¡¯re not going through the front.

    ¡°Ready?¡± I ask them. They both nod. I knock on the metal door with my left hand and keep the right hovering over my pistol. I hear just one person walking towards the door. Larkspur waits behind the door to close it quickly, Kapudal is on the other side.

    The door opens and I don¡¯t wait for a response; I punch the woman who comes out across her face. She turns from the impact and I reach out to wrap my arm around her neck. I pull her back and press my pistol against her temple. Larkspur closes the door behind her.

    I quickly assess the woman I¡¯m holding. She has the tattoo most DeadNettles get on their necks, a globe that¡¯s mostly purple rather than blue. Their lofty ambitions to become intercontinental criminals is a pipe dream, but we all need dreams I suppose. She also has a pistol tucked into the back of her jeans, which Kapudal spots and grabs.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± I ask her, the helmet muffles my voice but she¡¯ll understand me if she wants to live.

    ¡°Felicia,¡± she answers. I expected a bit more resistance from her, she barely tries to get out of my hold. Perhaps she understands the position she¡¯s in, unarmed in a headlock against three very armed people.

    ¡°Felicia, if you want to survive the next ten seconds, you¡¯re going to tell us how many of your friends are in there.¡±

    ¡°I dunno. Eight, maybe.¡±

    I squeeze a bit harder and press the gun against her temple harder.

    ¡°Think. Carefully.¡± She takes a moment.

    ¡°There¡¯s eight of us.¡±

    ¡°Including you?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Are there any civilians in there?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she croaks out. ¡°We were about to do a run.¡±

    Seems we caught them at an opportune time. Larkspur and Kapudal nod, understanding the same thing.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go say hi.¡± I put the pistol away and grab the Hyssop. We all turn our safeties off.

    Kapuda opens the door and I step through with my live shield. Almost immediately I hear someone to my left.

    ¡°Yo, what the fuck?!¡± He reaches for a gun but the Hyssop interrupts him with several strong points. The arguments it makes tear through him and falls over in defeat.

    ¡°1 down,¡± I say.

    Felicia screams.

    Between that and the fourteen bullets I just shot, all hell is about to break loose.

    Larkspur and Kapudal split off left and right as we hear the others start to move.

    I press the hot barrel of my gun to prod Felicia into walking forward. It burns her skin and she obeys me to move where I want. We walk into a corridor, where someone is waiting for us, he perks out from his cover, but he hesitates when he sees Felicia in front of me.

    I don¡¯t.

    A spray of bullets finds its way into his head and chest. I hear my fellow Bay Leaves guns go off.

    ¡°Took out one,¡± Larkspur says.

    ¡°Got two just now,¡± Kadupal adds.

    ¡°I got another one,¡± I say. That brings us up to five in total. Felicia starts to fight back so I squeeze my arm tighter around her.

    ¡°I¡¯ll break your fucking neck, don¡¯t try me,¡± I threaten her.

    ¡°Just try it,¡± some prick behind me says. The lucky son of a bitch presses a pistol against my helmet in an incredibly rookie mistake. ¡°Drop the gun.¡±

    I let go of the Hyssop, it stays by my side because of the harness.

    ¡°Stay still.¡± I see a hand reaching for my gun. I turn suddenly with my karambit in hand and slice the wrist of my would-be killer.

    He drops his gun and holds his bleeding arm. I stick my knife in his throat and let it stay there for a moment. He stumbles around as the blood leaves his body. I pull out my pistol and put him out of his misery. A bullet quickly enters and exits his skull.

    ¡°Got another,¡± I say. In the distance, I hear gunfire.

    ¡°Got the last one,¡± Larkspur says.

    ¡°I should¡¯ve got my civil engineer degree like my mom wanted me to!¡± Felicia says. I just noticed she¡¯s crying.

    ¡°You probably should¡¯ve,¡± I comment.

    I release her. She stumbles forward, unsure of what to do.

    ¡°Bye, Felicia.¡±

    I shoot her in the back of the head, and the potential engineer''s brain is scattered across the wall.

    ¡°Final sweep is clear,¡± Kapudal reports.

    ¡°That was easy,¡± Larkspur puts in their two cents.

    ¡°Teamwork makes the dream work,¡± I say as I recover my knife from the throat I left it in.

    ¡°This is Dionaea team,¡± I report to Tamara. ¡°We¡¯re all clear.¡±

    ¡°Good work. Head back.¡±

    ¡°Understood.¡± With that I take the helmet off, it¡¯s sweltering in here.

    We regroup outside, no sirens are blaring so we¡¯re in the clear.

    ¡°Hey, I just realized, you never told us your ideal death, Larkspur,¡± Kapudal notices.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t?¡± They ponder.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t,¡± I assure them. We all start taking off our gear and depositing it back in the trunk.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± they muse over it. ¡°I never really gave it much thought.¡±

    ¡°Seriously?¡± I incredulously ask.

    ¡°I¡¯ll come up with something later,¡± they promise.

    Ch. 23 End.

 Much To Unpack

    ????

    I don¡¯t allow myself the pleasure of slowly waking up, rushing to get out of bed. First, I place my precious objects: Holly¡¯s boots, under my bed, then get ready for my day. Eat, clean, dress, all done in a blur of motions. I want to study some more before I have to head over to Mentor Acacia¡¯s abode.

    We were going over various magical effects on the skeletal structure before I left IronHenge. She¡¯ll be watching me closely so I have to act accordingly. Which will be hard to do considering how much I need to do.

    I want to know why the necromancer would attack IronHenge. Learning what angered them could help prevent other attacks. There¡¯s the matter of how and why Mentor Acacia came to get me herself and why no one else was told I was gone.

    But my top priority is restoring Hollyhock¡¯s memory. Easier said than done, I¡¯ll have to travel to the other side of the world, find the assassin, and hope my spell will work. It¡¯ll have to but I can¡¯t help but have my doubts. The longer she¡¯s without them the more her brain will try to fill in the blanks; making it harder for her memories to be integrated back in. I can¡¯t confidently say how much time I can spare, but the sooner I can get back the better.

    With all that said, I¡¯ll need more help than just Barlow. But it¡¯ll be dangerous, with the number of laws I''m going to break I doubt I can hand out flyers to recruit people.

    ¡­

    This would be easier with Hollyhock, she¡¯s good at coming up with plans.

    I¡¯ll have to make do without her¡­for now.

    It¡¯s best not to keep Mentor Acacia waiting. I take a deep breath and head outside. Not more than two steps from my home do I bump into Azalea. A whirlwind of papers and books forms between us.

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry! I wasn¡¯t looking where I was going!¡± Azalea says as we start picking up her stuff.

    ¡°I¡¯m such a clutz!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, I have a lot on my mind and wasn¡¯t paying attention,¡± I counter. Looking over her texts, I see nothing particularly interesting. Some history, some general magic theory. Nothing too exciting.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure, with the one and only Miss Acacia being your mentor; I¡¯m positive she keeps you busy with stimulating lessons,¡± Azalea points out.

    ¡°Mentor¡­,¡±

    ¡°Adansonia,¡± Azalea supplies.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t have anything that piques your interest?¡± I ask as I pick up another tome. We get all her things back in her hands. Azalea shrugs as we both stand back up.

    Giving her a quick look over, she¡¯s dressed in the same fashion I usually see her in. A simple teal sundress that compliments her dark brown skin. I detect some minor enchantments on her dress. Climate control if I had to guess. Her large purple afro is done up in a bun under her wide-brim hat.

    She has a very angular-shaped face, and cheekbones so sharp that they could cut diamonds. Intense burning orange eyes. Despite this, I find her to be quite adorable. Perhaps it¡¯s her demeanor. She¡¯s trepidatious, walking around like at any moment a horrible curse might afflict her. Yet I sense a thirsty ambition in her. Surely all the texts I¡¯ve seen her run around with can¡¯t be all required from her Mentor.

    I¡¯ve sometimes wondered what she¡¯d be like in bed; would her mousy disposition submit to whatever her partner wants, or would some greater eagerness take hold?

    Though, given the current circumstances, my sexual appetite is muted. I¡¯m not interested in any carnal desires until I¡¯ve helped Hollyhock.

    ¡°Well, when you have as many students as my Mentor, you can only do so much,¡± Azalea answers.

    When one masters their craft, it¡¯s considered an honor to take on apprentices. Not only does it demonstrate your ability, but also furthers whatever particular philosophies one might have. Prestige and preservation of your school of magic all in one.

    Most Mentors take on five or so apprentices, and some teach upwards of ten.

    I¡¯m Mentor Acacia¡¯s sole student. Much to the chagrin and envy of many other Witch apprentices. She¡¯s considered one of the most respected magicians, and the most sought-after Witch. Many have asked for her tutelage; she personally invited me to learn under her.

    Before me, I don¡¯t know if she¡¯s had any other pupils.

    I¡¯ve tried not to think about it too much and just be grateful for this tremendous opportunity. But with what¡¯s happened recently, I have some inklings of suspicions.

    ¡°What would you rather be learning?¡± I ask. Azalea offers another shrug for an answer.

    ¡°I¡¯m not even sure, honestly. Everything I¡¯ve been learning is so¡­standard. Safe, boring, nothing challenging.¡±

    My eyebrow rises involuntarily as a thought comes to mind.

    ¡°Azalea,¡± I start ¡°do you think you could help me out with a¡­research project?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d be happy to point you in the right direction of some tomes,¡± she suggests.

    ¡°That¡¯s the thing, I don¡¯t really know where to look. And if I¡¯m being honest¡­¡±

    I stop to look around. There¡¯s no one in the immediate vicinity, that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m not being observed but this little act is to garner interest.

    I lean in to whisper in her ear,

    ¡°What I¡¯m looking for might cause a bit of trouble, if I get caught.¡±

    Her body, for a moment, tenses up as she comprehends what I¡¯m asking. She purses her lips in thought, but then a small devilish smile appears.

    I have her attention.

    ¡°Well, Mentor Adansonia is always telling us to look for the stories not often told. It¡¯s time I put that into practice, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll give you some specifics later, I have to get going.¡±

    A wide smile shines on her face, she¡¯s excited to hear more. I can only hope her enthusiasm will hold when I tell her what it¡¯s all about.

    ¡°Looking forward to it! See you later,¡± Azalea says.

    We bid each other farewell and I head over to Mentor Acacia¡¯s abode.

    Unlike most, her home isn¡¯t shared with any other household, it¡¯s a singular place. A few of the most respected magicians have similar situations. Mastery of their crafts usually has their homes doubling as whatever facility their profession requires. In this case, her home is a hub for those needing a Witch¡¯s services. Be it magical maladies, rebounded wards, or cursed injuries; harmful magic is best fixed by a Witch and there¡¯s no better Witch around than Mentor Acacia.

    One could argue that not having a space to oneself is greedy, one could also argue that having to wait in line to get into your own home is infinitely more irritating.

    Mentor Acacia¡¯s home is made from volcanic rock, with plants harboring any space they can, and vines doing their best to cover every inch of the exterior. Many of the plants serve some medicinal purpose, which she uses in her craft, but she is not the one who maintains them. That duty belongs to the man who greets me with a warm smile.

    ¡°Hazel! It¡¯s nice to see you again!¡± Nelumbo says. A beautiful man if ever there was one, he has a slim, but muscled build. Nelumbo takes his magical craft to a personal level. Thick vines grow from his head, styled into a ponytail like one would do with locs. Flowers inhabit his goatee, and bees and butterflies seem at home around him. The rougher parts of his skin, his elbows, and knees, have bark protruding out. It blends in with the rest of his brown complexion.

    A Druid through and through, he is in kinship with nature. Some would say that a Druid¡¯s job is to control plants, but Nelumbo has taught me it¡¯s more than control. It¡¯s about guidance and balance. Druids commune with the living things of the Earth, magical or not. They¡¯re the ones that perfected climate control magic without displacing excess heat, keeping the ecosystem around Arcaniums in ideal conditions.

    ¡°Always a pleasure to see you!¡± I say in return. Nelumbo closes the distance and we greet each other with a hug. He gives a one-armed hug, his right hand has an artist¡¯s palette. Or a Druid¡¯s version, it¡¯s a chunk of bark that has his paints on it.

    When we separate he gives me a quick look over.

    His seafoam green eyes have a very calming effect as if he were a Soothsayer. There¡¯s a paintbrush behind his ear.

    He has on a smock made from dried seaweed. It¡¯s hard to tell what¡¯s just the garment itself and dried paint.

    ¡°I¡¯ll cover for you being late,¡± he offers.

    ¡°Thanks, I¡¯m not trying to stir the cauldron with her today.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Why¡¯s that?¡± I shake my head. If she hasn¡¯t told him then I don¡¯t need to either.

    ¡°Long story,¡± I answer. He shrugs and we both walk inside. Though it¡¯s hard to differentiate between here and out there; the floor is entirely covered in soft grass. I take my shoes off and deposit them in a designated area marked by a square made of small piles of rocks.

    The vestibule is decorated with paintings done by Nelumbo. Most are portraits of the many people who have come through here. The depictions are enchanted, a moment of the subject¡¯s time caught in an endless loop. Some smile for it, others are grimly worried about whatever ails them, and a few are flabbergasted by it.

    Nelumbo goes back to painting his latest piece, another portrait. I briefly wonder who he¡¯s painting when I turn and see a young man smiling for Nelumbo.

    As almost always the vestibule is full of patiently waiting magicians. If they¡¯re here they must have something serious, or they think it¡¯s serious. Either way, the woman they¡¯re here to see enters in.

    ¡°How nice of you to join us this millennium,¡± she immediately snaps at me.

    ¡°That¡¯s my fault, honey. I was showing her my latest piece,¡± Nelumbo covers for me.

    Mentor Acacia can be¡­curt, with many people. But for Nelumbo? Her beloved? She has a much deeper ocean of patience. She gives him a warm smile that lights up her beautiful face. It¡¯s brief, returning to a neutral expression.

    Mentor Acacia is a private woman by nature, not always divulging details of her personal affairs and such. It makes me wonder what they¡¯re like together without eyes on them, is she a completely different woman? Is he different? What sort of world is born when the two of them are alone? It¡¯s not for me to truly ever know, just an idle wondering.

    ¡°We have our work, Hazel. Let¡¯s get to it,¡± she says.

    Mentor Acacia teaches by example, rather than just have me study from texts and observe her, she splits her workload. I deal with cases she believes I can handle, only offering insight and guidance when necessary, and only stepping in to help if it¡¯s a serious issue.

    We go around to her patients and help them out as need requires. Most aren¡¯t anything too severe. One wizard had a ward, that he attempted to dispel himself, making him mix up his words and move his limbs in opposite directions he wanted. Amusing in a messed up sort of way, unfortunate but not life-threatening.

    Compared to others, it¡¯s a slow day.

    Mentor Acacia has an extraordinary knowledge of all things magically medical. She¡¯s able to identify the root cause of an issue quickly and work towards solving it immediately. She prioritizes a direct approach, rather than studying around the problem. This, coupled with her vast experience, is why she¡¯s one of the most respected Witches in existence.

    When the room has been cleared she goes over her observations of my handiwork. We¡¯re interrupted by Nelumbo.

    ¡°Honey, I¡¯m going out for some sun, see you in a bit!¡±

    ¡°See you in a bit,¡± Mentor Acacia responds. Nelumbo grabs a long piece of bark and sets it on the ground. The grass and earth beneath rise to meet it and move like waves in the ocean. He glides away on his bark board.

    Back to what we were discussing, Mentor Acacia says I performed admirably. Though she has a reputation for being very critical, she always gives credit where credit is due.

    We retreat into her study where my texts are waiting for me, right where I left them.

    Poring over them with just the two of us in here, I can¡¯t help but wonder if we¡¯re going to talk about anything that¡¯s happened.

    She¡¯s reading from a tome and writing down notes. Sensing I have something on my mind, she closes her text and looks at me.

    ¡°Do you know why I keep my arm like this?¡±

    She presents her magical prosthetic arm. It¡¯s the chartreuse green of her aura, it¡¯s her pure magical power taken shape and physical form. It¡¯s not from an inability to replace the limb; indeed, she herself has helped others regrow lost or limp limbs. A process that can be visually disturbing and requires additional physical therapy, but well within the realm of possibility. She could also use a magical device to act as a limb that wouldn¡¯t be so massively draining as this.

    Many wonder why she keeps her arm that way. And even more wonder how she lost the arm in the first place, but that¡¯s a secret only she knows.

    ¡°This serves as a reminder to myself. This is what happens when those who act carelessly are forced to reconcile with the consequences; and what you have to do to make up for their shortcomings,¡± she answers her own question.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Even though she doesn¡¯t directly say it, I know she¡¯s referring to the scar on my back. My own painful reminder. I ball my hand into a tight fist at the memory.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have the luxury to act carelessly, Hazel,¡± she continues. ¡°Wizards, Sorcerers, Enchanters, when they act carelessly they come to a Witch. When we act carelessly? They can die. That¡¯s the reality of our roles. They get to make mistakes, they figure a Witch will always be there to fix them. And if we make one?¡±

    She doesn¡¯t answer that question, instead, she stands up and puts away the tome she was reading from.

    ¡°We¡¯re the line between life and death for all magicians. Our work may not always be recognized for shaping the magical world around us, but it¡¯s our work that keeps the ones who do alive. And that is the greater burden. The weight of this responsibility only crushes you if you have unsure footing.¡±

    She turns to face me, staring right into my eyes with her blood-red ones.

    ¡°You¡¯ll always need to stand strong in this life. No matter what reckless happenings occur, you have to stand on your own two feet against the repercussions of others¡¯ actions. Or your own.¡±

    That isn¡¯t what we need to talk about, but I intuit that this is the closest we¡¯ll get. Even if I didn¡¯t say a word.

    With her lecture done, she narrows her eyes for a moment. As if a thought came to her.

    ¡°You¡¯ve done well for today, but your mind is clearly occupied with other matters. Take the rest of the day and give some serious thought as to how you want to carry yourself in the future.¡±

    I¡¯m a little taken aback at her dismissal. I thought she¡¯d want to keep a close eye on me after all this. Maybe she thinks I¡¯ll simply obey her wishes since she¡¯s my Mentor. That my ambitions are so aligned with hers that my destiny is already set in stone and she¡¯s the best path for it.

    I stand up, trying not to let my defiant thoughts somehow project themselves in some way.

    She and I spend a great deal of time together, as apprentice and teacher. But we don¡¯t know each other that well. We know enough, about the other¡¯s capabilities, knowledge, and skill. But not enough as people. And perhaps that¡¯s just because of the way she is. Maybe I¡¯m to blame as well for not trying to connect more with her.

    She may think she knows me; what I¡¯ll do. She might¡¯ve known the Hazel from before. But who I am now, after all I¡¯ve seen and done, isn¡¯t that wide-eyed Witch anymore. With the knowledge of who and what¡¯s out there, I can¡¯t pretend I¡¯m the same as I was.

    And I won¡¯t act like it either.

    Mentor Acacia has taught me a myriad of things, including how to identify a problem. She¡¯s shaped me into the magician I am today. I can¡¯t think of a way to thank her for all I¡¯ve learned. However, as it stands, she¡¯s between me and Hollyhock. Right now, she¡¯s the problem. And to whatever ends she¡¯ll go to be an obstacle is what I¡¯ll have to overcome.

    She looks me up and down.

    ¡°You¡¯ve put on a bit of weight,¡± she observes. With that, she leaves her study.

    My hands instinctively go to my stomach. It¡¯s indeed a bit fuller than it used to be.

    The criticism stings a little but my resolve remains strong.

    As I head out I come across Mentor Acacia standing out of her abode looking off into the distance. She isn¡¯t facing in my direction, but as I walk away she says,

    ¡°Tomorrow is that day.¡±

    It stops me dead in my tracks. I know what day she¡¯s talking about.

    With everything going on, I had almost forgotten, the fact that it took her reminding me makes the guilt all the more palpable in my throat.

    I turn my head as tears start to form in my eyes. I wipe them away with my sleeve and continue making my way home.

    That¡¯s for tomorrow, it can wait.

    When I¡¯ve walked for a bit I turn to look back.

    Mentor Acacia is still standing there, not looking in my direction. Nelumbo returns on his board. They share a hug and a kiss before heading back inside.

    I turn forward and keep going.

    When I get home I make myself something to eat and use my scrying mirror to reach Barlow. I tell him about my encounter with Azalea and how I plan for her to help us.

    ¡°Are you going to tell her the full story?¡± He asks.

    ¡°Not right away,¡± I answer. ¡°She¡¯s more curious about the research task than the reason behind it. What we¡¯re doing goes against a lot of our laws; I want to make sure she can handle the small stuff first.¡±

    ¡°Wow, you spend time with an assassin for a couple of weeks and you¡¯re starting to sound like those crime bosses from those movies we¡¯d watch.¡±

    ¡°It is what it is,¡± I reply.

    ¡°Huh?¡±

    ¡°Nothing, I¡¯ll let you know how it goes with her.¡±

    I end the conversation and contact Azalea, which is odd considering we live in the same place. She answers the call and quickly exclaims,

    ¡°I¡¯LL Be RIGHT OVER!¡±

    Within seconds I hear a knock at the door. I invite the Wizard in and briefly wonder how to ask her what I¡¯m looking for. And how to let her fully understand that she¡¯ll be an accomplice if we get caught.

    She eagerly waits for my word and I figure being straightforward is the best route.

    ¡°I¡¯m looking for any kind of records of magicians leaving Arcaniums,¡± I start.

    ¡°Well, that would be in Sorcerers logs, they keep a-¡±

    ¡°Without permission,¡± I finish. ¡°And didn¡¯t leave on good terms.¡±

    ¡°OOOOOH!¡± She says, understanding better.

    ¡°I¡¯m especially curious about those pertaining to IronHenge. Anything major that would¡¯ve caused a¡­grudge against our Arcanium.¡±

    Azalea holds her chin in thought.

    ¡°Nothing immediately comes to mind¡­but that doesn¡¯t mean there isn¡¯t something. But what could you possibly need this for?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be honest, I can¡¯t tell you more about this until I¡¯m certain you can help me. If you don¡¯t want to, that¡¯s fine; but having a Wizard on my side would certainly be a boon.¡±

    ¡°Well, apprentice Wizard,¡± she shyly corrects.

    ¡°I¡¯m an apprentice too. Doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t do things on our own.¡±

    Azalea stares at me for a moment.

    ¡°Whatever you have planned is turning the pages in my mind. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d want to miss it¡­I¡¯ll start looking up what I can, I should have something for you by tomorrow,¡± she says.

    ¡°Tomorrow I¡¯ll be busy, but¡­¡± I stop to ask myself if it¡¯s worth the wait.

    ¡°The day after will be fine,¡± I supply.

    Azalea nods and excitedly leaves. Her enthusiasm is admirable, I only hope it doesn¡¯t get her caught.

    I spend the rest of the day studying cerebral magic more and more. Night falls and guilt creeps up my body.

    I get myself ready for bed, with what awaits me in the morning I can always tell it¡¯ll be a dreamless sleep.

    But I was wrong. I dream of Hollyhock, we¡¯re in her HQ. The assassin isn¡¯t facing me, she¡¯s talking to someone else. Another Bay Leaf I imagine. Only half of her face is visible, so it¡¯s hard to gauge her expression. I¡¯m fairly certain it¡¯s a neutral one.

    I can¡¯t hear what she¡¯s saying, I wish she¡¯d turn my way. No words can escape my mouth, my feet refuse to move.

    Yearning and guilt prickle all over my being as I¡¯m trapped silently in this spot.

    I wake up, not feeling rested in the slightest. Sunlight shoots through my window to sear my eyes.

    I can never decide if the weather being nice on this day is callous cruelty or intentional kind on the universe¡¯s part. Though I suppose with the climate control magic, it¡¯s out of the universe¡¯s hands.

    I bathe, prepare my hair in a braid crown, and get my special dress.

    It hangs by itself at the leftmost end of my wardrobe. There isn¡¯t a single magical thing about it.

    She made the dress and it¡¯s her favorite color: magenta. And that makes it special enough.

    It¡¯s in a bouffant style, soft cotton, lovingly worn by myself and only touched by one other soul.

    As I put it on, I can¡¯t help but notice that it¡¯s a little tighter than usual; giving credence to Mentor Acacia¡¯s rude observation. But it hardly matters.

    I pick up the flower pot that always sits on my desk. The plants in it have grown beautifully. The magenta color matches my dress.

    Walking outside, I head towards my yearly destination.

    It¡¯s as if everyone knows what day it is, as no one approaches me to talk. It¡¯s a solemn walk on such a nice day.

    I don¡¯t have to hurry, and I have nothing else to do today; Mentor Acacia always gives me this day off.

    It¡¯s roughly a 40-minute walk from my home to where I end up.

    The graveyard of IronHenge is a somber place, a staunch reminder that death comes for all, eventually.

    There are only a few others here today. Groundskeepers, I believe. There is a special spatial magic surrounding this place. Unlike the ones attached to homes, this isn¡¯t a separate pocket dimension. A person could walk for hours in this graveyard without actually leaving it; acting like a treadmill of sorts. The only difference is new things can appear on this mill. The exact technique behind it escapes my knowledge and, frankly, eludes my interest.

    Such magic wasn¡¯t needed for magicians for quite some time, given that we naturally live longer. But as civilizations advanced, we involved ourselves in the conflicts between them, and inevitable bloodshed led to gravestones. WW2 was the last major conflict to have magicians take part in, Arcaniums around the world developed this system to honor our dead without leaving our cities. The bodies of magicians that died outside of Arcaniums were recovered by a group of Wizards, Sorcerers, and Druids dedicated solely to the endeavor.

    When I first came here I was lost in the overwhelming number of gravestones. Now I know the exact number of steps needed to reach her.

    I stop in front of Floribunda¡¯s grave.

    ¡°Hello, Flora,¡± I say to her. She hated being called that by anyone other than me. I sit on the ground in front of her, placing the flowers of her namesake to the side. ¡°It¡¯s hard to believe that it¡¯s been 8 years without you.¡±

    The flowers I placed the year before have withered and dried.

    Her gravestone is simple. It has her name, of course, an etching of her face, and a dedication. I was closest to her, so I got to choose what was written.

    Being her best friend, I knew anything about regret, sadness, or guilt would¡¯ve annoyed her. It¡¯s where my heart wanted to go after she died but I didn¡¯t want to lay those feelings on her resting place. I struggled to find some words that would bear the weight of her life and what she meant to me. After countless tears and sleepless nights, I came up with the following,

    ¡°The time we spent together would¡¯ve been magical in any life,¡± I read aloud. When we were young, we imagined life outside of IronHenge. We didn¡¯t know much about it, but our imaginations ran wild. Flora could never make up her mind about whether she would be a business owner, a gladiator, or a computer genius. A lot of that was because of the old movies we watched; in retrospect, they weren¡¯t the most realistic job opportunities for us.

    As we got older and more into our crafts, Flora and I talked less and less about leaving. But it was always in the back of my mind and I imagined it was somewhere in hers. It was her idea to pick a place at random to travel to.

    I let out a deep sigh.

    Every year since her death, I¡¯ve visited and filled her in on what¡¯s happened. Nothing was too mundane to share with her. And now? Now I have quite a bit to reveal.

    ¡°Much to unpack,¡± I say more to myself than to Flora. ¡°You better settle in.¡±

    I start with what happened after my last visit. In comparison to recent events, it¡¯s all quite dull. But I fill her in anyway.

    Then I get to leaving IronHenge and all the chaos that ensued. It¡¯s more than a little strange to talk to her about Hollyhock; telling the woman I loved, about the woman I love.

    Flora and I were close, but never anything official. We talked about being with others, but would always gravitate to one another again. However, I always wanted more than that.

    I imagined when we were older and a little more tame we¡¯d naturally settle into each other. I envisioned that so much I took it as a certainty. Never voicing my deeper feelings.

    I stop talking for a moment, considering the flowers I brought with me. Every year I grow some, clip them, and place them in front of her grave. This time, I brought the whole pot with me.

    I don¡¯t know why but I decide to plant them here. Maybe I¡¯m tired of the previous flowers just withering away, dead and gone.

    I start the transition from pot to earth and continue my tale.

    As I tell Flora the story of the fight with the Necromancer and how Mentor Acacia tracked me down, I remember Hollyhock''s face. Seeing her lying there unconscious, brought back the memory of when Floribunda died.

    Those horrible moments are forever etched into my mind.

    It was an exciting time, we advanced from our neophyte statuses and were on the verge of becoming apprentices. Flora was searching around for the right Enchanter Mentor, while I was still undecided. This period between basic magical education and advanced apprenticeship was informally called ¡°Window shopping spree,¡± by my generation of magicians. Someone got the term from a magazine or something.

    We were outside, sitting at an amphitheater that had become an unofficial eating area for neophytes when they were out from studies. When there were no shows, of course. There were dozens of others around, idly talking and eating, enjoying their brief respite from schooling. Flora and I were talking about which Mentors we were interested in.

    She had given me the dress I¡¯m wearing today. It was a gift to celebrate our future learning.

    I had gone to a nearby bathroom to try it on. As I walked back my eyes locked onto Floribunda. I had thought about sharing my feelings for her that day. What better time than when we were free?

    I still remember her face before it all went wrong. Her light brown skin and dark red hair shined in the sunlight. Her eyes were a turquoise blue that matched the jewelry she often wore. She had on one of her favorite dresses, as I understand the pattern on it was a traditional Navajo style.

    I gave a twirl to show off the dress. She gave a radiant smile¡­then her face twisted in pain. Her hand clutched her chest.

    My legs couldn¡¯t carry me fast enough to catch her as she fell over. Others soon noticed and crowded around but I was kneeling over her already. She started coughing, harder and harder as she gripped her chest. Everyone there was frantically calling for help but the only thing I could hear was her coughs getting worse.

    Her free hand reached out to grab mine. As the color left her body I could see her veins turn a sickly blue all over. She coughed up blood, some splattered on my face but I didn¡¯t react to it. All I could do was plead with her to get better. To overcome this. If I squeezed her hand any harder I might¡¯ve broken it.

    Floribunda mustered what strength she had left to lean closer to me. She tried to say something to me, but the blood and bile in her mouth muddied her words.

    My words failed me.

    My magic failed me.

    My knowledge failed me.

    I failed her.

    So I watched the life drain from her eyes, their movement no longer erratic, her chest stopped rising and falling, and her hands went limp. Blood leaking from her mouth was the only thing moving.

    When help arrived it was far too late. She was gone, forever. That fact didn¡¯t make me leave her side, neither did the pleas of whoever was talking to me. It took three sorcerers¡¯ entanglement spells and two witches sedating me to tear me away from her body.  It was the second time I felt that fire burn deep within me. The third was when the Necromancer held the knife over Hollyhock.

    I later learned that whatever killed Floribunda was exceptionally deadly, it had liquefied her organs. The fact that she survived that long was nothing short of a miracle itself. At least, that¡¯s what the Witch who inspected her said. Nothing about it felt like a miracle to me. I wasn¡¯t the Witch I am now, but even if I was, I¡¯m not sure if I could¡¯ve helped. No one had seen anything like it before, and I still haven¡¯t learned anything close to it; even with Mentor Acacia¡¯s help

    There was an investigation into the matter. Everyone there was interrogated, myself included.

    Nothing turned up, nothing. All the Soothsayers, Sorcerers, and other magicians looked into this and nothing was found.

    I was almost held in containment for not letting it go and trying to investigate it myself.

    It was two months before I dropped the matter.

    In truth, I was searching for answers and had collapsed from exhaustion in public. I woke up three days later and was asked firmly to let it lie or face punishment.

    I couldn¡¯t even give a proper answer to the Sorcerer that told me to stop. I covered my eyes with my arms and cried.

    How could I just let it go? Just accept that my best friend, the woman I loved, died in front of me? And nothing could be found out? Why did I have to accept that? Why?! How could anyone accept that?

    When I was released from the infirmary, I received a letter from Mentor Acacia. She wanted me to learn from her. I couldn¡¯t agree fast enough. I figured if anyone could help me, she could. And here we are now.

    I finished planting the flowers before  Floribunda¡¯s gravestone. I stare at my dirt-covered hands. These hands keep letting the women I love go.

    Hollyhock¡¯s pain stricken face shares space with Floribunda¡¯s dying one in my mind.

    ¡°I¡¯m letting it happen again,¡± I say aloud. The rage building in me quickly turns into disgust at the idea.

    Hollyhock isn¡¯t dead yet.

    She can¡¯t be dead. She just can¡¯t.

    But she is in pain and what¡¯s been done to her can ruin her life. This might kill her if I can¡¯t fix it.

    My fingers curl in the earth beneath me as despair takes over my body again.

    ¡°I can¡¯t let this happen again. I won¡¯t let it happen again, Flora!¡±

    It¡¯s almost a kind of anger that takes my voice as I shout at the gravestone,

    ¡°I WON¡¯T IT HAPPEN AGAIN! I JUST¡­CAN¡¯T!¡±

    For the first time during any of my visits, it starts to rain. Heavy sheets pour down on me as if to water the flowers I just planted. The rain takes my tears as well.

    I thought I had reached my limit of crying for a lifetime, but obviously, I was wrong. I can''t find the strength to compose myself. I¡¯ve never cried in front of her grave, but I know she¡¯ll understand why now.

    ¡°I won¡¯t let it happen again¡­I promise,¡± I manage to get out between sobs.

    Ch. 24 End.

 My Fault

    ??????

    It¡¯s been two days since our clean-up of that DeadNettle den. Maybe my babysitter voucher expired or Tamara needed them for something else; but Larkspur and Kapudal are no longer in my place, depleting my fridge¡¯s contents.

    I flirt with the idea of going grocery shopping but the simple thought makes my head hurt.

    Just as well, I don¡¯t know when I¡¯ll get the call from Tamara. It would probably be better if I stayed at the HQ. I¡¯d be ready for the next step in the plan sooner.

    But I couldn¡¯t take all those eyes on me, everyone just waiting to see if I snap. I get pins and needles just thinking about it.

    No, I¡¯m much more comfortable going insane alone in my apartment. My inevitable and possibly imminent spiral into incorrigible mental instability needs no audience.

    That said, the idea that I might slip into autonomous nothingness doesn¡¯t sit well. It¡¯s an excessive weight around my neck.

    Nothing seems to take my mind off it besides physical activity. My exercise routine lets my mind drift from the dread that wants to drown my soul. But I can¡¯t do it for too long, I don¡¯t want to push it too much. I need to be in top form for what comes next.

    I try anything else to take my mind off it. I clean my entire place, every surface, and under every object. It didn¡¯t take as long as I thought it would, but at least my place is clean.

    I start cleaning my guns, disassembling them and meticulously wiping them down as needed.

    I briefly think that a person sitting alone in their apartment, cleaning guns in a hidden alcove is not the behavior of a sane person. But I dismiss the idea quickly since it isn¡¯t fucking helping.

    With everything clean and some exercise done, I have nothing else to do and there are many hours left in the day. Nothing on TV holds my attention for more than a few minutes. I feel like I¡¯m watching myself, watching TV rather than whatever stupid thing is on.

    Two weeks.

    I blacked out for two weeks. I walked, talked, ate, slept, and killed for two weeks and don¡¯t have a shred of memory of it all. The only thing I got from it is these headaches.

    What will become of me? Will I still talk? Have feelings, think, and care for myself; but beneath it all, nothing of substance? A vase with a hole in the side can hold some water, for some time. That¡¯s what I am now, I figure. But the cracks are getting bigger and bigger.

    I¡¯ll just be shards of what was once my mind.

    I turn off the pottery documentary I was watching.

    ¡°I have to go to sleep,¡± I say to no one. Maybe lying unconscious will calm me down.

    Getting ready for bed, I look at the unfamiliar clothes in my dressers. They aren¡¯t my style at all, so I¡¯m not sure what could¡¯ve possessed me to buy them. Predictably, a sharp pain forms in my head. I shake it off and wander over to my bed.

    How can I know I¡¯ll stay asleep? What if I go to sleep and slip into that¡­

    I refuse to name it. The dread that wants to spread throughout my being won¡¯t gain a foothold. Fear can be defeated with preparedness, that¡¯s what Tamara always says.

    I stand up and go for my tools; velcro strips, adhesive patches, and some heavy webbing.

    Rather than sleeping in my bed, I set myself up in the corner of my room. Placing the velcro strips on the walls, I stick them to the heavy webbing to trap myself in.

    It¡¯s uncomfortable, and somewhat irritating my skin, but it keeps me in place. If I slip away in my sleep and wake up, to do god knows what, the straps will have to be ripped off. That way, I¡¯ll know if I blacked out again.

    Maybe strapping myself to the walls is further proof of my insanity, but I don¡¯t have a shitload of options.

    As I sit upright against the wall and try to will myself to sleep, I realize I should¡¯ve grabbed a pillow. Or at least took a sheet and folded it up.

    ¡°Ahh, next time.¡± No one ever makes the perfect blackout tracking system on the first try.

    I somehow manage to fall asleep sometime later. I dream about something, someone. I can¡¯t see the person I¡¯m talking to. I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯m just not facing them or if they¡¯re just not there. But I am talking to someone, and they¡¯re talking back. I don¡¯t actually hear the words, I just have this feeling someone¡¯s talking to me. I¡¯m not even sure what I¡¯m saying, really.

    But something about it¡­reassures me, somehow.

    I wake up, still confined in the constraints. There¡¯s no sign of me undoing and then reattaching them.

    ¡°I made it through the night.¡± I sigh with relief and get out of the corner. The achiness in my neck and back makes it clear why more people generally don¡¯t sleep against a wall. Lesson learned.

    I stretch out in the shower, hoping we get the plan moving soon. Need something to do and there¡¯s nothing left for me here.

    I get dressed, slightly more tactical than street wear; in the hopes we¡¯ll start today.

    Anxiously, I head over to the HQ. Soon as I park the car in the lot someone says to me,

    ¡°Hey, Hollyhock!¡±

    I turn to see who the voice belongs to. A woman with cool brown skin greets me. She looks somewhat familiar but her face doesn¡¯t immediately ring any bells.

    My confusion must be apparent because she clarifies by initializing the Bay Leaf handshake; both of us using our right hands we give a tap of the knuckles, interlacing of fingers, and using thumbs to tap the other¡¯s digits in a specific order, ending with a double tapping the back of our hands and a finger gun.

    The Bay Leaves may have military-grade weapons and training, but we aren¡¯t above such demotic gestures. While I know most of my fellow assassins, there are a handful who have just been out of my orbit. Being able to recognize a Bay Leaf through our handshake is a lot like meeting a cousin you didn¡¯t know you had.

    At least, it¡¯s how I imagine so; never having had cousins myself.

    ¡°It¡¯s me, Mirabilis!¡± She says. That name ignites recognition in my mind. Wondering why she didn¡¯t just say that I squint at her face.

    I swear she looks different than the last time I saw her. Her straight nose and almond-shaped eyes are familiar, but I remember the space between her features being different. Her skin also seems a slightly different shade, like her undertone changed. I also recall her having some pockmarks or something like that. Her face is now very smooth.

    Then again I am losing my mind, so there¡¯s a good chance I¡¯m mistaken.

    She has a slim build for someone in our line of work, but not much muscle mass either. But as far as I know, her physique hasn¡¯t caused any issues on the job. She offers a wide smile and I try to give a genuine one back.

    In a recognizable gesture, she scratches her Adam¡¯s Apple. I have no idea why that gesture sticks in my mind, but it confirms this is who I think it is.

    ¡°You look like you saw a ghost,¡± Mirabilis says, speaking with a South American accent. Peruvian, I think.

    I shrug.

    ¡°It¡¯s been a tough¡­week.¡± I¡¯m not really sure what day it is.

    Mirabilis nods her head as if remembering what¡¯s going on with me. That¡¯s when I notice the large contractor bag she¡¯s pulling.

    ¡°Whatcha got there?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Accountant gumbo,¡± she answers. I guess Tamara got what she needed and didn¡¯t like that he spat at her. The opaque black bag obscures the state he¡¯s in, though I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s not all in one piece. All of us are killers, I have no problem seeing or handling a dead body, but I have a threshold of how much viscera I can be around. Mirabilis, seemingly, has no such compunction.

    I notice the smell suddenly.

    ¡°I gotta take care of this, I¡¯ll see ya later!¡± She says cheerfully and drags the body along. I give a friendly wave goodbye and head inside.

    As expected, HQ is abuzz with activity. Some apprehensive stares are aimed at me, but I do my best to ignore them. With the accountant dead, Tamara got what she wanted. She¡¯ll also have a snitch telling her what¡¯s going on. With everyone running around, I¡¯m guessing shit¡¯s about to get real.

    Speak of the devil, Tamara walks out from around a corner. She¡¯s talking to Koki¡¯O and they both immediately turn to look at me. The head and heart of the Bay Leaves approach me.

    ¡°What a coincidence, I was about to call you, Hollyhock. Seems you¡¯re getting better at being in the right place at the right time,¡± Tamara says.

    ¡°Tamara,¡± Koki¡¯O says, giving her a small nudge. Tamara clears her throat.

    ¡°But I, uhh¡­digress. A snitch told me the DeadNettles are meeting up, just like we planned. They¡¯re congregating in their lil¡¯ clubhouse on Gladioli Drive, somewhere around ten p.m. It¡¯s all hands on deck, first, we get everyone fitted, then we¡¯re going over the blueprints to form a strike plan. We¡¯ve wasted enough time talking, get to work, killer.¡±

    She dismisses me with that. Needing no further direction, I move to help the closest person who¡¯s moving an ammo cache by themself. We place it with the others, stockpiled by the door.

    From there it becomes a whirlwind of activities; which I¡¯m grateful for. Checking assault rifles and protective gear lets me ignore the dread being concocted in my head. The tactile, precise feeling of equipment sliding into place as it should; latches, straps, clips, grips, pins, zippers, and the various other pieces of it all. They instill a sense of definitiveness, absolute certainty.

    ¡®If it is done properly, it¡¯ll work properly¡¯. Words carved into us by Tamara when we trained with our weapons. She had us dismantle a gun a hundred times blindfolded before we¡¯d ever fired a single bullet from one. Funny how much that used to piss me the fuck off then, but now I¡¯m yearning for the surety of the process. Not that I¡¯ll ever let Tamara know that.

    I assist the greener Bay Leaves with their gear, showing them the most efficient ways to do everything. Before I know it, I have a small group orbiting me. They¡¯re freshly trained, yet inexperienced, and want to soak in the knowledge of a seasoned killer such as myself.

    I¡¯m aware of my skills, and what I¡¯ve accomplished. My reputation isn¡¯t something I particularly think about, but it obviously proceeds me; as these rookies hang onto my every word. For some, this¡¯ll be their first assignment. And what an assignment it is for their first run, wiping out a whole group.

    I can¡¯t help but judge the wisdom of letting newbies on an assignment like this. First jobs are almost always solo work; to see how one handles the weight of this life alone. If they fuck up, it¡¯s their own ass to pay. It¡¯s how we get proven killers. But this? If they fuck up and hesitate for a moment, they can end someone else¡¯s life. Should the lives of my fellow seasoned assassins depend on them?

    But then, maybe I¡¯m being too harsh on them and the more experienced killers. We¡¯re more than skilled enough to cover ourselves and these babies. Besides that, I suppose this is an invaluable demonstration for them. What they¡¯ll be capable of if they can survive long enough.

    Not that it matters what I think anyway. Tamara is doing this for two reasons, the first being that this is the fastest way for this crop of Bay Leaves to truly understand what this life means. That we aren¡¯t your garden variety killers. That we hold ourselves to a higher standard in this line of work. And that we operate on a singular mantra: Do not fuck with us.

    So maybe she doesn¡¯t need every single Bay Leaf to arm up and storm this place. But what better show of force is there to the other powers at play in this city? That if you fuck with us; all of us will show up and obliterate you from existence. This isn¡¯t just about professional vengeance, it¡¯s a grim warning to anyone who might even think about crossing us.

    When everything is prepped, checked, and squared away we gather in the sanctuary. Tamara and Koki¡¯O stand where a pulpit should be, waiting for all of us to sit in the pews. It¡¯s a somewhat bizarre atmosphere, us sitting and facing a solitary figure in a church. All of us, with bated breath, eager to hear from a leader. Do regular church sermons have such lethal anxiety from their congregation? Do the leaders usually have thigh holsters on? Who¡¯s to say? But this is America after all, so the chance isn¡¯t zero.

    A projection of the DeadNettle¡¯s HQ is displayed on a large whiteboard that we only keep around for such occasions. Even though we¡¯ve already been told about this; Koki¡¯O goes over the blueprints, detailing entry points, blindspots, and recent additions to the building. Which is good because I didn¡¯t study the schematics at all.

    We¡¯re to wait until they¡¯re all in, then surround the building, cutting off all exits. Dumb as they are, the DeadNettles aren¡¯t without some brain cells. In so much, that they¡¯ll be armed. They think that someone might try something and hope to ward off an attack with a display of strength. This will take the form of several guards being posted outside.

    Stealth will not factor into this operation. That¡¯s made clear when Tamara says Kapudul is going to take the first shot and provide support with sniper cover. She gives a ¡°WOO!¡± in response to this.

    The DeadNettles might be expecting some trouble, but they¡¯re not prepared for the full force of the Bay Leaves. Few are.

    Tamara starts assigning groups with leaders to take point. I¡¯m half expecting to be put in charge of some of the newbies that have been following me around. But all the groups are made and I don¡¯t hear my name called. As everyone gets into their cloisters I approach Tamara about this.

    Before I can say a word, she says to me,

    ¡°Hollyhock, you¡¯ll be with me, Koki¡¯O, and Digit.¡± She took the wind out of my sails a bit with that announcement. Here I thought I was about to be sidelined but it¡¯s just the opposite. I¡¯ll be in the spearpoint with Tamara.

    Kapudul saunters over next to me, a spliff between her fingers that she fully intends to light before Koki¡¯O gives her a look. She puts it away in her pocket. I¡¯m about to ask what she¡¯s doing here when Digit comes over, carrying two large cases.

    Digitalis is our doctor, armorer, techie, tattooist, and weaponsmith; but I sometimes forget he¡¯s also a Bay Leaf like the rest of us. The amount of guns he has strapped to his person is evidence enough of his killer prowess. He puts one case down and presents it to Kapudul.

    ¡°Christmas came early for you, it seems.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah?¡±

    He opens the case to reveal the most beautiful sniper rifle I¡¯ve ever seen.

    ¡°This is the C-Buckthorn,¡± he informs her. I¡¯m not Kapudul heard him as she stares at the dark green weapon. She might be in love.

    ¡°I might be in love,¡± she says. A small chuckle escapes me.

    ¡°Semi-automatic. Cartridge holds eight .50 caliber bullets, if you have a problem with 2,000 meters of this baby, you won¡¯t have a problem soon enough,¡± Digit explains, but again I think it falls on deaf ears. She picks it up gently and cradles the large rifle like it¡¯s a child she just gave birth to. Digit still has more to say, ¡°These are standard rounds.¡¯ he points to a cartridge on the left. ¡°These are armor-piercing incendiary, steel plates don¡¯t put up much fight for them.¡± he points to a cartridge with a red line going across it. ¡°And these,¡± he points to the final one with an orange line across it. ¡°Are explosive rounds. You shoot a person with one of these, you¡¯ll leave a hole you can put an arm through.¡±

    Kapudul looks like she¡¯s about to cream her pants. I honestly can¡¯t blame her.

    ¡°You only use those,¡± Tamara speaks up ¡°If I give the word, understood?¡±

    That gets through to the sniper, who nods her head as she looks at the deadly ammunition, perhaps envisioning all the death she will cause with them.

    ¡°Good, go,¡± Tamara dismisses. Kapudul picks up the case, shushing it.

    ¡°Let me take you away from the bad man, you¡¯re with Mommy now,¡± she says as she walks away. Tamara rolls her eyes but Koki¡¯O laughs a little bit.

    ¡°What do I get, Santa?¡± I ask, seeing the remaining case.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been a good girl this year,¡¯ Digit says with a Santa-like voice.

    ¡°Stop,¡± Tamara orders.

    ¡°You¡¯re no fun,¡± he replies. He opens the case and hands over a jacket.

    It¡¯s black, embroidered with flowers all over. ¡°This one took a while, but it¡¯s some of my best work. The extra material absorbed the treatment well. Making it leagues more durable than any other one I made,¡± he says, clearly proud of himself. As I take it I can feel what he means, the weight alone is proof of how the chemical blend has fortified it.

    ¡°You picked this out?¡±

    ¡°No, you did.¡±

    ¡°I did?¡± Another spike of pain shoots through my head. I do my best to hide it but Koki¡¯O notices.

    Doesn¡¯t seem like the kind of jacket I¡¯d pick out, but it¡¯s the best I got. Besides that, it also looks pretty cool. Sliding it on, a surge of confidence fills me as that feeling of safety covers me. It¡¯s hard to describe the sensation exactly, besides intrinsically knowing how strong it is. The embroidery on the sleeves is especially thick and I can tell it¡¯s extremely tough. I¡¯ve had treated jackets before, but this one feels like more than just armor, more than safe. It¡¯s¡­¡­.

    I don¡¯t have a word for it. Familiar? Home? Can clothes feel like home? Maybe because it¡¯s a tangible link to what I¡¯ve missed.

    ¡°We got a couple hours ¡®fore it¡¯s go time. You can ease up,¡± Koki¡¯O says.

    It¡¯s 84 degrees outside, but I don¡¯t want to take off the jacket.

    ¡°Nah, I¡¯ll go help out some-¡± Before I can finish Koki¡¯O claps a large arm around my shoulder.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, killer. Help me with something,¡± she says in a tone of voice that I can¡¯t refuse. Tamara gives us a nod and starts talking with Digit.

    Koki¡¯O takes me to the kitchen, where she already has some things cooking. It¡¯s an assortment of side dishes mostly, none too heavy; mashed potatoes, home fries, rice with beans, mac ¡®n¡¯ cheese, collard greens, and lots of other stuff. It¡¯s a delightful melange of aromas.

    ¡°Start making plates,¡± she orders. ¡°Newbies are trying to go in there on empty stomachs.¡±

    I start assembling different combinations of food.

    ¡°Maybe they¡¯re scared they¡¯ll shit their pants?¡± I proffer.

    ¡°This¡¯ll be their first time killing and seeing killing. I¡¯d rather them throw up something than dry heave,¡± she replies, going over to the stove. A silence falls between us. We can hear the sounds of everyone walking around, getting ready. Koki¡¯O prepares more food and I keep making plates.

    Then a chuckle comes from her.

    ¡°I just remembered when Tamara had that helicopter for us to practice with our wingsuits,¡± Koki¡¯O reminisces. She puts the fire on low. ¡°You put on a brave act, but I could tell something was wrong.¡± She leans against the counter and looks at me.

    It¡¯s clear what she¡¯s getting at; that she senses something wrong. But I won¡¯t give it to her that easily.

    ¡°Jumping out of a helicopter for the first time can make anyone trepidatious,¡± I say as I place some cornbread on a paper plate.

    Koki¡¯O sighs, realizing I¡¯m going to make her work for it.

    ¡°What¡¯s the problem, Hollyhock?¡± She asks properly.

    What should I share? My fear of going permanently insane? The dread creeping into every fiber of my being? That¡¯s too heavy, she¡¯ll go right to Tamara with it

    ¡°These headaches won¡¯t go away,¡± I answer. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s causing them, they come at random intervals, and haven¡¯t gotten weaker.¡±

    Koki¡¯O walks closer to me. A firm but gentle hand reaches out and holds my face. She starts to inspect me and I let her, offering no resistance. It makes me feel like a little kid quite frankly. She turns my face side-to-side, looking for something with an unreadable expression.

    ¡°Have you told Digit?¡± She asks.

    ¡°No,¡± I mumble, her hands squeezing my cheeks. ¡°He¡¯ll take it to Tamara.¡±

    ¡°And maybe he¡¯ll take you to an MRI,¡± she retorts, letting go of my face. ¡°You scared, that it? Afraid to get a diagnosis?¡±

    I shrug.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I know exactly what I¡¯m afraid of, but that isn¡¯t related to the headaches. At least, I don¡¯t think they are. ¡°The blackouts aren¡¯t new, obviously but the headaches are. I don¡¯t see why I¡¯d start getting them now.¡±

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°Maybe whatever¡¯s going on in here,¡± she says, putting a finger on my forehead ¡°is getting worse.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s encouraging.¡±

    ¡°Look Holly, if I could magically take the pain away I would.¡±

    That pain shoots through my head again.

    ¡°But I can¡¯t. You should seriously get it checked out.¡±

    ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll see what¡¯s what,¡± I say. It¡¯s an empty promise. I have no interest in knowing whatever¡¯s wrong with me. If this¡­affliction kills me or takes over my brain then so be it.

    Tamara taught us how to do everything we know well, but lies can never get past Koki¡¯O. Still, maybe as mercy, she lets it slide.

    ¡°Alright,¡± she ruffles my hair. ¡°Let¡¯s get back to it.¡±

    That question pops up in my head again, but I push it away. I don¡¯t care if my brain is turning into mush; that question won¡¯t ever be voiced. I have to keep that promise. If nothing else.

    We get back to the task at hand. When enough plates are made we call down the newbies. Some of our more seasoned killers come as well. Larkspur has a pack of neophytes clinging close, much to their annoyance. At first, they¡¯re all hesitant to eat, but seeing Larkspur immediately grab a plate assuages them. As they all get food, a lively atmosphere comes about. Stories are told and bits of advice are shared. You¡¯d never think that this a pre-assault supper.

    The time whittles away, but soon we start to shift. Plates and utensils get traded for guns and ammo clips.  Everyone gets their pick from our arsenal; since we¡¯re going loud a lot of rifles come out to play.

    When I get to the armory I look over my options. So many killing tools to choose from. I grab a couple of karambits, two thermite grenades, and a tactical flashlight. With the appetizers done, I move on to the main course. To start, the Echinace-A submachine gun. The ¡°A¡± stands for automatic, this gun is made for suppressing multiple enemies. Coming standard with a double drum magazine, it has a frightening fire rate and had an even scarier flaw. The initial prototypes overheated quickly, making them useless after a time. To combat this, a liquid nitrogen cooling system was added with extreme success. The gun will be cool to the touch even after emptying its clip, earning its nickname ¡°Cold Killer.¡± It produces quite a bit of steam as you fire it.

    With dessert being the Senna-68 Rifle. I imagine this weapon was designed by a sadistic hermit genius somewhere since it has little to no recoil; even on full automatic, making it damn near laser accurate as well as capable of expelling armor-piercing rounds. The yellow and dark brown weapon is easy to handle, so much so that it¡¯s a go-to rifle for those who employ child soldiers. It¡¯s also been acquired by an unsettling number of such people in further unnerving amounts. With a unique sound, the Senna-68 has gained the reputation of being the gun that¡¯ll make you shit if you hear it. This one has a heat sensor attached to it.

    When we¡¯re all fully equipped we get into our groups and head out before Tamara stops us all. Her voice comes through all our radios.

    ¡°What we¡¯re about to do will upset the balance in this city. There will be consequences to this, but we¡¯ll handle it as we do everything. They brought this on themselves. I expect all of you to come back here, understood?¡±

    We all give various expressions of agreement. No more words need to be said.

    Nondescript black vans await us outside. As we pile in, the energy shifts in all of us. Tamara has tempered us to be cool, collected before such assignments. So, despite the heat, the air around us is ice cold.

    Or maybe it¡¯s the AC Digit is blasting. The four of us sit in the van in absolute silence. Digit, Koki¡¯O, and I are all wearing helmets; though Tamara always chastises us to wear them, she doesn¡¯t have one. When I was younger I asked Koki¡¯O about it and she said ¡®It¡¯s cuz she doesn¡¯t want helmet hair.¡¯

    I didn¡¯t really buy it back then, so I always assumed whatever past Tamara has influenced that particular decision. I sometimes wonder what her life was like before all of this. How it fostered that distant stare in her eyes. She¡¯s sitting across from me but she might as well be on the other side of the world.

    She notices me looking at her.

    ¡°You nervous, killer?¡±

    ¡°No. You?¡±

    Instead of answering that, she leans back.

    ¡°This has to happen,¡± she starts. ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡± she tries to think of a word.

    ¡°Apprehensive,¡± Koki¡¯O supplies. Tamara nods. The fact that Koki¡¯O knew the word means she¡¯s privy to what troubles her.

    ¡°About what comes next.¡± Tamara expands.

    ¡°With the Argonos?¡± I probe. Tamara nods, somberly.

    ¡°You know how many people I¡¯ve killed?¡± She asks. Koki¡¯O and Digit both perk up at the question.

    ¡°Well, at least three,¡± I joke.

    A very rare chuckle comes from Tamara.

    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong.¡± She sits silently for a moment. ¡°Some kills were more¡­constructive, than others.¡±

    Now I wonder what the actual number is, but more than that I want to know what she considers a ¡®constructive¡¯ kill. And a non-constructive one.

    But her distant stare returns and I know I won¡¯t get an answer. Koki¡¯O and Digit divert their attention back to driving.

    With only the inside of the van to look at, it¡¯s hard to tell where we are, but then the road smooths out under us. Tamara briefly looks out the windshield and grabs her radio. I turn mine down before she says,

    ¡°We¡¯re coming up on the targets, heads on a swivel, no one but us leaves that building. Understood?¡±

    A litany of confirmations comes through the radio.

    ¡°Understood,¡± I say to her directly. I turn my radio back up and go to look out the window.

    The DeadNettles may be organ stealing, drug dealing, human smuggling assholes, but they at least have some style. Their headquarters was once the most influential building in Oleander City: The Aurinia Exchange. It¡¯s a massive building that dwarfs most other structures built around the same time.

    It was created during the Gold Rush which saw a massive increase in population around here. The building was designed with a dual purpose, a gold exchange and refinery plant. People would come with whatever nuggets of gold they found for money, and the plant would create gold bars and coins.

    With a healthy amount of gold to be found here, business was good; so good that the owner opened a mine under the building. That was initially successful, but greed kills. Cut corners and poorly maintained conditions, along with an earthquake, led to the mine collapsing. 13 miners were crushed immediately, and another 20 starved to death as they were unable to get out.

    Between the payouts to the families and people losing faith in the place, it soon went out of business. Most of the equipment inside was sold off, or stolen. But the structure itself stands strong. It¡¯s three stories tall and built with brick and mortar, but I¡¯m willing to bet there¡¯s some asbestos in there.

    How exactly the DeadNettles got their hands on it is beyond my interest. Since then they¡¯ve repainted the white pillars out front purple and have thrown up their insignia all over the place, the earth turning purple instead of blue.

    After tonight that symbol will be a grim reminder if anyone remembers it at all.

    This place has its own road, so we park near the street to block it off.

    All of us get out and perform one last radio check, weapons, and gear.

    Kaadupul gets into position with her new baby.

    ¡°Formations, now,¡± Tamara commands. We all comply, getting into our groups. I go over to Tamara¡¯s left, her right reserved for Koki¡¯O, with Digit at our rear. ¡°Advance.¡±

    All Bays Leaves maneuver to their designated entry points, with us taking the front door.

    There are two guards at the ready at the front. Though ¡®at the ready¡¯ seems generous as they¡¯re both on their phones, the one on the left watching a loud annoying video.

    She laughs like an idiot too.

    ¡°Kaadupul, when you¡¯re ready take out the one on the right,¡± Tamara orders.

    ¡°Left,¡± I suggest. She briefly looks and sees what I mean.

    ¡°Actually the one on the left,¡± she adjusts. The soon to be dead DeadNettle burst out laughing again, annoying her fellow guard.

    ¡°Everyone else when you hear that shot, and you will hear the shot, do what we do best.¡±

    There is no need for confirmation.

    Like a crack of thunder, Kaapudul¡¯s new toy fires our opening shot. The guards don¡¯t have time to react to the sound; the one on the left is thrown against the wall where a sizable hole has excavated her forehead. Koki¡¯O fires a burst shot into the chest of the rightmost one.

    The slaughter begins.

    Like wolves, we quickly advance on our prey. Digit shoots six shots through the front door, hearing people approach. Three more bodies fall before we¡¯ve even stepped foot inside.

    Tamara shoves the door open and we enter the final night of the DeadNettles.

    All around us, Bay Leaves have ingressed and started wordlessly killing. There is confusion, desperation, and fear spreading through our targets, making them all the more vulnerable.

    No time to bask in it, I get to work. My Senna-68 rifle finds a victim who¡¯s slightly less disoriented than the others. Doesn¡¯t stop me from putting four bullets through his chest though. I pivot as I notice a motion to my right. Another one, getting their gun ready, the trigger gets squeezed and their blood decorates the walls behind them.

    There¡¯s no time to think, anyone not wearing a helmet, save Tamara, is not a Bay Leaf.

    And that means they die.

    We advance, putting down targets left and right. We keep a tight formation, but Tamara walks like this is a Sunday stroll for her. She knows we¡¯ll eliminate anyone to her flanks and no one¡¯s been unfortunate enough to get in front of her yet.

    I kill five more as we get further into the building. By now some semblance of organization has infected the DeadNettles, they rashly form groups or find cover. It hardly matters though as we¡¯re still advancing and have a clearer understanding of what¡¯s happening. Lambs can crowd together all they want, doesn¡¯t make a wolf¡¯s fangs any less sharp. I hear a shot from Kaapudul¡¯s rifle and two DeadNettles that were crouching next to each other have holes through both their necks.

    Seems she¡¯s in the fight too.

    Ahead and above us is a catwalk connecting the two sides of the building. A group of DeadNettles rushes out onto it, thinking the height will give them an advantage. It normally would over any regular person, but a combatant like Tamara is not your average killer. Barely looking up, she takes out her sole gun.

    Custom like her brass knuckles, her weapon is a fully automatic pistol that she simply calls ¡®Rue¡¯. The exact specs on it are a mystery to me, which seems to be the point as it has a thumbprint scanner. Only she can fire this gun. With a sweep of her hand and the squeeze of a trigger, she puts a bullet through either the head or neck of the seven elevated attackers. Some fall over the railing and crash in front of us. Not losing her stride, Tamara tucks the weapon away and steps over a corpse.

    We keep advancing, sweeping through this first floor. In the distance, I recognize Larkspur with their group of newbies. Lark, of course, is efficiently killing everyone. One of the newbies catches a bullet from somewhere, falling over. Lark quickly turns to find the shooter and eliminates them. The newbie is okay, the vest protected her. She gets back on her feet and Lark taps her shoulder twice, signifying for her to get behind them. For a moment, she hesitates but obliges.

    The momentary distraction isn¡¯t enough for whoever gets the drop on me to get a clean shot. A bullet whizzes by and hits me in the elbow. In the split second it made contact, I feel it gets deflected by my treated jacket. It hurts like I just hit my ulnar nerve really hard, but tolerable. I spot who fired the shot. This time their aim improves, landing a round in my left shoulder. Again the jacket does its job, spectacularly at that. The bullet spins and gets redirected elsewhere. The shooter hesitates, thinking I should be down or at least hurt. I don¡¯t let them get another shot off, emptying the clip in their torso.

    ¡°You good?¡± I hear Digit ask while I reload.

    I quickly inspect the spots where I was shot. There aren''t even signs of damage to the jacket itself.

    ¡°I¡¯m good. This jacket¡¯s the shit,¡± I reply.

    ¡°No chatter,¡± Tamara interjects.

    We both nod.

    The cacophony of bullets and screaming continue all around us as we advance upstairs. There are double doors to a corridor that Tamara opens.

    Almost like she has a sixth sense strictly for violence, she immediately ducks and dodges a long knife wielding DeadNettle. She spins and delivers a swift uppercut to his elbow, making him drop his weapon. Now that I get a second to look at it, I see it¡¯s a machete. This motherfucker actually had a machete and thought this was the best time to use it.

    Tamara doesn¡¯t give him long to regret the poor decision. She grabs his chin with one hand and his shirt with another. There are other DeadNettles in the corridor but they watch the ensuing gore in horror. Her teeth get flashed and close around his throat. He can only scream out in pain for a moment. She bites harder and harder and shakes her head side-to-side.

    The voyeur DeadNettles learn the absolute difference between them and us. They are only killers with guns and knives. But people like Tamara? She¡¯ll kill with anything at her disposal; teeth included.

    Maybe that¡¯s why she doesn¡¯t wear a helmet.

    With a sickening sound, she tears his throat out. The would-be attacker falls over, blood gushing from what remains of his neck. The leftovers are firmly between Tamara¡¯s teeth. She spits it out and the bit of viscera lands just before one of the DeadNettle¡¯s feet. She doesn¡¯t need to say anything, the message is clear.

    If they had any will to fight at all before that, it evaporates as they throw down their weapons and put their hands up in a universal sign of surrendering. One guy even pisses his pants in a further sign of submission.

    Tamara wipes her mouth, only getting some of the blood, to finally say,

    ¡°Kill them.¡±

    With no wavering, we tear them to pieces. No one leaves this building but us, that includes cowards who might try to get revenge later. Other Bay Leaves catch up to us, none commenting on Tamara¡¯s red mouth.

    We advance further, Digit and I keep vigilant.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you do that since-¡± Tamara cuts Koki¡¯O off.

    ¡°No chatter,¡± she says, a little less stern.

    I briefly wonder if she¡¯s a vampire or a zombie.

    My head spikes in pain, but I endure it.

    We all continue throughout the building, encountering laughable resistance. Coming up on a hallway, Tamara sees something we don¡¯t.

    ¡°MOVE!¡± she shouts.

    We jump to the sides before a flood of bullets rushes where we just were. Gaudy stone pillars provide cover as an insanely huge woman is firing a Bradford Pair minigun at us. A dual four-barrel rotary machine gun that can shoot bullets for days. Typically mounted on a vehicle, how the fuck she¡¯s carrying it let alone shooting it would be impressive if we weren¡¯t aimed at us. Even over the rapid firing, I hear her laughter.

    ¡°NOT SO TOUGH NOW, ARE YA?¡±

    Bullets continue to fly, we have cover for now but she¡¯s walking closer and closer.

    ¡°KAAPUDUL, WE¡¯RE PINNED! SECOND FLOOR, HEAVY TARGET, EXPLOSIVE ROUND!¡±

    We suffer three more seconds of the hellfire. On the other side of the hallway is a large window overlooking the city, from there we hear another thunderous shot. Gunfire stops and its sound is replaced with a meaty thud. I, tentatively, look out from behind the cover. The walking turret is indeed dead.

    ¡°WOOOO! YOU SEE THAT SHIT?!¡± Kaapudul says through the radio.

    There is a crater big enough to stick a fist through where her chest should be. The explosive round did its job aggressively. All the Bay Leaves break out into cheer for our sniper.

    Tamara silences it immediately by raising her hand and making a tight fist.

    ¡°Anyone hurt?¡± She asks. Two of the newbies got grazed, one in the leg, and another in the side. Nothing serious.

    ¡°We celebrate after. Finish the job.¡±

    Going throughout the rest of the building we encounter laughable resistance.

    As we enter one room, the DeadNettles inside try to take cover by flipping over a table and ducking behind furniture. They¡¯ve seen too many movies, thinking wood and couches are bulletproof. Holding back a chuckle, I unleash the Echinace-A on their dumbasses.

    On the third and final floor, we take out the last handful that were running around. The last room we haven¡¯t cleared is the boss¡¯ office. Large oak double doors, engraved with an idealized scene of people first coming here to Oleander City to secure their future. Bunch of bullshit if you ask me.

    Among all the DeadNettles we took out, no one confirmed their leader was among the count; so he has to be behind these doors. All of us wait for our leader to open the doors. The second she does we all pour into the room, checking for any threats. To our surprise, there¡¯s only one man in the room. He¡¯s leaning over his desk, not facing us. There is no reaction from him as the entirety of the Bay Leaves surrounds him.

    The room has been decorated with a lot of East Asian art. I¡¯m no anthropologist, so I can¡¯t nail down which culture it is exactly. Though, the giant painting of Genghis Khan I¡¯m just seeing now makes me think it¡¯s Mongolian.

    Still leaning over his desk, he sighs. I notice a knife sticking out of his back pocket.

    He¡¯s dressed in black sneakers, black jeans, and a red shirt that ombres into purple. Quite a collection of tattoos he has on his arms as well. One on his bicep is a depiction of a young man. ¡®R.I.P¡¯ is written under it.

    He stands up straight and turns around. He doesn¡¯t seem fazed by all of us aiming guns at him. Maybe he has a brain cell or two, unlike his subordinates. He knows he¡¯s outnumbered, outgunned, and frankly outclassed. But there¡¯s a look of indignation on his face. Absolute rage in his eyes as he scans over all of us.

    ¡°Which one?¡± he asks. I know he¡¯s talking about me. He overlooked Tamara, searching for someone specific. I step forward, unlatching my helmet to expose my face.

    ¡°You,¡± he says with bitter hatred towards me.

    ¡°Me,¡± I say, cooly, since I don¡¯t know what his fucking problem is.

    I only know him by reputation. He goes by ¡°Acer¡± Ginn. His real first name is unimportant to me. I know the relevant stuff; though he¡¯s heavy into his Mongolian heritage, he was born here. Got the nickname ¡°Acer¡± ¡®cause he always came up with good ideas. But if the current state of things is any indication, I¡¯d say that he¡¯s run out of them.

    He continues to stare at me with the rage of a man wronged. I still don¡¯t know why he¡¯s pissed, his crew is the one that tried to kill me.

    ¡°Weapons down,¡± Tamara says. All Bay Leaves comply. It¡¯s obvious what¡¯s about to happen. I hand my helmet to Tamara, my guns to Koki¡¯O, and step into the impromptu cage match.

    He has to know he¡¯s not leaving here alive. But he still wants a piece of me.

    His mistake.

    I walk up to him and he grabs a saber off his desk. I roll my eyes so hard that they almost fall out of my head. My hands grip my karambits. He gets closer and I have a proper look at him.

    He¡¯s unkempt, his hair and beard are out of control. It might be because of our incursion, but something tells me he¡¯s been worse for wear for a while now. The young man tattooed on his arm looks similar to him.

    Acer is tall, he has a few inches on me, with a solid build. 210 pounds, if I had to guess.

    I¡¯d be more worried about the sword if he wasn¡¯t so clearly furious at me. He thinks anger will benefit him in this fight, but it won¡¯t. That and this is the 21st century, not sure who told him a sword is cool.

    ¡°Pizda,¡± he curses at me.

    I just raise an eyebrow at that.

    This is my chance for revenge but I still don¡¯t feel anything.

    He swings his sword at me, bringing it horizontally. Copying Tamara¡¯s move from earlier, I duck and spin under the blade. Instead of a punch, my karambit slices the inside of his elbow.

    He drops his sword, but I kick the handle so it comes back up. I catch it and examine the blade. It¡¯s finely made but is still impractical. There¡¯s engraving along the back of the blade but I can¡¯t understand it.

    Flipping the sword to a reverse grip, I toss it to the side. One of the newbies catches it. Their first souvenir.

    ¡°That all you got?¡± I ask, putting my knives away. I don¡¯t need them anymore.

    ¡°Gichii!¡± He yells.

    ¡°Huur.¡± I only know how to insinuate someone¡¯s death in other languages. With that, he tries to deliver some hooks at me. He¡¯s holding nothing back, they¡¯re strong but slow. I almost want to let him hit me, so I could feel a fraction of the anger he¡¯s putting out. But cold indifference has an ironclad grip on me, years of training has me dodging his attacks with little effort.

    He tries a haymaker but I step into it, his fist harmlessly flies by, and I bring my right hand to the back of his head. Grabbing a fistful of hair, I slam his face into my knee. I let him go as he recoils in pain.

    I look around at my other Bay Leaves, hoping they¡¯re enjoying the show. But it seems they already know the outcome of this fight. What they¡¯re really waiting for, what I¡¯m waiting for is the end. After I beat the anger out of him and he can talk.

    Until then, this beatdown continues.

    He rushes at me with his face freshly bloodied. Rage makes him dumber but not faster, throwing a jab that I sidestep. I counter with an uppercut to his chin, with some restraint since I don¡¯t want his jaw broken. I¡¯ve learned that lesson the hard way, interrogating people with broken mandibles isn¡¯t fun or effective.

    He reels back from the punch and I grab his shirt to pull him in for a knee to the gut. He¡¯s hunched over in pain and I slam my elbow into the back of his neck. He crashes onto the floor. I take a few steps away and give him some space and time to gather his rage.

    He gets back up and shouts at me while going for another swing. I crouch down and give a punch of my own to his right knee. Some blood from his mouth drips onto my sleeve. He folds and I rise to give another uppercut. Now that he¡¯s standing I start to traumatize his chest. Three punches in I feel a rib or two crack. His stamina is depleted, but I¡¯m just getting started. I raise my foot to stomp on his uninjured knee. It twists at an unnatural angle and he yowls out in pain. He falls over again, holding his leg.

    I look at the knife he still hasn¡¯t pulled out.

    ¡°Tired yet, champ?¡± I ask more genuinely than sarcastically. But I guess he doesn¡¯t see the difference. Some immutable part of his soul compels him to stand. It¡¯s almost admirable.

    Almost.

    He hobbles over, desperate to land a hit. Maybe he thinks he¡¯ll get lucky. Like one punch of his will make me explode.

    Within arm¡¯s reach, he swings again. I duck under and drive my fist into his side for a devastating punch to his right floating rib.

    He falls over, folding onto me but I roll him off my shoulder.

    ¡°You¡­fucking¡­bitch¡± he groans.

    ¡°That''d sting more if your mouth wasn¡¯t filled with your own blood right now,¡± I counter. He growls, trying to muster some strength to stand. But his rage gets drowned in his pain. I stand over him.

    ¡°Wanna tell me what your problem is yet?¡±

    He answers in the form of trying to spit at me, but it doesn¡¯t get far, landing on his chin.

    I offer a rebuttal by pressing my foot on his left knee. Some pain to clear his mind. He yowls out again.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure this wasn¡¯t how you wanted this to go, but pretty much everyone else here knew this would happen. You decided to fuck with a Bay Leaf and you¡¯ve almost paid the price in full. I heard you¡¯re the brains around here, so I really need to know why you thought that was a good idea.¡±

    He¡¯s silent for a moment.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡±

    ¡°Kinda why I asked.¡±

    He huffs. In my peripheral vision, I see Koki¡¯O moving to be closer.

    ¡°Fucking¡­bitch.¡±

    ¡°Real original. You come up with that all by yourself?¡±

    He seethes lying there. His fury radiates out in palpable waves.

    I¡¯m starting to think a beautiful friendship isn¡¯t going to blossom between us.

    ¡°Three months ago¡­you killed my younger brother,¡± he manages to spit out between rage-filled breaths.

    I wait a moment to see if he¡¯s going to add anything to that, but only silence follows.

    ¡°That it?¡± I ask. ¡°That¡¯s the reason?¡±

    If this guy wasn¡¯t mad at me before, he is now. He tries to swing a fist at me that I casually sidestep, and he ends up hitting the floor.

    ¡°If I killed your brother-¡±

    ¡°Ain¡¯t no ¡®if¡¯ about it. I know it was you,¡± he interrupts.

    ¡°Then he was a grown ass man. I don¡¯t kill kids, so I don¡¯t see what the issue is.¡±

    I don¡¯t recall killing anyone particularly special these past few months n

    ¡°He-¡± I interrupt him this time.

    ¡°You¡¯re not a fucking idiot, you knew doing what you¡¯ve done in Oleander City had these risks. Any day of the week you can get shot, by another gang, by the cops, or if you¡¯re really unlucky: by us. Yours isn¡¯t the first brother or sister I¡¯ve killed and he won¡¯t be the last. So I don¡¯t know what¡¯s got you feeling so goddamn unique that you¡¯d go against our rules and try to fuck with the Bay Leaves.¡±

    The heartlessness of my words doesn¡¯t elude me, but this is the reality of our shadowy world. People who live this life might get killed.

    ¡°You probably felt like you were on top of the food chain for a while. Made some money, killed some people, might¡¯ve even fucked some bad bitches.¡±

    I kneel down as a sharp anger rises within me.

    ¡°And I¡¯m sure when I killed your brother that it rocked your pathetic little world.¡± I can¡¯t keep the venom out of my voice for this man I bloodied. That such a reason is what brought us all here today irritates the fuck outta me. ¡°It was a reminder of the life you actually live. That no one is above having a price on their head in this city. Your brother''s death might have been the most transformative experience in your wasted years on this earth; but to me? That shit was just another job.¡±

    ¡°But it wasn¡¯t another job,¡± Acer informs me. He takes a shallow breath. ¡°There wasn¡¯t a hit out on him, bitch.¡±

    ¡°What does that mean?¡± I ask.

    ¡°You don¡¯t even remember, do you?¡± He coughs. ¡°Psychopath like you probably kills so often that the faces start to blend together.¡±

    I want to break his sternum for saying that but I need him to elaborate.

    ¡°You killed him in a bar, in front of dozens¡­smashed his face in, all cuz he got handsy with some young thing. Nobody did a damn thing to stop you either. That ringing any bells?¡±

    I can¡¯t remember doing anything like that at all. Not a single shred of that event comes to mind. I want to believe he¡¯s lying but what possible reason could he have to do that? To get him and all the DeadNettles killed by us? That¡¯s why they were hiring us so much recently, to find me specifically. The dread I was hoping to quell lurches deep inside me.

    ¡°Sounds like he had it coming,¡± I reply to Acer, ignoring the terror building in me.

    He regained some strength during our little talk, grabbing the knife in his back pocket and hoping to slash my throat.

    I lean back out of the way and see Koki¡¯O toss me my Echinace-A. Catching it without looking, I turn the safety off and unleash a fusillade of bullets into Acer¡¯s torso. At this range, the blood splashes on me as I empty the clip.

    That click resounds throughout a now eerily quiet room.

    I let the empty clip drop and load in a new one. Then I expend it again into the corpse before me. When that one is done, the pile of gore at my feet doesn¡¯t even resemble a human body anymore.

    With that, the last DeadNettle is gone, my revenge complete, and I¡¯ve never felt so empty inside.

    ¡°My fault,¡± I mutter. ¡°This is all my fault.¡±

    I caused all of this and my piece of shit brain couldn¡¯t be bothered to hold on to the memory.

    A sick laughter erupts from my mouth, it¡¯s the only sound filling the room.

    ¡°THIS IS ALL MY FAULT!¡± AND I DIDN¡¯T EVEN KNOW IT!¡±

    I drop my gun as I hold my sides from laughter.

    ¡°MY BAD Y¡¯ALL! THIS ONE¡¯S ON ME!¡±

    Tears roll down my face and I can barely keep myself up. I¡¯m barely getting enough air in my lungs to continue laughing. A quick look around and no one else is laughing at this hilarious turn of events. Even through their helmets, body armor, and my tears, I can tell they¡¯re all feeling some kind of way. I can¡¯t tell what that way is exactly because I can¡¯t stop laughing. I fall to my knees, staining my pants with blood. My cachinnation is met with a very troubled expression from the only other exposed face: Tamara¡¯s.

    Why isn¡¯t anyone else laughing?

    Ch. 25 End

 "Witch Hazel/ Hollyhock"

    ????

    ¡°Can we really trust Azalea?¡± Barlow asks me. I¡¯m absentmindedly stirring a cup of tea. I made it, but don¡¯t actually want it.

    Barlow and I are waiting in my place. He knows what yesterday meant to me and chooses to focus on our current situation.

    ¡°We can trust her curiosity, her passion for knowledge outweighs her self-preservation. If she wants to turn us in, she¡¯ll be too involved.¡±

    ¡°What if she doesn¡¯t care about that? Maybe the rules matter more to her,¡± he counters with a valid point. I shrug.

    ¡°I¡¯m just hoping it won¡¯t come to that. Planning for failure invites it to your doorstep. I can¡¯t fail this.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t,¡± he replies. ¡°I know you¡¯ll find a way, no matter what. I¡¯m just asking to make sure you don¡¯t trip up on the way.¡±

    ¡°I suppose I can see the merit in that.¡±

    ¡°How did you leave IronHenge anyway?¡±

    I guess I never told him about it.

    ¡°I laid a series of wards that I would teleport to, like skipping a stone across water. I placed the last one directly under the barrier between us and the outside world. I figured it focuses on keeping stuff out, not in. So when I formed under it, the barrier forced me to the outside world. And there we are.¡±

    Barlow takes that in for a moment.

    ¡°What if it just shredded you?¡±

    ¡°I tested it before I did it to myself. I¡¯m not an idiot.¡±

    ¡°Well, you outsmarted a magical barrier that¡¯s stood for a thousand years, so no, I guess you aren¡¯t an idiot,¡± he admits.

    ¡°Thanks¡­sometimes I wish I left years earlier or learned to just be happy here. It feels like nothing¡¯s ever enough for me. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s wrong with me.¡±

    ¡°You just want more from life,¡± Barlow comments with a shrug. ¡°Nothing wrong with that. Besides, if you did either, you might not have come across the Necromancer. Who knows where we¡¯d be?¡±

    ¡°I guess so.¡±

    A knock comes from my door, followed by,

    ¡°It¡¯s me, Azalea!¡±

    With a wave of my hand, the door opens to a tall stack of books, scrolls, and loose papers barely held up by a pair of arms. Barlow takes half the stack to reveal the wizard in training. She smiles brightly at us.

    ¡°I got everything I could find, without getting caught, about magicians with vendettas against Arcaniums!¡±

    I summon a table to house the bounty of knowledge. There¡¯s more than I expected, but then again, I asked a wizard for information on a historical subject; it¡¯d be more unsettling if there was little to go off from.

    ¡°So we¡¯ll divide and conquer,¡± Azalea is relieved to be free of the weight, but her eyes glimmer at the mess of papers before us. She produces notebooks and gives one to Barlow and me. ¡°Take notes of anything that catches your attention but keep reading. Unless you find exactly what you¡¯re looking for,¡± she instructs. Barlow and I exchange a look and a mutual understanding forms between us; we were not expecting to take part in the research ourselves. But fair¡¯s fair in an arrangement for my benefit. I suppose.

    ¡°Maybe, while we¡¯re at this, you can fill me in on what¡¯s going on.¡±

    We all take a seat and make our piles of reading material. Now I wonder if this gratuitous info dump was a measure of sorts. Withholding the info I need until she gets what she wants from me.

    I look at her smile and feel she¡¯s genuine in this endeavor, she just wants to know.

    ¡°You need to know that this is a part of something bigger. What we¡¯re doing will break the laws of our Arcanium, but there''s a good reason for it. If you turn me in, you won¡¯t stop me, it¡¯s really important to me. It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t trust you, but I can¡¯t afford to be slowed down, understand?¡±

    Azalea finishes organizing her pile before we do. She tilts her head in rumination.

    ¡°No one makes history always obeying all the time, I suppose.¡±

    Barlow shrugs at me.

    ¡°Your call.¡±

    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s get started first.¡±

    After we all dig into our respective piles, I tell Azalea about how I left and the Necromancer. She doesn¡¯t need to know about Hollyhock yet.

    She¡¯s stunned all the same.

    ¡°An unknown magician in a non-magical city? Planning to destroy IronHenge and you stopped them, single-handedly?¡±

    Now I regret not telling her about Hollyhock. The assassin was by my side the entire time. I, by no means, single-handedly did all that.

    ¡°I¡­had some help.¡± She seems impressed about the fighting another magician part, but I don¡¯t know how she¡¯ll react to me exposing magic to a non-magical person; especially an assassin.

    ¡°Even still, you¡¯re practically a hero from an old legend.¡±

    That reminds me of something that mortician said to Hollyhock one time.

    ¡°Unsung for now, since no one knows about it. I want to learn everything I can about the Necromancer. To find out why they¡¯d attack us, to prevent more attacks. Or just how they¡¯ve evaded us for so long.¡±

    ¡°Right!¡± With some of the story, Azalea is invigorated and starts devouring her texts.

    I look over mine and nothing is of great importance. They mostly cover minute instances of magicians in disagreements with the laws of the Arcanium at various times in history. Almost none of them left or escalated to the level of open aggression. I remember the vitriol with which the Necromancer spoke. That kind of anger, absolute fury, isn¡¯t forged from something small.

    Unless they¡¯re very petty. I hadn¡¯t considered that, but I¡¯m choosing to believe that I didn¡¯t get Hollyhock''s mind wiped over a minor slight.

    As I pore through the texts, I also have my tomes about memory magic open. If Azalea notices, she says nothing of it, minding her work. Though I have Hollyhock''s memories, I still want to know what could be happening to her.

    My mind slips from the main task and conjures possibilities of what she¡¯s doing.

    I hope she¡¯s alright.

    ??????

    I¡¯ve never been more fucking miserable. After my fit of laughter at the DeadNettles¡¯ demise, I¡¯ve been benched. Koki¡¯O took me home that night. She had nothing to say to me at the time, and she could always come up with something.

    She left me here, alone, with the crushing weight of realizing I caused all this. That my brain cannot be trusted and has already caused a huge problem.

    I started the beef with the DeadNettles and didn¡¯t, couldn¡¯t, know about it.

    What¡¯ll I do next? Wipe out a precinct? End a politician? Hurt someone innocent?

    Well, those first two things don¡¯t sound that bad, but the third one is no good.

    As of now, I¡¯m excommunicated, with no gigs, and no keeping in touch. Tamara texted me that it¡¯s a temporary measure, but I don¡¯t see a permanent solution lying around anywhere.

    So I rot here in my apartment, which has never felt emptier. These¡­hints that someone else was here, don¡¯t help me feel better. They¡¯re the wind, rain, and lightning of the storm over my sea of anguish. They add layers and textures to this growing quagmire that I cannot interpret; because my brain withholds the context from me.

    My bed feels too big, too barren, too lonely for me to sleep in. When I don¡¯t want to strap myself to the wall, I sleep on the couch. My drawers, filled with clothes I don¡¯t recognize make me feel like I¡¯m going through a stranger¡¯s things. I wash and recycle clothes from my hamper.

    The days blur together despite my attempt to form a routine. Without being a Bay Leaf, I don¡¯t know how to be productive. I wake up, I work out, and I watch TV with no enjoyment. When I get bored with that, I go to my bookshelf. Only a few of them are fake with guns hidden behind them, the rest are real. When I was younger I aspired to read a lot of books, and I¡¯m sure the younger me would be proud of the collection I have. She¡¯d then, most likely, be disgusted to hear I¡¯ve only read two of them. Still, I¡¯ve kept that one promise to her.

    If nothing else, I¡¯ve kept it.

    I grab something from the shelf and start reading it. My eyes go over the words but I can¡¯t say I¡¯m actually comprehending them. I¡¯m just flipping through pages, pretending I can focus.

    When I get sick of that act, I go back to fake-watching TV. When I get sick of both, I work out, when I¡¯m too tired to work out it¡¯s usually time for me to sleep. I¡¯m pretty sure at some point between all that I eat something. I wake up, and the cycle continues; for how long, I don¡¯t care.

    It doesn¡¯t matter.

    ????

    I¡¯ve barely slept all week. Between my regular apprenticeship with Mentor Acacia, my own research, and the group research with Barlow and Azalea, my brain is barely holding it together. I don¡¯t hear any complaints from Barlow, and I assume that Azalea has done more intensive research sessions than this. I keep having to remind myself why I¡¯m doing this, and that¡¯ll typically give me a burst of focus. When that wears off, I chug an invigoration draught.

    Definitely not healthy, but the alternative is I waste time sleeping and leave Hollyhock to suffer.

    Our group research continues to yield little results. The trouble with looking over history regarding magicians is that you can¡¯t rule out something just because it happened a long time ago. With a regular human, I¡¯d be able to dismiss anything past a few decades old. But with how powerful the Necromancer was, I can¡¯t feasibly say they weren¡¯t older than a century. Hell, they might be two hundred years old. Then again, a 200-year-old magician probably wouldn¡¯t have lost to me.

    Or maybe they would, I¡¯m feeling too hebetudinous to think about it.

    Switching from subject to subject provides a small buffer from complete burnout. Though at this point studying cerebral magic is more for curiosity than any practical use. It does work for deepening my anxiety though; especially as I come across a disturbing fact.

    I can¡¯t hide the horror on my face as the information processes through my mind. Barlow notices.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Hazel?¡±

    I open my mouth to answer when I remember Azalea is still here. While trying to come up with an excuse to get her out of here, she interrupts with,

    ¡°I think we¡¯re going at this the wrong way.¡± I obscure my dread for a moment.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Good records are made during times of peace. When everything¡¯s boring, you can write about all the mundane events; civil disputes, and such. But times of chaos? More than a few things slip through the cracks.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re saying the Necromancer might¡¯ve left during a crisis or something?¡±

    ¡°What better time to sneak out and plan an attack against an Arcanium you hate?¡± She makes a great point.

    ¡°But if stuff falls to the wayside like you said, how¡¯re we going to find anything?¡±

    Azalea doesn¡¯t respond right away, holding her right earlobe in thought. A curious gesture.

    ¡°I have an idea. Excuse me!¡±

    With that, she gets up and practically runs out of my house. Barlow raises his eyebrows.

    ¡°That was easy,¡± he comments before turning to me. ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°I just read something I wish I hadn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Well, don¡¯t keep me in suspense, what is it?¡±

    ¡°As you know, the memory magic we use curtails thinking about whatever it¡¯s blocking. It also increases in strength to negatively reinforce that point.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but as magicians, we already know about this magic and since we accept the spell, we don¡¯t actively try to think about it.¡±

    ¡°But Hollyhock doesn¡¯t know magic exists anymore. So of course she¡¯ll keep trying to find out what she¡¯s missing. Which will make the spell hurt more,¡± Barlow deduces.

    ¡°And anything that triggers those memories will activate the spell. But that¡¯s not the worst part.¡±

    ¡°Scared to think how this could get worse.¡±

    ¡°There is no documentation for how strong the spell gets. If she keeps fighting it, I don¡¯t know what could happen. Anything from minor to serious brain damage. She could die from this.¡±

    ??????

    An irregularity occurs in my indistinguishable cycle: a sound from a now unfamiliar thing, the front door. At first, I think it¡¯s a hallucination. A new, fun side effect of my mental degradation. But the knock comes again, slightly harder this time. I conclude it¡¯s real and decide to investigate. Or it¡¯s a persistent hallucination and I have to entertain it a bit.

    Whatever the case, I spy through the peephole. What I see on the other side signals a change of plans for me today. I open the door to Larkspur, who looks me up and down. They want to say I look like shit, I know because I feel like shit. They decide against pointing out the obvious and instead say,

    ¡°Get dressed, Tamara wants us for something.¡±

    Normally I¡¯d have questions, concerns, and maybe even a joke. But I got nothing. I comply, going into my bedroom, and avoiding looking at anything that reminds me of what¡¯s missing.

    I can¡¯t help but yearn for whoever was here when I didn¡¯t have this unending pain in my head. Whoever they were, whoever I was then, might¡¯ve been happy. But they¡¯re both gone now.

    I dress in black jeans and an orange tank top.

    I can¡¯t find my good pair of boots anywhere, just my luck. So I substitute them with white sneakers. No time for a shower, but I manage to wash my face a bit, without bothering to look at myself in the reflection.

    I follow Larkspur, wordlessly, to the car. Kadupul waits in the backseat. She doesn¡¯t have anything annoying to say and isn¡¯t smoking anything, which means I am well and truly fucked.

    We drive without talking, and music plays from the stereo. I¡¯m vaguely aware of the fact that Larkspur isn¡¯t driving us in the direction of HQ. I tuck that fact away and don¡¯t ask why.

    As we stop at an intersection, Larkspur casts a tentative look my way and turns the volume up. Prodding me to rap along. I¡¯d much rather stay completely miserable, but my fellow Bay Leaf won¡¯t have that.

    Larkspur starts making the car bounce to the beat of the song; pumping their foot on and off the brake. Kadupul laughs a bit and a smile creeps across my face despite my best efforts. Larkspur beams, knowing I¡¯m about to give in. As the chorus ends, I clear my throat and meet the song with,

    NAH, I AIN¡¯T HEARD OF THAT

    I HIT THE BEACH IN A FURRY HAT

    SHE GOT A GUY BUT SHE PURRING BACK

    I¡¯M LOOKING LIKE, ¡°WHERE HE AT?¡±

    NIGGA, GET OUT THE WAY!

    Larkspur joins in on alternating lines, and Kadupul mostly does the ad-libs. We bump to the song as another car pulls up to us.

    I rap to the other driver,

    ME, I DON¡¯T LIKE VIOLENCE BUT THE GUNS DO

    Larkspur takes it with,

    ¡®CAUSE THAT GORILLA RIGHT THERE, HE GON¡¯ HUNT YOU

    Kadupul follows with,

    WHILE ME AND MY BITCH COUNTING STARS OUT THE SUNROOF

    That¡¯s when we realize that the other driver is Koki¡¯O. She smiles at us though. Larkspur turns the music down as she asks,

    ¡°Y¡¯all heading over there?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Kadupul answers. Koki¡¯O nods. This seems like another chance to learn our destination. Koki¡¯O looks at me and turns to Larkspur.

    ¡°You let her out the house like that?¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t tell her where we¡¯re going.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sitting right here, y¡¯know?¡± I chime in. Koki¡¯O sighs.

    ¡°Guess it¡¯ll be a surprise then.¡±

    A car behind us honks its horn, and we all reveal our middle fingers to them. Larkspur follows Koki¡¯O¡¯s car to wherever we¡¯re going.

    We¡¯re driving into the richest neighborhood in Oleander City. High-rise luxury apartments, premium businesses, and litter-free streets signal the quality of life around here. Theories as to what we¡¯re doing here start to form, but are quickly erased as I recognize the building we approach.

    The Halford Tower, once the tallest structure in this city, has been outdone by more modern skyscrapers. But it remains the most historically significant. It is one of the first skyscrapers in the city, it stands at over 2,000 feet tall. The entire building is painted a yellow-orange peach-like color, making it easy to spot. If that doesn¡¯t grab someone¡¯s attention, the disc-shaped observation floor will. Being in the center of Oleander City allows for a full view of everything on offer. The first floor of the observation area is open to the public; with tickets, souvenirs, and prices befitting such a tourist trap.

    Unfortunately, we aren¡¯t here for such a banal reason.

    Tamara stands outside the front entrance, letting tourists and such walk past her. She has a neutral expression that subtly changes as she sees me. I take it she also isn¡¯t pleased with my appearance. Had I known the gravitas of our little rendezvous, I might¡¯ve cleaned up a bit more. She senses that and chooses not to comment.

    We head inside the lobby and Digit is waiting by an elevator. He looks me up and down and has a similar distaste for my overall presentation.

    The self-esteem tour continues on an excellent roll.

    A slight shake of Tamara¡¯s head tells our doctor/tattooist/quartermaster/weaponsmith/fellow assassin not to say anything. Our group is apparently complete, since we pack inside the only elevator that''s not in constant use. Its door is transparent, as is the wall opposite. The two remaining walls are golden and red carpeting graces our feet. Gaudy, in my opinion. But considering the higher echelon of people who use it, I guess it¡¯s lowbrow.

    A sorta jazzy tune plays from the speakers above our heads. It doesn¡¯t alleviate the awkwardness or tension building.

    ¡°Why are we here?¡± I ask. Tamara turns her head to look at me for a moment before turning back and answering with,

    ¡°You know who owns this building?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I do.¡±

    ¡°Well, they asked to see us. So we¡¯re here.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, that really answers all my questions.¡±

    ¡°The fact that they asked is a good sign,¡± Koki¡¯O interjects.

    ¡°Debatable,¡± Tamara counters. We return to the music being the only sound. I peek up to the floor counter to see there isn¡¯t one. You¡¯d think a private elevator would be faster.

    ¡°Anyone catch the game last night?¡± Kadupul asks. Koki¡¯O chuckles.

    ¡°Yeah, the Shrubs really botched it in the ninth inning. They shoulda won that,¡± she answers. The two of them idly chat about the Oleander Shrubs and their performance this season. Their conversation reminds me that there¡¯s a world still going on outside my misery. I don¡¯t like it.

    The back wall has a wonderful view of the city, but none of us are interested and don¡¯t turn around.

    Finally, we reach the top floor. Below us is the public area, but this floor is the meeting hall of the Argonos; the members of which are waiting for us.

    Despite the opulence of the elevator, the meeting hall is a stark, almost solemn place. The ceiling and floor are light brown. The wide open space has nothing occupying it but its main function.

    At the center of this room is a massive circular table. It¡¯s made from pure black wood, ebony, I believe. I¡¯m not sure how much it costs exactly, but I¡¯m guessing you could buy a mansion for the same price.

    The twelve members of the Argonos sit around the monument of nature¡¯s destruction.

    Oleander City started as one of the settlements formed after the gold rush, but became a central hub for legal and illegal trading afterward. Its location makes it a rest stop for the West Coast and some Midwest criminals. Being the nerve center of crime for this part of the country has, obviously, attracted several organizations. Big and small-time, makers and distributors, servicers and patrons.

    But none of them have accumulated as much money, fear, and outright power as the Argonos. This is their city. You can¡¯t so much as jaywalk without one or all of them knowing about it. Nothing goes in or out of Oleander without their permission, and nothing happens in it without their approval.

    They have no great attachments to any of the criminal groups that operate here; beyond getting a cut of all their money, that is. They¡¯re the overseers of this plantation, carefully orchestrating all the chaos that happens in this shithole yields profit.

    So they probably aren¡¯t happy that we just burned a field of their crops.

    The esteemed group turns their attention to us. Tamara stops a few feet from the table, and we flank behind her.

    One of the many adages she hammered into me is ¡®Never be unprepared if you can help it¡¯. Most of the time that means always having a weapon. But all of us are unarmed. Then again, a Bay Leaf is never defenseless.

    Tamara stands with her shoulders squared.

    Questions about her past have always been lodged in my mind. I know her skills and equipment aren¡¯t something you can just pick up off the streets. The fact that the Argonos have asked to see her in person further solidifies that she is far beyond the average killer.

    Each member of the Argonos has a different ornate chair. I don¡¯t know if this denotes rank, or position, or is just subject to personal preference. The group also encompasses a wide variety of demographics. Members range from being in their early thirties to maybe upwards of seventy. They¡¯re also quite colorful, a regular party mix of races and ethnicities sit here.

    Good to know that the Argonos don¡¯t discriminate.

    ¡°Tamara,¡± one member says, breaking the silence. She¡¯s a black woman, mid-thirties, with a bald head and disturbingly blue eyes. For half a second I think she¡¯s about to say her last name, but she¡¯s interrupted with,

    ¡°You understand why we called you here?¡± an older man snidely asks. He looks like he¡¯s in his sixties, I¡¯d guess at least sixty-five. Tamara doesn¡¯t respond.

    ¡°We aren¡¯t school teachers scolding a child,¡± the woman who was interrupted says.

    ¡°And we have manners.¡± Another member chimes in. This one is perhaps the oldest at the table, gray hair flows down to his shoulders.

    Pain spikes in my head. I suppress my reaction to it.

    The interrupting member scoffs but relents.

    ¡°Tamara, we¡¯ve always maintained a suitable relationship with your organization.¡±

    Is that what we are? An organization? Sounds so formal.

    ¡°You and yours are a needed predator for our ecosystem. A shark for all the little fishes in our little pond,¡± the oldest man here says.

    Personally, I¡¯ve always thought of us as wolves, but sharks are cool too.

    ¡°Enough praise,¡± the interrupting man speaks up again. Tamara has been neutrally meeting the eyes of everyone else, but for this man, a specter of emotion spans her face. It¡¯s too delicate for me to pin down. ¡°Let''s get to the reason we¡¯re here.¡±

    The other members mumble with various assenting and dissenting opinions, but do move on. I don¡¯t know how this group normally conducts its business, but I¡¯m guessing this man is the official curmudgeon.

    ¡°My peers and I,¡± an Asian woman says. She has an almost absurd amount of freckles and lime-green hair. ¡°We have our ideas about why you did what you did. But this is the land of law and order.¡±

    Everyone at the table laughs a bit at that.

    ¡°So we figured we should hear your side of things.¡±

    ¡°Not like the offended party can say theirs,¡± the interrupting man interjects once more. I pay more attention to his voice this time, since I doubt it¡¯ll be the last I¡¯ll hear of it. He speaks with a Spaniard¡¯s accent. For the most part, his body seems to be in good shape for his age, but his eyes age him countless years. They have more bags than a grocery store checkout, but the eyes themselves have a haunting look.

    As if they know the secrets of everything they gaze upon. I don¡¯t know his name, but from one look I know he¡¯s cognizant of far too much. His attention is on Tamara for now, but I peel my eyes off him before he turns to me.

    Tamara shifts her shoulders a bit.

    ¡°You are aware it¡¯s possible to not fill each second of silence with your voice, right?¡± Another member speaks up, this one a white man in his thirties. British, I think. ¡°WE are a collective, WE called this meeting so that WE could hear their story. Not just so YOU could lay out whatever agenda you have now. Bless us with the notion that you can stay quiet and listen for two minutes, sir.¡±

    Scolded again, he scoffs and leans back in his chair.

    ¡°If you would say your piece, please,¡± the maybe British man says. Tamara clears her throat.

    ¡°The DeadNettles attempted to kill one of mine, and I retaliated in kind,¡± she says. Straight to the point. Her audience waits a moment to see if she has anything to add to that.

    She doesn¡¯t.

    ¡°By wiping them out?¡± The first woman to speak asks.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Tamara answers.

    ¡°One of your Bay Leaves was worth all those lives?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Knowing she¡¯s talking about me but won¡¯t or can¡¯t mention makes my skin crawl a bit. Like a mother discreetly talking about her child¡¯s problems to anyone who¡¯ll listen.

    ¡°Surely you¡¯ve lost people before? Do you go on a crusade for each one of them?¡± The interrupting man can¡¯t help but keep speaking, much to the chagrin of his colleagues.

    Tamara locks eyes with him.

    ¡°Me and mine accept whatever happens on a job, happens. But this, Se?or Sequoia,¡± she says to him. He seems a bit rattled that she said his name. Matter of fact, all the Argonos do. Seems she wasn¡¯t supposed to do that. ¡°Wasn¡¯t on the job. My Bay Leaf finished a job for the DeadNettles, and instead of paying they decided to ambush-¡± there¡¯s a split second hesitation because she wants to say ¡®her¡¯ but doesn¡¯t want to give anything away ¡°them.¡±

    The group considers this information, that is, except Se?or Sequoia. He¡¯s finally quiet for a change, but his eyes scan over us. He lingers on me for a moment longer than I¡¯d like.

    They end their mini-conference and one of them speaks up.

    ¡°Justified as it was, it was not only a breach of our arrangement but a disruption to the drug trade.¡±

    ¡°Which is why I ordered my Bay Leaves to leave the buildings standing and the products alone,¡± Tamara counters. ¡°I¡¯ve also taken the liberty of draining the DeadNettles accounts and transferring the contents to your pooled cache.¡±

    Again, the entire group seems put off by this. They look at each other as if asking how she can even know about that. The possibly British man takes out a tablet and quickly taps it to check. After a moment or two, he finds what he¡¯s looking for and nods to the rest.

    ¡°You¡¯ll find more than enough there to cover the temporary loss in trade. It¡¯ll tide you over until whatever group that can handle it takes over. I believe you call this a hiccup,¡± Tamara finishes. Now I know why I kidnapped that accountant.

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Guess it wasn¡¯t for Christmas bonuses.

    The Argonos seemed much more confident when we first came in. Assured that their power and influence spoke loud enough to cover their names and assets. They were wrong. This only further mystifies just how dangerous Tamara is.

    But that isn¡¯t the crux of the issue here.

    Clearly, this is a group of people that prefers to operate anonymously. And here¡¯s Tamara, a woman who they know is a skilled killer with her group of skilled killers. It doesn¡¯t require much imagination to think if she can get one of their names, she can get the rest of them. And when you have someone¡¯s name, you can get the rest of their info. Skilled killers with your personal info? Simple math.

    Yet that isn¡¯t even the problem. What truly bothers them is that Tamara is still playing by their rules. That¡¯s what¡¯s got them all so fucking perplexed. Why would someone so capable and dangerous willingly genuflect to someone less so?

    I¡¯m wondering that myself.

    But the group collects their composure again. Seems they¡¯ve reached a conclusion, without Se?or Sequoia. He¡¯s staring at Tamara like he wishes he had heat vision. But again his gaze turns to us and then lands on me.

    I don¡¯t like the look in his eyes. He knows something he shouldn¡¯t and it makes my stomach turn.

    ¡°Well, your vengeance was justified,¡± the green-haired Asian woman says.

    ¡°And we¡¯ve been more than compensated,¡± the conceivably British man adds.

    ¡°So let¡¯s consider this dust-up over and done with,¡± the bald black woman says.

    ¡°WHAT?!¡± Se?or Sequoia yells. ¡°After all that, she gets to just walk away from this?!¡±

    ¡°Our losses will be covered, things will shift but will stabilize.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not about the money! It¡¯s about maintaining the order of things. If we let her get away with this, what¡¯s to stop her from doing this again?¡±

    ¡°Tamara, are you planning on wiping any more gangs?¡± The oldest member asks.

    ¡°Not at the moment, but the day is young.¡± A rare joke from Tamara. All the same, the rest of the Argonos seemed satisfied with her response. The one voice of dissent fumes.

    ¡°She must receive punishment!¡±

    ¡°Oh? Should we all take her over our laps and spank her?¡± The bald black woman proposes. Everyone at the table laughs again. Koki¡¯O barely stifles one of her own. Tamara shoots her a look.

    Is this a criminal ring or a comedy club?

    ¡°What does it matter? The situation works out in our favor, and it¡¯s one less group of riffraff to deal with.¡±

    With all his colleagues in agreement, it seems there isn¡¯t anything more he can do. He looks at Tamara and quells his rage, sinking into an eerily calm demeanor.

    ¡°I suppose karma will have to suffice,¡± he says coldly. Again he looks in my direction, certain of something.

    I¡¯ve theorized many things about Tamara; one I hold as the truest is that she cannot experience fear. Either because the part of the brain that makes one feel it doesn¡¯t exist in her or through some hellish conditioning, she instantly suppresses such a human emotion.

    So the anxiety I feel rapidly spreads through my body as I see her ball a fist behind her back. At first, I think it¡¯s out of anger, but I know her better than that. Tamara expresses her rage outwardly, never hidden behind her. Especially not in front of a group of people she just proved she can get to.

    I steal a glance at Koki¡¯O and see the most minute expression of worry on her face: confirming my thoughts. Tamara¡¯s hand trembles a bit as she squeezes harder, her nails piercing the palm.

    What does he know that has her scared?

    If the rest of the Argonos know anything of what¡¯s going on between Tamara and Se?or Sequoia, none of them let on. I¡¯m not sure if they even notice.

    ¡°Consider this matter concluded. You may go,¡± Se?or Sequoia says as if he wasn¡¯t just calling for her punishment. She looks at him, then the rest of the Argonos, nods and turns to leave. We follow close behind. I dare to peek back and see the man who put fear into Tamara looking right at me. It¡¯s a repulsive look at that. Thankfully, we get into the elevator and the doors close, so I don¡¯t have to see him anymore.

    Tamara faces the glass wall this time. I faintly see her reflection. She has her thinking face on. She¡¯s unclenched her fist, red lines where blood seeps out pattern her palm. Koki¡¯O looks at it like she wants to take hold. Digit glances at it, probably wondering when that got there. I can¡¯t see Larkspur or Kadupul since they¡¯re behind me, but I imagine they¡¯ve noticed too. We descend in silence before Kadupul says,

    ¡°Anyone else thought that green-haired lady was hot?¡±

    Digit sputters out a laugh, and Koki¡¯O shakes her head amused. Tamara cracks a smile. Just a small one.

    ¡°You¡¯re incorrigible,¡± Tamara lightly scolds.

    ¡°It¡¯s part of my charm,¡± Kadupul quips while taking out a spliff. She goes to light it before seeing the look Tamara is giving her. She spins it between her fingers back into her pocket. ¡°That went better than I thought.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Tamara offers in reply. The mood has lightened a bit, but we fall back into silence. It¡¯s quickly broken as we exit the elevator to the lobby, where every sucker in the world waits to buy overpriced shit.

    We all head out to the sidewalk, ready to part ways. I start to go with Larkspur and Kadupul when Tamara stops me with her arm across my chest. She nods to them both to go ahead.

    ¡°See ya.¡±

    ¡°Bye.¡±

    Digit and Koki¡¯O take notice of this. The good doctor heads to his ride as Koki¡¯O walks over to us, her whole body is tense.

    ¡°Tamara,¡± she says in an almost pleading tone. Her eyes dart to me for a second.

    ¡°Go,¡± is all Tamara offers. Even though this clearly concerns me, I can¡¯t work up the nerve to ask what¡¯s going on. The scene unfolding before my eyes doesn¡¯t seem like that of a leader and her right-hand woman. This is something else entirely.

    ¡°Listen to me, I-¡± Koki¡¯o speaks more firmly as Tamara interjects with,

    ¡°Please.¡±

    In all the years I¡¯ve been a Bay Leaf, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever heard Tamara say please. Why would she ever need to? She¡¯s the boss, she taught us everything we know about our deadly craft.

    I¡¯ve also never heard her say anything so softly.

    Koki¡¯O tries to harden her resolve. To get whatever point she wants across. Her eyes flick to me again. She wants to say more, but can¡¯t or won¡¯t in front of me. The same strange feeling I had as Tamara anonymously spoke of me forms again. It¡¯s¡­uncomfortable.

    Tamara doesn¡¯t say or do anything else. She just stares at Koki¡¯O, whose willpower melts by the second. In one last push of determination, she makes her large hands into fists. For half a second I believe she might fight Tamara.

    But she caves, letting out a deep sigh. Again, I know there¡¯s more she wants to say, but doesn¡¯t.

    The two of them have an entire conversation with just their eyes. An unspoken, unknowable language flies between them. There¡¯s no way for me to dissect what¡¯s been articulated just here.

    I briefly wonder if I¡¯ll ever have that kind of connection with someone. My head aches dully.

    With their nonverbal talk over, Koki¡¯O sighs again and shakes her head slowly. She opens her mouth to say something but decides against it.

    Soon it¡¯s just me and Tamara. She looks me up and down once more.

    ¡°Have you eaten?¡± She asks. I shrug, genuinely unsure if I have. I know she hates when I shrug, but it¡¯s all I got.

    She points with her chin for me to follow her.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, Hollyhock.¡±

    ????

    ¡°C¡¯mon, Hazel.¡±

    Barlow grabs my attention from the dense tome I¡¯m reading.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You need to take a break.¡±

    ¡°I already took a break.¡±

    ¡°Eating one graham cracker does not count as a break.¡±

    ¡°I-¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fully aware of the stakes. I know what this means to you. But you need to decompress, otherwise, you¡¯ll burn out. Bad. Then what good will you be to anyone?¡±

    I pinch the bridge of my nose, either out of annoyance or frustration.

    ¡°The sooner we find something, the sooner I can take a break.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s we?¡±

    I look across the table to see an absent chair where Azalea usually sits, nose-deep in a text.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Azalea?¡± Barlow looks at me like I suggested we should eat rocks.

    ¡°Do you know what day it is?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± I blank on the answer.

    ¡°Hazel, it¡¯s the Day of Dispassion.¡±

    ¡°No it isn¡¯t! That isn¡¯t until¡­¡±

    Shit, it is today. The rest of the world seeps into my perception. Music, talking, laughter, and the veritable sounds of life, come through. I look at the text I was just reading, and the letters seem to dance around on the page. I should take a break.

    With a deep sigh, I stand up and give in.

    ¡°I¡¯ll walk around for a bit.¡±

    ¡°Not dressed like that.¡±

    I look at what Barlow is wearing. Simple black shoes and pants, but the top is a knitted vest with an almost honeycomb pattern of pink and purple. Each segment of the pattern reacts to whoever is looking at it, changing colors in a rainbow spectrum as my eyes travel across it.

    A relatively lax outfit for him.

    ¡°Point taken. I¡¯ll change, give me a couple of minutes.¡± Barlow nods, satisfied that I¡¯m cooperating.

    ¡°I¡¯ll wait outside.¡± He leaves on that note. I go to wash my face to regain some humanity. Then I head over to my wardrobe and examine my options.

    I¡¯ve never been more disinterested in what I¡¯ve got.

    Then my eyes land on a dress. It¡¯s a simple thing, thin shoulder straps and formless. A tangerine orange, it has a deep V neckline that almost dips to my navel. With thigh slits at the sides, the thing that caught my eye is the cosmetic enchantment. Random shapes and patterns slowly move across the dress¡¯ midsection, changing as they go around the back.

    It feels like something Hollyhock would wear.

    Even though I¡¯ve never seen her wear a dress.

    Regardless, I don the piece and slip into some black high heels; not intending to stay long. I pull my hair into a simple ponytail and exit my home.

    Barlow looks me over as I step out. He wanted me to dress up more but says nothing, seeing me out of the house is enough of a victory for him.

    The sounds of the festival ring out clearer. Barlow offers his arm like a gentleman.

    I scoff but accept it. We walk together to where the festivities are.

    Day of Dispassion, a time of commencement. For much of recorded human history, magicians had interfered with the non-magical world. Both directly and tangentially. More than a few wars, ¡®natural¡¯ disasters, plagues, and other travesties can be traced to a magician''s conflict. It was on this day that magicians the world over agreed enough was enough. They made a pact to ban any interference with the non-magic world. The exception to this is stopping other magical threats.

    So magicians retreated to the Arcaniums and cloistered ourselves off from the world¡¯s affairs. This holiday has had its fair share of conflicting opinions, some have said it¡¯s a foolish idea to separate from the world when we¡¯re a part of it. Others have posited that our powers have corrupted our influence over the world too many times. There are other schools of thought about protecting ourselves vs. guiding humanity.

    Before leaving, I never gave it much thought. But now that I¡¯ve been out in the world, I¡¯ve gained some conflicting notions myself.

    Still, regardless of what one might think of the Day of Dispassion, it¡¯s a good excuse to party and relax.

    In the town center is where the majority of people celebrate. Banners, lanterns, and all kinds of decorations paint the space in a myriad of colors. Delicious aromas of a variety of foods being served hit my nose and my stomach growls. Barlow chuckles a bit.

    ¡°Seems I made the right call bringing you out.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll never admit you¡¯re right. Ever.¡±

    He picks up a skewer of grilled meat and veggies from a stand and offers it to me. I take it from his hand and bite into it.

    ¡°Well?¡±

    ¡°You might have a point,¡± I say around a mouthful of food.

    We walk around for a while, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells. The Day of Dispassion started as a more somber event. We¡¯d gather and recollect all the ills magicians caused throughout history. Over time, it turned into a more casual event, and from there it became festive. With no particular decor theme, this holiday has people throwing whatever colors and patterns they wish to. Some dress on the more tame side of things, others not so much.

    People eat and drink and dance, just enjoying each other¡¯s company. I can¡¯t enjoy it as much as I used to in past years, my mind wanders to Hollyhock. I fantasize about bringing her here.

    Barlow goes searching for something sweet to eat, as I stand on the periphery of the festivities; feeling like a stranger in my own city. I people watch, trying to get out of my head and relax. But then I feel bad for relaxing when Hollyhock could be in horrible danger. Then I have to remind myself that my brain will fizzle out if I DON¡¯T relax, and I won¡¯t be able to do anything after that.

    This back and forth goes on so loudly in my head that I don¡¯t notice the person standing in front of me until she says,

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you so spaced out, Hazel.¡± her voice brings me back to reality. I turn to see the beautiful Puya smiling at me. Her long azure blue hair rests in delicate curls on her shoulders. ¡°Then again, I usually don¡¯t have your undivided attention.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, I¡­have a lot on my mind right now.¡±

    ¡°Hmm, that¡¯s okay.¡± She circles me, observing me closely. Her bright orange eyes narrow as they scan my midsection. I¡¯ve dressed up more than this for this day, and she¡¯s no doubt noticed I put on some weight. ¡°Me and the girls haven¡¯t seen you lately. Mentor keeping you busy?¡±

    ¡°And then some.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± she stops in front of me, ¡°I¡¯m sure the girls and I can take your mind off things.¡± she points to her friends. I follow her finger to a jewelry stand to see Lotus, Cypri, Lilly, and Camellia grouped. They all giggle as they see me look over.

    ¡°Just because it¡¯s the Day of Dispassion,¡± Puya says with a provocative smile. Her pointer finger starts at my neck and trails down my chest. ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t liven things up.¡± She rubs tiny circles between my breasts.

    Two months ago, I¡¯d¡¯ve indulged. The handful of bacchanalia I¡¯ve experienced with Puya and her coterie were exhilarating, to say the least. Those late nights and early mornings we spent together taking and giving to one another were compelling. But now her delightful touch just makes me want Hollyhock even more.

    And only her.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± I say, guiding her hand back to her side. ¡°As fun as it¡¯d be, I¡¯m not in the mood.¡±

    ¡°We could get you in the mood.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    ¡°Is our lil¡¯ Hazel lovesick?¡±

    Our relationship has always just been physical, truth be told we don¡¯t know much about one another. Or at least I thought so. I didn¡¯t expect Puya to be able to read me like that.

    ¡°I¡­¡± that trails off with no hope of continuation.

    ¡°She must be one hell of a lady to have you in knots like this.¡± Puya lifts my chin with her finger.

    ¡°You have no idea.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± she kisses me on the cheek. I catch a whiff of her shampoo. It has an evocative, spicy smell. ¡°If you and her like to share, bring her around sometime. We¡¯d love to get to know her.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind,¡± I say, holding my cheek.

    With a wink, she walks away. Leaving me alone with my thoughts once again.

    The assassin has done a number on me. We¡¯re not even officially together, and I¡¯m turning down orgies.

    No small part of me wishes that Hollyhock is doing the same.

    ??????

    ¡°This is the worst date I¡¯ve ever been on.¡±

    ¡°First thing you¡¯ve said all day, and it¡¯s a joke,¡± Tamara replies from across the table.

    She drove us for an hour and a half. Now we¡¯re sitting in a little hole-in-the-wall Greek restaurant on the periphery of Oleander City. The one barely working ceiling fan does very little to combat the blazing heat outside. I swear, the sun has gotten bigger.

    We ordered our food a while ago. Tamara asked for spanakopita and insisted that I have moussaka. Being the only customers here should¡¯ve sped up our orders, but the owners are probably the oldest people in the world. Seriously, I think the waitress was around for the Peloponnesian war.

    Not that any of that matters, since I don¡¯t know what we¡¯re doing here.

    Tamara¡¯s been staring out the window, acting like it¡¯s not ten billion degrees in here, and being as quiet as I¡¯ve been. She turns her gaze to me.

    She has to know I want to ask about everything. What were she and Koki''O talking, or not talking, about me for? Why was Se?or Sequoia looking at me? Why did we have to go to this giant oven of a restaurant?

    But I know if she isn¡¯t offering the gossip, then there¡¯s next to no point in asking. I¡¯m more likely to win the lottery while being struck by lightning on February 29th than acquiring info from Tamara when she doesn¡¯t want to share.

    ¡®Sides, I want to stay away from asking Tamara things I really want to know.

    So we sit quietly after my clever quip. She turns back to looking out the window for whatever she¡¯s been staring at. I could turn my head and potentially find out, but I¡¯m not familiar with this part of the city, so I see little point.

    She still has that tense, anxious aura about her. One hand slowly and idly spins a knife as the other is balled in a fist.

    ¡°Is your hand okay?¡± I ask. She looks at her palm like she didn¡¯t notice. Barely worth a two-second look, she goes back to looking out the window.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be fine. Your voice is hoarse, drink some water.¡±

    ¡°My voice always sounds like this,¡± I remark.

    ¡°That¡¯s not-¡± Tamara stops herself for some reason. ¡°Just drink some water.¡±

    I look at the glasses on the table. The ice melted, and the water is probably two degrees away from boiling. I take a sip, and it is indeed room temperature, hot. It also has that straight-from-the-tap flavor.

    ¡°Does that soothe your soul?¡± She was right, my throat was dry as hell.

    ¡°No,¡± she admits.

    ¡°Time might go faster if we talk about whatever we¡¯re waiting for,¡± I probe for an opening.

    ¡°Time will move on, no matter what,¡± she says, kinda ominously. I have nothing to say to that, so silence dominates once more. That is, until the clattering plates of our orders approach, being carried by a living fossil. The old woman sets out food down.

    ¡°Efcharisto,¡± Tamara says with the smallest smile. The waitress smiles back, and I repeat the phrase to get a smile too.

    ¡°Eat,¡± Tamara demands. I won¡¯t deny I¡¯m hungry so I dig in. Actually, I scarf the food down, I don¡¯t savor the flavors as I should, but it is a delicious meal. Tamara eats her food with more dignity and restraint than I do. ¡°You need to keep your strength up, always.¡±

    ¡®For what?¡¯ I almost ask. I don¡¯t because I have a mouthful of food and don¡¯t want to hear whatever lecture she has loaded in her brain. A nod will suffice.

    God, I feel like a kid again. That little scared girl Tamara found and fed, devouring the food she gave me because I wasn¡¯t sure when my last meal was; or when my next one would be.

    I force the memory from my mind. Ironic, given my current circumstances. All the shit I¡¯ve forgotten and that one is cemented.

    Tamara finishes her food before I do, glancing at me before returning to the view of the window. When I finish, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Tamara hates that.

    Eventually, the waitress comes back to take our plates. Tamara pays generously and says something to her. The woman nods, says something in turn, and gives a placating gesture. I¡¯m guessing something along the lines of ¡®take your time.¡¯

    And take our time, we do. The hours crawl by with us exchanging no more words. With the sun no longer at its zenith, the temperature had entered tolerable levels. Tamara raises an eyebrow and stands up. I follow her out, back to the car. Instead of heading to the driver¡¯s side, she goes to the trunk.

    Popping it open, she reveals her weapon cache. She reaches for her custom gun, Rue. Practiced ease quickly has her screw on a silencer. I grab a pistol, a GoldenSeal, and do the same. As I¡¯m doing it, I look around. We¡¯re in a nice suburban area. Big houses with big lawns. Tamara¡¯s eyes are locked on one at the end of the block. It¡¯s the largest and fanciest by far. With a private gate and probably other security measures.

    Whoever we¡¯re here to kill lives there, no doubt.

    She tucks her gun in the back of her pants. With that, she grabs a treated leather jacket and a bandanna. She surprises me by having my embroidered one. I don¡¯t remember taking it off after the DeadNettle extermination, but I guess I parted ways with it at some point. I don it and the bandanna Tamara gives me. We tie them around our necks to be lifted in a moment.

    Bandannas means she expects this to be quick with light resistance.

    I can¡¯t help but wonder why she had me come with her, or why she won¡¯t tell me who we¡¯re here to kill.

    She darts her eyes around and takes out her phone. Tapping it a few times, she looks up again. Directly across the street from us, I notice the lights flicker in a home.

    ¡®A block-wide power blip. She¡¯s planned this.¡¯

    Tamara is satisfied, putting her phone away, and starts jogging to the house to the end of the block. I follow suit, keeping pace with her. We reach the brick wall blocking off the expansive lawn of the soon-to-be deceased. I give her a boost to help her over. She reaches her hand down to pull me up. We both land on the other side with a roll.

    No time to waste, we go into a low sprint.

    I¡¯m guessing Tamara knocked out whatever security devices temporarily, and whoever is here might notice eventually.

    This is a time crunch.

    I notice the garage and see one of the automatic doors is open. Either someone is planning to leave soon, or they just came back and aren''t planning on staying long. The car parked inside is old-school and very fancy.

    We get closer to the house and two guards come into view. Tamara might be able to casually talk with Koki¡¯O nonverbally, but she and I don¡¯t need words for this. She points to the one on the right and expects me to do what she taught me. Wordlessly, we simultaneously put three rounds in the chest of both guards.

    They didn¡¯t even get to notice us. Both are dead as we close in on the front door. Tamara grabs a key from one. We both pull up our bandannas over our noses. She crouches before the door and slowly opens it. I lower myself to have her follow up. She checks the left and I check the right.

    The first floor of this atrium is clear. We scan the second floor.

    ¡°HEY!¡± A guard from the second floor yells. Tamara puts a bullet between his eyebrows before he can radio for help or draw his gun. He falls over and flops over the handrail, crashing to the first floor.

    ¡°Shit,¡± she mutters. No doubt someone heard that. I spot a still clueless guard and put one through her neck. She dies, knocking into something. The sound of whatever it was breaking, reaches me over here.

    The element of surprise has left us.

    Blitz time.

    Tamara sprints through the space and I follow close behind. I assume she knows where she¡¯s going. We climb the stairs three at a time. Rushing past the guard I killed, I notice she knocked a red vase. Her blood is indistinguishable from the porcelain fragments.

    Without looking back, Tamara aims her gun behind us and fires twice. I hear the thud of a body a second later. We head down a hallway that leads to a room with tall wooden doors. Tamara picks up speed and slides to her knee to open it. I slip in just as it opens, and Tamara closes it after us.

    The room we¡¯ve entered is a large study. Bookshelves line one wall, and various art pieces cover another. There¡¯s a desk with a computer that¡¯s on. No one seems to be here. Tamara starts searching. As I look around, I see a large painting that illuminates why we¡¯re here.

    An oil portrait of Se?or Sequoia and people I assume to be his family dominates one wall.

    I knew he knew too much. I just didn¡¯t expect to pay within the day.

    ¡®Them¡¯s the break, I guess.¡¯

    An electrical squawk projects from somewhere and suddenly the voice of the man calls out,

    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised to see you here, Tamara. Just not so soon. And with company.¡± Tamara doesn¡¯t respond to him. Instead, she produces a smoke grenade from her jacket pocket. It¡¯s a small device that makes a more controlled stream of gray smoke. She throws it to the edge of the room. Smoke slowly forms, creating a thin blanket.

    ¡°Guess that one was a dud,¡± our target says. He¡¯s unaware she¡¯s using it to look for any hidden rooms or corridors. Unless this room is hermetically sealed, which I doubt, the thinnest seam will draw smoke in. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d make this so easy for me.¡±

    ¡®What is he talking about?¡¯ I keep circling the room, eyes peeled for any sign of where he¡¯s hiding.

    ¡°Or maybe you¡¯re just more cruel than I thought. Bringing this one with you seems especially callous.¡±

    ¡°SHUT UP!¡± Tamara shouts. It¡¯s off-putting, her responding to such a taunt. But I¡¯m a professional, so I don¡¯t react.

    ¡°Perhaps it¡¯s simple indifference that made you bring Hollyhock here.¡±

    I flinch hearing my name.

    ¡°I SAID SHUT UP!¡± Then I see smoke flowing into a seam between bookshelves. I stomp twice to get Tamara¡¯s attention. She snaps in my direction and spots what I see. I move to the side as she fires three rounds. They go through the books, and the shelf, without ricocheting. I find the hidden handle and force it open. Inside a small alcove, I see the man whose death is assured. He¡¯s been monitoring us on a small screen and talking into an intercom. I grab him by his collar and pull him out. Hard.

    He crashes to the ground and I already have my gun aimed at him.

    ¡°WAIT! DON¡¯T YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT SHE¡¯S HIDING?!¡±

    I break one of the most important rules of the Bay Leaves: never hesitate.

    He preyed on my growing curiosity perfectly, giving him time to pull out his gun that I should¡¯ve spotted. Taking aim at my face and pulling back the hammer, it feels like the whole world goes into slow motion. I jerk my head to the right as he squeezes the trigger.

    Hot, spinning lead excavates a trench along my left cheek and takes some of my ear as a souvenir. Years of training and personal experience allow me to focus through the pain and shoot my gun.

    My shot hits his gun hand. He drops the pistol since two of his fingers have gone missing. He yells out in pain as I stumble to the right. Se?or Sequoia doesn¡¯t have to be in pain for long, though. Tamara walks over and graciously endows his head with all the ammo she has.

    Bullet after bullet work in concert to make a bloody soup of what was once his skull.

    CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

    Tamara doesn¡¯t want to stop shooting the nearly decapitated corpse.

    My wound has cooled from the initial shot but is still bleeding. When Tamara finally looks my way, I don¡¯t see a look of rage like I expected, but relief.

    She realizes I¡¯m hurt.

    ¡°You alright?¡± I was bracing myself for a lecture on basically everything she taught me.

    ¡°Just a flesh wound.¡±

    She nods and moves to the computer. Her hands deftly navigate through its systems. I figure she¡¯s deleting security footage. Blood has soaked through my bandanna. Tamara¡¯s been at the computer for longer than she should for something that simple. I watch her and see she¡¯s looking for something. Either she doesn¡¯t know where it is or what exactly it is she¡¯s looking for.

    As much as I¡¯d like to take a guess, I feel it¡¯s more important to remember we¡¯re in a house with armed guards looking for us.

    ¡°Tamara, let¡¯s go!¡± I ignore how much it hurt my face to say that by focusing on how weird it felt to order her. She shoots an angry look at me but concedes, settling to factory reset the computer. When that takes too long, she resorts to a more tech-savvy approach by picking up the computer and throwing it on the ground as hard as she can. She then takes out a fire starter tool, flicks its little switch, and drops it on the remains of the computer.

    My face hurts.

    Looking extremely dissatisfied, Tamara reloads her gun.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±

    ????

    Despite my protests, Barlow dragged me into a group of people dancing. I¡¯m not sure which song they¡¯re dancing to, as there are many playing in beautiful disharmony. Maybe they¡¯re dancing to all of them. Barlow and I spin and dance to whatever melody takes hold of us. A smile has made its way across my face at some point.

    I take a stranger''s hand and twirl around. The stress that cemented itself in my muscles has loosened just a bit. Even the guilt of enjoying myself has diminished some.

    After this, I know I¡¯ll be refreshed and ready to dig in deeper.

    ??????

    I sit on the examining table in the Bay Leaves infirmary.

    After the lovely visit we paid to Se?or Sequoia, we made it back with relatively no problem. There wasn¡¯t even any traffic, though that¡¯s to be expected with this heat.

    Digit looks my wound over as Tamara stands nearby. Koki¡¯O is glowering at the copper-haired woman. She either doesn¡¯t notice or care. I know why Koki¡¯O is here, to later admonish Tamara, but can¡¯t discern any reason as to why Larkspur and Kadupul are here too.

    Probably just to poke fun. It reminds me of when I dislocated my shoulder after a sparring match with Koki¡¯O as an uppity teenager, and they were laughing their asses off.

    Digit cleans the gash on my face with alcohol, since I never got the chance to disinfect it.

    ¡°Are you sure this isn¡¯t hydrochloric acid? This shit stings.¡±

    ¡°Maybe next time, don¡¯t get shot in the face.¡±

    ¡°Better than the alternative, right?¡± He shrugs and throws away the cotton swab he was using.

    ¡°Alright, easy part¡¯s over.¡±

    Larkspur looks at the gash and whistles.

    ¡°That¡¯s a real buck fifty,¡± they say, holding up a surgical tray for me. I look at the straight line across my face. It felt like a bigger piece of my ear was shot off, but it isn¡¯t that bad.

    ¡°Buck fifty?¡± Tamara asks.

    ¡°You¡¯re too white and European to understand,¡± Digit replies. Tamara rolls her eyes at that. In the past, whenever we¡¯ve used such lingo around her, Koki¡¯O usually provides a definition. Seems she¡¯s too furious for it this time.

    ¡°They might cancel my modeling contract over this,¡± I fake decry. Digit gets a needle and thread ready.

    ¡°Serves ya right for copying me,¡± Kadupul chimes in. She licks the scar that bisects her lips.

    ¡°That¡¯s right, I got shot in the face all so I could further emulate you. You¡¯ve seen right through my ploy, Kadupul.¡±

    She saunters over, fanning herself with an unopened gauze pad.

    ¡°Honestly, Holly, your obsession with me is reaching fanatic levels. Lil¡¯ bit of a turn-off, I¡¯m afraid.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll tone it down.¡±

    ¡°See that you do, young miss,¡± she says with a haughty voice. Just as Digit is about to start sewing me together, she steps close to examine the wound. I want to slap her hand away as she grabs my chin. She looks it over. ¡°That¡¯ll scar nicely.¡±

    ¡°That your expert opinion?¡±

    ¡°Mhm. You could use some witch hazel on it.¡±

    The explosion of pain that erupts in my head is unlike anything I¡¯ve ever experienced. For a moment I think the world is tilting, then I realize that I¡¯m falling over. I can¡¯t seem to stop myself either.

    As I go to hit the floor I knock over a table of equipment, something flies past my face and I see a flash of red. I¡¯m unable to get up, as my limbs don¡¯t respond to my commands. All these years of exercise and training, and now my muscles betray me.

    Convulsions attack my body as my head continues its volley of self-inflicting torment. Lying on my side, I can only see the feet of everyone else and more of my blood staining the floor. I can¡¯t feel my arms and legs flopping around past the sheer pain assaulting me.

    Vaguely, I perceive someone shouting,

    ¡°I THINK SHE¡¯S HAVING A SEIZURE!¡±

    I can see everyone moving around, trying to help.

    My worst fear has come true. Trapped in my own body, unable to do anything as the world goes on.

    I want to scream. Scream from the agony and the fear taking over.

    But I can¡¯t. My body fails me.

    Through the terrible pain, I sense something on the edge of my mind; it¡¯s rapidly enveloping my consciousness. It¡¯s sweet, like death, bringing relief from my pain.

    Everything¡­goes¡­black.

    ????

    I break out into a cold sweat and stop in my tracks. Barlow notices and takes me to the side.

    ¡°Are you okay? You look like you swallowed a live eel.¡±

    It feels like that. My insides are in turmoil. My skin is clammy, and an inexplicable grief has taken hold of my heart.

    ¡°Hollyhock,¡± I say, barely above a whisper.

    ¡°Huh?¡± Barlow gets me further away from everyone. We duck between two empty stands.

    ¡°Hollyhock, something bad just happened to her.¡±

    ¡°How can you know that?¡±

    I can¡¯t explain it, I barely understand it myself. There isn¡¯t any other explanation for what I¡¯m feeling right now.

    I just know it¡¯s about the woman I love.

    Tears stream uncontrollably down my face.

    I feel like I¡¯m going to throw up. What happened to her?

    Is she dying? Is she dead?

    No. No, she can¡¯t be.

    Hollyhock just can¡¯t be dead. She can¡¯t.

    I¡¯ll burn this world down if she is.

    ??????

    I wake up looking at a gray abyss. Digit¡¯s face enters my view. It¡¯s the ceiling I¡¯m looking at.

    ¡°Can¡¯t be in heaven if I¡¯m seeing your mug.¡±

    ¡°Oh good, your sense of humor is intact. You said that without slurring, so that¡¯s a good sign.¡± He shines a flashlight in my eyes. ¡°Can you touch your toes for me?¡±

    I tap my feet together. My body is mine again.

    For now.

    ¡°Okay, good. You seem alert.¡±

    I nod. A sting comes from between my eyes.

    ¡°Why does my nose hurt?¡±

    ¡°You knocked over a table and a scalpel cut your nose bridge. I put a band-aid on it.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡± Digit waits for me to say something else.

    I don¡¯t.

    ¡°I sewed up your other cut while you were out. Hundred fifty stitches like Lark said.¡±

    I¡¯m still staring at the ceiling, but I sense no one else is in the room with us. Not sure if that¡¯s good or bad. Out of light conversation to say, Digit sighs.

    He stands up so I can see his serious expression.

    ¡°Listen, seizures are a sign of many things. I know someone who can get you an MRI and CT scan. We do a full check-up and-¡±

    ¡°Can you just take me home?¡± I interrupt his suggestions. His face twists in confusion.

    ¡°Listen to me-¡±

    ¡°Please.¡± It¡¯s all I can manage to keep my voice neutral, free of the emotion building in my chest.

    Fear corrupts the heart that¡¯s been made strong from this life. My arsenal is bereft of calm, a strategy, or even simple anger to combat this horror consuming me.

    I clench my fists, resisting the urge to cry in front of him. More than anything, I don¡¯t want Digit to see me like this.

    He can see past it anyway, turning his head away to hide his own emotions. I can see his own hands become fists in my periphery.

    He could force me to do whatever he deems necessary. It¡¯s obvious he knows more about this than I do. No doubt, Tamara ordered him to do whatever it takes. He has no reason to listen to my plea. I don¡¯t know if the Hippocratic oath applies to him, I¡¯ve never learned how he acquired his medical skills.

    But I fear the truth above all else. That¡¯s why I have that promise I keep to my younger self.

    That which could be brought to light terrifies me more than anything and everything. Bullets, explosions, and knives mean nothing to me. It is the simple truth that will break me, I just know it. So I ask again,

    ¡°Please,¡± the tiniest tremor shapes the word.

    Digit shakes a bit, bracing the storm of conflicting emotions against his willpower.

    ¡°Okay¡­okay,¡± he says with his breath shuddering.

    We drive through the empty streets of Oleander City. It¡¯s dark and hot out. The news playing on the radio relays that this heat wave isn¡¯t going to let up soon. I can¡¯t bear to look at Digit as he drives, and he does the courtesy of not looking my way either. The palpable heartbreak we¡¯re both feeling is enough without meeting eyes.

    He stops in front of my building and doesn¡¯t move as I get out.

    ¡°I¡¯ll come in a week to check on the stitches, okay?¡± He informs me as I walk away. I give no indication I heard him, focusing on going back to my home.

    He assumes I heard and drives away.

    My breath and footsteps are all I hear as I move.

    I reach my apartment. First thing I do is turn the AC on. It spurs to life, but shortly after gives a loud CLUNK and dies.

    ¡®Perfect. Just perfect.¡¯

    I can¡¯t summon any energy to be properly angry about that. I shed my outer layer of clothes and sink into my bed. Ignoring the smell of my sheets and pillows, I curl up and try to smother the tears that force their way out of my eyes.

    ????

    I go back home, the initial shock of what I felt has waned, but I still have this weight in my heart. Barlow took me back with no arguments but insisted I rest.

    I lie in my bed, more anxious and guilty than before. They hold my heart like a hand, unsure whether to let go or crush it completely. I still feel Hollyhock¡¯s pain.

    I don¡¯t know when I drift off to sleep, but it¡¯s a temporary relief. A powerful sensation jolts me awake.

    It isn¡¯t Hollyhock this time, but an unfortunately familiar feeling.

    Tremors shake my bones.

    I jump out of bed and look in my trunk. I realize that I didn¡¯t retrieve both my aura receptors. One is still active in Oleander City. The one I took with me glows unmistakably.

    The Necromancer¡¯s magic is active. They¡¯re still alive somehow.

    I have to get back there. Now. Hollyhock is in serious danger, a powerful magician she doesn¡¯t even know about is active again and might go after her.

    ¡°Just hold on, Hollyhock. I¡¯m coming for you.¡±

    Ch. 26 End

 "Together/Together"

    ¡°You¡¯re leaving now?!¡± Barlow asks incredulously as I pace back and forth. I¡¯m thinking about all the stuff I should take.

    ¡°The Necromancer is back. I don¡¯t know how, but I felt their magic all the way over here. If they go after Hollyhock, she¡¯ll have no idea what she''s going up against. They might be recovering now, but we both know it doesn¡¯t take long for a magician to get back on their feet.¡±

    ¡°Depends on the magician.¡±

    ¡°Barlow.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just saying, you had a pretty intense battle with them. Even they¡¯d have to take time to recuperate.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m all good,¡± I point out.

    ¡°¡®All good?¡¯¡±

    ¡°Sorry, something Hollyhock says. I¡¯m in prime shape, I mean to say.¡±

    ¡°Well, you¡¯ve been alive the whole time with the added benefit of not being burnt to a crisp.¡±

    ¡°Be that as it may, the Necromancer won¡¯t need to be at full power to go after her. And since the assassin doesn¡¯t have the luxury of being on the other side of the planet, safe behind IronHenge¡¯s walls, it¡¯s crucial I get there as soon as possible.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right, I¡¯m not denying the danger, I just think you should wait until tonight when everyone¡¯s partied out. It¡¯ll be easier to sneak out, I think.¡±

    I shake my head.

    ¡°No, besides the fact that I can¡¯t wait, I don¡¯t think sneaking out again is going to do me any favors.¡±

    ¡°Because Mentor Acacia will go after you again,¡± Barlow realizes.

    ¡°If I leave without getting caught, then no one else besides her will know about it. And we still don¡¯t know why she came alone and why she kept it secret.¡±

    ¡°So, you want to get caught breaking one of the oldest rules we have, to avoid your Mentor?¡±

    ¡°If you phrase it like that, it sounds dumb.¡±

    ¡°I just don¡¯t see it as a better alternative. If she goes after you herself, you get scolded again. If you get caught, you¡¯ll get in trouble with the Council.¡±

    My anxiety is building ever greater.

    ¡°I DON¡¯T KNOW BARLOW!¡± I immediately regret shouting. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m not yelling at you.¡±

    He puts his hands up in a placating gesture.

    ¡°I just¡­¡± I take a moment to stop pacing. ¡°I don¡¯t have all the answers right now. All I know is that Hollyhock is in danger, and I¡¯m the only one who can save her. I can¡¯t-¡± Words get jumbled in my mouth. ¡°Think of anything else,¡± I manage to say. I know acting hastily will lead to unforeseen consequences, but I can¡¯t sit around anymore. Something has to be done.

    Barlow snaps his fingers and his face lights up.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got an idea! Get proof!¡±

    Not getting it, I ask,

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Okay, so you leave in a way that gets you caught, you go save Hollyhock, and get proof of the Necromancer! Bring proof that you left for a valid reason, that¡¯ll get you some grace with the Council.¡±

    I nod, considering it. This plan gives me a shield from whatever agenda Mentor Acacia has.

    ¡°What proof can I get? And how would I explain how I knew about it?¡±

    Barlow shrugs.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t get that far, sorry. This seems like a slightly better outcome if you¡¯re set on avoiding your Mentor, that is.¡±

    I never did find out why she went after me herself, or tell anyone else. Maybe it¡¯s because of the time I spent with the assassin, but I sense there¡¯s more to this. Until I find out more, I don¡¯t want any part of it.

    And I don¡¯t want Hollyhock to suffer more because of it too.

    ¡°Okay. That¡¯s the plan. That¡¯s what I¡¯ll do. Thanks, Barlow. I know this whole situation hasn¡¯t been easy to deal with.¡±

    He shrugs again.

    ¡°It¡¯s been exciting at least. I¡¯ll tell Azalea we have to kick it into high gear to find something on our end, you go save the day. Or night. It should be nighttime there, right?¡±

    ¡°Should be, yeah. Thanks again. I have to get ready.¡± Barlow nods and departs.

    I undress and go to my wardrobe. With a fight in mind, I take a short, flowy black dress off the rack. It¡¯s void black, almost impossible to see in low light. The garment has a litany of enchantments, both protective and supportive measures.

    It seems like something the assassin would wear.

    Not that I¡¯ve seen her wear one.

    Regardless, I put it on and go over to my bed. First, I retrieve the boots Hollyhock gave me. They may not be magically enchanted, but they do their job well. Once I slip them on, I pull out a thin case that¡¯s been tucked deep beneath my bed.

    My hands don¡¯t tremble like the first time I held the case. Inside are some items Floribunda left me.

    Truthfully, they weren¡¯t but to assuage my grief, I was given these things. Enchanted paintings of us, trinkets, and other such memorabilia we shared. But I didn¡¯t open this case for nostalgia¡¯s sake. Under all the soft, tragic memories sits the object I need.

    A length of red silk lies innocuously. It has a deceptive weight as I pick it up, heavier than any right it has to be.

    Floribunda crafted this herself. No wider than my index finger, when inert it¡¯s about as long as my forearm. Sending a small amount of magical energy through it allows the holder to extend or shorten its length at will. Additionally, it hardens and functions as a blade.

    I never questioned Floribunda as to why she made such a thing. Personally, I just think she thought it¡¯d be cool. I still remember when she showed it to me and bound it. Through very esoteric enchantments, it only responded to her until she allowed me to also be a wielder. She pressed our forearms together and had the ribbon wrap around them.

    With her gone, I¡¯m its only wielder. This is a simple but effective weapon, capable of piercing any defensive measure if provided enough energy.

    I didn¡¯t bring it when I first left because I thought I wouldn¡¯t need a weapon out there. I also lack any skills to efficiently utilize such a weapon. But it will serve as a last resort.

    It¡¯s sat in the dark long enough; this, along with many other things, must be brought to light.

    I tap it with a tiny bit of magic, and it slithers to life, the fabric quickly glides up my arm, past my neck, and into my hair.

    It ties itself up while swiftly pulling my hair back into a simple braid.

    With nothing else needed, I head outside. I ignore the afternoon sun in my eyes and teleport to the long-standing walls of IronHenge.

    The materials of these walls have never changed in their history. Composed of cut stones that have been transmuted into iron, half the reason why this Arcanium has this name. Standing around twenty feet tall, the only thing that¡¯s changed are the multitudinous spells, wards, enchantments, and other magical systems maintained around its perimeter.

    Since its founding, never once has it been breached. That is until I came along, but I¡¯ve always considered myself exceptional.

    However, the existence of the Necromancer in Oleander City suggests otherwise.

    Guess my claim to fame will be found elsewhere.

    Wait, I don¡¯t have time for this.

    Sorcerers patrol the walls; between communicative magics, sensory boosts, and the fact we¡¯re in a time of peace, the patrols are solitary.

    They¡¯re the only ones allowed to leave without permission, within reason. I¡¯ve always envied them and wanted to be one when I was younger for that reason alone.

    And while they¡¯d be more suited to this particular endeavor, I don¡¯t have time to explain the situation.

    I need to deal with this myself. I teleport up to the ramparts and look for the nearest patrol. He finds me before I find him and teleports next to me.

    ¡°Hazel?¡± He recognizes me, but I can¡¯t place his ridiculously handsome face. He¡¯s dressed in a white kurta. It¡¯s enchanted to have swirling patterns of various colors, very disorienting to look at. I now realize that I haven¡¯t come up with a plan.

    ¡®What would Hollyhock do?¡¯

    Lie.

    ¡°I have something to show you, it¡¯s urgent.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    I take a page out of the Necromancer¡¯s book and prime a spell of suspension. A small part of me feels a little bad doing this to him, but Hollyhock is more important.

    ¡°This.¡± I slam my hand into his chest. He recoils from the impact and freezes in place. I took a huge chance that he didn¡¯t have active defensive wards on his person. Fate favors me, it seems. That and he¡¯s a very sloppy sorcerer.

    I search him for his sorcerer emblem. It not only denotes his position but allows him to pass through the barrier without being ripped to shreds. The spell is holding him in place and I sense no resistance to it. My full concentration needs to be on the Necromancer, so I can¡¯t worry about this guy.

    I¡¯ll release the spell after the Necromancer has been dealt with, or if someone tries to break it. Or if I die. But hopefully, just the first thing happens.

    I trepidatiously stick a hand through the barrier. Since I¡¯m not experiencing every atom of my limb being undone, I assume it¡¯s safe for the rest of me to go through. As I exit the barrier, I realize that I¡¯m twenty feet off the ground, walking into nothing.

    Before I crash into the ground, I manage to catch myself with a gust of wind.

    ¡°That would''ve been an embarrassing way to end this outing,¡± I say to no one. A quick look around the empty grasslands confirms no one heard me talking to myself.

    With no time to waste, I melt into the ley line and become one with the magic. My mind hones in on Oleander City.

    On Hollyhock.

    Moments later, I reform in front of the assassin¡¯s building. My heart flutters at the familiar shape.

    It¡¯s dark here, and too hot for this late hour. I teleport into her apartment. Why is it hotter here than it is outside? Her AC isn¡¯t on. Maybe she isn¡¯t home. She could be out on a job. I hope that¡¯s the case. I linger in the living room, reminiscing on all the time I¡¯ve spent here with her. My eyes land on the spot where I left her, in horrible pain and without her memories.

    Two halves of me go into conflict. If I never left, then we wouldn¡¯t have met. But if I never met her, then she wouldn¡¯t have suffered like that.

    I squash this internal strife. There are more important things to worry about. If she¡¯s not here, I don¡¯t have time to wait around for her. Maybe I can go to her HQ or just go straight after the Necromancer.

    My mind is still set on finding her, my senses reach out and I hear a heartbeat.

    On instinct, I know it¡¯s Hollyhock¡¯s. It came from further in her home.

    Her bedroom.

    I walk towards it and see an empty, dark room. There are straps and a pillow in the corner. Strange. Maybe she¡¯s in her weapon alcove.

    THUMP

    I hear it again, that strong and slow heartbeat of hers. It¡¯s close, it¡¯s in this room, it¡¯s¡­above me.

    Shit.

    Hollyhock swings down from the ceiling and kicks me in the chest with both feet.

    If that didn¡¯t knock all the breath out of me, hitting the ground surely does. I barely have a second to get any kind of bearings before she crashes on top of me. The assassin expertly pins my arms with her left hand and right foot. Her left leg presses against my waist.

    I feel cold metal press against my throat.

    When stars stop spinning around my vision, I get a clear look at Hollyhock, and my heart breaks a little more.

    She has a gash across her face. It¡¯s still fresh, with stitches in it and some blood seeping through. Some of her ear is missing as well. There¡¯s a band-aid across the bridge of her nose.

    But is it her eyes that haunt me the most: bereft of warm recognition, cold and calculative pupils bore into me. She stares at me like a complete stranger. I know her memory of me is gone, but a tiny part wanted to believe a fragment of our time together would shine through.

    I struggle to catch my breath between her weight on me and not wanting to cough right in her face.

    She leans in closer and in a low growl she says,

    ¡°You have 10 seconds to tell me who sent you and how you got in here before I slit your pretty little throat.¡±

    ¡­

    I can¡¯t believe I just got a little aroused by that. Having full knowledge of her skill and capability of killing, the threat is definitively real. Yet I get a tiny bit excited as her breath touches my face, the very sound of her voice.

    ¡®Focus.¡¯

    I know that I could force her off with magic, but I can¡¯t stomach the idea of hurting her more. Plus, I think she could slice my trachea open before I could do that.

    ¡°Have you had blackouts recently?¡± I ask, knowing the answer. Her eyes widen in fear for a moment before they harden in anger.

    ¡°How. The. Fuck. Do you know that?¡± Each word burns with rage. She presses the knife harder against my neck. Its razor-sharp edge cuts the skin a bit.

    ¡°I can help. Please let me.¡±

    She stares at me as she considers my proposal. Her eyes twitch, and I know it¡¯s from the pain the spell is causing her. She doesn¡¯t know she¡¯s looking at the very thing causing the turmoil her head is in. I need to undo it before serious damage happens.

    She pulls the knife back a bit.

    ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°If you get off me, I¡¯ll show you. I don¡¯t have any weapons, I want to help you.¡±

    Realistically, I know her training and her nonexistent knowledge of magic make this a ridiculous offer. She¡¯d be in the right not to believe me. But I can¡¯t lie to her, I¡¯m here to help.

    Maybe she senses the truth of what I say. Or her curiosity coerces her. That, or the pain she¡¯s fighting to control, dulls her decision-making; but she pulls the knife away.

    The assassin stands and lets me get up. As I catch my breath, I feel my chest and consider the possibility that a rib or two is fractured.

    Hollyhock, knife still in her right hand, moves to frisk me for weapons. Her free, strong, callused hand touches my waist and back. She backs away but keeps the knife between us.

    We cautiously move to the living room. I¡¯m not sure if she guides me there or if I lead the way.

    ¡°Well?¡± She asks. Though she puts up a strong front, I see her clenching her jaw to fight the pain.

    ¡°Can you put down the knife?¡± I beg her. I¡¯ve seen how fast she can slice and stab, I¡¯d rather her not have it in hand at the moment.

    She looks at me and the weapon in her hand. I¡¯m guessing she decides she can kill me with her bare hands if need be.

    The knife gets lowered to the table by the couch. Her eyes lock onto me. I slowly approach and her hands ball into fists.

    ¡°This will feel¡­strange,¡± I explain as I lift my hands. She tenses up as I put my hands on the sides of her head.

    ¡°What are you going to do?¡± Her voice is strained.

    ¡°You have to trust me,¡± I say. She has no reason to, far as she knows, I¡¯m an absolute stranger who broke into her house. But she tries to relax a bit as I press my hands a little more.

    One hand undoes the spell, while the other transmits her memories. This is an instantaneous process as Hollyhock recoils from my hands.

    ¡°WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO ME?!¡± She grabs her head and clutches it desperately. Weeks of memories flood into her mind and meld into her synapses. This is the last pain I wish to cause her. ¡°YOU BITCH!¡± She reaches for the knife, but the pain causes her to fall to her knees. I take a step back. She groans through it all, holding her head for dear life. I can only watch as she huddles over in agony.

    Then her breathing slows. Relief washes over her and she takes a deep breath.

    She looks up at me and my heart melts.

    ¡°Witch-Hazel?¡± She asks like she needs to be sure. The spark of recognition is alight in her smoky quartz eyes. The cold, indifferent edge has thawed and the warmth of the woman I love starts to radiate through.

    I nod, as if I can¡¯t believe I really did it.

    Hollyhock gets up and hugs me tightly like I¡¯ll disappear at any moment. I hesitate to hug her back, feeling like I don¡¯t deserve it after what I put her through. But she deserves a hug back. I wrap my arms around her and if I incidentally enjoy it, that¡¯s fine.

    She¡¯s lost some weight.

    We hold each other and I can''t help but wonder what she¡¯s been through.

    ¡°Fields of Elysium, I can¡¯t believe it¡¯s you. You have no idea what a relief this is,¡± she says to me.

    Hollyhock pulls us apart and looks at me with a concerned face. Her eyes land on my neck.

    ¡°Oh god, I¡¯m so sorry, I didn¡¯t-¡±

    ¡°I know, I know. It¡¯s fine.¡± I interject.

    ¡°It¡¯s not fine, I-¡±

    With a wave of my hand, the small cut heals. I take a moment to mend my ribs.

    ¡°Ahh, that¡¯s right: magic.¡±

    ¡°It comes in handy.¡±

    Hollyhock grabs my shoulders with both hands and looks me over. A question forms on her face.

    ¡°Did you kiss me?¡±

    That wasn¡¯t the first inquiry I was expecting out of her mouth.

    ¡°Yes, but I was-¡± She doesn¡¯t let me finish as she pulls me in for a kiss. Her hands cup my face and her lips press against mine.

    ¡®Wait, I have to tell her about the Necromancer.¡¯

    Her lips are dry and chapped, but so unimaginably soft.

    ¡®We can spare a minute.¡¯

    She presses deeper into the kiss, her hands gliding from my face down to my back.

    ¡®A few more minutes.¡¯

    My hands go to her waist, and she chuckles as they slowly creep to her ass.

    ¡®Half an hour.¡¯

    She guides us to a wall and backs me against it. She grabs me by my hips.

    I can¡¯t form any more thoughts.

    Our first kiss was a frenzied act, rushed by necessity. But this one, this is a slow dance. There¡¯s no one interrupting this time and no reason for us to stop. It¡¯s a welcome-back kiss if ever there was one.

    Given the situation before, I hadn¡¯t noticed, but Hollyhock is an excellent kisser. Each press and retreat of her lips leaves me wanting more and more.

    I could be in this bliss forever, but she pulls back and looks at me with a smile.

    ¡°Now, we¡¯re even,¡± she says. I try to catch my breath and steady my heart. With this moment of rest, I take time to look at Hollyhock¡¯s face. Besides the gash across her cheek, I can¡¯t help but notice the bags under her eyes. She hasn¡¯t been sleeping, then again neither have I. Her hair has grown a bit.

    A bashful expression springs onto Hollyhock¡¯s face. Her hand goes to the gash, her fingers skim along its length.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Is it the cut?¡± She asks, in a tone I¡¯ve never heard her use before: insecure. I don¡¯t like it.

    With no hesitation, I turn her face to pepper kisses across her wound; stitches, blood, and all. I kiss the notch in her ear for good measure.

    ¡°I like you, scars and all,¡± I answer her. She tries to laugh it off and turns away, but her growing smile tells me she likes it. Hollyhock faces me again, and I finally get what Koki¡¯O said to me once.

    The assassin looks at me like I¡¯m all the light there is in the world. She has no idea what that means to me. Not yet.

    ¡°How¡¯d this happen?¡± She scoffs.

    ¡°Occupational hazard. Don¡¯t worry, the guy that did this is very dead.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± I reply, unable to keep the cruelty out of my voice. The assassin doesn¡¯t seem to mind.

    ¡°Thank you, for coming back for me,¡± she says.

    ¡°Of course, why wouldn¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°Well, I mean, it would¡¯ve been easier.¡±

    ¡°If our situations were reversed, would you have left me?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she answers without pause. ¡°That¡¯s not how I meant it, I¡­¡± she trails off. Hollyhock licks the top row of her teeth. ¡°What I meant is¡­forget it.¡±

    I want to probe deeper.

    ¡°What is it, Hollyhock?¡± I put a hand on her shoulder.

    ¡°Not everyone takes the time to fix things, especially if it¡¯s on the other side of the world. So thank you, for going out of your way. That¡¯s what I meant.¡±

    She rubs the back of her neck and looks me over again.

    ¡°Something tells me this isn¡¯t just a visit for a make-out session, what¡¯s up?¡±

    Of course, Hollyhock can tell something¡¯s wrong.

    ¡°I sensed the Necromancer¡¯s magic back in IronHenge. They¡¯re back.¡±

    The assassin holds her chin in thought.

    ¡°I seem to recall you obliterating that motherfucker with fire. How could they survive that?¡±

    I shrug, genuinely baffled myself.

    ¡°I have no idea, but there¡¯s no mistaking their magic.¡±

    ¡°Magic¡¯s bullshit,¡± she replies. With a huff, she looks at her AC, which I¡¯m guessing is broken if she was sleeping in this absurd heat. ¡°Aight, what¡¯re we waiting around for?¡±

    Her use of ¡®we¡¯ sounds so sure. She walks over to her hidden weapon alcove and opens it up.

    ¡°I only wanted to warn you, not drag you to another magical fight.¡±

    Hollyhock starts undressing, and I turn away, even though I want to look.

    ¡°We started this fight together, we finish it together,¡± she postulates.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to put yourself in danger for me.¡±

    ¡°If our situations were reversed, would you let me go alone?¡± She retorts.

    Damn. Wasn¡¯t expecting that to be used against me so quickly.

    ¡°I suppose not,¡± I answer.

    ¡°Exactly, so let¡¯s save our energy for the fucker that deserves it.¡± She comes out dressed, in record time. A large bag is slung over her shoulder. From the way she shifts it around, I can tell it weighs a lot. Hollyhock laughs a bit as she feels the jacket she has on. ¡°I bought this when we went shopping, I remember it now!¡±

    I look it over, and it is the one she got.

    ¡°Why are you wearing it now?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been treated, and now it¡¯s the best jacket I got.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re up for this?¡±

    ¡°Always.¡±

    ¡°Then I need proof, something to show that the Necromancer exists, existed, whatever. I have to show the High Council what¡¯s been going on out here.¡±

    Hollyhock goes back to her alcove and grabs a device. It¡¯s a black rectangular box with a tube attached to its front. She pushes a button and the tube moves around a bit.

    ¡°What is that?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a high-zoom camera. I use it for recon work sometimes.¡±

    I want to point out that it doesn¡¯t look like any camera I¡¯ve ever seen, but I remember that IronHenge is technologically stunted. She puts the camera in the bag where I spy several weapons.

    ¡°Here¡¯s the plan: we kill them again. Take some pictures, print ¡®em, and yeah.¡±

    ¡°Sounds good.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s drive, give us some time to talk.¡± The way she said that last bit has me a little nervous. She grabs a helmet and leads the way out.

    We get in her car and blissful cool air rushes over us as she turns the AC on. There isn¡¯t another soul out in the streets. The clock says it¡¯s 2:53 a.m. We drive quietly for a moment before something dawns on me.

    ¡°Did you call me ¡®Witch-hazel¡¯ when I restored your memories?¡±

    She chuckles a bit.

    ¡°Yeah, sorry, that¡¯s what I call you in my head.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s just my job, though. That¡¯s like me calling you Assassin-Hollyhock.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t call me assassin in your head?¡± the assassin asks.

    Shit.

    ¡°Not that often,¡± I fib.

    ¡°You¡¯re a bad liar.¡±

    ¡°Sometimes I call you Holly,¡± I amend. She¡¯s silent after that.

    ¡°Who was that bitch with the green arm?¡± She asks after a pause. I was hoping not to talk about that, but of course, she¡¯d want to know.

    ¡°That was my mentor. Mentor Acacia. She taught me everything I know about witchcraft. We have a rule about exposing magic to non-magicians. I¡¯m sorry, I couldn¡¯t-¡±

    She interrupts with a wave of her hand.

    ¡°You don¡¯t owe me an apology. I get it, she¡¯s your teacher, you couldn¡¯t go against her. Believe me, I know that there are some people you just can¡¯t cross.¡± She rubs the part of her head where Mentor Acacia grabbed her. ¡°What did she do to me, exactly?¡±

    ¡°It was a spell that wipes one¡¯s memory and blocks them from thinking about what was forgotten.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right. I remember you telling me about that, y¡¯all do that to parents, so they forget their kids.¡±

    ¡°She wanted to completely wipe your mind, but I begged her to only take our time together.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, I don¡¯t think I could¡¯ve handled losing all my memories. Or maybe it''s better than losing some, thinking I was crazy.¡±

    ¡°¡­How have you been?¡± I finally work up the nerve to ask. Knowing she already has blackouts, I feared for her mental state over this. She licks her top row of teeth.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you but just know I¡¯m not trying to make you feel worse, and I¡¯m not looking to hear sorry, got it?¡±

    I don¡¯t say anything.

    ¡°Got it?¡± She asks again.

    I nod, not wanting to promise I won¡¯t feel hurt.

    She gathers her thoughts all the same.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t fun¡­I thought I was losing my mind for a while there. It¡¯s one of my worst fears, that one day I won¡¯t be in control of my actions. I¡¯ll walk around, still breathing and doing shit, but just¡­nothing going on upstairs.¡± She taps the side of her head. ¡°Between not knowing what I did the previous weeks, the headaches, and everything else, it was kind of a living nightmare.¡±

    She looks at me and doesn¡¯t like my expression.

    ¡°But you made it all better, so thanks again.¡±

    We stop at a red light, despite there being no one else around.

    ¡°There¡¯s something else I need to know.¡±

    ¡°Shoot.¡±

    ¡°What happened to you? Not the cut on your face, something else.¡±

    Hollyhock turns to look me in the eyes.

    ¡°How do you know about that?¡±

    ¡°I¡­sensed it. I felt this horrible pain happening to you.¡±

    The assassin isn¡¯t sure how to take that, so she turns away to look at the road. The light turns green, but she doesn¡¯t move the car.

    The sound of the engine rumbling, the air conditioning blowing, and nothing else can be heard in this moment of silence. Millions of souls in this city, and I just want to hear what comes out the mouth of the one in front of me.

    ¡°It¡¯s dumb, really,¡± she finally says after an eternity of waiting. ¡°After a mission with Tamara, Kapudal said ¡®could use some witch hazel¡¯ for my cut. And I guess the spell activated and I¡­had a seizure. Felt like my brain was exploding. Tamara and them saw it too.¡±

    I try desperately to harden the pieces of my heart I feel shattering in my chest. Hollyhock suffering without knowing it¡¯s because of me hurts worse than any physical pain I¡¯ve experienced. She starts driving again but slams the brakes.

    She has a frown on her face.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°Tamara didn¡¯t tell me about you. When I asked her if I met someone, she lied and said no. Even though you and her met. Why did she do that?¡±

    I have no answer for that. Hollyhock doesn¡¯t find one, but she grips the wheel harder and spurs the car back into motion.

    ¡°Whatever, I¡¯ll deal with that later.¡±

    We finally arrive at the abandoned mall, the assassin grabs her bag of weapons and sucks her teeth at some realization.

    ¡°Just remembered I left a bunch of guns here. Ratkiller too,¡± she answers before I ask. ¡°Gonna pick those up after.¡± She moves to put on her helmet but stops. ¡°Won¡¯t your Mentor notice you broke the spell on my mind?¡±

    ¡°That would only be if she was actively maintaining it, which she wouldn¡¯t for several reasons. The spell feeds off your brain¡¯s energy, so it¡¯s a closed loop,¡± I explain.

    ¡°Huh, you magicians really think of everything.¡±

    ¡°We try to. Though I guess she¡¯ll deduce what happened when I bring back proof.¡±

    Hollyhock locks her helmet.

    ¡°I could shoot her for you if you want,¡± she offers. It¡¯s tough to tell if she¡¯s joking with her voice muffled like that.

    ¡°Thank you, no. I¡¯ll handle it. Hopefully.¡±

    The assassin makes a dissatisfied noise but lets it lie. She produces a weapon from her bag that has a circular ammo cartridge that she loads in.

    ¡°Meet ¡®Hops¡¯,¡± she says, ¡°fully automatic shotgun. 30-round drum, all of which are going into that fucker¡¯s chest.¡±

    ¡°Here¡¯s hoping that won¡¯t be necessary.¡±

    She attaches more weapons to her person with straps and holsters. Armed to the teeth, she readjusts her bag to fit on her back and nods at me.

    We enter as we did before, except this time there are no wards to cover the smell or control the temperature. The heat and odor don¡¯t make for a pleasant atmosphere, especially after a month¡¯s worth of decay. I lead the way and Hollyhock follows close behind. There are no signs of life or undead around. The bodies we tore through, shot, burned, stabbed, or otherwise destroyed lie still where we left them.

    The assassin checks all around us as we advance.  I avoid looking at the mutilated faces of the bodies strewn about the floor. We get to the spot where I immolated the Necromancer.

    Their charred remains are the same as before.

    ¡°Still seems pretty much dead to me,¡± Hollyhock notes. I have to agree with the observation, I remember staring at this spot for some time after our fight. It¡¯s exactly the same. The assassin kneels and grabs the necklace. It is untouched, not even dirty from the cinders. She stands back up and takes a closer look at the cameo. It¡¯s blood-red and has a moving image of a young child who is laughing. Their violet eyes are astonishing.

    ¡°Is this necklace moving from their magic?¡± She asks. I shake my head.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Enchantments like that work like batteries, you can pour in magical energy and leave it to do whatever function it has. It could be anyone¡¯s magic powering it.¡±

    ¡°Hmm, you sure you felt their magic?¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t forget how it feels for the rest of my life. I¡¯m certain I felt it.¡±

    ¡°This pile of ashes doesn¡¯t seem too magical.¡±

    ¡°Have you noticed anything strange the last few days? Anything that could¡¯ve been Necromancer-related?¡±

    ¡°Nah, I was too busy going insane and getting revenge.¡±

    I don¡¯t care for the ¡®insane¡¯ part but the last bit interests me.

    ¡°You got revenge?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, found out why the DeadNettles wanted me dead, we killed ¡®em all.¡±

    ¡°How did it feel¡­getting revenge?¡± I don¡¯t know if I ask because I simply want to learn as much as possible about Hollyhock; or if some part of me deep down holds an invisible grudge. The assassin doesn¡¯t notice my internal conflict and answers with,

    ¡°At the time? Didn¡¯t feel much. I didn¡¯t even remember being double-crossed by them. So it was kinda¡­¡± She tilts her head. Her expression is hidden behind her helmet. ¡°Anticlimactic. Or non-cathartic, maybe. Is it really revenge if you don¡¯t remember why you want it?¡±

    ¡°And now that you have your memories back?¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t thought about it yet.¡± She tries to scratch her head but remembers the protective gear she has on. ¡°With context, I guess I feel a certain professional satisfaction. They tried to do me dirty, so getting back at them felt¡­right.¡±

    ¡°This is very fascinating,¡± I remark. ¡°Emotional resonance with the self via restored memories. Seems like something there should be a tome on.¡±

    ¡°But, personally, I try not to feel good about killing people. It¡¯s like my uhh, moral code. Or a principle.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°I just feel it¡¯ll stop me from being a certain kind of person.¡±

    She doesn¡¯t elaborate further on that.

    ¡°What¡¯ve you been up to?¡± She asks, shifting the conversation.

    ¡°Researching memory magic, studying magical, learning with my Mentor. Lots of reading, basically.¡±

    ¡°Sounds better than what I was doing.¡±

    It¡¯s comical how easily we fall into such a casual chat. With no regard for our surroundings, we catch up before I remind us both why we¡¯re here.

    Hollyhock looks the necklace over again and tucks it away in her jacket.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure your pretty dress doesn¡¯t have pockets, so I¡¯ll hold onto it for now.¡±

    It does have pockets, but I allow her this moment of chivalry.

    ¡°Let¡¯s check the basement, I remember them lying about having more bodies there,¡± she proposes. I¡¯ve noticed she keeps saying ¡®I remember¡¯. Though I don¡¯t fault her for it, after what she¡¯s been through. It makes my heart ache all the same.

    Hollyhock takes the lead in looking for the way downstairs, once we find it she lets me lead again.

    The stench is unbearable as we descend. Being a much narrower space, there¡¯s no room for the smell to disperse. My eyes water and Hollyhock coughs behind me.

    ¡°Jesus Christ, look at this.¡± I turn to see what she¡¯s referring to; hundreds of bodies lined up in rows on both sides of the hallway before us. Some are placed on crates, tables, and various other surfaces, very little room is left for walking.

    I feel the tremor of the Necromancer¡¯s magic again. Much weaker this time, but definitely their magic. The ribbon in my hair slides down my arm to wrap around my hand, part it extends to make a short blade. Hollyhock notices but doesn¡¯t comment, raising her weapon and switching something on it. The safety if I had to guess.

    ¡°I just felt it again, weaker though.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re on point, I got your six.¡± I discern the meaning of that when she rotates to cover behind me. We slowly walk through the dead-filled hallway. The eerie silence is only broken by my footsteps and breathes. Professional that she is, Hollyhock walks in sync with me, covering the sound of her movement. I know she¡¯s there, but I can¡¯t see her.

    And I never want to let her out of my sight again.

    ¡°Take out the threat, get evidence, leave. Simple three-step plan,¡± Hollyhock¡¯s scratchy voice soothes my nerves. I have to remember she can take care of herself. She¡¯s by no means unacquainted with danger, and by knowing me; magic.

    We pass by several rooms probably used for storage and more than likely have more bodies in each one. Just how long has the Necromancer been at this? What would drive someone to such lengths? To collect all these people as tools of war; blurs the line between devotion and obsession. At the end of the hallway, a space opens up to a few other dark corridors. One of them has a faint light in the distance. I head towards it. With each step closer, I brace myself for an all-out fight.

    The light I followed comes from a room that has an extremely chilled temperature. At first, I think it¡¯s because of magic, but I notice a generator running. Its output goes through a small opening in the wall. The room itself is refrigerated.

    There are scuff marks along the floor, whatever was in here was moved out to make room for the all tables. Each has a dead person on it, in far better condition than the other bodies we¡¯ve seen, generally speaking.

    Hollyhock steps into the room and stands beside me.

    ¡°Looks like a clinic,¡± she notes. There are some surgical tools on a table with wheels nearby. ¡°Maybe they used this fridge to fix up bodies?¡±

    A heavy sigh comes from neither one of us but one of the bodies on the table. We both pivot to the source: a body in the left corner of the room. It¡¯s still covered by a sheet, but we see a fogged breath rise into the air.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­not¡­wrong,¡± a horribly croaky voice says. We both creep towards it.

    I lift the sheet back as Hollyhock has her gun at the ready. Underneath we find a partially decayed body, and for a moment I think it¡¯s still before another breath rises.

    ¡°You¡­two¡­are¡­obsessed¡­with¡­me,¡± the should-be corpse says.

    ¡°Just professionally invested, when I kill people I like to make sure they stay dead,¡± Hollyhock quips. Even seeing the state of the body, she doesn¡¯t relax. Neither do I, the ribbon blade extends, and I lie it over their neck.

    ¡°How¡¯s this possible? I killed you.¡±

    ¡°Trade¡­secret.¡± They say.

    ¡°Good to know being burnt to a crisp didn¡¯t make you any less bitchy.¡±

    ¡°I want answers,¡± I say more firmly.

    ¡°¡­this¡­was¡­a¡­backup¡­plan¡­in¡­case¡­I¡­died. My¡­soul¡­was¡­sent¡­this¡­body.¡±

    ¡°This was the best you had in stock? No shinier models?¡±

    ¡°Miscalculated¡­time¡­spell¡­would¡­take¡­¡±

    ¡°Dumbass.¡± Hollyhock relaxes, takes off her helmet, and looks the reanimated body over. ¡°Was using a quadriplegic also a part of your genius plan?¡± The assassin notes the severely atrophied limbs and torso of this body.

    ¡°Forgot¡­to¡­find¡­different¡­one.¡±

    ¡°You should¡¯ve written it on a sticky note somewhere.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s¡­see¡­you¡­do¡­soul¡­transference¡­while¡­overseeing¡­an¡­army.¡±

    I know, objectively, that Hollyhock hates the Necromancer; but the two of them are sniping at each other like old friends. It did get an answer, though; soul transference. I¡¯d be more horrified at the implications if I hadn¡¯t already fought the undead hordes. What¡¯s one more taboo magical process to them?

    ¡°If we kill you again, are you gonna pop up again somewhere else? ¡®Cuz that sounds like it¡¯s going to be annoying.¡±

    ¡°No¡­more¡­magic¡­to¡­save¡­self. I¡¯ll¡­die¡­in¡­a¡­a¡­few¡­minutes.¡±

    Hollyhock doesn¡¯t have anything funny to say to that.

    ¡°Soul transference, raising and controlling so many dead; all incredibly hard things to learn and harder to do. What did IronHenge do to you that you went so far?¡± I ask.

    For a while the body is silent. I briefly think they died, but then they say,

    ¡°A¡­favor¡­to¡­ask. My¡­necklace¡­may¡­I¡­see¡­it?¡±

    ¡°You attacked us and have the nerve to ask a favor?¡± I admonish. Hollyhock, because she isn¡¯t cruel, puts down her weapon and retrieves the necklace from her pocket. She dangles the chain above the soon-dead magician¡¯s face. Her act of compassion makes me relent, I withdraw my ribbon blade.

    The lids slowly open, rather than the unresponsive ones I was expecting, radiant teal eyes stare out. That last use of magic must¡¯ve been to repair their eyes.

    ¡°Hyacinth¡­my¡­darling¡­child¡­taken¡­too¡­soon.¡±

    Hollyhock tenses up and my stomach drops.

    ¡®No, they have to be lying. They have to be.¡¯

    But what reason would they have to do that? Here at the end of their life, what could they gain from lying?

    ¡°I¡­wish¡­I¡­could¡­have¡­held¡­you¡­once¡­more.¡±

    One last exhale and the necromancer is no more. Hollyhock puts the necklace back in her pocket.

    We stand in silence for a moment, staring at the finally dead magician. So many questions and thoughts vacillate in my head. Seems I¡¯ll have more research to do back in IronHenge.

    I turn to look at Hollyhock, wondering what going through her mind.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get your evidence,¡± she says.

    We leave and go around collecting everything relevant; Hollyhock takes pictures of all the bodies, both those undisturbed and risen. She also collects all the weapons she left here last time. I take samples of magically altered materials and some remains of the necromancer, storing them in little vials Hollyhock provided.

    Our paths cross as she retrieves her knife.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad to have this back,¡± she says while twirling the poisonous knife around. I had my suspicions before, but now with a closer look; that blade is magical in some way. I can detect some traces of magic in it. Now isn¡¯t the time to discuss it, but I¡¯ll ask about it later. For the moment we part again as we continue our tasks.

    We reconvene in the main atrium, I watch Hollyhock walk back to me. She¡¯s sweaty and tired, and her arm hurts from carrying her bag of weapons. More and more I think about how I¡¯ve changed her life.

    Not necessarily for the better.

    But she smiles as she looks at me as if all this is just a minor inconvenience.

    ¡°Welp,¡± she hefts the bag up higher. ¡°Got all my shopping done. You ready?¡± I close the distance between us and grab a handle.

    ¡°It¡¯s heavy,¡± she warns.

    ¡°You¡¯ve done so much for me, this is the least I can do. Let¡¯s carry it together.¡±

    She takes one of the straps off and gives it to me.

    ¡°Together.¡±

    Sharing the weight of her loaded weapons bag, we exit the mall. Back out on the empty streets of Oleander City, I take a deep breath. Hollyhock puts the bag in the backseat, and I come to fully comprehend what I¡¯ve done to her life.

    ??????

    Honestly, I¡¯m glad there wasn¡¯t a fight. I¡¯m just now realizing how tired I am; how tired I¡¯ve been this past month. I¡¯m exhausted. Better for me that I didn¡¯t have to run around all night shooting at zombies. And even though I hate their guts, I can understand the rage that drove them to do all this.

    ¡°I think it¡¯s time to put an end to this chapter,¡± I say.

    ¡°Huh?¡± Witch-Hazel says as if coming out of a daze. She looked more than a little shaken by what we learned. Hearing your magic city took someone¡¯s child probably doesn¡¯t sit well.

    ¡°You got your evidence, so I think we better make sure no one else stumbles across what went on here.¡±

    ¡°How do you propose we do that?¡± She asks.

    ¡°I¡¯ll handle it. Stay here.¡±

    In the trunk of my car is the standard fire starter kit that all Bay Leaves have. Generally used for much smaller spaces, it¡¯ll work fine with all the material within to burn. I grab containers of kerosene, a drill, small plastic explosives, and some detonators.

    I remember the tedious lessons Tamara taught me on how to burn a building down, so it collapses. At the time I thought ¡®When am I going to need this?¡¯ and here I am years later in the dead of night, about to set a defunct mall ablaze. I pour kerosene in key places, storefronts with plenty of flammable stuff, and around some pillars. Drilling holes into the most important columns and walls takes a little more thought, but I add maybe a bit more explosive than necessary to be safe.

    Making a trail of kerosene is a mundane task, but it gets done. Back outside with Witch-Hazel, we back up to get some distance. I offer the lighter to her.

    ¡°Do you want the honors?¡± I ask.

    ¡°This is your city,¡± she points out.

    ¡°Yeah, but you found out about this,¡± I counter.

    ¡°I just wanted your city safe. To keep you safe.¡±

    My heart skips a beat.

    ¡®Damn, what is she doing to me?¡¯

    ¡°Together.¡±

    ¡°Together.¡±

    We entwine our hands on the lighter and start a flame. Together we lower it to the fuel line and it comes to life with fire. The small blaze races back into the mall. A minute or so later, I smell the fires burning before I hear them. Soon, fire spreads throughout the building.

    I think about all the people inside. Did they have friends and families who noticed their absence? Were they reported missing? Did anyone grieve for them? Were there any funerals with empty caskets because no one could find their bodies?

    ¡°Are you sure we should burn this down?¡± Witch-Hazel asks.

    ¡°Everyone in there is dead,¡± I answer. ¡°I can¡¯t offer them coffins, headstones, or eulogies, but I will bury them. Let them get some form of peace, knowing that their bodies won¡¯t be used in a war.¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t people dig through the rubble? See the bones?¡± Hazel¡¯s voice sounds strained.

    ¡°The police and fire departments will investigate, but honestly they¡¯re shitty at it. If they bother to search and find human remains, they won¡¯t tell anyone. It¡¯ll look bad for them that this many people somehow died here without them knowing, so they¡¯ll cover it up. Even if this time it was out of their control, they¡¯ll still do what they do best: lie to cover their asses.¡±

    The fire has now made it to the open night air. It raises and reaches for more fuel. They add to the already unbearable heat.

    ¡®I should detonate the charges soon.¡¯

    As I turn, Witch-Hazel wraps her arms around my torso. She nestles her face in my chest and lets out a choked sob. Instinctively, my arms embrace her.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡± she struggles to get the next words out. ¡°So sorry, Hollyhock.¡±

    ????

    As the building burns, the realization of exactly what I¡¯ve done dawned on me: I¡¯ve doomed Hollyhock.

    All of this, her losing her memory, her spiraling from it, and this mass grave are secrets she¡¯ll keep for me. As a consequence of loving her, I¡¯ve condemned this woman to have another furtive life from her already clandestine peers. By revealing magic to her, I have brought her into the shadowy, grim parts of my world.

    She can¡¯t divulge it to anyone, I¡¯m the only one who she can share this burden with. And I live on the other side of the planet.

    I can''t stop thinking about all the pain I¡¯ve caused her, all the secrets I¡¯ve given her, all the pain knowing me will cause her, and all the secrets I will give her in the future; because I can¡¯t stop loving Hollyhock.

    I will love her despite everything because she deserves that. She will have my love today, tomorrow, and every day until the last star blinks out of existence and even beyond that. All of time and space can¡¯t get in the way of this inferno in my heart.

    But I can¡¯t yet find the courage to tell her that. So I cry at the misfortunes that us knowing each other has caused and will cause. Strength has left my body, but as she always does, Hollyhock holds me up.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry,¡± is all I can manage to choke out.

    ¡°You¡¯re crying over me?¡± she asks in disbelief. ¡°I¡¯m fine, no need to worry.¡±

    Of course, she doesn¡¯t know why I¡¯m wailing into her shirt.

    Sirens blare somewhere in the distance. Hollyhock notices them as well.

    ¡°Hazel, I don¡¯t know what¡¯s wrong, but we gotta move, okay?¡±

    I nod, but cannot stop myself from crying. My legs don¡¯t listen to what little sense I have left to move.

    Hollyhock scoops me up by my thighs and carries me to the car.

    ??????

    It¡¯s more than a little awkward getting into the driver¡¯s seat with Witch-Hazel wrapped around me as if her life depends on it. But some part of me doesn¡¯t want to let her go, so I deal with it. I don¡¯t know why she¡¯s crying, but we can¡¯t stick around. As incompetent as the police and fire departments are, it doesn¡¯t take a great leap of logic to assume a person with kerosene in her trunk might have something to do with a fire.

    Through Witch-Hazel¡¯s curtain of gray hair, I manage to drive like a bat out of hell and detonate the charges. I hear the building start to collapse and somewhat enjoy the fact I¡¯ve buried the Necromancer and everyone else. By the time we¡¯ve gained some distance from the fire, Witch-Hazel has calmed down but won¡¯t share what¡¯s bothering her.

    I figure it¡¯s best if we get off the streets and head back home.

    ????

    I wish I hadn¡¯t broken down like that in front of Hollyhock. She gives me space but keeps looking over at me as she prints out the pictures. Once they¡¯re done, she compiles them into a folder and puts it on the table, she takes a moment to organize my samples as well.

    I pace back and forth, my mind finally calm enough to think. Hollyhock silently watches me.

    ¡°So¡­now what?¡± She asks, I note a slightly sad tone in her voice.

    ¡°Now, I have to come up with a plan for smooth-talking the High Council. Which is easier said than done. All while avoiding whatever my Mentor has planned.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­not what I meant.¡± I stop to look at Hollyhock. She rubs her right arm, a gesture I¡¯ve never seen her do before. Though she doesn¡¯t say it, I glean her true question. She wants to know if I¡¯m leaving right now.

    I should. It would make things easier on my end to get back quickly. But I¡¯m tired. So is Hollyhock.

    ¡°I could use some sleep,¡± I answer her unspoken question. She tries to hide the small smile on her lips.

    She strips to her underwear, whereas I stay in my clothes. We climb into her bed and I prime a spell to make the surrounding temperature more amicable. Hollyhock pulls me in for a hug, and I hug her back. She sighs deeply as it gets cooler around us. Her breath tickles my breath.

    A comfortable silence falls over us. I think she is asleep for a while, but she softly says,

    ¡°I missed you so much, and I didn¡¯t even know who you were. Your smell, your touch, I missed all of it. More than anything I missed we who were; together. Thank you for coming back.¡±

    With that, she falls asleep in my arms. I hold her tighter, and even though I thought I cried enough tonight, another tear streams from my eye. I kiss the top of Hollyhock¡¯s head.

    ¡°I promise nothing else will tear us apart again,¡± I say to her curls, hoping they¡¯ll somehow relay my message. My eyelids get heavier and heavier with each blink and I drift off to sleep.

    Ch. 27 End

 "Things To Settle"

    I sleep better with Hollyhock in my arms than I have this past month. The comfort of having her breath mix with mine makes up for the fact that my arm has fallen asleep under her weight. I wake up before her, but her seemingly infallible assassin awareness has her alert in two seconds.

    I smile at her. She blinks and frowns.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± she asks. A diabolical dread grips my body in an instant.

    ¡®It didn¡¯t work, the neuroplasticity of her brain has rejected the new information.¡¯

    As I spiral into worry, a big, stupid smile grows on the assassin¡¯s face.

    All-consuming anxiety turns into awesome annoyance in a split second. I audibly gasp, turn away from her, and pout.

    She starts laughing as if it¡¯s SO funny.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Hazel!¡± She says between fits of laughter. ¡°It was a dumb joke, I¡¯m sorry, really!¡±

    I keep my back to her, but my anger has already evaporated. Actually being mad at her isn¡¯t feasible, as I know that¡¯s just her sense of humor.

    Still, I keep my back turned and fold my arms.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, I said I was sorry.¡± She paws at my shoulder to get my attention. ¡°I won¡¯t joke like that again, I swear.¡±

    A brief moment of silence and I turn to face her.

    ¡°I¡¯m not actually mad, I just¡­¡± I don¡¯t even have any words to describe what I¡¯m feeling.

    ¡°I know, I¡¯m sorry,¡± Hollyhock apologizes all the same. She takes my chin in her hand and kisses me softly.

    It¡¯s just a peck, at first. Then she presses our lips together again. And again.

    And again.

    My arms go around her neck and I pull her close. Her hands go to my waist, and she lifts my hips closer to hers.

    We¡¯re both on her bed, she¡¯s undressed, and this dress can easily be taken off. Not how I imagined our first time going, but any elixir for an ailment, as they say.

    Suddenly, Hollyhock stops and smells her armpit.

    ¡°I need a shower,¡± she declares.

    ¡°Without me?¡± I prod. She laughs and picks at the cut on her face. But only for a second.

    ¡°I have a feeling that if you join me in the shower, I¡¯ll end up forgetting why I went in there.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong,¡± I say as I go in for another kiss. Hollyhock puts her hand over my face and gently pushes me down.

    ¡°Relax, girl. You look like you still need sleep.¡±

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t!¡± I protest.

    I don¡¯t know when, but I fell asleep on Holly¡¯s cozy bed. As I wipe drool from my mouth, hoping Hollyhock doesn¡¯t notice it as she steps out of her bathroom, I look her over. The assassin is already fully dressed, covering up that body I was close to exploring, and her hair is mostly dry.

    I want to ask, ¡®Better now?¡¯ and ¡®What about me?¡¯ What comes out my mouth instead is,

    ¡°Bwuh?¡±

    She laughs.

    ¡°Yep, exactly,¡± joking like she understood me perfectly. ¡°Nothing like a hot shower to make you feel sane again.¡±

    She does look more like her old self, the light in her eyes is more radiant, and a light playful energy emanates from the assassin. A knock comes from the door and I half expect her to shift into a defensive mood.

    Instead, she, almost gleefully, goes to answer it. From her bed, I watch her answer the door, receive two brown paper bags from someone, and close it.

    ¡°Haven¡¯t gone grocery shopping,¡± she explains. ¡°Larkspur and Kapudal were babysitting me and ate everything but the crumbs.¡±

    She starts unpacking her food stuffs and I realize how calm I am right now. This all feels¡­correct. I¡¯m where I should be, and with the person I should be with.

    Hollyhock, with everything away, starts to cook breakfast. She cracks a couple of eggs into a pan. Sensing me watching her, she beckons me over with her index finger.

    I comply and head over, when I get close she turns around and has a sensuous look on her face. Before I can ask what that¡¯s about, she takes hold of my chin and pulls me in for another kiss. This one is softer and slower than any we¡¯ve shared so far.

    ¡°What was that for?¡± I ask.

    ¡°We got interrupted a lot, just making up for those times,¡± the assassin answers. Her hand glides to my neck, and a finger traces along its length.

    I involuntarily shiver at the sensation.

    Hollyhock chuckles a tiny bit, and I just know she just noted that. Later on, she¡¯ll use that to her advantage.

    I can¡¯t wait for that moment.

    But I¡¯m not one to be outdone. My hands start at her shoulders, grazing for any sensitive spots. She has no noticeable reaction to anywhere my hands go until they get to her hips. I tug at her belt loops and her breath hitches.

    Gotcha.

    This quickly turns into more than just kissing. The assassin presses her lips against my neck, and I pull her hips closer. We both try to find the more receptive areas of one another.

    Hollyhock stops with a laugh.

    ¡°Hold on, these eggs are about to burn.¡± She turns her attention back to the stove. I wrap my arms around her as she scrapes eggs from the pan to a plate.

    ¡°Has anyone ever told you that you¡¯re a good kisser?¡± I ask in her left ear. She holds her chin as if in deep thought.

    ¡°Not today, at the very least,¡± she supplies.

    ¡°Well then,¡± I kiss her cut, ¡°let me be the first.¡± She tilts her head into the kiss.

    ¡°Aight, lemme cook breakfast in peace, you perv.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the one that called me over,¡± I point out.

    ¡°You don''t have any proof of that. It¡¯ll never hold up in court. Sit,¡± she vaguely gestures toward the couch.

    Minutes later, I have a plate of a hearty breakfast in my hands. As skilled a cook as she is a kisser, the food tastes great. That said, I can¡¯t help but notice the growing tension in our silence as we eat. Questions that want to be asked, but neither of us wants to start. I wait for Hollyhock because I¡¯m sure she has much more to ask, but she doesn¡¯t speak up. So I go first,

    ¡°So, what now?¡±

    Hollyhock stops eating and taps her plate with her fork. With a small chuckle, she replies with,

    ¡°Ain¡¯t that the million-dollar question?¡± She looks me up and down and gives a smile. ¡°Way I see it, we both got things to settle in our¡­¡±

    ¡°Respective worlds,¡± I supply. She nods, agreeing with my word choice.

    ¡°Right.¡± Hollyhock chews on her bottom lip for a second. ¡°I got shit to set straight with Tamara, with everyone, really.¡± I remember her saying that Tamara didn¡¯t tell her about me. It brings to mind when I asked her if she was responsible for Hollyhock¡¯s fugue states. Perhaps a tad impetuous at the time, but I still feel she¡¯s keeping secrets. But it¡¯s not my place to say anything, as I love and know Hollyhock; she¡¯ll want to get to the bottom of it herself. I only hope it will yield better results than our business with the Necromancer.

    ¡°And you have your magic stuff to do. Didn¡¯t you say something about a council?¡±

    ¡°Yes, the High Council. Several magicians who oversee society.¡±

    ¡°Are they, like, a magical parliament?¡±

    I make a so-so gesture with my hand.

    ¡°They can make rules, but really all our laws were made centuries ago, so really they deal with the minutiae of various things. Trade, security, I honestly think it¡¯s something for those without talent to have something to do.¡±

    ¡°You just described the vast majority of governments.¡± I shrug.

    ¡°Be that as it may, they also handle infractions of laws.¡±

    ¡°How do they deal with magicians exposing magic to regular people?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s never happened before.¡±

    Hollyhock gives me a somewhat surprised look.

    ¡°Look at you, making history.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s also possible it¡¯s happened before, and I just never bothered to learn about it.¡±

    ¡°Okay, less impressive.¡±

    ¡°It never pertained to my life before all this. The only magicians that can leave Arcaniums are sorcerers, and so I never bothered to learn if there are any consequences to it.¡±

    ¡°Weren¡¯t you planning to leave for years?¡±

    ¡°...fair point. But still, I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯d like to help you, but I don¡¯t know anything about getting caught by the law.¡± Hollyhock shrugs. Her small joke raises a corner of my mouth. Silence falls between us, and what we really want to say hangs in the air.

    We don¡¯t know if we¡¯ll see each other again.

    Not because we don¡¯t want to, that much is clear to me. With the Necromancer finally dead, Hollyhock might think my business here is done. But she must know I don¡¯t want to go. She¡¯d gladly go and help me, but she can¡¯t. And as much as I want to stay here, I can¡¯t.

    I want to promise that I¡¯ll be back, but that¡¯s not up to me; the High Council will decide. The choice to be with Hollyhock is out of my hands again.

    Unless I do something drastic.

    ¡°I¡¯ll make this work, Hollyhock. I promise this isn¡¯t the last time we¡¯ll see each other.¡±

    She licks the top row of her teeth, a gesture I¡¯ve come to conclude signals deep thought. The assassin is looking off in the distance. I take hold of her face to have her look at me. ¡°I mean it.¡± I need her to hear my asseveration.

    Her smoky quartz eyes bore into mine. I could read her mind if I wanted to, and I do. But the shadows of her nature have receded as we spend more time together. I want to learn all about her naturally.

    She takes my hand in hers and turns her head to kiss my palm. Heat flushes into my face at the sheer intimacy. Hollyhock closes her eyes and nuzzles her face against my hand. My fingers brush against her stitches. I fight the urge to count them.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she replies with her scratchy voice as she cradles her head more. ¡°Okay,¡± she says a bit softer this time.

    The assassin drops her hand, but mine lingers for a while after.

    We finish our food and look at each other for a moment. The gravitational pull between our hearts has us quickly in an embrace.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    I hold her not nearly as tight as I want to, and not long enough to satisfy my heart. I commit every detail of Hollyhock to memory; how her skin feels against mine, the warmth that emanates from her. Her heart thumps in her chest, and mine echoes the pulses. The smell of her soap, shampoo, and her natural scent. How the void black coils of her hair define themselves with gravity defiance. The stitches of her cut tickle against my cheek.

    She gives a final squeeze as she senses the hug is over.

    And though I want to stay in her arms longer, where I feel all is right, I do have to go.

    That¡¯s when I remember something crucial.

    ¡°I have your boots, they kept me¡­grounded. Helped me more than you realize. Brought them back like you asked.¡±

    Hollyhock laughs a little bit.

    ¡°Keep ¡®em. Besides, what kinda girl would I be if I sent you out of here, shoeless?¡±

    I chuckle at that.

    What kind of girl would she be indeed?

    ??????

    Witch-Hazel steps back from our hug.

    ¡°I¡¯ll see you later,¡± she says.

    ¡°See ya.¡± She nods and in an instant, she¡¯s gone.

    I take a deep breath and catch the lingering smell of her shampoo; the smell of rain after a heatwave. Then I look at my table.

    ¡°She couldn¡¯t have put her dish in the sink?¡± I ask the air.

    ¡®Well, she fixed my brain, so I guess she can get a pass.¡¯

    I start to get embarrassed when I remember how I¡¯ve been acting these last few weeks. Though, in my defense, I didn¡¯t know magic was the reason I couldn¡¯t remember anything.

    Worst part is that I can¡¯t provide a logical explanation for my turnaround. Even if I felt like acting how I was, which I don¡¯t, everyone will eventually see through that. And that¡¯ll add even more suspicion to me.

    I sigh as I plan on how to approach this.

    ¡°Fuck it.¡±

    I get ready and head out to HQ. There¡¯s a lull in the heatwave, the air is tolerable. People take advantage of the relative coolness, being out and about on the streets.  My eyes glance over families and couples and force my mind to focus on the task at hand.

    The Bay Leaf headquarters is as busy as it usually is. My fellow assassins all have their eyes on me, likely they¡¯ve heard about my seizure. I try to brush aside the forming doubts of what they might think of me.

    Koki¡¯O and I bump into each other because I wasn¡¯t paying attention.

    ¡°Holly,¡± the tree of a woman says to me. With a glance, she assesses me. ¡°You seem better, more yourself.¡±

    ¡°Is Tamara in her office?¡± I ask, not wanting to comment on her accurate guess.

    ¡°No time for small talk?¡±

    ¡°¡­ I am feeling better, thank you,¡± I answer after a moment. ¡°Is she in?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never known her to take a vacation.¡±

    A good answer as any.

    I walk to Tamara¡¯s office to find her inside. She¡¯s glancing between three monitors, an additional laptop has been summoned for her work. A neutral expression on her face juxtaposes the frenetic energy of her hands. As I get closer, I see she¡¯s looking at CCTV footage of a street somewhere in the city. The other two screens aren¡¯t facing me. I turn my attention back to her before she notices me looking at whatever she¡¯s doing.

    ¡°One moment, please,¡± she says to me. Her low volume leads me to believe the task at hand isn¡¯t going her way. As she switches to the middle screen, I notice her typing words in sentences; she¡¯s talking to someone on that screen.

    I better stop sleuthing.

    Tamara scoffs, closes the laptop, exits out of the CCTV footage, and ends whatever she has on her third screen. The head of our assassin organization looks me up and down.

    ¡°You seem to be better,¡± she says, almost word for word what Koki¡¯O said. It makes me wonder just how aligned their minds are. But that¡¯s not the question I need answered.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me about Hazel?¡± There¡¯s no point in skirting about with Tamara.

    It feels weird dropping the ¡®witch¡¯ from her name.

    If she¡¯s at all surprised by my knowing about Hazel, she hides it well.

    ¡°I was attempting to do damage control,¡± she answers, bluntly at that. It¡¯s nice we don¡¯t have to dance around this conversation, in a way.

    ¡°Meaning?¡±

    Tamara sighs.

    ¡°You¡¯ve never hurt or killed anyone that didn¡¯t have it coming during your blackouts before. But this two-week-long lapse was another matter entirely. So when I didn¡¯t see your¡­friend, Hazel.¡±

    Tamara isn¡¯t sure what the nature of my relationship with Witch-Hazel is.

    Neither am I, to be honest.

    ¡°I, as I¡¯ve been conditioned to, presumed the worst outcome.¡± With that answer, I get a microscopic look into her past. A subject I am interested in, but not at this time.

    ¡°So you thought I killed her?¡±

    ¡°Or scared her off,¡± she supplies. ¡°You were acting strangely, but lucidly, before you forgot the prior weeks. Then you said you blacked out, and I didn¡¯t see any sign of Hazel. Like I said, you¡¯ve never harmed an innocent before, but in this case, I didn¡¯t know if that still held. Or if Hazel is as innocent as she seems. Either way, I chose to not let you know about her. There was no need to make you feel worse when you were already spiraling.¡±

    I see the logic in her decision. Tamara, not knowing about magic, couldn¡¯t form another reason for my memory lapses. While I can¡¯t say I love the choice she made, I do understand why she made it. Even if her willingness to obscure the truth nags at me more than I¡¯d like to admit.

    ¡°I guess I get that,¡± is all I say on the matter. Tamara doesn¡¯t need to know the extent of my thoughts.

    ¡°How did you find out about her?¡± She asks. I wasn¡¯t expecting her to care further. Then again, I hadn¡¯t thought past the initial question.

    ¡°I remember those weeks now.¡± An incredulous answer, but still true nonetheless. Tamara stands and walks around her desk to get closer to me. I hide how unnerved I am by this. Of the myriad of questions I wager she¡¯ll ask, Tamara conjures one that¡¯s completely unexpected,

    ¡°Is she alive?¡±

    ¡°Y-yes,¡± I answer. Through all of this, I never imagined Tamara caring enough or at all about Hazel. But she nods, pleased by my response.

    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± I¡¯ve never heard her so genuinely appreciative of something that has nothing to do with our work.

    What is going on here?

    ¡°So, you¡¯ve remembered those weeks,¡± Tamara brings us back to the main point. ¡°Have you remembered all your other blackouts?¡± She probes with a keenly interested tone.

    ¡°No, just those weeks,¡± I answer. I¡¯m not sure what response she wanted to hear, and I don¡¯t think she knows either. Tamara looks me in the eyes to see if I¡¯m hiding anything. While I am, it¡¯s not about this, so I¡¯m safe.

    She relaxes, and her shoulders ease up.

    ¡°This is¡­¡± Tamara tilts her head in search of the right word. ¡°Unprecedented. Usually, memory issues are a one-for-all situation.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s one of the many ways I¡¯m unusual.¡±

    Tamara scoffs at that. Or maybe it was a laugh. I can¡¯t tell.

    She holds out a finger to manipulate my chin and examine the cut across my cheek.

    ¡°You been picking at it?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± I feel like a kid being nagged by a parent.

    Or how I imagine such a situation would feel.

    ¡°I remember your first real cut, you picked at it ¡®til it got infected,¡± Tamara recalls while tracing the path of the blade that did it. The man who did it had a cheap knife, poor grip, and would¡¯ve bled out in seconds from his gut wound even if I didn¡¯t shoot him through his neck. He got lucky, or maybe I was careless and managed to get his blade to scrape against my left second false rib.

    The cut wasn¡¯t that bad, in retrospect, but I did pick at the stitches until an infection showed up. That was bad, and the lecture I got from Digit was even worse.

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you still remember that,¡± I say to Tamara. She shrugs.

    ¡°It was your third kill, one or two usually break people. Making it to the third sets you apart from most, in my opinion.¡±

    ¡°In for a penny, in for a pound,¡± I surmise.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Hazel now?¡± Tamara asks, shifting the conversation once again.

    ¡°She went back home,¡± I answer, unclear on why she cares. ¡°She has some stuff to handle.¡±

    Tamara goes back behind her desk.

    ¡°Anything we can help with?¡± I have to assume her inclination to help Witch-Hazel is from some notion she owes her. But it still unsettles me for some reason.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s not like that.¡± Tamara shrugs and opens her laptop again.

    ¡°Oh, well. Anything else you need from me?¡±

    Part of me wants to pry into why she cares about Hazel. But I get the feeling if I talk more about the witch, the more suspicious Tamara will become of her.

    Looking at the head of our group, I see a woman who makes it her business to know everything that goes on in this city; yet she is unaware of this magical world I¡¯m now conscious of. If I talk about Hazel more, Tamara might dissect the threads between our world and Hazels.

    She has her secrets, so I should have my own.

    ¡°No, that was it.¡±

    ¡°Go see Digit and inform him of your miraculous recovery, it¡¯ll be sure to lift his spirits.¡±

    Now I remember how I left Digit, the pain in his face as I refused his help. I¡¯m retroactively embarrassed all over again. At the time, not knowing any better, thought I was doomed and didn¡¯t see the point. Now I¡¯m going to stroll into his workspace all peachy?

    Magic is bullshit.

    I do feel I owe it to him, so I oblige. Nodding my head, I leave Tamara¡¯s office and go to Digit¡¯s forge/clinic. Entering his domain, I can see why Tamara said I should visit.

    Digit, like most anyone in his position, usually looks exhausted at any given time. He not only outfits us with gear he manages, stitches us back together, handles our technology, but also tattoos whatever insane shit we want on our bodies. He even does the occasional assassination contract. Him looking tired isn¡¯t a unique thing.

    But the man I see before me is beyond tired. He seems depleted, his vacant eyes stare at a computer screen, and his beard is more scraggly than ever.

    When he finally notices me, he switches tabs before I can read what he was looking at. Now the screen shows ¡°Top Ten Panda facts¡±. I¡¯m not sure what to make of that.

    ¡°Looking at porn on the job?¡± I joke to brighten the pervasive dark mood in here.

    ¡°HA HA HA,¡± he offers in reply. Then he takes a real good look at me to quickly reach the same conclusion that Tamara and Koki¡¯O reached before,

    ¡°You-¡±

    ¡°Seem better?¡± I interrupt. ¡°I feel better than the last time I was in here, thanks for asking.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask yet.¡±

    ¡°I wanted to spare ya the effort.¡±

    ¡°And what can be attributed to this?¡±

    I have to be careful here. Tamara was one thing, but Digit is a more aesculapian minded individual. He¡¯ll definitely have questions as to how and why I¡¯ve regained my memories. By all logical accounts, it makes no sense.

    ¡°First, I want to apologize for not taking your help before. I¡­felt like a lost cause. And I didn¡¯t want you, or anyone, to see me like that. But pride is a stupid reason to not accept help.¡±

    Digit nods, his mood already lifting.

    ¡°Wise words, did Koki¡¯O say that?¡±

    ¡°No, it was¡­¡± I suddenly realize that the Necromancer said something like that. ¡°No one you know,¡± I finish.

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Digit doesn¡¯t like the insinuation but lets it pass. ¡°What¡¯s second?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± there¡¯s no other way to say this, ¡°regained my memories. And the headaches are gone.¡±

    That piques his interest. Digit sits up straighter and that familiar analytical look in his eyes returns.

    ¡°Really? How did that happen?¡±

    I do an exaggerated shrug and put my hands in the air.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t make any sense that I can think of.¡± That¡¯s the closest thing to the truth. Witch-Hazel said she copied my memories but I don¡¯t understand how that works at all. ¡°Must be magic.¡± Just a little joke for me.

    Digit runs his hand through his hair with an amazed expression.

    ¡°This is¡­¡±

    ¡°Unprecedented?¡± I supply.

    ¡°Exactly!¡± I nod, somewhat amused that he chose the same word as Tamara. Koki¡¯O might¡¯ve said the same if I got the chance to tell her. ¡°I still want to run some tests and get you under an MRI and CT.¡±

    I refused before because I didn¡¯t want to know whatever dismal truth awaited the other side of those tests. But with my memory magically restored, and the pain gone, I don¡¯t see the harm in it.

    Especially if it¡¯ll calm Digit¡¯s nerves.

    ¡°Fine, run some tests, get me in a big magnetic tube.¡± He sighs in relief.

    ¡°Thank you! God, it¡¯s like no one listens to my medical advice around here. Sure, they tune in when I have their fancy weapons and gadgets. But when I suggest they take their antibiotics or multivitamins, suddenly it¡¯s in one ear and out the other!¡±

    I get the feeling that Digit has had this rant locked and loaded for a while now; I don¡¯t really want to hear it, but I let him have it.

    A minute into his lecture, Digit remembers what he was going to do and relents. Clearing his throat, he turns to his computer.

    ¡°Better get this done sooner rather than later. I expect we¡¯ll be busy soon enough.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°We wiped out the DeadNettles, things will settle, but soon there¡¯s going to be chaos in the streets. The power vacuum and such.¡±

    I had briefly forgotten the ecosystem of our city, focusing on the magical world hidden from view.

    ¡°Oh, yeah. You ever experienced anything like this?¡±

    ¡°Never so fast.¡± Like Tamara, I only get mini glimpses into his past. He isn¡¯t as secretive as Tamara but, that doesn¡¯t necessarily make him forthcoming. ¡°I¡¯ll let you know when I get everything set up. Take care of yourself, okay?¡±

    ¡°Aight.¡±

    I leave the HQ, not without more comments on my improved well-being from virtually everyone.

    My confrontation with Tamara was far less climactic than I thought it would be. Though I am glad she didn¡¯t have a sinister ulterior motive. At least, not that she revealed as much. I¡¯m still startled by her giving a shit about Witch-Hazel. Beyond common courtesy, I don¡¯t see why she would inquire about her.

    Going to my car, I ruminate on how bizarre that is.

    As I drive home, my thoughts shift to Witch-Hazel. I wonder what she¡¯s up to, how her stuff is going.

    ¡°Magic,¡± I say aloud. Looking around the city, I think about what she taught me about magic. It is everywhere and in everything. All around me, but I¡¯m unable to perceive it. Magic.

    I took it all in stride when Witch-Hazel was with me, and we were on the hunt for the Necromancer. But thinking about all this shit on my own? It¡¯s mind-boggling.

    I can see why they have a rule against exposing magic to regular people.

    If magic is real, then it isn¡¯t too farfetched to think what else might be real. I suspect Witch-Hazel has only shown me a fraction of the magical world.

    Who¡¯s to say that any religion isn¡¯t true now? Maybe every single one of them is right.

    I stop at a red light.

    Hell, even hell might be real. If it is, I¡¯m definitely going there.

    This light refuses to change.

    I remember Hazel saying that magicians live longer than regular people. I¡¯ll die someday and most assuredly head straight to hell; but she¡¯ll still be here for decades, maybe centuries to come. Knowing I¡¯ve died and gone to a horrible place, carrying that pain and grief with her.

    I don¡¯t want that for her.

    When she came back, I was relieved more than anything. Now that I¡¯ve had some time to think, to assess the lengths she¡¯ll go for me; I¡¯m setting her up for unimaginable heartbreak.

    With my life the way it is, it¡¯s only a matter of time before I get killed, and she¡¯s left with that weight in her heart forever.

    The light is still red.

    My hand develops a vice grip on the steering wheel as I get deeper into my thoughts.

    If Witch-Hazel loves me, I¡¯ll end up hurting her more than anything else has.

    She hasn¡¯t said it, but I can tell she¡¯s lost someone close to her before. It changed her.

    I don¡¯t want to be another stepping stone on her path to misery.

    Please, please don¡¯t be in love with me, Hazel.

    Ch. 28 End

 "Vicissitude/Ataxia"

    ????

    ¡®Why do I feel like I¡¯m forgetting something?¡¯

    That thought is the first thing in my head as I reform outside IronHenge.

    I check my possessions, I have all the evidence I gathered of the Necromancer. Hollyhocks boots. The various objects I forgot to get last time.

    That should be everything.

    It isn¡¯t until I slip back under the barrier that I realize that I left that patrolling sorcerer in suspension this whole time.

    OOPS.

    There¡¯s a group of sorcerers examining him and my magic. They haven¡¯t noticed me yet. I could probably sneak away and get off without any trouble. That¡¯s what Hollyhock would do.

    But I need to get ahead of this. I teleport next to them, they¡¯re all so focused that they still don¡¯t notice me until I clear my throat.

    Like the sorcerers that they are, they assume fighting stances and have spells primed.

    They¡¯re fast, but I¡¯ve seen Holly move faster.

    ¡°Hi, excuse me,¡± I say as I dispel my suspension on the sorcerer. He groans as his limbs are his to command again. After a brief moment of stretching and rolling his joints, he realizes something.

    ¡°I really have to use the bathroom!¡± He teleports away to relieve himself somewhere.

    I¡¯m left with the sorcerers that were investigating his state. While it wouldn¡¯t take a great leap of logic for them to conclude that I was the one who put the suspension spell on him, they wait for him to come back before asking any questions. I kinda want to just walk away from the awkward silence that falls over us.

    One of them opens their mouth to say something, but quickly decides against it; making the awkward silence even more uncomfortable.

    Thankfully, the sorcerer I suspended comes back, looking much less stressed.

    ¡°That¡¯s better,¡± he announces. ¡°Now, what happened?¡±

    His fellow sorcerers turn to look at each other.

    ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯re here to find out, when you missed your check-in we came to see why. You were frozen in place, we did our preliminary checks, and then she showed up and got rid of it.¡± One of them explains. By the way they all turn to look at her, I¡¯d guess she¡¯s in charge.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to turn myself in, and explain myself,¡± I put forth. I start forming some ideas on how to state my case without revealing I exposed a non-magic human to magic.

    ¡°Oh, uhh¡­okay. That¡¯ll make things easier,¡± the leader says. ¡°Datura, why don¡¯t you take her in since she incapacitated you, help you save face.¡±

    He seems surprised by that, but agrees.

    ¡°Come along, Hazel.¡± Again, he seems to know me, but I don¡¯t recognize him. I follow him all the same, readjusting my bag of evidence on my shoulder.

    A couple of the sorcerers go with us, including the leader, but the others leave.

    Awkward silence re-emerges.

    ¡°So, I¡¯m guessing you don¡¯t recognize me?¡± Datura asks.

    ¡°Sorry, but I honestly don¡¯t,¡± I answer.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, it¡¯s been years since we¡¯ve seen each other and I haven¡¯t done anything that would merit attention,¡± he replies.

    ¡°Still,¡± I add.

    ¡°We grew up in the same circle as abecedarians.¡±

    He wasn¡¯t kidding when he said it¡¯s been years. Abecedarians are children, they¡¯re put into circles at around the age of five or so; when their magic starts manifesting in a significant manner. They learn control and the basics of magic there. Children of the same age are put in circles of ten, usually. My circle consisted of fifteen others. From there they become fledglings and put into a different group based on magical ability.

    Datura and I parted ways at that point.

    ¡°How do you even remember me?¡±

    ¡°I keep up with everyone in our circle. Either chatting with them or hearing what they¡¯re up to,¡± he earnestly answers.

    ¡°That¡¯s just how Datura is,¡± the leader chimes in. ¡°His genuine caring of others is enough to make you sick to your stomach.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s growing on you, Lantana,¡± he notes, with a chuckle.

    ¡°Yeah, like a fungus,¡± she says back.

    On the way there, they engage in casual conversation like they aren¡¯t arresting me. Then again, sorcerers from IronHenge rarely have to do that these days, so maybe they don¡¯t know how to act.

    They bring me to the largest structure in our Arcanium: the Hall of the High Council.

    Some of the oldest and most respected magicians comprise the body of judgment. The grand size of the building was designed for mass gatherings; important announcements, trials, etc. But in this time of peace, the space is rarely used to such a degree. The council gathers daily, but infrequently has anything of any significance to discuss.

    Until today.

    The rotunda is a severe, stark space devoid of any decorations. It¡¯s entirely black, giving one the feeling of entering an endless void. I find it quite maddening, and I can¡¯t help but wonder how the High Council members can stand it. The only shifts in the blackness come from the skylight above, the desks that the council members sit at, and the members themselves.

    Throughout history, the number of members in the council has varied for numerous reasons. Sometimes there were fourteen: two for each continent. Nine, three for each Arcanium in existence.

    Now, there are only three members of the High Council. I don¡¯t know if there is a significant reason or an arbitrary one for this.

    As we approach, the members take notice of us and sit more upright, shifting into a more professional mood.

    I should probably be more nervous, after all, I broke one of our oldest rules, and I¡¯m not entirely sure what the consequences of that are. But I take solace in the fact that this was my decision. Whatever Mentor Acacia has planned for me has to be thwarted by this.

    Maybe.

    There¡¯s also the distinct possibility that something horrible will happen to me. Perhaps turning myself in wasn''t the best idea. Facing the consequences of breaking laws is something Hollyhock would never do, and her life is relatively good.

    Wait, I have to focus.

    This is my decision, this is the path I chose.

    ¡°Why have you brought Hazel before us?¡± The member on the left asks. He¡¯s an old, stout man and possesses an air that lets you know he¡¯s seen it all. He¡¯s one of the oldest magicians alive; a feat made more impressive when the many magical battles he¡¯s been a part of are taken into account.

    Sago is nearing 280 years old if I remember correctly. Despite his almost triple-century age, he appears as a man entering his seventies.

    Time hasn¡¯t dulled his mind or features. His hair is cut short out of years of habit and is vibrant red. He¡¯s dressed in a simple brown robe with green accents.

    Sago has set many high standards of what it means to be a sorcerer. He¡¯s forgotten more about combat magic than others have learned in their entire lives.

    With so much of his life being consumed by war, I wonder how he feels being in an era of peace.

    It¡¯s no surprise I know him, but why does he know my name?

    ¡°Hazel had incapacitated Datura here while he was on patrol,¡± Lantana answers.

    ¡°I did more than that, and I¡¯m more than happy to cooperate and tell my side of things. If the High Council will hear me out,¡± I speak up. While, ultimately, what happens from here is their decision; I need to keep as much control of the situation as possible. The High Council look at each other and have a quick, quiet conversation.

    The member in the middle waves a hand, and chairs appear behind each of us.

    ¡°Let¡¯s hear it,¡± the member in the middle says.

    Valerian is a gaunt slip of a woman, with skin so thin that you can see her veins all the time. Though her body seems like it might fade away at any moment, her eyes have the feeling of omnipresence; as if she can see anything. Her gaze has its own gravity, and an immense one at that. Just her staring at you is enough to keep you in place.

    I sit in the chair provided for me. My arresting sorcerers also sit, curious about what more I could say about this. As I tell my, heavily edited, tale of departure from IronHenge my mind wanders to Hollyhock. I wonder what she¡¯s doing right now.

    ??????

    ¡°Do you think I should dye my hair purple?¡± I ask Larkspur.

    ¡°Fuck no,¡± they reply.

    ????

    She¡¯s probably doing something important. I can¡¯t believe how smitten I am, my thoughts drift to her so often. I refocus, telling the story of coming across the Necromancer and defeating them. They don¡¯t need to know all the details about how long I was out there. If they don¡¯t already know how long I was gone, I see no reason to inform them. Once I finish, the High Council members start to talk amongst themselves.

    I noticed while I was telling the story that the third member, Gladiolus, kept looking around. Her attention seems to drift quickly from things. Even now, as the other members whisper to her, she glances off to the side time and again.

    She has a much different style from everyone in this Arcanium. Before I left, I¡¯d¡¯ve called it strange. Now that I have, I¡¯d call it¡­contemporary, or even futuristic. Her whole outfit was made by her. A cropped jacket with lots of buckles and zippers that swirls with a myriad of colors, and almost hurts to look at. Her hair is a short, wavy, bob with each strand of her hair a different color, ranging from purple to red to orange to yellow. It complements her dark skin well.  Her light pink eyes flit about the room. But her fashion sense isn¡¯t the reason why she has a seat on the High Council.

    Her particular claim to fame is her groundbreaking research and practical work on dimensional magic. Other dimensions have been theorized for some time, she proved it with tangible evidence. As her eyes flit about, I can¡¯t help but wonder if she can see something we can¡¯t.

    The council looks over the photos I provided with great detail. Magical samples are everyday items to them, but the pieces of glossy paper they hold are unique in our world.

    ¡°Might I ask,¡± Valerian holds up a photo, ¡°how you got these pictures?¡±

    ¡°Cameras are very easy to get in the human world.¡± It feels weird, calling it the ¡®human¡¯ world, as if we¡¯re different species just because we have magic. ¡°The ¡®mall¡¯ had plenty of them,¡± I explain. It¡¯s not, not true, but I rather not push my luck by flat-out lying. Because I voluntarily surrendered, they haven¡¯t brought in a Seer to check me. Still, I¡¯ll meander on the border of truth and fiction for now.

    The High Council looks very worried. Maybe it¡¯s because something like this happened without them knowing?

    I can use that.

    ¡°The samples you provided, you gathered them right after the fight?¡± Sago asks.

    ¡°No, after the fight I left and came back here. But some time passed, and I felt their magic again. That¡¯s when I left, incapacitating Datura who was on patrol at the time.¡± At that, he rubs the back of his head. ¡°I went back to the human city to see what caused it.¡±

    ¡°And what was the cause?¡± Gladiolus inquiries.

    ¡°The Necromancer had primed soul transference on a delay to enter another body.¡±

    Everyone, besides Datura, flinch at hearing that. Datura looks around at everyone, not knowing what the big deal is.

    I recount the conversation, or deathbed confession, to everyone. They¡¯re still aghast at the soul transference part. Valerian looks at the necklace I took. The cameo of the laughing child looks back at her.

    ¡°While we can¡¯t deny the fact that this magic is from someone else, and the samples you¡¯ve provided match what we understand about necromancy, you¡¯ve put us at a disadvantage where we have to take you at your word,¡± Valerian states. ¡°We have no way of knowing if these events happened, as you said. An investigation should be conducted to confirm your report.¡±

    ¡°The structure where the Necromancer housed their army was old, our fight further destabilized it. The building has since collapsed.¡±

    Once again, Hollyhock helped me.

    ¡°How convenient.¡±

    ¡°You aren¡¯t making a strong case for yourself, Hazel,¡± Gladiolus asserts.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t have to surrender and tell you all this. I could¡¯ve snuck out again and come back, with no one the wiser of the tragedy I averted,¡± I point out.

    ¡°Now, that brings us to more important questions,¡± Sago takes the reins of the interrogation. ¡°Why did you leave?¡±

    I¡¯ve asked myself that question many times.

    I have an answer to it.

    ¡°I want to do more for this world.¡± There is a pause after I say that. If the High Council and the sorcerers want me to say more, I will. ¡°I know I can do more. I¡¯m grateful for everything I¡¯ve learned under Mentor Acacia. But I want to do more than solve a problem after the fact. I have to be out there.¡±

    ¡°Hmm, you would forego your apprenticeship with Acacia? Hundreds of witches in training would kill for your position.¡± Valerian chimes in.

    ¡°And any one of them would be lucky to have her. But I want more from my life. And this situation should be proof that something more is needed.¡±

    I turn to look at Lantana.

    ¡°I don¡¯t mean to besmirch you and your sorcerers, but I think this was a sign, that the way we¡¯ve been doing things isn¡¯t effective. This could be the start of a new wave of magical threats.¡±

    She doesn¡¯t respond, but Sago does,

    ¡°And what makes you think this wasn¡¯t an isolated incident?¡±

    ¡°A magician was living in a human city for decades, unnoticed, amassing an undead army. If one person could go such lengths, it¡¯s not inconceivable to think this could happen again or isn¡¯t happening right now.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s speculation in its purest form,¡± Valerian interjects. ¡°You don¡¯t have any evidence to support that.¡±

    ¡°As the human world advances, we maintain our status quo. If we don¡¯t change and the threats to peace do, we¡¯ll be helpless against them. The non-magic world has had a meteoric rise in their technology. They can see more and share news faster than ever. Only one of them has to capture a magical event on a phone or camera to spread it around the world. And I think that we all know what¡¯ll happen next.¡±

    I don¡¯t need to loom the threat of conflict over their heads. It¡¯s largely accepted in the magical world that if non-magic people learn about us, war will break out, as it has several times in the past.

    ¡°So, what do you propose, Hazel?¡± Gladiolus asks. She seems the most receptive to me right now.

    ¡°We need¡­¡± I think of a word Hollyhock would use, ¡°scouts. Sorcerers out in the world, in touch with it. Completely sealing ourselves off will leave us blind to what will happen.¡±

    ¡°I do see the logic in that,¡± Lantana speaks up. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t hurt to have some people in known problematic areas. If they hear of something, we could respond faster, getting them on it. We¡¯d have more control of the situation, more info, and a better look into the human world at large.¡±

    ¡°The Arcaniums agreed not to interfere with the human world, we only send out sorcerers to deal with magical threats as they arise,¡± Valerian reminds us.

    ¡°I propose the sorcerers assume normal lives,¡± I counter. ¡°We don¡¯t send them out on patrol in those uniforms; they live like regular people and just keep an eye on things.¡±

    ¡°We could rotate them!¡± Datura adds. Everyone looks at him, as this is the first time he¡¯s spoken at this point. He doesn¡¯t seem to mind the stares. ¡°If things are calm in their area, they move to another spot. And we should have someone around after we deal with something to make sure it stays calm.¡±

    That¡¯s a fairly good idea.

    ¡°It could even be a deterrent,¡± Sago remarks. His fellow council members turn to him. ¡°If there are more magicians out there, threatening peace; them knowing there are sorcerers around, could mitigate their schemes.¡±

    ¡°Or force them to advance their plans, putting those sorcerers in danger,¡± Valerian counters.

    ¡°The very nature of the role is dangerous,¡± Gladiolus rebuffs. ¡°They didn¡¯t become sorcerers because they thought it was safe.¡± Valerian shoots her a look.

    ¡°We could try it on a very small scale,¡± Lantana puts forth, hoping to calm the growing tension. ¡°Regular checks-in. Areas with good line of Leyline sight. We can have witches, enchanters, and wizards, on retainer for any situation that arises.¡± The more she talks about it, the more she seems to like it. She nods for a bit. ¡°It¡¯s doable.¡±

    Sago, war-hardened, nods along with her assessment. It¡¯s clear he values the martial aspect of this.

    ¡°Regular observations of the human world and their technology could advance our magicks,¡± Gladiolus theorizes.

    ¡°How?¡± Valerian, despite her initial skepticism, is intrigued.

    ¡°We came up with the idea for aura receptors during the Vietnam War, remember? Magic and technology have always been intertwined. Sometimes more lax in their correlation, but still together.¡± Gladiolus concludes. Valerian, begrudgingly, agrees.

    ¡°Seems like you¡¯ve got a real humdinger of an idea here,¡± Sago notes. I don¡¯t know what a humdinger is, but whatever. ¡°But I have another question. How did you leave?¡±

    I knew they¡¯d ask, but I hoped they wouldn¡¯t.

    What should I say here? Should I tell the truth? That¡¯ll make me seem more cooperative, and what I¡¯ll ask next more reasonable. But if they refuse, I¡¯ll never see Hollyhock again. If I withhold my answer, they might not oblige my request, but I¡¯ll still have a way out.

    No, they¡¯ll definitely keep a closer eye on me in that case. I don¡¯t see a way out of this with my secret trick and getting what I need.

    I tell them exactly how I outsmarted the barrier. In my peripheral vision, I see Lantana has produced a notebook and is jotting down what I¡¯m saying.

    ¡°Thank you for being so forthcoming,¡± Valerian addresses. ¡°You¡¯ve given us much to think about. While you did leave the Arcanium without permission, you did avert an attack on us.¡±

    ¡°Pending proper examining of your evidence, that is,¡± Gladiolus interjects.

    ¡°Right,¡± Valerian presses on. ¡°I¡¯ll say you broke even with this. We won¡¯t punish you, but we aren¡¯t exactly thrilled by this. Do you have anything to say on your behalf?¡±

    ¡°I have a favor to ask.¡±

    Everyone has a very different reaction of surprise to that.

    ¡°You got gumption, asking for a favor after all this!¡± Sago says with a smile. ¡°I like your moxie!¡±

    ¡°Anyone with audacity is enough to gas you up,¡± Valerian notes.

    ¡°Hazel here seems to have considerable rizz.¡± Gladiolus asserts.

    I don¡¯t really understand what they¡¯re talking about, so I press on.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to join the sorcerers in this new initiative. I want to try and join them once more.¡±

    ¡°You not only propose that the sorcerers restructure how they operate, but now you want to join them?¡± Gladiolus inquiries.

    ¡°Well¡­¡± I think of what Hollyhock would say here. ¡°What kinda girl would I be if I didn¡¯t believe in my own idea?¡±

    They all nod in satisfaction, pleased with that.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°This proposed vicissitude needs people both eager to learn about the non-magic world and unafraid of the challenges that presents. I¡¯m both.¡±

    The High Council members look at one another. An unspoken conversation transpires between them. Something that makes them nervous.

    ¡°Even after what happened at your last attempt?¡± Sago brings up.

    Why does he know about that?

    They all seem to know about it.

    The scar on my back surges in pain at the memory. Before my tutelage with Mentor Acacia, I tried out for the sorcerers. I had passed all the written and mental exams with flying colors, but a sorcerer needs more than just knowledge. The practical exams require competent displays of combat magic. I passed those with ease as well. The final test is a duel between candidates.

    Simple as it gets, defeat your opponent with nonlethal magic. Since the point is just not to directly and/or immediately kill your fellow candidate, the duels can be pretty brutal. Witches and witches in training are always on standby. I remember Mentor Acacia being there. It¡¯s very common for master witches to attend these duels, both to show off their skills and see if there are any promising witches in training.

    My opponent, I think his name was Dubbeltjie, was very nervous. I remember his yellow aura wavering as we both stepped out into the dueling ring. I was calm as could be, the difference in our power was obvious. The match-ups are picked at random, bad luck for him. I was impatient to become a sorcerer, but I knew that defeating him quickly with one move wouldn¡¯t demonstrate my full combat capabilities.

    It was agonizing getting him to attack me so that I could block or deflect his magic. Frustrated, I dropped my defensive magic and overpowered him with brute force. He fell over, crashing into the ground.

    I was positive that I rendered him unconscious, I watched him for a few seconds before I turned away. There wasn¡¯t a doubt in my mind that the judges would see my ability and usher me into the sorcerers.

    That¡¯s when I heard it. I was too slow to react. Before I felt the impact, I saw my hair move over my shoulders, smelled the heat, and watched my shadow shrink away.

    A fireball rammed into my back. The air was knocked out of my chest as I fell over onto my face. The pain of that fall was instantly drowned out by the searing heat on my spine. I screamed in pain as blisters formed on my skin. I curled into a ball on my knees, clawing at my back at the impact site.

    I blacked out from the pain, lost the duel, won a large scar, and questioned my worth.

    A fireball to the back. I considered it a cheap trick, but all is fair in magical combat.

    I could¡¯ve healed the scar but kept it as a reminder. Another of my big failures in life.

    But I can¡¯t afford to let that fear hold me back anymore. The only legitimate way for me to see Hollyhock again is to become a sorcerer. The Hazel of the past couldn¡¯t do it, but now I have much more at stake here.

    ¡°I won¡¯t make that mistake again, Sago,¡± I answer his question. The High Council members look at each other again. Maybe they¡¯re using telepathy.

    ¡°Well, there aren¡¯t any rules about changing your role,¡± Valerian states. Roles in Arcaniums aren¡¯t set in stone, but almost always people stick to what works best for them.

    ¡°I like switching things up.¡±

    ¡°Be that as it may,¡± Gladiolus chimes in. ¡°The decision isn¡¯t up to us. Lantana has to make that choice.¡±

    Hearing her name, the sorcerer perks up. She was writing in her book but stands and walks over to me. Looking me up and down, her bright yellow eyes search for something. Her vibrant red hair is in a simple ponytail. A single strand finds its way in front of her heart-shaped face.

    I stand to meet her eyes.

    She looks at me for a moment or so longer.

    ¡°Tomorrow, dawn. We¡¯ll test your mettle, see if you can back up your story.¡±

    With a nod of her head, her sorcerers all stand up and follow her out.

    I look to the High Council. From the looks on their faces, they weren¡¯t expecting that.

    ¡°You have your answer, good luck, Hazel,¡± Valerian concludes this audience.

    They don¡¯t seem too happy with that¡­Oh well.

    With nothing more to say to them, I bow and exit.

    As soon as I get outside, my excitement takes over and I giddily laugh. I let myself have this euphoric moment before I focus up.

    ¡°Hard part¡¯s over,¡± I say aloud. I take this as a sign that fate wants me to get back with Hollyhock.

    I¡¯ve decided what I want, and all the universe moves to oblige me. I¡¯d do it regardless, but the lack of obstacles is appreciated.

    I shouldn¡¯t get too ahead of myself. Something is bound to go awry if I let my guard down again.

    And I can¡¯t allow that, not when I¡¯m so close.

    I still have to pass Lantana¡¯s assessment or test or whatever. That and convince her to let me leave.

    Shit, I have to deal with Mentor Acacia too.

    ¡°Okay, the medium part¡¯s over,¡± I amend.  Need to rest and relax now.

    I restored Hollyhock¡¯s memory, and now have a way of legitimately getting to see her. All she has to do is stay safe.

    Then again, she¡¯s a Bay Leaf. What can¡¯t she handle?

    ??????

    Oleander City has spiraled into chaos.

    As we expected, of course, but it¡¯s one thing to predict it and another to see it unfold.

    With the DeadNettles pruned, all their trades are up for grabs. It¡¯s like a cookie jar that¡¯s been left on a table, and the gangs of Oleander City are greedy children. Instead of mean names and shoving, automatic weapons and vehicular manslaughter define this power struggle.

    The cops, greedy and corrupt as ever, can¡¯t be bothered to get off their asses without a generous bribe filling their hands. The areas they patrolled for their weekly cuts have felt the full impact of their absence; flourishing without fear of legal execution on a whim.

    This, naturally, means we¡¯re busy. Gangs fighting over the scraps, of the gang we killed, hire us to kill their rivals. I¡¯m not sure if that¡¯s irony or not.

    Blast texts from Tamara went out to all, sending us across the city. It takes considerable effort to make sure we¡¯re not crossing jobs with each other, awkward doesn¡¯t even begin to describe what it¡¯s like bumping into someone you know while on the job. I get my gear and head out to Ackee Avenue, someone there wants a Heracleum dead in a very specific way.

    Oleander City is home to many criminal gangs, the Heracleum are among the most bizarre. They model themselves in the image of Hercules, even though they¡¯re all almost exclusively Hungarian. They launder money through their chain of gyms, aggressively named: Baszd meg! They usually don¡¯t veer outside their vices, but this power shift has everyone a bit hungrier, it seems.

    My target, according to the client, doesn¡¯t know how to control his strength or his rage; after some kid rear-ended his ride, he got out and beat him until he was brain-dead. Kid has a cousin in the Amaranths who loves him enough to make sure the man responsible goes swiftly to hell.

    As I get closer, I think about how I¡¯ll oblige the request. Stopping at a red light, I check to see if I have any chameleon patches to cover my Bay Leaf tattoo. I can¡¯t find any, so I grab my jacket, ignoring the absurd heat, and head closer to another man¡¯s death.

    I find him, and some others, sitting outside one of their gyms. Two are playing a card game, and the other two are just drinking. My target, and three others, are arm wrestling with each other. They¡¯re all musclebound assholes, but the one I¡¯m here for has a tattoo of Hercules slaying the hydra across his arm. It¡¯s actually a really badass piece of art, but I¡¯m not here as an art critic.

    I park my car on the other side of the street and shift into an innocent civilian persona. Looking around like I don¡¯t know exactly where I am and what I¡¯m doing. The Heracleum takes notice of me as I stand on the sidewalk, reading the gym title slowly.

    ¡°¡®Baszd meg!¡¯ What does that mean? I ask them.

    ¡°Fuck you!¡± One of them answers, drawing laughter from everyone else. I fake a flinch at the gibe.

    ¡°Sheesh. I¡¯ve been looking for a gym to join. You members here?¡± If they think I don¡¯t know who they¡¯re a part of, they¡¯ll let their guard down. They all laugh again.

    ¡°Can¡¯t you tell from our muscles?¡± They all get up and start flexing.

    I¡¯m gonna throw up.

    They only worked on their glamour muscles. A lot of them have disproportionately skinny legs. Swallowing my disgust, I press on.

    ¡°Well, I might join, if you can beat me in an arm wrestle.¡± I taunt. That gets their attention. Again, they laugh. My physique is hidden under my clothes. The ones that were arm wrestling get up and usher me into a plastic chair.

    I fight the urge to take off my jacket. My target, clearly a cut above the rest, gets out of the seat to make way for my first opponent.

    Years of wrestling with Koki¡¯O have instilled many ways to defeat people stronger than myself.

    We grip palms and I spare a glance at my target, who looks at me with disinterest. My focus goes back to my opponent once a countdown begins. Once we start, I hook my wrist towards me for more leverage, and slam him to the table. An uproar comes from the onlookers. I now command the attention of the guys who weren¡¯t watching.

    My opponent gets out of the chair opposite me and another takes his spot. This one has a big smile on his face, sure he can beat me. I glance at my target again, who has some interest in me. The countdown begins, and the result is the same, slamming my opponent¡¯s hand down. Everyone cheers harder this time. I fake a smile.

    ¡°This is the best y¡¯all got? C¡¯mon, not gonna join the gym at this rate.¡± I make a show of rolling my right shoulder. My target has a shit-eating grin on his face and he takes the seat.

    Finally.

    With a smirk of my own, I offer my left hand to him. He runs a hand through his long dark hair and accepts my challenge.

    That¡¯s it.

    I move my feet into position.

    We grip palms and meet eyes. The soon-dead man widens his smile as the countdown starts. My fictitious smile matches his, and I make sure I have space behind me.

    We start and lock into a stalemate; our arms tremble as we try to overpower each other. Our hands are sweaty from the heat and effort. Staring into his eyes, I think about how nervous I was when I first started killing. Now I can look into the face of a man I¡¯m about to kill and smile. My right hand is holding onto the table for leverage, but it knows what it has to do.

    I use more strength and get him at an angle. Our audience vocalizes their astonishment, surprised to see him this pressed. They all gather around to witness this historic moment.

    Good.

    I press him further, getting him to a more favorable spot. When I achieve it, my right hand pulls out one of my knives and I stab him through the forearm. Pinning him to the table, winning the match, I flip out of my chair and land behind him. He¡¯s too focused on the knife in his arm to notice me until I grab his hair. Another knife in my hand, I yank his head back and slit his throat.

    The client wanted him killed in front of his friends; who watched as he pummeled a first time, 18-year-old driver into a coma.

    As his blood runs out his neck, flowing in full view of his buddies, my mind wanders to Witch-Hazel.

    What is she up to?

    ????

    ¡°Let me see if I have this correct,¡± Barlow inquiries, ¡°you spent all that time with that woman; and didn¡¯t have sex with her?¡±

    I bite my lip so hard that I taste blood.

    ??????

    She¡¯s probably locking in, focusing on important magic shit. I need to focus myself, since I just killed this asshole in front of his crew.

    I wasn¡¯t hired to kill anyone else, but a girl¡¯s gotta defend herself. I flip the knife into a reverse grip and raise it.

    In this blazing heat, the seconds that tick away feel like ages. I¡¯m waiting for one of them to make a move. They¡¯re all just staring at the corpse of the man they once knew. One guy shifts from his initial shocked expression to a more¡­accepting one?

    He shrugs and nods.

    ¡°I get it,¡± he simply says. All the others share his sentiment. Noticing my confusion, he elaborates, ¡°Rohad¨¦k.¡± He points to him. ¡°Asshole, big one.¡±

    The guy standing next to him holds his hands up in a measuring gesture.

    ¡°Huge.¡± They all shrug and nonchalantly disregard that I just killed a man. It makes things a lot simpler, but it makes me wonder how much of a dickhead this dude was that his own boys aren¡¯t even mad.

    Some loyalty.

    I ease out of my defensive stance and look at the body. There was no plan for body disposal. One of them takes out a phone and starts texting.

    ¡°We take care of, no worries.¡± He assures me with an ¡®okay¡¯ signal. My heart calms down from the flip and slit. I retrieve my knife and back away from them, watching the whole time. None of them try anything.

    I get back to my car, shrug, and drive off. Taking off my jacket and blasting my AC, I call Tamara to let her know I¡¯m finished.

    ¡°Good. Be on standby,¡± she directs.

    ¡°Gotcha.¡± She doesn¡¯t like my informal response, sucking her teeth, but doesn¡¯t reprimand me. I start looking around for what I can do in my downtime when I notice Larkspur and Kadupul walking down the street.

    I pull up beside them and whistle.

    ¡°What are you cuties doing out here?¡± I ask. Kadupul has a machete in her left hand that was recently used. Larkspur is wearing our wristband that hides a small one-inch blade. Perfect for slicing a jugular vein in a crowded room.

    Kadupul does a cutesy salute with the machete in hand. Larkspur just nods.

    ¡°Whatchu doing?¡± Larkspur asks.

    ¡°Just finished a job, y¡¯all?¡±

    ¡°Same,¡± Kadupul replies.

    ¡°Lift?¡±

    The two look at each other and hop in my car. After depositing the blade in the trunk.

    ¡°What¡¯s with the machete?¡±

    ¡°Guy I killed was using it, thought it was pretty cool, so I nabbed it,¡± Kadupul explains.

    ¡°Why are y¡¯all walking together, where are your cars?¡±

    Larkspur groans in annoyance.

    ¡°Ugh, long fucking story.¡± Kadupul laughs a bit. ¡°Your friend here did something stupid, as always-¡±

    ¡°Fuck you.¡±

    ¡°And ended up fighting her way to where I was working and brought some new acquaintances with her. One of which prepared a Molotov cocktail-¡±

    ¡°I fail to see how that was my fault,¡± Kadupul defends herself. ¡°How the hell was I supposed to know that guy was an alchemist?¡±

    ¡°And threw it at my car. And it¡¯s hot enough as it is.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s your car, K?¡±

    ¡°Between all the fighting and the fire, I lost my keys and forgot where I parked.¡± She takes out a spliff and lights it.

    ¡°Does your body just make those?¡±

    ¡°Ha! I wish!¡±

    ¡°So we¡¯re all on standby, what should we do?¡±

    ¡°If we can go fifteen minutes without a car exploding, that¡¯d be great,¡± Larkspur notes.

    ¡°Yeaaaaah, shit¡¯s been crazy,¡± Kapudul mumbles.

    ¡°The city has ataxia,¡± I observe.

    ¡°Huh?¡± Both my compatriots query. ¡°Where¡¯d you learn that fancy-ass word?¡± Larkspur further inquires.

    ¡°It¡¯s a loss of control of limbs,¡± I answer. Both of them are silent after that, they know why I know that. To fill the silence, I add, ¡°This spiraling is a result of what we did. It¡¯ll settle one way or another.¡±

    A cop siren blares and red and blue lights flash in my rearview mirror. I suck my teeth, annoyed. Without even asking, I stick my hand out and Larkspur retrieves the roll of hundreds in the glove compartment. I quickly count out twenty bills and move them to my other hand.

    Pulling over and stopping, we all sit, irritated that we have to deal with this. The officer approaches the car and I roll down the window. As I spot him in my peripheral, I toss the money out.

    ¡°Here, get the fuck out my face,¡± I say without waiting for whatever bullshit he was gonna say. I peel off before he reacts. Kadupul and Larkspur laugh. The sirens blare again and we all groan.

    I tune out throughout the arresting process. My guess is this is a brand-new rookie who seriously wants to change the police force. And this city. Bushy-tailed and bright-eyed, displaying nauseating zeal for getting us ¡®gangbangers¡¯ off the street. We decide to show him mercy, as no one has had the decency to tell him how things work around here. Or who the Bay Leaves are.

    Any cop with two brain cells to rub together knows that arresting us is as pointless as it is lethal. And as much as I want to make bacon, I have other people to kill that I¡¯m getting paid for.

    So we relax, handcuffed, and enjoy the surprisingly good AC. Kapudal and I can dislocate our thumbs and get out of these cuffs pretty easily; but Larkspur already texted Tamara who, no doubt, has dirt on the captain here, and we¡¯ll be out in half an hour.

    My thoughts breeze back to Witch-Hazel. She promised we¡¯d see each other again. She said it so certainly, like the rising and setting of the sun.

    If¡­when we saw each other again, what should I say to her?

    I¡¯ve made up my mind that us being together, knowing each other, will only result in pain for her. She doesn¡¯t deserve that. Not her.

    I think that, but have no earthly idea how I¡¯d go about it. Which is weird cuz I¡¯ve broken more than a few ladies'' hearts in the past.

    Why can¡¯t I do the same to her?

    I shake my head to dispel that thought.

    Let¡¯s get through this day first before we worry about any of that.

    A clamoring cabal of corrupt cops crowd into the precinct. One look at them is all I need to determine that they¡¯re real pieces of shit. Flashy jewelry and designer ¡®undercover¡¯ clothing that they couldn¡¯t reasonably afford on just a police salary.

    I want to ignore them, but I, we, have been trained to eavesdrop on cops like this. Especially in chaotic times like these, they might say something useful.

    And though it¡¯s doubtful this particular group has anything of merit to share, Larkspur and Kapudul perk up with me and listen in.

    Their attention is on the one at the center of their cluster. The group doesn¡¯t notice us looking and listening in as they walk to the front desk.

    ¡°Jesus, I still can¡¯t believe you shot him just like that, Ricin,¡± one of them declares.

    ¡°You saw how big that guy was. Could¡¯ve ate me for breakfast!¡± He responds, with neither fear nor remorse in his voice. Glee is how I¡¯d describe it.

    ¡°He said he was 16!¡±

    Everything goes black.

    ????

    Everything comes into view as I wake up from a nap I didn¡¯t know I had taken. Barlow, who invited himself in, is reading a book when he notices me.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you just sleep a few hours ago?¡±

    ¡°Planetary traversing messes up my sleep schedule, I suppose.¡± A groan escapes me as I lean up.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that gonna be a big part of this new sorcerer initiative? Going back and forth?¡±

    I shake my head and stand up.

    ¡°No, no, I want sorcerers to live amongst non-magic people. Get in touch with how they live,¡± I explain.

    ¡°You sure this isn¡¯t all to ¡®get in touch¡¯ with a certain someone?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m hoping to do more than just touch,¡± I confess as I look through a collection of elixirs.

    ¡°That¡¯s my cue to leave before you start going into detail,¡± he replies, getting up from my couch.

    ¡°She has these back dimples that are so cute, I just want to-¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m leaving.¡±

    ¡°And her abs are diamond hard, I can¡¯t wait to-¡±

    ¡°GOODBYE!¡± He slams the door on his exit.

    I go back to browsing my elixirs when the door opens. Barlow peeks his head in, raises his finger, opens his mouth, doesn¡¯t say anything, and then leaves again.

    I shrug and keep perusing my wares. As I glance at a brown bottle, I think about how I still haven¡¯t thought of a plan of how to tell Mentor Acacia, or for that matter finding out more about why she came after me herself.

    Which takes precedence? The second thing, right?

    I shake my head. This is not the time to worry about that. I should focus on getting in with the sorcerers. I find the clear bottle I was looking for, containing a timed rest elixir. It¡¯ll make the imbiber sleep until a designated time; dawn, in the case of this specific one. I place it on my bedside table and take a moment to look at my wardrobe. I have no idea what Lantana has in store for me, so it¡¯s best to be prepared for anything. I take my purple dress out and lay it on my bed.

    So many things to do, but I¡¯ve felt at ease knowing I retorted Hollyhock¡¯s memory. It¡¯s just a start for greater things, so I can take less hesitant breaths.

    Lying down on my bed, I look at my hands; opening and closing them idly. For so long they wanted to be the instruments of a sorcerer, to wield combat magic. I faltered on that for a time; but thanks to Hollyhock, I¡¯m closer to who I¡¯ve always wanted to be.

    I grab the elixir and sip its contents. Almost immediately, I feel its effects relaxing my muscles.

    I exhale deeply.

    Everything goes black.

    ??????

    Everything comes into view and I see I¡¯m standing over a mangled corpse. A clear scene of chaos surrounds me. Larkspur and Kadupul stand over a couple of corpses of their own. Terrified cops and criminals look at us with absolute fear in their eyes. The handcuffs on my wrists are broken. A dull pain radiates the left side of my chest, over my heart. I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s from a bullet, fired by the man whose face I¡¯ve splattered all over the floor.

    My hands, bloodied and bruised, ball into fists as frustration erupts in my chest.

    ¡°FUCK!¡± I shout when it becomes too much for me. Just when I think I¡¯m getting better, this happens.

    Can¡¯t believe I blacked out again.

    ¡°Hey, you¡¯re alright,¡± Kadupul directs to me. I can¡¯t tell if it¡¯s a question or a statement. She still has her cuffs on.

    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Larkspur adds. ¡°You¡¯re good, H.¡± Since there are witnesses around. A few of the people who were detained have taken this opportunity to escape, others are paralyzed by fear. The cops that know better act like this isn¡¯t happening.

    ¡°NO, I¡¯M NOT O-¡± I bark back, but then I realize this isn¡¯t the place or time for me to argue about my mental stability.

    I take the gun off the man I killed, and we exit quickly. Larkspur picked up the cuff keys and takes the shackles off us. I rub my wrists and look at my hands. A tooth found its way into the flesh of my right middle finger. I flick the piece of bone into the street and look at the wound.

    I¡¯ll definitely need to disinfect that.

    ¡°Tamara says she¡¯ll take care of it,¡± Larkspur states.

    ¡°I start one war, we end that, and I start another,¡± I note.

    ¡°We¡¯ve warred with the cops before,¡± Kadupul points out while producing yet another spliff. ¡°They lost. Bastards don¡¯t have the stones, gear, manpower, or time to hash it out with us.¡± She lights it.

    ¡°If anything, they have a press release about the ¡®tragedy¡¯ and,¡± Larkspur stops as we hop the fence into the impound lot. ¡°Go after some unrelated gang and call it a win.¡±

    That doesn¡¯t exactly make me feel better. We walk in silence for a moment.

    ¡°Besides that, you came back to us faster than ever,¡± Larkspur remarks. ¡°That has to be a sign of progress.¡±

    ¡°I guess that¡¯s true,¡± I reply. My blackouts are usually much longer, and I end up somewhere completely different. My head also doesn¡¯t hurt like it does afterward.

    Did Witch-Hazel restoring my memories do this?

    We find my car and pile in.

    ¡°And you did some gangsta ass shit, Holly,¡± Kadupul adds.

    ¡°What did I do?¡±

    ¡°The cop you went after pulled a gun on you, but you aimed the handcuff links where the shot would land. Never seen any shit like that before.¡±

    ¡°How the hell did I do that?¡± She makes a ¡®I don¡¯t know¡¯ sound. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±

    ????

    I rouse from my sleep and get ready immediately. Heading to the door, I realize that I don¡¯t know where I¡¯m supposed to meet Lantana. As I step outside, I see the woman in question.

    ¡°I was just about to knock, too. Let¡¯s go.¡±

    I follow without comment. She¡¯s dressed in exercise wear, shorts, and a compact bra. It makes me reconsider what I¡¯m wearing, but it¡¯s too late now. Lantana is a lithe woman, the compact muscles of a sorcerer seem huge to any other magician.

    We walk in silence to the outskirts of IronHenge, staying along a river bank. I see a circle of others levitating off the ground. They part as we approach, allowing Lantana and me to stand in the center. She turns to face me.

    ¡°Do you know what makes a sorcerer a good fighter?¡± She asks. Years under the tutelage of Mentor Acacia have taught me to recognize when I¡¯m presented with a rhetorical question. This isn¡¯t that.

    ¡°Knowing what they¡¯re fighting for,¡± I intuit. She nods.

    ¡°I believe that a sorcerer is only as good as the people they depend on. We may usually operate solo, but when the need arises; we work together, and I want us all to trust each other.¡±

    Lantana gestures to everyone in the circle.

    ¡°I know why all of them are fighting, when I know their reasons, I can trust they¡¯ll put their heart into it and have my back out there.¡±

    I don¡¯t like where this is going.

    ¡°You brought up an interesting idea, a very drastic change to how we operate,¡± she notes. ¡°I brought it up with the others, and they aren¡¯t opposed to it. Many are all for it.¡±

    The surrounding sorcerers all nod in agreement.

    ¡°But I can tell you didn¡¯t just think that up and volunteer for it because you¡¯re prone to whimsy. Something is moving you to make these changes. So I want you to tell us all what your reason is.¡±

    I look around at all of them, and they all meet my eyes with steely determination.

    ¡°We¡¯re not Seers, but we¡¯ll know if you lie to us. I¡¯ll reject you here and now if you can¡¯t share your truth,¡± Lantana demands.

    Silence falls over us. Like a child, I hang my head in shame for a second. Then I remember that Hollyhock is a great woman, she deserves this love, and my love for her is nothing to be ashamed of.

    I raise my head and lock eyes with Lantana.

    ¡°I¡¯m doing this for love.¡±

    She opens her mouth, but I answer before she asks.

    ¡°There¡¯s a non-magic woman I love, it was in her city that I fought the Necromancer. It¡¯s for her that I made up this initiative because I want to see her again,¡± I admit.

    They¡¯re all stunned except Lantana who just narrows her eyes at me.

    ¡°You¡¯d admit to breaking one of our most important rules? Just like that?¡±

    ¡°You wanted the truth, plus I already broke one major rule, so,¡± I shrug. Lantana stares at me for a moment, then produces her notebook from somewhere. She writes something down, and I don¡¯t like that she¡¯s doing that right in front of me. With a quaint little PAP, the book closes.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get started.¡±

    Ch. 29 End

 "Iâ€™m Serious/Really?"

    ¡°For your first test, let¡¯s see if you can take Datura in a fair fight,¡± Lantana. The sorcerer stops floating and walks into the circle with me.

    ¡°Seriously?¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re as adept at combat as you say,¡± Lantana says while sidling away, ¡°you should be able to last a few seconds.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t objecting to dueling Datura, more that she¡¯s so accepting now that she knows I¡¯ve broken two important rules. But I don¡¯t push my luck by pressing the topic. I focus on Datura who takes a fighting stance.

    With no element of surprise, this might be a real fight. I defeated the Necromancer, who was powerful but was by no means a trained sorcerer. I have to imagine, that one who is extensively trained in combat magic would be a more well-rounded combatant; rather than relying on raw magical power.

    I think about what Hollyhock would do. Get close, don¡¯t relent, attack joints, then finish it.

    Taking the fight into my hands, I immediately rush at him, activating the air booster ward on my back. With how low I¡¯m moving at him, he¡¯ll dodge and counter with a downward strike. I prepare my shield ward on my left arm.

    As I thought, he sidesteps and tries to strike down with a magic blast. I summon my shield just in time. As his magic disperses over me, granting a moment¡¯s cover, I turn on my heel and punch him in the gut.

    My fist meets muscle, but compared to the giant abomination I fought, it¡¯s like hitting a marshmallow. I must¡¯ve hit him right, as he crumples forward. My elbow raises to meet his chin, straightening him out as my left fist hooks across his face.

    He¡¯ll try to get some space to prime a spell, so I don¡¯t ease up. Everyone, Datura included, is probably confused as to why I¡¯m not using magic. During the fight with the Necromancer, I observed Hollyhock and concluded that magicians don¡¯t excel at close range. We like time and space to prepare complex spells, so as I assault him, I prime spells of my own.

    He sidesteps my heel kick, but I twist and catch his jaw with my elbow again. Deciding he¡¯s had enough, he sends a blast of telekinetic energy to the ground, drawing a cloud of dust to buy him some time. I decide to go up with my booster ward, watching him prime a spell, clear the dust, and lose sight of me. By the time he looks up, I already have my storm shot spell ready with a special modification I just thought up. I fire off two shots. He dispels what he has and gets a shield ready just in time to block the shots. The next three shots I suspend, so they go off as I force myself back to the ground. Datura has his shield up, blocking my shots, and doesn¡¯t realize I¡¯m standing in front of him with my last shot aimed at his face. By the time he does, Lantana calls the match.

    ¡°Seems she would¡¯ve beaten you anyway,¡± she comments. Datura nods in agreement, rubbing his chin. Lantana claps him on the shoulder and he walks off.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± I say after him, feeling bad that I did all that to him. He nods again, groaning as he sits. A few of his friends laugh at him.

    ¡°You certainly fight like someone in love,¡± Lantana notes. ¡°For a second I thought you were gonna tear right through him.¡±

    I shrug. Truthfully, I wasn¡¯t trying that hard. But I am desperate to prove myself, so I can get this initiative off the ground.

    ¡°With that skill, I can see you defeating a rogue magician. You¡¯ve never received sorcerer training?¡±

    ¡°I wanted to be a sorcerer when I was younger, that was¡­sidetracked.¡±

    She nods, recalling something.

    ¡°You think fast and cast faster, but what was with the punching and kicking?¡±

    I explain that when Hollyhock and I fought the Necromancer together, I noticed that even powerful magicians flounder at close range. Since we usually fight one another at far ranges for our spells, we get flustered when someone¡¯s in our faces.

    Lantana gets her notebook out again. At this distance and angle, I could glance at it, but I let it be.

    ¡°And why did this non-magical person help you in a fight?¡±

    ¡°She¡­has an unusual occupation.¡± She jots down something quickly.

    Are all these notes necessary?

    Sensing my question, she claps the book closed.

    ¡°Good leaders should have good reports. And you never know what might become important later.¡± She puts the book in her pocket. ¡°You¡¯re already teaching me so much.¡±

    By mentioning teaching, I think about Mentor Acacia again. I have a lot of ingredients in my cauldron right now.

    ¡°Still with me?¡±  Lantana asks. I snap back to reality.

    ¡°Yes, sorry.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t apologize, you probably have a lot of stuff on your mind at the moment.: She looks around to her sorcerers. ¡°I¡¯ll give it to you directly; I can see the potential of bringing you on. You¡¯ve experienced the outside world in a way none of us have, and you¡¯ve gotten some useful stuff from it.¡±

    ¡°But?¡± I ask, knowing there¡¯s more to this.

    ¡°But,¡± she continues, ¡°I don¡¯t want someone split between too many things. I need to know you can be depended on. Settle your affairs however you must, because I won¡¯t have a divided member in my covey. You can have your human lady love on your heart, but I need your mind when it counts.¡±

    ¡°May I ask a question?¡± She nods. ¡°Why are you, all of you,¡± I gesture to everyone in the circle, ¡°being so casual about the fact that I broke one of our most important rules.¡±

    They all laugh as if I prompted an inside joke. After a pause, Lantana answers,

    ¡°No one follows all rules all the time.¡± Her sorcerers nod at her wisdom. ¡°¡®Rules¡¯ ¡®laws¡¯ ¡®codes¡¯ themselves aren¡¯t my top concern; but the context that surrounds them. We all generally agree that murder is bad.¡±

    I do my best to not change expressions at that.

    ¡°But we agree that self-defense is important. Stealing is wrong, but a hungry person has the right to do what it takes to survive. The law itself isn¡¯t what matters, what matters is why we do it. So you ask why I don¡¯t care about you leaving and exposing magic to nonmagic people; I think you were honoring your soul, I¡¯ve known many people who want to see beyond our walls. Some became sorcerers.¡± Once again, she gestures to those around us. I¡¯d almost forgotten we had an audience. ¡°Others let that part of themselves wither and die. You refused to. In so doing, yeah, you broke some rules, but you had to for your very soul.¡±

    She hasn¡¯t known me for very long, and yet I¡¯ve never felt so seen by someone this quickly.

    ¡°And I¡¯m sure you didn¡¯t expose magic to this person for a cheap trick.¡±

    ¡°She was bleeding out, I healed her wounds,¡± I admit.

    ¡°See?¡± She makes a box shape with her hands. ¡°Context. Sounds like you haven¡¯t broken our rules with malicious intent.¡± With that, she shrugs. ¡°No harm, no foul, as they say. Now go handle your business. When that¡¯s done, I¡¯ll put you through your paces.¡±

    She claps twice, and her sorcerers stop levitating, standing to attention. They begin some drills as I walk away.

    Still no closer to deciding what to do about Mentor Acacia and whatever agenda she has, I know that this is the moment to choose.

    Even though I acknowledge that, nothing solid forms in my mind as I get closer to her abode. It¡¯s early, so no one else should be here, but I hear her talking with Nelumbo. She¡¯s an intimidating woman to most, yet I walk into a gentle scene of her cleaning his hair with a pleasant-smelling oil. He sits on the ground, rubbing the head of a Farnook sitting next to him. Farnooks are fascinating creatures; they absorb genetic material through their skin at an early age, taking on the appearance of whatever they come into contact with. Easily confused with chimeras, which are born as a set blend of animals, these can take on a variety of looks.

    This one in particular has the black and brown head of a Doberman, Red Hawk wings, and the sleek, powerful form of a jaguar. This all comes to meet, oddly enough, the tail of a rat. Nelumbo has named it Goucher. Most Farnooks are intelligent beings, understanding human speech, some can even speak. This one doesn¡¯t but boasts a keen mind all the same.

    They aren¡¯t considered pets, but rather companions to magicians. I¡¯ve always wanted one, but I fear I¡¯d get too attached. They come and go as they please, and I¡¯m recently realizing that I¡¯m somewhat needy.

    Mentor Acacia and Nelumbo both have serene looks on their faces. She glances at the sky.

    ¡°You¡¯re early,¡± she notes. ¡°I¡¯m preoccupied at the moment.¡±

    With no developed plan, I blurt out,

    ¡°I¡¯m going to become a sorceress.¡±

    Nelumbo and Goucher both seem to realize where this is going and decide they want no part in it.

    ¡°Uhh, I¡¯m going to go do some druid stuff,¡± is the best excuse he can come up with. He rubs Goucher¡¯s head and they walk off.

    Mentor Acacia sighs deeply, wiping the oil off her hands. She leans on her thigh, looking me up and down, considering something. After a moment, she stands and walks over to me. With both her hands behind her back, she comes within a breath¡¯s reach of me.

    ¡°Why would you want to do that?¡± She asks with an inscrutable expression.

    ¡°I confessed my crimes to the High Council, and proposed a new initiative to the sorcerers to better handle the threats we might face.¡±

    ¡°You told them about breaking our most important laws, and for this; they let you pitch an idea to them?¡± She asks, incredulous.

    When she puts it like that, it does sound very ridiculous.

    ¡°I brought them proof that there are dangers outside our Arcaniums, and they saw merit in it.¡±

    She stares, unblinking, at me. Her blood-red eyes browse through my mind for something.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell them about the human,¡± she correctly guesses.

    ¡°I gave them the context they needed,¡± I supply, already implementing the wisdom shared with me. Perhaps my imagination gets the better of me, but I think a specter of an expression steals across her face.

    I don¡¯t dare try to read her mind, but I can¡¯t say she¡¯d extend me the same courtesy. We stare at each other for a long time. She exhales from her nose and steps to the side to look off in the distance somewhere.

    ¡°Since we¡¯re on the subject, how come you didn¡¯t tell the council members about me and Hollyhock?¡± I make it a point to say her name, so she knows she¡¯s a person. Mentor Acacia sighs.

    I assume that¡¯s the only answer I¡¯ll get from her at the moment.

    ¡°I restored her memory,¡± I admit. That brings her attention back to me. ¡°She needed it back.¡±

    Again, she walks over to me, with a scolding glare that could level mountains. She leans towards my face.

    ¡°What if she exposes us?¡± Despite my instincts, I match her gaze.

    ¡°She won¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°How can you be so sure?¡±

    Saying ¡®She¡¯s an assassin, so she¡¯s good at keeping secrets.¡¯ doesn¡¯t seem like the right move at the moment.

    ¡°She has her own secrets to keep.¡±

    Mentor Acacia backs up with a condescending smirk.

    ¡°A pact of mutual destruction, the cornerstone of a thriving relationship,¡± she derides.

    A flash of anger strikes me for a moment.

    ¡°It¡¯s not fear that¡¯ll keep her quiet about magic. I trust her.¡± My anger is held barely back by my teeth.

    ¡°Does she trust you?¡±

    I almost fall for the trap.

    This isn¡¯t what I came to talk about. I tamp down my anger, take a breath, and focus.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t come here to argue with you. Despite this¡­rift between us, I do respect you. You¡¯ve taught me invaluable lessons, and I can¡¯t disregard all that.¡±

    Her tight expression softens just a bit. She wasn¡¯t expecting that. It¡¯s the truth. I can¡¯t outright say I dislike her, I might not trust her right now, but I owe all my knowledge to her.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to end this with animosity. I think it¡¯s too late to pretend this didn¡¯t happen, but can we move on?¡±

    Mentor Acacia puts her hands behind her back in thought.

    While I¡¯ve restored Hollyhock¡¯s memories, and, potentially, secured a means of seeing her regularly; I still haven¡¯t pieced together why the Necromancer was going to attack IronHenge, or why Mentor Acacia sought me out herself.  Until I find out why, I can¡¯t imagine her stopping her surveillance of me. It¡¯s better to keep her close.

    ¡°So what¡¯s the next ingenious thing you propose?¡± She asks with just a drop of sarcasm. I choose to ignore it.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been your apprentice for many years, I¡¯m not going to quit on that. If you find it acceptable, I¡¯d like to continue learning from you.¡±

    ¡°Hmmm. I¡¯d have to advance your lessons.¡±

    Prestigious as she is, she can¡¯t have the one student she accepted in years just drop out and become a sorceress out of nowhere.

    ¡°Whatever you deem best,¡± I reply.

    ¡°You¡¯ll start working on more difficult cases, and you¡¯ll create a rudimentary stock of elixirs and options for your¡­new cohorts. Might as well put your knowledge to its best use, become their resident healer.¡±

    ¡°I think they¡¯ll already have a stock in place.¡±

    Mentor Acacia raises an eyebrow at that.

    Right, they won¡¯t be as good as hers, and mine by extension.

    ¡°I¡¯ll see it done.¡±

    She sighs again. It¡¯s not one of relief or annoyance, but a thickly veiled emotion that I can¡¯t glean. She turns away from me, and I see her magical prosthetic making a tight fist.

    She¡¯s always had less control of it.

    Whatever secrets she¡¯s holding are still hers¡­for now.

    I will bring them into the light soon enough.

    ??????

    Kadupul and I lie prone on this searing rooftop, waiting for our target. Our treated jackets are heat absorbent, keeping our arms from frying on the gravel.

    This heatwave refuses to go gently into that good night. The violence in Oleander City extends to nature itself. Reaching at least 95 degrees daily, more than a few people have died from heatstroke. We¡¯re damn near close ourselves.

    My phone is propped up in front of us with a map of the area, the car we¡¯re tracking is getting closer and closer.

    Being a spotter for Kadupul is conceivably the most useless activity someone could do; as I¡¯m now convinced, she has some preternatural ability to make impossible shots. But it¡¯s protocol to do so, and with how many jobs we¡¯ve had lately, it¡¯s better to overly cautious.

    I sip from an insulated bottle, the cold water inside is a life-saving elixir on my lips. With not a cloud in the sky, I offer some water to Kadupul. A bead of sweat drips down her forehead, but she refuses.

    Normally, she¡¯s kinda a goofball, but on the job, on the hunt, she locks in. Our target is about two miles away still. The building we¡¯re on overlooks a usually busy street. The temperature, being what it is, has only a few cars out.

    The only sounds I hear are the cars below and what I suspect is my scalp frying. I sniff.

    ¡°You keep doing that, are you sick?¡± Kadupul suddenly asks.

    ¡°I do?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯ve been sniffing like every few minutes,¡± she points out.

    ¡°My bad, I didn¡¯t notice.¡±

    ¡°So, are you sick?¡±

    ¡°No, I feel fine,¡± I reply.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± is what I get in response. We wait in silence for a while before Kadupul speaks up again, ¡°Lemme ask you a serious question.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± I acknowledge.

    ¡°Are you and Hazel¡­together now?¡±

    The question comes out of left field for me. I¡¯m not entirely sure why she¡¯d bring that up.

    ¡°It¡¯s uhh¡­.¡±

    I can¡¯t fully explain the depths of my conflicting feelings about Witch-Hazel without revealing magic is real.

    ¡°Complicated?¡± She supplies for me.

    ¡°Yeah, complicated.¡±

    ¡°Mmmm.¡±

    Silence again.

    Our target is a mile and a half away.

    My mind drifts to Witch-Hazel and what we discovered about the Necromancer. Wanting to see their kid again, one last time.

    ¡°Do you ever speak with your parents?¡± I ask my own question out of the blue. Kadupul is in the rare minority among the Bay Leaves; having living family members. When I first heard about her parents, I was minutely envious. But then I remembered she was also here with us, not with them.

    ¡°Yeah, I got off the phone with them. We talked about the latest rugby match,¡± she replies, her voice thick with venomous sarcasm. It was a stupid question, so I let it be.

    After a moment, she shakes her head.

    ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to be a bitch about that.¡±

    I dismiss her apology with a wave.

    ¡°Nah, it was a dumbass question anyway.¡±

    ¡°It was, but still I ain¡¯t had to do you like that.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s forgotten,¡± I assure her.

    We both focus on the task as the target turns onto the main road. I grab my scope and noise-canceling earmuffs, and Kadupul loads the rifle. Looking around for the target, I spot the vehicle he¡¯s in. A red sports car with spinning rims and purple underglow.

    ¡°I see the car.¡±

    ¡°Spotted,¡± she confirms.

    There¡¯s a woman in the passenger¡¯s seat. I see her arm moving up and down.

    ¡°Looks like he¡¯s getting a handjob,¡± I observe.

    ¡°Heh, not a bad way to go out.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s about to have a real heart-stopping climax,¡± I quip. Kadupul snickers. We wait until he¡¯s clear of other cars.

    ¡°You have the shot?¡± I redundantly ask.

    ¡°I got it.¡± With a squeeze of her finger, the rifle releases a crack of thunder and less than a heartbeat later a man dies.

    I watch as his corpse flops, landing on the steering wheel. The car swerves for a bit before stopping safely. The car behind it doesn¡¯t stop fast enough, rear-ending it.

    ¡°Clean hit.¡±

    ¡°Always.¡±

    I get up and grab my helmet to go down and confirm.

    ¡°Cover me?¡±

    ¡°You got it.¡±

    An elevator ride down and a brisk jog has me where our target waits. He¡¯s still there, with a sizable hole in his chest and a pretty lady screaming and freaking out.

    ¡°Shut up,¡± I command, as I push her to the side. Ignoring his member, I take his phone out of his pocket. Feeling not so great, I take his wallet and throw it at the woman. ¡°There¡¯s a couple thousand in there. Get out of here.¡±

    Police and ambulance sirens call out as Kadupul pulls up with our getaway car. I hop in and she peels off.

    When we¡¯re well enough away, I take off the helmet, tossing it in the backseat. I look through the procured phone for our objective.

    ¡°He sent the video to ten other people,¡± I note. ¡°I¡¯m guessing the others in it are being dealt with.¡±

    ¡°If the client wants us to deal with these other people, they¡¯ll have to pay Tamara extra,¡± Kadupul notes. ¡°Tell her we got the job done.¡±

    I text Tamara the update, and she just sends back a thumbs-up emoji, which is strange considering her renowned hatred of them. Deciding not to focus on that, I turn to Kadupul.

    ¡°Why¡¯d you ask about Hazel?¡±

    She sighs and we stop at a red light.

    ¡°I heard she came back for a bit, and you seem better than you¡¯ve been. Might not know her very well, but I can tell she¡¯s good for you. So I guess I was just¡­happy for you or whatever.¡±

    Not really knowing what to say to that, I respond with,

    ¡°Happy for me?¡± Again, she sighs.

    ¡°See, this is why I can¡¯t be nice to you. Why do you havta be like that?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not being like anything,¡± I counter. ¡°I¡¯m just surprised you care, is all.¡± For the third time, she sighs.

    ¡°But anyway,¡± she disregards, ¡°what¡¯s with all this ¡®it¡¯s complicated¡¯ shit?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just complicated, okay?¡±

    ¡°Then simplify it, dumbass.¡±

    I sense I¡¯m not getting out of this conversation without an actual answer. The green light shines, but we don¡¯t move.

    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­look at what we do.¡±

    ¡°Keeping this city in check?¡±

    ¡°I meant more specifically the killing and robbing.¡±

    She nods, understanding.

    ¡°And?¡±

    Or maybe not.

    ¡°Our lives are not conventional.¡±

    ¡°Is she a ¡®conventional¡¯ woman?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I admit.

    ¡°Then what¡¯s the real problem?¡±

    ¡°I-¡±

    Someone behind us honks their horn, and Kadupul simply raises a middle finger at them.

    ¡°Go on,¡± she says.

    The existence of magic and the increasing plausibility of an afterlife being a secret is starting to impede my explanation.

    ¡°Shit could go sideways for us at any moment. I¡¯d rather not break her heart if that happens,¡± I answer. Kadupul stares at me for a moment. The light has turned red again.

    ¡°That¡¯s not the reason,¡± she says after a pause. My face twists in confusion at the comment.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Nah, that¡¯s not it. You might¡¯ve convinced yourself that¡¯s it, but it¡¯s not really.¡±

    ¡°How are you telling me what I¡¯m really feeling?!¡± I challenge.

    The car behind us holds down their horn.

    ¡°C¡¯MON, YOU GOT US WAITING!¡± They shout.

    ¡°THEN YOU FUCKING WAIT!¡± Kadupul yells back. She turns back to me with a neutral expression. ¡°Look, I can just tell, aight?¡±

    She starts driving again, flipping another finger to the car behind us.

    ¡°You can just tell?¡± I repeat. She chuckles.

    ¡°You going deaf?¡±

    ¡°How can you ¡®just tell¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Bitch, people can die at any moment, especially in this city. That doesn¡¯t stop anyone else from getting together.¡±

    ¡°We aren¡¯t ¡®anyone else¡¯,¡± I point out.

    She waves that thought away.

    ¡°Let¡¯s say I accept that as your reason, which I don¡¯t by the way, but let¡¯s say I do.¡± She turns right and looks in the rearview mirror. ¡°You say you don¡¯t want to break her heart with your untimely death. Granted, it is a possibility. But what about your heart? Why do you have to be unhappy in the meantime?¡±

    She shuts me up with that one. I don¡¯t have a comeback, deflection, personal attack, or dumb joke. She sees I don¡¯t have a response and focuses back on driving.

    I sniff again.

    After some time, she speaks up,

    ¡°I know I just gave you something to chew on, but it looks like we¡¯re being followed.¡±

    I take the safety off my gun.

    ????

    Lantana wasn¡¯t joking about putting me through the paces. Since it¡¯s obvious I know more than just the basics of combat magic, she puts me in more sparring matches. I ably handle them at first, but she then puts them in pairs. These matches take more concentration; they already have experience working together, and have something to prove. I think back to how well Hollyhock and I worked together fighting the undead horde, and wish she was here with me.

    Physically separating them works for a little bit, but together their skill outmatches mine. However, something in me refuses to accept defeat. My instincts take over, and it becomes clear I surpass them in raw power.

    I surprise Lantana, and myself, by plowing through the third pair she sent. They¡¯re exhausted, but I stand undefeated. Sweaty, not unscathed, but standing all the same. I know better than to let it go to my head, but it¡¯s hard not to feel cocky when all these seasoned sorcerers lie at my feet.

    Once my latest match ends, I look at my hands. Similarly to the fight with the Necromancer, I don¡¯t feel stripped of energy. My body feels the strain, but I know I can still have energy to expend.

    With a chorus of OOOH¡¯s Lantana enters the ring. I enter a defensive stance. She narrows her eyes at me and I sense magic pooling in them. Experienced eyes scan me.

    A tense few seconds inch away. Her eyebrows descend into a frown.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough for today. I think you¡¯ve proved your point.¡±

    I, reluctantly, relax.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to write up an itinerary for areas you need to improve on. We¡¯ll work on those tomorrow.¡± She steps closer. ¡°It¡¯s clear you¡¯re powerful. Raw, untempered, power can be dangerous as it is useful. I aim to help you hone it.¡±

    Soon she¡¯s close enough to me that I can see a minute expression on her face. She leans in so only I hear her ask,

    ¡°Are you okay? I¡¯ve never seen someone burn through so much magic and stay standing long.¡±

    I nod.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I admit. She believes me and backs away.

    ¡°Think you can use your witch skills to help them get to their feet?¡± She regards the others I defeated.

    ¡°Actually, I have a few things of my own to propose in that regard.¡±

    ??????

    Our car finally stops tumbling around on the asphalt, and we end up upside down. The sound of six car doors opening comes from all around us. Footsteps approach. An ambush.

    ¡°These guys suck at planning,¡± Kadupul points out with a groan.

    ¡°Agreed,¡± I grumble as rage builds in me. The smart thing would¡¯ve been to shoot the car after the crash to make sure we¡¯re dead. Instead, they¡¯re walking to us to meet a gruesome death, given how pissed off I am.

    ¡°Cover me?¡± Kadupul asks as she pulls a bit of glass from above her eyebrow and rips her airbag out.

    ¡°I gotcha,¡± I reply as someone walks closer to my side. I tense my body, checking to see if anything is broken. A sprain or two maybe, but I¡¯ve been in worse car crashes.

    I¡¯m good.

    Ignoring the pain I¡¯m in, I undo my seatbelt and fall to the roof. I grab my gun and pull back the hammer. A pair of legs stop right outside. I pull the trigger and a bullet punches through the right leg. My would-be attacker falls to the ground. We lock eyes for a second, he didn¡¯t think it was going to end this way. All the fear and pain rushing through him stops him from using the gun in his hand.

    It doesn¡¯t stop me.

    My next shot goes between his eyes. Kadupul slams her door open, and I hear a body crash into it. I turn in time to see her grab her assailant who¡¯s bent over the door and snap their neck. I roll out of my side. The others start to catch on and draw their weapons, but I already have mine ready. I put down three with four shots.

    There¡¯s no time to check if they¡¯re dead, I vault over the car to get to Kadupul. I cover her with my torso. Shots ring out, but only two hit me. My jacket does its job, keeping the bullets out of my body.

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    These guys suck at aiming.

    Kadupul grabs the gun from her chiropractic victim and nods to me. I move out of the way, and she starts airing out this side. In no time flat, five fall to their deaths, and I get the remaining three.

    With a momentary respite, I help her get out of the car. Her shoulder is dislocated, and without asking permission, I slam it back into place. She muffles a groan and nods with thanks.

    Blood drips down her enraged face.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get these motherfuckers.¡±

    I reload my gun.

    ????

    I take stock of the sorcerer''s elixirs, tonics, potions, and various other brews. As Mentor Acacia suspected, they are subpar. Sorcerers get their supplies from whatever witches they want, but they are expected to be able to make rudimentary concoctions and perform healing spells on the fly.

    Granted, the way they¡¯ve been doing it is quick, but not nearly as effective or efficient as it can be. The sorcerers I defeated were delightfully surprised, as I tended to their wounds with greater speed and intensity than they¡¯re used to.

    I write down notes of everything they have in stock while composing a list of materials that I¡¯ll need for better mixes.

    ¡°You¡¯re really tearing apart our inventory, huh?¡± Datura says to me as I frown at a potion that¡¯s yellowish-green when it should be yellowish-brown.

    ¡°Mentor Acacia taught me the caliber of the mix makes all the difference to the treatment of an ailment. I¡¯m seeing a lot of stuff that needs improving.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m guessing that means we¡¯re all having a lecture or two in our near future?¡±

    I finish my list of everything that needs to change.

    ¡°Here,¡± I toss the comprehensive list to him.

    ??????

    ¡°Here,¡± I toss an ammo clip to Kadupul. She catches it without looking, loads, and lands two shots into our nearest attacker. I send hot lead through the back of a woman¡¯s head and catch her gun before it hits the floor. Using her as a human shield, she takes three shots for me before I dispose of her and kill my would-be killers.

    I shoot the gun out of the hand of the last one, and Kadupul grabs him by the throat. Her gun, still hot from the shots she fired, gets pressed into his mouth.

    ¡°Here¡¯s what we¡¯re gonna do,¡± I say to him.

    ????

    ¡°Here¡¯s what we¡¯re gonna do,¡± I say to Lantana. ¡°Most of your inventory is adequate, at best. I can teach y¡¯all how to make better ones.¡±

    ¡°¡¯Y¡¯all¡¯?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve picked up quite a few things in my time outside.¡±

    ¡°I see, well I can¡¯t wait for what you have to teach us. Are you sure you¡¯re okay?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m quite fine, actually.¡± The minor cuts and bruises I got through the duels have already faded. Lantana takes note of this.

    ¡°Don¡¯t overload yourself just yet,¡± she starts. ¡°I still have to forge you into an effective sorcerer. Think you can handle it?¡±

    ¡°If I want to get my initiative off the ground, I don¡¯t see any other option.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll see you later, Hazel.¡± Lantana departs on that note. With my list of materials completed and inventory done, I find myself alone for the moment.

    ¡°Now what?¡±

    ??????

    ¡°Now what?¡± I ask as we walk, or stumble, really, away from our massacre. The adrenaline has worn off, so now we¡¯re feeling all the pain we¡¯re in. Kadupul hurt her hip at some point, and my torso is aching from all the blocked shots.

    ¡°Can¡¯t believe all that happened over a case of mistaken identity,¡± she comments. ¡°Motherfuckers get killed cuz they can¡¯t tell the difference between two cars.¡± I want to point out that her antagonizing them at the red light probably didn¡¯t help, but I decide it¡¯s not worth it. ¡°Call Tamara, let her know what¡¯s up,¡± She finally comes back to my question.¡±

    I pull my phone out of my pocket to see the screen smashed to hell.

    ¡°Fuck!¡±

    ¡°Great,¡± Kadupul replies. ¡°I think my phone¡¯s in the car.¡±

    ¡°We should get some distance from the car crash and several dead bodies,¡± I counter. ¡°Someone heard those shots.¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t just leave my rifle and whatever else we got in there. That¡¯ll be awkward to explain.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right, you¡¯re right,¡± I relent. ¡°Stay here.¡±

    ¡°Like I¡¯m gonna run off,¡± she mumbles as she slides down on a streetlight to sit. I hobble over to the overturned car and search the wreckage. As I look around, I keep an ear out for sirens but hear only the still-running engines of the other cars. I find Kadupul¡¯s phone, miraculously unscathed, wedged between the rear seats.

    ¡°Found it! Wanna steal one of these cars?¡±

    Kadupul gives me a thumbs-up. I search the nearest corpses for keys. When I finally find one, I go about getting the corresponding car and drive over to her. She has a blunt lit and gets in the car. I hand her phone over and peel off.

    Kadupul calls Tamara to let her know what happened. I can almost hear her side of the conversation. Kadupul hangs up.

    ¡°She said to come back right away. Figures we did enough killing for today.¡±

    I just nod. Kadupul stinks into her seat, inhaling more smoke before offering it to me. I decline.

    ¡°Sorry about your phone,¡± She says. ¡°Digit¡¯ll be able to transfer anything to a new one, though.¡±

    I look at my phone that I threw on the dashboard. My passcode was the date and time I met the witch that changed my life. I try in vain not to think of Hazel; my heart aches despite my best efforts.

    ????

    My heart aches as I think of the assassin; seeing a bouquet of flowers for which she is named on my walk home. The more I try not to let her consume my thoughts, the more Hollyhock seems to dominate them.

    I attempt to steer my mind back to my goals, but then I realize she¡¯s the motivating factor for them all.

    Still, I endeavor to focus, I can¡¯t let everything in my life revolve entirely around Hollyhock.

    ¡°Hazel!¡± The voice of Azalea calls out to me. I turn to see the wizard approaching. ¡°I think I¡¯m onto something!¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s hear it.¡±

    ??????

    ¡°Let¡¯s hear it.¡±

    Digit finishes up with Kadupul. Neither of us got any serious cuts. Bruises, and sprains aplenty, though. I struggle to get into a comfortable position with the ice pack on my back.

    ¡°You two gotta get benched. The bruises are nothing you couldn¡¯t work through, but these sprains will get worse if you don¡¯t rest.¡±

    ¡°But I have a basketball game later,¡± Kadupul chimes in. I can¡¯t tell if she¡¯s joking, as the painkillers have started to kick in. Either way, I laugh.

    ¡°Well, your team will have to do without you,¡± he says back, dryly. Ever since I told him about getting my memory back, the light in his eyes has returned. I¡¯m just he still doesn¡¯t want to press me about getting a CT scan. ¡°Holly, I¡¯ll transfer your data to a new phone and get it to you in a couple hours. You two rest for now, and I¡¯ll take you home later.¡±

    ¡°Aye aye, Doc,¡± Kadupul says as she takes out another spliff.

    Seriously, how many does she roll?

    Digit snatches it out of her hand.

    ¡°No smoking in here. The painkillers will be enough.¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t for the pain but okay.¡± She holds her palm out. Digit gives her a stern look. She pouts and puts on puppy eyes. ¡°I promise.¡± Digit rolls his eyes and tosses it to her. Keeping her word, she puts it away. Our busy quartermaster/doctor walks away.

    After being in the burning heat for hours, sitting on three ice packs is relaxing. My muscles become uncoiled and sluggish as the medicine circulates through my system.

    ¡°Did you come up with an answer?¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡±

    ¡°For my question. Why do you have to be unhappy while we¡¯re still kicking?¡±

    ¡°Ehh,¡± is all I offer in response, feigning succumbing to the drugs.

    ¡°Well, you got some time to think about it. I¡¯d rattle that around in the old dome for a while.¡± Kadupul settles more into her cot and almost immediately falls asleep.

    Of course, I already have an answer to her question. I thought about it as we drove back here.

    Of course, I know the answer.

    I sniff again.

    ????

    Azalea takes me to her home, though a library would be a more apt description. I can¡¯t tell what color the walls are with the amount of tomes and scrolls piled up all over the place. A footpath has been made in the places between the piles. She directs me to a table where there¡¯s only one chair. Azalea realizes this only now, and looks around for something else.

    ¡°I uhh, don¡¯t entertain a lot of guests,¡± she says with a chuckle. She slides a stack of books over for me to sit on. ¡°So, back to my theory of the best time to slip out would be during a time of chaos. I started looking into the Mau Mau uprising.¡±

    She turns to a page in a history book.

    ¡°During this time when the Gikuyu began organizing a resistance movement, magicians from IronHenge and Utoto Mkubwa became involved.¡±

    Utoto Mkubwa, the Arcanium of Africa, is hidden behind the Mosi-oa-Tunya; the largest waterfall in existence. The magicians there are a touch more open with non-magical people, helping in minor ways without revealing themselves.

    ¡°There were magicians on both sides of the conflict, but that¡¯s not what we¡¯re focusing on. But rather the amount of magicians involved.¡± She produces a sheet from somewhere. ¡°According to this, some hundred magicians, mostly sorcerers, got involved.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a lot,¡± I remark, given the low population of magicians in the world at that time.

    ¡°Exactly, so what better time to try and get away with something; when the sorcerers are spread so thin?¡± Azalea searches for something else for a moment, then finds it. ¡°Birth records, and¡­¡± more searching ¡°sorcerer reports.¡±

    She begins to explain, but I already know the answer. I was just hoping I was wrong.

    ¡°This was not easy to come by, and even harder to come across one that wasn¡¯t magically redacted. I only got a couple of names out of my cross-referencing. But from what I surmise, a couple had a child a few years before the Mau Mau Uprising. They didn¡¯t want to give up on raising their child, however.¡± She grabs another paper and hands it to me.

    Glancing at it, it¡¯s an appeal to speak with the High Council.

    ¡°They tried, and failed, to amend the law. Instead of complying, they fled. There¡¯s no mention of how or exactly when they left IronHenge. All I¡¯ve managed to scrounge up is this heavily redacted sorcerer report that says ¡®a highly powerful magician has left without permission¡¯. It doesn¡¯t say by name or reason, but it matches up with the timeline of the failed appeal. They didn¡¯t get it, so they had to run.¡±

    A sinking feeling grips my entire body, I know how this ends.

    ¡°I went through even more redacted reports, powerful wards protected the information within, but then I found this one.¡±

    She holds up a report that hurts to look at. The wards protecting it give a swirling, nauseating effect if you glance at the secretive text. Looking at it more makes the letters dance around on the paper.

    ¡°It¡¯s the final report of the incident, ¡®an altercation broke out between the fugitive magicians after refusing to return to IronHenge and sorcerers in pursuit.¡¯ It is covered from there on, but it ends with ¡®Multiple sorcerers confirmed dead at the scene. Fugitive magicians and¡­young individual that was with them¡­presumed dead.¡¯,¡± She finishes reading. Azalea lets that have its moment.

    ¡°The sorcerer that wrote this report died later in an unrelated incident. I backtracked the timeline of the events to find this birth record. Following that line of logic, the child wasn¡¯t apprenticed with any mentor, and then is never mentioned again; I figured that child was the one who was killed. Their name was-¡±

    ¡°Hyacinth,¡± I finish that sentence for her.

    ¡°How did you know that?¡±

    ¡°I left again and went back to Oleander City. I had felt the Necromancer¡¯s magic, so I wanted to make sure they were dead. I found them, dying again. And with the last moments they had left, they asked to see a necklace they carried. It was heavily enchanted, with the image of a laughing child on it¡­ Right before they died, the Necromancer called out to their child: Hyacinth.¡±

    We sit in silence for a while. Now that it¡¯s confirmed with research, I feel as though hives are forming all over my skin. The fact that I protected IronHenge doesn¡¯t assuage the guilt I feel having robbed someone of such justified vengeance.

    If I hadn¡¯t intervened, many would¡¯ve died, my friends and Mentor possibly. That good carries a lot of weight.

    But a child. A child¡¯s life.

    I can more than sympathize with the idea of seeking revenge for a child¡¯s life. At stopping at nothing to make those responsible pay; and in this case, it was IronHenge itself.

    Fire starts to burn within me.

    No. No, I won''t regret what I did.

    The Necromancer might¡¯ve had a reason, but innocent people have been killed, and more would¡¯ve been if I hadn¡¯t stopped them. I¡¯ll understand their rage but won¡¯t give in to it. I did a good thing, that¡¯s the end of it.

    ¡°Azalea,¡± I say after calming myself down.

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­probably best if this stays buried.¡±

    She opens her mouth to say something but considers what I said.

    ¡°The wizard in me wants to disagree, history like this shouldn¡¯t stay buried because it never stays buried.¡±

    She has a point. Besides, wouldn''t revealing this be some form of justice?

    ¡°I¡¯ll defer to your judgment, Azalea. Personally, I want to put it behind me, but I see the wisdom in your words. You should be careful though, someone enchanted those for a reason. Whoever was responsible might go to further lengths to keep it hidden.¡±

    ¡°Valid point. I¡¯ll sit on this for a bit, and let you know what else I come across.¡±

    I nod and stand up. Azalea walks me back to her door.

    ¡°By the way, I¡¯m becoming a sorcerer,¡± I share with her to lighten the mood.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    I explain my entire initiative to her.

    ¡°Wow, you¡¯re seriously trying to make history, huh?¡± I shrug.

    ¡°Here¡¯s hoping it ends better than the last bit we just read.¡±

    ??????

    Two weeks pass by in peace, I stay at home catching up on my shows and trying some new recipes; occasionally wondering if Witch-Hazel would like them.

    Her promise to make this, us, work pops into my head as I stir my pot of stew. From her, those are more than just words. I know she¡¯s probably working her ass off right in her magical city. A twinge of guilt goes through me as I think about how I need to protect her heart.

    ¡°Holly, you gotta make a decision.¡±

    ????

    ¡°Hazel, you gotta make a decision.¡±

    These two weeks have been nonstop training and instruction. Both for me and from me. Teaching the sorcerers more effective potion creation and higher-skill combat techniques has effortlessly eliminated my free time. I stand before my bed looking at it with great want. But there¡¯s also the basket of elixirs I need to deliver for Mentor Acacia, as well as the scrolls of shielding wards Lantana expects me to read.

    Sleep, work, or work?

    A sigh escapes me as I decide to deliver the elixirs while reading the scrolls.

    Time passes in a blur until I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see Lantana.

    ¡°You seemed zoned out.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­a bit fried,¡± I admit. ¡°I¡¯ll push through it though.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s actually why I came to talk to you.¡± She reaches into her pocket and produces a sorcerer emblem. It¡¯s a palm-sized piece of blue metal with a flaming fist imprinted on it.

    ¡°This is for you.¡± She puts it in my hand and I hold it like a jewel. After a moment it changes color, becoming jet black. Lantana notices that but moves on, ¡°This is a show of good faith. You¡¯ve been working hard, which is good, but you gotta take a break. I¡¯ll give you three days off. Only three days; but you can go anywhere. Hopefully, you don¡¯t cause any trouble in the meantime. Go see your lady or relax wherever, because I¡¯m going to train you within an inch of your life when you get back,¡± she says with a smile.

    My heart starts pounding as I stare at the future in my hands.

    ¡°Now, this is a temporary emblem. If it doesn¡¯t come back into contact with the magic of our barrier in three days, it¡¯ll alert me. I trust you won¡¯t give me reason to worry?¡±

    I heard her, but I can¡¯t form thoughts or words right now.

    ¡°Hazel?¡±

    ¡°Yes? I mean, yes! Thank you, thank you for this!¡±

    She chuckles.

    ¡°Must be some woman for you to be working this hard. I¡¯m sure you¡¯re eager to see her, you can leave tomorrow.¡± She walks away from me like she didn¡¯t just give me an amazing gift.

    All the fatigue that weighed on me evaporated in an instant. I can¡¯t stop smiling, giddiness has me dancing in the middle of the street like an idiot. A little fire unintentionally comes out of my hands as I clap in joy.

    Reinvigorated, I power through my outstanding tasks and rush home to rest. As I lie down, I think of Hollyhock. I wonder how she is, how she¡¯ll react to seeing me, and how she¡¯ll respond to the news that we can be together more.

    I can¡¯t help but giggle and kick my feet in excitement at the idea. Somehow, sleep manages to find me, and I dream of Holly. I¡¯m in the passenger seat of her convertible car. She has one arm around me with the other on the wheel. No other cars in sight, no city around us, a green endless pastoral surrounding us. It is only divided by the infinite road we¡¯re cruising down. She turns to look at me and smiles. The breeze pushes her hair ever so gently.

    ¡°Where to?¡±

    ??????

    The pain has mostly left my body, I¡¯m still a little sore, but I¡¯m on my feet again. I wanted to stretch my legs and go out rather than just order my groceries. Which was a bad decision as this heatwave has yet to let up. I¡¯m sweating buckets by the time I get back to my building. After I replenish my fridge, I take a seat on my couch, thinking about what I want to do. My AC, finally repaired, is the only noise I hear as I let my mind wander.

    A SWOOSH enters the room next to me, my gun is already pointed at the source before I recognize it.

    Witch-Hazel stands in my living room again.

    She didn¡¯t even flinch at the gun aimed at her.

    ????

    I¡¯m in Hollyhock¡¯s home again. She, instinctively, pointed a gun, but I¡¯m so happy to see her again I didn¡¯t notice at first.

    ¡°Y¡¯know, I have a door that you can knock on. Unless you¡¯re trying to have a horrible accident happen.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s the fun in knocking on a door when I can pop in?¡± She puts the gun on the small table in front of her and then sniffs.

    ¡°I¡¯m just saying, I could be edgier one of these days, and act faster than I can think.¡±

    I dismiss the thought that she might hurt me with a wave of my hand.

    ¡°Guess what?¡± I ask her. She sighs.

    ¡°Hazel, I swear to god if you say the Necromancer is back again, I¡¯ll unload a clip into my head.¡±

    ¡°No, no, look at this!¡± I show her the emblem I received. She looks at it and raises an eyebrow.

    ¡°Cool. That a medal or something?¡± Right, of course, she wouldn¡¯t know what it is.

    ¡°It¡¯s a sorcerer emblem. It lets me leave IronHenge with permission.¡± She combs through her hair with her hand.

    ¡°Oh yeah? No more sneaking around? Doesn¡¯t that take the fun out of it?¡± She flashes a sly smile and leans back on her couch.

    Looking her over, I realize something. Being separated for so long, I thought what I felt for Hollyhock was want. But seeing her now, I know what I feel is need.

    ??????

    Witch-Hazel practically attacks me with her mouth.

    Her lips are on mine and her hands go to my torso. My body reacts with indifference to what I¡¯ve decided regarding the woman kissing me. I press into the kiss and my hands go to her waist.

    ????

    As she kisses me back, I press her further back on the couch. When she¡¯s recumbent, I slide my tongue into her mouth, her hands pull me closer to her hips.

    I¡¯ve changed my mind, everything in my life can revolve around her. She¡¯s worth it.

    ??????

    Her tongue meets mine while we press our bodies tighter. She suddenly pulls her hips away from me but doesn¡¯t break our kiss, her hands rush to my jeans. She won¡¯t spare a glance down as she struggles to unbuckle my belt. My breath hitches as she frantically undoes them and unzips me.

    ????

    Hollyhock lifts her hips to help me pull her jeans down. I feel another weapon she has stashed away. A knife, I think. Doesn¡¯t slow me down in the slightest.

    Her hands lift my dress, exposing my ass to the air. I tug her jeans further down, her tongue starts playing with mine and her fingers glide along the hem of my underwear. I move my right leg so that her left rests on mine. My hands go back to her hips.

    I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve paused to breathe this entire time.

    Hollyhock''s tongue playfully wrestles mine, my mouth has just enough space for both of them.

    Gods and Goddesses.

    My hands slide her shirt up, I feel those rock-hard abs of hers and can¡¯t help but giggle a bit.

    ¡°Whatchu laughing about?¡± She asks into my mouth.

    ¡°You¡¯ll never get that info out of me,¡± I reply.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so sure, I got ways to make you talk,¡± she flicks her finger out the hem of my underwear so it snaps on me. I do the same to her. She giggles a bit.

    Then, an annoying chime rings out from beneath me.

    Her phone comes to life with noise. I rest my head on her chest as she reaches for her device. Her breathing is fast, but her heart is faster; thundering behind her ribs. In a short moment, she gets her breathing under control, which I can¡¯t help but feel disappointed by. All my work is undone.

    I lie on top of her as she takes the call, her left hand is still on my hip.

    ¡°Yes, Tamara?¡± She starts. My eyes down the alluring body of the assassin. She¡¯s wearing black and orange boxer briefs. I slowly trail an index finger down her stomach to her pelvis. She lightly spanks me when my finger tugs at her underwear.

    Hollyhock sniffs again.

    ¡°Got ya¡­.yeah? How did you¡­ Really?¡­ Okay. It¡¯ll get done.¡± She ends the call with a sigh. Hollyhock looks at me.

    ¡°I swear that woman has a sixth sense when it comes to interrupting us,¡± I half joke.

    ¡°Maybe she has me chipped. Might¡¯ve gotten you too, she knew you were here.¡±

    ¡°¡­ Does she have magic?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t put anything past Tamara, especially given her request.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°Want to rob a club with me?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    She stands, pulling her jeans up, covering the prize I almost had.

    Soon enough.

    ¡°Wait, you¡¯re inviting me?¡±

    ¡°I already know if I ask you to stay out of it, you¡¯ll either ignore it or get into worse trouble; so yeah, I¡¯m inviting you. It¡¯s a better way to keep an eye on you. Plus¡­ never mind.¡±

    I fix my dress and get up.

    ¡°What?¡± She shakes her head.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter, what does is that is the target. We¡¯re not robbing a club, per se, but a specific person in it. We need his phone. So no one should get killed today¡­at least not by us.¡±

    Hollyhock gestures with her head for me to follow her, I do. We go to her bedroom and stand in front of her dresser.

    ¡°We have to blend in, so I get to play dress up with you. Let¡¯s butch you up.¡±

    I don¡¯t know what that means exactly, but I go along with the idea. Hollyhock starts picking up different clothes and holding them against me to see how I¡¯d look in them. After some time, she assembles an outfit for me.

    ??????

    I look at the clothes I laid out. An orange plaid shirt, some dog tags I don¡¯t remember ever having, a white tank top, and tan cargo pants that work with the boots she already had on.

    Now that we aren¡¯t making out, I have to reforge my decision to cool things off with her.

    How do I even do this? I used to ghost chicks, but they couldn¡¯t magically teleport into my house. And they weren¡¯t known by every single Bay Leaf, including Tamara. Whatever.

    ¡°Can we do something about your hair? The long, silky waterfall is gonna clash with this fit.¡±

    ¡°Not a problem,¡± she says. Witch-Hazel leans her head forward and shakes her hands over her hair. Purple sparkles glitz into the air and her hair shortens to a sorta buzz cut look.

    Fuck, she¡¯s hot.

    ¡°How does that work? Did you suck your hair into your skull?¡±

    ¡°I tug at the bonds of the keratin and-¡±

    ¡°Wait, sorry, we don¡¯t have time for that. Get dressed.¡±

    Witch-Hazel does not attempt privacy and sheds her dress right in front of me; almost as if to show me what I¡¯m missing out on.

    ????

    I undress right in front of Hollyhock to show her what she¡¯s missing out on.

    She steals a look or two but goes to dress herself.

    ¡°Wait wait wait,¡± I say. ¡°If I have to dress up, so should you.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah? What do you have in mind?¡±

    I hold the dress I just took off. Hollyhock gets a good laugh out of that.

    ¡°You must¡¯ve drunk the wrong elixir if you think I can fit into that.¡±

    I shake the dress like I¡¯m dusting it and it grows a bit larger.

    ¡°Oh right, magic. You can¡¯t seriously expect me to wear that,¡± the assassin complains. I stick out my lower lip.

    She scowls but grabs the dress anyway.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, a babydoll dress?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll look cute!¡± I continue to dress.

    ¡°I ain¡¯t ever looked cute a day in my life but whatever.¡± She undresses and I notice she has a slight grimace of pain.

    ¡°Are you hurt?¡±

    ¡°Just a lil¡¯ sore from a job. Nothing major.¡±

    I circle her and see small bruises dot her back. My hand moves before I can think, Holly flinches somewhat at the contact. Magic spills from my hand, healing the pain of the woman I love. Hollyhock sighs in relief.

    ¡°I forgot how good that feels,¡± she says. There isn¡¯t a hint of flirtation in her voice, just cool genuineness.

    ¡°You only have to ask,¡± I reply softly into her shoulder.

    ¡°I¡¯ll¡­make sure I remember that. Let¡¯s get ready.¡± She sniffs again.

    Hollyhock squeezes into the dress and adjusts my outfit. Doing only the top button of the plaid shirt and opening the rest to show off the tank top. She adds a black bandana around my neck and rolls up the sleeves. Her clothes are a little too big, so I shrink them to fit better.

    ¡°Can I get an adjustment here?¡± Hollyhock tugs at the purple dress. Even though I made it bigger, her physique threatens to burst through. Her trapezii meet resistance at the straps holding the dress up. I bite my lips at the sight.

    However, it¡¯s too constrictive for her to move in. I loosen the dress more and change the fabric to have a shimmering effect.

    Her athletic body in my dress is a sight to behold. The midsection strains at her abs, and the hemline doesn''t even halfway get down her thighs. I can spy her boxer briefs peeking out.

    ¡°You might want to change your underwear,¡± I remark.

    ¡°You can¡¯t make this dress longer?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I lie. ¡°The enchantments surrounding it-¡±

    ¡°Whatever excuse you¡¯re about to make to slut me out can¡¯t be worth all this effort.¡±

    ¡°Just let me dress you up the way I want to! We¡¯re having fun!¡±

    ¡°Oh, we are, huh?¡± She looks at her phone for the time. ¡°We don¡¯t have time for this, we have to go soon to catch the target. Go sit in the living room.¡±

    I oblige, leaving her with a smile.

    ??????

    Why am I letting her dress me? Why am I listening to her? Why did Tamara tell me to bring her along? What size is this underwear? Why don¡¯t I have any shoes that go with this dress? Oh, here are some. Who left these here? When was the last time I wore heels? What kind of bag is this? Why haven¡¯t I gotten rid of these other clothes?

    Whatever, let¡¯s just get this done.

    With more appropriate underwear, some golden high heels, and a fuzzy clutch bag, I couldn¡¯t feel more the opposite of myself if I tried.

    I¡¯m rocking this look, though.

    Witch-Hazel¡¯s eyebrows shoot up, as if she didn¡¯t see me a minute ago. She gets up and circles around me.

    ¡°If we didn¡¯t have somewhere to go,¡± she idly says.

    ¡°Yeah, but we do, so focus up,¡± I curtly reply. ¡°Can you hide my scar? It clashes with my outfit.¡± Witch-Hazel pauses at my request. ¡°We need to blend in, Hazel, and having part of my ear missing is going to attract unwanted attention.¡± She stays still for a moment longer, but then complies with a raise of her hand. Purple squares blink into existence in front of my face. They spin and shimmer, then disappear a second later. I pull out a small mirror and see my old face again.

    ¡°You¡¯ll still feel it, but no one else can see it.¡±

    ¡°Cool.¡±

    Needing my gun, I walk to the coffee table and bend over; already forgetting I¡¯m wearing a short dress.

    ¡°LACY!¡± Witch-Hazel exclaims. I shoot up straight and hold my dress down. My face instantly heats up with embarrassment.

    ¡°I will shoot you, Hazel! I swear I will!¡±

    ¡°Well, I can die happy, so go ahead.¡±

    My anger quickly fades as I think about how no one¡¯s ever lusted after me like Hazel has. The women I¡¯ve been with were attracted to my¡­proximity to masculinity. But here I am in a shiny short dress, holding a clutch, and stiletto heels; yet Hazel makes it clear as day that she wants me still. Maybe more so.

    It¡¯s an unusual feeling. I can¡¯t say if I like or dislike it, it simply is.

    I don¡¯t let it marinate, squatting down to grab my gun and put it in my bag. I beckon Witch-Hazel over and put an unloaded gun in her hands.

    ¡°There¡¯re no bullets in there,¡± I explain. ¡°But people won¡¯t know that. Holding it will be enough to scare most, but if you want to look serious.¡± I pull back the hammer. ¡°Cock it back and people will get the message.¡± She nods. I uncock the gun and tuck it in the back of her pants.

    ¡°Trying to get a feel?¡±

    ¡°You are freaky today,¡± I comment. She chuckles.

    ¡°Hard not to be.¡±

    Warmth spreads to my face again.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go, target¡¯s supposed to be there soon.¡±

    We go down to my car and head to the slightly sleazy part of town. The heat is tolerable outside, as clouds have rolled in.

    ¡°So what¡¯s the deal with that emblem you showed me earlier? You kinda just jumped after that.¡±

    ¡°I confessed my crimes to the High Council and told them about the Necromancer. I suggested that magical threats are hiding in the non-magical world, and we need a new way to combat them. So I started an initiative where sorcerers live in the non-magical world, to better monitor threats like this.¡±

    ¡°Like a sleeper agent?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°What you¡¯ve just described to me sounds like sleeper agents. People you put in different places and have them blend in until you activate them to do something. Some assassinate persons of interest, overthrow governments, etc.,¡± I explain.

    ¡°Huh, well I guess if the spell fits, then yes. Now I¡¯m training to be a sorcerer.¡±

    I narrow my eyes in thought.

    ¡°Wait, didn''t you say that leaving your magic city without permission is a serious rule? This High Council didn¡¯t punish you for that, instead, they let you pitch an idea?¡±

    ¡°I convinced them it was a good idea, with some help, but yeah.¡±

    That sounds¡­off. Should I say that? Maybe this council just likes her. Or maybe they just don¡¯t punish people over there. It¡¯s not my place to say anything. Right?

    Witch-Hazel doesn¡¯t notice my internal discussion and moves on.

    ¡°I said we¡¯d see each other again. And I¡¯m a witch of my word, or sorcerer, really.¡±

    ¡®She did all that for me?¡¯

    My heart skips a beat.

    ¡°Did you learn more about the Necromancer?¡± I ask, looking to change the subject. As we reach the club, the day is dying, with purple and orange hues signaling its demise. A long line is already formed outside. I keep an eye on our target while listening to Witch-Hazel.

    ¡°I did find out more about the Necromancer,¡± she answers, her voice grim. She tells me about the research a wizard friend of hers uncovered. By the time she reaches the end, I¡¯m completely turned away from the club.

    ¡°Damn, that¡¯s¡­damn.¡±

    ¡°My thoughts exactly.¡±

    ¡°Makes you wonder how many other times it¡¯s happened,¡± I muse.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Things like that, when they¡¯re buried, rarely happen just once. Then again, I¡¯m a cynic living in the murder capital of the country; so take that with a grain of salt.¡±

    ????

    I mull over what Hollyhock said for a moment, but she taps my shoulder.

    ¡°Target¡¯s here.¡± She nods to a man dressed in blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and a red hat walking along with a pretty woman. They skip the line, much to the annoyance of everyone standing there. The man standing in front lets them in.

    Hollyhock covers her Bay Leaf tattoo with that patch she¡¯s used before. Turning to me, she instructs,

    ¡°We¡¯ll wait a bit, let him get comfortable, then we¡¯ll head in. I¡¯ll bribe the bouncer to piss off, then we do this quickly. We¡¯re here for his phone specifically, but we¡¯re making it look like a regular robbery. No one needs to get hurt. Got it?¡±

    I nod in compliance.

    ¡°Why are you after his phone?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­a messy situation. Let¡¯s just say he has a video on there that the client doesn¡¯t want him to have.¡±

    Hollyhock moves the car from across the street, hiding it around the corner. We wait a few minutes, then get out of the car. I hadn¡¯t expected Hollyhock to wear heels so easily, but I guess she does backflips like they¡¯re nothing, so I shouldn¡¯t be surprised. She guides my arm to rest around her hip, becoming another person in an instant. She puts on a sugary, fake smile and carries herself in a way I¡¯ve never seen before.

    She sniffs again.

    ¡°Why do you keep sniffing?¡±

    ¡°I have no idea, I don¡¯t even know I¡¯m doing it. Maybe I¡¯m developing allergies or something. Let¡¯s worry about it later.¡±

    Her fake smile flashes across her face as we walk past the line, getting angry looks from everyone. We go right up to the bouncer, who looks us up and down. Hollyhock takes a roll of dollars out of her clutch, careful not to reveal her gun inside.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you take an early break?¡± She whispers with saccharine affection and places the roll in his hand. He nods and walks off. Everyone in line is unsure of what to make of that.

    Pushing the door open, we¡¯re greeted with the loud music and dim lights of the club. Hollyhock spots the target and subtly draws my attention to him. We sit at a table with a view of him.

    ¡°Pretend we¡¯re talking.¡±

    ¡°We are talking,¡± I point out.

    ¡°Act like it¡¯s an engrossing conversation.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not here to talk to anyone else.¡±

    ??????

    Hazel slides a hand onto my thigh, and shivers travel up my spine. She¡¯s being especially bold today.

    But it helps because people will look away from public affection. I run a finger through her now short hair.

    ¡°How come you always have gray hair if you can change it?¡± I ask.

    ¡°I just like the color,¡± she answers, her fingers idly going back and forth on my leg.

    ¡°You don¡¯t wear a lot of gray, though.¡±

    ¡°Magicians tend to dress in the color of their aura. Hence, why I usually wear purple.¡±

    I think back to the fight with the Necromancer, when the magic pouring out of her was black.

    ¡°Then what about-¡± I cut myself off. ¡°We have an opportunity here. He¡¯s less surrounded now.¡±

    Our target has a few people around him. From what I can tell, only one of them is armed.

    ¡°See that guy over there in the blue jacket?¡±

    Witch-Hazel looks at him and nods.

    ¡°He has a gun, focus on him first, get him disarmed then we work the others, okay?¡±

    ¡°Got it. Where are we putting their things if we¡¯re robbing them?¡±

    ¡°You have cargo pockets, put ¡®em there. Put some bass in your voice.¡±

    ¡°Understood.¡±

    I pull her bandanna up over her nose and take mine out.

    By the time the group notices us approaching, Witch-Hazel already has her gun out and pointed at the one I told her to. Someone tries to press me, but I take my gun out and point it at his face.

    They all sit down.

    The music is still blasting, and no one on the dance floor has noticed this VIP SECTION getting robbed.

    ¡°You know what this is,¡± Hazel says with a scary voice. She must be using magic because she sounds like a demon. ¡°Hand over your gun.¡±

    The man she¡¯s holding up scrunches his face in frustration, but hands it over. Hazel tosses it to me, a good move.

    ¡°Y¡¯all know the drill, phones, wallets, and jewelry!¡± I yell over the music.

    ¡°You heard the lady! Hand them over!¡±

    Hazel¡¯s demonic voice scares them all. A couple of the ladies start crying.

    We collect their things with little resistance. Hazel makes sure to alternate her focus on everyone, so no one tries to get her from behind. If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d say she¡¯d done this before. Everything¡¯s deposited in her pockets, except the one we¡¯re here for.

    Does he know this is just for him?

    Before I turn on him, Hazel does.

    ¡°Are you fucking deaf? Phones, wallets, and jewelry, NOW!¡± Her voice shakes even me. The target tries to maintain his cool.

    ¡°You ain¡¯t getting nothing from me, you got enough.¡±

    I know I should intervene, just straight up take it from him; but I¡¯m curious how Hazel is gonna handle this. She steps closer to him.

    ¡°You know what you are right now? Not where, or who, but what you are?¡±

    ¡°I-¡± She doesn¡¯t let him finish.

    ¡°You¡¯re an obstacle in my path. That¡¯s all you¡¯ve ever been. Your entire fucking life, all that shit you did? It didn¡¯t matter because it was all for this moment, right now; when you and I met. Now you have a chance to make a choice that counts. I¡¯m getting your valuables, no matter what. So ask yourself if I have to shoot you to get them. Ask yourself: is your pride worth your life?¡±

    The cool facade he tried to build crumbles as Hazel puts the gun against his forehead.

    ¡°And ask yourself quickly, I¡¯m not very patient.¡± She pulls back the hammer. He pulls out his wallet, removes his watch, takes off his chain, and hands over our true objective: the phone. ¡°Good choice.¡±

    With all their valuables, Hazel tucks her gun away, and I cover our escape by aiming at the group as we leave. Hazel intuits my next move and pulls the fire alarm.

    I put my gun away, and we disappear into the panicked crowd.

    ????

    We burst out through the back door with dozens of people fleeing. Holly pulls my arm, and we head into an alley. She moves us behind a dumpster and peeks out. I steal a glance to see the people we just robbed run out and search for us in the dispersing crowd. Enraged that they can¡¯t find us, they start yelling at each other.

    A loud crack booms in the sky, getting everyone¡¯s attention. Seconds later, fat, cold raindrops pour down on the city. The crowd and the target¡¯s group run for cover elsewhere.

    ¡°We¡¯re clear,¡± Holly says. We both stand up from behind the dumpster. I follow the assassin for a couple steps when she stops. She sniffs the air and then laughs.

    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡±

    She turns to me and I see that dazzling face of hers, wide with a smile.

    ¡°This is what your hair smells like to me,¡± she answers. ¡°Not the garbage, but the rain after a heatwave.¡±

    Gods and Goddesses, she¡¯s so cute.

    I feel lightheaded.

    ??????

    For the second time today, Hazel pounces on me with a kiss. With rain pouring on us, she cups my face, and tiny sips of water wet our lips.

    ????

    Holly presses back into the kiss, then presses me against a wall, a chuckle leaves my mouth before she kisses me again.

    ??????

    I get lost in the ecstasy of our embrace, caught up in the rhythm of our kisses; when Hazel grabs me by the hips. An involuntary gasp rises from me, and the witch turns us both around. She has me pinned against something that¡¯s at thigh height. I don¡¯t even think before I move to sit on whatever it is.

    She moves in between my legs.

    With our clothes soaked and how warm our bodies are; we might as well be naked right now. I feel Hazel¡¯s excitement poking through her shirt as our chests meet in our ever-closer embrace.

    ????

    My hands are insatiable, continually feeling the powerful thighs of the woman I love. I grip those muscles like my life depends on it. Her hands pull me closer by my waist before traveling down to my ass.

    Holly kisses my neck and gives me a spirited squeeze.

    ??????

    Hazel draws my tongue out of my mouth with hers and then sucks on the muscle while looking me right in the eyes.

    Ooooh fuck.

    I wouldn¡¯t need this rain to be soaked after that.

    Hazel holds eye contact with me as we try to catch our breath. The witch¡¯s skin is steaming in the rain, where her body meets mine intense warmth radiates into me.

    When our breathing is steady, she says to me,

    ????

    ¡°Hollyhock, I think you¡¯re the most beautiful woman in existence,¡± the words fly out my mouth, not that I wanted to stop them.

    She scoffs a bit.

    ¡°I guess you can¡¯t see your reflection in my eyes,¡± Holly tries to joke.

    My hand gets rid of the glamour spell hiding her scar, she notices. I move closer so she can feel my words. Looking into her enrapturing smoky quartz eyes, I vow,

    ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡±

    ??????

    Growing up on the street, I¡¯m more than acquainted with hunger. I know what it feels like, and what it looks like.

    The look Hazel is giving me goes beyond hunger. Beyond desperation. She has the look of someone poisoned, who knows there¡¯s only one thing they need right now.

    And I¡¯m her antidote.

    I swallow hard, trying not to say what I want, but fail as I hear myself ask,

    ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Holly, yes,¡± Hazel answers with no hesitation. My legs disobey my orders as they open slightly more.

    I know that I¡¯m supposed to end this. That us getting closer will ultimately lead to Hazel¡¯s heart being shattered. She doesn¡¯t deserve that weight, the pain my death would cause her. I have to spare her.

    Those gray eyes of hers stare into mine without blinking to show her resolve in her confession.

    I have to save her.

    I have to right now. Say it!

    ¡°Kiss me again.¡±

    She fulfills my desire.

    Ch. 30 End.

 "Havent Flinched/In Too Deep"

    The rain continues to pour on Witch-Hazel and I. We paused our make out session, allowing me to actually use my brain. It¡¯s clear that my body cannot handle being near Hazel. Any decision about her that I make goes out the window as soon as our bodies meet.

    The fact that it feels amazing doesn¡¯t help. We¡¯re walking back to the car, but I¡¯m thinking about grabbing her right here and now. She keeps a neutral expression, but I know she¡¯s thinking something similar.

    ¡°How will this sleeper sorcerer agent thing work, exactly?¡± I ask, trying to subvert my more carnal thoughts.

    ¡°I already explained it.¡±

    ¡°No, I mean, how are you going to get grown adults to blend into a society they¡¯ve never been a part of; and more importantly, how are you going to make identities for them?¡±

    ¡°Uhh,¡± is what she offers as a response.

    ¡°You¡¯ll need birth certificates, social security numbers, or whatever identity thing the country you¡¯re gonna go to uses. You need a backstopper,¡± I elaborate.

    ¡°What¡¯s a birth certificate?¡± She asks.

    ¡°It¡¯s exactly what it sounds like, it¡¯s a document to show you were born.¡±

    ¡°The fact that you''re alive isn¡¯t enough proof?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a little more complicated than that, but I see your point.¡±

    ¡°I was thinking we would start in smaller, isolated towns,¡± Hazel continues. I shake my head.

    ¡°Even little villages have internet and smartphones now. You can¡¯t just pop up there and not expect someone to try and check your magicians. Unless you were planning on brainwashing them all.¡±

    We both stop walking when we hear bursts of gunshots fly out into the rapidly darkening night.

    ¡°The magical term is called ¡®glamouring¡¯.¡± Witch-Hazel counters. I think she¡¯s gotten too used to gunfire.

    ¡°Whatever. My point still stands, you need identities. How are you gonna do that?¡±

    Witch-Hazel holds her chin in thought. We approach the car and I remember I left the top down. We peek into the lake forming in the vehicle.

    If it weren¡¯t the nearly divine game of tongue tag I just played with Hazel, I¡¯d probably be really pissed off. I sigh, somewhat annoyed at the sight.

    ¡°Get some fish, and you have a solid pond,¡± Hazel observes.

    ¡°Ha,¡± is all I offer as my phone starts to ring. Swiping to answer is hard with the downpour going on. ¡°Hello?¡±

    ¡°Holly, where are you?¡± the voice of Tamara asks. I answer her. ¡°Good, you¡¯re nearby.¡± An explosion comes from her side of the call, Hazel and I hear it from outside. ¡°I¡¯m assuming you heard that?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, what¡¯s happening?¡±

    ¡°All-out gang-war. Too many to name. We¡¯re huddling up, get over to Dahlia street, ASAP!¡±

    ¡°Understood.¡±

    I end the call and look at the car once more.

    ¡°We¡¯re running, c¡¯mon.¡±

    ¡°I need the exercise anyway.¡±

    It¡¯s a three-minute run to the meetup, light work. But Hazel is gasping for air when we spot the others.

    ¡°You good?¡±

    She nods.

    ¡°I¡­really¡­need¡­to run more.¡±

    I notice Tamara and Koki¡¯O first, but other Bay Leaves are making their way over. We¡¯re meeting at an old castle courtyard turned train station. It¡¯s weird seeing battlements with billboards under them, polished red bricks next to steel tracks. But since public transportation in this city has always been dogshit, this spot would¡¯ve been empty even if it wasn¡¯t for the rain. As we gather together, Tamara opens her mouth to say something when she looks at what I¡¯m wearing. She scans me up and down.

    ¡°Now, I¡¯ve seen everything,¡± she notes.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you have an organization to run?¡± I reply. She laughs a bit as Hazel points to herself as the reason why I¡¯m dressed like this.

    Koki¡¯O has a similar reaction to my state of dress.

    ¡°Hell must be frozen right now,¡± she says.

    ¡°Tamara already said something like that,¡± I inform her. Koki¡¯O turns to the woman in question. Tamara gives an indecipherable look. The omnipresent sunny attitude of Koki¡¯O doesn¡¯t reach her as she turns from her without so much as a smile. If Tamara is at all hurt or disappointed by that, she makes no indication of it.

    Koki¡¯O is still mad at Tamara? What the hell is going on with them?

    I¡¯d rather take another bullet to the head than walk into that particular minefield, so I keep my question to myself.

    Most of the Bay Leaves arrive in short order. Kadupul walks up with her arm in a sling.

    ¡°What happened to you?¡± Hazel asks.

    ¡°Torn labrum from a dislocated shoulder,¡± she answers matter-of-factly. ¡°Need surgery.¡±

    ¡°I can fix that for you if you want,¡± Hazel offers. Kadupul scoffs,

    ¡°Sure, go ahead,¡± she replies while she shakes her head with disbelief. Hazel moves behind her, placing one hand on her free shoulder as the other hovers over the fucked up one. Witch-Hazel stares at Kadupul¡¯s shoulder as if she can actually see the damaged muscle.

    In the darkness of the storm, I hope no one sees the purple smoke that comes from her hand as she presses against Kadupul¡¯s shoulder. My fellow Bay Leaf squirms in pain for a second, then relief. She rolls her shoulder with ease several times.

    ¡°Holy shit, that¡¯s way better!¡± She rolls her shoulder faster, moving it in all directions. ¡°How did you do that?¡±

    ¡°Trade secret,¡± is all Hazel offers. Kadupul hugs her all the same.

    ¡°Seems you¡¯re out of a job, Digit,¡± Koki¡¯O says.

    ¡°Oh yeah, now I¡¯ll just be y¡¯all¡¯s tattoo artist, weaponsmith, and tech support.¡±

    ¡°Enough miracles, listen up,¡± Tamara demands. Everyone, including Hazel, turns to her. ¡°That gunfire we¡¯re hearing is an active gang war. Nothing new in this city, sure, but the number of parties involved is cause for alarm. The Rumexs, Sumacs, Purlanes, Wild Vi¡¯s, and who else?¡± She asks Koki¡¯O.

    ¡°The Najas, Vincas, and Tridaxs,¡± she answers without looking at her. Tamara ignores that fact.

    ¡°So, obviously, we¡¯ve had a lot of skin in these recent shootouts. But with these groups going directly at one another, I don¡¯t want any of you shooting at each other. I called you all here to make a plan.¡±

    Murmurs sound out from my fellow assassins. We¡¯ve never had an open plan meeting. Tamara and Koki¡¯O always come up with ideas, so things must be messy for them to do this.

    ¡°You can all speak up, who should we back in this turf war? The best way to keep you all safe is if we¡¯re fighting the same fight. Who do you all think will win this?¡±

    ????

    Hollyhock tenses her shoulders and is the first to say something.

    ¡°Why should we give a fuck about any of them?¡± She inquires. With that, she quickly grabs everyone''s attention. ¡°If they want to shoot each other for who run the drug game next, let them. But the cops aren¡¯t gonna step in, and people will die in the crossfire. We need to make sure we contain them to where no one else gets hurt.¡±

    For a split second, I wonder why they¡¯d care about that. But her fellow Bay Leaves begin rumbling their agreements with her.

    ¡°You think we should stick our neck for the people?¡± Tamara asks incredulously.

    ¡°There¡¯s always going to be another gang that¡¯ll need us. But do we want them to think we¡¯re just for-hire shooters, or do we want them to know who really runs this city? We can put them all in their place so we don¡¯t get another DeadNettles situation ever again.¡±

    That seems to please Tamara. Seeing their leader pleased, the other assassins more confidently support Hollyhock¡¯s proposal. I look around at all of them. Even with this dark storm pouring down on us, they all to light up at her suggestion.

    ¡°Guess we¡¯re in agreement: we get to work to rescuing civilians and pushing the battle out of populated areas. Anyone gives tries to fight back, do what we do best,¡± Tamara orders. Everyone unanimously confirms the plan. Koki¡¯O starts divvying out assignments to people, and Tamara makes groups for bigger tasks. The copper haired woman looks at me like I¡¯m a puzzle to solve.

    ¡°Hazel, this is going to get pretty bloody, pretty quickly, I might add. We¡¯re going to go about this is a much different than we handled things before,¡± she informs me. ¡°You might want to sit this one out.¡± Eyes turn to see my reaction. I don¡¯t hesitate to answer with,

    ¡°I haven¡¯t flinched yet.¡±

    Tamara rises an eyebrow in surprise.

    ¡°I like this one,¡± she says to Holly who, in this moment, refuses to look at me. ¡°Stick close to Hollyhock, and do as she says. Understand?¡± I nod. ¡°Good, you two head over to Aster Avenue, something is popping off over there. EVERYONE!¡±

    All the Bay Leaves look to their leader for what she¡¯s about to say.

    ¡°BLITZ!¡± She commands. They all nod and start running off to their assignments. Holly is about to move when Koki¡¯O stops her.

    ¡°Wait a sec, here.¡± She sheds her jacket and drapes it over Hollyhock. Given their significant difference in size, the sleeves overtake her hands. ¡°Pomaikia¡¯i¡±

    Hollyhock turns to wherever we¡¯re headed next, I follow behind as best as I can.

    ¡°What does ¡®blitz¡¯ mean?¡± I ask, a bad idea while I¡¯m running.

    ¡°It means we don¡¯t ask twice, we do this as fast as possible. There¡¯s a lot to be done in a little amount of time,¡± she explains. We round a corner. ¡°Is this dress bulletproof?¡±

    ¡°It can be, with a little magic.¡±

    ¡°Then here, take this.¡± Without breaking stride, Holly takes off the jacket Koki¡¯O gave her and gives it to me. ¡°Don¡¯t take this off, understand?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I comply. The jacket engulfs my torso, its weight almost makes me topple over. Not all of it is from whatever chemical process the Bay Leaves put their clothes through, but the things in the pockets. I feel a knife and a gun, among other things.

    Hollyhock takes her gun out of her bag and checks it, still not slowing down.

    After another torturous stretch of running, we stop at an alleyway. I¡¯m desperate for air, as Hollyhock is collected as she ever is. In the alleyway some people can be heard, someone¡¯s groaning in pain, someone else is laughing.

    ¡°Magic up this dress,¡± Holly says softly. Parsing her meaning through context, I grab hold of the dress and surge a pulse of my magic throughout it. Holly, without testing it in some way, trusts I did it, and steps into the alley. I follow to see the scene. Three people are standing, cruelly smiling at a hurt person on the floor. The person in question is bleeding from their leg. From what I can tell, it isn¡¯t a major artery that got hit.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Hollyhock focuses on those standing, the one with a knife in particular. They all have some shade of red in their outfits. She spares a glance at the person, surmises they¡¯re an innocent person, and looks back to the others.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you Rumexs have something better to be doing right now?¡±

    ¡°Who the fuck do you think you¡¯re talking to?¡±

    Hollyhock rips off the chameleon patch from her shoulder, revealing her Bay Leaf tattoo. The unarmed Rumex move back a little, I go to help the injured person. I focus on stopping the bleeding, tearing some of my shirt to make a tourniquet. This would be much easier with magic, but the basics of first aid are essential. I take the length of fabric and tie it tight above the stab wound. There isn¡¯t much bleeding, so they¡¯ll be fine. I look at the victim¡¯s face and see a scared young man looking back at me.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be okay, it looks worse than it is. Let¡¯s get up.¡± I sling his arm over my shoulder to help him stand. The Rumexs look at us but don¡¯t move since Hollyhock stands between us.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be used to a little blood by now?¡± the knife wielder asks. Holly doesn¡¯t respond, choosing to walk to him. As they get close, he jabs with the blade but Holly ducks and punches him in the stomach. The impact is so great that he drops the knife. Holly doesn¡¯t stop for a second as she backflips, landing a kick to his chin with her right heel. He falls back, crashing onto the ground, and she still doesn¡¯t relent; she jumps up high, grabs the top of her feet to bend her knees.

    By the time he realizes what¡¯s about to happen, it¡¯s too late to do anything about it, as the assassin weaponizes gravity to drive both her knees into his chest.

    A loud, and sickening CRUNCH is released from his rib cage. The remaining Rumexs, understandably, recoil at the sight. Holly gets off him and approaches the others. The man she just pulverized curls and turns to his side, clutching his traumatized chest.

    The last two look at each other to decide what to do. Holly doesn¡¯t allow them much option but to fight as she gets closer. The woman on her right tries to swing at her, but she easily dodgers the blow. In one smooth motion, she trips the Rumex and brings her elbow into the side of her head so she falls to the ground with violent speed. The last one retreats as Holly closes in. Seeing no other recourse, he tries to punch her. She deflects, shoving his arm to the side and turning his whole body. Holly grabs the back of his head and slams his face into the wall. He falls like a sack of bricks.

    Less than thirty seconds, and she took them all out. Hollyhock turns to face us,

    ¡°You good, kid?¡± she asks him. He nods rapidly. She takes the wallet from the last guy she knocked out and walks over to us. The woman she slammed into the ground groans as she tries to get up. Hollyhock grabs her left ankle and lifts it up. ¡°You should get medical attention,¡± she informs her. With that, Hollyhock slams her foot into the side of the woman¡¯s knee, breaking it. She yells out in pain and clutches her leg. Holly ignores this as she takes her wallet also. She grabs the last one from the man with the crushed chest.

    She quickly takes out some of the money from the pilfered wallets and hands it to the young man I helped.

    ¡°Should help cover expenses, can you walk?¡± Again, he nods over and over. ¡°Take the money, and don¡¯t mention this to anyone, okay? Call for an ambulance somewhere else.¡± Reluctantly, he takes the money and stumbles off.

    ¡°Come on, we have more to do.¡± I follow close behind her. We walk in silence before I have to say,

    ¡°Is it weird I thought that was the sexiest thing you¡¯ve ever done?¡± She shakes her head.

    ¡°J-just¡­ let¡¯s focus, aight? We¡¯re on the job here.¡± She turns away, hiding an embarrassed smirk that I want to see.

    We hear gunfire nearby and Holly moves her arm to cover me, despite the fact she¡¯s the least covered. She looks around for the source and spies something down the block. Some people are engaged in a shootout in the middle of a street; using cars that have people in them as cover. Holly looks me in the eyes.

    ¡°Stay low and out of sight, got it?¡±

    ¡°Copy.¡± She nods and we move closer. At this distance, I can see a family is in one of the cars, terrified at the situation.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to draw their attention, you get these people out of there, understand?¡±

    Part of me wants to fight to disagree and stay close to her, but I know saving the people matters more.

    ¡°Yes, I hear you.¡±

    ??????

    I take my pistol out and shoot at the headlight of a car where two Najas cover behind. They jump back and move away. I shoot out the tire from the car with the family inside. The Rumexs using it as cover back up from it. The people inside scream more. Both gangs, seeing each other out of cover, take aim at one another. I shoot faster, putting a bullet through the neck of a Naja. They fall, holding their spilling blood. That gets the attention of both groups as I run around a corner.

    Their bullets harmlessly fly past me as I crouch down. I hear them coming towards me. Hopefully Hazel is getting the people out.

    One of them gets closer to me and I ready my next shot. They¡¯re expecting me to be further away, not crouched right at the corner. As soon as I see them, I shoot out both knees. Before they fall over, I catch them with my forearm across their chest. I don¡¯t bother dedicating any brainpower to analyzing their face as I put a bullet through it. Their body goes slack, and I fling it to the side as more of them come after me. I¡¯m about to duck into an open door when I see people coming out. I slam the door on them.

    ¡°STAY INSIDE! IT¡¯S-¡± I¡¯m interrupted by a bullet trying to punch itself through my chest. The dress stops the inertia before it pierces skin, still hurts though. I jump to the side and roll in the street before more bullets find the exposed parts of me. They miss their shots as I slid across wet asphalt. I manage to gain some control over my slide and put two shots through the chest of an unfortunate Rumex. The others take aim at me, but I backflip over an incoming car and disappear into an alley.

    ¡°This dress is dope¡­ I hope Hazel didn¡¯t hear me say that.¡±

    I refocus on the task at hand. My adversaries make their way across the street to me. I duck behind a dumpster and wait for them. Seems I¡¯ve created a temporary truce as the rival gang members search for me together. Though, I¡¯m sure given the chance to shoot the other in the back. They get closer, further into the alley, and I prepare myself. They approach the dumpster and I vault over. I shoot one of them in the shoulder right as I arc towards the other one.

    They try to shoot me in the head, but I¡¯ve already experienced that and didn¡¯t like it. I tilt my head out of the way, keeping all of my face this time. I tackle them and pull their arm over my shoulder as we roll on the ground. The Naja I just shot tries to unload into me, thankfully my human shield takes the bullets for me. Without looking, I calculate, aim where they should be and pull the trigger. A second later, I hear a body hit the floor.

    Shoving my cover off me, I stand up to confirm the kill with my gun in hand. I spy the corpse I made.

    ¡°Right between the eyebrows, damn, I¡¯m good,¡± I say to no one. Or so I think as a familiar sound behind me. The hammer of a gun is pulled down.

    ¡°That was some action movie shit, but this is where the credits roll for you.¡±

    Did I really miss one? I must¡¯ve been too focused on the family to properly count them.

    A ball of frustration rolls into my chest at this situation. With the downpour of rain, I can¡¯t get a good beat d on whoever has a gun on me. If they¡¯re smart, they¡¯re at least four feet from me, that way if I move quickly, they can still get a shot on me. If they¡¯re dumb, they¡¯ll have the gun two inches from my head.

    I can¡¯t risk it.

    ¡°Drop that gun,¡± they command. Paying better attention, it sounds like they¡¯ve got some distance from me.

    Shit.

    Another gun is cocked, and the familiar voice of Hazel says,

    ¡°How ¡®bout you drop yours?¡±

    I turn to see the witch holding a pistol at my almost killer. She¡¯s standing three feet away. Smart. The man holding a gun to my head slowly turns, a shit-eating smirk on his face. I grab the gun from his hand. He looks Hazel up and down.

    ¡°Maybe we can work something out,¡± he offers. ¡°You¡¯re not repping any colors I recognize. Maybe you don¡¯t know who she¡± he nods at me, ¡°runs with.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fully aware of who she is,¡± Hazel replies. I¡¯m about to take over the situation when I realize that isn¡¯t the unloaded gun I gave her earlier. It must be one of Koki¡¯O¡¯s. Which means it¡¯s loaded.

    Hazel turns the safety off. This man still retains his cool. Her face is the picture definition of rage.

    ¡°Look, I can tell you¡¯re someone that likes to use rare opportunities. Getting to kill a Bay Leaf? That¡¯s like winning a lotto ticket for rep! You and me, we see chances like this, and we don¡¯t let them slip away.¡±

    ¡°We might be similar in that sense,¡± Hazel admits. ¡°But you know the big difference between you and me?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± He asks, confidence plummeting as he looks into her gray eyes.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have a bullet in my brain.¡±

    I practically see it all in slow motion; Hazel doesn¡¯t break eye contact with the man as she pulls the trigger. A flash of light and smoke as the bullet seeks out its target. It burrows a hole through his skull and in an instant he¡¯s gone. Dead before he hits the floor.

    I look at Hazel, to see her looking at her hand.

    The Necromancer was one thing; they were a threat to her city, her whole way of life. Killing them was necessary. But this? This was a non-magical human. Who knew nothing of magic, and now, never will. Killing him was something else entirely. She didn¡¯t do that for IronHenge.

    She killed him¡­ for me.

    Hazel is still looking at the hand that just took a life. I¡¯m sure she¡¯s feeling remorse, disgust, dread, all mixed into one horrible mess of emotions.

    ¡°Shooting a gun hurts your wrist!¡± She says after a moment. Casually switching the gun to her other hand, she rotates her wrist around. I watch in silence for a few seconds, but the turmoil I expected to see never arises on her face.

    ¡°Hazel,¡± I didn¡¯t think of anything to say besides stating the obvious, ¡°you killed him.¡±

    She points those concrete gray eyes at me. Still no signs of regret find home in her beautiful face.

    ¡°The choice was him or you. I chose you. I¡¯d always choose you, Holly.¡±

    Shivers roll down my spine.

    ¡°Should I not have? Killed him, I mean.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I reply. ¡°He had another strap tucked away. He would¡¯ve shot you or me the first chance he got. It¡¯s just¡­¡±

    ¡°Just what?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± I struggle to find the words I need to put this in the best possible way. It has to be perfect. Hazel narrows her eyes at me, conceivably sensing my turmoil.

    ¡°Holly, you risked your life, and sanity, by fighting to help keep my Arcanium safe. People you¡¯ve never met,¡± she says while getting closer, stepping over the corpse she made.

    ¡°I did that for you,¡± I admit. Even with this relentless rain pouring on me, my throat feels dry.

    ¡°So it¡¯s only fair that I fight for your city and its people,¡± Hazel continues. She produces a small smile. ¡°It¡¯s not that complicated.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not, huh?¡± She shakes her head.

    ¡°When I¡¯m with you, things seem much simpler.¡±

    I sniff.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure that won¡¯t last long, we still have more work to do. C¡¯mon.¡± I exit the alley and Hazel follows close behind.

    ¡°Did you get the families out there?¡± I ask her.

    ¡°You told me to, so I did,¡± she answers.

    ¡°Thank you. But we have a long night ahead of us. Pace yourself.¡±

    My initial estimate of how long this would was accurate, the hours dwindle away into the night as we stomp out skirmishes and force the conflicts to less populated areas of the city. It¡¯s surprising, given the torrential rain, that anyone wants to still be out on the streets, let alone fight.

    Once we put out the proverbial fires, we all reconvene at the train station, where everyone else looks as exhausted as I feel. I don¡¯t know how, but word that Hazel killed someone for me got out; she quickly becomes the woman of the hour.

    My fellow Bay Leaves cheer for her as we walk to Tamara.

    Tamara finishes up with someone as we approach.

    ¡°So,¡± she says.

    ¡°So?¡± I reply, while moving wet hair from my face.

    ¡°Heard someone needed a little protecting tonight.¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t even like that,¡± I try to point out.

    ¡°She¡¯s done so much for me, it¡¯s only right I do something for her,¡± Hazel says.

    ¡°Seems I owe you another one, Hazel.¡±

    ¡°Actually, I could use your help with something,¡± Hazel requests.

    ¡°If it¡¯s within my power, I¡¯ll see it done.¡±

    ¡°GIVE HER A MILLION DOLLARS!¡± Kadupul shouts as she saunters over. She throws her arm over Hazel¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re an angel sent from above, Hazel. Holly¡¯s been keeping you to herself all this time. Come hang out with us!¡±  She pulls her to the side. Hazel gives me an inquisitive look. I give her a thumbs up, and they go off. My eyes follow them for a moment before I give my attention back to Tamara, who¡¯s surprisingly also looking at Hazel.

    ¡°What¡¯s the favor she needs?¡±

    ¡°She¡­needs a backstopper. IDs, birth certificates, all that.¡± I briefly think about the birth certificate that was used for me. A baby girl named Coral Bell that died the very same day she was born. I sniff again.

    ¡°Multiple? What for?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s-¡±

    ¡°Complicated,¡± she surmises.

    ¡°... Yeah.¡±

    ¡°For here or elsewhere?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. She¡¯ll give you the details later.¡±

    We both watch her in silence for a while. She¡¯s talking with Larkspur and Kadupul. They¡¯re under a walkway to hide from the rain. Kadupul lights a spliff and hands it to Hazel after taking a small pull. Hazel doesn¡¯t hesitate and takes a long pull from it, drawing a cheer from them both.

    I¡¯m sure to Hazel whatever¡¯s in there is like smoking a dandelion.

    ¡°I like her,¡± Tamara idly says. ¡°What do you think of her?¡±

    What¡¯s with all the left field questions?

    ¡°I think I pulled her in too deep,¡± I answer. Tamara scoffs, annoyed.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot, Hollyhock.¡±

    I¡¯m unable to contain my irritation as I turn to her.

    ¡°What is that supposed to mean?¡± My voice is laced with animosity.

    ¡°Do you really think you can make her do something she wasn¡¯t already capable of?¡±

    Tamara raises an excellent point that pisses me off even more. Hazel doesn¡¯t exactly have an aversion to blood. Her anger completely transforms her. It¡¯s honestly, a little terrifying.

    Still, her time with me can¡¯t be absolved of any sort of influence. Maybe if we never met, she¡¯d never kill anyone ever. The shadows I operate in are spreading to cover her, too.

    Tamara, detecting my inner turmoil and irked by it, rolls her eyes.

    ¡°If she gets me some solid details, I¡¯ll get her the IDs and such. Let me know when she gets them. I got some more to do.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± I reply. She walks away to do whatever it is she has to deal with. I look to Hazel.

    I start to shiver again.

    Ch. 31 End.

 "Same Old/Back At It"

    Turns out, fighting in the cold rain for hours can make you sick. Even after a hot shower and a change of clothes; I¡¯m shivering nonstop as Witch-Hazel sits pretty on my couch. She hasn¡¯t changed out of the clothes I picked for her either, but they¡¯re dry.

    My orange hoodie and black sweatpants do their best to keep me warm, but an unshakable cold permeates me to my core. Every inch of my skin feels raw as the very air assaults my being.

    Hazel offers a small smile as I stand before her.

    ¡°Do you have a nasty potion or something to drink that¡¯ll cure me?¡± I ask, since it turns out I don¡¯t have any cold medicine.

    ¡°No,¡± she quickly answers.

    ¡°Can you heal me with your magic?¡±

    ¡°No, I can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°¡­ Are you forreal?¡±

    ¡°I deadass can¡¯t heal your cold,¡± she adds.

    ¡°Hazel, if you¡¯re messing with me right now, I won¡¯t be happy.¡±

    ¡°You see, with something this, I¡¯d be messing with your body¡¯s immune response and-¡±

    ¡°Alright, I get it,¡± I cut her off before she launches into a whole explanation. ¡°I¡¯ll just sit, shiver, and suffer.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep you warm,¡± she offers with her arms stretched out.

    Her smile grows wider.

    I¡¯m sick. I¡¯m tired.

    I¡¯m too sick to stick to my decision about Hazel.

    I¡¯m too tired to walk away from the warm sanctuary she promises in her arms.

    Part of me wants to be too proud to sit in her lap, to let her hold me. But a bigger, hungrier, part of me wants that closeness more than anything.

    That side of me wins as I ease myself onto the couch, between Hazel¡¯s legs, between her arms.

    My pride manifests in a small way as I grumble,

    ¡°Stupid magic can¡¯t even cure a cold.¡±

    ¡°Trust me, previous attempts have resulted in disastrous results,¡± she tries to assure me.

    ¡°Uh huh.¡±

    Hazel waves her hand and a second later, a sheet from my bed floats over to cover us.

    ¡°That¡¯s not changing my mind.¡±

    As Hazel wraps her arms around me, her body warms up as if she¡¯s a space heater. In defiance of the vulnerability of my skin, Hazel¡¯s hands glide gently over me without so much an ounce of discomfort. Her affection radiates throughout my whole body, chasing away the chill.

    I can¡¯t help but think about the last time, if ever, I¡¯ve been held like this. Years of memories pop up in my mind, but nothing matches until the night Tamara and Koki¡¯O found me and-

    No.

    I won¡¯t think about that little girl.

    That nameless child isn¡¯t me. She¡¯s gone. Has been for a long time.

    Grown ass woman that I am, I grab the remote and turn on a show I¡¯ve been meaning to catch up on. I make it twenty seconds into the intro before my eyelids feel like lead. Hazel holds me closer, and despite knowing better, I hold onto her hands.

    I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever been so cozy, so warm, so-

    ????

    Holly falls asleep in my arms. I kiss the scar on her cheek and whisper in her ear,

    ¡°Sweet dreams.¡±

    I turn from the show she put on, something about castles and knights. Being back in IronHenge, I forgot how much I like TV. I search for the show I was watching before and scan through the episodes to remind myself where I was.

    Which one was it?

    Once I find it, I snuggle Hollyhock closer and catch up on my show.

    As my arm falls asleep under the weight of the woman I¡¯m holding, I grow concerned once again. Even though I feel and hear her heart beating in her chest, the absolute stillness of her body is always disconcerting.

    Who stays perfectly still when they sleep? Her chest barely moves with her breath. She¡¯s like a corpse.

    I move my free hand in front of her mouth to see if she is, in fact, breathing. A small puff of air touches my palm.

    Satisfied with that, I put my hand back around her waist. I get a delightful surprise when Holly pulls my hand closer around herself while still sleeping.

    I watch my show as long as my eyes can stay open. Eventually, sleep comes and takes me to a dream where Hollyhock and I sit in an endless sea of green grass. The woman I imagine has her arm resting on her raised knee. Though she is dressed casually, her body language suggests she is tense; clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. She isn¡¯t looking at me, but at something in the infinite distance. Every which way I look, I don¡¯t see anything but grass.

    Then I see it, it¡¯s small at first, but it gorges itself on the grass and advances rapidly. A ravenous fire spreads across the horizon to eat its way here. Faster than I can blink, it moves to encircle us. My body can¡¯t move, no matter how much I will it to. I call out to Hollyhock as the fire gets closer and louder. The strain in my throat as I scream her name feels real, but she doesn¡¯t respond. Whether she can¡¯t hear me or is just ignoring me is unclear, but she doesn¡¯t move a muscle as the fire moves ever closer. The heat it gives off is immense, threatening to scorch our skin before the flames can even reach us.

    Still, she doesn¡¯t move. Hollyhock stares at the fire and just curls her hand into a fist as it gets closer.

    I gasp awake, pulled from my dream before the worst happens.

    Safe in her home, with her in my arms.

    Speaking of which, my arm and leg tingle from paresthesia. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve had someone sleep on me like this before.

    Can I squeeze out from under her?

    I try in vain to wiggle out but surrender to my position. Holly must be really unwell, since she usually wakes up before me or at the smallest noise. She¡¯s still as a corpse still.

    The TV asks if I¡¯m still watching, I go back to the episode I dozed off on. A few minutes later, the scratchy voice of Hollyhock says,

    ¡°Is this the new season? Turn from this, I¡¯m not caught up.¡± She stoically sits up straight and rubs her temple. ¡°Had a weird dream about you, which is extra weird cuz I usually don¡¯t dream. Or remember them, whatever.¡±

    ¡°I had a dream about you too.¡±

    ¡°Did your dreaming bleed into my head?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think dreams work that way.¡± Holly waves a hand in dismissal.

    ¡°Ehhh, what do you know about dreams?¡±

    ¡°What was your dream about?¡± I ask her.

    ¡°You were a robot or something, and we were looking for a gear or an engine? I don¡¯t know.¡± Hollyhock lacks the usual vigor she possesses after she wakes up. It¡¯s strange seeing her so drained.

    ¡°My dream had no robots in it, so that¡¯s all you.¡±

    ¡°Mhmm¡­my head hurts.¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t eaten, I¡¯ll make you something.¡±

    ??????

    As Hazel gets up, I fight the urge to ask her to stay by me. She stands, taking her warmth with her, and I bear with it. The sheet I wrap myself in is a poor replacement.

    ¡°You know how to cook?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve mastered a litany of potions, elixirs, droughts, and poultices. What is cooking, if not the simpler version of potion brewing?¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t say making a beer is the same as making a casserole, but whatever.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Hazel goes over to my fridge and scans the contents before she makes a decision.

    The chill ekes back into my body and I shiver again.

    ¡°When was the last time you were sick?¡± She asks while preparing something.

    ¡°It¡¯s been a while¡­ I think it was the same day I found out I like women.¡±

    ¡°Oh, now I have to hear this story.¡±

    ????

    ¡°This was when I was still living on the streets. Before the Bay Leaves. Before I had a name. I was dumpster diving; looking for food in the garbage, always fun.¡± She sneezes. ¡°I was going to pick through this one dumpster when I saw that it was under an open window. Music was blasting from inside. I climbed up on the dumpster and squeezed through, fell into a bathroom. Turns out I wandered into a strip club, sexy women shaking ass in thongs on stages to fast music. Flipped a switch in my brain right then and there.¡± Holly coughs. ¡°Couldn¡¯t stay long, as a dirty kid in a strip club quickly catches attention. Bouncer threw me out, and I fell on my face, broke my front tooth.¡±

    ¡°... That¡¯s not how I expected that story to go.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s how every story of my life goes, Hazel.¡± Holly sniffles. ¡°Up to, and including, right now.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough, but what does that have to do with you getting sick?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I went back to the dumpster and ate some bad fish. Genuinely thought I was gonna die. I still can¡¯t stand the smell of fish to this day.¡±

    ¡°But a good fish meal can really-¡±

    ¡°Stop, I¡¯m gonna throw up.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll keep your dietary restriction in mind.¡±

    When she doesn¡¯t respond, I turn to look at and see she fell asleep again. I blow a kiss in her direction and go back to the task at hand. Unwrapping the steak I procured from the fridge, I look around for a mallet.

    ??????

    I wake up to the sound of hammering, but can¡¯t keep my eyes open any longer and blink. When my eyes open, a plate of food is held before me.

    ¡°Did you just magic this up?¡± I ask Hazel.

    ¡°You fell asleep again,¡± she points out.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t I feel rested at all?¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯re exhausted. Sit up.¡±

    I wrestle myself upwards to examine what Hazel offers. Chicken fried steak with gravy, string beans, and rice sits in a lovely display.

    ¡°How do you even know how to cook food like this?¡±

    ¡°You think that IronHenge is so behind that we don¡¯t keep in touch with recipes around the world?¡±

    I shake my head.

    ¡°Never mind, thank you for the food.¡±

    We start eating in silence as Hazel turns on the TV. The food is delicious and being near Hazel is bringing warmth back into me.

    ¡°Has anyone ever told you that you sleep like a corpse? It¡¯s very troubling.¡± Hazel inquires. I nod in response.

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve been told that a couple times. Not sure what anyone wants me to do about it.¡±

    Hazel concedes to my point. ¡°Speaking of corpses. Are you sure you¡¯re okay?¡±

    Hazel gives me a confused look.

    ¡°Okay, about what?¡±

    ¡°Hazel, you killed someone. Unarmed, looking right at him. That had to do something to you.¡±

    She doesn¡¯t reply for a while, but puts her plate down.

    ¡°What did you want me to do, Holly? Let him shoot you?¡±

    ¡°He was disarmed at that point. I could¡¯ve handled it.¡±

    ¡°Him threatening to kill you was enough of a reason to kill him,¡± Hazel asserts. ¡°Like I said before, it was him or you, and I chose you.¡±

    Her stern tone lets me know she doesn¡¯t want to discuss it anymore. I can¡¯t help but think that my influence on her is the cause of this.

    She picks up her plate and continues eating her food.

    What kind of person will she turn into if she keeps spending time with me?

    ????

    What was that about? Why is Holly so up in arms about it? Should I feel bad I killed a man?

    I think having to ask myself that question, is an answer in and of itself.

    But I don¡¯t. And maybe that absence of guilt is a sign of something monstrous, but I know I¡¯m right.

    Why can¡¯t Holly see that?

    She finishes eating her food and curls back up under the sheet.

    ¡°Hate being sick,¡± she mutters. Soon, sleep finds her again.

    I watch her as the moments slip away from me.

    Destiny has put this woman in my path, and tries to keep me from her. Either through use of Arcanium¡¯s established rules, or the actions of others. An iota of doubt makes me think Holly is trying her hand at the same effort.

    Even so, I won¡¯t let this shake me. I decided that I want Hollyhock in my life and nothing will get in the way.

    Not even her.

    A sigh escapes my mouth as I lean back. That thought felt more sinister after a second of self reflection. I shake the discourse from my head.

    I might as well enjoy this time I get outside of IronHenge as much as I can.

    There is little enjoyment to be had with Hollyhock sick; she goes in and out of sleep, shivering and aching. She lets me hold her close and take care of her, but I can¡¯t help but sense a¡­ wall between us.

    It¡¯s not dissimilar to the edge she initially had when we first met, giving me a false name and gauging how much she could trust me. I don¡¯t want to believe it¡¯s going to that degree or, rather, that this is all in my head. Maybe it¡¯s just because she¡¯s sick. That has to be it.

    The day goes by quickly, and I grow annoyingly aware of how much time I have left before I have to go back.

    ¡°Holly, I have to go soon,¡± I say to her as she trudges awake from another nap. ¡°Since I don¡¯t want to push my luck with my new Mentor, it¡¯ll be best if I head back with time to spare.¡±

    Holly just nods at that. I was hoping for more of a reaction, but I¡¯ll let it slide.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to leave you without a little something.¡± I summon a concoction for her. The bottle is triangular with blue glass and a red liquid inside. ¡°Here.¡± I place it on the coffee table. ¡°When you start feeling better, drink half of this. Wait twelve hours, then drink the rest. You¡¯ll be back to your normal self right away.¡±

    She nods again.

    I stand up and get ready to leave when I hear her say,

    ¡°Hazel¡­ Thank you, for taking care of me, seriously.¡±

    ¡°It was my pleasure, Holly.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I pressed you about the guy, I just¡­¡±

    She doesn¡¯t finish the thought, and I¡¯m not sure where she was going with it.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Holly. It¡¯s how you show you care.¡± I teleport out of her home and dissolve into the Leyline.

    Forming back in IronHenge, I feel more revitalized having seen Hollyhock. An air of zen finds itself around me.

    That peace lasts for approximately 15 seconds before Lantana finds me.

    ¡°So, get into any trouble?¡± I shake my head.

    ¡°Same old, same old,¡± I answer.

    ¡°Why do I get the feeling you and I have extremely different definitions of ¡®trouble¡¯?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve gotten to know me for more than a day.¡±

    ¡°In any case, I hope you enjoyed your sabbatical. ¡®Cause now I¡¯m going to work you even harder.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d expect nothing less.¡±

    ??????

    I haunt my home like an achy, shivering, mucus filled ghost. Are ghosts real? Probably, with magic being real and everything. Are werewolves? I¡¯m going to freak myself out if I think about this shit without Hazel to reassure me.

    ¡­

    Dammit, I miss her already. Why can¡¯t I just force my feelings away? That would make this so much simpler.

    A day passes and the ache and shivering have gone away. I look at the drink Hazel gave me, her melodic voice plays in my head, reminding me to only drink half. I carefully pour back the contents of the bottle. It tastes like cherries, which is fitting for its red color. A pleasant warmth circulates in my body as I put it down. I feel it go to the tight spots in my muscles and helps loosen them up.

    ¡°I guess magic isn¡¯t so bad sometimes.¡±

    Feeling better, I chase after some chores. Laundry, dishes, and general cleaning around the place. I reward myself by vegetating on the couch and catching up on my shows. The time comes for me to drink the rest of the potion. I down it and within seconds I feel like my old self.

    I go to throw out the bottle but can¡¯t bring myself to do it. Instead, I wash it and put it in my cupboard. Another admittance of my weakness, but at least this one is easily stowed away behind some coffee mugs.

    Lying down in bed, I¡¯m acutely aware of how empty the space next to me is. I inhale deeply through my nose and a lingering scent of Witch-Hazel enchants my senses.

    The feeling of her lips kissing me slips into my mind, and my body heats up for another reason.

    ????

    After another day of sorcerer training and witch duties, I plop on my bed, exhausted. I start winding down, thinking over everything that happened. Without much conjunction, my mind goes to Hollyhock. The sensation of her hands glide on my skin as I envision her in bed with me. Excitement pools beneath my stomach.

    ??????

    My imagination starts to run wild, fabricating new experiences where memory fails to advance. My hands travel in place of Hazel¡¯s soft hands to explore places she hasn¡¯t reached.

    ????

    I want more than just Holly¡¯s soft lips on mine, I want her hands in more places than just where she¡¯s touched me.

    ??????

    My hand drift down my waist, my fingertips slipping just under the hem of my underwear. Without realizing it, my hips rise up to meet the satisfaction I¡¯m sure to give myself.

    ????

    I arch my stomach off the bed, positioning myself on my knees. Biting my lip, one hand on my breast as the other goes to my inguen. Just thinking of Holly beneath me, reaching up my thigh, her breath and mine mixing, it¡¯s almost enough to drive me over the edge.

    Almost.

    ??????

    I snap my eyes open to curb the impulse. Sitting my ass back down on the bed, I move my hands away from my body, and huff in frustration.

    ¡°That is not going to help me,¡± I tell myself. The thundering in my chest calms down as I focus on my breath.

    ????

    I flip myself over and lie on my back.

    I want the real Holly.

    My imagination isn¡¯t going to cut it. I need the real woman I love with me. I just know it¡¯ll be amazing. I release a breath I was holding for some time.

    ¡°Just you wait, Holly.¡±

    ??????

    I reach for my phone and text Tamara that I¡¯m ready for more work. Two seconds later, I get a call from her.

    ¡°Holly, you sure you¡¯re up for this?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m ready to get back at it.¡±

    Ch. 32 End