《Tragedy or Majesty- Dreams Come True and Nightmares Too》


 Chapter 1-Monster in the House

    Anne Graves


    There¡¯s a knock on the door. The alarm clock shows it¡¯s midnight. Why would I answer that? I snuggle deeper into my pillow and wait for sleep to wrap its heavy arms around me since my husband can¡¯t.


    Another knock. A window breaks. It¡¯s midnight. Footsteps crunch glass, and the sound braces against our bedroom door. An intruder enters our home. Going against logic, I hold my breath and hope there aren¡¯t more steps.


    Crunch. It could be the wind. The Heirs said they needed to make a thunderstorm tonight to balance the Earth¡¯s electrical charge or something. Wind doesn¡¯t have footsteps.


    Crunch. It¡¯s a tree. A tree fell through one of my windows, and it¡¯s rolling on the floor¡­ That¡¯s a lie. No one¡¯s sold windows that are less than bulletproof for at least a decade.


    Crunch. I¡¯m out of excuses. I can¡¯t stop staring at our bedroom door. It looks so flimsy.


    My hand reaches for my husband¡¯s shoulder in bed beside me. And it stays there, hanging in midair, guilt keeping it afloat. Davie¡¯s bedside lamp is still on despite his snoring. The cheap, buzzing thing sheds light on his arm still in a cast¡ªmy sin.


    As a reflex, I bury myself beneath the blanket. A pathetic attempt to hide myself from shame and whatever is coming for us. Something heavier than a foot crunches glass downstairs, yanking my thoughts back to the present catastrophe. I push the covers off and sit up straight, hoping to hear any hint that what I think is happening isn¡¯t happening. It only gets worse. The footsteps below no longer step on glass but on our living room floor, a few steps away from our stairs.


    My husband¡¯s chest rises and falls, and his lips quiver. Every instinct demands I wake him, but I can¡¯t because it¡¯s all my fault. I can¡¯t give him anything, not even a good night¡¯s sleep. It¡¯s my fault he has to take these stupid odd jobs from strange people for extra money. His arm won¡¯t be healed for a month because of the last one. If I weren¡¯t such a coward and a freak ruining everything.


    Our baby coos in his crib next to the bed, covered in complete darkness. The light from the lamp doesn¡¯t touch Bailey. He stays in pure, dark, ignorant innocence, and he could stay that way if whatever broke into our house¡­ He could never get married. He could never go to school. He could never age.


    Our baby. I have to save our baby. That¡¯s priority number one. I do a silent prayer to Division, unsure if a god who made a world like this cares. Again, my hand reaches above Davie¡¯s shoulder. I prepare to give him a light tap on his arm and sink back into my covers until I notice how sticky I am with sweat. And I smell. How long have I worn the same nightgown? Two days? Three? What would be the point of showering? I can¡¯t leave the house because I¡¯m a coward. I bite my lip and give a barbarous internal scream.


    It helps, actually. Deep breaths. I whisper, ¡°I am capable. I fear nothing. I can do this.¡±


    I am a mother. I am a wife. And beyond that, I am an adept person. I need to stop being so fearful. Intruders break into homes all across Division¡¯s Hand. People handle it. Whoever has entered my home is a monster. That¡¯s fine. We are prepared. We have a monster in our basement for such an occasion. And he¡¯s always hungry.


    A wicked smile whips across my face. Is this how women born with powers feel? If it is, I get why they¡¯re so vain.


    The monster¡¯s walking up the steps. Loud footfalls display his arrogance, a thing unbothered to use stealth. And he¡¯s dragging something with him.


    I¡¯m not prepared for something else. What if he¡ª


    No, I must be brave. If I¡¯m brave here then brave enough to leave the house, then I¡¯ll be brave everywhere. No more therapist, no more Weakness, no more Curse.


    What did my last therapist say?


    ¡°Your mind responds to your body. Use bold body language, and it makes the fear go away.¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I rise from my bed as stiff as a horror movie vampire and nearly sashay all the way up to the open door. The hallway is darker than night. The intruder takes another step, so powerful I shiver. My strut through the corridor turns into a tiptoeing skip. It¡¯s a throwback to when I had to make bathroom visits as a little girl at night. I thought, post-bathroom visits, that the dark hallway was the scariest thing in the world. Now, I am an adult, and I have nothing to fear. Nope, nothing at all. Sarcasm does not help me.


    I arrive at our study, which holds the coin to let our own monster loose. Once inside, I take a deep breath before I make perhaps the boldest move I have since my Weakness, my Curse, or whatever they want to call it developed. I turn on the light.


    Dishonest silence follows. No more footfalls, the man doesn¡¯t move anymore. Yeah, that¡¯s right. He shouldn¡¯t move. He should be afraid of me. I rush toward the mahogany desk and knock aside the chair to make room to crouch. The coin to control the monster is always in the bottom left drawer. It is the only thing we keep there.


    I open the drawer. It¡¯s empty.


    I stick my face inside because, surely, it¡¯s in some corner. It¡¯s not. No, it is. It is. I just haven¡¯t found it¡ªyet. I stab both my hands into the drawer and grasp search every corner, every frayed piece of wood inside the desk. It¡¯s really not there.


    The footsteps return. He walks toward me, still dragging something behind him. I open every other drawer in the desk. Each drawer makes either a scary pop or an ominous groan as it opens. Pens and pencils and paper and folders and envelopes and erasers and staples and that¡¯s all there is. It could be nowhere else. I put it there. That was my responsibility. I know I put it there. Did Davie move it? No, he wouldn¡¯t. Why would he?


    A shadow comes across the desk. I don¡¯t know what stands before me. No, wait. My therapist says mystery equals fear. So learn what it is. No, define him. Man. He is a man. Men don¡¯t make noises like that. I rise to face it. I don¡¯t have to be afraid. I don¡¯t have to be afraid.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have to be afraid,¡± I say.


    I regret that I can see what¡¯s before me. I regret turning on the light.


    Its whole body hisses. Why does it have so many mouths? The tongues! Oh, I¡¯m nauseous. Why do the tongues have hair and black spots?


    ¡°Be still,¡± he says from a mouth, maybe all of them.


    My Curse activates. Whoever makes me afraid, I must obey. Against my will, I am still. I have to move. My baby, oh Division, my baby. Let me go, please. No, you have to say the words, Anne. Open your mouth! Move your lips! Stop it. Stop obeying him. My mouth does not open. That is not what he commands.


    Davie rushes in behind the man-monster thing.


    Help him, Anne. You have to move, Anne Graves. I am a voyeur to the beating of the man I love. I can neither close my eyes nor adjust my head to get clarity. My solace is that it¡¯s quick. Even when Davie had two working arms, he was not a fighter. Davie¡¯s a lover.


    The monster rises from above Davie¡¯s unconscious body and takes a place in the corner. ¡°Choke him, and don¡¯t stop.¡±


    My brain chuckles. Baby Bailey cries in the next room. My brain chuckles, not my body. I have no control over my body anymore. My brain can¡¯t stop laughing because that¡¯s so impossibly cruel, it couldn¡¯t happen.


    He¡¯s going to make me stop. It¡¯s a test of my Weakness, my Curse. He¡¯s just a guy with powers, and he wonders how the other half are living. The girl who has to do whatever you tell her if you scare her, it¡¯s interesting, right? I¡¯m like the book Ella Enchanted but in real life. He wants to see if the rumors are true. When will he tell me to stop?


    I ask myself this as I straddle my husband and place my hands on his neck. Drops of his blood sink into our gray carpet behind his head.


    Stop, Anne. You have control over your body. It¡¯s all in your head. Why can¡¯t that be true?


    My thumbs go under then above his Adam¡¯s apple, groping for a better grip. My fingers sink into his flesh too easily. Something in his neck snaps. Snaps. How can there be so many snaps?


    Unconscious from the monster, his slack neck and chin rest on my hands. My thumbs decide to perch below his Adam¡¯s apple and dig.


    Stop it, Anne. You¡¯re not afraid of the monster, Anne. Try not to be afraid. You¡¯re killing him, Anne.


    Something cracks, a bone in Davie¡¯s neck. One bone underneath his tight fleshy throat floats, void of an anchor. It feels impossible, like I could never have done it. Another crack.


    Uh-oh, uh-oh is all I can think. Dumb baby talk that we both have become accustomed to since Bailey¡¯s birth. Bailey won¡¯t have a dad. If this monster has any mercy, Bailey won¡¯t have a mother, either.


    ¡°He¡¯s done,¡± the monster says. ¡°Grab your baby and bring him to me.¡±


    I¡¯m sick. I¡¯m filled with whatever vomit is, and it rises to the edge of my throat. I can¡¯t vomit because that¡¯s not my command, and I must do whatever the person scaring me says, according to my Curse. So the vomit drops back down and travels into my body to be stirred and rise again. Chunks of gunk swish in my stomach as I walk to the crib and pick up my baby.


    He stops crying because he¡¯s in Momma¡¯s hands. The need to sing a final song to him bubbles in me. I want to give him something to carry with him, something spiritual. But that¡¯s not my command. My command is to deliver the baby, so I do. The song slips back down into my soul and mixes with the vomit.


    I give up my baby, and because my body hates me, I wait for what¡¯s next. I ponder two questions. Why did the Rainbringer send the Rain to change the world and allow something this evil to happen? Why did God allow this? The monster gives me a final command.

 Interlude- What is Divisions Hand?

    And when man made Earth into famine-filled hell


    Man rushed to the mute sky to cry.


    We were all surprised.


    Orange Rain gushed down for a reply.


    Bringing unprecedented, unimaginable power


    God¡¯s most miraculous gift, to save us in our last hour.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Rocks turned to flowers.


    Deserts leaked showers.


    Pets outgrew towers.


    However,


    The men he chose to empower¡­


    Perhaps it wasn¡¯t God who gave us the Rain.


    Maybe it was an odd star,


    Because God couldn¡¯t have missed this¡­


    Hard.


    Depending on who you ask, the Rain fell because the world was close to oblivion and that was God¡¯s final blessing to keep us from self-destruction.


    Depending on who you ask, the Rain was a good thing. It blessed most people and their descendants with powers. Most people.


    Depending on who you ask, the world is back to normal.


    ¡ª R.J. Mons, author and orphan, Cursed with the power to automatically repel anyone within five feet of him.

 Chapter 2 -Letter from a Lover to the Loved

    Dear Dream,


    Do you understand what it¡¯s like to fail at everything at the cost of the fortunes, lives, and health of everyone around you? Sorry, I know that¡¯s an awful way to start a letter. It¡¯s an attempt at honesty, and I understand that¡¯s important to you, though in the coming days, I will not be treating honesty like it¡¯s important to me. I can¡¯t fail at anything else, Dream.


    Every one of our friends is dead or worse, and it¡¯s all my fault. You don¡¯t know how miserable that makes me. If you and my mom weren¡¯t here, I would probably be gone. Speaking of her, she¡¯s dying, and¡ªas I am now¡ªI¡¯m helpless to stop it. My dad could have, but again, he¡¯s gone, and again, it¡¯s my fault. If I don¡¯t change, I will lose you, and I¡¯ll be trapped in my own hell. So when I make the decisions I make to keep my mom from death and to keep you in my life, please forgive me. You¡¯ll never understand how much I valued our old friends. You¡¯ll never understand how much I value your friendship.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    In fact, as I write this letter, I understand that you wouldn¡¯t understand my point of view on this. You just don¡¯t get some things. Your heart or inheritance keeps you from understanding them. So I guess I won¡¯t be sending you this letter. It still feels good to write it, though. A justification for a few sins. Sorry, Dream. I just pray you¡¯re patient with me.


    Sincerely,


    Velli

 Chapter 3- 2 a.m. Conversations

    Velli


    My book bag, filled with forty thousand in freshly obtained cash, sits against the wall behind the couch, in the corner of the living room. Its presence presses my paranoia and booms like an invisible speaker in my head. It warns me how easily it can be snatched and implores me to spend it tonight.


    It¡¯s so much money¡ªmore than I¡¯ve ever had in one place. My dad¡¯s life insurance money, all he¡¯s worth to the world.


    No way you¡¯re worth more than a buck fifty, then. No way, Fate, an actual voice in my head, says. The voice is not mine but wants me dead. You know what they say about good men and their sons, and your dead daddy was a great man. But you as a son? Well¡­


    It hurts worse when Fate is right, and those last words make me take a deep, bleak breath. I try to ignore the rest of what Fate has to say. The bulging, tattered book bag demands my attention. It demands everyone¡¯s attention. She has to know it¡¯s there. She¡¯s going to ask why I have that much money and hate me when I tell her the answer.


    So, you¡¯ll lie.


    So, I¡¯ll lie.


    ¡°Sorry, I have to go home,¡± I tell Dream from across the couch.


    ¡°What? It¡¯s 2 a.m.?¡± The only light in her living room, the white light from the TV, splashes on her pretty face and does something magical to her brown skin.


    ¡°I¡¯m tired.¡± I consider faking a yawn, but she¡¯s too clever for that. Instead, I go for something coyer and let my eyes glaze over a bit. She buys it.


    Of course she does. She trusts you because good people don¡¯t lie to friends.


    ¡°Well, Velli, why don¡¯t you just sleep here?¡± She pauses, and even my heart waits to beat. ¡°You can have my bed. My parents are gone until the morning. I¡¯ll sleep in their bed.¡±


    I do my best to not let the disappointment show on my face. ¡°Nah, I think I need to go.¡±


    ¡°Why? What¡¯s wrong?¡± She scans the room, her poofy, curly hair bouncing as she turns. She says her eyes are poop colored. They remind me of a certain brown gemstone, diaspore, I believe.


    She scans the room for a flaw, for something she did to make me want to leave. Guilt slaps me around. She set up a great movie night for us. We¡¯re on the third movie of the evening, one of the Pre-Rain mob movies. Great living room couch¡ªbright, happy blue, easy to sink into, and with small orange pillows scattered across it. Four slices of the pizza we devoured earlier sit longingly on the table, and my stomach begs for them. From two bowls on the table, butter and caramel popcorn engulf the room in their perfect, comfortable smell. And the girl I love is right across from me.


    Dream takes a handful of popcorn from the bowl as she tries to figure out why I¡¯m leaving her. Enthralled in her wondering, she spills popcorn on her white pajama T-shirt. She did try her best to make a great night for us. My heart tugs to stay and enjoy it. My head yanks me by my neck to leave.


    The popcorn will rot your teeth, and you can¡¯t afford a dentist. You can barely afford to keep your mom on life support. Have you done the math? You can¡¯t afford the next payment. She¡¯s dying in a week. Tops! Dream provided the pizza you didn¡¯t pay for. Bum. Yes, the couch is nice. Dream is used to finer things, which is one of the many reasons your feelings for her are not mutual. She hates you. Y¡¯know?


    No, that logic doesn¡¯t follow¡ª


    She won¡¯t say it because you¡¯re the last one left. Poor girl has attachment issues, but she does hate you¡ªof course she does. Can you think of a reason why she wouldn¡¯t? I¡¯ll wait¡­ As I was saying, Fate continues. She might not hate you, though¡­ if you go to the Conference of Desires and buy it. It¡¯s a once-a-year event, and the conference will be closing in an hour or so. Better hurry.


    I think you want me to go to the conference because you think I¡¯ll die there.


    No! Fate mocks in a long, sarcastic groan. Oh, Velli, you¡¯re so smart, you figured out my plan. What next will you use your masterful powers of deduction on? Is the sky blue? Where does the sun go at night? So many questions only you can answer.


    All right, I get it.


    Velli, Velli, Velli, answer this, though. Am I right? Wouldn¡¯t she¡ªand your mother, but that¡¯s another subject¡ªbesides, she might be gone soon anyway¡ª


    Enough about my mom, Fate. She¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯m figuring that out.


    Wouldn¡¯t Dream and your mom like you better if you went and made the deal? I¡¯m looking out for us, Velli. Us. We¡¯re the same person.


    I¡¯m unsure if that¡¯s true.


    Rarely do I take Fate¡¯s life advice seriously. However, I think he may be right. I have a lot riding on tonight. Dream doesn¡¯t even notice my internal battle.


    She wouldn¡¯t notice if you died, by the way.


    Fate, can you relax?


    ¡°I have to go to bed¡± is all I have to say, then I can leave. The words frolic on my tongue, ready to fly off and be free but¡­ Dream.


    Every face has a flaw. Stare at the face of someone beautiful long enough, anyone can find it. That is not the case with Dream. Fate rattles off a bunch of ¡°flaws.¡± I can¡¯t see them, though. I¡¯m sure someone is prettier, closer to perfect, but no one else in this world makes me want to cancel every plan I have when they smile. No one else is Dream.


    ¡°Fine, Velli, we can put on a different movie if that¡¯s what this is about.¡± Dream smiles. ¡°Hey, what are you smiling at?¡± Something about her expression is soft, open to every answer I could provide.


    No, you¡¯re staring at her. She¡¯s staring back at you because you creep her out. She doesn¡¯t like you. Everyone that did like you is dead.


    ¡°You spilled popcorn in your hair.¡± I laugh like her having popcorn in her hair is funny for some reason.


    Dream runs her fingers through and plucks at her black and auburn hair. Her eyes are alive and inviting, long, dark eyelashes framing them. Her soft cheekbones, which only grace the world with their presence when she smiles, pop up. To sell the lie and not look like I¡¯m enamored with everything about her, I wait for her to turn her head away from me, then I take a crumb of popcorn from the bowl. I¡¯m sure to pick up a crumb as opposed to a whole piece because otherwise she would notice.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± she asks. ¡°I don¡¯t feel anything.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I gotcha. Hold on. Who¡¯s the main actress in this one?¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I motion to the TV, and she turns to check then says a name.


    I place the crumb in her hair and pluck it out in smooth unison. ¡°Got it,¡± I say, claiming my prize and waving it in her face. Mission accomplished.


    Yes, truly a fantastic, fulfilling, and healthy relationship you¡¯re building toward.


    I wince guiltily at his truthful allegation.


    ¡°Thanks, goat.¡±


    I chuckle. ¡°It¡¯s ghost, the expression people use is ghost. It comes from the cliques. It¡¯s used to describe someone who would get revenge or ¡®haunt¡¯ your killers if you died. But, uh, it¡¯s not like a major commitment for people outside the cliques. It¡¯s just like a term to call your best friends. No one talked like that in your high school?¡±


    ¡°Not to me.¡± She shrugs and turns back to the bowl of popcorn.


    ¡°Huh, well, we went to really different high schools.¡±


    Yes, you went to poor people¡¯s school.


    Someone knocks on the door. At 2 a.m.? Everyone knows not to answer a knock in Division¡¯s Hand at this time.


    ¡°Coming!¡± Dream yells to the door. She pushes the blanket off and leaps up with the cute pep of a rabbit and¡ª


    What am I doing? Her life¡¯s on the line. I grab her wrist, stronger than intended, to stop her.


    I expect anger from her. I get surprise instead. Her eyebrows lift. Her lip pokes, and her eyes prod me for an explanation.


    ¡°Your parents said they won¡¯t get back until tomorrow morning.¡± I wait for her to connect the dots.


    ¡°Yes, well¡­¡±


    ¡°Are you expecting anyone?¡±


    ¡°No, but¡­¡±


    We live in a zero-trust society. Shapeshifters, living shadows, and men that can blend in with air kidnap the naive or gullible. Everyone knows to be quick to use their powers, to carry something that can kill, and not to answer random knocks. Everyone knows to use a key or text first. Everyone except Dream, apparently.


    ¡°Do you always open the door when someone knocks?¡± I still don¡¯t let go of her arm because she has that daring look in her eye. ¡°Dream, I¡¯m serious.¡±


    Dream squints, strokes her chin like a philosopher, then wiggles nonexistent glasses on her face and gives the longest ¡°hmm¡± ever uttered.


    ¡°Dream, c¡¯mon.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. No one¡¯s ever knocked.¡±


    ¡°No one has ever knocked on your door?¡±


    Of course not. They know better than to knock here because of her sister. They knock on yours because you don¡¯t have a reputation.


    I despise when Fate is right.


    ¡°Nope,¡± Dream says. ¡°So this is kind of fun for me.¡± She giggles, an adorable harmony both infectious and disarming.


    I don¡¯t even notice I¡¯ve let her go, and she creeps forward, smiling all the way.


    ¡°Dream!¡± I leap off the couch to block her.


    She feigns astonishment and jumps in the air in fake surprise. I relax a little. I don¡¯t think she really wants to open the door, so we make it a game. She shuffles to my left to try to circle around me to get to the door. I block her path. She tries the other side. I block. Always the hard worker, she tries again and again, mixing in pump fakes, trash talk, and the occasional spin move in between her laughs. I make sure not to let her by between my own laughter.


    ¡°It¡¯s probably the pizza guy,¡± she says after failing a spin move.


    ¡°Why would the pizza guy be here?¡±


    ¡°We have his pizza.¡± She fakes left twice and moves right.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s our pizza,¡± I correct.


    ¡°Then, why is he called the pizza guy?¡±


    It must be because it¡¯s so late and I¡¯m getting delirious, but her awful joke makes me laugh. I hate giving her a good laugh at her bad jokes. She¡¯ll repeat it later.


    Perspiration forms on her brow, and she¡¯s spending more and more time with her hands on her knees in exasperation. We¡¯ve played enough sports and gone on enough ¡°field trips,¡± as we call them, that I know when she¡¯s getting tired. She has one more big burst left in her.


    Dream leaps up, a weak attempt to go over me. I catch her, of course. My face lands on her stomach, my hands clasped on the small of her back. It¡¯s a moment. We stay in silence, longer than we should.


    Another knock pulls us to reality.


    My face leaves her stomach, and our eyes greet one another while she¡¯s still in my arms.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she says.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I say.


    ¡°Fine, then, If you¡¯re not going to let me give the pizza guy back his pizza, fly me back to my seat.¡± She spreads her arms like a plane and throws her head back. I take one step closer to the couch and toss her on it. She lands with all the dramatics she can muster then, smiling, invites me to sit back with her as she pats the couch.


    She¡¯s five foot four and a hundred pounds. You¡¯re not a caveman.


    ¡°All right,¡± I say. ¡°Back to the movie for a bit, then I¡¯ll leave when the creep at the door leaves.¡±


    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s fine.¡± She puts on a fake dignified air.


    It reminds me of her sister, Rose, and by reflex, I fix my posture. I have no positive words for her sister¡ªor, for that matter, the other Heirs of Division, the ruler of all five fingers¡ªcities¡ªof Division¡¯s Hand. They¡¯re just royalty, not gods and¡ª


    The knocking returns, slow beats of four. We do our best to ignore it. I snuggle into the perfect couch, and Dream fixes her hair back into a small ponytail.


    ¡°What¡¯s this movie called again?¡± I ask.


    ¡°The Godfather. I¡¯m not the biggest fan of the overall plot, but the performances are great.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I guess. It¡¯s a little slow.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not that. The ending just depresses me.¡±


    ¡°Heh.¡± I let out an unpleasant chuckle.


    She doesn¡¯t speak. She gives me a quizzical look. I don¡¯t want to start this again. It¡¯s the one thing she can¡¯t seem to understand.


    ¡°I mean,¡± I drag out. ¡°Why don¡¯t you like the ending?¡±


    ¡°He ends up leading a life of crime.¡± Dream waves her hand like she¡¯s imploring me to use thoughts for the first time in my life. ¡°And everyone¡¯s worse off for it.¡±


    ¡°Projection,¡± I mumble.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°Everyone¡¯s not worse off for it. He doesn¡¯t have options. He did the best he could.¡±


    ¡°Oh, so he didn¡¯t kill anyone?¡±


    I wave her off. I should let it go and point to the TV to signify I¡¯m trying to watch the movie. It¡¯s just a movie.


    It¡¯s never about the movie.


    Dream doesn¡¯t let it go. ¡°Y¡¯know,¡± she starts, ¡°every once in a while, I wonder what¡¯s going through your head.¡±


    I love Dream, but I wish she would step down from her ivory tower. Some things, she will never get. I shrug and fold my arms to resist blowing up and starting an argument that could get really personal really quickly. I should have left earlier. Now, I have to wait for this psycho to leave the front door.


    Of course, if I call for the Heirs cops to arrive and handle the presence, they¡¯ll come in about three days. What Dream and so many with powers refuse to acknowledge is that the Heirs are losing power over the cities every day. Of course, the royal and Powered don¡¯t notice they¡¯ll be affected last. This empire is dying, and the time to gather power before that happens and things become much worse is now.


    Both Dream and I pretend like the car chase on the screen engages our resentful minds.


    ¡°Dream, I need your help!¡± a woman screams from behind the door.


    My favorite thing about Dream is that she will help anybody despite the personal cost to her. But that''s also my least favorite thing. Her savior complex will be her downfall. Why did they have to say help? Why couldn¡¯t they sell something or offer a gift or pretend to be someone raised from the dead? Why help?


    My breathing slows. My muscles tighten, and my mouth hangs ready to say something. But I have no words.


    Dream and I lock eyes. Thoughts of the previous argument are gone. We¡¯ve done this before. Dream¡¯s only thought is to help whoever is on the other side of the door. My only thought is to stop her. Piercing and joyless eyes drill into me. They tell me she¡¯s going to do anything possible to open the door this time. I hope mine make it clear that I won¡¯t be letting her kill herself.


    ¡°I know the words. The password you gave us,¡± the woman from behind the door says.


    Each moment is slow. I notice my heart beating. It¡¯s slow with big thumps, a sprinter lowering himself at the blocks, ready to run.


    ¡°I have need of a friend who will keep my name and ignore my shame!¡± the woman cries, and like magic, Dream and I are on the same side. That¡¯s our password for someone with a Weakness and is in an emergency. Still, it could be a trap.


    Our voices drop to whispers.


    ¡°You get the door,¡± I tell Dream. ¡°I¡¯ll get behind the couch and pop out with five shots from my pistol if it¡¯s a trap. I won¡¯t be watching, so what¡¯s your greeting if it¡¯s an immediate threat?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll say hello instead of hey.¡±


    ¡°And if you find out it¡¯s a threat later in the conversation?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll say, ¡®Sorry, the TV¡¯s too loud. Let me turn it down.¡¯ Then you fire.¡±


    ¡°I have need of a friend who will keep my name and ignore my shame!¡± the person yells again.


    ¡°Got it,¡± I say. ¡°Stay parallel to her then leap left after you say the words. I¡¯m aiming for her heart, which will be on your right if you face her straight on.¡±


    ¡°Why not the head?¡±


    ¡°Could not have a head. Everything has a heart.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s sweet of you to say.¡±


    ¡°Not like that.¡± I don¡¯t believe that for a second. Not everything has a heart in both the physical and metaphysical sense.


    A smile passes over her face before the somberness of the situation picks it off like a banshee ripping a child from its crib. We nod in unison and zoom past one another. I take three silent steps to go behind the couch and draw the pistol.


    ¡°Oh no! Hold on, coming,¡± Dream says to the door.


    I imagine she looks in the peephole first, but I can¡¯t see from my position. I hear the twist of the doorknob. The click of the lock echoes, and the door hinges whine to reluctantly open. Rain assaults the world outside, its pitter-patter and pleasant smell pouncing inside. I didn¡¯t even know it was raining. A single wet foot slams on Dream¡¯s floor before she can speak.


    ¡°Anne Graves¡­ what¡¯s wrong?¡± Dream asks.

 Chapter 4- Don鈥檛 Answer Door Knocks in Division鈥檚 Hand

    Velli


    ¡°Anne? How¡¯s your baby?¡± Dream speaks again.


    Who¡¯s that? No mental image of such a person reaches my mind. Dream¡¯s the one who knows the Cursed. I make it my business to know others.


    ¡°Thank you, Dream,¡± the woman known as Anne says, each word wet and tired.


    Slow, cautious, squishy steps mark her presence in the room. Something¡¯s not right about her. She should be panicking, excited, or displaying some strong emotion if she needs help. The relief in her voice doesn¡¯t match her slow, subdued movements .


    The water from Anne¡¯s clothes violates the carpet in inconsistent, relentless gushes, a constant hammering on Dream¡¯s floor. I didn¡¯t even know about the storm outside, but the thunder¡¯s bang is clear now.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Dream says. ¡°That¡¯s a big guy. What do you have there?¡±


    Another set of footsteps enters the room¡ªtwo feet, heavy and filled with the stench of the woods. A loud crack follows every footstep the thing takes.


    ¡°How are you?¡± Dream asks.


    The thing does not answer in English if it¡¯s an answer at all. Two huge huffs of breath pour out from it, filling the room with heat.


    The door slams shut. I¡¯m unsure who shut it.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know it was you, Anne. Would you like to sit?¡± Dream asks.


    Dream, can you please stick to the plan? It¡¯s hard not to smack my face in frustration.


    I, for one, love how trusting Dream is. Just forgetting the plan because, apparently, this is a friend of hers. Truly, my favorite Dream quality.


    ¡°No, no thank you.¡± Anne rejects the offer.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Dream presses. No one on this planet is more capable of frustrating me than Dream.


    ¡°You just had a baby. Didn¡¯t you? Congrats, by the way, but you need your rest.¡±


    The big thing, whatever he is, spits breath like he hates it for giving him life. The cracking never stops.


    Relatable.


    A thick silence fills the room that even the words of Michael Corleone on the screen can¡¯t interrupt. They¡¯re just words in the background, salt on what¡¯s cooking.


    ¡°Anne, where¡¯s Davie?¡± Dream asks. ¡°Where¡¯s your husband?¡±


    ¡°Dead,¡± Anne replies, not missing a beat.


    The beast does something wilder than a howl, something like a self-torturing chant.


    ¡°Dream,¡± Anne says. ¡°Could you tell whoever¡¯s hiding to come out? It can smell him.¡±


    For the love of Division, the Heirs, the Rain, and every God in the universe, lie! Dream, lie!


    ¡°Velli, come out,¡± Dream says.


    Told you she hates you.


    She doesn¡¯t hate me. She¡¯s just naive.


    Same thing in the end.


    I rise from the corner, shoulders back, hands up, smile wide, attempting to look as nonchalant as possible, and I take a seat on the couch. My gun stays ready in my hand.


    Anne is not in good shape at all¡ªfrom my guess, neither mentally nor physically. Her eyes bounce from me to Dream to no one and back again, telling me her anxiety is off the charts. She has drooping, swelling black bags on the pale skin under her eyes that could be from violence or lack of sleep. Lack of sleep makes her decision-making poor. Her tight jaw and fist clenching and unclenching are signs of aggression. From her appearance, I can tell she just left her house. She¡¯s wearing a white nightgown that did nothing to keep the storm¡¯s wrath from her. I would guess a bout with pneumonia is in her future if she doesn¡¯t pass out. Her skin is ghost pale. Her long, tangled orange-red forest of hair drips water, and in her hand is a leash to something that looks malignant.


    It¡¯s definitely a Drowned Beast. It can¡¯t be natural. Or it could be a man that the Rain changed. Its stance resembles a man before a fight. No, that¡¯s not right because he¡¯s not like a boxer. This is more like a man right before an assault, a pounce no one will see coming¡ªbent knees, bouncing on bare toes, and tense, raised shoulders. He¡¯s not all man, though. He has antlers. Long, thick, bastardized geometric shapes sprout from his head. They make a cracking sound.


    Crack. Crack. Fate mocks the sound it makes and creates an echo in my head. By reflex, I flinch. Dream looks over at me with embarrassing concern.


    Good job, lover boy.


    I shrug at her, pretending I¡¯m fine.


    I¡¯m sure she¡¯s bought it. Your plans have gone very well so far.


    Let¡¯s focus on the thing before me. He isn¡¯t quite a man-moose. He¡¯s too colorful. Black like a bat with aged, leathery flesh. His cheeks are bright blue, and his gangly throat is an evil red with a sagging, prevalent Adam¡¯s apple. His eyes are black dots that look drawn on.


    Dream and I slide nearer each other.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s you¡­Velli.¡± Anne Graves says. ¡°Sorry about your mom.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to be,¡± I say. ¡°She¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°Well, we all should be fine.¡± She laughs twice in a sort of hiccup.


    I nod. She can¡¯t meet my eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Every word Anne says is sharp and quick¡ªshe doesn¡¯t want to be cut off¡ªand yet scratchy, her voice hoarse. ¡°We all know it shouldn¡¯t be this way.¡±


    ¡°No, I guess it shouldn¡¯t.¡± I nod to the beast she has on the leash.Stolen novel; please report.


    The beast¡¯s jaw drops in stupid ecstasy and makes a strange crowish sound ascending from the pits of its throat.


    ¡°Can this thing leave?¡± I ask.


    ¡°No, I need him,¡± she snaps back.


    ¡°Hey, Anne,¡± Dream says. ¡°If we could not make a mess, this is my parents¡¯ house.¡±


    Maybe Dream keeps talking, but her words get lost in the firecracker sounds of the horns coming apart. The horns fall off the moose man¡¯s head. Dream and I leap in our seats. The horns twitch on the floor. A constant vibrating, shaking, heart-thumping motion from things that should be inanimate. The rattle they make on the floor builds in intensity, and I¡¯m afraid to look away.


    I want to ask a variety of questions. What is happening? Who are you, Anne? Why did you bring a Drowned Beast? Can you leave? However, none of those would benefit my survival. Dream may not have had survival class in high school, but I did. There are rules to follow to stay alive when facing a Drowned Beast.


    Rule One: Do not make eye contact with a Drowned Beast.


    Rule Two: Leave doors and windows open. Hopefully, they¡¯ll leave.


    Rule Three: Do not speak to them or touch them or anything they bring.


    Rule Four: If you don¡¯t have powers, do not try to fight them. Run.


    Rule Five: Do not upset whoever holds the leash of a Drowned Beast.


    Based on Anne¡¯s look right now, we never had a chance to follow rule five.


    The horns on the floor freeze belly up like a dead bug. Only the beast¡¯s breaths and Anne¡¯s dripping clothes dare stain the room with sound. Dream and I sit in dreadful, anticipatory silence. The horns turn themselves over and crouch, spiderlike. They crawl to the wall in tiny bug-like steps. Thick silver liquid pours from their backs, leaving a track like a snail¡¯s trail. Up the wall and to the ceiling they go. The liquid that flows out of them solidifies into something sticky, familiar, and uncomfortable. My brain yearns to find out what it is and yet is denied.


    Something thuds above me, and crumbs of ceiling flakes fall down. I don¡¯t want to risk breaking rule number one, so I don¡¯t look up, but I hear. The scampering of six tiny legs across the ceiling beats against my eardrums. Sometimes, it¡¯s above me, ready to drop. Dream, of course, looks up.


    ¡°I need your help,¡± Anne says. ¡°I have a dilemma.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re happy to help.¡± Dream is somehow cheerful. ¡°Do you think you can bring it down, though? This is my parents¡¯ house. Remember, like I said before?¡±


    ¡°Are you Cursed, Velli?¡± Anne asks me.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Can you tell me what it is?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    It¡¯s rude to ask. She should know that. What¡¯s her game?


    ¡°Dream.¡± Anne looks up at the ceiling. A crust of debris falls on her eye. ¡°Do you have a Curse or, so sorry, I mean Weakness, Dream? I know your religion doesn¡¯t like to call them Curses. But¡ªbut¡ªseriously, I need to know, do you have a Weakness that no one knows?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a Weakness, actually.¡± Her voice holds a hint of shame at her lack of imperfection.


    ¡°Then, why do you do this? Why do you really care?¡±


    I¡¯ve asked Dream the same question. So I know she¡¯ll shrug and hide her real answer, whatever that may be. She¡¯ll just say, ¡°People should do the right thing.¡±


    ¡°People should do the right thing,¡± she says, like she does every time.


    ¡°And what is ¡®the right thing¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Helping other people in this case. It¡¯s what everyone should do.¡± Dream says it with a surprising amount of confidence, considering the situation.


    ¡°I need a real answer.¡± Anne stares at the floor and yanks on the moose man¡¯s leash. He lets out one loud bark that causes my heart to almost stop in my chest. That bark is close to a real word. ¡°No more, Dream. No more of that. Real answers.¡±


    ¡°That is a real answer.¡± Dream puts extra sweetness on her words to contrast the bitterness that¡¯s coming from Anne.


    I risk a glance above me. Shaking, egg-filled spiderwebs cover the entirety of the ceiling directly above us, and the living horns work on filling the rest of the room. The webs look more like the tangled gray hairs of an ancient giant. They¡¯re thick strands, disgusting, and I need them to hold. They don¡¯t look like they will. White mushroom-looking spider eggs hang inside them, and they shake. Not much, a small rattle, but the things in them want out.


    Constant debris rains on us from the ceiling. Crusty flakes of blue get in our hair and hit our faces. And I know it¡¯s all in my head, but I feel it. I feel the spiders crawling on me.


    ¡°That is not a real answer!¡± Anne spits. ¡°Do you honestly think if you were Cursed¡±¡ªshe says the last word with palpable frustration; we never had a chance of not breaking rule number five¡ª¡°you¡¯d be so anxious to ¡®do the right thing¡¯?¡±


    ¡°I hope so.¡±


    I know that answer annoys Anne because it annoys me. Dream, Anne, and I exchange glances.


    ¡°What is he?¡± Dream asks.


    ¡°A Drowned Beast.¡± Anne calms at the words. ¡°My husband and I took extra shifts to save up and buy him for protection. So much work. Work we did together, though.¡± Anne can look us in the eye now, and she¡¯s so happy. ¡°Always together, my best friend and I, and it was going to be so worth it. Our baby was going to be safe.¡± Anne rubs her not-pregnant belly. Her empty stomach snatches her back from her past and into the present moment. Disappointment consumes her body, sagging her shoulders and curving her lips into a thick, rock-solid frown.


    Empathetic as always, Dream slides forward, prepared to comfort Anne. I pull her back. Still mourning, Anne reaches into the pocket of her nightgown. I move to point my gun at her. Dream pushes my hand down. I would swear by my name that the moose smiles at me as I put away my gun.


    ¡°You have no idea how much time we wasted working for this,¡± Anne says. ¡°Wasted. It¡¯s wasted because he¡¯s gone. And my baby¡¯s gone.¡± Rightful spite coats every word. She pulls out a small silver coin. ¡°All for this. It¡¯s a one-shot protection for any threat, no matter how powerful they are.¡± She nods in the direction of the heavy-breathing brute and points one finger up. ¡°Whatever I throw this at, they will destroy. We were supposed to buy more than one coin, but we could only afford one.¡±


    The gray webs stretch and shake across every inch of the ceiling now. It¡¯s too much shaking. The eggs fall off one strand to land on another. And the walls. A wall of eggs covers the kitchen and door. So much for rule two. Every exit is covered.


    Gunshots come from the TV screen. A battle has started.


    The living horns plop onto the floor to the left of the couch. I risk a glance. They scurry away behind the couch. Appearing on the other side, they crawl on top of the coffee table, knocking over the popcorn. Lemonade spills on the floor. Dream and I freeze. The horns crawl toward us, pitter-pattering, to hop in Dream¡¯s lap. She freezes. Egg-filled shaking webs pour¡ªthick and slow, soup-like¡ªfrom the back of the horns onto Dream. I grab the thing by its base and yank it off of Dream. I go eye to eye with the moose beast.


    ¡°No, not her,¡± I command.


    The beast gives two mighty huffs. I toss the horns aside. That¡¯s fine. Let¡¯s just break every rule.


    ¡°Thanks, ghost.¡± Dream adjusts herself. ¡°Anne, why don¡¯t you sit?¡± Dream begs, patting the spot on the couch beside her. ¡°You really should. Your body¡¯s been through a lot. You just had a baby.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t even know.¡± Anne¡¯s eyes bore into Dream before finding solace elsewhere.


    ¡°Anne, I know your baby is gone but, um, gone where?¡±


    ¡°Gone.¡±


    We¡¯re dealing with an emergency. In normal circumstances, those with Weaknesses come to us for assistance. The baby is gone, and in the first minute of her visit, she has not attempted to get it back, meaning she has no hope we can get it back. Therefore, she does not seek that assistance. So why come? I would hypothesize she wants our destruction. Fingers crossed. Not sure why, though.


    ¡°Anne.¡± Dream¡¯s aware of the danger we¡¯re now in because she¡¯s clever, but it¡¯s not even on her priority list. I can hear it in her voice. She¡¯s heartbroken for Anne. ¡°Anne, Anne, I¡¯m so, so sorry, Anne. Come here.¡±


    Dream! I don¡¯t know why Anne¡¯s here, but I¡¯m going to end up having to shoot something. For the love of Division, Restoration, and every Heir, do not hug her!


    ¡°I need an honest answer, Dream. If you were me, if you were Cursed, would goodness really be a priority?¡±


    Okay, she¡¯s lost her child, and she¡¯s holding something back, something she wants to let out. Think more. Her line of questioning¡ªshe¡¯s questioning Dream¡¯s morality. She wants to know more morals because she¡¯s about to make a morally questionable decision. Perhaps to get her child back? Yes, a way to get her child back and maybe kill us in exchange? Okay, who would want us dead and would kidnap a child?


    Ooh, better hurry, Fate chides. This is your job, isn¡¯t it? You don¡¯t know the names of the people you help¡ªnot because they remind you of yourself and you secretly hate yourself but because you¡¯re too busy memorizing all the threats that could come your way. Right, champ?


    Can you shut up? I¡¯m trying to get out of this.


    Dream does not answer Anne¡¯s question. Dream rises and steps toward Anne. I reach to stop her, and the moose roars, keeping me in my seat. I know what I¡¯m shooting first.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch me!¡± Anne yells at Dream.


    The Drowned Beast barks, knocking Dream a step back.


    Dream does not sit down. ¡°Sorry, sorry. I want to help in any way possible,¡± Dream repents.


    Anne makes a noise that¡¯s as close to a human growl as it comes. Her frustration is building.

 Chapter 5- Annes Got Something Worse than a Gun

    Velli


    Okay, think. We have a decent list of enemies. Most of what we do is secret, though, so our enemies don¡¯t know. Yes, and they chose to attack Dream¡¯s house. That means they aren¡¯t afraid of Dream¡¯s sister, Rose. Who in Division¡¯s Hand could we have made mad that isn¡¯t afraid of Rose? Okay, one of the World-Conquering Cliques? The Twenty-Eight, the Family, the Nephilim, the Brood, and there¡¯s more. That makes this challenging. The powers of the World-Conquering Cliques are vast. Any one of those cliques could make this house turn to rubble in seconds. But to make that move against Rose? That¡¯s the start of a war.


    Well, we all know a war is coming, whether we like it or not. The Heirs¡¯ reign is ending.


    Okay, so this could be a political hit? She¡¯s the little sister of a soon-to-be Heir. That¡¯s attacking royalty. A message? Then why is Anne here? What is she about to do? And her kid? No, the kid¡¯s the key!


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re a good person. I just think you¡¯re lucky,¡± Anne accuses Dream for a reason I can¡¯t decipher yet.


    ¡°I am not a good person,¡± Dream says and surprises the whole room. I glance at her. Does she mean it?


    Anne¡¯s jaw wiggles.


    Dream stutters another reply. ¡°I-I-I try. I¡¯m really trying.¡±


    ¡°Do you know my Curse?¡± Anne tugs on the beast¡¯s chain twice.


    The moose knows something is coming. Its blue cheeks puff up with glee, and its drooping red Adam¡¯s apple quavers. Above me, the webs stretch downward, close to tearing. The weight of the eggs is too much. They now look like stretched, melted marshmallows filled with living specks of pus. I can already feel spiders crawling on my skin.


    Dream takes a step closer to Anne. ¡°Yes!¡± she stammers. ¡°Yes, Fear Walk, right? If someone makes you scared enough, you have to obey them. It¡¯s like your body¡¯s on strings.¡±


    Anne swallows hard and nods. ¡°I couldn¡¯t find the coin in time. Yeah, that¡¯s my fault. I get it!¡± She yells the last sentence like we were arguing with her. ¡°It¡¯s my fault I couldn¡¯t stop them. But does that mean they have to take everything?¡± She¡¯s screeching now. ¡°He made me kill my husband! He could have killed Davie, and he made me do it! My hands were covered in Davie¡¯s blood, then I had to hand my baby to him. He didn¡¯t have to do that.¡± Her voice drops off, raspy again. ¡°He could have at least killed Davie then killed me if they wanted my baby. Why is it fair that because I made one mistake, they could take everything from me? Your sister is a god, right? So you¡¯re a god, right? If you were me, would you be okay with having everything just taken from you? Your own child?¡±


    ¡°I-I-I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do.¡±


    Anne smiles chillingly. ¡°Me either. I¡¯m screwed either way, right?¡±


    Screwed either way? She¡¯s just like you, Velli! Listen closely. I think I know how this will end.


    A piece of Dream¡¯s ceiling falls in front of me.


    Every word Anne spits causes her to shake. ¡°If I work hard and do the right thing, someone will just take everything from me, and if I do the unspeakable to get ahead, I couldn¡¯t live with myself.¡± Still smiling, she stares at her beast. It doesn¡¯t notice her. One of its pencil-sketched eyes is on me, the other on Dream.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Wait, if she¡¯s just like me, I understand. I see exactly what she¡¯s saying. She¡¯s not strong enough to go get her baby back. She doesn¡¯t even know how. Perhaps she could bargain to get him back in more nefarious ways, i.e., kidnapping someone like Dream and hoping for a trade. However, she couldn¡¯t live with herself if she did that, and she can¡¯t live with herself for letting her baby go. Perpetual misery.


    She¡¯s not here to hurt me or Dream. She¡¯s here to end her life. She wants to go out in a blaze of agony before she dies, to be seen and understood before she¡¯s wiped from existence. Anne has a desperation to be remembered. Her final act of kindness is for her death to be burned into Dream¡¯s eyes so Dream will remember her name and understand people like her. I get it. I¡¯ve been there. I still might be there. Where life is so bad, death is the logical medicine.


    Anne tosses the coin in the air and sticks her hand out so it will land on her palm. Dream, still in shock, stares. Dream¡¯s clever, but she¡¯s not me. Dream¡¯s too naive to understand the gravity of the situation. She won¡¯t blame me for my inaction. A sick smile forms on the beast¡¯s face. Anne drops the beast¡¯s leash. With a callous heart and a mind evolved for safety, it¡¯s easy to watch the coin land on her while I do nothing. As the creature Anne brought devours her, I won¡¯t flinch. I¡¯ve seen worse this month. I can¡¯t interrupt her attempt to end her life and risk my own. I have my mom and Dream to keep safe, and nothing matters more than them.


    That¡¯s all a lie not even I believe. Leaping, reaching, and screaming at the same time, I dive for the coin, knocking Dream out of the way. I refuse to let anyone to die this miserably. I refuse to allow anyone to die feeling how I feel. I reach the coin and smack it toward the TV.


    The shot of Michael Corleone switches to Apollonia right before the coin smacks the TV. And that¡¯s all I have time to see. Every white egg bursts, and thousands of spiders crawl over us. Tiny feet run over every inch of my skin, an ocean of spiders. My shoes aren¡¯t safe. My pants are invaded. I blink them out of my eyeballs. I shut my mouth and still find one walking across my tongue. One crawls in and out of my nose on the way to its target. Every one of the spiders attacks the TV. Maybe a million holes form in the thing. The beast charges into the well-defeated TV. Glass, wires, metal, he eats it all, tearing it apart with claws and a fang-filled mouth. It¡¯s like watching an artist of predatory skill at work.


    It finishes slurping up an electric wire and leaves, twisting the doorknob and shutting the door behind him. The spiders go belly up and die.


    Anne sits on the floor. Dream joins her. Anne¡¯s in tears. Dream, ever the empath, cries as she hugs Anne. I stand above them both, and before I speak, I ask myself, Who would kidnap a child? I go through my memory to find the most depraved in all five fingers of Division¡¯s Hand. My answer arrives with an unfortunate finality.


    ¡°Anne,¡± I say, careful to keep my emotions out of it. ¡°Mogvaz Main took your baby?¡±


    Anne looks up at me with red eyes. She nods, this time not breaking eye contact. Her pupils swim in a pool of desperation to hear the next words.


    ¡°I know where he is tonight, and your baby is fine,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°You do? How could you? He could¡­? Why¡¯d he take him?¡±


    ¡°Pure cruelty. That¡¯s it. Don¡¯t worry. We¡¯ll go get him back right now.¡± That¡¯s a lie. The real reason would add another layer of misery to her life. I refuse to let anyone living feel as dismal as I do.


    I know for a fact that Mogvaz Main is at the Conference of Desires. I do not know the current state of the baby. I only know Mogvaz Main has him. However, I do know she¡¯s right. Because we have Weaknesses, we can lose everything we love, and we can do nothing about it. I won¡¯t let the same happen to me. You¡¯re getting your wish, Fate. I will be purchasing powers tonight at the Conference of Desires, and once I have my powers, I¡¯ll make a whole new world. The kind where a woman like Anne Graves would never fall victim to having her baby snatched.


    Fate does not speak. Perhaps he grins inside my head.


    It is odd, though. That a woman would burst into the house I¡¯m in and give me an excuse to go to the exact spot where I need to go, and this time, with Dream¡¯s help. What are the chances? It¡¯s eerie. It feels like an invisible hand is pushing me somewhere important, to a feast where I¡¯m unsure if my role will be in a seat to dine or on a plate to be dined on.

 Chapter 6- No Face, No Case

    Velli


    The Conference of Desires¡ªeasy to get in, hard to leave. Dream and I arrive at a hotel lobby with a beige floor so clear it broadcasts our reflection back up at us. A golden chandelier hangs from the ceiling and lights up the room. The cathedralesque windows behind us help the light by letting in a little 2 a.m. moonlight. I give my reflection a once-over and¡­


    You don¡¯t look ready for the job.


    I look prepared enough. I need a haircut¡ªI¡¯m sure my mom will remind me of that. My hair¡¯s grown wilder, into some sort of afro. I put up my hood to cover it. In my black hoodie and black joggers, I¡¯m inconspicuous enough. The hoodie hides a more athletic frame and makes me look lankier than I actually am.


    Dream glances up, down, and all around, checking the safety of our surroundings. An oversized baseball cap covers her enchanting hazel eyes, which I¡¯m sure are bulging. I tower over her, and I¡¯m not that tall. She¡¯s not new to this, but I worry for her. Sometimes, I think everything hurts her more because she¡¯s so petite. She only comes up to my chest. Despite her stature, she¡¯ll enter the conference because there¡¯s nothing on this planet that could stop her from saving Anne¡¯s baby. Same for me, so we¡ª


    No.


    Same for me, so¡ª


    No.


    Same for¡ª


    No, Velli. Be honest. You¡¯d let the child die¡ªyou¡¯d let Dream die¡ªif you got to buy what your greedy, needy mind wants so badly. You¡¯re as sick as everyone else inside the Conference of Desires.


    The weight of my weathered backpack presses on me like the cash inside wants to escape.


    No, Fate, lie to me about why I have trouble sleeping, not about this. Buying powers will help me make Dream the happiest woman in the world, and it¡¯ll help make a world where babies won¡¯t be snatched from their mothers¡¯ arms.


    Dream and I stride forward.


    To our left, the front desk is empty. On a regular day at this hotel, that¡¯s where we would check in. Well, not us, we couldn¡¯t afford it. Well, Dream could, but I couldn¡¯t. Regardless, the front desk is empty today.


    Right in front of us is an unassuming, plain plastic table that merely says ¡°Welcome¡± with a taped-on piece of paper. It does not fit the majesty of a four-star hotel. Behind the table is a massive red curtain, fun theatrical red, not bloodred. It¡¯s a little past 2 a.m., and yet the energy from behind that curtain pulses¡ªthe excitement, the fervor, and the ecstasy. Odd voices, shuffling feet, and the occasional scream mix behind the curtain.


    Sain ¡°the Spreader¡± and Maggie ¡°the Face Bank¡± sit at the front desk, slouching and humming, respectively, as we knew they would be. Dressed casually, they wear plain orange T-shirts and khaki shorts with sneakers that fit their moods. Sain draws in a notepad, and Maggie swipes through her phone.


    Maggie notices us first as we step forward, her curly brown hair bounces, and her gray eyes squint with curiosity then fake joy. I¡¯m sure she¡¯s confused. We¡¯re dressed down for the occasion¡ªblack joggers and black sneakers, and I have on both a thick black jacket and a thick black hoodie with my hood up. Dream will need my jacket in a minute because she¡¯ll get cold. She always does.


    ¡°Heeyyy.¡± Maggie drags out her words. Her glare tells us she¡¯s wondering why we¡¯re here.


    ¡°Hello.¡± Dream gives a wave and a big smile. ¡°We¡¯d like entry into the conference, please.¡±


    ¡°Oookaaayy,¡± Maggie says. ¡°You know this one¡¯s almost done, right? Were you looking for the next one the hotel is hosting? I won¡¯t be a part of it, but I bet I can¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I interject. ¡°We want to go into the Conference of Desires.¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    She flinches. People aren¡¯t supposed to say the name. The name has weight, probably some guilt for Maggie too. That¡¯s fine. Frankly, she deserves whatever nightmares she gets tonight.


    ¡°Excellent, well, we are enormously happy to have you.¡± Maggie¡¯s plastic smile stretches.


    ¡°Happy to be here,¡± Dream adds with equal pep.


    Sain has not looked up from his drawing, a small comic strip of a blue hedgehog battling an orange-striped cat.


    ¡°Okay.¡± Maggie leans forward. ¡°So I just have to do a face scan to learn who you are, real quick. Whoever wants to go first can. I just need five seconds of eye contact.¡± Everything she says sounds like a saleswoman at a mall.


    I step up first and look into her eyes. Two tiny, random faces appear in them, replacing her pupils. They¡¯re candid snapshots. I try not to think of how she got candid pictures of everyone. New pictures of people appear in each eye. They change again, faster and faster, now changing in milliseconds. Every inch of her eyes has so many colors in it, colors so mashed, they appear cream white. She closes them.


    That hurt. I rub my head to soothe the pain and keep my eyes shut because they¡¯re begging for a break. Feels like I binged a season of TV without blinking. Then the pain leaves. That easy. Maggie opens her eyes, and they¡¯re her normal gray again.


    ¡°Okaaayyyy, Velli, you¡¯re good to enter.¡±


    I nod to say thanks and step aside so Dream can come as I pretend to be interested in Sain¡¯s drawing. Dream looks into Maggie¡¯s eyes.


    It doesn¡¯t take two seconds for Maggie to recoil. ¡°Oh, oh, oh, no, no, no,¡± Maggie sings and looks at Sain, who is unbothered. ¡°Dream Tower.¡±


    ¡°Hi,¡± Dream says, embarrassed.


    Sain hears the name and jerks his head up in Dream¡¯s direction. He trades glances with Maggie, and black steam comes off his T-shirt.


    The steam speaks. ¡°Dream Tower is here. Dream Tower is here. Dream Tower is here. Dream Tower is here,¡± it whispers and floats through the other side of the curtain like a ghost.


    The noise behind the curtain ceases. Maggie¡¯s breath is heavy. The noise starts again, but to the notable listener, it¡¯s less boisterous.


    ¡°Dream,¡± Maggie says in as stern a voice as I would guess Maggie can muster, but that¡¯s not saying much because it still has a pleading undertone. ¡°I would love it if you could tell us the nature of your visit before I grant you entry¡­ if that¡¯s okay.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Dream says. ¡°We need to speak with one person, then we¡¯ll be on our way.¡±


    ¡°And your sister?¡±


    ¡°I have zero interest in letting Rose or the other Heirs know where you¡¯re meeting or in bringing her here,¡± Dream says.


    Whenever Dream talks about Rose, I get a minor nervous tic. I pinch my arm hair or, if I¡¯m conscious enough, hide my fingers by my side and pinch the air. Rose is royalty, but more importantly, she represents a different class of person. A class I claim to hate but I¡¯ve aimed to be a part of for my entire life. It wasn¡¯t the people in the class that I wanted to be around, only the result.


    A class of people who life is made for. They have no mental hang-ups about their life or purpose in the world. They aim for the college scholarship, they get the scholarship. They aim for the girl, they get the girl. They aim for the job, it¡¯s theirs. I fake confidence well enough that I don¡¯t think Dream knows I fail at everything¡ªthat I am not in her class. I fear the day she finds out and leaves.


    Maggie sighs and laughs at herself. ¡°Well, perhaps we can call that one person for you, and they can meet you out here. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll be happy to oblige. Sain can deliver that message for you.¡±


    Sain nods.


    ¡°Sure, that¡¯s no problem, we¡ª¡± Dream says.


    ¡°No,¡± I cut in, snapping out of my melancholic thoughts. ¡°We want to go inside and meet them.¡±


    Maggie glances at me, wondering why my opinion matters, then glances at Dream. Dream tilts her head, waiting for my explanation. I can¡¯t tell her we have to go in because I¡¯m carrying forty thousand drops to buy something to change my life and the whole world.


    Dream makes a face, a false smile. It hurts me because I can tell she¡¯s uncomfortable with the decision. My mouth opens to tell Dream never mind, it¡¯s fine.


    It¡¯s not fine.


    It¡¯s not fine, so I shut up.


    ¡°Ms. Tower?¡± Maggie says.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Dream nods. ¡°Yes, we need to go in.¡±


    Maggie glances at Sain. ¡°Okay, Sain, you heard her.¡±


    The black mist flows from Sain¡¯s skin. ¡°Dream Tower is coming. She only wants to talk to one of you. Stay out of her way. Dream Tower is coming¡± echoes through the curtain.


    I know the ¡°stay out of her way¡± part of the message bothers Dream. She¡¯s made up her mind on if she would rather be loved than feared. So have I. We¡¯ve come to separate answers. Shame our lives don¡¯t correspond with our wants. The message makes me smile.


    I push aside the red curtain for her. She shivers from the chill of the room. I place my black jacket on her shoulders. Thanks to our years of friendship, she wants to say she¡¯s not cold, but she takes our pact to never lie to one another seriously, so she¡¯ll thank me and put her tiny hands in my jacket.


    ¡°Thanks, ghost. Velli, when we go in¡­¡± Dream takes the tone she takes when she wants me to do something she knows I¡¯ll hate. She¡¯s lucky I¡¯ll say yes to almost anything she asks. ¡°I really wish you¡¯d be gentler with everyone when we go in there.¡±


    ¡°Almost¡± is right. ¡°No, Dream, you don¡¯t need to be kind to demons when you¡¯re walking through hell.¡±


    We walk through together.


    ¡°This can¡¯t be hell. It¡¯s too cold,¡± she mumbles.

 Chapter 7 -Behind the Curtain

    Velli


    Nostalgia comes over me as soon as I walk in, which concerns me until I realize why. This feels like walking through a mall a couple of days before Christmas. Candy-red carpet covers the clear floors from outside. The chandeliers hanging from the ceiling are smaller but brighter, with glistening gold that draws the eye, and the voices¡ªeveryone is so cheery, some even hum.


    This is Christmas shopping for the depraved. They walk in and out of conference room doors that serve as stores, and everyone leaves with a joy-filled expression, a bag of goodies, and a slight pep in their step. Even the outfits remind me of Christmas. No, most aren¡¯t wearing the traditional red and white, but this is Division¡¯s Hand. Looking dangerous and important is a matter of life and death. Everyone¡¯s wearing something bright and noisy in the form of bells, chains, or artillery.


    Skinny, a legend in Division¡¯s Hand, steps over us now. His right leg, two times my height, lands behind me, smashing the red carpet of the conference floor with a ground-shaking thud. Dream and I grab one another for balance. His thinning gray head bobs and weaves to avoid the chandeliers. His legs are adorned in bright-yellow-orange-and-blue-striped pants, emphasizing the joy of the moment for him. His orange-and-blue sweater makes him look like an out-of-touch dad who can¡¯t match his clothes.


    In both hands, Skinny holds two black shopping bags full of goodies. Curly, greasy, and wiggling hairs worm in and out of one bag. An unconscious guy around my age, just out of high school, hangs from the other. The kid¡¯s limp body bounces with each step. Drool falls from his open mouth and drips to the floor. His eyes are glazed. A mass of something without definite shape pulses at the bottom of the bag.


    The kid wears no price tag, which means Skinny probably just picked him out of the crowd, knocked him unconscious, and owns him now. The Conference of Desires, easy to get in, hard to leave.


    Large fans sit beside storefronts, pushing out sweet smells, giving our journey a sense of ease. Until our noses catch whiffs of blood between the welcome smells of air freshener. Dream and I try our best to ignore the unpleasantness and shock and blend into the crowd, becoming unrecognizable in our all-black garb. Dream is still quite valuable, and someone might try to snatch her for ransom. We pop into one store selling flutes that attract children of any age, depending on the tune, a flower shop selling flowers that can make the receiver forget the name of the giver or make them only remember the name of the giver, wiping everyone else from their mind. An electronic store sells batteries that suck the life force of whoever¡¯s name is written on them. After the last store, we guess we¡¯ve lost anyone tailing us and that we¡¯ve truly blended with the crowd.


    It sucks. We¡¯re treated as nameless.


    Per usual for you.


    Other conference guests jostle and push us. Big shoulders bump us. An occasional slender hand or tentacle wanders by my pocket, and I have to swat it away before it steals something. My skin stings from small scratches either by sharp claws, fingernails, or getting too close to diamond-ringed fingers.


    A gap forms in the crowd. They push me to the side with the rest of the herd, back against the white walls of the conference center. The masses pin me in. I¡¯m a witness against my will as one man walks through¡ªConfession.


    Confession, leader of a cult of his own name. His white robes graze the floor and almost cover his large bare feet. With white robes and a chiseled body, he could be a throwback to ancient Greece if he weren¡¯t so ugly. His face is paralyzed and hairless¡ªno eyebrows, no beard, no eyelashes, just twisted lips and eyes wide in a permanent state of terror.


    Knees drop to the floor. Hands rise in praise, and people wail from someplace deep in their souls to make a throaty song. His followers glorify his name. They push their faces to the carpet and squeal muffled cries of devotion. The hallways are frozen with every eye on Confession and his fanatic followers. No one dares move. We know the cost of upsetting Confession. They quote his scriptures to him, displaying their devotion.


    ¡°Scriptum Est: None know more than a god, every fool who believes he does is left bloody and wailing.¡±


    ¡°Scriptum Est: When a farmer leads a pig to his slaughter, is he judged by God for not warning the beast?¡±


    ¡°Scriptum Est: Every step a clown makes is a dance. So let us laugh. He should continue to dance so he may last.¡±


    Confession squats low, right above one follower who¡¯s on his knees and bowing, his face deep into the candy-red floor. Confession puckers his lips, sticks his tongue out, and kisses right in the center of his follower¡¯s neck, the perfect spot for a decapitation. He rises and shuffles to the next of his followers. They¡¯re all lined up to receive their sacred kiss. We are stuck listening to their praise as it echoes throughout the hall.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I try to squirm my way out of the crowd, but the three hefty sisters in front of me won¡¯t move. They wear dreary rainbow-colored rags and mumble something to one another in a language I don¡¯t know. They each have an eye in the backs of their heads that blinks at me. The eyes are as blue as the ocean.


    I find someplace else to look¡ªand observe something odd. Five of Confession¡¯s followers are lined up. One has a shadow two shades darker than the others, only it¡¯s not a shadow. Shadows are not always shadows, especially in a place like this. That¡¯s a person. I know it as sure as I know anything, and I also know by deduction that it¡¯s coming for Dream. She¡¯s by far the most valuable person to snatch here. She¡¯s just to my right, touchable distance. I can¡¯t move her because I can barely move myself. I tap the pistol in my waistband.


    It¡¯s not going to work. He¡¯s made of shadow.


    It could.


    It could also go right through him, and bam, you¡¯ve just killed some random with hopes and dreams of their own.


    No, I¡ª


    Yes, actually. Pick one¡ªDream¡¯s life or a stranger¡¯s.


    I don¡¯t know.


    Yes, you do.


    I can¡¯t stare at the shadow. If I do shoot him, I¡¯ll need to take him by surprise. Yeah, that makes sense. Before he turns solid to snatch Dream, I¡¯ll shoot. He¡¯ll turn solid. He has to.


    He doesn¡¯t have to. Powers don¡¯t have to make sense. Most don¡¯t. That lady¡¯s eye in the back of her neck is blinking at you. Some people can turn organs into bubble gum, and you have me. None of it makes sense.


    The loud, muffled, and barbaric screams of Confession¡¯s followers tear at my brain¡¯s concentration.


    ¡°Scriptum Est: And there is joy to all who know their place in this world.¡±


    ¡°Scriptum Est: Transform your bodies, commit no sin, and make yourself worthy to follow your God to be a king on Earth. For what is God to the king and the nonbeliever? Still God.¡±


    The shadow skips down the line and blends into another shadow. Three people separate us and him.


    ¡°Scriptum Est: In the shadow, there is screaming you cannot hear. In the sun, there are spies you cannot see. They all seek your misery.¡±


    The shadow moves again, one person away from Dream. He¡¯ll latch onto her shadow next. Now, the question is when will he strike? When will he go for the big grab, and can a bullet even pierce him?


    ¡°Dream,¡± I whisper. ¡°Dream.¡±


    She can¡¯t hear me. Confession¡¯s followers are too loud.


    Dream¡¯s shadow darkens. He¡¯s there. He could come out at any moment, but he would have to solidify. He would have to.


    He doesn¡¯t have to. He could just swallow her in the darkness.


    Dream and I make eye contact. She mouths to me, ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°We need to move,¡± I mouth back.


    Dream shrugs in naivety, and despite being shoved against the wall, she tries to give me a comforting touch. She reaches out. Her shadow rises. It¡¯s solidifying, just an inky black thing.


    Hurry up! It will swallow her.


    It ascends above her. He¡¯s humanoid, floating, wobbly, and immaterial.


    The bullets will go right through him. Dream¡¯s life or a stranger¡¯s?


    Eight needy arms leap from his ribs and reach for Dream.


    With one big shove, I push the woman in front of me forward, giving me enough room to pull out my pistol. Blood sprays on my face before I fire. Confession¡¯s hand is inside the man made of shadow¡ªright inside the shadow man¡¯s back like Confession has acquired a hand puppet. The shadow thief is shadow no more. Confession has made his body solid, and the living shadow is in his true form now. Distinguished but dead.


    He wears a thick black mustache and a black tailored tuxedo and top hat. All he¡¯s missing is a black cane to complete the look. Contrasting the black is a big, flowing blotch of blood in the center of his body outlining a hole in the middle of his chest where Confession placed his hand.


    Blood drenches the back of Dream¡¯s head. She touches the liquid. Confession holds the body above her.


    The black-suited man spits blood. I yank Dream out of the way before she¡¯s drenched again. The smell of fresh blood rushes from the body like spray from an aerosol can, and like an aerosol can, the smell lifts and dominates the air until it¡¯s the only scent available, until the mouth is not even safe, until the tongue tastes it. Confession wiggles his hand around the man¡¯s insides. It makes a crunching sound then a wet one, like splashing rocks in a creek, then a sound similar to snapping twigs.


    ¡°Scriptum Est,¡± Confession says, moving the dead man¡¯s jaw like a puppet, a rickety sound, and the body that is not dead yet groans. Confession raises his voice to address the crowd, and I could swear he¡¯s staring at me. ¡°Many myths must a man hear.¡± With each word, the dying man¡¯s jaw moves in this horrific display of ventriloquism. ¡°Pick one, and serve that master. Search beyond those who are near, and choose well because, in every religion, there is hell. Believe no lie, no matter who dies.¡±


    He drops the dead man on the floor like a child drops toys. Confession leaves in silence. Is this some sort of prophecy? Once he¡¯s through the red curtains, the conference begins again. No one comes to pick up the dead body.


    As I wring out Dream¡¯s hair, I try to interpret what Confession¡¯s message to me means. However, I can¡¯t focus because I feel that thick, invisible hand again. We all know Confession avoids eye contact with everyone. What are the chances he would look at me and deliver a prophecy?


    Many myths must a man hear. Pick one, and serve that master. Search beyond those who are near and choose well because, in every religion, there is hell. Believe no lie, no matter who dies.

 Chapter 8- Sleight of Hand

    Velli


    Dream¡¯s quick to recover from the near-death experience because she¡¯s used to it, and I¡¯m able to squeeze the majority of the blood from her hair. Quick to recover is not the right word. Quick to bury her feelings. She takes a few big breaths and, somehow, pushes down her fear and shame.


    Healthy.


    Yeah, I should talk to her about that.


    Yeah, you¡¯re giving mental health advice. The brain-dead leading the blind.


    Dream glares at me as she wraps herself tighter in my jacket. Then the glare turns to a smile. Sometimes, even between us, she won¡¯t let her hurt show. It¡¯s a pretty smile, but I pity her.


    With patient and invisible trepidation, she says, ¡°Why¡¯d you make us come through here? They could have made Mogvaz come out and meet us.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, I need to see someone.¡± I wish I could reward her patience with trust, but that¡¯s not how things work. Before we can rescue the baby, I need to run into someone who can help us.


    I have an ever-present paranoia that we¡¯re a second away from being attacked. I question every step that comes too close. I peek over my shoulder constantly. Dream flinches at her own shadow, and the sound of our footsteps makes our skin crawl. The deeper we go, the more tempting each item in the Conference of Desires becomes. They offer absolutes. Safety comes in absolutes.


    For comfort or out of primal fear, our bodies move closer to one another. Dream and I find ourselves shoulder to shoulder. Our hands tap one another in gentle contact, another factor that makes my heart race.


    In neat black lettering, a sign above the ballroom door on Dream¡¯s left states, ¡°Drag, pull, or stuff in a bag whoever you want to be your lover. For every song I play, he or she will think she loves you for an entire year. Only twenty thousand drops per song.¡±


    Twenty thousand drops. That¡¯s half of what insurance gave us for my dad¡¯s worth.


    Thick and foggy soundproof glass covers the room. Soft light shines in the corner from a single cheap-looking lamp. Behind the glass, one man in a tight, dark suit plays the violin. The wall to his left is a mirror, and in its reflection, couples in the ballroom dance.


    The violin player catches me staring. He points to me then Dream, and his neck urges me toward him. I push Dream to my other side, away from the ballroom. The violinist laughs. It¡¯s impossible to hear, but his pink lips bounce in a smile, his head thrown back, and his tongue laps out of his mouth like an alien from a distant planet. It¡¯s not much better on the other side, away from the creep.


    Music blasts from the ballroom on the opposite side of the violinist. Vibrant trumpets and other fast-paced orchestra instruments play. The smell of artificial fog comes from the room flashing red and blue floodlights.


    My frustration and fear grow when I realize just how similar in age and stature I look to a row of teenagers inside the room. My hand does a slow and self-conscious dance around Dream¡¯s, wanting to grab but not wanting to cross that boundary.


    Their conference room sign reads, ¡°Living weapons for eighty thousand drops. All weapons are orphaned, unloved, and forgotten in the real world. Give them purpose.¡± The weapons they have are the skinny teens, frozen like mannequins.


    Everything for sale here is depraved. No art. Barely any art matters in Division¡¯s Hand. All that matters is money, power, and sex. The money to get the power, the power to get the sex, and the sex because no art matters.


    Dream grabs my hand, and everything feels better, but I have to let it go and speed walk to my target¡ªCarreon Bane.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Carreon Bane¡¯s literal beetle eyes peep from side to side as he steps out of a room. His long beige trench coat drags across the floor. His eyes plop up, around, and down in his face, looking everywhere. Unnatural things, they¡¯re too fast and too large for his head. If they pop out of his head and bounce on the floor, I won¡¯t be surprised.


    The sign in neat black lettering to the left of the door says, ¡°Professional body trading for fifty thousand drops!¡±


    That¡¯s more than you and your dead daddy are worth.


    In smaller letters beneath it, ¡°Don¡¯t ask, don¡¯t tell policy. All parties involved do not have to be awake or have knowledge of the process.¡±


    Carreon Bane¡¯s powers are in question. Something to do with shape-shifting, but it¡¯s unclear. I theorize he can change into anything that crawls on its stomach, which is why he has the beetle eyes. So he can see better, be aware of any danger, or spot any potential victim.


    I¡¯m careful not to show I¡¯m in a rush as I go ahead of Dream and beeline toward him. I slide behind a man made of stone when Carreon looks toward me. I pop out as soon as he turns his head.


    Carreon walks deeper into the conference at an angle toward a room marked ¡°Information Brokerage! Verified facts about the thoughts, dreams, and goals of your loved ones or worst enemies.¡± In smaller letters, ¡°Note: No information involving the Heirs, their associates, or any of the World-Conquering Cliques is known or will be traded, and if you offer it, you will be disposed of immediately!¡±


    I move quicker and hide better, using every inch of agility I have to maintain sight of him. Dream calls my name in the background, and I must ignore her. This is the only place I could catch Carreon. One of his many jobs, if you could call them jobs, is selling private information¡ªdreams, passwords, and all forms of secrets. We¡¯re so close. I hurry now, no more hiding. This plan only works while we¡¯re between hallways. I don¡¯t have time to wait for him to come out.


    With three steps before I reach Carreon, I break into a jog. At the same time, I turn my head toward Dream behind me. I yell to her with my most obnoxious, anxious, and joyful voice. ¡°C¡¯mon, hurry. We¡¯re going to miss it!¡± I screech.


    Dream frowns in confusion and mouths, ¡°What?¡±


    Before I have to give her an answer, I crash into Carreon as planned. I¡¯m the smaller guy, so I place my right foot behind his back foot, ensuring we¡¯ll fall.


    We hit the floor, and my left hand slaps his left thigh. A quick scan tells me he keeps his wallet in his left pocket. He yelps, confused about why he¡¯s on the floor, then grabs my left wrist, aware that I¡¯m too close to his wallet. I wiggle my hand in a wild attempt to escape him. Carreon locks his beetle eyes onto it. He should be worried about my other hand, though. My right hand rests on his breast pocket, holding the real jewel¡ªhis cell phone. I let my hand rest there, as gentle as a feather.


    ¡°Sorry, sorry, sorry.¡± My enunciation is slow, innocent, and clear, almost spell-like.


    ¡°Hey, whatcha doing, man? Watch where you¡¯re going! What¡¯s da matter with you?¡±


    I break from his grip and slap my left hand on the floor beside us. Pretending to steady myself and get up, I fall back down and place my left hand back on his thigh in the same spot for balance. I give it a squeeze as I try to get up.


    ¡°Hey, yo, where are you touching!¡± he says, his big eyes bulging toward my left hand.


    My right hand has now entered his breast pocket unnoticed. Before I pull it out, I¡¯ll need my biggest distraction to arrive. Despite not knowing the plan, Dream comes to provide it.


    ¡°What happened?¡± she asks, and Carreon¡¯s big eyes roll away from my left hand and somehow get bigger when they see Dream, sister to an Heir.


    I pull out his phone and slide off him and onto my side.


    He doesn¡¯t bother looking at me. ¡°Ah, jeez, ah, nothing.¡± Carreon gets up and out of our way.


    Dream helps me up, and I peek to make sure Carreon scurries off. Perfect, nowhere to be seen.


    ¡°What was that about?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Nothing.¡± I pull out a fake print of Carreon¡¯s thumb that only cost me a couple thousand. It works like a charm, and I¡¯m into his phone, entering settings to find his number and sending him a certain picture of mine. Then, in Carreon¡¯s phone, I search for Isaz¡¯s number, a man I would do everything I could to avoid most days. He is a clique leader, a killer, and has a literal heart of ice.


    ¡°Is that his phone?¡± Dream asks.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Dream¡¯s jaw drops. ¡°You can¡¯t take someone¡¯s phone.¡±


    I shrug. ¡°I¡¯ll return it to him, but I need to make sure we can save the kid.¡±


    Dream is the most patient person I know. I also know I¡¯m pushing her patience to the edge of a bridge, and I hope I don¡¯t send it splattering by the time the day is over. Her face reddens, and she takes a deep breath, burying another emotion. In Dream¡¯s faith, powers will come to her as long as she¡¯s a good person. My mom has a similar belief. I, on the other hand, refuse to wait that long, so I¡¯m not afraid to sin here or there to meet my goal.


    I am what I am. It is what it is. I live how I live. So I just need to cheat a little bit.


    I¡¯ll never show it because it¡¯s not a good look and I want this girl to marry me one day, but the disappointment in her hazel eyes eats at me.

 Chapter 9 -What鈥檚 That Smell?

    Velli


    We go forward in silence until we reach the end of the hall, where the stench of fried human flesh licks our noses. Pool rooms stand on either side of us now. Mist from the hot tub room rubs against the red carpet. The stench of chlorine lofts in the air. Splashes and cheers make a melody behind the blurry glass doors. In front of us, though, is the very last room. The one we need.


    ¡°Velli, you have not been yourself recently. Can we talk after this?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, we¡¯ll talk.¡±


    ¡°Your house?¡±


    Can¡¯t do that, Velli. You think she looks at you like a loser now? Wait until she steps into your house.


    ¡°Um.¡± I scramble for another spot and an excuse. ¡°Our landlord is making some repairs. Creepy guy, you probably won¡¯t want to be around him. How¡¯s yours?¡±


    ¡°No, my parents are around. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll find somewhere.¡±


    You¡¯re doing a great job on that promise to never lie to her, by the way.


    I¡¯m not trying to hurt her. I¡¯m trying to help us both.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take you out to eat at Marg¡¯s.¡± It¡¯s her favorite spot. How¡¯s that for friendship?


    You can¡¯t afford that. You¡¯re about to spend all this money trying to get powers from Prometheus after you save the kid.


    My heart sinks. He¡¯s right, I can¡¯t afford that.


    Dream smiles at my suggestion. ¡°Yes, that¡¯ll be so fun! Thanks, ghost. They have this ice cream for dessert we have to try.¡±


    Dessert? Fate asks.


    Dessert. That¡¯s fine. I¡¯m clever. I¡¯ll figure something out.


    Then why are you sweating?


    It¡¯s the heat from the door.


    White steam escapes from the cracks in the door and floats upward.


    Dream sniffs the air. A strong scent blasts from the room. The smell overpowers the stench of chlorine. ¡°Speaking of animals¡­ is that barbecued pork?¡± She grabs her stomach and wrinkles her tiny nose in disgust. ¡°It¡¯s not cooked right. That smell is making me sick.¡±


    My stomach turns. The smell strengthens and beats against our senses. It¡¯s tasteable now, thick in the air. I twist my face in disgust and shut my mouth to stop the sensation. It smells like beef in a frying pan and fatty pork on the grill, two loves of mine, most days.


    I step up to the warm silver doorknob and grab it, but I can¡¯t twist it yet. I look back on all the other rooms, all the atrocities in each room, and I know why my stomach churns. That smell does something awful to every human with a soul.


    ¡°It¡¯s not pork,¡± I say. It¡¯s human flesh. I don¡¯t need to say more.


    She nods, unfortunately coming to the same conclusion.


    ¡°Wear my shirt around your nose to block out the smell.¡± I begin to pull it off.


    ¡°No, I can take the smell. If you can take it, I can take it.¡± She removes her hat. ¡°I should take the hat off now too. They should know who I am.¡±


    I nod and open the door to save baby Bailey from being eaten alive by Mogvaz Main.

 Chapter 10- Power in a Name

    Velli


    The steam fights against us. A humid, almost solid, cloudy presence that pulls big breaths from our throats and, worst of all, camouflages our potential foes. We might as well be in one of the ancient jungles that existed before the Rain. Pictures of the Sinharaja Forest, the Daintree, and the Amazon come to mind. Except rather than full of lush, thick greenery that holds mysteries and underfed predators stalking humans behind the scenes, this room has thick, blinding white steam and overfed humans eating humans, their laughter echoing against the walls.


    We leave the door open, hoping more steam will leave. It does, slowly.


    The hot tub flashes in front of us before being covered by steam again. It¡¯s impressive. It¡¯s an imitation of the ancient Roman tubs. Six marble pillars circle the tub, and on the walls, drawings of Plato and Socrates gaze upon the steam-covered pool. We trudge forward, staring at each white wisp of smoke like it contains a puma.


    ¡°Splish, splash, splish, splash,¡± each step says the closer we get to the pool. A splash of hot water bursts from the pool. I leap back and draw my gun, waiting for something big to jump out. Nothing does. Frivolous laughter and the squish of water in my socks are the sole sounds.


    Guns drawn, Dream and I wait for the mist to depart to behold our new enemies.


    Perfect bodies pack the pool to the edges until they¡¯re pouring out of it. They rock from side to side in a chaotic wave. Body bumps body. Couples and throuples float in single-person circular tubes or grand inflatable furniture. And they¡¯re all chewing. Chewing on kebab sticks they¡¯ve scattered throughout the pool. Red pieces of meat float around. Grease mixes with the pool water to make a bizarre smell, a mix of chlorine and a fast-food kitchen.


    It¡¯s easy to see who came to eat human flesh and who¡¯s merely a date. Everyone imagines the freaks, the cannibals, etc., are always fat because of their lust to stuff themselves with the strange. No. Genetics, surgery, and an exercise regimen ensure their insatiable hunger stays hidden. It¡¯s in the eyes. One guy¡ªhandsome, tan, with big curly hair¡ªstares at me, but his eyes¡­ We make eye contact, but something behind me, right on my shoulders, has all his attention¡ªsomething that doesn¡¯t exist. Soulless eyes.


    The girl who massages him drops her eyes in shame when we make eye contact, but I got a look. Hers aren¡¯t too far from being like his.


    I wonder what Dream¡¯s eyes will look like after hanging with you, ghost.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    There¡¯s one spot where no one dares swim. All the way on the far side of the pool. The steam covers it. I know that¡¯s where Mogvaz is. His guests are too afraid to be caught alone with him, in case he gets hungry. The child might be some sort of dessert. We have some time to wait for all the steam to clear, and hopefully, the plan I made with Isaz¡¯s phone will¡ª


    ¡°Mogvaz Main!¡± Dream screams to the room.


    If Mogvaz can hear us, he ignores us. Thank Division. My secret weapon isn¡¯t here yet, and Mogvaz isn¡¯t someone I want to fight when I can¡¯t¡ª


    ¡°Mogvaz Main!¡± Dream repeats. ¡°Velli Greene and Dream Tower would like to speak with you.¡±


    The ground shakes. Sticky bodies slap against one another. Water splashes on us.


    I grab Dream from behind and hold her tight. ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± I tell her.


    It¡¯s a stampede. The crowd runs past us and through the door to avoid Dream.


    Someone slips. Fellow foodies trample him in their quest for safety. The snap of his bones makes me queasy. They sound like fresh bags of chips being crushed, a conveyor belt of new chips being made then meeting their end by a powerful and heavy piece of machinery, a merciless never-ending crunch after disgusting crunch. He lets out a string of swears that switches to a melody of pleading. Eventually, scrambling feet and the squish of wet bodies bury his scream.


    Did you hear that, Velli? As soon as she said her last name, they ran. Her family name holds weight, Velli.


    The half-naked cannibals bump and bombard us.


    How¡¯s that make you feel?


    My feet shift and slide on the pool floor, but I refuse to fall.


    How¡¯s that make you feel? That¡¯s why her sister hates you, y¡¯know?


    I do not fall while my arms are around Dream.


    Your name holds nothing. And you are nothing.


    The stampede is over. Most of the mist left with them. Its absence reveals a barren pool filled with half-eaten kebabs, a floating dead body, and hidden in the mist, Mogvaz¡¯s imposing figure. Mogvaz¡¯s dry, desertlike fingers rest outside the mist and on the edge of the pool. His rough chest, filled with cracks and tattoos, beats up and down, as scaly as an armadillo and as hard as steel. My research tells me his skin is reptilian in nature. His infamous portraitesque tattoos draw my eye. They¡¯re all in a hyperrealism that I thought would be impossible to get on flesh or whatever Mogvaz¡¯s skin is called. They are of every exotic thing he has eaten. One is a drawing of a rhino with an X over it, an elephant that breathes fire with an X over it in the same style, and in the same fashion an X over a man with purple skin and plants coming from his back. The mist moves to cover Mogvaz again.


    ¡°Mogvaz Main,¡± I say and let go of Dream. ¡°Come out. We want that child back. He¡¯s under our protection.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the invisible man-eater says. ¡°You want to make a deal with me, strip down to your skinnies and come in the pool.¡±


    Dream and I nod at each other and strip. We prepared for this, both of us wearing casual swimwear underneath. Dream wears a white one-piece, and I¡¯m in my gray swim trunks. Could we just decide to go in our underwear? Sure, but it¡¯s a power move. We want to look like we planned this. He just wants us embarrassed and afraid.


    I can feel your heart rate, Velli. You¡¯re one of those.


    I step ahead of Dream and descend the steps of the pool through the fog to battle the man known as Mogvaz.

 Chapter 11- Naked and Afraid

    Velli


    I stop on the final step as the last of the steam disappears out the open door. Nervous anticipation pumps my heart as I wait for the mist to reveal my opponent.


    The monster leans with his elbows back on the side of the pool. His scale-laced jaw hangs slack and unimpressed, as if he¡¯s waiting for us to do something interesting. His eyes are almost glazed in boredom. His wet scales cover his body like little disgusting bumps melted onto his skin.


    In the center of his forehead is a tattoo so realistic, it could be a perfect photograph. It¡¯s Bailey, the baby we¡¯re looking for. It crawls on its hands and knees, pointing one tiny baby finger toward us. It does not have the X yet.


    Mogvaz¡¯s wet eyes flick toward me then observe Dream. I consider rushing out to him, but the pool¡¯s too deep, and I believe the man with alligator DNA might be a better swimmer than I am.


    ¡°Blurp, blurp, blurp.¡± Something¡¯s blowing bubbles. Something¡¯s breathing in the pool that¡¯s not Mogvaz and not the dead body. It slithers.


    It¡¯s Mogvaz¡¯s tail, Mogvaz¡¯s many-mouthed tail. Bubbles come from it as it glides beneath and above the surface. Disturbing. Mogvaz has the teeth of a predator, sharp like steak knives. The mouths on his tail, though, are too close to human, and I don¡¯t think that¡¯s much better. He has eight active mouths on his eight-foot tail, always snapping or licking. The lips are of different shapes and shades, like he borrowed them from each friend he had. They have pristine white teeth that make me imagine he has someone brush them. However, the gums are black and filled with meat, and the tongues are hairy with black spots.


    The tongue flicks out now and laps at the water. Maybe it hopes for a new taste. Maybe it hopes for us. One tongue gets a piece of human kebab. It brings it inside his mouth and munches on it until it¡¯s no more then goes searching again.


    I imagine the furry black tongue licking me and squirm on the inside. Anxious to not look scared of Mogvaz, I step down with a grin and tread water toward him, cautious of every move Mogvaz or his tail makes.


    The tail circles me as I do. Never wrapping around me, just stirring the water by my waist. My fears come true. Even underwater, the wildly furry tongue bathes my leg in its unique level of filth. And of course, the feeling never goes away¡ªa constant ick, a constant loathing and fear of being tasted. Then I imagine what it would be like if it took a bite, peeling off my skin. This time, it¡¯s harder to appear fearless, but I do.


    Dream plops in after me.


    ¡°You all right, Dream?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she says between gasps as she tries to tread water.


    We¡¯re both sure to tread out of range of his thick arms. The more we tread, the smaller the pool seems and the closer those arms. We¡¯re four swim strokes away from him.


    Mogvaz is enjoying himself now and flicks out his meat-stained red tongue. It¡¯s forked like a snake or the devil himself.


    ¡°Mogvaz,¡± I say. ¡°We represent Anne Graves.¡±


    ¡°You stole her child,¡± Dream interjects. ¡°And we want him back.¡±


    ¡°Dream Tower¡­¡± His scratchy voice comes out strained. It reminds me of a mob boss from a movie, the quintessential one, with the curly mustache, who pets his cat. ¡°So, what is she to you? Miss Graves, that is?¡± He hisses the S, the sound too similar to that of an alligator.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡°A friend,¡± Dream says more bravely than I¡¯m sure she feels.


    Everyone with a Curse or Weakness is a friend to Dream. I know I never met Anne before an hour ago, and I doubt Dream has met Anne in person more than once.


    ¡°Huh.¡± Mogvaz thinks it over and licks the air around him in a circular motion. ¡°Friends are important. You two¡­ together?¡± He acknowledges me for the first time. His face at the word ¡°together¡± was not a compliment. ¡°Your sister¡¯s getting married soon, Dream. What, you didn¡¯t want to go alone, so you hitched up with¡­?¡± He waves his hand, looking for the right word to describe me. ¡°Just anybody?¡±


    I open my mouth to speak, and he waves me off.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got an invitation to the wedding, y¡¯know,¡± he says.


    ¡°Lots of people are invited,¡± Dream bites back. ¡°She¡¯s royalty. Where is Bailey?¡±


    ¡°Lots of people, lots of people, yeah. If I were in the Heirs¡¯ position, I would invite lots of people too. As I said, friends are important.¡±


    ¡°As I said, where is Bailey?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Mogvaz cups his flat ear. ¡°What did you say? I can¡¯t hear you. Come closer.¡±


    ¡°You can hear us fine!¡± My words echo quickly through the pool room.


    ¡°No, sorry, I can¡¯t hear you. Come closer.¡± He points one three-inch-clawed finger toward us.


    Dream swims toward him.


    ¡°Dream!¡± I call with gritted teeth, but she ignores me.


    Mogvaz smiles because, of course, he can hear me. My frustration with Mogvaz boils. I have a plan, but that plan involves us staying out of his reach for an extended period.


    But she doesn¡¯t know the plan because you know she wouldn¡¯t like this plan.


    It doesn¡¯t matter. She¡¯ll thank me later.


    Doubtful. She¡¯ll hate you later. Go help her, though, Prince Charming. You¡¯re not going to let her spine get pulled through her throat on her own, are you?


    The tail circles below Dream¡¯s belly button, and she flinches. It leaves her front and pets the small of her back. Dream braces for the worst. The tail dives beneath the surface, invisible in the filthy pool.


    Dream settles about three feet away from Mogvaz, well within his striking zone. We tread water together. She¡¯s a lot shorter than I am, so she has to use her arms to keep herself afloat every couple of seconds. Her pants leap from her faster and faster.


    The end of Mogvaz¡¯s tail wraps around my finger. My body freezes, and every inch of me tightens. I sink and have to remind myself to swim before I come back up, coughing and gasping. The tail hangs on. It¡¯s not too tight, just strong enough to let me know it¡¯s there. It reminds me of a baby grabbing my finger, but it¡¯s so much stronger than that. Mogvaz eyes me, still bored.


    I tread water beside Dream.


    ¡°So, you were telling me to give the child back?¡± Mogvaz asks.


    ¡°Yeess!¡± Dream spurts, water filling her mouth.


    ¡°Dream, just hop on my shoulders,¡± I say.


    ¡°No, I¡¯ve got it,¡± Dream says, and her head submerges. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she says as she pops back up from beneath the water.


    ¡°What¡¯s in it for me?¡± Mogvaz asks.


    ¡°We have money.¡± Dream splashes hot water on us both.


    The money isn¡¯t for Mogvaz, but neither he nor she knows that.


    ¡°How much money?¡±


    ¡°Eighty thousand,¡± I lie. It doesn¡¯t matter. He won¡¯t see it either way.


    ¡°Nah, not enough for me.¡± Mogvaz waves his hand, dismissing us.


    ¡°Mmfmfm¡­¡± Dream struggles to get her head above water. ¡°Rose,¡± she lets out. She must be desperate to mention her.


    ¡°You said Rose, sweetheart? She¡¯s scary, yeah, she¡¯s scary.¡± Mogvaz leans forward off the pool¡¯s edge and smiles. ¡°Only, I hear she¡¯s got problems of her own right now. All the clowns in the castles do.¡±


    Dream¡¯s fluttering movements slow, as if treading water is futile.


    It is futile, Velli. Just sink.


    The tail gently tugs my finger.


    ¡°But,¡± Mogvaz says, ¡°you know something? You can have the boy. What¡¯s his name? Baby?¡±


    ¡°Bailey!¡± I scream and yank my finger from his tail.


    Mogvaz pats his armor-plated stomach twice and grins from ear to ear.


    ¡°You can have him when he comes out all brown and mushy.¡±


    Dream leaps toward him. In two large splashes of her tiny frame, she reaches Mogvaz. He swings his big, clawed hand. She ducks his strike and swings a kebab poker at his eye. He blocks, and it splinters harmlessly into pieces.


    Mogvaz slashes across his body, hoping to split Dream¡¯s skull. She grabs his hand and lets the momentum take her across his face as she slashes at his other eye with her nails.


    Contact.


    Blood shoots from the socket. He hisses, high-pitched and bone rattling.

 Chapter 12- Underwater and Unhappy

    Velli


    Mogvaz¡¯s tail rises from the pool like a cobra in front of Dream, teeth bared and hisses ever rising. Everything slows down. It feels like the paintings of the great philosophers surrounding the pool are observing this moment. They¡¯re frozen, unable to save her. I¡¯m not. I swim forward and leap onto the tail. My hands squeeze it in the space between two rows of teeth. Summoning all my strength, I pull it down, and we enter the water with a splash.


    It¡¯s stronger than I am. It rises again and whisks me from the pool. The tail thrashes right and left. My legs fling in the air. I squeeze tighter.


    Mogvaz and Dream are a blurry mess beneath me. Mogvaz¡¯s big orange form tosses Dream around. At least, that¡¯s what I see. It could be worse. He could be palming her face, his clawed thumb tapping her throat.


    Squeeze, squeeze, he¡¯s going to mush her brain.


    I scrape and smash my heels against his teeth, struggling to gain traction. Teeth crack, and it¡¯s a pleasant melody. The tail stops moving, and I get a clear view of the fight below.


    Mogvaz grits his teeth in clear agony and gives me his undivided attention. Staring into my eyes, he swings Dream around and slams her into the pool¡¯s concrete edge. Her body goes limp.


    I¡¯m going to kill him. I leap off the tail and fly face-first into Mogvaz. Something big hits me from the side. I twist my body, and I¡¯m back in the warm, dirty water.


    It was the tail, and it¡¯s not done with me. It pushes me down again, submerging me in the pool. The thing grabs me, and I can¡¯t hit it with any force this time. I¡¯m sinking fast. Everything moves in slow motion.


    The tail wraps around me like an anaconda. Each mouth sinks its teeth into me. I scream, a silent, pointless underwater scream. The mouths release at separate times then clamp down again. It¡¯s a rapid, random succession, like they¡¯re all monstrous children with big, strong teeth chewing with their mouths open and struggling to remove the skin to reach the raw meat beneath.


    But where¡¯s Dream? Is she safe? Did I distract Mogvaz long enough?


    Mogvaz isn¡¯t even looking at you sink. He¡¯s too busy choking the life out of Dream.


    It¡¯s a slow and painful descent.


    The water¡¯s a dirty mess. My eyes burn, and the world around me is a distorted nightmare.


    Oh, buddy, don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll tell you what¡¯s happening to Dream. It¡¯s terrible, just terrible. He¡¯s holding her just above his face by her swimsuit strap. His lizard tongue is tasting little bits of her, trying to decide what part to eat first. Oh no, this is worse. She¡¯s regained consciousness. Dream¡¯s awake, wiggling in midair, unable to stop her cannibalization.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    I¡¯ve got no idea if that¡¯s true. What would torture me more, the horrible truth or a horrible lie? Doesn¡¯t matter.


    I flex, wiggling my whole body, muscle by muscle. The grip neither tightens nor loosens, just ignores my effort. I think about the first time I knew I loved Dream. I think about my sick mother who needs me and the death of all my friends I swore I would avenge¡ªanything to make me stronger, to activate some adrenaline X factor that could free me.


    Nothing happens.


    Above me, I imagine Mogvaz takes a final preparatory lick, dancing his tongue along Dream¡¯s throat. I scream. Stupid bubbles come out in response.


    The temperature in the room shifts, a chill entering the water. Oh, that¡¯s nice. I smile because I¡¯ve won.


    I imagine the scene between Mogvaz and Isaz, the man causing the great chill.


    Isaz bursts through the door, an albino man made of more hair than a yeti and, under that, skin made of ice. He¡¯s probably cursing Mogvaz¡¯s name. Mogvaz will try to explain, but ironically, Isaz is hotheaded. That¡¯s kind of funny. Bubbles come up from my laughter. Maybe bubbles aren¡¯t so bad.


    The biting stops. I¡¯m sure Mogvaz needs all his mental strength at the moment.


    Isaz won¡¯t listen to a word Mogvaz says in defense. Isaz is a clique leader. No clique leader is calm when he gets the news that his wife¡¯s been cheating on him with another man.


    Well, technically, it¡¯s not news because I made it up. Just a couple of photoshopped texts I sent from Carreon Bane¡¯s phone to Isaz. A perfectly timed setup, if I do say so myself. If Dream hadn¡¯t rushed in, we might not have even needed to get in the water.


    I imagine Mogvaz waving his hands in repentance. Oh, Mogvaz. He¡¯s more worried than I am, and I¡¯m the one stuck at the bottom of a pool. Aw, is the baby eater scared he¡¯ll go to hell?


    Something cold blasts through the room, so bright my eyes close reflexively.


    When my eyes open, the monster¡¯s grip on me weakens. Dumb animal. The reptilian cannibal¡¯s body went straight into hibernation because of the temperature drop, as predicted. Mogvaz can¡¯t move. The entire surface of the pool is covered in ice. That¡¯s a small problem. I should be able to break through.


    Mogvaz sits at death¡¯s door before I reach the top. Frozen drool rests on the corners of his lips. Dream walks on the ice, looking for me. I meet her gaze, and her nose wrinkles in concern. She stomps on the ice. It cracks a bit under the strike. I swim up and punch the same spot. Nothing happens. My lungs burn. Dream stomps on the ice again. It doesn¡¯t crack further. I slam my shoulder into the ice. My shoulder hurts, but the ice doesn¡¯t crack.


    Velli, want to see a trick?


    I punch with my left then right into the ice and keep punching until it hurts.


    It does nothing. Velli, come on. I have something to show you. Let me show you a trick.


    Dream leaps up and down on the ice. The tiny cracks sound every time, but they¡¯re invisible. They¡¯re not big enough. Nothing we do can free me.


    I¡¯ve been working on this a long time, Velli, and I¡¯d appreciate it if you saw this.


    Dream drops to her knees and slams her fist. She yells something at me. The ice is too thick, and the water¡¯s filled my ears, muting her screams.


    Velli, I mean, common courtesy suggests¡ª


    What, Fate? What do you want?


    Look down.


    He¡¯s there. He¡¯s me in my nightmares. He¡¯s bald, teeth decayed, and all my muscle gone. He¡¯s all skin, bone, and a protruding ribcage. And the skin¡ªa colorless gray and filled with boils. He¡¯s shown himself as an image before, but this is different. There¡¯s no way. Fate grabs my ankle, and that grip¡ªit¡¯s too strong. It shouldn¡¯t be that strong.


    I¡¯m a real boy.

 Chapter 13-Thoughts Turn to Flesh

    Velli


    Do you want to know the saddest part, Velli? She can¡¯t even see me. All she sees is you floating away from her and to your own demise, and she doesn¡¯t know why. Don¡¯t be so quiet, Velli. You haven¡¯t given up yet, have you? Be yourself. Look at Dream. Her hazel eyes are puffing up with tears or whatever, yeah, all that, Velli. All that. I told you we should have called it donezo with this whole life thing years ago. Your life can¡¯t get better.


    My free foot slams into the side of his thin-fleshed skull again and again and again. It¡¯s like kicking wood, it¡¯s so close to cracking. I know it, but it doesn¡¯t break.


    I¡¯m going to die. My arms doggy paddle forward, and I still sink. How is he this heavy? What is he?


    I am part of your brain¡¯s limbic system. The part that gives you anxiety, and I¡¯ve gone awry. I want us to die because I¡¯m afraid because I know we¡¯re not made for a good life or even a mediocre life. We¡¯re made for enduring torture.


    Everything burns. I¡¯m cold, yet my insides burn and beg for oxygen.


    Or I¡¯m the prefrontal cortex, the part of your brain that can estimate our future. And it gets colder and darker than this if we live. It¡¯s inky misery filled with fire ants, and I won¡¯t be a part of it.


    I want to breathe. I want to open my mouth and inhale. I find myself doing it, and it¡¯s even worse¡ªa new torture as I gasp for air and the air doesn¡¯t come.


    Or I¡¯m your guardian angel whose role is to protect you. And I know our future, and the best thing for us is to die right here, right now. Because not everyone is meant to live a life worth living.


    Visibly, I¡¯m putting up a fight, but a small part of me wants to let the water take me down. He¡¯s not budging. My lungs are on fire, and it¡¯s so cold. I don¡¯t want to die, but I don¡¯t want to be this cold. I stop doggy paddling. I shake my arms just to generate some heat, and it does nothing. My lungs roar, incapable of understanding that I can¡¯t get out, either. My ¡°guardian angel¡± recites a Bible verse in the baritone of an ancient preacher.


    I am the man who has seen affliction by the rod of the Lord¡¯s wrath.


    He has led me and made me walk


    In darkness and not in light.


    Surely He has turned His hand against me


    Time and time again throughout the day.


    Fate casts an illusion. The pool darkens into an empty void of nothingness, intensifying the already-present skin-scratching cold. And Fate no longer pulls me down, though I sink without pause. Fate rests at the bottom of the pool, which he turns into an old church filled with racked pews and black stained glass windows. Instead of gold robes, his are black, decorated with the whitish-yellow color of bones. He bellows his scripture with open arms.


    He has aged my flesh and my skin,


    And broken my bones.


    He has besieged me


    And surrounded me with bitterness and woe.


    He has set me in dark places


    Like the dead of long ago.


    He has hedged me in so that I cannot get out;


    He has made my chain heavy.


    Even when I cry and shout,


    He shuts out my prayer.


    He has blocked my ways with hewn stone;


    He has made my paths crooked.


    He has been to me a bear lying in wait,


    Like a lion in ambush.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    He has turned aside my ways and torn me in pieces;


    He has made me desolate.


    I have become the ridicule of all my people¡ª


    Their taunting song all the day.


    He has filled me with bitterness,


    He has made me drink wormwood.


    He has also broken my teeth with gravel,


    And covered me with ashes.


    That¡¯s going to be us, Velli, and I don¡¯t want to live like that.


    I try to keep swimming. My movements are so slow, they feel futile. I guess that¡¯s the point though. I¡¯m destined to lose forever.


    Hey, Velli.


    What?


    You¡¯re lucky I¡¯m not strong enough to keep this up¡­ yet. Consider what I said. It gets worse from here.


    He disappears, his weight lifting. I find my strength. I swim up to the ice again. Slamming my fist into the ice, I strike it again, and it cracks. It cracks! A couple more hits, and it gives way. Dream pulls me out. Everything hurts so much.


    ¡°Velli!¡± she says.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m fine.¡± Still unable to get up.


    Mogvaz is alive but can¡¯t move. The kid¡¯s still¡­ Baby still¡­ needs us. My muscles groan ¡°no¡± as I push myself up. They win the argument, and I¡¯m on the cold floor again. Dream¡¯s mumbling something, looking at me, judging me. Th-Th-Th-thinks I¡¯m weak. Gotta, gotta, gotta ground. Gotta get off the ground again. This time, I slide on the ice, my feet doing a horrible dance I can¡¯t control. Slipping like a fool, I make my way to Mogvaz. Dream follows me.


    ¡°Velli, what happened? You were sinking for a minute. It wasn¡¯t him, was it?¡± She points to her head to signify she¡¯s talking about Fate.


    I turn to acknowledge her and share my burden.


    You¡¯re going to tell the girl you want to be yours that your imaginary friend is getting worse? Jeez, talk about self-sabotage.


    ¡°Let¡¯s find the baby,¡± I say to Dream and tilt my head toward Mogvaz. ¡°Where is he?¡± I yell. Big, heavy droplets fall off my body with every step. The water weighs me down, liquid freezing into chains.


    ¡°G-G-G-G¡ª¡± Mogvaz says between hard swallows, his mouth half open.


    ¡°Should we help him?¡± Dream asks, and I somehow find the energy to roll my eyes.


    ¡°No,¡± I spit, gasping for breath. ¡°We¡¯ll search for the kid without him.¡± I stumble away, doing that stupid dance on ice to fight for my balance.


    Dream follows, grabbing me before I fall. I cock my elbow to resist her help. The ice cracks beneath me, and I cringe at the flashback of drowning. Snuggling into her, I lean on and practically hug Dream.


    You should have just stayed under if you were going back to living like this.


    I¡¯m too tired to resist Fate.


    We¡¯re off the ice and onto solid concrete outside the frozen pool. Land has never felt so good. Dream squats and attempts to lower me to the ground.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I ask with big breaths, failing to sound stern. ¡°We need to keep going.¡±


    She eases me down, slow and gentle like I¡¯m a pathetic flower. ¡°Just sit one second.¡± She dashes to the door we entered from, staying away from the ice. Picking up our discarded bundles of clothes, she comes back. Thankfully, she doesn¡¯t toy with my bag of money.


    ¡°No, Dream, we need to keep moving.¡±


    ¡°No, you need to sit.¡± Authority leaps from her lips, and a pointed, scolding finger follows, like a mom to a child, something she is not to me.


    My knees wobble, and my feet fumble. I force myself up. The concrete floor isn¡¯t as frozen as the pool, but it¡¯s still wet and impossible for my bare feet to get leverage. I imagine I look like a foal making its first attempt to walk, knees and feet going in opposite directions. Stupid.


    ¡°Velli!¡±


    My legs give out with her yell. I land on my butt.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to put everything on but at least the two jackets, please. You don¡¯t want to catch hypothermia.¡± She places the jacket on me.


    It¡¯s warm inside, and my comfort increases the humiliation.


    Naive, she smiles and reaches out to me. I grab her hand and rise. My feet slip from under me. There¡¯s no dance this time but rather an ugly fall. Loud and painful. Ice cracks beneath me. I close my eyes, flinching. When I open them, I find Dream on the ground. It was too quick. I didn¡¯t let her go. She¡¯s rubbing her side and staring at me, eyes that say, ¡°Why¡¯d you hurt me?¡± I stutter an explanation or apology, my lips struggling to keep up with the apology in my heart.


    ¡°Ow, Velli.¡± She rubs her side again. ¡°Velli¡ª¡±


    You should have just stayed under if you were going back to living like this.


    ¡°I know. I heard you the first time!¡± I yell at Fate, but he¡¯s a voice in my head that no one can hear.


    Dream stares at me midstruggle, mouth open.


    ¡°Velli?¡±


    Dream¡¯s question hurts because she¡¯s not mad like she should be. By herself, she stands up then offers me a hand again with a smile. ¡°It¡¯s all right.¡± She points to her head. ¡°He¡¯s yelling at you, isn¡¯t he? I¡¯m sorry. Remember he¡¯s a liar. He¡¯s always a liar.¡±


    I take her hand and try to stand once more. She makes it easier, and I hobble forward with her assistance.


    This is why you¡¯ll never be good enough for her, you know?


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I reply.


    I lean on her as we walk to the kitchen in the back.


    ¡°Isaz came in,¡± Dream says, desperate for a subject change. ¡°Did you see him? He did all this. Did you see him come in?¡±


    You might want to lie to her, Velli.


    I do the next best thing. I don¡¯t address her question. ¡°Door,¡± I manage to get out, my breathing close to normal. ¡°Let¡¯s follow the smell of food, Dream, through the side door.¡±


    Dream says nothing. I hope she can¡¯t connect the dots concerning Isaz. She can. She glares daggers at me.


    ¡°You¡¯re not surprised to see Isaz?¡± she asks again, each word slow, powerful, and accusatory.


    In silence, I wobble forward with her assistance. It¡¯s too cold, and I can¡¯t think. No matter how much I beg my mind to make an excuse, it doesn¡¯t come.


    ¡°Velli?¡± There¡¯s that tone again. ¡°I¡¯m talking to you.¡±


    ¡°No, not surprising everyone¡¯s here.¡± I produce the best lie I can in my condition because I have to. I have choices to make that Dream will never understand.


    ¡°And his saving us was random? And you¡¯re not curious about it? You¡¯re just accepting that?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Our drenched steps batter the floor and do all the speaking for us. She knows I lied to set up Mogvaz.

 Chapter 14- Soup

    Velli


    I separate from Dream and push myself through the revolving door with considerable effort.


    It¡¯s pristine to the point of being near celestial. Tables, stove bases, chairs, and kitchen tools are all shiny metal that look like they would come alive and find insult at the mention of the word ¡°dirt.¡± Random sparkles from the knives grab my eye better than stars in the sky do. The floor is this same level of clean. Our reflection is perfect in it. Dream death stares at me.


    Admiration time is over. A baby¡¯s cry comes from the back of the kitchen. We rush to it.


    Greenish-brown soup bubbles and pops in a large, five-foot-deep trough at the back of the restaurant. The stench from it floats to us, and we stumble once it hits our noses. Baby Bailey¡ªstill alive¡ªsinks in the trough on a thick piece of bread.


    Maybe it¡¯s because I¡¯m so tired. Maybe it¡¯s my shame for deceiving Dream. Maybe it¡¯s the stench, but the whole thing makes me mad. How dare Dream be mad at me for trying to stop this? A little lie, a little framing here or there, and we save an already-traumatized baby.


    Dream goes forward to help the baby. The stench knocks her back. She gags and hacks beside me.


    ¡°Yeah, I brought Isaz here. I tricked him into thinking Mogvaz was sleeping with his wife.¡± Emboldened with pride, I say each word as I practically beat my chest. ¡°To stop this. What¡¯s the problem?¡±


    Hunched over, Dream gives me a half reply. ¡°Velli¡­¡±


    ¡°No, I want to know.¡±


    ¡°Because you make things worse when you lie. Whatever you told him has consequences. It makes the world worse. That¡¯s what lies do.¡±


    ¡°So what should I have done, then?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, just not make things worse?¡± She stands straight now, mouth and nose covered as she tries to strategize how to save the kid without dealing with the toxic stench.


    I embrace it and hold it in.


    The baby sinks, its tiny toes stained in soup.


    I walk past her and gather the child myself. The feel is worse than the smell. Strips of some substance stick to my skin and sink beneath my clothes. My nose fills with the odor, and the following breath of air is, once again, mercy to my lungs when I bring the child up from the slop like a trophy. I drip the nasty soup on the perfect floor. A tinge of guilt bites at me because I ruined such a perfect thing. It¡¯s okay. Some things should get worse.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°No, Dream. None of us can get away from this mess.¡± I hand the soup-covered Bailey to her. ¡°We¡¯re all going to get dirty. We should embrace it until we get what we need.¡±


    ¡°Wrong is always wrong.¡± Her voice shakes. She wipes the baby off with her clothes and says nice things to it, but for the baby¡¯s part, it doesn¡¯t seem at all bothered. ¡°And what about Isaz¡¯s wife¡­? Do you know what he¡¯ll do to her? Did you think about that?¡±


    ¡°She married someone like Isaz, and you want me to feel sorry for her? She understood what her husband was¡­¡±


    ¡°Relationships get complicated, Velli.¡± She goes back to soothing the baby.


    ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get you out of here.¡± I hold the door out of the kitchen for her.


    She glares at Mogvaz, who strains to raise his head.


    ¡°You got your kid.¡± He takes two big, desperate breaths. ¡°Any chance you can let me out? You know, I¡¯ve got a wife, too, and I never did anything to her, but she¡¯s going to die thinking I ain¡¯t love her.¡± He pauses to suck up oxygen he doesn¡¯t deserve. ¡°That I cheated on her!¡± he yells. ¡°Because that spazz Isaz will kill her in retaliation. How fair is that to her?¡±


    I would have spit on Mogvaz if Dream weren¡¯t here. How pathetic, to live his life like an animal then beg for humanity at the very end. Dream ignores him and focuses on keeping the baby happy.


    ¡°Dream, can you call a teleporter on your own?¡± I ask.


    ¡°On my own?¡± She twists toward me, eyes filled with amber daggers ready to fire.


    Baby Bailey cries.


    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving yet.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    This is it. This is her breaking point with me. It¡¯s in her eyes, tired of the lies and mystery.


    She soothes the baby and rubs its bald head, a simple coping technique. She¡¯s trying to put all her anger into something constructive. ¡°What in Rain could you possibly need to do here?¡±


    I don¡¯t answer for a couple of seconds. I¡¯m always being judged. I despise being judged, especially by her. She wouldn¡¯t get it. Her sister is Rose. Her future is set. I decide on an answer.


    ¡°I need to stay for a minute,¡± I say, as resolute as a dam.


    ¡°Great, a minute, well, we can wait a minute.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be longer than a minute.¡±


    She looks at me like I¡¯m gross, like something¡¯s irredeemably wrong with me, or maybe that¡¯s in my head, but it¡¯s how I feel.


    ¡°What¡­?¡± Dream drags out her words. ¡°What, what could you want here?¡±


    ¡°Something someone like you wouldn¡¯t get, princess.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not fair! I am trying my best. I gave up everything I have to do this.¡±


    ¡°Well, sorry. I don¡¯t feel like rewarding your oh-so-gracious kindness, my lady. Because despite your help, all of our friends are dead!¡±


    It¡¯s a standoff.


    She blinks first. Tears have that effect. Her eyes close again to fight the tiny tears that form on the very edges of them. She blinks and blinks and blinks and blinks with pursed lips. Dream whispers, ¡°Okay, Velli. Sorry.¡± She turns to leave.


    Fate makes an illusion as Dream exits. I wish I had stayed in the ice.


    He displays all of our dead-and-gone friends following her with somber faces. Kid, Mark, Shells, Samuel, Nerves, Raphia, Major, and Amelia¡ªwhose body isn¡¯t even buried yet¡ªwalk behind Dream and out of my life with heads down, faces frowning, and shuffling feet. Everyone we started doing volunteer vigilantism with. One by one, dead or living lives where they wished they were dead. Never two at a time. One by one. A slow, horrible, real-life slasher. And now it¡¯s just Dream and me. I wish I had stayed in the ice.


    I wait for the door to swing shut behind her before I finally wipe my eyes free of tears. Fate might be right about everything he says about me.


    Congrats, Velli! You won the standoff.

 Chapter 15- Lie to Me, Please

    Velli


    Fate isn¡¯t done. He puts on a slideshow presentation of my dead friends, the best and worst parts, as vivid as a blockbuster movie.


    And as sad as a Shakespearean tragedy.


    Yeah, but even those plays have some happy parts, moments that I would never change because they were so fundamental to my life, like when we first decided we would help the Cursed. All twelve of us were Internet strangers, all Cursed¡ªexcept for Dream¡ªand in one group chat where we lamented about our lives. Each of us was in a different phase of life, which was both hopeful and not.


    Major was the oldest of us in the chat at forty-four, which gave us hope. The life expectancy for the Cursed is about twenty-five because it¡¯s easy to die in Division¡¯s Hand without powers. However, Major hanging out in a chat with a bunch of kids under twenty-five didn¡¯t spark much hope about his quality of life. Still, Major was an active member of our community. He was the one who first posted about Nerves¡¯s kidnapping by the Hallow¡¯s Eve Clique.


    Occasionally, I¡¯ll get into a nihilistic trance and question the reality of good and evil. It¡¯s always just a question. I know evil exists because the Hallow¡¯s Eve Clique exists. They are both a cult and a gang-slash-clique. They hope to speak to any god out there by either grieving him or making him proud through the route of human suffering. The exclusive group kidnapped Nerves and planned for her to be their next victim.


    We all knew Nerves. She was a member of our group chat. Her profile picture was a gif of a dancing penguin. She had everyone¡¯s birthday memorized and would stay up until midnight to say happy birthday to them first. I didn¡¯t appreciate that then because I always had my mom or a high school acquaintance to celebrate my birthday with, but now, wow, oh wow, would I appreciate someone telling me happy birthday and meaning it.


    Regardless, as the Cursed do, we accepted she might as well be dead. We tried our best to honor her by sharing our favorite memories of her, and we all promised to do something to mourn her on the day she died.


    But Dream¡ªtoo naive to know it would be nigh impossible to save her¡ªsuggests that we do something about it. The group chat went silent. I didn¡¯t dare touch my keyboard.


    ¡°Samuel is typing¡­¡± the gray screen read for what felt like an eternity.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go save her,¡± he said, and the chat exploded.


    One of the many reasons I deserve you, Fate. One of the many reasons I hate myself is because I hoped that at least one person would say no. They would say we need to go right back to mourning Nerves¡¯s death because we can¡¯t save her. No one did. They were all religiously enthusiastic about the ideal. Fanatics. Fools.


    Then someone typed my name on the screen. It had to be her. It would always be her. Dream, with the simple profile pic of a crown as an avatar, said, ¡°What about you, Velli?¡±


    I slammed my laptop shut and left my room. I refused to die for a bunch of Internet strangers. I refused to die for her. I felt like a coward, and you gnawed at me then, Fate. I forget the words, but they were true.


    They¡¯re always true.


    Truth has levels.


    I needed a second voice to drown you and Dream¡¯s suicidal positivity out. Someone who could speak logic. Someone to say it was okay that I didn¡¯t want to die for a stranger. That my life was important enough not to risk. I went to talk to my mom on the couch.


    Well, she wasn¡¯t on the couch. She was in the kitchen, cooking something good. Pans sat on each part of the stovetop. Smoke and heat rose from each pan to make my back sweat and the air feel thick in the summer heat. Of course, my mom didn¡¯t turn on the air conditioning to make things better for her. Around that time was the start of our money problems.


    Her appearance raised my fears for her health. She was always skinny, but then, she was too slender. The shorts and T-shirts she wore were baggy in some parts and stuck to her skin in others because of how sweaty she was. I suspected she wasn¡¯t eating much to save money. Of course, none of that bothered her. She managed each pan like a wizard navigates cauldrons, adjusting temperatures and flipping over various meats and vegetables.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Hey, Mom.¡±


    ¡°Hey, Velli. What are you up to today?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡± Always the liar. I found the words to get her to say what I wanted. ¡°I was scrolling through the socials and saw this article about these guys, all Cursed, recruiting members to go against the Hallow¡¯s Eve Clique to save some girl.¡±


    Smoke rose from each pot, and water boiled, but her eyes bored into me. The itch of sweat trickled down my back.


    ¡°What?¡± she asked with a mother¡¯s authority. ¡°You just stay out of that.¡±


    I enjoyed that she reassured me about my previous decision. I enjoyed that she made me feel like I wasn¡¯t a coward for abandoning them, just a pragmatic young man. I was so relieved I didn¡¯t even get mad at the way she talked down to me like I was just a boy. To resist suspicion, I feigned an attitude over her tone.


    ¡°Yeah, I know,¡± I said. ¡°They¡¯re not inviting me. It¡¯s just wild that someone would try to take on the Hallow¡¯s Eve Clique, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Relief flooded her face, knowing that I wasn¡¯t involved. Grave understanding dried it. It came with a slow shake of her head and a big sigh. ¡°It¡¯s sad. Division bless them, because nothing else will.¡±


    I resisted rolling my eyes at the Division comment, or maybe I repeated the phrase in prayerful agreement. I¡¯ve hopped between religious phases, then and now. My mom went back to work.


    ¡°Food smells good.¡± I opened my mouth to say ¡°Glad you¡¯re eating again,¡± but I didn¡¯t because I would have to hear her deny the obvious truth that she was skipping meals. ¡°What are you cooking?¡±


    ¡°Steak, grilled chicken, and veggies. Gill¡¯s grandmother died, so he¡¯ll need some support.¡±


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s nice of you.¡± My heart dropped a bit. ¡°So, it¡¯s all for him.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but I got us a pizza to split. Meat lover¡¯s, that¡¯s your favorite.¡±


    ¡°You hate pizza¡­¡± Not even the offer of pizza could make me happy, and I bet she heard it in my voice.


    ¡°I do not hate pizza.¡± She laughed¡ªobviously faked. ¡°Who could hate pizza?¡±


    I knew she did. She said it multiple times, and each time, like it was my job, I would ask her, ¡°Who could hate pizza?¡±


    My mother skipped meals and worked through sweat and humidity to help her friends. She sacrificed herself for her friends. That made me emotional. My own skin felt like it was judging me. Everything itched, and I wanted to be alone.


    The people in the group chat weren¡¯t strangers just because they were behind a screen. I talked to them every day. They checked on me just because, and I checked on them just because. I liked hearing their thoughts, and I intended to let them die.


    I turned away from my mom and sought something else to latch onto, something to hide from the obvious task before me. The portrait of my dad, my mom, and me found me and would not let go. It was not Drowned-changed by the Rain. Nothing was special about it. Just a simple picture that stared back at me.


    ¡°Hey, Mom?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Dad wouldn¡¯t have gone either, right?¡±


    ¡°Gone where?¡± She knew where I meant. She didn¡¯t want to entertain the question. She didn¡¯t want to lie again.


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t have gone against the Hallow¡¯s Eve Clique,¡± I said.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s foolish. Your dad wasn¡¯t suicidal for anybody. He was a man of reason. Just like your mom. Though not as clever as I am.¡± She playfully whacked me with a spatula. ¡°Might have been smarter than you, though. He remembered when it was his day to take out the trash.¡±


    I smiled. I doubted it was convincing. We were all a family of liars. History told me the truth¡ªthat my dad would sacrifice his life for someone who didn¡¯t deserve it.


    ¡°Hey, Mom, what would, uh, what would, uh, you and Dad want from me?¡±


    I think she knew something was bothering me, but she also knew if she fought me on it, I would clam up.


    So she just said, ¡°Not a thing, just a couple of grandkids and to follow your dreams.¡±


    Back then, my dream was unclear, less focused, but still potent. I hoped to be as good a man as my dad.


    I walked to my room without another word. I typed an apology and an acknowledgment that I was in. I let them chat about the little details of where to meet and whatnot. I focused on crafting a plan.


    Eventually, it was time to focus on a name for our group. First, it was decided we should be a troupe, not a clique. Names have power in Division¡¯s Hand. Cliques meant money, honor, glory, and problems with other cliques. Troupes meant close to nothing. We could just be a bunch of clowns at a circus.


    Now, that¡¯s fitting.


    Don¡¯t disrespect us, Fate. We made miracles happen.


    ¡°The Happy Doomed¡± was Amelia¡¯s suggestion for a name, and it stuck. It would be a one-time thing. No reward, no honor, just because we should. I developed a plan that got us in and out of the Hallow¡¯s Eve swamp with Nerves and zero casualties and without them noticing.


    The plan was too good, I guess. Because we kept doing it. People kept asking us. Do this. Do that. Save him. Save her. And we did.


    No, you don¡¯t get to lie to me. Finish the story, Velli. You made plans, and you saved people until you didn¡¯t. The good moments didn¡¯t matter. The victories didn¡¯t matter. It was all wasted because look at your troupe of dead clowns now. Why is everyone in that group chat covered in worms? Some of their parents are still looking for their bodies, which you know won¡¯t show up, or worse. Then there¡¯s you and Dream. The lucky two. Tell the truth of how your fairy tale ended. Everyone died except the coward who didn¡¯t even want to help the only people who treated him with respect he didn¡¯t deserve and the girl who was too dumb to know you all would die doing this. They¡¯re dead, and it¡¯s your fault.


    My eyes well up.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make sure your lives weren¡¯t wasted, guys,¡± I whisper to nothing. ¡°I promise.¡±


    I¡¯m so glad Dream¡¯s gone. I only let her see me cry one night, and that was a mistake. I hold back the sniffles, sucking in the air. The tears can come. They¡¯re silent. Fate might be right. I might be worthless, and it¡¯s time to start acting like it.

 Chapter 16- Killer Advice

    Velli


    ¡°Relationship trouble?¡± Mogvaz wheezes like an asthmatic child who needs an inhaler.


    I pull my gun from the empty pile of clothes and stomp toward Mogvaz. I won¡¯t slip this time. I raise my bare feet and slam them into his head then again for good measure. It doesn¡¯t seem to hurt him, which infuriates me. The blood from the gashes Dream gave him stains my feet, and I clean them on the ice. The gun¡¯s heavy in my hand.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this,¡± Mogvaz moans.


    I spit on his face, and yet he still speaks.


    ¡°I would like to submit some advice to you.¡± My glob of spit falls down his face as he speaks. ¡°Don¡¯t start killing people. It¡¯s a dangerous path to take. Mercy has more power.¡±


    I get on one knee and place the gun on his temple. ¡°Are you serious?¡± I don¡¯t hide the disbelief in my voice.


    ¡°Absolutely, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not getting a redemption arc. I. Don¡¯t. Need. Advice. From you.¡± I poke him in the head with my pistol with every word.


    He blinks at every poke. Big Mogvaz is scared to die. His eyes wobble in his head, searching for another answer in the room. ¡°But¡ª¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Shut up. You have one good use for me.¡± I poke the gun around his mouth. ¡°Tell me what room Prometheus is in.¡±


    He swallows. ¡°That¡¯s valuable information. Very valuable, and I see you are a man who appreciates value, so any way I can help you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± I push the gun into his mouth until it hits the top.


    His jaw opens against his will as he makes an ¡°ah, ah¡± sound. He¡¯s too weak in this temperature, as I calculated. He doesn¡¯t even have the strength to bite off my arm. Regardless, I pull the pistol back out. Wet and sticky. Still works.


    ¡°Mr.¡ªuh¡ªVelli, trust is important,¡± he says. ¡°I have but one request. Will you enter a Cognomen Oath with me? In my line of work, we enter those to ensure that what you say is true. Then, if you lie, you drop dead. Boom, just like that. It¡¯s weird how that came about, isn¡¯t it? They¡¯re holy things, I believe. Because the truth is so powerful. Just after the Rain, we all had the ability to enter these oaths. It just simplifies¡ª¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t seem advantageous to me.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s fair.¡±


    ¡°Life¡¯s not fair.¡±


    ¡°Well, then, why would I help you? You could just kill me after.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re afraid of what¡¯s on the other side, so you¡¯ll stay alive as long as possible.¡±


    He stares at the barrel of the gun to a comical extent. ¡°Room 624,¡± he mumbles.


    ¡°This hotel?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Deadmansaywhat?¡± I say so fast there¡¯s no way he can understand me.


    ¡°What?¡± He opens his mouth in confused shock.


    I stick my gun against the back of his throat. Four shots inside his mouth, that¡¯s what it takes to kill him. His head splits from his body. I don¡¯t feel bad about it, either. I thought I would. It wasn¡¯t fun. It¡¯s nothing. It¡¯s simple. It¡¯s math. Bullets plus throat equals death.


    It was something, though. It felt like I took a picture and stamped it on my brain.


    Blood and brain spray on Dream¡¯s jacket, which she left by mistake.


    Will this matter? Am I a different person because I killed a man?


    Footsteps.

 Chapter 17- Just a Stroll Through the Mall

    Velli


    Someone comes in from the far doors. My gun¡¯s trained on them, and my finger¡¯s on the trigger before they have the chance to move. It¡¯s a girl. She¡¯s got a short yellow skirt, a pink crop top, and black wedge sneakers that make her about four inches taller. They make me question what kind of gimmick she¡¯s going for. She¡¯s got red pigtails that shake then freeze when she sees she¡¯s my next target.


    I recognize her. She¡¯s in a minor clique, forgettable. Her power has something to do with fire. Generic. Everyone knows someone with a power that has something to do with fire.


    ¡°I just wanted to see what everyone was running from! I didn¡¯t see anything.¡± She raises her hands defensively.


    This is the start of my legacy. My run. I¡¯ve killed Mogvaz, and the world should know. But that¡¯s not my plan. I¡¯ve seen enough of the conference. I want to end it.


    ¡°No.¡± I do my biggest impression of a petrified witness to a massacre. ¡°N-N-No, tell everybody. Tell them Rose Tower came through, killed Mogvaz, and left with her little sister.¡± I squat, pick up Mogvaz¡¯s head, and screech, ¡°But she¡¯s coming back and bringing the rest of the Heirs!¡± I toss the head to her to add dramatic effect.


    It works like a charm. She catches it and leaves screaming. They¡¯ll all be leaving that way as soon as they hear about the Heirs.


    I dry off, put my clothes on, and stash my gun in my waistband then sling my bag with the cash on my back.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    I¡¯m anxious to step outside. The atmosphere is chaotic. Blue, yellow, and black portal lights are everywhere with people piling into them. Bodies the size of mountains, men and women whose hands are bloodier than heart surgeons, sellers and buyers of the misfortunate run or fly away. They were so loud, so boisterous before, but now, they¡¯re quiet. Every move is sneaky. Every move is meant to go unnoticed. They¡¯re a disgusting lot. This is how it should be. Evil should be afraid. The ground is littered with their ¡°souvenirs.¡±


    An old man in ragged clothes runs up to anyone who will listen, shaking them and yelling, ¡°I¡¯m only thirteen years old! My grandma stole my youth. Please, I want to go home.¡±


    I call him over to me and sit him down. I explain he¡¯s not in danger and if he just sits tight, I¡¯ll help him.


    He tells me the change is permanent and, through his sobs, says, ¡°Will you find my grandmother for me?¡±


    I tell him I¡¯ll kill his grandmother for him. He nods.


    The beautiful woman I saw earlier who danced with the violin man stands in a mesmerized daze. Drool drips from her mouth. Her ¡°lover¡± left her. The violin man probably assumed karma would catch up to him when he heard Mogvaz died. I will.


    A guy about my age lies dead against one of the walls. He wasn¡¯t Powered. I know all the Powered, so he was probably brought here against his will. Maybe he was being sold. No, the tattoo on his neck tells me he comes here of his own volition. In loud black cursive letters, it says, ¡°Tragedy or Majesty.¡± A popular saying made in the city farthest north, the Eighteen, the fifth finger of division¡¯s Hand. Tragedy or majesty means the same thing every young man with ambition has said for centuries.


    ¡°Man¡¯s life is short. Therefore, an honorable death is immortality,¡± the men of Antioch said.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back carrying my shield or arriving on it,¡± the Spartans said.


    ¡°Get rich or die trying,¡± they said in the early twenty-first century, when money mattered over mankind.


    It all means the same thing.


    I¡¯ll follow that same path. It¡¯s the one thing I can do for the dead kid. I go up the elevator and walk to room 624 to speak to the man called Prometheus.

 Chapter 18- Room 624

    Velli


    Room 624. I step through the cracked door. Cheap air freshener attacks my nostrils and tongue. No, no, that¡¯s expensive cologne, and it¡¯s a great smell. No, it¡¯s that cheap body spray stuff. I sniff again. The smell changes.


    Only one man occupies the room, and he sits at a desk to the left of the two beds. The only light in the room is low, coming from a desk lamp. The lamp¡¯s shade is almost too powerful for it. The light doesn¡¯t reach me, only covering half the room. A portrait hangs on the wall of Division. ¡°The Greatest Hero Who Ever Lived¡± is written beneath it. A window sits to the far right, facing a brick wall marked with moonlight.


    Only one man occupies the room, and he sits at a desk to the left of the two beds¡ª


    Wait. I¡¯ve already seen him. Prometheus.


    The man spins in his swivel chair to face me and snaps his fingers in my direction but says nothing.


    It¡¯s hard to focus on a quavering blur when everything else is stagnant. The blurs stand out, but my eyes can¡¯t take the pressure. I assume he wears a suit. No, there¡¯s his chest.


    You¡¯re an idiot. Why would he be naked?


    That¡¯s his shirt, then, maybe. All the colors he¡¯s wearing smash together and travel up and down his body like cars on a highway. He doesn¡¯t have super speed. I know people with super speed, and their rapid movements are twitchy. Everything he does is smooth. His body itself looks like he¡¯s doing little things¡ªstroking his chin, writing a quick note on a notepad, chewing a toothpick¡ªbut I¡¯m positive none of that is happening.


    He¡¯s about to rise. No, he¡¯s leaning back, cool and casual. He whistles at me, beckoning me closer. Without making noise? Now he¡¯s in the chair, leaning forward, legs spread and hands clutched together in a Godfatheresque pose.


    I speak just so I can think of something else besides him. ¡°I¡¯ve come to request a service from you.¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­¡± His voice is a test of familiarity. Slow, creamy shifts from memorable to unrecognizable right when I think I identify it. ¡°So you want powers, why?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m tired of losing. And I¡¯m tired of losing people I love.¡±


    ¡°Losing at what?¡±


    ¡°Life.¡±


    ¡°Why does that matter?¡±


    ¡°It does.¡± It does something to the soul. We all know that¡ªquiet, cold loneliness, rejections everywhere, walls closing us in down every alleyway, dead friends, my mother¡¯s life hanging on the thin thread of my wallet. Every human alive knows that does something to the soul. I won¡¯t justify myself to him.


    I toss the bag full of money on the floor, unzip it, and say it¡ªthe words I know he wants to hear. ¡°Name your price.¡±


    His movement slows. He looks at me with a blank expression and doesn¡¯t give the money a glance. ¡°You don¡¯t have enough.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll get you double,¡± I tell him. Silence simmers. My opportunity is slipping away. I increase my offer to get a grip on it. ¡°Triple,¡± I lie. I could never afford that.


    He waves his hand, dismissing me.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you anything.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good. That¡¯s really good. Desperation is important.¡± He laughs like he has phlegm stuck in his throat.


    I smile politely. He hasn¡¯t kicked me out yet. There¡¯s hope.


    He takes his time, this time, laughing clearer and in a different pitch. It¡¯s hyena-like. ¡°So, you think powers will make you happy?¡±


    ¡°Happy?¡± Happy? ¡°That¡¯s for people born with powers.¡±


    A judgmental pause lingers in the room¡ªa turkey he¡¯s let cook overnight, and he¡¯s making sure it¡¯s ready to be devoured. He leans forward and licks his lips. ¡°Come closer, Velli.¡±


    I don¡¯t want to know how he knows my name. I take four slow, conscious steps toward him.


    ¡°Closer,¡± he says.


    I get close enough that his cool breath grazes my face.


    ¡°Your gun¡¯s slipping out, Velli.¡±


    My eyes drop to it. He slaps his hand on my chest. It¡¯s burning hot. I witness every molecule of water from my skin evaporate into thin smoke. I expect fire to come from his hand. It can¡¯t. It¡¯s liquid. A liquid hodgepodge of colors no different from a child¡¯s finger painting.


    ¡°What would you do for powers, again, Velli?¡±


    He keeps calling me by my name. How does he know my name? ¡°Anything.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what everyone who¡¯s ever had a bad day says.¡± He presses on my chest. ¡°I want you to bet your life on it.¡±


    I don¡¯t respond. I won¡¯t let him see I¡¯m disturbed or afraid. I can feel it. I¡¯m getting closer to my goal, and for that, I¡¯ll do anything. I push myself further into him. The force he unleashes peels away the brown hue of my skin, turning it to a deathly, dull gray.


    ¡°How much of yourself are you willing to sacrifice to get powers¡ª¡±


    ¡°Everything.¡± I cut him off and stare him down eye to eye. Nothing else matters. I have nothing without powers.


    ¡°That¡¯s cute, but the devil¡¯s in the details, Velli. The devil¡¯s in the details.¡± He laughs. ¡°Listen closely, Velli. Lie to me, and you¡¯ll end up like¡­¡± He says a name I don¡¯t know in a language I don¡¯t know. Message received.


    I open my mouth to say something clever, and a grunt comes out instead.


    ¡°Now that we¡¯re clear on that¡­¡± he mocks. ¡°This mission isn¡¯t for good boys, Velli. You¡¯ll come back changed. You understand? You¡¯ll sacrifice yourself, Velli.¡±


    He knows that I¡¯m disturbed by him knowing my name. Every time he says it, it¡¯s a mocking tone, each syllable extended.


    ¡°You will hate yourself, Velli. Everything about you that lets you smile a little when you take a look in the mirror will burn. The part that your mother is proud of, vanished, Velli. And worst of all, only you and I will know why. Are you still interested, Velli?¡±


    I give him a courteous five-second reflection. I already know my answer. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°What part of other people are you willing to sacrifice?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ grr¡­ What do you mean?¡± It¡¯s getting harder to breathe. Wasted effort pumps from my lungs to my mouth.


    ¡°Could you kill an innocent man or woman? Or worse than that? Could you gain the trust of a good man, treat him like he¡¯s your brother, then make him give up his life for your gain?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Liar. If you had any conviction, you wouldn¡¯t even be in this spot.


    Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.


    ¡°And as that guilt settles in, will you do it again?¡±


    I scream. It hurts too much. ¡°Yesssss!¡±


    ¡°Then, I have a mission for you,¡± Prometheus concludes. ¡°Sacrifice at least three people to Tiamat, the mother of gods from myth, on the Isle of Tselem. You may bring two types, and they must be three of a kind. You cannot mix the types. The first you must take willingly, Velli. Make them love you. Make a cult. Trick a sucker. Oh, and the power. The more they love you, the more powerful you¡¯ll become. The second option must be at least three official legends of Division¡¯s Hand. That means they must have killed more than a hundred people with their own hands. The more power these legends have, the more power you¡¯ll have. They must be powerful, fear inducing, and responsible for one hundred deaths. You need to give her at least three, but bring more because, trust me, some will die along the journey on the island. And listen because this part is the most important. If you fail me, if you accept and do not deliver, I promise I¡¯ll kill you. Do you accept the mission?¡±


    ¡°Tiamat and Prometheus? You two part of a club? Hahaha.¡± The joke¡¯s not even funny, but I¡¯m hooting and hollering while he burns me alive.


    I can do it now. I can have it all. I know how to win. The pain¡¯s getting worse, but so¡¯s the pleasure. Each breath is as shocking as jumping into a pool of ice.


    ¡°You scared, boy?¡± he asks without a hint of pity.


    ¡°No, just excited. I accept, Prometheus.¡±


    His hand leaps off my chest. My skin color returns, triumphant. I¡¯m different now, like coming down a mountain.


    ¡°Interesting. To answer your query, yes, you could say that Tiamat and I are in a club. Not the one you think.¡± He¡¯s smiling¡ªor frowning. His teeth flash with every word in the last sentence.


    ¡°Thank you for your offer.¡± I reach out my hand.


    Wait. Wait. Wait. What did I agree to?

 Chapter 19- Slippery Brain

    Velli


    ¡°Some. Thing. Wrong, Velli?¡± Prometheus mocks.


    ¡°No, well, yeah. I don¡¯t. I don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°Regrets already?¡± His voice deepens two octaves, and he yawns. ¡°How original.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a lot to do to someone.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot on the soul.¡± My answer sounds as shaky as I feel.


    ¡°Oh, the soul. What makes you think we have a soul?¡±


    Something comes from within me. Maybe it¡¯s the religious belief I¡¯ve had since I was a child. Maybe it¡¯s some inherent truth, but with great authority, I¡¯m able to say, ¡°We have a soul.¡±


    ¡°Humans know nothing of humanity. None of you do.¡±


    ¡°I know what love, longing, mourning, and guilt are. That is the soul.¡±


    ¡°Your mommy tell you that?¡± he mocks. ¡°Velli, you don¡¯t even know about your world. You can¡¯t. Say, have you ever thought about Cognomen Oaths? How it¡¯s weird everyone just discovered they could enter one and that no other supernatural oaths or words were introduced? Just think about that for a minute.¡±


    We stare at one another until he breaks the silence.


    ¡°It¡¯s a command. Think.¡±


    Well, it is odd. Breaking a Cognomen Oath does result in the oath breaker dropping dead. Which implies some sort of power doing the dropping dead. It¡¯s similar to touching the tabernacle in Jewish custom or lying to God and dropping dead, like what happened in Acts, and it is weird that we don¡¯t learn about Cognomen Oaths at all. We¡¯re just born knowing them. And¡ª


    Who¡¯s that? Fate asks.


    Who¡¯s who?If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Someone¡¯s in here with me.


    Where?


    Our head.


    Maybe there¡¯s a telepath nearby. You¡¯ll handle it.


    Fate¡¯s more annoying than sinister this time. I think I¡¯m on the verge of something with my thoughts on Cognomen Oaths. Brain hacking is about as common and random as an email hacking attempt. It¡¯s no big deal. We¡¯re all taught basic psychic defense in schools, and Fate¡¯s tortured a number of telepathic therapists that have tried to get rid of him for me. Retired one too.


    Anyway, yes. Cognomen Oaths and the fact that these oaths can be so specific. Could it be God? Could it be some sort of alien tech? Regardless, this tells me two things¡ªsomething intelligent caused the Cognomen Oaths, and there might be more oaths or vows.


    Get out of here. Leave, Fate whispers to the other thing in my head.


    No, that¡¯s not a whisper. That¡¯s a whimper.


    Velli, do something. He¡¯s begging.


    A mix of emotions swells in me because he¡¯s scared. My tormentor is scared. But what¡¯s scaring him? I gawk at Prometheus in an attempt to see past the mystery and look into his eyes.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s not me.¡± He crosses his legs and taps his fingers with impatience. He¡¯s waiting for something.


    It¡¯s because of my thoughts. It¡¯s because I was thinking. I was thinking about the Cognomen Oa¡ª


    Get out! Get out! Fate screeches like a cornered mountain lion in front of a hunter.


    A second entity is in my brain. That¡¯s what Fate is afraid of. It takes one step then another. Each step is an ounce of pressure on my mind. It doesn¡¯t want me to know about the oaths. I have to remember what I just learned.


    ¡°The Cognomen Oaths are from something intelligent, and there might be more oaths,¡± I try forcing myself to remember.


    Geeett ahhhtt! Fate attempts to scream, but he can¡¯t form the words.


    The entity steps through my brain.


    The Cognomen Oaths are from something intelligent, and there might be more oaths.


    The entity stops.


    Gahhhh atttttt!


    The Cognomen Oaths are from something intelligent, and there might be more oaths.


    The entity slams its foot onto my consciousness, and something shifts.


    Fate¡¯s screaming barbarianisms now. No real words come from his mouth but loud, throat-twisting screams.


    My eyes plead with Prometheus for help. My mouth can¡¯t form the words. It¡¯s stealing. It¡¯s stealing. It¡¯s stealing knowledge from my brain. The entity slams its foot into my mind in a wicked one-footed tap dance, and I can feel it coming apart, melting like a slice of butter.


    The Cognomen Oaths are from something intelligent, and there might be more oaths.


    The Cognomen Oaths are from something intelligent and¡ª


    The Cognomen Oaths are¡ª


    The butter flies off.


    Cognomen Oaths are butter.


    Jeez, Velli. Have some composure. What are you even talking about? Fate asks.


    I don¡¯t know. I just had a brain freeze.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I apologize to Prometheus for my lack of concentration. ¡°Can you repeat what you said last?¡±


    Prometheus grins through his mirage.


    ¡°I said I would tell you a story, a story you¡¯ll need to hold on to when this mission gets tough. A story of how this world was formed. The secret truth. The origin of the Rain.¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s true?¡±


    ¡°Cross my heart and hope I never die.¡±

 Chapter 20- The Origin of the Rain

    Prometheus


    A long time ago, before I was the enigma you see before you, I used to work on that holy house on the hill. Yes, the house of demigods, the home of the world-splitter, the home of every human¡¯s master¡ªDivision¡¯s Castle. I was a simple guard at their jailhouse, getting simple jailhouse-guard pay, and who wants to live like that? I wanted better. So I did little things here or there to earn extra. I brought extra food for prisoners, or food in general to the prisoners who could live without it but still loved the taste of meat. One day, Bason, a massive man with fur around the outside of his face that reminded me of a monkey, told me that his clique wanted him to break out and that if I could get him out, they would give me a hundred thousand drops.


    Of course, I accepted.


    Of course, I got caught.


    Life imprisonment was my sentence. The ¡°trial,¡± and I hope you can taste the sarcasm when I use that word, only took about fifteen minutes. Nevertheless, I was sentenced. However, a man like me must always have the upper hand.


    Escorting me through those large, empty brick halls would be another jailhouse guard. As soon as I started my dastardly deeds of bringing contraband in, I made sure every single guard felt indebted to me. Whether that was including them in my schemes, tossing them some extra cash for the holidays, or even getting them to fall in love with me. The girl who escorted me and held the keys to my handcuffs was the latter. Raleigh. Such a pretty name.


    Raleigh had tears on her pale, chubby cheeks, and I had a smile carved on my heart because I knew I would escape. I knew Raleigh adored me from the moment I saw her. The way her gray eyes struggled to keep eye contact and she would just break into a smile if we talked for longer than a couple of seconds. I had a wife and kids, so of course I told her that I would leave them for her soon.


    I¡¯m sure she dreamed of that future. After a walk that would have been silent except for her restrained whimpers, we arrived. She opened that cell. My new home and grave, a small five-by-seven room covered in hay. In the center was a hungry-looking hole fit for a human body to sleep in and eventually die in. The stench from the last body still made its presence known.


    I matched Raleigh¡¯s big, pleading expression with my own. She looked to her right toward the stairs leading up. Footsteps signaled someone was coming near us.


    ¡°Just hit me. Make it look like an accident,¡± she said, full of passion.


    Always aiming to please, I made sure to leave a bruise as I knocked her to the cold floor. The other prisoners cheered. I ran downstairs.


    Technically, no back door existed to sneak out of, but I knew something would be deep down there that could aid in my escape. Unlike in every other fairy-tale prison, the Heirs didn¡¯t keep their biggest and baddest prisoners in the lowest, darkest part of the castle, nor did they keep their weak political prisoners whose spirits they wanted to break down there. It was a third option I didn¡¯t quite understand yet. I heard that third option, though. Only during the late-night shift, when I was doing my rounds, and only if I was alone. It was a voice.


    Grand speakers were installed inside the wall to drown out the voice. Speakers bigger than I am. Probably, the size of three men stacked on top of one another. The speakers played white noise, a long, monotonous humming that filled the ears and shook the body, a sound that fondled the brain. I clenched and unclenched my jaw to fight against the all-consuming noise.


    I preferred the sound of white noise over the voice.


    As a guard, I was often commanded to go as far as possible until I heard that voice. I guess to make sure it was still there. Once I heard that voice, I had orders to run back up to the top of the steps.


    This time, I would not rush back. I would find the voice that the Heirs buried at the bottom of their basement, and I would get that thing, by deception or demand, to help me escape. I believed if the Heirs had hid it, it had to be powerful.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    As I ran down the steps, I knew what it would say, and for some reason, the anticipation of those words scared me. My throat was dry, and my heart thumped in ominous expectancy.


    It always said the same thing in the same tone and never begged for food, though no one ever fed it. It had other wants.


    ¡°Can someone please come to storytime?¡± it pleaded.


    I stopped. I didn¡¯t believe it myself, but I stopped. The jailers¡¯ footsteps chased after me from above. If I stayed on that step, they would grab me and bring me back to that horrible cell. Yet I stayed. I found myself taking big, gasping breaths, and it must have found me the same way.


    ¡°Can you please come to storytime?¡± Its odd, desperate, masculine voice was predatory, like a grand uncle who couldn¡¯t be trusted around children.


    I stood on the step, staring at the dark, twisting corner, waiting for it to bring me farther down. I didn¡¯t know how far I would have to go on those rough gray stone steps that were half-painted.


    Did the voice scare the painters so much they couldn¡¯t even complete a job for someone who was surely a dream client in the Heirs?


    I could not bring myself to run forward, but I walked.


    ¡°Are you coming to storytime?¡± The voice, purposely flat, dripped with hunger.


    I opened my mouth to speak, and my throat punished me¡ªdry and burning. I massaged my throat for some comfort and tried to form some spit to relieve the pain.


    ¡°Please. Come. Please. Come. Please come,¡± it said with a hypnotic bullying pull.


    I obeyed. Maybe I walked for hours. Eventually, I stopped hearing footsteps from above. My ex-colleagues in the jailhouse could go no further. Yet I heard more voices. A choir, perfectly in tune.


    ¡°Please. Come. Please. Come. Please come.¡±


    Finally, I arrived at the bottom of the steps. I expected a cage like the one I was supposed to be in. Instead, a large wooden door stood before me, and to the left, a torch with an impossibly bright fire, impossibly lit. Surely, any flame down there would have gone out years ago.


    I never should have picked it up. A large, solid feeling in my stomach shook and screamed at me not to. It¡¯s that feeling, that instinct we all get that danger is nearby, but we ignore it so often, it ends up being nothing.


    Despite the feeling, I reached for the flame that threatened to blind me because I wanted to escape. I refused to sit in prison. It was lighter than I thought.


    The voice was silent. The whole tower was silent. My imagination roamed in hell, anticipating why the voice didn¡¯t speak anymore. I imagined it foaming at the mouth with excitement, careful not to speak because it knew I could feel its debased hope with every word it said.


    This creature, this monster who owned the voice, would be massive. I knew that. I imagined a gray thing of a man hugging himself with glee.


    The door creaked open without any effort or movement on my part. Hot air molested my skin as it stampeded through the door and up the steps. It left only darkness in that room. I feared that the darkness would swallow my torch.


    There was nowhere to go but inside. My eyes were peeled, looking for that grabby ancient man or men. My hands clutched the rough wood as I prepared to use the torch as a weapon. The torch¡ªa sinister thing¡ªbaited me. The flame weakened, shrinking, shrinking, the farther I went inside the¡­ was it a cell? I couldn¡¯t tell. I knew darkness and wet heat surrounded me. Dark, dark, and darker.


    The entry I came through looked like a small square that I could never reach. The door slammed shut with a body-shaking boom. The flame whooshed, alive again, leaping into the air, lighting the whole room like I had a star in my hand.


    The flame crackled, danced, and worst of all, illuminated the room to torture me. I saw it, the owner of the voice. I was in a cell much larger than what I expected, the size of a stadium, with a complete floor instead of a hole for a grave. Coming out of the walls, floors, and roof, like a horrible infection¡ªno, more like fungi¡ªwere mouths. They had no order and were surely a mutation of some kind because they were so flawed.


    The white teeth of one mouth bit into the pink lips of another. One mouth could never close or open because another smaller, mutated mouth spoke inside it. They clung together like some dripping, sticky web, and they spoke in perfect unison.


    ¡°You¡¯ve come to storytime?¡± they asked.


    At the door, as embarrassing as it was, I let out a soft moan, like a child in need of comfort. I wished then, and maybe I still wish, I had stayed in the cell where they put me. But the fire in my hand, that great traitor, gave me some unnecessary confidence, and I was bold enough to speak.


    ¡°I want to leave. Can you help me? I can provide food.¡±


    ¡°No food. No drink. No love. Please. Please. Just your ears are all we need.¡±


    I didn¡¯t like the sound of that, and I waved the flame back and forth, showing its reach and might.


    ¡°No, you misunderstand. Just to listen. Listen, then you¡¯ll leave.¡±


    ¡°Listen to what?¡±


    ¡°The story of why. The story you all ask yourselves since the world changed.¡± His voice dropped to an eerie whisper and whistled out the words.


    He unleashed a bone-chilling wind that made me shiver but did not hurt the flame. The flame brought no warmth.


    ¡°I want to tell you why God sent the Orange Rain.¡±


    ¡°O-Okay.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the voice said.


    The flame disappeared, and darkness kissed every inch of the room.

 Chapter 21- She

    Prometheus


    ¡°You have been told it was man¡¯s prayers that brought the Rain. I wish it were so,¡± the mouths said. ¡°The reality is the Rain walked straight to us from a black hole. Have you ever heard the inside of a black hole? It sounds like a god screaming. We at NASA¡ª¡± The mouths chuckled like they¡¯d said a joke that only they could find funny. ¡°You don¡¯t even know what NASA is. It was a space station before the Rain. I used to work for them. We were observing the movements of black holes¡ªcreation, destruction, and the irresistible pull they had on all matter and nonmatter. Nothing can escape a black hole. Even light itself is sucked inside it.


    ¡°Something ran out of it. The thing¡¯s movements reminded me and others of a deer. Not because of its legs. It had three legs instead of four. Nor was its fur deerlike. Its fur was made of a colorful, spongy light-blue-and-orange fungus that all blended together like rainbows caused by a mix of water and oil. It was reminiscent of a deer because it ran like it was being chased.


    ¡°We used to say the expression ¡®a deer in the headlights¡¯ if something stood still, but that¡¯s only accurate if they¡¯re paralyzed by fear. Otherwise, if you try to hunt one and it sees you, it bounds across the forest. That¡¯s what this thing did for about three steps with its three legs, two humanoid ones and another from where its belly button would be. Three steps, then it stood and looked around. With the most powerful force in the galaxy commanding it to come back, it stood. A black hole, the one thing in nature that nothing can escape.


    ¡°We witnessed it swallow a star, and the thing stood there, taking in its surroundings like a grizzly in a house. Meteors whirled around it, obeying their natural call to go to the black hole, and still the creature stood. Like cows celebrating the arrival of a butcher, we gathered everybody in the communications room to see the satellite feed and high-fived one another for our discovery.¡± The somberness of the mouths¡¯ voices put the cell in a grave mood. ¡°Do you understand the pure size of the creature to escape a black hole? It was as large as the sun. After a few dumb moments, a solemnity gripped the group.


    ¡°It looked at us, directly at the satellite camera. She nodded, and we all knew it was not just a she but the She. And She walked across light-years in the direction of Earth.


    ¡°Whenever one satellite was losing a clear image of Her, She waved Her hand, and another had Her on the screen. It was an ominous miracle. She wanted to be seen.


    ¡°Horrified but still scientists, several of us noted everything we could about Her. Her ability to traverse the very galaxy in steps like She was walking on a bridge we could not see. Her two humanoid legs moved in steps so small and useless they could be considered decoration or a fashion statement. The third leg lurched forward with each step and really was what propelled Her.


    ¡°She had three eyes. The sclera¡ªthe white part of our eyes¡ªwas black, and Her pupils¡ªthe black part of our eyes¡ªwere pure white. That¡¯s not what still bothers me about Her eyes today. On the right side of Her head was one eye, and two were on the left. Prey, not predators, evolve to have eyes on the sides of their heads to better see what could be chasing them.¡± The mouths grew furious and spat as they talked, drenching me in their warm, rancid saliva from every angle. ¡°No one dared bring up the most important question! What could be chasing Her?Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°Not every colleague of mine focused on research that could be their doom. No, no, no.¡± The mouths sputtered. ¡°Dumb, stupid, and desperate to be happy¡­ Frank Haymond popped champagne bottles. Myrtle Myr, the smartest of us, found the wall in the corner to stare at and asked to be alerted when it was over.


    ¡°We focused on other properties the creature had. Namely, Her skin and Her sweat. The closer I looked at the skin, the more it repelled me. It was so spongy, wet, and puttylike. I imagined touching it and having my fingers sucked away.


    ¡°That day, Her blue-and-orange skin didn¡¯t suck but discharged. Thick, honey-like orange viscous drops came from Her skin. Some turned their heads. Others gagged, and one person, in particular, vomited in a trash can. Frank dropped his champagne bottle. I couldn¡¯t stop watching. These beads of sweat floated behind Her, and when She entered Earth¡¯s atmosphere, they stayed in space.


    ¡°She came to Earth and did Her will for three days.


    ¡°A boy wore a red shirt on his first day of school. He was nervous, obviously. She crawled out from his pillow and transformed him into a giant four times the height of the school and made his tongue immovable. He left to haunt the mountains in the east, the sole place where he felt small.


    ¡°A couple met at a coffee shop for a first date. She yanked them from the date, made a house for them, and gave them quintuplets. They lived happily ever after in that house. I believe their great-great-grandkids inhabit it now.


    ¡°In the cover of darkness and without making a sound, She went into the room of a failed artist and judged his art while he slept. After judging, She grabbed him by his throat, shook him awake, and forbade him from making any more art except with the tools She gave him. She gave him the paintbrush of Basil Hallward, the man who drew the portrait of Dorian Gray. Yes, the book was fiction. It¡¯s real now. That happens sometimes.


    ¡°A girl sat on her therapist¡¯s couch, confessing her sins and seeking counsel for them. She took over the therapist¡¯s body and mocked the girl relentlessly. Then, from the therapist¡¯s body, She said, ¡®Grab a pen, and write every word I say.¡¯ The girl wrote three copies of The Necromancian and The Book of Kale¨ªnlanthasm¨¦nos.¡±


    The mouths started crying then and said, ¡°Then the sweat! The awful sweat from Her pores crashed down on this world for twenty-seven days and nine nights! You think it was a famine that destroyed the world¡¯s population? You think it was the climate? You think it was a nuclear war? You think it was aliens? You think it was technology? The world was fine before She got here! The Gifts and Curses people have received because of the Rain were flukes! Most of the world exploded in horrible deaths because of the Rain. We were at nine billion people on this planet. Now, we sit at less than one million!


    ¡°I was turned into what you see before you¡ªmany mouths that must speak, that must tell you about Her. And I¡¯m Cursed to observe. I saw what really happened when the Rain fell. I must tell you the truth of the world. There are powers you cannot hope to comprehend that choose if you live or die. They can hurt you and will hurt you neither for pleasure nor for revenge but for reasons you will never comprehend.


    ¡°There is no heaven and hell. There is no karma. There is no justice. Only Her.¡±

 Chapter 22- Velli鈥檚 Choice

    Velli


    ¡°Now, Velli.¡± Prometheus¡¯s voice returns to an uncomfortable baritone. ¡°You don¡¯t know the Book of Kale¨ªnlanthasm¨¦nos exists. If you make me happy enough, one day, I¡¯ll show you a peek of it, or if one day you make me mad enough, I¡¯ll show you the whole thing. But back to the mouths¡¯ story. Now that you understand the true fabric of your reality is as solid as water, I will ask you the most important question anyone will ever ask. Do you choose to deliver at least three legends of Division¡¯s Hand or at least three fools who you can trick into loving you? The answer is very obvious, especially considering your condition¡­¡±


    He pauses like he wants the question to linger. I don¡¯t need it to. No need for me to think.


    ¡°You¡­ you don¡¯t have any morals, Prometheus?¡±


    Prometheus moans. ¡°What¡¯s hard to understand? It¡¯s madness. From your destiny to your morals, it¡¯s all madness that doesn¡¯t matter.¡±The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°If my morals are madness, then I¡¯ll be mad in peace.¡±


    ¡°You will never understand. The story goes over all your heads.¡±


    ¡°Your story wasn¡¯t complicated, and I¡¯m smart. I know it doesn¡¯t matter in the grand scheme of things, but to me, it does.¡± I am what I am. It is what it is. I live how I live. ¡°If the options are to capture three homicidal monsters or trick three innocents, I¡¯ll always be a monster slayer. I¡¯ll bring you at least three legends of Division¡¯s Hand, and you prepare transportation to the Isle of Tselem. I¡¯ll be in touch.¡±


    With that, I leave. He doesn¡¯t speak to me as I walk away. I imagine he understands there¡¯s nothing more to say.


    Where¡¯d the sudden bravery come from, champ?


    Not brave, just can¡¯t respect someone like that. He told me to back down because he would back down. All the power in the world, and he¡¯s afraid to fight. I could never fear someone like him. If he wants to kill me for failing him, he knows where to find me.


    Fine with me as long as we die soon.


    ¡°Oh, and, Velli?¡± Prometheus calls before I step out of the room. ¡°You have three days, or the deal¡¯s off, and I¡¯ll kill you.¡±


    The door slams shut behind me without my prompting.

 Chapter 23-The Old Child

    Velli


    Three days to capture at least three all-powerful, homicidal legends is close to impossible. Immediately, I¡¯m hit with a concrete cloud of overwhelming hopelessness. However, bad odds aren¡¯t new to me. I just need to do something, anything to keep my mind going. My first step is to help the child whose youth was stolen and kill his grandmother if she can¡¯t give it back. A promise is a promise.


    In the grand hall, he sits alone in a pile of glass beneath a still-swinging chandelier. Each step I take toward him echoes, and the haunting presence of this place lingers. The gloom of the hall makes me scan shadows on the ground, and I imagine something leaping from the swaying fixture above me. The stillness mixed with the vastness of the hall is eerie. Disregarded junk and trinkets linger on the red carpet. So much gold lines the doors, shines on the chandeliers, and covers a few statues.


    The old kid looks out of place here, but in a way, he belongs. If this is a dragon¡¯s cave filled with gold and anything the heart could desire, he is the fleshless remains of a child that the dragon ate in his conquest for treasure.


    Little fantasy metaphor, Fate mocks. That¡¯s new for you? Don¡¯t start speaking Elvish, nerd.


    It¡¯s the vibe the old kid gives off that turned my thoughts to fantasy. The broken glass encircles him like he¡¯s doing some ancient Celtic ritual. I don¡¯t have time for this. Or more fantasy or fairy tales. Prometheus¡¯s story concerns me. Can I please have one celestial crisis at a time?


    And I only have three days to do the impossible. They¡¯ll each be tougher than Mogvaz. I don¡¯t think even Mogvaz has killed a hundred people.


    Leave the kid and¡ª


    Never. He needs help, so I¡¯ll help him. End of discussion.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I call to him from a few feet away. I step toward his circus ring of glass.


    It¡¯s not a perfect circle, actually. The glass shards have been thrown around too haphazardly. The kid-slash-old-man is picking up the glass with such speed, I expect him to cut himself on a piece.


    ¡°Hey, careful with that,¡± I call.


    The old kid¡¯s bald and liver spot¨Ccovered face reflects in the glass. He tosses the shard aside in anger then picks up a new one. I don¡¯t think he has a method to his glass picking. The old kid picks them up and tosses them at random, like¡­ like he¡¯s trying to surprise the glass.


    Ah, unfortunate.


    My guess is he thinks it¡¯s some cruel joke the glass is pulling. He¡¯s in the denial stage of grief.


    ¡°Hey, hey, man. It¡¯s me, the guy from before. I¡¯m Velli. Hey, what¡¯s your name again?¡±


    ¡°Jeremy.¡± He doesn¡¯t make eye contact. ¡°You¡¯re the last one.¡± His voice is as scratchy as an old man¡¯s. He forgets the glass and focuses on me now.


    I don¡¯t like the look he¡¯s giving me. Emotion fuels it. His eyes are red from fear or anger and rest above a tiny wisp of gray facial hair that can no longer grow. I pity him either way.


    ¡°Does that mean you¡¯re doing this?¡± he asks. ¡°Could you please stop?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not doing anything, man.¡± I show my hands to plead my innocence. ¡°Remember what you said, Jeremy. You said it was your grandmother who stole your youth and made you like this.¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t be.¡±


    Oh, well, problem solved. Let¡¯s go get ourselves killed finding a legend.


    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s my grandma, Velli. I mean, that¡¯s Ito, man. That¡¯s real Ito.¡± He drops the shard.


    Glass strikes glass, and an ear-splitting crack follows. The sound runs across the vast, empty hall.


    My thoughts wander to Dream and how I would have to explain to her that Ito means beyond-horrific ultraviolence, like an unforgettable murder scene. I think it¡¯s named after an artist Pre-Rain. I still need to get her to forgive me. I could use her now. She¡¯s the comforting type.


    ¡°Do you have a place to go?¡± I ask.


    ¡°No, man.¡± He pushes his face down to the floor just above a piece of glass and has a staring contest with it. ¡°My parents died. My parents both just died. People can¡¯t be this unlucky, man. That¡¯s how I know this isn¡¯t happening. It¡¯s fake.¡±


    Well, if he¡¯s talking about unlucky, you might give him a run for his money, Fate concedes.


    No, he¡¯s right.


    Is he? What did we just learn, Velli? Life sucks, and it¡¯s hopeless.


    Was that the sole lesson? Even in Prometheus¡¯s story, the root cause of the world¡¯s problems is one entity in particular. Extreme bad luck does often have a fault. I¡¯d wager his grandmother killed his parents for her plan, whatever it might be. I¡¯ll stall her death, after all. She¡¯s the first one I¡¯ll make escort me to the island. Two birds, one stone.


    What would Dream do next? No, I¡¯m not Dream. I¡¯ll do this my way. I don¡¯t bother fighting Jeremy¡¯s delusion yet. He¡¯ll come out of it when he wants to come out of it. Instead, I call a teleporter to get us out of here.


    Jeremy questions the guy about five times on what he looks like, and the poor teleporter repeats with less and less empathy that he looks like an old man. This sets Jeremy off, and he¡¯s dropped off via a portal inside his house. Anger, the next step of grief.


    I don¡¯t panic. His grief is a part of life, and he can¡¯t do much to harm his house as an old man. That¡¯s the sad part for him. He punches the hallway wall, and it doesn¡¯t even give way to his blow. He screams in pain.


    His home is a standard suburban one, with white walls lined with pictures of his family that seem to mock Jeremy now. The pictures of Jeremy with his family at amusement parks, graduations, and vacations now seem to be a cold reminder of the youth and parents he lost.


    His parents seem to be typical suburbanites. Outside, they have the Berserker Clique¡¯s symbol on their door, signaling that they are under that clique¡¯s protection. The Berserker Clique are midtier guardians at best. A wealthier family would have hired someone more prestigious. The Berserker Clique will be no use in finding out who killed his mom. My belief in this family¡¯s blandness heightens the more I stroll through the house. The house is filled with framed quotes of corny cliches.


    ¡°If prayers bring rain, then it can heal your pain.¡±


    ¡°Love first.¡±


    ¡°Did you water your gardens today? The Rainbringer watered us. How about you return the favor?¡±


    ¡°In this house, we sing. Even in the rain.¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Nothing¡¯s wrong with the sayings. They¡¯re just meaningless. Typical inoffensive posters that mothers put up. I¡¯m hostile to them because I find them pathetic. They¡¯re made to not fit into any other religion but to show off how spiritual one is. To me, it¡¯s needy¡­ normally. Now, I see things differently. Yes, this family was bland, but maybe, subconsciously, that was on purpose. This family just wanted to fit in to be left alone. I can¡¯t blame anyone for that.


    ¡°Granny!¡± Jeremy yells, but it¡¯s obvious to me for three reasons that she¡¯s been back and gone.


    One, the lights are on, but I imagine the family would have turned the lights off as they left. Therefore, she turned them on when she got back and didn¡¯t bother turning them off again.


    Two, a few family portraits have been knocked over, face down, and broken glass surrounds them. Knocked over in a hurry because of guilt or maybe even a sick pleasure in seeing her plan come to fruition.


    Three¡ª


    You¡¯re a psych major dropout! Save it, Sherlock.


    I¡¯ve read a lot about psych, even postdropout, Fate.


    Anyway, three, the door was open when we walked in. She didn¡¯t take the time to close it.


    ¡°Granny! Granny!¡± he yells again.


    I follow him. He turns to look at me and, with shame, turns his ¡°Granny¡± yelling to ¡°Grandma.¡± He really is a child.


    Clutching his arm, he wanders into what I take to be his grandmother¡¯s old room and plops down. The room¡¯s stripped bare, even the bedsheets. ¡°Stripped bare¡± is probably not the right word. Portraits of his family decorate the wall with the grandmother included.


    At one point, Jeremy becomes desperate enough to check under the bed. Of course, nothing¡¯s there. He plops down onto the mattress. I¡¯m careful not to touch him while he festers with rage. Red-faced, beating his chest, and a grimace that could crush a can, his reflection stares back at him from a glass of water on his grandmother¡¯s nightstand, distorted and very real.


    His face drains of color, and he seals his eyes tight to resist crying. His emotions change again. I imagine he sees how angry he is, and he scares himself because he shouldn¡¯t be this angry. People shouldn¡¯t be this angry. It¡¯s scary to know how much rage one can have. Closed eyes are a poor dam for Jeremy. The tears don¡¯t take their time coming. They flood out of him.


    I want to turn away. Seeing a man so old cry like that creates an ugly, bubbling discomfort in my heart. I shouldn¡¯t be watching it, much less hearing¡ªno, experiencing¡ªhis cries. They aren¡¯t loud enough to shake the walls, but they have such a presence. The door calls my name. Yes, let him mourn alone. Does someone who¡¯s already lost everything want to be alone, though? Maybe, but is that healthy? For now, I¡¯ll stay.


    My instinct tells me not to touch him because he looks to be my elder, late eighties, bald, with liver spots everywhere and a strong bend in his spine. He¡¯s thirteen, though, so I give his back a reassuring rub.


    And what is that supposed to do?


    ¡°You can touch me, man. I¡¯m not some corpse. I¡¯m thirteen. I¡¯m thirteen!¡± he cries.


    ¡°Yeah, sorry.¡± I rub his back harder, like that¡¯s going to do anything.


    With a weak display of strength, Jeremy swipes my hand away. The effort cost him. He topples over, and I grab his shoulders as he balances himself on my thigh to stay upright with my help.


    ¡°I got you, sir¡ªman,¡± I tell him.


    He looks at me with his green eyes beneath thinning gray eyebrows that are down to strands. ¡°I did something¡­¡± he croaks in his aged voice. ¡°I stole from this store like a year ago¡­ some gum. Do you think that¡¯s why this happened to me? I can give it back if I can just find it.¡± His eyes flash with frustration. His cognitive ability, unfortunately, matches his new appearance. The gum¡¯s most likely gone. ¡°This happened to me for a reason. It¡¯s because I was bad, right?¡±


    The bargaining stage of grief.


    What is he asking you for? If you knew how bad luck worked, you wouldn¡¯t be you.


    Fair point.


    I¡¯m not sure if lies are better here or the truth, so I take my time thinking of my reply.


    He cuts me off before I can say anything. ¡°I can swear. To the Rainbringer or Division, by my own name if I need. I¡¯ll never sin again. For all my days¡­¡±


    The crying starts again. Less intense. Slow, leaky drops of tears stream down his face, and hiccup-like breaths come from his broken heart.


    Depression.


    I¡¯ll give him what I would want if I were him. Honesty. ¡°You don¡¯t have long to live, and it¡¯s not your fault.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve watched lots of porn.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, not the best for you, but people have committed worse sins. Still not your fault.¡±


    ¡°Then, why me, man? You reap what you sow, karma, and all that stuff, right? What did I reap to get this?¡±


    He means what did he sow. I don¡¯t bother correcting him. ¡°I couldn¡¯t tell you.¡± She pops into my head. How She ruined so many lives because it was Her will. Sad, random nonsense. ¡°My guess is nothing. It¡¯s just the way it is.¡±


    ¡°My turn was coming, man. When I went out with the boys and we¡¯d go chat with girls, I never was any good at it because I was short and, like, sickly pale.¡± He laughs at himself a bit. ¡°Of course, everyone makes fun of me because I¡¯m always getting rejected, and it¡¯s my boys, so I take the jokes and laugh, but I also laughed because I thought my turn was coming soon. My dad was six foot five, man. Six foot five! As soon as my growth spurt hit, they¡¯d watch me getting with the girls. And I was getting powers! That and I¡¯m persistent. I was getting better at my introductions. Want to hear one?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± I let go of him, realizing he can hold himself up now.


    He scoots a nudge away from me on the bed, pats his clothes down, and adjusts his collar like he really is about to hit me with his best line. His face is still wet with tears, but he makes a considerable effort to ignore it.


    ¡°Um-hmm,¡± he says with a cough. ¡°Excuse me, miss.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Can you play along? You¡¯re the girl in this role.¡±


    ¡°Oh, um, yes.¡±


    ¡°What is that?¡± he yells and points at the floor with a heavy breath from his ancient lungs.


    Is this part of his bit? ¡°What is what?¡± It¡¯s probably a roach. I hope to Division it¡¯s not a Drowned Roach.


    ¡°It¡¯s a¡ª¡± He stomps on the floor with a thud and so much effort I know I won¡¯t hear his line because something is here.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    He grabs the cup of water on the table, pulls out a piece of ice, and crushes it in his fist. ¡°Sorry, there was some wild ice between us. I had to use an icebreaker,¡± he says between big breaths and a prideful smile.


    I think I¡¯m going to kill myself.


    ¡°Oh, clever,¡± I tell him. ¡°A lot of work to get to that.¡±


    ¡°You seem like a girl worth working for.¡± He breaks character and gives me a playful punch in my elbow. ¡°That¡¯s the real line.¡±


    Huh, that would have made a girl blush, and he knows it. He¡¯s proud of himself, and he chuckles and chuckles until it turns to a cough and he falls on the floor. I grab him again and set him back so he can breathe properly.


    He wheezes. ¡°I¡¯ll never get to say that line to a girl I like, will I?¡±


    Not unless he somehow likes them in the walking-corpse age range.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s¡­ unlikely, Jeremy.¡±


    The tears stream, again, and that¡¯s okay. I let him cry.


    ¡°I¡¯ve made no name for myself. I¡¯ve never kissed a girl. That¡¯s it, then?¡± He isn¡¯t talking to me anymore. His eyes are locked on his reflection. Unearned wrinkles and bags sit beneath his green eyes. The only thing that¡¯s of his own invention is his frown.


    I could take him, couldn¡¯t I? He would be an easy sacrifice to Tiamat. He doesn¡¯t want to live. He won¡¯t have much longer. This was a gift to me.


    She¡¯s face from the Prometheus story smiles in my mind¡¯s eye. Fungus fur, eyes on the side of Her head to avoid something that could kill Her.


    That could kill you.


    Her rampage. Her injustice. Her truth. She was in charge, and we were less than toys to Her. I understand Her to be true. So Jeremy¡¯s end makes perfect sense. Life sucks, then you die. That¡¯s it.


    ¡°Nope,¡± I tell him. ¡°That¡¯s not it.¡±


    Jeremy¡¯s eyes leave his reflection and hang on me.


    Like a noose.


    Like a star.


    I put my hand on his chest and move it where his heart should be. ¡°Your heart¡¯s still beating, isn¡¯t it?¡± I ask, and he nods. ¡°Then, you can defeat an army as far as I¡¯m concerned.¡±


    ¡°I can barely walk.¡±


    ¡°Snakes kill, and they don¡¯t have legs.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m weak.¡±


    ¡°You can always get stronger. I¡¯ll buy you a half-pound weight to do some curls.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll never be what you were, but I¡¯ll do my best to help you like what you are.¡±


    ¡°And the girls?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out. As long as your heart beats, you¡¯ll never know who you¡¯re going to meet.¡±


    ¡°You make that up yourself?¡±


    ¡°No, I got it from my mom.¡± Speaking of which, I need to visit her. I can¡¯t stay here long.


    We talk until then, and he tells me about his past. The games he used to play, how he hated school, and what he wanted to do after he grew up. Probably a decent fifteen-minute chat.


    The glass of water shatters on the floor. Jeremy falls with it. He didn¡¯t pass out. No, he is extremely conscious. His jaw drops, his body shakes, and he points one ancient, wrinkled finger at his wall, indicating a portrait of him, his dad, his mom, and his grandmother. ¡°That¡¯s my grandmother.¡±


    Is he entering a new phase of grief? Is he in shock again?


    ¡°Jeremy, careful. Yes, your grandmother¡ª¡±


    ¡°No!¡± he yells. Without anger. Without sadness. With intensity. ¡°No! I know what we thought my grandmother did. But that¡¯s her, not the lady who brought me to the Conference of Desires.¡±


    ¡°Jeremy? You know what your grandmother looks like.¡±


    ¡°No, no, trust me. I know I¡¯ve been out of my mind, but I¡¯m seeing it now. That woman came here one day in place of my grandmother, and we believed her. We believed she was my grandmother.¡±


    ¡°Jeremy¡­¡±


    His words hold the sting of sobriety. Yes, it¡¯s possible that someone could have that power.


    ¡°You have to believe me,¡± he wheezes. ¡°It¡¯s so obvious. Why didn¡¯t I see it?¡± He slaps himself. ¡°We fed her dinner. We talked with her every day, and we didn¡¯t know! I can see it now. Oh, she was good. She was tricky. She killed my real grandmother. How many times has she done this? Will you stop her, Velli?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely.¡±

 Chapter 24- The Peppermint Hospital

    Velli


    Excess. Necessity. Excessive necessity is how a building stays safe in Division¡¯s Hand. I¡¯m grateful the security outside my mom¡¯s hospital follows this trend. High, happy red-and-white peppermint-candy-colored gates loom over me and stab through the clouds of the orange fall sky. The gate circles the hospital, which was a warehouse at one point. In fact, it looks more like a warehouse than a hospital even now, massive and cavernous.


    I feel a little guilty for leaving Jeremy alone, but I need to visit my mom in the hospital before I attend, hopefully, the last funeral for one of my friends.


    Wisp, the security guard, watches me from a white puffy cloud, invisible, but I can feel his eyes. It¡¯s that hair-raising alarm that a gun is aimed at my head. If he did see me as a threat, he would shoot me, and if that didn¡¯t kill me, he would send enough wind down to launch me flying into the clouds then let me drop.


    I don¡¯t like it, but I get it. It is what it is. Can¡¯t have anyone engaging in one of the city¡¯s black-market businesses¡ªkidnapping. I¡¯ve been snatched a time or two. And pretty quickly, I learned that no one smart relies on the Heirs¡¯ public police force.


    ¡°If you want to live, you have to buy,¡± the saying goes.


    The Heirs¡¯ police force¡ªor merely the power of their name¡ªis great for things they put their symbols on: public schools, hospitals, grocery stores, certain neighborhoods, etc. No one would dare commit a crime in any of these places. However, as other cliques rise in power and the Heirs grow weaker, they¡¯ve become more and more lackadaisical with defending anything that doesn¡¯t have their symbol. They¡¯re stretched too thin. Of course, none of the Powered notice how alarming this is that they can defend themselves. They go about their day like we don¡¯t live in near anarchy. Still, I wish I could have put my mom in an Heir-funded hospital, but for her sickness, she has to go to this private one.


    A man with genuine gray silk skin forms a silhouette as he stands by the gate and smokes a cigarette. Is that Weaver? I don¡¯t know him personally, only of him.


    Weaver glares at me. A large, brooding man, he wears simple black shorts, flattop sneakers, and an entire body made of intricate silk and strings, except for his two eyes and fingernails. He uses American pennies for eyes and origami ten-thousand-yen notes for fingernails. I nod at him on my way to the door. I can tell he¡¯s been waiting out here awhile and getting aggravated because his ¡°fingernails¡± are wet with sweat. Probably meeting somebody. He¡¯s a creepy-looking guy, and the wet money on his fingers made of strings doesn¡¯t help.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    He¡¯s giving me a look. I must have accidentally given him a look. This is going to turn into a thing. A hole opens in his face to speak to me. He thinks I want to fight him, so he engages in some boasting to see if I¡¯m up for the challenge. The first step in boasting is to list powers.


    ¡°Indestructible body.¡± His voice sounds like silk rubbing against silk, it¡¯s so quiet, like a whisper with a mischievous spice. ¡°Unbreakable silk bonds. Silk that whips like a slave master. Silk that can go in your mouth and out your toes.¡±


    I ignore him. If I list back, he¡¯ll think I want a fight. I¡¯m supposed to say ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡± and bow my head if I don¡¯t want a fight. If I¡¯m shameless and a coward, I¡¯m supposed to squat beneath him and wipe off his shoe in two quick swipes as I apologize. Frankly, though, I¡¯m not feeling sorry at all. I¡¯m annoyed because Dream is mad at me, in mourning because I have to attend a funeral, and worried about my mom because she¡¯s in the hospital. And Prometheus just told me everything I know is a lie, so no, I¡¯m not feeling cowardly.


    ¡°Mogvaz Main,¡± I say back, switching the boast to people we¡¯ve killed or at least maimed.


    ¡°Sharp, all of the Radiance Clique, and One Man Fleet,¡± he responds without missing a beat.


    I shrug. Impressive resume, though.


    He doesn¡¯t like that and steps in front of me. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    I fell for this before. He doesn¡¯t actually want to know my name. They¡¯re the final words before a fight. If I¡¯m in a clique, I say the clique¡¯s name, and that should get him to back off. If I¡¯m alone and want to fight, I say, ¡°I have no name,¡± implying I want to make a name for myself by killing him.


    But I¡¯d lose this fight.


    ¡°Velli Greene.¡± I drop my head in surrender.


    He laughs at me, loud and aggressive. Fate joins in, of course. I walk past Weaver.


    He slams his hand against my neck and spins me around to face him. ¡°Swipe.¡± He pushes me down, his phone camera out, recording.


    I glare at the eye of the camera, the only small and useless act of rebellion I can manage.


    But you get to your knees either way. Don¡¯t you?


    I drop to my knees and swipe at his foot twice, wiping away my self-respect in unison. I¡¯ve had to do this before, some recorded, some not. It doesn¡¯t get easier. It doesn¡¯t make me any less mad. I curse whatever thing brought the Rain and made him stronger than me for whatever reason.


    I¡¯m going to change this whole world when I get powers.


    But what if you¡¯re not strong enough, Velli? What if you get powers and you¡¯re still swiping feet?


    I promise you, I¡¯ll get more power than anyone in all five cities of Division¡¯s Hand.


    Deed done, I¡¯m careful to keep my eyes down to avoid another fight. My thumbprint on the scanner door opens the gate for me. The gate creaks against the surface.


    ¡°Velli Greene, feet swiper, sole licker!¡± Weaver yells at me, and the flash from his camera reflects against the fence.


    I can¡¯t even flip him off without making this situation three times worse.

 Chapter 25- Inside the Hospital Doors

    Velli


    Inside the hospital doors, most of the extravaganza is gone. Wait. The extravaganza isn¡¯t gone. It¡¯s dead. The waiting room is dead.


    The lights are gone. A weak orange glow cast from the raindrop-shaped emergency lights and onto the walls fights off the darkness. Shadows cover the lamps. The computers behind the front desk are dead, and the TV monitors in the waiting room display black. It¡¯s hot, so hot I¡¯m sweating in my funeral suit. Hospitals always stay cold.


    ¡°Where is everybody?¡± I ask the room. ¡°Where is my mom?¡±


    No one¡¯s here to answer. Thirty or so empty chairs and a desk missing its receptionist don¡¯t speak. Slight panic rises in me. Everything slows down, and every sound is important. The clock¡¯s tick announces its time with room-filling volume, and my heart pumps between the seconds that don¡¯t seem to end.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I cry then shut up because my voice sounds as scared as I feel.


    Careful not to move at the speed of my racing heart, I walk through the doors to the hallway, leaving the waiting room. It¡¯s a similar situation. No power. No one¡¯s around. No voices. The orange lights buzz, and my steps echo. It¡¯s like walking through a highway tunnel.


    You¡¯re not going fast enough, Velli. Your mom¡¯s in danger.


    When he¡¯s right, he¡¯s right. My steps annoy me. I speed up.


    Oh, too fast, too fast. Whatever snatched everybody up is around. What if it¡¯s hungry? What if it¡¯s malicious? What if it¡¯s so powerful it doesn¡¯t know you exist? How many ants live nearby without your knowledge? That won¡¯t stop you from squishing an ant, though, will it? And when the thing sees you¡­ squish. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    The squish turns my stroll to a careful plod.


    Let¡¯s go over everything that could have killed her. Yes, that seems helpful.


    I try my best to ignore Fate. She¡¯s on the first floor, thankfully.


    She¡¯s already been eaten. In fact, this hospital is just a trap for young, unsuspecting fools to become dinner for something malicious. That would explain why everyone is gone but your way is still lit, a setup to draw you into the belly of the beast.


    It¡¯s one turn away and a long walk down the hallway to her room.


    She¡¯s the cause of this. Well, her body anyway. At least twelve people can control a body and make it do horrid things. Dummy has her on puppet strings, and he made her go on a massacre. Wasn¡¯t he at the Conference of Desires? I bet he wasn¡¯t happy about your stunt to end it early.


    A peek around the corner tells me no one¡¯s around. I make the turn, still without seeing anyone.


    You¡¯re delusional. You¡¯re the one in the hospital, and this is just some silly dream of yours. You are a burden on the doctors here, in the psych ward. You¡¯re trapped in a straitjacket and a padded all-white room. That would explain why you have a literal voice inside your head.


    Her room is ten steps away. Every door I pass is shut.


    You could be in hell. It¡¯s so hot. Look, you¡¯re sweating.


    Nine steps. Low murmurs come from inside the door to my left.


    Oh, that¡¯s it.


    Eight steps. My breath is heavy, and the heat is getting to me.


    You¡¯ve already died.


    Seven steps. My heartbeat pumps in my ears. If she¡¯s gone¡­ Six steps.


    You¡¯ve failed as a man.


    Five steps. I¡¯ve failed as a man. Four steps.


    You¡¯ve failed as a son.


    Three steps. I¡¯ve failed as a son.


    Two steps.


    Your daddy wasted his life on you.


    One step.


    My dad¡­


    I¡¯m here.


    Your daddy wasted his life on you.


    In front of her room, I grip the warm, wet doorknob, and it clicks as I twist it open. The doors are locked from the outside. It¡¯s silent.

 Chapter 26- Under the Covers

    Velli


    A heart monitor beeps. A TV to watch hangs from the wall, and the bed that allows my mom to live without health issues rests in the middle of the room.


    Something lies on its back under the covers. It¡¯s not my mother. My mouth goes dry, and it feels like my heart forgets to pump. That thing beneath the blankets is too still. It¡¯s too bumpy, and its heart¡­ its disgusting heart is a moving lump under the white covers. It beats five times every second. I take two more slow steps to stand above it.


    Ripping away the covers, I reveal four sets of pillows and a miniature fan in the middle. Behind me, something whizzes from the room just outside of my peripheral vision. I chase the thing through the door and into the hall.


    It¡¯s fast, human fast, not superhuman fast, and wearing some sort of hood made out of blankets. It only has two legs. Catchable. It¡¯s quick, though, and moving in random zigzags, making shots to its back hard. I stop in my tracks and pull out my gun. Hard shot, not impossible. I choose to chase.


    We zoom through the corridors, and frustration boils in me. My mother, the person in front of me took my mother. Visions of beating the robed figure senseless propel me forward. It runs through the back door. The fall sky and peppermint gate greet me again, but I focus on diving on my prey. Before I do, they collapse.


    On the ground, unconscious, is the hooded figure. Then it all makes sense. I squat in front of her as my heart calms. Her face is on the ground. Slowly, I roll her over.


    ¡°Hey, Mom. Can you hear me?¡±


    Her breathing isn¡¯t good at all. Part of me thinks it could be over for her. It¡¯s not, though. She¡¯s a fighter¡ªtoo much of a fighter.


    ¡°Take me to Amelia¡¯s funeral,¡± she whispers, unable to say it with the authority she means.


    ¡°No, Mom, you need to stay in that bed. That¡¯s keeping you healthy.¡±


    ¡°Take me to Amelia¡¯s funeral,¡± she commands again.


    I don¡¯t move.


    She stops commanding and starts begging. ¡°Please, I need to see her off to the next life, please, Velli. Please, son.¡±


    I hate that. I hate to hear her beg. ¡°Mom, that bed¡¯s keeping you alive.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I¡­¡± She gasps and repeats, gasp and repeats in a sad rhythm. ¡°I made it this far.¡±


    And look what happened to you is what I think, but I love her too much to say that. The bed gives relief while on it and a few minutes while off, essentially enough for a bathroom break.


    I look for a subject change, a genuine compliment, something to be happy about. ¡°A power outage and an escape past the security guards. Clever. How¡¯d you manage that?¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    She looks up at me, feigning disappointment.


    Not feigning, she¡¯s really sad.


    No, her eye twinkles at her brilliance. ¡°I¡¯m not telling. You should be able to figure this out. You might need to do it one day. What do I always tell you?¡±


    ¡°You have to be a thinker.¡±


    She nods. ¡°You. Have. To. Be. A. Thinker. You have to be on your toes and have a plan. Until your powers come in.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± I don¡¯t bother correcting her about powers. They¡¯re not coming.


    Such great faith. Her belief in things working out or her ability to make things work out did a lot of good. Her faith kept her alive as she grew up through the roughest part of Division¡¯s Hand, the Eighteen. It encouraged her to come up to my dad and ask him out despite her being powerless¡ªI¡¯ve never met or even heard of another unequally Powered couple to their extent¡ªwhich let us live like royalty while he was alive. Her mindset taught me how to be clever and look for the third and fourth option. That¡¯s saved my life on multiple occasions.


    Her faith also brought her here. Gasping for breath, like a fish out of water, she makes me want to toss her into her proper element. Even now she refuses to go back. She crawls away from me, farther from that bed giving her life, and tries to get to her feet.


    ¡°Mom,¡± I whisper. This time, I can¡¯t find my authoritative voice. ¡°Mom, you need to lie down. I can put the funeral on your TV.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± She stands, shaking pitifully, every part of her body begging her to lie down. ¡°Amelia was like a daughter to me, and if a mother loses a daughter, the mother should go to the funeral.¡± She doesn¡¯t look at me now. She shuffles forward a centimeter at a time. ¡°You made me miss Cid¡¯s. You made me miss Nerves¡¯s. You made me¡ª¡± Her legs wobble and buckle.


    You made her.


    I grab Mom before she falls and scoop her into my arms.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry.¡± I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m apologizing for because this was the right thing. Right? Keeping her here, alive, until we can get a healer.


    She doesn¡¯t say anything as I carry her and pull the door open to go back to her room. She does tug at my shirt, though, and motions for me to put her down. I don¡¯t. I¡¯m sure if I do, she¡¯ll attempt to run right back outside.


    ¡°They¡¯re all really gone?¡± Mom asks. ¡°It¡¯s just you and Dream left?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, just us two.¡±


    ¡°Can you marry her already?¡±


    Hahahaha.


    Okay, that actually is a little funny.


    I close my eyes and smile. ¡°Mom¡­¡±


    ¡°I know you¡¯re waiting for your powers to get here, but you might need to go ahead and ask.¡±


    ¡°Mom¡­¡±


    ¡°I want grandchildren.¡±


    ¡°Mom¡­¡±


    ¡°I need one. Just one named after your grandfather. You¡¯ll like raising kids. It¡¯s the best experience someone can have. You were such a good time, even when you weren¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I think¡­ I don¡¯t think we¡¯re going to work out.¡±


    ¡°If I could get your father, you can get Dream.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s different.¡± I take a deep breath to explain our situation. ¡°Dating, mating, and sex are all about what you can offer, and currently, I can offer very little, unfortunately. Evolutionarily speaking, my genes have a chance to ruin our kids¡¯ lives because I don¡¯t have powers. Financially, I can never come close to those with powers. Socially, we¡¯ve reentered a phase in society where we¡¯re no longer starving for resources, where we¡¯re competing for them, seeing who can collect the most. Without powers, I¡¯ll always be outmatched.¡±


    She grabs my lips and presses them together to shut me up. ¡°Not a single word you said had a thing to do with love.¡±


    Yes, because love isn¡¯t real. It¡¯s just brain chemistry and evolutionary necessities to bring us further as a species. It is a fickle thing and could be changed and manipulated with a lot of struggle but easier than the masses would think. My thoughts jumble together and attempt to find an argument that would convince her without hurting her feelings. Searching her face and dark-brown eyes, I get sad at the fact that her hair is gray, which means she only has so many years left with me. I stop breathing for a second because that reminds me of my dad dying and the hole in my heart where he should be that will never get filled.


    She takes her hands from my lips, and I simply say, ¡°You¡¯re right.¡±


    I set her in her bed, and we chat until she falls asleep again. I fall asleep as well until Fate interrupts my nap.

 Chaoter 27- Dreaming of the Past

    Velli


    Fate¡¯s choice of dream to torture me with is always something special, at least in his eyes. Its purpose is to bring up old wounds or to remind me how the world sees me. The scene he sets now is another reminder of why I must not fail to get powers.


    It was our fourth ¡°field trip,¡± our stupid name for our volunteer vigilantism. Our group of friends captured a monster of a man that was torturing a neighborhood full of the powerless and Cursed. A wicked thing with the ability to appear from letters on any surface and pull its victim to its nest, a tattered paperback book.


    I laid the plan for it, of course. A risky, low-probability-of-survival escapade that almost cost four of us our lives, including mine. And it worked. We won. When Amelia tossed the indestructible book into a portal leading to the Pacific Ocean and the portal closed, we looked at one another in disbelief. This was big¡ªnot only the defeat of the Man Made of Letters, but we had no casualties, everyone put in a great amount of work, and the level of detail it took to accomplish it was incredible. We all buzzed weightlessly, like a gust of wind tickled us on a summer day and took away every problem we would ever have in life.


    Life was good, and our victory over the Man Made of Letters was just a pregame. We had to party for real. We gathered in a circle around the rubble to see what we should do next. Keep the party going was the consensus. We moved like a flock to Major¡¯s house. Like a pack of¡ªI guess, what we were¡ªkids who¡¯d found their purpose in life and loved it. We screamed, laughed, and recounted every event from our fight. Lots of:


    ¡°Did you see when I¡­?¡±


    ¡°I thought he was going to kill you!¡±


    ¡°I knew he wasn¡¯t getting past you!¡±


    We rushed into Major¡¯s place and took to exploring as soon as he said words one should never say to adrenaline-filled teenagers¡ª¡°Make yourselves at home.¡± We ran through every inch of the house, exploring and giving funny critiques that only friends could make. Like noting Major¡¯s affinity for putting posters of his favorite singers from his favorite band in every room.


    Eventually, we made it to his backyard. We found this inflatable swimming pool he hadn¡¯t used in years. It had a couple of holes in it, and we got to work. In what felt like five minutes but could have been an hour, we patched the thing up and enjoyed the hot summer day, playing chicken in the pool.


    Shells and I were a team. Shells was a tiny guy, just cracking five feet, with literal button eyes, skin made of silk, and a shocking amount of self believe. He sat on my shoulders in the pool as he wrestled any and all pairings of competitors. Four wins straight, we were impossible to beat, and it felt like it. Shells told me he needed a break, and I let my winner¡¯s high lead me to seek out another victory. I swam to the other side of the pool. Just outside the water, a pretty Black girl sat under a tree by herself. The leaves kept the sun off her and masked her in shadow so she looked like a forgotten character in a stage play. But I had my eyes on her the whole time. As far as I was concerned, she was in the spotlight. Every chance I got, I looked over at Dream to make sure she was watching. She was.


    Dream was an active member of our group, and yet no one knew her that well. Initially, Dream lacked the presence and wit she had in our online chats. She much more resembled her TV personality when she was interviewed and asked about Rose¡ªpleasant, quiet, and standoffish. The others assumed it was because she thought she was better than us. I had a good gauge on Dream, though¡ªshe didn¡¯t think she was better than anybody. Quite the opposite, and that was why she was so shy.


    I leaped out of the pool and roamed over to Dream. ¡°Hey, what are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Oh, um.¡± She pointed to the sky.


    ¡°The stars? But they¡¯re not out yet.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but, um, they will be soon. And, uh, I just like the stars.¡±


    ¡°You can watch those later.¡± I pulled her up by her hand and informed her she was going to be my next chicken partner and to not let me down because I hadn¡¯t lost a fight.


    I have no idea how many games we played, won, or lost. I got lost in the laughs just between us. And the rush from every inconsequential touch took me to another world. Dream would later describe that day as the first time she felt accepted. That¡¯s big. My guess is that it was even bigger than I thought.


    The games didn¡¯t stop after chicken. As a group, we made up our own, like Rock Slam. Which was just making a small pebble-sized hole in the ground then tossing a pebble in the air and trying to get it into the hole using anything but your hands. They enjoyed it. Personally, I think we¡¯ve had better ideas as a group. Thankfully, the game ended soon after, when a rabbit hopped into the backyard¡ªa rare sight outside of pet shops since most Drowned Predators made quick work of small animals.


    Amelia announced that we should adopt the rabbit and make it our mascot. I noticed she paused as she said mascot. Amelia, being a pink-furred giant of a woman, was self-conscious of her looks, and I imagined she feared someone would make the obvious joke, ¡°We already have one. It¡¯s you.¡± I¡¯m glad no one did. I am so glad we were able to give her that moment, considering what I know about her now.


    Unlike everywhere else in Division¡¯s Hand, there was no real competition between us. No need to prove ourselves by tearing down another. Maybe it was that moment I let my guard down and opened my heart, a mistake.


    Regardless, I cosigned the idea to chase the rabbit because it was more fun than Rock Slam. Most of us tried to lure the rabbit closer with random vegetables from Major¡¯s kitchen or just chased it. I pulled Samuel back from joining the group. The Afroed kid was one of my best friends, I guess, because we contrasted each other so much. He was tall, lanky, and he didn¡¯t worry too much about anything.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Yo, Samuel. I think I¡¯ve got a chance with Dream.¡±


    Samuel¡¯s eyes sparkled, happy at my possible romantic luck. ¡°Which girl is that?¡±


    My jaw dropped. ¡°Samuel, what do you mean which girl? She¡¯s the one who¡¯s literally royalty.¡±


    Samuel shrugged. One other thing I loved and hated about Samuel was that he was one of the most go-with-the-flow types of guys. That meant he did not care much about big details¡ªor little details, for that matter. ¡°I don¡¯t know her. What¡¯s she wearing?¡±


    I was careful to whisper and not turn my head toward Dream. ¡°The girl in the green shirt.¡±


    Samuel, for some reason, yelled, ¡°Green shirt!¡±


    Dream looked back at us exactly like one would look at people discussing them. We both stared back, guilty as thieves. The rabbit ran across Dream¡¯s foot, and she went back to chasing it.


    I yelled at Samuel more than he deserved. Little tears formed in his eyes by the end of it. Man, I regret that now. We made up the next day, but that was just wasted time. Time I wasted being mean just to be mean, to hurt him because I felt he¡¯d hurt my chances with Dream. If I¡¯d known he would die a few months later, I would have let it go. I would let everything go because none of it even mattered, and it didn¡¯t make me feel better.


    It wasn¡¯t even his fault¡ªit was me. Though I said Dream liked me, I didn¡¯t believe it. That was why I didn¡¯t want her to know I was talking about her. I thought if I hid my affection from her well enough, we might have a chance later down the line. I was a fearful fool.


    We caught the rabbit and made it our mascot¡­ for a time. Enough of us felt bad keeping a wild animal trapped. As the day progressed into night, we headed inside to play board games and take pictures. I avoided eye contact with Dream the rest of the night, and in the brief moments we did talk, I went stiff and tried to play it cool. One by one, we grew tired and hopped into random beds and couches to crash at Major¡¯s. The need to sleep came for me, and I examined the room, looking for a place to end the night. I found Dream standing in front of me, staring at me.


    ¡°Hi,¡± she said.


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    ¡°Are you hungry?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, starving,¡± I lied.


    ¡°Want to stay up and cook something with me?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, for sure,¡± I said, and we were off to the kitchen.


    It was my lucky day. We found a frozen pizza in the fridge. It¡¯s always pizza. It took us thirty minutes just to get the pizza out of the fridge because we kept talking to each other about anything and everything, as if the last couple of hours not talking to each other were too intense, and the words came bursting out like water from a broken dam. We never addressed the awkwardness of earlier, though. Dream¡¯s too personable for awkwardness to last, at least with me.


    Once we put the pizza in the oven, we were silent. Our momentum paused. I scanned my thoughts for something else, something more personal to say to her.


    Mark and Shells woke to the pizza¡¯s fragrance and asked for some, practically floating into the room, the smell as strong as any magnet. They were the youngest of the group, both in middle school, so it was a pleasure to spoil them¡ªmost of the time. They knew and embraced the fact that we would give them whatever they wanted. Not whatever, I guess. I wish I had given them the chance to make it to high school. The thought of them dying so young makes me sick.


    We gave them food that night. I was annoyed because they broke my moment with Dream, but I could wait for them to fall back asleep. When I looked at Dream, she seemed annoyed too. I took that as a good sign. No need to worry. I could stay up until the next morning if it meant I got to talk to Dream one-on-one again. Once Mark and Shells finished gorging on their slices and went back to their respective corners to sleep, I asked Dream if she wanted to watch a movie. Major hadn¡¯t fallen asleep in his bed, and I knew he had a TV in there.


    Dream replied yes, and so did Amelia, who got woken up by Mark and Shells. Amelia, the biggest cinephile in the world with the worst taste in movies. So Amelia, Dream, and I went to Major¡¯s bed together and put on some movie Amelia picked. I thought the night was done until I remembered one of the first things Dream said to me earlier. I just like the stars.


    I got up to head out of the room and whispered in her ear to stay awake. Then I rushed downstairs to shake Major and demand any extra blankets he might have.


    ¡°Man, what?¡± he asked, half asleep. ¡°It¡¯s too hot. You don¡¯t want one.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon, man, it¡¯s an emergency.¡±


    He waved a sleepy arm toward his basement door and passed back out.


    I grabbed blankets from the basement and took them outside then tied enough together to make a makeshift hammock. I begged Division to ensure the hammock held.


    By the end of the movie, Amelia was asleep. Dream was fading. Her eyelids fluttered, and she was close to collapsing in the bed.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I said, and her eyes opened. ¡°Race you to see the stars.¡±


    And we did race, tiptoeing downstairs and leaping soundlessly over our friends¡¯ sleeping bodies.


    In the hammock, the night¡¯s summer wind rocked us rhythmically. Fireflies danced around us, and sweat cooled us. Once we noticed we were sweating, we tried to avoid touching one another, but the hammock was too small, making it a useless effort. Embracing one another¡¯s sweat, we let our shoulders rest against each other.


    We watched the stars until both our eyes found something more appealing¡ªone another. Then we found ourselves speaking about everything all at once again. She gave me her life story, concluding with her fear of always staying in her sister¡¯s shadow. I comforted her because that was all I could do, and I felt compelled to tell her about me.


    I keep most people in my life at a distance. People knowing me and hurting me with what they know is one of my biggest fears, if I¡¯m honest. I don¡¯t tell people my victories. I don¡¯t tell people my fears. I don¡¯t tell people what makes me smile. I don¡¯t tell people my problems. I don¡¯t tell people my goals. I don¡¯t tell people I have a man inside my head that hurts me.


    I did that night.


    Dream was the first and last person to hear about Fate, including my own mom. I¡¯m not sure what I expected, but the words came out rough, full of stuttering and mumbling, and it ended with a hug and an apology from her.


    ¡°Why are you saying sorry?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Because you had to go through it alone. That sucks.¡± The hug grew tighter.


    At one point, we fell asleep.


    Morning came, and I woke to her laugh. I didn¡¯t move. I stayed to enjoy the moment and opened my eyes to see her face. She wasn¡¯t in front of me.


    ¡°Yeah, no, no, no one is mistreating me. I had a really good time. Everyone here is kind,¡± Dream said.


    The words came from behind me, and no one responded, so I assumed she was on the phone.


    Then she uttered the name of the person she spoke to. ¡°Yes, Rose. Yes.¡±


    Initially unfazed, I had a neutral opinion about the Heirs at the time. I stayed in the hammock, curious.


    ¡°Yeah, um.¡±


    She gave a long pause, and I felt her eyes on me.


    ¡°There¡¯s a guy named Velli,¡± she whispered. ¡°He¡¯s smart, great, and¡ª¡±


    That ¡°and¡± weighed more than a moon, and I wish Rose had let her finish what she was going to say.


    ¡°No, well, he doesn¡¯t have powers. Yeah, um, he might have a Weakness.¡± The strength drained from her voice. ¡°Yeah, um, has a Weakness. No, Rose. You¡¯re right. He¡¯s Cursed, right? That¡¯s gross.¡±


    Cackling issued from the phone. Dream joined in the laughter. That was the first time in my life I felt betrayed. The laughter felt physical, thick, and cruel. I stayed still until she got off the phone. Dream and I have never been as close as we were that night.

 Chapter 28- Finish the Story

    Velli


    ¡°Finish the verse,¡± someone in the room demands.


    Surprise shakes me awake.


    ¡°Finish the verse,¡± they say again. It¡¯s my mom, surprisingly wide awake.


    I¡¯m in a daze, still groggy from my nap and lack of sleep since the Conference of Desires. Wait, but what is she¡­? What is she talking about? ¡°What?¡± I ask. ¡°What verse?¡±


    ¡°You were saying a Bible verse. You mumbled it. I told you, you need to enunciate when you speak, but anyway, you mumbled the verse about four times in a row and never finished it. It was from Lamentations.¡±


    I think I know what verse she¡¯s referring to, the one Fate was saying to me beneath the ice. One I do not have memorized. I attempt to not look alarmed. Fate can now make me mumble in my sleep. Great, so he can possess me, maybe? This is getting bad.


    ¡°I¡­¡± I almost open up about Fate. About having a Curse. Then I imagine the disappointment in her eyes if I did. How she would blame herself because I¡¯m messed up. How she would still love me but her love would be different, more distant. ¡°I don¡¯t know the rest of the verse.¡± It¡¯s a poor excuse, but it¡¯s true.


    ¡°Your generation never finishes anything.¡±


    ¡°It was a pretty depressing verse. It¡¯s about a guy getting tortured by everything and his life is miserable. I can guess how it ends.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d be wrong.¡± She gives a proud look and recites, ¡°Yet this I call to mind, and therefore, I have hope: Because of the Lord¡¯s great love, we are not consumed, for his compassion never fails.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±


    She quotes the rest of the it-will-all-workout verse while her disease eats at her insides day by day from the bed that keeps her alive and in a room I¡¯m paying for that I do not have the money to afford. It¡¯s eighty thousand drops next month, and all I have is the forty in my backpack. So, frankly, I don¡¯t have the patience to tune in for the rest of it. I rise from my seat to leave so I can attend another funeral.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°The Lord is my portion; therefore, I will wait for him,¡± she finishes.


    ¡°Thanks, Mom. Okay, I¡¯m going to head out. Love you. I¡¯ll be back to say hello tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Wait, this is for you.¡± She pushes the thing she¡¯s been knitting toward me. ¡°It¡¯s a scarf!¡±


    ¡°Oh, wow.¡±


    ¡°I remember you used to love scarves like these. Do you guys still wear them?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely.¡±


    ¡°The guys¡± don¡¯t still wear them. It¡¯s embarrassing. In middle school, it was sort of a joke, sort of the actual style of the time to tie a bandanna around one¡¯s neck, like pet owners put on golden retrievers. It¡¯s not fashionable to do it anymore. It¡¯s cringe inducing now. However, I¡¯ll never let her know that.


    ¡°It¡¯s great. Oh, it¡¯s embroidered with letters. What¡¯s it say?¡± I read it myself as she speaks.


    ¡°It says, ¡®It¡¯s okay to have your head in the clouds. Not everything can be seen from Earth.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Nice, Mom. Thanks.¡± I step forward to give her a kiss.


    Her hand slams onto my wrist with an impressive grip. Her all-enduring smile reverses into a grimace. ¡°Velli.¡± Her tone matches her grim expression. ¡°I¡¯m serious about all of that. So serious.¡±


    ¡°All right, okay. I believe you.¡± It¡¯s unnerving. I¡¯m just a kid again under my mom¡¯s angry gaze, unsure of myself and afraid of my caregiver. The world around me is insurmountable.


    ¡°No, I need you to believe in something, Velli. I need you to at least believe in your dreams, because life won¡¯t always be easy.¡±


    That statement replaces my fear with anger, shrinks the world, and I remember how small and brittle everything is. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware life is easy now,¡± I bite back.


    Her grimace doesn¡¯t break. ¡°Plans are happening above and below that neither you nor I can see. The world is so much bigger than you think.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not. I¡¯m clever, and I¡¯ve got a good gauge of life¡¯s awfulness.¡±


    She lets go of my arm and sinks into the bed. ¡°Yes,¡± she admits then looks for more words. She starts and restarts her sentences, the right words refusing to be caught on the net of her tongue. ¡°But¡­ there¡¯s more than misery. You¡¯re a good kid, Velli. You do good things. You want to do good things. You won¡¯t say it, but I know what you want to do. I know you want to change this world for the better. Just¡­ I¡¯m worried you might let everything that¡¯s happened to you make you lose your way. Do what you want to do in your heart, okay? Be good. Don¡¯t compromise that, please.¡± Her tough exterior melts.


    I place a kiss on her forehead and squeeze her hand. ¡°Of course,¡± I tell her and let her place the scarf around my neck.

 Chapter 29- Funeral Without the Fun

    Velli


    ¡°Hey, man,¡± I ask my teleporter. ¡°Do you mind dropping me off at the front of the church? We¡¯re a little far from it.¡±


    ¡°I gotta charge you extra for that.¡± The teleporter¡¯s a skinny guy, balding, who wears a wifebeater T-shirt and long plaid pajama pants. Teleporters are independent contractors, so they can wear whatever they like, but most have the decency to wear real pants and shoes.


    The church holding Amelia¡¯s funeral is massive. The thing has two parking lots, one on top of a hill and another much closer to the large gold-and-white dome where the service will be held. The teleporter drops me off at the top of the hill, at the higher parking lot. The way down is long and meant for days that aren¡¯t blistering hot like this one. It¡¯s a winding path that¡¯s about half a mile downhill.


    ¡°Oh, you gotta charge extra, huh?¡± I phrase it in such a way as to make it clear I know he¡¯s a liar.


    The guy scratches his ashy, stubble-covered face. ¡°Yeah, have to. It¡¯s rough being a teleporter. I¡¯m in high demand.¡±


    No, he¡¯s not. Every teleporter has random ways in which they can transport people. His sucks. He makes these small, translucent holes above knee height so I have to jump in before I¡¯m spun three times to arrive. The last one I used was an orange portal I walked through and I was there. No side effects. No spinning.


    ¡°All right, listen, man. I know you¡¯re not in demand. You brought me to the top parking lot to get an extra ten from me. How about you just take me down? I¡¯m already late.¡±


    ¡°Nah.¡± He waves his hand, shooing me away. ¡°And it¡¯s twenty if you want me down there.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m late for my friend¡¯s funeral, and you¡¯re squeezing me for another twenty.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re too poor to spend twenty on her now, I hate to see how you treated her when she was alive.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± I push away my sports jacket to reveal my large knife encased in a leather scabbard.


    His smile pushes from ear to ear. ¡°Not my fault I gotta charge you.¡± He raises the right sleeve of his T-shirt to reveal a brand burnt onto his skin. It¡¯s a jack-in-the-box. ¡°I got the Treasure Chest Clique backing me. They make my rules, and you wouldn¡¯t want to upset them, would you?¡±


    I push my jacket tail back into place, covering my knife, defeated. I don¡¯t want issues with any clique, for now. I¡¯ll give this world hell as soon as I get powers.


    Still, I try to stick up for myself. ¡°That¡¯s a brand, not a tat, meaning you¡¯re not even a member. You¡¯re just a volunteer to be extorted by them in exchange for mild, and I mean mild, prestige and protection.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, you say all that, but it works. You¡¯re going to give me five stars on the app right now.¡±


    I take out my phone and obey him. What¡¯s worse than hell? That¡¯s what I¡¯ll give this world as soon as I have my powers. Oh, and I¡¯ll help people too. My mom might have had a point about forgetting the good in the world.


    Anyway, the skinny freak knows he¡¯s beat me. He takes a big step toward me, and I size him up after waving my phone at him to show I did what he asked. He¡¯s probably a hundred forty pounds and five foot six with soft, lazy hands.


    And this is who you have to submit to. This is who gets to walk around feeling better than you.


    The teleporter pats my head three times and calls me a ¡°good boy.¡±


    I swipe his hand away and walk down the long, cracked beige sidewalk. The sun¡¯s light does nothing to fight against the overwhelming grayness in the atmosphere. It does plenty to make me sweat in my suit.


    Fancy suit just to be treated like a joke.


    ¡°Cute scarf, by the way!¡± the teleporter calls from behind me. ¡°Your mommy make it for you?¡±


    I flip him off and rip the scarf from my neck, stuffing it in my pocket.


    I wear the standard black loafers, black suit, and black tie that I should wear to a funeral, and I hope my collared shirt isn¡¯t sticking to my skin by the time I¡¯m down there. I walk toward the large dome. At least everyone came out for Amelia¡¯s funeral and on time too.


    Unlike yourself.


    I¡¯m trying, Fate.


    A couple of stragglers walk with me down the slender sidewalks that allow us enough room to stay off the brownish-green grass. They either drove here or got screwed by teleporters as well. One of these stragglers is a woman in a black dress and heels. Her purse is tiny. A clutch I think it¡¯s called.


    She peeks behind her, probably because she hears my footsteps, then whirls around, swinging her purse. I raise my hands to assure her I mean no harm.


    ¡°You¡¯re Velli!¡± she says. ¡°It¡¯s really you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, um, it¡¯s me.¡±


    The woman stops to gawk at me, and I continue past her, giving her a smile. I already feel bad about my tardiness, and she looks like she wants to talk. If I show up any later, I¡¯ll never hear the end of it from Dream, if she ever speaks to me again.


    ¡°So, so sorry for your loss.¡± The woman¡¯s heels click-clack as she catches up with me. ¡°You and Dream are the last of Amelia¡¯s group, right? The Happy Doomed. Amelia made your name, right?¡±


    How¡¯s the name working out?


    Well, we got the doomed part right.


    ¡°Yeah, she did,¡± I tell her. ¡°That was our name. Actually, sorry, it is our name,¡± I correct myself. It¡¯s important to give hope.


    Even when you have none?Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    I have a little.


    The woman makes a face¡ªintense, lips tight, and as serious as a funeral. ¡°Y¡¯all did so much for us. For me.¡± She relaxes, and her eyes sparkle. ¡°Do you remember me?¡±


    I hate that question. I don¡¯t remember people that can¡¯t kill us. I don¡¯t know people that can¡¯t kill us. That¡¯s all Dream¡¯s job. We could have raked her leaves, or we could have saved her family from being slaughtered by the Wet Men. We do both.


    Did both.


    My sole desire was the cocktail of survival, victory, and the rescue of life. Is that wrong?


    Yes, one of your many flaws.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I lie to her anyway. She doesn¡¯t have to know, and I am an excellent liar. ¡°What did you give us after¡­? You made us something.¡± They all make us something, food¡ªalways good¡ªor homemade gifts¡ªranging in quality.


    ¡°Yes! Cinnamon rolls!¡± Her joy leaps from her mouth and into the atmosphere. ¡°I remember this face you made, and you snuck a piece off one of Raphia¡¯s plates when he wasn¡¯t looking.¡±


    I don¡¯t remember that mission, and I wish I did. It was always mission, mission, mission then on to the next one.


    ¡°They were excellent,¡± I lie. ¡°I love how you didn¡¯t go light on the icing.¡± Just an educated guess.


    ¡°I could make you some more. Deliver them myself and¡ª¡±


    ¡°No!¡± The word slips out faster and harsher than I intend.


    ¡°Oh.¡± She¡¯s taken aback.


    I suck the joy from the atmosphere.


    ¡°I understand. You have to keep things secret. Can¡¯t have one of your enemies knowing where you live.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sorry, I¡¯m glad you understand.¡±


    Is that it, Velli? Or are you afraid she¡¯ll see how her hero lives? How her hope is hopeless. Are you afraid of letting anyone into your house because you¡¯ll be letting them into you?


    ¡°Excuse me.¡± A gentleman comes up in a similar funeral suit as me. ¡°You¡¯re Velli, from the Happy Doomed?¡± He makes a clanging sound as he walks. Attached to each foot are balls and chains made of dirt that dig into his skin through painful-looking spikes.


    ¡°Yes, I am.¡± I consider walking away. I¡¯m going to be so late to this funeral. ¡°I really need to¡ª¡±


    ¡°You really helped me, man. Do you remember sneaking me out of the Eighteen when I was abducted? Ah, man. I thought there was no way because of¡±¡ªhe points to the ball and chain wrapped around his ankles¡ª¡°all this, but you guys did it. I can¡¯t thank you enough.¡±


    That mission I do remember because getting in and out of the Eighteen is tough. The Eighteen, the fifth finger of Division¡¯s Hand that¡¯s tried to break away and become the sixth adulterated finger three times.


    Before I can say goodbye and finally make it to Amelia¡¯s service, someone else who we¡¯ve saved or helped at one point or another comes to thank me, then another, then there¡¯s a flock around me. Sometimes, I forget how well loved I am by the Unchosen. Thank-yous, handshakes, hugs, and more whisk me all the way to the entrance of the church.


    I wish I could remember their names or faces. I could make an essay on the lives and origins of every monster and man we face, though.


    Once I reach the entrance, ushers escort me away from the masses and bring me through the dome like an artist headed into a concert. Someone calls me from every direction, and a hand touches me from an angle, prodding me forward or tugging on my jacket.


    Going through the hallway doors and into the sanctuary is a humbling experience. The dome has to seat at least five hundred people, and they¡¯re all here to honor Amelia. Low light, blue tint, and blue seats in the stadium make me feel like I¡¯m walking through a sea, a sea filled with people who all love Amelia.


    People who you let down, and they¡¯re all just too dumb to realize it right now. You were the brains. You were supposed to keep Amelia alive. They¡¯ll hate you as soon as the grief passes.


    Yeah, yeah, I guess they might. I keep my head down until I arrive at my seat.


    The majority of the light concentrates on the stage. Someone¡¯s delivering a speech.


    Sniffs and tear-filled coughs besiege the stadium. Already-drenched tissues wipe faces that won¡¯t stop crying. Red eyes look at me, and I wish I could lift everyone¡¯s spirits again like I did in the parking lot, but the misery of the moment is thick.


    An usher places me beside Dream. Of course, she wears no jewelry. Most of her jewelry is from her sister, Rose. She doesn¡¯t want to put the rest of the crowd to shame. And of course, she¡¯s beautiful in all black. The tight bun gives her a dignified look that, unfortunately, reminds me of her sister. Again, I get that nervous feeling that makes me want to pinch my skin.


    I open my mouth to tell her she looks great.


    She doesn¡¯t want to hear that from you.


    I shut it and settle into my seat.


    I know she knows it¡¯s me beside her because she doesn¡¯t say anything. She stares, puffy eyed and hurt, at the stage. I search my pocket for the scarf my mom gave me. It¡¯s gone. I suppose it fell out at some point. Good. It¡¯s not right to have something so positive here.


    XXX


    Many, including Dream and me, separately, come up to speak on Amelia¡¯s behalf. All our goals are to honor her and uplift everyone¡¯s spirits. One for two isn¡¯t bad.


    Does it honor her? If she¡¯d want you to be happy¡ªand this is Amelia we¡¯re talking about, so we know she¡¯d want that more than anything¡ªand you, Dream, and every loser in here can¡¯t manage to make anyone smile, isn¡¯t every word drooling from your mouth just pissing on her grave?


    I¡¯m hurt, and I¡¯m stressed, scratching my head and pulling at my hair because Fate¡¯s right, and I can¡¯t stop it.


    Fate, not here. For one day, don¡¯t make me.


    I feel a tear coming. Careful, Dream¡¯s looking.


    I find myself sniffing and squirming in my seat to avoid Dream¡¯s gaze.


    That¡¯s right, always the brave face, soldier. See, that¡¯s not bad. You squirm and hide. You can do something right.


    The next speaker comes from a row in front of us. He wears a traditional black suit, fancy black pants pulled up to just below his knee, and no shoes. It¡¯s like he¡¯s walking in square fish bowls without the fish. Water splashes with each step. Step is the wrong word because he¡¯s not able to raise his feet, so he more shuffles to the stage. It reminds me of Anne Graves, except so much more pitiful.


    He¡¯s a pastor, not here, somewhere much smaller. I forget his name and the name of the church.


    A couple of laughs from kids echo in the silent auditorium, and shushes from their parents follow.


    Don¡¯t you miss having parents?


    The man embodies all of the shame hurled at him. It¡¯s in his shoulders, weighing him down. If I remember right, his Weakness is that he walks on water and sinks on land. The pastor keeps his head down. Maybe willing his feet to go faster. It doesn¡¯t work.


    After his unique walk of shame, he arrives in front of the steps to get on stage. The usher and the pastor exchange some words to get the position right, and he¡¯s carried like a baby up the steps. Another usher comes to grab his¡­ I guess shoes.


    Finally, he faces a mourning audience. I hope he¡¯s a little past middle-aged because he certainly looks like it. Gray hair cut low and a forehead tortured by wrinkles on his black skin. He leans against the wooden podium for strength. Behind him, a picture of Amelia rests on the projector. She¡¯s looking down upon him.


    He takes one massive breath. ¡°Now, if you were grateful for your time with Amelia,¡± the man says, and his demeanor transforms. The shy, ashamed man is gone as he exudes frightening focus and passion. He stands straight, his head held high, and his voice is golden. Booming, authoritative, and each word sticky, slow, and more impactful than syrup on a pancake. ¡°Stand up, and give a shout of victory.¡±


    I straighten in my chair, now alert. Muffled praises ring out.


    ¡°I said, if you are grateful for your time with Amelia, stand up, and give a shout,¡± he demands.


    Movement follows all around me and praises to the Rainbringer. I find myself standing as well as Dream. Perhaps everyone in the room is standing and offering a word of praise.


    ¡°Now, this is a celebration of life, and life we will celebrate. So I said, if you are grateful for your time with Amelia, give me a shout!¡± he screams, then we scream.


    It¡¯s infectious. An organ player who did a couple of songs in the beginning but has remained useless since plays an upbeat tune. Everyone in the room shouts as the atmosphere surrenders to his will.


    ¡°Thank you, thank you. Now, have a seat.¡± He motions for us to sit.


    We obey.


    ¡°This is a difficult time for all of us. A lot of us feel forgotten at this moment and confused about why the Rainbringer would allow Amelia to die. Allow me, if you will, to remind you of our faith and to keep our hope. Let me tell you how the Rain came and why we can have joy, even in a moment like this.¡±

 Chapter 30- The Origin of the Rain II

    Velli


    ¡°And we know why the Rain fell. We sent a rocket up to heaven, mankind¡¯s last hope, with a prayer to God in every known language, and he answered because he is faithful. Praise the Rainbringer.


    ¡°The rain that day soaked into the genes of everyday men and women, and now, their ancestors are either born with Blessings or Curses. And this rain was targeted too. We have reports of zigzagging raindrops that landed on the skin of individuals. God is a selective God.


    ¡°Can I ask an honest question?¡± he asks the audience, breaking his cadence and authority.


    Of course, the audience gives him a variety of yeses.


    ¡°Does anyone else think God missed? I heard someone gasp. Who gasped? That¡¯s fine. That¡¯s fine. Who in here feels like God missed them? That the worst person you know in life just got blessed. The thief, the cheater, the adulterer, or the molester. Do you ever feel they live a better life than you do? Why were they blessed with powers while you weren¡¯t? Yeah, yeah, that¡¯s fine. You can say amen to that. We¡¯ve all felt like that.¡± The pastor gives a knowing grin.


    ¡°That¡¯s how I know y¡¯all aren¡¯t reading this book enough, because about half of it is someone feeling like God missed. Read Psalms. Psalms 94:3. ¡®How long, Lord, how long will the wicked be jubilant?¡¯¡±


    That tugs at my heart. How many more funerals do I have to go to while the worst people alive throw buffets? I find my hand scratching anxiously at my thigh as I wait for an answer.


    ¡°¡®My God, my God,¡¯¡± the pastor says. ¡°¡®Why have you forsaken me?¡¯ That¡¯s not in Psalms. That¡¯s in the gospels spoken by his own Son. There are some days where I don¡¯t struggle to walk, I struggle for a reason to walk.¡± He lets the audience reflect on that line. ¡°And I know I¡¯m not the only one in here that does.


    ¡°I hear. I hear the words people say about me when they think I can¡¯t hear them. Like I know you all hear how people talk about you. And if it¡¯s not their words, it¡¯s a voice inside your head. It hits you the moment you get out of bed or when you¡¯re happy with your friends!¡± the pastor yells. ¡°It says, ¡®What are you doing? You should give up. Accept your lot in life¡ªyou¡¯re a fool if you try anything else.¡¯ And you might look around and believe him because Rainbringer!¡± He screams the name of God in such a way it feels sacrilegious for a pastor. The sound itself shakes the auditorium. ¡°Rainbringer,¡± he repeats, ¡°it looks like you missed me. It looks like the Rainbringer missed Amelia. Why did she have to go? We needed her. She could silence the voice. And I know we need that noise silenced. I know we need something to hold onto.


    ¡°Here, I¡¯m going to tell you why the Rain was sent and why God never misses. After the Rain, the world had to be reorganized. It was chaos, and chaos has a cost. I know a lot of us may get upset at the Heirs, but having a ruler is better than what we did have. Evil thrives in chaos.


    ¡°In those days, if you were unlucky enough to let him smell you, you found yourself serving Shabaq, the Black-and-White Man, a tall, terrible, seven-foot monster made of muscle with the body of a man and the soul of a demon. Every evil inch of him was pure gloss white with black horizontal stripes across his body. His black lips never spoke a word, and his eyes, encircled by black ovals, could read minds like you or I read books. No hair grew on his body, and he never let clothes touch his skin unless he was ripping them off one of his slaves because he hated to allow them any comfort. Two hooves instead of feet announced his presence. They always clattered. They mimicked a stampeding sound, no matter how soft the surface beneath them.


    ¡°And once you heard them, nothing could stop him. That was one of his many powers. He was a destroyer. A tent flap to keep him away at night, he could burn with a pinky. A door to sleep in peace, he could slice with an index finger. A safe to keep anything meaningful away from his hands, he could disintegrate with his thumb. Even the dirt, even earth!¡± The preacher squats and slams the floor beneath him, resulting in a momentous echo. ¡°It wasn¡¯t sacred to him! With one hand, he would destroy the earth beneath him and pull out whatever was hidden, whatever he wanted.


    ¡°And that¡¯s how so many of us¡±¡ªhe waves a sad, shaky hand over the crowd¡ª¡°had to live. Even some with powers, if he was stronger than they were. Slaves to a nude, mute man because God ¡®missed them.¡¯


    ¡°But how many know God doesn¡¯t make mistakes?¡± he asks as the organ plays in the background. ¡°How many know that, while they say we are the Cursed and they are the Blessed¡±¡ªhe takes a massive breath¡ª¡°breath makes you blessed!¡±


    Certain sections of the crowd scream in agreement. The organ player recreates a similar tune.


    The pastor shakes his head twice at the lackluster response. ¡°That¡¯s fine. Y¡¯all aren¡¯t hearing me yet. Y¡¯all aren¡¯t believing me yet.


    ¡°A certain man lived in this castle. They called him Heavy because he was so skinny, a gust of wind could blow him away.¡± The pastor shrugs. ¡°You gotta laugh, even in misery sometimes.¡±


    Again, a lackluster response. The pastor adjusts his tie, and he goes on with his story. ¡°Now, Heavy¡¯s duty was to clean the toilets. He was a smart young man, so he invented some makeshift gloves and plungers out of tools in the castle. The Black-and-White Man destroyed them because he enjoyed seeing his captives grovel. He loved to see a face full of tears. Only Heavy didn¡¯t cry or beg or grovel or howl. He went on with his work with a smile. Hands covered in filth, nostrils attacked by the stench of his job, and a mouth full of songs. He sang as he worked because he was happy.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Heavy planned to kill the Black-and-White Man and free all the slaves. Every night, as everyone slept, Heavy trained. Push-ups, sit-ups, running, anything he could do without making a noise, Heavy did. And in the morning, at work, he would sing his songs of joy because he believed it would only be a matter of time before he was strong enough.


    ¡°Shabaq did not like his joy. Frankly, it sounded like no one else liked his joy, either, because they called him a fool, mocked him, and belittled him every chance they got. Except for one. A young woman they called Miracle because they said she talked so much that she could make a statue get up and walk to get away from her. Nicknames aren¡¯t always nice.


    ¡°And of course, as things often go, Heavy fell in love with Miracle.¡±


    A couple of cheers come from the crowd.


    The pastor grins. ¡°Now, how come you¡¯re screaming about love, but when it¡¯s time to talk about faith, some of y¡¯all are quiet?¡±


    The room roars with laughter.


    ¡°Uh-hm. Anyway, Shabaq saw their love, and he plotted. The obvious choice would be to kill her, kidnap her, or let her move far away, but he wanted something eviler. Shabaq let their love bloom for three months after their first kiss, then he called them both up to his room one night. They entered, and that night, Heavy was prepared to fight for his woman. Shabaq¡¯s room was large with a simple white mattress, a slim blanket of sheepskin on top, and a blanket made from a bear¡¯s hide. The room was devoid of art and windows, and a small candle was lit in the corner. It probably felt like entering a grizzly¡¯s cave.


    ¡°For a whole minute, Shabaq made no attempt to communicate with either of them. He stared and smiled at them. Heavy¡¯s nerves grew in anticipation of a fight, and an impending sense of danger grew around Miracle. He shook and screamed at his master by the end of the minute, demanding to know what he wanted, why they had been brought there.


    ¡°It was too much. Heavy attacked Shabaq. The fight isn¡¯t worth describing. The unfortunate truth of the matter is that, in part, Heavy was so fun to torment because his efforts weren¡¯t working. For all of his discipline and training, Heavy hadn¡¯t gained a pound of muscle or gotten any stronger. Even if he did, what harm could he do to Shabaq, the Black-and-White Man?


    ¡°Shabaq grabbed Heavy¡ªwho was covered in bruises and unable to stand¡ªby his swollen cheeks and made him look at Miracle. Shabaq motioned for Miracle to spin around. She did a spin and transformed into who she really was. A shape-shifter, an obese man with a hanging gut and hair in every crevice. The shape-shifting man laughed at Heavy and recited every poem and every sweet thing Heavy had ever told ¡®Miracle¡¯ in private. On bruised legs, Heavy crawled out of the room, trailed by the fat man¡¯s laughter.


    ¡°At some point, Shabaq had traded Miracle for a shape-shifter. Heavy knew there was no point in asking when, why, or where Miracle was now. He would get no answer.


    ¡°Heavy trained the next morning. This time, he collected the feces he cleaned, put it in the sun to harden, and stored it in bags to use as weights. And his body did begin to change. His stomach hardened into abs. His arms and shoulders grew, and every task became easier for him with his newfound strength. Oh, and you know¡ªhe sang through it all.


    ¡°Heavy took two years, and on the anniversary of his last great embarrassment, he called Shabaq. In the middle of the field where the slaves would sleep, he screamed and cursed the name of Shabaq and demanded he come down to fight.


    ¡°They heard the clatter of Shabaq¡¯s goatlike feet from the top of the castle, coming all the way down the steps. The other slaves feared for their lives at first, then a strange thing came over them. They looked at Heavy¡¯s new form, looked at how he¡¯d changed, how Heavy had become heavy, and they cheered his name. Even in front of the tormentor as they stood in the middle of the field, waiting for a battle to ensue.


    ¡°As usual, Shabaq said nothing. But not per usual, Shabaq was struck¡ªwith a wicked right cross. Heavy drew first blood, and the crowd erupted! The rest of the fight isn¡¯t worth mentioning. That was the last hit Heavy got in. He failed. Slowly, everyone returned to their tents, unable to sleep, but they tried. We have records that say Heavy was beaten for a literal hour.


    ¡°The next day, he woke up and trained in the morning. When Shabaq rose, he decided he wanted to kill Heavy. The whole thing was getting old, so Shabaq decided to kill them all. He ran into three different slaves on his way to kill Heavy, who was cleaning the toilets and singing his heart out, full of joy because he still believed. The three slaves were hung on the bare wall like pictures, their dried blood serving as glue.


    ¡°Shabaq came up behind the bruised and battered Heavy and slammed his head into the filth, hoping to drown him. And he did. He drowned Heavy in the worst way possible. Heavy died.


    ¡°But the Rainbringer said no! And this is our inheritance!¡± the pastor yells. ¡°Heavy was brought back to life. A new strength filled his muscles, a strength he had not earned through his biology but his spirit. And this fight is worth mentioning.


    ¡°Heavy grabbed Shabaq¡¯s wrist and removed his hand from Heavy¡¯s shoulder. Shabaq stared on in shock. And with more power than he knew he could wield, Heavy crushed his tormentor¡¯s wrist. Shabaq spoke then. The Black-and-White Man dropped his monstrous visage of muteness and spoke! He begged for mercy. Now, how many know our God is merciful, but we aren¡¯t?¡±


    The crowd cheers.


    ¡°See, no, no, y¡¯all not reading all three testaments of your Bibles. We¡¯re supposed to be merciful.¡± He laughs. ¡°But hey, I don¡¯t know if Heavy extended mercy that day. I do know Shabaq¡¯s land became Heavy¡¯s. Shabaq¡¯s slaves became Heavy¡¯s, and Heavy freed them without question. Why? Because he knew the tragedy of being a slave.


    ¡°Heavy had to suffer so that when he got power, he could be a better man. And of course, we all know Heavy would later become the father of the greatest man of our age¡ªDivision. Division brought us a rough time but a much better time. And that is why the Rain fell, to give us, me, you, and everyone in this room world-changing power, power we can access if we don¡¯t quit.


    ¡°Heavy earned his powers because he did not complain. He did not quit. And that is your inheritance. If you keep fighting, if you keep working and do it with a smile, that is your inheritance. I don¡¯t know why God decided to take Amelia, but we have hope! On that day when we need him most, He will come if we stay faithful! And as Heavy set his people free, so will you! Keep. The. Faith! We suffer now so we can ease the suffering of others when our redemption comes.¡±

 Chapter 31- What is a Grave?

    <h2> </h2>


    Velli


    It¡¯s so hard to stay inspired in a graveyard.


    Amelia¡¯s burial is a smaller, less glamorous, perhaps more real event. It takes away so much from what the pastor said. Everyone has left. It¡¯s just me in front of the headstone now.


    The joy from earlier has melted into the earth, overshadowed by nothingness. This funeral feels like nothing. I feel nothing. My suffering does not feel like it is part of a grander plan. It is painful nothingness.


    The day is not especially bright nor rainy nor even eerie enough to signify a shift in my small world despite everything Amelia means to me. It¡¯s silly, but before so many of my friends started dying, I always assumed the heroine Oro made the weather change when a good person died. I¡¯m disappointed after every funeral I attend. Outside is an average fall noon with a lazy drizzle. I wish the sun had stayed.


    You¡¯re so stupid. She lived like a loser and died a loser. Why on earth would Oro care that she¡¯s gone?


    She wouldn¡¯t. I spit my disgust on the brown grass. I¡¯m relieved her parents didn¡¯t show up. They abandoned her after her Weakness developed in her midteens. Not sure why. All the reasons are stupid, probably something like ¡°too difficult to raise¡± or ¡°not worth the trouble¡± or ¡°inherently evil.¡±


    Well¡­


    The last theory makes me chuckle. Behind me, Hugston¡ªan eight-foot man with the literal body of a teddy bear, whose power is to make anyone smile and feel warm on the inside¡ªhugs Dream and another funeral guest waiting by the edge of the graveyard. Amelia bought Hugston¡¯s pricey services before she died. She didn¡¯t want anyone sad at her funeral. She always wanted everyone to smile, though she was miserable herself. And she liked the idea of Hugston because he was quantifiably ridiculous. Amelia loved the ridiculous.


    Her headstone¡¯s a simple gray one that she bought herself, maybe a couple of years ago. ¡°Amelia, a friend and the funniest in the room,¡± it reads. The headstone is funny. That¡¯s really funny. Who calls themselves the funniest in the room? She wasn¡¯t even that funny, but she wanted to be. I can¡¯t stop smiling. It¡¯s the first real emotion other than misery that I¡¯ve felt since we arrived at the graveyard. It doesn¡¯t last long. I force a smile again, nice and wide, and think of good moments with her. There were so many.


    My fake smile falters. I peek behind me again. Every eye is red with tears, though their smiles are wide because of Hugston¡¯s presence. I can¡¯t feel anything anymore. I¡¯m heavy. I need to sit, but I want to mourn too. I stare at the headstone, wanting it to activate or something, make me feel something other than this miserable heaviness. Even sadness would be better. Is this how Amelia felt before her end?


    Amelia, Cursed with pink furry skin and arms the size of a gorilla¡¯s and legs that never grew bigger than a preschooler¡¯s so she had to walk on her knuckles. Amelia, miserable herself, but no one would ever know it unless they entered her inner circle because she wanted, desperately wanted, everyone to laugh. Amelia, who hated her body and never realized how pretty she was.


    It¡¯s your fault, y¡¯know? You should have reached out harder when Major died. That¡¯s where things got bad for her. That¡¯s where things got worse.


    I tried¡­


    Did you?


    Yeah, I was struggling on my own with¡ª


    Now, now, Velli, you were not on your own when you grieved. You got closer to Dream. It was you, Amelia, and Dream left in the friend group, and you got closer to Dream. You made that choice because you¡¯re selfish. Poor Amelia had to find somebody.


    I was mourning. I didn¡¯t know this would happen. I just wanted to¡ª


    Abandon your friends? You knew it wouldn¡¯t end well for her. Amelia, who looked to be held in anyone¡¯s arms. Amelia, who was damaged by her first love before you met her. You understood how delicate her heart was, how she could barely trust anyone who wasn¡¯t constantly laughing at her jokes. Amelia, so damaged by being lied to about love and wanting it so badly she¡¯d accept it from anyone. Even Parasite. Look at the ground, Velli. Tell me what¡¯s in the grave?


    Nothing.


    That¡¯s right, Velli. Because she gave her body away to Parasite because he said nice things to her. He possessed it, and it disintegrated in a couple of days.


    Fate¡¯s words hurt, but I¡¯ve dealt with this before. He always says it¡¯s my fault. We¡¯re ten funerals in, and I¡¯ve made my peace in a way. If I could look back and say I loved and listened, I¡¯ve done my duty, and that¡¯s true of every friend I¡¯ve ever lost.


    Loved, listened, then you lost. The three L¡¯s, Velli.


    I couldn¡¯t do much. I met Amelia when she was hurt, and the hurt never left. I don¡¯t think people understand how delicate young hearts are or the damage we do when we use people or how much of our minds are shaped when we¡¯re young. I know I didn¡¯t. Seeing the damage done to Amelia¡¯s psyche¡ªthe drugs, self-hate, paranoia, and eventual self-destruction at the hands of Parasite¡ªwas uniquely painful.


    My legs go weak, and I grab the headstone for balance. Parasite, a drug addict, whose drug of choice is the human body. He can possess anyone and feed on them until nothing¡¯s left. She knew it, though! She knew what he was! And still she offered herself to him because she wanted to feel love, even if she knew it was fake.


    Somehow, I¡¯m on my knees, gripping the grave with both hands, the stony shape scratching my palms. My eyes water. A heavy hand slaps my shoulder. I use my sleeve to wipe my face twice and take a deep breath before I turn around.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    It¡¯s Piedmont, a large man donning the appropriate black suit, tie, and white shirt. However, his thick, curly black mustache makes him look a little laughable, clownish. More importantly, though, he has the ability to numb or increase the pain for himself and others.


    And even more important than that, he does not know Amelia. I attempt to get up. I don¡¯t like the dynamics of being beneath anyone with powers. They already think they¡¯re better than me.


    His touch is a pleasant ooze into my shoulder, and it swims through my collarbone. Perhaps I could stay down a little longer.


    ¡°My boy.¡± He smiles then switches to a frown that makes his mustache curve. ¡°I¡¯m very sorry about your friend.¡± His mustache bounces with every word.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. ¡°Did you know her?¡±


    ¡°No, uh, with respect to the young woman¡­ I¡¯m not here for her. I¡¯m here for you. You know, I was friends with your father. Did he mention me?¡±


    ¡°He did, actually. He told me about you, Mr. Thomas, Many Man, and a few other guys. Whatever happened to Many Man, anyway?¡±


    His supernatural relief trickles down my arm. I could fall asleep to this. The tears have stopped, the heaviness lifted. Thank Division, it¡¯s gone. Fate screams at me, but it¡¯s like he¡¯s miles away. His voice comes out as an abstruse echo. My fist relaxes. I didn¡¯t even realize it was clenched.


    ¡°He¡¯s still in the Heirs¡¯ prison,¡± Piedmont confirms.


    I¡¯m supposed to be sad about that, but what could make me sad right now?


    He injects more relief when I don¡¯t respond. ¡°I took the day off from work to be here. I¡¯ll have to introduce you to the rest of your dad¡¯s old friends.¡±


    The words ease out of me. ¡°Sometime soon¡­ I¡¯d love to meet everyone.¡±


    He likes that idea a lot, and so do I. At that moment, his touch changes, another shot of kindness. The pain is in my face now¡ªmy cheeks ache from smiling.


    ¡°Excellent, Velli, excellent!¡± he says. ¡°Tell me, son, what are your plans? Any goals?¡±


    I hate showing people that part of me, but I can make a little exception. Life is good. Everything¡¯s smooth and easy. What could go wrong?


    ¡°Right now,¡± I say, ¡°I¡¯ve been helping people with Weaknesses. It¡¯s a sort of job, albeit a low-paying one.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± he says in that way people do as they judge someone to be dumb. ¡°Well, you can¡¯t do that forever, now, can you? What will you do with the rest of your life?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to change the world.¡±


    ¡°And how will you do that?¡±


    Without even looking at him, I know he grins as he asks.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to rule it.¡± The words come out. The invasion into my self-conscious sobers me. I open my eyes and face him.


    He laughs without remorse at my dreams. I push myself to at least be on a level playing field with him.


    ¡°Stay,¡± he says, shooting me with another blast of relaxation.


    I¡¯m back on my knees.


    ¡°Velli.¡± He pauses to finish laughing. ¡°I¡¯m going to do you this one favor because of your father. I¡¯m going to offer you a job. You will enter a Cognomen Oath with me for the rest of your days, and you will serve me, and we¡¯ll serve the Heirs and only the Heirs.¡±


    My jaw drops and stays there as I¡¯m unable to grasp what¡¯s going on. ¡°The Heirs¡­ the Heirs won¡¯t want me near the Unchosen, will they? They think the Unchosen are unworthy of help.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but you can help others.¡±


    Piedmont¡¯s eyes are gray and clear. Everyone else¡¯s eyes here are watery and red from tears. It must be nice not to have watery eyes. I bet he doesn¡¯t feel the heaviness. I¡¯m close to that. To shut out all of this and leave it behind would feel great.


    ¡°I¡¯ve made promises¡­¡± I say. ¡°And I¡¯ve lost a lot of Unchosen friends. I can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    His eyes glaze over, and he shoots a different sense into me, one that makes me bored with my own words. I stop talking.


    ¡°I can arrange for you to be free of most promises.¡± His mustache wiggles at the word. ¡°It¡¯s not wrong to break a promise to save your mother and to live free.¡±


    What would my mom say? ¡°You better not, agree to this, Velli.¡± She would sit up in her bed, face contorted. ¡°Do not compromise. You better not quit your life¡¯s goal only to serve another man. Stand up, Velli. Stand up.¡±


    But my mom isn¡¯t here, and she¡¯s old and easy to lie to. I would rather lie to her while she¡¯s alive then tell the truth to her headstone.


    Actually, would I?


    I glare into his eyes again. I bet he¡¯s numb. It must feel so good to be like that. To pretend that the grave behind me doesn¡¯t matter, that it¡¯s just a grave. That none of this means anything. That groveling before him as a slave is fine.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine to stay down, Velli. I know you have pride. Every man should, but life is unfair. A man who grovels in a desert beneath the man with a cup of water bears no shame.¡±


    ¡°Should I grovel before a man with a cup of water when I haven¡¯t made sure every ocean is dry?¡± I push his hand off me and stand.


    The grave is not just a grave. My friend¡¯s spirit is in there. Piedmont''s tearless eyes don¡¯t make him better than me. They mean he doesn¡¯t care about Amelia.


    He squints at me. I smile at him, the annoying kind I give people when I want to let them know they can kill me if they like, but I would laugh at my funeral. I¡¯m sure Piedmont considers it. He¡¯s a personal hero for the Heirs. I¡¯m supposed to do what he says and smile.


    He grunts hard. ¡°I¡¯ll see you again.¡±


    I shrug with apathy, an apathy that betrays the fear inside me, though. I don¡¯t want to see him again. He¡¯s too powerful.


    You can¡¯t win. You¡¯re just a squishy thing.


    I watch him sulk off to his car and mumble a prayer to myself. ¡°Don¡¯t turn around and beat me up. Don¡¯t turn around and beat me up.¡±


    You can¡¯t win. You¡¯re just a squishy thing.


    He opens his car door. My shoulders drop, tension leaving them.


    You can¡¯t win. You¡¯re just a squishy thing.


    Two arms wrap around me from behind. Then a pretty little head sets its chin on my shoulder. ¡°I like that bit about making sure every ocean is dry,¡± Dream says. ¡°I always forget you have a romantic side.¡±


    ¡°Romantic is a stretch.¡±


    ¡°You should write me a poem.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± I¡¯m taken aback by her forcefulness, and my heart skips a beat. ¡°Probably should be a bit apologetic too.¡± I grab her hand and spin her so she faces me.


    She lets me and enjoys the move. Her tear-stained cheeks rise in a smile.


    ¡°Sorry about keeping you in the dark¡­ on some stuff.¡±


    Her lips tighten, and she takes a big breath. ¡°You¡¯re a good man, Velli, and¡­ I trust you.¡±


    Really?


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Really. Can you at least tell me if you hurt anyone innocent?¡±


    ¡°Never.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Good. I can accept that¡­¡± She looks down at my ring finger for half a second¡ªa look I was not supposed to notice¡ªthen back up to me. ¡°For now¡­¡± she trails off.


    I smile.


    She didn¡¯t look at your ring finger. She looked down. She looked down because she has low self-esteem because she¡¯s Rose¡¯s sister, which gives her an inferiority complex.


    Nah, not my Dream.


    ¡°No more lies, okay?¡± She brings her hand up to initiate a pinky promise.


    ¡°I promise.¡± I lock my pinky with hers. ¡°I want to get back to doing what we do. Who needs our help?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± she says. ¡°You may or may not like this one¡­ but well, it¡¯s kind of fairy-tale-ish, and you like stories.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡±


    ¡°We have to rescue a woman from a tower.¡±


    ¡°And¡­¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s Wulf¡¯s wife, and I don¡¯t think Wulf¡¯s going to like that. So we need to rescue the princess and slay the dragon by midnight. Metaphorically.¡±


    The sun pokes out of the clouds. The day gets brighter. Easy, friendly wind hugs Dream and me as it makes its way to embrace the rest of the world. I didn¡¯t notice it at first, but the weather¡¯s changed to make it a beautiful day. The type that makes for genuine, good conversations about the weather. The type that makes everyone smile. It¡¯s perfect for Amelia.


    ¡°Dream, I¡¯ll put that dragon on a leash, walk it like a dog, and have it begging for treats from my hand.¡±


    It¡¯s settled, then. Wulf will be one of my targets. He will be the first legend I attack.

 Chapter 32- The Whispering Beggar

    Velli


    Dream and I separate so we can finally get some sleep before the mission tonight. I head over to Jeremy¡¯s after a wonderful, drool-filled nap. I consider giving him a phone call, but from my understanding, human contact is necessary for recovery posttragedy. Of course, I text him in advance to open the door for me because everyone¡ªexcept Dream, apparently¡ªknows not to open the door for random knocks. That was a night, wasn¡¯t it? How was that only a day ago? I take in a big breath, and my cheeks hurt from grinning and thinking about her.


    Jeremy¡¯s wobbling footsteps behind the door sober me. He opens the door, looking miserable, and gives me a nod, which I return. With a shrug, he ushers me inside his house to his couch.


    ¡°You want anything, man?¡± he asks.


    To ask him for anything feels rude because of his current condition. That walk to the kitchen, a few steps away from where I sit in his living room, feels so far. I imagine the pathway from the living room to the kitchen feels like a stretchy, rubbery tunnel that won¡¯t end for miles.


    ¡°Nah, man. Let¡¯s get to planning,¡± I say solely to encourage him. I prefer to make plans on my own. ¡°Did you find out who the woman was?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± He collapses into the beat-up couch beside me.


    I don¡¯t know if he would have been capable of actually getting me anything.


    ¡°She¡¯s the Old Soul.¡±


    Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah.


    After Fate¡¯s long outburst, he literally wheezes in my ear because he¡¯s laughing so hard. Which annoys me because he doesn¡¯t have lungs¡ªI don¡¯t think. I can¡¯t blame him, though. I chuckle because it¡¯s funny in the most morbid way.


    I told Jeremy to his face I¡¯d kill his grandmother, didn¡¯t I?


    The Old Soul is a legend of Division¡¯s Hand but not one that people fight. More like they avoid her. She is human but more like a mythical beast. For our safety, we learned about a couple of legends in this category in health class at my school. Avoiding them is that important.


    ¡°So I get it,¡± Jeremy says. ¡°I know you have to let this one slide.¡±


    Jeremy refuses to look at me. Instead, he stares at the TV in front of him. The black blank screen shows his reflection. His scowling face and thinning, arching eyebrows tell me he doesn¡¯t like what he sees. His face registers both hostility and hopelessness. A tear trails down his cheek.


    ¡°You learned about her in health class?¡± I ask him.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°What school did you go to?¡±


    ¡°Crestwell, a small school under the protection of the Heirs. The Black Star Clique watched the bus stops. They did a decent job of making sure trouble never came through the doors, I guess.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Yeah, same deal for me¡ªsmall school the Heirs protected and a small clique half decent at protecting students at the bus stop. What was your health section called where you talked about her?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Easy to Die, Try to Stay Alive.¡±


    ¡°Mine was called ¡®Don¡¯t Walk. Run!¡¯ and we had to take it every year since kindergarten. It¡¯s a week-long course that doubled as sort of a spirit rally week where we got to dress up silly. Dress-like-a-teacher day, funky-hat day, stuff like that.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Jeremy nods, interested in my company but not my random asides.


    ¡°I¡¯ve run into one of the other legends from that chapter before.¡±


    His interest still doesn¡¯t pique at the news. He¡¯s in a mental battle with trying to come to terms with his own reflection. That hurts me a bit. Amelia also hated her reflection. Regardless, I continue my tale.


    ¡°Me and a couple of buddies were hanging around a mall after school, looking for some girls to talk to. I wasn¡¯t confident then, for obvious reasons, so I froze like a statue when it was time to talk. Of course, I was relentlessly roasted by the guys for this. So I got upset and was making a big scene of it, and I said that I¡¯d ask the next girl who walked out of the elevator for her number. I stared at the elevator door, not scared at all despite my friends¡¯ taunts. I knew. I knew I¡¯d talk to the girl no matter what happened.


    ¡°Then she stepped out. The Whispering Beggar, not as bad as the Old Soul but a frightening force. I¡¯m sure they covered her in your class. In general, she looked no different than the average homeless woman. Heavy clothes for winter during all seasons, a beanie, and knotted hair. She was larger than any woman I¡¯d ever seen. Much larger. Maybe as wide as three men and full cheeks, which seemed to be stuffed with food. Maybe they were.


    ¡°Everyone knew not to go near her, not because of the smell, which was strong, no doubt. Her voice was the real problem. She walked the streets, walked in malls, and even walked into houses if someone left their door open. We all learned in health class not to speak to her no matter how much she begged. That¡¯s an easy way to die.


    ¡°According to legend, if you walk within five steps of her, she will ask something of you. This could be a dollar, a right eyeball, your firstborn child, or a variety of things no one would want to give up. Now, if you asked anything of her, you would forfeit whatever she asked for against your will. Many people lost a great many things by asking her to leave their houses or by asking her to speak up. I was going to ask for her number.¡±


    Jeremy stops staring at his reflection and cocks his eyebrows at me.


    ¡°Only to prove my friends wrong.¡± I smile. ¡°I didn¡¯t actually want her number. I was arrogant, y¡¯know. Desperate to prove myself.¡±


    What¡¯s changed?


    ¡°I walked up to her. I could hear her breathing from twenty steps away. As I walked, we made eye contact. Her whisper felt deafening, a horrible surround sound paralleled with a forceful stench.


    ¡°My friends screamed at me to come back. Someone grabbed me. I smacked his hand away. Stiff, chest out, shoulders tight, I walked to her. I had to. I said I would. I heard the stories. I knew the facts. It didn¡¯t matter.


    ¡°So wide, what a wingspan she had. She could snatch me. Little pieces of hair covered her face. Swirly. Barely opening her thick pink lips, she whispered, ¡®Give me your eternal happiness.¡¯


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know what that meant. Still don¡¯t. I opened my mouth to ask for her number, and maybe I got a word out. Maybe that counted. Maybe eternal happiness is a chance at having happiness, and now I¡¯m suffering on life¡¯s hamster wheel. Sisyphus and all that. Regardless, my dad snatched me and flew me out of the mall all the way home.¡±


    Awww, but Daddy isn¡¯t here now, is he?


    No, he¡¯s not.


    ¡°I know the Old Soul is a different person, Jeremy. I understand that she has killed more and her powers rival the Whispering Beggar. However, Jeremy, I wasn¡¯t afraid of a legend when I was in middle school, and I¡¯m not afraid now.¡±


    Fate tells me how this will lead me to my death and blah, blah, blah, but seeing Jeremy¡¯s smile is worth it. The Old Soul will be my next target.

 Chapter 33- The Old Soul

    Velli


    With half an hour more research, Jeremy informs me that the Old Soul will be arriving at a tanning salon. An odd choice for her. Perhaps she¡¯s a narcissist and is demanding her body be perfected further. Perhaps she hates herself, and changing her appearance gives her pleasure. It doesn¡¯t matter. An Internet forum has been dedicated to keeping eyes on her. Some are her victims. Others are descendants of victims. Others have heard her legend and never want to be her victim.


    Since it¡¯s a tanning salon, and I¡¯ve seen that scene in that one horror movie, I know how I should catch her. I¡¯ll trap her inside a tanning booth, and as her skin burns and she begs for mercy, I¡¯ll make her swear her allegiance to me in a Cognomen Oath. It¡¯s that simple. Well, simple is a stretch because my plan involves a host of people in the salon.


    Following someone in Division¡¯s Hand is a difficult task because of teleporters. So it¡¯s best to arrive ahead of time to find whoever I¡¯m tracking. I offer an extra tip for an emergency, and my transporter is quick to come by, drop me off, and let me go with no questions. Logical. In most emergencies, it¡¯s best not to know the details.


    He drops me off right in front of the tanning salon, and I arrive before she does.


    I step inside. It¡¯s bright blue everywhere except for the orange front desk. A room to the left of the desk I assume holds the tanning bed, but right now, I¡¯m in a small, gray-carpeted waiting room. Cheap padded chairs lean against the wall to the left of the door. The lone guy working here¡ªor here at all¡ªwears a blue tank top, showing off his slim and toned figure.


    I head to the tanning salon guy at the intensely orange counter. I don¡¯t care much about tanning¡ªI¡¯m Black, duh¡ªbut I think he has a good one. He¡¯s a bronze so natural I would assume it was real if he weren¡¯t working at a tanning salon. Maybe it is real, and that¡¯s how he got the job.


    He greets me, flashing porcelain white teeth. ¡°Hey, can I offer you¡ª¡± Then he stops.


    Tanning salon guy wants to offer me a special on some sort of tanning, I¡¯m sure, but right now, he¡¯s thinking, Do Black guys go to tanning salons? That thought stresses him out. He combs his fingers through his pristine low-top fade cut.


    I fake a laugh and greet him as he struggles for words. Momentarily, he looks around for advice, but his only companion is a cardboard cutout of a woman in a bikini and the salon¡¯s name, Fresh Sun Tanning.


    ¡°Aye, bro, it¡¯s good. I¡¯m just meeting my girl here. She said she¡¯s going to get a tan, then we¡¯ll head out and grab a port home.¡±


    ¡°For sure,¡± he says, breathing easy. ¡°Please, take a seat, man. I¡¯m Kennedy. Let me know if you need anything.¡± He points me to the few chairs in the lobby. I nod and walk back toward the seats.


    ¡°Thanks, Kennedy. My name¡¯s Velli. I appreciate it.¡±


    He gives me a genuine smile, and I give him one back. Good vibes all around. He takes a seat on the stool behind him and types on the computer to his left.


    The door opens with a chime.


    In walks the world¡¯s worst grandmother. Her sweater is baggy and appears to weigh her down. It¡¯s an ugly red-and-black thing that looks hand knit. However, her legend says otherwise. Children adorn her sweater with slim sticklike bodies, large pumpkin-like heads, and eyes that open and shut on their own. Some say each child was a body she stole, and the blinking eyes and mute but moving mouths make me think that they weren¡¯t knitted there but were something else entirely. Perhaps they represented the potential she steals. Perhaps they¡¯re taunts. Some legends say that¡¯s where her victims¡¯ souls go once they die. A Hell Sweater.


    More than a sweater, the weird designs continue down to her ugly lime-green pants. A child on the sweater¡ªthat looks oddly similar to Jeremy when he was young¡ªblinks twice at me, and his mouth gapes. Her thick slippers shuffle across the floor. An arrogance accompanies every half step, as if she¡¯s too good to raise her feet.


    I¡¯m careful to glance at her. Quick as a gunshot, less than a second. No need to arouse suspicion yet. My plan calls for the element of surprise. One notable detail for my attack¡ªthe curved brown cane she carries does not hit the ground. She keeps it above the floor. Is it a weapon?


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you want me to know you looked at me?¡± the Old Soul asks, her voice identical to a male child¡¯s, high and cracking.


    ¡°Huh?¡± I play dumb to make her think she¡¯s being paranoid. ¡°Oh, the door just opened, and I glanced over. I¡¯m waiting for my girl. Sorry, I was expecting her.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me. You looked at me too quickly. Glances have a rhythm of about a second and a half. You looked at me for less than that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°And why would you not look at me longer than a second and a half? I am dressed rather bizarrely. Am I not?¡±


    I¡¯m Velli. My talent is that I¡¯m really clever.


    ¡°Yeah, well¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do I know you?¡± she asks, not like Weaver asked outside the hospital. This is a genuine question.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Keep it that way, young man.¡± She winks unpleasantly, squints at me, and her eyes bulge. ¡°Your posture is all wrong¡­ shoulders slouched but toes slightly raised, arms crossed but fingers tapping. You¡¯re trying to display calm, but both hands are on¡­ what¡¯s in your pocket? A gun? Oh, no, nothing¡¯s that big in there. Oh, a knife. Probably, no powers. You don¡¯t have powers, and you feel very scared because of it. When did you stop wetting the bed as a child? Definitely late. Look at you. You let me talk this way without interruption. No threats? You¡¯re soft. Mother¡¯s favorite son? Only son? I wonder how she¡¯s doing. Oh, there¡¯s a look in your eye at the mention of her. I won¡¯t go there. Yes, yes, be sure to not let me know you. I would do wicked surgery on your soul.¡± She sniffs the air twice. ¡°Oh, and you¡¯re nervous now. I can smell the sweat forming under your armpits.¡±


    I don¡¯t move an inch. I¡¯m afraid to follow her with my eyes, so I stare at the space across the hall. Slowly, I turn my head, and it¡¯s like reclaiming my body after she dug her hand inside of it and had a peek and a lick of everything that makes me me. I face forward and keep my head down.


    ¡°Hello, young man,¡± she says to the dumbfounded guy behind the counter. She¡¯s short, about five foot one. Her head almost doesn¡¯t reach above the counter.


    ¡°Hey, that wasn¡¯t cool. Please respect, um, other customers,¡± Kennedy says, and my head perks up.


    Her head tilts. We¡¯re both in shock at his bold display.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky I¡¯m in a hurry,¡± she says.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    ¡°You need to apologize,¡± Kennedy demands.


    The Old Soul waves back to me without looking and says, ¡°Sorry, kid.¡±


    I¡¯m shocked. Good vibes win the day.


    She speaks to Kennedy. ¡°You¡¯re lucky you¡¯re gorgeous.¡±


    ¡°Nice,¡± Kennedy says, as oblivious as a baby in piranha-infested waters. ¡°How can I help you today?¡±


    ¡°My skin,¡± the Old Soul says with a loveless smile that¡¯s missing baby teeth and a friendly twang that does not fit her. She pinches her arm. ¡°Is a bit unfit. I need a tan, to be burned for a bit.¡±


    ¡°Uhhh.¡± His jaw drops and hangs. ¡°Sorry, little man. Can¡¯t do that. Your daddy or mommy might get upset and come by and take out their anger on us.¡±


    It¡¯s the voice. She doesn¡¯t look too much like a child, but the voice¡­ and her face doesn¡¯t have a single wrinkle.


    ¡°Boy,¡± she says with heart-stopping sternness. ¡°I may be the oldest person living. Certainly, the oldest person you¡¯ve met, and I am losing patience.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ve got one of those powers that make you look super-young. Sorry, that¡¯s pretty sweet. But yeah, if you can come back with any sort of proof of it or if you have anything close to proof on your phone. As long as it doesn¡¯t look edited, you¡¯ll be good to go.¡±


    The Old Soul¡¯s eyes widen in disbelief.


    ¡°Boy, you have no idea how valuable time is to me. What I have done for more time. Who has died to give me more time.¡± Her voice rises in pitch and cracks like fireworks.


    Kennedy thinks it¡¯s hilarious, or maybe he feels the tension in the atmosphere, and that makes him laugh. ¡°Heh heh, well, that¡¯s company policy. Um, maybe we can reimburse you with a store credit for the teleporter charge¡­ It¡¯s unlikely. Most likely we¡ª¡±


    ¡°I do not want to ride in another godforsaken helicopter, teleporter, or whatever. I want to take fifteen minutes to change my skin and leave.¡±


    ¡°Uh, Mr. Dice¡­? Mrs. Grim, can you come out, please?¡± Kennedy calls to a door in a hallway to his left that¡¯s parallel to the tanning salon. Shuffling and footsteps follow. Kennedy, a little slow¡ªYou¡¯re one to talk¡ªfinally sees the gravity of the situation. He wiggles his jaw and shrugs his shoulders at the Old Soul.


    The Old Soul gulps a big breath then raises her cane.


    ¡°Mr. Dice! Mrs. Grim!¡± he yells.


    Mr. Dice comes out of the office, and he¡¯s not happy. He wiggles to make room for himself in the doorway. Once through, each step is a modelesque strut. His pecs bounce in his tight blue shirt. Green letters say, ¡°Fresh Sun Tanning.¡± His equally tight shorts flex, his veiny thighs saying ¡°Fresh Sun¡± around the front and probably ¡°Tanning¡± on his glutes. His perfect olive tan matches Kennedy¡¯s. They aren¡¯t related, though. This guy is Asian and has a mass of muscle up top with two horse legs under his torso like a faun.


    He trots over to the front desk. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry.¡± Mr. Dice poses with his hands on his hips. ¡°What¡¯s the problem here?¡±


    ¡°I need a tan,¡± the Old Soul says.


    Kennedy throws his shoulders back and adds some bass back to his voice with the presence of Mr. Dice around. ¡°Yeah, and he¡¯s being a bit rude about it, honestly, and he¡¯s insulting customers.¡± He gestures to me.


    I shake my head, wave my hands, and mouth ¡°No.¡± Kennedy might be oblivious, but I¡¯m not. I might be in over my head.


    ¡°We apologize for that, sir. It¡¯s not appropriate at all.¡± Mr. Dice smiles wide at me, looking past the Old Soul. Mr. Dice has had his teeth done. They have black dots that remind me of a Dalmatian. ¡°How about a free tan?¡±


    The Old Soul groans like a veteran soldier before a war.


    ¡°Dude,¡± Kennedy interjects and slaps Mr. Dice¡¯s arm. ¡°He doesn¡¯t need a tan. He¡¯s obviously here for his girlfriend.¡±


    Mr. Dice speaks through his tatted teeth. ¡°Do not hit me. I¡¯m your boss.¡± He turns back to me. ¡°How about a free tan for your lady friend, then? Is she on our guest list already? Kennedy, pull up our guest list. What¡¯s your lady friend¡¯s name?¡±


    ¡°Uhhhh,¡± I stammer. Shape up, Velli. C¡¯mon, you have a fake girl name you always use. ¡°Her name is Drew.¡± Easy to remember when I¡¯m drawing a blank on names.


    ¡°May. I. Have. A. Tan?¡± The Old Soul puts every ounce of aggravated authority into her voice.


    ¡°Absolutely, of course.¡± Mr. Dice turns his head in her direction. ¡°Oh, actually, no.¡±


    The Old Soul closes her eyes and takes in another big breath.


    Mr. Dice drones on about company policy, ¡°¡­under the age of thirteen. It can cause lasting damage that we could be legally responsible for or physically responsible for depending on your parentage.¡±


    Mentally, the Old Soul looks gone, her body tranquil, nearly every muscle relaxing. Nearly.


    ¡°Obviously, there are those whose powers give them eternal youth¡­¡±


    Not every muscle is tranquil. The one in her right hand is not. She holds her cane steady, right above the floor. Its tiny, circular shadow sways. It¡¯s like a bug beneath the cane waiting to be squished.


    ¡°¡­the owner. Let me call the owner. Mrs. Grimm!¡± he yells to the back of the store.


    The analog clock ticks loudly above my head, and I think I can hear the drip, drip, drip, of a bathroom faucet as we wait for Mrs. Grimm to arrive.


    Kennedy mouths to me, ¡°Sorry, Dude.¡±


    I mouth back, ¡°Let it go.¡±


    He waves me off with a smile. I should leave. This won¡¯t end well.


    ¡°She¡¯ll be just a second,¡± Mr. Dice says. ¡°I understand the frustration. I¡¯m sorry, what was your name?¡±


    The Old Soul doesn¡¯t flinch, doesn¡¯t speak.


    Floating through walls and Mr. Dice¡¯s body, transparent as a ghost, comes Mrs. Grimm, a tall woman, maybe six foot seven. She¡¯s wearing heels, a tight black dress, and her deathly pale skin could use these tans she¡¯s selling. She lands with her hands on her wide hips between Mr. Dice and the Old Soul.


    ¡°Mark, what¡¯s the problem here?¡± she asks Mr. Dice. ¡°You asked for more responsibility, so I gave it to you. I mean, I¡¯m not even supposed to be in a customer-facing role. Look at my skin.¡± She waves her hand over her pale flesh. ¡°Bad for business.¡±


    ¡°Looking great to me, Mrs. G,¡± Kennedy says.


    Mrs. G puts her hand on Kennedy¡¯s. It floats through. ¡°That¡¯s very sweet, Kennedy. Thank you.¡± She turns back to Mr. Dice with a ghostly whoosh and makes a face not angry but concerned for him. ¡°Everything, all right, Mark?¡±


    Mark¡ªMr. Dice¡ªtrying not to let what might be one of the nicest bosses in all of Division¡¯s Hand down, says, ¡°This kid would like a tan, but he appears to be underage.¡±


    Mrs. Grimm motions to smack her face in a way that says, ¡°Oh, I¡¯m such an idiot,¡± but her hand goes through her head. ¡°Oh, everyone, this is my fault. I am so sorry. You¡¯d be surprised how often this happens, so I updated the policy and didn¡¯t inform anyone. My sincerest apologies in the name of Division.¡±


    ¡°No worries, Mrs. G,¡± Kennedy says.


    And Mark gives a big belly laugh. ¡°Oh, well, that¡¯s a relief.¡±


    Then they all are doing big belly laughs like one happy work family.


    Mrs. Grimm turns to the Old Soul. ¡°Of course, you can tan h¡ª¡±


    The Old Soul¡¯s eyes widen and bounce¡ªevil, empty, gray shells. She taps her cane on the floor. Her body vanishes. Hearts stop. Hanging in the air like a rabid tiger midpounce, she reappears behind Mrs. Grimm. That cane¡ªthat Drowned Cane. She swings it in a wide arc, aiming for Mrs. Grimm¡¯s transparent ribs.


    She¡¯s still transparent, but somehow, the cane makes contact. Against the laws of reality, the Old Soul makes contact. Bones crack. Mrs. Grimm¡¯s scream is wet. Her ribs cave inward, contorting her body into a gut-wrenching, abominable V. Mrs. Grimm lives, and I don¡¯t think she wants to. Her chest bounces. She shakes, sweats, and swears.


    The Old Soul lands on the ground, and her cane flicks against the floor. Gone again. Mr. Dice¡¯s face says he¡¯s in the middle of processing.


    Why can¡¯t he figure it out faster? Why doesn¡¯t he know he needs to run?


    His lips curl up, down, up, down. Smile, frown. Smile, frown. He should be sad. Someone is broken in front of him. Should he laugh because this isn¡¯t possible? And the irony of it? The Old Soul got what she wanted. Mrs. Grimm was offering her a tan before she did this. Smile, frown. Smile, frown.


    The Old Soul is behind him. She brings her cane back in a wide arc, again lined up for the ribs. Contact. He yelps¡ªstepped-on-puppy-like¡ªhis arms swing¡ªlike the inflatables outside car lots¡ªand his ribs cave inward, making that same gross, ungodly V.


    She lands on the ground and taps her cane again then disappears.


    Kennedy screams, ¡°Yo, yo, yo, yo!¡± behind the desk. I imagine some instinct deep within him won¡¯t let him leave, like some customer might come in and need attending to.


    They sweat. They shake. Mrs. Grimm and Mark¡ªMr. Dice¡ªgrope for each other¡¯s hands. The act is futile. Mr. Dice¡¯s hand goes through Mrs. Grimm¡¯s.


    The Old Soul is in the air behind Kennedy. She raises her cane in that wide arc, this time aiming for the head. Why the head instead of the ribs? My guess¡ªpure frustration.


    His face flattens, his right cheek resting on his left cheek like a pancake. His body flops over without fanfare.


    She lands behind the desk. She looks me over for a whole second then assesses her handiwork. Both Mrs. Grimm and Mr. Dice are close to dying now. She nods.


    Then she points her cane at me. ¡°You¡¯ll be operating the tanning booth for me. Yes, you¡¯re smart enough. I assume you¡¯re smart because of your issues. You would work hard at athletics or intelligence, and well, you¡¯ve got a decent frame, but you¡¯re not him.¡± She points to a now-dead Mr. Dice. ¡°Not yet, anyway. No, I imagine you took school seriously. What was your concentration?¡±


    ¡°Psychology.¡±


    ¡°Ah, the useful, everyday science.¡± She gives me a predatory grin. ¡°I am a fan. Yes, yes, operating a machine is much easier than trying to understand what¡¯s in everyone¡¯s head.¡±

 Chapter 34- Do You Believe in Santa Claus?

    Velli


    I could still trap her. My original plan involved using those around me as a distraction and the Old Soul never noticing me until it was too late. That¡¯s done. I can scramble and still make a rough plan to capture her or at least kill her. This still ends with me burying her alive inside the tanning bed. She can¡¯t¡­ live. Not something like her.


    Well, no need to scare yourself, Velli. You remember the guy who stopped her last time? Be like him. Do what he did.


    What guy?


    Oh, yeah, he doesn¡¯t exist. Good luck, champ.


    The Old Soul strips to a bikini. Her sweater and pants full of souls gape at her. She mocks them, mimicking their inability to speak and their limited expressions¡ªsurprise and fear. Their jaws go up and down in a desperate and futile attempt to communicate some message.


    I can¡¯t decipher their words. Their present forms are too simplistic. Every motion with their mouths is either a perfect circle or a straight line. And of course, none of it is in Morse code. No one bothers to learn it anymore except Dream and a couple of our now-dead friends.


    I see it served them well.


    In her gray bikini, the Old Soul gives me as clear a view of her skin as I¡¯ll get, skin as dry as fallen leaves¡ªleathery, paperlike skin that looks like it¡¯s been crumpled and unfurled then crumpled and unfurled at least ten times.


    She figures out the tanning bed. It flashes blue twice and booms to life, staying a consistent blue. I take one more look at the three dead bodies in the waiting room and one look at the Hell Sweater to steel myself. The Old Soul will either serve me, or I¡¯ll make that tanning bed her casket. The blue lights in the machine glow. Slow, smiling, and knowledgeable, the Old Soul turns around.


    She stands straight, with no bend in her back. It appears it was the sweater and its weight that curved her spine. Surprisingly erect, domineering, and confident for someone her size and in her bare state, she revels in her near nudity. She seems to enjoy that she frightens me on multiple levels. It takes a lot to not back down from her gray gaze.


    Earlier, when I saw her put down her sweater, I asked how much it weighed, and she laughed, saying, ¡°However much you think a human soul weighs times sixteen,¡± and again, left me with a menacing wink.


    ¡°Boy,¡± she says now, half naked, exposed, yet looking at me like I¡¯m her next victim and vice. ¡°How do you know me?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±


    Her mouth curves into a wrinkly, crumpled smile. ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me again.¡± Her sweater reflects the light from the bottom half of the tanning bed. Every soul on there is tight-lipped and still.


    ¡°I read up on legends because I¡¯m scared. So yes, I know the Old Soul.¡±


    ¡°And did you know I would be here this evening?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And did you plan¡±¡ªshe does a half chuckle at the word plan¡ª¡°to do something to me?¡±


    ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡±


    I nod and lower my gaze.


    ¡°Head up again, boy, and listen. You¡¯ll have one job once I get in. Wait five minutes then raise the temperature three notches. I¡¯m very particular with my body. You understand?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Good, good.¡± She shimmies in self-satisfaction and turns to hop into the machine. Her cane rests at the end of the bed by her head.


    ¡°Shut the booth, boy,¡± she says, and I do, hopeful that I can slam it on her like a coffin and refuse to let her out.


    No, I don¡¯t get that lucky. It doesn¡¯t lock. The top of the booth and the bottom have a clear separation. The bed is shiny silver. The whole room sits in its reflection. I could steal her cane. I don¡¯t dare glance at the thing. I don¡¯t dare let her know what I¡¯m thinking.


    ¡°Oh, and, boy. Don¡¯t move an inch before raising the temperature on the booth.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, okay.¡± I tell her and regret that ¡°hmm¡± before she speaks again.


    ¡°What are you thinking?¡± she asks.


    ¡°You tell me.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t like me very much. That¡¯s apparent. And you¡¯re trying not to show it. It¡¯s the eyes. I see so much in your eyes. Your disdain¡ªyou make little squints then overcompensate to pretend you didn¡¯t make them. That¡¯s how I knew you knew me and hated me.¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    I need to mislead her. I can¡¯t have her asking why I would hate her before I even knew her. ¡°You killed those people. It was wrong¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, that isn¡¯t quite it.¡± She snuggles inside the tanning booth. ¡°Jealousy? Ah, how¡¯s your mother doing?¡±


    Feed a lie by telling the truth. ¡°Not good.¡±


    ¡°Do you hate that I get to live like this?¡± she asks. ¡°Immortal. Is that it?¡±


    Now that she mentions it, I do hate her for being able to live while my mother dies. Let¡¯s throw her for a loop, though. I laugh. ¡°No, because I know what happens to you.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Her hand twitches.


    I bet she can grab that cane at surprising speed, but she doesn¡¯t.


    She¡¯s serious about her tan. Instead of striking me down, she looks at me with hard, piercing gray eyes and smiles with her missing teeth. ¡°Is that a threat, boy?¡±


    ¡°Never, just a fact of life.¡±


    ¡°Tell me, then. I love to learn more about the true nature of the world from children who can¡¯t grow facial hair yet.¡±


    Ouch.


    ¡°You end up alone and regretful and with a wasted life.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re one of them.¡±


    I have never heard a sentence drenched with so much apathy before.


    She enters a state of absolute indifference to my presence. Her head turns. Her eyes close, a body in such a state of rest, my instinct is to believe she¡¯s fallen asleep. A dead man¡¯s chest rises and falls more than hers. It¡¯s bait. She knows I want to know. She knows I want to know who ¡°one of them¡± is. That answer and this act she¡¯s pulling¡ªshe wants me to scream from the top of the mountains, ¡°What do you mean ¡®one of them¡¯?¡±


    Thirty seconds until I can grab the cane. Fine. Let¡¯s go. ¡°One of who?¡±


    ¡°Boys who believe in Santa Claus.¡± She yawns. ¡°Boys who believe something¡¯s coming to make things right. Boys who believe we won¡¯t all die alone and regretful.¡±


    ¡°Is that what happened to you?¡± I let my hate spew. The Old Soul pretty much reads my thoughts anyway. Let¡¯s play, Old Soul. ¡°Did your boys leave you at a barely functioning retirement home years ago because you were a poor excuse for a mom? I bet they avoided you like you avoid lotion. No visits. Only a Christmas card once a year to let you know how good life was now that you were out of the picture. Awww, and now you demand eternal youth. Oh, so tragic.¡±


    She chuckles then laughs deep and playful, half like a kid and half like a monkey. ¡°How¡¯s your mother?¡± she asks again. She doesn¡¯t hide her accusatory tone. The childish joy is gone, replaced with a raspiness that could almost be adorable. ¡°Your animosity toward retirement homes, oh so clear in your voice, makes it obvious you would never put her in one. So you¡¯re close. And she¡¯s in some sort of danger. I saw your pupils dilate when I mentioned her. Oh, wow.¡± Her eyes twinkle with the wonder only a child can have. ¡°That¡¯s why you believe in fairy tales. You think you¡¯re going to save her.¡±


    ¡°I will.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t. I can hear it in your voice. You don¡¯t even believe in yourself. Go ahead. Say it again with conviction this time.¡±


    ¡°I will.¡±


    ¡°And again, boy. Again!¡±


    ¡°I will.¡±


    ¡°No, no, that¡¯s it. Take a deep breath first. Can you visualize it? You¡¯ll try, but you¡¯ll find it near impossible. You can¡¯t get the details right because it¡¯s not true. Oh, I¡¯ll stop. Nothing¡¯s wrong with you enjoying your fairy tales.¡±


    The booth beeps. I move. My hand doesn¡¯t believe it, but I grab the cane. At the same time, I pull my lighter from my pocket and toss it in the tanning bed. Unaware of how to use the cane, I go for the best possible option¡ªunlimited force. I raise it over my head and slam it down.


    The room booms. I¡¯m weightless. Tossing, turning, flying backward, whipping through the air. A wall stops me. I fly ribs first into it, and I know the drill. Keep rolling away from the sound of my impact. If she can get up, that¡¯s where she¡¯ll attack. Four fierce rolls, and I stand.


    Dust is all over the room¡ªa good sign when I¡¯m hoping for destruction. And look, an even better sign. A hole scars the floor from the explosion. A scream rises from it, as planned. I examine the hole to admire my handiwork.


    Rubble covers the tanning booth-turned-casket that¡¯s now on fire. Flames leap, dance, and roar out of the hole. The Old Soul does not escape it. Only the outline of her body is visible in the flames. The rest is covered in heat and pain. It¡¯s almost beautiful. Her haunting, childish scream and the smell of burning flesh humanize her. She screams worse than Mrs. Grimm.


    Rest in peace, Mrs. Grimm, and your establishment. Your sacrifice won¡¯t be in vain.


    ¡°Old Soul,¡± I call to her.


    She tries to pause her screams, but she¡¯s in too much pain. They hiss out in leaks. Excellent. She curses and makes some threats, the usual. I could beat my chest like Tarzan right now. My adrenaline is rampant, and I want another challenge. However, it¡¯s time to gloat. I yawn as loudly as possible and stretch my arms to bring out the dramatics. Though she can¡¯t see it, I hope she can feel it. I hope she imagines she¡¯s defeated and I¡¯m bored with her.


    ¡°Old Soul,¡± I call again. ¡°Just so you¡¯re aware, the jury is still out on whether some benevolent being will come down and give me divine luck. However, know this¡ªif we¡¯re talking about justice, retribution, making sure my mother is safe, and making sure you and your ilk die alone and full of regret, I put that in my hands.¡±


    Mixing in with her shrills, she says something I can¡¯t understand. Doesn¡¯t matter. I glare down at her with a primal sense of satisfaction.


    ¡°Now, to more important matters. Recently, I received a proposition for myself. I need to go to the Island of Tselem, and I¡¯ll need an escort. If you enter a Cognomen Oath to obey me and protect me for all your days, I¡¯ll rescue you from your little predicament, or I can watch you die alone. The choice is yours.¡±


    Her pained screams gradually transform into hisses of hate. ¡°Still a fairy tale, boy.¡± The rubble on top of the tanning bed shakes. The bed itself shakes. She¡¯s pushing her way out. ¡°Your life¡¯s over. You have a Weakness. And you¡¯ve encountered the Old Soul. This ends with you as another collection on my sweater. That¡¯s the wickedly cold truth your little antics can¡¯t shelter you from.¡± Both the rubble and tanning bed fly off her. She¡¯s free. Still, the hole is deep¡ªtwelve feet, maybe. She can¡¯t escape.


    Hey, Velli? You¡¯re not going to believe this.


    Fate¡­ not now.


    No, no, no, c¡¯mon, trust me. Just listen.


    What?


    Her cane¡¯s not up here.


    I had it. No, that¡¯s not fair. I had it.


    And you lost it.


    I do a quick scan of the room because it should only take that much. I held it in my hand. Even if I let it go, for it to fall right back into the hole would be¡­


    Fate.


    I sprint out of the room, jump over the dead bodies I¡¯ve failed, and out the door. I don¡¯t stop running. It¡¯s possible that it was my ¡°fate¡± to drop the cane. However, a much more frightening possibility exists. Did Fate become physical and throw the cane in the hole?


    Oh, c¡¯mon, Velli. That¡¯s not fair to her. Go back and tell her another fairy tale. Go back and tell her everything will be okay.

 Chapter 35- A Small (Major) Change of Plans

    Velli


    Okay, so she doesn¡¯t know anything about my life yet. But she knows about Jeremy. Maybe she could deduce that I know Jeremy? He needs to get out of that house. I need to call another emergency teleporter.


    A slower but tighter panic constricts my body at the thought of how much that will be. I¡¯m spending so much money, and I have to have eighty thousand drops in a month or my mother dies. She will die on the street because the only hospital that can help her will kick her out. And no one will care except me because no one cares about anybody.


    ¡°And¡­ and I can prevent all that.¡± My words calm me. In a way, I¡¯m blessed with this challenge because my problems are solved by one thing¡ªgetting powers. Getting eighty thousand drops or a loan for that much is easy with powers. With powers, I can beat the Old Soul. Heck, with enough power, I can even change the culture of Division¡¯s Hand and solve our biggest cultural issue¡ªthat no one cares about anybody.


    This problem is terrible and a challenge, but I¡¯m blessed to have it. Still, unsure how I¡¯ll solve it. I¡¯ll take it step-by-step.


    After I get the teleporter. I arrive at Jeremy¡¯s house, to his confusion.


    ¡°How¡¯d it go?¡± he asks.


    ¡°Really could have gone better. We need to get out of here ASAP!¡± is what I should say.


    However, his eyes are downcast, and I recognize every sign of depression. I won¡¯t add to that. I¡¯ll never make a miserable person¡¯s life worse. Instead, I do what I do best. I lie. ¡°Step one is complete. She¡¯s weak and wounded, and I have her in checkmate. Now comes the fun part.¡± I put my arm around him and smile.


    The stench from not showering or brushing his teeth smothers my nostrils. I neither show a reaction to the stench nor blame him for it.


    ¡°I need you somewhere safe, though, to strategize with me. Like a weak and wounded animal, she might do something stupid, like come here. Which could be fine, of course, but I would never use you as bait. I have something much more sinister planned for her. Come. We must go to the safe house.¡± The ease with which I lie might become a problem soon.


    ¡°Oh, wow, man. You¡¯re really like¡ªthank you. Do I have time to grab some stuff?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, of course. Take your time.¡± One lie begets another. He does not have time to grab everything he wants. It is of the utmost importance we get somewhere safe now. ¡°Yeah, man, I¡¯ll just chill out here waiting for you. I¡¯ll call a teleporter in five or so?¡±


    ¡°Do you mind waiting fifteen minutes? I want to take a quick shower.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, cool, fifteen is fine.¡± I need to address my problem with lying at some point.


    I stand alone outside his house. My feet twitch. My head swivels until my neck hurts. My mouth goes dry, and I am positive every minute something is on my back that wants to harm me and I am going to die, but it¡¯s only rightful, nightmarish anxiety. Finally, after twenty minutes, Jeremy arrives with a suitcase, and I call a teleporter.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    We arrive at the safe house, aka my mom¡¯s hospital. Thankfully, no one is outside to embarrass me, so Jeremy is still in awe of me, in awe of the hospital¡¯s size itself and how I could afford to buy a room for anyone in here. The answer is I can¡¯t, Jeremy. If I don¡¯t get powers in less than a month, my mom will die. That¡¯s too much of a burden for him. So¡ª


    Doesn¡¯t look like it¡¯s doing you any favors, either.


    Well, someone has to carry it. I convince Jeremy I need him in this particular room to look after my mom because she gets lonely, which is true in a way. She¡¯ll be grateful for the company.


    We enter through her door, and I remember I lost the scarf she gave me at some point. I open the door. She¡¯s working on something else.


    ¡°Oh, hey, Mom. This is my friend Jeremy. We¡¯ve run into a bit of trouble. Someone wants to kill him, normal problems. Is it fine if he stays here?¡±


    Her face glows at the opportunity. ¡°Of course, of course. I bet we can get an extra mattress in here.¡±


    ¡°I have a sleeping bag,¡± Jeremy mumbles, as shy as a rabbit.


    ¡°Velli, get him a mattress with sheets for extra comfort.¡±


    ¡°Sure thing. So, Mom, Jeremy¡¯s youth was stolen. He¡¯s thirteen. Just a heads-up. I¡¯m working on fixing that¡­ if we can.¡±


    Jeremy nods in acknowledgment and remains outside the room, head down.


    ¡°Okay, Jeremy, I have to go let the guy up front know you¡¯ll be staying here¡±¡ªand pay him more money¡ª¡°and make some arrangements. I¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    ¡°Come on in and sit next to me,¡± my mom calls with her signature smile, and he obeys. I leave to let them figure out that situation.


    I come back with a mattress, bedsheets, and more debt because Jeremy is staying here. I force myself to remain calm. As long as I get powers, it will all work out.


    How many legends do you have so far, Velli?


    I ignore Fate and struggle to open my mom¡¯s door while I carry a mattress.


    She and Jeremy sit in the hospital bed and cackle at something on Jeremy¡¯s laptop. This is the happiest I¡¯ve seen him. Oh, thank Division, I¡¯ve finally done something right. My mom does tend to have a positive impact on people.


    ¡°What are you guys laughing at?¡±


    ¡°Your mom gave me some ideas for dating.¡± Jeremy wears a real grin. This is good.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m going to message some of my teachers from school.¡±


    ¡°Ohhhh.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, like, some of them were cute.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a bad idea. I wouldn¡¯t do that.¡±


    He looks at me with his mouth open, like he¡¯s surprised his teachers wouldn¡¯t want to date a thirteen-year-old kid. Then he looks at my mom.


    She shrugs and waves me off. ¡°Jeremy, it¡¯s fine. I have a friend who did something similar.¡±


    Jeremy breathes a sigh of relief and goes back to his laptop. I know for a fact she does not have a friend who has the same condition. She might, and I mean might, have a friend of a friend of an acquaintance who looks five years older than they are. My mother is a crazy-hopeful, delusional lady.


    She covers the side of her face and mouths a rebuttal to me, ¡°It¡¯s fine. Let him have some hope.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I mouth back. ¡°This is insane.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll reject him, but in the meantime, he¡¯ll be happy.¡±


    ¡°Mom, stop,¡± I mouth back as slowly as possible for full understanding.


    She waves her hand, dismissing my objection.


    ¡°How¡¯s your scarf?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Fine, everybody liked it.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s great. I made you this in arts and crafts.¡± She presents me with a bracelet of cheap plastic beads that say, God has a plan for you and me.


    ¡°That¡¯s so cool,¡± Jeremy says, shockingly genuine.


    ¡°Thank you, Jeremy.¡± She turns back to me. ¡°Velli, can Jeremy come to arts and crafts?¡±


    ¡°I would like to go,¡± Jeremy adds.


    I don the bracelet from my mom then go and check with the admin to make sure Jeremy can go to arts and crafts.

 Chapter 36-No Ghost

    Velli


    The weight of failure¡¯s likelihood presses on me as I wait outside Dream¡¯s house. Tonight, I need to make Wulf serve me. I can only avoid the Old Soul for so long. Maybe he could stop her. Regardless, even after capturing Wulf, I¡¯ll have two days left.


    I text Dream in advance that I¡¯m outside her house, and she yells that the door¡¯s open¡ªlearning nothing from our meeting with Anne Graves, apparently. I walk in and notice she¡¯s cleaned the house well enough. It¡¯s like Anne was never here.


    Dream and I exchange a quick and awkward greeting. She hands me the letter she received from Lue, Wulf¡¯s wife, who needs our help, and she scurries away.


    Hello, Dream,


    I¡¯m sorry to have to deliver a message like this. I¡¯m sorry I tried to make you hate yourself. I¡¯m sorry I tried to break you. I have a lot to be sorry for. I messed up, Dream. I married the wrong guy. And now, I can¡¯t leave.


    If you haven¡¯t forgotten about me already, you would know I married Wulf. Fun fact about him¡ªbeating me makes him stronger. According to him, every time he beats someone he loves, he gets to keep his powers for another twenty-four hours. He calls his power Bloody Hands, but how can he say he loves me and *lots of random unintelligible scratches* it doesn¡¯t matter. He says if he skips one day, it all comes crumbling down. His entire empire. I don¡¯t care. It hurts so much. I know I¡¯ll be here forever. I¡¯m not asking you to rescue me, Dream. No one can, most certainly not you. I don¡¯t even think Rose herself could beat Wulf. I¡¯m asking you to tell everyone something vile, something Ito. I¡¯m talking vomit-inducing, perverted, abominable. Something to make them hate me. You can do it. I know you can because you probably still hate me, as you should.


    I treated you badly because I could. I was so confident in my powers, but look at me now. Mine are nothing compared to Wulf¡¯s. I¡¯m stuck here, and unfortunately, people still love me¡­ My parents, my girls, my ghosts from high school. I¡¯m sure you remember them. It¡¯s my fault too. Before the *scratched out* Bloody Hands, when we were dating, I cut off everybody. I did everything to get them to leave me alone. I was rude, absent, and unbearably mean. They were a distraction from him, and I was on top of the world. I wish he would push me off it.


    Now, he makes me send out a duplicate text with the same attitude and monitors every call, ensuring I never break character. And they won¡¯t stop. They keep texting and calling, and I keep hurting them. Those idiots won¡¯t let me fade away. They love me.


    Let me fade away, Dream. Pick something, anything. I won¡¯t deny it. I¡¯ll go with it. Make everyone hate me. Yeah, we might still laugh at you, but no one in the world thinks you¡¯re a liar. Everyone¡¯s off and married to gorgeous heroes and clique leaders. Mary actually has a five-man harem. Each of the men controls an element. She picked them out that way on purpose. We¡¯ve seen you with the skinny, shy kid with the curly hair. You deserve a win. Get a win on an old bully.


    C¡¯mon, Dream. Get a win on somebody. Make everyone hate me so they can leave me alone and I can die in peace. Yes, it¡¯s selfish, but it¡¯s a reward, Dream. You can get revenge. Make the world hate me as much as you do. And you do still hate me. I know you do because, even when my kidney burns from Wulf¡¯s ¡°love¡± and my lips split open, if I need something to make me laugh, I think about how we treated you. And I laugh with a purple-bruised throat and a little blood dripping from my mouth.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    The letter confuses me. I wave it in front of me, trying to process everything. Dream¡¯s gone. She mumbles, barely audible, in the kitchen. I don¡¯t call her name. The intensity in the air demands silence. I creep forward and push open the kitchen door as quietly as a thief. Dream is red in the face, her cheeks swollen, as she bawls. Tears stream down to her neck and mix with the snot coming from her nose. She slams her fist into her thigh with all her might. Like she¡¯s done something wrong, like she¡¯s the one who should be punished.


    ¡°It always has to be me,¡± she mumbles. ¡°I always have to be the one to help. And she¡¯s right. Stupid Dream. Stupid Dream. Stupid Dream.¡±


    All at once, three feelings constrict my throat, dry my mouth, and journey down to wrap around my heart¡ªhelplessness, pity, and a sort of perversion. I¡¯m seeing something I¡¯m not meant to see. My breath comes slower. I want to tell her to stop, but to speak is to acknowledge it. It¡¯s so much emotion. So raw. All that sweet girl has been holding back boils and bursts. The scalding emotion burns her. It¡¯s so unfair. She didn¡¯t do anything wrong. Every hit she delivers disagrees, though, in painful reinforcement of her own belief.


    I close the door as silently as I came in and sit on the couch in Dream¡¯s living room. Is it worth it? Is pushing all that pain down worth it? Dream¡¯s problem is twofold. She does have a genuine heart to help, and not rescuing Lue from her situation would hurt her. Second, she is a part of the Rainbringer sect of her religion, like the pastor at the funeral. If she ever wants to get powers, she thinks she must always do the ultimate good, even when it hurts. Is it worth it? What else is Dream forcing down? Will it even work? Will Dream one day be like Heavy and be granted power for being good? I doubt it.


    It takes about five minutes before the microwave beeps in the kitchen, and Dream comes out with a smile and a fresh bowl of popcorn. ¡°Sorry it took so long. Made you popcorn, though!¡±


    ¡°Dream¡­¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­?¡± She doesn¡¯t look at me but past me.


    ¡°What did Lue do to you?¡±


    ¡°Nothing, just some jokes in school. Everyone got bullied a bit. I¡¯m sure other people had it worse, like you were Unchosen. I¡¯m sure people were nastier to you.¡±


    ¡°Maybe¡­ but that doesn¡¯t mean what happened to you doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± She holds the popcorn out to me.


    ¡°I thought we agreed not to lie to one another.¡±


    Dream¡¯s taken aback¡ªlike my claim that she¡¯s not fine is bizarre. Her smile returns. ¡°I¡¯m not lying. I¡¯m smiling, aren¡¯t I? That means I¡¯m fine.¡±


    That¡¯s never been true, but I let it go with a shrug I don¡¯t mean. A plot forms in my head to make Dream¡¯s night. She carries a lot of shame, though. Her shoulders are heavy, and she still looks past me, not at me. My guess is she¡¯s afraid to look at me because she thinks I¡¯ll see her differently.


    ¡°Um-hmm, you still want to rescue her?¡± I ask. ¡°We don¡¯t have to, y¡¯know.¡±


    Dream examines her carpet instead of my eyes. ¡°We should, though.¡± She fakes a smile behind teary eyes. ¡°We should.¡±


    Dumber than you.


    No, she¡¯s better than me.


    I won¡¯t argue with her today.


    ¡°What does, uh, some of the slang mean?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Ito is horrible, ultraviolence, horror show, nightmare fuel. It comes from some Pre-Rain artist, yeah¡­ and ghost, you know ghost. We talked about it earlier. Cliques use it, but in high school, best friends use it to describe each other by calling each other ghost. Everyone had ghosts in high school.¡±


    ¡°Yep, everyone had ghosts,¡± she says, in a staring battle with the floor.


    I recall how she didn¡¯t know the word ¡°ghost,¡± and parts of Dream¡¯s life start making sense. I don¡¯t think she had friends in high school. I don¡¯t think she had friends before the Happy Doomed.


    ¡°I think you¡¯re brilliant, by the way,¡± I tell her. ¡°I always have.¡±


    Dream smiles with her whole face, and her hazel eyes finally meet mine.


    We prepare for the night¡¯s battle.

 Chapter 37-A Wolf and a Whistle

    Velli


    The skyscrapers¡¯ lights on Wulf¡¯s streets paint the night sky a dominant blue. Blue that overthrows the black sky¡¯s reign. It forces me to compare Wulf¡¯s sky with Mother Nature¡¯s. Luxurious blue versus nature¡¯s black. The rest of the buildings, smaller and still owned by Wulf, left their office lights on, demanding recognition for their greatness.


    In the deepest part of his street, under the shadow of the Heirs¡¯ castle on the hill, is Wulf¡¯s house, the mecca for every man with business ambitions. No teleporter would dare take us, despite our bribe. Wulf doesn¡¯t allow cars on his special road, either. So we walk to meet him. Before anyone can be a true multimillionaire entrepreneur or a world-class fighter, they have to talk to Wulf.


    Even on these silent, barren, and pristine streets, Wulf¡¯s power is palpable under the intimidating presence of his custom-made buildings. It feels like demigods peer down on us while we approach their God. It sounds impossible, but in the daytime, this street holds an equal sort of intimidation.


    During the day, lines out the door wait at the five-star restaurants he owns, and people pay two hundred drops for a sample of the food they¡¯ll eat in a couple of hours. The nine-hundred-meter skyscrapers outdo the moon tonight and dare to fight the sun for prominence during the day. Thousands don his luxurious tailor-made suits and dresses bearing his signature Wulf symbol. He¡¯s never made a soul wear it or buy it. It¡¯s expected. It¡¯s essential.


    The Wulf crest is a symbol almost akin to the Heirs. The Heirs¡¯ crest on their schools, hospitals, and banks ensures the inhabitants are never robbed or harmed, while wearing one of the more expensive items from Wulf¡¯s catalog means guaranteed protection by Wulf himself. Granted, most of us can¡¯t afford any of those items. We do wear what we own from his brand, though.


    I know what the man is. Dream knows what the man is. And yet I can¡¯t not wear one of my most prized possessions¡ªan old watch with two small cracks and that wolf-head logo, designed by Wulf.


    All right, calm down, kid. You¡¯re not passing the Wulf fashion test.


    Dream, antimaterialist, anti¨Cbad people, and a better person than I, wears her black sneakers with the Wulf logo on the side and his signature on the bottom. I considered not wearing it. I tried not to, but going onto Wulf¡¯s streets without wearing some sort of designer Wulf gear feels impossible. So, wearing the clothes of the man we might kill, we walk to his house.


    His house imitates one of the great temples of old. Well-sculpted statues of giant wolves rest to the left and right of grand ascending steps, wide enough for eight people to walk side by side. We¡¯re only two.


    I feel your heartbeat, Velli. You feel unprepared.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Those massive steps lead to glass doors with lights on inside. It¡¯s a challenge to thieves at night. Come in. We are thieves in a way, but no way are we answering the challenge. The back door will do.


    The lights are strong enough. They cover the parking lot in front of his house filled with the best cars that I doubt he uses. We resist the urge to look at the exotic pieces of engineering and head behind his house.


    It¡¯s dark here, perfect for our ambitions. Out back, large fog lights accentuate the structure¡¯s details even better in darkness. It creates massive shadows Dream and I hide in as I swing the grappling hook in my hand. The massive shadows are a bit shaky. I eye them. Shadows can be more than shadows a surprising amount of the time in Division¡¯s Hand.


    ¡°Tossing a grappling hook through a window is kind of lame for a Velli plan A, isn¡¯t it?¡± Dream asks midswing.


    I let the thing fly and bang against the window. I miss the edge it¡¯s supposed to latch on to.


    It¡¯s not really even a plan A, I think, and it brings a smile to my lips, but I only tell her. ¡°No need to overcomplicate things if it¡¯s that simple. Besides, you know plan B, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Now, why are you lying? Why not tell her the real plan?


    Why am I lying now?


    Look at you. It¡¯s become a habit.


    I¡¯ll have to fix that once all this is done, but the goal is worth it. After all, Dream is still around, and this will make her happy.


    I toss the hook, and it bounces off the windowsill, falling back down and sputtering off the wall twice, both times with a ting and a clang. The noise makes me tense. I wait for any movement from inside the building. Nothing. If they heard it, they didn¡¯t stir.


    ¡°Velli, do you hear that?¡± Dream whispers, her lips near my ear, and she places her hand by her gun¡¯s holster.


    ¡°No, what is it?¡±


    ¡°Listen¡­¡±


    ¡°No one¡¯s moving inside,¡± I say, in denial of the fear forming in my lower abdomen.


    ¡°It¡¯s not inside. It¡¯s here.¡±


    I swing the grappling hook faster and with more intensity.


    Can¡¯t miss again, champ.


    ¡°Velli, do you hear it?¡± Dream asks, and I have to ignore her because I hear it, and it¡¯s freaking me out.


    My hands are too shaky. The hook flies from my grip and bangs against one of the house¡¯s pillars, making another clang. It screams through the quiet of the night like a dying bobcat.


    ¡°The shadows are whistling,¡± Dream whispers.


    And they hear her. They must hear her because they respond with louder whistles.


    Fate¡­ Fate¡­ Get off my chest.


    I¡¯m not touching you.


    Fate.


    I¡¯m not touching you.


    It¡¯s harder to breathe. I spin the grappling hook, preparing for our much-needed escape up the window and panting like a dying old dog in the process. I am scared, but I¡¯m not that scared. My muscles shouldn¡¯t be this tired. Everything shouldn¡¯t be this hard.


    They whistle again, long, high-pitched signals like they¡¯re summoning something.


    I toss the grappling hook. It doesn¡¯t even make the windowsill. It plops in the dirt without even a ploof. This isn¡¯t good. The grappling hook isn¡¯t the full plan, but making it up there is.


    Maybe Dream can help with¡­ oh, that¡¯s right. You didn¡¯t let her know the plan.


    ¡°Dream.¡± I push the hook to her to toss it up.


    Like a bum hands over a crusty burger to his bumstress, but she¡¯s already dead from starvation.


    Dream¡¯s on her knees, trying to catch her breath. What¡¯s happening to us?


    The shaky shadows whistle again and tremble side to side. They suck the air right from our lungs. My legs give up. I¡¯m on my side, struggling to breathe. I reach out to Dream for some sort of comfort. Whose comfort? I don¡¯t know. Maybe for me, maybe for her. I have to reach her.

 Chapter 38- Wulf鈥檚 Inn

    Velli


    Dream extends her hand to meet mine. That look in her eye is familiar. When I was stuck underneath that pool of ice, she had the same expression. The sharp whistle cuts through us, and it hurts this time. My throat goes raw. Dream collapses flat on the ground. Her back bounces up and down in desperate, futile attempts to bring oxygen into her lungs.


    You should have drowned.


    I should have drowned. This is the same thing, and all I¡¯ve accomplished is to put Dream in danger.


    The whistling stops.


    The pitter-patter of animal footsteps starts.


    I find myself on my stomach. I have to lift my face and turn to see what¡¯s walking toward us.


    The shadows thicken into wolves. They are as real as Dream and me. I can tell from the indentation of their paws in the grass, how they crush dirt with every step, how the drool coming from their mouths flattens blades. My every instinct makes me want to toss Dream over my shoulder and leave, but I¡¯m too weak. All I can do is watch them, the nine of them. Restless.


    A big black one rips into the ear of a brown one of equal size. It¡¯s like their walk toward us is taking too long. They want blood now. The brown one snaps back at him. The black one snaps again, and both plod forward to refocus on us.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    To the far left, a white wolf lingers behind the pack and stays low to the ground, butt in the air, paws digging into the soil. Eyes lock on Dream, who stares at them with apocalyptic realization.


    Deer in headlights, Velli. That¡¯s all both of you will ever be. Helpless witnesses to your eternal misery.


    The others in front of me bare their teeth and growl low. Their hackles rise, ready for war. The white wolf still slinks by along one side, getting within jumping distance of Dream. The ones in front are out to tear me apart, while the one to the side is out to get a quick Dream-sized meal. The white wolf takes another step forward.


    I find my energy. I leap over Dream and punch the beast in the nose. Getting in a defensive stance, I bark at it. Anything to make myself scarier, bigger, anything to make it think twice before it eats Dream.


    It barks at me, as fierce as the rest of them now. They¡¯re all barking. I bark back. Then they stop. Their hair still bristles, and the wolves whistle.


    Oxygen flees my lungs in large, loud gasps. Maybe I¡¯m gasping, maybe retching. Maybe I¡¯m enduring an ugly combination of both. I collapse onto the ground. The creatures advance toward me and Dream. Dream, I can¡¯t reach her. Fate lies on his side, hand raised above his elbow, head propped on his palm in a picturesque swimsuit model pose. His smile blocks my view of Dream. The wolf¡¯s wet jaws open above me. Dank, foul-smelling saliva plops onto my neck. The wolf snaps.


    I float. I¡¯m a ghost now. No, not a ghost. I¡¯m being pulled by one of the wolves with its mouth.


    Like a wolf drags a dead rabbit into a cave.

 Chapter 39- A Room That Needs the Sun

    Velli


    The hallways the beasts drag us through are testaments to Wulf¡¯s greatness. He might be our soon-to-be executioner. I don¡¯t bother raising my head. I know the hallways of Wulf¡¯s home by heart. As a kid, I took virtual tours of it like I would be tested on it. Back then, I believed I could have everything he had.


    My head rubs against Wulf¡¯s wine-red carpet as the wolves drag us. The slight fragrance of cologne fills the hallways. Probably his signature scent this season. It¡¯s metallic and reminds me of luxury suits, plush carpets, and women in red lipstick.


    A strange mix of fear and excitement that I¡¯m not comfortable with mingles within me.


    Paintings from Division¡¯s Hand¡¯s best artists hang everywhere on the white walls. They are a testament to Wulf¡¯s journey. In the first portrait, he stands over a man. His fist is raised, his long blue hair flowing, and a hammer in his hand. The two are inside a steel cage.


    Wulf made his money fighting professionally, ending his career 60¨C0¨C6 using only his bare hands¡ªa never-before-seen and never-replicated feat.


    A never-before-seen and never-replicated feat, Fate mocks with the voice of a teenage girl.


    Then Wulf spent about six months in prayer and said God told him to start his life over. He gave away a hundred million drops to his friends and a couple of charities and set out on his own.


    We turn left so we¡¯re in the next hallway. A statue hangs where Wulf looks like a potter on his hands and knees, molding clay into a vase. Except instead of clay, Wulf molds scrap metal.


    He found an empty plot of land and took scraps of metal from local garbage dumps and started to build. No one knew what he was building, and he said he didn¡¯t know either for a while, only that God told him to build it. It drew the world¡¯s attention. After half a year, another two months, and six days of tireless work, he was finished. Huh, six months, another sixty days and six more after that. We probably should have seen he wasn¡¯t talking to the man upstairs, even if he thought he was.


    Hard to tell when you¡¯re on your knees for the man.


    The wolves nudge the door open and drop us inside a room.


    We walk into an impressively tiny apartment, only about seven steps long. With a simple stretch, I could touch the ceiling painted to resemble a summer sky, complete with fluffy white clouds and a yellow sun. The walls are gorgeous, painted a soft sky blue and littered with beautiful portraits. The paintings are done without frames or blank paper. Instead, they occupy simple notebook paper. Exquisite pieces of families, animals, and the sun.


    The sun. Each one has that big yellow glow in the backdrop. Perhaps to make up for the lack of sunlight in the room. A large brick building stands so close to the window that no moonlight can get through.


    Dream stumbles into a table painted bright green. Flowers of every shape and type are drawn to snake up the table¡¯s legs.


    Lue sits on a bed across the tiny room. She looks exasperated at our entry. She rolls her eyes, unimpressed as soon as she sees Dream. I don¡¯t know who she thinks she is, but she does not look well. Lue¡¯s skin is a beautiful bronze despite her bruises. She has one black eye, and both eyes are baggy, maybe from sleepless nights. Her lips are full but split, damaged. Despite her and Dream being nearly the same age, she sits beside an oxygen tank.


    ¡°You¡¯re such an idiot. I told you not to come.¡± She puts her oxygen mask over her face to take a few hits.


    It reminds me of how girls take drags of cigarettes when they¡¯re annoyed with the guy talking to them. She removes the oxygen mask and drops her jaw, dramatically annoyed at our very presence.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t get past the wolves?¡± she asks. ¡°You didn¡¯t really believe all that about no security, did you? Who¡¯s idea was this?¡±


    Lue must have petrified Dream in high school, because Dream does the most out-of-character thing and scoots away from Lue¡¯s gaze, pointing at me, blaming me for this idea. Which is true, but still.


    Lue throws her head back in rage, like my existence is the biggest problem in her life where she¡¯s beaten and essentially stuck in a cage. ¡°How? How can you be both ugly and dumb? What¡¯s your appeal?¡± She shrugs then waves her hand. ¡°Well, speak, man. What is it?¡± She takes big hits from her oxygen mask.


    I ignore her and speak to the wolf beside me. ¡°Any chance you can just let us go? You can have her.¡±


    The wolf stares back with blank eyes.


    Dream yanks me forward by my arms.


    ¡°Hey, Lue,¡± Dream says. ¡°Please, don¡¯t speak to him like that. We¡¯re here to rescue you.¡±


    Lue ignores her and keeps speaking to me. ¡°Aye, short, dark, and grotesque. Is your stupid spreading to her? Because I said pretty clearly not to come here?¡±


    ¡°He is not grotesque, Lue! And stop being mean to him!¡± Dream yells, loud and piercing.


    Lue eyes her.


    ¡°Stop it, Lue,¡± Dream whispers, her confidence zapped away.


    What did Lue do to her?


    ¡°Out of respect to your sister, Dream, you and your friend can leave if you like,¡± someone says with an iconic deep voice.


    Dream and I leap into action. We spin to see Wulf standing there.


    ¡°Your blood in my room would be bad for business.¡±


    I knew he was coming. He had to come, and yet Wulf¡¯s presence in the room alarms us. It¡¯s unnerving how he appears to take over the whole space and quenches my desire to speak. He has no fear about this home invasion¡ªhe wears no armor and brings no weapons. He still dons his silk pajamas and refuses to close his shirt. His golden wolf medallion swings between his two drum-sized pecs. Every move he makes has me on edge. Every move he makes feels like he could crush me. My very presence in his room seems like an affront to logic.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving with Lue.¡± I attempt to believe it.


    He squats to the levels of the wolves. His six-foot-five frame takes up so much space in the room. Wulf¡¯s gentle pats calm the beasts. He scratches the wild albino one under its chin. It smiles at this and maybe even laughs, which comes out as a giddy yelp. Two others behind him want the same treatment and start nuzzling with the man. They rub their wet snouts against his cheek and beard. His beard is dark black and as lush and thick as the wolves¡¯ fur. Wulf smiles and accepts their advances with gentle pets.


    ¡°Lue, what did you tell them?¡± he asks, mid¨Cwolf hug.


    Lue¡¯s mouth shuts.


    ¡°Enough to be dangerous, but nothing that has to be heard,¡± Dream pipes up.


    ¡°Is everything in the letter true?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Yes.¡± He kisses the gray wolf, who was in the back, looking lonely.


    ¡°Then we know enough to ruin your life, and we will be doing that,¡± I say.


    ¡°Velli,¡± Dream snaps. ¡°Easy¡­¡±


    ¡°Velli¡­¡± All joy leaves Wulf as he says my name. It¡¯s not replaced by anger or anything I value, only pity. ¡°Your dad¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve heard he was a good man. Better than you, and if this world had any justice, you¡¯d be six feet under and not him. I would say I¡¯m sending you to talk to him, but I¡¯ll personally make sure you go a different direction.¡±


    Dream¡¯s surprised by my audacity. Lue loses her resentment. Only fear fills her eyes as she refuses to look at Wulf.


    I smile at Dream. This isn¡¯t just about Lue. Dream, this is also about proving to her you¡¯re worth something to someone who thought otherwise.


    Living vicariously, huh?


    I scan Wulf one more time to find our target. The watch on his wrist.


    I¡¯m supposed to call the play. I¡¯m supposed to attack. And yet I find that hard to do at the moment. I know it isn¡¯t, but it feels like his frame fills the whole room. It feels like I won¡¯t be able to harm him. I¡¯ll be punching air until I¡¯m bloody, exhausted, and I collapse. It feels like he can separate my head from my neck with one stomp. It also feels like I really don¡¯t have a choice.


    ¡°Dream!¡± I yell. ¡°Plan B! Left side.¡±


    ¡°Sit,¡± Wulf tells his pets.


    Dream pulls out two pistols and aims them at his left eye. The guns¡¯ explosions fill the room. Dream¡¯s aim is good, and she fires without rest, unloading, reloading, and making more explosions from her small black pistols within seconds. The wolves bark in reply. Wulf dodges. Flowerpots, kitchenware, and parts of the wall explode behind him. Impossible. He dodges bullets like a boxer dodges fists. He really is that good.


    With each bullet wasted, I lose a little hope. With the ease he does everything, with the way he looks me in the eye as he dodges, he produces an aura in this room, one that tells me we will lose.


    That¡¯s fine. We planned for this.


    ¡°Two left. Your turn,¡± Dream tells me, letting me know she emptied fourteen of her sixteen magazines.


    I nod to her. She fires her last shots. We know they won¡¯t hit Wulf. We don¡¯t expect them to. With bullets flying in the air, I fling two bags of flour from my belt toward his left eye. He¡¯s good, but I¡¯m clever. A thick white puff of flour explodes on his eyes and obscures a good portion of his vision. Hopefully, it¡¯s enough. Knives ready, I dash forward with a focus on tearing out his other eye.

 Chapter 40- He Who Dances With Wulf

    Velli


    I slash and make a nice cut across Wulf¡¯s eyebrow. No blood. His wolves whimper but do not move. I¡¯m not done. He leaps backward and to his left. His hip bumps against the refrigerator. Tiny room, he can¡¯t dodge.


    I¡¯m electric, ecstatic. Never in my life would I think I could land a hit on Wulf. We enter a dance of slices and dodges¡ªquick, small strikes, changing my wrist position after every failed attempt to gouge his eye.


    An odd-fitting nostalgia washes over me with each strike. Wulf uploaded a lot of fighting tutorials. I¡¯ve copied every move from every video throughout my adolescence. ¡°Never meet your heroes,¡± they say. Yeah, right. This is the best I¡¯ve felt in a while. I¡¯m going toe-to-toe with Wulf. I¡¯ve never been prouder of myself.


    He blocks my latest strike. Our wrists clash. Mine stings from the impact. His bones are that dense. Our wrists push against one another. The bracelet my mom gave me breaks and spills to the floor. Wulf opens his mouth, and his eyes pity me¡ªhe offers me pity like Piedmont gave me. He¡¯s going to tell me I can stop, that I can run away and say nothing. That¡¯s infuriating.


    I push off his wrist and go back to our dance of blades, necks, and potential death. He doesn¡¯t get a good block in again.


    I glance to my left to see Dream complete the real mission and change the time on Wulf¡¯s watch. The look costs me. Wulf strikes. The world spins. Then it stops with a horrific impact on my back. Everything aches. My vision goes black, and my head hurts. I think I flew into a wall.


    Forcing my eyes to stay open, I witness a blurry Dream sail back against the same wall. Her body crashes with a hurtful thud. Wulf steps forward. I leap up and toss both knives in his direction, perfect and straight tosses, blades meant to sink into his skull. He swats both away. All I have left is my body. So I run forward and throw that at him, leading with my shoulder.


    My shoulder slams into his chest. I collapse beneath him at the impact. My shoulder, oh, it¡¯s not supposed to look like that. It¡¯s not supposed to hang like that. A scream resides somewhere inside me, but I can¡¯t bring it out. Why can¡¯t my shoulder move? My mind¡¯s telling it to move, but it won¡¯t. Nothing¡¯s moving. It¡¯s dislocated. My fingers lie between open and closed, curled like a dead bug¡¯s legs.


    Wulf walks past me, done with me, and toward Dream. He lifts her by her shirt like a naughty puppy. Undignified. Disrespectful. Irreverent. I glance at Lue. She smirks, taking a bit of pleasure at her high school punching bag¡¯s mistreatment.


    No more. I¡¯ve still got one arm left and two good feet.


    I let out that scream trapped in my lungs. This time, it¡¯s not about pain but Wulf, Dream, and Lue herself. She needs to know someone cares about Dream. I swing my foot to deliver a perfect roundhouse to Wulf¡¯s sweat-drenched beard. Wulf swats it down, reaches for my arm, grabs me by my hanging, dislocated shoulder, and pushes it back into place.


    ¡°Ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhhh!¡± I scream like a fool. Every sense I have is jammed into my shoulder, and it¡¯s horrible.


    Wulf snatches his watch from Dream. Her heartbreak is visible. Against my will, I watch as he pats her head like one of his wolves. It¡¯s a new level of disrespect I find hard to tolerate. Fighting is part of my life. Fighting is Wulf treating us as equals. The pat on the head is for the pathetic. Wulf tosses Dream and me onto the bed with Lue like we¡¯re pathetic children.


    ¡°Sit,¡± he says, and we obey him like said children.


    He turns his back on us to be around his wolves. I don¡¯t bother fighting again yet. Once he¡¯s with his wolves, he plops down. The brown one lays its head in his lap as he nuzzles the snouts of the others one at a time.


    Dream and I scramble, trying to make ourselves comfortable.


    Dream nudges Lue in her attempt. ¡°Sorry, sorry,¡± she says before bumping into me. ¡°Sorry, sorry.¡±


    ¡°So, you were saying Lue called you?¡± Wulf points a lazy finger in Dream¡¯s direction.


    ¡°A letter, yeah, a letter.¡± Dream turns to Lue. ¡°And we¡¯re taking you home.¡±


    Lue sticks her tongue out at Dream and rolls her eyes. Dream drops back into her shell.


    ¡°No, she stays,¡± Wulf says. ¡°You may leave, though.¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°You¡¯re not worried we¡¯ll tell?¡± I ask.


    ¡°No one will believe you. No one will want to believe you. This is ugly.¡± He points one thick, manicured finger at Lue and proclaims, ¡°People don¡¯t like ugly.¡±


    Lue scoots toward the bed¡¯s back corner. Her eyes read the floor.


    Ah, that¡¯s how she can still be so mean. Hurt people hurt people. ¡°What gives you the right?¡± I ask.


    ¡°I¡¯ve earned it, unfortunately.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately? Are you tired of all this?¡±


    ¡°I have regrets. I feel older than I am. But I won¡¯t stop. I¡¯ve been on the other side of this. And even if I wanted to stop¡­¡± Wulf¡¯s composure leaves him, and he grins. ¡°I can¡¯t lose. It¡¯s impossible.¡±


    ¡°Ah, you¡¯re one of those.¡±


    He winces. That comment hurt him more than anything I¡¯ve done.


    ¡°I am one of none.¡± He stands, giving the wolf on his lap a meaningful pat beforehand. He stretches his arms to their full extent. ¡°Who can do what I do? Who can make what I make?¡±


    I know what he references. The fashion, the money, the monuments, but in this tiny room, all I see are portraits from a scared girl who wants to see the sun again. I step off the bed and pull one of the saddest portraits off the wall¡ªpainstakingly realistic but with the passion of a child in kindergarten art class. It¡¯s Lue holding hands with an older couple, I assume her mother and father. I toss the picture at him, and it lands at his feet.


    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re one of a kind.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t glance at the picture, but my reflection sits in his gray eyes. ¡°Get out,¡± he commands.


    ¡°Make me,¡± I counter.


    Both Dream¡¯s and Lue¡¯s heads perk up.


    Wulf opens his mouth.


    ¡°No, shut up,¡± I tell him.


    He shuts up. I want to back down, if I¡¯m honest. His aura pulses from him, as invisible as the wind and as truthful as the law of gravity and as real as cancer, and it tells me we will lose again. However, people are counting on me, so it doesn¡¯t matter. Tragedy or majesty.


    ¡°Your whole shtick is you can¡¯t lose,¡± I accuse. ¡°Fine. Give us a rematch. Ten minutes to midnight, right? Dream and me versus you for five minutes. Just give us five minutes to plan. May the loser die or serve the other for all his days.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± His cold tone implies he doesn¡¯t want to know my name but is issuing a challenge like Weaver did outside of the hospital.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a name,¡± I say, accepting his challenge.


    Wulf snickers, shrugs, then nods. ¡°As you wish.¡± He spreads his arms. ¡°I¡¯ll wait five minutes.¡±


    He sits on the floor and plays with his wolves.


    I gather up my knives. Dream reloads her guns, and we pretend to whisper to each other about a plan. I exaggerate my hand signals, and Dream feigns fear for a whole five minutes.


    An alarm clock on the table goes off with a shrieking bing.


    Drown it. We forgot the alarm clock.


    ¡°Oh, are we fighting early?¡± I feign confusion.


    ¡°No¡­¡± He ponders. ¡°That ring means it¡¯s midnight, but my watch is supposed to tell me that.¡±


    Six hours. I may be clever, but no one has more heart than Dream. For an hour and a half, we searched for pictures of every watch model Wulf has worn in the past year and purchased them¡ªwe¡¯ll be returning them tomorrow because that¡¯s expensive, obviously¡ªthen Dream spent six hours without a break practicing changing the time on each watch. So when she got the chance to change the time on Wulf¡¯s watch, she could do it in under ten seconds. Her thumbs are still red and bear the indentations from practice. Regardless, she did it. Meaning it¡¯s already midnight. He has to beat Lue in the next sixty seconds, or everything he built will be destroyed.


    I pull out my knives and ask, ¡°Round two?¡±


    He ignores me and looks to the ceiling, where his victim¡¯s artistic pleas for freedom hang. He¡¯s able to look past that, and all he sees is heaven. ¡°Lord, may the blood on my hands honor you.¡±


    The wolves disappear into the shadows.


    He shrugs. His silk top falls on the floor to reveal boulder-sized shoulders, biceps, and triceps. I fear I¡¯m making the wrong decision again and that with a little effort from those arms, he could pull my face from my skull. Doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯ve made my choice. I have to fight.


    Dream¡¯s the first to pull out her gun. She blasts twice, and the sweet wisp of the silencer juts out. A refrigerator slides across the floor and blocks the shots.


    That¡¯s convenient.


    Dream shoots twice more. The table full of Lue¡¯s drawings flips in the air and shields Wulf as he roams toward us.


    No way.


    I pull out my knives, waiting for an opening.


    The floor tilts backward like gravity doesn¡¯t want to work anymore. I stumble with it, swinging my arms to get balance. With nothing to grab, I fall, and everything falls around me. Portraits fly in my face. I dodge the table¡¯s descent and leap over a microwave. I reach for the wall. Nothing¡¯s there. It¡¯s gone.


    The roof and walls are gone. The night air shocks me. Paper flies by us like bats in a cave. The table meteors to the ground, and the microwave explodes when it lands.


    Wulf tilts the floor further, and I¡¯m sliding backward on my back. I have nothing to grab. Everything rolls past me. I¡¯m in the air, free falling. I grab onto the floor serving as a ledge.


    Dream¡¯s done the same. Her tiny feet dangle in the air. Lue hangs beside Dream on the ledge.


    ¡°Any chance you still have your knives?¡± Dream asks.


    Moron.


    I didn¡¯t even realize I lost them in the chaos. Below me, either I imagine it or I could see the blades cracked into tiny pieces on the street below.


    ¡°Yeah, same for mine,¡± she says. ¡°Backup weapons?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all gone. I¡¯ve got nothing to fight with.¡± I yell at Lue, ¡°You could have told us he can control the building!¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t supposed to come here!¡± she yells back.


    I panic. I really may have overestimated myself here.


    Another dead friend soon, and it¡¯s all your fault.


    It¡¯s not my fault. I didn¡¯t expect the whole floor to tilt and the walls to walk away.


    Tell it at her funeral.


    The room tilts forward. We obey the tilt, slaves to gravity. The wall behind Wulf fragments into flakes and disappears. The few amenities and art in the room crash to the ground or disappear by his will.


    You¡¯ve really improved this woman¡¯s standard of living! I know a homeless guy who has a cardboard box for a house. I would love to see what you do for him.

 Chapter 41- A House of Cards

    Velli


    We all slide toward Wulf. He stands, statuesque, glued to the floor.


    ¡°No, no, no, no, no,¡± I beg, I¡¯m not sure to who. I try to reach for something and know it¡¯s pointless. So right when he¡¯s above me, I leap and bite.


    I bite into the meat of his neck, a pressure point sure to cause a disorienting amount of pain. Wolves have howled less frighteningly than he does. His hands grip my back as he puts me in a bear hug and squeezes. I poke both his eyes with my fingers. The bear hug does not break, but his concentration slips, and we slide backward. We near the edge of the building.


    He¡¯s tough, but can he survive a fall from here? I doubt it.


    But with your luck.


    I headbutt him, half to shut Fate up and half to push ourselves a little closer to the edge.


    Blurry. Everything. Blood, forehead, gush out fast. Taste, salty.


    Slide, sliding closer, the edge we fall off. I can save Dream and Lue.


    My head goes into his again. He screams. I smile, adjusting, things less blurry. Hurt, though. Can¡¯t do again. Do again too blurry. His ankles reach the edge. One more big hit, and we¡¯ll fall. I can do one more.


    I pull my neck back for the strongest headbutt in the history of headbutts.


    Wulf pushes his head against mine. I can¡¯t get momentum. I push my forehead against his anyway. It does nothing. He tosses me in the air. My arms and legs scramble in an attempt to get control, and it¡¯s impossible. Wulf grabs me by my neck with one massive hand as I descend. He hoists me as high as his arms can go. His heels still stand at the edge of the building. I kick at him. Front kick left foot, roundhouse kick right foot, side kick right foot then left foot. Each one he swats away with his free hand. He looks down at his feet and realizes exactly what I¡¯m attempting.


    I dare to glance back at Dream and Lue as they hang onto the refrigerator stuck supernaturally on top of the floor. Wulf¡¯s head slams into mine.


    ¡°Why did you think you could ever kill me?¡± Wulf tosses me into the air again. I¡¯m free. I¡¯m high, well past where the roof was. Then I descend. He grabs me by my foot in midair, swings me over his head, and slams me into the floor.


    I wish I could stop falling. I wish I could rest. I¡¯m falling through another floor. Everything is going black. What about Dream?


    ¡°Get up!¡± someone yells.


    I¡¯m smacked awake and ushered up by two things that look like they came from Beauty and the Beast. A living brown wooden desk stand is like a human on my right, a short, stubby, circular table on my left. Both grab me and pull me up. Their legs have grown hands.


    Wulf jumps through the hole in the floor above me and lands by my feet. ¡°I said get up!¡± he commands.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The furniture pushes me forward.


    I go for a punch right in the middle of his jaw. It does nothing. He sends one back. Things go black. My body bangs twice on the floor. The desk and table kick my ribs, step on my thighs, and press on my neck until I rise again.


    On wobbly feet, they back off.


    ¡°I said fight me!¡± Wulf growls. He bends and throws a piece of a lamp at me.


    I¡¯m not aware enough to dodge it. No, it wasn¡¯t at me. He tosses it to me. It goes straight to my hand and transforms into a sword¡¯s hilt, then the rest of the blade forms.


    ¡°Come on! I want you to do it!¡± He beats his chest. He¡¯s really insane.


    Who cares?


    I swing in a wide arc to slice off his head. He ducks. I lower the sword straight down onto him. He slides to dodge but not fast enough. The sword lands on his shoulder.


    ¡°Gahhhh!¡± he screams.


    Or I scream. Who can tell?


    I press harder, trying to cut through his shoulder and slice off that large arm. He sinks to his knees.


    His cloud-filled gray eyes never leave mine. ¡°I built this tower with my sweat, boy.¡± He lifts one knee half an inch off the ground to rise slightly and keeps going. ¡°Oh, Lue sacrificed, but so did I!¡±


    I bite my tongue to get more pressure. It does nothing.


    ¡°I sacrificed everything, so I can¡¯t lose.¡± He spits the words at me.


    He rises to his full height and uppercuts me. I¡¯m in the air then on the floor. Like a puppet, I¡¯m yanked back up. He throws a pillow at me that turns into a machine gun. I¡¯m too woozy to even shrug at the ridiculousness.


    I fire at him. My ears ring, and the gun¡¯s kickback slides my body backward. Little pieces of rubble come from all around the room to push every bullet away from Wulf. The legend presses forward, invincible. The machine gun clicks twice without firing bullets. I¡¯m out.


    ¡°I am Wulf, and I was Cursed to win.¡±


    I rush him with the butt of my gun. ¡°I¡¯m Velli, and I¡¯m Cursed enough to know that¡¯s stupid!¡±


    I slam the butt into his face. No, he moves and catches it in his mouth. He bites it, and with only his mouth for power, he pulls it from my hands then spits it on the floor. Wulf slams his hands together, clapping my ears.


    I go deaf. Everything is black. Oh no. That means¡ª


    I¡¯m jolted back up by kicks all over my body. My ears ring and won¡¯t stop. A chair flies in front of my face and turns into¡ªa rocket launcher. Okay, it¡¯s now or never. I put him in my scope. He can be cut. He bleeds. A rocket launcher can kill him. My hands shake. Something has to be able to kill him. He¡¯s still right in my sights, hands out, waiting. He takes a big breath, ready to command me to do it.


    I shoot first to throw him off guard.


    My finger hits the trigger. The room shifts, tilting upward, or maybe I¡¯m too woozy to stand. Maybe the world shakes me because it won¡¯t allow Wulf to be beaten. Doesn¡¯t matter. Either way, the missile goes straight through the hole in the ceiling and up into the sky.


    A phoom fills the room. It hit something up there. No idea what. I wish it were Wulf.


    He bangs his chest. ¡°I am God here!¡±


    His watch beeps.


    ¡°You¡¯re not God if you can¡¯t control time.¡± I smile.


    The building shakes, and Wulf wobbles. He doesn¡¯t go after me. He¡¯s sad. The room flashes between being glorious and what it was before Wulf changed it¡ªgarbage, rotting filth, smelly, and ugly. Bottles, wood, brown dirt, and worms flash across the floor. The solid marble vanishes beneath my feet. I sink into the soft dirt. The building rumbles again. It collapses.


    It¡¯s loud and thunderous because it¡¯s not just this building. My watch, designed by Wulf, crumbles into the dirt. Everything he¡¯s made transforms back into its original form. I¡¯m weightless as I fall into the pile of dirt. My descent marks a massive change in our society. One of the Heirs¡¯ greatest allies, one of the greatest contributors to the economy of Division¡¯s Hand has been defeated, a consequence that will reverberate through each of Division¡¯s fingers, shifting the balance of power between the world-changing cliques and¡ªI¡¯m not going to pretend like I care. Everybody Unchosen was poor and miserable before Wulf and will be poor and miserable after. They¡¯ll be rich and happy under me, though. I smile all the way down to the dirt.


    Unfortunately, another layer falls on top of me.

 Chapter 42- King of the Hill

    Velli


    I take longer than necessary to dig myself out of the dirt. Dream calls for me, and I¡¯m not prepared to see her yet. First, I find my book bag. This time, not full of money but something more valuable¡­ sort of. Next, I find Wulf. He rests alone against a pile of dirt, exhausted.


    I come from behind him.


    He glances at me then slumps. He¡¯s clothed in only filth. Rotting fruit and dirt replace his silk robe. ¡°I¡¯m glad it¡¯s over.¡±


    As impossible as it seems, his words have the stench of truth. That¡¯s not my problem, though. I have an ally to claim, and I open my mouth to deliver my pitch to him. ¡°Wulf, head up. I¡¯ve got good news for you. Nothing¡¯s changed. You were right. You were chosen by God. I beat you because I¡¯m chosen as well. Now, you¡¯ve been chosen again to serve me. Serve me, Wulf, and together, we can do something wilder than you¡¯ve ever imagined.¡± I don¡¯t get to say any of that.


    Wulf grabs me by my ankle, squeezes, and begs me with a hoarse, pleading voice. ¡°You will be my penance.¡±


    ¡°L-L-Let go.¡± I should be overjoyed he¡¯s that easy, but the desperation, the sudden contrast in emotion is scary.


    ¡°Be my redemption. That much I owe you all.¡±


    ¡°Y-Y-Yes, yes, do as I command.¡± I scramble for what to say next. ¡°Enter a Cognomen Oath with me to serve me for all your days.¡±


    Wulf lets go and leans against his pile of rubble. Two worms crawl into his hair, and the garbage on his back slowly falls off. He makes his vow.


    One down. Two to go. My adrenaline and composure come back. I¡¯ve captured a legend. This is the first of many victories.


    ¡°Wulf, meet me in two days,¡± I command. ¡°Make it look like someone killed you. Go hire someone who specializes in that sort of thing. I can¡¯t have friends of yours interfering in what I have planned or someone who wants to kill you because they invested in you and want your money. After you¡¯ve faked your death. I need you to kill someone named Parasite for me. Make it slow and painful, and at the end of it¡ªonly at the end, I want him to be confused throughout¡ªtell him it¡¯s for Amelia.¡±


    Wulf nods, and I notice his medallion still dangles at his chest.


    ¡°Did you make that medallion?¡± I ask. It should be dirt.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    ¡°No, it was a gift.¡±


    I¡¯ll need that.


    I scale the rubble, medallion in hand. I¡¯m broken, sore, and my book bag is almost empty except for the most important thing. Adrenaline shoots through me to climb all the way up the mound because this is the most important part of the night. Once on top, I yell her name.


    ¡°Dream Tower!¡±


    Both Lue and Dream look up at me, a king on his pile of dirt. I slide down it. Yes, every moment hurts, and running down would be closer to painless, but perception is everything, and defeating one of Division¡¯s Hand¡¯s most dangerous while appearing unbroken and unbothered is great for optics. Once down, I stay still and wait for the girls to come to me. Dream tries for a hug. I motion for her to stop.


    ¡°Dream Tower, champion of Division¡¯s Hand and defeater of Wulf, would you honor me by wearing this?¡± I present the medallion to her.


    Its shine makes her blink twice.


    ¡°Oh, wow, Velli, that¡¯s¡­¡± She can¡¯t finish. Her face morphs into a smile, and she accepts the jewelry. To don the jewelry of a defeated enemy is one of the many ways to boast, and an even greater boast is if your lover gave you the jewelry of a defeated foe.


    Slow down there, Velli, you¡ª


    No, I think I finally have this under control.


    I¡¯m careful to keep my eyes on Dream, but Lue¡¯s gaze is hilarious. Her jaw drops, and her face holds shame. This would be a personal affront to her despite everything because Wulf is her man.


    Good, she should be upset. She shouldn¡¯t have made Dream cry. Be sure to tell your friends from high school about this as well, Lue.


    I drop to one knee and reach into my book bag. Dream attempts to crouch with me, but with a smile, I ask her to stay up. Her excitement is as thick in the air as Lue¡¯s growing shame. Dream rocks on her heels. Lue folds her arms. A small, happy yelp pops out of Dream¡¯s mouth when she sees it.


    From my book bag, I produce a tiny bouquet of carnations. I stand and bow at my hips to give them to her, working every bit of charm and finesse I have. ¡°Carnations,¡± I tell her. ¡°To celebrate a victory, one of many.¡± I add extra emphasis on the many for Lue. ¡°But a big one nonetheless. I know carnations and dahlias are your favorites. However, I chose carnations because research indicated they¡¯re the only flower better than a rose. Sorry if my analysis was incorrect.¡±


    Lue rolls her eyes.


    Dream¡¯s face turns red. ¡°Well, Velli,¡± she says and thinks.


    Oh no, I¡¯ve gone too far.


    She¡¯ll go like the others now. Ashamed of being this close to you.


    My heart thumps. It¡¯s loud. Can she hear it?


    ¡°Well, Velli, well, Velli, well, Velli,¡± she sings.


    She¡¯s so happy. I¡¯ve done it. More than happy. She looks at my lips. I look at hers.


    Lue interrupts. ¡°Well, since you¡¯ve ruined my home, can you take me to my parents¡¯ house or something?¡± Lue asks in a way that¡¯s not asking.


    This might be the worst woman ever.


    Dream gives me back her flowers and rushes to Lue. Lue stands straight, accepting the challenge.


    ¡°No, enough,¡± Dream says. ¡°Velli and I have been nothing but kind to you, and you¡¯ve been rude and¡­ and¡­ I don¡¯t know, a horrible person all around. So no. You can fly, so you¡¯ll be dropping us off.¡±


    Like magic, the two change expressions. Dream folds her arms and judges Lue, and Lue shrivels and nods.


    ¡°Is that a yes?¡± Dream asks.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Lue mumbles.


    ¡°And give us a thank-you and an apology. We risked our lives for you.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she mumbles like a child.

 Chapter 43- Secrets

    Velli


    We drop Dream off first. I was close to kissing her good night, but Lue remarked three times in a matter of one minute how cold it was. Lue further emasculates me by cradling me like a baby as she flies. However, after a big win like that, I can let it go and enjoy the breeze that comes with flight.


    We do finally reach my house, and the victorious high leaves.


    ¡°Is it here?¡± Lue asks in a sort of whisper. Her attitude since Dream¡¯s drop-off still has not returned.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say and regret it. I planned to make her do some extra laps so I could enjoy the moment more instead of staying in that stuffy house. The sadness in her voice ripped a chunk of honesty from me, I guess.


    She doesn¡¯t dive down with the same speed she did for Dream. Instead, she makes a small circle in the air, bringing us lower. She repeats the process, making smaller and smaller, lower and lower circles until we finally land.


    I hop out of her arms. Letting her lower me to the ground like a damsel in distress is a bit too much.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± she says.


    I nod and consider giving her a hug, a fist bump, or some sort of physical goodbye. Nah, she made Dream cry. She¡¯s someone else¡¯s problem now. Huh, back to my haunted mansion, I suppose.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± she says louder than she¡¯s talked before and still with evident humility. ¡°May I sleep here for the night?¡±


    I¡¯m not the most vengeful guy, but¡ª


    That¡¯s not true.


    Fine, that¡¯s not true. Anyway, the worst thing about being vengeful is being powerless. I used to get tortured in elementary school by the kids who got their powers early. I used to think about how I would get them back, that one day, for some reason, they would need a pencil or something and I¡¯d be the only one who had an extra. They would be on their knees, begging, ¡°Please, can I borrow one?¡± and I would whisper, ¡°No.¡±


    Weirdo.


    Go through what I went through, then judge me.


    I¡¯m sure my face says what I think, because when I spin to look at her, her eyes drop. Sort of pitiful¡ªreally pitiful¡ªso instead of saying something clever to send her away crying, I only say, ¡°No, I don¡¯t think that would be for the best.¡±


    ¡°Where will I go, then?¡± Her foot taps in a nervous rhythm.


    ¡°Home, I guess. To all those friends you like to gossip with about Dream.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t want to see me.¡±


    Oh, I can¡¯t believe I have to do this. The girl¡¯s practically Shakespearean with her drama for making me give her the ¡°your friends will love you no matter what¡± speech.


    ¡°Listen, Lue¡­¡± I feel like a youth pastor. ¡°Your friends¡ª¡±


    ¡°Please, Velli, stop calling them that.¡± Her voice cracks. This is the most frustrated she¡¯s been all night. Well, that makes two of us. ¡°I don¡¯t have any friends,¡± she corrects.


    ¡°Then, what was all that business to Dream about making fun of her to people?¡±


    ¡°To get her to come rescue me without having to beg.¡±


    ¡°What happened to your friends?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re still out there. They knew too. They just didn¡¯t come. They knew exactly what was happening. My friends, my family, everyone I trusted. They knew exactly what was happening, and they pretended they didn¡¯t. How could I ever go back to them?¡±


    ¡°The wonderful power of flight¡± is not what I say. I only think because I get it. Abandoned by everybody she loved. Everybody who was supposed to be there for her. That¡¯s one of my greatest fears. All I can do is stutter a slow, questionable ¡°I-I-I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Please, Velli.¡± She ups her charm. Her full lips pout, and she adds extra sway in her hips as she comes forward. She¡¯s no Dream. She¡¯s something more. Something about this is dark. My heart races. After what she did to Dream and the vulnerable state she¡¯s in, she needs a friend and therapy, not whatever this is.


    Lue places her hand on the right side of my chest, and I don¡¯t stop her. She¡¯s a couple of inches taller than I am, and those inches melt away as she lowers herself to rest her bruised and beautiful skin against my neck. Her swollen cheek against my chest whispers that she needs a break, needs a friend, anyone to care about her as a person and not see her as an object. I press against her stomach to push her off. With surprising strength from her or weakness from me, she grabs my hands and guides them lower. I rip them free and grab her wrist.


    Lue flinches, and despite all her efforts to pretend this is about something else, it¡¯s still there. She¡¯s hurt. Like me. Like all my friends. Like Amelia. Despite our differences. We¡¯re all a bunch of idiots who make rash decisions to feel better.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Velli.¡± Lue doesn¡¯t even whisper in my ear. She¡¯s found the perfect volume to sing my name in a deep, provocative voice that Dream could never do. ¡°I will do whatever you want. Dream doesn¡¯t have to know yet.¡± The blasphemy in that statement makes me mad enough to squeeze her wrist. ¡°I will do whatever you want.¡± Her guise of seduction fades. It¡¯s all desperation now¡ªthe need to feel something. ¡°I will swear by my name and do as you say.¡±


    A flash of inspiration hits. Between her and Jeremy, I would almost be ready to go. They¡¯re both borderline suicidal. With the way life goes, they both might end up taking their own lives without my persuasion. Why waste their lives?


    I let go of her wrist, and I hate the smile that crosses my face, or maybe I don¡¯t because I don¡¯t try to stop it. Something evil and comforting rises from my stomach, crawls through my throat, snakes across my tongue, and comes out in words. ¡°Whatever I want?¡± I tease.


    She sees it. She sees this is how she can get what she wants. Again, the same thing I want. The same thing I get denied¡ªthe feeling that someone really loves her.


    ¡°Yes, Velli. Yes, ask, and I¡¯ll do it. No limits, whatever you like, and it¡¯ll be our secret.¡±


    It¡¯s the easiest thing in the world to raise her chin and bring her to her full height. Her guarded, intimidating presence is gone. Now, it¡¯s only submission. It¡¯s the easiest thing in the world to ask her to swear by her name to obey every order I give her for as long as she lives. It¡¯s the easiest thing in the world to tell her to walk inside, and I watch from behind as she swishes her perfect hips. There¡¯s no rush, no more pressure. I¡¯ve won. Her shoulder would glide against my chest as she passes me, giving me a whiff of her hair, which smells like I imagine heaven would.


    It would be the most relieving thing in the world to have her walk through my house and go straight to my room. I wouldn¡¯t have to fear her judgment. She would be mine to command. No more lies, no more need to impress her.


    I won¡¯t do it.


    She¡¯s another idiot trying to make herself feel better. I¡¯ll never hurt anyone who wants to do that. Even with my hands moving slowly, she flinches, and every muscle on her tightens. I hug her as lightly as I can. She doesn¡¯t reciprocate.


    The girl doesn¡¯t want a hug. She said what she wanted. You¡¯re not man enough to give it to her. You¡ª


    She hugs back. Fate talks, and it doesn¡¯t matter.


    Lue sniffs twice. ¡°What kind of person am I that no one cared?¡±


    I don¡¯t answer. I don¡¯t know.


    ¡°What about my parents? What about my dad? He¡¯s supposed to protect me. I¡¯m his only daughter. How evil am I? Because I would never do that. No matter how bad things got, I would never do that. I loved them. They knew, and they let it go. I was alone and crying on the phone to them, and they let it go. Why didn¡¯t anyone care? I know what I am. I know what I am. I know what I am. I know what I am.¡± Her cries grow deeper every time she speaks it, and her tears bleed through my shirt. ¡°I think that¡¯s why Wulf picked me. I thought it was because I was so pretty, but I think he knew they would all abandon me. Please, please, don¡¯t leave me. I don¡¯t want to be alone. Velli, I swear by my¡ª¡±


    I push her off me and cover her mouth with my hand.


    ¡°Don¡¯t finish that,¡± I warn.


    Her eyes beg¡ªred, shaky things.


    I don¡¯t have the words. What can I say that¡¯s true? What can I say to someone who was truly abandoned by everyone they loved and maybe¡ªthis is my evilest thought¡ªit was their fault? Nothing. So I remove my hand from her mouth, a slow slide across her lips.


    I take her by her hand and bring her to sit on the steps at the entrance to my home. We sit in silence, and when we speak, it¡¯s between bouts of heavy crying sessions. She speaks of her childhood, her best moments, her worst moments, and her friends, living and dead. Stories I will never forget and never tell a soul.


    ¡°You can have my bed tonight.¡± I rise once the conversation reaches its natural end.


    She flinches again, but it¡¯s smaller this time.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the couch.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± she whispers.


    ¡°You can stay as long as you like.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s very nice.¡± Her voice is hoarse from all the crying.


    I touch the doorknob and prepare to open it.


    Division¡¯s soles, Velli. The girl¡¯s gone through hell, and this is what you bring her to. This is a horror scene. This might end up doing more damage than anything Wulf could do.


    Maybe I can show her somewhere else. Maybe I can get a hotel room for her to stay in. My fingers clench with guilt. They tap against the doorknob and grope for an excuse for why she can¡¯t come in and see the disgust that is my life, my house.


    I do find the excuse¡ªsomething about Dream and how she might be jealous. Then I imagine telling a girl who poured her heart out to me to stay out of my house because I¡¯m afraid to show her more about my life. I see her heart, and it tears in the same places it just stitched together.


    You do that to Dream all the time.


    I do. And that¡¯s awful. I refuse to let Dream into certain parts of my life because of old hurts. However, Dream has let me into all of hers. I bet that hurts her like it hurts Lue. I can change all of that starting here. With a deep breath, I open the door to my home. The home I have never let a single friend into.


    The walls bulge from both sides, literally closing in on us. They swell like boils, except instead of pus, they are filled with oxygen. The house breathes. It rattles my mom¡¯s family pictures in its expansion, and the wallpaper rips from the pressure.


    The lumps on the wall still grow bigger, dominating the space in the hallway. Lue shrinks away from it. The lumps have a gross liquid look to them, liquidity like human organs but not human organs because, after all, this is a house. The orbs get closer, and heat exudes from them. I don¡¯t shrink away. I¡¯m used to it.


    The house groans silently, but it¡¯s apparent. The lumps shrink then flatten. They¡¯ll be back, though, like lungs, like breathing. In and out. In and out.


    That¡¯s how the house was sold to my mom and me. Cheap property, though¡ªrelatively. Not worth much. And of course, it¡¯s my fault we live here.


    ¡°A living house!¡± Our landlord saw how excited I was when I said that to my mom as a middle schooler. We needed cheap housing after my dad died, and we were running out of options. I¡¯m sure he raised the price an extra hundred drops a month when he saw how excited we were. When he said living, I thought he meant ¡°living.¡± A house that coddled its inhabitants, a house that sassed its inhabitants, or even a silly evil house that played pranks on its inhabitants would have been preferable. This house just breathes and works. That¡¯s not life.


    It¡¯s embarrassing to have the cheapest house available, a disgusting thing that even many of the homeless would turn down. Lue doesn¡¯t. She gives an understanding shrug, and I show her to my room. I leave her there, not before she gives me a hug.


    The house hushes. Lue snores, and I snuggle on the couch, knowing she will be well rested. Understanding I did a good thing.


    Someone knocks on the door.


    ¡°Hello, boy,¡± the Old Soul says in my head.

 Chapter 44- What Did I Say About Knocks?

    Velli


    I refuse to answer the voice. There¡¯s no way she can be here. She shouldn¡¯t be able to find me yet. Not while I¡¯m bruised, battered, sleep deprived, and in my own house. She can¡¯t be at the right house. How could she know where I live? I remain silent. I couldn¡¯t speak if I wanted to. My body is as still as a frozen lake in winter. Stress-filled sweat can¡¯t even escape my pores. Fear has shut down my body.


    The door creaks open. I didn¡¯t lock it. I¡¯m an idiot. I¡¯m really an idiot. She¡ªno, it¡¯s not her because I couldn¡¯t possibly get that unlucky. The person who is definitely not the Old Soul takes a soft step inside.


    It¡¯s too light to be her! She had heavier steps. You¡¯re lying to yourself, Velli. You¡¯re a liar. Wait, why am I calling myself a liar? Where is Fate?


    ¡°Boy, I said hello.¡± Her voice cracks inside my head, again like a prepubescent boy in a black-and-white TV show speaking with his dad, trying to learn the lesson of the week.


    I don¡¯t answer. She can be convinced she¡¯s in the wrong place¡ªthat she¡¯s in the wrong mind.


    The lights flick on. I flatten myself and push my back against the inside of the couch to make myself invisible to anyone looking from behind it. The effort to hide makes a noise, not a loud one. Maybe she doesn¡¯t hear me. That¡¯s a lot of maybes and a lot of hope for someone with my luck.


    She stops and speaks from somewhere in my hallway. ¡°Division¡¯s Name! This is an ugly house.¡±


    Lue lets out a sleepy groan from inside my room.


    ¡°Now,¡± the Old Soul says. ¡°That does not sound like Velli. That sounds like a girl.¡±


    She walks again. Her footsteps grow louder. They shuffle forward an inch at a time by the sound of it. She¡¯s coming to me, coming to the living room. How could she know? She could teleport here if she wants. Why doesn¡¯t she appear in front of me if it¡¯s really her? I can¡¯t take the pressure. I imagine her breathing on my neck before she snaps it with that cane. Why won¡¯t she teleport? It¡¯s a taunt. I¡¯m being taunted. Or maybe she really can¡¯t walk fast because of the burns on her body. That won¡¯t matter much, though. With one tap of her cane, she can kill me.


    Her footsteps enter the living room. I have no weapons by the couch. They¡¯re hidden in my room. I wasn¡¯t thinking earlier. I broke my routine and plopped onto the couch after my conversation with Lue. How quick is she? Quicker than me with the cane. I can¡¯t run. What¡¯s the plan for this? You always have a plan.


    My brain hurts from the effort, a devastating migraine that produces nothing of value. All I can think is to try not to die like the folks at the tanning salon. That would hurt my mom so much.


    In the darkness, a form appears in front of me. A lighter flicks, a flame glows, and a face is there. It is the Old Soul. The small flame lights her face.


    Most of her hair is gone, and the remaining strands scattered about her scalp are gray. None of the strands go past her neck. They shoot straight up like a porcupine¡¯s spikes. The bald spots on her scalp are bright pink, throbbing, and pus filled. Maybe it¡¯s the night. Maybe it¡¯s fear distorting my vision, but it looks like the bend in her spine is worse than before. It¡¯s too great and makes her look malleable, like the back of a snake, a cobra ready to pounce. The skin on her face lacks layers. The meat beneath her skin looks like it might fall off at any time.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Something sparks in her when she sees me. Her eyebrows¡ªonly two burnt hairs¡ªrise. Her gray eyes flicker, and her barely-hanging-on muscles tighten. Her fingers squeeze the cane in a vise grip. Her whole body turns red with rage.


    ¡°Velli,¡± is all she can say.


    ¡°Old Soul,¡± I reply.


    ¡°He was right.¡± The Old Soul stretches her ancient vocal cords. ¡°How astoundingly awful.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°That little part of your brain that¡¯s come into my life, my dear boy. I¡¯ve been having a lovely chat with Fate.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s impossible.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± she mocks. ¡°Because it¡¯s cruel? If the cruel were impossible, no dead deer would end up on the sides of the road. No, the cruel is not only very possible but very likely for you.¡±


    ¡°Did you get fake tans together?¡±


    Her rage stirs and boils, cultivating into her spitting on me, a gigantic blob that lands on my face and incidentally snuffs out the lighter. Even in darkness, a strategy to escape refuses to form in my head. In less than a second, she flicks the lighter on, illuminating the room again.


    ¡°Fate came to me,¡± she says. ¡°He said to let you know he can do that now because, as he told you, he is getting stronger¡ªand I¡¯m to tell you he told you so. You were never going to win. The sort of mental communication he has probably can¡¯t get past anyone who¡¯s taken an elementary school¨Clevel telepathic blocking class, but as you know, I¡¯m old. There was no telepathic blocking when I was in school. It is your fate to run into the one person who Fate could talk to and who wants to kill you.¡±


    With practiced and plastic calm, I tell her, ¡°D-D-D¡ª¡± That¡¯s not supposed to happen. All I can do is stutter. My guise of comfort cracks.


    ¡°He did say part of you wanted this,¡± she mocks. ¡°Part of you knew you deserved this, a fate worse than death.¡± A wicked smile dances across her face in the flickering light. ¡°You can stop pretending now. You can stop trying quips to slow me down so you can think of something. No more fairy tales for you. No more believing that the little guy wins.¡±


    I¡¯ll die a rebel. I open my mouth to say something clever. She stuffs the rubber end of her cane in there and pushes it all the way back to my throat.


    It¡¯s hard to breathe. I gag and huff at the same time. Old, dirty rubber fills my mouth and assaults my tastebuds. Air. Air. I need air.


    ¡°No more fairy tales,¡± she says again.


    And I agree she wins. Anything she wants, just please, let me breathe.


    ¡°Your friend told me all about how, if you defeat three Legends, you get your powers, the pot of gold at the end.¡±


    How is that even possible? How could she talk to Fate? How real could he be?


    Drool comes from my mouth, and tears pour from my eyes.


    ¡°I will get stronger,¡± she says. ¡°I will go to the Island of Tselem, and you¡¯ll be sacrificed to Tiamat because that¡¯s how we were made. I am made to live forever, eternal and prosperous, and you¡¯re made to be a blubbering fool that will forever be my slave. Your options are simple. So simple now because, as a psych major dropout, I know you¡¯re not that clever. You will either choke to death right here and right now, in the next ten seconds, or you will swear by your own name to do as I say for the rest of your days.¡±


    I try to scream, and it only burns the back of my throat.


    ¡°Seven,¡± she says as soon as I finish my attempted moan. ¡°Six, five, four.¡±


    My vision blackens. I scream again.


    She pulls the cane out of my mouth. The tears come, and I want to vomit. Immediately, I hunch over. That¡¯s not enough air. I lean my head back and take a big huff. The Old Soul grabs my head and forces me to face her.


    ¡°Now swear,¡± she says.


    Her face is so close, I can practically feel her tiny teeth biting into me. I don¡¯t have a plan C.


    ¡°I, Velli Greene, swear by my own name to serve¡ª¡± I swallow hard. ¡°What¡¯s your real name?¡±


    She opens her mouth, and she¡¯s gone, a blur in the wind. Bang! No, not gone. Pushed into the wall with a powerful thud.


    Lue stands in front of me, hand out. ¡°Come on!¡± she yells.


    I take her hand and hop on her back. She flies through the door and into the sky.


    Why are you running, Velli? I¡¯m going to call her again as soon as I get my strength back.

 Chapter 45 -Sleepover

    Velli


    I direct Lue to bring us to the only place in Division¡¯s Hand we can access that guarantees our safety¡ªmy mother¡¯s hospital room. Day two of my challenge, and we¡¯re not doing well.


    We burst in. My mom reads a book to Jeremy as he sits cross-legged and excited below her.


    ¡°Sorry to wake you. I know it¡¯s like three in the morning¡ªwhy are you up?¡±


    ¡°Oh, well, look at God,¡± my mom says. ¡°We were up chatting about life and such. It¡¯s so good having company. God brought you in time for Bible study. I was telling Jeremy first we had the Old Testament then the New Testament, where Jesus comes, then the Third Testament¡ªthe Wet Testament¡ªthe one that¡¯s from after the Rain.¡±


    ¡°But we don¡¯t like the third one,¡± Jeremy adds.


    ¡°That¡¯s right, Jeremy!¡± my mom exclaims and turns back to me. ¡°Look at God¡¯s timing. He brought you here right on time.¡±


    ¡°Well, ¡®Gooood¡¯¡±¡ªI drag out the word to shake her awake to the weight of my sarcasm¡ª¡°just broke through our door at home.¡±


    ¡°We needed a new one anyway.¡± She shrugs.


    ¡°We can¡¯t afford a new one. We can¡¯t afford new anything!¡±


    ¡°Jeremy.¡± My mom smiles at him and moves the still-open Bible from her lap onto the bed. ¡°We¡¯ll continue this later.¡±


    Jeremy nods and takes a seat in the corner.


    ¡°So, Velli, what happened, and who is this lovely lady that is not Dream?¡±


    ¡°Mom!¡±


    ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Lue.¡±


    Let the world be Dried to its core. I cannot take this. My mom then goes on to practically interview Lue, and Jeremy¡¯s no better. He makes awkward attempt after awkward attempt to flirt with her. It results in a numbing, persistent ringing in my ear. I¡¯m bound with idiots, and the ringing is the ticking of a bomb filled with confetti and dynamite destined to destroy me.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Let it. Command me, and I can have the Old Soul meet you somewhere. I can request she kill you quickly. We don¡¯t have to live.


    Fate¡¯s objections snap me from my poor mood.


    That¡¯s the thing though, Fate. I do have to live, and it¡¯s that simple. I promised myself I would change the world, and people are counting on me, so I won¡¯t let them down.


    Awww, it¡¯s going to happen someday soon. I see it. And it will hurt so much. You are going to die. Why not today?


    Because it will happen someday, and so much good could happen between now and then. Before I die, I¡¯ll make sure life was worth living.


    I shush the crowd, and out of respect for my mom, I ask if Lue and I can sleep here tonight for our safety. With extroverted excitement, she agrees. I order more mattresses and bedsheets and pay the accompanying fee. I give the lady at the counter the money with trepidation, knowing how far behind I¡¯ll be to pay Mom¡¯s bill next month. All I can do is calm my nerves with reality.


    It always had to be this way. No matter what. The deal with Prometheus or not, I would be close to financial ruin as someone who¡¯s Cursed and with a sick mother. It always had to be tragedy or majesty. I¡¯m doing the right thing by pursuing majesty.


    Sleep does not come easy to me.


    In the morning, I wake up earlier than everyone and plan. I¡¯m not sure what it is, but it comes to me as simply as the answer to two plus two. I know how to get everything I want in one night. There are two singers, the LWLL¡ªlegends of Division¡¯s Hand¡ªwho I bet I could trick into defending me from the Old Soul, all with the unknowing help of a certain sister to an Heir, Dream Tower. But I won¡¯t leave my best friend out to dry. I¡¯ll take her on a date.


    I¡¯ll take her on a date to see the sirenesque horror that is the LWLL Clique. She¡¯ll rightfully be disgusted by it, put a stop to the show, create a small scuffle, name-drop Rose, and when they beg for mercy, I¡¯ll step in and enter a Cognomen Oath with them. Simple enough.


    I¡¯m sure.


    I discuss with my mastermind group and¡ªhopefully temporary¡ªroommates how to ask Dream on a date to the LWLL concert and leave out the more deceptive details of how I¡¯ll use it. We all decide it¡¯s best to be straightforward. I make a call to get Dream and me tickets to their concert. Then I call Dream and ask to take her on a date to said concert. I believed both the Old Soul and Wulf would kill me at one point. The insane energy I feel because I¡¯m alive allows the words to ease right out of me, and by some miracle, Dream agrees. I¡¯m casual about it and tell her to dress up, the place will be fancy. The rest of the morning, I spend planning a date.

 Chapter 46- Date Night

    Velli


    Sitting in my suit with my feet up on her coffee table as Dream changes in her room fills me with a weird sort of glee¡ªa glee that¡¯s rare for me, glee that extends from a hopeful future. I adjust my bow tie, a black and simple thing. Longer ties are better, but my father died before he could teach me how to tie a tie. I¡¯ve learned through videos since then, but I¡¯m still not confident in my ability, so I stick to bow ties.


    You shouldn¡¯t be confident in them, either. It¡¯s crooked. Push it to the left.


    I lean back and relax. Fate never actually wants to help. If he says it¡¯s crooked, that means it¡¯s finally good. Everything is good. I tap my pockets. Yep, phone in one, wallet in the back pocket, and a carrot in another. Everything¡¯s good. A crackling campfire plays on the TV and creates a warm, homey ambiance. I help myself to a mint from the bowl on the table, toss it inside my mouth, and suck on the peppermint goodness. I close my eyes in ecstasy. I¡¯m so at peace I could fall asleep.


    I do fall asleep. A deep, dark blanket of tranquility covers me. Eventually, something taps my shoulder. I yawn, nice and long. There¡¯s no rush tonight. I¡¯ve planned it perfectly, so I enjoy every moment. I stretch my arms and flex my hips. Those light fingers tap me again. Dream¡¯s touch. When I open my eyes, she stands in front of me. My heart races. She¡¯s in a sky-blue dress that touches the floor.


    Same place your jaw is. Have some self-respect.


    It¡¯s surprisingly low-cut and hugs her body. Something comes over me. I stand, grab her hand, and spin her like a ballerina.


    ¡°You¡¯re gorgeous,¡± I say against my will. Fate, are you doing this?


    No, idiot, you¡¯ve gone ditzy over the girl.


    She responds giddily. What¡¯s going on? I¡¯ve never used the word ¡°giddy¡± in my life, but that¡¯s what she is. Her cheeks rise in a smile, and her eyes, painted with sky-blue eyeshadow, squint, so I press on.


    ¡°All of you,¡± I say midspin. She faces me now, and I tell her, ¡°Sit with me.¡± With the same care botanists use to dissect flowers, I bring her to my lap.


    Gross, Velli. She does not want to be this close to you.


    Dream wiggles her hips on me and snuggles closer. ¡°I look good, huh?¡±


    I strategize how I can do something like look her body up and down, take in all her beauty, and dwell in this irreplaceable moment with an irreplaceable girl, then blow my cool, minty breath in her face and say, ¡°You¡¯re all right,¡± and we¡¯ll both know what I mean.


    But Fate¡¯s right. My ability to implement a plan is gone. All I have is raw honesty. ¡°You look great¡± is all I can actually say between a smile and big chomps of my mint.


    We both laugh. Her hazel eyes drop to my lips. Her lipstick is pale pink. She squeezes my thigh. My right hand travels down her back.


    The doorbell rings.


    Dream jumps to her feet. My heart leaps.


    ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± She turns to me with a sarcastic wink. ¡°We should open it, right?¡±


    Love¡¯s spell is momentarily broken. I¡¯m able to stand, and I¡¯m back in control. I don¡¯t answer her. Instead, I stroll to the door.


    She follows, face perking with happy, anxious curiosity. ¡°Velli?¡±


    I pull the door open and bow to Dream like a knight for his princess. ¡°Your carriage awaits.¡±


    She steps out into the moonlit darkness and freeing cool air. In front of her stands a carriage, a literal carriage, straight from the fairy tales. There are levels to transporters. The one¡¯s that anyone can order from an app are basic. This is a transporter for the rich.


    The carriage is white, circular, and with an exterior made of fine white wires. If it rained, it would be an awful experience, but tonight, the weather is flawless, cloudless. The only thing we have to share the sky with is the moon. A single black horse stands in front of the house. It moves in place, a bit skittish, which shows off its rainbow horseshoes.


    Dream runs to pet the big, beautiful beast. ¡°I wish we had a carrot for you.¡±


    I pull the treat from my pocket and toss it to her. Her jaw drops, and I think she realizes how much planning went into tonight.


    ¡°Thank you, thank you, thank you.¡± She catches it, feeds it to him, and pets his mane. ¡°Good boy,¡± she says, as the horse does the impossible job of eating a carrot. ¡°Um, Velli¡­ how can you afford all this?¡±


    ¡°It came with the ticket.¡±


    ¡°How much was this ticket?¡± The horse takes a big chomp as she stops petting it.


    ¡°Watch your fingers,¡± I say.


    She lets go of the carrot in time, allowing the horse to finish the rest of it. ¡°Oh, hungry boy,¡± she consoles him. ¡°Good boy.¡± She comes back to me again. This time a little scared. ¡°This had to be a lot. I don¡¯t know if you can do all this for me.¡±


    ¡°It was free.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m clever, remember?¡± I take her hand and walk her to the carriage. ¡°Not every secret is bad, right?¡±


    ¡°Right¡­¡±


    I place her on the cushioned seats.


    She wiggles, searching for the right level of comfort while still remaining dignified. This time, when she does her rough impression of Rose, I don¡¯t get nervous. ¡°Right,¡± she confirms with a nod. ¡°Where¡¯s the driver?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just us,¡± I say then yell, ¡°Take off!¡±


    The horse leaps in the air, and the carriage follows as smooth as butter. The ride itself didn¡¯t even register the change. Without much effort, the carriage has us in the air then right outside the arena.


    ¡°Oh, that was quick.¡± She doesn¡¯t rush to get out.


    ¡°Yeah, the horse is technically a teleporter.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s fine.¡± She bears more grace in her pose than her sister as she offers me her hand. ¡°Will you help me out, Prince Velli?¡±


    Prince Velli, I like that. ¡°Of course.¡± I open the door and step out myself before guiding her down.


    A shady figure in a suit stands outside the large steps to the auditorium. He stares us down. I know him. I ignore him. I¡¯ll address him later. Long gray steps lead to the dome where our entertainment will be for the evening, steps made to fit the masses that pile onto them. Yet tonight, all that space isn¡¯t necessary. No scalpers even sell tickets, real or fake. I¡¯m sure they did at one point, but these tickets are too valuable. Selling them is an easy way to have them ripped from a person¡¯s hands.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Yes, tonight, it¡¯s fairly empty. Only small groups of people, men mostly, in their best outfits walk toward the dome. For the men who come alone, they look down, solemn yet energized. The anxiousness of those who come in groups is apparent. They make bad jokes, and laughs follow easily. The guys here with their wives or girlfriends have a special look, too, all deceptive smiles that show they feel they¡¯re getting away with something.


    Our shady friend in the suit stands to the far left, away from everybody. He stares Dream and me down. I guess I should talk to him.


    ¡°Dream, can you head inside? I need to speak to a friend of mine.¡±


    ¡°Okay, Prince Velli,¡± she says.


    I watch her walk up those big gray steps. Her heels do wonders for her. She turns around to smile and catches me midstare. I don¡¯t care. I smile back at her. She takes another step up and looks back to see I¡¯m still watching.


    What else is worth looking at?


    Her pale lipstick looks great when she smiles. She motions for me to go talk to my friend. I motion for her to keep walking. She moves her hand in a shooing motion. I move my finger in a circle motion for her to turn around. She shoos again. I spin my finger. She shoos faster. I spin faster. We¡¯re really just playing our own game of sign language at this point.


    We both stop at the same time, knowing exactly when to quit.


    ¡°See you soon!¡± I yell.


    ¡°See ya, Prince Velli.¡± Dream heads upstairs.


    I don¡¯t move. I don¡¯t want to quit. She smells so good tonight. I don¡¯t know scents, but it¡¯s not fruity like she always smells. It¡¯s strong, mature, and adult. I hope she¡¯s free after the show.


    ¡°Hey, hey, hey, Velli, what in the dried, moldy, wet piece of earth is this?¡± Carreon Bane, the mysterious figure who was waiting for me, says.


    I snap back to reality. If a bus had hit me before then, I might not have noticed. I¡¯m lucky Carreon doesn¡¯t want to kill me. Well, he does. I guess I¡¯m lucky he didn¡¯t.


    ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡± I ask with low-effort fake innocence to torture him.


    ¡°You know the problem. I said I¡¯d swing you a few tickets to get my phone back but you couldn¡¯t bring Dream. You said you were bringing a side piece.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Carreon¡¯s irate. He jumps up and down, pointing toward the door where Dream walks through. ¡°She¡¯s right there!¡±


    ¡°Yes, Carreon. I lied to you to get the tickets.¡±


    Carreon smacks the back of his neck in disbelief. He meets my eyes and shrugs about five times before finding the right words. ¡°What did I do to you?¡±


    ¡°You can call me bad karma for everyone who couldn¡¯t get back at you.¡±


    He steps forward, angry.


    I raise my hand to stop him. ¡°Now, Carreon. Dream also knows who got her the ticket,¡± I lie. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t want to upset her by messing up her date¡¯s outfit, would you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°No, especially not tonight.¡±


    Why tonight? Doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯ll go with it. ¡°Yes, Carreon, especially not tonight. Meet me back here after the show. I want to tell you something, and I¡¯ll give you your phone back then.¡± With that, I turn on my heel like I¡¯m the boss in a movie.


    ¡°Wait¡ªhey, why can¡¯t you tell me now?¡±


    ¡°Because I have a lady waiting for me.¡± I don¡¯t look back as he whines.


    Dream is outside the auditorium doors. She speaks with someone who¡¯s probably famous. Their back is to me. The lounge area outside the stadium has an all-red carpet. Large glass windows show the city life and allow the moonlight inside. It glows on the circular bar taking up much of the space. A server in a black tie and white shirt mixes a drink to make something light green for a lady in a red dress. She doesn¡¯t look as good as Dream. Not her fault¡ªno one does.


    I walk toward Dream and give her a small wave in greeting. She waves back. The person she speaks with turns around. It¡¯s Ivan, cousin to the Heirs. Ivan, with his extra eyes on his chin and forehead that never stop moving. They judge every inch of me. His necklace¡ªmaybe a dozen blinking stolen eyes bound together by something sticky¡ªblinks twice before locking onto my face.


    Ivan, known for stealing someone¡¯s eyeballs and adding them to his collection for a first impression if they dare look him in the eye. Ivan, known for stealing someone¡¯s eyeballs for a first impression if they dared to not look him in the eye. A horrible catch-22.


    I¡¯m still some distance away. I can pick my poison. My eyes dance to take in every detail of him, trying to determine where to look. The eye on his forehead and the eye on his chin consider me, going up then down. He wears a large furry coat despite the temperature in the lounge area being cool, not cold. Maybe he¡¯s sick. He looks sick.


    His gray skin shivers as he adjusts his jacket. Ivan doesn¡¯t bother wearing attire for the occasion. He looks like he¡¯s going for a hunt and wants to blend in with the tree bark. His signature belt of gold pouches hangs at his hips. Everyone jokes that he wears them to weigh himself down. Otherwise, a gust of wind would whisk him away. Even under the pressure of the moment, I chuckle at the thought. No one tells this joke in front of him.


    His hair is long but thinning and reminds me of a witch from a children¡¯s cartoon. The ugly version. The kind that tricked children into her house and roasted them alive, mumbling spells the whole time, speaking in a voice that sounds like hisses.


    I¡¯m too close. I have to pick something to look at. The eyes on his necklace bounce up and down, judging me, then bulge wide and interested. I choose to look in his eyes. If I¡¯m going to have my eyes plucked out, I¡¯ll have to do it man to man.


    Our eyes meet.


    I extend my hand for him to shake.


    ¡°Uncle Ivan,¡± Dream says with the cheer and veracity of someone who did not know or notice that her ¡°Uncle Ivan¡± is insane. Dream¡¯s lack of knowledge of the state of the Heirs and their ilk knows no bounds. ¡°This is my very¡±¡ªshe stops and shoots me a childish smile after biting her lip¡ª¡°good friend, Velli.¡±


    He shakes my hand. It¡¯s a flimsy handshake, and his fingers tap against my skin. Doesn¡¯t matter, better than having my eyeballs plucked out.


    ¡°Hello,¡± I say. ¡°Dream speaks highly of you.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t. I hate when she talks about the Heirs, so she doesn¡¯t bring them up around me.


    ¡°Hello.¡± His voice is as raspy as the witch he resembles. He swings his hand through the air and points his long fingernails at Dream. ¡°Oh, is that Dream? I thought that was Rose with half her legs chopped off and shoes glued to her stubs. Because she¡¯s so tiny, y¡¯know.¡± He laughs at his own weird joke. His black gums reveal themselves, and his whole body shakes with mirth.


    Dream playfully punches him. The room flinches with the strike. The bartender stops pouring his drink and steps away from the counter. An older couple holds on tight to their glasses, and a father steps in front of his son. We all wait for Ivan¡¯s approval, any sign that his rage won¡¯t be unleashed on the rest of us. Ivan laughs, and the room breathes.


    ¡°She might be short, but she¡¯s tough,¡± I say. ¡°Isn¡¯t she¡­? Sorry, how exactly do you address an Heir?¡±


    ¡°The handshake is fine,¡± he says with every eye locked on me. ¡°Velli, are you the one who bought tickets for Dream¡­ and you to be here?¡±


    Here comes the fun part. He will squirm on the inside.


    ¡°No, ha ha, I¡¯m not sure I could ever afford that. A friend of mine gave me tickets.¡±


    Ivan raises his eyebrow, and every eye on his head and necklace dances, searching the room. It makes my skin crawl, but I¡¯m sure not to show it.


    ¡°Oh, a friend? Who do you know here?¡± He steps back and, with a wave of his hand, points to the crowd.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯ll have to forgive me, but he made me promise not to tell anyone. I told him I was bringing Dream, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°He knew you were bringing Dream?¡± The attempt to hide his anger is pitiful.


    ¡°Yeah, he initially thought I would buy a ticket for myself, but then I said I have a date. He asked who, and I said Dream Tower. She loves any excuse to dress up.¡±


    Dream shrugs, smiles, and relaxes in oblivious ecstasy.


    ¡°After,¡± I say. ¡°I debated the price with him for a bit, and he agreed.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Ivan smiles, only showing half the teeth in his mouth. ¡°A ¡®he,¡¯ you said.¡± Ivan contemplates. ¡°Well, I hope you enjoy your night. I have to handle some arrangements.¡± He doesn¡¯t wait for us to acknowledge his departure. He leaves, heading away from the auditorium.


    ¡°It was nice meeting you, Ivan!¡± I call out to him, trying to sound genuine.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m supposed to be here,¡± Dream says.


    ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be right next to me, Dream.¡±


    I¡¯m proud of myself for the line, and apparently, so is Dream because she interlocks her arm with mine. I try not to act too excited.


    My head whips. My body collapses. A buzzing follows. Everything¡¯s blurry and flashes by me. Dream¡¯s above me, and she looks at me pitifully, scared for me. Someone knocked me down. It was Ivan.


    Look in Dream¡¯s eye, Velli. Something is wrong with you to your deformed core. She sees it. The romance, the suits, the carriage, none of that can hide it.


    ¡°You call me Heir Ivan!¡± Ivan yells. ¡°Not Ivan, it¡¯s Heir Ivan! Do you hear me?¡± All of his eyes are red. He¡¯s on the verge of tears. The eyes on his necklace rattle as he beats his chest. He leans forward, furious.


    Dream yells back at him. She swears, flails her arms, and gets in his face. Her anger outdoes his. She presses forward, and Ivan leans back. He¡¯s satisfied, though. His eyes dart left and right. The room is silent and afraid of him. They¡¯re all quiet, and that makes him happy. He slinks backward and squeezes his neck into his shoulders like a sheepish kid who got caught stealing candy.


    Look at her, Velli. Yeah, she¡¯s flailing her arms and screaming for you, but that¡¯s because she¡¯s embarrassed. Embarrassed to have to be seen with someone like you.


    No, she¡¯s¡ª


    Enough, Velli.


    It is what it is.


    I am what I am.


    I live how I live.


    Right, Velli? And how you live is always beneath them.

 Chapter 47- LWLL

    Velli


    The night¡¯s ruined. Dream consoles me the best she can. It¡¯s all lies, niceties, and pity. She could never love pity. We sit in our seats, one of those auditorium boxes separated from everybody and high up. Six seats occupy our box, three in the front and three more in the back.


    We sit in the back with a couple in front of us, and to the right of that couple¡ªby pure, unadulterated misfortune¡ªis Ivan. The man beside Ivan almost sits on his girlfriend¡¯s lap to avoid contact with him. Ivan leans forward against the chestnut railing, his focus on the show. I want to push him over. He¡¯s ruined everything I¡¯ve built with Dream. I won¡¯t let this go.


    Dream has again been forced to look at me like a pathetic thing. However, I don¡¯t have to feel pathetic. I defeated Wulf. I can get revenge.


    That thought is the only thing that allows me to relax, and I manage to semi-enjoy the environment for what it is. Despite the packed house of five thousand or so, the performance is exclusive and supposed to be secret, but I make it my business to know about these things. Tickets and performances are rare, and about half the time, tickets are given to someone in an attempt to kill them. Other times, tickets are given out for the wealthy and self-disciplined because the women¡¯s performance is actually spectacular. The ladies call themselves LWLL, but it¡¯s pronounced ¡°Lill.¡±


    In the front rows, people throw their wallets as a tribute to the women. Watches, necklaces, and pieces of themselves. Freshly pulled fingernails, toenails, and a tongue smack the stage floor.


    In a row beneath us on the floor, a man¡¯s skeleton pulls itself out from his body. Blood leaks down, and a few organs still pump as it walks down to the stage. The walk is awkward, dripping, and reminds me of bad Claymation. Once below the stage, it swears to serve LWLL for the rest of its life. However long that is for a skeleton. The old body lies there lifeless like a snake¡¯s skin except with eyes, a mouth, and friends that will miss him next time they gather. Only a few in his row notice his absence.


    Some think the L in LWLL is for the legendary Lilith of Jewish legend and call the girls such. They¡¯re incorrect. Their real name is based on another Hebrew legend¡ªLot¡¯s wife. Their real name is Lot¡¯s Wife¡¯s Last Look. Referencing the last look Lot¡¯s wife had on Sodom and Gomorrah before she was turned into a pillar of salt. The name suits them.


    To avoid this gaze, there¡¯s one rule. Don¡¯t look directly at them; look through binoculars or glasses. Any sort of surface obscuring their details to even the most minor of degrees would allow you to resist their charms and enjoy their music, which is unbelievably legendary. It lives up to the hype now. A powerful tune, inspiring, it makes me want to plot my revenge.


    They don¡¯t use instruments. They only use their feet to make the sounds they want. Right now, it¡¯s a thumping beat that sounds like heavy 808s. They mourn in a beautiful chorus about their heartbreak. The ladies switch between lead singer and backup with flawless precision. If the soul-punching lyrics don¡¯t get the listener, the delivery will. It¡¯s a perfect, melodic variety, dragging words like soul music then speeding through it like rap. Beautiful describes everything about them. I peek over at Dream occasionally to give her a reassuring touch that she is still the best part of my night.


    I refocus on the dancing girls and their music. Both women are curvy, with dark hair, one about six foot two, the other five foot three. They never stand still. Their bright bodysuits paint the all-black backdrop of the stage. Badi¡¯s in vibrant pink. Nage is in sunlike yellow.


    The song ends. No one applauds because the new one begins in a flawless transition.Stolen novel; please report.


    Badi drops into a squat and sings into the faces of those who journeyed closer to the stage, including the skeleton. Everyone near the stage left their binoculars to see the purity of LWLL up close. I¡¯m far enough away, if I drop my binoculars and¡ªI shake my head and look anywhere but the stage for a minute.


    LWLL is the perfect trap to set for an arrogant young person that could be a potential rival. Tell them it¡¯s a peace offering or a show of good faith, or make it a challenge. It¡¯s dangerous to back down from a challenge in Division¡¯s Hand. They come and enjoy the show, knowing of the LWLL¡¯s legend. They want to test themselves to see if they¡¯re one of the chosen to resist. They¡¯re curious. ¡°What is so great about them that it makes men and women give up their lives? What kind of beauty is to die for?¡± They discover the answer.


    Dream isn¡¯t learning the answer. She¡¯s only horrified by the result.


    She twists in her chair. I want to comfort her, but again¡ª


    She wouldn¡¯t care. She pities you. She¡¯s embarrassed by you.


    Besides, this is all part of the plan. Dream will be furious and go down to break this up. It will cause a fight. LWLL may be decent entertainers, but a public display of striking Dream in front of so many witnesses¡­? Yeah, the Heirs will come down hard on LWLL, ending this destructive nonsense once and for all, and I¡¯ll slip in at the last minute to protect LWLL from the Heirs, which Dream will ensure, then LWLL will owe me. And further, the concertgoers of varying degrees of power will be upset that their performances will be no more. They will want to know how Dream ¡°Bleeding Heart¡± Tower even got in. That¡¯s when I will blackmail Carreon and make him swear by his name to serve me as my next sacrifice to get to the Island of Tselem.


    Ivan enjoys the show with a wicked smile. His binoculars are special. They have tubes covering each eye. His necklace rests on the rail, covered by a simple handkerchief.


    He can see through the eyes of his necklace.


    Well, what if I just knock the cloth off by accident? A simple tap on my way to the bathroom, and he¡¯ll be transfixed. Going past the eyes is the only way out. Dream has her eye on me. She always does. So when I knock it off, he¡¯ll be exposed for a couple of seconds before Dream comes rushing down to save him. Who knows what he¡¯ll give up in that time?


    And he won¡¯t kill me, either. He may strike me again, but I got revenge on someone Heir adjacent. No other living being can say that.


    I stand and pardon myself to pass Dream. One small step for me and one giant pain for all who I step on. She touches my hand as I leave her. One stair separates my row from the one in front of me. The boyfriend is still pressed into the lap of his beloved, frightened of Ivan.


    Ivan doesn¡¯t even see me coming. His necklace hangs right by the door. In fact, it would be hard to not knock it off.


    A loud metal clang sounds on stage as the beat switches. I take a peek. The spotlight widens as the girls spin away from each other. They move so fast, their dresses look like spinning flowers. I fumble for my binoculars. I don¡¯t have them. My heart drops.


    I don¡¯t need them. My heart races.


    As the girls dance, they switch dresses in a blink and never stop spinning. I don¡¯t care about the dresses. I don¡¯t care about the girls. They¡¯re just bags of flesh. We are all bags of flesh. Their bags of flesh give me euphoria and rapture.


    This isn¡¯t art they¡¯re making. It¡¯s better. I will never read another book, watch another movie, or look at another painting if it means I can stay here. Stay with them in this communion. I grab the railing. I want to get closer. Ten-foot drop¡­ I¡¯ll live.


    Everything makes so much sense. This is reality. This is what matters. Not the girls. I don¡¯t care about them but their dance. It¡¯s revealing, raw, and real. I leap on top of the railing. It makes sense to serve them, to worship them. They wouldn¡¯t be complicated like Dream. I only need to be in their presence to be happy, simply their presence. They won¡¯t speak to me. I won¡¯t speak to them. They won¡¯t seek to know me, and I won¡¯t have to lie to them. And where is Fate? He¡¯s silent, finally silent. Listen to the silence in your head. Do you hear it? Only the sound of your ears thumping. Imagine for me, what if that thumping gave you bliss?


    The pain in my cheek is gone. The girls don¡¯t care. Ivan smacked me around. They don¡¯t care that I secretly don¡¯t believe in myself or can barely afford to live. They actually don¡¯t care. Not like Dream, not like my crush, because LWLL doesn¡¯t care about me¡ªthey are only here for elation. I¡¯m not at the bottom anymore, and I don¡¯t care about the top. Ivan, Rose, and the other Heirs don¡¯t exist around here. I leap off the railing, and the bliss of their presence enraptures me.


    I¡¯m flying. I¡¯m crashing.

 Chapter 48- Fire in a Fall Night

    Velli


    My body aches like I¡¯ve done a couple of days straight of full-body workouts. I lie on the sidewalk and try to sit up only for my right shoulder to let me know this isn¡¯t a good idea. I ignore it and sit up anyway to take a look around. The auditorium burns. A few mourners in front of it are on their knees, and they wail for its loss.


    Dream sits beside me on my left. She¡¯s unharmed for the most part. She¡¯s covered in ash, and so am I. Her dress is a little torn on the side, and her hair¡¯s a mess, but she¡¯s looked worse. So the plan worked, overall.


    ¡°Good riddance, right?¡± I playfully elbow her.


    She¡¯s not amused. She holds herself, knees to her chest, and doesn¡¯t look at me. I scoot beside her and put my arm around her.


    She pushes me away. Playfully? We¡¯ve done this before, so I reach out to give her side a little tickle pinch, as I always do when she¡¯s fake mad. She can never resist laughing. Before I can touch her, she smacks my hand away.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. What happened?¡±


    ¡°Velli?¡± Her eyes are red, and one side is swollen with a painful-looking dark purple. Her cheeks are not dry. She¡¯s done a lot of crying. ¡°You knew I wouldn¡¯t like that place. Didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Well, yeah. That¡¯s not something hard to guess¡­¡±


    ¡°But you brought me here, for a¡­¡± She wants to say the word ¡°date.¡± She doesn¡¯t. Something bitter holds her back. Resentment? She opens her mouth to speak then closes it twice. ¡°And you knew I¡¯d do something to destroy it¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± I don¡¯t like this line of questioning. Something stands between us now. I can¡¯t reach her.


    ¡°Everything¡¯s a plan to you. Everything¡¯s a scheme. Nothing¡¯s just nice? Nothing¡¯s just out of love?¡± She cuts herself off. ¡°I don¡¯t want to see you again.¡±


    No. No way. The words are too final, and nothing should be final between us, except us. The gap between us now is solid, impenetrable.


    ¡°Wait, wait, wait, what do you mean? I still did nice things for you. I do nice things for you.¡±


    ¡°I could have died tonight. You could have died tonight!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s every night for us.¡±


    ¡°Yes, we make that choice that we could die. We work as a team. We.¡± She smacks her bruised cheek and winces in pain. ¡°I didn¡¯t have a choice about tonight. When you fell, I didn¡¯t know what happened. I was angry and confused, and I just leaped after you. Your head was bleeding, and I kept screaming for help, and no one heard or maybe no one cared, and I got mad. I tried to hurt Lilith, Lot¡¯s Wife, or LWLL, whatever they are. For you! I was upset that they hurt you! I got absolutely stomped, stepped on, spit on, then¡ª¡± Now she looks me straight in my eyes, with zero love, only accusatory malice. ¡°You got what you planned, didn¡¯t you? I called Rose. She killed them, though that¡¯s not what I wanted. I helped kill people. That hurts me, Velli. You got what you wanted.¡± Dream points to the burning building.


    ¡°Dream, I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t think¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, no, you thought long and hard. That¡¯s all you do. You think, and you scheme. You don¡¯t care if I get hurt.¡±


    ¡°No, I would never¡­¡± I have to stop her because it¡¯s not true. Oh, Division, it¡¯s not true.


    ¡°I was stomped on, spit on, and beaten!¡± she repeats.


    ¡°I made a mistake. One time, I wasn¡¯t clever enough.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t care about me. You don¡¯t fill me in on your little schemes, your little plans. All you think about is you.¡±


    It¡¯s my turn to be accusatory. ¡°That¡¯s not true. That¡¯s never been true. All I think about is you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, please, get out of my face.¡± She gets up and walks away.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°You know this is all for you and my mom, right? Everything, all of this, and neither of you are ever satisfied.¡±


    She waves her hand, shooing me away without even looking back.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think about you,¡± I mock. ¡°You¡¯re all I think about.¡±


    She looks back, lips in a tight line, and her eyes drill into me, a loveless glare.


    ¡°Dream!¡± I yell and try to reach her. ¡°This is what I have to do. If I want my mom to live, if I want you¡­ I heard that call with Rose.¡± I slam my hand against my chest with every word, imploring her to hear.


    ¡°What call?¡±


    ¡°The one after the first night we became friends. Where you and Rose laughed at me just because of what I am. How¡¯s that supposed to make me feel? What am I supposed to do after hearing that?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not¡­¡± She searches for the words. ¡°Velli, that¡¯s¡­¡± She can¡¯t find them.


    ¡°I did this for you because I don¡¯t want to lose you.¡±


    She takes in the scene, the burning building, the dead bodies, the wailing, and she walks away.


    ¡°Dream! I¡¯m sorry! I didn¡¯t have a choice. It¡¯s do this or die, Dream. Dream!¡±


    I call out to her and receive no answer. She walks through a black portal and disappears from my life.


    I don¡¯t know how long I stand there, waiting for some miracle, for her to come back or something. It¡¯s dumb. She¡¯s not coming. I know that, but I have to wait here. My plan isn¡¯t done. I¡¯m numb.


    Large wings bat beside me, and Carreon lands. ¡°Kid, Velli, ah, man, ah, man.¡±


    I don¡¯t look at him.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got me in trouble now. Everyone wants to know how Dream got a ticket. The girls¡¯ managers¡ªtwo people you don¡¯t want to meet¡ªtheir fans, everybody! You won¡¯t tell, will you, man? They won¡¯t go after you because your Dream¡¯s main man, but me, oh, what they¡¯ll do to me.¡±


    I don¡¯t respond. I don¡¯t have the energy.


    He leaps in front of me and shakes me, demanding answers. ¡°Hey, man, hey, man. Are you there?¡±


    My body rattles, but it¡¯s empty.


    Carreon¡¯s eyes glow bright yellow in the dark, and he stands with his mouth open, waiting with a pseudosmile for an answer. All I have left is the plan, so I let it come from my mouth. It¡¯s like putting water on a building burnt to ashes.


    ¡°What would they do to you, Carreon?¡± I ask. ¡°Describe it to me in vivid detail.¡±


    He does. I don¡¯t listen. Don¡¯t care. Doesn¡¯t matter. I don¡¯t respond to him, either, when he pauses to signify his story¡¯s finished. He keeps talking, restating possibilities and stressing the awful things they could do to him.


    I wait exactly ten minutes, telling time by the position of the stars. The first step is to find the Big Dipper then the North Star. Let the Big Dipper serve as an hour hand and mentally draw out a twenty-four-hour clock.


    At ten minutes, I wait for his next pause and say my lines. ¡°Carreon, Dream knows you gave her the ticket.¡± He¡¯s finally speechless. ¡°She won¡¯t tell if I tell her not to.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d do that for me?¡±


    ¡°I said ¡®if,¡¯ Carreon. The only way any of those horrors won¡¯t happen to you is if you swear by your name to obey me for one year.¡±


    He whines about the unfairness of it all, how he was set up. I wait. Still not listening, still looking to the stars as time passes. Dream would have loved them. The plan is perfect, so this can only end one way. Carreon agrees. He swears a Cognomen Oath, and he leaves me too.


    As I stand alone, a piece of glass rises in front of me and stops at my neck. Fate appears, holding the glass. His hand shakes, and his face¡ªmy skeletal face¡ªis humorless. He¡¯s as naked as a human can be¡ªstrips of flesh are gone, bone and meat exposed.


    You have to ask me to do it.


    ¡°What are you? What are you really?¡±


    The last one who cares about you. The last one left who truly understands you.


    I don¡¯t move from the knife¡¯s point. I let it graze me, nicking my skin.


    ¡°Why can¡¯t you just kill me?¡±


    I can¡¯t. That¡¯s not how I work. I can never kill you directly.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Why is the night black?


    ¡°I get where you¡¯re going, but there are actual logical reasons for that¡ª¡±


    And I¡¯m sure there are logical reasons for me that neither of us can understand. None of that changes the absolute misery you feel right now. Fate¡¯s voice is high and emotional with cracks. The shaking of his hand escalates. The glass carves more bloodless scratches across my Adam¡¯s apple. And the fact is, this misery will not end. I¡¯m right. This ends with us wishing we had died sooner.


    ¡°Maybe, but if I choose to die, I¡¯m a hypocrite, and I will owe Anne Graves an apology. I have an unofficial gamble with life that makes it worth living. I believe someone like me¡ªCursed, an idiot, and with the world against him¡ªcan make something of himself. I will see this through and learn how it plays out.¡±


    Fate breaks down and cries one horrible, pitying howl. I realize he either knows me well or he really is part of me. That level of mourning is too heavy to fake.


    ¡°Good news for you, Fate. I will gamble that tonight.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t have the strength to speak. He only looks up at me.


    ¡°Fate. If I command you¡­ if I command you to go to the Old Soul¡ªso you do it by my will and not yours¡ªcould you do it now?¡±


    He nods.


    ¡°Then go. I¡¯m tired, and I need an answer. Is the Old Soul right? Does this end with me dying alone and full of regrets? Give her every advantage she wants. Be clear that it¡¯s a fight.¡±


    Of course, of course. Where should we meet?


    ¡°Tell her to meet me in the Fairy-Tale Forest.¡±


    Fate rolls his eyes.


    ¡°At midnight.¡±


    He drools, thick blankets of slobber falling over his dropped jaw. Do you know¡ªHe slaps a hand over his mouth to stop saying what he was thinking.


    ¡°Yes, Fate. I¡¯m fully aware of what goes on in the Fairy-Tale Forest at night. My plan is for creatures that attack her to weaken her so much I can defeat her, or we¡¯ll both die there, eaten by the forest nightmares.¡±


    Fate¡¯s body slowly evaporates into mist. Then he stops halfway through. Tragedy or majesty, Velli.


    Tragedy or majesty, Fate.

 Chapter 49- The Fairy-Tale Forest

    Velli


    Parents push, bargain with, and drag their kids out of the Fairy-Tale Forest. The transporter drops me off on the edge, so I¡¯m a silent witness to it all. A beautiful arch of flowers sits as a perfect exit for many who have just had a wonderful day. Midnight¡¯s ominous approach causes the flowers to shed their petals over a giggling young couple that swings their lanterns and holds hands. I try to be happy for them. It doesn¡¯t work. They look like happy ghosts leaving another world, the way the light from the Fairy-Tale Forest sun shines on them then the dark of the real world¡¯s night takes over.


    In the sky, a second, dying, evening-orange sun with a cartoonish white smile, black freckles, and eyes that never grow weary mouths, ¡°Bye, see ya later. It¡¯s closing time.¡±


    The crowd follows the dirt trail through the flower arch and past me. A few toddlers whine and refuse to leave. Eventually, parents will hurl their kids out of the forest if they need to. I laugh at the thought, though it¡¯s true. No one wants to be here when the Fairy-Tale Forest changes.


    My transporter offers to stay and wait for me. He thinks I won¡¯t be much longer because it¡¯s so close to midnight. I lie and tell him I¡¯m meeting a friend who¡¯s another transporter.


    I¡¯m a good liar, but it¡¯s too close to midnight. He yells my name and offers me a discounted rate on the transport away from here. He tells me not to throw away my life on a dare or for curiosity¡¯s sake.


    My social battery is tapped from the night¡¯s events. I don¡¯t bother speaking with him anymore. He¡¯s served his purpose.


    I head to the forest for my destiny or defeat. Maybe it¡¯s the same thing. The transporter¡¯s voice grows fainter, fainter, and is finally gone. And yet I find no peace. The stench of truth in his warnings still makes my breathing shaky.


    Darkness grows and feeds my fear. The cartoonlike sun isn¡¯t enough to give light to the forest. The large trees block it out, almost making it like a rainforest canopy, except these trees are dark green. The beautiful smell of fresh air, grass, and dirt reminds me of a good hike. It fills my lungs and mind, taking me back to days with the Happy Doomed, days that can¡¯t happen anymore.


    I peek behind me. The transporter is gone as well as the last resistant toddler. It¡¯s me and the fairy tales now, and they¡¯re almost gone. The kindest fairy tales from history hold lamps as they prepare to take their exit from the forest. A knight in full body armor, a princess in a pink gown that doesn¡¯t touch the ground, Red Riding Hood, and three pigs all walk around the woods with a sense of urgency.


    A lantern falls by my feet.


    ¡°This brings back memories, doesn¡¯t it?¡± a loud-talking brown donkey says right beside me.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Memories.¡± His enthusiasm doubles. ¡°This brings back memories. One thing about me, ol¡¯ Eddie, I never forget a face.¡± He closes his eyes and walks around me in a circle. ¡°You came here when you were a little thing and tried to ride me, then¡­ then¡­ you tried to steal the gingerbread man and put him right in your pocket. You would have gotten away with it, but Goldilocks knew he was missing. They were newlyweds then.¡±


    ¡°Wow.¡± I blink and shake my head in disbelief. ¡°Yeah, yeah, that was me.¡±


    ¡°Velli, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s right. They say elephants never forget, but most animals don¡¯t. We just don¡¯t make a big scene about it. I was talking to Dumbo the other day, and he said, ¡®Eddie, y¡¯know, I got this good memory.¡¯ He was saying it between burps because, you know, he still has that alcohol problem. Took one sip of the stuff, and he drinks it like Pooh drinks honey, but anyway, I said, ¡®Dumbo, now, what does that have to do with anything? I asked you for a slice of cake, talking about your memory.¡¯ I tell you, elephants always talking, talking, talking about their memories. Not donkeys. No, sir. In fact, we barely talk. I¡¯m the only one.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    He, of course, is not a real talking donkey. None of the creatures in the forest are the real thing. They are merely a result of the Rain on the theme park. What they would be classified as, though, is anyone¡¯s guess. Although, I see his chest beat up and down like the real thing, he smells like a farm like the real thing, and his lips move and never stop like a talking donkey. I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.


    ¡°No, no,¡± he says. ¡°Your average talking donkey won¡¯t say a word unless spoken to. In fact, people say I don¡¯t talk enough.¡±


    I resist challenging that and cough to slyly interrupt him. It doesn¡¯t work.


    The donkey keeps going. ¡°Well, now, let me be honest. I don¡¯t hear them say I don¡¯t talk enough, but I know they think it. My wife. Now, my wife does not talk enough.¡±


    We make eye contact. I don¡¯t bother hiding that we have to wrap up this conversation.


    ¡°I know, I know,¡± he says. ¡°Now, most men, they be like, ¡®My wife talks too much.¡¯ Well, she and I are different.¡±


    He does not seem to understand that I don¡¯t want to talk anymore.


    ¡°I love her. We are a beautiful mixed couple. Now, I love my Jennys, but sometimes, I need my Drakainas. You should see our kids! I actually have a phone in my fur. Sort of like a pocket.¡± He spins around and chases his own tail three times. ¡°Hey, you¡¯ve been standing there a minute. What exactly do you need? A story? Most of our plays, contests, and all those fun activities are done for the night.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need anything. I¡¯m waiting for midnight.¡±


    He¡¯s in shock and finally speechless.


    ¡°Good day to you, Eddie. It was nice seeing you again.¡± I sidestep him to go deeper into the forest.


    ¡°Hey, now, wait a minute. What are you doing that for? I don¡¯t know if you know this, but we all leave when midnight comes. We go into hiding, and the nightmares come out. I¡¯m talking about every monster, everything from goblins to minotaurs, skinwalkers, vampires, old fae, the Goatman of Maryland, even Bloody Mary.¡±


    Flashes of blood and gore leap into my head with every name he mentions. Things that I can¡¯t truly prepare for because they don¡¯t exist. Discomfiting. ¡°Fake it until you make it,¡± as the phrase goes. So the only thing I can say to the donkey is ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m counting on.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ you throwing your life away for¡ª¡±


    I cut him off before he gets started again. ¡°No, I¡¯m not throwing it away. I¡¯m using all of it for one beautiful purpose. Isn¡¯t that why you¡¯re here? I know the Rain brought you all to life and whatnot, and you have to live here. But your stories, they¡¯re to help us live our lives to the fullest, aren¡¯t they? To be brave. Accept ourselves. Believe anything is possible.¡±


    ¡°But there are scary stories, too, Velli. Stories to keep kids from going out in the dark, where it¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    ¡°And,¡± someone else says, ¡°we are much better off reading the best stories. The ones that tell us life is scary and to be brave anyway.¡± The voice belongs to a naked, chubby yellow bear.


    ¡°Pooh,¡± Eddie cries. ¡°The monsters are going to crush him.¡±


    The bear says in his iconic raspy voice, ¡°A different monster could crush him outside the Fairy-Tale Forest, or a big oak tree could just fall on him.¡± Pooh stops speaking to Eddie and turns to me. ¡°Do you have a good reason for this?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± I say.


    ¡°Then this is what you should do. When you don¡¯t have all the answers, when you don¡¯t know whether you¡¯ll win or lose, you should be brave.¡± Then he walks past me and pats the donkey twice on the back. ¡°Come, Eddie. We don¡¯t have a reason to stay in the forest. Let¡¯s go to our hiding spots.¡±


    Eddie follows, and I watch them chat.


    ¡°Oh, wait, sir.¡± Pooh turns back to me. ¡°If you do make it through the night¡ªand I do hope you do¡ªcome meet us here, and bring all your friends for breakfast.¡±


    ¡°And in the morning,¡± the donkey interrupts. ¡°I¡¯m making w¡ª¡±


    ¡°What can we put honey on? Waffles. I¡¯ll be sure to smother them with honey.¡± Pooh pats his belly, and the two go off to hide, disappearing into the darkness.


    I rush through the forest with the light from my phone as a guide. More fairy tales hold lamps and give me cheery, smiling warnings to leave. I don¡¯t speak to any of them. I head for a certain stone in the center of the park. There it is, right where I remember it. The sword in the stone. Usually, the line is nearly a mile long. The last time I was here, I had to leave without a chance to see if I was worthy. That¡¯s funny.


    ¡°To see if I¡¯m worthy,¡± I mock.


    It¡¯s not actually stuck there. Anyone can pull it out. Something about everyone is worthy of success, some life lesson. We can all be kings, maybe. Yes, I like that, and I¡¯ll prove it here, tonight. I reach for the sword and pull it out with such ease, it¡¯s hard to believe people struggle with it.


    Anyone can be a king. I only afford myself three practice swings to get used to the feel of it. Then I tuck it into my belt and climb the nearest tree to wait.

 Chapter 50- Midnight

    Velli


    Midnight embarks in the forest, and everything that lives suffers for it. It looks like the trees cry. One by one, leaves fall to the forest floor. The descent of each homeless leaf is quiet and slow, but the breaking¡­ the snap of each leaf from its tree sounds like a tiny bone cracking, a pinky to be specific.


    The leaves fall faster. Now, it¡¯s an out-of-tune and joyless melody of breaking bone. Leaf knocks over leaf in a race to the ground, a race to escape what¡¯s coming. The smiling sun has grown legs and run away. Moonlight peaks in. No canopy protects us from its embrace.


    As I climb a tree to hide out, I can¡¯t take my eyes off the new moon. It¡¯s not a whitish or blue glow but a disgusting green. A mouse thought the moon was made of green cheese, or so the legend goes. It forces its moldy glow out onto the world, blanketing it in sickly lighting. I want the old moon back. This new moon is filled with too many holes, small, disgusting holes that go straight through it, like bullets in a body.


    Something howls.


    The howl brings my attention back to earth with a hair-raising clarity. Where¡¯s it coming from? The cracking leaves are too loud and everywhere. Where is the howling? Is it a werewolf? Some legend I never heard of? Am defenseless against? I¡¯m decked out in a knife-proof vest and have every blade left to my name on me. What if that isn¡¯t enough? The snapping of twigs reaches an incredible apex of speed and sounds like a waterfall. My mind searches for every monster that could howl and all the ways it could want to kill me. The twigs¡¯ symphony advances, roaring, ear damaging, the only thing my mind can focus on.


    Then it stops. Pure silence.


    A shrill scream sounds far to my left in the distance.


    ¡°Help, please, someone help!¡± the person cries.


    Someone¡¯s here. What kind of idiot stays overnight in the Fairy-Tale Forest? I wait for Fate to say something snarky, but he¡¯s not back yet. I leap down one branch then another, trying to get closer to the voice. I might have time to save them before the Old Soul arrives. I leap to a second branch.


    A stench attacks my nostrils and tongue. It¡¯s so similar to Mogvaz¡¯s kitchen. The scent causes my brain to swell with unpleasant memories that can¡¯t form concretely. My face scrunches. Bone saw. Yes, it¡¯s the stench of a bone sliced open, a sulfurous odor. The undertone of rotting meat whips my nose and tongue.


    ¡°Please,¡± the voice cries. ¡°I have a motorcycle. We can get out of here before they come. Hurry!¡±


    I know my legends. That¡¯s not a person. That¡¯s a skinwalker¡­


    ¡°In-ee-body!¡± the suspected skinwalker yells. Only echoes answer him.


    I sit statue still inside the tree.


    ¡°Shame,¡± it says, its voice as flat as roadkill. ¡°I would have made your death quicker than they will. He¡¯s in one of the trees on the east quarter!¡±


    The ground shakes. It¡¯s a stampede from all across the forest. All toward me. Powerful wings and violent screams of vampires, mothmen, and winged things assault the air. Tiny clawed feet shred the ground, and the massive boots of the bloodthirsty bound toward me. Beneath the ground, something stirs. A conscious earthquake chases me as straight as a wolf to a rabbit.


    Keening drowns out that noise, the keening of banshees. Comics and horror movies changed the myths of banshees for most people. However, this park seems to know what they really are. Banshees are not creatures that spray supersonic radio waves to win a fight. Banshees are warning systems. They scream when death is coming.


    Seven of them have skin as white as the flesh under the outer layer and gowns in the same eerie white. The women float in front of me. They are like man-sized snowflakes that won¡¯t fall. They cry, scream, and clap their hands to give us their warning. Their voices undulate through octaves in a beautiful rhythm that scares me. So sharp, so poignant, too perfect to ever be human. Nothing that was once human should be able to do that.


    I should listen. They get more upset that I¡¯m not listening. They tear off their gowns, revealing beaten, sexless flesh. Their hair, already unkempt, they pull out in tight bundles between claps. I know it hurts. It¡¯s in their song.


    ¡°Torture us no more. Listen to us, my lord,¡± they sing.


    I ignore their songs. They go higher in pitch and scratch at their scalps.


    ¡°Please, just leave. We do this for you. You won¡¯t live until summer. We will mourn you in June.¡± All of them stare deep into my eyes, and their tears make me believe them. The guilt makes my eyes sting, but I am resolute. I will not leave.


    Behind them, another figure of death stands in the center of the valley, as tall as an oak tree. The leshy, a humanoid being with bark skin and a green beard. It is said to cast no shadows and lead hunters to their deaths if they follow it. Tonight, it has no shadow. And in front of it stands the Old Soul.


    Your death. The Old Soul.


    Welcome back, Fate.


    ¡°Old Soul!¡± I cry loud enough for everything to hear me.


    She rewards me with a glance up into my tree. The monsters surround its base.


    ¡°Old Soul!¡± I yell again and draw my sword in her direction. ¡°I¡¯m taking your life tonight. You¡¯ll either be my slave or in the grave. You pick.¡±


    Beneath me, chain saws roar as men in hockey masks rev them, scream, and attack the tree I stand in. The Old Soul stands there, self-satisfied, content, and happy. I am so tired of everyone being happy except me.


    I raise my sword and smile at my reflection cast upon the blade in the moonlight. It is merely a sliver on the sword, and that¡¯s all I need. I say the first words of my plan to summon an assistant, something bloodthirsty that wants to kill me but hopefully will kill everything else that would harm me as well.


    ¡°I see both your struggle and your crime.¡± I look at my reflection in the sword, but I speak to something buried deep in every mirror in the Fairy-Tale Forest. ¡°I say you got what you deserve, and I curse you by every name¡ªMary Worth, the Black Madame, Mary Ruth, Mary Lou, Mary Johnson, Mary Whales, Elizabeth B¨¢thory, Mary I. Come make a fan of my skin to keep you cool in hell if what I said was a problem. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary.¡±


    Ten ghostly women leap from my sword, bunched together like a bouquet of roses. Disfigured and beautiful faces full of rage serve as the petals to my bouquet. One hand slashes across my neck. I leap down from the tree. They¡¯re free of the sword and follow me down.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Curses, commands, and demands that I die accelerate my descent. I tilt Excalibur to go straight down into the head of a chain saw¨Cwielding man. Slowly and with much effort, he splits open like a well-done steak as my blade lowers. Before my feet hit the ground, I raise Excalibur to block another chain saw.


    This masked man plants his feet and groans, commanding all his strength to go through the blade. My feet never stop moving. I shuffle out of his way. Two more come from my left and right. I sidestep a slice across my body, leap over a strike near my ankles, and duck a wicked swing at my head. I¡¯m by all three of them, and they¡¯re dead. The Marys ensure that. They¡¯ll destroy everything in their quest to kill me, so all I have to do is dodge.


    Sidestep, sidestep, sprint. Block, parry, run. Sprint, sprint, forward, forward. Closer to the Old Soul. She isn¡¯t so smug anymore. Goblins and orcs surround her. An ever-expanding number of green bodies and gray leap from trees, shadows, and piles of leaves to bite her. They don¡¯t know what she is. All they see is a meal. And she can¡¯t teleport far enough away.


    No, not smug. Look at that expression, Velli. She¡¯s not sad either. That friend of mine, she¡¯s rolling back the years. She¡¯s not smug. She¡¯s happy in the chaos. All you did was bring her home.


    He¡¯s right. The goblins and orcs that attack her are immeasurable. So are ants. That¡¯s what she treats them like. The Old Soul never stops teleporting. She appears for only a second to sever a spine or split a skull.


    A chain saw whirs across my face, almost touching the tip of my nose. Bundles of my hair fall across my shoulder. The chain saw man leaps forward. One of the Marys scratches my heel. I drop to the ground to roll away from them both.


    The chain saw man¡¯s scream is thick and deep as one of the Marys crushes him to get to me.


    I¡¯m close enough to the Old Soul that goblins and orcs trying to feast on her turn their attention to me. The goblins lunge forward, starting on two legs then dropping to four in gleeful, black-tongue-waggling laughs. The orcs bustle behind them, wobbly yet powerful, weighed down by steel armor and swords longer than Excalibur.


    The Old Soul manages a laugh in her battle as she bounces an orc¡¯s head on her cane.


    ¡°Old Soul! I¡¯m coming for you!¡± I yell at her.


    In that awful green moon¡¯s glow, I can make out that she winks at me. I want to kill her.


    I slice through the first goblin that leaps up with ease. Its face is eternally stuck in stupid ecstasy. Feet still moving, I dodge the next goblin¡¯s leap. One of the Marys makes him yelp. The two goblins in the front switch sides as we charge each other. Then switch again when we¡¯re only a foot away.


    They¡¯re coming at the same time. Which one first, which one first?


    They leap. One going high, one going low.


    My sword¡¯s by my hip. I need to hit at least one of them. Two Marys breathe on my neck. I can¡¯t slow down. None, I hit none. One lands directly on my face, the other on my leg.


    I crash to the ground. Sharp pain slashes up my back. I raise my sword to defend my face. The goblin bites, laughs, and bites again. The lower goblin yanks at my vest, begging to get at my chest.


    ¡°I can hear the heartbeat!¡± it says. ¡°I get to taste real heart!¡± He¡¯s too stupid or desperate to figure out how to unlatch it. He switches from pulling to clawing and digs into the fabric. He shreds through the material too easily.


    ¡°Heart! Heart! Still-beating heart!¡± it says. ¡°Heart first then other beating part for my dessert.¡±


    He¡¯s not talking about your brain, Velli.


    Feet step on me¡ªnot goblin feet, orc feet. The orcs battle the Bloody Marys around me, keeping her at bay while the goblins get closer and closer to my flesh. He¡¯s not there yet, but I¡¯ll feel it once he is¡ªthe slow rip of skin, revealing layers upon layers of meat.


    The goblin who wants to rip off my face laughs again at its latest attempt to chew me.


    Everybody gets to be happy but you.


    Enough! The goblin chomps down again on my sword, but this time, I grab Excalibur by its blade. Blood spurts from my hand. With a better grip, I push the blade up and through the goblin¡¯s mouth. The top of his head plops down. I push his body off and stab through his companion¡¯s skull¡ªthe heart-hungry goblin. His body flops off me.


    I¡¯m up again. Every beast in front of me battles the Old Soul. They don¡¯t even notice when I hack them down from behind.


    The anticipation boils in me. My strikes lose fluidity and gain power. Technique vanishes. I don¡¯t know what I replace it with. This is beyond relief¡­ beyond justice¡­


    Sprint. Sprint. Stab. Stab. Sprint. Sprint. Stab.


    The joy of an opportunity to finally win, my turn to get everything, my turn to be happy.


    She doesn¡¯t even see me, and I¡¯m only three steps away. Her back¡¯s to me as she toys with a dying orc.


    ¡°Ooolllllddd Soooulll!¡± I sing her name. I want her to see me.


    I raise my blade as high as I can as she turns. I don¡¯t want her to see the moon, the sky, or anything else. Our eyes lock. She raises her cane. I bring Excalibur down. My skin ripples and whirls from the impact, like it wants to retreat from this fight, retreat from my bones. My jaw shakes, and my teeth chatter. And yet Excalibur doesn¡¯t break. Anyone can be a king, right? My sword is equal to her cane. That¡¯s what I wanted her to see. And she does. She gets it. I can tell. It¡¯s in her eyes. They¡¯re shaped like Os¡ªbig wide things full of shock. My sword pushes against her cane, and I guess I¡¯m winning because her eyes go wider, and her body drops lower to the ground.


    I hurt somewhere I¡¯m not supposed to. Not my arms, not my legs, not even my chest. My cheeks¡ªI can¡¯t stop smiling. ¡°Old Soul,¡± I sing again. ¡°Swear by your name to serve me for all the days of your life, or die.¡±


    She flashes a small smile. No, she doesn¡¯t get to smile.


    But she does.


    Lightning quick, she stops resisting the power of my sword and lets her cane crash to the ground. She disappears with it.


    This is the part where you die.


    Not likely.


    Without looking, I spin, swinging Excalibur in a wide arc. Of course, she appears behind me right then, and again, my sword and her cane meet. The power pushes us backward, and clouds of dirt form around our feet. She doesn¡¯t rush to attack me again. Finally, she¡¯s scared.


    I mock her. ¡°Every time, old hag. Every time, I can block you because you¡¯re a coward. You¡¯re scared to die. You¡¯d never risk attacking me head-on.¡±


    Two Bloody Marys scream and come behind the Old Soul.


    She easily swats them to dust with her cane. ¡°Do you wish to shame me because I fear, boy? Fear is a reason to live. Everything in nature fears, including you.¡±


    The Old Soul swats and kills another Bloody Mary, this one adorned with a crown and jewelry. Maybe the rest know that she is the first real danger to them. So they go in wide arcs, avoiding the Old Soul and swooping toward me. The Old Soul disappears and reappears above two of them. Do ghosts know fear? I get the feeling they did. The surviving Marys realign and bunch together, away from myself and the Old Soul. The Old Soul raps her cane on the ground again. The Old Soul¡¯s help with the Bloody Marys scares me. It tells me she¡¯s confident. She wants to handle me herself.


    The Marys are all afraid now. They stick together back to back, all five of them. They aren¡¯t even looking at me anymore. They all scan for her. She appears behind the group. One Mary, disfigured and with a hanging eyeball and a melted face, sees her first and screams. With one big swipe, she decapitates them all.


    ¡°Wait for the adrenaline to leave, boy,¡± the Old Soul warns and disappears once more.


    Left dumbfounded, I start to question the strength of my plan as I wait for her to appear.


    She lands ten steps in front of me. The faces on her sweater frown. It looks like they pity me. The Old Soul meanders toward me, eyes locked on mine. Her cane mocks me, nearly touching the ground with every step. It works. I don¡¯t dare challenge her. I hold my sword out like a shield, waiting for her to move because I can¡¯t lead a charge against her.


    ¡°Wait,¡± she scolds. ¡°When the adrenaline leaves, you¡¯ll come back to fear. It¡¯s the only god that matters in a world where God is dead. You¡¯re too dumb to accept his embrace, though. You always fight against him. You believe God is the devil, and that¡¯s why your life is hell.¡±


    She swings her cane like a spry old man as she gets closer and closer.


    ¡°I sit at the feet of fear and do as he commands,¡± she preaches. ¡°Fear is why we made fire. Fear is why only Homo sapiens are left in our species and why we became the top of the food chain. Fear is why empires rise and reign. I fear death, so I do everything to keep death¡¯s hands off me, and now, death can¡¯t find me.¡± She chuckles. ¡°But you, boy, I have talked to that thing inside your head. You live as a slave¡ªa slave to denial. How much more miserable will you make your life before you accept your lot?¡± She pokes out her lip. ¡°How long until you learn that voice in your head is just you telling yourself the truth? How long until you realize that you¡¯re merely one of evolution¡¯s countless mistakes?¡±


    I¡¯ll never give her the satisfaction of seeing me scared. I force a laugh and a confident smile. ¡°So, it¡¯s someone who¡¯s scared to die versus someone who¡¯s alive out of spite. I like my odds.¡±

 Chapter 51-The Banshees Dance

    Velli


    I rush forward. She doesn¡¯t. From my peripheral vision, something charges. It¡¯s tall, ten feet maybe, with massive bull horns. Low grunts and heavy stomps announce its charge. It is fast beyond reason, considering the clothes it wears¡ªheavy gold-red-and-purple robes. Maybe it¡¯s a skinwalker. Maybe it¡¯s an old fae. I have to face it. The beast¡¯s horns slam into Excalibur and lock against it. The beast never stops moving. I¡¯m sliding backward and do not have a grasp on the ground below me.


    The Old Soul¡¯s gone, meaning¡­ One. Two. Three.


    I drop to the floor and use the giant royal beast¡¯s momentum to flip him over. The bodies of the bull and the Old Soul clash to perfection. Recovering quickly, the Old Soul smashes the bull-man¡¯s body with her cane. The bull-man twists into a sick V-shape, as did the bodies of Mr. Dice and Ms. Grimm at the tanning salon.


    As will yours.


    Unlikely. Before she regains her footing, I strike high at her head and force her to raise her cane to block it. I strike again, still high, anything to keep her from hitting her cane on the ground. Sword battles cane, and neither weapon yields. Each blow shakes us both. But I keep going forward.


    I knew I could defeat her. Her arms are tired. I assumed even with her powers, her stamina would be weaker than mine, but I had to make sure. That¡¯s why this was the perfect location, even if she enjoyed it. Defeating a mass of orcs and goblins is hard work, and thanks to my summoning of Bloody Mary, I didn¡¯t put up half the effort the Old Soul did. I only had to keep running.


    The banshees can sense it. Their songs and chants grow, becoming wilder. They clap their hands and smack their faces to generate beautiful noise with every strike I land against the Old Soul.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    They dance and throw their hips like they¡¯re part of an ancient cult trying to summon their ruler. This song is one made for stadiums. Today, nature is their amphitheater, and it worships their sound. Flakes of dirt fly and twist in the air with every strike of sword and cane. A second wild adrenaline rush floods me. The banshees are right. I can kill her if I want. After over a hundred years, death is coming for the Old Soul.


    ¡°Boy, your mother¡ª¡±


    Five quick stab attempts, all in random locations, all pushing my speed to my limits to shut her up. No more psych games. No more excuses. It¡¯s too much for her. She steps backward and trips. Her cane flies out of her hand. Not far, probably three steps away. She can¡¯t make those steps with my blade resting against her neck. Checkmate.


    ¡°Swear by your name, Old Soul!¡± I yell because the banshees scream louder now.


    Why? We¡¯ve defeated the beast of the forest, and the Old Soul is about to surrender to me. She won¡¯t die. What are they warning us of?


    In front of me stands the harmless leshy, the great predictor of death. A massive mix of a great tree and a man. He does nothing, only observes. Why is he in front of me? He should be behind me because I¡¯m bringing death. Like when the Old Soul arrived, he stood behind her.


    Hahahaha.


    No, I planned this well. I won. Why are they singing louder? The banshees find an impossible pitch. Excalibur shakes. The ground quakes. My ears ring. Oh, Division, they might even be bleeding.


    Something¡¯s coming, Velli. Their song has to reach an end. A big ol¡¯ grand conclusion. They can¡¯t go any higher. Something¡¯s going to pop!


    ¡°Old Soul! Old Soul! I need you to swear now!¡± I know I¡¯m saying the words, but I can¡¯t hear them.


    The Old Soul¡¯s smile is gone. Her eyes are blank, her ears bleeding.


    She mouths something to me with her small, chapped lips.


    ¡°No! You have to listen!¡± I command.


    Pop.


    The banshees stop singing and collapse to the ground. They struggle to get up. They¡¯re hunched over. Are they too weak to move again? No, they face the woods behind the Old Soul as they bow. Three horsemen come out of the forest.

 Chapter 52- Someone Meets Death

    Velli


    Two horsemen ride in front ahead, and one in all black stays behind them. To the left is a Dullahan, clad in black and trotting forward with an air of invincibility. He squeezes his head between his hand and his hip. The head itself is alive, conscious, and glaring at me with growling repulsion, like a feral school principal. The headless horseman drops his reins to draw out a silver-tipped whip. As the whip dances at his side, the headless horseman¡¯s cape doesn¡¯t move. It stretches from his back down to the horse like a flattened human body. There¡¯s no wind. Death and morbidity are all around me.


    To the right is a rare fairy-tale monster I¡¯m surprised actually exists¡ªthe nuckelavee. It has the head and torso of a man connected to the body of a horse. It lacks the beauty of a centaur. The nuckelavee most resembles a man chopped in half and welded onto a horse, skinless, still bleeding, and without fat. How can his arms be that long? They stretch to the ground and drip blood on the grass. This is a creature put together by a madman or a child who doesn¡¯t understand anatomy yet. Its head is too big for its body¡ªbobble, wobble, bobble, wobble. It should be funny, but it¡¯s not. It is frightening and real. Uncontrollable blood drips everywhere. Its head rolls back and forth, up, and down. Its eyes never leave me, and it huffs and roars, unable to contain its excitement.


    Behind them, in black robes and with an invisible face, mounted on an all-black Clydesdale, is the Grim Reaper. Because what else could it be?


    ¡°Stay where you are! We¡¯re leaving!¡± I yell at them.


    They don¡¯t stop.


    ¡°I said stay¡ª¡±


    I¡¯m cut off by the nuckelavee¡¯s fleshless, bloody arm reaching out for me. No way it can touch me. Its arms can¡¯t be that long. It¡¯s like watching a 3D film sped up past reason. I¡¯m only a frightened observer as it does reach me. By some horrible miracle, the nuckelavee fingers my face. I slash with Excalibur. His hand holds onto the blade. I push forward against his palm with a groan of victory to draw first blood.


    Wait, blood comes out, but he always had blood seeping. No more, no less. I¡¯m pushing, and it¡¯s not cutting. It¡¯s not pressing any deeper into the skinless flesh of the nightmare.


    He can¡¯t be cut.


    I put my back into it, press my face almost against my blade, and command my shoulders to apply more strength. The Grim Reaper gets closer, and I can¡¯t beat Death. It¡¯s fate. He still can¡¯t be cut.


    The Old Soul doesn¡¯t move. She chooses to play dead at this new development.


    A whip cracks. Something flashes ahead of me. The skin on my chest burns like fire. I scream something insane. The Grim Reaper is only five strides away from me. A whip cracks. It flashes in front of me again. My right calf burns. My body can¡¯t take the pain, and I¡¯m brought to one knee. A whip cracks. I close my eyes. I need my other calf. It can¡¯t hit my other calf. It hasn¡¯t yet. It might not. My left calf screams, or I scream. I don¡¯t know. The pain is intense and unjust. I¡¯m on both my knees.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    The nuckelavee¡¯s blood drizzles on me. The Grim Reaper comes before me.


    The Grim Reaper begins the process of dismounting its horse, a slow, meandering, patient task. The Old Soul does not move. All I can do is watch and shut my mouth so the taste of blood from the nuckelavee doesn¡¯t get in it. The Grim Reaper takes its time to stand above me, scythe in hand.


    ¡°You will come with me.¡± Its voice sounds like a faraway whisper I can comprehend without error, a conversation I¡¯m not supposed to hear, something taboo.


    ¡°To where?¡± My voice comes out as strained as I feel.


    ¡°The other side, where blood does not move in you and your body cannot come.¡±


    The Old Soul rolls away and reaches for her cane. The nuckelavee reaches for her.


    I waste no time. ¡°Not doing that.¡± I leap up, sword swung back and ready to slice off whatever is in those baggy robes. ¡°You¡¯re not even the real Grim Reaper. Just a theme park attraction with consciousness.¡±


    Excalibur meets the scythe of the fake Grim Reaper.


    Excalibur breaks. Pieces of it explode everywhere. It would be lazy to say it¡¯s the perfect metaphor for my hope because it leaves out how frightening this is. This isn¡¯t about defeating the Old Soul anymore. This is about not dying. Excalibur stood against the Old Soul¡¯s cane. The Old Soul¡¯s cane has killed over a hundred real people. Yet the Grim Reaper obliterated Excalibur with one swipe. The sword didn¡¯t even put up a fight. I¡¯m left with just the hilt and maybe two inches of blade.


    It¡¯s quiet. Why is everything so quiet? The horses don¡¯t even breathe. The nucklavee¡¯s dripping blood is the only sound. Where¡¯s everything else? They were all starving. They ran away. No, he can¡¯t be real. The Old Soul was defeated, and I won.


    Grenades. I have grenades! With adrenaline-laced speed that surprises me, I unhook a belt of grenades from my waist, pull one, and throw the whole belt at him. The grenades go right into the opening of his hood. The explosion shocks my ears. The blast pushes me backward. The smoke and dirt punish my nostrils and tongue. The Grim Reaper does not slow down.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what I am,¡± the Grim Reaper says. ¡°You say I am not the real thing, but I say I am. When I kill you, will you not be dead? When I kill you, will I not remove your spirit from your body? When I kill you, will you not be less than me? Because no one will remember your name.¡±


    The Old Soul grabs her cane. She disappears.


    No.


    Yes, Fate says.


    No.


    Yes.


    There¡¯s no way.


    Yes, Death itself manifested in human form just to kill you like God became Jesus just to save mankind. Death became human just to end your life.


    No. No. I¡¯ve got to get out of this. He¡¯s real. He¡¯s real. That¡¯s Death himself. I use my emergency exit plan, a poem to summon an urban legend who will drag me away from all this.


    ¡°Man Without a Face!¡± I yell. My voice cracks like a middle school boy¡¯s. My tongue zooms over every word as I crawl away from Death¡¯s lazy stalk toward me. Has my body always been this wet, this sweaty? ¡°Man Without a Face, I want to come to your place. Man with a Red Tie, take me where I will wish I will die. Man in a Black Suit, I am nothing, treat me as loot. Man in Every Shadow, do not be slow. Man as Slender as Lamb¡¯s Sins, take me in.¡±


    The urban legend I call yanks me away from the Grim Reaper by my collar. The three horsemen watch me, disinterested voyeurs in my new journey.


    Because they know they¡¯re not done. They know they¡¯re coming back to get you.

 Chapter 53- No Way Home

    Velli


    My neck grazes against my captor¡¯s fingers. They¡¯re slender, boneless, and as solid as tombstones. His walk, because he¡¯s not running, despite the impossible speed we¡¯re going, is mechanical. He swings his arms too high and too low for him to be human. And of course, I experience the consequences of taking a stroll with the slender man in the black suit. The world distorts and blurs into smudges. Whatever body part exists beneath my eyes, it throbs and pulses and wants to escape. My flesh stretches like this slim man in a suit. I am Play-Doh, and I feel children¡¯s fingers going into my skin to stretch it. I don¡¯t resist him, though. It¡¯s better than death.


    Against my will, the man in the suit lets me go. I let my momentum keep me rolling until inertia¡¯s left me and I must face the reality of what¡¯s out there. An owlish creature with hairy wings and flaming red eyes snaps at the slight man twice while flying by. The slight man swings two rubbery and rough arms in the flying thing¡¯s direction. The creature dodges both times then sets its fiery eyes on me. Both monsters come for me. One from the air, the other from the ground.


    I sprint. The flying thing squawks. Dead leaves burst under the fancy man¡¯s feet. Deeper into the forest is my only option. Form and technique in my running abandon me, and the necessity to propel every part of my body forward is my only drive. My exhausted limbs flail forward on their own. The only thing my brain knows is the pain inflaming my lungs. Behind me, the sound of bodies colliding brings no solace.


    Even my pursuers¡¯ silence does not get me to stop moving. I afford myself a glance to make sure they¡¯re gone then keep moving. I¡¯m not safe nor alone in these woods.


    Large barren oak trees surround me. Their leafless branches all extend to one another. They¡¯re holding hands as they surround me. They¡¯re only trees, shaky trees without wind. I¡¯ve done this before. I wish I could sprint, but all I have left is a jog. I do it.


    Between the spaces of the trees come more leshies. Old men with the bodies of trees and beards made of moss. Some rub their ribs of bark or massage their mossy beards as they watch me. It¡¯s a condescending, loveless gaze. Old men watching a horse race that they didn¡¯t care to bet on.


    Wrong sport, Velli. This isn¡¯t a horse race, this is a car race. Everyone¡¯s there to see you crash.


    There are too many of them. I can¡¯t run from their gaze; they come from behind every tree to observe me. One squats down and reaches one finger out to poke me. Another reaches a big hand to pet me like I¡¯m an animal.


    My only solace in the disrespect is the leshies are quiet. However, the shaky trees will not allow me that. They speak in my own voice; ¡°Old Soul! I¡¯m coming for you!¡±


    I¡¯ve never liked my voice, and it¡¯s awful hearing it now, a mega speaker broadcasting my shame and maybe a location to the whole woods. I raise my head to speak to the trees and beg for them to quiet down or to leave me alone. There¡¯s a unanimous giggle from all of them before I utter a word. They know what they¡¯re doing. Cruelty is the fun part.


    The trees mock, and the leshies prod me and put their car-sized hands in my face, trapping me in a maze.


    ¡°Old Soul! Old Soul! I need you to swear now!¡± the trees mock my begging tone.


    There is one part of the forest where the moon¡¯s ugly green light is less. The leshies don¡¯t wander there, and the trees do not giggle in unison. I head that direction. The closer I get, the less I can see in front of me.


    ¡°You¡¯re not even the real Grim Reaper! You¡¯re not even the real Grim Reaper! You¡¯re not even the real Grim Reaper!¡± the trees mock and go into an eternal giggle until I can¡¯t hear them anymore.


    I¡¯m weightless. I¡¯m falling, and there¡¯s nothing to grab onto. I don¡¯t realize I land on something as solid as rocks. It¡¯s not rocks. The moon¡¯s glow from above lights the room. It¡¯s gold, so much gold and other treasures. I¡¯m not safe. I don¡¯t trust it. I scramble around. I don¡¯t believe these riches are unguarded. And I¡¯m right. A large snake rests right in front of me. I freeze. It¡¯s blind¡ªor rather, it has no eyes. Yet its thick, leathery black skin tells me it¡¯s a snake. I focus on it, trying to determine if it senses me.


    It¡¯s so big. Is it an anaconda?This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    No, Velli, you¡¯re in your own nightmares. Think bigger.


    A basilisk maybe?


    Worse than a basilisk.


    No, it¡¯s a giant snake. It¡¯s a basilisk. Yes, it¡¯s thick. It¡¯s as thick as a human body.


    Velli¡­


    I let my gaze travel up the body of the snake.


    It¡¯s not a snake. It¡¯s a dragon. To witness the dragon¡¯s whole body is an unpleasant experience that makes me understand¡ª


    How insignificant you are, how easy it would be for you to be stepped on and forgotten, how this whole idea was stupid and your destiny here is death?


    It¡¯s a dragon bigger than an elephant, bigger than a giant. Perhaps a whale would be more accurate¡ªa whale with feet the size of cars, feet made to stomp, tear, and pounce on what it wants to eat. Dragons as beautiful creatures in fairy tales don¡¯t describe this one. This one is made for war. Each scale is as thick as a bank safe, thick with layers upon layers.


    This pile of treasure means I¡¯m in its lair. Perhaps thousands of pieces of gold lie under and around me as well as statues that are too realistic to imagine that they are anything but humans turned to gold. The light from up above causes the gold pieces to glow. Toys, trinkets, and other objects that exude value stay in the pile of treasure. And leprechauns?


    The leprechauns don¡¯t seem to care about the dragon. In the stereotypical green hats, white shirts, black ties, and green jackets, they appear to be grown men with orange-red beards that are the size of children. One, chubbier and with pale skin and brown teeth, passes a golden chalice to another, who puts it in a bag right under the dragon¡¯s nose.


    Neither the chubby leprechaun nor his companion, skinnier and with a peg leg, show the necessary fear the occasion demands. They hoist the dragon¡¯s treasures with gleeful whispers. I can escape. I need to escape. I leap and land silently behind a set of sixteen golden rings with words in a sort of cursive written inside them. Seven of them are small and look like they weren¡¯t made for human fingers. One ring, in particular, calls me personally without saying my name.


    Another leap, and I¡¯m right behind a kind of Rubik¡¯s Cube, a configuration cube of sorts, black and gold and marked with ancient designs. I resist the urge to solve it and leap again.


    I land above two children¡¯s dolls. One in a white dress, red ponytails, and an ugly, lipstick-drenched smile. Beside it lies a much larger doll in a sharp brown jacket, with blond hair and dead blue eyes. Thankfully, none of these call me.


    ¡°Ugly things,¡± I whisper.


    A tiny hand grabs my ankle from behind. I almost scream and turn around. It feels like time stops. A tiny redheaded boy holds my ankle¡ªno, a redheaded doll dressed like a child.


    ¡°Careful how you talk about my girls.¡± It moves its mouth up and down in a way that my brain can¡¯t process. Words should not be able to come out of his mouth.


    Both dolls, his girls, blink their eyes open. The plastic makes a skin-crawling popping sound as they do. They swear at me in whispers and ever-increasing volume and mock my looks and outfit.


    ¡°Sorry, sorry, sorry, please quiet down,¡± I beg.


    ¡°Hey, boyos,¡± the redheaded one calls, imitating an Irish accent. ¡°Looks like someone¡¯s trying to take your prize.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m shhh¡ª¡±


    The dragon shakes its shoulder blade, still asleep.


    ¡°Thank you, Chuck,¡± one leprechaun says.


    Each echo in the cave could be the one that awakens the beast. ¡°Aye, boyo, what do you want me treasure for?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want your treasure,¡± I blurt. ¡°I¡¯m just leaving.¡±


    ¡°Well, get to leaving, then, before the dragon¡­¡± He pauses and stares at the sleeping beast, eyes full of mischief, not rightful fear. ¡°Wakes up,¡± he says just above a whisper.


    The dragon stirs, this time doing a snakelike wiggle, its whole body activating.


    ¡°I¡¯m leaving,¡± I tell it.


    ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡± The blond doll grabs onto my ankles.


    The others follow. All three tiny hands hold onto my legs.


    ¡°Run, boyo! You¡¯ve got to run!¡± the skinnier leprechaun says and runs toward the dragon. It steps on gold without a care. Louder and still louder. It commands attention with each step. The dragon¡¯s eyes open. More hands come from the ground. Tiny, babyish, and strong hands grab onto every part of my feet and ankles. The dolls cackle. The leprechauns belly laugh. We¡¯re all going to die, and they laugh.


    The dragon wakes and roars, shaking the room. With more effort than necessary, he raises one rhino-sized foot and stomps on the leprechaun in front of him. No one laughs anymore. Silence possesses the room. The dolls¡¯ hands fall away from me. The somberness of the room gives me a tinge of hope that I can escape.


    The leprechaun and I make eye contact across the room. He studies me.


    ¡°Oh, yah think ya safe, do you?¡± he asks.


    Behind him, the dragon extends its full maw, releasing a stench similar to cooked flesh. His mouth looks like a cave itself except, in a horrible trade, there is no darkness, only teeth and a lapping tongue. The dragon bites down on the leprechaun and shakes him from side to side. It¡¯s not a fight. The leprechaun acts like he¡¯s on a roller coaster as his legs separate from his upper body.


    ¡°Hey, boyo!¡± he cries. ¡°I¡¯m not worried because I¡¯m either immortal or a figment of your imagination. You¡¯re mortal, though. I can smell it in your words. Run, boyo, run!¡±


    I like him.


    The dragon tosses the leprechaun up in the air, and his body twirls in circles. The beast wants to cook his meal. A ball of white fire forms in his throat and bursts out.


    It pushes me away, and I whirl out of the cave, pure energy carrying me. I don¡¯t stop moving even on the ground. I crawl with all the speed I can muster until my crawl turns into a two-legged gallop. I won¡¯t stop moving. It¡¯s all a blur, everything around me and in front of me.


    Then I¡¯m forced to stop as I enter a bright-yellow room.

 Chapter 54- The Backrooms

    Velli


    The light is both right and wrong. It¡¯s right because it¡¯s no longer blue. It¡¯s wrong because it¡¯s an ugly fluorescent yellow that pulses above me. So much yellow. The carpet¡­ Why is there carpet in a forest? It is thick, old, and the fibers are hard to move. The ugly, urine-colored yellow carpet is as hard as a rock.


    The walls¡ªstill yellow and hard to look at for long¡ªtrap me somewhere. Decay marks every inch of the enclosure that now forms a sort of maze around me. Above me, the glare from the lights is too strong to look at. I shut my eyes and rub my forehead to compose myself. The pain of my headache amplifies the buzzing. The annoying, constant, monotonous, ever-present hum of those lights. Electric fly traps sound better.


    Despite the lack of comfort, relief floods through me. I¡¯m alone and safe. This is the safest I¡¯ve been in what feels like forever. No need to rush. I can sit and plan here just for a little bit. Or could I even nap? I lean my back against the wall and glance to my left and right for any hazards. Nothing. This place is empty. I should be afraid, but I¡¯ll take this over death itself.


    I pull out my phone, and of course, my signal is gone. That¡¯s obvious. I should wait it out here until morning. My Fairy-Tale Forest plan is a failure. That¡¯s fine. I can even afford a little nap. Darkness swallows me.


    I wake up full of anxiety. How¡¯d I fall asleep that easily? I thought of it, and I was gone. I pull out my phone to check the time. Maybe things are just going to work out. Maybe it¡¯s already sunrise and the monsters will soon leave. It¡¯s still 12:30 a.m. That¡¯s impossible. I felt it. I napped. I dreamed. I dreamed about¡­ It¡¯s gone now.


    I did fall asleep, though my body has that interrupted-sleep-cycle tiredness. Honestly, I could go for another nap. Darkness swallows me.


    I wake up on the floor. My mouth¡¯s covered in drool, and I spin to check my surroundings. I touch myself to make sure I wasn¡¯t attacked. I¡¯m fine. Nothing¡¯s around. Only the annoying buzz bites at my skull, keeping me company. What¡¯s wrong with me? What¡¯s wrong with my brain? With just the wish of a nap, my body was not my own, and I fell asleep.


    It was an awful nap too. I fell asleep, and my body begs for more. It¡¯s still only twelve thirty. No, the clock is wrong. Somehow, the time on my phone lies. Slower, maybe? I need to move. I¡¯m so tired, though, and things could be worse here. A nap, first, maybe. Darkness chokes me.


    I wake up with alarm because, this time, I saw it. Pure darkness. It leaped on top of me, pressed its body into mine, and put its hand on my mouth until I fell asleep. I need to move. It¡¯s a maze. I run through it, and it becomes clear where exactly I am. It¡¯s not safe here.


    I¡¯m in the Backrooms. I don¡¯t want to run into whatever haunts this place. I can only walk. I wander through the long, never-ending maze it stretches farther than the eye can see. I know I¡¯ll fall off. I don¡¯t know when.


    I sniff twice. I can smell it. I can smell the beast that haunts the Backrooms. I¡¯ve killed monsters all night. What¡¯s one more?


    I walk through the modern-day labyrinth, in awe at its malicious commitment to the maddening mundane. Every wall of the maze is the exact same shape and size. The walls reject any attempts I make to mark them, refusing to acknowledge my presence and refusing to be of any aid to my attempt to understand if I progress at all. It¡¯s like arrows against steel. Sounds of normality also avoid this maze. My footsteps make no noise. The malicious atmosphere muffles the jingle of my belt and the equipment on my chest. My own breath is the only noise the room allows. I become conscious of the weight of my own clothes, skin, and bones.


    You¡¯re scared of what¡¯s coming.


    It¡¯s just a monster. I¡¯ve killed worse tonight.


    Then why are you panting?


    It¡¯s a maze.


    No, you know how your life works now. Things don¡¯t work out. Things can never be simple. I promised you a fate worse than death if we didn¡¯t end our life soon. Maybe this is it. Oops, almost tripped there. And managed to make a little noise when your head banged against the wall. What are you scared of? You¡¯re sweating, Velli. Oh, that stench. That bovine stench is getting closer, Velli. What are you scared of? Oh, you can taste the beast on your tongue we¡¯re so close. And you¡¯re shaking. Why are you shaking, Velli?


    I turn the corner to see my enemy, and I¡¯ll kill it, like I¡¯ve killed the others. It is a minotaur. It sits on its backside. It¡¯s already dead, its body torn open. Someone in a large sombrero picks out its bones. This someone has the most beautiful whistle I¡¯ve ever heard.


    They put the bones in a bag, a brown man-sized knapsack. Things punch and crawl inside the knapsack, creating indentations but never a single tear. Whatever he puts in there is very much alive.


    I was wrong before. The minotaur is alive. It just¡­ it just¡­ it doesn¡¯t make sense that it¡¯s alive. It moos, a faint, long, mournful sound. It¡¯s down to only bones, no fur, no muscle, just bones. It¡¯s still alive¡ªand in so much pain.


    It¡¯s got no eyes, just blank spaces where eyes should be, but it looks at me¡ªtoward me. What did I do to it? It¡¯s looking at me. No, stop looking at me. If you look at me. Then he¡¯ll¡­


    He looks at me. I wish he were bones. I could beat bones. I recognize him. I¡¯ve always loved legends. His wide-brimmed hat covers his face in shadow, or is he so tall, his face is impossible to see? His hat does crunch against the top of the maze as he stands to his full height. His sleeveless vest shows all of his lengthy arms. So much muscle and power in something so slim. His gray skintight pants look like a second layer of flesh until they stop at his ankles. He¡¯s so tall. Three of my steps would be one of his. He is El Sibon. El Sibon does one sharp whistle in my direction.


    I run back through the maze.


    Stop running, Velli. Just accept it. You¡¯re not going to find anything you can kill. There will always be an El Sibon or something worse, far worse.


    El Sibon, a legend of Venezuelan lore. El Sibon, the man who killed his own father and, in turn, was cursed by his grandfather. He was tied to a pole and whipped by his grandfather and left to be eaten by wolves. Now, he wanders the world and collects the wet bones of the living.


    I bump into corners of the maze because it¡¯s a stupid maze, and turns come out of nowhere. Why is his whistling so close?


    Because he¡¯s close, Velli.


    No, that¡¯s not how the story goes. If he¡¯s nearby, then it sounds like he¡¯s far away.


    Now, does that make sense?


    Do monsters make sense?


    No, and they also don¡¯t play by our rules. Velli, I¡¯m looking right now, and he¡¯s nearly touching your back. I know you hear that whistle.


    I do. It¡¯s so sharp and holds no tune. It¡¯s like a dog whistle for humans, a sharp command that splits my brain. He has to be there. That¡¯s the only thing that makes sense.


    Why don¡¯t you look back?


    I can¡¯t look back. If I look back, I¡¯ll slow down.


    Then stop and die.


    I run faster. That¡¯s my only choice.


    Steps! I listen for steps but hear none. Only my breath, the buzz of the lights, and a whistle that wants to split my skull.


    You¡¯re going into his bag of bones. You¡¯re going into his bag of bones. You¡¯re going into his bag of bones, Fate sings.


    Left, right, right, right, right, left, left, right. I make up patterns of turns in my head to escape him. To shake him. Maybe if I can lose him, he¡¯ll give up.


    Someone! Someone other than El Sibon appears. She has green hair and wears an all-black dress that stops just above the knee. I follow her. We twist and turn throughout the maze and never stop, but we slow because of the maze¡¯s power. The atmosphere enforces a sweat-inducing speed limit on our bodies.


    Left, right, left, right, left, left, left. She, too, makes a random pattern. It¡¯s comforting, partly because I¡¯m not alone. She screams. Grabbing the back of her quad, she collapses to the floor.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    I risk a look back. No one¡¯s there. Am I safe? I go to attend the girl.


    ¡°Get away from me!¡± she screams. ¡°Stop following me!¡±


    ¡°Something¡¯s coming,¡± I tell her and don¡¯t dare to say El Sibon¡¯s name aloud. ¡°The whistler¡­ the guy whistling.¡±


    ¡°Leave me alone!¡± she screeches loud enough to make me step back.


    A long, single-note whistle toys with my brain. He¡¯s still coming.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I tell her slowly, calmly, smiling. ¡°I¡¯m Ve¡ª¡±


    ¡°Leave me alone!¡± she screams.


    ¡°No, wait, I¡¯m trying to explain¡ª¡±


    ¡°Leave! Leave! Leave!¡± she yells.


    I leave her. That¡¯s all I can do. I don¡¯t hurry this time. It¡¯s a walk as monotonous as the buzzing. I¡¯m in a maze. I¡¯m just as likely to find a way out as to run into El Sibon.


    The bones were living, active things bouncing around a bag. Do you think you can talk in there, or is it just consciousness? Consciousness in a bag of bones. What would be worse, remembering what you once were in the bag, forgetting what you were, or thinking you were something else before, like a minotaur? Oh, you probably want to forget what you are. And well, if you want it, you know what¡¯s bound to happen. You won¡¯t get it.


    I spot a staircase. Anything is better than this, so I make the journey down. It¡¯s black and dark. Each step is invisible to me, and somehow, I never miss a step. Around the corner, the same fluorescent light bursts from another room and another sound¡ªthe sound of people.


    Hundreds of them are all dressed in well-fitting black pants and shirts. They are people, but they give me an alien feeling. I have a hard time distinguishing their genders. They sit at long tables that hold maybe fifty or sixty people. They answer phones, chat, and slam them down with incredible intensity.


    ¡°Hey, excuse me. Excuse me.¡± I wave to the table in front of me. ¡°How do I get out of here?¡±


    Annoyed. The man to my left or maybe my right¡ªI suddenly find it hard to distinguish them or any directions¡ªpushes a phone to me.


    ¡°Call, man. Call,¡± he whispers while he speaks to someone else on the line. ¡°Order a way out. That¡¯s the only way.¡±


    ¡°Uh, okay.¡±


    ¡°And don¡¯t forget about me when you get out,¡± another man or the same man says.


    Unsure of who to call, I pick up the phone and stare at it like it could tell me. I could buy a rescue¡­ and go into debt. Dream is definitely not an option. I¡¯d rather die. Lue or Jeremy?


    ¡°Hello?¡± the person on the other end says.


    ¡°Hello!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m in trouble. Please, can you help?¡± It¡¯s a kid¡¯s panicky voice.


    ¡°Yes, wait, um, I¡¯m a bit stuck. Are you in the Backrooms too?¡±


    ¡°No, what are the Backrooms?¡± The kid¡¯s voice cracks. ¡°I¡¯m at home.¡± Home. The innocence in the voice. The way he says it. It¡¯s not a teenager. It¡¯s a child, and he¡¯s very scared.


    ¡°Okay, I think you have the wrong number. Were you looking to hire a rescue?¡±


    Someone yells loudly or maybe growls. Maybe it¡¯s a call for somebody on the other end.


    The kid¡¯s voice drops to a whisper. ¡°No. I don¡¯t have money for a rescue. This phone was in the closet, and it said to call for an emergency. I¡¯m in the closet, and he¡¯s coming closer.¡±


    ¡°Okay, okay, hold on.¡± The phone¡¯s simple, black, just a normal cell phone, not even a brand on the back. ¡°Okay, wait. On the desk, a sheet of loose-leaf paper has a few codes.¡± I read down the list.


    **342¡ªcalls the Magnahgalin


    **704¡ªhangs up, blocks the number, and redirects your call


    **888¡ªsends help to contact


    Okay, that seems close enough. No idea who the Magnahgalin is, so I won¡¯t be giving him a call. I don¡¯t bother to read the other numbers on the list and click **888.


    The phone clicks to signify the call¡¯s end.


    ¡°Wait! Are you there?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Hello,¡± a robotic feminine voice says. ¡°Please tell us the number of those who need to be rescued.¡±


    ¡°Those? Oh, so you can get me too?¡±


    ¡°Please tell us the number of those who need to be rescued,¡± the voice says again.


    ¡°Yep, yep, hold on.¡± Okay, it should be somewhere. I¡¯m scrambling for something that should list my number inside the phone. ¡°What¡¯s the number here?¡± I ask the coworkers beside me. They ignore me. ¡°The number,¡± I say with growing veracity. ¡°The number!¡±


    The phone has no contacts, and the settings tab won¡¯t open.


    ¡°Please, tell us the number of those who need to be rescued, or the call will be redirected.¡±


    ¡°Give me one second. The last call! Can you go back on the last call and rescue that number?¡±


    ¡°Please, tell us the number of those who need to be rescued, or the call will be redirected.¡±


    ¡°Last call, redial, previous number. That¡¯s who you rescue.¡±


    ¡°Please, tell us the number of those who need to be rescued, or the call will be redirected.¡±


    ¡°How do you get the last call rescued?¡± I ask my coworkers again, and they only mouth intelligibly. ¡°What? Speak up. Please just speak!¡± I yell at them, but they refuse to yell back.


    ¡°Please, tell us the number of those who need to be rescued, or the call will be redirected,¡± the voice says again.


    ¡°I¡¯ve told you who to call. Redial! Redial!¡±


    ¡°Call redirected.¡±


    ¡°No! There¡¯s a kid on the other line. He¡¯s scared and alone! I said redial. You heard me. I said redial!¡±


    The phone doesn¡¯t ring.


    A new voice comes on, a middle-aged man. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He¡¯s practically begging, dragging out words from his wet throat. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry. Please stop calling here.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no, this is, Velli. I¡¯m not who normally calls. I just need help. I¡¯m in an office space sort of. Or maybe I¡¯m supposed to help you. I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re always Velli. I know, Velli, it¡¯s you. It¡¯s you. It¡¯s always you! Why won¡¯t you leave us alone?¡±


    ¡°I have never called here before. I promise.¡±


    ¡°You have, and it¡¯s on purpose at this point because you know that whenever you call, he comes! Please, please, please.¡± He stops begging.


    ¡°Sir? Are you there?¡±


    The man on the other end cracks. His laugh is throaty and loud. ¡°Oh. Oh, oh, oh. I¡¯m the last one! My family¡¯s gone. It¡¯s my turn now. I hope he comes for you next, Velli.¡±


    He hangs up. The office goes on as normal. The line¡¯s dead. I run again. Realizing I never learned the name of the child or the man. I know running is pointless in my attempt to avoid him, but I run through the maze like a gerbil. I know it¡¯s pathetic. I know I¡¯ve done nothing but run and hurt people since I¡¯ve been in this maze, but this is better. I can escape.


    Someone walks in front of me. They¡¯re dazed¡ªtense shoulders, stiff arms, and shaky legs.


    I¡¯m careful to walk up to him slowly.


    Yeah, don¡¯t want him to be like the last girl you got killed. What¡¯s your body count looking like now? Including the kid and dad, and let¡¯s just put Dream on there. Why not? She¡¯ll probably die without you. The death of Dream and the death of your dreams.


    She¡¯ll come back around.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I call to the slow-moving man. Maybe he¡¯s been here awhile. He has the stench of a long, physical day¡¯s work. Sweat drips from pool-like stains in the armpits of his white T-shirt. His black pants hold shaky legs and are soaked with a stench stronger than sweat. Oh, Division, that¡¯s not mud on his pants.


    ¡°Hey, man,¡± I call again, placing two soft fingers on his shoulders so as not to startle him.


    He wanders on, ignoring me. I pull back, weigh my options, then decide to yank him toward me. Maybe he¡¯s stuck in a paranoid daze.


    ¡°He hears ya, man. He just can¡¯t answer you,¡± someone says in a deep voice behind me. It belongs to a half-naked man in plaid shorts with white designs. Through his white-painted lips, he says, ¡°He belongs to me, if you will. So he works and works, but there is nothing to do here in the Backrooms, so I make him pace until every muscle hurts, until the soles of his feet are melted, and until his blood vessels burst open from being tightened for months without rest.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s your fate too. I see it in your eye. You fear the Reaper too much. So you¡¯ll start working for me. Give it time.¡±


    ¡°I need to get out of here.¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t no getting out for you.¡±


    ¡°Wait, wait, wait, what do you want? I can¡¯t work for you. Let¡¯s bargain.¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t no bargaining!¡± he yells and reaches deep in his throat for another sound. From behind maze walls, more of the half dead crawl. Dressed in all manner of modern clothes and still with the horrible smells, at least a dozen of them. They¡¯re zombies. Their jaws hang slack straight toward the ground. ¡°I am the slave maker of the Ti Bon Ange! Outcast of the houngan. I am¡ª¡±


    Four shots. I don¡¯t know if I needed less, but that¡¯s what I gave him. Four shots. Just like Mogvaz. And that was it. I didn¡¯t expect that to be it, but that was it. I couldn¡¯t do it anymore, the smell, the hopeless look in their eyes. I couldn¡¯t let that be me. I would rather die. I don¡¯t celebrate. No jubilation. Somber peace comforts me, a peace that says I would much rather face Death himself than be a zombie or live in the bag of El Sibon.


    The rancid bodies drop. They thud and splash in their own filth and sound like the hammering of grand wet drums. The bodies don¡¯t flinch. They fall into inglorious positions, and death freezes them there.


    Velli, Velli, this does not absolve you. You are still guilty for the death of the man and the boy.


    Maybe, and I can feel guilty, but I¡¯ve done a good thing as well by killing that man. I let the dead have their peace. That¡¯s how things work. Do some bad things, do some good things, then die, and that¡¯s fine. No more running for me. That¡¯s it. I¡¯m moving on. I¡¯m killing El Sibon, then I¡¯m killing Death, then I¡¯m making the Old Soul swear to obey me for all her days.


    The whistle cuts through my head.


    I whistle back.


    There¡¯s no noise. My heart drops for a moment. He¡¯ll step up right behind me and stuff me in his bag. What¡¯s taking so long?


    He¡¯s letting the fear settle. He wants me to be afraid. His whole bit before¡­ The minotaur! What are the chances he just now killed a minotaur? Allegedly, this place has existed since the Fairy-Tale Forest. It¡¯s been years, and he just now killed the minotaur. No, that¡¯s a trap. He wants me to run so I¡¯ll be afraid to either get turned into a zombie or give up, drop out of exhaustion, and get put into El Sibon¡¯s bag like the girl probably was.


    El Sibon steps in front of me¡ªskin and bones, nine feet tall, and four more shots from my gun take him down. His body drops to make less noise than it should, and the bones rattle twice in his bag before they are forever silenced. I step over him. As I said, enough is enough. Running felt good, felt safe. But monsters are never as bad when one faces them. I¡¯m excited for my rematch.


    I head to the table of callers again, ignoring the phones they push toward me. Fate mentions something about trying to use the phone again. The comment is easy to ignore as I take out my anger on the paper trimmer and slam it into the floor until I can rip the blade from it. It¡¯s not Excalibur. It¡¯s similar in build to a machete except duller and more curved, but I know a story about a guy who killed a thousand men with a jawbone. A weapon is a weapon in the right hands.


    And you¡ª


    Shut up, Fate. You¡¯re getting boring.


    I swish my new weapon with both hands, getting used to its weight, light and quick. The Backrooms¡¯ steps are gone, but that¡¯s fine. I wander and scream over the noise of those awful buzzing lights.


    ¡°Death!¡± I yell. ¡°Death! I want you! You hear me!¡± I scream into the void of the Backrooms. ¡°Come take me. No more running.¡±


    It takes a long time for Death to respond. The void of the Backroom becomes grosser. The solid, square-shaped maze melts and flattens like an expressionist painting. The yellows blend and make a new greenish color. Crickets chirp, owls hoot, and monsters crawl, all replacing the buzz. And the light¡ªit¡¯s funny how much I missed moonlight, even if it¡¯s not the real moon. The real world appears in front of me, the two horsemen and Death himself, and I¡¯m so grateful.

 Chapter 55-Death on a Horse

    Velli


    The Dullahan¡¯s head hangs at its belt and gives me a black-gummed smile. It cracks its bone whip twice to torture and shred the brown ground underneath it. The nuckelavee rains blood onto the floor, a pool forming beneath him. His naked red body is an alarm in the darkness, a warning. My eyes would not leave it if his companion didn¡¯t have such a presence. Death, in his same all-black robe, looking like a homeless vagrant, slides off his massive Clydesdale. It is a slow, unbothered drop then a powerful, lumbering plod toward me.


    Four shots, straight in his head. He doesn¡¯t stop walking. I reload for another four. They do not stop him. The noise of the gun bothers him more than me. Both horsemen behind him don¡¯t even care to acknowledge it. They stand behind him, bored with the scene.


    Yes, children¡¯s fairy tales, Velli. ¡°The ones that tell you to be brave.¡± Yes, those are the ones you should listen to. Well done.


    ¡°Take my hand,¡± Death commands, five inches from my face. His icy breath touches my eyes as he presents his withering hand to me. Flesh melts off of it and grows back every second. ¡°Take my hand, and I will bind you to my horse. You will walk behind us, and we will take you to the land of the dead. This is what you have come for. All flesh take this walk.¡±


    ¡°I have come to tell you no.¡±


    The Dullahan¡¯s whip lashes out. I dodge.


    ¡°Death doesn¡¯t accept no.¡± The Grim Reaper slams its scythe into the ground with surprising force, contrasting his sluggish movements.


    ¡°False. I already have. You may be Death manifested. You may actually be the Grim Reaper and not some mutant freak stuck in this carnival, but the fact is, I beat you once. You wanted me dead the first time we fought, and I escaped. That¡¯s a win. Even if I looked like a coward, even if it brought me somewhere worse than death. If I beat Death once, I can beat you again.¡±


    ¡°Do you think it will be easy to beat me?¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯ll get me eventually, but there¡¯s so much I can do in the meantime because you¡¯re slow.¡±


    I burst forward, yank the scythe from the ground, keep stride, and raise it to block another strike from the Dullahan¡¯s whip. With my other hand, I toss my blade at the nuckelavee¡¯s eye. The sinking zip of blade into flesh satisfies me. The beast Death rides is a Clydesdale and it is big for its breed. I¡¯ve never seen anything like it, but it¡¯s easy enough to command. I hop on, and with two swift nudges from my heels, we¡¯re off.


    Facing Death again, beating it, it¡¯s a thrill unmatched. Now to finish the job before the sun rises and all of this ends. Time¡¯s passed here. It¡¯s almost morning. Few monsters are out, from what I can see. I assume that means they¡¯ve gathered somewhere.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Far to my left is a massive hill over a swirling whirlpool of water that beats against the hill. The hill itself crumbles under the pressure, bits of it falling into the whirlpool.


    On the edge of the hill, beneath the now-fading moon and above the rising sun, is the Old Soul. She battles a literal wall of monsters, who fight to taste her flesh. She¡¯s found the limit of her teleportation powers. She can only move where she can see, and there¡¯s nowhere safe for her to look.


    I nudge the beast¡¯s belly again twice, urging him faster.


    ¡°Old Soul!¡± I cry as we run through a brook formed by a woman¡¯s tears, over a sewer system filled with snapping gators, and past a workshop where slave elves make whips and chains while their horned master sits on a throne.


    We zoom past black-eyed children who produce dread through my skin. We go over a bridge where a pigman battles a troll for dominance, and we go past a story time as an old fae reads to young fae from a storybook with a picture of a human boiling alive in it.


    Finally, at the hill, it¡¯s a slaughter. A mass of blood, monster, limbs, fur, and teeth. All battle. All grasp forward. There are no allies. There is no communication. I can¡¯t identify a single thing to slay. Death¡¯s scythe doesn¡¯t need names. I only know bodies drop, and I carve the mass from a wall to a tunnel. A tunnel with enough room for me to walk through and a perfect view to finally see her.


    ¡°Old Soul!¡± I sing.


    Ironically, she smiles¡ªa real one this time, full of hope and joy. Until she sees what¡¯s rescuing her. It¡¯s her worst nightmare. The one thing she wouldn¡¯t face. The reason I won and she lost. I faced death, and now I am death. I¡¯m death on a horse.


    The Old Soul freezes. I ride forward until I can slam the back of my scythe into her gut. She lurches forward and retches. Her cane is free from her hand. In one swift movement, I leap off my horse and catch her cane. I wait for the pathetic old woman to raise her head and stick my scythe by her neck. Her back heel is off the ground now. The sun rises, and I¡¯m almost out of time.


    Typical, Velli. You never¡ª


    Fate, you¡¯re getting old. I win. You lose.


    She isn¡¯t me. She is a coward. She should see the signs that she only needs to hold out a minute more, but fear of death makes some foolish.


    ¡°Old Soul,¡± I sing again. ¡°You¡¯re running away? You¡¯re scared? That¡¯s fight or flight, right? Sorry, just a psych major if I got that wrong.¡± I nod toward the edge of the cliff. ¡°Why don¡¯t you try flight for me?¡±


    The monsters are probably disappearing behind me. The sunrise is as inevitable¡ª


    As your defeat.


    Once the sun rises, I assume all this goes. Even Death¡¯s scythe. The Old Soul is brilliant. Will she really fall for this? How scared is she of death? How scared is she of the thing she¡¯s run the most from? Scared enough to give up her life? She doesn¡¯t speak. She¡¯s not buying it. No, she doesn¡¯t speak because she knows she¡¯s in checkmate.


    ¡°Old Soul.¡± I put on my authoritative voice. ¡°Swear by your name to obey me¡ªVelli Greene¡ªuntil the day you die and to never harm me.¡± I shrug. ¡°If not, die.¡±


    She does not hesitate.


    ¡°I swear. I swear Billie Wares, the Old Soul, to obey Velli Greene until the day I die and to never harm you.¡±


    The sun rises behind her. The horse below me vanishes. It¡¯s the best feeling in the world to witness the Old Soul¡¯s face when she realizes that if she had waited five more seconds, the nightmare would have been over. I win. The world around me returns to normal, and yet the scythe does not disappear.

 Chapter 56- Morning Waffles

    Velli


    I instruct both Lue and Jeremy to meet me in the Fairy-Tale Forest for waffles with Eddie and Pooh. Of course, I warn them beforehand that I¡¯ll be having their torturers, Wulf and the Old Soul, serve us. I ask both Jeremy and Lue if this is okay, letting them know I understand if it would make them uncomfortable.


    ¡°The Old Soul?¡± Jeremy says. ¡°Serving us? We really made it big-time, huh, Big V? We¡¯re really going to start running this city. Yeah, yeah, sure, that¡¯s fine. Aye, aye, make the old hag wear a maid outfit and call me sir. That¡¯ll be funny. You said they can¡¯t speak at all? Well, if she can just say ¡®sir¡¯ a lot, that¡¯ll be cool with me. Oh yeah, Big V, it¡¯s only up from here. I can get used to this. I assume you got some of Wulf¡¯s cash. Can I get my split? I need to buy a suit for this. We can write it off as a business expense.¡±


    I do not know where he got this ¡°we¡± idea or ¡°his split,¡± but I let it slide.


    Lue asks, ¡°Do I want him there? Okay, so I¡¯m not sure if this came off correctly or not after our conversation. I hate to have to describe myself because I think it¡¯s obvious who I am, and it¡¯s not exactly coy to do so, but I am a hater. I am petty. My greatest satisfaction is seeing people I don¡¯t like in misery. Yeah, some stuff happened that made me that way. But rest assured, that is still me. And yes, he is¡­ he¡­ yes, he did what he did to me. I appreciate you asking, but absolutely yes, he should be there. Oh, you know what would be so funny? So you wouldn¡¯t know this because you¡¯re not in the fashion world, clearly. Sorry, that was mean. Old habits are hard to drown. Am I right? But see, look how mean I am? Anyway, Wulf¡¯s biggest rival was the brand Black Wear. I should come dressed in all Black Wear gear. But¡­ they froze all of Wulf¡¯s assets, and everything he made is gone. So could I borrow some cash, please? I need a new outfit. I¡¯m sure the Old Soul had some cash.¡±


    ¡°Some¡± is the right word for what the Old Soul had. She lived most of her life through force or intimidation, so money wasn¡¯t a main motivator for her. If it were enough for my mother, I would have given it to her, but it¡¯s not, so I give to my new friends.


    We all meet inside Winnie the Pooh¡¯s home. It looks as it did in the stories. The inside is fairly well decorated. It consists of one room, with his bed resting in the corner. The window¡ªreally just a hole in the tree¡ªhas curtains that look like blankets and let in a magical amount of light. Across from the kitchen table to the left and the right are his signature shelves of honey jars as well as another stash in front of the table.


    He goes through each jar and explains the texture, taste, and moisture level of each honey. It¡¯s reminiscent of both a teenager who started buying alcohol on his own and thinks it¡¯s the coolest thing ever and an aged wine connoisseur.


    Lue comes next, then Eddie the donkey, and they both receive the same treatment. Jeremy finally comes¡ªin his suit¡ªand after saying hello to everyone, he pulls me in for a hug-handshake in the corner of the room. He¡¯s been really enthusiastic ever since I made the Old Soul give him back his youth. His energy is slowly returning to him, and in three days, he should be as strong as a normal teenager. The only problem is he still looks old¡ªbalding, with liver spots and wrinkled skin. That¡¯s permanent, I¡¯m afraid. I worry about what high school will be like for him looking like that.


    ¡°How ya doing, Big V?¡± Jeremy asks with authoritative concern.


    ¡°Good¡­ how are you, Jeremy?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m all right, myself. Listen, Lue, that girl over there.¡± He nods in her general direction and waits for me to look.


    ¡°Why are you nodding like that? I invited her. I know what she looks like.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, Big V, of course, of course. Listen¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±


    ¡°Listen¡­ so Lue, is she for me or for you?¡±


    ¡°Jeremy, what do you mean ''is she for you''? She¡¯s here to eat breakfast.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, of course, of course, I mean like¡­ relationally, like loving. I just want the okay to start talking to her. I¡¯m six foot tall, y¡¯know? Girls like that.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t I tell you what happened to her? Give her some time.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean give her some time? I¡¯ve been very polite to her the past two days.¡±


    I take a deep breath. Jeremy really is still a kid who just hit puberty and who knows absolutely nothing about anything. My breath ends in a smile because it¡¯s just growing pains. Right? I was an idiot once too. ¡°Let¡¯s get some waffles. We¡¯ll talk after, okay, Jeremy?¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Oddly, this answer satisfies him. ¡°Sure, Big V, sure. We gotta talk about the name of our clique, who we¡¯re going after next, and all that, anyway.¡± He proceeds to take a seat.


    I have no idea where he¡¯s getting any of these ideas.


    I get in my seat last. We all sit in chairs made for children or small talking animals that belong in the Hundred Acre Woods. At least they¡¯re comfy. I enjoy being served. Eddie makes the waffles, and both Wulf and the Old Soul serve. This is good. This is power.


    Old Soul¡¯s face is a consistent scowl, while Wulf¡¯s is stoic.


    ¡°Cute maid outfit, Granny.¡± Jeremy winks at her.


    ¡°Sir,¡± she replies in full grimace.


    Jeremy¡¯s jaw drops, and he smiles at me to confirm I heard. I nod. He looks over at Lue, gives her a wink, and leans back in his seat. Lue forces herself to smile.


    ¡°Now, Velli,¡± Pooh starts. ¡°Are you sure these people deserve this?¡±


    ¡°Yes, quite sure. They are as evil as anyone in the Nightmare part of your world.¡±


    ¡°Oh dear.¡± Pooh shivers. ¡°Then they are very bad people indeed. Speaking of that¡­ you said the scythe didn¡¯t disappear, even when the monsters did?¡±


    ¡°No, it didn¡¯t.¡± I find Pooh¡¯s eyes. ¡°Is Death one of you? Or do you think that was something else?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s hard to say¡­¡± Pooh starts as the Old Soul places a fork and knife beside him. ¡°We don¡¯t know much about the other side. Do we, Eddie?¡±


    I prepare myself for Eddie¡¯s speech, which I¡¯m sure will follow.


    ¡°No, no, no,¡± Eddie announces. ¡°Not much about them folks over there. We¡¯re good, and they¡¯re evil, and that¡¯s about the gist of it. Now me, I don¡¯t want nothing to do with evil. I like good food and good people, personally. That scythe, you left it there, right?¡±


    I nod honestly.


    ¡°Good, if it¡¯s E-V-I-L, I don¡¯t want it to do nothing with M-E. Tell you what they say about Death. ¡®You can only cheat him so much.¡¯ Now, they¡¯re not talking about the walking Death but death in general. Honestly, I don¡¯t even know if we can die. It¡¯s so peaceful here, it¡¯s almost like we¡¯re already in heaven. Well, except I had this one girl pulling my ear recently¡ª¡±


    A clatter to my left interrupts his speech. It¡¯s Lue. She¡¯s knocked over her fork and knife. She stands, showing her dress from Black Wear, which is, ironically, all white. The summer dress stops at her ankles and says Black Wear across the top in black lettering. White socks and shoes with the same black logo finish the outfit, along with a Black Wear bow in her hair.


    ¡°Ooops,¡± she announces to the room and stands to her full height, hitting a slight pose. ¡°Looks like I dropped my fork and knife. Wulf, grab it for me.¡±


    Lue¡¯s plan is working. Wulf¡¯s bearded face twists with disgust at Lue¡¯s outfit. Good for her.


    ¡°I gotcha, darling,¡± Jeremy says.


    I reach out to stop him, but he¡¯s already up on his wrinkled legs, propelled by lust.


    ¡°No.¡± Lue¡¯s faux smile breaks. ¡°Wulf can do it.¡±


    ¡°I can do it.¡± Jeremy doubles down. He has a look about him that says he has something to prove.


    I pull at my face in aggravation. I hope he doesn¡¯t think this is about her considering him too old and frail. But he does.


    ¡°Well, sir¡­ I asked Wulf, so how about you take a seat?¡± As Lue has been quick to remind me, she¡¯s not the best person in the world and is liable to make this confrontation ugly fast.


    Pooh interjects. ¡°Let¡¯s all take a seat and add some honey to the waffles.¡± He pats his big belly.


    ¡°Why would we add honey to waffles?¡± Eddie asks.


    We sit in silence, waiting for him to add sixty more unnecessary words to his sentence. However, he doesn¡¯t. He looks at Pooh with a slack jaw, his face crunched, his neck veiny, and ears perked in pure resentment. And now we¡¯ve made the donkey mad.


    ¡°Because honey is good and better than syrup,¡± Pooh snaps back with similar fury.


    There is no way this is happening. The Old Soul smiles in the corner, and Fate mumbles.


    ¡°No!¡± I announce, and they all turn to me. ¡°Jeremy, over here, my man. I need to talk to you about a new guy I want to catch. You¡¯re my captain, right? I need some feedback on your ideas.¡±


    Elated, Jeremy comes to me. ¡°Pooh, Eddie, no need to argue. We¡¯re all starving. Let¡¯s just do two rounds of waffles, one honey topped and one syrup topped. We¡¯ll have the syrup second. Old Soul, make yourself busy, and go find us the best syrup in a fifty-mile radius.¡±


    Her eyes are full of rage as she obeys.


    ¡°Lue, how about you instruct Wulf on how to make these waffles? Wulf, obey her to the letter.¡±


    Lue smiles, takes a seat, then demands Wulf take her the three steps over to Pooh¡¯s stove. She commands him in vivid detail how to do the ultracomplicated task of making waffles.


    It¡¯s all laughs. It works like a charm. The waffles are great. I eat like the king I am.


    ¡°Hey, Velli,¡± Lue says and enjoys both her honey- and syrup-dipped waffles. ¡°When¡¯s Dream coming?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah, boss,¡± Jeremy adds, nudging my shoulder.


    ¡°I¡¯ll say this once because I want us all to be friends.¡± I pause and let the tension build. ¡°Don¡¯t mention her in front of me again.¡±


    Then that¡¯s that. I go back to eating my waffle, and we have a great time after. The best time.

 UPDATE

    Hey guys I''ll keep this short.


    1. I apologize for the lack of consistent updates. I''ll be updating twice- weekly from now on.


    2. I''ve made a Patreon; if you sign up, you can read the complete story right now.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    3. I have a graphic novel set in the same universe that you can read on my Patreon or my substack. My substack link is in the author notes below.


    4. I also have a Reddit full of short stories some of which contain recurring characters from here. It''s a community of 70 plus so join us.

 Chapter 57- Waffles and Mom

    Velli


    I watch my mom wolf down the waffles I got her as I vent about the day and, frankly, how annoying Lue and Jeremy were. It¡¯s funny and odd how her appetite returns to her when she¡¯s in that bed. She gobbles down both the ones covered in honey and the ones covered in syrup before looking up at me again. With a full mouth, she points to the Tupperware I have with a few more waffles.


    ¡°Eat,¡± she says after a big swallow and a clear mouth.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m stuffed,¡± I say genuinely and pat my stomach to confirm.


    ¡°You¡¯re getting so skinny.¡±


    ¡°I am not. I¡¯ve weighed the same for months.¡±


    ¡°Eat, please,¡± she pouts.


    ¡°You worry too much.¡± Still, I grab the Tupperware and prepare to munch on the waffles.


    One bite, and my stomach has room for more. Pooh was right, honey¡¯s the best choice.


    We dwell in the pleasurable near silence that only good food can offer. Forks stab, knives slice, and we both gulp down pure contentment.


    ¡°Velli, how¡¯s Dream?¡±


    She catches me midswallow, so I can¡¯t pretend to chew and think.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Dream? Never been better.¡±


    ¡°Why isn¡¯t she here? She¡¯s your girlfriend now, isn¡¯t she? After the date.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to hang out with just me?¡±


    ¡°I miss her. Can you tell her to come by?¡±


    I stuff a waffle bite in my mouth and signal that I need a few seconds. She looks at me with knowing brown eyes, and I realize she¡¯s the one person I can never lie to because she always knows.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to see her again, and frankly, I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡± My mind draws my arguments on a chalkboard of how she is not perfect, my privacy should be respected, and that my relationship with Dream is my decision and my decision alone.


    ¡°How are Lue and Jeremy?¡± she asks, and I¡¯m in awe at the subject change.


    ¡°Fine. I told them I wanted to hang out with just you for a bit, so they¡­ I¡¯m not sure where they went. Just out, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± She¡¯s hiding an idea in her pretty graying head.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Do you like them?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°They¡¯re all right.¡±


    ¡°Jeremy looks up to you.¡±


    ¡°When he¡¯s not looking up a skirt. The guy¡¯s obsessed with girls. Did I tell you at lunch today he¡ª¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s more than that.¡± She interrupts in a way that makes me uncomfortable saying more. ¡°All that looking-for-a-girl thing is sometimes just a need to feel loved. To just feel that you aren¡¯t ugly when it feels like everything else tells you so. Did I tell you he¡¯ll sit by my bed at night? Right there and just ask to hold my hand. He won¡¯t say a word more. He¡¯ll just hold my hand and fall asleep because that¡¯s what he really wants, whether he knows it or not. Just to feel loved.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± This time, it¡¯s my turn to leave a grumble that has the weight of the unsaid.


    ¡°You are brilliant, and yet there¡¯s so much you and I don¡¯t know. Just keep your eyes open, please.¡±


    I keep my mouth closed as I pretend to chew on a waffle I already swallowed.

 Chapter 58- A Flower in a Tunnel

    Velli


    It¡¯s time for the final step. Tonight, I must meet Prometheus or die. I could grab more legends, and I know just the place¡ªthe Heirs¡¯ prison. Now, I have the power to snatch them. All I need is the layout of the prison. I will meet Trail, the mapmaker, to do so.


    My small army marches through the sewer. In the ankle-deep water, Carreon trails behind us as a python swishing through the filth. Wulf¡¯s wolves surround me, sniffing for something to bite and scanning the air for a potential threat to their new master. They despise the stench. Their hackles stay high and bristly. Growls, snaps, and splashes echo off the fungus-filled walls. Wulf, the ex-richest man in Division¡¯s Hand, and the Old Soul, an urban legend in the flesh, lead us. Wulf strolls proudly, chest out, despite our present condition, and the Old Soul wobbles forward, furious, fists clenched. Hot sewer water sinks past my boots and into my socks, while my body grows sticky with sweat. I¡¯ve never felt more powerful. The only task I give myself is to hold the flashlight.


    And yet I am not comfortable. They are under my command, but I am well aware that Carreon wants to wrap his reptilian flesh around my neck like a scarf and bring me to my knees. As I gasped for air, he would squeeze until I fell into the filth I make him swim in. The wolves owe no true loyalty to me. They want flesh, and I am flesh. My mind cannot process all the Old Soul would do to me if she could. Yet when I was surrounded by my best friends in the past, I wasn¡¯t really safe then, was I? A motivational depression creeps up my spine. My friends are gone. All that¡¯s left are my enemies. I¡¯ll accept what I have. I am what I am. It is what it is. I get it how I live it.


    Our loud plops through the sewer announce our presence and keep the creeping things away from us. The creeping things only scurry on the walls. They could be bugs, or maybe they¡¯re people. For a time, there were rumors of little people with Weaknesses who lived down here, people the size of beetles. They found life simpler here. Yes, a place with rats in the walls and the smell of everything gross that people flush¡ªthis is more comfortable than being above ground for them.


    Something scurries above us and makes a creaking sound. I push my flashlight in the air to reveal a white fungus with tiny red dots and big black spots on it.


    ¡°Swear I heard a rat,¡± Carreon whines as he turns back into a human. ¡°They got rats down here? They carry diseases. You¡¯re poisoning me, Velli. I don¡¯t wanna die, man.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care. Keep watching my back,¡± I command.


    He does so. I imagine he¡¯s fearful of what else I could command him to do. That reminds me, when I get home, I need to research Cognomen Oaths. I believe I can learn more information about them.


    ¡°It¡¯s evil, what you¡¯re doing to me,¡± Carreon says.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done worse to others.¡±


    ¡°Maybe, man, but I¡¯ve just been trying to survive. I have a Weakness, you know.¡±


    To hide my frustration at his lies, I roll my eyes instead of getting angry. ¡°Uh-huh.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± he says. ¡°I can¡¯t change back to my normal body. I¡¯m always some kind of animal.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡± I don¡¯t hide my apathy. He¡¯s a liar.


    ¡°Care to weigh in, Granny?¡± Carreon yells at the Old Soul. ¡°Surely, looking like that, I know you have a Weakness. No offense. But it¡¯s not fair, is it? Not fair what he does to us.¡±


    ¡°I should have killed myself,¡± the Old Soul groans.


    ¡°Now, ain¡¯t that tragic?¡± Carreon asks. ¡°An elder in her golden years, and look how you¡¯re making her feel. You should be nicer to us. It¡¯s a crime against nature to hurt someone with a Weakness, and you know something? He or she or whatever they are won¡¯t be happy with you for this. Y¡¯know they protect us because we can¡¯t protect ourselves.¡±


    The ironic weight of his words is almost physical. ¡°I¡¯ll deal with the consequences.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re always worse than you think, Velli, young man. Always worse than you think.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Wulf yells.


    I shine my light on a figure in front of us wearing a big yellow raincoat. He¡¯s a pudgy mess of a person. It¡¯s hard to get a definite shape for him. Beneath the coat itself, there are at least four noticeably thick layers of clothing. A sleeve to two different sweaters pokes out of his sleeves. I raise the light to his eyes. Three sets of thin, colorful scarves cover his neck. And finally, covering his eyes is a ski mask.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that cold down here!¡± I yell at the figure.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s to keep my identity secret.¡± The voice is raspy, old, and tired. ¡°I have something very expensive in my possession.¡±


    ¡°State your name!¡± Wulf takes his role as a servant well.


    ¡°I go by Trail, the mapmaker.¡± Trail doesn¡¯t work to make his voice clearer.


    That¡¯s fine. He shouldn¡¯t. I, too, hide in the darkness, wear a mask, and intend to stay invisible to whoever this person may be.


    Wulf looks back at me for the first time. I nod, and he nods back.


    ¡°Mapmaker,¡± I call, disguising my voice a bit. ¡°Do you have the map we want?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I carry the map of the Heirs¡¯ prison,¡± he says. ¡°Do you have my money?¡±


    ¡°We have your forty thousand,¡± I say back. This is it, everything I own. It¡¯s all or nothing.


    The mapmaker steps closer.


    I step back. ¡°Do not come closer. Wulf, prepare to retrieve the map. Present it, mapmaker.¡±


    Wolf squats, ready to pounce.


    The mapmaker raises his hands in surrender. ¡°Apologies, apologies, I meant no disrespect, but it would ease my heart to know when this attack will take place. I do business with the Heirs as well as those who hate them. I would like to know when to avoid the palace.¡±


    I let his words sway in the sewer water. Dumb request. He should know I won¡¯t answer. Details on the mapmaker¡¯s mental state are rare. All I know is that he does deliver, so he wouldn¡¯t rat me out.


    You don¡¯t know how the mapmaker does business, Velli. He¡¯s used to dealing with the powerful, not you.


    That¡¯s surprisingly accurate advice. However, I can¡¯t trust it. ¡°Don¡¯t visit the Heirs for the next month.¡±


    That should satisfy his requirements. He knows enough to live but not enough to stop me.


    ¡°No, no, I¡¯ll need more than that or no map.¡±


    ¡°Present the map first before you get anything else,¡± I command.


    He does not speak but takes two steps closer, straight in my direction.


    ¡°Battle formation, now.¡±


    Wulf brings out a long sword, flatter than a run-over coin, but it can cut through steel. Carreon draws a gun, and he releases something between a cat¡¯s and a lizard¡¯s hiss. Each wolf croons a throaty bark. The Old Soul raises her cane.


    The mapmaker steps forward with a defiant plop. I take another step backward. The scarves under his face stretch. They cage his smile. He¡¯s in striking range now of the Old Soul and Wulf.


    ¡°Protect,¡± I command, and Wulf and the Old Soul stand side by side, covering me. The wolves form a single line before me, and Carreon stands behind to guard my rear.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    In the small gap between Old Soul and Wulf, the mapmaker raises his hands in slow motion. I open my mouth to give the order.


    ¡°What did you say?¡± Trail cups his hand to his ear.


    ¡°I said present the map before anything else.¡±


    Trail nods twice.


    ¡°Right, right. Look, no tricks.¡± Trail strips.


    It causes the wolves to pause. They no longer bark and bite at the air around them. The albino one and I exchange a look. Layer after layer plops into the dirty sewer water. Finally, Trail only wears two more layers, and on top is a large scroll strapped across his chest. The map. ¡°I have to keep it hidden until it¡¯s time to do real business.¡±


    This is getting too odd for my liking, so I honor the deal and tell him a random day that the attack might happen. ¡°The third Friday of this month.¡±


    ¡°Well, you don¡¯t have to lie about it,¡± he says with a changed voice. This one¡¯s more natural. ¡°If you¡¯re going to lie, we can just do the deal. Toss the money to one of your companions¡­ What did you say your name was?¡±


    ¡°Mogvaz,¡± I lie and reach into the back of my pants to pull out my money.


    This man is way too chatty to work in the underworld. Something is wrong. Is this a setup? Doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯m protected.


    ¡°Mogvaz, huh?¡± Trail says. ¡°You lost weight. I get it. I get it. Everything¡¯s got to be super secretive because now¡¯s the time to catch the Heirs when they¡¯re so weak. Their time is coming to an end, and you shall rise in their place.¡±


    I don¡¯t respond to his rants that have a clear enunciation to them. The grumbling in his voice is gone. I call Wulf and toss him the money rolled up in rubber bands.


    ¡°But,¡± the mapmaker says, ¡°that¡¯s not how they arrived. That¡¯s not how they took power. Everyone knew who they were. They didn¡¯t stick to the shadows.¡± The deal approaches its climax. Even as Trail speaks, he unstraps the map from himself.


    Wulf holds out the bundles of money to the mapmaker.


    ¡°They wanted everyone to know who they were. They wanted everyone to see them. You could never be like them. You could never be an Heir because you want to stay in the shadows. The Heirs love the moment. The Heirs love the light.¡±


    The mapmaker¡¯s bountiful layers fly off in a literal white flash, revealing a black woman in a white outfit that glows like silver kissed by the sun. She grabs Wulf¡¯s arm before her clothes flop to the ground. His wrist crunches under her grip. The walls shake. The money plops into the water, and Wulf howls like his namesake, not used to broken bones.


    Carreon fires two shots to the woman¡¯s head, and they do nothing, as if they got lost in her mass of hair. Her smile, for some reason, comforts me, then it scares me. It¡¯s sweet, courteous, and similar to Dream¡¯s. Two layers of fear bury me.


    Fear for my life and fear that she¡¯ll find out who I am and not just torture me but tell Dream. Because the hair, the light, that¡¯s Rose, Dream¡¯s sister and an Heiress of Division.


    ¡°Kill her!¡± I scream and regret the words. That¡¯s Dream¡¯s sister, her idol, her role model. The world slows down. For the first time since I¡¯ve controlled her, the Old Soul looks at me with her signature malicious and prodding grin, her perfect tiny teeth on unfortunate display.


    It¡¯s like she knows. Maybe she¡¯s made the connection to the girl I loved¡ª


    Loved?


    That¡¯s the sister of the girl I loved, and the Old Soul is going to enjoy this. I can stop her. I can tell her to retreat. I do not open my mouth as she slams her cane into the sewer water. I stay silent as she appears behind Rose, who looks at me, trying to discover who I am behind the mask. I keep my mouth sealed and do not even let a breath escape as the Old Soul swings her cane back and smashes it into Rose¡¯s skull.


    Rose still stands. My mouth gapes. The sewer shakes from the power of the Old Soul¡¯s cane. Walls crack, making sickening spirals from the impact. The Old Soul lands and attacks again. She swings her cane into Rose like an ax to a tree. The tree does not fall. Rose grabs the Old Soul by her head and pulls her off the ground.


    White light pours from Rose¡¯s body, and the world runs from her. Across all of evolution, across all space and time, every sane animal knows there is safety in light. They all run from it now. As clear as day, thanks to the power exuding from Rose, rats, flying pests, and every creeping, crawling thing runs across the walls and over our feet or smacks into us, trying to escape her. Carreon¡¯s face becomes a bloody mess of mosquito massacres. The energy Rose puts out makes it look like water itself fears her. The water that should surround her leaps against the walls in a futile attempt to escape. And the water¡¯s clear. The water surrounding her is as clear as glass. She¡¯s expunged every filthy thing in there.


    Rose¡¯s bare feet touch the floor beneath her. It¡¯s silver now, dust and grime gone. The Old Soul whacks Rose to no avail. The force itself knocks all of us back, including Wulf. Tumbling from the power, I plunge into the dirty water and take in a disgusting mouthful of the stuff. I¡¯m quick to get my head out of the water but have trouble finding my balance. My eyes find Rose and the Old Soul. Rose palms the Old Soul by her tiny head and looks at me. I struggle in the water, heart racing, clothes soaked, and filth up to my chest. Is she waiting for me to get back up?


    ¡°There are levels to legends,¡± she says in her real voice, the royal aesthetic, which unnerved me when Dream used it. The Old Soul¡ªcane, sweater, body, all of her¡ªturns to dust that cannot even make it into the ground. The residual energy from Rose evaporates before it damages the pristine floor she stands above.


    ¡°Wulf, save me!¡± I cry out.


    Wulf leaps and strikes at her wrist with his sword. She jumps back in another silver flash, and he only hits the air. Rose lands, and before she even touches the ground, the energy exuding from her cleans the floor for her bare feet, and the water¡ªnow purified¡ªleaps back.


    ¡°Wulf, get your wolves to attack! All of them!¡±


    The beasts¡¯ savagery returns. They snarl and leap on her. It¡¯s fireworks. The gray and white balls of fur leap into the air and are struck down by her glowing fist. Each strike ends in a jaw-breaking crack, and the wolves die on the floor, Just like that, all six of the beasts are gone.


    ¡°Wulf, whatever it takes!¡± I yell to him. He¡¯s red and full of rage, and yet he doesn¡¯t strike first.


    In another flash of light, Rose is in front of him and hits him with a right and left cross. The smacks reverberate through the tunnel in echoes, and I realize no more bugs and rats skitter past. They¡¯ve all left. Wulf does not fall, though. With one powerful hand, he pushes her back, and a wave of water rises behind her.


    I jog backward, careful to stay out of the light Rose makes. I didn¡¯t even notice my body was carrying me away at first.


    Rose¡¯s eyes lock onto me.


    ¡°Carreon, Wulf, your orders are to defend me with everything you have left.¡± I regret saying it. It has a finality to it¡ªthat they could really be gone, and all of this would be for nothing. Slowly, I attempt to sneak away.


    Your body knows how this ends.


    A claw made of white energy extends from Rose¡¯s hand and goes for my throat. I can only watch it latch on and burn me. I scream. The pain flourishes. I bury my head in the water, begging the feces-filled mess to take the pain away.


    She killed the Old Soul. She took a strike to the head like it didn¡¯t matter. I don¡¯t want to stick my head up. I don¡¯t want to come out. I do anyway. My skin still smokes, and it¡¯s soft. At least one layer is gone. Every movement is like one hundred fire ant stings. I find myself on the dirty sewer floor, pushing my neck into the water but keeping my head up to keep an eye on my assailant.


    Rose and Wulf trade blows, neither bothering to dodge or weave, just two titans waiting for something on the other to break. Carreon leaps into the air, and bat wings sprout from his back. He swipes down on Rose¡¯s back. The tear in her fabric sings through the tunnel. Rose continues to fight. Carreon runs toward the far wall of the sewer and leaps against it. Bouncing off the wall, he turns into a giant rat. Rose, too busy with Wulf, is struck perfectly in her kidney and bends over.


    Wulf takes the opportunity to deliver a quick, professional, and powerful uppercut. Rose falters, taking two quick steps back. Carreon leaps again as a giant rat. Rose catches him by his head and squeezes his mouth closed. Ever elusive, Carreon changes his body into a python and wraps himself around Rose¡¯s wrist.


    Wulf delivers another kidney shot in the same spot. She groans this time, and her knees tremble.


    Carreon transforms into a man again, and screaming, he puts her in a headlock. ¡°Die! Die! Die!¡±


    And this man said he had a Weakness. To do that, to put the closest thing we have on Earth to a god in a headlock, while I have to bury myself in sewer water just to make the pain go away¡ªthe disrespect. If I didn¡¯t need him, I might order him to kill himself.


    Carreon tightens his hold, and Wulf wails on her. He combines elbow strikes, punches, and knee drives to her stomach and face.


    Rose speaks, as stoic as a philosopher. ¡°I just want you to see.¡± She pauses to let the blood spill from her mouth. ¡°I just want you to see.¡±


    The pain subsides from my neck, and I can think again. Wulf goes faster. His body movements are a blur. Perfect combos. I imagine he¡¯s trained his whole life.


    ¡°Nothing you do matters when fighting an Heir,¡± Rose says.


    She sends a swift punch to Carreon¡¯s head. He drops, flat, stonelike, and doesn¡¯t move again.


    I understand now. ¡°Wulf, you have new orders. Sacrifice your life to make sure I escape. Carreon, get me out of here as quickly as possible.¡±


    Wulf¡¯s white smile is accentuated by Rose¡¯s light. He slams his head into hers and roars like a grizzly. She headbutts him back and hums a small hymn.


    Carreon¡¯s body rises out of the sewer, still unconscious. Large bat wings sprout from it again, and he flies toward me. He yanks me up by my elbows, and we whoosh away, fast enough to create ripples over the water. Not fast enough to avoid seeing Wulf die.


    Rose holds Wulf¡¯s head, his body absent. Blood is absent from Rose¡¯s hand despite the gruesomeness, despite the horror, despite Wulf¡¯s bloody body below her. She¡¯s too perfect to be stained by blood.


    She cocks her elbow and tosses his head at us. It spins in the air several times, showing his open, bulging-shocked eyes and hanging mouth or his proud, flowing black hair. It flies perfectly straight despite the spinning, and it¡¯s getting too close.


    For an instant, I make eye contact with the bodiless head. Then we whoosh up, returning above ground. The head keeps going in the tunnel. The night air does not do enough to ease my nerves. I command Carreon to keep going.


    Hello Author Here


    As I mentioned before this ties into a graphic novel. I thought I''d give you guys a preview since you guys just met Rose. Here is a battle between her and my main character of the graphic novel tie-in the story is called Fear the Family First. Check the Author''s Notes for the link.

 Who is Rose?/ Fear the Family First

    100% Free Preview-


    https://www.patreon.com/posts/daniel-vs-rose-120209210?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_creator&utm_content=join_link


    No B.S. or anything I tried to upload the comic here but I promise you I just couldn''t figure it out.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

 Chapter 59- Recovery

    Velli


    ¡°Hello, Carreon,¡± I say.


    He blinks a few times before shaking his head. ¡°Velli.¡± He looks around and pushes himself off the chimney I propped him against. He sets himself back down with a groan over his injuries. ¡°Whadda ya¡­? Where are we? Is this a roof?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± I take a seat beside him to get a better view of the moon. It¡¯s out tonight, and it¡¯s massive. A couple of people are out flying as well, but they don¡¯t interest me.


    ¡°What happened to Wulf?¡±


    ¡°Dead.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Division, geez, man, I don¡¯t want to die. How do I get out of this? What do I do? Don¡¯t make me fight anyone else.¡±


    ¡°No, no, you won¡¯t fight anyone else. I have a plan C. You have a new order. Once you complete this, things will get much easier.¡±


    His eyes bulge, and his jaw drops.


    ¡°Thank you, thank you. You know I have a Weakness, so you¡¯ll be blessed for this¡ª¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°No, I won¡¯t.¡± I¡¯m tired of his nonsense. ¡°You¡¯ll go to the Nightmare Couple and attempt to rob them. You¡¯ll get caught on purpose. Then, when they start torturing you¡ªnot before, this is important¡ªyou are to tell them I, Velli, have the map of the Heirs¡¯ prison.¡± I raise my hand to silence him. ¡°I¡¯m aware I don¡¯t. You will tell them that anyway, though. Don¡¯t worry about what happens next. You are to never mention me beforehand or give any indication that this is a setup.¡±


    ¡°If they torture me, they¡¯ll kill me after.¡± He gulps hard and cries freely. ¡°I got people to feed, man. Not a family but¡­ well, me, I¡¯m people.¡±


    ¡°We all die eventually.¡±


    ¡°But now, but now¡­¡±


    ¡°But now you must die so someone I love can live.¡±


    He grabs at my feet. I don¡¯t flinch. He won¡¯t hurt me. He places his head there and begs. ¡°Please, please, I know you believe I¡¯m evil, and maybe I have been, but I have a Weakness, you understand. It¡¯s because of my Weakness.¡±


    We all have an excuse, don¡¯t we? A reason why we can be monsters. I did just order a man to his death. He fought well, though. What did he call me¡­? Penance. He took his penance well. He fought with honor, and he probably would have won if he weren¡¯t fighting an Heir. That¡¯s good, isn¡¯t it? To fight with honor. And if even pure women beating scum like Wulf can do some good¡­ perhaps. Carreon wipes his tears on my feet.


    Dream¡¯s words come back to me. ¡°Be kind to those, even the cruel and selfish.¡±


    Okay, Dream, we¡¯ll do it your way. I will try to be kind.


    ¡°Carreon, fine. You may live, and you won¡¯t even have to be tortured. However, after this mission, you shall remain in my service.¡±


    He kisses my feet, and I formulate a new plan.

 Chapter 60- Dream Times Two

    Velli


    No one knocks at my door. I don¡¯t even hear it crack open. I only catch the slow patter of footsteps. It¡¯s been less than an hour since Rose crushed my dreams, and yet I¡¯m met with another challenge. A gun lies under my pillow for such an occasion. I leave it there, anxious to use it but not anxious to show it. Still, I would never lay a finger on what comes through the door.


    I recognize her silhouette first. My bedside lamp, the one light in the room, makes her shadow stretch across my small space and lie across my bed. Dream¡¯s in my room. My house. She sees it. She sees exactly how I live.


    My heart beats fast. Every word that wants to come out of my mouth is now meaningless and journeys back, defeated, slump shouldered, and hands in pockets down my trachea. I receive a consolatory revelation¡ªevery bit of anger I felt toward her before was just me coping. I love her.


    ¡°Can I sit?¡± she asks.


    The question makes me straighten, and I slide over to make room for her. She dressed up for me. I¡¯m embarrassed to be in only a T-shirt and shorts. She wears a yellow dress and pure-white sneakers.


    Dream sits on my bed with a barely registered plop. I¡¯m glad she¡¯s back. She smells like the beach¡ªno, that¡¯s not it. Her smell has no salt. It¡¯s dirt. No, not dirt, never that. She smells like sand.


    ¡°Um, Velli, um.¡± Her somberness and struggle for the right words scare me. She takes a long pause after every one and breathes heavily. ¡°Rose saw you.¡±


    My heart drops.


    Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahah!


    I¡¯ve lost everything. Dream¡¯s going to leave me, then they¡¯ll throw me into the Heirs¡¯ prison, and my mom will die. My mom will die. No one¡¯s going to pay for that hospital bill.


    I warned you about this living business. Really overrated.


    I reach for my phone. I need to get out of here. I need to¡ª


    ¡°Velli!¡± Dream¡¯s eyes are red, wet, and her lips quiver as her gaze bores into me.


    It hurts to see.


    ¡°Can you focus on me for one second and not the next thing?¡±


    She cries. She¡¯s hurt. She doesn¡¯t hate me yet. I can get out of this. I don¡¯t have to die in prison.


    The girl you love is crying in front of you, and this is what you think about. You¡¯re disgustingly selfish.


    You¡¯re absolutely right, Fate. ¡°I am so sorry, Dream.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°Why? Why are you always scheming? Why won¡¯t you ever let me in? Always on to the next thing. Why can¡¯t you just be happy with me?¡±


    ¡°I am!¡± I console her. ¡°I am so happy with you. I want to keep being happy with you.¡± ¡°Happy with you forever¡± is what I want to say.


    She folds her arms and stops staring at me. ¡°Well, you¡¯re doing a fine job. Because they¡¯re coming for you now.¡±


    I lean back in my bed. I smack my head against the headboard, and something crashes to the floor. It¡¯s not important. It can all break, and it won¡¯t matter. It¡¯s all gone. It will all be gone, and I¡¯m never going to see the sun again.


    Why didn¡¯t I value the time I had with Dream before?


    ¡°Just why, Velli?¡± she screams, making me shake.


    ¡°I was being blackmailed. I didn¡¯t want to,¡± I say.


    A liar until the end, then.


    Yes. I¡¯ll die as I¡¯ve lived.


    I find no hope in her eyes at this revelation, and that¡¯s¡­ intriguing.


    ¡°Can we do anything?¡± I ask.


    ¡°No!¡± she screams. ¡°Nothing.¡± Her head shakes with both words.


    ¡°Then it¡¯s over.¡± I am careful to not let my real emotions show. A few tears escape. My body aches from fear, and my voice cracks and shrivels.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing we can do,¡± Dream says, and I¡¯m so relieved.


    The real Dream would never give up. It¡¯s so hard not to smile at that line. Waking up from a nightmare is an energy boost, but I have to contain it. The Nightmare Couple is here. Fake Dream is the Sandwoman.


    Let¡¯s speed it up, then. I know exactly what she wants. ¡°How long do we have?¡±


    ¡°Not that long, probably three minutes,¡± Fake Dream says in an attempt to control her anxiety-ridden breath.


    ¡°I¡­ can you¡­?¡± I swallow hard and make myself appear to hyperventilate, as if my fear is getting the better of me.


    ¡°Say it, whatever it is.¡±


    ¡°Can you stay with me?¡± I pour out the words with counterfeit fear. ¡°Just until we hear them walking to the door, then you can leave through the back door, all right? I don¡¯t want them to see you with me.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Her voice is a hopeless whisper.


    We sit in silence. Unsure of what I¡¯d actually do, I do nothing but stare at the floor. She slides and hops over to me. I flinch then relax. This isn¡¯t the real Dream. In fact, I¡¯ll never see this fake Dream again.


    I grab her hand and squeeze. For once, I¡¯m free to be honest. ¡°I love you more than anything, but I¡¯m so scared you¡¯ll leave me as soon as you find out you¡¯re a better person than I am in every way. You always say how you¡¯re glad we¡¯re friends and how much I mean to you, and I have no idea why. I don¡¯t know why you even like me as a friend.¡±


    I don¡¯t bother to watch Fake Dream¡¯s response. It just felt good to say. I give her what she wants, though. My arms crawl up her body until my hands get lost in her hair. Her arms follow my lead as she explores me. Then her hands are on the back of my neck. Time waits for us to look into each other¡¯s eyes, and I pull her face toward mine. We kiss.


    I wish this feeling were more complex. If this was real love, there would be a sense of relief or lust. But it¡¯s not Dream, so I don¡¯t feel a thing. However, my plan is working. Congrats to me.


    Sand invades my mouth like a plague of locusts on a farm. An aggressive gorging that swells my cheeks and mouth until there¡¯s too much to shut. My mouth is no longer mine to control. It¡¯s held open by sand as I¡¯m forced to swallow more and more.


    Fake Dream barely bothers managing her disguise. Her mouth expands to the size of my head, and her arms no longer caress my body in loving affection. They pull apart my jaw to ease her onslaught. The rest of her face is disfigured, cheeks wrinkled in fatty layers, eyes lost in the face of her scrunch, and lips melting into sand.


    Then I¡¯m gone, lost in the dream realm.

 Chapter 61- The Nightmare Couple

    Velli


    Moons stare down at me from a purple sky. They are white and puffy like the eyes of a giant spider. The ground is a cloudy mix of ephemeral gray and solid crystal-clear glass. Paradoxically, the floor I¡¯m on is impossible to feel, and I can sit on it without falling through. I don¡¯t risk movement on it and stay seated. Underneath lies empty black space.


    In front of me, holding hands and looking down at me is the Nightmare Couple. Draped in all black is Reloj, the Sandwoman. Her robes move like water flowing up and down her body, never taking a form, so it¡¯s impossible to know her shape. The cloth never touches her picturesque face. She¡¯s beautiful, with a slight bronze tan and bountiful lips covered in red lipstick. Her hair stretches down her back and flows with the slight breeze in the atmosphere I see but cannot feel. Reloj stands as still as a portrait.


    Duke, the Dream Snatcher, stands just as still. The only thing paler than his skin is his white beard. The wrinkles that stretch across his face tell me he¡¯s much older than Reloj. His robes move in perfect synchronization with Reloj¡¯s robes. They don¡¯t speak to me. They hold each other¡¯s hands and observe me in silence.


    Behind them is my consciousness, everything that¡¯s easy to access in my head. It floats like smoke but spins like garbage in outer space. One image is of me eating dinner, a pizza. I had that less than an hour ago.


    The air vibrates with the number-one song playing in the world. I don¡¯t like the song that much. I keep it on in the background sometimes. I detect no smell here, and I toy with my tongue to see if the sand on it is a residual of the Sandwoman¡¯s attack or the nature of the dreamworld. I¡¯m unsure. The sand¡¯s bitter flavor will not evacuate my mouth.


    The image of my mom sleeping in her bed floats by, translucent and spinning.


    ¡°Hello, Velli,¡± the Nightmare Couple says in unison.


    That gets my attention. I still have a plan to execute, so I turn on the acting skills. ¡°Huh, uh, what? Yes.¡± I scramble backward from them.


    They step forward in perfect harmony with locked hands and matching stiff footsteps.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to die.¡± The Sandwoman¡¯s harsh voice holds authority uncommon for a woman her age.


    ¡°But you might if you don¡¯t give us the map to the Heirs¡¯ castle,¡± the dream thief says.


    ¡°The map¡­ it¡¯s gone. I have a photographic memory, so I just memorized it.¡±


    The two exchange glances, unsure if they can believe that. Going into someone¡¯s subconscious poses a potential danger, even for the Nightmare Couple.


    ¡°So, it would be in your subconscious¡­¡± they say together.


    ¡°Oh, uh.¡± I stare at the gray translucent ground, pretending to consider everything. ¡°Wait, wait, where am I?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in your outer consciousness, the first layer of the dream realm,¡± they say in unison.


    Then the Sandwoman takes over. ¡°My body brought all of us here when you swallowed the sand my body is made of.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother trying to wake up,¡± the dream thief says. ¡°Reloj will bury you in the sand again, and you¡¯ll end up right back here. That could be bad for the psyche if done too many times.¡±


    ¡°And we have nothing but time,¡± they say together with two perfectly measured grins slapped on their faces.


    ¡°We just want you to let me in there,¡± the Sandwoman says, and they both point behind me.


    It¡¯s a giant wall, and I do mean giant¡ªtaller than any of the giants I¡¯ve seen before. The top of it is imperceptible. It¡¯s made of statues welded perfectly together with no space between them. Statues of me in the same pose¡ªa scared child in the fetal position, head down. I¡¯m wearing my childhood pajamas. It¡¯s an exact replica right down to the footies.


    I leave the amazement to address the Nightmare Couple.


    ¡°No¡­ no,¡± I beg. ¡°You have no idea what it cost me to get that map.¡±


    ¡°And¡­¡± the Sandwoman adds.


    ¡°We do not care.¡± The Dream Snatcher completes her sentence.


    ¡°No!¡± I spit. ¡°Maybe we can find a way for this to be mutually beneficial.¡±


    ¡°No, we will be removing the memories. We can¡¯t have the Heirs being attacked multiple times. They¡¯ll beef up security.¡± Again, they speak in unison, and it¡¯s freaking me out, the randomness of sentences, the inflection, all the same.


    ¡°So, what do I get out of this?¡±


    ¡°Just,¡± the dream thief starts.


    ¡°Life,¡± the Sandwoman finishes.


    ¡°That¡¯s not good enough.¡± I will myself awake.


    It works. I gasp on my bed and try to sit up. The Sandwoman¡¯s on top of me. Angry and annoyed, she presses down on my chest and seals her mouth against mine. Sand rushes into me. I scream, genuinely. I use every muscle to resist her. I¡¯m a wiggling worm on top of the bed. My throat. My mouth. Drool and sand pour out from both sides.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I¡¯m brought right back to the dream realm in front of them. On the outside, I¡¯m terrified, and I heave sand that isn¡¯t there. My body burns from sand that doesn¡¯t exist rubbing on me. I curse them, then I beg, but on the inside, my heart smiles.


    Five more times of that should convince them they aren¡¯t being set up. Five more times of forcing myself to wake up and be buried beneath the sand. Each time hurts in its own unique way, and I don¡¯t believe I¡¯ll ever forget this pain. I don¡¯t have to fake watery eyes. I don¡¯t even think I can, anyway. I don¡¯t have to fake exhaustion. The only thing I have to fake is hopelessness for the fifth time.


    When I arrive back in the dreamworld once again, I let my body collapse face-first, and my mouth drools freely. Then, by simple willpower, I open the gate. I don¡¯t look. I¡¯ve done this before. As a child, I had telepathic therapists enter my subconscious when I first got my Weakness. The Sandwoman walks past my exhausted body without acknowledging me. As expected, the Dream Snatcher stays out to make sure I don¡¯t try anything.


    Fate runs my subconscious, and as much as he enjoys torturing me, he salivates at the idea of torturing anyone else. Which, again, makes me wonder what he really is and his true nature, but that¡¯s another topic. The Sandwoman walks through the gate. I feel it in my brain like an extra wrinkle has formed. Someone¡¯s there. I smile now. I can¡¯t stop. She¡¯s trapped. I¡¯ve won.


    Oh, she is given all of my secrets, high school crushes, the billing info for my mother in the hospital, my love for Dream, my goals and aspirations. However, in that haystack of information, there¡¯s a needle, and it¡¯s sharp.


    The gates slam shut with a resounding and a laugh that¡¯s not mine, not Duke¡¯s, and not Reloj¡¯s.


    ¡°Open the gates,¡± the Dream Snatcher commands and gives me a slight kick to my ribs.


    ¡°I don¡¯t control them now. They¡¯re his.¡±


    Reloj screams like an animal.


    ¡°Reloj!¡± the Dream Snatcher calls. He yanks me by my shirt and lifts me into the air. ¡°Open the gates!¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± Oh, I¡¯m sure he hates seeing me grin like this.


    ¡°Eeeehhhh!¡± Reloj screams again. ¡°Duke, please, Duke, come quickly¡­¡± Her words trail off.


    Duke tosses me aside and runs to the gate. He punches the thing and grabs his hand in pain. His power is to make nightmares become real, and he can do some mild sneaking in the subconscious. He¡¯s useless here.


    ¡°Maybe try licking it.¡± I walk up behind him, joining him by the wall. My energy finally returns with the excellent change of pace.


    ¡°What?¡± he yells.


    ¡°Lick it.¡± I feign urgency and point at the wall. ¡°Lick it if you want to get in and save your wife.¡±


    Without giving it a second thought, he does. He sticks out his fat pink tongue and licks the statue. First licking the one directly in front of him then climbing on top of it to lick the next one, he proceeds to dash to his left, like he just has to figure out some licking code.


    ¡°Ah, ah, aha, ahhhhhhh!¡± Reloj screams. ¡°Duke!¡± Reloj fights to get out.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming, my love!¡± he yells then turns to me, straddling another statue, prepared to give it a second lick. ¡°Is this working?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s about as effective as a punch or a kick or you doing anything at all¡ªwhich is to say, it¡¯s absolutely useless.¡±


    He leaps down and stomps toward me.


    I wave my hand to shoo him away. ¡°Enough with the drama,¡± I command.


    ¡°Wake up. Wake up now! When you wake up, she¡¯ll be out of your body.¡± He spits as he talks.


    ¡°No.¡±


    He sends a punch in my direction. I catch it easily and toss his hand back to him.


    ¡°I am the Dream Snatcher, the greatest dream thief. I will make your nightmares flesh.¡±


    ¡°And do what? Kill me? I¡¯m not afraid to die. I knew the risk of tricking the Nightmare Couple into my consciousness. I¡¯m willing to die for my dream. You two are the ones who seem so obsessed with living.¡±


    His jaw drops, then his mouth tightens. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Break into the Heirs¡¯ prison, and deliver me every prisoner on death row.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s insane!¡±


    ¡°Even for the legendary Dream Snatcher.¡±


    I would swear he physically swallows his pride as he opens his mouth to say yes, but instead, he only nods.


    ¡°Then,¡± I say, ¡°let her be tortured to death, or kill me, and she might die as well. Your choice.¡±


    His hand goes to his thick gray hair, and he listens for her screams again. Instead, he only hears a muffled noise. I imagine that does not help ease his mind.


    ¡°Fine, if I have enough time to prepare¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Heirs will be upgrading their security soon because of my confrontation with Rose earlier. You¡¯ll do this tonight.¡±


    He¡¯s angry, beautifully angry. A long, displeased frown, choice words, and probably reasonable excuses leave his furious red face.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I already have the plan for you to achieve victory. All you have to do is execute it. Imagine it, Duke¡ªthe dream thief pushes his power to the absolute limit for an impossible prison break. It will be legendary.¡±


    His expression remains unchanged as he mumbles with repressed hatred, ¡°As you wish. Please, free her, and end her torture.¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯ll wait for you to deliver what I want first.¡±


    The Dream Snatcher drops to one knee. ¡°Please, we will both enter Cognomen Oaths with you. Just let her go now.¡±


    Now, why would I risk that? I¡¯ve already won. Cognomen Oaths are powerful, but words are words. Words can be deceptive, and if he¡¯s clever enough, he can ruin my whole plan. He doesn¡¯t look me in the eye. He stares at the ground like a humble servant. This doesn¡¯t seem as fun anymore.


    Fate tortures her in more ways than he could even torture me. In the real world, Fate struggles to become material and is burdened with transparency. Inside my subconscious, it is his domain. He decides how transparent or concrete the Sandwoman¡¯s reality is. He decides the level of pain the Sandwoman¡¯s skin can feel. He decides the temperature of the boiling water he will roast her in or if she is even worthy of having skin. He decides if her bones will weigh too much for her to stand or if her bones will become like a painful itch where the Sandwoman will want to remove them. The story ¡°I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream¡± comes to mind.


    A transparent Dream in the background stares at me. She mouths, ¡°And that¡¯s why, Velli, you should always be kind.¡±


    ¡°Dream Snatcher, swear by your name to give everything you have to free all the Heirs¡¯ death row prisoners tonight and deliver them to me. Swear to take no vengeful action in any way against me. Then I will set her free if she promises to do me no harm as long as she lives.¡±


    The Dream Snatcher¡¯s face fills with relief, and with precise annunciation, he swears.


    ¡°Reloj!¡± I yell. ¡°If you want to be free, swear by your name that when I wake up, you will not retaliate against me.¡±


    Muffled screams respond. The Dream Snatcher knows I cannot determine what that means. Today, I choose mercy. I wake up. This time, I don¡¯t gasp for air. I¡¯m cautious. Reloj slides off me, and she slithers sluglike out of my room as a blob made of sand.


    And now, I wait.

 Chapter 62-To Walk Through a Dream/ Red Father Christmas

    Narration


    To a professional, dream thievery is neither crime nor art. Instead, it is both a battle and a dance. With grace, freedom, and an impossible ease, the dream thief ignores the forces of gravity and bounds among the clouds as invisible as a dream. None of the guards notice him, even when he remains in the same airspace as the castle, just above the courtyard.


    A dance does not start until one asks their partner for their hand, so the dream thief must become visible to engage. He glides down from the air into the courtyard, falling from the sky like a sheet of paper following the wind.


    He is a black dot that the yellow fog lights catch on to and track all the way to the floor. The guards assemble for this affront. To come to the Heirs¡¯ castle without an invitation is very bold.


    The guards are quick and silent. No need to disturb the Heirs¡¯ sleep. They slip in and out of the shadows and surround the dream thief as he lands. Some glow from the power within them that begs to creep out. They could shoot him, of course. They have every right to. They never do for the same reason people accept dances from masked strangers dressed all in black at balls¡ªcuriosity.


    The dream thief sits and crosses his legs on the grass to lead the dance. The guards¡¯ nightmares come to life. Those deep in their subconscious crawl out of it and face the moonlight. A spider-woman who bears a remarkable resemblance to the mother of a guard appears and decides she is hungry. A giant baby that grows in size eyes the guards and deems them all to be inadequate parents. Clowns leap out of the colors in the courtyard, and they can¡¯t stop laughing.


    This satisfies the dream thief. He is safe. Every guard now battles a monster. This is only the waltz, though. He has come to do more than that. He has come to do ballet. At the same time, he splits his consciousness and walks into every dream of those sleeping in the castle¡ªan unobtrusive stroll, as unnoticeable as the beat of their hearts. And he puts all those who sleep in an even deeper trance.


    Velli


    ¡°Now,¡± I command Carreon.


    He dives from the clouds and descends upon the Heirs¡¯ castle. Duke makes the grounds so chaotic that a guy on the back of a giant bat doesn¡¯t stand out. We jet past open windows to see royalty and servants locked away in their dreams. We soar over men and women, who battle monsters from their nightmares. And finally, we find a window to a tower that has only one window and four guards defending its entrance. This, I assume, is either the prison or where they keep something hidden. I shrug. Tragedy or majesty. I command Carreon to set me down on the windowsill.


    ¡°Stay here,¡± I tell him as I raise the window with surprising ease and slip through. I assume the guard assigned to the window is too busy fighting nightmares in the courtyard. ¡°Carreon, be ready to fly when I get back, and do not leave before then. Camouflage or something so you remain hidden.¡±


    He whines but obeys.


    As I slip through the window, it dawns on me that this will answer another question I had forgotten but that has ruled my subconscious. Was Prometheus telling the truth? Was he truly brought down to the bottom of the Heirs¡¯ prison and told the origin of the world through a pair of strange, all-knowing mouths? If not, why lie? Why try to convince me the world was nothing but chaos and misery?


    Tonight, I¡¯ll find my answer.


    I would prefer a map of the Heirs¡¯ prison to determine who I should release and who I shouldn¡¯t and how to avoid guards that I¡¯m sure litter this place, but I shall adjust. Tonight, I¡¯ll free those captured by the Heirs, for right or wrong.


    I don¡¯t make a noise as I land. It doesn¡¯t matter. Massive overhead lights flick on above me and down the hall one by one with a boom each time. Boom, boom, boom, boom, and boom. I freeze, unwilling and afraid to take another step. Bright-white light touches nearly every corner of the hall. I¡¯m center stage in a show I didn¡¯t rehearse for. The spotlight¡¯s on me, and I¡¯m unsure of who my audience is.


    On both sides of me, cages line the hall. They¡¯re full of thin-bellied and half-naked men and women. Their bodies scrape the ground as they crawl to the ends of their cells and toward me. Their words come out in ill-formed moans.


    Pick a cage, Velli. You¡¯ll be in one of these soon.


    ¡°Let me out. Let me out¡± is the consensus of the near dead.


    The sound rises across the tower. It¡¯s like they all know I¡¯m here. Directly below me, the same pleas vibrate the floor. Floor after floor in this castle, I assume the lights are on and the prisoners beg to be free.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    The light of the halls does not touch one place¡ªthe very end, where the silhouette of a man sits in a chair.


    The man says something to me, something intelligible over the desperate cries for freedom. With my knives drawn, I shrug.


    The man in the shadow raises one dripping hand and yells, ¡°Enough!¡±


    The tower hushes. No, that¡¯s not true. The faint sound of tears remains. The sound is like a child being told not to cry, resulting in stifled sniffling.


    ¡°And enough with the lights. It¡¯s so bright.¡± He stomps once.


    The lights violently obey his will. The ones above him crack, and the explosions continue down to me. One by one, glass rains onto the floor and scrapes against the cages until, finally, the lights in front of me crack open.


    They are broken but not destroyed. They¡¯ll survive. They blink and buzz until they grow tired of that and turn off. Darkness blankets the room. I stay still and quiet, and I grow conscious of how loud my breath is, of how my heart thumps in loud, trackable beats. Thump. Thump. Thump.


    The lights flicker back on again in uncontrollable blinks.


    Okay, fine. So maybe he¡¯s an electricity manipulator. And he has a fear of light? I turn my phone light on in my pocket, but I don¡¯t pull it out yet. I focus on squinting between the blinking lights to get a clear image of the man before me.


    ¡°Are you him?¡± Irritation peppers the man¡¯s words.


    I do not answer.


    ¡°You here for the prisoners?¡± he demands. His words echo through the hall and hit me with an almost-palpable force.


    Intimidated but refusing to show it, I decide to respond. ¡°Yes. Now leave.¡±


    ¡°You have no idea how absolutely aggravating and infuriating you have made my life since that stunt in the sewer.¡±


    ¡°And you have no idea how desperate I am.¡±


    He does not reply.


    Thump, thump, my heart goes, and the sound of my opponent¡¯s angry breaths travels down to me. Between heartbeats, I toss a blade at his neck. Darkness follows. The sound of contact. The lights blink again. The blade sticks in the wall behind him.


    ¡°All for that?¡± He rises from his seat.


    ¡°I won¡¯t miss twice,¡± I tell him with absolute conviction.


    ¡°And?¡± he demands. He yells with his whole body. His neck sticks out, and his arms flail.


    Pop!


    Something behind me bursts. It¡¯s the window. It melts down the wall and blocks me. I reach to touch it, but my hand backs away at the intense heat. I¡¯m locked in.


    Darkness¡¯s jaws bite down on the room again. I make jerky movements with my knives, ready to stab something. His presence fills the room. He¡¯s close. What is his power? How can he melt a window? The lights come on. He hasn¡¯t moved.


    ¡°Stay right there. I want you to feel something,¡± the man requests, still in his shadowed spot at the end of the hall.


    The lights go off again, and I throw a rapid succession of knives into his body. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. My heart goes more rapidly than my throwing ability. The knives leave my hand with an unsatisfying zip and a growing desperation. The lights turn on. I¡¯m relieved. His body explodes in bright bloody bursts, and yet he still walks.


    ¡°You don¡¯t think I have things I¡¯d rather do than stand guard here? ¡®Get Red to do it. He¡¯s not doing anything.¡¯ Well, what if I don¡¯t want to sit in this stupid cell, waiting for another wannabe savior? What if Red Father Christmas made plans for his evening?¡±


    Red Father Christmas steps into the light. Blood pours down every inch of his body like a waterfall. With each step, he plods through puddles of blood of his own making. ¡°Because you¡¯ve made my evening absolutely miserable waiting for you, I¡¯ll ruin the rest of your short life. I hope you loved whoever it was you came here for.¡±


    He raises his arms, and a symphony of explosions comes from underneath my feet, getting closer. The ground shakes, and the moans return. I¡¯m unsure what¡¯s happening, but the prisoners understand.


    ¡°Let me out. Let me out!¡± they demand again and do not seem like they will be persuaded by any hand-waving from Red Father Christmas this time.


    The explosions arrive on the top floor, and I understand why they call him Red Father Christmas. The prisoners¡¯ bodies burst into red swirling globs of blood that resemble Christmas trees. High mercy-begging and empathy-demanding screams come from every prisoner, one by one. First on the right side then the left then back to the right like it¡¯s pinball. The whole time, the lights flick on and off so the only constant is blood slapping the floor and the cries of the afflicted¡ªuntil there are no more cries, and it¡¯s only him and me alive in the room.


    ¡°Tell your friends.¡± He sits back in his chair, a job well done.


    The cries of his victims echo in my head, and again, it¡¯s another group I can¡¯t avenge, another group I can¡¯t do anything about.


    ¡°Hey.¡± He stands. ¡°I said leave. You¡¯ve wasted enough of my time!¡± he commands, and with a pristine white smile, he sprints toward me.


    I bang on the window and slam, punch, and elbow against it until it breaks. I can¡¯t wait to find Carreon. I leap out.


    ¡°Carreon!¡± I yell as I fall.


    He arrives below me, and I land on his back.


    ¡°Get Duke, and let¡¯s get out of here!¡± I tell him.


    I have to take back the order because Rose stands on the dream thief¡¯s head. We lost. It¡¯s over.

 Chapter 64-The Castle Awakens

    Rose Tower


    One minute earlier


    No matter how badly Kimo, my rival for the throne, wishes to be, she¡¯s not me. On nights like this, where we unfortunately have to work together, I always outshine her. One nightmarish construct sends her flying for the wall. I fly forward with one fist, which leads straight to the giant¡¯s nightmare head. It collapses behind the would-be dream thief. I slow my descent and place my freshly manicured feet on the dream thief¡¯s neck. His head bangs against the floor, but he¡¯s still conscious.


    I place an annoyingly bright orb of light right above his face. ¡°Who are you working for?¡± I ask, frankly a bit bored with the situation.


    ¡°Nobody,¡± he groans in pain. ¡°I was just looking for something good. I was going to sell the information to any clique that would buy it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a very high risk for a potentially low reward.¡±


    ¡°No. High risk, high reward. You lot are well hated.¡±


    I shrug. He¡¯s not wrong. ¡°But why so quickly? This obviously could have been planned a lot better.¡±


    ¡°My wife¡¯s in trouble.¡±


    Ugh, maybe it¡¯s my last dream that makes me sentimental, but I refuse to show him how immensely sad that is. I brighten the light to blind him from my face. I can¡¯t help but frown. Family ties force us to make such awful decisions.


    I toss a white orb into the air to signal to everyone that the issue is resolved and for the usual crew to come pick him up. This includes the mind readers to interrogate, someone to strip him of his powers, the jailer to execute him, and so on.


    ¡°No!¡± Kimo screeches in my air. ¡°He¡¯s working for somebody. I can force it out of him.¡± Her eyes refuse to stand still. They bounce around their sockets like a rabies-infected rabbit. Kimo¡¯s gone off the deep end. Again. She looks both insane and aggressive in her bloodred pajama shirt and shorts. Her long hair whips back and forth, as chaotic as her thoughts.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing you can do that the mind readers can¡¯t. It¡¯s okay. You lost.¡± I really should stop there. I really shouldn¡¯t push her. I know how she gets when she loses to me at anything.


    ¡°Of course, oh wondrous Rose,¡± she says, her voice as sweet as candy. ¡°Oh, Mr. Dream Thief,¡± she sings.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    I lower the brightness so the dream thief can see her.


    ¡°Do you have a child?¡± Kimo makes this face, a perfect face of innocence and beauty. This expression makes me not hate her as much and makes the men in the castle swoon.


    The dream thief does not answer. His face does, though.


    ¡°You do!¡± Kimo yells. ¡°Let¡¯s see what they think about your choice of career. Huh?¡±


    The dream thief understands, as I do. This is what¡¯s earned Kimo such a high rank in the castle. This is what made her worthy to be a part of the Heirs¡¯ bloodline, the reason she¡¯s survived so long at the court.


    Kimo¡¯s ¡°bloodline¡± can attack anyone in her victim¡¯s direct bloodline. All she needs is a little blood and a crack of her whip. The queen used Kimo to assassinate a rival on a hiking trip. It looked like they just slipped and fell off the mountain. Restoration used Kimo to kill someone whose injuries didn¡¯t quite finish him off. All it took was a couple of snaps from Kimo¡¯s whip, and he died.


    ¡°Please, no. I¡¯ll stop everything. Look, I¡¯m done.¡± The screams of the night fall silent. The blue moonlight from the second moon disappears. ¡°I have a girl. She¡¯s done nothing wrong!¡± the dream thief cries beneath my feet. ¡°Did you hear me? I will confess. I will confess everything! Please put that whip away.¡±


    Fool. He can stop pleading. Kimo doesn¡¯t care. He dares to grab my ankle. I make the orb above him bigger to sear his face, yet still, he speaks.


    ¡°I needed to do this for my wife¡­ my family. You understand, don¡¯t you? My daughter¡¯s just a girl, like you.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t make girls like me,¡± I tell him with the sense of satisfaction that I¡¯m telling the truth.


    ¡°Please, but er¡ªYour Majesty.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t go by Your Majesty.¡±


    ¡°I saw your family in your dreams. They¡¯re ordinary, like my daughter. They aren¡¯t special. My daughter¡¯s just like your sister! She¡¯s just like Dream!¡±


    She¡¯s just like Dream. The orb shrinks. I cease burning him. Perhaps¡­


    ¡°Kimo, that¡¯s enough,¡± I tell her.


    Kimo puts her whip behind her head, ready to crack it.


    I knock the thief unconscious with a stomp on his face. She¡¯s just like Dream¡­


    Kimo bends her elbow. ¡°Wait until the queen sees what I¡¯ve done!¡± Kimo screeches.


    ¡°She¡¯s just like Dream,¡± I whisper.


    Kimo¡¯s whip cracks.


    ¡°Speed of light,¡± I say and slam my fist into Kimo¡¯s face, sending her flying through walls. I follow her body into the rubble. ¡°Are you all right, Kimo?¡±


    ¡°All right?¡± Kimo mocks, the insanity bright in her eyes. ¡°When the queen finds out you struck me to stop the punishment of a thief, you¡¯re going to lose everything. I¡¯m glorious. Oh, and I don¡¯t think it worked.¡± Her eyes trail to the whip.


    It appears she made contact with the dream thief after all. Attached to the whip is his lower half, the torso and below.


    The queen¡¯s going to kill me.

 Chapter 65-Velli Times Two

    Lomee Greene¡ªMother of Velli


    ¡°Ms. Greene, can I ask you a question?¡± Lue asks as she braids my hair.


    The girl really isn¡¯t that bad. Velli¡¯s warnings about her were so dramatic. She has a sweet heart, and like everything else in life, it requires digging to see it. She works with tender hands on my hair and has not yanked once, only gentle massage-like weaving.


    ¡°Of course, dear.¡±


    She shifts in my bed¡ªsitting with crossed legs¡ªand lays her chin on my shoulder. Oh, what a sweetie. It¡¯s like having a daughter. Jeremy sits with anticipation, concentrating on every word I say. He is Velli as a kid all over again. Oh, I¡¯m so blessed.


    ¡°How did you and Velli¡¯s dad meet?¡± Lue asks.


    ¡°Oooh, good question,¡± Jeremy cheers.


    ¡°Well.¡± I get comfortable because I love telling this story. ¡°I walked up to him. I knew who he was. He had made a decent name for himself, and I said, ¡®Hello, Daylight. I¡¯m free this Friday and Saturday. Which day works best for you to take me out?¡¯ He asked, ¡®How you moving?¡¯ That was the slang people used to ask what our powers were. I said, ¡®Real slow. No powers, and I¡¯ll be spending a lot of time figuring out how to get my brothers here¡ªto a safer city¡ªbut I¡¯m the funniest girl in the world, and I¡¯m loyal and kind.¡¯ He shrugged, and that was that.¡±


    Jeremy claps, and his jaw drops in amazement.


    Lue removes her head from my shoulder and turns me toward her. A playful and knowing grin stretches across her face. ¡°Now, Ms. Greene, is that really what happened?¡±


    ¡°More or less.¡±


    Lue stares me down with her pretty green eyes.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I concede. ¡°I may have tried this with several other men to disastrous results, but that¡¯s how life goes. You have to keep trying.¡±


    ¡°But the rest was true, right?¡± Jeremy thirsts for confirmation. ¡°He just liked you for you, and that was it?¡± His hope is almost visible.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I¡¯m happy to confirm.


    ¡°Ms. Greene, he really just went out with you because you were kind?¡± Lue attempts to hide the anger in her voice, but it flashes out as hot as hell.


    I forgive her for her tone because she¡¯s like Jeremy. It just comes out differently. The same hope and desperation that they can be themselves and be loved. Except her hope is leaking blood and close to dying. It has to strike back. It can¡¯t take another hit.


    ¡°Yep, and I said I was funny too, remember?¡± I give her a wink.


    Her face flushes red with embarrassment at her previous tone. I give her hand a simple pat to let her know all is forgiven. I think I love these two foster kids of mine. There¡¯s work to be done with them, hope to be given.


    My door opens. In steps Velli. Except he is not my Velli. I know for certain that is not my son as sure as I know God watches over me. Velli would say I know it¡¯s not him because of science. He would believe it¡¯s because of some evolutionary tic. Or because I¡¯ve observed him for so long, and I have. I¡¯ve watched him grow from a tiny thing that came out of me quietly and reaching out to be held to a middle schooler ashamed and embarrassed because he had a Weakness he thought he could hide from me then to a man capable of performing miracles with ambition befitting him.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    However, I know it¡¯s not really him because I am a mother, and God gave me the ability to know my son. I have never felt such a need to kill something in my whole life. The abomination. It thinks it can deceive me. I was raised in the fifth finger of Division¡¯s Hand. Let¡¯s play, fraud. Let¡¯s play.


    ¡°Velli.¡± I smile as warmly as a humid summer day. ¡°What are you doing here? I thought you were busy tonight.¡±


    ¡°Plans changed,¡± he says in a near-identical voice to my son¡¯s.


    ¡°Oh?¡± I ask. ¡°Why are you free now?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s complicated.¡±


    ¡°Sit and tell me about it.¡±


    This Velli laughs once and gives me an uncharacteristic Velli smile. ¡°I will later. Jeremy and Lue, will you come with me?¡±


    The two exchange glances and shrug.


    Ah, so that¡¯s his game, then: to harm them. No, no, I won¡¯t allow that.


    ¡°Sure, Big V,¡± Jeremy obliges. ¡°Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°Nowhere,¡± I demand and guide Lue¡¯s fingers from my hair. ¡°Velli is going to take his mother out for a walk. Right, Velli?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s actually very important that Lue and Jeremy come with me now.¡±


    I put on my biggest middle-aged lady pout. ¡°More important than your poor mother? Oh, Velli. I¡¯m hurt.¡±


    The kids laugh, thinking I¡¯m playing some silly game with my son.


    ¡°Velli, we¡¯ll be here. Just go with your mother.¡± Lue relaxes in my bed with a roll of her eyes.


    ¡°Yeah, Big V,¡± Jeremy adds. ¡°I actually have some things I need to talk to you about. I¡¯ll write them down, so we can get right to business when you get back.¡±


    I smile at the copy. It smiles back.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± it says.


    ¡°Help me, please,¡± I say as I sit on the edge of my bed with my hand out.


    With slow steps full of unreleased tension, he walks over to the bed and takes my hand. He attempts to walk ahead of me, but I pull him back and hook my arm around his for a proper escort.


    ¡°Are you supposed to be up without your blanket? Won¡¯t you get sick again without it?¡± Jeremy rises, ready to help.


    ¡°No, Jeremy, you heard wrong. I¡¯m fine without my blanket.¡±


    My lie allows him to comfortably sit down.


    ¡°Are you feeling okay, son?¡± I mock the copy.


    ¡°Perfect,¡± it says.


    Once we reach the door, I stop him and turn to speak to Lue and Jeremy. ¡°I am so glad you both are becoming friends with my son. Friends are great because they are people we trust who can tell us truths we would never see.¡±


    With that, I leave them with confused looks as to why I would say such a thing.


    We walk for about a minute and reach the hospital¡¯s exit.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to kill you. I wanted the boy and girl,¡± it says.


    ¡°Ah, that will never do.¡±


    We don¡¯t look at each other as we approach the door.


    ¡°We can turn around. I wanted the boy and girl because I want your death to be a slow one in this hospital. That will hurt him more.¡± It doesn¡¯t disguise its voice now, and sand leaks from its mouth.


    ¡°Open the door for me,¡± I command. ¡°And no, the babies dying won¡¯t do. If you go back now, I¡¯ll scream, and security will be all over you, so you¡¯ll just have to settle for me.¡±


    ¡°You made a foolish decision to end your story here.¡±


    ¡°Fool,¡± I say with all the spite in my soul at the audacity of her words. ¡°Not a soul on this planet has their story end because they died.¡±


    And with that, I attack the thing made of sand as I pray for Jeremy, Lue, Dream, and Velli, all of whom I shall continue to live through. I know I have not been perfect. I know I have gotten some things wrong. But I pray that the love I have tried to sow into souls will not tear from the hate that has been thrown by those without care for their own or others¡¯ souls.