《In Pursuit of Glory》


 [Prologue] Hypocrite

    And I¡¯m gripping the canyon wall, all ice-encrusted and slimy, my spiked gloves digging in about an inch or so, and I see it. It¡¯s across a bit to my right, around a sharp fang-like corner on another precipice, its golden shine a lantern lighting up the fading sunset.


    My cheeks turn red, excitement burning in my legs and arms as I hug the steep cliff. I take in a deep breath, exhale a misty ghost, and leap across the canyon fissure to the other side.


    I gasp on impact and resist against gravity¡¯s hooks. Despite my efforts I slide downward, my back arched and limbs seething from the strain. Snarling, I pull myself up the rimey rock wall, my face grating painfully against its bitter-cold sandpaper texture.


    All I can think about when I pull myself up is that the wind must be playful here, the way it¡¯s dancing with my hair. I¡¯m huffing and panting and a groan of ecstasy and physical shock erupts from my body. I smile openly at the golden egg. With my face washed with sweat, my teeth brushed with hoarfrost, my grimy hands encased in my black gloves, I¡¯m pleasantly presentable. They¡¯re ridiculously warm, those gloves, lined with arctic white rabbit fur. If they weren¡¯t spiked I might wear them everywhere.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Hello,¡± I breathe, my voice nearly dysfunctional as my lungs struggle to pipe the air through my throat. I put a gloved hand to my neck and slide the frigid wet spikes across my Adam¡¯s apple, feeling my vocal cords bob as I respire.


    If there¡¯s one thing you should know about me, it¡¯s that I love being alive. I love it more than anything else. It¡¯s something only a dead person can understand, and I feel myself forgetting all the time. Simple, trivial problems come up and you find yourself caring much more than you should.


    When you¡¯re dead, and nothing really matters, there¡¯s a disconnected clarity. And, rapturous, you think you know the secret of life and that if you had another chance you could live life wiser, better, really take advantage of the blessed opportunity. I¡¯ve seen it happen to everybody; no soul would hesitate to make the switch from death¡¯s desolation to hell on Earth in a heartbeat.


    But there¡¯s a secret to death, and I keep it with me. Always. It¡¯s never permanent, it¡¯s never peaceful, and it¡¯s always filled with regrets. But death, despite all of its shortfalls, can give a short respite from life, like a comfy afternoon nap. Death is Respite. It¡¯s a rest for the weary. And to all those people who wander in death lonesome and regretting their broken lives - always, without fail, cut too short - I beg them to take advantage of it. I tell everyone to take advantage of death, even when I can¡¯t bring myself to do so.


    Because when it comes time for resurrection, you¡¯ll find you haven¡¯t rested enough.

 [Chapter 1] Rapturous

    ¡°Hello,¡± I whisper again into the silence of the wind, filling the arctic void with my very own music. My voice is rough, raw from the climb, but still sonorous and stark. I narrow my eyes, taking in the unadulterated brilliance of the egg-shaped Glory before me. I feel it pulsing through me, like a loud sound wave, humming and resonating through each bone. I love to feel my skeleton this way and I shudder, bowing down to my knee with both hands embedded in the ground. It¡¯s like an x-ray you can feel.


    I wait for permission. I don¡¯t know what else to call it. The humming continues, and I wait, my muscles tensing despite their exhaustion. Then, in a moment of nothingness, where I see myself and I¡¯m floating above my body, I see the Glory. She¡¯s caught on the wind, like a sheer cloth buffeted on a clothesline, invisible and yet clearly present.


    I¡¯m completely naked, and swathed in the blanket of the wind, shimmering over my body like streams of crystalline water. The sun, still half-visible over the horizon, has gone out like a candle. Instead light radiates outward from the Glory all star-like. I¡¯d be absolutely entranced if I hadn¡¯t seen this all before, with different nuances.


    Glories are glorious. Maybe they¡¯re angels, maybe something more. I¡¯ve never seen them hereafter. But Glories give gifts, if you can see them and unbind them. With experienced ease, I move forward, traipsing in the wind and kicking my legs against different patches of air, gliding on a few warm patches of air - thermals - to reach her location.


    There are little streams of white wind coming off of her face, nesting around her eyes. It¡¯s so difficult to understand the Glories, comprehend what keeps them chained to such remote regions. I¡¯m within a foot of her and I stick out my hand, watching in quiet awe as the reality around her warps my skin, throwing waves of prismatic, rainbow-hued light over my arm and chest.


    ¡°Why are you here?¡± I murmur. I wrap my right hand around her jaw, running my thumb across her cheek and chin. ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± Tears are streaming down my cheeks, white and wispy, drifting into the torrent of air around her. I feel like I¡¯m her father, and she my child.


    ¡°Why are you so sad?¡±


    And with that, reality cracks. You can actually see it. Pretend the world is made out of impossibly transparent glass, and then starts to hairline fracture. It¡¯s so fast I can hardly register it¡¯s happening before I¡¯m back in my skin, staring at the golden Glory in my hands.


    I have no idea how it got there, but it¡¯s next to my face, and it¡¯s wet. It smells of tears, of my own mixed with someone else¡¯s. I inhale the scent of the Glory, savoring its otherworldliness, its abstract purity. Its warmth encompasses me, warming my aching soul after hours climbing. It¡¯s the kind of warmth that starts at your heart, the kind that feels both physical and spiritual, like when all your dreams come true and you¡¯re dumbstruck.


    Similarly, when the Glory disappeared from my hands, it felt like everything was worthless. Like I was worthless. Like my purpose had fled. Like I had killed my own daughter.


    Each Glory disappears in its own way after giving a gift. This one, over the course of milliseconds, exploded into a cloud of ash. A strong buffet of wind carried it all away in less time than the blink of an eye.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    And I wept, up there on that lonely edge of ice on the tip of the world, over a profound loss I could not name. And I lay down on this frozen throne, lost to the elements and civilization, basking in the sun and in the existence of such naive and precious sadness.


    I search after Glories for their gifts, their endowments, like everyone else. It¡¯s impossible to stay in my business without their constant improvements. But I looked up at the dark sky, tainted a rosy pink by a star left counterfeit in the wake of brilliance, and I wished with all my being to understand more than anything else just who the Glory was who left tear stains on my cheeks. I wanted to know who could make perfection cry, leave her chained to this frozen seat in forlorn seclusion.


    I wiped my face with the backs of my gloves, the parts stitched with patches of embroidered leather in the likeness of a tortoise shell. I steeled my eyes, fixed my face with a blank expression, and descended the icy plateau. The omnipresent wind now seemed foreboding, pressing against my back with ominous, winter-chilled fingers.


    I left as quickly as I could, shuffling the experience into the cluttered filesystem of my memories. I was wary of any unexpected changes as I made my exit. I remembered years back when I began to get feeling in my hair after an encounter with a Glory. Some gift. Incredibly useful, being able to feel with your hair, feeling the air around you with startling acuteness.


    On the other hand, it¡¯s been 3 years since I¡¯ve had my hair cut and I¡¯m not anticipating having it sheared again. It¡¯s akin to having your fingers severed.


    I first realized I had that gift when I snagged my hair on a tree branch and yelped. You feel through your hair, usually, as vibrations from the world around you travel down and contact your skin at the hair root. It¡¯s completely different to feel with your hair, unnerving at first. Perhaps still unnerving now.


    I made it out of the cat¡¯s cradle of frosty canyons and padded to the end of the ice-crusted ground to my car. It¡¯s black and inconspicuous, forgettable.


    Until you get to the bright blue streaks across the sides, and the fact that it has an engine big enough to crush a cow. And then you have my car.


    ¡°Lana,¡± I called as I came closer. Her lights came on, blinking rapidly as though waking up from sleep, which she was, I guess. Old habits do die hard. I patted her hood and the door clicked open, swinging just wide enough for me to slide into the driver¡¯s seat. Not that I would be doing much driving, but a car without a driver attracts due suspicion.


    Us two are a well-oiled pair with familiar routines and mutual understanding. I keep her filled with gas, she drives me where I want to go, and usually that suffices. There¡¯s not much you can do if you¡¯re a car other than trekking across the globe. It¡¯s a limited existence; I know sometimes Lana regrets it.


    But like me, even when she¡¯s cursing her own existence, I know she remembers what it was like as a shade drifting in the unseen plane. And I know that she doesn¡¯t take anything for granted.


    I leaned my head against the seat and curled up, my knees pressing to my chest. I didn¡¯t feel like talking and the emotionless mask I kept from peeling off my face expressed this message well. Lana was silent as she drove back to society, her tires sure despite the black ice and broken ground.


    If there was one gift I wanted but doubted I would ever find, it would be the gift of masking my emotions. No doubt I would be able to make a fortune in Vegas - or so I tell myself. But keeping a straight face can sometimes be so hard, especially when you want people to know how you feel. I want those around me to know what I¡¯ve done, what I¡¯m doing, and I want them to care so badly it causes my chest to ache a bit when I think about it. Heartbreak is real, you know; it feels like a downgraded heart attack, like your lungs are being pulled apart like wishbone ends. I feel a bit of heartbreak when I think about everyone around me, because I don¡¯t think I can ever make them understand.

 [Chapter 2] Verdant

    There¡¯s one part about me I despise, and unfortunately it makes up the foundation of my very being. I love power for power¡¯s sake, for its protection and don¡¯t-fuck-with-me-ness. It¡¯s not at all admirable. But why else would you spend lifetimes uncovering these cached, mystical balls of light if not for power?


    I sigh, running my hands through my hair. I start to braid a lock, giving up when the obsidian weave falls apart near my neck. My eyes, a cornflower blue, stare back at me from the windowpane, the night outside utterly remote.


    Unexpectedly, I smell the fragrance of a flower. I knew it hadn¡¯t been there a second ago. I look down and next to my hand, vining from my right index finger, is a bud. A moment later the flower blossoms, confirming my sense of smell.


    I tuck the yellow and orange flower into my shoddy braid and sigh. I¡¯m not sure what the flower is called, but I recognize its scent from somewhere. Scientists say scent is the best way that humans remember things - they¡¯re right.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    I hold my hand out to the side and watch as another flower starts to blossom, now from my middle finger. Little springy vines erupt from my fingers at random angles and when I tug on them they fall out gracefully, like the hair of a radiation patient. What an interesting endowment, considering the location I received it in.


    Lana continued to navigate the roads with ease while I practiced making flowers bloom. Or rather watched in confusion as they ceaselessly grow. After an hour, the drink-holding compartment between the two front seats was a trough for greenery and miscellaneous flora.


    ¡°You know how to make this stop, Lana?¡± I asked rhetorically. I rolled my eyes and picked at the little green nubs digging up from my skin. It was a wonder the plants didn¡¯t leave marks anywhere, but I knew better than to question the gift of a Glory. Plus I appreciated my hand not becoming a pockmarked mess from all the little holes the stems should be leaving.


    ¡°-Green thumb-¡± the radio blurted before abruptly shutting off. Startled and miffed, I straightened up against the seat, scowling. I looked down at my hand - now robed in viridian ribbons - then to the radio.


    And laughed.


    ¡°Lana, breaking my icy composure is always your specialty,¡± I smirked. I¡¯d have to get used to this gift.

 [Chapter 3] Affronted

    By the time we stopped at a rest stop in southern Canada, it was dawn. The benefits of having a self-driving car are indeed many, including being able to sleep while it drives. I yawned deeply, catlike, and stretched my limbs in the seat. Lana had pulled over by a gas station and then proceeded to wake me by blasting metal music. Which I loved, but didn¡¯t appreciate at volume level 100.


    ¡°Jesus Christ,¡± I growled, manually turning off the radio with a sharp shove towards the control panel. I slapped a hand to my face and wiped it down from brow to lips, my skin like a rubber mask, taught and denatured beneath the pressure. Plastering a neutral expression over my glower, I shambled out of the car like a zombie. Slamming the gas pump into Lana¡¯s g-asshole, I found myself slowly waking up to the Canadian countryside. It was chilly this morning, but brisk, with a sharpness to its scent that perked me up almost more than coffee. This kind of freshness is similar to that of Illinois, but its specific flavor is slightly more bitter, like a dry winter night.


    As I stood in the cool air, I held my right hand out in front of me and waited apprehensively for any kind of greenery to shoot out. I could pretend I had a clue after several hours of staring at my hand, but I still had no idea how the endowment actually worked.


    I fished a non-spiked glove from my jacket pocket and sheathed my right hand, thinking it probably wise to keep random plant growths hidden from the public. I then tugged my hair out of my jacket and let it tumble into the wind. The wind here was as jagged as the scent it carried, tossing my hair in one direction and then capriciously in another without warning.


    I pressed my lips into a line as the gas meter continued to climb, reading out an absurd heap of cash as the price of Lana¡¯s empty tank.


    ¡°Your mileage sucks,¡± I complained as I fed the machine my card. And I of course had to travel the whole fucking world with her inefficiently huge engine. I¡¯d gone as far as to ferry her across the ocean to Europe and Asia, where gas was still too expensive and Lana usually nearly crashed at least 10 times from having the directions of the road reversed. Being a car is not synonymous to being a good, safe, law-abiding driver.


    I slid deftly into the car and Lana revved up without skipping a beat, heading towards the border. I removed the glove, curious if greenery would grow while my hand was covered. I doubted there would be room for anything to grow in a skintight space, but this was a Glory¡¯s gift here. It didn¡¯t have to make sense.


    Thankfully, when I removed my hand, only a few little green nubs tumbled out instead of a physics-defying bouquet. I continued to investigate the new endowment in silence while Lana loyally drove home, only stopping at the border to greet security and at a small diner for lunch.


    I was annoyingly groggy the entire day and eventually had to tell Lana to pull over off to the shoulder by a forested area so I could walk around. I pulled off my jacket because we were finally far enough south for it to be above 50 degrees and felt the air rattle around me. I tasted it and smelled it and paced around the open area, dragging my right hand across the trees and feeling my bare feet on the mud and grass.


    When you¡¯re dead you forget what feeling is like. There¡¯s this awful numbness around you, an unceasing numbness that envelops everything. Perhaps it isn¡¯t necessarily that you can¡¯t feel, but rather a lack of stimuli. Respite isn¡¯t pretty, just a blank starkness. The only reference you have is that golden arch of a gate perpetually shining, and when you can¡¯t see that, you can barely even tell you¡¯re moving. That¡¯s why it¡¯s so agonizingly difficult to find a way out.


    I¡¯ve been told I look like a predator when I pace, like a caged cat. I think it¡¯s because I¡¯m always thinking, though there are a few other reasonable explanations. Anytime I¡¯m not thinking or doing anything else productive is wasted. I love life, and I sure as hell am not going to waste it. You can tell a lot about a man when he thinks. Whether he¡¯s serious, or just a dreamer, or sick inside and rotten. It plays out in his expression and the glint in his eye. You just want to listen to some people, others you want to stop yapping like little chihuahuas trying to hear their own bark. The ones with determination and steely resilience, with pragmatic ideas and strong morals and traits you can admire, with a sort of passive-aggressiveness that keeps even enemies friends - you can tell who has all of that just be looking at a man when he thinks and listening to him with attentive ears.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Where my hand grazed any foliage, tree, or greenish-brown entity, verdant tendrils started to sprout like confetti. A streak of green waked behind me; flowers budded and blossomed if my hand trailed for a moment too long over the forested earth. Suddenly tomatoes popped into my head. Why is besides the point, but I wanted one. And then, when I looked down at my hand, a small bristly vine was cascading down with little yellow flowers. I waited until the plant matured, with little tomatoes beading like water droplets from nowhere, swelling and nearly bursting with fullness before I forgot to take my hand away.


    Eyes wide, I grabbed one of many rotund, succulent looking tomatoes and held it to my face. Withdrawing a knife from my front right pocket, I sliced it in half, looking at it with fascination. It was still weird as fuck to see a tomato sprout from my hand in mere seconds like out of a time lapse and I wasn¡¯t sure it was entirely safe to eat.


    Then I realized it was an heirloom tomato by the maze-like pattern of its insides coupled with its slightly robust fragrance. What Glories are to man, heirloom tomatoes are to... tomatoes. Irresistible. I reached forward, the moment reminiscent of Adam plucking the vermilion fruit from the forsaken tree.


    ¡°That knife¡¯s serrated,¡± an edgy voice accused from behind me. A girl stepped out from behind me. I would have said something poignant had I the time to think. Her abrupt breach interrupted my biblical musings and caught me wholly off guard.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a knife,¡± I replied pointedly. It would be akin to holstering a squirt gun to pocket anything less. If I wanted a butter knife, I could go to a restaurant. And if I wanted to see the local hick wildlife, I could stop at a highway oasis.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not welcome on the property.¡±


    ¡°Whose property is it?¡±


    She shuffled her feet, glancing quickly from the knife to my face. ¡°My father¡¯s. And he¡¯ll kill you if you even think of doing anything to me.¡± Now her eyes darted to the tomato plant, then back at my metaphysical mask. I was wearing calm.


    ¡°How did you do that?¡± she asked softly, almost growling. You could hear the rumble in her throat, like a lion bellowing at the savannah. Her voice sounded altogether tight, strangled, like she couldn¡¯t quite squeeze the words past her throat. I gave her an icy, emotionless stare.


    ¡°What?¡±


    She pointed a slightly tremoring finger towards the tomato plant. ¡°I know for a fact that was not there five minutes ago,¡± she said crossly, her arms echoing her tone all mummied across her chest. Like she was locking herself into a sarcophagus.


    ¡°Well, I know for a fact I was driving by, thought this property looked picturesque, and wanted to take a break. This just happened to be there.¡± I gave a quiet smile and waited, eyes appraising. I could smell her trepidation, feel her twitching back and forth rhythmically to the tune of a nervous tick. I saw her drifting eyes, dusty brown and dull, set in a fair, plain, but not unattractive face coated in a thin layer of makeup.


    ¡°Would you like some?¡± I asked. She looked at me warily, her face flushed from her bluster.


    ¡°No. And why are you even driving so far North by yourself?¡±


    I huffed and ran a hand across my scalp. ¡°How do you even know I¡¯m alone?¡± I asked with a sigh of air. I loved how the small bits of vapor from your mouth can congeal into a tiny mist, an organic puff of cigarette.


    She gave me a look. ¡°You are.¡±


    ¡°Alone? Maybe.¡± I shrugged. ¡°And I¡¯m not allowed to go north? This isn¡¯t too far from where I live. Anyways, I''m headed South now.¡±


    She snorted. ¡°I doubt you live further north than Wisconsin. Nobody-¡± she cut off, her train of thought hurdling off track.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I can just tell you¡¯re not from around here. From the cold.¡±


    ¡°Okay, well, I¡¯m going to head out,¡± I announced awkwardly. She shot me another look, then shook her head at the tomato plant.


    ¡°Okay, whatever. Just - never mind.¡±


    Quizzically lifting my shoulders, I strolled back to the car. I¡¯ve never been born as a woman, and I¡¯m not sure I will ever understand them entirely.


    ¡°...Don¡¯t forget your fucking tomato plant,¡± I heard her mutter from behind. I wasn¡¯t supposed to have heard, I think, because it did sound absolutely crazy. I grinned despite myself and headed back to the car.

 [Chapter 4] Winded

    By the time we reached home it was about 6 at night. The sun was once again a hazy blurb on the horizon patchworked over by mismatched clouds. You could see the moon just barely, like a faint reflection on the sky. It was bright rather than the pitch black the midwestern world takes on in the deep of winter. I shucked off my shirt and felt the air convolute around my bodily pillar as I took lazy, loping steps to the front porch. It was an uncharacteristic 65 degrees, cold considering the sultry summer weather of the past week.


    But still I loved it, loved the sky and the wind and the stars just starting to pinprick their way into the night¡¯s tapestry. When you live about 15 minutes from any other houses, you start to see the stars as they really are. Suburban surface lights strobe around on industrial clouds wafting in from who knows where and before you know it you don¡¯t even realize you can only see the closest planets and the North star. And in the city, there isn''t a chance to see much of anything at all.


    The stars stretch like spattered drops of milk, dappling the deep dark cerulean glow of the void beyond. I¡¯ve always wanted to fly into space and see the world spinning on its axis, pretend that I¡¯m going to touch the stars.


    Lana didn¡¯t bother to stick around; ringlets of feather-light dust spun around the air as if floating on a receding tide. I couldn¡¯t see her in the distance.


    My cell phone rang, an incessant mosquito buzzing in my pocket, tainting my carefree moment.


    ¡°Ciaran,¡± I monotoned into the receiver, a little grate on the bottom of my phone. It¡¯s funny how your entire demeanor changes even though you can only transmit sound when you communicate by phone. I was standing straight as a board, my right hand falling into the comfortable pattern of fingering my knife: edgy. Ready to react.


    ¡°You¡¯re needed at Franklin Celestia. Hephaestus. Ermine infestation.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡± The line cut out. Labs, Olivia, and esps, oh my.


    I kicked the half-foot long grass surrounding my house and groaned. I had to get there without Lana, my missing-in-action car. Frowning, I looked up into the blob of sky. I could maybe make it in time if I ran.


    It¡¯s usually a good idea to have a spare car in times like these. Unfortunately, mine was driven off a cliff two weeks back and I hadn¡¯t found a replacement. Lucky me.


    I ran into the house and got dressed in suitable work attire, a slick black pair of slacks and a matching jacket. Underneath I wore a light single-piece shock absorbing armor suit. Not like it¡¯d stop bullets, but it was a regulatory requirement.


    Now the one freedom I was allowed besides all black - coat, pants, shoes, even shirt - was my tie. Not only did it not have to be black, some blessed moron had forgotten to include any specifications about ties in the dress code. And why would you restrict ties?Stolen story; please report.


    The last guy who wore a tie?


    Garroted his would-be killer with style.


    That would be me.


    Because I like to stay alive, and heaven forbid I let anything come between me and my way forward into the gates of tomorrow. There really is a gate. It shines bright, like the stars, even when you can only vaguely remember the stars in your memory, like in a dream. That¡¯s why the Waiting gather there, trying to hold onto something they cannot understand or remember. After you¡¯ve waited for enough time in the shadows, sulking and perhaps canvassing the abyssal plane for hopes of a way out, you start to lose yourself. When that happens, like moths to brilliance, you find your way to the gate¡¯s locked doors.


    The rest of us avoid it; it¡¯s pitiful to keep company with the mindless ghouls who''ve stayed in the realm for too long. Unless you¡¯re a New Spirit, and then you visit it as an attraction more than anything else.


    But it is possible to find a hole in the plane, a way out of Respite, a gateway to earth that you can keep using forever. Unfortunately, they¡¯re rare and near impossible to find. Even more are impossible to return to. And supposedly not even all of them go to Earth; I¡¯ve heard you can go to other worlds through them, but I¡¯ve never seen evidence.


    I thought back to the calm of the final desolation as I kept a steady pace, padding on through the night now dropping like the guillotine¡¯s ax onto the world, severing all light. The stars were glistening angelically as I rushed past the fields of grass separating rural from suburban-like a crisp green divider.


    I inhaled the scents around me, relishing the wind as it streamed over my body. I can move pretty quickly when I need to. It¡¯s been a while since I received the gift to move the wind, maybe 60 years. I have it written down somewhere. Let''s just say it became much easier to use that gift once I could feel the wind everywhere.


    You have to pull the wind into a tight spiral around you so that it resembles a gyrating spearhead, sharp and pointed at the head but tapering out behind. And as you funnel the air, it pushes you forward. The only trick is to move your feet fast enough to avoid a faceplant, the ingrained response to being pushed from behind.


    Or if you push the air fast enough, and angle the point of the spiral slightly upward, you can take strides 15 meters long. You''d need them to be assisted by enhanced strength. And thus comes the wonderful trick of combining Glories.


    And then you¡¯re gliding, skipping on the ground like a stone over water and breathing in the air as it blisters against your face because you¡¯re moving so fast. The only danger is that when you trip, you fall hard. And when you¡¯re moving that fast, tripping is assured.


    But all I needed to do was reach the suburbs in ten minutes, where I could probably find alternative transportation. Ten minutes.


    Ten minutes later, my mind was reeling from constantly concentrating, my stomach heaving from the vertigo of sustained vertical movement, my head aching from impacting the ground like a wayward meteor, and my feet and legs burning from temporarily assuming the duties of steel springs.


    Oh, and I had windburn on my exposed body parts, namely my face, but I reached the suburbs in eight minutes flat. To my chagrin, people avoided me like pestilence. The wind might imbue a haggardly appearance into those who ride her, but I was still a paying customer.


    After three minutes of chasing down cars while waiting for my taxi app to find a driver, I found a train station with five parked taxis just waiting for people like me: desperate, car-less individuals willing to blow money on a few miles.

 [Chapter 5] Pensive

    When I finally arrived at Cestex Labs, it was just before 7:00. Wiping condensation from my forehead and enduring the wet areas already soaked into my suit, I rushed forward in what I knew to be a dignified, confident stride.


    Then I smelled the flowers. I looked down at my right hand and saw a throng of thin, weedy vines trailing from it like Cthulhu''s whiskers. Two hours or so ago while on the way home, the magical green hand had either ran out of juice or I managed to turn off my newest gift for a time. To be honest I¡¯d kind of forgotten about it in the stress of getting to work on time.


    And here it was, creeping up on me from underneath my own skin. It doesn¡¯t get much stealthier, nor annoying. And I didn¡¯t even have a glove.


    Cursing under my breath while still wearing a neutral expression, I darted my hand into my pant pocket and hoped I wouldn¡¯t have to use it for anything. Or risk exposing my new competitive advantage. If we were ever stranded on a deserted island, I could surprise everyone by making us all food. I wondered offhandedly if I could spawn water-carrying plants like cacti or succulents...


    ¡°Ciaran, what the fuck are you doing? Get over here and look at this.¡± Veex - pronounced vee ex - called me over, his chocolate-colored hands waving and his mouth curving up into a savage grin.


    The lab looked elegant even from the exterior, with white, greek columns on either side of the front entryway. The place reminded me of a museum in miniature, perhaps 45% scale.


    On the inside was marble to complement the outside¡¯s seamless modern white, perhaps a kind of stucco, with both inside and out sporting brushed metal accents.


    I walked nonchalantly over to Veex, who was standing by a metal rail overlooking another room separated by glass. I doubted anything interesting would be so close to the entrance, but obliged Veex''s request and peered over the edge next to him. There, in a deep pit of multi-colored, fake ¡°natural rock¡± was a pacing tiger.


    I froze, because I''ve been a tiger before.


    ¡°Why is there a tiger in here?¡±


    Veex turned. ¡°Well, it''s a research lab. They probably need to record its behavior or something.¡± He averted his eyes as though there were something more interesting on the ceiling than a pacing tiger below. ¡°We should probably head over for a briefing,¡± he added carefully, like something was about to snap at him if he said the wrong thing.


    I narrowed my eyes as I peered into the tiger enclosure again, recognizing the caged animal''s irritation and need to embed its claws into something, to think and wait and prey upon something alive. It''s like locking a human into a sedentary lifestyle; at first it''s wonderful being able to relax. To sit down, watch TV, nap, get twelve whole hours of sleep, the works.


    It works the same way with Respite. After your first few life cycles, Respite feels like jumping into a clean, warm pool of water with a placid surface you can float on without a care. For those who stopped looking for a way out ages ago, they seize the opportunity to unwind.


    But in the end, the infinitely bounded cage of Respite, sealed with that sky-scraping, glimmering gate, perverts your rejuvenation into stagnation. The gradual drain drives you insane, like your brain is boiling. It''s gradual at first, but then ebbs like a steep slope towards the end, like an exponential function. And that''s when you''re conveniently picked off, like worms by songbirds after a storm, plucked and deposited into the womb of some woman to be reborn.


    If you''re sedentary for too long, you lose your ability to work, to think, to function, like a rusty machine. You''ve grown stale, like a child saving a savory bun for later, only to let it go stale, or the priceless jewels that are never worn.


    And that tiger was simply rotting there. You can tell if you''ve been any kind of animal before. It''s only humans that don''t read behavior correctly, probably an evolutionary adaption to save us from over-stimulating our emotions. I might not be able to sense it with my human body, but I can remember well enough old behaviors.


    I followed Veex across the foyer and into a hallway on the left, the corridor populated with numerous identical doors. There was a team of four already conversing animatedly, like chattering squirrels, at the center of a small area conjoining three different hallways.


    I¡¯ve only ever been one kind of animal besides a human. Usually you always reincarnate in the same species, unless your species goes extinct - in which case you find the next most compatible species - or there is some kind of mistake. I¡¯m not sure exactly how a mistake could occur, but they do happen, with myself as case and point. It¡¯s indisputably strange to be born a tiger with all of your memories as a human.


    ¡°So, as soon as everyone arrives, we¡¯re going to - well here come the stragglers now,¡± Eric boomed. He¡¯s a big man, built like a grizzly, with thick arms and a neck as thick as a steel pole. He¡¯s an unforgettable, imposing presence, and he¡¯s one of those people you want to listen to. That¡¯s some of what makes him a good leader and coordinator, besides the fact that he makes the perfect poster child for someone offering protective services. People take one look at him and think all their security problems are solved. People rely far too much on appearances.


    ¡°Sorry I wasn¡¯t early,¡± I intoned wryly. ¡°My car was MIA.¡±


    ¡°Shit, again?¡± Alice gaped. ¡°Even you can¡¯t let two cars roll off of a cliff in the span of a month.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t doubt his car-destroying abilities,¡± Rex cackled. ¡°Practically every one he¡¯s gotten has ended up damaged within a month or two.¡± While that¡¯s true, it¡¯s not like my driving is to blame. Let¡¯s just say that Lana hates when I drive other cars. Gives her less freedom since I¡¯m not filling up her tank as much. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Nothing says fuck you more than a wrecked car.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure how it happens,¡± I shrugged, a playful smile tugging at my cheeks.


    ¡°Wait, it actually did roll off a cliff? A second car? What the fuck?¡± Veex exclaimed. Eric simply guffawed and smacked his hand against the wall. I didn¡¯t feel the need to explain the reality of the situation; nobody knew Lana was intelligent.


    ¡°Jesus, Ciaran, they should revoke your license. Anyways, time to get down to business.¡± Though the team as a whole was still shooting me funny looks at my inconceivable car-wrecking skills, everyone quieted down to listen. The silence was disquieting; I felt that a research lab should probably have more ambiance.


    It¡¯s quite rare to find a place of silence nowadays. Omnipresent noise has become so familiar that pure silence is more a disturbance than a comfort. In this world, there¡¯s always something lurking around the corner; if your body thinks one of your senses is useless, it¡¯s cause for panic. The eeriness of silence, especially on a dark night in a closed off space like an alleyway, is that two of your senses - sight and sound - are blank feeds into your mind, while your escape options are diminished by the compact space. You¡¯re a prime target and even basic, infantile human instincts scream to get away to safety.


    ¡°So, first let¡¯s establish what our job here is. There¡¯s a group of people who are allegedly trying to steal corporate secrets from this lab. We are, simply, supposed to stop that from happening,¡± Eric stated, then continued after letting the information marinate our brains.


    ¡°Now you must be wondering about Hephaestus. There¡¯s hearsay that the team out to steal the secrets has two esps. That means that Ciaran and Olivia are going to be especially important to this job.¡±


    Olivia grunted and crossed her arms. I simply nodded: when didn¡¯t we have to go up against a few esps? I saw Rex check his belt, fingering his many knives and incendiary devices. Not that they would be useful in an industrial lab, but he satchelled them habitually onto the space just above his front pockets. They were a comfort when none waited for him at home.


    Veex had a few guns holstered over his body. He didn¡¯t need to cover them up when we were working a night job, so his firearms hung out in the open like fruit waiting to be taken, ripe and loaded.


    Despite the average person¡¯s expectations, Eric usually hauls his hulking frame to the Hub, where he monitors the security cameras he sets up to cover every square inch of the site we work. It¡¯s for the best: anyone who wants to ruin our video feeds, our way of strategically defending and collaborating, would be able to clip the wings of our operations. Eric will defend those feeds, and his defensive presence has saved many a job.


    Eric started to unload his surveillance equipment onto the ground; I knew he customarily set up cameras before the actual job began, so all he needed to do was connect all of them to his many monitors.


    Alice didn¡¯t do anything; she didn¡¯t really need to, after all; she trusted her body to take care of all the work.


    In this business it¡¯s exceedingly impolite to ask people where their abilities come from, or what their Specia Minora is. Really frowned upon. And unfortunately, most worldly myths and legends are utter crap. I¡¯ve never even heard of a Glory legend in my entire life, not to mention a single accurate tale about sphinx or djinn.


    The team started to wander around about fifteen minutes later. That¡¯s how it usually goes. We scatter like leaves in a gale, lacking rhyme or reason. Of course, it¡¯s not much use to actively seek out the enemy when you have a camera-prowling beast like Eric on your side, so we usually just make sure we¡¯re all spread far enough apart to reach hostile intruders wherever they reveal themselves.


    We all have little headsets over our ears that we can both speak into and hear out of. The feeds never turn off, so it¡¯s common to hear the steady, arrythmic breathing of everyone softly coming in through the speaker. Eric can manually silence the feeds, which he does when someone¡¯s engaging intruders, but at all other times we are seamlessly connected.


    I can hear everyone breathing now, the soft puffing out of their breaths, the quiet, dissonant echo of combat boots on the floor. I don¡¯t make sound when I walk; it¡¯s one gift being a tiger has given me besides the gift of behavioral understanding. You can stalk like nobody¡¯s business, then pounce with the strength of thunder and nail your opponent to the ground like a fastidious hammer. Careful, accurate, swift, brutal.


    On our six person team, 3 of us use night vision goggles. I¡¯m one of them, and they dig into the bridge of my nose and the area ridging my eyebrows. It¡¯s important to prepare for the eventuality of a power outage: you can¡¯t be caught blind unawares.


    The rest don¡¯t need them. When I¡¯m laying down at night, underneath the stars, nestled in the high grass encircling my property, I¡¯m thankful I don¡¯t have night vision. There¡¯s a wonder in knowing there are things you cannot see. There¡¯s adventure in the unknown, until you get to the end of the maze, the climax of the novel, and you¡¯re left with knowledge and little else.


    And then you have me, cheating the whole game, coming back to the beginning of it all with pre-lived-in lives and their secrets to tell. I ruin myself every time, ruin every new life I start. Nobody likes the child who knows too much, the one who has seen everything before and doesn¡¯t bat an eye at the incredible, the mundane. The child who smiles at death.


    When you¡¯re in this kind of business you often find yourself alone with your thoughts, stringing them along behind you as you walk in solitude. In these halls, sparsely lit and chilled, or in your home, staring at the ceiling and seeing things that are there but shouldn¡¯t be. They¡¯re there, underneath the cookie jar lid, underneath the layered blankets of your mind, and you have to suppress the temptation to reach out to them, to steal a taste. You have to shut parts of yourself down to do this job correctly.


    This is the ideal, of course, but I have dismal impulse control. Besides, there comes a certain point that the things you do - things once horrible, things you had to quarantine and prod with a stick from a hazmat suit - no longer seem so terrible, and you¡¯re able to fully be yourself, whatever that may be. Because if you think you can kill people, even when you remember the final desolation is only a dumping ground scheduled to be recycled, and remain unchanged, you¡¯re wrong. At least I¡¯ve undergone this metamorphosis long enough ago to forget what it is I¡¯m missing.


    I¡¯m walking along the hall, and I hear Eric¡¯s voice buzzing from my ear.


    ¡°I¡¯¡¯m not sure what it is, but there¡¯s something funny going on around Alice. There¡¯s a kind of distortion on the camera in hallway AB-7, but I can¡¯t see anyone. Be careful. All of you. Esps are nothing to laugh at.¡± I wondered what kind of esps were going to come. There are all sorts, like ice cream, different flavors branching from core sects of chocolate, vanilla, mint.


    It¡¯s not even worth pretending you know anything definitive about esps because the term is an umbrella to describe anyone with psychic abilities. I could be considered an esp. Even Alice could be considered an esp.


    And then I heard the noise. Quiet, but discernable. I looked up, studying the open vent above me. Eyes narrowing, my voice was a whisper as I spoke.


    ¡°I hear something in the vents.¡± The line went dead and I dodged, instinctively, my body reacting to the wind¡¯s parting. The assault didn¡¯t stop and I grabbed a focused, muscled arm and flipped it to the side, disengaging myself.


    So, it had begun.

 [Chapter 6] Evasive

    I sidestepped as a burp of fire exploded outward, singing the hairs on the back of my hands. I snarled from the pain of my hairs crackling, crisp as charred meat, flaking upward. My knife was in my right hand with vines entwined around it, the tendrils stemming from my clenched fingers. It didn¡¯t matter at the moment that they were exposed since I had one goal in mind.


    I retaliated by leaping forward, slamming a sudden gale of wind against my own back to rocket forward. My assailant, a medium-sized man dressed in a jokingly cliched black, didn¡¯t have time to react as I catapulted toward him head first. As I went by, my mouth grazed his neck, and I used my Needles to inject him with venom.


    My Needles are two incredibly sharp, needle-like teeth as hard as steel. They¡¯re located to the inside of my canines, just next to the gum line, and have bi-jointed muscled appendages that rocket them forward first down to clear my teeth and then out beyond my mouth. If I had to compare them to anything, I¡¯d say they¡¯re like spider mandibles. But before you flip a shit and gag, they don¡¯t look like spider mandibles, but more like little pink, slimy, spiked worms... I really need to find a better comparison. Jesus, eloquence isn¡¯t one of my strong suits.


    I removed my twin icicle-esque-fangs before he probably even registered they had pierced his skin. Momentum carried me several feet away diagonally into the hallway wall and I gasped as I impacted its surface. My assailant held up a hand and I recognized the gesture his hand made, like pushing a wave of air forward.


    He looked deeply perturbed when nothing happened. I walked toward him slowly, watching him back away as he repeatedly failed to conjure up the fire he had grown dependent upon. I gave him a grim smile, then jumped forward, seized his neck in my left hand, constricted, and knocked him out with a blow of my knife¡¯s hilt to the head.


    He slumped to the floor, very much alive, and very much unable to play with fire for the next few days.


    So he was one of the two esps that were supposedly going to break in. I didn¡¯t trust the intel, but at least however many esps were supposed to come were one less. Usually esps came in much bigger packs than two, like wolves. Ravenous, pooling their resources for big game.


    ¡°-just finished up. The guy was a fire spinner, right Ciaran?¡± Eric crackled in through the headpiece.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I replied quickly, still a bit out of breath.


    Eric continued, his voice clearer after the signal stabilized. ¡°Rex already engaged another intruder.¡±


    ¡°Not an esp, so it was easy,¡± Rex replied, his lilting accent jovial. He loves using his guns, Rex does. Can¡¯t use them in the ways he wants in any normal profession.


    ¡°No other sightings,¡± Alice replied before I had the chance to ask. ¡°Olivia thought she sensed something, but that¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for the update,¡± I replied. It irked me that Rex finished off his opponent before I did, but then again it was easy to mow someone down in a stream of well-aimed bullets, especially if they weren¡¯t an esp. It must have been a planned, simultaneous attack. I wondered if there was a mother-queen esp coordinating from afar.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    I grabbed a packet of zip ties from my inside jacket pocket and bonded the man¡¯s hands and feet together so he would be useless if he woke up. He already was severely hindered without his fire, but anyone can hold a gun and get a lucky shot. It¡¯s best not to take risks.


    ¡°The target you took down is neutralized, right, Ciaran?¡± Eric asked. The team knew I somehow could lock down esp abilities, though they didn¡¯t know how. For all Eric knew, I had to simply touch the fire spinner and he¡¯d become impotent.


    What they didn¡¯t know wouldn¡¯t kill them.


    ¡°Yes.¡± I smiled coolly at a nearby camera, a tiny box hidden nicely in the corner of a hallway that branched into two sectors. ¡°He won¡¯t be using any of his familiar tricks for a few days at least.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Veex added. ¡°I hate fire spinners. Freakin¡¯ torched my boxers last time I encountered a group of them.¡± The team snickered and then quieted down as everyone resumed their quiet patrols of the lab.


    ¡°What exactly are we guarding, Eric? It¡¯s probably classified, but, um,¡± Alice wondered out loud, pausing to gather her thoughts. ¡°I¡¯m kind of curious.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, but it¡¯s probably not some piece of data. That¡¯d be a stupid reason to call us here.¡± Eric laughed dryly. It¡¯s a running joke that people call us instead of much-needed cyber security pros. People don¡¯t get that you need a good cyber security pro to deal with a cracker. Sure, we can watch your computer, but we can¡¯t protect it from remote attacks.


    Actually, Olivia could, but cyber security¡¯s not her job and she sure as hell is not doing anything extra. Her philosophy is to do the bare minimum, a frame of mind which normally deposits people in the overflowing trash heap of dead-end, low-wage jobs. By grace of fate, she¡¯s been able to get by on her absurdly powerful ¡°minimum¡± her entire life, unlike the rest of us who have to give a shit. Lucky her. Can¡¯t say I¡¯m not curious to see what kind of power she can pack when she can bring herself to care. I definitely wouldn¡¯t want to be on the receiving side of it.


    ¡°You all saw that tiger,¡± Eric reminded us in that tone he uses when he implies we¡¯re all mentally challenged. ¡°Maybe we¡¯re protecting some rare animal or genetically modified organism being held in the lab for a day. Either way, we¡¯re just supposed to incapacitate any and all intruders.¡±


    ¡°Incapacitate...?¡± Rex said slowly, questioningly, like the word was bitter and slippery.


    ¡°That or kill,¡± Eric said dismissively. Cream or sugar? It sounded so nonchalant from their lips, so unimportant. Knock someone out or kill him, almost like the two are the same. In a way they are: knock someone out and he¡¯s sleeping for a day, kill someone and he¡¯s sleeping for years, but he¡¯ll wake up regardless into the light of the world. He¡¯ll wake up on Earth, past the land dominated by the blinding gate, awake and alive. It¡¯s a matter of when and where, after all. Everyone dies, everyone enters the desolation of Respite eventually.


    I¡¯m not sure why I care, but I do. I don¡¯t like to kill people if I can avoid it. I don¡¯t like to send anyone back to the grave any sooner than necessary.


    Of course, there are exceptions to my general philosophy. Many exceptions, actually. There are true monsters walking among us. Some of them you can smell, some of them you can¡¯t tell unless they reveal the festering rot of their minds, let their brain-sewage mixture seep out, permanently staining their face until you can¡¯t take it anymore, the truth of the wolf in sheep¡¯s clothing. You see the blood on their teeth, their jaundiced eyes, always staring, and it¡¯s terrifying because once you see one you know there must be more, hiding, all around you, maggots lurking under still flesh.


    There are countless shades of monster, lurking all around, and the most of the ones I¡¯ve found fit for slaughter have been human.

 [Chapter 7] Black

    An hour passed without any attacks. I have to admit that being alert for so long leaves me jumpy, twitching at every little fluctuation in the air.


    The backs of my hands won¡¯t stop burning after that fire spinner brazed them, so I¡¯m rubbing them gently. It takes some of the edge off. The stupid vines around my fingers won¡¯t shut off and they¡¯re hanging like silly-string from my hand. Thankfully, the cameras are shitty quality and they don¡¯t generate an absurd amount of bytes, so I doubt Eric has any idea what the hell¡¯s going on with my hand. The low quality¡¯s a welcome arrangement for everyone: if you show all your cards now, an ally now might have the unfortunate upper hand if you¡¯re ever working opposing jobs.


    Then I felt a subtle difference in the atmosphere, a sort of haze, gently pressing down on my body, like little fluffletts of down you can barely even feel across your skin. I shuddered involuntarily.


    ¡°Does anybody else feel that?¡± Eric asked slowly, carefully, like enemies could be watching from anywhere.


    ¡°It¡¯s oppressive,¡± Alice commented quaintly. ¡°Noxious, almost.¡± I could see her little nose scrunch up in distaste.


    ¡°You¡¯d have to be dense not to feel it,¡± Rex grumbled wearily. I wondered if he really did feel the shift in pressure or if he was just full hot air. ¡°So what are we going to do about it?¡±


    Eric audibly sighed, then clapped his head to something bony, perhaps hands he had clasped together. I heard his skin smother the headset mic as he massaged his jaw roughly with irritation.


    ¡°Olivia, please neutralize the ominous air. Or whatever it is.¡±


    ¡°Why can¡¯t someone else? I know Ciaran can neutralize magic.¡± I scowled, annoyed but not a bit surprised. Though I couldn''t see her face, her tone said enough. Olivia always purses her lips when she tries to pass her duties to someone else; it fittingly reflects her irredeemable inner sourpuss.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t work like that,¡± I rebutted. ¡°Just do what Eric says so someone doesn¡¯t die from your incurable sloth.¡±


    ¡°Fucking really, Ciaran? You¡¯re so effing melodramatic it¡¯s insane,¡± Olivia spat.


    ¡°Jesus Christ. Seriously?¡± Eric laughed softly, the kind of laughter that precedes punishment. ¡°You¡¯re doing this now? Olivia, just work your fucking magic.¡± He roared the last part, to my enjoyment. The benefits of 224p cameras: voyeurs can¡¯t see your sadistic smile.


    ¡°And Ciaran, I¡¯m still fucking pissed at you for ruining yet another car even if I don¡¯t act like it so don¡¯t think you can go antagonizing Olivia without consequences.¡± I rolled my eyes skyward and tsked. Not like any of the cars I was issued were worth more than two thousand anyways.


    ¡°Sorry, Eric,¡± I replied astutely.


    ¡°You both better be,¡± he mumbled menacingly. Someone sniffed.


    Even after all these years, I can¡¯t stand assholes. So shoot me. Playing the unusual role of instigator, I intentionally coughed and rasped a certain name.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Olivia nearly reluctantly snarled. Nobody bothers to interrupt her brooding now that she¡¯s been set off; all is quiet.


    I fiddle with the vines hanging limp from my main hand to keep my attention stimulated. The willowy strands are surprisingly limber and I keep twirling them like bits of rope. I twined a few pieces into little braids, using some tiny, lavender magnolia flowers to decorate the green weave. I¡¯ve always found it easier to focus when my body is doing something physical. It¡¯s an outlet so my mind can fully function.


    Within five minutes, I realized I no longer feel any oppressing force. Despite everything I hate about her, whether her pissy attitude or the fact she wastes her ability to just coast through life, I have to appreciate Olivia¡¯s power in action. She must¡¯ve dispelled the root source of the oppressive haze within a minute for the pressure to have disappeared this far out. Impressive; she must have actually invested some effort.


    Then I stop, frozen.


    ¡°Ciaran,¡± Olivia purrs malevolently. My hand twitches involuntarily to my knife and I feel the vines spurt out of my hand to cocoon it. Such wasteful growth is a nuisance; its refractory nature reminds me of how much better control I have over my other abilities. I shove a maned hand into my pocket. I run my fingers not over the knife hilt but the broad side of the actual blade.


    ¡°And to think I thought you were that good,¡± I chortled. I looked around, though not at anything in particular, and held out my hands in a mocking gesture. ¡°How long until the haze is fully dispelled?¡±


    ¡°Not for a few more minutes. It''s not like it matters, anyway.¡±


    ¡°Olivia,¡± Eric snarled. ¡°It fucking matters to everyone else.¡± Olivia rolled her eyes.


    Alice, Veex and Rex all voiced their agreement over the line. Scowling, Olivia raised her hands in dramatic fashion, splayed her fingers wide, and dropped them down. They seemed to meet resistance: either she was pushing against the haze, or, more likely, indulging in a dramatic flourish. Either way, though the haze had already dissipated around the general area, I could still sense it lifting from everywhere else, clarity spreading out in a radius like a movie explosion.


    ¡°Thank God,¡± Veex huffed. ¡°It''s like you just peeled off a layer of sediment from the air.¡±


    ¡°Because that makes perfect sense,¡± Eric interjected, matching Veex''s overflowing enthusiasm. ¡°Sediment,¡± he grumbled softly into the headset.


    Olivia narrowed her eyes as the line died down and glared at me. She wiggled her fingers and on the wall in front of us, just out of sight of the cameras, Olivia began to write. It''s this neon violet color that''s ghostly, fluorescent like a firefly. In this environment, a lab that could have passed for a deserted doctor''s office with it''s many lettered doors and stark white walls, she reminded me of a mischievous child drawing with a torn glowstick.


    ''These headsets allow no privacy,'' she wrote. At once, her expression turned from catty bitch to ice queen. Her mouth was a thin line, cresting ever so slightly upward, like the confounding lips of The Mona Lisa. Her eyes flashed violet from their normal hazel and her hair stirred ever so slightly, as though there was a vent nearby.


    I could practically smell the magic swirling around her, its current invisible to the eyes but undoubtedly tangible. Magic like hers tastes like cotton candy and nail polish, sweet but off, almost industrial. Nail polish, once dried, doesn''t taste awful, much like gasoline doesn''t smell putrid.


    ''If you don''t pay attention, you''re going to get hurt,'' the wall read. ''So stop being such a moron already. I think you and I are the most powerful people here by a long shot, wouldn''t you say?''


    I gave her a blank look, then walked over to the wall and started to spell out my own message. It¡¯s entertaining whenever I stumble across human behavior impossible to take seriously. Sticking my index finger into my mouth, I coated it in venom from my interior needle-fangs and spread it on the wall. The substance is corrosive; as long as it''s more potent than what it touches, it shuts all other magic down.


    Unlike Olivia''s glowing purple writing magic, my poison magic is milky in color and has the consistency of wax when dry. I could tell she had to squint to see what I''d read, especially considering I''d written with my left hand. I''ve been lefties and righties in past lives, but being able to write legibly with both hands is not a skill that passes down.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ''What does this even say?'' she wrote quickly, drawing an arrow towards the entire phrase while underlining ¡®say¡¯ several times for emphasis.


    I rewrote the past sentence. ''Maybe you''re one of the strongest, but me?''


    Olivia''s icy expression turned tundra.


    ''I''m not an idiot. I know when people aren''t using their full strength,'' she wrote furiously.


    ''You would know,'' I wrote in tiny letters to slow her down. ''Nobody uses their full strength anyway, so I don''t see your point.'' Again, can''t give away all your tricks to the same group of people.


    ''But you never use you full strength,'' she countered. ''Even when there''re five mages against you. Each time I see something a little bit different.''


    I dropped my disinterested facade and mimicked her icy composure. I''m fairly certain I pulled it off better.


    ''What the fuck do you want?'' I drew in cursive on the wall just to mess with her. ''This is stupid, because you aren''t making any sense and we''re in the middle of a job.''


    She gave the wall a confused expression. ¡°And,¡± I mouthed at her. ¡°We''re in the middle of a job,¡± I silently spat, making a sharp gesture at our location. It never hurts to repeat yourself when the person reading your handwriting can only make out half of what you write.


    ¡°Who gives a flipping shit?¡± she mouthed back. ¡°Nothing''s even happening.¡±


    Shaking my head at her dismissively, I threw my hands up into the air in a defeatist gesture and walked in the opposite direction. It seemed like she was trying to impress me, which was kind of hilarious considering her childish behavior.


    It''s a simple, unfortunate fact in life that the people we often want to impress the most we disgust in trying to impress them. Jesus that''s a mouthful. It¡¯s a vicious, unfortunate cycle where you stop being yourself around a certain person, one who likely frowns upon your assumed alterego. Of course, ¡°being yourself¡± for Olivia means being a lazy, insecure psycho bitch who enjoys roleplaying a cronie from Mean Girls. Sucks to be her.


    ¡°You wanted to challenge me, right?¡± I wrote directly into the air, setting it ablaze with a lightning blue flame. This time the writing was clean, like from a word-processing program. It usually is when I write with my mind


    Maybe this time she sensed something foreboding about my appearance because she stepped back a bit. I usually keep my intimidation factor locked up, especially after I mastered it as both a tiger and leader of several human establishments dating back to ages when literacy was a symbol of opulence reserved for kings, emperors, pharaohs. It also helped that I''d led a band of vagabonds once. Fun times.


    ''What are you?'' she wrote in front of her now, keeping the letters in the air with a bit of effort to not seem outdone.


    ''Human.'' I grinned savagely when the flames popped up instantly and she gave me a startled expression.


    ''Fucking sure you''re human,'' she traced into the air. ''Just like Veex is a vampire.'' A joke, since Veex lumps garlic on everything. Olivia sure loves her movies. I remember when Dracula was all the rage, half of the human populace I had contact with nearly convinced vampires existed after reading the novel. The vampire legend was sealed into their minds when the movie came out. Everyone kept looking suspiciously into mirrors, hoping to catch someone who didn''t reflect. I thought it pretty entertaining, especially when I could use a tiny bit of illusion to bend the light and erase my reflection.


    Let¡¯s just say I received an abundance of crazy glances.


    ''What''s so funny, anyways? You''re looking at me like-like I''m green,'' she wrote-snarled, her mouth curved down and teeth grinding like cinder blocks. She''d totally lost her cool and I hadn''t even done anything to her yet.


    ''It''s not you, just... thinking,'' I replied honestly. People tend to get pretty pissed when I space out. ''So you want to challenge me, right?¡± I repeated, parroting myself again.


    ''After this job, obviously.'' She swirled her hand and the words appeared in a spiral before they flattened out. The display was captivating.


    Then I set her words on fire and walked away, hands on my neck and elbows out in a relaxed gate. I heard her gasp behind me.


    ¡°What the fuck are you doing, Olivia?¡± Eric asked, boredom the prime factor in his voice.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± she responded testily.


    ¡°What news,¡± Rex snorted.


    Now, the average person might begin to feel a bit sympathy for Olivia despite the fact that she''s a dickish brat. Nobody likes it when one person is the center of nasty commentary or a rude departure. But honestly, we''d been working as a team for three months now, and there''s only so much a team can take of one squeaky, square wheel of a co-worker.


    I checked one of the wall clocks for the time. It was already 2 am; I highly doubted at this point that any group would try to break in, especially weakened by the loss of two people.


    That''s what I thought when, as though the universe enjoyed proving me wrong, I felt a huge physical force slam into my back. I didn''t have any time to think as I rocketed into the wall and felt the drywall dent beneath my body.


    Eyes wide, I groaned and began to push off the wall when, unceasingly relentless, my assailant backstabbed me with a knife to my gut. I gasped; being stabbed there is no laughing matter. Even today, with all the advances of science, a wound like that can easily be mortal. Most likely would be.


    I gasped for air with a snarl, funneling the wind into my lungs to help them expand after being pancaked into the wall. Nobody fucking backstabs me and gets away with it.


    The knife doing the stabbing in question was just about to disengage when I used a time-old trick: the pull through. Since I was already bleeding like a mother-loving fountain, I didn''t have normal, life-preserving reservations.


    Right then I was seriously thanking my gift of being able to numb pain. I usually don''t use it, because pain is there for a reason, but in times like these it''s the only way to keep functioning and trick your body into thinking it can win.


    Without missing a beat, I speared my hand into my stomach cavity to grasp at the withdrawing blade. Now, when my body is on the brink of ruin, I stop thinking clearly as a general rule. I''m against the wall, pinned between this rock of a man and a hard place, with a knife gouging my kidney and my own hand embedded in my abdomen, and all I can really comprehend is that I need to get my assailant and his knife the fuck off. I go into overdrive, my mind a dictator hijacking the democratic parliament of my decision making process with a violent coup.


    So I''m sticking my hand into my stomach with the slim hopes of disarming my attacker and wrecking his arm, but he''s already too fucking far away. But the dictator up there thinks otherwise, masterfully exploiting my day-old endowment.


    I didn''t even question the ¡°how¡± in the moment because it felt so natural. Out of my stretching fingertips, slightly out of reach, explodes a mass of thorny vines that grip the retreating hand and knife like a mass of barbed tentacles from a leviathan squid. He gasps and backs away, but I use my left hand to splash a section of pure oxygen all over his face. Taking advantage of the confusion, I ignite the oxygen with a furious glance of my eyes.


    I heard his screaming, high pitched, the kind of screaming people make when burned at the stake. I just burned his skin, though. I don''t have the kind of firepower to char someone to the bone. I usually use my gift of fire to cause pain rather than damning damage.


    My instinctual plan worked well; within the span of five second I disarmed the man with my thorns and had him clutching at his face in agony. I spun around, right hand still surrounded by pulsing interior flesh, and dove at my assailant, pushing off against the wall with my left arm and from the ground with all of my remaining strength.


    While I''m strong, that strength is greatly diminished when I''m on the verge of death. So I wasn''t totally sure I had any chance of success when I flew towards the man who had dragged me so far into the clutches of my fathers.


    My gasp of victory went unheard as I buried my teeth into his arm and locked my jaw. That gave me just enough time to take the knife from my right pocket and clumsily stab him in the chest, eviscerating his thoracic cavity with a miraculously well-aimed jab.


    He choked, a pitiful sound, eyes wide, and stumbled onto his right knee. He coughed and blood splattered my face with crimson freckles. His look was one of total, profound loss, of a man in despair.


    I know his pain won''t last forever, probably only for a minute before he meets his full self in the other plane and completes another cycle of rebirth. His memories both new and old will collide and burst to form something better.


    I try to say something comforting to him, now that he can''t kill me, but then I find I''m hacking up equal amounts of blood. Perhaps this man has already killed me, I think as I see spots that weren''t there before, chromatic and dancing in hexagons, then octagons, then squares, clouding my vision.


    The man lids his eyes, as though going to sleep, a blessing because it''s unfathomably disturbing to see a man''s soul depart from wide, naked eyes, to see the intelligence leak out like brain matter after violent head trauma. I find that I don''t even have a chance to say any goodbyes before I join him in sweet oblivion.

 [Chapter 8] Breathing

    After an unknown amount of time, feeling like I was drifting on the waves of some impossibly tranquil ocean, I took a turn back to reality. I could hear something beeping steadily, hear footsteps calm in pace and volume. I could feel an overhead vent blowing air on me and a touch of sunlight from an open window behind my eyelids. The scent of antiseptic and disease clouded the air in patches spinning off like sections of galaxy, or motes of stirred dust.


    Grimacing, I shifted my weight from the cushy surface of the hospital bed to my arms.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± I swore under my breath as a sharp pain in my abdomen exploded upward like a piping hot geyser. I began to pant, the pain so overwhelming that I collapsed back onto the bed without another thought. Eyes open, I scanned the room. I was alone and I wasn¡¯t sure where I was. Hospitals all look relatively similar.


    Disease has a particular smell to it. It¡¯s like when you¡¯re hunting in the forest, treading lightly, and you just know that there is a deer in front of you. It takes both intuition and focus to spot a disease, not to mention a good eye and a sense of smell. I can¡¯t diagnose people by sniffing them; I¡¯m not a cancer dog. But it¡¯s not difficult to sense whether or not something malignant is infesting someone¡¯s body.


    ¡°Ciaran!¡± I hear suddenly, the roar punctuated with a loud clap. ¡°You in there?¡±


    Moaning, I reopened my eyes and froze when I saw who was in front of me.


    ¡°What the hell did you think you were doing?¡± He articulated every word, his voice resounding. I was hoping he wouldn¡¯t find out what my ¡°part time job¡± was. Especially not like this.


    ¡°Um,¡± I began uncertainly. Since the situation couldn¡¯t become more egregious, I figured I had nothing to lose by telling the truth. ¡°It was the only job I could get that actually paid more than minimum wage.¡±


    He just stared at me, jaw set and blue eyes identical to my own. ¡°Are you kidding me? What kind of job involves you getting stabbed, then dropped off here without any information?¡±


    I shrugged, lifting my shoulders delicately. ¡°Does it matter? I just don¡¯t want to layer you guys down with med school bills.¡±


    ¡°Ciaran, I¡¯m a doctor; I can pay for your schooling.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not the point, dad; I¡¯m out of the house. I should be able to fully support myself without relying on your money.¡± Too many centuries of self-reliance have conditioned me to pull my own weight. His eyes pierce through my calm facade like molten daggers.


    ¡°God damn it,¡± my father exhales suddenly. His eyes look tired, his face sallow. ¡°You know how I felt when they brought you in, pronounced nearly dead? Nobody expects that to happen to their son. If I hadn¡¯t known what I know about you, you would certainly be dead. Nobody,¡± he gave me a pointed glare, ¡°normal lives from a wound like that. Any other hospital and you¡¯d be both dead and found a scientific monstrosity after an autopsy.¡±


    I shrank under his glare. He¡¯s always been exceptional at eating me out. People always say that children would act differently if they had parental experience. For most of the time my memory stretches back to, today¡¯s classic ¡°child¡± didn¡¯t exist. For the majority of humanity¡¯s existence, I, along with every other child, toiled from birth to death, expected to be an adult in miniature.


    Though odd at first, you learn to flow with your variable age after a few cycles. Now, this lifetime is the first time I¡¯ve incarnated into where the modern definition of a child is so carefree, unrestricted. So while I do relate with my parents on a higher level, having been a parent myself, I sure as hell am not above being their child. When you¡¯re a child, it isn¡¯t hard to act like one. It¡¯s instinctual, like a kitten stalking prey before it can properly walk. It¡¯s fantastic to have a family that can cater to your needy whims, to not have to worry about being among the statistical survivors in your family. It¡¯s incredible what leaps and bounds have occurred in the past hundred years.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said slowly, shifting my head on the pillow. ¡°I screwed up.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah you did.¡± A moment of silence passed. ¡°You know how I had to lie to keep your x-rays hidden?¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°And how I had to make sure I was your operating surgeon? Me, operating on my own son?¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Dad, I¡¯m sorry,¡± I repeated with a bit of bite. He was making this into a huge deal.


    ¡°And then I had to call your mother?¡± he said finally, making me wince as though struck by each of his verbal jabs. ¡°She thought you were going to die, despite... you know.¡±


    ¡°Jesus, dad, what am I supposed to say to all of that?¡±


    ¡°And what the fuck are those plants growing from your hand? Had to cover those up with a glove,¡± my father snorts, hands out as he sorts through the list of ridiculousness. ¡°It really never ends with you, does it?¡±


    ¡°Can you just give me a break?¡± I snarled. ¡°I¡¯ve been awake for all of two minutes and I already have a matching set of mental wounds for my physical ones. Can we just talk about this later?¡±


    ¡°Not until you promise to quit whatever job got you nearly killed.¡±


    I close my eyes and inhale deeply, trying to calm myself. ¡°Dad,¡± I began slowly, maturely. ¡°I can handle this job.¡±


    ¡°Oh my God!¡± he bellowed in exasperation. ¡°You obviously can¡¯t if you come into a hospital 90% dead! Do you even hear yourself?¡±


    ¡°Do you even hear yourself?¡± I retorted. ¡°Besides, this only happened because the guy got a lucky jump on me. I shut him down, though.¡±


    ¡°Ciaran, so help me God, what is this job you¡¯ve been working?¡± I shifted my eyes uneasily. I usually hated getting my family involved in non-human affairs. They knew about non-humans, no doubt about it, but I kept them in the dark as much as possible. That¡¯s how I¡¯ve always tried to keep it.


    Though when justice demands to be felt, I¡¯m not above dragging people into the underworld of the supernatural. I convinced myself long ago that as long as I simply tug open the doors of knowledge, the choice of whether to breach them lies with the individual person.


    I¡¯m fairly certain the damned Serpent tempted Eve with the same mindset.


    ¡°Are you really asking me this and putting me in this position?¡± I pled. ¡°Please don¡¯t ask this of me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m asking.¡± His voice was firm as a mountain and rumbled like an earthquake.


    Eyes turned toward the window, I sighed and adjusted my head on the pillow. ¡°My job is with a security firm. It protects against anticipated threats from non-humans. Particularly esps, since they¡¯re so common.¡± It doesn¡¯t take much to produce an esp, just an anthropomorphic magical entity and a human sharing a restless bed together. That means I¡¯m not an esp, for the record, though passing for one is easy.


    He nodded sullenly, then turned away and looked out the window. ¡°Why are you really doing this?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Ciaran,¡± his tone warned of impending anger.


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to support myself. I already said.¡±


    He turned back towards me now, back slightly hunched and cragged, cronelike. He went on my bed, sat down, his spine elongating and straightening into the characteristic ¡°s¡± of the human skeletal system. I think about his skull, how it must be laughing under that mask of stern flesh sewn up with a thin mouth and long eyelashes. We¡¯re all laughing underneath; the only difference is the kind of laughter.


    ¡°Look at me.¡± My father grabbed my arm, startling me. ¡°You aren¡¯t doing this job because of the money. You¡¯re doing it because you enjoy it.¡±


    I wanted to refute him but found I couldn¡¯t without lying. I felt my eyes grow slightly heavy, like little wells of water pressed behind them. I turned my face to the side and rested a cheek on my pillow.


    ¡°The money is nice,¡± I added softly. ¡°It¡¯s good to be independent.¡±


    His voice was full of the patience you use to console a child. I know; I¡¯ve used it countless times myself. ¡°Ciaran. You have so many talents, so many gifts. It would be such a waste if you broke them all on something as shortsighted as a security job.¡±


    I glanced at his glasses reflecting the window¡¯s cool natural light. ¡°You sure have something against protecting science,¡± I said with a mock laugh, which came out as a choke after my ribs mutinied. ¡°Do you really think I¡¯m that stupid, dad?¡± Even in the body of a teenager, I¡¯m not going to endanger my precious body unless the ends justify the risk.


    His eyes narrowed. ¡°I think you¡¯re prone to repeating the same mistakes.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Doing something reckless to feel alive.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Life is reckless. I could die minding my own business in my own house just as surely as I could walking down the street or being a security guard. Have you ever been pillaged?¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± dad snapped. ¡°I¡¯ll let you persist your own denial. Either way, I¡¯m not going to let you continue this job.¡±


    ¡°That is ridiculous.¡±


    ¡°If this is really about supporting yourself, then keep working. Just forget about college.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I have enough connections that I could stop you from getting into med school if I wanted to,¡± dad threatened.


    ¡°What the hell?¡± I hissed. ¡°You¡¯re punishing me for making a sound financial decision.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m punishing you for wasting your potential.¡± I nearly laughed.


    ¡°Most people would argue my potential is better spent taking down esps than in the operating room,¡± I barked. ¡°If I hadn¡¯t been surprised, which should¡¯ve been impossible, none of this would have happened. So technically you¡¯re punishing me for-¡±


    ¡°Enough, Ciaran. Stop testing me. You¡¯re not going to continue this job, and that is final. I don¡¯t care that you¡¯re a legal adult, or that you think you¡¯re some hotshot from the past, or about anything else. All I care about is that you don¡¯t leave us here behind to grieve behind you.¡±


    I shuddered and turned away.

 [Chapter 9] Age 7 (POV: Robert)

    ¡°Please don¡¯t send me back.¡± Ciaran¡¯s little form shuddered, not quite skeletal but edging on underweight. His tousled dark-brown hair framed his round face, his eyes wide and red. His chin was crinkled, his lips curved into a grimace.


    Tears streaked their way down his cheeks as he sobbed the words over and over again.


    ¡°Diane,¡± I hollered to be heard over his moaning. She scootched over in the bed, the covers deflating beside her. ¡°Ciaran, shhh,¡± I whispered. Having already padded out of bed, I scooped him up in my arms and laid him down beside Diane. She held him close and he snuggled into her.


    ¡°Sweetheart, what¡¯s wrong? It¡¯s two o¡¯clock,¡± she asked calmly, concealing the worry-stricken face she projected to me while his eyes were hidden in her robe. ¡°Did you have a bad dream?¡± That wouldn¡¯t be a surprise, considering how often he has them. They¡¯d been getting worse lately.


    ¡°Did he say anything?¡± I asked.


    ¡°He nodded,¡± she replied. ¡°Baby, tell us what¡¯s wrong.¡±


    He disengaged himself from Diane and sat up, wiping his tears from his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m so weird,¡± he coughed. We didn¡¯t dare correct him; he¡¯s too smart for that.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I replied soothingly. ¡°There¡¯s nothing bad about that.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to scare you.¡± He sniffed up the snot driveling from his nose and wiped his face with his left arm. Diana and I gave each other looks. Did you say something? I mouthed. Of course not, she shot back, obviously offended. Sorry, I mouthed back, raising my hands slightly.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Why do you think we¡¯re scared?¡±


    ¡°You and daddy always talk about me. When I do something you¡¯ll go away and start to speak quietly. That¡¯s what I used to do to keep them from hearing.¡± Them, of course, meant ¡®the children¡¯ in Ciaran¡¯s convoluted mind. ¡°Like now,¡± he whimpered. ¡°I said something weird and you¡¯re already mouthing to mommy.¡±


    Diane sighed and coddled Ciaran in close, petting his head. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell us about your dream?¡±


    ¡°Okay. Well, mama and tata thought I was weird because I knew things and could hurt people so mama grabbed a knife and stabbed it through my stomach and then my throat and I drowned in my own blood as my lungs glubbed and filled and I couldn¡¯t hear anything and then I was back!¡± he sobbed. ¡°They sent me back!¡± He rolled around on the bed, hysterical. ¡°How could they do that?¡± he breathed against the comforter. ¡°It¡¯s such a waste to kill children. Blooms of opportunity. To snip them before they blossom is villainous.¡±


    I¡¯m not going to lie and say I never considered the possibility that my son was possessed. That would be too naive. He drifts off sometimes and talks about things like he¡¯s a scholar, or a parent. Then he drifts back and he¡¯s our little boy again.


    Diane thinks he remembers supposed ¡°past lives¡± through dreams.


    ¡°Ciaran, there is nothing on this Earth you could do to make us do something like that,¡± Diane and I said together. ¡°Nothing. We love you, inside and out, every part,¡± I added.


    He didn¡¯t bother responding, instead falling asleep reassured between the two of us. Shaking our heads, my wife and I lay down on our sides and tried to get some rest. There¡¯s never enough in this house.

 [Chapter 10] Grounded

    Somehow dad managed to get me out of the hospital within five days. I was ready to leave after three, and it was a miracle I was able to leave as early as I did. I was supposed to have died, damn it.


    Though I wasn¡¯t back up to snuff by a long shot, I wasn¡¯t going to get better any faster by lying on a hospital bed.


    ¡°Thanks for driving me to my place,¡± I sighed.


    ¡°I still don¡¯t get why you want a place out here,¡± dad said. ¡°There¡¯s nothing for miles around. It takes you half an hour to reach the nearest city, if you count Abrahamsville.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t count desert oases, dad,¡± I replied sarcastically. ¡°Get your facts right. I¡¯m essentially 45 minutes from civilization¡±


    ¡°I can understand how you can stand it, but I¡¯d go crazy.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s familiar,¡± I shrugged, though he couldn¡¯t see the gesture as he watched the road. ¡°If you¡¯ve lived under the stars for long enough, you reach a point where their absence is unsettling. Like a horror movie when there¡¯s something off that you can¡¯t name.¡± He ignored my vague reference.


    ¡°As long as you don¡¯t mind the commute. It¡¯ll be an hour and and 45 from here to the University of Chicago when schools starts.¡±


    As long as Lana didn¡¯t go rogue, I¡¯d be fine. ¡°I¡¯ll survive,¡± I joked.


    He pulled up to my humble abode and followed me out.


    ¡°How are you expecting to get any girls up here?¡± he asked, chuckling.


    ¡°Come on, it¡¯s not that bad,¡± I defended. ¡°She¡¯s a fixer-upper, but at least a full-sized house.¡±


    ¡°You paid 140k for her.¡± My lips twitched.


    ¡°She¡¯s better than an expensive city apartment.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the only reason why we bought this house. The price.¡± He walked up ahead of me to the porch. ¡°You going to invite me in?¡±


    I rolled my eyes. ¡°Yeah. The door¡¯s open.¡± I followed him into the house and sat down on the couch just off to the right side of the foyer.


    My house is petite, no lie, but the land included in the property is pretty substantial, about two acres. A farmhouse in disrepair, it¡¯s a wooden establishment with a black thatch roof and sky blue paint that¡¯s half faded on the exterior and creviced with dirt and mold. There¡¯s a little weather vane on the roof, a relic of the past I find a nostalgic comfort. Though I don¡¯t grow any crops--I could if I had the drive to do so, but I don¡¯t--the grass, high as it is, passes like silky hair strands through the wind¡¯s gentle fingers.


    On the inside, it¡¯s a tad nicer. I tore off all the old wallpaper and painted the entire house. The furniture is modern and since the space is cozy, I didn¡¯t have to spend mountains of cash decorating.


    ¡°This place looks a lot better,¡± my dad observed as he inspected a painting I had hanging in the salon. ¡°Who¡¯s this by?¡±


    ¡°Edmund Sinclair,¡± I replied. Technically an original. Realizing that my dad wanted coffee as he stole into the kitchen and started opening up cabinet doors, I gingerly rose from the sofa and walked fleet-footed to the coffee machine.


    ¡°How tired are you?¡±


    He looked at me flatly. ¡°Ridiculously.¡±


    I smirked. ¡°Can¡¯t argue with that.¡± I prepared a sizable pot of coffee and waited for the machine to brew the joe. I went to the fridge and pulled out a carton of half-and-half and fetched sugar from a side cabinet. I grinned when I saw dad still hadn¡¯t found the coffee mugs. I went across the kitchen, opened a faded white cabinet, and pulled out two mugs.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he grumbled. ¡°See, I¡¯m so tired I can¡¯t even find a coffee cup.¡±


    Sighing, I leaned against the beige wall, one foot on the wall. I saw dad start to chastise me and then stop as he realized it was my own wall I was getting dirty, not his own.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°You know, dad, I realize I haven¡¯t been the easiest kid to raise.¡±


    He snorted. ¡°Sometimes we joke we should¡¯ve just stopped with Courtney.¡±


    I stuck out my tongue. ¡°What¡¯s life without a little adventure?¡±


    ¡°Life. Minus adventure.¡± Smart ass.


    ¡°Still. Thanks for sticking with me, I guess. I must¡¯ve really freaked you guys out, especially when I was younger. It¡¯s hard to have control as a kid.¡±


    ¡°No kidding. Remember when you almost set the house on fire?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I laughed. ¡°Oh, the good old days of danger and mayhem.¡±


    ¡°Oh, the good old days before you were born.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re so mean,¡± I sighed jokingly.


    A moment of silence passed and dad broke it by clearing his throat. ¡°I know that you really value your independence, and I want you to know that I appreciate you relying on us to foot your college bills. Being a bodyguard is not the way we want you to go.¡± It¡¯s not exactly my first choice either, but it was better than a gig at McD¡¯s.


    ¡°Most parents would be begging me to pay my own bills,¡± I pointed out.


    ¡°Most parents don¡¯t have a kid like you to meddle with their plans.¡± I shrugged defensively and walked over to the coffee machine, checking the pot to see if any brown fluid had drizzled out.


    ¡°So what day is Courtney flying in?¡±


    ¡°Should be this Saturday afternoon,¡± dad replied. So five more days. ¡°She wants to see everyone before flying back for school.¡±


    ¡°Hers starts on the twenty fifth, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, a month earlier than yours.¡± Sucks to be her. Going to school on the East coast didn¡¯t solve all her midwest-centric problems. Crappy weather, high taxes, corn fields, etc. etc.


    ¡°So what am I supposed to do now for a month and a half until school starts?¡±


    ¡°Well, you just went on a road trip, right? Maybe grab a few friends and have a trek somewhere. Camping. The great outdoors.¡± Right, a road trip...


    ¡°Thanks, by the way, for making sure nobody knew I was in the hospital.¡± I think all of my buds just assumed my ¡®road trip¡¯ went longer than expected.


    ¡°It was for the best.¡± Thank God we were on the same page.


    ¡°Tell me about it. So,¡± I began, gesturing to my newly-finished kitchen. I know how to renovate a modern house; the benefits of already having lived through the 20th century. That and taxes. So many of my peers have no idea how to do taxes. ¡°I followed through on my promise to make this place habitable, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah yeah,¡± dad grunted. ¡°I already said it looked nice. Don''t milk it.¡± I chuckled and checked on the brewing coffee.


    ¡°Another trip, huh?¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± he shrugged. ¡°You have a month left of summer, better make the most of it. Graduate school''s no laughing matter, especially if you want to work part time to be,¡± he stopped and formed air quotes, ¡°independent.¡±


    ¡°Like you''ll let me work part time,¡± I complained.


    ¡°You''re just not allowed to do anything dangerous,¡± he sighed. ¡°Jesus, you really had us spooked, you know.¡±


    Silence. ¡°Yeah. I''m sorry,¡± I said, shuffling my foot against the wall. ¡°But seriously, just think of that as a freak accident.¡±


    ¡°Freak accident my ass.¡± I rolled my eyes but let the remark go. No need to tell him I''d been working similar jobs with other security firms all through undergrad. I''ve already added all of that money to a safe account I''ve been using for a few hundred years under different names. I like to keep a good store of money handy in case anything awful happens to me, or I''m reincarnated into some dirt-poor family somewhere.


    I don''t mind giving a good portion of it to charity, either. You have a different perspective on charity when you see people living in the same conditions for hundreds of years. It''s criminal to rob billions of people of society''s progress because fortune''s key remains out of reach for the poor. It''s hardening to see people die of diseases you died of when there''s a cheap cure. Lives shouldn''t be spent and wasted so carelessly.


    ¡°Any ideas on where we should go?¡± I asked offhandedly while I readied the coffee mugs for coffee dispension.


    ¡°How far are you willing to go?¡±


    ¡°I dunno. We have a month. I doubt that many people can go for an entire month, though.¡±


    ¡°Maybe a week or two, then,¡± he responded pensively. ¡°You can choose someplace a few days away, then. Do you wanna go East or West?¡±


    ¡°Actually, I''ll probably just ask whoever''s going,¡± I shrugged. ¡°It''s probably unwise to lock into a set destination before I even see who''s going.¡±


    ¡°Ah, okay then.¡± I finished distilling the coffee and plopped half and half and a spoon of sugar into both cups.


    ¡°Here,¡± I handed him his cup. ¡°It''s really hot,¡± I cautioned.


    ¡°Okay,¡± he murmured while blowing away the steam frothing at the brew''s surface. ¡°Well, then, since you''re doing alright I''ll leave you to your plans,¡± dad grunted, tightened his lips into a line. ¡°If you ever impale yourself again, I''ll kill you myself,¡± he warned, giving me an owl-eyed serious stare. ¡°Kill. You.¡±


    ¡°Mmkay,¡± I grinned, shooing him out of the door. Placing his coffee mug in the dishwasher, I watched quietly as he entered the car and left.

 [Chapter 11] Rejected

    ¡°Okay, then, so you can''t do a trip either,¡± I sighed.


    ¡°Sorry, Ciaran. Already had plans to go to Europe with the family.¡±


    ¡°Nah, that''s fine.¡±


    ¡°Cya later,¡± the voice intoned sadly.


    ¡°''Kay,¡± I replied, my voice strained. The line went dead and I grumbled a profanity. So far only one friend from undergrad was available for a road trip. Lots of my friends were either already starting the school year, starting new jobs, or otherwise occupied. The worst part was that my dad, in some kind of misguided effort, already rented this ridiculous RV that he parked just the other day in my driveway. Thankfully, Lana didn''t have the destructive impulse she normally does toward such an un-car-like behemoth. That, and the nearest cliff is a hundred miles away.


    ¡°Lana,¡± I began as I scrubbed her windows, phone now safely pocketed. ¡°You wreck this RV and I''m going to strip you of your dignity.¡± She batted her windshield wipers and flashed her lights in rebellious protest.


    ¡°Pink,¡± I stated vindictively. ¡°Your favorite color. Hot. Pink. That RV is now made out of platinum and diamonds, you hear me?¡±


    She rolled down her window and shut it in my face, nearly squashing my hand as I scrubbed. Unfazed, I continued washing her bodice, taking care to scrub extra hard over her grimy spots. Canada lived up to expectations, spattering her in a mucky, dusty brown appaloosa pattern.


    Staring at my abysmal list of contacts, I thought hard on who else to call. Why not, I finally concluded as my thumb hovered over a group message to my co-workers. They were all pretty young, around my age, and most of them were suitable company.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ''Any of you up for a road trip? Two weeks starting this Saturday, destination as of yet undecided.'' I posted on our facebook group chat. Yep, supernatural security company members had a facebook. Why the hell not.


    I gave it three hours, taking my sweet time sudsing Lana and hosing down the worn-out RV. Checking back on the group, I had three replies.


    ''I''m not going to pass up a road trip'' Veex posted.


    ''Sounds great,'' Alice replied.


    And then, to my great horror, ''It''s better than tanning at my mansion'' from a certain spidery-fingered, snobby asshole. Did Olivia actually just respond to my invitation? I did post it on the facebook group, but I figured she would be far above a road trip.


    ''It''s in an RV, you know,'' I replied back hurriedly via Facebook chat. ''It''ll be awkward to shower and you''ll probably lack proper hygienic facilities.''


    She responded almost instantly. ''Sounds like you think I''m not up for a little road trip.'' Gawking, I narrowed my eyes and considered my retort. Wracking my brain and coming up blank, I decided on blunt.


    ''It''s just that I wasn''t exactly inviting you since the last time I saw you, you nearly fought with me in the middle of our assignment and accused me of deceiving you.''


    ''You''re saying that to the person who single-handedly flew you to the hospital, dick.''


    Well, crap. I have no idea why she''d even bother doing... I groaned in realization. I forgot that behind all of her bluster, I suspected that she had a thing for me. I didn''t doubt that she''d exert a bit of effort to save a possible love interest. And now that she wanted to share an RV with me, aka a single room...


    Well, this would be interesting, to say the least. Lifting my hands off the keyboard of my laptop in a whatever-I-give-up gesture, I replied, ''Fine. Just no complaining.''


    Her response was eloquent. ''Like I''ll listen to you, bitch.''


    I didn''t even bother responding.

 [Chapter 12] Inventive

    Five people going on a road trip is a good number. Enough room in the RV where you aren''t going to kill each other, people can switch off on the driving in reasonable shifts, and the conversation stays fresh. Everyone dragged their butts over to my house where we discussed where to drive the enormous behemoth, suitcases in tow. I promised them their cars would be safe out in the middle of nowhere after having a long talk with Lana about the repercussions of destroying other people''s property in the 21st century. She already knows, of course, but unless I specifically hammer it into her engine she''ll feign ignorance and smash whatever she can to pieces. I don''t know what the hell she has against other vehicles.


    ¡°Okay guys, remember: since it''s a two-week trip, the place we''re visiting should be around a week away, maybe less if we want to go full tourist,¡± I began. I was still shocked so many of my coworkers wanted to blow vacation time on an RV trip. ¡°So,¡± I grabbed a marker and started to write on a white-board I set up in the living room. ¡°Ideas?¡±


    ¡°Maybe California,¡± Alice suggested. ¡°It takes less than a week; we can visit a bunch of places on the way there, maybe even Vegas.¡± I wrote down the destination on the board.


    ¡°Asshole, did your handwriting miraculously improve or something?¡± Olivia snarled. I shut my eyes tight in annoyance and brushed her off. My handwriting was much better in my right hand, true. Everyone shuffled uncomfortably. My pal, Derrick, tilted his head and shot me a look. I just rolled my eyes and shook my head.


    ¡°Suggestions?¡± I prompted again.


    ¡°New Orleans? I was thinking we can go through Tennessee, go to Nashville for a few days and enjoy the music. Then we can chill and explore New Orleans for a little while. It''s a great tourist spot, ''specially if you can get into the culture.¡±


    I gave Veex a shrug. ¡°Sure,¡± I said, writing the city underneath California.


    ¡°Niagara falls would be interesting,¡± Derrick added. ¡°I''ve only been once as a kid. Does everyone have a passport, though? The best part is over the border.¡±


    ¡°Raise your hand if you have a passport,¡± I called out. All of the hands went up besides Olivia''s.


    ¡°You can get one if you need to.¡± I snorted dismissively as I added Niagara Falls to the list. ¡°Okay, anything else?¡± I waited a minute, but nobody added any suggestions to our pool. ¡°Great. Let''s vote. All in favor of California, raise your hands.¡± Olivia''s hand popped up. ¡°New Orleans,¡± I offered. No hands, a clear indicator that there was going to be a majority on the last option. ¡°So, the rest of you want Niagara?¡±


    ¡°Yup,¡± Veex grinned. Derrick smiled nervously. Alice nodded her head.


    As was typical, Olivia scowled. ¡°So I''m just supposed to get my passport today?¡±


    ¡°Don''t even pretend you don''t have one,¡± Veex replied testily. We all brought ours as per the instructions Ciaran posted on Facebook. Yours is at home, I take it?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she flushed red. ¡°I don''t have one.¡±


    ¡°Just sneak past the border,¡± Alice suggested. ¡°Just fly above and mask yourself.¡±


    Derrick now gave me an extraordinarily confused look. I winced and realized it was probably a horrible idea for him to go on vacation with a crew of people used to the preternatural. As my close friend, I''d already filled him in on a few points of the-world-hidden-in-plain-sight, but I didn''t inform him that we''d be taking a trip with an esp.


    ¡°Olivia''s an esp,¡± I said quickly to address his confusion.


    ¡°Oh,¡± he replied, turning a bit red.


    ¡°She''s the only other super,¡± I added encouragingly. I saw him visibly relax at that.


    ¡°Cool. Okay. So you can, uh, fly?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Olivia gushed, seizing the opportunity to spin tales of her own greatness. ¡°I can do most things I put my mind, to really. Some people might even call me a demi-god.¡±


    ¡°Get over yourself,¡± Veex, Alice and I all groaned together.


    ¡°You''ll have plenty of time to jabber later,¡± I stated flatly. ¡°For now, everyone pack yourselves into the RV.¡±


    Like obedient little soldiers, the crew donned their bags and plopped them into the dated, but now dazzlingly clean, RV. Derrick gawked a bit when Olivia levitated her fifty billion bags in through the door, which was kind of funny. I usually refrain from using my abilities around normal people, even those with supernatural knowledge. When you use your abilities around non-supers, it just serves to emphasize your differences and give them inferiority complexes. Of course, that''s probably item number one on Olivia''s agenda. That¡¯s besidethe fact that only a moron would use his powers around someone with no knowledge of the supernatural.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    After I was sure everything was packed up, I sat behind the wheel and pulled out. This was going to be some adventure.


    The first few hours of the car ride were smothered in a barrage of complaints. The air conditioning, the bathroom, the apparent lack of soap, a fly buzzing around, stale food, all assaulting my ears.


    ¡°Olivia, please, why don''t you drive,¡± I offered after a while.


    ¡°Drive?¡± She made it sound like a foreign concept.


    ¡°Yeah. It''s not a question, it''s a requirement and an expectation. If you don''t wanna drive, we can drop you off at the nearest town and you can catch a taxi home.¡±


    ¡°Fine, then,¡± she sneered. ¡°Driving this hunk of metal is a thousand times easier than half the things I do on a normal basis.¡± Alice and Veex ignored the entire exchange, absorbed in a game of War.


    ¡°Wait, what kinds of things can you do? Ciaran''s boring and tells me about things but doesn''t really elaborate.¡± Oh, Derrick, I wanted to cry out. You''ve opened up a can of worms.


    ¡°Oh ho ho,¡± Olivia smirked as she pulled the car off from the shoulder. ¡°You all need to bring more regular people, this is just great. I hardly ever make contact with them.¡± I groaned and walked over to Alice and Veex''s heated match.


    Olivia went on and on about all of the amazing things she can do, espousing her superior abilities as a levitator, fielder (a person who creates and tears down fields of energy), and elementalist.


    ¡°So you can actually throw balls of fire, hover off the ground, and make yourself glow at the same time?¡±


    ¡°Yup, if I want to, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Your brain will probably explode first,¡± Veex chortled.


    Olivia gave him a pointed look. ¡°You wish.¡±


    ¡°Shit, you gotta do that for me sometime. You''d look like you belong in a movie.¡± Derrick huffed admiringly.


    ¡°Well, you know,¡± she replied ever-so-modestly. I turned just in time to catch her tossing a clumping of hair over her shoulder, the display as tacky as Christmas lights in February, or those tights/leggings now synonymous with Shakespeare that we actually wore during the middle ages. I always hated them, have no doubt.


    ¡°Don''t let Olivia draw you in. It sounds cool but it''s not really practical to be an elementalist. And it''s neat to make forcefields and all, but they usually mess with your electronics and ruin them if you use them too often. Levitation is great but since you can''t be seen doing it in public, has limited usages.¡± Olivia was messing with Derrick¡¯s moldable mind; I had to stop it before he became too enthralled.


    ¡°So...¡± Derrick rubbed his jaw. ¡°You''re essentially telling me that magic is completely unsuited for the 21st century, right?¡±


    I snorted. ¡°It''s been practically useless since the 18th in Europe-touched lands, earlier than that even in the Ottoman Empire and China,¡± I lamented. ¡°If you want to go to some remote area, whatever, but if you actually enjoy the advances of modern society and dislike living under a rock, well.¡± The rest was self-explanatory.


    ¡°Don''t let Ciaran crush your fantasies,¡± Alice broke into the conversation. ¡°I''m not a user, so this comes from experience. Magic comes with a lot of benefits they take for granted, like being able to light a fire without trying, being able to fly, even defending yourself if you''re ever attacked.¡±


    ¡°So you see, being a super is amazing,¡± Olivia summed up beautifully.


    Veex chuckled and patted Derrick on the back, just now getting up from a victory at War. ¡°Don''t worry, the rest of us manage just fine around these two.¡± He pointed his thumb at myself and Olivia. ¡°The biggest reason why supers aren¡¯t a big deal¨C no offense ¨C is because we have firepower, man. Guns, rockets, bazookas ¨C it''s not difficult to surpass ''em.¡±


    ¡°How did you and Alice even get involved with supers?¡± Derrick questioned. Olivia took her sweet time detailing all of the exploits involved in a supernatural-oriented career, cutting off the two people whom the question was addressed to.


    Derrick looked my way and gave me a look. He was finally catching on to Olivia¡¯s ego. Took him long enough. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Better not antagonize Olivia while she was at the wheel.


    We drove for a day, rested, and then got up early to start driving again. We were nearing the Canadian border when something smashed into the RV from the side and flipped it up into the air.


    My eyes glanced to the side window as I tried to see what the flying fuck had just happened. We were literally just trying to go on a road trip. Thankfully, the windows on the RV were tough and didn¡¯t shatter as the RV crashed down on the ground. Unfortunately, the metal deformed inward like a crushed soda can. Whatever sent us flying hit us like a freight train.


    The non-supers were all strung out against the interior walls of the RV, all of them bleeding and unconscious. Olivia had, amazingly, been decapitated by a giant ax.


    I gaped as I tried to reason both why and how someone had ordered a hit on Olivia and decided that the best way to kill her was with a freaking ax. Hell yeah. I was almost jealous I didn¡¯t throw the ax myself. Olivia had helped save my life, true, but she was annoying and arrogant as all else. I''m not one to leave debts unpaid, but Olivia...hmm. I felt no remorse for her death, no sense of any debt unfulfilled between us. I can usually feel if I have a tie to someone just after they die, sense what ties me to them. It''s a most excellent practice to sever these ties, believe me.


    Maybe I didn''t have any ties binding me to her this time because saving me only served to nullify all the terrible shit she''d said and done to me over the past three months. Tough luck for her.


    I hoped a little time in Respite would let her stew on her own faults, become a better person, one worthy of leaving ties behind in death to be fulfilled by the living.

 [Chapter 13] The Book

    ''Got to keep my head in the game,'' I thought as my eyes wandered over Olivia''s rather unfortunate form, particularly her rather...detached head. I looked around the trailer and spotted the others in various states of passed out or sprawled bloody on the ground.


    "Who..." I slowly murmured to myself as I ripped the hole from the ax''s passage into the RV open with my (thankfully gloved to deal with my foliage problem) hands.


    Upon stepping outside, I promptly groaned and sent my eyes up into the clouds. Perhaps Respite was there, above; I desperately needed it at the moment.


    Well, not really. Anything but Respite and its sickly sweet calm that lulls you to sleep with soundless lullaby. I shuddered as I looked ahead.


    "Rezerine," I shout-called. "Who the hell do you think you are that you can just--" I gestured to the now giant, bear-trap-like gaping hole in the trailer''s side--"ruin my perfectly good trailer?"


    "Ciaran," Rezerine said somberly, his face taut. "I didn''t know you were here."


    "No fucking way you didn''t," I retorted. "Practically all of my coworkers are on this trip. You knew Olivia was traveling with me. Not that I really blame whoever paid you to send her back to the beyond, but all the same..."


    Rezerinesighed. "What do you want?"


    "Just pay for the medical bills of the people inside, the RV, and transport back to our places of residence."


    "Done."


    I was a bit surprised by how easy that was to negotiate. Well, at the end of the day what mattered was that I wasn''t held responsible for yet another destroyed automobile. I probably still won''t be able to live this one down, even though I''m totally innocent: one more name on my extensive list of cars that have died will in my possession.


    ---


    Eventually, everyone was carted off to hospitals or their houses. Rezerinegave me a fairly sizable check for the RV and dropped me off at my place personally.


    "Come in," I said awkwardly, looking at the tall, hair-like grass as it swayed in a rather fierce wind. "I have coffee."


    "I don''t drink--"


    "Don''t be an ass." I gave him a look.


    Without any further exchange, we both entered my place. Rezerinetook a seat at the small dining table while I prepared myself a cup of coffee and him a cup of green tea.


    "Why are you doing mercenary work these days?" I asked him while slouching up against the kitchen counter. "I never thought that was in line with your moral code."


    Rezerinecocked his head. "That wasn''t mercenary work you saw. There''s a genuine bounty on her head."


    "Oh? Really?" Couldn''t say I was completely surprised. "What''d she do?"Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "That''s the thing, isn''t it?" Rezerinereplied with a hint of excitement, which for him was practically only shown by a slight dilating of his eyes. Expressionless bastard. "The information is classified."


    Before, I was mildly interested. Now I was actually curious. Olivia was powerful, sure, but she was too lazy to actually do anything. Moreover, I couldn''t see her putting herself in harm''s way for the sake ofanything. She had absolutely no ambition.


    So what did she do to warrant a visit from an executioner?


    "No matter," I said grudgingly. "If it''s classified, that''s that." Of course if I really wanted to know something of this sort that was classified, I could probably find a way to obtain the information. However, I wasn''t willing to go to such lengths for some measly information about the evil-doings of my already-dead semi-nemesis.


    "What if I told you...that the information had something to do with a village in Los Jinas?"


    I flinched and turned away from the coffee pot towards Rezerine. "What?" Los Jinas doesn''t exist. Not anymore, at least.


    "There''s a piece of the information that I did have access to considering Olivia''s illegal activity," Rezerine stated calmly while clearly gauging my reaction.


    Fuck my obviousness. My face is open a book as Olivia''s neck.


    "Just tell me already," I growled under my breath while finishing up with the coffee.


    "Olivia found a book in the ruins of that village."


    A book? in Los Jinas?


    "Why are you wasting my time?" I said while starting to pour hot water into a cup for the tea. "If she actually found anintact book, it has to be from a traveler. Los Jinas has been exposed to the elements for a long time, not to mention stripped clean by robbers."


    "The book''s real, and it''s actually from Los Jinas," Rezerine said softly, his mouth now slightly downturned. "I think you understand as much as I do why this book needs to be retrieved."


    "Wait...you mean you people don''t know where it is?"


    Rezerine just stared at me with his eternally stoic expression.


    "Why are you telling me?" I grumbled as I slapped a cup of tea down in front of him. "You know I''ll want to find the damned book. Damn it, I fucking need to find the damned book." If that book was what Ithought it was, it''d be a somewhat sizable liability.


    Something suddenly clicked in my mind. Why would lazy as all hell, exceptionally powerful, stubborn Olivia come to work as an overpaid security guard along with me and the others? I had my own reasons, so I assumed she had her own as well and didn''t think much into it. But now, especially considering the fact that Olivia had recently tried to get me to show more of my abilities and even insisted on going on the cross country trip...


    Perhaps, in the end, the reason why she''d come to be my coworker...was to observe me.


    My eyes glinted like unsheathed blades as I met eyes with Rezerine. "You liar." This whole conversation proved beyond a doubt that Olivia had been assassinated intentionally while with me and the others on the RV.


    Now I effectively had at least 2 weeks of free time ahead of me because of Rezerine''s meddling. But, I couldn''t deny the kindness that Rezerine was showing me now as he informed me about the book. Very few knew about my connection to the book, Rezerine being one of them.


    I was extremely inclined to keep the number at its current value. And to do that, I needed to get the book myself. That meant that I''d be working against Rezerine and the other executors sent out by the Monarch, but that was fine.


    "Damn it," I sighed wistfully as I sipped my coffee. "Now I owe you a favor."


    "It''s fine," Rezerine barked firmly. "You don''t even remember, do you?"


    "What?" The whole reincarnation thing really messed with my long term memory. I actually didn''t know what Rezerine was planning to bring up.


    "Forget it. Just consider this my own debt repaid."


    With that, Rezerine took a few fast gulps of the scalding tea (very impressive) and headed out the door with a small wave of his hand.


    I looked out the window, not towards the driveway, but in the opposite direction, towards the sea of grassy fonds bobbing in my backyard.


    In general, I''d been living a rather low-key life this time around...unfortunately, I''d have to really up my game if I wanted to beat everyone else at obtaining the book. I stretched out my arms and settled onto the couch, sighing as I pulled off a glove and stared at my green-studded hand.


    "Time to get to work..."