《House of Slyspore》 1. Ace You would think being in the Necromancy business would grant you an endless supply of customers. But here our protagonist was in this forsaken economy, unemployed and taking whatever scraps she could get. This time, she had the mighty task of resurrecting a nine-year-old¡¯s dead cat. Business really was booming indeed. The customer in question was observing her with a scientific interest. Ace could tell this was a girl who¡¯s only friend was a cat. White socks that turned cream with dirt, unkempt hair in a struggling ponytail, and a gaze that was a little too keen on watching Ace¡¯s movements. This wasn¡¯t a mere plumbing job. This was a game with death. ¡°How long has it been dead for?¡± Ace asked, retrieving the Bone Tablet from her satchel. It was a flimsy thing, the size of her palm, compared to the latest ones available on the market. She wasn¡¯t sure how many more jobs she could do with it. Perhaps this would be the last one. ¡°She,¡± the girl corrected, stepping closer to inspect the new gadget Ace now dusted. ¡°I found her this morning before leaving for school. I think that would be seven hours. Plus another two hours and forty three minutes for me to call you. What¡¯s this?¡± Ace was preparing the tablet¡¯s surface for writing. This was usually a quick task since customers weren¡¯t so inquisitive about Necromancy. As long as their loved ones were back, they didn¡¯t care how it was done. ¡°This is just something I¡¯m writing on,¡± Ace explained. She bent down to inspect the subject ¨C a fluffy cat with brown and black spots over white fur. The creature lay on its side on the grass, eyes closed, already attracting decomposers and scavengers. Flies buzzed. No visible wounds. The acrid, nasty smell of death pinched her nose. ¡°What are you gonna write?¡± The girl peered over Ace¡¯s shoulder, not appearing even a little bit phased. ¡°The subject¡¯s name,¡± said Ace, retrieving a bottle from one of the many compartments in her satchel. She found the one labelled ¡°ink cap¡±; inside was a mushroom dripping with black ink. Carefully, she let the ink pool onto the tablet, just enough to write a word. ¡°Don¡¯t touch it,¡± Ace warned before the girl could quench her curiosity, ¡°it¡¯s poisonous.¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± she said, and then frowned as if another thought occurred to her. ¡°If it killed me, you could just bring me back right?¡± Ace regarded the girl. A child. Still wearing her school uniform. Fourth grade maybe? ¡°Wrong,¡± said Ace, ¡°you would have the Stench of Death lingering over you. Flies and ants would still crave your decaying body. Even though you¡¯re technically alive.¡± The girl blinked and looked down at her cat. ¡°Is that gonna happen to Moss?¡± With a sigh, Ace retrieved another bottle and handed it to the girl. She tried reading the label. ¡°It¡¯s a potion to repel scavengers from resurrected beings. When I bring Moss back, you have to make sure she drinks a teaspoon of this at least once a day. Otherwise she will get eaten alive. Do you understand?¡± ¡°Okay, I understand.¡± ¡°And are you sure this is the exact spot she died?¡± The girl nodded. ¡°What would happen if ¨C¡± ¡°She wouldn¡¯t be the same Moss you knew. Memories missing. She could come back a completely different cat.¡± ¡°Okay. I didn¡¯t move her at all. I didn¡¯t even touch her. So Moss will be fine right?¡± Ace checked her mental list of everything that could go wrong. There was one thing left. ¡°How old is she?¡± ¡°Two years, I think. We just got her. Why?¡± Must be disease then, Ace thought. ¡°I can¡¯t bring beings who have died a natural death back. If I bring a hundred-year-old person back, they¡¯d still be old and could die within another day.¡± ¡°But you could just bring them back again.¡± The hope and plead in the girl¡¯s eyes made Ace feel sorry for her. For once, Ace was grateful she wasn¡¯t a child anymore. To only begin to experience death and grief, let alone understand it, was something Ace would not want to redo. ¡°I could,¡± said Ace gently, ¡°but I wouldn¡¯t. It¡¯s a law of Necromancy.¡± ¡°There¡¯s laws? I thought that was just for humans. What does it say?¡± ¡°The more a being is resurrected from death, the more they return a little less of themselves. The recommended number of maximum resurrections is three. But even that¡¯s a stretch.¡± The girl looked down at her cat again, seeming to deflate. ¡°I thought cats had nine lives.¡± Ace didn¡¯t reply. This was usually her cue to get to work before a customer accepted the inevitability of death, changed their minds about resurrecting the subjects, and sent Ace all the way back home without payment. ¡°You are sure you want to do this?¡± Ace asked the girl. She nodded. ¡°Yes.¡± Ace dipped her pen of sorts ¨C a mushroom with a pointed tip ¨C into the ink and began writing. Nothing grand happened, but to the trained eye there were the slightest of changes in the air pressure, the direction of the wind, and white noise behind all other sounds. Nearby birds flew from their nests, and Ace knew they would not return now that there was a resurrected cat living here. In the same way that all animals avoided Ace, so too would this cat be shunned. Death and all its cousins were a common fear. ¡°There,¡± said Ace, rounding up her supplies. The word ¡®MOSS¡¯ sunk into the Bone Tablet and disappeared with a sizzle that was like a final breath exhaled near your ear. Within moments, Moss stretched and opened her ant-filled eyes. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Ace expected the girl to scream and run away. But instead she fell on her knees and gripped the cat in a tight embrace. Moss purred in response. ¡°Remember the instructions,¡± said Ace, ¡°at least ¨C¡± ¡°One teaspoon of special water every day,¡± said the girl, standing up. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure of it.¡± ¡°Good.¡± ¡°What about this?¡± She pointed at the single mushroom stalk growing where the cat had been lying. It resembled the cat¡¯s fur color. ¡°A visitor for a while,¡± said Ace, ¡°until Moss gets acquainted with life again.¡± ¡°I decided I want to be Necromancer like you.¡± Ace did her best to hide her surprise. ¡°I¡¯ve studied for many years.¡± ¡°I can do it. I¡¯ll study.¡± ¡°My parents were Necromancers, and their parents before them. And their parents before them probably.¡± The girl¡¯s eyes drifted toward Ace¡¯s horns. Whenever a human first met Ace, they visibly struggled to avoid looking at her horns directly. She wasn¡¯t sure what made them uncomfortable ¨C the fungi, or the sharp edge curling around the sides of her head, or that she looked so unnervingly like a human otherwise. And they always avoided asking the question that the girl asked now. ¡°What are you?¡± Ace pointed at the mushroom. ¡°I¡¯m a faery.¡± ¡°A ¡­ mushroom faery?¡± ¡°A fungus faery.¡± ¡°I thought fungi were gross.¡± ¡°Actually they¡¯re really powerful. They¡¯re the key to Necromancy. And they were here before trees.¡± At this, the girl¡¯s eyes widened and drifted away. ¡°Even before the War?¡± ¡°The War happened thirty years ago. Mushrooms have been around for almost five million years.¡± ¡°Five million ¡­¡± she repeated. ¡°I got to pay attention in science class.¡± They stood there awkwardly as the girl dug into her school bag for loose change that was clearly meant as payment. Ace watched and slowly realised that there would not be a reward for this job. ¡°What¡¯s the going rate for resurrecting a cat?¡± The girl asked, as she counted the cents on her palm. Ace looked up at the sky dejectedly. ¡°It¡¯s fine. Consider Moss a gift from me to you.¡± ¡°No,¡± said the girl stubbornly. ¡°just because I¡¯m a child ¨C¡± ¡°Not at all,¡± said Ace, ¡°consider it a gift because I¡¯m fond of your cat.¡± Moss at that moment was curled up against Ace¡¯s leg, purring satisfactorily. Ace bent down to pet her. It had been a long time since an animal showed any affection towards Ace. She had almost forgotten what fur felt like. ¡°I can accept that,¡± said the girl. ¡°I owe you one.¡± Ace wasn¡¯t sure what to say to a nine-year-old who promised you a favour so confidently. So she simply nodded and made her way toward the gate. The House of Slyspore wasn¡¯t exactly a mansion. It stood three floors high with an angled roof, black stone and dark oak planks donning the exterior. The windows were tinted. There was no lawn, nor fence. No security cameras. No electric gates. Defenses were, in fact, unnecessary. Nobody was visiting here anytime soon, no matter how inviting it looked with its winding pebble pathway and giant double front doors. Not to mention the mailbox sitting atop a long chopped tree, its trunk colonized by fungus, the remainder of its branches dwindling upwards like hands from a grave. The image wasn¡¯t far off: something dead lived in there. It was situated in such an unfortunate area that no human or faery considered it a home. The rumours stirred with stories of sorceresses and ghouls. Perhaps ghosts from the neighbouring forest cemetery occasionally popped in there to have a chat. General Rayshade ¨C who had served in the War with the fae, passed over some twenty years ago, and now rested as a birch tree ¨C often lounged in the courtyard reading his favourite book with a rifle at his side. Springtail, the local wandering dog who caught a fae disease and had to be put down before it spread, could be heard barking from somewhere within the House¡¯s walls. Springtail¡¯s body now rested beneath a noble fir tree, not that anyone visited him there. So and so the rumours went. Nobody ever visited here. Until Ace Slyspore arrived with her satchel and luggage the previous morning. This was the House that Ace inherited as per the Faefolk Recuperation Act introduced post-war. The law stated that any existing and abandoned land or property belonging to fae persons, clans, or families will be returned to their rightful owners. You see, Ace was the last Slyspore left. As such, the House of Slyspore belonged to her now. The Slyspores never participated in wars and other social gatherings. Fungus faeries were known for thriving in solitude, arriving only where required, and leaving without a trace. Before the War, Ace lived in hiding like every other faery. After the War ended with desperate peace treaties, the world left The Information Age and entered a new one: The Hybrid Age. Planet earth became a cyborg planet; cables woven deep into the crust like arteries and capillaries, a circulation system of metal and electric pulses amid a network of tree roots and mycelium. But that wasn¡¯t the only connotation of ¡°hybrid¡±. Post-war, the Faefolk and Humans now coexisted in broad daylight, sharing dormitories, schools, restaurants and even hospitals. One look at this neighbourhood would be the perfect example of the mess that resulted. Or a few minutes scrolling through social media. Wizard influencers, mermaids in public pools, and goblin politicians were the least of Ace¡¯s concerns. She had been planning on getting paid today. But she hadn¡¯t anticipated her first client in this new neighbourhood being a youngling who counted bronze cents on her palm. Foretelling abilities, unfortunately, didn¡¯t fall under Necromancy. Ace¡¯s first and foremost concern nowadays was her next pay-check. It made her miserable. But misery was the backbone of the economy. Misery and desperation. Miserable workers were ecstatic with meagre rewards. Desperate families made ideal clients. The Fae and Human treaties may have saved this dying planet from its ecological crises, but greed found a way to sustain itself, mutating into one form after another like a virus. There wasn¡¯t a day when she didn¡¯t think of going back into hiding. But that was impossible now. She found herself in a deathly grim mood as she walked down the street toward the House. From yet another compartment in her satchel, she pulled out her tablet. A different kind of tablet: one with a login screen and a financial spreadsheet. She entered the details of her latest job, making note of dwindling supplies. Ink. Spores. And most alarmingly: her Bone Tablet. Instinctively, she clicked on the tab that had been open for nearly two weeks. She was addicted to looking at this advert: a sparkling Bone Tablet twice the size of her old one. The advert guaranteed at least five hundred resurrections before the bone shrank. She could make a fortune with it. Unfortunately, she needed a fortune to get it. The selling price stood at 10 000 Amalgam. A whine sounded from somewhere above ¨C a dog ducking behind a roof¡¯s terrace. Ace ignored it and continued along. She frightened all animals, and the neighbours dogs weren¡¯t exceptions. Even the insects on the pavement beneath her feet scattered. Even humans. Even fellow Faeries. Perhaps it was fitting that the House of Slyspore was secluded from the other houses in the neighbourhood. At the bottom of the street, next to the forest cemetery, there lived a freelancing Necromancer. Available for hire. Find her contact details on her LinkedIn profile. Terms and conditions apply. She liked the sound of it all. The mailbox was empty. A crow perched atop it fled as Ace approached. ¡°I have returned,¡± she announced to the empty courtyard, closing the heavy front doors behind her. More birds fled in response. The House fell into utter silence, which was beginning to annoy Ace. She wondered how many people used to live here. There were at least a dozen rooms lining the balconies. Were all these rooms once occupied by Slyspores? Why had her parents not told her about this place sooner? She stepped into the patch of afternoon sunlight showering the courtyard. This was the perfect spot to cultivate her fungus garden. Was it designed specifically so? Did generations of Necromancers once restock their supplies right here? Ace could only wonder. And grow a fungus garden anew. As she got busy with doing so, she did not notice the floorboards creaking behind her. A shadow within a shadow. The neighbours had no clue how close to the truth their rumours were. 2. Rayshade After twenty years of watching remnants of your braindead body attempt to live life, you started to get used to it. That didn¡¯t mean you were friends with it. Such was the case of General Rayshade. Not a General anymore. Far from it. But his zombie counterpart still preferred to wear the uniform. Rayshade himself had no other choice. He floated through the House¡¯s walls with little to do besides haunt the place. And watch his zombie knock his head around, lose a limb, growl, slurp, scratch ¨C pretty much anything it was that braindead things did. Rayshade had no idea what made him like this. If he was destined to be the living dead, then why couldn¡¯t it simply be one or the other? What had he done to deserve being a ghost, invisible to everyone, while his zombie body represented him by strutting around stupidly? He felt as if he missed a very important meeting in the afterlife. Surely there must have been a form to fill ¨C a checkbox with your preferred method of haunting the living. Multiple choice survey? Wheel of misfortune? His current semi-existence consisted of bickering with his zombie, floating through walls, flapping curtains, and causing random electricity cuts. But he was tethered to the body and for safety reasons, they spent the most part hiding in the secluded House. Death was good. And then the girl arrived. She walked into the House as if she owned the place. Rayshade considered that perhaps she did in fact own the place, but that didn¡¯t mean she was welcome here. Where had she been for the past twenty years? He was the one who ensured the House didn¡¯t get demolished by greedy contractors. The House may have been hers, but this was his home. They watched her from the third floor. ¡°Looks like a garden,¡± said Rayshade in a low voice. ¡°She¡¯s planting something.¡± ¡°Grr,¡± came the reply. Rayshade didn¡¯t have to look to know that his braindead counterpart had stuck a finger in its ear and left it in there. ¡°Well, whatever the case,¡± he mused, ¡°we¡¯re going to make sure she leaves within the week. Nobody disrupts our peace, right soldier? Soldier?¡± His body was walking away from him. It almost reached the staircase and revealed itself before Rayshade stepped before it. ¡°Stop! You can¡¯t go there. She¡¯ll find out about us.¡± Solider blinked at him with eyes that were once his. But there was no life behind those pupils anymore. No color in those irises. Rayshade was talking to nobody. ¡°Listen to me,¡± Rayshade pleaded, ¡°she¡¯ll send us away. Or worse.¡± At this, Soldier attempted to raise an eyebrow, as if there was any fate worse than being bossed around by your spirit. ¡°We must protect the House at all costs, you got that, Solider? Protect. House.¡± ¡°Hrgg?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± They looked down at the intruder again as she patted the soil and sprinkled more seeds onto the sandpit. Rayshade eyed her horns. Some sort of faery. He had fought against the Fae in the War. Turned out all his efforts were futile; humans needed the fae to save the earth. Not that it mattered to his life. He was dead long before they stabilised the planet. Life was a struggle. But his dreary afterlife made him yearn for the old times. Now the only home he had was in danger of being taken away from him. Solider shifted its feet at that thought. Rayshade didn¡¯t know whether it could even read, let alone read his thoughts. But he was glad that they shared the same goal: protect the House at all costs. First step: get rid of the girl. They watched her for a few hours more as she worked in the soil meticulously, almost with a surgeon¡¯s care. She made tiny holes in the sandpit, and sprinkled something that looked like seeds, which she had kept in dozens of finger sized jars in her satchel. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Rayshade knew how to be patient. Being dead and invisible for as many years as he had taught him many virtues. He couldn¡¯t say the same about Soldier ¨C his undead companion only grew more troublesome as the days went by. But being invisible also had its perks. Rayshade would be lying if he said he didn¡¯t enjoy being in a room full of people who were hiding so many valuable secrets. Secrets only a ghost could unravel. Once, their gardening intruder had paused her work to stare at a device¡¯s screen. Rayshade peeked from over her shoulder to see an advert of a product that looked oddly like a sternum. Even more bizarrely ¨C the advert was promising things like ¡°500 resurrections¡± and ¡°death cap ink included!¡±. He doubled back when he saw the price. Perhaps she was a cosplayer of a very serious kind? Finally at evenfall, when the sky began to dim, she wrapped up her supplies and made way for the kitchen. Watching her do so was excruciating. Rayshade spent his mornings in the kitchen; it had the perfect window view of the teleports, of rushing commuters making their way to work or school. This ritual often reminded him of the rush of life, and almost made him feel grateful for being a ghost. Almost. But he¡¯d deal with making the kitchen off-limits later. For now, he had to find out more about this intruder. And she had, most graciously, left her satchel in the courtyard right at his feet. He bent down to rifle through it instead of picking it up ¨C in case she returned without warning to see her belongings floating in the mid-air. There were jars with labels he didn¡¯t understand. And many, many compartments. He was thorough with his search and with good results ¨C he came across a secret zipper on the inside to find a stack of business cards. The card was all black with gold text that said: Ace Slyspore, Fungus Faery & professional Necromancer. Available for hire. Contact: [email protected]. If Rayshade had a heartbeat, it would have skyrocketed. A Necromancer! Did she have the power to help his situation? He flipped the card around to see the word ¡°SLYSPORE¡± in a gothic font. And below it was a symbol he had grown extremely familiar with; an elongated skull with two horns curling at the sides, mushrooms sprouting from its hollow eye sockets. He let the card slip from his grasp as he thought about the implications of this knowledge. A Slyspore. She did own the House. That meant she was more of a threat than he first thought. The threat at that moment was cooking. Cooking. Rayshade could hardly believe his eyes. The kitchen stove was on. The cupboards were wide open, exposing how truly neglected they had been. And Slyspore ¨C she was stirring mushrooms in a steaming pot. Mushrooms. Of course! The sandpit ¨C she wasn¡¯t planting flowers. She was growing mushrooms. Rayshade had the vision of his House being devoured by fungi within the week. Sooner or later, she would discover Solider. He would be discarded like a pest. It wouldn¡¯t be difficult for her to get rid of it. Fungi thrived on dead matter. What of Rayshade then? He felt a chill go up his spine. And for a ghost, this was not a natural occurrence. ¡°Harf.¡± Rayshade snapped to attention to see Solider stepping out of the shadows where it was safe. Its footsteps thudded, made heavier by the beaten down soldier¡¯s boots it never once removed. The floorboards creaked so noisily that Rayshade winced. ¡°Stop!¡± he gestured frantically to Solider. ¡°Go back! Go!¡± Solider tilted its head as if it was on the receiving end of a telepathic communique. Meanwhile, the Slyspore didn¡¯t seem to have heard anything. At least Rayshade could rely on the fact that she wouldn¡¯t suspect anyone of paying a surprise visit to the House. Nobody visited here. And yet it was so darn crowded, Rayshade thought. ¡°Let¡¯s go to our room,¡± he told the zombie. ¡°Go. Room.¡± Soldier scratched the few tufts of hair still left on its head before turning and making its way back up the staircase. Rayshade would have let out a sigh of relief if he had a breath. Except he also didn¡¯t feel relieved, not entirely. So instead he resorted to glaring at the fungus faery intruding in his kitchen. It seemed like she was done cooking and was now serving herself a fresh dinner. The dining table was covered with a blanket of dust, but she rested her plate on it with the demeanour of one who was at an upper class restaurant, in a room full of people, instead of her pitiful and lonely reality. Upstairs, he found Soldier lying on the bed, doing nothing. It lied there like Stillness itself. Not a muscle needed twitching. Or spit needed swallowing. Or limb readjusting. Just the remainder of a human doomed to witness its own decay. ¡°I think we¡¯d be doing her a favour,¡± Rayshade said, floating across the room to the seat by the window. The first few stars popped in the sky along with another sunset. He hardly saw these things anymore. He just let his eyes fall on the sight. He was dead after all. ¡°Grr.¡± ¡°If we make her leave,¡± he clarified. ¡°We¡¯d be doing her a favour.¡± ¡°Grr.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll make things inconvenient for her, of course. We¡¯ll start by destroying that fungus garden. If she can¡¯t regrow her supplies here, she¡¯ll be forced to move.¡± ¡°Hrmf.¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t think even the Slyspore can help us.¡± ¡°Praaaf.¡± ¡°I know a thing or two about Necromancy, alright? Her powers won¡¯t help us. We¡¯re way beyond that. She can¡¯t even see me, let alone sense me around. Sense you around. She¡¯s oblivious.¡± Soldier was quiet at that. Good, Rayshade thought with a tinge of triumph. The zombie could be stubborn as a stone when it wanted to. Honestly, it was like arguing with himself. 3. Ace Night at the House of Slyspore was dark and cold. This was mainly because it hadn¡¯t had electricity for years. And when the world switched over completely to solar power, nobody bothered upgrading the abandoned ebony building at the edge of the forest cemetery. Both house and forest were allegedly haunted. Ace didn¡¯t have candles. She dug in the numerous kitchen drawers for anything she could light. Anything to temporarily disperse the darkness. Her teeth chattered despite wearing a hoodie and a jersey underneath. The wind was stagnant, but occasionally she felt a cold draft wash over her, followed by the floorboards on the staircase creaking. She didn¡¯t think much of it. There was a lot yet to discover about this House. Ever since arriving here the previous day, she¡¯d only traversed the kitchen and the courtyard. Admittedly, she was intimidated by the many closed doors, behind which lay empty bedrooms. The House appeared desolate on the surface, like a patch of grass. But further investigation would reveal the patch to be an ecosystem of various isopods, ants, spiders, crickets, worms, and wood lice. Ace wondered about the ecosystem seething behind this coal black architecture. She picked a random room to spend the night ¨C one directly across the entrance on the ground floor. It seemed central to the House somehow. And her family¡¯s crest was embedded above the door. The moment she saw the familiar symbol, she knew this was where she belonged. Yet she still felt like an intruder. In good time, she told herself. This house would feel like home in good time. Not tonight, though. The kitchens were bare of candles. With reluctance, Ace eyed the above floors silhouetted by the night sky. She was not well acquainted with helplessness. Any problem she had could be counteracted with a solution in fungal form. A mushroom that glowed or caught fire easily would have been handy right about now. But she did not have stock in her jars. And the garden was far from harvest ready. Another cold draft from nowhere made her shudder. No; it did not come from entirely nowhere. It was definitely flowing from the shadowed staircase, as if beckoning her. We are three floors of quiet things, it seemed to say. You can join the clutter. Ace turned her hood over her head, shoved her fists into her pockets, and trod up the stairs. It complained at each step, making sounds that pierced the silence. The first floor was a narrow balcony stretching the perimeter of the courtyard. The ambient light of the night wasn¡¯t much, but it was a saving grace. Ace made out shadows of objects ¨C door handles, vases, a ladder. The first door did not budge when she tried to open it. Locked. She¡¯d have to try the collection of keys she had received with the inheritance papers. That was a task for the following day. The second door was ajar. Cobwebs filled the gap between the door¡¯s edge and the frame. The room itself was simple: a single bed fit for one person, a small square window, and cupboards fitted into the walls. She couldn¡¯t make out many details of the decorum, but she was sure the wallpaper was peeling off. Someone lived here once. A Necromancer. A relative. A fellow clan member, a fungus faery. ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you¡¯d have any GLOWING FUNGUS GENUS NAME AND SPECIES here,¡± she said to the room, imagining that somewhere the spirit of her relative could hear her. She lingered a little longer with no real intention, before deciding to continue her search. The next four rooms were clones of the first, almost designed like a hotel building. Variation came when she turned the corner to see a larger door than the others, the entrance to the room above her own. Her hands were pushing against the wood when she heard it: a distinct creak of the floor nearby. An ice cold breeze settled on her skin afterwards. Like a breath, but not quite. She didn¡¯t know what to say, but she felt obliged to respond somehow. She cleared her throat. ¡°Is it you, Great Aunt Slyspore?¡± The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Ace didn¡¯t really know a Great Aunt. But she had heard stories of ancestors returning to the living world for unfinished work. The darkness stared back at her. What could there have been? Many birds must have made nests here. Bats. Creepy-crawlies. Baby shadow-loving dragons. But none would have flown at such close proximity to her that she¡¯d feel the wind of its wings flap. She finally decided that staring at shadows were no use. Whatever the cause of the cold drafts were would make itself known soon enough. She pushed her weight against the door. Surprisingly, it swung forward with ease, unlike the previous ones whose hinges creaked as if in agony. No cobwebs caught her by the face this time. Stepping inside with piqued interest now, she surveyed the room. It was more spacious than the others, but identical in layout to her own chosen room. This cemented the suspicion that Ace had: some rooms were central to the House. Had they belonged to some sort of authority figures among the Slyspores? The idea of a Necromancer hierarchy was foreign to her. Textbooks didn¡¯t mention a family tree, or any actual names of authors for that matter. As far as Ace knew, she was the last Slyspore left. But how true was her knowledge? She drifted towards the window seat as she thought about what her family could have lived like here. Anxiety rose within her. A family as large as this would have as many mouths to feed. Bodies to clothe. Education to pay for. Hobbies to sustain. The bills must have been endless. Suddenly she was grateful that she lived alone. This train of thought just passed through her mind when another freezing breeze pricked her nostrils ¨C the coldest one yet. As if something stood right behind her. As if she was not alone after all. The feeling vanished as suddenly as it came. She turned to observe the dark room, blanketed in shadows ¨C just in time to see someone run out the door. She didn¡¯t think. She chased after them. The intruder was a speeding silhouette zipping across the corridor, footsteps heavy but determined as if their life was on the line. She heard a great deal of noise when they reached the staircase ¨C something large fell with a boom ¨C and she was sure she heard a growl, almost feral ¨C ¡°Stop!¡± She called out in the night. It was a futile command ¨C the person accelerated instead as she chased them across the courtyard. ¡°Stop! I just want to ¨C¡± Her words evaporated mid-sentence, for she had caught a glimpse of the person¡¯s head ¨C a man¡¯s ¨C but oddly shaped as if bearing a horrific injury to the cranium. This did not seem to affect him the slightest. His two feet carried him forward and out of the front door with unnatural speed. ¡°I can help you if you¡¯re injured!¡± Ace shouted, her lungs threatening to explode from all the running. ¡°Will you please just stop?¡± He did not stop. They were running outside now, the House a good distance behind them, when she realized where exactly the man was heading. The forest was a mass of tall and dense trees, casting a thick shadow over them. It loomed over the residential area, almost alive and breathing. Ironic, because it was also burial grounds. Ace and the man she pursued were shadows within shadows, and soon they would be inside the heart of the cemetery. The man¡¯s form disappeared amid the trees before Ace could call out again. She wasn¡¯t particularly afraid of places of the dead, but she also didn¡¯t think it was a good idea to disrupt whatever plant life slept there. On top of this, she wasn¡¯t too fond of the plant kingdom. And she long figured out that the feeling was mutual. It was adrenaline that carried her under the thick canopy, twigs stinging her face. A multitude of sounds filled her ears ¨C chirps, snores, growls, even low hums. She focused on the man¡¯s footsteps ¨C a heavy thud after another thud after a frustrated growl. Her eyes strained to see anything beyond her arms, but she knew there was rotting bark nearby. She could feel it, the sharp tang of the pheromones dead things released. Her senses were built for this. The man¡¯s pace evidently slowed down as a result of the many obstacles the forest brought. Ace seized the opportunity. Her veins filled with intention, her focus homed in on the decaying matter only a few paces ahead of the man, directly in his path unbeknownst to him. Her abilities worked in companion with nature. It was less the act of creation, and more like a lens flare; she only summoned the saprophytes, alerting them to the dead organic matter. In a forest as alive as this, her kin weren¡¯t far off. For beneath their very feet were not only tree roots, but also a world wide web of mycelium. A sudden jerk within her muscles alerted her that the trap was set ¨C a network of rhizomorph as high as the trees, thickly intertwined like a rope netting, sprung from the bark. The man collided face first into it. More incoherent growling. Ace could only guess that the trap had been successful. She stopped to catch her breath and was reminded of why exercise wasn¡¯t part of her daily routine. It was awfully uncomfortable to have your heart beating so fast. When she settled down her breathing a little, she began a brisk walk towards the struggling noises. Hi, she rehearsed, I¡¯m Ace. Apologies for chasing you like a criminal. But what were you doing in my house? She expected the conversation to be awkward. She was prepared for it even. They were two strangers in strange circumstances, and a brief exchange of nervous explanations was understandable. She did not expect to find herself looking down at a corpse. 4. Ace The night air chilled against her skin, cooling her perspiring brows. All too quickly the temperature fell a few more degrees, but Ace was already too frozen in surprise to warm her fists. She was sure corpses couldn¡¯t growl or struggle. Yet here was one rotting body of a man, with a misshapen skull, darkened skin peeling off its bones, and a stench unmistakable for anything else: the Stench of Death. Now, Ace was a Necromancer, which meant that it was completely unlike her to be rendered speechless by a dead body. But that was precisely the problem ¨C the dead body was moving. In fact, it growled at this moment, pulling against those powerful strands of rhizomorph. Hi? She remembered what she had rehearsed. I¡¯m Ace. And you¡¯re ¡­ dead? ¡°Hrog!¡± She wasn¡¯t fluent in zombie, but she figured that this one was saying something like I don¡¯t appreciate being tied up, Miss. ¡°Sorry,¡± she mumbled, ¡°err ¨C let me just ¨C¡± It was an awful ordeal to untangle him in the dark, while at the same time trying her best not to touch his rotting flesh directly. Finally the zombie stood and made as if to run away again before Ace stopped him. ¡°Wait! I ¨C what were you doing in my house?¡± Hesitant steps. He adjusted the collars of his coat. A ¡­ soldier¡¯s uniform? Ace noted with confusion that he was indeed wearing a soldier¡¯s uniform. Gold badges gleamed with the starlight. She recognized some of them from the War. ¡°I promise I don¡¯t mean any harm,¡± Ace began. ¡°My name is Ace Slyspore. I¡¯m a Necromancer, see? I live in that House back there.¡± He tilted his head as if he were having another conversation. Being a zombie and all, Ace couldn¡¯t make out any facial expressions. She could only guess that he was even receptive of anything she was saying. Then, with a wobbly arm that bent at the most unnatural angles, he pointed at a tree before them. A birch tree. Glowing mushrooms grew around it, scattered across its roots and bark, shedding green light that could have been eerie to some but felt most safe to Ace. With the help of the glow, she could make out words on a plaque hung on the tree. General Rayshade. 2020-2045. ¡°This is you?¡± Ace asked. ¡°I mean ¨C this is where ¨C¡± ¡°Harf.¡± Something about his tone made Ace swell up with sympathy. A General. Dead for over forty years. Roaming around as a zombie. The work of an amateur Necromancer, perhaps? ¡°Maybe I can help you,¡± she suggested. ¡°I could find something in my books, back at the House. Do you want my help?¡± Again he took a long time to respond, as if another conversation took priority. Then he jerked his head downwards in what appeared to be a crude nod. Ace felt that chill once again, this time it almost felt angry. Disagreeable. She took another look at General Rayshade¡¯s plaque before plucking a few glowing mushrooms. These would have to make do for the night. The neighbourhood was quiet as they walked back to the house. Ace remembered a time when there used to be streets, back when humans used cars. She remembered how noisy it used to be. Not a single moment that wasn¡¯t interrupted by an engine revving, or a car door shutting. Now the only sound she could hear were the light hums of the teleports up the row of houses. Even those eventually drowned out when she re-entered the House. The zombie stood there like a statue as she tended to the glowing mushrooms, transplanting their life into her garden. Together with the ambient night sky, the pale green glow lit up the courtyard just enough to work. And what a lot of work did she have with this customer. ¡°Okay, Mr. Rayshade,¡± she retrieved a stack of books from her satchel, ¡°let¡¯s see what we can do for you. I¡¯m going to do some tests on your senses, just to see whether your central nervous system is working. Is that alright?¡± No response. Ace did not even see him blink. She figured his test results would be negative, but she ran them all the same. First check: vision. ¡°Mr. Rayshade, I¡¯m just going to ¨C¡± A low growl emitted from his throat. Ace didn¡¯t feel like it was threatening, but more as if he disapproved something. ¡°Mr. Rayshade?¡± He growled again, deeper. ¡°My apologies. Do you prefer another name?¡± ¡°Graaf.¡± He tugged a broken index finger at his collar. ¡° ¡­ your uniform?¡± Ace mused, trying to decipher his meaning. ¡°Your badges? General? Is that what I should call you? General Rayshade?¡± Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! At this, he shook his head vigorously. He craned his neck upwards. Ace mimicked him. Was he admiring the stars? She could see nothing else of interest. Unless ¡­ ¡°Mr. Rayshade?¡± She said aloud to the sky. There was that cold draft in response. Curious indeed. The zombie now looked at her with a sloppy grin falling off the side of his face. ¡°Hlog.¡± ¡°You have a funny smile, do you know that?¡± His half-smile grew sloppier. Ace couldn¡¯t help but laugh. Vision ¨C check. Hearing ¨C check. It seemed like most of his senses were intact. ¡°It seems,¡± Ace began, thumbing the pages of her Necromancy textbook in thought, ¡°there¡¯s no other magic at play here. I would have thought maybe a curse. Or animation. But somebody tried resurrecting you and failed. Someone inexperienced. They must have missed you a ton, because they¡¯ve violated one of the Laws of Necromancy for you to end up like this.¡± Her words seemed to fall on deaf ears and glassy eyes. She pressed on in the hope that he was understanding. ¡°You¡¯re still a puzzle, though. I saw the dates on your grave, and you¡¯re quite young so I don¡¯t think the second or third laws mattered much. It¡¯s the first law that might have caused your doom, Mr ¡­ er, yes ¨C the first law states that the more a being is resurrected from death, the more they return a little less of themselves. Someone rebellious grieved you very much. Or worse ¨C couldn¡¯t grieve for you at all.¡± She paused to throw an observing glance at the poor man. A General in the army. Not even thirty years old. Reduced to this semi-existence. ¡°So they resurrected you many times, it seems. Err ¨C more than the recommended number, see? Much more.¡± Her eyes fell on his broken cranium. ¡°Dangerously more.¡± ¡°But,¡± she continued, ¡°there¡¯s still the fifth law: resurrection does not grant immortality. You have ¨C err, many injuries, yes? Injuries that should have killed you again ¡­ but here you are. You can see how this is puzzling for me?¡± ¡°Prag,¡± said the zombie, as a matter of fact. But the lazy smile didn¡¯t leave his rotting face. He bent down to the fungus garden, waving a broken finger or two at the glowing mushrooms. Ace closed the textbook with a thud. It was late. She wanted to sleep. She doubted that Ray ¨C the zombie slept at all. What do I do with you? ¡°You ¨C err, do you have a home? Or do you just hang around your own grave a bit?¡± He stood, the half-smile still capturing his handsome features. ¡°Harf.¡± A heavy foot on the floorboards, resembling a solider ready for battle. Then he turned around and ascended the staircase. ¡°Err ¨C where are you going?¡± Ace called out. ¡°I¡¯m afraid the exit is ¨C¡± But he was already gone, disappeared into the room above her own. Ace was left standing there in the dim courtyard with one realization: she was the intruder here. The next morning, Ace was fastening breakfast for herself when the walking dead strolled in nonchalantly and took a seat at the dining table. He looked at her with that half-smile again, his crooked teeth and assortment of injuries all incredibly visible in the morning light. She couldn¡¯t help but admire the scene: a creature of horror stories bathing in serene golden light. ¡°Err ¨C breakfast?¡± He tilted his head sharply, not even breaking his gaze to blink. If Ace didn¡¯t know any better, she could have guessed that he was amused at her. She saw him glance briefly at the tablet screen lying on the table ¨C the advert for the Bone Tablet glaring at them with large red words. ¡°Water, tea?¡± Ace asked. She set her meal on the table with slight unease. She wasn¡¯t very used to having company. She figured neither did this zombie. He did not turn away as she began eating. ¡°So,¡± she said, ¡°I think we have to talk about our living arrangements, yes? You plan on staying here long?¡± ¡°Harg.¡± The sound of joints cracking finished his sentence. He gestured around the kitchen. This is my home, Ace translated. ¡°Right. Well. Err. I suppose I have nothing much to complain about. I mean ¨C you¡¯re dead quiet so I don¡¯t have to worry about getting disturbed. You don¡¯t eat or drink, so you won¡¯t be costing me any bills. I suppose ¨C err ¨C we could be house mates.¡± House-mates with a zombie. ¡°To be completely honest,¡± Ace continued, ¡°there are worse things to worry about right now. Like getting power for this place. My business is struggling. I can¡¯t pay to maintain this House for another two months, I think.¡± His stare was statue-like. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he pointed to himself. ¡°Tlag grr,¡± he fumbled for words, ¡°drr gruff ¡­¡± ¡°I ¨C I will still look for a way to help you, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking,¡± Ace said. ¡°I¡¯ll admit I haven¡¯t properly studied the fallacies of the Fifth Law, maybe I could ¨C¡± ¡°Traarg,¡± he pressed. He stood and hit his torso on the edge of the table in a way that would have sent somebody alive clutching their body in pain. He pointed at the air in front of him. At nothing. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡± And Ace was trying her best to do so. ¡°The kitchen? Is there something wrong with the House?¡± He growled in frustration, his knees bending in awkward angles as he walked out the kitchen door. He gestured for Ace to follow. ¡°Is it the House?¡± Ace asked as they entered the courtyard. She looked around for anything he might be trying to show her. ¡°The first door upstairs is locked, but I might have the key ¨C¡± ¡°Rarrg!¡± Frantic steps. He pushed open the nearest room door ¨C with a bang it swung forward, causing hordes of dust to spiral into the air. They watched the dust settle to the floor. ¡°Err ¨C yes, I mean ¨C I know it¡¯s dirty. Well it¡¯s more of a work in progress, you see? With time, we could fix the place up, I¡¯m sure.¡± Ace felt obliged to add: ¡°With time and ¡­ money. Which is the biggest problem right now.¡± That wasn¡¯t it. He didn¡¯t look satisfied at her reply. Then again, Ace asked herself, was he capable of looking satisfied? Or was she making up expressions for him this entire time? His eyes widened if that were possible, since he barely had any eyelids left. ¡°Mrarg!¡± He growled. ¡°Mrarg! Mrarg!¡± ¡°Money? Is that what you¡¯re saying? Do you have money?¡± He ran into the room with loud footsteps, pointing up at the ceiling, at the walls. Pointing at everything in the room. The dust caught at Ace¡¯s nostrils, threatening to make her sneeze. But something did dawn on her, some meaning, as she took in the state of the place. The furniture toppled over and rusted, the wallpaper peeling off, the frames fallen, leaving metal hooks buried in the yellowing walls. The sun streamed in, illuminating particles of dust. It was dirty alright; but it was not unlivable. With some effort and a change of d¨¦cor, Ace could rent out these rooms. She could make enough money to sustain the House for years. She could make ten times more than that. She could get any Bone Tablet she desired. Finally. ¡°Mr. Zombie,¡± she said, a little breathless with ideas, ¡°you may not have a brain, or a soul, but you are actually an asset, you know that?¡± His frustrated expression cleared, replaced by his floppy grin. Ace laughed. ¡°And you have a contagious smile. I¡¯m glad I found you.¡± He showcased his teeth for added effect; Ace had never seen such a vulgar case of scurvy before. ¡°It¡¯s part of your charm, I think. You and your half-smile.¡± As soon as she said it, she wondered how much it suited him. ¡°Half-Smile? Is that what I can call you?¡± He beat his foot on the floor in approval. 5 - Arro The Tree Dagger pierced warm flesh. With a jolt, Arro plunged the blade even deeper, ensuring that her victim¡¯s next breath was his final. He fell to the floor, blood oozing around him. Arro¡¯s work was not done yet. She wiped her blade on her dress; its leaves glowed a gloomy grey color, as if the light were dimmed by mist. She plucked a Greyleaf from the dagger and let it flutter to the floor in staccato movements. It landed in the pool of blood, turning everything grey. Arro looked down at the body. She had no idea who this man was, nor did she have any personal quarrel with him. But someone did. Someone who hired her to do their dirty deeds. The type of person who hid behind moral compasses. Arro was the only assassin with enough jurisdiction to carry this job out. Her Greyleaf spoke for itself. Now, her payment was earned. She moved on to the next job ¨C and her first meeting with this client was in an hour, an entire continent away. Teleportation elevated life¡¯s rush to another level indeed. The store was quiet. Spices filled the shelves, their range of scents reaching her nostrils. She left the building through the front door, as if she were an ordinary customer. Outside, the overwhelming buzz of the largest city on Earth surrounded her. Arro made her way to the teleports, the pulsing blue light just a few yards away. Nobody paid her any attention. She was simply another consumer to the eyes of the city. Sidewalk merchants tried to sell her things. Restaurants with open roofs carried the aroma of hot food. Screens overhead, strikingly bright in the night sky, displayed adverts for ¡°inclusive skincare products¡± ¨C inclusive here meaning Faefolk were now eligible to give these companies their money in return for low self-esteem. Giant baobab trees towered before the crowds, their thick trunks decorated with Fae orbs of light. Amalgam. The heart of The Hybrid Age. Where street magicians earned their coin without sleight of hand or trick boxes ¨C but with magic running through their veins. Where glass buildings housed a human interviewing a wizard for their podcast. Where mermaids and cosplayers alike promoted the latest film. Amalgam. The hybrid creation of dangerous parents ¨C war, natural disaster. And at the core of it ¨C greed and desire. She passed a motley group of teenagers talking about MagiTech¡¯s net worth heading towards a trillion. Arro doubted they could comprehend how much a trillion was, and what it meant for one red-eyed goblin to be hoarding that much coin in the first place. But he was a businessman first and foremost. Arro could respect that. When she reached the teleports, she stepped into the glass booth and swiped her card. She selected her destination as the screen became a frenzy of estimates; calculating her total cost, numbers rising and falling, taking guesses at her choices before she could properly finish typing the address. Three hundred Amalgam was deducted from her account. The lights changed to red as the air was sucked out of the cubicle, creating the vacuum needed for a successful trip. As the lights turned to green, Arro shapeshifted. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. And then she burst into a billion particles ¨C becoming a microscopic galaxy travelling faster than light. When Arro¡¯s feet touched the ground again, she had already shapeshifted into another form ¨C one with a lean frame and a tight jaw that meant business. Arro often took the form of a man to meet her clients. It spared her much ado with anonymity, being able to have many identities. A tree spirit was notoriously formless. Her clan would harshly disapprove of the use of her powers now ¨C but she had long dislodged herself from their oppressive list of commandments. Arro ¨C as a man ¨C was the only face her clients ever saw. This was so that Arro ¨C as a woman ¨C could execute the job however she liked. It was raining. Arro adjusted his hoodie and walked amid the bustling crowd. The only thing he knew about this client was that he was the owner of an arcade franchise. The arcade wasn¡¯t the most ideal place for a meeting, but it was inconspicuous enough. Plus, Arro liked the arcade, particularly the ones with games that challenged his aiming skills. He felt it reminded him of his days before the war when he trained in hiding, trained for violence in ways that no tree spirit should have had the heart to. Inside was stuffy. Instantly, the gloom of the cold rain was replaced by demanding lights and glitchy 8-bit video game soundtracks. Arro waltzed the hall with ease, a dance of camouflage he knew the choreography of all too well. A misty grey light near the wall attracted his attention, its graphics glitched and its lights flickered ominously. The screens displayed a formally dressed skeleton with a top hat and monocle. It glitched from the right screen to the left screen, shuffling notes of money as bones fell from the sky behind it. Absentmindedly, Arro swiped his card. The game¡¯s music began, a trilling harp playing a modern rendition of Mozart¡¯s Fantasia in D minor. The composition stuck out like a sore thumb for a place such as this. Arro was glad he was here to appreciate it. The wait wasn¡¯t long now that he found the perfect game to occupy him. Arro tossed bone after bone into Grimm¡¯s mouth, his score ever increasing. He hardly registered the stout man come up behind him. ¡°Grimm¡¯s Bowling Alley,¡± said the newcomer. ¡°Personal favourite?¡± Arro turned with a plastic bone in hand. The Grim on screen flicked from screen to screen, raising its hat amiably. ¡°Who?¡± Swallowing, the stout man lowered his voice and said: ¡°A human. Young man named Shane. Opened an arcade like mine in the same town. Competitor like that ¨C¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need context,¡± said Arro. ¡°You know my price?¡± ¡°Yes. Paid you just before I got here ¨C¡± ¡°Good. The victim ¨C he¡¯s off continent?¡± The man nodded. ¡°I wish you wouldn¡¯t call him that ¨C¡± ¡°He¡¯s off continent or not? I need an address and accommodation close by. The job will be done within the week.¡± Arro watched him grow pale. He wiped his brow, gleaming with sweat in the dull white light of the game. Arro couldn¡¯t waste time with chit-chat, but he gave the man the benefit of the doubt since he seemed to be new to this business. He waited, tossing the plastic bone into Grimm¡¯s mouth. The screen erupted into celebration. He had just made a new high score. ¡°Off continent,¡± he said finally, ¡°near my other branch. Sort of a tourist site, the town. The first forest cemetery ever built is there.¡± ¡°And accommodation? I¡¯ll need to stay nearby for a few nights.¡± The man looked as if about to ask questions, but Arro raised a cunning eyebrow that warned him not to. ¡°I didn¡¯t know about any accommodation. I¡¯ll find something.¡± ¡°Good. I need the details by tonight.¡± Arro left the arcade then, the finishing notes of Fantasia escorting him off to his next assassination. 6. Rayshade There was nothing like being betrayed by your own body. Rayshade hovered above the pebble path to the House, his aura exuding all the melancholy he felt. The sign was the color of algae on murky water, bearing the words he dreaded: The House of Slyspore. Accommodation Available. Contact Ace for more information. It felt like a perverted cosmic joke on him. Everything he loved slipped from his grasp eventually. Why did he think this house would differ from his pattern of misfortune? Ironic. He had more problems dead than when he was alive. He watched helplessly as Soldier and his new best friend straightened up the sign, sticking the metal pole into the ground. Its, not his, he corrected himself. Two weeks passed since Slyspore found his grave tree. Two weeks of watching Soldier, re-christened Half-Smile, spending mornings with the Slyspore, gardening with her, cooking with her, cleaning with her. What in the world was a Half-Smile? And where did Soldier suddenly get the mental capacity for such complicated tasks? Last Rayshade checked, the zombie dug his fingers in his ears for amusement. Rayshade had a plan though. Yes ¨C he would haunt the House with all his will. He would haunt Slyspore, destroy her garden, and ensure her business ventures failed. And he would haunt any new tenants who decided to set foot in his home. He¡¯d send them scrambling out the door and back where they came from. That was if anybody was even desperate enough to live here and pay money for it. Who was Slyspore kidding? Sure, she cleaned the place. Brightened it up. But with all the rumours ¡­ people would sooner use the House as a set for a horror movie than have breakfast in it. The fact that it was owned by a Necromancer didn¡¯t help its cause. All this Rayshade told himself as consolation for the hurt he felt. The fear of his safe haven being snatched from him occupied his every thought. The sky seemed to tease him today. It was too bright, not even a looming cloud to reflect his mood. In fact, if Rayshade wasn¡¯t so heartbroken, he would have thought it was a beautiful day to have a picnic. He fought the urge to uproot the neighbours flowers when Springtail curled up next to him. The dog groaned as if convincing itself that it was alive. ¡°We are not friends,¡± Rayshade said. Springtail¡¯s ears perked, but he was silent. Both man and dog ghosts lounged there under the sunny skies, watching the living concoct their money-making schemes. ¡°The neighbours were watching, you know,¡± Rayshade said to Soldier when they were in the kitchen later. ¡°They¡¯re stirring rumours again. Curious about the Slyspore. About you.¡± ¡°Grrraaaf!¡± He growled back irritably. ¡°I know,¡± Slyspore replied with a gleam in her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m excited too.¡± A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Soldier tapped his fingers on the table, leaning a little towards Rayshade as if to say see? You¡¯re old news, pal. Be like a ghost and disappear. They were seated at the dining table again, as per their newly adapted routine. Here, over meals that were always one-sided, the big decisions took place. Today Slyspore was looking at various electrical companies to form a contract with. She seemed to avoid the most obvious and glaring option: MagiTech. Hardly a company, more like a giant corporation, MagiTech was basically the mother of their current global system of teleportation. It was owned by a billionaire red-eyed goblin, one cunning and agile enough to have sprung out of hiding and immediately discover a way to profit off of the solution to the climate crises. MagiTech¡¯s teleports and solar panels were everywhere ¨C and Gigglemug was well on his way to being the first trillionaire. Slyspore was reading the company¡¯s website with tight lips. Whether she disapproved of trillionaires or goblins, Rayshade didn¡¯t know. Perhaps she disapproved of Amalgam altogether ¨C MagiTech¡¯s precious hybrid bio-metal that made the fusion between Fae magic and human tech possible, giving creatures the means to create an entire artificial continent on Earth. ¡°What if we just kept the glowing mushrooms, hmm?¡± She said with amusement, not like she was really considering it. ¡°Hrmm?¡± Soldier mimicked her. Rayshade glided to the window. Night was falling around them. He gazed at the silhouette of the forest nearby, at the tree-tops swaying. ¡°And,¡± Slyspore continued, ¡°we have to do something about these cold drafts. Maybe a heater? Does this place even have any insulation? Now that¡¯s gonna cost a lot more¡­¡± She was talking more to herself than Soldier, but the zombie turned his head to lock eyes with Rayshade. In spite, Rayshade glided across the kitchen again. The Slyspore shivered. Her attention didn¡¯t waver from her screen. Soldier stood suddenly, tossing his chair backwards. ¡°Half-Smile?¡± ¡°I¡¯m a ghost, bud,¡± Rayshade taunted, ¡°what are you gonna do?¡± ¡°Half-Smile,¡± Slyspore pressed, ¡°you need something?¡± It was too much for his rotting brain to comprehend. Soldier stood there, directing his gruesome stare at Rayshade. He growled low. Slyspore turned to look straight through Rayshade. Her brows furrowed together in a frown, her eyes jumping from wall to ceiling but never seeing anything. Something deflated a little more within Rayshade. He had spent most of his afterlife in isolation, convincing himself that it was because it was safer that way. Somehow, being this close to an actual person after so long, and having said person not even sense his presence, hurt more than he liked to admit. Rayshade made sure to express the strain in his voice. ¡°This is really what you want, Soldier? To have our home colonized by strangers? To be this Necromancer¡¯s sidekick?¡± ¡°Hraf-Smrr.¡± ¡°A new name doesn¡¯t change what you are.¡± ¡°Brarf.¡± ¡°Do you see the way she looks at you?¡± Slyspore was watching Soldier with pity. As if on cue, she said: ¡°I know you must be worried. I haven¡¯t forgotten about your case. I promise once the electric and insulation problem is settled, I will work on helping you. I promised.¡± Rayshade laughed. ¡°She can¡¯t help us when she doesn¡¯t even know half the problem, Soldier. What kind of Necromancer can¡¯t see ghosts? Besides, after she¡¯s sorted out the insulation, there¡¯ll be other problems. Endless problems with this House. It¡¯s a mess. But it was our mess before she came along.¡± Soldier hung his head. Confused. Irritated. Rayshade hoped so. ¡°Hey,¡± Slyspore said, her tone so gentle it made Rayshade envy his body. ¡°Don¡¯t despair. I¡¯ll find who did this to you. All hope isn¡¯t lost as long as you remember that someone loved you very much to break the laws of Necromancy for you. Their methods were a bit questionable, but I know it was out of love. We¡¯ll find them together.¡± ¡°Hope,¡± Rayshade spat the word with bitterness. She was giving a zombie hope. He had long abandoned the sentiment, his own memories being so far gone that the words on his grave tree were the only reminder of his name, his identity. Let alone remembering people who were in his life. Nobody visited his grave. It was logical to assume he had no one. Slyspore took Soldier¡¯s green hands, caked with blood and purple flesh, in her own. ¡°Never thought I¡¯d say this to a zombie but, you have me, alright? You¡¯re not alone. You¡¯re a good friend. And we¡¯d be great landlords together, I know it.¡± Rayshade glided out of the kitchen before he heard any more of her sorry speech. 7. Arro Simple. That was the word Arro would use to describe the job. The neighbourhood was simply boring, its basic houses nestled between a motley assortment of trees and bush. Perhaps the most eye-catching thing would have been the forest cemetery. Shane was a simple young man. It was not a grand feat to make note of his daily routines. In fact, Arro felt rather insulted at how easy it was. There were multiple opportune moments where Arro could strike. Shane spent most of his hours alone in the backroom of the arcade, fidgeting with rejected games or listening to something on his oversized blue headphones. He lived with his mother in the upstairs apartment. She worked out of town and arrived home late, which meant another hour or so for Shane to switch between endless TV channels and scroll social media. Arro savoured his findings, these days of studying his target. It was possibly the most delicious part of the job, but the anonymity and the thrill of a blow well calculated were strong competitors. If only his clan could see him now ¨C see the power they held, the kind of fear they could ignite in cities, and walk away from it Scot-free ¨C they would not have banished him. They would have adopted it as a way of life. He adjusted the hem of his dress caught on the bench he rested on, tossing a Greyleaf in response. A simple neighbourhood, he mused as he eyed the buildings shadowed by the forest. The sun was setting. The twigs in his hair bristled with slight impatience. He expected a call before long from the client. He expected to be in a bed tonight. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. His thoughts hopped about in his mind idly, his inner voice a musical of random words that occurred to it. Eyes closed, head tilted towards the sunset, he was in the middle of chanting the word ¡°simple¡± in ascending octaves when his cell phone buzzed. There was the message he waited for. He was surprised nonetheless, to find the address of a curious ebony home with the appearance of a mansion. At first glance, he had no doubt a faery owned the place. The roof had too much character, too much flair to be the result of human architecture. A lonely post-box occupied the foreground of the picture, as if it were there solely to help the house blend in. Arro thought those efforts didn¡¯t work. Only place available, came the next message. Owner just put it up for rent. Booked you for three nights. Arro sent a thumb¡¯s up and turned his attention back to the neighbourhood. In the distance, he noted the blinking ultramarine lights of the teleports dropping off Shane¡¯s mother. By the time she reached her home and closed the door, the sun had disappeared completely behind the trees. Directly opposite, the House of Slyspore garnered Arro¡¯s attention. With branches the color of ink circling around its four walls, it resembled an insect or an arachnid. He figured someone desperate must be living in it, desperate enough to delude themselves with rent. Arro was already thinking of how he would spend this next pay-check, meaning he had already ticked this job off as complete despite his victim still being alive a few yards away from him. This business was getting too easy. 8. Ace Ace and Half-Smile watched the man approach the House from the kitchen window. He walked up the pebble path briskly, as if he did this every day, as if he lived in a large black-wood mansion feared by the rest. They waited for his alerting knock on the door. Once. Twice. Then Ace rushed to the entrance to welcome him in. Half-Smile waited in the shadows of the kitchen, as rehearsed. The first thing that struck Ace was his scent: it reminded her of a freshly watered herb crop, or a tree sapling flourishing beside a roaring waterfall. He was craning his neck toward the roof, admiring the architecture, which allowed Ace a few seconds to take in his appearance properly. He was wearing a grey dress made of dull or dead leaves, hung loosely near his kneecaps. His hair was the untidiest thing she had ever seen; Ace couldn¡¯t tell whether the twigs was a fashion statement, or if he was simply an untidy person. The leaves on his dress fluttered as he moved in greeting. ¡°Miss Slyspore?¡± ¡°Ace,¡± she put on her best smile and reached to shake a hand. His grip was firm, his skin rough ¨C not at all as she had expected from the waterfall image. ¡°Grey,¡± he said. The shivering leaves in his hair distracted Ace. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± ¡°My name. Grey.¡± ¡°Oh yes. Mr. Greyleaf.¡± ¡°Just Grey is fine.¡± It had been a long time since this much social interaction, and Ace was rooted to the spot, unsure of what next to say to this stranger. She had forgotten everything she had rehearsed. That didn¡¯t matter; without cue, Grey walked into the courtyard, hands clasped together behind his back, eyes sharp in observation. ¡°You own this place?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Ace replied. She gestured to the symbol on the door. ¡°House of Slyspore.¡± Grey paused, letting his gaze fall on her. ¡°Slyspore,¡± he said, rolling the name on his tongue. Tasting it. ¡°And ¡­ zombie?¡± ¡°Sorry?¡± He pointed to something behind her. Ace¡¯s heart clenched. There under the kitchen¡¯s doorframe, stood Half-Smile in all his gory glory. There was no concealing him now. ¡°Err ¨C yes,¡± Ace began, weighing each word against their guest¡¯s body language. ¡°This is Half-Smile. He¡¯s sort of a co-landlord here.¡± Grey¡¯s hands went behind his back again. He looked at Half-Smile across the courtyard. ¡°He¡¯s dead.¡± ¡°He ¨C it¡¯s a bit complicated.¡± ¡°But he lives here.¡± ¡°Rarf,¡± Half-Smile said in response. He tilted his head, scratched his green scalp, all the while Ace tried her best to avoid direct eye contact with Grey. Finally, he said: ¡°Where are my rooms?¡± ¡°Er ¨C just upstairs. Here, let me take your luggage.¡± She had just finished her sentence when she saw that Grey had no luggage. ¡°I travel light,¡± he said, noticing the question in her silence. ¡°Of course,¡± she replied. ¡°First door upstairs. All yours. You¡¯re welcome to join us in the kitchen for meals.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± Ace felt Half-Smile¡¯s heavy presence behind her as she watched their new guest make his way up the staircase with the flair of someone attending a formal upper-class function. The grey leaves on his dress grazed over his calves as he did so. She wondered where he had travelled from, and where would he go to from here, and what business brought him here in the first place, and what manner of creature he was. She burned that train of thought immediately; she couldn¡¯t be a landlord and inquisitive about people at the same time. It wasn¡¯t in the job description, she reminded herself. In this way, being a landlord was a lot like being a Necromancer. ¡°Grr?¡± Half-Smile¡¯s growl was questioning. Did the new guest like his rooms? ¡°I hope so,¡± said Ace, returning to the kitchen. ¡°We did do a good job with redecorating.¡± Half-Smile¡¯s response imitated her confidence. ¡°Grr.¡± A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°And, the great thing is, he paid in advance. We shall have insulation before the next guest arrives.¡± As she said so, cold wind blew across the kitchen. Ace frowned at the feeling. The window wasn¡¯t even open. She looked at Half-Smile¡¯s serene expression ¨C well, as serene as a decaying face could look ¨C and wondered if these sudden bouts of cold had anything to do with him. Morning came. Ace prepared breakfast for two, after a very, very long time. Almost a complete lifetime ago, she remembered cooking for three ¨C sometimes four, and never tired of it. She found herself in a cheerful mood this morning. Everything was perfect in her mind. The light dribbling into the kitchen; the disquiet House now more homely, knowing her guest had slept well; the recent pay-check setting up the stage for the rest of her renovating plans. Even her fungus garden flourished enough to cater for this breakfast. The table was set and everything was prepared, there was just one thing left: Grey. She hoped he would join them for breakfast. It was almost 10am already. Half-Smile waddled in and basked in the sunlight. He set his mismatched eyes upon the food. At the two empty plates. ¡°I thought it would be nice,¡± Ace defended, sensing some judgment from the zombie. ¡°Don¡¯t you think?¡± He shrugged and lapsed onto his chair. They waited. Ace scrolled her social media feed. The top story seemed to be the count down to the days left for the CEO of MagiTech¡¯s networth to finally surpass 999 billion Amalgam, making him the first trillionaire on earth. A trillionaire who was also a goblin. Naturally, this aroused discussion amid the political spectrum. Fae and human alike, expressed their disgust or their support. Her eyes glazed over articles and captions to images. Fifteen minutes passed. Grey did not join them. ¡°Trarg.¡± ¡°I know. And the food¡¯s gone cold.¡± The sun disappeared a little overhead the kitchen now, leaving them in shade. Outside, Ace could see the neighbours chatting animatedly, routinely ignoring the House. ¡°I¡¯m going to check up on him,¡± Ace decided. She knocked once to announce her presence. When there was no answer, she knocked again for the sake of it before entering. The room looked like it had hardly been occupied. The bed was still made, the curtains still drawn. ¡°Mr Greyleaf?¡± She called into the room. And then remembering his wishes, she said: ¡°Grey?¡± ¡°Good morning.¡± With his arrival came that icy chill breeze. Ace turned to see Grey standing at the room¡¯s entrance, unchanged from the night before. ¡°Room service?¡± He asked. ¡°Er ¨C yes. Breakfast.¡± ¡°Great. I¡¯ll join you.¡± In stiff silence, they made their way back to the kitchen. She reheated their meal and set it before Grey. ¡°It¡¯s a bit cold in here, isn¡¯t it?¡± He remarked. She sat adjacent to him, noting how his eyes seemed to sparkle like sunlight refracting through trees. ¡°We have a bit of an insulation problem, but I¡¯m getting it fixed soon.¡± ¡°I see,¡± he looked down at his plate. ¡°More mushrooms.¡± Ace felt obliged to explain herself. ¡°I¡¯m a fungus faery.¡± ¡°That explains the variety of mushrooms growing in the middle of the courtyard.¡± ¡°I hope it¡¯s not a bother?¡± ¡°Oh no,¡± he began eating in large spoon-fills, as if illustrating how much it didn¡¯t bother him, ¡°on the contrary, I am fascinated. You live in a haunted mansion with an undead man. You grow mushrooms in an indoor garden. Of course, the obvious next step is to rent out your rooms.¡± Ace didn¡¯t miss the hint of sarcasm. But that wasn¡¯t what unnerved her. Something about Grey¡¯s presence, so close to her, triggered alarms in her mind. It was similar to the feeling of entering a forest ¨C surrounded by specimens of a foreign kingdom. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to insult,¡± he added. ¡°I¡¯m sure you have a lovely life here.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t mind me if I ask about yours.¡± A grin raised the edges of his lips. He played with the last few bits of mushroom on his plate as he spoke. ¡°Nothing overly exciting. I¡¯m just here to visit.¡± Visit what? This boring neighbourhood? Ace wanted to ask. Instead she opted for the amiable host route. ¡°And how are you finding the area?¡± ¡°Fascinating,¡± he said, and it seemed like he meant it. ¡°Wherever else can I get a warm delicacy like this?¡± He flicked his bowl with a finger. The resulting clink, the way his hands moved, reminded Ace of something. She couldn¡¯t pinpoint exactly what. ¡°I doubt other fungus faeries cook as well as you do. This was great.¡± ¡°Unfortunately, I¡¯m the last of my kind.¡± Too late, Ace realized how she had been lured. Again, she had that conflicting feeling; the inviting aura he had in complete contrast to the distrust she felt towards him. His eyebrows rose in surprised. ¡°The last of your kind,¡± he repeated. He waved his spoon in the air, gesturing to the House. ¡°And this place ¡­ inherited?¡± Ace only nodded, regretting this entire conversation. The temperature fell once again, making Ace shiver. It had never been this cold before, for so long. This felt almost like a tantrum; the House had been angered. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to pry,¡± Grey said gently. ¡°I¡¯m just a curious person. It¡¯s why I was out this morning. Taking a walk around.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± This hadn¡¯t occurred to Ace. Perhaps he really was simply curious. In that case: ¡°Have you visited the forest cemetery next door?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve heard of it,¡± he said mid-chew. A small crown creased his forehead. ¡°It¡¯s sort of terrifying. Dozens of people, turned to trees.¡± ¡°Hundreds.¡± ¡°Even worse. And they all consented to this?¡± ¡°Well, everybody dies.¡± ¡°I mean,¡± Grey finished up his meal and set the bowl aside, ¡°did they all agree to be trees in a forest?¡± Ace thought about Half-Smile¡¯s grave tree. ¡°I¡¯m sure they did.¡± Grey¡¯s expression was unreadable. ¡°Well, now, I find that even more fascinating. Out of everything, people wish to be trees in their afterlife.¡± Ace couldn¡¯t see how that was consequential to anything. ¡°Are you a fungus faery?¡± She said with a laugh. ¡°I¡¯ve only ever heard my kind talk about trees this way.¡± He shared the joke, the twigs in his hair swayed slightly. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what I am,¡± he said. The way he said so, his eyes drifting to the window in some long lost memory, made Ace feel a tinge of sympathy for him. She suddenly felt guilty for thinking he was anything but a gentle soul. ¡°Half-Smile is in the same situation,¡± she told him. He looked at her. ¡°Yes, the zombie. How did you meet him?¡± ¡°Stumbled on his grave,¡± she said. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me,¡± Grey leaned back in his chair. ¡°He¡¯s buried in this forest?¡± Ace nodded. Grey nodded in imitation. ¡°It¡¯s cursed. Trees.¡± He said the word as if it was a slur. She repressed a laugh and made to clear up the table. Still feeling guilty, she said: ¡°I hope your stay here is comfortable.¡± ¡°I have no complaints.¡± He stood, and with a last lingering look at Ace, she heard him walk out the front door. 9. Ace Ace tried to pinpoint the kind of creature Grey was, if he was Fae at all. The twigs in his hair and leaves in his dress suggested a peaceful nature-type faery, but nothing about his manner reinforced so. From her studies, she knew forest faeries to be mindful and gentle. Grey¡¯s rough handshake, his cold gaze and demanding voice contradicted everything she suspected. Still, there were all kinds of faeries. And in this new hybrid world, there were also all kinds of rebels. Which is what she finally decided Grey was: a rebel against his kind. That didn¡¯t make him harmful. She spent the morning in her fungus garden, harvesting supplies with Half-Smile there for emotional support. He lay on the courtyard floor under the direct noon sun, basking like it was a beach. ¡°Four limbs,¡± Ace called to him. ¡°You have four limbs and they¡¯re all useless.¡± ¡°Grarf,¡± he replied, never changing his position. Ace could swear that he understood almost every interaction they had. Just then, an incessant rapping on the door filled the House. Half-Smile, awake and alert, fell back into the shadows. Someone¡¯s voice called out, muffled through the walls. Ace¡¯s heart pounded. The knocking didn¡¯t stop. Whoever this was, they were in extreme urgency. The visitor was a casually dressed woman, red in the face with tears. Ace recognised the look instantly: grief. ¡°My son,¡± said the woman. ¡°My son!¡± Ace instinctively opened the door wider. ¡°Please, come in.¡± ¡°No, you ¨C I need your ¨C I need to ¨C¡± ¡° ¨C hire me?¡± The woman shook her head feverishly and looked down at her feet, apparently embarrassed to be needing the work of a Necromancer. First timers always were, in Ace¡¯s experience. ¡°I¡¯ll just get my supplies,¡± Ace said. Half-Smile was still hiding in shadow. Ace could only tell he was listening by the sound of the floorboards creaking. She packed her satchel with everything she required ¨C her books, a vial of the Elixir of Cordyceps, and gloves for extreme cases. ¡°I¡¯ll be back,¡± she whispered over her shoulder. ¡°Stay here.¡± She hoped Half-Smile would get the idea. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Outside, Ace took a moment to gather herself, before laying out the rules to her new client. ¡°There¡¯s some things we have to get through first.¡± The woman gripped Ace¡¯s hand. ¡°I have money, I¡¯ll pay you anything. Name your price. Just bring him back.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not just that,¡± Ace said. She placed a gentle hand on the woman¡¯s whitened knuckles, assuring her. ¡°You need to be honest with me. There are laws to Necromancy. If you moved the body ¨C or if he died from a natural cause ¨C¡± ¡°Listen to me,¡± her voice was trembling. ¡°My son was murdered.¡± There¡¯s nothing I can do about that, Ace thought. But she refrained from voicing herself. She simply let the woman nudge her along to the scene. The boy lay on the floor of the arcade¡¯s backroom, face down, in a growing puddle of his own blood. The room was a small monotone thing, the ceiling hung low, and the light bulbs were so dim they threatened to die out. A cell phone with a cracked screen lied next to the subject. A name tag with the word ¡®Shane¡¯ lay next it, half submerged in the blood. Nothing had been moved, that was evident enough. Ace got to work. The Bone Tablet ¨C almost completely flushed out from resurrecting the cat ¨C felt like a feather in her hand. Just this one more, alright? Please work. She cleaned the surface. Retrieved the pen. Dipped the nib in ink. All in careful motions, no matter how many times she had done this. The subject¡¯s mother watched in mute curiosity. Curiosity or apprehension. Ace was thinking about how similar those two emotions were as she wrote down the subject¡¯s name. S-H-A-N-E. The bone pulsed with energy in her palm. Electricity charged the air in the small room they were in, clearing the Stench of Death and replacing it with a new sense: resurrection. Nature knew it; and in this damp little backroom nature did not escape. The music of the arcade continued along somewhere behind the door. The light overhead didn¡¯t once flicker. Nothing changed. But to this boy and his mother, everything changed. Shane first sucked in a sharp audible breath, and then opened his eyes. Ace was already rounding up her things. She felt the Bone Tablet simmer a few dribbling sparks of power before she buttoned her satchel over it. ¡°What happened?¡± The boy was disoriented, blinking, tugging on his hair, testing out his limbs and ligaments. He felt the floor around him, where his blood still stained the tiles. ¡°I died.¡± He looked up directly at Ace as he said this. She was familiar with this expression, a result of experiencing the most bizarre dream. She held out her hand to him to help him stand. He gripped it, touching her skin with uttermost trust, outstandingly unlike other alive beings. Shane was now a resurrected semblance of a human. Not entirely what he had been ¨C with the slightest alterations to his genetic makeup ¨C but something akin to a human being nonetheless. ¡°Your mother hired me,¡± Ace said. She put the vial of the Elixir in his hands. ¡°Drink a teaspoon of this at least once a day.¡± He wrapped his still cold fingers around it. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°And leave that undisturbed,¡± Ace referred to the mushroom stalk that had sprouted like an island in the pool of blood. Shane was looking at his mother; she stood transfixed and motionless in the corner of the room, clutching herself. Disbelief played in her eyes, and a rumble of various other emotions that Ace was not qualified to unpack. ¡°I¡¯ll be leaving now,¡± said Ace. ¡°If you need anything more, my house is open.¡± She left the noisy arcade then, not knowing whether she would get payment, and not knowing how to ask for such a thing in this delicate situation. The old Bone Tablet, though alarmingly diminished in its power, felt like an anchor in her satchel. 10. Rayshade The new tenant was a murderer. Rayshade had followed him, the Greyleaf visitor. Shadowed his footsteps the night he arrived. He didn¡¯t know what he was expecting to see ¨C perhaps a nasty habit with a nasty crowd of fae like himself. Maybe he had an arcade addiction; in some ways, it was like gambling. But Greyleaf did not go to the arcade to play video games. Rayshade had witnessed ¨C with his own two ghostly eyes ¨C Greyleaf plunge a blade into a young man¡¯s side. No remorse. Not even the blink of an eye. Worse still, Rayshade discovered that a cold-blooded murder was the second most dangerous thing the new occupant was capable of. Greyleaf was a shapeshifter. In all of Rayshade¡¯s experience with Fae, shapeshifters were not to be trusted. They were arguably the most lethal kind of fae. And there was no way to warn Slyspore. Rayshade was ¨C literally ¨C just a ghost forced to witness a Necromancer and an assassin play turns on the same victim. Not that any of this had anything to do with him, and his personal interests. He reminded himself that his top priority was the House. His home now inhabited by fungus and a killer and a deeply irritating horned faerie who thought she could fix all the problems in the world. Soldier, at this exact moment, was barking at Rayshade like a dog in a wild frenzy. ¡°Hraf!¡± ¡°You don¡¯t scare me, Soldier,¡± Rayshade spat at him, as he plucked a handful of stalks violently out of the soil. It didn¡¯t take much effort to destroy a bunch of mushrooms; they were a lot more weak and vulnerable than rose bushes. There was nothing Soldier could do besides howl and run about hitting his fists on the walls. ¡°The Slyspore is a disease to our home,¡± Rayshade uprooted a single stalk, making sure to crush its disgusting milk cap and let its remnants blow away in a breeze. Soldier¡¯s eyes looked ablaze in anger. It gave Rayshade maniacal pleasure. ¡°You¡¯ll thank me in a few years,¡± he told his body. He stomped his feet on whatever was left of the cursed garden. ¡°Slyspore can¡¯t fix us. Insulation is the least of her problems.¡± He admired his work, relishing in the beauty of destruction. The garden was no more. Soil scattered out of the pit, tossed about the courtyard and staircase, with fungal matter in the mix. Rayshade was incredibly pleased with himself. Soldier cried, or rather, made undignified sounds as if he were sobbing. He was on his knees in the middle of the sand pit, trying to cup sand in his hands. Rayshade felt no regret. ¡°What? You¡¯re gonna bury yourself there?¡± It was a joke. But Soldier received it as a prompt. The zombie began throwing the soil over himself amid sobs. ¡°Brargry,¡± he moaned. ¡°You can¡¯t do that,¡± said Rayshade, ¡°I doubt it¡¯s deep enough for a grave. Shall we try somewhere in the forest?¡± Light heels knocked from the floor above them. Rayshade looked up to see the Greyleaf murderer¡¯s eyebrows arc in surprise. He leaned against the railing and watched Soldier with what appeared to be increasing interest. Rayshade didn¡¯t like it one bit. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°You stay away from him,¡± Rayshade said, in futility. Nobody could hear him. Nobody could see him. But he did allow the anger to radiate off of him in icy waves. He felt a surge of satisfaction at watching Greyleaf shiver. Just then, the double doors of the House opened. It was Slyspore. ¡°Another unsuccessful, unpaid, under-appreciated resurrection well done,¡± she was saying. And then her attention fell on the scene: her precious Half-Smile in the centre of her destroyed precious garden. ¡°Half-Smile?¡± The zombie moaned in agony, tossing more sand over himself. ¡°Bragary,¡± he repeated. ¡°Bragary.¡± ¡°Did ¨C did you do this?¡± Soil nudged the tip of her boots as she took a step forward. She bent down to pick up the remains of a little brown mushroom. Soldier whined. ¡°Don¡¯t be pathetic,¡± Rayshade murmured to him. ¡°Well,¡± Slyspore said, ¡°this is not good. We don¡¯t have any supper now.¡± Rayshade wanted to say that she had much bigger problems than that when Slyspore suddenly caught sight of the other faery watching her from the first floor balcony. ¡°Oh ¨C er, hi,¡± she waved the little brown mushroom stalk in her hand. ¡°How¡¯s your day going?¡± ¡°Pretty interesting, I¡¯d say.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°I just witnessed your zombie shower himself with soil.¡± ¡°Yes, err, I¡¯ll have to clean all this up now. And start again from scratch. Did you see what happened, by any chance? I can¡¯t believe Half-Smile would do this. It¡¯s not like him.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t see much more than you did, I¡¯m afraid.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s fine. I guess we¡¯ll have to get groceries the old-fashioned way now, hey Half-Smile?¡± The last comment was directed passive aggressively towards the zombie ¨C who seemed to be in enough misery on its own. Greyleaf descended the stairs, his dress swaying. He stopped before the Slyspore to help her clean up. ¡°Are we going to the supermarket?¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°To get groceries the old fashioned way?¡± ¡°Err ¨C I actually meant going into the forest to forage for some mushrooms.¡± Rayshade couldn¡¯t believe what he was seeing. He had just destroyed a fungus faery¡¯s beloved garden to smithereens! Nothing was left of it. Yet she grieved nothing. Greyleaf looked as surprised as he was ¨C as a result of something else entirely. ¡°Why not just buy normal food? From the supermarket?¡± A chuckle. ¡°Many reasons. The insanely high prices for one. The low nutritional value for seconds. Plus, the forest has a much larger variety of mushrooms. Edible and poisonous.¡± ¡°Fascinating,¡± was Greyleaf¡¯s response. ¡°Shall I accompany you?¡± ¡°If you¡¯re up for some terrifying trees.¡± ¡°I think not,¡± Rayshade protested. He wedged his ghostly self between the two conversing faeries, to no avail. He waved his arms, directing all his frustration towards them. They shivered at the same time, hands full with the debris of mushrooms. ¡°I¡¯m hoping to get that sorted out,¡± Slyspore said, ¡°tomorrow.¡± Then, with a small smile to Greyleaf, she disappeared into the kitchen. Greyleaf lingered in the courtyard, his deep black eyes transfixed on Soldier. ¡°Stay away from him,¡± Rayshade waved his arms more, making Greyleaf pull the sleeves of his dress over his fingers. But his eyes never once left Soldier. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re up to,¡± Rayshade said to his face. ¡°But you¡¯re not going anywhere near Soldier. Not if I have anything to do with it.¡± ¡°Are you ready, Mr Greyleaf? Er ¨C Grey?¡± Slyspore, with her satchel and dark grey hoodie, stood at the sand pit. Greyleaf nodded once in acknowledgement. ¡°Great,¡± she knelt besides Soldier in the pit to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. ¡°Half-Smile? You coming for a little walk in the forest?¡± ¡°Bragary,¡± the zombie whined. He tossed a handful of sand in his own eyes. ¡°Er ¨C look. The garden is not gone. We can grow anything back, you know that?¡± Soldier looked up at her hopefully. ¡°Grag?¡± ¡°Yes. Grow. The garden is not gone.¡± Rayshade watched Soldier¡¯s dead face morph from ashamed to hopeful. He couldn¡¯t believe what he was seeing. ¡°Grag!¡± Soldier cried. ¡°Grag.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not mad at you,¡± Slyspore said. ¡°I mean, it¡¯s not good that you did this. But I don¡¯t hate you for it. We¡¯ll fix it together, alright? Will you help me fix it?¡± ¡°Fraw?¡± The hope was back. Rayshade hated to see it on the face that was once his own. Slyspore was truly evil. ¡°Soldier,¡± Rayshade told the zombie. ¡°If you go with them ¨C if you help her regrow this cursed garden ¨C¡± ¡°Hrarg?¡± Soldier said. What are you gonna do? Give me the silent treatment? You¡¯re tethered to me, remember? He was right. Rayshade was at a loss for threats. He searched within his fury and pain and feeling of abandonment for anything to hold against Soldier, but he found nothing. He floated at the entrance of his beloved House, watching his body leave with two people he loathed. 11 - Arro He was in a forest again, against every survival instinct he possessed. It was the same as it had been all those years ago. Towering trees housing hidden spirits who eyed him with judgement. The forest floor littered with more eyes yet ¨C twigs, dried leaves, moss, creepers. All whose spirits served the clan leader who had banished him. Arro tried not to think about any of this. Especially not his past. He was a different person now. A walk in this forest ¨C where he had never been before and thus unrecognizable ¨C shouldn¡¯t be so endangering. He supposed his anxiety was on display, nonetheless. Ace was casting him regular sideways glances. She did this thing with her eyebrows, arching the little end upwards in constant worry, and then straightening her expression out before she thought anyone would notice. She¡¯s trying to appear at ease, Arro thought, when her natural state is worry. He realized he was doing the same, right this moment. Being closer to his kin triggered every alarm in his body. ¡°So,¡± Arro began, ¡°is there a procedure to this, or¡­?¡± ¡°Er ¨C I just wander around and keep an eye out for fungi.¡± This was another thing that fascinated Arro ¨C this fungus faery and her lifestyle ¨C was so extreme to him. Who wandered around forests anymore? And this was relaxing to her. Well, he rectified himself ¨C noting that she still fidgeted with the lichen growing on her horns ¨C as relaxed she could be. The zombie followed along, keeping a close proximity to Ace. Somewhere in the darkness overhead, an owl hooted. They passed dozens of trees with names of the dead engraved on the bark. Arro tried not to read the names. Or look directly at a tree for too long. Or step on a twig. Or breathe in too deeply. Or ¨C ¡°Are you alright?¡± Ace had stopped walking to look at Arro, her eyebrows raised again in that concerned expression. Arro hadn¡¯t realized his fists had been clenched. His ribs felt like they were squeezing against each other. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°Positive, Miss Slyspore.¡± ¡°You know you can call me Ace.¡± ¡°Ace,¡± he said it, and let out a long, shaky sigh. ¡°Shall we continue?¡± ¡°Actually, err, I found our edibles.¡± She knelt on one knee and began plucking her find, some species of mushroom that Arro did not recognize. He watched her work with careful and butter smooth hands. It was almost hypnotizing, the way she plucked the stalks, examined the gills, and gently placed each find in her little jars spread out before her. Her world consisted simply of her and her jars. ¡°Tell me something, Ace,¡± he started. She responded without looking up. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°What do you want?¡± ¡°Err ¨C as in which mushrooms do I want to have for supper?¡± ¡°No ¨C no, aside from mushrooms,¡± Arro stepped forward and bent down to meet her eyes. ¡°What do you want from life? What do you desire?¡± This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Her fingers went up to the lichen on the curve of her horn. ¡°That¡¯s quite a large question, isn¡¯t it? I¡¯ll have to think about it.¡± ¡°Okay, make it small, then,¡± Arro pressed. ¡°Why all this? Why do you rent out your house?¡± ¡°Oh, that,¡± she laughed and shook her head. Her eyes drifted to Half-Smile, lounging near another tree. ¡°I suppose Half-Smile should take the credit. He gave me the idea.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°Well, there¡¯s this Bone Tablet, you see.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°It¡¯s very expensive. I¡¯m saving up to buy it.¡± ¡°And then what?¡± ¡°Well, and then I can continue with my business.¡± Arro didn¡¯t know what a Bone Tablet was, and neither could he guess how that could possibly be used to sell mushrooms. ¡°So how much is this tablet?¡± ¡°Goodness, it¡¯s a lot. Ten thousand Amalgam, at minimum.¡± ¡°And what is it, exactly? A ¡­ tool?¡± He watched her pluck another stalk and examine its underside with her bare hands. He wondered whether poisonous fungi affected her. And if perhaps this tablet was a way to ensure that she was invulnerable to poisons. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s just a tool,¡± said Ace. ¡°A very powerful one. Ten times better than the last one I had. And probably would last me a good thirty years or so.¡± ¡°Thirty years, you say?¡± He wondered how old she was. ¡°Where did you come from, Ace?¡± ¡°I do wish I knew,¡± she laughed again, a quiet, modest chuckle that Arro would never have expected from a faery with such an otherwise fearsome appearance. ¡°But you¡¯re asking about where I was before the War, isn¡¯t it? I was where every other faery was, you know. In hiding.¡± ¡°With your family?¡± ¡°Yes. But then after the War ¡­¡± her sentence drifted away, but Arro didn¡¯t need her to complete it. He remembered the turning of the century. The mingling of all things Fae and Human, leading to the discovery of Amalgam. ¡°After the War, my family separated. Free to travel, to sight see. I lived alone for a while, off-continent.¡± Ace went on. ¡°And then one day I just get this email that I¡¯ve inherited old land that apparently belonged to us.¡± ¡°The House.¡± She nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened to my family. But me inheriting the House meant that I¡¯m the last one left. So here I am.¡± ¡°So here you are, indeed,¡± Arro finished. Ace stood, buttoning her satchel closed. She looked at him, dark brown eyes filled with questions. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re alright? Ever since we entered this forest, you¡¯ve been a little on edge, isn¡¯t it?¡± Arro¡¯s fists were clenched again. Ace stepped towards him. ¡°Are you ¨C are you really afraid of trees?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of them,¡± Arro said before he could think. ¡°I just know their true nature.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Grarg.¡± Half-Smile reminded them of his presence. He picked up a leaf ¨C a Greyleaf ¨C from the forest floor, and held it up to Ace. ¡°Leeg.¡± Arro watched Ace connect the dots ¨C the Greyleaf, his anxiety in this forest, his dress made of discoloured leaves ¡­ ¡°Are you ¡­?¡± ¡°I am,¡± Arro admitted, although he didn¡¯t know why he was doing so. ¡°I¡¯m a forest faery. A tree spirit.¡± ¡°But your ¨C¡± ¡°I was banished.¡± At this, a slight inkling of fear showed on Ace¡¯s face. ¡°B-Banished? Why?¡± It was Arro¡¯s turn to explain. He uncurled his fists and patted his dress. A few leaves shivered. ¡°My clan banished me. They have too many rules to govern everything. They follow the leader blindly, without question, without any sense of individualism. I guess I just violated one or two rules and that¡¯s where they drew the line.¡± Her expression turned to surprise now. ¡°That¡¯s ¡­ er, interesting. To say the least. I had no idea trees had such complicated inner lives and social hierarchies.¡± Arro, despite himself, laughed. He hadn¡¯t laughed like this in a long time. Dealing with clients was never a humorous experience. Dealing with murders weren¡¯t much cause for laughter either. And what was the punchline? His own past ¨C one that he tried to avoid at all times. This fungus faery had somehow stepped into it with agility. She smiled at him right now. ¡°So your family has banished you. And my family has gone missing in action.¡± ¡°They were never my family.¡± ¡°Either way, we¡¯re both alone, isn¡¯t it? And what are we doing ¨C gathering mushrooms. I wonder what really brought you to this town. To the House.¡± He stopped himself there, before he could ruin anything. She couldn¡¯t know he was an assassin. Nobody could know ¨C that was the entire point. He was saved from needing to respond to her. Just then, his cellphone buzzed. With relief he opened the new text message. But his relief was short-lived. The message was the first of its kind ¨C words of an unhappy client. The boy is still alive?? What¡¯s going on? 12. Rayshade Night was falling. Rayshade counted the stars as they appeared, his mind wandering elsewhere. He sat on the porch steps, waiting for them to return. The forest grew darker a short distance away. He eyed the edge where the assortment of trees held out their branches invitingly. ¡°They¡¯ve been gone too long,¡± he said quietly. ¡°Best not to keep our hopes up, though.¡± Springtail¡¯s ears twitched. The dog lay on the grass, his head rested on his paws, at the bottom of the steps. If it weren¡¯t for his cold ultramarine ghost ectoplasm, Rayshade figured he would have been a handsome dog. Golden fur alight in the sunset. A friendly nature, but not high maintenance. Too bad. Rayshade preferred cats. A few more stars popped up when three shadowy figures separated from the trees. Slyspore and Greyleaf were chatting animatedly. Since when did they have so many things to talk about? Soldier followed the Slyspore closely, like a pet. A grossly loyal one. ¡°Had a fun time, did we?¡± Rayshade glided towards his body. The zombie cast him a stinky eye but didn¡¯t reply. Not even an irritated growl. ¡°Well, I had a splendid time, if you want to know,¡± Rayshade went on. ¡°Being home alone and everything. With the dog.¡± Springtail at that moment was sniffing Greyleaf¡¯s idle hands at his side. The faery shivered and shoved his hands back into his pocket, not the slightest clue of the dog¡¯s ghost trailing behind him. The zombie did not reply. He followed the faeries into the house, leaving Rayshade out on the lawn. ¡°Can you believe that?¡± Rayshade said. ¡°I¡¯m getting the cold shoulder. From my own body!¡± Springtail looked like he couldn¡¯t care less. In fact, the dog had fallen asleep. Rayshade muttered incoherent angry expressions under his breath, then glided inside the House, having nowhere else to go. The Slyspore was already cooking again, smiling and being amiable overall, like a proper host. Dinner was, of course, more mushrooms. Rayshade had a particular dislike for fungivores. The one intruding his house right now was at the top of the list. ¡°Grog,¡± Soldier spat at him, once the two faeries were seated and ready to eat. ¡°You¡¯re dismissing me?¡± Rayshade couldn¡¯t decide whether he was more surprised than offended. He carried his eyes over the scene; a dinner table set in candle-light, illuminating an odd pair of faeries who couldn¡¯t be more contrasting to each other. They leaned towards each other, carried conversation from one witty quip to another. It was almost ¡­ romantic. ¡°This is not happening,¡± Rayshade spat back. ¡°Not in my house!¡± He swiped his hands across the table, sliding away all of Slyspore¡¯s dinner efforts. Ceramic plates fell and cracked on the floor, glass cups tumbled over, rolling to a stop before the spilled contents of a cooking pot. For moments, nobody spoke. The two faeries stared at the mess, flabbergasted. Then Greyleaf said: ¡°Do you have ghosts here?¡± Rayshade laughed at that. He stuck his thumb at the assassin and said to Soldier: ¡°This one is clever, at least. Still. It doesn¡¯t mean he should stay.¡± And to conclude, Rayshade turned the cooking pot upside down. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. ¡°That¡¯s not normal, is it?¡± Greyleaf insisted, much too composed for Rayshade¡¯s liking. ¡°Ace?¡± The fungus faery was having a more appropriate reaction. Speechless. Terrified. Just what Rayshade ordered. ¡°Ghosts,¡± Ace finally said. ¡°Ghost,¡± Rayshade corrected her. ¡°Just one.¡± ¡°Grag!¡± Soldier chipped in. ¡°Grag!¡± ¡°So it wasn¡¯t you who destroyed the garden, was it, Half-Smile?¡± Soldier was looking directly at Rayshade with as much as intensity his decaying eyeballs could summon. ¡°Half-Smile? What are you ¨C is there a ghost here right now?¡± Soldier never took his eyes off Rayshade. ¡°Do it,¡± Rayshade challenged. ¡°I dare you. Tell the Necromancer about me. See how quickly she¡¯ll get rid of us.¡± In the patronizing silence while Soldier thought of his next move, something buzzed. A cellphone. ¡°I hate to miss out on an exorcism,¡± Greyleaf stood, hand in his pocket, ¡°but I need to be somewhere else right now. Work things.¡± ¡°You hear that, Soldier?¡± Rayshade said. ¡°The assassin said work things. You know what that means, right? Work. In the night.¡± Soldier didn¡¯t respond. Rayshade pressed him further. ¡°You know that means he¡¯s going to kill someone again, right? Make them end up like us ¨C¡± Soldier interrupted with a shriek, lunging at Rayshade with an ugly, battered, and bruised arm. Some of his bones cracked with the effort. ¡°Honestly, Ace, I wish I could help,¡± Greyleaf was already rushing out the door. The Slyspore was much too preoccupied with her zombie and the mess in the kitchen to see the other faerie¡¯s features distort with worry. But Rayshade noticed. It was enough to perk his curiosity. He followed Greyleaf out into the cold night air, easily escaping out of the zombie¡¯s grasps. Silence enveloped them, quiet like a graveyard. This wasn¡¯t such an exaggerated description, with the ever present forest cemetery casting long shadows over them. Even Greyleaf walked down the pebble path with a light gait, his boots never betraying his footsteps. Rayshade glided along quickly, keeping up his rushed pace. ¡°To the arcade again, are we?¡± Rayshade mused aloud. ¡°Off to murder another video game playing fellow?¡± Correct. He stopped shortly before the arcade¡¯s main entrance, hidden beneath the deep shadow of a tree. Rayshade waited next to him. ¡°Tell me,¡± said Rayshade, conversationally, ¡°how much do we get paid for this, hmm? Is it enough?¡± Greyleaf, of course, couldn¡¯t hear him. Or see him. He did shiver and shove his fingers deeper into his pockets, but that was it. Rayshade carried on anyway. ¡°Do you enjoy it then, hmm? Do you ¨C¡± Greyleaf shapeshifted. One second a man was standing there and the next second a woman. Everything else remained the same about her appearance; the twigs and leaves in her hair, the dress made of dull grey leaves, the black laced boots. ¡°Oh I see now,¡± said Rayshade. ¡°It¡¯s a game, isn¡¯t it? The rebellious kind. It¡¯s like a protest to you. The more you kill, the more ruthlessly, the larger the rebellion. Is that correct?¡± Greyleaf plucked a dagger out of her dress. She held it in her palm, turning the blade over. The hilt was made of twisting wood, spiralling around the metal and sprouting even more grey leaves. Of course it did, Rayshade thought. Her eyes shone with misty light. She walked into the arcade. Rayshade waited a moment in the resulting silence. He turned back to see the House, insect-like, a painting with black ink over a black canvas. There was nobody around. Unless you counted the ghosts lighting up the forest with ultramarine ambience. ¡°I suppose I have to be the sole witness to everything.¡± He followed her inside. She knew exactly where he would be; this wasn¡¯t her first time, of course. Rayshade stood at the door while she did it. The boy didn¡¯t have time to yell. He didn¡¯t even hear her approach. With one gesture, the dagger plunged into his flesh. A death blow. ¡°Marvelous,¡± said Rayshade while she wiped the dagger on her dress. ¡°Shane, is it? You¡¯d be glad to know there¡¯s a Necromancer next door. And she loves to fix things. She¡¯s an optimistic little bugger.¡± He leaned over the body, as if sharing a conspiracy. ¡°When do you think your murderer is gonna notice the mushroom over there?¡± Almost as if she heard him, Greyleaf turned, her eyes landing on the patch of dried blood a few paces away from the newly dead body. The mushroom resembling Shane¡¯s hair color and overall similarity, stood there innocently. Greyleaf frowned at it for a long time ¨C longer than she could afford to, Rayshade guessed. ¡°I know, right?¡± Rayshade said. ¡°A mushroom? At the scene of the crime? Almost as if ¡­ I don¡¯t know, a fungus faery was here?¡± He waited for the moment of eureka to dawn on the assassin¡¯s face. But only question marks remained, her frown deepening. What was so difficult to understand? What was she thinking? She plucked a leaf from her dress, and instead of letting it stagger to the floor, she placed it over Shane¡¯s back herself. He lay face down, his chest and arm covered in his own blood once again. 13. Ace Ghosts! Ace¡¯s mind whirred with implications of it. The cold drafts, Half-Smile¡¯s strange behavior, the general reputation of this House. The rumors were true after all. Ghosts. She paced in her room, her bed sprawled with open textbooks of Necromancy and other closely related studies. A specific page was open before her with an ultramarine splatter of illustrations spanning the entire coffee-colored spread. Ghost ectoplasm, said the caption. If there were ghosts at the house, surely she would have found traces of ectoplasm? Unless she needed a specific tool to see it? Thus her mind had whirred the entire night, and she flipped pages. An early sunrise parted the clouds in the sky. Ace was lost in the Necromancy textbooks when someone rapped on the door. Incessantly. Thought this place was feared enough to be left alone, she thought as she addressed the visitor. Visitors. A group of people in construction uniforms stood there. Humans, clad in netted neon jackets and helmets. A man at the front held up his toolbox for Ace to see the MagiTech logo in gleaming silver embedded on it. ¡°Insulation, Miss?¡± He said. ¡°Err ¨C yes, come in,¡± Ace stepped aside and they poured in neatly like a line of ants. She glanced upstairs where Half-Smile usually spent his time, hoping he would stay there for the duration. ¡°We¡¯ll be getting to work,¡± said the man. ¡°Should be done in a few hours. Big place.¡± ¡°Superb,¡± said Ace. ¡°Err ¨C would you be needing anything? A drink or ¨C¡± Another visitor stepped over the landing. The woman grabbed Ace¡¯s arms, her familiar red face pulpy from crying. Shane¡¯s mother. ¡°I need your services,¡± she shouted. ¡°Now! You must come to the arcade now!¡± The construction people halted their work to stare at Ace. She smiled at them amiably before ushering Shane¡¯s mother back out the door. ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Ace told her in low tones when they were outside. ¡°Again?¡± ¡°He was murdered. Assassinated. Why are you just standing here? You need to bring him back. Now!¡± She pulled on Ace¡¯s arm roughly. ¡°I¡¯ll pay whatever you want, godammit,¡± she shouted again, making Ace worry about the rest of the neighbours hearing. ¡°Bring your things, already!¡± Ace pulled her hand back. She felt a tinge of guilt at this action, seeing the other woman¡¯s hurt face. ¡°Listen,¡± Ace said, more gently. ¡°Listen to me. I can¡¯t get involved if your son is in some other kind of trouble to get tangled up in murder. It¡¯s not about money. And besides that ¨C my Bone Tablet is running out of power. I don¡¯t think it ¨C¡± ¡°Just try, dammit! He¡¯s my son. He¡¯s a child! You would let a child die, even though you have the power to bring him back?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not ¨C you don¡¯t ¨C there are Laws to follow when dealing with the dead ¨C¡± ¡°Shane has never been a troublesome child. All he does is play video games and be the best kind of son a mother could ask for. His dead body is lying in my house right now. Somebody wants him dead. And I¡¯m not sitting around waiting for them to get their way.¡± Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Ace didn¡¯t reply. This was way beyond her job description. The Necromancer¡¯s code strictly advised against dealing with all the emotions tied with the death of a loved one. We Resurrect, not grant Immortality. We deal with Death, not Grief. We remind others of the Inevitability of Death. We abide by all the Laws of Necromancy. Since moving into this neighbourhood, Ace had broken the code multiple times. Somewhere among the books on her bed, the code was written there in dark olive green ink, in a neat little box, above the caption which said: Necromancer¡¯s live and die by the Code. Unfortunately, the books never taught Ace how to say no to someone without guilt gnawing at her. Shane¡¯s mother seemed to have figured this out. She was looking at Ace with large pleading eyes. A single tear dribbled down her cheek. Her thin fingers were wringed around each other. ¡°Let me get my supplies,¡± Ace said. Her throat felt dry. She never disobeyed the rules before. We abide by all the laws of Necromancy. A voice in her mind chanted the code against her will. Her hands worked on their own, separate will, gathering her supplies, and buttoning the satchel closed. She took one last look at the textbooks sprawled in her room, falling deeper into guilt. Shane was lying in the same dim room as before. Ace worked on autopilot. She could carry out the task with her eyes closed if she wanted. The Bone Tablet had shrunken to an embarrassing size; smaller than a smart phone, as thin as a piece of paper. Ace was tempted to reject the job again, but Shane¡¯s mother bared over her from the entrance with ever-red distressed eyes. Ace wrote the name down. The powers that bridged the gap between life and death followed suit. Energy thrummed in the small room, a layer beneath the spectrum of visible light. And then Shane sucked in a breath. He sat up in a panic, feeling his body where his wound was quickly healing. ¡°I was dead,¡± he said, gulping down large breaths, ¡°again.¡± Ace wasn¡¯t paying attention to him. The Bone Tablet shivered, sighed, and disintegrated in her hands. A smudge of ash remained, dirtying her skin. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said Shane quietly. ¡°Do you need a new one?¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. You know the drill, Shane,¡± Ace told him. ¡°The Elixir of Cordyceps. Two¨C¡± ¡°Two teaspoons per day.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± and to his mother, Ace said: ¡°Now. This is the second time he¡¯s been resurrected. He¡¯s going to have some habitual changes. Different interests and behaviour than he did before. It¡¯s inconsequential for now, little things like drinking tea instead of the coffee lover he was. But any resurrection further will be worse. Eventually, he might not return as the same Shane you knew. He might not return as your son. So I advise you to fix whatever problem is going on. Because I will not resurrect him again.¡± She nodded in acknowledgement. ¡°Good,¡± said Ace. ¡°Now, I will take my leave.¡± ¡°Wait.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Shane is in danger,¡± the mother went on. ¡°I can¡¯t do anything about that.¡± ¡°No, but you can. You ¨C you could provide a sanctuary for us. Just for a few days.¡± ¡°What? I¡¯m not a bodyguard.¡± ¡°Listen. Shane was murdered. Twice. I¡¯m terrified out of my mind here ¨C¡± ¡°Mom,¡± said Shane. He stepped towards Ace and looked at her. She could still smell the Stench of Death on him, the pheromones he exuded from his skin, and the swirling dark grey clouds in his eyes. His senses were still settling down, like an old machine with a new part, so he had observable difficulty in forming a sentence. But whatever he wanted to say was important enough for him to try. ¡°Ace,¡± he started. ¡°She¡¯s gonna come back.¡± ¡°She?¡± ¡°The woman who killed me. I don¡¯t remember her ¡­. face. It¡¯s a blur. But I know I¡¯ve never seen her before in my life. I¡¯ve ¡­ I¡¯ve done nothing wrong. To anybody. I¡¯m innocent. And I¡¯m terrified of dying again. Forever.¡± Ace looked away to the floor. She hated guilt, and she hated that she felt it so intensely. She certainly wasn¡¯t going to be paid enough for this either. Her eyes ran around the room, thinking of anything to say. Go to the police station. Or I¡¯m only a necromancer, and I¡¯ve done my job here. Or maybe this is just how you die according to fate. Accept it. But she couldn¡¯t voice out any of these to his face. She couldn¡¯t ¨C There on the floor, a few paces away from the newly spilled blood, something shimmered in the light. Silver. Ace narrowed her gaze at the object. A shining grey leaf. There was no mistake. She had seen such a leaf on a dress before. What was that doing here? She walked towards it to examine it properly, not touching it. Two mushroom stalks now accompanied the scene, one surrounded by dried blood, and the other in a puddle of fresh blood. Shane was watching her patiently. Finally, she returned his gaze and nodded to him. ¡°You can stay at my House for the night. Both of you. But first ¨C listen to me. Carefully.¡± 14. Rayshade ¡°Hey, Half-Smile. Did you know the circus was in town? It¡¯s us! Hahahahaha!¡± The zombie was a tough crowd. Too bad, Rayshade thought. His sense of humour was simply above his level. You required a sharp intellect to get the punchline, an area where the zombie was defective. ¡°Did you hear me, Half-Smile? There¡¯s two humans living here now. For free. Wait till they find out the murderer is under the same roof as them! Wait till they see you! What a show!¡± Soldier was beginning to get skilled at ignoring his ghost. Rayshade was, at the least, relieved that Soldier still preferred to spend his hours in their shared room. He lay on the bed the way he usually did, before Slyspore came along. Some things never changed, and that comforted him. ¡°I think,¡± Rayshade said, floating by the doorframe and peeking over the balcony into the courtyard at the new guests. ¡°the mother is in more danger than the boy now. He¡¯s dead beat by tonight, again ¡­ but I doubt Greyleaf will leave the mother alive this time ¡­ only to have her son resurrected again ¡­ Oh what the hell ¨C he can see me?¡± The boy, almost as if he heard Rayshade, looked up to him directly in the eye. ¡°Is it possible? Or is he just sensitive? Either way, something is severely wrong about him. Never trust a Resurrection, is what I always say. The undead ¡­ they¡¯re a mess. You and I not excluded, Soldier ¡­ we¡¯re not excluded ¡­¡± Slyspore¡¯s voice echoed across the courtyard. ¡°You can take the room next to mine. It gets a bit cold in here sometimes. Don¡¯t mind it. And err ¨C please don¡¯t go upstairs.¡± The mother now followed her son¡¯s gaze towards Rayshade. Her eyes saw through him, but his was still fixed on the ghost. ¡°Fantastic,¡± said Rayshade. ¡°Slyspore has no idea how to be subtle, does she? Oh, just direct all the attention to precisely where you don¡¯t want to gather attention ¡­ makes sense, doesn¡¯t it? Please don¡¯t go upstairs ¡­ a warning which nobody ever heeded.¡± ¡°And you can join me in the kitchen for supper,¡± Slyspore finished with a nervous touch to the lichen on her horns. ¡°Shane? Did you hear me?¡± The boy blinked, finally tearing his gaze away from Rayshade, who was growing more and more uncomfortable. ¡°I heard you.¡± ¡°Great.¡± ¡°I wonder, who is haunting who here?¡± Rayshade mumbled. ¡°Soldier! You know you¡¯re stuck in this room until the humans leave, right? Soldier, I¡¯m talking to you.¡± No response. ¡°Oh, and look. She¡¯s regrowing the fungus garden¡­ how hideous. Appalling. Absurd. What¡¯s another word for disgusting? And those goddamn construction workers. They¡¯re infesting my house with pink candyfloss!¡± One worker at that moment was attempting to ascend a ladder to finish off his efforts in the ceiling. Rayshade only saw an opportunity. ¡°Know what, Soldier? My house is magical, don¡¯t you agree? Sometimes, it¡¯s so beautiful, it could knock you off your feet.¡± And he glided through the worker, buckling the ladder. Stolen story; please report. ¡°That¡¯s it!¡± said the man. He groaned on the floor. ¡°My back can¡¯t take this. Argh! I¡¯m leaving! I quit! This place is cursed!¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Rayshade replied. ¡°Miss! Miss Slyspore!¡± She looked up from the sandpit. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Miss,¡± said the breathless worker. ¡°Too many stairs. Give me one moment.¡± ¡°Err ¨C sure. Take a breather.¡± ¡°Miss. This house doesn¡¯t ¨C it¡¯s ¨C you¡¯re ¨C¡± ¡°Did something happen?¡± ¡°Did something happen! Miss ¨C something¡¯s been happening all day. Your house ¨C it¡¯s haunted, for real. Now I was just on my ladder, it¡¯s a sturdy thing ¨C I know because I worry that ¨C nevermind. I just know. And out of nowhere, the ladder falls. What am I saying? It didn¡¯t just fall ¨C it was lifted off its feet!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry about the floors. Might have to replace those lose things as well. Err ¨C do you want some tea? Or ¨C¡± ¡°Tea! No! Look, I know the world is different now, I don¡¯t have a problem with you Fae. I mean our very own Rimmer there is something of a warlock herself.¡± Rimmer ¨C an ebony-skinned woman with pink and blue streaks in her hair and a screwdriver between her lips ¨C raised her hand in acknowledgment. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s lovely,¡± said Slyspore. ¡°Tea for everyone, then?¡± ¡°Forget the tea!¡± Tan shrieked now, making Slyspore jump a little. ¡°Miss ¨C there¡¯s no polite way to say this. But you have a problem that can¡¯t be ignored with tea. There are ghosts here!¡± ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± Rayshade murmured, standing beside Slyspore. ¡°There are ghosts right here. Although he got one thing wrong ¨C this is my house.¡± He topped off his performance by heaving the double doors wide open, and then shutting them with a thunderous bang. All the workers shivered. Slyspore looked at the man. ¡°It¡¯s just wind. The wood ¨C¡± She was interrupted by Soldier, who had rushed out of his room in concern for the loud noise. For a moment, everything was still. ¡°Zombie!¡± someone yelled. ¡°Excellent timing, Soldier!¡± Rayshade beamed as he watched the workers abandon their stations, screaming and praying. ¡°That¡¯s right. Let me show you the way out ¨C yes there¡¯s the door. Good riddance!¡± He tailed a worker out the pebble pathway, in such a hurry to leave that he dropped a breadcrumb trail of tools and nails and screws behind him. ¡°And don¡¯t come back! Get him, Springtail, get him!¡± The dog wasn¡¯t bothered. ¡°Whatever,¡± Rayshade huffed. The helmeted people were already specks in the distance, which disappeared one after the other as they teleported. He saw ultramarine ghosts of birds chirping in nests on a low hanging branch over the House. He shook his head. ¡°Ghosts.¡± Inside, Rayshade was pleased to see the Slyspore finally looking solemn. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said the boy, Shane. He touched her shoulder lightly. ¡°I can help with this.¡± ¡°Thank you, but you¡¯re a guest here.¡± said the Slyspore, looking out the door at the darkening sky, ¡°And it¡¯s getting late. I need you to stay in your room no matter what happens.¡± ¡°Is that part of the plan, then?¡± Shane¡¯s mother asked. ¡°Will you ¨C I mean can you ¨C¡± ¡°Hold off the killer?¡± Slyspore let her eyes wander around the upper floors, seemingly randomly. But Rayshade saw that she was looking towards Greyleaf¡¯s room. It was empty at the moment. He disappeared during the day, returning only at evening. Rayshade followed him once to see that when he wasn¡¯t around murdering people, he was visiting various pubs and casinos. Distracting himself. Escaping something. ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can,¡± said Slyspore. ¡°If he shows up tonight.¡± ¡°She,¡± Shane corrected. Rayshade looked from one person to the next, savouring the confused silence between them. ¡°Oh this is good. Soldier, you¡¯re missing out. Slyspore knows! She knows. And now she¡¯s gonna totally die. They haven¡¯t seen Greyleaf in action. They¡¯re all doomed. Their plan is not going to work against a faery like Greyleaf.¡± He paused for Soldier to respond. ¡°Soldier? Hey ¨C where are you going? I¡¯m talking to you! Get back here.¡± The zombie disappeared into the kitchen with Slyspore. Was it supper time already? What a waste, Rayshade thought. He lingered uselessly in the courtyard, wanting badly to kick or throw something, destroy anything. ¡°No matter,¡± he said to himself. ¡°I have a feeling things are about to get destroyed. Their stupid plan is not going to work.¡± The last thing he saw of the new guests was the mother closing their room door and locking it. 15. Arro He hummed his favourite tune as night fell around the simple town. A slight breeze, cool to the touch, ruffled the leaves and branches around him. He missed a note, his voice stopping in his throat. That was a dangerous breeze. A warning. They were watching him everywhere he went. Fear prickled his skin. He pulled his sleeves over his fingers and walked quicker towards the house. The arcade was closed. Good. The job was done, and the client would finally stop pestering him. All that was left of the abandoned building was a shadow. Soon, the trees would completely envelop it. As they always did. He reached the dirt path leading to the House when he heard a second pair of footsteps tailing close behind. It stopped as soon as he did, but not before he heard the third set echoing. Everything went quiet. Even the wind stilled. ¡°If you¡¯re here to take me away,¡± he called out, ¡°I¡¯m not interested. Prison isn¡¯t my scene.¡± Five people stepped into the light. It wasn¡¯t tree spirits from his clan, like Greyleaf thought. But it was a threat nonetheless. His hand went to his dagger immediately. ¡°Relax,¡± said one of them. A larger, sixth shadow spoke from behind the group. ¡°We¡¯re not looking for a fight. We¡¯re here to make sure you¡¯ve done the job, that¡¯s all.¡± ¡°I have done it. The arcade is closed.¡± ¡°Hmm. We didn¡¯t find a body.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Listen,¡± said the orc. He stook a step forward so that Arro could see how large he was, the muscles on his forearms tightening. He swung a metal mace over his shoulder; it rang with the movement, slicing the air. ¡°You and I have something in common. We¡¯re both just doing our job. I understand you. You understand me. Right?¡± Arro didn¡¯t reply. ¡°Good, so we have what you would call an understanding. You were hired to kill someone. I was hired to make sure you actually did it, and not run out with the money. I mean, it¡¯s not a cheap task. In that way, my employee and I also understand each other.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about. The boy is dead. Get out of here.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be rude. Listen, my name is ¨C¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡± The orc¡¯s lower tip twitched. Arro watched the others around him shuffle their feet in preparation. He had to dissolve this now, before they got into the House. The thought of this monster setting his eyes on Ace uneased him. ¡°I¡¯ll bring you the body,¡± Arro told them. ¡°Give me some time.¡± The first punch came out of nowhere ¨C literally, it was as if a violent gust of wind hit him across the face. His eyes stung. ¡°My employee made it clear,¡± said the orc, ¡°that I had to give you a warning. It¡¯s nothing personal. You and I still have an understanding.¡± Another hit, directly on his chest, knocking out the wind from his lungs. Arro fell on the dirt, his dagger ready in hand. He searched around, but none of the orcs had moved. His opponent was completely invisible. Wind spirits. At least a pair of them. The third strike landed on the back of his head, and the night disappeared. Someone had put a blanket over him. Gentle, soft hands. Careful. Tender, in a way he had never felt before. Too tender. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. He opened his eyes in panic. Ace, holding a mushroom over him, froze. ¡°You¡¯re awake.¡± ¡°You were going to put a mushroom on me.¡± ¡°It¡¯s actually for this tincture. Your face is bleeding. And your palms. And err ¨C this one has healing properties. So, do you mind? Give me your hand.¡± Her touch was cold, but strangely comforting. Arro wanted to feel her soft palm on his cheek. A touch that didn¡¯t bring pain with it. A touch that wasn¡¯t the sharp thorns on a branch. ¡°Do you like your room?¡± Ace asked. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I¡¯m asking for a review of your stay. Err ¨C since I found you sleeping on the dirt outside. Do you not like your room?¡± Arro didn¡¯t reply. He didn¡¯t know what to say. He looked away, instinctively making note of where they were. Ace¡¯s room. Stacks of books beneath the window, revealing the night sky. Some lay open on the bed next to him, on a bizarre page illustrating the anatomy of a ¡­ tree spirit. He blinked at it, hoping he had misread. No, it was clear. She was reading about tree spirits. He looked about the room again, at a tall mirror leaning against the opposite wall. His reflection. Her reflection. ¡°I know you¡¯re a shapeshifter,¡± Ace said, conversationally. ¡°Tree spirits, notoriously free of form.¡± Her voice didn¡¯t betray any fear. Either she was really good at hiding her true feelings ¡­ or she wasn¡¯t afraid of Arro at all. ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± Arro said, letting Ace apply the tincture on her chin now. ¡°I know. And err ¨C the dress makes sense now. Grey leaves? You were afraid to go into the forest? You family was never your family? Hence, instead of flourishing, blooming flowers and leaves with chlorophyll, you decide the dead and dying leaves will be your symbol. Arro Greyleaf. You chose that name for yourself?¡± ¡°I did.¡± A brown and black furred cat pounced soundlessly onto the edge of the bed. It stuck its yellow eyes on Arro. ¡°That¡¯s Moss,¡± said Ace. ¡°She started hanging around here a bit ever since I resurrected her. They gravitate toward the house, naturally.¡± ¡°Naturally,¡± Arro repeated, her heart racing in her ears. Resurrections, Ace said. The books stacked nearby suddenly seemed to be the centre piece of the room. Its titles jumped at her. Exploring the Laws of Necromancy. First edition Necromancy. Inventions that changed the Netherworld. ¡°Did you know fungi are the key to Necromancy?¡± Ace said. ¡°They¡¯ve survived every major extinction event in history. They feed on dead matter, making all life possible. Their medicinal, nutritional, and ecological benefits are beyond measure. I am a descendant of mycelium. We all are. You must be familiar.¡± Arro nodded. She vaguely remembered that trees used the underground network of mycelium to communicate, to share and exchange nutrients. Vaguely. She was banished before she could learn any further. She hesitated to say anything, unsure of how much Ace knew about her past. There was a gnawing suspicion that needed confirming. ¡°Why would¡­ Resurrections gravitate toward the House?¡± ¡°Because of me. I suppose I¡¯m familiar. Comforting to them.¡± ¡°That zombie ¡­¡± ¡°Not mine.¡± ¡°Not yours.¡± ¡°Nope.¡± Arro shifted her legs away from the cat. ¡°Are there any other Resurrections around right now?¡± Ace didn¡¯t reply. She bottled up the remaining tincture into a jar and sealed it away in her satchel. She stood. ¡°There are two other guests in the next room,¡± she said, making her way out. ¡°A woman and a young boy.¡± ¡°Congrats. You¡¯ll be saving up enough to get that tool you wanted in no time. What was it called again?¡± ¡°Yes. The Bone Tablet. Anyway. I¡¯m going to the forest to gather more mushrooms for the new garden. I probably won¡¯t be back until morning. You should rest.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± The cat followed her out the door. Arro waited a few moments in silence. She listened for Ace¡¯s footsteps, a brisk trot across the courtyard, a call for Half-Smile ¨C inquiring whether he wanted to join her on the trip ¨C and then the front double doors closed. She waited some more. There was a matt black business card sitting on the bedside table, among an assortment of small bones and shells. Golden font gleamed on it. Ace Slyspore, fungus faery & Necromancer. Out of all the godamn places, Arro thought, she had to lodge with a Necromancer. Worse ¨C the same mingling Necromancer entangled in her own business. A plan formed in Arro¡¯s mind. She needed to finish the job, without killing Ace. Who had she said was in the next room? In a vacant, dark house? The owner, conveniently gone? A trap? No matter ¨C Arro would be quick with them both. And then she would leave and never return to this House. It had grown too personal to her too quickly. She felt the fungus faery¡¯s phantom touch on her chin. Ace had grown too personal to her. She was so tranquil here, sharing her little world with zombies and ghosts and mushrooms. Arro had enough. The courtyard was dark. Clouds shielded the sky and the moon¡¯s light. It was also deathly quiet. Half-Smile must have gone with Ace, for not even wood creaking filled the silent space. Arro gripped her dagger and headed for the next room. The cold enveloped her. ¡°Ghost,¡± she whispered. The door was unlocked. Strange. Definitely a trap. She looked behind her. The courtyard was deserted. She opened the door. They were asleep on the bed, holding each other. Arro took a large stride toward them ¨C and something caught her ankle mid-step.