《Ebon Love: Bone Berserker》


 Chapter One

    Drang. The tiny copper bell suspended above the glass door of McNeily Pawn chimed with a dull, resonant tone as Lana Michaels entered. The sound was as familiar to her as her own heartbeat, a daily ritual that marked the beginning of yet another shift in this dusty, dimly lit sanctuary of forgotten treasures and desperate dreams.


    As she stepped further inside, the heavy door swung shut behind her, muffling the cacophony of the bustling city streets. The abrupt transition from the acrid smell of exhaust fumes and the harsh glare of the afternoon sun to the musty, cool interior of the shop always gave Lana a moment of sensory whiplash. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the peculiar bouquet of old leather, tarnished metal, and the faintest hint of lemon scented cleaning solution that perpetually hung in the air.


    Lana''s eyes, adjusting to the shop''s subdued fluorescent lighting, swept across the cluttered space. Uneven aisles stretched before her, their chest high shelves groaning under the weight of an eclectic array of items. Antique brass candlesticks nestled incongruously next to sleek, modern smartphones. Ornate Victorian picture frames jostled for space with battered guitar cases and outdated computer monitors. Some of the objects teetered precariously on the edges of the mismatched furniture, as if yearning for freedom from their dusty prison.


    Running a hand through her shoulder length chestnut hair, Lana sighed, preparing herself for another afternoon in what could arguably be described as the most monotonous job on the planet. But was monotony truly such a bad thing? For Lana, the answer wasn''t always clear.


    Sure, the hours could drag by with agonizing slowness, each tick of the vintage wall clock behind the counter a reminder of time''s reluctance to pass. Yet, these long stretches of inactivity also offered a wealth of opportunity. They were pockets of tranquility in which she could immerse herself in her studies, expanding her knowledge beyond the strict and set confines of her college class syllabus. The quiet allowed her to nurture her growing network of professional contacts, cultivating relationships that might one day catapult her out of this world of pawned dreams and into the career she truly desired.


    More, these hours of solitude provided a chance to chip away at her ever growing reading list, transporting her mind to far flung worlds and fascinating ideas while her body remained rooted behind the pawn shop''s scratched glass counter. And perhaps most importantly, the job''s predictable routine allowed her to keep a watchful eye on her father, a task that had become increasingly necessary and heart wrenching in the months after his accident.


    So yes, the job was boring. But it was also a lifeline, a small but steady paycheck that kept her afloat in a sea of mounting responsibilities and uncertain futures.


    "Lana!" A stern old voice, as familiar and worn as the shop itself, called out from the back room. Mr. McNeily''s summons cut through her reverie, reminding her that she wasn''t quite alone in this dusty realm of forgotten treasures.


    Tossing her compact dark blue backpack onto the counter, its zipper catching the fading light and creating a brief, metallic gleam, Lana made her way through the labyrinth of shelves. She navigated around a tower of precariously stacked television sets, their blank screens reflecting distorted images of the shop like fun house mirrors.


    As she approached the fading beige door that led to the back room, Lana''s nostrils were assaulted by the sharp scent of metal polish and machine oil seeping from beyond. Pushing open the door, she found the old man hunched over a workbench, his gnarled hands steady as they manipulated the delicate innards of a pocket watch beneath a table mounted magnifying glass. This room was Mr. McNeily''s sanctum, the place he reverently referred to as the domain of "the good stuff."


    "I got a little held up with this batch of timepieces," Mr. McNeily said without looking up, his voice a mixture of gruff affection and apologetic concern. "I apologize if I left a little extra work for you tonight."


    Lana''s eyes roamed over the cluttered workbench, taking in the glinting array of cogs, springs, and watch faces scattered across its scarred wooden surface. The room was a stark contrast to the organized chaos of the shop floor, with its meticulously arranged tools and the soft ticking of dozens of clocks creating a soothing backdrop.


    "It''s never a problem, Mr. McNeily," Lana reassured him, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The old man''s dedication to his craft was something she genuinely admired, even if she couldn''t quite fathom the appeal of spending hours hunched over tiny gears and springs. "If anything, it''ll make the time go by faster."


    Even as the words left her lips, Lana wasn''t entirely sure she believed them. Time in the pawnshop seemed to follow its own capricious rules. A busy four hour shift could fly by in what felt like mere minutes, while a slow two hour stretch could crawl along with agonizing lethargy, each second feeling like an eternity.


    "Good. Good," Mr. McNeily nodded, finally turning to face her. His face was a roadmap of wrinkles and age spots, each line telling a story of years spent peering through magnifying glasses and squinting at tiny mechanisms. Despite the marks of time, his pale blue eyes remained sharp and alert, twinkling with a vitality that belied his years. "I hate to leave you extra work without letting you know. Have a good night, and remember to lock up when you leave."The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    He offered her a warm smile before turning back to his beloved watches, effectively dismissing her. Lana returned the smile, even though his attention was already elsewhere, and spun on her heel with a little hop that sent a small cloud of dust motes swirling in the dim light.


    Returning to the main room of the shop, Lana retrieved her backpack from the counter and settled onto the battered stool behind it. The seat, held together more by duct tape and hope than by its original construction, creaked ominously as she adjusted her position. She methodically arranged her essentials across the ledge behind the counter. Her laptop, a tangle of gray and pink cables presumably used for charging devices though she wasn''t entirely certain, a thermos of coffee, and a stack of textbooks whose combined weight threatened to buckle the aging wooden frame that holds the glass display together.


    With her workspace prepared, Lana began her mental checklist of daily tasks, a ritual that brought a semblance of order to the chaotic environment of the pawnshop.


    Lights? She glanced up at the flickering fluorescent tubes overhead. On and working, if somewhat half heartedly.


    Door unlocked? Well, she had managed to get inside, so that was a yes.


    Money in the till? A quick tap of a button on the ancient cash register confirmed that everything was in order.


    Bathrooms clean? A brief inspection revealed that, save for a needed restock of toilet paper, the tiny facilities were in acceptable condition.


    Garbage? It was only when she reached this final item on her mental list that she discovered the extra work Mr. McNeily had been so concerned about. The trash can near the bathroom door was overflowing, a small mountain of crumpled papers, dust bunnies, and even other garbage bags protruding above its rim.


    Without hesitation, Lana grabbed the top of the dented and faded beige plastic trash can, grimacing slightly at the greasy feel of its surface, and deftly tied the opening of the bulging bag. She carefully began to lift it out of its container, glad that thin plastic didnt rip, and drug it towards the back door that opened into the alley behind the shop.


    The rear exit protested with a rusty screech as Lana shouldered it open, the sudden influx of natural light momentarily blinding her. As her eyes adjusted, she viewed the spartan landscape of the alley. Badly paved asphalt, pitted and decayed with age and neglect, ran between brick buildings that seemed to be engaged in a silent competition to see which could appear more dilapidated. A few dumpsters huddled together at one end of the alley served as communal waste receptacles for the businesses that shared this forgotten slice of urban decay.


    Lana approached the nearest dumpster, the overstuffed garbage bag dragging behind her like a reluctant pet. As she lifted the heavy metal lid, prepared to heave the trash inside, a sudden movement within the container startled her. With a yelp of surprise, she dropped both the bag, spilling its contents across the grimy asphalt, and the lid of the dumpster, echoing a thunderous reverberation that nearly drowned out her surprise.


    "Shit," she muttered under her breath, her heart racing from the startle. Steeling herself, she reopened the lid, peering cautiously inside to identify the source of her scare.


    To her astonishment, she saw a man rummaging through the trash within the dumpster. His gray sweater was torn, frayed and stained, his hair a matted tangle that looked as if it hadn''t seen shampoo or water in weeks. Despite his disheveled appearance, there was a focused intensity in his movements as he sifted through the refuse.


    "Can I help you?" Lana asked, her voice a mixture of concern and wariness.


    The man''s head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise and fear. In a flurry of movement that Lana''s brain struggled to process, he scrambled out of the open lid, his limbs flailing as he tumbled to the ground. With a grace that seemed at odds with his disheveled and helpless appearance, he rolled as he hit the asphalt, pivoting to his feet in one fluid motion.


    "I''m sorry," he mumbled, his eyes darting nervously, refusing to meet Lana''s gaze. Before she could formulate a response, he turned on his heel and began to walk away, his gait quick and purposeful.


    "Hey!" Lana called out, her voice echoing off the brick walls of the alley.


    The man stopped, his shoulders tensing visibly before he slowly turned to face her. "I said I''m sorry," he repeated, his eyes flicking to the scattered trash on the ground. A look of genuine remorse crossed his weathered features. "For that too."


    To Lana''s surprise, he returned to where she stood and began gathering the spilled garbage, placing it back into the plastic bag with careful, almost reverent movements.


    "You don''t have to do that. I can clean¡ª" Lana began, but her words trailed off as the man straightened up, holding out the now refilled bag to her.


    "I''m sorry. I shouldn''t have been in there," he said, his voice low and rough, as if he wasn''t used to speaking.


    Lana accepted the bag, her brow furrowed in curiosity. "Why were you?" she asked, studying his face. Despite the grime and unkempt hair, she could see that he was younger than she had initially thought, probably no more than a few years older than herself.


    "Doesn''t matter," he replied with a curt nod, already turning to leave. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "I''m sorry," he repeated once more, before quickly striding away, disappearing around the corner of the alley and into the streets of the city before Lana could gather her thoughts enough to respond.


    Left alone with her confusion, Lana mechanically placed the bag of trash into the dumpster. She found herself peering inside once more, searching for any clue that might explain the man''s presence or his apparent desperation. Finding nothing but the usual detritus of urban life, she slowly closed the lid, the metallic clang echoing in the empty alley.


    As she made her way back to the front of the shop from the alley, hoping to identify the direction the man fled. With failure on her mind, she whirled with questions. Who was that man? What had driven him to dumpster dive? And why did she feel a nagging sense of familiarity, as if she had seen him somewhere before?


    The bell above the door chimed once more as she reentered the pawnshop, its sound now tinged with a note of melancholy in Lana''s ears. As she resumed her position behind the counter, she found her gaze drawn repeatedly to the window, scanning the faces of each passersby, expecting, or perhaps hoping, to see the mysterious man again.


    The rest of her shift passed in a blur of reorganizing shelves, assisting the occasional customer, and stolen moments of study. But even as she went through the motions of her familiar routine, Lana''s thoughts kept returning to the man in the alley. His haunted eyes and mumbled apologies had awakened something in her, a mysterious mix of compassion and unease that she couldn''t quite shake.


    As the shift wore on and the sunlight filtering through the dusty windows took on the golden hue of late afternoon, Lana found herself both dreading and anticipating the end of her shift. Part of her wanted nothing more than to lock up and leave the day''s strange event behind her. But another part, a part that surprised her with its intensity, hoped that she might catch another glimpse of the mysterious man, perhaps even find a way to help him.


    When the ancient clock on the wall finally signaled closing time, Lana went through her end of the day routine with the same practiced efficiency as she applied to herstart of shift routine. She counted the till, swept the floors, and double checked that all the truly valuable items were secured. As she finally stepped out into the cooling evening air, locking the door behind her as Mr. McNeily reminded her to, she cast one last, lingering look down the alley.


    The dumpsters stood silent and undisturbed, offering no answers to the questions that still swirled in her mind. With a sigh, Lana hitched her backpack higher on her shoulder and set off towards home, the events of the day settling into her memory like the layers of dust that coated the surfaces of McNeily Pawn.

 Chapter Two

    Another bell, another sigh, another evening shift. The copper bell above the door of McNeily Pawn chimed its familiar tone as Lana stepped inside, the sound mingling with her weary sigh. Another evening shift stretched before her, a canvas of monotony waiting to be painted. The musty scent of aged objects and polished metal enveloped her as she placed her worn backpack on the scratched glass counter as she had many nights prior.


    Lana''s eyes, a deep brown that seemed to absorb the dim light of the shop, scanned the cluttered space. Mismatched shelves sagged under the weight of countless curiosities, each item whispering stories of their past. The air hazy and heavy with dust motes dancing in the fading sunlight that filtered through the grimy windows offering a tame view of the streets outside.


    Her footsteps echoed softly on the creaky wooden floor as she made her way to the back room to check on Mr. McNeily. The absence of the rhythmic ticking that usually accompanied his presence told her he wasn''t at his workbench before she even reached the door. Pushing it open, she was greeted by the sight of bookshelves overflowing with leather bound tomes and trinkets too valuable or too peculiar for public display. These were the treasures reserved for discerning collectors, available by Mr. McNeily''s invitation only.


    At the far end of the small room, another faded door led to the basement where Mr. McNeily made his home. It was closed and confirmed his absence. When open, it signaled he was either working or out about town one one errand or another. Normally he trusted Lana to the mundane chores like shopping for toiletries and cleaning supplies. Bank visits and health care errands he kept to himself.


    Lana nodded silently, her check complete, and returned to the front counter to begin her shift.


    She ran through her mental checklist with practiced efficiency. Lights? On, casting their sickly yellow glow over the shop''s eclectic inventory. Door unlocked? Obviously, again, given her entry. Money in the till? A quick check confirmed it. Bathrooms clean? In order, if not exactly sparkling. Garbage? Empty, for now.


    With the essentials taken care of and little else to occupy her, Lana reached for her backpack. The zipper''s rasp seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet shop as she extracted a plastic bag. Peeking inside, she removed one of two identical containers, placing it on the counter alongside a plastic wrapped fork. The scent of garlic and spices wafted up, making her stomach growl in anticipation.


    Plastic bag in hand, Lana made her way to the back door. The rusted hinges protested as she pushed it open, stepping into the alley behind the shop. The waning sun cast long shadows across the cracked asphalt, painting the world in shades of amber and gray. The air behind the shop was cooler, carrying the acrid tang of urban decay.


    Unlike the previous evening, the dumpster stood silent and undisturbed. Instead, Lana''s gaze fell upon a hunched figure sitting beside it. A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth as she approached, recognizing the man from yesterday''s encounter. Exactly what she had hoped.


    "I brought you some food," she said softly, watching as he acknowledged her words with a slight tilt of his head. His brown eyes, set deep in a soft and sculpted face, reflected a mixture of wariness and gratitude. "I hope that''s okay. You were looking for food yesterday, weren''t you?"


    The man''s silence stretched a moment too long, his gaze never quite meeting hers. Lana placed the bag a few feet from his feet, suddenly feeling awkward. "It''ll be cold soon," she offered lamely, forcing a smile before turning back towards the door. It''ll be cold soon? What a dumb thing to say, she thinks to herself.


    "Thank you," his gruff voice called out, barely above a whisper.


    Lana paused, offering another smile over her shoulder before disappearing back into the pawnshop. The door closed behind her with a dull thud, sealing her once more in the shop''s musty embrace.


    Back at the counter, Lana settled onto her worn stool and opened her own container. The aroma of Chicken Alfredo, spiced with habanero peppers and lemon sauce, filled the air. It was a specialty from Bistro Because, widely considered the best pasta on the east side of the city. As she took a bite, savoring the intense interplay of creamy sauce and fiery spice, Lana felt justified with her assessment of that claim. Her love of bold flavors was a trait passed down from her father to both his daughters, a culinary layer that brought a touch of warmth to even the coldest of meals.


    Casually sampling the dinner before her, Lana turned her attention to her laptop screen. The glow illuminated her face as she scrolled through the comments on her latest post. Lana Love, the online persona she had cultivated since junior high, had grown into a local trend with a substantial following over the years. Maintaining weekly posts and daily engagement with her audience had become as much a part of her routine as her shifts at the pawnshop.


    A like and a follow, an emoji response. Lana did her best to appear active online while she placed another fork full of pasta into her mouth.


    Drang. The familiar tone of the bell above the door shattered her concentration. Lana''s eyes snapped up from the screen, struggling a moment from the blur of the laptop screen to focus on the figure that now stood in the entrance. He was tall and imposing, his dark hair disheveled and his clothes were torn and dirty. But it was his eyes that captured Lana''s attention the most, piercing green orbs that seemed to bore into her very soul.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice slipping into its rehearsed customer service cadence as she stood, setting the fork into the pasta container beside her. "Anything in particular you''re looking for?" The silence that followed her questions was heavy and oppressive, emanating from the man at the door.


    Confusion and unease began to creep over Lana as the man remained motionless, his gaze unwavering. Then, with a deliberate slowness that sent chills down her spine, he raised his arm, elbow bent.


    The skin at his elbow began to bubble and writhe, as if something living squirmed beneath the surface. With a sickening tear and splurt, the flesh split, making way for a bristling white bone that erupted from his arm. Lana watched in horror, logic and reason escaping her, as the man grasped the seven inch growth in his opposite hand and wrenched it free from his body with less than a grunt of difficulty.


    Before Lana could completely process what she was seeing, the man arched his arm back and forward again with shocking speed. The bone spur hurled through the air directly at her. It whistled past her shaking head by mere inches, embedding itself in the wall behind her with a solid thunk.


    The shock that had frozen Lana legs in place quickly dissipated in an instant. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she darted around the glass display counter and through the cluttered aisles of the shop. Escape was her only thought on her mind, and with the man blocking the front entrance, she knew her only option was the back alley. Behind her, she could hear the crash of shelves being overturned, the tinkling of shattered glass as the man gave chase, tossing aside the shop''s inventory with terrifying ease.


    Lana burst through the door to the alley, the cool dusk air hitting her flushed face like a slap. Her mind raced, weighing her options. The end of the alley was too far to run. It would take her at least twenty seconds to reach it, and the man would surely exit and see which way she turned. Hiding seemed her best bet; if she could conceal herself quickly enough, he might assume she had gotten away.


    With decisions made, Lana rushed to the dumpsters, wedging herself behind them as best she could. She struggled to control her breathing, each gasp amplifying the thunderous sound of her heart beat in her ears. In and hold. Out and hold. Again. She told herself, trying every attempt to control her shaking body and breath.


    The back door crashed open, and Lana heard the man''s heavy footsteps on the asphalt. She could almost feel the fury radiating off him as he paced the alley, overturning abandoned shopping carts and crates in his mechanical search. As his steps drew nearer to her hiding spot, Lana''s heart seemed to stop, her lungs refusing to draw breath, the sound dissipating from her ears. The certainty of her impending doom pressed down on her like a physical weight. Is this the end? She thought. She feared.


    Suddenly, a heavy thud above her made her jump. She looked up to see the man from earlier, the one she had given food to, the mysterious stranger she couldn''t seem to forget, dropping onto the top of the dumpster. Where had he come from? He wasn''t in the alley a moment ago and she hadn''t even seen him approach.


    In a blur of motion, the man from the alley squatted onto the top of the dumpster and spun, lashing out with a well aimed kick that somehow sent the bone wielding monster crashing to the asphalt of the alley. Unable to contain her curiosity despite her fear, Lana found herself peering out, further and further, from behind the dumpster for a better view.


    The bone man climbed off the ground and back to his feet, his green eyes now fixed on this new threat. They exchanged words too brief and too low for Lana to hear, their body language tense and ready. Suddenly, without warning or warm up, the man from the alley launched off the dumpster, transitioning into a flurry of punches, spins and slaps. Each blow making contact with the forearm of the bone man, expertly deflected. When Lana gathered the courage to look closer, she saw the bone man had grown thin layers of bone across his forearm, shielding his arm from all the force of his attackers'' assault.


    The fight moved with a speed and grace that seemed almost choreographed. The bone man caught one of the man from the alley''s fists mid strike, and planted a boot in his stomach. The man flew backward, hitting the ground with a sickening thud that echoed off the brick walls.


    Before the alley man could recover, the bone man''s arm contorted once more. Another long, sharp protrusion grew from his elbow, which he snapped off with practiced ease. In two swift motions, he closed the distance and drove the makeshift weapon into the alley man''s leg, through the muscle and into the pavement below, pinning him to the ground.


    A scream echoed through the alley, the pinned man twisting his body to toss a punch, trying to make his assailant step away. It failed. The bone man ducked and grunted as he quickly grew another bone, breaking it off and slamming it into the alley man''s other leg, pinning the second leg down like a wall tack through paper. Was it over? Lana was paralyzed. With no one to oppose the bone man, she would be next.


    Agonized screams tore through the night, sending shivers down Lana''s spine. As the bone man prepared to strike again, bending his arm to grow another protrusion, Lana''s sight went white. She saw a blinding white light erupt from the man from the alley, so intense that Lana had to shield her eyes.


    When the spots cleared from her vision, Lana saw the bone man picking himself up from the pavement nearly fifteen feet away. His eyes, once filled with murderous intent, now showed only confusion and panic. Without a backward glance, he fled into the night, leaving Lana alone with her unlikely savior.


    Cautiously, Lan a emerged from her hiding place, crawling slowly and shaking. The alley man''s eyes found hers, a mix of pain and something unreadable in their depths. As she approached, his eyelids fluttered closed, consciousness slipping away.


    Lana sat there, next to the man, her mind reeling from the impossible events she had just witnessed. The night air felt electric, charged with the residual energy of the fight, adrenaline spiking. In the distance, sirens wailed and horns honked, reminding her of the normalcy she once had. The world as she knew it had irrevocably changed, and Lana realized that her ordinary life at McNeily Pawn was about to become anything but boring.


    The night stretched before her, full of mystery and danger. And Lana, her heart still racing from the evening''s events, found herself strangely exhilarated by the unknown path that lay ahead.

 Chapter Three

    The acrid smell of blood and fear permeated the alley as Lana''s trembling hands gripped the ivory white bones protruding from the alley man''s legs. Her knuckles turned white with effort as she pulled, muscles straining against the unyielding spears that have pinned him to the ground. Sweat beaded on her forehead, a mixture of exertion and barely contained panic.


    "Come on," she muttered through gritted teeth, her voice a harsh whisper in the oppressive silence of the night.


    The bones just didn¡¯t budge. Lana took in a deep breath, the coppery tang of blood filling her nostrils. She switched tactics, grasping the man''s ankle. His skin was clammy and cold beneath her fingers, a sign of his life running short. With a grunt, she lifted his leg, carefully maneuvering it up and over the protruding bone. The sight of torn flesh and exposed muscle made her stomach churn, but she forced herself to focus on the task at hand, keeping her insides inside.


    As the first leg came free, a wave of relief washed over her. The second followed more easily, accompanied by a sickening squelch that echoed in the narrow alley. Lana''s heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of the surreal nightmare she''s found herself in.


    With the man free, she grasped the bones again. Someone will find them and ask questions, she tells herself, finding reason to even bother. Without the encasing of flesh and tight muscle holding the spear solidly in place, she was able to twist and tilt and leverage the bone spear loose from its asphalt scabbard. The second came out just as easily.


    Dragging the unconscious man proved to be an even greater challenge. His dead weight seemed to increase with every inch. Lana''s arms and back screamed in protest as she pulled him across the rough concrete. She took frequent breaks, gasping for air, her lungs burning with each ragged breath. The journey felt endless, time stretching like elastic, her exhaustion and fear mounting.


    The alley''s shadows danced menacingly in the dim streetlight, and every distant sound made Lana flinch. She couldn''t shake the image of the attacker, his arm warping and tearing impossibly as a bone spear formed and launched towards her and again as the monster impaled the man from the alley. The memory sent a shiver down her spine, spurring her to move faster despite her aching muscles.


    Finally, after what seemed like hours but was likely only minutes, Lana managed to get the man inside. The harsh fluorescent lights of the bathroom cast everything in a sickly, unreal glow. She leaned against the wall, chest heaving, as she surveyed the scene before her. The stark contrast between the sterile white tiles and the spreading pools of blood was jarring, making the situation feel even more surreal.


    The man lay motionless on the grimy tile floor, his clothes soaked with blood. Lana''s mind raced, trying to recall any first aid she learned in her classes. They were media classes, nothing relevant to the case now. In high school though, she had taken a first aid class and she drew on those lectures.


    With shaking hands, she gathered what supplies she could find; cleaning towels, rubber bands, anything that might serve as makeshift bandages.


    As she worked to stem the bleeding, every tightening of the improvised dressings caused the man to grunt or groan. The sounds, though painful, were oddly reassuring, at least he was still alive. Lana''s fingers fumbled with the rubber bands, slick with blood and sweat. She muttered encouragements to herself, trying to keep the rising tide of panic at bay.


    "You''re okay, you''re okay," she chanted, unsure if she was talking to the injured man or herself. The strong smell of cleaning chemicals stored in the bathroom mingled with the metallic scent of blood, making her feel light headed. But Lana pressed on, driven by a determination she didn''t know she possessed.


    After securing the last bandage, Lana sat back on her heels, exhausted. She closed her eyes for a moment of silent contemplation and rest. When she opened them again, she noticed the man''s eyes were open, watching her with a mix of confusion and wariness. His gaze was intense, brown eyes sharp despite the pain he must have been in. There''s something about those eyes; a depth, an age that seems at odds with his apparent youth.


    "What happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse and uncertain.


    Lana let out a bark of laughter, bordering on hysterical. "I was going to ask you the same thing when you woke up," she replied, running a hand through her disheveled hair and tucking an unruly strand behind her ear. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The man took his time responding, his hands gingerly explored the blood soaked bandages around his legs. His eyes darted around the small bathroom, taking into disarray of the blood spattered toilet and sink that Lana used to dispose of bandages too soiled to be of any use. Lana watched him, noting the way his brow furrows in concentration, the slight twitch of his jaw as he processed the situation. There was a certain grace to his movements, even while injured, that seemed almost inhuman.


    "I was in the alley," he finally said, his words slow and measured. "You moved me here? Bandaged me up? Alone?"


    "Sure did," Lana confirmed, her voice steadier than she felt. "I couldn''t leave you or the bones stapled to the ground out back. That wouldn''t be right." She paused, then added with a hint of anxious desperation, "Now can you please answer my question? I''m kind of freaking out inside." Lana leaned forward, her hands, she noticed, were still trembling slightly, and she clasped them together to hide it.


    The man''s expression softened slightly, a look of compassion crossing his features. "I suppose I should thank you for your help," he said, his voice carrying a weight that seemed to go beyond mere gratitude.


    He met her gaze, and for a moment, Lana felt as if those brown eyes were peering into her very soul. The silence between them was heavy with unspoken questions and barely contained fear. Lana became acutely aware of every sensation around her, the cold tile beneath her, the ache in her muscles, the rapid beating of her heart.


    "I''m afraid you won''t believe me if I answer your question," he finally stated, his voice low. "It''s not normal."


    Lana''s laugh was sharp and brittle. "That guy grew a bone out of his arm and threw it at me!" she exclaimed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Pinned you into the ground with bone spears. Nothing is normal right now."


    The man nodded slowly, a hint of a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "You''re right," he conceded, rubbing his head. "My name is Ebon. For the last, I don''t even know how long, I have been tasked to find and destroy things like that man. You might call him a demon, an agent of Satan. And I, you would call, an angel or an agent of God."


    "Bull," Lana snorted, trying to cover a small tremor in her voice that betrayed her uncertainty. The word angel echoed in her mind, and she found herself studying Ebon more closely. There was no halo above his head, no wings on his back. Just a man, battered and bloodied. How could he be an angel?


    "Not bull," Ebon confirmed. He places his hands on the floor, preparing to stand. Lana watched as he grimaced, his face contorted with pain. Without thinking, she moved to help him, supporting his weight as he struggled to his feet. His body was warm against hers, solid despite his injuries and the feel of his skin earlier. There was a strange energy about him, a barely perceptible hum that made the hairs on the back of Lana''s neck stand up.


    Once upright, Ebon continued, his voice strained but earnest. "I''m not very good at it, I''m afraid. I''ve been doing this since the fall of Rome, and I still haven''t figured it out.¡±


    He looked at Lana, surprise flickering across his features as he took in her bland, suspicious expression. "I assure you, miss, I am not lying. I told you that you wouldn''t believe me."


    "Lana," she interjected, her tone flat.


    Ebon blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Excuse me?"


    "My name is Lana. Not miss," she clarified, crossing her arms over her chest. The normalcy of introducing herself grounded her, a small island of sanity in this sea of insanity.


    A small smile played at the corners of Ebon''s mouth. "It was etiquette, Lana," he said, his tone softening. He raised his hand to his head, his smile dropping suddenly, ¡°I don''t remember. The demon, what happened to him? I can''t recall what happened after he impaled me.¡±


    Lana stared at him blankly before answering. ¡°A white light.¡± She scoffed, ¡°blinding white light. Threw that thing down the whole alley. You don''t remember doing that?¡±


    ¡°A white light?¡± He confirmed her question. ¡°No, I do not remember. It''s eerie.¡± He pondered, turning his attention to the bloody sink, where the two calcified bones lie amidst the crimson stains. "Can I take these bones?" he asked, gesturing with a finger. "I have an associate who might be able to help me find this demon if he can identify those bones. Are you planning on using them?"


    Lana shook her head, watching as Ebon carefully pocketed the bones. The surreal nature of the situation hit her anew, here she was, standing in a blood soaked bathroom with a man claiming to be an angel, casually discussing demon hunting and magical bones. She felt as if she stepped into some bizarre poorly written urban fantasy novel.


    "Very good," Ebon said, straightening up with a wince. "I''ll need to go now. Will you be alright?"


    Lana took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. Her mind made up a decision that will change the course of her life forever. "I''ll be more than alright," she answered, her voice steady and determined. "I''ve just spent the night saving you from a bone throwing demon. I''m covered in blood, I''m pretty sure I''m in shock, and nothing makes any sense anymore. But I know one thing for sure. I''m not letting you leave me here alone. Whatever this is, whatever''s going on, I''m coming with you."


    Ebon''s eyebrows shot up in surprise and for a long moment, he studied her, his brown eyes searching her slender face. Lana met his gaze unflinchingly, her heart pounding but her resolve unwavering. She could almost see the internal debate playing out behind his eyes. The desire to protect her from any danger hunting this demon would bring warring with the recognition of her resolute determination to follow.


    Finally, he nodded, a mix of respect and resignation in his expression. "Very well," he said softly.