《Curse Watch》
Chapter 1: Philly Traffic
Cool jets of air pumped from the car¡¯s AC ruffled past Buddy¡¯s mustache, the man tweaking with the control knob to find the sweet spot. A few clicks to the left, and he nodded. Settling into his seat, a car honked. And then another. Glancing out his window, he could see the glaring face of a driver as they gripped their wheel tightly. In their backseat, a young boy had a backpack on their lap. Buddy didn¡¯t catch their expression before he had returned his eyes to ahead of him.
Ah, traffic. The red light ahead reflected less the symbol of stop and more everyone¡¯s pent-up feelings. The road was at a standstill, and few were happy about it. More honking, one man shouting out their window, ¡°COME ON!¡± Passers-by on the sidewalks tried to ignore the vehicular cacophony, but a few couldn¡¯t resist flipping off some drivers, causing more honking.
Buddy fiddled with his radio, each station fizzing with static and the occasional slice of music or commercials about this or that product. Pressing the dial to mute, only the gentle hum of a ready engine could be heard. That and the sounds of the wooden clattering of a struggling tied-up mannequin laid across the backseat of his small sedan.
Checking his rearview mirror, Buddy checked in on the struggling fella. The animate mannequin was made from a lighter wood, chipped and scratched. The featureless face was duct taped, but that did little to actually prevent it from talking. So talk it did. Non-stop.
¡°-ou wizard animals! This is an injustice! An injustice I tell you! I have rights- I am a thinking man, with thoughts and feelings. I even have a name. Not like you would care, you, you bald brute.¡± It sputtered out in a hollow-sounding voice. Buddy felt an eyebrow raise at that. This one was ruder than the usual. Well, not for long. His office wasn¡¯t too far away, and then he could enjoy some silence.
Red turned to green, and the engine hum turned to slow acceleration as cars began to filter through. Scratching his cheek as he turned down an intersection, he partially tuned in onto the complaining as it went about how uncomfortable it was, and that the car was hot. Buddy nodded idly. AC worked in the front. Good enough for him.
¡°I¡¯m not some criminal! I deserve better-¡± The mannequin was, in fact, a criminal. ¡°I want to talk to the Registry!¡± Buddy shook his head, trying to suppress a slight grin. Had to remain professional after all. ¡°What? Scared of the law?¡± It cawed. ¡°I¡¯ll set a new precedent for my kind. Just you see. You¡¯ll remember the name Arnold!¡± If it wasn¡¯t currently hog-tied, Buddy got the sense it would¡¯ve crossed its arms triumphantly.
¡°I¡¯m a person just like you. You¡¯ll see. You won¡¯t have any moral standing in court. Then you¡¯ll be the one all tied up. How can you live with yourself doing this?¡±
Buddy looked at his muted radio, moving a hand before moving it back. If not for his unwilling passenger, he could turn something on. As he put his hand back on the wheel, a pothole caused the car to rattle. The mannequin yelped as they bounced a little in his backseat.
¡°Not my job to worry about the moral implications. Ain¡¯t in the contract.¡± He drawled while he adjusted his rear view mirror, resuming attention back to the road.
¡°Hah! You¡¯re just some money chaser, aren¡¯t you. Kidnapping for contract, that¡¯ll hold!¡±
Seeing a familiar street sign ahead, Buddy made another turn. It was just a straight drive from this point. Traffic had cleared up now that he was on some lesser-traveled roads towards a more tired district. Tapping his wheel, he decided to cut off the rambling mannequin. Enchanted folk tended to be eccentric, but this took the brick house.
¡°Well, Arnie,¡± He let a small grin grow. Why not enjoy his job? ¡°The Registry is the one who sent me. Told me to take care of ya.¡±
¡°You¡¯re lying.¡± The mannequin¡¯s tone was firm, trying to raise its head.
¡°Truth¡¯s geas.¡± Buddy¡¯s voice grew an odd tone at that, and you could visibly witness the way those words washed over the mannequin. They stopped struggling as much.
¡°Oh.¡±
That got it to be quiet, a moment which Buddy let himself enjoy as he began to pull into a worn-down parking lot of a worn-down building with sunbaked bricks and various signs plastered to them. All decrying the services you could employ inside.
Whistling a tune he heard playing in a store once, he drove and parked closer to the back, where a few fire hazard signs lay. For an older building, it had a novel approach to trash disposal. Stepping out, Buddy was hit by the hot humidity that rose from the asphalt. He smiled.
Walking around back to his trunk, he unlocked it and let it swing open. Rummaging through an assortment of spare clothes, a few tool belts, and other work equipment, he pulled out a large empty duffel bag. It was thick artificial fabric with a pair of long straps for carrying. Had that brand-new plastic smell. Dropping it at his feet, he took a short minute to put everything else back into its place. Once the trunk was organized, he nodded to himself then slammed it shut.
Picking up the bag up, he moved to the left side door and peered through the window. The mannequin was huddled up best it could. It was crying when Buddy opened the door. Deliberate tactic, or actual sorrow, he didn¡¯t know. This line of work, he¡¯s heard many things sob, weep, or wail. You didn¡¯t dwell on it. Better for your sanity that way. A few memories flashed through his head. Nope. Didn¡¯t dwell.
So, he ignored the mannequin as he unzipped the duffel bag open and began to unceremoniously pose and jam the thing into it. It was resistant of course, but mannequins could bend a lot more than humans could, especially the wooden puppet variety. Before long, it was suitably inside.
Once zipped up, the sounds were muffled. Somewhat. One person, an older man, was walking out of the building toward their car and locked eyes with Buddy. Hoisting up the duffel bag and slinging it onto his shoulder, he waved at the gentleman. Hesitating for a moment, the gentleman waved back. Then they were in their car, a sedan more beat up than his with peeling beige paint.
Watching it pull out of the parking lot, Buddy resumed whistling. The mannequin didn¡¯t pack much heft, making the trip toward the building¡¯s back easier. As he got closer, the smell of ash and burnt things rose. The asphalt here was especially cracked, daisies and weeds poking through in little offshoots. His face twitched as he could imagine the woosh as he got closer.
He had reached the back wall, where the incinerator was. It was a thick green metal box with a large chimney and a hatch on the side. Beside the hatch was a big red button, and several warning lights were locked in metal cages above it. On the brick wall touching the chimney, you could see ashy streaks left behind from smoke, a long gouge of things trying to remain.
Feeling his pocket, he confirmed that he had the small key required to operate the incinerator. Standing in front of it, the char sat heavy in the air. Just breathing it in had a note of finality to it. Exhaling, he unlocked the hatch, and it fell open. It turned into a ramp for easy disposal, with residue of prior trash lining it.
His face crinkled at the wave of heat. He found the warmth of the sun comforting, but this was just condemnation. Lifting the duffel bag, the hatch rang as he dropped it down. The cries inside the fabric got louder as the impending sense grew.
¡°Don¡¯t dwell,¡± Buddy muttered to himself, yet he still held onto the bag strap which prevented it from falling in.
¡°Wait, wait, wait.¡± The mannequin¡¯s voice rose. The jostling in the bag got worse despite their restricted movement options. ¡°PleaseIdontwanttodie.¡±
It¡¯d be quite easy for Buddy to let go, watch the bag fall in, close the hatch, and then hit the button. Then that¡¯d be it. Job done. Instead, he was holding onto an increasingly more suspicious duffel bag. One that was sensing its chance.
¡°Iknowthings, a lot of things. Creatures, magic, secrets. I worked in a library you know? Lots of books lots of reading I had to read them all do you want to know the word number I couldtellyouthewordnumber-¡±
Buddy could feel his lips thin. Glancing around, he could see one of the daises that grew from the cracks. Staring at the white and yellow, he asked:
¡°What kind of secrets?¡±
The bag had stopped writhing by now. Arnold¡¯s voice was very, very quiet.
¡°Things the Registry would kill to keep that way.¡±
Buddy¡¯s grip on that strap was iron.
¡°Truth¡¯s geas?¡± His voice was firm. He was a statue. There was a moment of quiet, then a response.
¡°Truth¡¯s geas.¡±
Buddy felt a shiver as the back of his mind gave a little ding. So. Arnold really did know things. Carefully, he began to drag the duffel bag out from the hatch, slinging it over his shoulder again. Staring down the empty incinerator, the metal clanged as he shut and locked it.
Key still in the lock, he looked at that daisy again.
The office lobby was a place of intermission. It was cramped, suffocatingly quiet outside of one¡¯s footsteps, and reeked of over-applied citrus air freshener. Two paintings sat on either wall, picked from a thrift store, but they¡¯d never tell you that. Opposite the hallway entrance, a small desk sat a young man. Their smile was empty, matching the room. Dead eyes gained a glimmer of life when they glanced at the duffel bag, but that soon faded. A haphazard bronze title plate named them as Matthew Dane, secretary.
¡°Welcome back, Mr. Pall. You have a visitor waiting at your office.¡±
Buddy grunted an acknowledgment, more occupied with not breathing. He was quick to move toward the hallway.
¡°Have a pleasant day, Sir.¡± Buddy could feel their gaze as he walked past before it fell off his back and onto a phone hidden underneath the desk.
Out in the hallway, the citrus was lighter but still sickening enough to warrant mouth breathing. Buddy counted down the doors, stopping at number four. Opening the door, the hallway¡¯s tile transitioned to short-cut carpet, and Buddy took a fresher breath of wood varnish and cedar.
His office was the dictionary image of neat: vacuumed carpet, tidy walls. The central desk took up most of the room. The desk itself was organized, papers stacked, and the pencil jar right as he liked it. Behind it, right where the sun would filter through sat his chair. The one in front was meant for any customers. On the ceiling, an old small fan whirred to match the cadence of the back window AC unit. A thick safe was nestled to the control panel¡¯s left¡ªa mix between keypad and combination lock.
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Closing the door, the citrus was banished. With a content exhale, he set down the duffel bag and stretched. Home away from home. A few crackles and pops later, Buddy looked at the person idly spinning in his customer¡¯s chair¡ªa familiar silhouette and face.
A younger woman, about a decade younger than he was. Brown hair with a stripe of dyed orange/red framed a tired expression and piercing hazel eyes. They covered themselves in an oversized muted hoodie and baggy brown pants¡ªa poor choice given the recent weather. They swiveled to face him, a slight grin poking through. He took note of the folder on their lap before waving a hello.
¡°So.¡± She leans forward. Her eyes flick down towards the now unmoving duffel bag. ¡°What¡¯s in the bag?¡±
¡°A librarian.¡±
She cocked an eyebrow at that, tapping her fingers against her folder. ¡°Oh?¡±
He nods, hooking his hands through his overalls.
¡°Doubled as a sprinter, too.¡± He chuckles with a note of exhaustion. Leaning down, he began to unzip the bag to reveal the assortment of wooden limbs. She peered down, smile turning to a slight frown.
¡°Oh- huh.¡±
¡°Hi, I¡¯m Arnold.¡±
It still had a quiet voice, and the girl blinked at that.
¡°It talks.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°I¡¯m AJ.¡± Holding onto her folder, she stood up.
¡°Is it one of the dangerous ones?¡±
¡°Tied up like this? No.¡± Buddy nudges one of the ropes with his boot. Arnold made a sad sound.
¡°I¡¯m not dangerous.¡±
¡°And if not tied up?¡± She tilted her head, eyes inquisitive.
¡°He killed a boy.¡±
The change in her expression was immediate. Something typically softened around Buddy turned to marble as she stared at Arnold.
¡°It wasn¡¯t intentional, I swear. It was an accident, oh world I promise it was just an accident.¡± They were swift to begin rambling, but AJ only looked up at Buddy. There was confliction behind her frown.
¡°What happened.¡±
¡°Library. Made some bookshelves collapse. Boy got squished.¡± He gestured with a hand, moving to pick up Arnold by their armpits. ¡°Then this fella here ran away in the chaos. Got contracted to take care of him. ¡®Never to see the light of day¡¯ were their words.¡± Arnold affirmed his words, but you can see him wiggle slightly at the end of Buddy¡¯s statement.
AJ has a slow nod.
¡°Okay. Was the incinerator broken?¡±
¡°Youweregoingtoputmeinanincinerator!?¡± Arnold whisper-screamed.
Buddy shrugged, still holding them up.
¡°Says it knows things. So, here it is now¡ªjust a minor dilemma to work out.¡± He walks over towards the left wall, placing Arnold down to let him stand. The mannequin wobbled, then fell. Right. Still hog-tied. That can be undone later.
Turning back to AJ, he scratched at his cheek.
¡°I need to fulfill contract or else I will get hounded. Got a good place to keep him? Needs to be dark. We can remove his legs.¡±
Her lips thinned at his words as she began to fidget with her sleeve.
¡°Nope. Not keeping it in my closet.¡± She shakes her head again. Arnold piped up from on the floor.
¡°If I don¡¯t need to see, I can- I can just disable my visual receptor matrix. I used to work with cognitohazardous material so I would need to¡¡± They continued on but Buddy only really heard the first part.
¡°Well then do that. And don¡¯t turn it back on unless I tell you. Under geas.¡±
Arnold stopped moving at Buddy¡¯s words. It made a sound reminiscent of a squeak. These were probably some of the most impressive personality enchantments Buddy has seen in his career. Rarely do you come across something something like this.
With a voice that sounded like Buddy was pulling teeth, Arnold spoke.
¡°Yes. I Can. Enter a geas.¡±
Buddy clasped their hands together, smiling.
¡°Ain¡¯t that dandy.¡±
She looked at him, eyebrow raised again. She mouthed something and sighed.
¡°Almost feel bad. So. I found something- but it can wait for tomorrow.¡±
Buddy raised a pausing hand as he left Arnold to check his desk for something. A place was on his mind, but first, he needed to find something. Now, where was it. As he rummaged through a desk drawer, he asked AJ something.
¡°So, how do you feel about the deli sandwich shop that¡¯s a few blocks over.¡±
She tapped her folder again.
¡°Han¡¯s Hams?¡±
¡°That¡¯s the one.¡± He nodded, both to her answer and to himself, as he pulled out what appeared to be a sheet of postal stamps.
¡°Given how you probably forgot breakfast,¡± A statement she didn¡¯t deny despite a quick narrowing of her eyes, ¡°we can go eat, and you can tell me what you found.¡± Altruism to hide how hungry he was. His ears picked up on a muttered:
¡°Like you¡¯re faring better.¡±
Oh well.
Closing the desk drawer, he re-adjusted the pencil jar, which jostled to be a little askew. AJ rolled her eyes at that, but held her tongue. Desk alright, he approached Arnold, peeling off a single stamp with care as he did so.
Arnold lifted their head in surprise before freezing in place as his blank forehead got a shiny new eagle decoration. Tapping the mannequin resulted in no sound or movement. Buddy whistled.
¡°Alright, that¡¯ll hold till sundown.¡±
Carefully placing the remaining sheet into his pocket, he faced AJ again.
¡°So, how do sandwiches sound?¡±
She had crossed her arms now, but her stomach growling undermined her position. Grumbling a curse, she relented.
¡°Sounds. Nice.¡± She exhaled. She was fidgeting with her sleeve again. ¡°Yeah, I could go for food. Sorry.¡±
There was something behind her eyes but he couldn¡¯t quite pick up on it. Putting that observation away in a mental box, he left it for later. She would share if she wanted. For now, Han¡¯s Hams.
Opening the office door, he waved for her to go first. This got him another look, but AJ obliged him anyway. Once she was in the hallway, Buddy gave Arnold a last check-over before shutting the door and locking it behind him after shuffling through his keyring.
His nose twitched as citrus returned. Their footsteps echoed as they walked across the tile back to the main lobby. The secretary did not look up from their phone as they passed by but still offered a one-handed wave.
¡°Goodbye, Mr. Pall. Bye, AJ.¡±
AJ waved back before quickening her pace to beat Buddy to the doors. Opening it, she held it for him with a slight victorious smile. Right as the door shut, a ¡°Have a pleasant day¡± could be heard as Matthew remembered their lines. It was cut off halfway through.
AJ held her pleased look for all but a few seconds before the heat and humidity registered, and she belted out, ¡°Jesus fuck I am going to melt.¡± Despite her complaint against the sun, she had already begun walking.
Buddy chuckled at that. Looking up the sky, he had himself a nice hearty sigh of contentment. Given the quieter nature of these streets, Buddy whistled as he started down the sidewalk. This tune came from the radio, some pop song. AJ seemed to recognize it, humming along.
The few strangers they did pass by moved out of the way for them, Buddy carving a subtle wake. There was one group of five that split down the middle for them, seemingly not even aware of what they did. AJ would just shake her head.
Once they walked past, she stopped her humming.
¡°I¡¯ll never get used to that.¡±
¡°Hmm?¡±
¡°The way you can move through people.¡±
¡°It¡¯s handy.¡± Buddy shrugged. It was a neat trick he learned a while back. Made some jobs easier.
He received another look, but they made it to their destination. Above them, a stereotypically pink pig greeted them with the words ¡°Han¡¯s Hams¡± emblazoned across its belly. On one of the windows, a small poster boasted this was the best deli in Philadelphia.
AJ was quick to move to open the door for them both, and Buddy felt his smile grow as the lovely scent of baked bread and fresh cuts of meat came rolling out in a welcoming wave. A bell above them rung as they entered, and the duo joined the short line.
The left side of Han¡¯s Ham¡¯s was taken up by the counter and deli itself, workers wearing pink caps with pig ears and a curly pig tail at the back. You could watch their souls wither in real time as they walked around saying lines from their handbook like ¡°We¡¯ll take care of you in this farm,¡± or ¡°Han¡¯s Hams, perfect for a growing man,¡± to a child just wanting a juice box as a harried mother was scrounging a purse for change.
On the right side, a massive mural was painted across the wall. Pigs on motorcycles, fighter planes, all warring over what appeared to be a farm stead. One was operating a chain gun that appeared to be fed sausages, firing at the aforementioned fighter planes.
Tables were scattered without any pattern, and the booths appeared only half-heartedly cleaned.
Buddy had their order prepared when it came to their turn. AJ needed a moment to catch their bearings. A teenager took their order, clearly underpaid for what they had to do. Getting through their lines, they complimented AJ¡¯s hoodie which had some band Buddy didn¡¯t know. A kindred look was shared before sandwiches in wax-paper bags were handed over. When payment came about, AJ waved him off and paid for them both. Buddy put his wallet back. He was just happy to have food.
Finding seats in one of the back wall booths near the corner, the sound of crinkling overtaking everything else. AJ put down the folder she was carrying, using both hands to pick up her sandwich. Buddy picked up his. The bread was warm in his hand, with the lettuce that touched his palm being in crisp contrast.
Taking his first bite, AJ had already gone through three. It was a waltz of eat, chew, drink, repeat. Ice cubes sloshed in her cup as she set it down, as Buddy took a sip from his own. Giving himself a moment to enjoy the sandwich, he gestured with it toward AJ.
¡°So, what did you find?¡±
That snapped her from lunch reverie. Using her free hand, she slid over the folder. As she continued chewing, he flipped it open. There was a single document, but the bulk of the contents were blurry photographs.
Peering closer, he was deliberate to ensure crumbs didn¡¯t fall down onto them. The first thing he could make out was that this was outdoors, given the prevalence of greens and browns. Trees, it seemed. Evening sky. Looked like a park of some kind. But the drawing detail wasn¡¯t the trees themselves, but something hiding behind them.
It took looking at several more to piece together what exactly he was looking at. It was an old wooden rocking horse with one of its legs missing. In some of the photos, you could see its head poking out, or the curved rocking base. It was easy to see what was and what wasn¡¯t AJ¡¯s camera work given the resolution of the images.
His eyes moved to scan the document, as he took another slow sip. It was a transcript of several social media posts talking about sightings of a strange small creature in the Frankford Park area. That quickly explained the varying image quality. Didn¡¯t appear anyone else put what it was together yet. That was good. Made things less complicated.
AJ used this time to finish up her sandwich, beneath her the remains of the meal¡¯s doomed struggle for survival. Leaning her cheek into her hand, she waited for him to finish. Buddy closed the folder up, pushing it to the side. He raised a finger to take another bite. After swallowing, he cleared his throat.
¡°Cute bugger.¡±
AJ snorted.
¡°Fast. And camera shy. Once it realized what I was doing last night, fled right on out. Couldn¡¯t catch it since.¡± She lifted her head to make a scurrying gesture with her hand. Buddy had a slow nod as she spoke, finishing his sandwich. ¡°So, that¡¯s the best I have.¡± Another sigh. ¡°Sorry.¡±
¡°Good news is, if you can¡¯t get a clear picture, no one else will.¡± He shook his head with a chuckle as she leaned back into her chair.
¡°I guess. Yeah.¡± She rolled her eyes but she was sitting straighter. ¡°So, there¡¯s that ¡®cute bugger¡¯ skittering around in Frankford.¡±
He cocked a bushy eyebrow.
¡°It skitters?¡±
He can see the memory flash through her eyes as she taps the table. She has a slight grimace when it¡¯s over.
¡°Not sure how, but it does.¡±
¡°World¡¯s grace, we get the best.¡± He raised his cup in a jesting toast. She matched his gesture.
¡°Not as bad as the dolls.¡±
His face twitched.
¡°Nothing is as bad as the dolls.¡± Suppressing the shudder and spider legs, he flipped through the folder again. Couldn¡¯t spot anything off about the feet, which looked attached to the base. Hard to tell through the blur.
Another snort, and she was looking at her hands.
¡°Well, Buddy, if you need help with this one, I¡¯m free this week.¡±
Closing the folder again after the endeavor proving fruitless, he slid it into a special sleeve hidden in his overalls. It sat right next to the contract that wanted one particular mannequin taken care of.
¡°You know how the Registry feels about that.¡±
Her face blanched at the name.
¡°Right, them.¡±
¡°It¡¯ll send ¡®em into a tizzy.¡±
¡°The last time you said that,¡± and she took the care to stress the next part, ¡°I was left wishing it was the FBI that came knocking on my door.¡±
¡°They¡¯re nice and respectful people.¡±
AJ choked.
¡°Hah. Hahaha.¡± She blinked a few times, massaging her head. ¡°My offer still stands.¡±
He started folding his empty paper bag into a firmly pressed rectangle. Storing it in one of his pockets, he stood up.
¡°You¡¯ll want work clothes and boots for this. I¡¯m thinking tomorrow morning, 5 AM.¡± He picked up his water, chugging the last of it.
She joined him, brushing crumbs off her hoodie.
¡°My sleep schedule loves you.¡±
Hooking thumbs through his overalls again, he flashed her a winning smile.
¡°Bright and early for a good day¡¯s work, ey?¡±
She decided not to comment, moving to throw away her empty cup. When she comes back, she gestures towards the door.
¡°Want to go before one of us gets approached with a hat and a job offer?¡± To their left, near the deli section, you could see an older man passing around ¡®Now Hiring¡¯ flyers to random customers¡ªa lovely time to make an exit.
The walk outside was quick, and they returned to the heat. This time, AJ refrained from swearing as two young kids walked past, their parents holding one of those water spritzer fan combos.
Watching them turn down to a new block, AJ let loose a long exhale, which transitioned to a very quiet ¡°it¡¯s hot.¡± Once that was done, she snapped her fingers.
¡°Well, I should probably head home to crash now. To go send them into a ¡®tizzy,¡¯ as you say.¡±
¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡± Giving her a thumbs up, they both began walking back to the office building. One needed to drive home, and the other needed to figure out what exactly to do with a wooden mannequin that talks.
Buddy rubbed his hands together, drawing a look from AJ.
¡°You¡¯re going to show him your tool collection.¡±
¡°I am going to show him my tool collection.¡±
Chapter 2: Prep Time
Buddy sank down into his office chair with a satisfied groan, scratching his mustache as his other hand removed the folder from within his hidden sleeve. Behind him, the evening sun filled the room with a gentler light, framing his desk just right. Laying the folder onto his desk, he flipped through it again, taking out the photos. From a desk drawer, he shuffled out a blank sheet of paper stolen from the lobby printer. Few used the dust-covered apparatus anyway.
Taking one of his pencils, he began jotting down notes. First bullet point: Given the range of sightings, the critter was clearly mobile yet stayed within the limits of the park. Second, it was cognizant enough to know to hide. Almost every photo had it behind something. Third, it was a children¡¯s toy.
After glancing through his bullet points, Buddy arranged a few possibilities near the bottom of the page. He didn¡¯t have too much information, so his guesses could be wrong. But that was just part of the business.
The three points led to two options. Either this was a wizard¡¯s awry attempt at bringing a childhood friend to life, or it was a Haunt. Buddy circled Haunt. Limited sighting area, hiding, toy? Sighing, he rubbed his forehead with his pencil hand. Going back to the paper, he flipped it over to write on the back what tools he¡¯d probably need.
Self-binding rope¡ªthat was easy. A glance tossed at Arnold. That reminds him¡ Standing up from his chair, he approached the inanimate mannequin, squatting down. Touching the forehead postal stamp, he felt it warm. Standing back up, he rubbed his finger with his thumb. Looking between Arnold and the window, he estimated what time he had left. Halfway through it, he decided it was better to be safe than sorry. Buddy hoisted the mannequin by their torso to take them back to the duffel bag, which sat right next to his door.
Wooden limbs clattered together as Arnold was dropped into the bag. Posing them to fit was an easier process without them struggling. Zipping up the bag, he kept them close to the door. Wouldn¡¯t want to forget them here. The fabric bulged a little, a hand¡¯s impression visible on the side.
Rope secured, he sat back down at his desk. What else? Ah, yes, trackers. Of course, he¡¯d want two, one for general magic and one for Haunts. Just in case. Looking over the photos, he¡¯d have to hope the impression captured was sufficient enough. Tapping the paper with his pencil, he sketched a few quick designs. He went for an old favorite. Emergency flares. Did he have any left? His mind blanked until he looked at the duffel bag. A trip to a boating shop, then.
As he sketched the idea, he considered the enchants. Hiding the flame would be necessary if heading to a park. That would be rough. The closer an object worked for its ¡®intended¡¯ purpose, the easier it was to enchant or twist that purpose. Making a flare¡¯s flame hidden worked greatly to counteract that purpose. At the end of the day, an emergency flare was about finding a thing. Typically, that thing would be you, but the idea of ¡®finding¡¯ was there. That¡¯s why he liked them for trackers. Things were created with purpose. Buddy just took advantage of what humans intended.
The more he molded the idea, the firmer the shape. The sound of pencil scratching filled the small room as sunlight dimmed further. Stealth, tracking, anything else? One thing was clear: it would burn quickly. Another few taps later, and he added the idea of a lure. Yeah, that¡¯d work. Flares were meant to draw attention. Staring at the stealth part, he sighed. Have to keep the job under radar, he reminded himself as he pushed the now sketch-filled paper into the folder. Standard manila, probably taken from the police department.
After taking a final look at the folder, he returned it to its earlier resting spot in his overalls. Tidying up, he made sure his office was in good shape before he left. Slinging the duffel bag with Arnold inside over his shoulder, he closed and locked the door behind him with a tinny click.
The hallway was dark, the lights off. Ahead, he could see Matthew Dane leaning against a wall, right next to one of the thrift-shop paintings. In one hand, he had his phone out. In the other, he was spinning a keyring around his finger. Hearing Buddy¡¯s approach, he clicked his phone off and slid it into his pocket with a slight frown.
¡°Mr. Pall, we were meant to close several minutes ago.¡±
Buddy nodded, adjusting the duffel bag.
¡°Had to finish up some business.¡±
¡°As usual.¡±
Matthew pushed off the wall, keys still jingling.
¡°After you, sir.¡±
Buddy was happy to leave the choking citrus. With Matthew following behind him, he opened and held the door for the young man, who didn¡¯t bother with a thanks as Buddy let the door close after them. With one of the keys, they locked the front doors with a sigh¡ªa purely symbolic gesture. A brick through the glass and you were in.
Matthew had that glimmer of light again when they turned around, eying the hand print in Buddy¡¯s bag.
¡°Not smuggling people again, are we?¡± Matthew joked. Buddy partially unzipped the bag to reveal the wooden limbs; the secretary seemed both relieved and disappointed seeing them. Out of the building, any veneer of professionalism was gone. ¡°Still cleaning weird stuff outta houses, ey?¡±
Buddy shrugged.
¡°It¡¯s good business.¡±
¡°Alright, Mr. Pall. See you tomorrow.¡± Still spinning the keyring, Matthew took off in a not-quite-jog for the parking lot. Buddy watched them go before adjusting his bag for the final time to head back to his own car.
The walk was short, full of fresh evening air. As he walked past the daisies, he took a moment to appreciate them. He¡¯d take one, but it didn¡¯t feel proper. They worked to survive in a place like this. Once past the asphalt-grown flowers, he was at his car. Unlocking it, he opened the back door and tossed the duffel bag across the backseat.
Sitting down in the driver¡¯s seat, an errant thought commented that it was a lot quieter than before. Fiddling with the radio knob, it was still static with hints of maybe music¡ª nevermind, just a commercial jingle. Muting it with a press, Buddy pulled out into the street, pushing on the gas a little. The car clock informed him it was 6:26.
Good, the boating shop should still be open then. Remembering the direction, he utilized back roads again to try to bypass the traffic of everyone returning home. He watched as a few cabs sped by, having the exact same idea. Shaking his head, he kept his car at a steady pace all the way to the boating shop. Parking on the street, he waited for a car to pass before getting out.
The boating shop had a flickering neon sign above its doors, a blue tilted bucket with bubbles, and a yellow-lit fishing hook hooking the handle. The shop itself was shoved right in between a barber shop and a tiny granny and pop burger joint.
After a plastic bag with a few emergency flares was resting on the car floor, Buddy was sitting down in that joint, going for a table near the windows. An old lady with joints you could hear and a worrying wobble to her step took his order. With a ¡°Thank you, dear¡± in the voice of a person who¡¯s been smoking packs their whole life, she shuffled back through the kitchen swing doors.
A few other patrons sat around on bar stools or booths, matching the look of the burger joint: plaid, reeking of beer, and generally unkempt. One of them, a greasy-looking fella, was staring right at Buddy. Buddy met their gaze before the old granny returned with a glass of ice water.
He made to thank her, but she was already off to chat with one of the other patrons, laughing as she leaned against the pub counter. Seeing that, Buddy took to his thoughts while waiting. Was this indulgent of him? Setting his cup down, he decided not. Several hours had passed, and this was a matter of convenience. Cooking something at home was a hazard anyway.
The greasy man was still staring at him, and Buddy had to suppress a sigh. Even from this distance, he could recognize the glint in the man¡¯s eyes. Worse yet, he could see the growing smile. So they had clocked him as well.
Bringing his attention back to his glass, he kept watch of the man in his peripheral. So far, they didn¡¯t make any attempts to approach him. Yet. He would prefer if it was kept that way. He blinked when he realized his water was empty. Looking at the ice cubes, they reflected the light from the shaded bulb above as he slowly rotated the glass.
A moment became three, and he was presented with a plate and a burger. Smelled good, looked cooked. Good enough for him. His constitution would save him if there was a problem. Eating was a mechanical process, getting the food in so he could leave. As he ate, he felt the stare of the greasy man who had hardly looked away this entire time. Yet another reason to get out.
Finishing off his plate, he concluded that the burger was alright. Not bad, but not worth being in a place like this. The granny came around soon after, asking if he wanted seconds or was ready to pay. Not wanting to deal with cards, he instead wrote her a check. Something she looked at and then snatched away, pushing it into a fanny pack. He could see the paper crease and crumple.
Standing up, he took his plate to the bin and made to leave. As he was about to exit, he heard a voice speak up. Ignoring it, he pushed through the doors as two men entered the establishment, sharply dressed and wearing shades. At night. Buddy grimaced as soon as they passed by, catching a whiff of clay.
Not his business.
He got to his car with practiced calmness as he heard a commotion behind him near the burger joint. Getting behind the wheel, he reminded himself: not his business. As he was about to pull out, someone knocked on his window. Hands tightening around his wheel, he looked to see who it was¡ªyup, it was one of the shade-wearing men. So an encounter was inevitable.
Rolling down the window with the driver¡¯s side button, he loosened his grip on the wheel.
¡°How can I help you?¡±
The shade-wearing man just stared at him for a moment. Buddy stared back, trying to keep their expression neutral.
¡°Apologies. There was a misidentification. You can carry on.¡± With that, the man walked away to leave Buddy alone. Rolling up the window, he stared ahead. Not often you see homunculi. One talking to you was not a good sign. Thoughts bounced around, and he gave himself a minute to collect before driving.
As he got onto the road, traffic had died down after his dinner. Pushing the encounter to the back of his mind, he focused on the drive until he blinked and was parked in an unassuming spot on an unassuming street.
He took the duffel bag and his purchase of flares out of the car with him, approaching one of the squatter buildings. It was a forgettable block of bricks, dull green painted door at the front. He walked right past it and into a little alleyway with steps that led underneath the street level.
Ah, home sweet hole in the ground.
Walking down the concrete steps, there was a grated drain at the bottom. The acoustics ensured that every step on it could be heard. The walls were bare, the only character being a small antique bulb behind black wire frame. Its light was warm against the cool of the underground. This underground hallway wasn¡¯t long, really no more than five feet, six if you felt generous. And narrow too. With the duffel bag, there was no room to turn.
At its end was a metal door. The grey paint was peeling, especially around the bottom. It spoke of unfilled landlord promises and ¡°I¡¯ll do it later¡±s. Putting the plastic bag of flares down, he reached for his keys. He could hear the rumble of a car driving past as he did so. After unlocking the door, he grabbed the handle. It took a hefty twist to open and you could hear the latch thunk.
The door swung inward, asking to be oiled. Stepping inside, Buddy reached for the nearby light switch, flicking it on to reveal his home. It was a concrete box of walls. The one to his right was partially exposed (that was to say, half of it didn¡¯t exist), with metal piping showing and a few tufts of insulation. The floor was wooden, with a few rugs¡ªsome of the only color down here. On the ceiling, bare bulbs hung down to make up for a lack of windows.
That would¡¯ve been a deal breaker, but Buddy put up with it because no one else knew this place existed, outside of the landlord of course. It was private, discrete, and, most importantly, cheap.
Letting both bags drop to the ground, Buddy sighed and rubbed his forehead. While massaging his temples, he was trying to un-scramble his thoughts. Despite how he tried, they continued to dart through plans, enchant designs, and questions about earlier. As thoughts rose, the door closing behind him interrupted him.
Dropping his hand, he looked around his living situation. It wasn¡¯t all that large. He was in the central room, with the kitchenette to his left and a bare-bones bed near the far wall. Past the kitchenette, a door led to the bathroom. Thankfully it was furnished with all the essentials.
If you didn¡¯t mind walking past the exposed pipes and taking a turn, there was a small room behind the half-finished wall he had purposed into a workstation. Thinking of his workstation made his hand twitch. Shaking his head, he headed to the kitchenette. He poured himself a glass of water, staring into the stillness¡ªa grounding action. A chug later, he was rinsing and drying it off. Putting it back into its small cupboard, the duffel bag began to make sounds as something moved inside it.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
¡°Is anyone there- where am I? Hello?¡±
Buddy stood at the cupboard, hand still on the knob. His thoughts debated, but he reminded himself he needed to get that binding geas. Letting go of the knob, he approached the bag and squatted down to free Arnold.
The mannequin was all too happy to be away from the synthetic fabric and darkness. That happiness lasted up until they registered their surroundings. Arnold paused in their movements, turning their head to look at Buddy. There was a silence before they asked their question.
¡°I thought I was being allowed to live?¡±
¡°You are.¡±
Buddy looked around the room, considering where Arnold would be best put. Anywhere near the bed was a no go. Maybe in his workstation. Arnold was mirroring their look around, raising a finger then lowering it before raising it then lowering it.
¡°Out with it.¡± Buddy grunted, working on undoing their restraints. Once their arms were free, Arnold gave them a testing wiggle.
¡°Is this your murder dungeon?¡± Buddy stopped untying their legs to glance up. The mannequin shrunk a little. ¡°What- I don¡¯t know what you do.¡±
¡°This is my home.¡±
¡°This is your home?¡±
Buddy could hear AJ¡¯s voice in that question. He nodded, finishing up with the leg restraints. He pocketed the ropes after ensuring they wouldn¡¯t tangle. Arnold made a hesitant attempt at standing up. As they wobbled upward, they spoke.
¡°¡°I know the Registry pays poorly; they didn¡¯t even pay me at all, but this- oh, how they fallen. They used to have great employee benefits you know? Not like I was allowed to them. But I knew others who-¡±
Buddy tuned them out, before clearing his throat.
¡°The geas, Arnie.¡±
The sudden silence was deafening in contrast. Arnold twitched their head to look at Buddy.
¡°Ah yes. The geas. The one I agreed to. I don¡¯t suppose that just staying down here is sufficient.¡±
¡°Nope. You see a speck o¡¯ sun after tomorrow, and I have the Registry breathing down my neck, poking wands into my back.¡± Buddy said, clasping their hands together. ¡°And I¡¯m half certain they¡¯re already roaming the streets.¡± That gave Arnold pause.
¡°What?¡±
Buddy went to go collect the flares, giving himself a moment before he responded.
¡°Ran into some homunculi earlier. A pair of them. Went after another wizard.¡± Holding one of the flares in his hand, he could catch the waft of clay again before it faded.
Arnold creaked, holding the sides of their head with their hands.
¡°Oh that¡¯s not good-¡± Buddy didn¡¯t let them continue, lifting a hand.
¡°I want the geas, if I¡¯m to keep you around.¡±
Another pause.
¡°Fine.¡±
Arnold stood up straighter, letting their arms drop. They made an awfully human sigh.
¡°I¡¯ll do the geas. Just, let me have permission to see sometimes.¡± Buddy gestured with the flare. He¡¯d consider it. If the mannequin proved more trouble than they were worth, a nighttime visit to the incinerator would do and he could put it behind him and carry on without worrying about pissing off the Registry. Whatever Arnold knew, it better be worth it.
¡°Not really a response¡¡± Arnold grumbled, but they dusted off their torso and looked at Buddy.
¡°I, Arnold Librarian, willingly and magically swear that I will keep myself to blindness unless instructed otherwise by¡¡± They paused, waiting for a name. Buddy supplied it, gesturing with the flare again. ¡°Buddy Pall.¡± There was a short pause.
¡°Unless instructed otherwise by wizard Buddy Pall.¡±
A nearby bulb flickered, a constricting feeling around the right side of his chest where his heart was. The feeling faded, the geas having taken ahold.
Arnold wobbled again, attempting a step forward before deciding against it. They muttered something about the unnerving darkness.
¡°Say, as a gesture of goodwill, can I see?¡±
¡°Yes.¡±
The mannequin paused, blinking if they could¡¯ve.
¡°Alright then.¡±
Buddy left Arnold to it, taking the time to put the duffel bag away near his bed, and took the plastic bag of flares into his workstation. In there, an electric lantern hung from one of the pipes instead of anything official. When he entered after ducking his head, a motion sensor turned it on. The space was cast in pale white LED light.
Said light illuminated a thick desk accompanied by a stool with many drawers on either side. Setting the bag atop the desk, the plastic crinkled as it sat right next to one of his notebooks in the corner. Like his office, everything was in its place. A calm collection of things and tools. And also like his office, the smell of cedar was strong here. The stool squeaked as he sat, hunching over his desk.
Taking the same flare he was originally holding, he began to look for a good place to start. He reached for one of the jeweler¡¯s loupes he kept in the top right drawer, the magnification tools useful for his work. He preferred the handheld kind, the small LED working up until he heard the creaking of Arnold poking their head in.
The loupe clicked as it was laid against the desk, Buddy turning around on their stool.
Arnold was in the middle of looking all over when Buddy turned around, pausing when they noticed his stare.
¡°So, Buddy Pall, was it?¡±
He grunted. Arnold took a step inside, the electric lantern dimming a little. Buddy made a mental note to fix Arnold¡¯s overflow problem later. The mannequin in the meanwhile, seemed transfixed by his desk.
¡°Fascinating workplace. You¡¯re an enchanter?¡±
Another grunt.
¡°That would explain the rope¡¯s handiwork. It was very thorough.¡± Arnold¡¯s tone flattened near the end, and then they course corrected. ¡°Of course, my compliments to you; you just have to understand what it¡¯s like on the other end.¡± Arnold¡¯s ¡®gaze¡¯ had moved down to presumably Buddy¡¯s pockets, where the aforementioned ropes were.
¡°It¡¯s my job to be thorough.¡± Buddy turned around again, returning his attention to the flare. Now, did he want to start at the base or near the cap? As he thought, Arnold interjected with,
¡°Say, is your middle name Chum?¡±
¡°What?¡± Buddy paused picking up the loupe.
¡°Nevermind then. Just a curiosity.¡± Arnold tapped their fingers on one of the pipes, making a ringing sound. They jerked at that, mumbling something and then left Buddy to sweet silence. Mostly. The folks upstairs were using water again and he could hear it.
Shaking his head, he put the loupe against his eye. Inspecting the flare, he noted the quality of it. That¡¯d make layering what he wanted easier. Turning the flare over, Buddy let his eyes unfocus. What he was looking for was just a little beyond the material.
The desk lit up, pale white etch work spiraling across the entire surface. The red of the flare looked dull in contrast. Pressing his finger near the cap, his skin appeared almost translucent. The finger bone was replaced with a shimmering silver line, a fine point at the tip. Said tip rested just underneath the flare cap.
His breathing slowed as he began to trace wide-open eyes flowing into each other in a loop. His first pass was light, getting a sense of the shape before the silvery needle-point lowered, now carving grooves into the papery material.
As he worked, he kept a firm mental image in his mind: The flare was burning, a photograph fed into it. The smoke and red flame began to jerk in a direction, pointing Buddy toward his target. It was a familiar image, one easy to keep steady. Breathing out, the first loop around was done. Buddy began work on the second, still holding onto the same idea.
With enchanting, the more you repeated an idea relative to the object¡¯s size, the stronger and more cohesive it would be. Buddy could cover the entire thing with the idea of ¡®find¡¯ but if he did that? Well, experience would tell him that the flame would detach and fly to its target.
You had to be careful. Enchant something too much, and it became overzealous in its purpose. He could detail a few horror stories about overbearing protection wards, but that¡¯d be a distraction. In the meantime, he finished the second loop. As he worked, he left room for the stealth layer he would have to do.
Two loops became three, the eyes widening the lower he got. Retracting the needle-point, he inspected the flare body. The lines were clean, even as he brought the loupe to bear. Good, good. Letting his eyes refocus, his desk lost its luminescence. The flare looked unaltered in this state, but he could feel the itch in the back of his mind as he held it. With that confirmation, he resumed his work.
Working in between the space he left for himself from his prior pass-through, he began to etch out the exact opposite of what he did before. A ring of closed eyes interwoven with the open ones. A careful pattern, one required so they didn¡¯t interfere with one another. As he worked, a slight buzz grew. With every wrap-around, he redirected the flame to be visible only to the magic spectrum.
A hidden, seen only to a few.
This one required deeper grooves, the idea wrestling with the base concept. As Buddy kept the needle moving, he had to coax the magic. It would still be seen. He wasn¡¯t snuffing it out. Bit by bit, it complied. A buzzing sound began to die down. Pulling his hand back, he looked over his work. Again, there was that itch, a sensation of purpose. A good sign.
Staring at the rest of the flare, he considered just how to work in the final enchantment. Starting from the top, he drew down four lines in equal distance from each other, looking like teardrops from the closed eyes.
That¡¯d be his connection point. Working from those drawn lines, he continued the eye theme and drew open eyes again. Though instead of staring straight ahead, these ones turned their gaze to the teardrops. The idea was that anything that could see the light would be transfixed. The buzzing sound came back, and the flare¡¯s essence wavered, a smoky apparition derived from the base object.
In contest to this, he kept his idea firm. Flares were meant to draw attention. This was giving it back its purpose. The invisible flame would not hide it from its intended target. When he was done, he had opened his sketchbook, tracing the designs with pencil. This would be a field test to see how this iteration worked.
Closing the notebook, he stood up from his desk, leaving his workstation. Most importantly, he needed a glass of water. Heading to the kitchenette, he found Arnold staring at his laundry basket. Using the same cup he cleaned earlier, the sound of running water drew Arnold out from their reverie.
Jerking upright, they turned their head to face the sound. Seeing Buddy, they made a sound akin to that of a cough.
¡°Sorry, sorry. I was just admiring the enchantments. You make everything in this place?¡±
Buddy took a swig before responding.
¡°If it wasn¡¯t collected, I did it myself.¡± He finished the rest of his glass in a second swig as Arnold was left processing that.
¡°So you made this basket?¡±
¡°Enchanted it, yes.¡±
¡°Of course of course, that¡¯s what I meant. It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve seen clean lines like the ones here.¡±
Buddy wasn¡¯t sure what angle the mannequin was playing at. Either they were trying to butter him up, or they¡¯ve been around piss poor enchanters. Drying off his cup again, the second option wasn¡¯t too unlikely. Most went for evocation magic and it showed.
¡°Just some simple cleaning. Nothing fancy.¡± His words were accentuated by a cupboard closing.
¡°And it folds. I¡¯d say that¡¯s fancy.¡± Arnold said.
Turning around from the cupboard, Buddy looked at Arnold now. They shrunk a little at the eye contact.
¡°What?¡±
A moment of consideration, then, ¡°Good eye.¡±
¡°Well, I¡¯d hope I¡¯d have that.¡± Arnold tapped their head, a wooden thunking sound. ¡°I¡¯ve seen all sorts of enchantments and magic script.¡± They waved a hand in the general direction of the basket. ¡°You could show me anything and I could tell you what it does.¡±
Buddy grew a smile.
Well, he¡¯s been intending to show off his tools.
Arnold was sitting down, head in their hands. Barricading them was a ring of objects, seemingly originating from an open toolbox, a cheery red despite the wear and few scratch marks. Buddy sat across from them. In his hands were a pair of bolt cutters.
The mannequin was, in fact, passing his impromptu pop quiz with flying colors, even with the few tools that Budd had obscured. And that, was interesting.
Enchantments and enchant designs work based on meaning. That¡¯s why using symbols was helpful. Now, the symbols varied slightly from person to person and how they interpreted them, but the consensus was that you needed both genuine belief and consistency.
Some enchanters would create their own hieroglyphic-like languages in order to make it harder to discern an object¡¯s enchanted purpose. He himself? He¡¯s dabbled a bit. Mainly for when he knew he was going against something truly intelligent.
Arnold moved their hand away from their face, staring at the bolt cutters with a heavy sigh.
¡°That destroys touched objects. Fascinating design but I would appreciate having it far away from me.¡±
Buddy put the cutters down back onto their foam compartment, nodding to himself.
¡°Do I pass?¡± Arnold asked, their voice tired as they rocked back and forth a little. Buddy nodded, resisting the urge to rub his hands together. Oh, he had some things he had collected his job that he was real tempted to put in front of this mannequin. But that would come later, when he felt a spark more trust in the wooden puppet.
¡°I don¡¯t know about you, but I¡¯d like a break.¡± Arnold was granted it with a wave from Buddy as the man went around to collect his tools and put them back into place. The toolbox fit more than it really should, having several layers and compartments. After it was all closed up, he gave a little pat on the top.
Arnold stood up in the meanwhile, finding a wall to sit against. Their motions were more subdued, quiet. Their head tilted forward, staring at the ground. As they went seemingly dormant, Buddy set his toolbox down nearby his bed. Calling out for Arnold to switch off their sight, the mannequin grumbled but Buddy could feel the tug of compliance. With that done, he stripped to his under wear and undershirt, tossing his overalls into the laundry basket.
Walking over to flip off the lights, the only source of illumination became the green digital clock of the oven. Satisfied, Buddy walked over to his bed, flopping down and pulling up the single sheet.
Perhaps it was risky to leave Arnold out and about. But Buddy was a light sleeper with a few plans in place. Relaxing his muscles, he let the closest thing a wizard could get to sleep claim him.
Closing his eyes, he entered a soft grey room. There were no entrances nor exits, no windows or lights. Just quiet grey. He could conjure something here. Instead, he laid on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. It was monotonous. It was calming.
In the back of his mind, the ticking of time lost meaning. He had a mental alarm set for a few hours, but that was the worry of a future self. Idle plans about tomorrow would occasionally bounce, but he discarded them after a moment or two.
His checklist was complete. He had the rope, the trackers, and everything else. Against a Haunt? It was the most prepared he could be within a day. Staring at the grey, he wished for a dream.
As usual, he didn¡¯t get one. Wizards never did.
Short Update
Howdy hey! Chapter 3 is still in draft 2; a few things on my end have been delaying its completion. I wanted to give a heads-up since I did say I would try weekly uploads. I might also go underground, get a few chapters in a backlog, and then start posting again.
When chapter 3 comes out, I''ll delete this notice, and hopefully, the schedule will be in swing again.
Buddy stroked their chin, reading the newspaper. AJ was sitting across from him with her arms crossed. Next to her sat two empty cups and a plate with crumbs of eggs and cheese. A waiter arriving with coffee caused him to take a break, the paper rustling as it was set aside. Taking a short sip of scalding brew, he rubbed his forehead. AJ was eyeing the newspaper herself now. A bunch of these papers had gone out, and it was confusing the city as no one knew what it was referring to. Aside from the short notice, the rest of the text was gibberish. Squiggly lines that looked like words at first glance, but any serious perusal would leave you with a thudding headache and a host of questions.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
Nursing on his coffee, he slowly nodded to himself. Seems someone hi-jacked a print station or something. Not his business. Nothing magical about the newspaper or its contents therein, so little reason for him to step in
"Can''t detect anything odd ''bout it."
"So this is, normal?"
"Best as I can tell, yes."
"Huh."
AJ stared daggers at the newspaper. With a bit more concentration, she might''ve been an impromptu shredder.
"Well okay then. Alright, I guess that''s today''s work."
Buddy finished his coffee, and they both stood up after silent agreement.
Outside the coffee shop, there was a crowd of people all mushed together to listen to man preach about the end times. He wove around a copy of the newspaper up high, giving a sermon how it was a message from the gods. The man lacked any sense of vocal charisma, only the sheer spectacle of it being a draw.
Buddy and AJ looked at each other and decided to go the opposite way.