ã€ŠDark Tidingsã€‹


 Prologue - Dark Tidings

    The sound of the front door being slammed tells Alan that his roommate finally returned home from work, and considering the late hour, the other man is probably good and pissed off. Inwardly, Alan can¡¯t help but sympathize. You only get so long on this earth, and the average person spends far too long of it sitting in an office and twiddling their thumbs.

    From his bed where he was lounging without a single thought in his head, Alan stands up, avoids bashing his knee against his rickety nightstand, and crosses his small, somewhat barren bedroom in just a handful of steps. Leaning against his open doorframe, he waits patiently.

    From the kitchen of the modest apartment, down the hall, and out of sight, Alan hears grumbling and the sound of someone rifling through the refrigerator. A moment later, there is the sound of a bottlecap being popped, the refrigerator door shutting, then heavy footsteps as a shadowed form makes its way down the hallway.

    ¡°Rough day, Chip?¡± Alan asks, crossing his arms as the other man steps under the dim light in the hallway.

    Chip isn¡¯t somebody that Alan would call a close friend, owing to the other man being nearly 15 years his senior and living with a few sets of problems that Alan isn¡¯t going to pretend that he understands. The older man is still friendly enough, though, so long as the landmine that is his failed marriage is stepped around.

    Alan made that mistake once.

    Chip sighs and raises the beer in his hand, pressing the cool glass to his forehead. His workday must have been something, because the red color of his face extends all the way up to his bald head. ¡°Same shit, different day, Alan. Same shit, different day,¡± he growls. ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to keep my department moving smoothly, today with a few proposed changes to the complaint box system, and what does my team do? They smile and agree with everything I have to say as they dig their heels in and refuse to budge an inch. I¡¯ve about had it! They could at least not be two-faced about it!¡±

    Alan nods along as Chip vents to him with growing spleen, though Alan is only half listening. Chip recently became an HR middle manager at some accounting firm that Alan can¡¯t remember the name of, replacing the previous manager who was fired. The problem? Chip came from another department, and all of the current HR staff were rather incensed that none of them were selected for promotion. If Chip¡¯s complaints aren¡¯t over-exaggerated, then damn near everyone on his team has it out for him.

    Chip¡¯s complaints finally begin to lose steam after several minutes. He sighs once more and takes a deep swig of the bottle in his hand. ¡°Dammit, is one easy day too much to ask for?¡±

    ¡°Mmm, I know the feeling,¡± Alan nods along, inwardly grimacing as he thinks of the workday to come tomorrow. ¡°I¡¯m going to have a ton of geriatrics jumping up my ass because we¡¯re announcing the retirement of our fax lines tomorrow. I can only imagine how many calls we¡¯re going to get.¡±

    Chip lets out a chuckle. ¡°I told you realty is no business for anyone with self-respect.¡±

    ¡°Then it¡¯s a perfect job for me, isn¡¯t it?¡± Alan rolls his eyes.

    Scratching his mostly-pepper-and-some-salt beard, Chip leans against the wall, lifting a finger from around his beer bottle to point at Alan. ¡°Your pal is one of those nutty outdoorsy guys, right? Did you see the latest ¡®bigfoot¡¯ sighting on Channel 11? Supposedly some poor guy hit a real-life Bigfoot getting off the exchange way on the north side of town. Totaled his car and everything, but they never found out what he hit.¡±

    ¡°Considering the entire Commonwealth is still in a state of emergency over the opioid epidemic, are you sure he didn¡¯t hit a purple dragon instead?¡± Alan smirks, but under his sarcasm, he idly wonders what¡¯s going on.

    On the internet, TV news, and the occasional times he can stomach public radio during his commute, Alan has been hearing about strange happenings all over the world. Weird animals, unexplained events, and supposed cases of demonic possession, to name a few. There was, of course, speculation on if any of these incidents were connected, and why they were happening if they were real. There are the typical bozos trying to explain it all away and sound smart in the process for internet cred, while others say it¡¯s all a distraction from something else that the people in power are up to. Many fall into the middle ground of shrugging and saying, ¡°it is what it is,¡± utterly desensitized to odd occurrences by now.

    There were, of course, other voices weighing in on everything, but the less said about the creeps who want to find the ¡®anomalous creatures¡¯ for sex, the better.

    The weird incidents only get a few seconds of thought from Alan, who shrugs and moves on. ¡°If you¡¯re talking about Chase, then I¡¯m sure he¡¯s heard the news.¡± Privately, he thinks: ¡®especially since Chase is in that weirdo group of ¡®Cryptid Hunters¡¯ or whatever they¡¯re called.¡¯

    The pair of men speak for only a few more minutes, turning to more normal topics before separating. Chip polishes off his drink, and after saying good night, retires to his bedroom. Returning to his own bedroom, Alan hums to himself and wonders how to spend the rest of his Thursday night.

    Considering there¡¯s been nothing noteworthy, let alone good released on TV in¡­ Several years at least, venturing into the living room seems pointless. A quick glance at his computer tells him that none of his relatively small circle of friends is online to talk to, so that¡¯s a bust as well. None of his library of video games interests him at the moment, and his weed dealer is in jail again, so no smoking either. It¡¯s also too late to go downtown for entertainment (not that he has the energy to go downtown after work anyway.)

    Bereft of anything else to do, Alan sighs and falls backward onto his bed. His hand blindly gropes for his cell phone, and when he finds it, he unlocks the device and opens the browser. From there, he proceeds to wade through all of the posts and articles fed to his device by algorithms in hopes of finding something engaging to read.

    After sacrificing his time at the unholy alter of the internet, Alan looks away from his phone to the window, only to blink in confusion when he finds it pitch black. ¡°The hell?¡± He mumbles, narrowing his eyes. ¡°I wasn¡¯t doom scrolling for that long, was I?¡± He sits up and looks around, only to realize something else.

    Not just the window is pitch black. The walls, the door, the ceiling, and the floor are all a flat, uniform black. He swears his eyes must be playing tricks on him, for it almost looks like the black surfaces are squirming or writhing. Hell, even the bed he¡¯s lying on is swallowed by the darkness. A chill blows past his skin the longer he looks. Did he leave the window open?

    Looking back down at his phone with a frown, he knows he isn¡¯t blind because he can still see himself, but the light from the phone screen doesn¡¯t seem to do much, if anything, for the pitch blackness around him.

    ¡®Huh. Maybe those articles about the weird shit happening were on to something.¡¯ Alan grunts. Once upon a time, an event like this may have been alarming, but now? ¡®Maybe if I didn¡¯t have to do a voiceover for a phone menu that literally everyone is going to skip tomorrow so they can yell at me, I would care a bit more.¡¯ A yawn forces its way from his mouth. If he¡¯s being honest with himself, complete darkness seems like it would make for some exquisite sleep, something he could really use. ¡®Whatever. I don¡¯t have the energy for this. I¡¯ll just go to bed.¡¯

    After hitting the lock screen on his phone, Alan is forced to pat his bed to find his coverings, but when he does, he pulls them over himself and leans back, his head hitting his pillow. Another yawn breaks free, and once it subsides, he finds himself smiling as he settles to sleep. Maybe advocates for blackout curtains are onto something because the odd darkness makes his eyelids heavy. The slight chill in the room also contrasts nicely with the warmth of his covers, making for quite a cozy feeling. ¡®Not bad¡­¡¯ His smile grows as he drifts off. ¡®Not bad at all¡­¡¯

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°Do not dismiss me so casually, Son of Adam.¡± A voice both airy and guttural seems to rumble from every direction, stopping Alan just short of falling asleep. ¡°Thou might regret such an action. Awaken, and hear mine words.¡±

    Grunting, Alan forces an eye open. ¡°Who the hell is¡­!¡± He bites his tongue and jumps when he looks up at the ceiling.

    On the ceiling and standing out in stark contrast to the pitch blackness around it is a grinning face, and it¡¯s not a human one, either. Two perfectly round eyes hover above a maw of sharp, animalistic teeth, which would fit better on some manner of monstrous canine than any natural creature. If the eyes and teeth are attached to a head, then the details of the head are lost in the surrounding darkness.

    For a long moment, Alan and the great unknown thing stare at each other, and just before the first minute can pass, Alan scowls as his initial surprise drains away. ¡°What the hell are you doing in my apartment?¡±

    The thing recoils, seemingly taken aback. ¡°Thou asks the wrong question. Should thou be not more concerned with whom he speaks?¡± The thing asks. Its voice is paradoxically gentle and rough at the same time, as if several people are speaking in sync. Trying to place a gender to it seems impossible. Its grin falls somewhat. ¡°Should thou not be more concerned with potential harm upon thee?¡±

    ¡°Look at my face,¡± Alan demands, taking a hand from under the covers and pointing to himself. ¡°Does this look like the face of someone who gives a fuck? Answer my question. What are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°Such vulgarity¡­¡± The thing¡¯s grin falls further, now closer to a neutral expression. ¡°Your lack of civility is unbecoming of you, Son of Adam.¡±

    ¡°You broke into my apartment and you expect me to be civil?¡± Alan snorts and rests his hands behind his head. ¡°Also, what¡¯s with this ¡®Son of Adam¡¯ thing? Are you some kind of biblical demon? If you¡¯re expecting me to recognize you, I haven¡¯t read the Ars Goetia or the rest of Solomon¡¯s Key since my high school edgelord days.¡±

    The demon hisses like a snake, bearing its fangs as it does so. ¡°I would not be so foolish as to allow Solomon to pen mine visage or might where others may read, but if thou has read the King¡¯s passages and understood the fell beings within, then thou should not be so cavalier before me!¡± Alan watches the fang-filled jaws grumble. ¡°Thou also does not carry with him the stately countenance of a lord of ¡®edge¡¯, whatever trapping that may be.¡±

    Alan sniffs, swiftly running out of patience. ¡°Okay. Who are you? And answer my original question, dammit!¡±

    The darkness within the room seems to pulsate in delight, and the supposed demon¡¯s grin returns. ¡°Mine is a tale ancient even to the reckonings of my kin. Twas I, the first night upon the epoch of humanity, who did teach the first children of Adam fear of the unseen, the fear of glittering fangs and watchful eyes. As man huddled around their humble fires, shivering and watching the shadows dance, I, the Primordial Darkness, was there, hounding each step, each night. From mine womb came all creatures which stalk where only the foolhardy tread. To this day, all of mankind has learned mine lessons of terror, of darkness and fangs, from his oldest of fathers. Of them-¡°

    ¡°Okay, okay, I get it!¡± Alan holds up a hand and interrupts the demon, who looks down at him, visibly affronted. ¡°You like to hear yourself talk, don¡¯t you? Do you have some kind of name I can call you by? I¡¯ve just been thinking of you as it or demon in my head and it¡¯s getting repetitive.¡±

    The demon frowns. ¡®Mine is not an address that can be uttered by a human tongue. As I have stated, I am the Primordial Darkness, Eldest and Greatest of The Unknown.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not much of a name¡­¡± Alan mumbles. ¡°Okay, Prim. Moving on, why are-¡°

    ¡°Prim?¡± The now-named ¡®Prim¡¯ interrupts, giving the man below a cockeyed stare.

    ¡°Look, Primordial Darkness is a mouthful. Don¡¯t blame me when I shorten it.¡± Alan clicks his tongue. ¡°And for the third time, answer my original question!¡±

    The demon¡¯s face falls into a scowl that some might consider bowel-loosening. Alan just finds it irritating. ¡°Thine impudence is noted, Son of Adam, and will not be forgotten. To answer thine question, thou art simply the first human I have crossed since mine reemergence.¡± Prim¡¯s voice softens, turning into something soothing and tender, too tender for a human mouth to make. ¡°Be grateful that despite thine rude tongue, I will still grant thee an accord, if willing.¡±

    An accord? Like, some kind of partnership or agreement? And what¡¯s this about being the first man the demon has come across? Alan shakes his head. The tone Prim is using is the same one his ex-girlfriend would use on him whenever she wanted something. That woman was infinitely worse than any demon, and it taught him to be wary. ¡°Okay, whatever,¡± he smirks. ¡°Make my Accord the new model year, though.¡±

    As he expected, the joke flies right over Prim¡¯s head. ¡°New¡­ model year?¡± It asks, cocking its head. ¡°Whatever thine jest may be, it has found no proper audience.¡±

    ¡°Whatever¡­¡± Alan mumbles. Deciding that the conversation is officially too troublesome to deal with, he turns and pulls his covers up to his chin. ¡°No deal. Go away. I¡¯ve got work in the morning and need to get to bed.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Would thou so readily turn away if thou knew what sorts of delights I could offer?¡± The voice is now coming an inch away from his ear, and he can feel chilled breath on his neck. ¡°I am the Eldest and Greatest of The Unknown. Great and terrible powers beyond thine wildest dreams are ripe for the taking. Thou need only give something small in return.¡±

    ¡°Fuck off.¡±

    Alan starts when the blankets around him seemingly squeeze him. The pressure is not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to be uncomfortable. Turning, he peers into burning white eyes only inches away from his own.

    ¡°Son of Adam,¡± Prim growls, the sound reverberating around the room and touching something unspeakably ancient within the pinned man. ¡°Perhaps thou do not understand thine situation. One does not reject the Call of the Unknown, especially after such disrespect. Thou art nothing before me, and with but a flex of my will, thou will be unmade!¡± Prim¡¯s jaws snap shut inches away from his face. ¡°Understood?¡±

    For a few seconds, Alan mulls over his options. He could try to be a kiss-ass, but that might be even less appreciated. He could take the deal, probably selling his soul and damning himself forever. Or¡­ Fuck it.

    ¡°Will it hurt?¡±

    Prim once more seems taken aback. ¡°Come again?¡± It¡¯s head recoils backward, seeming to merge into the wall. ¡°Thine question sounds as if¡­¡±

    ¡°Will it hurt?¡± Alan repeats, his eyebrow raised. ¡°Look, if I¡¯m dead, then I don¡¯t have to go to work tomorrow or deal with any other bullshit. If I¡¯m being honest with you, I¡¯m kind of done with this ¡®being alive¡¯ business. I don¡¯t care enough to pull the trigger myself, but if it happens, then it happens. I can¡¯t say that I¡¯ll be upset either way.¡± He pauses. ¡°I¡¯d like enough time to write a letter to my mom, though. I think she¡¯s the only one who would actually be upset if I was gone.¡±

    Prim¡¯s jaw drops, and the demon seems rendered speechless. ¡°I¡­¡± It pauses, at a loss. ¡°Son of Adam, surely that is a falsehood. Thine life, thine Divine Spark, is a gift envied by all. So precious is it, that mine kin would do anything to acquire it. Surely thou would not just¡­ throw it away?¡±

    The tired man can only shrug.

    Prim seems to shrink on itself, the blackness on the wall writhing as if given goosebumps. Alan has to wonder what it says about him that he¡¯s not the upset one here.

    ¡°That¡­¡± Prim finally speaks. Its voice is slow and halting, but also soft, as if wounded. ¡°We¡­ Are not finished with negotiations, Son of Adam.¡± It finally forces out. ¡°We shall speak more in the morn, after thou have rested. I am so very confused, and proper dialogue is sorely needed.¡±

    ¡°Whatever¡­¡± Alan turns away again, hoping this conversation is finally over. ¡°And the name is Alan, not ¡®Son of Adam¡¯. Talk about pretentious titles¡­¡± He closes his eyes. ¡°Hey, can you keep the room dark? Or is that going to cost me my soul? I was damn near asleep before we started talking.¡±

    ¡°¡­That is a boon I can indeed grant freely, Alan.¡±

    The man sighs. ¡°Cool. Talk to you in the morning, I guess.¡±

    A moment later, he¡¯s dead to the world.

 Chapter 1 : Opening Daze

    ¡°Son of Adam-¡°

    ¡°Just ¡®Alan¡¯ is fine, Prim¡­¡± Alan grunts past his toothbrush and the foamy toothpaste on his lips. He can already feel the oppressive hands of a clock running short pushing down on him, so the sentient patch of darkness on the wall is only afforded a fraction of his attention. He takes a moment to think over his morning so far.

    It started off rather well, in his opinion. Alan slept well enough that he woke up before his alarm, though he found himself confused by the unnaturally dark morning. Then his alarm clock went off, startling the unnatural darkness into receding. Once the window was freed from the grasp of the living shroud, the morning light was finally allowed in.

    That¡¯s when he remembered that he apparently spoke to a real-deal demon the night prior, one who¡­ watched him sleep¡­

    Ech.

    He lay there for a moment and pondered, wondering if he was actually serious with himself during his closing conversation with the demon. Would he actually be okay with a quiet, painless death at the hands of some kind of inky darkness monster? Or was that merely irritation talking? Alan can¡¯t say he knows for sure, even now. He wasn¡¯t given long to think, as he realized that he¡¯s got to get ready for work.

    The Primordial Darkness, or Prim as he nicknamed it the last night, followed him for his morning routine, slinking across the walls and floor like a living ink puddle. Its grin from the night prior was absent, leaving only stark white eyes visible. Thus far, Prim has only been observing quietly.

    ¡®At least it¡¯s Friday¡­¡¯ Alan pulls himself from his thoughts. After rinsing his mouth and spitting the remainder of the toothpaste into the bathroom sink, he pulls his lips back into a facsimile of a smile and inspects his teeth in the mirror. ¡®That should be good.¡¯

    ¡°Alan,¡± Prim speaks up, blinking its large eyes. ¡°We must make time for proper dialogue. I have had much time to ruminate upon our discussion the night prior, and it is evident that much has changed since me and mine have walked this earth. I would know why thou has¡­ seemingly no interest in preserving thine life.¡± Once more, the demon seems unsettled by such a concept.

    Alan sighs and rubs his chin. The stubble on his face can get away with one more day unshaved. ¡°If I¡¯m being perfectly honest, I phrased it a bit like a drama queen last night. I¡¯m not running around looking for something to kill me, I¡¯m just saying that if it happens, then it happens, and I¡¯ll accept it. It would be¡­ You know? A lateral move?¡± After a moment, he adds: ¡°Besides, aren¡¯t you an ancient demon? Surely you¡¯ve seen people actually do the deed.¡±

    Alan can see the black patch on the wall shift slightly. The round, white eyes look at the floor for a second before meeting his again. ¡°Thou art correct. I hath seen men in both moments of unrivaled glory and moments of unthinkable despair. In the latter, some decided to spurn their Father¡¯s gift and take their own lives, but such men had suffered in ways incomprehensible, all of them losing everything which gave their life definition, or slaying themselves to escape ongoing torment. Their Divine Spark was long gone before the first drop of lifeblood soaked into the earth.¡±

    When Prim doesn¡¯t elaborate further, Alan hums and quickly takes a comb to his short-ish brown hair. ¡°Whatever. If you¡¯re still insisting on talking to me later, then you¡¯re going to have to hang out here while I¡¯m at work.¡± Once his hair is in a sterile, office worker side part, he checks his button-up shirt, tie, slacks, and shoes one last time. Everything looks fine, so he looks down at his wristwatch and grimaces.

    Ten minutes before he needs to be on the road.

    ¡°Later?¡± Prim parrots, tilting their currently 2D head. ¡°I would request we speak sooner, rather than later.¡±

    ¡°And I would be thrilled to skip work and hang out, make no mistake,¡± Alan nods. Oh, how he does not want to go in today. ¡°But I¡¯ve only got so many days off a year, so that¡¯s not happening.¡±

    The demon doesn¡¯t seem too happy with the news, though Alan only has the narrowing of its eyes as an indicator, so who knows, really? ¡°And how long of a day does thine trade require?¡±

    ¡®Trade? Ha! If I could go back in time and tell myself to be a welder or something, I would.¡¯ Alan shrugs. ¡°Considering we¡¯ve implemented a big change to client workflow? I have no idea how long this is going to take. Today could be a twelve-hour day for all I know.¡±

    Prim levels him with an unsure glare, as if not believing him. ¡°Very well. Surely thou art granted some respite from your toils, however? May we speak then?¡±

    ¡°You sure are insistent,¡± Alan idly mutters, checking his watch once more. Eight minutes until he needs to leave. He turns and exits the bathroom, watching Prim follow him along the wall. In the kitchen, he takes a hooded, zip-up jacket on the back of one of the kitchen chairs and throws it on. ¡°I get thirty minutes for lunch around noon. If you think you can fit everything into that, then sure.¡± He pats his pockets, confirming he has everything he needs to leave. ¡°You¡¯re going to have to lay low in the office, though. I¡¯m pretty sure letting a demon in is grounds for me getting fired.¡±

    Prim blinks, its eyes scanning him for a moment. ¡°I believe I have a solution.¡±

    The muddy darkness on the wall transforms into a thin stream of black, one that flies through the air and into the shadow between Alan¡¯s jacket and his body. The shadow darkens noticeably, and Alan can feel the inside of the jacket grow cool, as if a breeze is constantly circulating within. Looking down, he can see Prim¡¯s eyes looking back up at him from the darkness.

    ¡°Huh, that¡¯s pretty nifty,¡± Alan admits. He pulls the edge of his jacket away from his body experimentally, finding that the shadow underneath is still as dark as ever. ¡°I guess I shouldn¡¯t be surprised.¡±

    Prim and its powers are forgotten for a moment in favor of getting on with his day. Grumbling to himself, Alan steps outside, locks the door labeled ¡°Unit 67¡± behind him, and begins the trek down to his car, and it is a trek, because his goddamn upstairs neighbors took his parking spot again. He doesn¡¯t spare the rows of identical apartments behind him a second glance, but after looking around carefully, he lashes his foot out, kicking the door of the rusty truck parked in his spot and adding yet another dent to it. ¡®Next time, you¡¯re getting a nail in your tire, you drunken fuck.¡¯

    The walk to the overflow parking lot takes a minute, and once there, Alan unlocks his rickety, late-90s sedan and sits down inside, slamming the door behind him. A turn of the key later, and the old car reluctantly groans to life. As Alan mentally prepares himself for another commute, he spies a blobby tendril with two white eyes rising from the depths of his jacket to peer out the window.

    ¡°The world of man has faced great and monumental change, it seems¡­¡± The eldritch thing seems bewildered as it takes in the passing buildings and other cars. ¡°Before mine slumber, beasts pulled such things,¡± it says, the tendril turning to follow a passing semi truck. ¡°It would be the height of foolishness to hew them from steel in those days. Such heavy contraptions would need a legion of horses to pull them a single league.¡±

    Alan grunts, focusing on driving. Or, more accurately, he¡¯s focusing on the person in front of him, who must be drunk or playing on their phone from how they¡¯re swerving back and forth. ¡°What¡¯s up with that anyway? I¡¯ve been hearing about more and more supernatural stuff in the news. Is there some kinda¡­¡± He lifts a hand and turns his wrist in a circle, searching for the word he wants. ¡°I dunno what I¡¯m trying to say. Is your appearance and all of the weird shit happening recently connected?¡±

    Prim is silent for a moment. ¡°Perhaps. Old and powerful I am, but perfect recall is not within mine repertoire... I do not recall what circumstances led me to sleep for what seems to be centuries. In the weeks before mine eyes shut, many of the Greater Powers began to fall silent, as if gone from the earth. It was at the same time man began to advance forward with haste. I was one of the last, and by the time realization hath struck me, the hour for action had already passed.¡± The dark, eye-sporting tendril recedes, and Alan can feel it beneath his jacket. ¡°Tis only reasonable to assume that with my reemergence, others shall return as well.¡±

    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Alan lets the conversation lapse into silence as he turns onto the highway. Wasting no time, he gets into the slow lane, and sets his cruise control at exactly the speed limit. In twenty minutes, it¡¯ll be time to get off the five lanes of anxiety around him. ¡®That¡¯s something, I guess. I guess I¡¯ll have to tell Chase and make sure that he doesn¡¯t run off and get himself killed trying to rob gnomes or something.¡¯ He sniffs. ¡°Hey, Prim?¡±

    His jacket shifts again. ¡°Yes, Alan?¡±

    ¡°What do I refer to you as?¡± He begins. ¡°As in, genderwise. He? She? Something else? I don¡¯t want to call you ¡®it¡¯.¡±

    From the shadow within his jacket, the white eyes regard him with what looks like a raised brow. ¡°It matters not to one such as I. Such notions are human, and thus are not applicable to me. Refer to me however thou wishes.¡±

    Alan rolls his eyes. ¡°Humor me. I was going to assume female from your little spiel last night, but I don¡¯t make assumptions after my last HR write-up.¡±

    If Prim is annoyed or confused by the statement, it doesn¡¯t show. ¡°Female would be the more correct one, if only technically.¡± She finally confirms.

    The rest of the drive to the office is quiet, and thankfully free of any drama on the road. Were it not a workday, and one that¡¯s guaranteed to be bad, Alan might have pondered further on the revelation that all of the odd happenings on the news are likely not bullshit, but the trial to come smothers that curiosity in the cradle.

    Much to Alan¡¯s dread, they finally arrive.

    Pulling into his parking spot and shutting off his car, Alan holds his hand up to his brow to shield his eyes from the sun¡¯s glare.

    ¡°Damn it all¡­¡± He curses to himself.

    He already spies a welcome sign by the office front door, one with an overtly colorful and cheery message asking visitors to come right in and help themselves to some coffee and pastries.

    ¡°They¡¯re already expecting walk-ins who want to scream at someone¡­¡± Alan resigns himself to his fate. He steps out of his car and slams the door behind him. ¡°Let''s get this over with¡­¡±

    ¡°Enthusiasm for thine trade seems lacking¡­¡± Prim comments quietly. A white eye looks up, taking in the bombastically red sign reading West Commonwealth Realty on the side of the brick building.

    ¡°Believe me, it¡¯s for good reason¡­¡± Alan grumbles back.

    Stepping inside the office, the man is once more reminded just how ugly the open-air design is, and thanks his lucky stars that he nabbed a spot by the corner. During the rare times when the office isn¡¯t metaphorically on fire, he can keep his head down and most people forget he exists.

    Sitting down at his desk, he jiggles the mouse of his old computer, signs into his timeclock, and clocks in with a few minutes to spare.

    ¡°How queer¡­¡± Prim mumbles. One of her eyes scans the office discreetly, even if she and Alan are the only ones here. Her gaze roams the desks, the computers, and the papers. Then she moves to the walls, which are adorned with eye-searingly colorful posters, ugly art murals, and award portraits so large, they come across as masturbatory. ¡°What manner of facility is this? I see not tools nor materials to work with, and doubts arise for clerical work with so little stationery.¡±

    ¡°This is a real estate office, Prim.¡± Alan mumbles. ¡°So this does fall under clerical work. All of this, and all the people who were going to come in here, facilitate third party buying and selling of land and buildings, a.k.a. real estate.¡±

    ¡°¡­Can the owners of the ¡®real estate¡¯ not perform such transactions themselves?¡±

    Alan snorts, a sardonic smile rising to his face. He looks down and aims his smirk at Prim. ¡°We don¡¯t ask intelligent questions like that around here.¡±

    The demon blinks back, and such a simple action easily conveys her confusion. ¡°I see¡­¡± She says, not understanding at all. ¡°What function do you perform here, Alan?¡±

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    Alan looks up at the name tag attached to the wall of his half-cubicle.

    Alan Conan

    Senior Technology Consultant

    ¡°My job is nothing, and everything, all at the same time¡­¡± Alan¡¯s mouth draws itself into a thin line. ¡°Nothing, and everything.¡±

    [line]

    ¡°This is how I¡¯ve done things for thirty years! Do you hear me!? The machine sitting in my office has been doing this longer than you¡¯ve been alive! You high and mighty kids are all the damn same! I cannot believe this! What does it actually cost you to have a working fax machine in here? Ah ah ah! Don¡¯t tell me! I can already hear the inflated number about ready to come out of your smart mouth!¡±

    Alan, standing with his arms folded behind his back and remaining carefully neutral, waits for the woman standing at his desk to tire herself out with her tirade. The various realtors, agent assistants, analysts, and others around the office don¡¯t even look their way.

    He knows the woman before him. Missus Hathway, an aging grandmother, and wife of a prominent property investor in the southern part of the state, is never a fun guest to entertain. Like many other clients who frequent the office, she¡¯s far from amused that West Commonwealth Realty will be closing down the fax lines in a month¡¯s time. She¡¯s the third to storm in and demand to see the Head Broker, only to be pushed Alan¡¯s way so he can ¡®explain¡¯ the reasoning behind the fax lines going away.

    She won¡¯t be the last to come in.

    In his jacket, Alan can feel Prim shifting restlessly. He has no idea if the noise is irritating the demon or not, but so far, she¡¯s remained compliant with all of Alan¡¯s requests to keep a low profile. How much longer she¡¯s willing to play along, the man isn¡¯t sure, and he suddenly realizes the folly of bringing a literal demon to work with him.

    Missus Hathway finally pauses to take a breath, so Alan quickly plants a well-practiced smile on his face and interjects.

    ¡°Missus Hathway,¡± he simpers against his will, ¡°I understand your frustration with all of this, and I understand that during these stressful times, this decision is not helping. I want to assure you that we at the West Commonwealth Realty family did not make this decision lightly, and that our traditional fax lines will be replaced with a newer and even easier-to-use e-fax system. We didn¡¯t want to decommission our faxes, but our telecom company informed us that they would no longer be servicing traditional phone lines unless used for emergency services, like security systems and fire alarms.¡±

    That is absolutely not the case. Someone upstairs is pocketing kickback money from an e-fax provider, and the fax machines, as a consequence, have to go so they aren¡¯t a drain. Alan is well aware that nobody upstairs is going to care about his lie so long as it¡¯s kept consistent and can¡¯t be proven.

    ¡°I want to apologize on behalf of the entire West Commonwealth Realty family for the inconvenience.¡± Alan renews his smile when he realizes it¡¯s falling. ¡°We¡¯ll do everything in our power to make it up to you as a valued client, Missus Hathway.¡±

    The old woman scowls and steps into Alan¡¯s personal space to tap his chest with a gnarled finger ending in a red, elongated nail. ¡°I. Don¡¯t. Think. You. Can!¡± She punctuates every word with another tap. ¡°I¡¯ll be talking to Mindy about this, and about that rude smile of yours!¡±

    Missus Hathway finally turns and marches away, making for the front door.

    Alan keeps his smile planted on his face until the old woman finally exits the building. Once she¡¯s gone, he sits down, opens the time clock on his computer, and marks himself as ¡°On Break¡± before standing up and quickly walking through the rear door of the office.

    Outside and away from any prying eyes, Alan¡¯s pleasant visage morphs into a scowl that can only be described as ¡°homicidal¡±. ¡°That fuckin¡¯-!¡± He stops himself short and takes a deep breath. His hands come up and massage his temples, trying to rub out the swiftly building migraine.

    ¡°Alan, we need to talk.¡±

    He looks down at the shadows within his jacket. There, he can see Prim¡¯s blazing eyes and, for the first time today, her gleaming white teeth. Her face is drawn back into an ugly grimace. ¡°What was that I just witnessed?¡± She demands. ¡°Why did you not defend yourself in the face of such disrespect?¡±

    Alan shrugs, his anger beginning to dissipate. ¡°That¡¯s customer service for you.¡±

    ¡°Customer service?¡± The demon¡¯s jaw drops a little before she catches it. ¡°In what way was that service?! That was the most blatant disregard of courtesy I have seen in the entirety of mine life, and that is not an inconsiderable sum of years, Alan.¡± She glares up at him. ¡°That woman openly humiliated you before all of your peers, going far beyond any sort of protections that would be granted to her by the morality of others. Thrice you have been abused, and thrice you have done nothing. I demand an explanation for this.¡±

    ¡°What am I supposed to do?¡± Alan shoots back with more hostility than he intended. He lets a breath hiss out between his teeth and reminds himself to calm down. ¡°I wanted to belt Hathway across the mouth, yeah, but if I so much as talked back, my job would be on the line. Hell, I¡¯m probably going to get the third degree from the Head Broker of the joint for not being ¡®sensitive¡¯ enough to our clients or something, so I need to toe the line, or my dressing down will turn into a documented reprimand.¡± Alan looks away and digs in his jacket pocket, drawing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Lighting one and taking a drag, he sighs the smoke back out. ¡°I don¡¯t know how things work for demons or whatever, but I need a job, okay? My refrigerator doesn¡¯t fill itself, and my bills sure as hell do not pay themselves.¡±

    Prim has no reply for a minute, letting Alan smoke half of his cigarette in peace. Finally, Prim speaks up once more. ¡°Was this not a profession you desired?¡± she asks, voice oddly soft.

    Alan huffs out a laugh. ¡°No. Not even close.¡± He leans back against the brick building and stares up at the cloudy sky.

    ¡°What do you want to do, then? Why be here if this isn¡¯t what you want?¡± Prim asks, her perfectly round eyes staring up at him intently, as if trying to understand him.

    ¡°Huh. I think you¡¯re the first person ever to ask me that,¡± Alan mumbles. ¡°Shit, if I¡¯m being perfectly honest with you, Prim, I don¡¯t even know what I want to do. I went to school for economics because I thought I could make a boatload of money offering my talent to a big bank or investment firm or something, then I found out the hard way that¡¯s not how it works.¡± He flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette. ¡°Moving money is a club kinda thing. You don¡¯t get in unless you know somebody. I tried being an analyst for some smaller financial firms for a while, but that just burned me. The economy is just too volatile for small guys to stay afloat, so I had to pivot and learn something new. I went back to school for two years and got another degree in computer science.¡±

    ¡°Computers, as in the so-called ¡®networked thinking machines¡¯ you showed me earlier?¡±

    ¡°The same.¡± He nods along. ¡®She referred to me as ¡®you.¡¯ Is she picking up on some vernacular that isn¡¯t from ye olde times?¡¯ He sets the idle thought aside to continue talking. ¡°I thought that maybe a job isn¡¯t an end-all-be-all, but a means to an end for something I actually do want to do. I tried to get a cozy position in some company¡¯s technology department, but it looks like I ran out of luck at the worst time, because the tech boom came to an end, and places all over were slashing employee counts, usually starting with their IT.¡±

    Alan takes another drag of his smoke, easing his nerves a little more. ¡°What a fuckin¡¯ mistake. Now I¡¯ve got two degrees worth of debt that I can barely pay back. I¡¯ll be working all the way up to my 70s if I¡¯m lucky. If not¡­¡± He trails off.

    Prim interrupts him before he can continue. ¡°Debt? Degrees?¡± She seems confused. ¡°Do you owe your mentors something? Whatever it may be, surely it¡¯s not so grievous?¡±

    The man stops, a smirk appearing on his face. He covers his mouth as his shoulders shake in laughter. ¡°Oh, man¡­ If only it were that simple.¡± He clears his throat. ¡°No, no, the schooling I got wasn¡¯t from individual mentors or anything. The ¡®degrees¡¯ I mentioned are certifications that I completed special schooling, then they come from higher education facilities like universities or colleges. The problem with these degrees? They¡¯re god damn expensive, and the only way to get them is by getting a loan, paying the school, then gradually paying off the loan over a period of years, usually a few decades considering the amounts you have to borrow.¡± Alan watches Prim blink, seemingly not comprehending what he¡¯s saying. ¡°These loans accrue what¡¯s called ¡®interest¡¯, which tacks on more money that you need to pay the longer you have an outstanding balance, and the interest is usually percent based.¡± Alan takes one last drag of his cigarette.

    Prim¡¯s eyes narrow, then shoot wide open. Once more, her jaw drops. ¡°But that¡¯s usury!¡±

    ¡°So you see how it can spiral out of control.¡± The man snorts. ¡°I¡¯m not going to get into what happens if you don¡¯t pay them, or we¡¯d be here all day. Do you understand why I need my job?¡±

    The demon remains silent, merely looking up at him.

    A thought suddenly strikes Alan, and he looks back down at his jacket stowaway. ¡°Say, Prim? Did you choose what you wanted to be? Like, did you have to train, or take your position from someone else?¡±

    Prim works her jaw, seemingly rehearsing her answer to herself. ¡°No. At my inception, I was always me. I am the only Primordial Darkness, and I did not have to search out my destiny.¡±

    Alan hums and tosses his cigarette butt away, watching it bounce in the rear parking lot. ¡°I envy you.¡±

    <hr>

    At long last, the day is at an end. Alan, along with Prim, pull to a stop in front of Alan¡¯s apartment. His parking spot is blessedly free, so he takes it and tells himself not to move his car all weekend.

    All in all, Alan endured eight unruly clients in the office, each one on the older side and upset that a change was forced upon them. The Head Broker of the office, one Mindy Caldwell, didn¡¯t call him to her office, and Alan was thankful for the blessing as he clocked out. Mindy must have just gotten her Xanax prescription refilled and enjoyed her drug-induced good mood too much to bother him.

    ¡°Huh, shit¡­¡± Alan frowns when he realizes his stomach is growling. ¡°I didn¡¯t get to take lunch today. Sorry about that, Prim,¡± he says down to the demon riding in his jacket. ¡°Once I have some dinner in me, we¡¯ll have that talk.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been feeling your stomach spasming in hunger for several hours¡­¡± The shadow monster says, her airy voice as dry as sand. ¡°To my knowledge, forgoing sustenance is not conducive to human health.¡±

    Alan simply shrugs. ¡°It happens,¡± he says, stuffing his keys in his pocket.

    ¡°Alan.¡±

    Prim stops him short of opening the car door.

    Inside his jacket, Prim¡¯s eyes blink, seemingly conflicted. ¡°I still wish to form an accord with you, but I feel as if such a thing would be ill advised on the part of both of us after today. There is much around me I do not understand, and it is clear that humans of this era have long since forgotten my ilk. I would form a shorter-term contract with you, a sort of ¡®trial basis¡¯ to use one of your terms.¡±

    Alan raises an eyebrow. ¡°See, that¡¯s what I¡¯m confused about. I¡¯m just some guy, and you¡®re an ancient demon. Why do some kind of magic contract thing with me?¡±

    ¡°Why else do two parties come to an agreement? Each has something the other desires,¡± she says. Alan feels her shift again. It¡¯s an odd feeling, like a waterbed moving against his shirt. ¡°I desire your knowledge and experiences, and I¡¯m certain I can repay the favor in kind. As you have said, I am ancient, and thus learned and powerful. Yours is not an unpleasant personage, and I would rather form a contract with you than make an attempt to find another agreeable human.¡±

    Drumming his fingers against the car door, Alan mulls it over. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I could need you for, but¡­¡± He thinks back over his day and shrugs. It might be his exhaustion making thinking unpleasant, but he can¡¯t see why not if it¡¯s just a mutual favor trade with no soul-stealing kind of thing. ¡°Fuck it. Why not? Having a contracted demon sounds cool. Just please don¡¯t ask for my soul, limbs, firstborn, or whatever, okay?¡±

    ¡°¡®Cool¡¯ indeed¡­¡± Prim agrees unsurely. ¡°Why is a synonym for cold used in lieu of ¡®admirable¡¯ or another fitting word?¡± She mumbles to herself. ¡°We will finalize the rites another time, Alan. For a true contract to take place, there are procedures to be upheld.¡±

    ¡°Goody, more paperwork¡­¡± Alan rolls his eyes.

    As Alan opens the car door and steps out, Prim plops out of his jacket and onto the ground, forming an inky puddle. Considering the sun is nearly gone from the sky, she is nearly indistinguishable from the shadow under his car. ¡°I shall honor our covenant now and grant you another boon, Alan. I will retrieve something for you to eat. Wait here, I shall return shortly.¡± With that, she seemingly melts into the darkness and disappears from sight.

    ¡°That¡¯s nice of her¡­¡± Leaning against his car, Alan waits and thinks over the day.

    Having Prim with him in the office made his day slightly more bearable. Slightly. Between explaining parts of his job and probing her with questions, it seems to him like Prim ¡®went to sleep¡¯ somewhere after the dark ages and before the Industrial Revolution, so there was plenty around her that she was curious about. She certainly proved her experience with a number of insightful tidbits and questions that forced him to stop and think for a moment. She turned what would have been a terrible day into¡­ Okay, it was still a terrible day, but at least it was broken up by distractions.

    What really stood out to him, though, were the times she would ask about him personally. The conversation after Hathway stands out above the others in his mind.

    What do you want to do, then?

    ¡®I¡­ I don¡¯t think I ever remember someone asking me what I want, not since I left my parents, anyway.¡¯ He isn¡¯t quite sure if he wants to frown or not. ¡®Kind of pathetic of me to like the attention I get from a literal demon, isn¡¯t it?¡¯

    As the last rays of the sun vanish over the horizon, Alan continues to wait for Prim to return.

    Suddenly, there¡¯s a great thump that sends a shock to the ground to his right. Alan¡¯s head whips around, and he can¡¯t help but tense up a bit.

    Standing there with the bleeding carcass of a deer in its mouth is a wolf of simply titanic proportions. The beast is pitch black and almost invisible against the backdrop of the night. If not for the light radiating from its luminescent eyes, it might actually be invisible. The monstrous thing must be at least six-and-a-half, or maybe seven feet tall at the shoulder. Its black pelt makes picking out details impossible, but the behemoth must be supernaturally muscular from how easily it carries the deer in its jaws. The jaws and teeth themselves are another macabre marvel, for the blood of the deer seems to be unable to stain the teeth. The rivulets of red run down the pearly daggers without sticking at all.

    Alan blinks, his fight-or-flight instincts sending an adrenaline-borne jitter throughout his body. ¡°Prim?¡±

    The wolf drops the deer to the ground with a splat and licks its blood-stained lips. ¡°I saw what your compatriots ate within your office.¡± The wolf¡¯s jaws articulate beyond what a canine should be able to do, producing Prim¡¯s voice. ¡°I would hardly call such things ¡®food¡¯, and although scrawny, this kill is fresh and natural.¡± Prim leans down and pushes the dead deer towards him with her nose.

    Staring down at the corpse, Alan reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling his migraine return.

 Chapter 2 : Terms and Conditions Apply

    ¡°Christ on a cracker, Alan¡­¡±

    In the dim light of a sputtering lantern, one that¡¯s been sitting in the back of Chip¡¯s closet for years, Alan can¡¯t quite see his roommate¡¯s exasperated expression, but he can certainly feel the older man¡¯s eyes digging into him.

    ¡°Look, it¡¯s not like it was my idea!¡± Alan gestures to the mostly-cleaned deer, which is suspended between them on a rope tied to one of the surrounding trees. ¡°Blame miss biblical-horror over there!¡± He says, then pointing to Prim.

    In the shadows between two trees, Prim, still in the form of a mind-bogglingly sized wolf, blinks her luminescent eyes. If one didn¡¯t know any better, they might call the expression innocent.

    Chip sighs once more, rolling his wrist. In his hand is a blood-stained knife, one in desperate need of a sharpening with how slow-going cleaning Prim¡¯s ¡®gift¡¯ has been. ¡°I¡¯m just saying, you couldn¡¯t have your friend drop this thing off in the woods? We''re lucky nobody saw this thing on our doorstep.¡± He asks, looking over his shoulder at the rows of apartments in the distance.

    Behind the apartment complex is a patch of overgrown, un-industrialized land, which is lucky, as it gives them somewhere private to butcher Prim¡¯s catch¡­ Or rather, it gives Chip somewhere private to butcher Prim¡¯s catch. Alan hasn¡¯t cleaned a game animal since childhood, and even then, it was his father who told him how to make every cut.

    Alan just shrugs.

    ¡°Well, make yourself useful and get another bag,¡±

    Alan bends down, grabbing another gallon zip lock bag from the nearly-empty box at his feet. Popping it open, he holds the bag out so Chip can drop another cut of venison inside. Squeezing the bag to get rid of most of the air, Alan drops it on the pile of other filled bags. For once, it looks like their freezer is going to be full.

    ¡°So, demons, huh?¡± Chip asks, looking at Prim.

    ¡°Yep,¡± Alan answers, leaning back on a tree behind him. ¡°You don¡¯t seem so surprised.¡±

    Chip takes a moment to answer as he slowly frees another slab of meat from the deer. The rhythmic movements of his knife make it clear that he¡¯s done this more than once. ¡°Maybe the week has exhausted me to the point that I don¡¯t care, or maybe the idea of fresh venison is shutting me up, but either way, what can I do about a real demon? Call the church so they can come do a halfhearted exorcism? Would that even do anything?¡± He asks. Despite his bravado, Chip¡¯s gaze is still a touch nervous as he turns his attention to Prim.

    The demon mulls over his words. ¡°I have doubts. The effectiveness of an exorcism is highly dependent on the knowledge and faith of the priest conducting the ritual. I am a shapeshifter whose true name has long been lost to the annals of time, and without knowledge of my essence, any attempt to exorcize me would prove futile.¡± Just like their meeting the night prior, Prim seems surprised that Chip is being so lax with her, or at least that¡¯s how it looks to Alan. ¡°This new world you inhabit¡­ is one of skepticism and doubt, which undermines the efficacy of sacred rites and exorcisms, anyway. The likelihood of encountering a clergyman capable of banishing me, even if they possessed knowledge of my true nature, is minimal.¡±

    ¡°Well, there you have it,¡± Chip grunts, cutting another chuck away from the deer¡¯s flank. ¡°Alan, bag.¡±

    Together, the pair of men render the kill down as much as they can, then drag the messy remains deeper into the un-industrialized land to let nature reclaim it in peace. Their plastic- stored spoils in tow, they begin the trek back to the apartment. Behind them, Prim melts into an inky puddle and slithers along the ground, following.

    Once inside, the meat, with the exception of a pair of steaks, is stored away in the freezer. Prim, still in the form of a patch of darkness, takes a place on the wall so she may watch Chip and Alan take turns at the stove to individually prepare their dinners. Chip finishes his food first, and after sending another distrustful look towards Prim, he claims the couch in the living room with a beer in one hand, and the TV remote in the other. From how he sits in the middle of the small couch, leaving little room on either side of him, it¡¯s clear that Chip wants to be left alone.

    ¡®Suits me just fine. I¡¯ve got demon shit to get up to, apparently.¡¯ Alan polishes off his dinner plate with a satisfied sigh. The plate and his silverware are set in the kitchen sink to be washed later. Looking up, he meet¡¯s Prim¡¯s eyes, which blink back from her place as a shadow on the wall. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get this show on the road.¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± Prim agrees, sliding down to the floor.

    Alan, with Prim on his heels, makes his way to his bedroom. Once both he and the demon are inside, he shuts the door behind him, kicks off his shoes and jacket, then falls backwards onto his bed with a sigh. ¡°Okay, so¡­¡± He pauses, realizing he¡¯s not sure where to begin. ¡°Where do we actually start with this?¡± He asks, watching Prim¡¯s shadowy form settle next to him.

    ¡°As I said previously¡­¡± Prim¡¯s puddle-like form bubbles, then like a wax statue melting in reverse, a body builds itself up from the black blotch. In but a moment, where there was an ink stain, there is¡­ A cat?

    Alan blinks. Sure enough, however, a pure black cat with white, perfectly round eyes now sits just a foot away, staring down at him. Prim¡¯s new form could easily pass for a house cat if no one sees her face.

    ¡°I propose a short-term covenant between us,¡± Prim begins, her cat face a little uncanny with how well it can articulate. The supernatural timbre of her voice is absent now, making her voice sound almost normal, though still androgynous. ¡°One of mutual companionship and exchanged favors. I shall offer you the vast knowledge and capabilities that befit an ancient being of my stature, and in return, I kindly request your assistance in comprehending the complexities of this modern world.¡±

    ¡°I thought you were a wolf?¡±

    The cat seems to be caught flat-footed by the non sequitur, as she furrows her brow and levels him with a stare. ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°You were a wolf like an hour ago,¡± Alan sits up and gives her a sidelong glance. ¡°Why a cat now?¡±

    Prim¡¯s tail flicks in apparent annoyance. ¡°I am, at once, everything that has stalked in the unknowable dark. Ergo, there are few limits to my shape.¡± As if to prove a point, her entire body ripples like a disturbed liquid. The darkness forming her body breaks down and shifts, as if manipulated by a thousand, tiny hands. She takes the shape of a crow that caws a scratchy note, then a snake that rears back and hisses, then a bat that shrieks shrilly, and finally returns back to a cat, all in the span of just a few seconds. ¡°I will not begrudge you the desire to rest, but if you wish to lay upon your back, then I would need to stand over you so we might speak face-to-face.¡±

    ¡°Nifty,¡± Alan hums. Then smirks and laughs inwardly to himself. ¡°A cat is fine, too.¡±

    ¡°¡­Indeed,¡± Prim nods, the joke obviously going over her head. ¡°Now, on to what we were discussing.¡±

    ¡°Right, the covenant, or the pact, or whatever it is.¡± Alan lays back down, folding his hands behind his head and laying on them. ¡°So, what first?¡±

    ¡°Firstly, we shall set our terms. I believe you to have a general grasp of what I wish to acquire, but I will lay them out in no uncertain terms so that we suffer no misunderstandings.¡± Prim sits and wraps her tail around her front paws. ¡°I ask you to enlighten me on the significant historical events, technological advancements, and societal changes that have transpired since my dormancy. Your perspective shall prove invaluable in understanding the evolution of your kind. This will grant me insight into the customs and manners that govern human interactions in this age. As I am accustomed to a more formal and elaborate mode of discourse, your guidance will be instrumental in adapting my communication style to better suit the expectations of your contemporaries.¡±

    ¡®No joke. You talk like you¡¯re rehearsing for theater.¡¯

    ¡°Additionally, I ask that you share with me your personal experiences and emotions, as well as those of the people around you. I seek to understand the ennui and disconnection that seemingly plagues your society.¡± She looks away briefly. ¡°What I¡¯ve seen thus far is¡­ Disconcerting.¡±

    ¡®Nothing that a weekend out and about and a visit to Wikipedia can¡¯t fix.¡¯ Alan nods. ¡°Okay, sure. That all seems kind of generalized, though. Is there anything in particular that you want? Just trying to make sure.¡±

    Prim shakes her head in a no. ¡°Should there be a particular experience or material thing that I desire outside of these conditions, I will speak with you regarding the feasibility of acquisition and what would constitute as worthy repayment.¡±

    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Alan clicks his tongue. ¡°That¡¯s awfully¡­ Understanding. I¡¯m sorry if this comes off as stereotyping or something, but I was under the impression that demons wanted souls, or limbs, or the promises of firstborn children or something.¡± He watches his ceiling fan slowly turn, noting with a bit of annoyance that one of the light bulbs is going dim again. ¡°Can¡¯t do human sacrifices either. Surveillance and crime investigation is way more sophisticated now than it used to be.¡±

    If the demon is offended, then it doesn¡¯t show. ¡°While it is indeed true that the denizens of the dark desire the fragments of divinity within humanity above all else, I will refrain from asking for such things. As previously stated, I wish for this pact to be one of mere companionship and reciprocated assistance for now.¡±

    ¡°And if I ask for something so big that only a soul or something like that is worth trading?¡± Alan gives her a hard look, one eyebrow raised.

    ¡°Then I will advise you of such and ask you to revise your request,¡± Prim calmly answers. ¡°I will not expect recompense for gifts freely given, either. Though, in the interest of maintaining a fair and equitable partnership, do not expect such gifts from me often.¡±

    ¡°Okay¡­¡± Alan pauses and considers his next question. ¡°Besides just having you around, what do I get in return for helping you out?¡±

    Prim¡¯s chest puffs up. ¡°I can offer you counsel and wisdom on matters that weigh heavily on your mind, drawing from the boundless knowledge I have accumulated over eons. With this experience, I can provide you with a unique perspective on life and existence, one borne of my antiquity. If you so wish, I will also assist you in the endeavors you undertake in your daily life by lending you my formidable powers. The terms of our covenant and the moral compass that guide you are the only limits,¡± she says, sounding like a boastful advertisement.

    Alan can¡¯t help but narrow his eyes in suspicion. This all sounds too good to be true. ¡°Nah, I¡¯m not buying it.¡±

    That throws Prim for a loop. She blinks her large eyes and tilts her head. ¡°Buying it? There is no initial price to be paid,¡± she says, apparently not understanding the figure of speech.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°No no, I mean, there is no way that is the long and short of it,¡± Alan sits up once more, crossing his legs and resting his arms in his lap. He gives Prim a searching look, but she doesn¡¯t fidget or squirm under his gaze. ¡°Everything you told me is way too straightforward, too fair. What¡¯s the catch? Does this all have to be in writing, so you can add conditions when I¡¯m not looking? Is there something you¡¯re not telling me?¡± He crosses his arms. ¡°It¡¯s never that easy.¡±

    The shadowy feline stares at him for a long moment. ¡°I¡­ Understand your concerns and where they may come from. The nature of my being does not lend credence to my words, does it?¡± She shifts on her paws, thinking for a moment. ¡°But I assure you that deceit is not my goal tonight. I swear upon my station as Eldest and Greatest of The Unknown, that the words I¡¯ve spoken to you are true.¡±

    As Prim utters those words, there is a flash of pressure that hits the room, for Alan simply doesn¡¯t have another word to describe the feeling. For a moment too short to truly appreciate, it¡¯s as if the air turns to concrete, both weighing him down and trapping him in place at once. A second later, the feeling is gone, and Alan feels cold sweat on his brow.

    Blinking, he tries to find his voice, and finally does so after nearly ten seconds of silence. ¡°Well then¡­¡± He gulps. ¡°That felt¡­ new.¡±

    ¡°Vows such as that are not lightly given, as the consequence of breaking one¡¯s word in such cases is the very definition of dire,¡± Prim nods. Despite her eyes being white circles, Alan can feel their keen focus upon his own. ¡°Should you choose to decline, I shall respect your decision and be gone, but what I ask from you is not irreplaceable.¡±

    Blowing out a sigh, the man reaches his hand up and scratches his chin. He¡¯s probably due for a shave in the morning. ¡°Okay,¡± his hand drops back to his lap, ¡°this is just a temporary thing, right? We can call it off whenever?¡±

    Prim¡¯s eyes narrow. ¡°It would behoove us both to see the pact to its end.¡±

    ¡°And if we hate each other? What if you discover you can¡¯t stand me a week from now? Or I suddenly find my faith in God tomorrow?¡± Alan challenges, crossing his arms. ¡°If we¡¯re stuck together and someone changes their mind, what then? You can¡¯t have possibly accounted for every possible occurrence.¡±

    Prim¡¯s white eyes thin themselves into slits. Above, the dim light bulb in the ceiling fan dies with a sputter, and the other two flicker, as if ready to give out. The shadows in the room seem to lengthen, their edges growing sharper despite the soft light.

    ¡®Well fuck. Make the million-year-old eldritch cat-wolf-god mad, why don¡¯t you, Alan?¡¯

    The demon stops, then takes a deep, chest-filling breath before sighing. ¡°Very well,¡± she begins, each word reluctant. ¡°Know this, Alan.¡± She fixes him with a soul-piercing stare. ¡°It galls me no small amount to add yet another condition, one which is ripe for abuse, to our temporary partnership. I believe that I have been quite generous and accommodating thus far, but I shall agree as a token of goodwill. Should either of us find the company of the other too detestable, then I will not protest a premature cessation of our accord, but I shall add my own condition as well!¡± She tilts her head once more, her serious face easing just a little. ¡°Upon the premature breaking of the pact, all debts owed to either party must be paid in full. Do you find this agreeable?¡±

    Alan nods. He doesn¡¯t bring his hand up to his chest, but he can feel his heart beating from the adrenaline surge that just shot through him. ¡®¡­The more I think about it, the more I think I shouldn¡¯t have pushed my luck. Needing to pay everything in full could be... Damn, I really gotta be careful what I ask for now. I don¡¯t want her trying to collect all at once.¡¯

    The demon¡¯s severe expression drops off, replaced with a small smile. ¡°Thank you, Alan. I am heartened by your decision, and hope our partnership is fruitful.¡± As an afterthought, she adds: ¡±Your courage before me is commendable, but it would do you well to take care with other Great Powers, for they may not be so patient.¡±

    ¡°Right, I forgot that you might not be the only one¡­¡± The man mutters. ¡°Whatever, we¡¯ll burn that bridge when we get to it.¡±

    ¡°In order to formalize our alliance-¡± Prim continues on, ignoring his mumbles. ¡°-we shall engage in a simple yet solemn ritual to bind our fates together for the duration of our agreement. Truly, there are a number of different rituals which would serve our purpose quite well, but for a temporary joining, we require only minimal supplies.¡±

    With an exaggerated grunt of exertion, Alan rises off of his bed, walks to his desk, and retrieves a half-filled pad of paper and a pen. Sitting back down and clicking his pen, he turns to Prim expectantly. ¡°Okay, hit me.¡±

    ¡°¡­ Why would I strike you?

    ¡°Right, well, modern English is at the top of the to-do list, then.¡±

    <hr>

    The list of ritual items Prim provided Alan proved to be as simple to acquire as she said. The pair needed only a candle and some salt, both of which were already in the apartment.

    ¡°That should about do it,¡± Alan stands and inspects the circle of salt on his bedroom floor. In the middle is a single candle, vanilla scent, ready to be lit. ¡°This is going to be a bitch to vacuum out of my carpet, though.¡±

    ¡°Well done,¡± Prim nods, trotting around the perimeter of the circle. Her cat form has been abandoned in favor of that of a wolf, though she¡¯s an average size this time. ¡°Somewhat oblong, but it will serve its purpose all the same.¡±

    ¡°In what purpose will that be?¡± Alan asks, placing the empty salt shaker on his desk and instead grabbing his lighter.

    ¡°Salt,¡± Prim begins, stepping over the circle and seating herself by the candle, ¡°represents protection and preservation. Many humans in the days of old used circles of salt to contain spirits and demons of a weaker nature. Just as it can contain, so too can it protect. Used in this manner where two parties come together upon equal ground to form an agreement, the salt circle shall be our protection against unintended consequences and outside influences.¡±

    ¡®Seems like a stretch, but whatever. I¡¯m not the magic expert.¡¯ Alan hums. ¡°And the candle?¡±

    ¡°A single candle between two individuals represents unity, it''s flame the illumination of a new, shared path,¡± she explains. ¡°White candle wax, such as this one-¡° she taps the glass candle holder with a paw -¡°typically represents purity, but white is also a neutral color and can be devoid of meaning if need be.¡±

    God, where in the world is she getting these explanations? Alan steps into the circle and sits down, crossing his legs. ¡°This all seems like mumbo-jumbo to me. Why is the salt protective? And who decided what the candle colors mean? Hell, what does the ritual even do? Is not saying ¡°I agree¡± enough?¡±

    ¡°I can explain the nature of symbolism and its relationship to magick later,¡± Prim flicks one of her ears. ¡°Regarding the ritual, it will tie us together in the most basic of ways. I will be able to hear your call wherever you might be, and you will be offered protection from most forms of unintentional harm that would have otherwise befallen you in the presence of my powers. There are other facets, but these are the most important.¡±

    ¡®Symbolism and its relationship to magic, huh?¡¯ Alan twirls his lighter between his fingers. ¡®That¡­ Honestly, it seems like it would be pretty cool to learn about. Some hows and whys of all the kooky shit on the news would be nice to have. Maybe I can even learn some magic myself? Fireball, motherfucker!¡¯

    ¡°Now, please allow me to explain, as to perform the ritual correctly, you must follow these instructions to the best of your ability.¡± The demon sniffs. ¡°As our first step, please light the candle.¡±

    Alan holds his lighter out. He has to flick the used-up flint wheel a few times, but on the fourth try, he lights the candle wick, slowly filling the room with a cheap, vanilla scent.

    ¡°When I turn out the lights overhead, extend your right hand, palm facing to the side, not upwards or downwards, over the candle,¡± Prim continues. ¡°I shall place my own hand just short of yours. This gesture signifies our mutual willingness to engage in a partnership of shared trust.¡±

    ¡°What hand?¡± Alan raises an eyebrow and looks at the wolf¡¯s flat, black paws.

    ¡°I am a shapeshifter, Alan. Surely you remember? Now hush and allow me to finish sometime before the morn,¡± Prim chides. ¡°Before we join hands, you must recite the following words: "In the presence of The Primordial Darkness, Eldest and Greatest of The Unknown I, Alan Conan, willingly enter this covenant of mutual companionship. May our alliance be guided by respect, wisdom, and curiosity, as we explore the realms of the known and unknown together."

    ¡®I really need to ask what an Unknown is, and who the others are if Prim is the oldest one.¡¯ Alan nods. ¡°Got it.¡±

    Prim smiles. Her teeth are a stark, startling white against her mouth. ¡°Upon the completion of this recitation, I shall reciprocate by uttering a similar vow, affirming my commitment to our accord. Finally, we shall clasp our hands together briefly, sealing our covenant and marking the beginning of our shared journey. Take care to clasp my hand palm-to-palm. Do not take my wrist or lace your fingers with mine.¡±

    ¡°Why just palm-to-palm?¡± Alan asks, his nose twitching from the obnoxiously strong scent of the candle. ¡®Ech. Why did I buy this thing again?

    ¡°Clasping wrists is used for long-term contracts, and doing so would cause a ritual as simple as this one to fail.¡± Prim¡¯s smile is falling, and Alan has to wonder if she¡¯s getting annoyed by the interruptions. ¡°Lacing fingers is reserved for contracts of an intimate sort. I am no succubus, so once more, the ritual will fail. A fresh candle and salt circle will be required in either case.¡±

    Oh shit. Succubi are real?

    ¡°Have you memorized everything?¡± Prim cuts off Alan¡¯s daydream before it can truly begin. ¡°If I am forced to interrupt the ritual to remind you, the effects may be diminished.¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± Alan balances his elbow on his knee, then props his head up in his hand. ¡°Ready.¡±

    Prim looks over her shoulder at the light switch. The switch wiggles, then flips off at the touch of an unseen finger, leaving the candle as the only source of illumination.

    From the corner of his eye, Alan watches as the shadows around the room begin to move and writhe like masses of snakes all slithering over each other. The darkness becomes oppressive and closes in, swallowing the dimmed computer monitor on his desk and seeping past the ring of salt on the carpet. In nary a second, only a tiny circle remains lit by the candle.

    The outline of Prim¡¯s body is completely lost in the blackness around her, leaving only her teeth and eyes visible. Both features begin to twist and engorge before Alan¡¯s very eyes, once more taking on the same monstrous grin that stared down at him from the ceiling just the night before. A thrill of alarm runs through him, flushing his veins with ice water, as the grinning visage begins to rise higher into the air. The man can only presume that the demon is shape-shifting into something much larger than she was previously, but he can¡¯t see what.

    ¡®Don¡¯t wuss out now,¡¯ Alan sighs and stiffly holds his hand out, palm oriented just as Prim instructed.

    A downright enormous appendage comes from the gloom on Prim¡¯s side of the candle. The candlelight reveals a bastardized fusion of an animal paw and a hand. With its fingers splayed, the pitch-black hand could grasp a dinner plate edge-to-edge. Each of the five fingers is tipped in a claw just as black as the rest of the hand. The only exceptions are the edges and points of the claws, which gleam like sharpened steel. Prim¡¯s hand mirror¡¯s his own, hovering above the candle with her palm facing his.

    Prim¡¯s glowing eyes blink, and Alan starts when he realizes he needs to say his line.

    ¡°Uh,¡± Alan clears his throat. ¡°In the presence of The Primordial Darkness¡­ Eldest and Greatest of The Unknown, I¡­ Erm, Alan Conan, willingly enter this covenant of mutual companionship. May our alliance be guided by respect, wisdom, and¡­ and curiosity, as we explore the realms of the known and unknown together."

    ¡°In the presence of Alan Conan, a Son of Holy Adam, I, The Primordial Darkness, Eldest and Greatest of The Unknown,¡± Prim doesn¡¯t so much as miss a beat, ¡°willingly enter this covenant of mutual companionship. May our alliance be guided by respect, wisdom, and curiosity, as we explore the realms of the known and unknown together."

    ¡®No turning back now. I am about to make a deal with a real, live demon.¡¯ There is a moment of hesitation, of wondering what the consequences are going to be if he grasps Prim¡¯s hand. ¡®If demons are real¡­ That means that God, Angels, and all that jazz must be real as well, right? If I do this, am I damning myself? Am I permanently throwing my lot in with demons, even if this particular arrangement is temporary? I haven¡¯t read the Bible in a while, but I don¡¯t remember consorting with demons being something that is ever forgiven¡­¡¯

    He looks up, meeting Prim¡¯s eyes. The great, luminescent orbs stare down at him unwaveringly. Despite knowing that he, a regular old human, can¡¯t possibly fathom what is going on in Prim¡¯s head, he still meets her gaze.

    One doesn¡¯t live in this world and not know how to gauge others. If people go without this necessary skill, then they¡¯re ripe for being abused.

    For Alan, that lesson didn¡¯t take long to sink in.

    In the twin moons set into Prim¡¯s eye sockets, there is little to see, but it¡¯s precisely what Alan doesn¡¯t see that makes the choice for him.

    ¡®Fuck it. I wasn¡¯t going to Heaven, anyway.¡¯

    His palm meets Prim¡¯s with a muted thud, and her fingers wrap around his entire hand, covering it in the sensation of chilled fur.

    The candle goes out, and all that is visible in the dark is Prim¡¯s pleased grin.

 Chapter 3: A Hunting We Will Go

    The morning after forming a deep, magical pact with an eldritch being that predates all of man¡¯s written history by countless eons, Alan can¡¯t say that he feels any different. Blinking his eyes, he stares up at the unmistakable pair of white circles on the ceiling that must be Prim. He frowns. ¡°Do you spend all night watching me sleep?¡±

    ¡°I did not,¡± the ancient demon replies before pausing. ¡°I did not¡±, she repeats, her voice lacking the deep, multilayered tone that she initially presented herself with. ¡°I observed you for a number of hours for the explicit purpose of my own studies, then meditated to myself for the remainder of my night.¡± As she speaks, the preternatural shadows clinging to the walls, window, ceiling, everything really, begin to recede. ¡°Once you began to stir, I gathered myself so I might greet you good morn.¡±

    ¡®That¡¯s not creepy or anything.¡¯ Alan rolls his eyes and throws the pitch black coverings off of himself. ¡°Do you even need to sleep?¡±

    ¡°Tis a luxury, not a requirement,¡± Prim supplies, her ink-stain form slithering down the wall and gathering at the foot of the bed. She watches as Alan rises with a grunt and stretches. ¡°Without fragile meat betwixt my ears, I shan¡¯t need more than a moment of inactivity even with a grievous disruption to mine form.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s neat,¡± Alan mumbles halfheartedly, stepping over to his dresser and pulling out a set of weekend clothes. Black shirt and beat-up jeans? Good enough for a Saturday.

    After changing out of his sleeping clothes and into some daywear, Alan, with Prim following at his heels, makes his way to the kitchen to scrounge up breakfast. There, he finds a note pinned to the refrigerator with a magnet, one from Chip. Taking the note, Alan scans Chip¡¯s diplomatic cursive with a smirk.

    Alan.

    Visiting my kids. I¡¯ll be back Sunday evening. Don¡¯t invite Satan in unless he can pay rent.

    Chip.

    ¡°May I ask what you find humorous?¡± Prim asks, slithering up the kitchen table and swiftly transforming into a seated black cat.

    ¡°Chip says no more demons unless they want to pay rent,¡± Alan turns the note and shows her.

    Prim¡¯s feline eyebrows rise as she reads the slip of paper. ¡°¡¯He¡¯?¡±

    ¡°What, is Satan a woman or something?¡± Alan asks, turning and taking a box of corn flakes from the top of the refrigerator. When he opens the refrigerator and retrieves the carton of milk inside, he mentally notes that it¡¯s half empty. ¡®Eh. I might need to run to the store. We¡¯re starting to run low on everything.¡¯

    ¡°Not all of them, no.¡± Prim says, watching Alan prepare himself a simple breakfast of milk and cereal. ¡°Satan is not a singular entity, but rather the extended will of the Morning Star, each acting as agents of sin. It is more accurate to refer to ¡®Satan¡¯ as a group designation rather than an individual.¡±

    Sitting down with his food, Alan eats a few bites as he thinks over Prim¡¯s words. ¡°Huh. That really makes me wonder how much of the Bible is accurate. I haven¡¯t read it in a hot minute, but I could¡¯ve swore that Satan and Lucifer were the same guy.¡±

    ¡°Tis a text penned by human hands, and such recounts are naturally subject to embellishment, temporal distortion, and purposeful changes,¡± Prim¡¯s feline nose wiggles as she sniffs the air, looking at Allen¡¯s bowl of cereal. ¡°If you so wish, I may impart mine knowledge of God and His relationship to man throughout the ages, though I cannot guarantee that such lessons will be entirely without bias.¡± She sniffs the air again and frowns. ¡°What is it that you are eating?¡±

    ¡°Off brand frosted flakes,¡± Alan grunts through a bite. ¡°They¡¯re stale, though, but not much choice when we¡¯re out of everything that isn¡¯t frozen venison. I was thinking of heading to the store when I¡¯m done eating if you want to go with me.¡± He sends a sidelong glance to the cat-shaped shadow on the table and twiddles his spoon in his fingers. ¡°Do you need to eat?¡±

    Prim shakes her head. ¡°No. As with sleep, physical sustenance is a luxury. I would be pleased to join you at the market.¡± Then as an afterthought, she adds: ¡°I also would not object to sampling new cuisines, as much can be inferred about a people from what they consume. Food is still a significant cultural connection point between humans, yes?¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± Alan looks down at his bowl of cereal, which is slowly growing soggy. ¡°I don¡¯t know how much you¡¯d like cornflakes of all things, but help yourself.¡±

    Without a verbal reply, the black cat sitting on the table reaches a paw into Alan¡¯s bowl and hooks a single cornflake on one of her claws. She inspects the morsel with narrow eyes and brings it to her mouth, popping it into her mouth and chewing with a muted crunch. After a few chews, she stiffens, and Alan can practically see the shiver run down her spine. ¡°That¡­¡± She smacks her lips and runs her tongue across the roof of her mouth, a slight grimace on her muzzle. ¡°That is indeed stale, and overbearingly sweet, as well.¡±

    ¡®Other than being stale, it tastes fine to me¡­¡¯ Alan hums and finishes off the last few bites before everything in the bowl can turn to mush. Standing, he drops the bowl and the spoon in the kitchen sink to be cleaned later. ¡°¡¯Ight, let¡¯s get the store knocked out next. It¡¯s still pretty early so we should be able to get there before it gets crowded,¡± he says, looking out the kitchen window and at the slowly rising sun. He turns back to Prim. ¡°You gonna hang out in my jacket again or come along?¡±

    The shadowy demon hops down from the table, transforming once more into a pitch-black, but regular-sized wolf. She closes her eyes, seemingly focusing, and Alan blinks at the subtle transformation.

    Prim¡¯s flat black form, indistinguishable from a shadow on the wall, suddenly gains volume and depth, seamlessly morphing into a black coat of fur with a slight shine. She reopens her eyes, and her pupil-less orbs of stark white are gone, replaced with a very normal set of gray, almost white eyes. If he didn¡¯t know any better, Alan would swear Prim is a normal wolf.

    ¡®Normal, if unnaturally colored, but we can probably pass that off as some kinda wolf-dog hybrid thing.¡¯

    The demon stands and inspects her new form, turning in a circle as she does so. With a satisfied nod, she turns to Alan. ¡°I am prepared to depart when you are ready, Alan.¡±

    ¡°Huh¡­¡± Alan scratches his chin and raises an eyebrow. ¡°You know, I was expecting a human transformation. You know that if you go as an animal or something, you can¡¯t talk to anyone, right?¡± Inwardly, he wonders: ¡®Does Barrmart even allow dogs inside? If they are, pretty sure they have to have a leash or something¡­ Not like anyone there is paid enough to give a fuck, it¡¯s the self-righteous ¡®concerned citizens¡¯ who would raise a stink.¡¯

    Prim nods once more, seemingly amused with how her lips quirk. ¡°Tis a fact I am well aware of. Even if I could walk as a human without arousing suspicion, I would be forced to leave a bulk of conversational exchanges to your expertise anyway.¡±

    ¡°You can just say you¡¯re awkward and don¡¯t want to talk. That kind of thing hits a lot of people nowadays,¡± Alan shrugs. ¡°So long as you look normal, no one¡¯s going to question anything. It¡¯s probably best to get used to a human disguise in the long run, anyway.¡±

    A sound of skepticism leaves Prim¡¯s mouth. ¡°I assure you, donning a convincing guise in the shape of man is a skill near impossible to attain. Allow me to demonstrate and do not be alarmed.¡± She gives him a sidelong glance. ¡°Heed my words: this is truly my best effort.¡±

    Prim¡¯s form melts into a ball of squirming shadow. From the ball, a set of legs, a pair of arms, and a head of modestly cut hair emerge. When the details solidify, and the blackness bleeds away into color, a cold shock runs up Alan¡¯s spine.

    In the place the wolf once occupied is¡­ an entirely normal woman.

    But something is wrong.

    Prim¡¯s face is gentle and feminine, bearing the traits of a vague European ancestry. Her shiny, neck-length hair is such a dark shade of brown that it may as well be black in the morning light. Not outstandingly beautiful but certainly far from homely, hers is a natural allure that needs no cosmetics to stand out. Try as he might, Alan¡¯s stare refuses to move from her light gray eyes. He has to struggle to move his gaze downward.

    Her pale body is nude and shamelessly bared, for she certainly has nothing to be ashamed of. Her figure is something most women would be delighted to have, one of balanced proportions, soft curves, and creamy skin free of even a single mark. She stands as a perfect snapshot of someone on the thin line between youth and womanhood, for her body possesses all the hallmarks of maturity without the wear of age.

    All in all, the woman standing before Alan is worthy of being captured on canvas, which would doubtlessly be treasured as an artist¡¯s magnum opus.

    ¡­But God damn it there is just something completely fucking uncanny about her! A constant, incessant itching in the back of Alan¡¯s head bothers him just looking at her, but the itch insists that he does not look away for some unfathomable reason. She¡¯s stunning to look at, anyone with eyes would agree, yet Alan finds himself paradoxically revolted and threatened. He scans her again and again, finding nothing that jumps out at him as unnatural or out of place. He counts her fingers and toes, looks up and down her arms and legs, reviews her facial features, and even pushes away instinctual bashfulness to look at her hips and breasts. As far as he can tell, nothing is wrong.

    Something is wrong, though. A tiny, nameless voice urges him. Something is wrong.

    One of Prim¡¯s delicate hands rises to her mouth, and she clears her throat.

    Unbidden, Alan takes a single step backwards. ¡°Prim?¡±

    Prim smiles, tilting her head slightly. ¡°It seems that you finally understand,¡± she begins, her voice possessing a tender lit that makes Alan sick to his stomach for some reason. ¡°To emulate the shape of man is not a feat easily done. Your ilk are quite superb at rooting out imposters. Were we to venture out with myself in such a state, we would no doubt be the subjects of an unfortunate amount of attention.¡±

    ¡®No shit. You¡¯re naked and look like you belong in a Da Vinci painting,¡¯ Alan can¡¯t help but snark to himself.

    Her piece said, the demon melts into a puddle of shadows, and from the puddle emerges the black-furred wolf that Prim originally intended to go outside as.

    Instantly, the aggravating itch in the back of Alan¡¯s head abates, and he shakes his head, finding his thoughts clear once more. ¡°H¡¯okay¡­¡± He blows a harsh breath out of his mouth. ¡°Didn¡¯t expect that if I¡¯m being honest,¡± he says, making his way to the front door and pulling his shoes on.

    ¡°It is good that your reaction was so visceral,¡± Prim pads up next to him, sitting down as Alan bends over to tie his shoes. ¡°One should not lose such valuable ancestral skills.¡±

    ¡°Ancestral skills?¡± Alan mulls the implication over and doesn¡¯t like the conclusion. He growls when his shaking hands force him to take his time with his shoes, lest he foul the knot up. ¡°So you¡¯re telling me that there are spooky-dooks out there that are shaped like people? And that they fucked with humans so much that we got good at picking them out?¡±

    Prim shakes her head. ¡°Partially correct. There are other factors, but such an explanation would take time that we do not have if you insist on visiting the market early this morn. I understand such knowledge may be distressing, but if you remain wary, no harm shall befall you. It will take time for such predators to gain their bearings in this new era, either way.¡±

    ¡°I feel like part of me should be a bit more freaked out, but whatever¡­¡± Alan stands, then pauses. ¡°Hold on one sec.¡±

    Stepping away from Prim, Alan heads down the hallway to his bedroom, aware of Prim¡¯s curious eyes on his back. Inside, he steps over to his computer desk and opens one of the side drawers. Reaching inside, he takes something from within and sets it on the desk, staring at it ponderously.

    Staring back is a shiny, snub nose revolver.

    He¡¯s had the thing for years, as it was a moving-out gift from his father when he left for college. Alan jumped through some government hoops to acquire a concealed weapon permit and carried the thing around for some time, only for the days where he took it with him to taper off. Outside of the larger cities, the Commonwealth isn¡¯t exactly dangerous, and the .357 Magnum revolver is deceptively heavy for its size, making it inconvenient to lug around. There were times he thought about getting something lighter to carry, but the money always seemed to be better spent elsewhere, meaning the revolver kept its place as his sole firearm.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡®There is some spooky shit out there now,¡¯ Alan clicks his tongue and lifts the gun. Popping open the cylinder, he finds six magnum cartridges already loaded. ¡®Things just started getting interesting for me, so I am not trying to die anytime soon.¡¯ He thinks, thoughts turning to Prim and the new world that suddenly revealed itself to him overnight. ¡®¡­Will demons and shit even be bothered by a gun, though?¡¯

    A sudden idea hits the man, and although he initially dismisses it as stupid, he stops. ¡®Hey, demons and magic rituals weren¡¯t real a week ago, so this isn¡¯t the dumbest precaution to take.¡¯ Alan dumps the cartridges out of the revolver cylinder and looks at the tips.

    The rounds are semi-jacketed soft points, meaning the tips are flat, bare lead. Reaching back into his drawer, Alan withdraws a beat up knife and unfolds the blade. Holding one of the rounds in his hand and the knife in the other, he carefully scratches a crucifix into the soft lead tip of the bullet with the point of his knife. He repeats the process for each round, then drops them back in the cylinder and clicks the revolver shut.

    ¡°I swear I saw a movie where a guy did this,¡± Alan muses to himself, stowing away his knife. ¡°Or maybe it was Chase who told me about this. Oh well.¡±

    It takes a bit of digging in the drawer to find the revolver¡¯s holster, one intended to be worn on the inside of the waistband, but once the gun is safely hidden under his shirt, Alan makes his way back to the living room.

    ¡°Ready?¡± He asks, looking down at Prim.

    The demon nods, her tail wagging once.

    <hr>

    The drive to Barrmart is a short one owing to the fact that there are three of the fucking things in town. The nearest one to Alan¡¯s apartment is a mere five minutes away, in a nearby strip mall. Since the place is a full supermarket, they should have everything on Alan¡¯s shopping list.

    Most of the smaller self-owned stores in the local strip mall were getting by relatively well, then Barrmart swooped in, purchased the largest lot, and built a full supermarket in the span of just a few months a number of years back. The only ones still getting good business nowadays is the combo liquor-slash-smoke store and a laundromat that hadn¡¯t raised their prices since the 90s. The Barrmart effortlessly strangled every other business and became the crown jewel of the strip mall.

    ¡®A crown jewel made out of scuffed acrylic,¡¯ Alan scoffs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

    Prim¡¯s eyes are glued to the window as they drive down the road, taking in everything they pass from her place in the passenger seat. They are few and far between, but Alan catches split seconds where Prim seems hopelessly lost by what she is staring at.

    ¡®Jeez, she really does seem like she¡¯s out of her depth,¡¯ Alan¡¯s resting scowl eases. ¡®Have things really changed that much?¡¯

    A minute passes, and Prim finally tears her eyes away from the passing scenery to look at Alan. ¡°Does this ¡®supermarket¡¯ truly have everything that a household may require in one place?¡± She asks, blinking. ¡°I have seen human general stores attempt such an ambitious feat in the past, but many fall flat under the weight of the nonsensical sphere of economics.¡±

    ¡°They do,¡± Alan nods, turning right down to the plaza containing the mall. ¡°Barrmart as an overarching corporation is so ridiculously huge that they have tens of thousands of stores all across the world. A lot of big corps are like that, having a handful, or hundreds, or thousands of locations depending on what they provide.¡±

    Prim shakes her head. ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem possible to me. The reach of an organization providing goods on such a scale would be hopelessly drowned by logistical backlog and errors that arise from the human element. How would they source, inventory, and place goods for purchase in a timely manner if there are many thousands of installations? One would assume that an entire private Postal Service would be required for every ¡®corporation¡¯ to function at even a mediocre capacity.¡±

    Alan shrugs. ¡°Computers.¡±

    ¡°Computers?¡± Prim tilts her head, her eyes narrowing. ¡°I must ask you to elaborate.¡±

    ¡°Computers, the networked thinking machines I told you about back in the office, are the answer.¡± Alan begins looking for a parking spot as the looming monolith of Barrmart comes into view. ¡°They don¡¯t need human input to perform tasks. Every single product that comes in and out of a supermarket is tracked with a barcode, which is like a unique identifier, which is stored on a big central database. The barcode is scanned by a machine that can instantly update that database so all the other computers in the network know when things come and go. Other computers analyze the data of what is coming in and what is going out and use it to make predictions about when and where more products will be needed.¡±

    Alan pauses to pull into a parking spot, then turns back to Prim¡¯s whose jaw is dropped open a hair. ¡°The computers can forecast what will sell in certain locations, and how much of it will be needed, and they do it with damn good accuracy.¡± He raises a hand and counts down on his fingers. ¡°The computers order the perfect amount of supplies-¡±

    A finger falls.

    ¡°-Arrange and schedule the transportation-¡±

    Another finger falls.

    ¡°-Track the delivery-¡±

    A third.

    ¡°-Schedule and assign human workers to physically stock the shelves-¡°

    Just his thumb is left.

    ¡°-Then take all the data when things are sold to repeat the process. Hell, I don¡¯t think most of these interactions have any kind of human element involved anymore.¡± Alan¡¯s hand falls back to the steering wheel, and he¡¯s a little frustrated when he sees Prim¡¯s thousand yard stare. ¡°It¡¯s complicated. I¡¯ll get you a better answer when I can.¡±

    The wolf demon nods slowly, working her jaw. ¡°Yes¡­ I don¡¯t believe I understand correctly,¡± she says, looking away. It¡¯s difficult to tell with her canine face, but Alan swears the demon looks unsettled.

    Shutting off the car and stepping out, Alan walks around and lets Prim out, earning him a murmured ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Can you make a collar and leash around your neck?¡± Alan quietly asks his contracted demon, watching another car pull in a few spots away. The parking lot is only half full, thank goodness, but he keeps his voice down just to be safe. ¡°Most of these places only let leashed dogs in. The employees here won¡¯t care, but some bored housewife might, and I¡¯m really not in the mood to get into a shouting match with someone spoiling for drama.¡±

    Prim frowns, but as Alan requested, a collar made of black leather seemingly oozes out from between the strands of fur on her neck. A tendril of shadow then jumps from the collar into Alan¡¯s hand, forming a gray, woven lead with generous slack.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Alan murmurs, grasping the end of the leash. ¡°It ain¡¯t dignified for a bigshot demon, I know.¡±

    The frown on the wolf¡¯s face eases.

    Together, the pair walk towards the entrance of the Barrmart, and as they approach, Prim seems to realize just how large the building is, craning her neck backward with wide eyes. The demon is equally startled when the sliding glass doors at the very front of the building automatically part for them. As they step into the store, the air-conditioned atmosphere aggressively overtakes them. The air becomes dry, scentless, and cool, prompting a shiver to run down Prim¡¯s back.

    Grabbing a cart, Alan leads Prim into the store proper, and the demon stumbles a bit as they pass the second set of doors. Rather than try and pull her along immediately, Alan pauses and allows her to get her bearings. At the same time, Prim¡¯s head pans around, taking in everything around her before she looks up at the harsh lighting above.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, Prim. We got stuff to do,¡± Alan gives the leash a gentle tug, which seems to snap the eldritch being out of her reverie.

    She looks up at him, not bothering to disguise just how uncomfortable she is, and when Alan begins to walk, she follows closely, keeping her head on a swivel as they enter the store''s food section.

    As they walk, a few people eyeball Prim with raised eyebrows, but no one seems apprehensive. The most inquisitive attention leveled at them is from a Barrmart employee, one wearing a manager tag and a grouchy sneer. The manager initially steps towards them, then stops, apparently losing the drive to make a fuss.

    Up and down the aisles they go, with Alan picking out things from the shelves and tossing them carelessly into the cart. Then Alan nudges Prim with his knee as they turn down the deserted dairy aisle. ¡°You alright?¡± He asks quietly. ¡°You seem spooked.¡±

    Prim takes a moment to gather her thoughts. ¡°I¡­ Suppose I am simply having trouble wrapping my mind around this ¡®supermarket¡¯. You said three of these locations are in this one town alone?¡±

    Alan nods, opening one of the aisle refrigerators to grab a gallon of milk from within. ¡°Yep.¡±

    Prim recoils slightly from the blast of cold air that hits her in her face, her ears twitching when the refrigerator door pulls itself back shut with a muted slam. ¡°In what sort of timeframe was this location erected? Several years? A decade?¡±

    Chewing on his lip, Alan thinks it over. ¡°Nah, it wasn¡¯t that long. Barrmart built this place in like three or four months.¡±

    Prim is silent for the remainder of their time in the food section.

    Once the cart contains roughly a week and a half worth of groceries, Alan leads the way to the rear of the store, bypassing the clothes and furniture to head into the automotive section. ¡®When were my brakes due for a change again? Soonish, I think. Whatever, I¡¯ll just do them when I change my oil.¡¯

    It takes no time to find a large bottle of motor oil and a set of brake pads to toss in the cart. As they turn and begin the walk back to check out, they pass by the sports and outdoors section of the store. Cutting through an aisle, Alan scowls when he finds someone already there with their cart haphazardly in the middle, cutting them off. The other person faces away, rubbing their chin as they stare at a cast-iron pan hanging from the wall.

    ¡°Hey pal, you¡¯re blocking the whole aisle. Do you mind?¡± Alan bites out as rudely as possible, making the other man stiffen and whirl around. As Alan takes in the other man¡¯s face, his annoyance is swiftly replaced with surprise. ¡°Chase? What are you doing on this side of town?¡±

    ¡°Oh shit, look who¡¯s up and out of his cave!¡± The other man ignores the question to smile and point a finger at Alan. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you in like three weeks, brochacho. What have you been up to?¡± He then notices Prim, and kneels down to her level, prompting her to blink at him in confusion. ¡°And when did you get a dog?¡±

    Malcolm ¡°Chase¡± Kenns, Alan¡¯s closest friend since grade school, is certainly a case study on how luck, determination, and a touch of wit is just as valid as skill and intelligence in the real world, at least in Alan¡¯s opinion. With his shaved head hidden by a NASCAR cap, bare arms covered in tattoos, and a perfectly trimmed goatee Alan always thought was kind of douchey, Chase looks the trailer trash part to a T. Silently, Alan has to wonder if his friend plays up his stupid appearance and seemingly nonsensical pursuits in cryptozoology to hide just how sly he is.

    ¡°I got her just a few days ago,¡± Alan deadpans, watching his oldest friend make kissy-faces and reach a hand towards the disturbed-looking eldritch goddess. ¡°Don¡¯t touch, she bites.¡±

    Prim snaps her jaws for effect, and Chase quickly pulls his hand back.

    ¡°A sourpuss just like her owner, then,¡± Chase jokes, standing back up. ¡°What¡¯s her name?¡±

    ¡°Prim,¡± Alan supplies, not elaborating on the origin.

    Chase hums, scratching his chin. ¡°Well, for your info, I¡¯m here gettin¡¯ some fixings for a stakeout I¡¯m gonna be performing. The Barrmart near me didn¡¯t have everything I wanted, and I need to be prepared for this one!¡±

    When Alan just raises an eyebrow, Chase reaches into his pocket and withdraws his cracked phone. ¡°You ain¡¯t gonna believe this, man,¡± he unlocks the device and opens his photos, quickly scrolling through the newer ones. ¡°You know how there¡¯s been that big uptick in spooky-dook sightings, yeah?¡±

    ¡®If it¡¯s about supernatural shenanigans, I think I can believe whatever at this point,¡¯ He shares a quick glance with Prim. ¡®You were surprised when I didn¡¯t give a shit, now get ready for the other end of the spectrum.¡¯ Alan returns his attention to Chase. ¡°Yeah, I heard about it. So what?¡±

    ¡°So what?¡± Chase seems aghast. ¡°So what?! I¡¯m about to prove to everyone that I was right about everything, that¡¯s what! Take a look here and keep this to yourself¡­¡± The other man steps close and throws an arm around Alan¡¯s shoulder, holding up his phone and looking around conspiratorially.

    Alan rolls his eyes and humors his friend, only to go stiff in surprise when he looks at the image presented to him.

    On the cracked phone screen is a black and white photo taken from a low hanging trail cam, doubtlessly one of the ones that Chase uses to scope out hunting spots. In the center of the photo is something so strange, that Alan has to rub his eyes to ensure he¡¯s not seeing things.

    In the photo is a set of people. That in itself isn¡¯t strange, but the collective stature of the group is. They¡¯re short. Really short, as in they can¡¯t be any taller than two feet flat.

    Each one is squat in form, with round bellies, blushing faces, and beards that reach down to their stomachs. Each one wears similar attire with only minor variations in patterns and color. Simple tunic shirts, equally simple pants, pointed shoes, and strangely pointy hats all paint a running theme between them. On the back of each one of the little people is a rustic, canvas backpack, each one filled to bursting. The backpacks must be quite heavy, for each of the little people grasp the straps of their backpacks with clenched hands and faces schooled into concentration. In the photo, one of them looks at the trail camera. Even in the low light, the trail camera captures his worry with startling detail.

    ¡°Holy shit¡­¡± Alan breathes, leaning in closer. ¡°Are those¡­?¡±

    ¡°Real gnomes!¡± Chase almost squeals, a grin splitting his face. ¡°Not the Sasquatch I wanted, but I¡¯ll take what I can get!¡± He practically dances away back over to his own cart, stowing away his phone as he does so. ¡°It¡¯s like Christmas came early! Hell, this is almost better than Christmas!¡±

    ¡®Okay, demons I understand and can even get behind, but fucking gnomes?¡¯ Alan shakes his head and looks down to Prim, who meets his gaze with a mystified sort of confusion. ¡®Yeah, that¡¯s about what I expected. Chase does that to people.¡¯

    ¡°So, you know they¡¯re real, and you know roughly where they are,¡± Alan begins, leaning against his shopping cart and idly twisting Prim¡¯s leash between his fingers. ¡°What are you gonna do with that knowledge?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not obvious?¡± Chase smirks, not at all questioning Alan¡¯s lack of skepticism. ¡°I¡¯m going to shake them down for their gold, that¡¯s what!¡±

    ¡®Gold? Gnome legends don¡¯t involve gold, do they? I think you¡¯re getting your magical midgets mixed up, man¡­¡¯

    ¡°Do you want to come with?¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± Alan looks up, finding Chase smiling at him.

    ¡°I said,¡± Chase repeats himself with exaggerated slowness. ¡°Do. You. Want. To. Come. With? I ain¡¯t an asshole, so if you help out, I promise to split the booty with you.¡± He turns and looks back to the shelves, a hand reaching up to hover over the cast-iron pan he was looking at. ¡°We never seem to do anything fun anymore, so what do you say?¡±

    Alan looks towards Prim once more, silently mouthing Are gnomes dangerous?

    She shakes her head in a negative.

    Frowning, Alan then mouths Is it worth hunting them? Are there any repercussions?

    This time, the demon shrugs, leaving Alan at a crossroads.

    He could just let Chase run off and have his fun¡­ but there is no guarantee that his boneheaded best friend won¡¯t land himself in trouble somehow. If demons, monsters, and legends all the way up to the biblical sort are suddenly coming back, then Alan would feel way better knowing that Chase isn¡¯t alone against anything that might try to mess with him.

    ¡°Can I bring Prim? I don¡¯t have anyone who can handle her right now,¡± Alan eventually asks. ¡®And I want her there if anything that can eat a bullet and keep moving shows its mug.¡¯

    Chase turns, his eyes shining. ¡°The more, the merrier! So, you¡¯re in?¡±

    Alan nods, his friend¡¯s excitement putting a small smile on his face. ¡°I¡¯m in.¡±

    A hand bearing a snake tattoo clasps Alan¡¯s shoulder, and Chase¡¯s grin lights up the entire aisle.

 Chapter 4: Dark Dealings

    Checking his watch again, Alan sighs and looks down the dark stretch of dirt road where Chase said he wanted to meet up for their little expedition. The sun has already set, and the looming trees on either side of the road make the gloom all the deeper. High above, the half-moon provides the tiniest bit of light, though it does little to chase away the shadows of the foliage. Out in the persistent darkness, crickets chirp, a chilled wind whistles through the branches, and an incessant owl''s hoots echo across the tree trunks.

    ''Would werewolves be a concern if the moon was full?'' Alan wonders, absently fingering the revolver hidden in his waistband. He leans back into the driver''s door of the car, careful to not crush the backpack of supplies he''s wearing. ''What has reawakened so far?''

    Beside him, Prim sits calmly. Once more, she''s disguised as a large, black wolf. Absent around her neck is any leash or collar. "I refuse to don any bindings frivolously, especially ones so humiliating. Were they not required to maintain social norms within your ''supermarket,'' I would have refused then, as well," she said when they climbed in the car for the drive here. The slight cold and the sounds of the forest seem to bother her none. Alan gives the demon a sidelong look, noting how at ease she looks.

    Yesterday, when they returned home from Barrmart, Prim said she wished to be alone to ''meditate on what I have seen thus far'' and vanished. She didn''t reappear until this afternoon, and she practically scared the life out of Alan when she crawled under the crack of his bedroom door as if made of liquid.

    ''Did going out to a common store shake her that much?'' Alan frowns. Surely not. Prim is some kind of ancient aspect of nature, right? She has to have seen scarier things than mouth-breathing Barrmart shoppers in dubiously-stained pajama bottoms.

    The demon seems to realize that she''s being stared at, as she looks up at Alan with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, Alan?"

    "Nothing. Just thinking, is all. I didn''t mean to stare," Alan turns away and looks at the dirt road, towards the route that leads back to town. Where is Chase?

    "If you''ve thoughts or concerns to share, I am willing to listen, no matter how foolish they may seem to you," she says, shuffling her paws. "As I stated during the prelude to our contract, I seek to understand modern humanity, and I have countless lifetimes worth of counsel that you may call upon should you be troubled."

    Looking back down at Prim, Alan shrugs. "Well, it''s not really any thoughts about myself."

    "Truly?" Prim tilts her head. In the dark, even the mundane gray eyes of her disguise are like beacons. "It is my understanding that braving the wilderness after dark is a daunting experience for man. Is that not what is upon your mind?"

    Alan shakes his head. "No, I actually wanted to ask if you were okay."

    "I¡­ Do not understand?" She seems taken aback.

    "Yesterday, after we got home, you went off to ¨C " he lifts a hand and rolls it in a vague gesture, "¨C on your own for a full day. Tell me the fuck off if it''s not my business, but was yesterday actually that rough for you?"

    For a long moment, Prim says nothing, merely looking up into Alan''s eyes unblinkingly. "Your¡­ Concern? Your concern is¡­" She hesitates again. "Appreciated, but do not dwell upon such matters."

    "Didn''t we do that ritual on the basis of ¨C " Alan wiggles his fingers theatrically, as if casting magic ¨C "trust and companionship and all that jazz? I''m not some all-knowing demon, but I like to think my advice isn''t completely worthless. If something is bugging you, I can at least try to do something about it."

    Again, Prim seems unsure how to respond. Other than a slight crinkling of her eyelids, her face gives away nothing. "You are¡­ Indeed correct, ours is a pact of companionship and mutual exchange. I will not bore you with extensive ruminations, but I believe that yesterday showed me that there is much to learn."

    When Prim doesn''t elaborate, Alan takes the hint and drops the subject. "So," he begins, stuffing his hands into his pockets for warmth, "what are we getting into with gnomes? They''re not going to secretly turn into big, flesh-eating monsters the moment we catch them, right?"

    Prim lets out a wolfy chuff, a faint, amused smile on her lips. "Tonight''s quarry do not present such dangers. Are there any details in particular that you wish to know?"

    "Hit me with a little of everything. You know? The important bits. Assume I know nothing, because what I do know is probably wrong."

    Prim nods. "Very well. A moment to gather my thoughts, if you please." Prim''s tail sweeps the ground, rustling some fallen leaves, and after a few seconds, she begins to speak. "Gnomes are the lowest and most benign form of fae. Crafters above all else, they require time and reagents to perform many of their magicks, which are often utilized for selfless deeds. Thusly, gnomes are looked down upon by many. Regardless of their less-than-intimidating stature and timid nature, they are far from defenseless. One will find a gnome''s physical might is disproportional to their size, and that is the least alarming surprise they may hold." She then looks up and down Alan reproachfully. "Tis rather arrogant to perform banditry upon them without so much as a dagger in your boot."

    ''Selfless deeds? Now that I think about it, I don''t recall any legends about gnomes being dickheads or anything.'' Silently, Alan can''t help but feel a tiny bit guilty that he let himself get excited over the possibility of stealing some kind of treasure. ''Whatever. At least I''m here to try and dissuade Chase. He definitely got his mythological creatures mixed up.''

    "I''m not defenseless," Alan rolls his eyes. He pulls up the edge of his shirt, showing Prim the handle of the 357 Magnum snubnose in his waistband. "I''m not dumb enough to wander out into the woods unarmed."

    The demon tilts her head, clearly not impressed.

    ''Oh. Right. Prim started her nap somewhere in the early 1700s. She probably has no idea what she''s looking at.'' Alan pulls the gun out and holds it with the barrel facing the forest floor, then he turns it so Prim can see.

    Prim leans in curiously, sniffing the revolver like an actual canine might, then she recoils and wrinkles her snout. "And that is?"

    "A gun."

    "A gun?" She parrots, eyeing the revolver in disbelief. "Tis no design I''ve ever seen. Where is the mechanism for the flint to strike the powder? It also seems to be a terrible design oversight to make the barrel so short. I am no expert in human weaponry, but it is my understanding that both the accuracy and velocity of the projectile suffer without a sufficient barrel." She stands and steps closer, eyeing the revolver with skepticism. "You did not pack a powder horn, either. How will you reload your weapon?"

    Alan thinks for a moment, considering how best to explain a modern firearm to someone who has only ever seen flintlocks. He opens the cylinder and pushes the rounds up just enough that he can pull one out. He shows the 357 Magnum cartridge to Prim, who leans in curiously.

    "This is a type of gun called a revolver, because of the cylinder here that revolves as it''s fired," Alan begins, slowly rotating said cylinder as an example. "And rather than needing me to stuff powder and ball down the barrel after each shot, the bullet and the powder are both held by this brass case that goes in the cylinder."

    Prim''s eyes narrow as she follows along.

    "Every time I pull the trigger, the cylinder rotates and a pin punches an impact-sensitive explosive on the back of the case-" he flips the cartridge around to show Prim the primer "-igniting the powder and firing the gun," he says, hoping he hasn''t lost her yet.

    The demon is still paying attention, but now she''s beginning to lean back.

    "The powder in here also packs more punch than black powder, and spiraling grooves in the barrel called ''rifling'' puts a spin on the bullet, keeping it stable in-flight even with a short barrel like this. Put all this together, and you get a package you can fire off and reload pretty quick," Alan places the unfired round back in the cylinder of his gun and closes it, before stuffing it back in its holster.

    By now, Prim''s ears are lying flat, and her once wide eyes are narrowed in thought. No matter how well she hides it, the fact that she is troubled is plain. "I see¡­"

    Unsure how he upset her again, Alan quickly changes the subject to one hopefully more in her wheelhouse. "So I''ve been meaning to ask about that ritual we used. I don''t really feel any different, so are we sure that it actually did something?"

    "It most certainly did," Prim is quick to answer, perking up. "Unusual that you have yet to perceive our covenant, but perhaps you simply are not sensitive to the energies of the wider world yet." After a beat, she adds: "I suspect the same holds true with many born of this befuddling era. Over time, the subtle weave of magick shall reveal itself to you." She nods firmly. "Worry not, for nothing is awry."

    "Magic, huh?" Alan looks down at one of his palms, slowly curling his fingers into a fist and spreading them once more. In the halflight of the moon, it all looks the same, unchanged. No magic, no new sensations, nothing. ''Story of my life, feeling like I''m running in place.''

    For a second, he''s back in the office, the morning after meeting Prim.

    "What do you want to do, then? Why be here if this isn''t what you want?" Prim asks, her perfectly round eyes staring up at him intently, as if trying to understand him.

    For some reason, the question bothers him, even though he has countless answers.

    I like it here, just not all the time.

    I don''t have the patience to train for a new job.

    I have bills to pay.

    This is better than nothing.

    The alternatives are worse.

    Every answer was satisfactory to Alan before, but now it just feels like he is lying to himself. No one had ever asked him before what he wanted to do, what he wanted out of life. He always knew in the back of his mind that he was simply letting life string him along, but now that someone asked, the realization that he genuinely doesn''t know what he wants out of life is a proverbial strike to the gut. Leaning back, he looks up at the moon.

    ''Is there even anything worth wanting?''

    A good career? No, he already knows how damn near every job works. It''s never about talent, never about drive or ethics, it''s about who you know. To think otherwise will lead you to work fifty years to put money in someone else''s pocket, and then you expire.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    A home and community? Forces beyond control all seem to conspire against such a thing. The rising cost of housing and the dog-eat-dog mentality consuming the masses means finding a place to belong is sheer luck. Even if one wins the jackpot and finds themselves in an accepting place, it only takes one faux pas to suddenly be branded an outcast in this world that sees only black and white.

    A family? A younger, more romantic Alan wished for such a thing, but that dream was smothered in the cradle. His feeble stabs at romance ended in heartbreak, over and over, so he withdrew and kept to himself to avoid more pain. No one seems to have the social literacy to hold a relationship anymore, and the adulthood milestones of yesteryear seem to apply less and less as time goes on. It was a humiliating day when Alan realized that he is included in the ranks of the failures.

    Regardless, why bother with a family? Without a career and a home to provide for said family, there is no point. It would be a cold day in Hell the day Alan willingly brought a life into this world without the means to care for it.

    ''I really have no idea what I want,'' The thought is as unpleasant as a bucket of ice water over the head. ''Kind of fucked up that the literal manifestation of darkness was the first one to ask,''

    Alan stares down at his hand, flexing his fingers once more. ''Prim could just be trying to get into my good graces, get me to let my guard down so I''m willing to give her anything she wants, but¡­''

    He clenches his fist.

    ''Whatever kind of force is out there¡­ Please, please just let me have this one thing with no strings attached.''

    "Alan?" Prim suddenly speaks, breaking him out of his thoughts. Turning, he looks at the wolf-shaped demon, who stares up at him with yet another unreadable expression. "My mortal friend, would you care to learn proper magick when time allows?"

    "I¡­ What?" The question is so unexpected that Alan loses his train of thought. He points at himself with a finger. "I can actually learn that stuff?"

    Prim nods once. "Of course. Even bereft of skill or innate talent, all with drive may learn should they possess a brave and open mind."

    Crossing his arms, Alan gives her a look that clearly says: "Really?"

    "Our pact may be temporary in nature, but the energies binding us still run deep," Prim continues. "Just as water within the loamy earth one day finds itself amongst clouds, the essence in and of us flows in a grand cycle."

    ''Essence in and of us? The fuck does that mean?''

    "For that reason, even if your innate talent for the arcane is nil, you will still find arts within my sphere within your grasp, should you walk the path of a proper practitioner." She blinks and looks up.

    Alan looks up as well.

    High above, a plane flies overhead. The blinking lights on its wings are brighter than any star.

    He returns his attention to Prim, whose eyes are still locked on the plane''s blinking light.

    "I taught man his earliest lessons," Prim murmurs, voice little higher than a whisper. "My Dark taught him fear, caution, and distrust, just as my Night taught him awe, rest, and dreams. Should you desire it, Alan, I shall teach you lessons never before passed to man." She finally tears her eyes away from the airplane as it disappears from sight, and levels Alan with a luminescent stare. "The world changes ever faster, and it would be prudent to learn."

    "What''s the price?" The words fall from Alan''s mouth on pure reflex.

    Prim shakes her head. "Consider this repayment for services rendered thus far and services already promised. Just as you teach me, so shall I teach you. Tis only fair."

    Once again, Alan''s first response is near-reflexive skepticism, since Prim can find everything she needs easily, but he stops. Somewhere deep in his chest is the inexplicable knowledge that the demon''s words are just as they seem. No conditions, no unspoken promises, nothing. The sensation is utterly foreign, yet¡­

    ''Maybe¡­'' A wild thought occurs. ''Maybe that would be worthwhile. If all these cryptids and whatnot are coming back, surely that means that magic and all that is coming back too, right? Maybe I should be on top of this like Prim says. Shit, maybe I can even make a career out of it? The metaphorical genie is already working its way out of the bottle, after all.''

    "You know Prim?" Alan begins, nodding slowly. "I may take you up on that. When we get back to my place, let''s ¨C" his train of thought is abruptly cut off as headlights begin to illuminate the bend of the road. "Let''s hold that thought. Looks like tweedle dip-shit is here."

    Prim''s ears fold back as the roar of a straight-pipe truck engine echoes across the trees. "Very well¡­"

    The approaching pickup truck fits the driver so well that it''s almost a rolling stereotype. The old body is colored in red "paint" which is less paint, and more of a colorful suggestion hiding rust beneath. One headlight is shattered, and one of the side mirrors is held on with tape. The truck passes them before pulling off to the side of the road, where the driver kills the ignition and lets the wheezing engine go silent.

    "Hey, you actually showed up!" Chase practically jumps out of the truck, slamming the door carelessly behind him. "This is going to be sick, bro! We''re out here hunting cryptids!" The other man is filled with such excited, manic energy that he almost dances in place. "Okay, gear up!" He exclaims, leaning into the bed of his truck and digging at things unseen within.

    "Gear up?" Alan asks, looking down at himself. "I am geared up."

    Chase looks at Alan. Even in the dark, Alan can see his friend''s eyes roaming him up and down. "Uh, you look a little underprepared to me. You didn''t even bring a leash for your dog."

    Prim''s eyes narrow, but she doesn''t growl and give herself away.

    "You didn''t exactly give me a list of shit to bring, dude," Alan points out. "I''ve got enough for a night in the woods and that''s it. And don''t worry about Prim. She''s not going to wander off."

    Chase mulls over Alan''s words, and after a moment, nods slowly. "Yeah, I guess you''re right. That''s okay though, I came prepared enough for two." He lifts a helmet from the bed of his truck and tosses it towards Alan.

    Catching the helmet, Alan looks it over, both of his eyebrows rising to his hairline. The helmet itself is nothing special, but the pair of night vision goggles fitted to it on a swinging arm are a surprise. "Where did you get these? Last time we talked, you said good night vision stuff was stupid expensive."

    "It, uh¡­" the other man averts his eyes. "It fell off a truck," he says lamely, lifting an identical helmet and setting it on his own head.

    ''Stolen. Got it.'' Alan rolls his eyes and goes to put the helmet on, but pauses when he sees Prim tilt her head with obvious interest. "Curious, girl? Take a look in here," he says as if she were a pet. It takes a second to find the power switch on the goggles, but when they''re flipped on, he kneels and holds them at eye-height for the disguised demon.

    Prim shuffles closer and peers through one of the eyepieces, her jaw dropping a little. She looks up at Alan, and instantly he knows it''s another question he''s going to have to answer later.

    Fitting the helmet to his head, Alan fumbles with the chin straps in the dark, but eventually, the helmet is semi-secure. He flips down the goggles, and instantly the night is lit up in a white-blue glow, everything nearly as visible as it is in daytime.

    "Okay, now we''re cookin''!"

    In the time that Alan took to show Prim how night vision works, Chase strapped himself into an armored vest loaded down with rifle magazines and loops of shotgun shells, and as Alan turns to look at him, Chase lifts a large, black rifle from his truck and secures its sling around his body.

    The rifle is a great slab of a weapon. An AR-15 of some sort, loaded down with a wealth of accouterments, some that Alan can name, and others he cannot. A red dot sight, a sight magnifier, and an IR laser are just a few. What really steals the show, however, is the underslung, sawed-off shotgun attached to the hand guard.

    "Is that thing legal?" Alan frowns, his eyes homing in on the ''full auto'' setting on the rifle. "I''m not trying to go to jail if a game warden busts us or something."

    "I''ve got paperwork," Chase smiles and winks, slapping a magazine into place and cocking the rifle. He then begins stuffing shells into the underslung shotgun. "Don''t you worry, friendo. I dotted all my I''s and crossed all my T''s."

    Rolling his eyes, Alan leans against his car and waits for his friend to finish preparing.

    Once more, Alan catches an inquisitive look from Prim in the corner of his eye, as she looks between him and the rifle in Chase''s hands. "Another gun, one way bigger, meaner, and faster firing than mine," he whispers so quietly that only a canine a foot away could possibly hear. "If he lifts that thing like he''s going to fire it, it''s going to be loud."

    The demon looks visibly disturbed at the revelation, her face in the very beginnings of a humanlike grimace.

    "That should be everything," Chase gives himself a once-over and pulls a slip of paper from his pocket, letting his rifle hang by the sling. Unfolding the paper, he beckons Alan and Prim closer. "Come take a look at this."

    Stepping close enough to peer down at the paper, Alan sees that in Chase''s hands is a printed-out map of the area around them, one marked with a series of red X''s. The marks follow a rather straight line for a while, then suddenly veer off with more distance between each one. At the end of the line of X''s is a circled portion, which is rather close to their meeting point.

    "So I''ve been tracking the gnomes for about a week now," Chase begins, kneeling like a doofus so Prim can see the map too. He taps each X on the map with a finger. "They''ve been stickin'' to the denser part of the woods for a while, but then something happened here ¨C" he points to one X, where the previously straight-line suddenly takes a turn following a well-trodden trail ¨C"and now they''re moving fast and hard each night, like something is chasing them. I want to be the first to get ''em, and based on patterns and some napkin math, they should be passing by a location about two hundred yards from here in about forty minutes, give or take."

    Alan stuffs his hands in his pockets to ward off the night chill as he processes everything Chase has said. "Huh. You sure did your homework¡­ Mostly¡­" He mutters the last part to himself. "Are you sure that it''s gnomes that you want and not something like leprechauns? I don''t recall gnomes ever having gold," Alan tries to reason. "Hell, most depictions of gnomes aren''t malicious, either. I don''t think there''s any point in trying to shake them down."

    "Leprechaun?" Chase mouths, his brows furrowing. "You mean the little Irish guys that appear at the end of rainbows, right?"

    "Yeah, the ones with the pots of gold. You know? The most popular part of their legend?"

    Chase is silent for a moment, then with a great sigh, he speaks a single, profound word. "Shit."

    Alan quashes the urge to call his friend a dumbass. What kind of cryptid hunter mixes up gnomes and leprechauns? "So, now what? Are we going home, or¡­"

    "Hell no," Chase cuts him off. "We''re already out here, so we''re gonna go meet ''em. I am not passing the chance up to chat with gnomes. Who knows what they have to say? Maybe they''ll even do the whimsical fairytale thing and invite us for tea and those biscuit things no one eats."

    "And if they''re not so accommodating?" Alan asks.

    Chase wordlessly hefts his rifle.

    Together, the pair of men and the disguised demon begin to make their way through the woods and to the proposed intersection point that Chase figured out. The uneven ground and underbrush makes the walk noisy and a touch perilous even with night vision guiding the way. As they walk, Alan turns to Prim to make sure she''s keeping up.

    Where Alan and Chase push through the woods with a modicum of grace, Prim makes it look utterly effortless. Her paws make zero sound even when stepping on dead leaves and brittle branches. She weaves around the bushes and low branches, flowing almost like a liquid without ever breaking her stride. Even under the glow of night vision, she''s a black, wolf-shaped void.

    ''Hopefully, Chase doesn''t notice¡­''

    The walk to the intersection point only takes ten or so minutes, so everyone hunkers down at the gnarled base of a large tree overlooking the beaten dirt path that the gnomes are likely using.

    "Now we wait¡­" Chase murmurs, sitting down and propping his gun up on one of his legs. He takes out his map again and inspects it intently. "This is the place, alright."

    Alan and Prim make themselves comfortable only a short distance away. The tall roots of the tree don''t provide much cover for three, so Prim is nearly pressed into Alan''s side. As he watches the path for any movement, the backside of one of Alan''s hands brushes Prim''s side, and he can''t help but be surprised by how sinfully soft her fur is.

    Suddenly, there''s movement further up the trail, and Prim''s hackles rise. "Alan," she hisses slowly, so quiet only he can hear. "We''re no longer alone. Be prepared."

    One of Alan''s suddenly clammy hands wraps around the grip of his revolver. The warm rubber is reassuring but doesn''t chase away the entire chill.

    Chase perks up as well, keenly watching some distant bushes shake. In a flash, his rifle is in his hands and held at a low-ready position. "They''re early¡­" He grunts. "What''s the deal?"

    It''s not long before voices join the sudden, frantic trundling through the underbrush.

    "Move! Hurry now, everyone! One foot after the other!"

    "It''s gaining! It''s gaining!"

    "We can''t keep this pace! Puddlefoot''s injuries are too severe!"

    Out of the brush and into the sight of Alan, Prim, and Chase, an entire troupe of short men, no taller than two or so feet, burst out onto the path. Just like in the photograph that Chase showed Alan, each of the squat forms is covered in rustic, handspun clothes, but now their garbs are covered in dirt and ragged tears. A few of them have lost their backpacks, and each bearded face is screwed up into a rictus of terror. Bringing up the rear is a makeshift wooden sled pulled by two wild-eyed foxes, and in the sled is the final gnome, who is deathly pale.

    The lead gnome, one of middling height but possessing the longest beard, takes notice of them with wide eyes. "Humans?! What are you doing here?! Begone! Shoo!" He demands. "There are terrors within these woods! You cannot be here if you value your lives!"

    As he says that, the bushes behind the gnomes shake again, and this time a form far larger than a gnome barrels through with a shrill, hair-raising screech, drawing an open growl from Prim.

    Alan''s body instantly breaks out in goosebumps. "What the fuck is that thing!?" He yells, pulling his revolver free.

    Chase says nothing. He shoots into a standing position, flips the selector on his rifle to ''full auto'', and pulls the trigger all in one motion.

    The stillness of the night is destroyed by the roar and flash of gunfire.

 Chapter 5: The First Encounter

    Gunfire.

    A screech of agony.

    Cries of panic.

    The ringing of his ears.

    Alan isn¡¯t sure what is louder, but he knows for damn sure that the protective earmuffs of his loaned helmet aren¡¯t working. He covers his ears with his hands, grimacing. It figures that would be the one place that Chase cheaps out.

    The hunched, darkened figure that burst through the foliage behind the gnomes shrieks hideously as the rain of bullets tears into it. It raises its clawed hands to try and protect its face and stumbles backward before turning and fleeing, leaving the bush it flattened smeared with blood.

    Chase swings his gun to follow the monstrosity, trigger still depressed. Each flash from the muzzle illuminates his grim face until the magazine clicks empty. In a flash, he discards the empty magazine and pulls a fresh one from his vest, reloading his rifle in a practiced movement. ¡°Alan! It¡¯s moving! NODs down!¡± He exclaims, pulling his night vision goggles back into place.

    It takes Alan a moment to realize what Chase means by ¡°NODs¡±, but when it clicks, he pulls the goggles of his own helmet down in front of his eyes, lighting up the dark forest in hues of ghostly blue and white.

    He looks towards the frightened gnomes, who stand huddled around the sled holding their injured compatriot. Many of them are rubbing their ears or blinking stars from their eyes, dazed by the gunfire.

    The monster, however, is nowhere to be found. In the short time it took the pair of men to turn on their visual aids, it¡¯s already vanished, seemingly into thin air. Blood stains the ground and the foliage where it made its escape, and following the trail with his eyes, Alan sees that it looks as if ¨C

    At Alan¡¯s side, Prim suddenly snarls, and Alan whirls around as the shrubbery rustles. The first thing he sees is a pair of round, dark eyes entirely too close to him.

    ¡°Shit!¡± He cries, raising his revolver with the sort of speed that only surging adrenaline can grant. There is no hesitation as he pulls the trigger once, twice, three times.

    The .357 magnum bucks harshly in his hand, sending a slug right into one of the dark eyes, bursting it like an overripe grape. The second round flies wide, missing entirely. The third one strikes the thing in the leathery hide of its chest, sending it stumbling backward.

    The thing recoils, shrieking once more as it covers its ruined eye with a pair of clawed hands.

    From beside him, Alan hears the telltale click-clack of a shotgun pump.

    Bang!

    A blast of buckshot strikes the thing right in the neck, tearing chunks of gore and bone free. Its remaining eye widens, and it tries to gasp through its ruined windpipe. The creature falls to the ground heavily, choking and bleeding. It flails as lifeblood spills from its shredded jugular, before its remaining eye grows dim, and it goes limp.

    For a moment, all is silent.

    ¡°Holy hell¡­¡± Chase nearly trips over his words. The man works the pump of the shotgun grafted to the bottom of his rifle, sending a spent, smoking shell to the ground. The entire time, he doesn¡¯t stop pointing his weapon at the cooling corpse. ¡°Aren¡¯t you glad that I packed heavy, Alan?¡± He asks, sending Alan a reassuring smile.

    His hands shaking, Alan lowers his gun and takes a moment to find his words, his adrenaline scattering his thoughts. ¡°You know what? When you¡¯re right, Chase, you¡¯re right. I was going to complain about you deafening me and my dog, but I¡¯ll give you this one,¡± he says, sending a glance downward to Prim.

    The demon once more has her face schooled into forced neutrality, eyeballing Chase¡¯s rifle. Alan¡¯s begun to notice that she tends to do that whenever she¡¯s uncomfortable.

    Chase steps a bit closer to the dead monster and gives it a nudge with his boot. When the thing doesn¡¯t respond, he finally allows himself to relax. ¡°What do you think it is?¡± He asks, kicking the body and flipping it onto its back. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen something like this.¡±

    ¡°Has anyone?¡± Alan dryly replies. He takes some time to inspect the thing that was chasing the gnomes.

    The first and most startling attribute is the round, lamprey-like mouth filled with thin, needle teeth. Alan can only wonder what this thing preyed on, as such a tooth arrangement seems strange. Its skin is a dark, weathered brown like leather, and a row of spiny spikes run down its hunched spine. Its long fingers end in hooked claws, and its long, sinewy legs look as if they could leap quite a distance.

    ¡­Well, they looked like they could leap quite a distance before one of them was shredded by Chase¡¯s rifle. The cooling body is covered in so many bullet wounds, that this thing was surely on borrowed time before Chase dealt the last blow. Slaying Alan and Chase would have been a pyrrhic victory at best, and that¡¯s assuming that Prim didn¡¯t step in.

    ¡°This beast is a goat sucker.¡±

    Alan, Chase, and even Prim whirl around toward the voice, and Chase raises his gun once more.

    Standing there behind them is the lead gnome, the one who shouted and urged them to escape. The tiny, bearded man looks at the rifle pointed at him, his face growing pale. ¡°W-Wait! Peace, lads! Peace! I wish only to speak with you!¡± He squeaks, raising his hands and waving his palms in surrender.

    ¡°Whoops,¡± Chase grins sheepishly and lowers the weapon once more. ¡°Sorry about that. I got a little jumpy, there.¡±

    The gnome breathes out a sigh of relief. ¡°It¡¯s no trouble, lad. Goodness me, it seems that times have changed, indeed,¡± he murmurs, sending a nervous glance to Chase¡¯s gun. ¡°You boys have my utmost thanks. That damnable thing has been chasing us for a fortnight. We¡¯ve lost two good gnomes to it, and we haven¡¯t even been given enough time to mourn.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no need to thank us. It tried to kill us, too, so it had to go.¡± Alan waves the gnome off. He pauses for a moment, wondering if this should feel more absurd.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t diminish the fact that you saved our lives,¡± the gnome says, shaking his head. ¡°Goodness! Where are my manners? My name is Barley, Barley Bramble, the headgnome of our village.¡± Barley glances over his shoulder towards his fellows.

    Now that the danger has passed, the rest of the gnomes clamber around the fox-pulled sled, treating the injuries of the pale, groaning gnome inside. One shrugs off his backpack and digs within, pulling out a glass vial with a large crack down its side. Whatever concoction was inside has since leaked out, leaving only a drop of green left, much of the gnome¡¯s visible dismay.

    ¡°¡­ Or at least, I was the headgnome of our village¡­¡± The squat man mumbles sadly. He slowly takes his pointed hat off of his head and holds it to his chest, his knuckles white. ¡°There¡¯s no village left to speak of.¡±

    A pang of sympathy courses through Alan, and he can see Chase¡¯s shoulders slump.

    ¡°Jeez, man. I dunno what happened, but it sounds like you guys have had it rough,¡± Chase lets his rifle hang by its sling as he scratches the back of his head. He lifts his night-vision up and out of the way, smiling down at Barley. ¡°The name is ¨C!¡±

    ¡®Wait. Didn¡¯t Prim say that gnomes are technically fairies?¡¯ Alan¡¯s eyes shoot wide open, a half-remembered factoid about fairies in mind. ¡®If you give a fairy your name, they can control you!¡¯

    Alan¡¯s hand shoots out and clamps over Chase¡¯s mouth, stopping the other man from speaking his name. The action is so sudden and so surprising, that Chase doesn¡¯t immediately pull the hand off.

    Looking down, Alan finds Prim already staring at him, having apparently anticipated this. There is a brief second where he debates trying to keep the pet dog charade going, but after tonight, it seems useless. Chase, despite his appearance, isn¡¯t stupid. With the confirmation that gnomes and the like are real, he¡¯ll sniff Prim out eventually.

    ¡°Are we cool to say our names, or is that no bueno?¡± Alan plainly asks the shadowy demon.

    Prim sends Chase a sidelong glance. ¡°¡®Tis good to be cautious, but such a thing is unwarranted, here,¡± she says, watching as Chase¡¯s eyes bug out. ¡°True Fae are the ones you should take such safeguards around. I would offer you a warning if I felt it appropriate.¡±

    The look in Chase¡¯s eyes tells Alan that they are going to have a conversation in the near future, and for once, it¡¯ll be a serious one.

    Alan nods and lets his hand drop back to his side, freeing Chase¡¯s mouth. ¡°In that case, Barley, my name is Alan, and my trigger-happy friend here is Chase.¡±

    Chase recovers from his surprise at hearing Prim speak and holds out a hand, one that Barley takes after replacing his hat. ¡°Nice to meet ya, Barley. I wish it under better circumstances and all that,¡± Chase grins, shaking Barley¡¯s hand so vigorously that the gnome is nearly thrown off balance.

    ¡°My other, furrier friend is Prim. She¡¯s¡­¡± Alan continues, only to stop himself short.

    ¡®Shit. I can¡¯t just go out and say that she¡¯s a demon, can I?¡¯

    ¡°I am Alan¡¯s Familiar,¡± Prim calmly interjects. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, headgnome Barley Bramble,¡± she says with a slight incline of her head, neatly skirting past the unspoken question of what she is rather than who.

    The stare that Chase is beaming into the side of Alan¡¯s head is so intense that Alan can almost feel it. He meets his friend¡¯s eyes, mouthing the word ¡®later¡¯.

    At the same time, Barley regards the black wolf at Alan¡¯s side with suspicion, but doesn¡¯t ask the question obviously on his lips. ¡°I assure you, the pleasure is all mine,¡± he says, addressing all three of them. ¡°I wish I had a home and a warm hearth that I could invite you into for some tea, as that would be the least I could do to repay your heroism. As it stands¡­¡± He shifts uncomfortably. ¡°I¡¯m afraid we haven¡¯t anything that would be a proper reward for you.¡±

    Chase scoffs. ¡°The excitement tonight is enough of a reward to me. Hell, I haven¡¯t had this much fun since I cut my grass with a push mower taped to my dirt bike,¡± he says. Then he sends a glance to the dead monster only a few yards away. ¡°Actually, hold on. I wanna keep that. Lemme bag ¡®em and I¡¯m good,¡± he amends, pointing at the corpse with a finger. ¡°I just got my new tanning rack hung up in my garage, and I need to break it in!¡±

    Alan flips up the night vision goggles of his borrowed helmet and rubs his forehead with a sigh. ¡®I really have no idea if his trailer trashiness is a bit or not,¡¯ he thinks to himself, giving his grinning friend a halfhearted glare.

    ¡°Alan and I are of a contrary opinion,¡± Prim jumps in, finally allowing herself to sit on her haunches and relax. ¡°A life-debt such as this is not something that will be easily forgotten.¡±

    The comment earns her a frown from Chase, but Barley seems to have been expecting it.

    ¡°We¡¯ll honor any request that you give us,¡± Barley promises, thumping his chest with a pudgy fist. ¡°All we ask is time to recuperate and find a new home.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re okay talking about it, what happened to your village?¡± Alan asks, holstering his revolver back in his waistband and leaning on the tree behind him.

    Barley shudders, as if wracked with cold. ¡°It¡­ It vanished,¡± he says, shaking his head disbelievingly. ¡°We were all nestled in our homes among the red oaks of the gentle river, trying to wait out an illness that had swept through the village in recent weeks. No tea nor elixir could break the fever, but none had perished and no one suffered from anything but exhaustion, so we sought to wait it out.¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    The gnome¡¯s face twists into a grimace. ¡°Then a stupor fell over the village, and¡­things are simply blank from there. When we awakened, we were strewn about on the hard ground, and everything had changed!¡± he cries. ¡°Our trees and homes were gone, and all around us were towering buildings of steel and glass. It was all we could do to gather ourselves and flee as humans along the streets watched us.¡±

    ¡°Lethargy, followed by impairment and a deep, dreamless sleep,¡± Prim nods along. ¡°I experienced much the same.¡±

    Barley rubs his arms with his hands, as if to ward away cold. ¡°We left what food we had with our wives and children, and used the last of our reagents to craft a mighty hiding place for them. If we do not find a worthwhile place to settle within the week, we¡¯ll be forced to retrieve them and expose them to the dangers of travel. On that quest, my kin found our way to these woods with difficulty. Normally, a gnome¡¯s sense of forestry is unrivaled, yet we struggled to find even this small sliver of refuge.¡± Barley is silent for a moment before speaking again. ¡°Bah! Who am I fooling? These thin, weedy trunks are hardly refuge. Foul things lurk here,¡± he says, sending a pointed look towards the corpse of the monster.

    Alan and Chase follow Barley¡¯s gaze. ¡°You called this beasty a ¡®goat sucker¡¯? Like a chupacabra?¡± Chase questions before turning his attention to Alan. ¡°Aren¡¯t we pretty far north for chupacabras?¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t we pretty far north for chupacabras?¡± Alan mockingly parrots, rolling his eyes. ¡°You tell me. You¡¯re the cryptid hunter.¡±

    Before Chase can snipe back, another gnome, one with tired eyes and an impressively large nose trundles up to the group. The interloper shakes Barley¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Barley, we have to make haste! Puddlefoot¡¯s wound has reopened and Elmunder fears it may be infected. We must find a place to rest lest he lose his leg!¡±

    Barley¡¯s face looks as if he¡¯d just bitten into a lemon. With a tired sigh, he drags a hand down his face. ¡°Damnation.¡±

    ¡°Alan, Chase?¡± Prim looks between the two men. ¡°Perchance, are one of you in possession of appropriate medicinals?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I have an IFAK right¡­¡± Chase moves his hand to grab a pouch on his vest, only for the hand to land on a bundle of shotgun shells strapped to his side. ¡°Uh¡­ I could¡¯ve sworn that I did? Maybe that was on my other plate carrier¡­¡±

    Alan sighs, expecting nothing less. ¡°Yes, Prim. I¡¯ve got some first aid with me. I¡¯m pretty sure there¡¯s some disinfectant in there, too, if you guys,¡± ¨C he addresses the gnomes ¨C ¡°are worried about your friend¡¯s wound getting infected.¡±

    Barley¡¯s face twists. ¡°It pains me to have to further indebt myself and my brothers, but I cannot in good conscience turn you away if you can aid Puddlefoot.¡±

    Shrugging off his backpack, Alan gestures toward the fox-drawn sled. ¡°Lead the way.¡±

    Barley and the unnamed gnome take point, walking back to the sled surrounded by their fellows with Alan, Chase, and Prim in tow. The unnamed gnome with the large nose shoos the others away. The foxes tied to the sled grow restless as the humans and demon approach, but a murmured word from the smallest and youngest looking of the gnomes quiets the orange-furred animals.

    The diminutive man in the sled, Puddlefoot, groans, looking up at Alan with bleary eyes. His pudgy face is flushed red, and the blanket that previously covered him is pulled away. One of the legs of Puddlefoot¡¯s trousers is torn around the knee, exposing the red-stained bandages wrapped around his calf.

    Alan drops his backpack and unzips it, groping the inside until he palms the small, unopened first aid kit that had been sitting in his car for the better part of a year. Popping the plastic case open, he takes the can of spray-on disinfectant out. ¡°Barley?¡±

    Barley turns to an especially squat gnome with a severe expression. ¡°Unwrap the wound, please, Elmunder.¡±

    The gnome, Elmunder, grumbles and does as asked. ¡°What are a pair of lads and a¡­¡± He glares uncomfortably at Prim ¡°¡­ a something doing out here at this time of night? And what did you do to the goat sucker?¡±

    ¡°To make a long story short, you guys have probably been asleep for hundreds of years, and a lot changed during that time,¡± Alan says. ¡°The woods and the dark aren¡¯t scary when you can fight back.¡±

    Elmunder grunts and finishes unwinding the bandages around Puddlefoot¡¯s leg,

    ¡°Oh shit,¡± Chase hisses. ¡°That chupacabra did a number on this dude.¡±

    Silently, Alan can¡¯t help but agree.

    On Puddlefoot¡¯s leg is a circular bite wound, one matching the mouth of the dead monster a dozen yards away. The bite is pink and puffy, and already weeps pus despite looking only several hours old.

    ¡°That already looks infected,¡± Alan frowns. ¡°Not surprising, I guess. That monster ¨C chupacabra ¨C whatever the hell it is, probably didn¡¯t brush its teeth.¡± He uncaps the antiseptic spray in his hands and looks at Puddlefoot. ¡°Grit your teeth, pal. This is going to sting.¡±

    Puddlefoot groans once more and squirms as Alan liberally sprays down his wound with the generic brand disinfectant. Then Alan hands the clean gauze from his first aid kit to Elmunder, who wraps the wound up tight.

    ¡°That should prevent anything new from getting into him, but that¡¯s not going to do much for the current infection,¡± Alan shoulders his backpack after putting everything away.

    Barley sighs once more. ¡°Goodness, what a night,¡± he says, palpable exhaustion in each word. ¡°Frights, flights, fights, it¡¯s enough to wear one down to the bones.¡±

    ¡°Those bones are going to have to march on,¡± Elmunder bites out grouchily. ¡°We¡¯ve no deepwood distillate to help Puddlefoot break his fever. The last phial was cracked and leaked all over my reagents, ruining them. We must find more if he is to survive.¡±

    ¡°Did any of you lads happen to spot worthwhile herbs and shrooms as we fled the goat sucker?¡± Barley asks, scanning his eyes over the assembled gnomes. ¡°Anything at all?¡±

    All he gets is shaken heads and morose expressions, making his shoulders slump.

    ¡°Hey,¡± Chase begins, his face sympathetic. ¡°If you guys are really out here in a bad way, do you want a lift to my place? I¡¯ve got room for a coupla guests, or if you need room to do gnome things, my place is on a plot of land with some forest. I¡¯m pretty sure that I got some antibiotics left over from a prescription for your friend. They might be a few months expired, but they should still help with his infection¡­ assuming the infection ain¡¯t some curse.¡±

    Barley¡¯s protest is preemptively cut off by Alan. ¡°Just say yes. He¡¯s going to keep asking until you accept, and I don¡¯t think any of us want to be here all night.¡±

    A tired smile rises to Barley¡¯s face. ¡°Very well, Mister Chase. If you insist, we will enjoy your hospitality.¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°Just push that to the front of the bed and find somewhere comfy! I promise that we¡¯ll go nice and slow, so don¡¯t you worry a bit if things move around!¡±

    Leaning against the hood of his car with Prim at his side, Alan watches Chase corral the nervous gnomes into the bed of his idling pickup truck.

    Barley didn¡¯t need to pitch the idea of somewhere to rest too hard to his fellow gnomes, as they all agreed without much hesitation. Chase originally wanted to get the gnomes to his truck, then return to collect the body of the supposed chupacabra, but Prim easily lifted the body with a shadowy tendril, drawing a look of boyish awe from Chase and setting the gnomes on edge.

    Once the chupacabra was wrapped in a tarp that Chase kept in his truck and loaded into the bed, Chase began the metaphorical Tetris game of securing all the gnomes between the junk he keeps in his truck.

    ¡°So, was that thing actually a chupacabra?¡± Alan idly asks the dark form seated next to him. ¡°Or a goat sucker?¡±

    ¡°This is a subject where your knowledge surpasses my own,¡± Prim replies, watching the gnomes rearrange themselves in Chase¡¯s truck. ¡°I¡¯ve not heard of such a creature before tonight. Perhaps I have encountered it under a different name, chupacabra and goat-sucker are designations I am unfamiliar with.¡±

    Alan stuffs his hands into his pockets. ¡°The chupacabra is supposed to be some kind of bloodsucking, livestock-killing monster. No one can really agree on what it looks like, with some people saying it¡¯s some kind of reptile monster,¡± he nods towards the stained tarp in the bed of the truck, ¡°or an ugly little vampire.¡±

    ¡°¡®Tis no type of vampire that I am familiar with,¡± Prim says, blinking her luminescent eyes, ¡°but it is not a possibility to be discounted. The vampire courts were notoriously cruel, even to their own fellows. Being forced into such a lowly existence, feeding on farm animals, seems a fitting torture for a vampire to force upon one of his lessers.¡±

    ¡®And there¡¯s the confirmation that vampires are real,¡¯ Alan can¡¯t find it in him to be surprised. If anything, it¡¯s reassuring that one of the creepy-crawlies coming back to life has so many well-known weaknesses. ¡°I¡¯ll have to start making more Italian, then,¡± Alan smirks.

    The garlic joke seems to fly over Prim¡¯s head, and she looks at him with a raised eyebrow. ¡°I feel as if I¡¯ve missed the point of your words.¡±

    Slam!

    Before Alan can explain, Chase shuts the tailgate of his truck and addresses the gnomes once more. ¡°Hang tight! I gotta talk with Alan real quick!¡± He says, turning and jogging over to Alan and Prim.

    ¡°It¡¯s about time,¡± Alan takes the ballistic helmet off of his head and hands it over to Chase. ¡°I think this belongs to you.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, friendo,¡± Chase smiles and takes the helmet, gripping it by one of the chin straps and letting it dangle at his side. ¡°So¡­¡± He begins, looking down at Prim. ¡°A familiar? Like, the magic ¡®Dungeons-n-Dragons¡¯ kind of familiar?¡±

    ¡°I am unfamiliar with the term ¡®Dungeons-n-Dragons¡¯, but there is indeed magic involved in the contract between Alan and I,¡± Prim nods slowly.

    When Prim doesn¡¯t elaborate further, Chase looks to Alan. Slowly, Chase nods and smiles. ¡°Yeah¡­¡± He says quietly, his smile getting wider. ¡°Yeah, oh yeah we can work with this!¡± He exclaims. ¡°We got the handsome leader,¡± Chase begins, jabbing himself in the chest with his thumb. ¡°We¡¯ve got the pessimistic dog guy,¡± he points to a bemused Alan. ¡°And we¡¯ve got the dog mascot,¡± his finger points to a confused Prim. ¡°All we need is a hot girl, a smart girl, and a van to transport our stuff around in, and we¡¯ll be in business!¡±

    Alan understands the reference quite quickly and rolls his eyes. ¡°Zoinks, Chase. What did you actually want to talk about? It¡¯s cold out here, and I kind of want to go home.¡±

    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m being serious!¡± Chase exclaims, stepping closer and putting a hand on Alan¡®s shoulder. ¡°Look, you¡¯ve seen the news recently, right? There¡¯s lots of freaky shit going on recently, and I¡¯m seeing a big ol¡¯ opportunity here! If we become the guys for dealing with spooky-dooks, there could be some big money involved! I¡¯ve got all my stuff and everything I know, and you¡¯re over here being Mister ahead-of-the-curve over-achiever,¡± Chase says, nodding towards Prim. ¡°And we¡¯ve already got one on our side. This could be big, man!¡±

    Alan looks at Chase skeptically, making the rifle-toting man sigh. ¡°Look,¡± Chase begins again, removing his hand and schooling his face into something serious. ¡°You¡¯re always going on about how much you hate your job, so why not give this a shot with me? Being out here, doing stuff like this, has got to be way better than getting yelled at in an office, right? Freaky occurrences are going to inconvenience people, and they¡¯ll be willing to pay out the nose for someone else to deal with it. We could be those guys and make a whole business out of this.¡±

    A sarcastic retort, primed and ready to tear into Chase, withers on Alan¡¯s tongue as his friend''s words sink in. God above, how sweet would it be if he could march into Mindy¡¯s office and tell her that he quits? How great would it feel if people were operating on his time, and not the other way around? How relieving would it be if he made enough money to finally push back the debt hanging over his head?

    What do you want to do, then? Why be here if this isn¡¯t what you want?

    Prim¡¯s words from several days prior come back to him. He pondered those words only two hours ago, shortly before Prim offered to begin tutoring him in magic.

    Magic.

    Magic sounds like something Alan wants to do, wants to learn, and the idea makes long-dead enthusiasm begin to bubble within his chest.

    If Chase is serious, then being some kind of supernatural problem solver would give Alan a chance to put the skills Prim promised him to use.

    Maybe this is the opportunity he¡¯s been waiting for.

    Slowly turning his head, Alan looks down at the shadowy demon next to him. ¡°Prim?¡± He addresses her quietly. ¡°What do you think?¡±

    For a moment, the wolf-shaped blackness says nothing, and Alan can see her unknowable thoughts churning behind her white eyes. ¡°Such a venture carries with it significant risk,¡± she says. ¡°Not all threats, such as the one faced tonight, will be so straightforward. Upon awakening, many of the Old Powers will find their new situation vexing, making it imperative that all plans of action be thoroughly meditated upon. Failure to take proper caution will result in dire consequences. I ¨C¡±

    ¡°I know that!¡± Chase insists. ¡°Look at it from my perspective, would you? We can ¨C¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not advising against this venture,¡± Prim interrupts. Her eyes glow a bit more fiercely as she narrows them. ¡°If you would be so kind as to allow me to finish what I¡¯m saying, then I could inform you that I am inclined to endorse your proposal, with the caveat that I am included in all decision-making. I have promised Alan my counsel, and to fulfill that aspect of our pact, I will need to be privy to the direction of, and contracts taken by, this hypothetical agency.¡±

    ¡°I was going to want you in on everything, anyway,¡± Alan says. ¡°We need a tiebreaker for when Chase decides that bare-knuckle boxing with Sasquatch sounds like a good idea.¡±

    Chase turns his head towards Alan, his eyes wide. ¡°Wait? Do you actually want to do this with me? No fooling?¡± He asks, a smile growing on his face.

    ¡°Why do you look so surprised?¡± Alan frowns. ¡°I hate working in that realty office with a fucking passion. If we can actually get this off the ground, then I¡¯m game.¡±

    Chase jumps into the air and pumps a fist with a loud whoop, startling the gnomes in the back of his truck. He pulls Alan into a hug, making Alan grunt as the side of Chase¡¯s rifle smacks him in the gut. ¡°Alan, my man! This is going to be big! Just you wait!¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah¡­¡± Alan pushes his over-enthused friend off. ¡°Let¡¯s hash out the details tomorrow after I get home from work, okay?¡±

    ¡°Mister Chase!¡± Barley the gnome calls from the bed of Chase¡¯s truck. ¡°Please, forgive me, but Puddlefoot¡¯s condition is worsening! If you¡¯ve medicine for him, the sooner, the better!

    ¡°My place! Show up whenever!¡± Chase calls over his shoulder as he whirls around and runs to his truck, throwing the door open. ¡°Thanks for coming out tonight!¡±

    With that, the rickety red truck roars, drawing exclamations of surprise from the gnomes as they all speed away.

    Alan watches the truck and its mythical cargo disappear around the corner of the dark, forest road. ¡°Huh. That was fun, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°¡¯I suppose¡¯, he says,¡± Prim¡¯s voice is dry as sand. She slowly shakes her head. ¡°Truly, nothing could have prepared me for this era.¡±

 Chapter 6: Gathering Clouds

    ''Fuck''s sake, Chase¡­''

    "If we call our company Mystery Inc. we''re going to get sued into the ground."

    On the other side of the grand living room, Chase sighs and leans back into his patchy armchair. "I dunno, man. I''ve never been good with names and stuff. Why don''t you come up with something then?"

    Looking down at the pad of paper filled with crossed out names, Alan sucks in a deep breath and tries to steady himself. He didn''t sleep very well last night, having been out late with Chase in the woods, and dealing with typical Monday bullshit at work has only made his temper shorter. "Fine. Lemme think."

    Alan lets his eyes roam Chase''s home as he tries to puzzle out a fitting name for the hypothetical agency that he, Chase, and Prim are going to found.

    Chase''s home, fittingly, is a somewhat junky mobile home that was plopped down on some land that Chase nabbed for cheap. The interior is dim, the furniture is aged, and the walls are covered in shelves of odds and ends and hunting trophies. Despite the clutter, the small house is thankfully clean.

    Looking towards Prim, who is in her wolfdog form, Alan sees her staring up at Chase''s latest trophy. Above her head and on the wall is the taxidermied head of the chupacabra, its face set into a snarl.

    "I''m surprised you got that thing mounted so quickly," Alan idly comments, looking at the blank, marble eyes of the monster. "I thought it took weeks to taxidermy something."

    "It does," Chase grins, "but my new neighbors were all too happy to lend some mojo," he points a finger towards a window.

    Alan follows the gesture, and out near the tree line, he sees the rescued gnomes.

    The gnomes are all hard at work constructing something that Alan can''t place right away, using shovels, axes, and other gardening tools with their long handles snapped in half, making each implement more gnome-friendly. They''ve displaced great mounds of loamy dirt, making a large hole that hides each gnome as they hop in and out, carrying lumber down in with them.

    "What are they making?" Alan asks.

    Chase shrugs. "Some kind of gnome burrow. I told ''em to go nuts so long as they don''t hit any pipes," he says, turning his gaze towards Prim. "Sooo¡­ Prim is like your magical pet or something?"

    The demon turns her head away from the mounted chupacabra and gives Chase a glare, making the surrounding shadows seemingly lengthen. "The correct term is familiar, Mister Kenns," she says sharply. "I am no lesser nor a subordinate. Take care to choose thine words wisely, for many of my kin would not suffer the indignity of being referred to as a pet."

    Leaning back with his hands raised in mock surrender, Chase clicks his tongue. "Easy, no need to bite my head off."

    Prim''s frown eases slightly. "But I''ve threatened you no such harm?"

    "It''s a human idiom, Prim," Alan provides, staring down at the notepad in his lap. Why is a catchy name so hard to come up with? "It means ''don''t be so angry with me''."

    "Back to what I was asking, though," Chase says, this time looking towards Alan. "How did you two meet? I thought you''d be a bigger skeptic, friendo."

    Alan looks up towards Chase and shrugs. "There''s not really much of a story to it. Prim is the one who found me, we talked for a bit, and we decided to do some business. She wants info on the modern world, and I want to be ahead of the curve on supernatural nonsense, so we made a partnership pact."

    "Like, a magical pact?"

    "Complete with a candle, a salt circle, and everything."

    Chase nods slowly, accepting the explanation easily enough. "Okay, so, what are you exactly, Prim? A spirit? Some kind of elemental? A¡­"

    "Demon?" Prim finishes for him, tilting her head and blinking her luminescent eyes. "To refer to me as an elemental is correct in the most technical sense, but most would regard me as a demon. Seeing as how you are going to be one of the chief proprietors of our yet-to-be-named business, perhaps it is appropriate if you are aware of my origin," she says, sending Alan a look.

    Alan simply shrugs a response. "Your life, your story. Do what you want."

    And so she does. Prim regales Chase with her origins, subtly puffing up as she talks about herself and her role in history. Alan does note that, although she talks about herself a fair amount, Prim doesn''t so much as utter a syllable of her capabilities.

    Come to think of it, Alan doesn''t know much of what she can do, either. She can shapeshift, control shadows, knows how to do some rituals, and that''s all Alan has seen thus far.

    By the end, Chase is leaning forward in his chair, a look of childish wonder on his face. "Wow¡­" He breathes. "So you''re not just some doggy imp or something, you''re a Cthulhu big-dick swinger! Dammit that''s cool!"

    Prim jumps at the word ''Cthulhu'', her ears pinning back for a moment, then she looks at Chase with reproach. "Names have power, Mister Kenns. Do not invoke them needlessly, lest you find yourself an unfortunate recipient of the owner''s attention."

    "Chase is fine, Mister Kenns was my old man," Chase waves her off and leans back into his chair. "Does that mean that Cthulhu is real?"

    Prim''s narrowing eyes are all the answer Chase needs.

    Alan sighs, getting the pen and paper in his lap ready again. "Can we get back on the topic of a name? The sooner we get this part done, the sooner we can actually get to the important parts. Just don''t pick something that''s going to get us a letter from a lawyer the instant we open up shop."

    Leaning forward once more, Chase rests his elbows on his knees and props his head up in his hands, his eyes narrow in focus. After a moment of silence, he shakes his head. "I told you, man, I''m not good at this kind of stuff."

    "If we want to be catchy, maybe something with an acronym?" Alan tries to guide his friend, hiding his impatience. "If we can''t think of anything, I''m just going to call it Conan and Kenns Paranormal Services."

    "You''re the corporate office guy, can''t you think of something?"

    Grumbling to himself, Alan wracks his brain. ''Supernatural Phenomenon or Other Killing Squad? Nah, someone spoiling for trouble will call us racist over the acronym. Freaky Beast Investigators? No, that sounds like something Chase would come up with. Paranormal Research and Investigations, Conan and Kenns?'' Alan allows himself a childish smirk for that one, then he looks towards Prim. ''Maybe¡­''

    "How about Paranormal Response, Investigation, and Management?" Alan tosses the idea out, "Or PRIM for short."

    The demon in the room turns toward Alan, her face thoroughly unimpressed.

    Chase, on the other hand, smiles, mouthing the name to himself. "Yeah¡­ Yeah, I think that could work! It''s got a nice acronym, it describes what we would do, it''s got vague buzzwords, I think that''s it!"

    "Is that truly what passes for an acceptable business moniker in this era?" Prim asks, looking between Chase and Alan skeptically.

    "There are places with much, much dumber names that turn record profits every year," Alan says with a sardonic smirk. "I figured that you''d be happy that the whole thing is named after you."

    "Prim is my moniker because you are too lazy to recite my full name," the wolf-shaped demon replies flatly.

    "And I''ll continue to be," Alan says, writing the name down. "Okay, that''s the first thing done. Chase and I will have to be the founders and owners on file since demons aren''t legally recognized¡­ Yet. We need to look into a place to operate out of, figure out what kind of supplies we need, figure out what kind of company we want to register ourselves as, actually do the paperwork, make a website, source some starting capital, start advertising, get clients lined up¡­"

    "Alan?" Chase interrupts. "We also need to make plans for more employees."

    Alan looks up from his notebook, giving Chase a skeptical glance. "It''s a little early for that, don''t you think?"

    "Not really," Chase shakes his head. "I was talking to the gnomes before you got here, and I mentioned that we were starting up a business to deal with the ''reawakening'' bullshit. The whole ''life debt'' thing seems to really bug them, because a few of them asked if they could help out. Those guys are pretty damn good with their hands ¨C " he nods towards the chupacabra trophy on the wall, "¨C so it seems like a waste to not take them up on their offer."

    That gives Alan pause. "Say, Prim," he begins, glancing toward her. "You said gnomes were good craftsmen, right?"

    She nods. "Indeed they are."

    "Is there any kind of risk to bringing them in on this operation?"

    Prim stands and walks to Alan''s side, peering down at the list in his lap. "A broad question, one not easily answered and wholly dependent upon the character of each gnome. It would be wise to formalize such a relationship with a pact not unlike ours, but I do not see any great risk. The boons provided by a team of competent gnomish smiths, brewers, and builders are many." A black tendril emerges from Prim''s shoulder and takes the pen from Alan''s grip, scratching a correction onto his paper. "Your spelling of management was erroneous."

    "Must be because I hate it so much," Alan grumbles, accepting the pen back. "Talk with Barley later, got it. I''ll let you handle that, Mister landlord," he says, waggling his pen at Chase.

    Chase answers with a salute. "I can start scoping out vacant space downtown and schmoozing with any potential new neighbors if you want to do the website and stuff."

    Alan looks out the window, noting how the sun is getting low in the sky. "That''ll be a tomorrow thing. I''ve got almost two weeks of PTO saved, so I may as well burn it all before I quit." From the corner of his eye, he sees Prim''s inquisitive head tilt. "PTO; personal time off. Those are days you can take off of work and not get penalized. Most places give you a week and some change per year."

    "That seems¡­ low," Prim frowns.

    "It be like that sometimes."

    "If we''re not getting started on the big stuff until tomorrow, you guys wanna stay for dinner?" Chase offers with a grin. "I promised to feed the gnomes until they get back on their feet, so I think it''s time for a stack of pizzas and a case of beer. Hell, we could even put on a movie and call it a cultural lesson for Prim here."

    The idea honestly sounds pretty pleasant, so Alan has no problem agreeing. "It has been a while since we last hung out, hasn''t it? I''m in. If you want to order the pies, Prim and I will run and grab drinks."

    <hr noshade="noshade" size="1">

    Although Chase''s home is out near the edge of town, there is still a gas station less than five minutes away, and that''s the one that Alan''s rickety old sedan is riding towards.

    During the short ride, Prim looks towards Alan and speaks. "Chase mentioned that this movie is an object of significant cultural value, but I must admit that I am unsure what exactly a ''movie'' is."

    "It''s, uh¡­" Alan stops and thinks for a moment. "You remember my work computer, and how the monitor, the rectangular glass bit, could display different things?"

    "I do."

    "A movie is kind of like a recorded theater performance that can be viewed on monitor-like devices called televisions. The business of making movies is huge nowadays," Alan explains, a frown slowly overtaking his face. "Too bad almost every movie in recent memory has been terrible. Chase thinks the same, so he''ll probably pick a classic."

    Prim blinks. "And these movies, these ''recorded theater performances'', are truly such a cultural cornerstone?"

    Alan nods, gently swerving the car to straddle a pothole in the road. "Oh yeah. There''s a lot of English slang, lingo, and cultural references that don''t make sense unless you''re at least peripherally familiar with the work that spawned them. For example, if I said the phrase now this is pod racing, would you have any idea what I meant?"

    The demon shakes her head. "I would not."

    "It was a memorable quote from one of the Space Skirmishes movies, arguably one of the most influential series of films around," Alan slows the car as the gas station comes into view. "Ha! People thought the prequels were bad, but the reboots make the prequels look like Civilian Cane," he says with a sneer. "Oh no! The villain that was canonically killed in the final episode came back! Somehow, and we''re not going to elaborate!" Alan pulls up into the parking lot of the dirty and rather sad looking no-name gas station, and after finding a spot, puts the car in park. "Fuckin'' Hollywood hacks can''t leave well enough alone¡­"

    Prim melts into black goop and slinks into the shadow of Alan''s jacket as he opens the door and steps out of the car. The parking lot is thankfully deserted, so no one is treated to the sight of a dog transforming into liquid.

    Alan walks up to the sliding door of the gas station and stops, an odd sensation in his gut telling him to turn around.

    He promptly ignores it.

    The inside of the station is devoid of customers, and the clerk seems to be away, but when Alan steps in, he pauses and looks around with narrowed eyes.

    Many of the shelves, displays, and refrigerators lining the wall are a total mess. Some have items placed haphazardly on them, but the price labels on the shelves don''t match. A few of the labels are just complete gibberish. It only takes a few seconds of looking around to see a pattern emerge.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    All of the food is low in stock. Candy, chips, and various snacks are gone with some wrappers littering the floor, the hotdog roller sitting on a central island in the store is empty, and the heatlamp table has only a single, haphazardly wrapped sandwich upon it. In the corner with some automotive products, a bottle of antifreeze is spilled on the floor, with what looks like a bite mark taken out of the plastic bottle.

    In the darkness between Alan''s jacket and shirt, Prim blinks her glowing eyes and scans the shelves with curiosity of her own. "How unusual¡­ I was under the impression that a modern market would not see such inventory shortages."

    "They don''t," Alan murmurs back, beginning to suspect something freaky afoot. He moves his hand to hover over the revolver in his waistband. "Not this bad, at least."

    Walking over to the cash register, Alan gazes at the door behind the checkout area labeled employees only and lightly knocks a knuckle on the counter. "Hello? Anyone there?"

    There is a quiet gasp and shuffling behind the door, and then slowly, unsurely, the missing clerk steps out and looks upon Alan with open trepidation.

    The clerk¡­ Something seems off about him, and Alan uses the word ''him'' tentatively, as the clerk is strangely androgynous. The man''s clothes are ill-fitting, and his face is strangely proportioned and lacking facial hair. His jaw juts out a little too far, and his eyes are wide and bulging. The slight reddish tan of his skin and long, dark brown hair gives the impression of being a native, but his features are all wrong. The way he holds himself speaks of exhaustion, even as he nervously rings his hands.

    "C-Can¡­" The clerk falters and starts again, shuffling to stand behind the register. "Can I¡­ help you?" He croaks, his voice choppy.

    "Just wondering what''s going on with the place, man," Alan begins casually. He gestures broadly behind him, towards the empty shelves. "You guys having supplier issues?"

    "Supri¡­ Suupli¡­ Suuuupplier issues?" The clerk parrots, tripping over his words again. He gulps heavily. "Yes?"

    "That sounded like a question."

    "Um¡­" The clerk shrinks in on himself and speaks no further.

    Alan frowns. ''I''m not just giving some poor ugly guy the business for no reason, am I? I''m starting to feel like a dick, but I swear there''s something I just can''t put my finger on¡­'' Outwardly, he decides on another test. "Can I get a pack of Cali 100s?" He asks, gesturing toward the glass case of cigarettes behind the clerk.

    The clerk turns and looks at the case, oddly flexing his fingers. He digs in his pocket, producing a set of keys, and from there, fumbles around, taking several tries before he finally finds the correct key for the case. Finally getting the sliding door open, he hesitates again before grabbing an incorrect pack of cigarettes.

    ''Can this guy not read?''

    And then Alan smells it. From the gas station employee comes a cloying, rotten smell, the kind only cadavers already halfway through decaying have.

    He smells like death.

    "Alan!" Prim hisses. "This is no man!"

    Faster than a thought, Alan draws his gun and levels it with the creature''s head, finger on the trigger. "Don''t move a single muscle or I''ll pop that fucked up looking head of yours like a grape. What are you and what are you doing here? Answer me!"

    The clerk''s complexion goes ghost white. Quite literally. The hue of his skin drains away, making him as pale as a sheet of paper, a feat human biology simply can''t replicate. If Alan had any doubts before, they''re dust in the wind now.

    The not-man begins to shake, and brings his hands together in a lopsided prayer, one hand slightly higher than the other. "Please¡­ Please¡­" He quietly begs, eyes locked onto the gun pointed at him. "No hurts intended. H-Hungry, but poison! Much poison! Less poison here, a-and hueman says I allowed here, do thing for he."

    Alan''s frown deepens. "You''re not making any sense, and you didn''t answer my first question. What the hell are you?"

    "A wendigo," Prim finally speaks once more, pouring out of Alan''s jacket and reforming into shape at his side.

    Alan doesn''t hazard looking away from the front sight of his revolver, or the quivering shape behind it. "A wendigo, Prim?" He asks. "Like, a skinwalker?"

    "Although they share similar abilities, skinwalkers and wendigos are two different beings," the demon supplies. From the corner of his eyes, Alan can see Prim giving the supposed wendigo a narrow-eyed stare. "Wendigos are shape changers who prey on many creatures, but their most favored meals are humans. They will most often possess a human host and begin a cannibalistic feeding frenzy until they''ve had their fill. If they cannot find a host, they can shape change on their own."

    "Really?" Alan drawls, giving the clerk an unimpressed look. "What''s your body count at? Actually, I don''t want to know."

    As Alan''s finger begins to squeeze the trigger it''s wrapped around, the wendigo shrieks and throws itself back into the wall behind it, holding its hands up. "Wait! Wait! No bodies! No hurt! Please! Explain, I explain!"

    As it speaks, the human disguise the creature wears begins to slough off, like soil giving way to a landslide. The skin of the hands falls away, leaving behind long, thin digits. Much the same happens to the head, the flesh disintegrating into fine dust, leaving a bare skull behind. The skull makes a series of sickening cracks and reshapes itself, becoming more animalistic and sprouting antlers. All the while, the stench of death grows worse, making the back of Alan''s sinuses burn.

    When the ghastly transformation is done, there is a lanky, dark-furred, skull-topped form in unfitting clothes. The creature frantically tries to wave Alan away. "See? Possession did not! No hurt hueman! Just me!" It says, its voice now a higher pitch.

    Alan still doesn''t lower his gun. "That still doesn''t explain what you''re doing here."

    "Jer¡­ Jor¡­ Job!" The wendigo exclaims. "So hungry, but hueman poison hurts. No poooossession¡­ Poison hueman say I work, I eat, but¡­" The wendigo looks forlornly at the multitude of poorly stocked shelves. "¡­Job hard, don''t understand and not good. Food poison too, but less poison than hueman. Eat so much, but so little."

    ''Job? Was this thing starving and someone offered it a job?'' Alan furrows his brow, trying to piece together the wendigo''s broken speech. ''Huh. I thought it was going to take longer before we found a case of supernatural exploitation. What the hell is this about poison, though?''

    When Alan asks the creature to elaborate on the ''poison'' thing, it quivers and shakes its head. "N-No! Angry!" It points a long digit at the gun still leveled with its head. "I tell, make angry!"

    Sucking in a deep breath and doing his best to push his frustration away, Alan replies slowly and carefully. "I promise, I won''t be upset," he says, lowering his snub nose slightly. "Just explain, and I''ll listen, okay?"

    Not having a weapon pointed at its face calms the creature a bit, and it shakily nods. "Woke up from long sleep, very hungry. Tried to over take hueman, but hueman filled with poison! Hurt and burned, could not breathe!" It shakes its head. "Ran away, tried another, but more poison! Poison, poison, poison!" It shudders and clasps its lanky arms around its middle.

    "Poisoned hosts?" Prim questions inquisitively, turning her gaze to Alan. "Have you any thoughts on what that could potentially mean?"

    Alan mulls the question to himself. "I mean, the average person is probably filled with so much preservative, microplastics, heavy metals, and God knows what else that they''d taste¡­ Like poison. Trying to possess someone would be like putting on a bodysuit filled with rusty thumbtacks."

    The wendigo nods frantically. "Hurts."

    "That certainly seems to ''check out'', to use a human colloquialism," Prim soundlessly extends her neck, her head losing some of its definition as she sprouts extra eyes. The shadow demon peers over the counter at the wendigo, who whimpers. "These man-eaters are willowy creatures, but this one is especially gaunt. It is safe to assume that it speaks the truth regarding its emaciation."

    "Hrm¡­" Alan lowers his gun further as Prim retracts her neck, her extra eyes closing. "So you were given a job here, and eating gas station junk isn''t cutting it, huh? How much are you being paid? I''m talking money, not food." he asks the shape-shifter.

    It blinks, the red lights in its eye sockets disappearing for a moment. "Money?"

    ''Confused, starving, weak, thrust into the system with no training, no idea what money is, but clearly knows it should be afraid of guns,'' Alan''s indignation melts away, replaced with a tiny pang of sympathy as the greater picture comes into focus. ''Man-eater or not, those are some shitty circumstances.''

    Blowing out a tired breath, Alan lifts the side of his shirt and holsters his gun. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you''re getting fleeced. Hard."

    "Fleece?" The wendigo questions once more, looking down at its own patchy hide. "No fleece."

    "Your employer is exploiting you, is what I mean to say," Alan corrects, briefly screwing his eyes shut and reminding himself not to lose his temper amid a blooming headache. "The person who gave you your job at this place knows that you''re desperate and ignorant of the rules that say you should be treated fairly."

    It''s difficult to gauge the expression of the wendigo''s skull face, but it seems to comprehend what Alan is saying. "No choice," it sadly croons. "Poison everywhere. Even if no poison, too many eyes. No hunt. New chance come maybe never. No want to starve¡­"

    No choice.

    That phrase resonates in Alan''s chest, and it stirs ugly emotions. He relates all too well to the feeling. From the surge of sympathy, an idea suddenly comes to mind, and despite part of him whispering that it''s a bad idea, Alan sighs and speaks. "I want to test something. Put your disguise back on."

    The wendigo does as ordered, human-like flesh sprouting from its hide and under its clothes. Its skull once more crackles as its antlers recede, and in less than a minute, the off-looking person is back.

    Alan taps his mouth with a finger. "Move your jaw back a little, it doesn''t look right."

    The not-man looks confused, but does as asked. With a crackle of shifting bone, its jutting jaw retreats.

    "Good. Now, narrow your eyes a bit."

    Once more, it does as asked, top and bottom eyelids growing.

    "Push your brow a bit forward."

    "Human arms aren''t that long."

    "Cheekbones out and up."

    "Your nose is too drooped."

    "Brown is the safest eye color there is."

    "Your skin is too uniform. Add a few blemishes."

    For several minutes, Alan continually critiques the wendigo''s disguise, and with each change, it looks less and less uncanny. Finally, they reach the point that Alan is splitting hairs, and he stops to really inspect the disguised cryptid.

    Under Alan''s instruction, the wendigo''s previously unplaceable face now resembles that of a young woman. Not everything is entirely correct, and Alan still feels a prickle of unease looking at it, but the disguise should stand up to casual inspection.

    "Huh, you pass as human at first glance, now," he grunts. "Do you know how to do math?"

    A shake of its head is the wendigo''s answer.

    Clicking his tongue, Alan jumps the counter, landing next to the startled beast. Taking a pen and a discarded receipt from under the counter, he writes out 0,1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. "Pay attention. You''re getting a crash course in money, addition, and subtraction."

    "¡­Why?" The not-woman asks softly.

    "So you don''t get instantly sniffed out, duh,"

    The wendigo shakes its head. "No. Why help? We enemies."

    Alan huffs out a laugh. "Are we?"

    <hr noshade="noshade" size="1">

    As the credits for Space Skirmishes Ep. 4 begin to roll down the flatscreen TV, accompanied by a bombastic, brassy score, the gnomes all gathered in Chase''s living room burst into applause.

    "Incredible! Humans made this?"

    "I had never even thought about what might be beyond this world¡­"

    "The next one, Chase! May we please see the next one?!"

    "N-none of that was truth, was it?"

    Truly, the inside of Chase''s living room looks like some kind of demented daycare parody. Chase claimed the armchair for the duration of the movie, while Alan and Prim were seated on the couch. Chase''s gnome guests are spread out along the floor, each one with a paper plate holding naught but pizza crumbs now. Several of them have cans of beer with them, though a few of the gnomes couldn''t stomach the "swill" (to use their words)that is modern beer, promising that they would make something better for their host in the future.

    Prim, having shrunken down into a cat to comfortably sit next to Alan on the small couch, finally peels her eyes away from the television. "That was¡­ I''m uncertain," she says after a long pause. She looks up to Alan. "You said this was a prime example of modern entertainment?"

    "Were you entertained?"

    Once again, she takes her time thinking over her words. "I was," she says, sounding mystified with herself. "I didn''t realize that human imagination could be taken to such extremes. I would not oppose seeing another."

    Alan allows himself a smile. "Glad you enjoyed it."

    "If we''ve got a budding cinephile on our hands," Chase begins across the room, a grin on his face, "then we can make it a weekly thing. Alan needs some kind of obligation to hang out and not veg in his room."

    "I don''t veg," Alan''s smile dies.

    "Whatever you say, broski," Chase replies back, his grin stretching into a smirk. "Whatever. You. Say."

    Alan turns away from the other man and looks back towards Prim''s feline face. "Once I give you the lowdown on how to use a computer, remember the names of any movies that look interesting and I''ll torrent them for next time," he says, before turning his attention to the window.

    The sun has nearly sunken below the horizon.

    "I think it''s time for us to skedaddle," Alan says, standing and stretching a kink out of his back. "We got a lot of shit to do in the morning."

    "Yeah, probably for the best," Chase stands as well. He walks over and holds out a fist for Alan to bump. "See you in the morning, man. We looking at offices first?"

    "May as well," Alan replies, not really caring. He touches his knuckles to Chase''s. "I''ll get some paperwork drafted up. We''ll probably want to start as an LLC, so it shouldn''t be too bad."

    "Hell yeah," Chase smiles and slaps on the back. "Things are looking up, bro,"

    Alan shakes his head. Once more, Chase is counting his chickens before they''re hatched. "Good night, man."

    "Seeya, dude. Seeya later too, Prim,"

    Prim morphs back into her usual canine form. "And a pleasant night to you as well, Chase."

    Weaving around the chattering gnomes, Alan and Prim headed for the front door, and as the door shut behind them, Alan can hear Chase''s voice pick up inside. "There''s too much ''za for the fridge, so eat up, gents!"

    <hr noshade="noshade" size="1">

    "Yeah, an LLC is probably for the best," Alan murmurs to himself as he leans back in his computer chair. An hour or two of research points towards an LLC being the best structure for a small operation like the one P.R.I.M. should be.

    "And an LLC is?"

    Ah, right. Alan almost forgot that he has a permanent shadow now. He looks up towards the black smudge on the wall, which stares back with luminescent eyes. "It''s short for ''limited liability company''. It basically protects the personal assets of the owners from being targeted by lawsuits that concern the company. There are some other nice parts, like how it''s easy to set up and how a bunch of expenses can be written off of taxes." Alan rubs his eyes and glances at the clock.

    11:41PM

    "I can explain in more detail when it actually comes time to start filing everything that the state needs. For now, I think it''s time for bed," Alan hit the button on his keyboard, locking his computer, before standing and falling over into bed.

    Like she''s done each night prior, Prim expands her shadowy form along the walls, drowning out every bit of light and leaving the room cool and dark. "Alan?"

    "Yeah?" he questions, already beginning to doze off.

    "Earlier today, with the wendigo¡­"

    <hr noshade="noshade" size="1">

    "Think you''ve got a handle on it?"

    The not-woman looks at the dollar bills arranged from highest to lowest value on the counter. Taking a deep breath, it taps a finger on each one. "One, five, ten, twenty¡­ Hundred?" It finishes with an inquisitive lit.

    "Got it," Alan nods. He then nods to the two cases of beer that he''s sat on the counter. "Scan ''em."

    The wendigo lifts up the handheld scanner off of its cradle, points it at the barcodes on the beer cases and scans each one with a ''beep!'' It then looks unsurely at the display on the cash register. "Th-thirty-eight doll-hairs?"

    "Dollars."

    "And¡­ Seventy-eight cents?"

    Alan places two twenty dollar bills on the counter, and the wendigo takes its sweet time putting the pair of bills in the cash register and retrieving Alan''s change. When the disguised creature finally hands Alan''s change back, he counts it and notes that he''s been shorted several cents.

    "Close enough," he shrugs, putting the money in his pocket and grabbing the beer cases. "That should get you through mostly everything."

    The wendigo nods shyly. "Thank you¡­"

    Alan turns to leave with his beer in hand, but he can''t help but shoot the wendigo a few parting words. "Hey, a pal and I are putting a business together. It has real pay and actual training. I can''t promise that it''ll be anything outstanding, but I won''t try to fuck you over. Sound like something you would be interested in?"

    The wendigo''s eyes go wide, before they narrow in distrust. It looks down at the shorthand notes that Alan wrote for it on the back of several receipts, and its expression softens. "Yes?" It says, once more sounding uncertain.

    "That sounded like a question."

    "Yes!" It cries with much more strength, its unnatural face screwing up into a desperate grimace.

    Alan resumes walking. "When the spot opens up, I''ll meet you here."

    <hr noshade="noshade" size="1">

    Alan throws his covers over himself and snuggles into his pillow. "Yeah, what about it?"

    "Why offer the creature your help?"

    Why indeed? Alan is still wondering that himself. He sits in silence for a few moments, a few ideas bouncing around in his skull before he finally lets one go. "Chase and I are going to need someone to man the office, like a receptionist or secretary or something, while we''re busy. I figured that somebody already ''in the know'' and who isn''t going to demand crazy wages would be the best shot."

    With his eyes closed, Alan can''t see Prim''s face, but he can practically imagine her eyebrows rising. "So your decision was selfish, and based on potential future gains?" She questions. "I can see the wisdom in your reasoning."

    "¡­Man, I''m too tired for this philosophical shit," Alan groans, cracking open an eye and looking up at the black ceiling, where Prim peers down at him. "Yeah, I guess, but the wendigo kind of reminded me of myself and my own shitty job I didn''t ask for."

    "So emotions like sympathy also played a factor in your decision?"

    "I guess," Alan shuts his eyes again. "Everyone being a dickhead is what made the world suck in the first place, so I¡­ I dunno, can we leave this for the morning?"

    "¡­Alan, I believe that we should begin your studies into the arcane when you have time."

    Magic?

    That wakes Alan back up. He turns his head and stares back up at the ceiling.

    "The first and most basic of cantrips would have been a boon during the encounter at the gas station today," the inky black ceiling explains. "A detection spell, one you will most certainly find useful in our upcoming business ventures. Even the most novice of practitioners should find it within their grasp."

    A laugh bubbles out of Alan''s throat. "You couldn''t have waited until the morning? Now I''m too amped to sleep."

    "My apologies¡­"