《The Poppy Knight》


 The First Last Page

    If you''re reading this, you''re holding the only copy of this very piece of paper in existence, and you''re probably going to want to burn it after you''re done reading it. MageCo doesn''t like when their property gets distributed without having their cut of the deal, and let''s be honest here: fuck ''em. Read it, burn it, spread the word and preach it, because there''s several diaries out there, and that means the truth litters the land.


    And don''t let them fool you - no amount of Drachma can buy the truth. There''s no value to sacrifice.


    There''s nothing the Five Guilds can give you to make you think otherwise, because their currency is lies, and right now, they''ve just gone and built that golden obelisk in her name, shooing away all the homeless so they can take their fancy pictures and make their headlines. Can''t have the dirty and disgusting right beside the hero who claimed humanity''s greatest victory. That''s just ludicrous, isn''t it?Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    She fought for a city, for a nation, for the world.


    For all the Seven Realms.


    Not for the people who can''t pay the day fee to see her in immortalized gold.


    They built that statue today, and I hate the sight of it. That raised sword and that brave look. Frankly, it''s just fucking disgusting. Sorry for swearing. I''m on edge. Probably going to have to make myself vanish after writing this down, but I made her a promise I''ll do it, and I''m gonna keep that promise - I think she deserves it.


    She deserved a lot more than what she ultimately got, but she would''veloved this part.


    Flip the paper over and follow the map - you''ll find all the books eventually, and when you do, do us all a favor and light up her statue as well as all the Guilds, just for one last hurrah.


    Cheers to the Poppy Knight, and good luck to the Traveller.


    Prophecies never end, because there''s always another page.

 One - MageHunt

    It¡¯s hard to figure out if what I¡¯m dealing with is a hungry homeless person or a crazed Vampire on fairy dust once you start finding body parts in the recycling instead of where they¡¯re meant to be, which is nowhere. Living in New Salem means you¡¯ve got to sort your own garbage out, but on this street, nobody gives a damn other than the stuck up her ass Elf landlady who still hasn¡¯t fixed my apartment door. That¡¯s why I come and go through the window and the fire escape; that¡¯s also why, as I was coming back home, I smelt something dead in the recycling dumpsters. Fun.


    And since she¡¯s going to be on my case, singling out the only human living in the building, I might as well get this part over with and figure out why the overflowing recycling dumpster reeks of wet meat and tasty decay. I¡¯m kidding, by the way. I¡¯m so exhausted that I¡¯ve got no other choice except to make fun of the rank stench. Good thing I haven¡¯t eaten in a few days, or else my stomach in all its glory would be all over the alleyway right now.


    I use my phone¡¯s screen to light up the alleyway. The street lights are busted, splashing vomit-yellow light along the sidewalk behind me as the bulbs flicker. Music comes from the apartments above me, some of it rock, most of it jazz and techno. I gag when I open the dumpster, and it looks like my intuition was right. The body looks new and fresh, with still enough blood in their cheeks to keep them slightly pink, as if they¡¯re blushing at how embarrassing it is to get caught dying in a dumpster. I sigh under my breath and tilt the woman¡¯s head, taking hold of her tense jaw and rigid cheeks, and it cleanly comes off her neck and splashes into a puddle next to the dumpster, drenching my sneakers and my legs. Double fun! I pick her up by the hair and look at her, then shake her slightly.


    She doesn¡¯t suddenly wake up, so I guess that means she wasn¡¯t on Lady Death¡¯s premium plan, but I can¡¯t blame her. The rates have been crazy terrible lately, but you never need insurance until you¡¯re dead. I put her back inside the dumpster and briefly glance at the holes in her throat, because that means a Blooduskcer¡ªsorry, I know we¡¯re not meant to use that word; ¡®Vampire¡¯¡ªgot to her and not some crazy murder hobo. I suck air through my teeth, my Walkman still spinning on its tape, because now I¡¯m wondering if going back home is even an option. So I make the executive decision to pull her out, body part by body part, onto the ground until most of her is at my feet and beside my backpack. My sword stays on my back, and so does the dagger on my hip. You¡¯re just asking for it by putting your weapon down in a dark alleyway at literally two in the morning. I¡¯m a little stupid. Not that stupid.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    But the dead body is missing a chunk of her torso, a piece of her thigh, and half an arm, like whoever did this wanted to get all the prime cuts of meat they could. I try not to let my saliva get too bitter, but¡­come on.


    Fucking Bloodsuckers, but suddenly I¡¯m in the wrong for saying they should get put in cages.


    I hadn¡¯t been planning on investigating a murder tonight. Today¡¯s been a long and not so glorious day. I had wanted to get home, eat some Ramen, and ignore the silence that lives in my tiny apartment alongside me without a single drachma in rent paid from it, either. I¡¯m bruised and beaten up, and the remnants of a black eye is making it hard to see her face clearly, but¡­it¡¯s better than just being some lonely, sad little teenager in the dark.


    I take a deep breath, then slowly release it through my mouth. I shut my eyes, then search around me for a trace of magic that can help this search along. She¡¯s got nothing discernable on her body. No tats, no piercings. Her hair is blonde, but I mean, so is mine¡ªthat helps nothing. And then I find it, a trickle of magic snaking through the air like violet wisps of smoke. I open my eyes and watch as it wraps around the woman¡¯s body parts, then clings to bloody handprints on the dumpster, the alley walls, and then finally, the firescape. She¡¯d run away. Hadn¡¯t made it far before whoever got her had, well, gotten her. The trail leads to the firescape, and coincidentally, into my room.


    Making an even more fun day exceptionally more fun.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be right back,¡± I tell her, grabbing my bag.


    But I guess she¡¯s got nowhere else left to go.

 Two - MageHunt

    I find my window cracked open before I even get near it. The glass is fragile, because everyone and anything lives in this building, and cheaper glass means cheaper replacement jobs for the Elf who owns this place. But finding my window in shards of glass all over the floor isn¡¯t a good omen as I slowly slink in, feeling like I¡¯m the one breaking into a random person¡¯s home. My sneakers crunch on the glass. My knuckles whiten as I grab the hilt of my sword but don¡¯t draw it. Not yet. I look around from where I stand, but the trail of violet smoke vanishes in front of me.


    That¡¯s only because there¡¯s carnage in my apartment. So much of it that I nearly fall to my knees. My hand drops from my sword in disbelief as I gape at the one bedroom room. My small TV is now in bits and pieces in the corner of the room. My crappy old PlayStation, formerly held together with tape, nowhere to be seen. The single set of cutlery, plates, mugs and glasses are shattered on the floor, mingling with the insides of my couch/bed. I feel like crying. I really feel like letting the tears tumble, because my fridge is partially empty, but there¡¯s not a single thing inside of it, either. My clothes are all over the place, some of them hanging from a now fully broken ceiling fan.


    My bow and arrow are still there underneath the floorboards, and so are the tiny bootleg potions I got from a Witch for Old World dollars. At least those are fine, but¡­everything else isn¡¯t. My whole life is this entire room.


    And neither is the tiny leather pouch I used to keep under the floorboards.


    Someone had come in and wrecked everything and left with half my stuff. It¡¯s a freaking miracle my bow and arrow, vials of potions and the tiny rune tattoo gun and its dry pot of ink are still here, considering they had gone through the trouble of ripping up the floorboards and taking chunks of the wall clean out of the plaster. I can see the guts of my apartment. The rusted metal pipes and the shitty wiring. The rats scurrying around and the nosy little Gremlin infestation I¡¯ve had for months now who keep scampering past the holes, curious for something they can get their grubby little hands on. Gods, I think, sitting on what¡¯s left of my couch. What a fucking day so far.


    I wait for the sadness to come seeping from my eyes. Nothing happens. I sit there, my hands in my hair, nails digging into my scalp, staring at the floor between my filthy Converse. Then I sit back against the couch, partially illuminated by the strip club that operates out of the apartment opposite my window. Shades of purple and red and blue shade me and my apartment a patchwork of different colors, making the shadows move and dance, too.


    I don¡¯t even know where to begin, or even if I should begin.


    I guess the dead lady needs help.


    But I can¡¯t let go of my sword, and that sadness I was expecting to feel is bubbling away inside of me, fermenting itself into a cocktail of anger. Someone had come in here and stolen my shit. Something had come in here and stolen my shit and trashed my apartment. Gods! The nerve of those bloodsucking bastards. I know who''s gone and done this, and I know exactly why they¡¯ve done it, too. The dead lady is a mystery to me. I don¡¯t know who she is or why she had died running away from my apartment, but all because I owed these guys a little silver?


    Note to self: don¡¯t borrow money from lone-Elves. If I was any less of a person, I would have gone and had my sword in their stomachs, but you know what? I¡¯m better than that. Instead, I¡¯m gonna go kill one of their own.


    Unless it¡¯s not the Elf I borrowed money from who¡¯s done this, but I guess we¡¯ll find out.


    I bring the potions with me, stuffing them inside of my bag and changing my filthy t-shirt for a slightly less filthy t-shirt hanging off the ceiling fan. My body aches as I put myself into a new pair of jeans and a cropped hoodie that really only covers my chest, leaving my stomach and all its scars out in the open. I¡¯ve just noticed that today¡¯s latest scuffle has left a claw wound in my thigh, which immediately starts seeping into my jeans. I swear and take them off, use my teeth to rip apart an old t-shirt and wrap it around my thigh. Guess it¡¯s summer somewhere, I think, grabbing a pair of shorts that¡¯ll show enough leg to not have my newest injury seeping into my clothes. Blame the runes on my arms and the shot of Nectar I sometimes take. The spiralling black markings on my arms fend off most of the aching and agony, and I figure one more sip from a honey-yellow vile of warm liquid will do the trick to heal me up. I cough and gag, the taste too sweet, but heck, it means that I¡¯ll be good for the next day.


    Or be physically dead and not notice it until I¡¯m hacked into pieces. Again, let¡¯s go find out.


    I pick up my bag and make sure I¡¯ve got what I need. Some Soul Chalk for portals, a single Drachma for the MageCo help line if I¡¯m really deep in the gutter, and my lucky charm rabbit teddy bear, who I gently squeeze and hitch to the side of my bag, right alongside the short ax I keep with me at all times. Easier to take off a head with an ax than a sword, fun fact. With that, I stand up and swing my leg out of the apartment and scale down the fire escape, briefly wondering what I should do with the dead woman. On the one hand, someone is gonna come eat her. The N.S.P.D. will shrug and ask, What body? because there¡¯s nothing here to begin with, so for her sake, I decide to take her head with me, too. I don¡¯t know her, but she¡¯s probably got answers for me. If I can get her to a ¡®mancer, then hopefully she¡¯s not been dead long enough for her soul to slip too far into the afterlife. Besides, I think. She can¡¯t just die in some alleyway, that sucks. I make a knot out of her hair and hang her on my belt, head on my thigh.


    I might have had a shitty day, but that won¡¯t stop me from making someone else¡¯s day even worse.


    My first stop is a rancid old motel several blocks away from where I live. This area of the city reeks of rot and decay and cursed magic spilling out of old, poorly maintained Maglines. The luminous violet wires droop over the street, running along the parking lot that acts as a courtyard in front of Moe¡¯s Motel. I stand at the end of the lot with a thumb on my Walkman, hitting pause to the music as I stare at the four story building. Blue roof tiles, yellow paint and old posters advertising MageCo¡¯s newest tv with the latest features, like color and sound. This place is old. Very old. The guys who live here aren¡¯t the kind of guys who play nice with human girls, but I¡¯m pretty pissed.


    So I walk up the stairs to the rooms at the top, and come face-to-face with one ugly bastard of an Orc. He grunts and looks me over, a cigarette in his mouth and the vest he¡¯s wearing stained with sweat. The guy reeks, and he looks at me like I¡¯m going to be his ticket to affording a shower. He pushes off the door he had been leaning against and folds his arms, his tough gray skin wrinkling. He spits the cigarette at my feet, and I smile at him, too.


    ¡°Hey, Bobby,¡± I say. ¡°Long time no see. How¡¯re the wife and kids doing?¡±


    ¡°Still looking for their bodies,¡± he says, his voice a baritone abused by cigarettes and, you know, ¡®cause he¡¯s an Orc. They¡¯re not very well known for being articulate. ¡°Hired a guy. Doing the work for me. Getting close.¡±


    Let¡¯s hope not¡ªI didn¡¯t dump them in the river just to see if they¡¯d float.


    ¡°Ricky in tonight?¡±


    ¡°Busy.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s urgent,¡± I say. ¡°And he owes me.¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°I said he¡¯s busy,¡± Bobby snarls. My hand drifts to the sword, but I think better of it. Protective runes or not, fighting him in a narrow stairway, and with a three story jump to break my fall, is for sure not a good decision.


    But I also can¡¯t let what happened to my apartment slide. What is he, a coward? Come beat the crap out of me like last time, or take a fingernail (like last time), but you don¡¯t come fucking with my home. That¡¯s my place, and those had been my clothes, my fridge, and the little slice of sanctity I¡¯ve got. So you know what, Bobby?


    ¡°I¡¯ve got booze,¡± I say to him. His dull yellow eyes finally light up, thick brows raising. ¡°Free of charge.¡±


    ¡°What kind?¡± he grumbles, grabbing my backpack from my hands. He rifles through my stuff, then finds the bottle of Nectar¡ªthe only bottle I¡¯ve got. It¡¯s hard to find that stuff on the black market, and even harder to get it without shelling out an arm or a leg and some organs to MageCo for the official stuff, and when I tell you it hurts me physically to watch him down half of it in one swig, I can feel it deep in my chest. I watch as he blinks, then huffs out a burp of air that reeks of honey and somehow light, according to the magetubers who are expert tasters or whatever. Bobby sways a little, shakes his head, then forces my bag onto me. ¡°Good stuff, this. Keepin¡¯ it for you.¡±


    Yeah, I bet big fella, I think, watching him giggle.


    ¡°So does that mean I get to see Ricky without any hassle?¡± I ask him.


    He sweeps his arm past him, so out of his mind on a bottle of mind-root potion I labeled Nectar that he¡¯s now just sat down hard on the metal floor. A drop of Nectar taints almost anything golden, be that water or wine or anything else you can think of apart from blood. It¡¯s too strong to drink in large gulps, even if you¡¯re an Angel. I once knew a guy who tried downing two hard swallows, but it¡¯s better to not speak about Alan the Homeless¡ªpoor bastard, and he still owes me five Drachma. But nevermind that. Bobby should have known that he wouldn¡¯t normally be able to drink Nectar so easily. The taste alone would have burnt up his throat, and the magic would have just outright either killed him or mentally stunted him (which, I mean¡­the joke is too easy to tell). Not my problem though if the guy can¡¯t read and goes off sight alone. Orcs, huh? Gotta love ¡®em. I step over his legs.


    I knock on Ricky¡¯s door, the final one in a long line of rooms filled with Vampires and whoever it is they¡¯re fucking tonight. He runs a brothel, a protection racket, and I guess he¡¯s a lone shark, too. Say he¡¯s a businessman.


    I just call him a thieving Elven asshole.


    I bang on the door again, this time with the side of my fist, making the weak door rattle. I hear swearing and the sigh of an exasperated woman, then I listen to the clicking of locks and bolts getting moved aside. I slide my sword out of its sheath, and when he finally opens the deadbolt enough to peak an eye out into the open, I jam the blade into the gap, twist, and shatter the chain lock with one swing. Ricky yelps and stumbles backward as I slam my foot against the door, swinging it hard against the frame, splintering it. The hooker on the bed screams and grabs her clothes. Human, nothing monster. Booze bottles on the floor. Cash in a duffle bag. The TV is on, and he¡¯s on the floor on his butt, scooting backward as I stand over him. I point the end of my sword at his smooth, pale, terribly handsome face. He¡¯d be drop dead gorgeous if he wasn¡¯t so pot-bellied and foul-smelling. And half Orc.


    Terrible mix, I know. Really unfortunate conception. How his mother did it, I do not know.


    ¡°YOU!¡± he says, gold chain dangling from his fat throat. ¡°WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?¡±


    ¡°My house got fucked with, Ricky!¡± I snap. ¡°I told you I was gonna be good for this month.¡±


    For extra measure, I throw the pouch of coins at his face, just to make my point clear. He winces, the pouch dropping to the musty, cigarette-stained carpet and spilling the coins onto it. The woman¡¯s eyes widen, and I dare her with a look on my face to even try. She huddles on the bed, duvet tightly wrapped around her bony shoulders.


    ¡°What the fuck has that got to do with me?¡± he says, standing up again, trying to keep his baggy jeans up with one hand as he fumbles for his belt. ¡°If I wanted to send you some kinda signal, I woulda had you beaten, kid.¡±


    Oh, I know exactly what you mean. ¡°I know you sent one of your boys my way. Vampires. Smelt them.¡±


    His hooked nose shrivels. ¡°Bloodsuckers? No way, kid. Not me. I don¡¯t work with ¡®em.¡±


    I point my sword at him and he flinches again, stumbling over a beer bottle as I press him, getting deeper inside the grungy little motel room. ¡°Listen,¡± I say calmly. ¡°You better start telling me the truth, Ricky. Fast.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you, kid! I¡¯m innocent! Why the hell would I fuck with you when I know you¡¯d react this way!¡± He winces again as I put my sword to his throat. The thing is, Ricky and I both know he¡¯s not the top dog in this little organization of his. He¡¯s a front man. A runner or another hydra head in this mess he¡¯s in, but he¡¯s the head I deal with most, and a head that just loves to make it clear that I¡¯m a human and that means I should be down on my knees begging him for so much as a quarter of silver. Maybe it¡¯s been a shitty night, or week¡ªor month, because I wouldn¡¯t usually be like this. I¡¯m a nice person. A normal gal just trynna earn an honest living. But tonight? Well¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna gut you, Ricky.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck¡¯s the matter with you?¡± he cries. Panting hard, he looks me over, then says, ¡°Hold on a sec, you¡¯ve been out on a hunt for three weeks, anyway. Ain¡¯t so much as heard from you or gotten a call from you, Kace. Thought you musta died at some point ¡®n¡¯ something came and ate you. Almost had a funeral ¡®n¡¯ everything. But there¡¯s these things called email now. Faster than those little pigeon portals. If I wanted to screw with you, I would have done it a long time ago. And besides, why your place! You¡¯re poor, kid. Broke. That¡¯s like stealing the dough out of an Ogre¡¯s pockets¡ªthere ain¡¯t none!¡± He points a stubby, gold-ringed finger at me. ¡°I am innocent.¡±


    I hear the noise of coins behind me, and say over my shoulder to the woman, ¡°If you¡¯re stealing from me, it¡¯ll be you.¡± Which is a bluff, ¡®cause I don¡¯t do humans. Just not in my job description. ¡°Then who was it, Ricky?¡±


    ¡°How should I know?¡± he says, waving his stubby arms. ¡°It could be some two-bit thugs, for all I know.¡±


    ¡°But like you said,¡± I mutter, ¡°I¡¯m kinda flat, so why even bother going in there?¡± And maybe it¡¯s just me, but you don¡¯t really trust what the Monster has to say. ¡°I found claw marks on my walls and floor. I smelt blood.¡±


    ¡°And you think I hired someone, spent all that money, to ruin your place?¡± He scoffs. ¡°I coulda gotten someone to torch your entire buildin¡¯ if I was gonna spend money on something stupid like that. It ain¡¯t me.¡±


    ¡°Then who?¡± I ask, tightening my jaw.


    ¡°You¡¯re a Mage,¡± he says flatly, dryly¡ªhe stares at me, and I stare at him; the reflection of our eyes glinting on the edge of my blade. ¡°You¡¯ve got plenty of enemies. Some of ¡®em are even in this motel. So anyone.¡±


    He¡¯s got a point. I sigh and drop the sword. Ricky quietly exhales, his gut lowering over his belt buckle as he finally shuffles away from me, grumbling underneath his breath. He glances at the woman¡¯s head on my hip, then moves along, because he¡¯s not been paid to care about her one bit, and I guess that kinda means he also doesn¡¯t know anything to do with her. Either that, or he¡¯s lying. I don¡¯t trust easily. Not in this business when your money maker is a sword and the hands that swing it. One moment you¡¯re sharing a beer with someone, the next they¡¯re on you in an alleyway trying to rip your throat out. New Salem kinda sucks that way. But you know what sucks more?


    That the Monster might be telling the truth. I¡¯ve got people who don¡¯t particularly fancy me.


    I¡¯m an acquired taste, I¡¯ve been told.


    But that just about narrows it down to almost any Vampire in this city. Great. Another eternally long night.


    ¡°By the way,¡± Ricky says, my pouch of coins now bouncing on his palm. He sits on the edge of the bed as the human lady wraps her arm around him and begins kissing the back of his neck. ¡°I¡¯ll be taking this as damages. You emotionally scarred me, Summers. That kinda stuff gives a guy ptsd! I¡¯ll be waiting for next month¡¯s pay.¡±


    ¡°What!¡± I say. ¡°That¡¯s ridiculous. If you wanna see scarred, I¡¯ll show you what that¡ª¡±


    The human woman¡¯s eyes flare a fiery red color. I curse and swat at the back of my hand before I can drop my sword, killing the small flame she¡¯d summoned. I swear and flex my fingers, staring at the bright pink mess of skin she¡¯s left behind. She goes back to kissing his neck and nibbling his ear, one solitary eye still focused on me.


    ¡°Have a good night, Kace,¡± Ricky says. ¡°Hope you find those good for nuthin¡¯ thieves.¡±

 Three - MageHunt

    With no other way to pay for a bus back home, I figure I might as well drop the dead lady¡¯s head at an old buddy¡¯s place. But I¡¯m simmering as I walk, my hands in my pockets and a sour look on my face that I only spot as I pass by store windows and the occasional puddle. That money took me weeks to put together, and silver doesn¡¯t come easy when you¡¯ve really only got one way of making it, and that one way turns out to be just a little bit suicidal. But I¡¯m rambling. If I really wanted to, I¡¯d work a few blocks away from my apartment in that Druid¡¯s herb and potions store.


    But that¡¯s the easy way out of this mess, and I¡¯m all about making life difficult for myself.


    As I walk down the street, I¡¯m bumped into by people in a hurry to get to wherever it is that they need to. It¡¯s like everyone and their mother is in a rush to get out of the streets. Don¡¯t blame them. There are Monsters here, you know, and even worse than that, Anomalies. But that¡¯s only if you¡¯re really unlucky. Judging by how my night is going so far, I¡¯ve got a fifty-fifty chance of bumping into one and getting dragged into the sewers through a grate.


    But I guess there is some kind of beauty in the rush of this city, even this late at night, because nobody even notices the woman¡¯s head on my hip, or the bruises and cuts on my face. Downtown Mayland isn¡¯t a cozy place to be. The factories make it stuffy and the air reeks of smoke, you¡¯ll probably even find someone you once knew dead in an alleyway, and nobody will care, and you won¡¯t have the cash to spend on buying a Mage Bureau investigator to figure out what happened, so hey, you¡¯ve just gotta keep going and say a silent prayer for them, and then some guy will creep up behind you and try to steal the sword right out of your scabbard, and then there you go trying to fight him, whilst his friends rob the corpse behind you for their magic and gold and¡­ Fuck me. I kick a trash can over for the sake of it, making it spill out most of its garbage onto the sidewalk. Why¡¯d you die, Aster?


    Why the fuck did you just die?


    I stop on the sidewalk and sigh to the sky, blowing air at the lazily drifting clouds. I keep expecting to feel exhausted or angry (alright, angrier), but all I¡¯ve got is this weird feeling in my gut. This odd sense of desperation.


    Like I¡¯m drowning standing up, clawing at the air, getting nowhere fast. It¡¯s just been one thing after another recently. One mess and then the next. One funeral, two funerals, three and that¡¯s just bad luck. I massage the back of my neck and keep walking, because I don¡¯t really have an option to stop and think and feel bad, either.


    I¡¯m alive, right? No point getting all worked up over dying.


    Whatever. I don¡¯t even know who to start with. People have it out for me because of what I do, but this isn¡¯t some safe haven training ground where a Mage can kill docile, drugged-up Monsters (according to the tabloids, at least), like the kids in the richer, cleaner, better-smelling parts of New Salem like doing in their free time. It¡¯s here, on the streets, where a dozen gangs and smaller, unofficial guilds can very easily put a bunch of guys together so they can ransack my apartment. Maybe it¡¯s just bad luck. Really, really bad luck. If it was a warning, then it was a pretty shitty warning at that, because I don¡¯t know who did it, and they didn¡¯t leave me much to work with either.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± I say under my breath to the dead lady as I keep walking. ¡°Just live like that now?¡±


    Gods know I can¡¯t tell the Elf landlady without her turning her nose up at me and saying it was my fault. I know what kind of person she is, or better yet Elf¡ªthe repairs are gonna come out of my pocket, which are empty.


    But the dead lady is busy being dead, so I take her silence as confirmation that I might as well keep it going. One foot in front of the other and blah, blah, blah. The ¡®mancer I know lives down an alleyway inside of a shop you¡¯ve got to know about to find, and that¡¯s exactly where my feet take me. I pass women who squeeze their breasts together, Monster and human alike, as well as twinked out of their minds Pixies on fairy dust scratching and itching and licking their glowing purple fingernails for any remnants of the powder. They ask for bits of bronze so they can get a bump, smacking their dry lips together, eyes ablaze with hunger. I ignore them and keep going down the alley until I find several short steps and a metal door with the plaque card: 1-800-Necromancer on it. I bang against it, one hand still in my pocket, and wait for an answer. He better be in tonight. I step back and look up.


    His apartment light is out, which usually means he¡¯s in. Sure enough, the door opens a minute later.


    Sable squints and blinks several times, trying to adjust to the soft ambient neon purple light in the alley. He¡¯s wearing a doctor¡¯s coat, loose Hawaiian shirt, slacks, and no shoes. His hair is a blonde mess that falls around his face, smelling like he hasn¡¯t washed it (or himself) in days. He smells like the dead, to be frank. ¡°Kacey?¡± he asks, looking me up and down and pokes my shoulder. ¡°Holy Gods, you¡¯re actually alive. Word was that you died.¡±


    I shrug one shoulder. ¡°Or you could be talking to my ghost right now.¡±


    His smile falters. After rummaging through his pockets, he pops a pill, then blinks harder, the fog in his eyes clearing and the shadow over his face fading away. He touches my shoulder again, then sighs with relief. ¡°For a second there, I almost thought you were dead, K. How¡¯s it cooking, kid? You look like shit. No offence, though.¡±


    ¡°None taken,¡± I mutter. ¡°Mind if I come in? Have a client I need help with.¡± I pat the head on my hip.


    He pushes open the door and waves me inside. ¡°I presume I should just add it to your tab?¡±


    ¡°You know me too well,¡± I say, untying her from my belt and handing her to the receptionist lady who practically runs this place. She¡¯s thin and, I think, dead, but she always smiles, never says anything, and sits behind a computer all day long staring at the pictures it cycles through until someone calls the place. I follow her into a small room down a short, dark hallway and through a doorway separated from the hallway by multicolored beads. I fold my arms and watch the woman place the head on a table and clean it, just like any normal mortician would.


    Except we¡¯re getting ready to raise her from the dead. Besides, nobody has funeral money.


    Not me, at least.


    Sable stands beside me, hands in his pockets as he smokes a cigarette. He offers me a pull, and I take it from him, dragging the thing until it¡¯s almost down to its end. He glances at me, then drops the butt inside his pocket as he fishes for another. ¡°Mind telling me where you found her?¡± he asks me, as Sally¡ªaccording to the Hi, my name is! badge on her nurse outfit says¡ªangles the cold white light above her closer to the dead woman¡¯s throat, snipping away at bits of serrated flesh and veins and arteries, making it even. Then Sally starts sewing her up as best as she can, humming a song quietly under her breath, too. ¡°Because she doesn¡¯t look like she¡¯s very dead.¡±


    ¡°Found her outside my place,¡± I say, leaning against the wall. ¡°Bits and pieces of her body all over the alleyway like she¡¯s some kind of jigsaw puzzle, dude. It was gnarly. Whatever attacked her did a number on her.¡±


    ¡°No kidding,¡± Sable mutters, as Sally gets a pair of rusted scissors out from a drawer beside the operating table and begins snipping away at the woman¡¯s dangly red esophagus. ¡°But you¡¯re not the hero kind, usually, so why even bother helping her for free? I don¡¯t think I remember a single time when Kacey Summers did charity.¡±


    I snort. ¡°I am very much the hero kind. I¡¯m a North American Mage Guild quality hero, Sab.¡±


    He looks at me, tired eyes saying a lot more than his words ever could.


    Yeah, well, not all heroes look like Alexandria Thorne.


    ¡°My place got smashed up,¡± I tell him. ¡°I found a trace of magic all over the fire escape and inside my apartment, too. If anyone saw what happened to it, then she¡¯s probably as good of a guess as any to what did.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± he says, then pauses. ¡°Dudette, am I missing something, or isn¡¯t this a little much just for your¡ª¡±


    ¡°If I came in here and threw Greek fire all over the place, would you be happy?¡±


    ¡°Well, no. That would suck, and I haven¡¯t been paying insurance, but it¡¯s just a shitty old office space. This place isn¡¯t actually my home. I can probably buy that van I¡¯ve always wanted and go mobile. Do house calls, too.¡±


    A travelling Necromancer. Now that¡¯s a new market.


    ¡°So?¡± I ask him.


    ¡°So don¡¯t you think this might be a little much, just for your little old apartment?¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Yeah, but it¡¯s my fucking place,¡± I say to him, voice filled with venom. Sally pauses and looks at me, her dead grey eyes, pale face, and the red-haired wig Sable put on her today falling in strands over her face. Those tiny scissors are still tightly held in her blood-covered fingers, steady and calm. I force myself to relax. ¡°I just don¡¯t like when people ruin my stuff. Beat me up. Fight me. I¡¯ll even gamble my sword with you in some back alley casino. Just don¡¯t go into my house, ruin everything, and leave. That¡¯s just not how I work. You don¡¯t mess with my home.¡±


    Sable stays silent, leaving the conversation dead in the air, like the stink of it from the wall of cadavers he keeps on ice. When Sally finishes, she stands back after wiping the table down and placing the head inside of a small ceramic bowl. What, you expected something fancy? A new body she can use? That¡¯s for paying customers only, and right now, I¡¯m kinda broke, and the head I brought with me doesn¡¯t have her wallet with her right now.


    So instead of having a metal disc or additional skin to cauterize her throat, she gets the hot end of a stove top oven that burns her skin black and all the dangly bleeding bits darker colors until her head stops leaking red. Sally does the honors, and only when the room reeks of burnt beef does she carefully put the head in the bowl.


    And then it begins.


    For a moment, the room remains silent as Sally hands Sable a thick leather tome. He sets it down on the table beside the head, flicks through the pages, muttering some kind of rock song to himself we can hear from the bar across the street, then he pauses, reads quietly off a page, then looks at the head. Sable takes a deep breath, then draws some kind of rune on the woman¡¯s forehead with his own blood, and then with hers, dipping his finger inside the bowl and swirling it around until it''s a frothing black pool of steaming liquids. I cover my ears for this part, because listening to Death Speak is a one way trip to the looney bin. Sable says it¡¯s almost like talking backwards, except with a lot more cursing, damnation, bartering of souls, and a wager with whatever demon wants to eat the person¡¯s soul sooner than you can buy it back. I don¡¯t really understand it. Necromancy always freaks me out.


    Don¡¯t look at me that way. You would be freaked out, too, if you just watched a head start shrieking.


    I wince, and Sable stops chanting. He shuts the leather bound tome and slaps the woman with the back of his hand. She shuts up, pants, and looks around frantically. I slowly lower my hands and watch her watch me, too.


    ¡°What¡­What the¡­Where¡ª¡±


    ¡°Sal,¡± Sable says. He¡¯s handed a syringe filled with a clear liquid. He stabs it into her throat and squeezes it inside of her, despite her wailing of what he¡¯s just put inside of her. ¡°There we go. That should stop the rotting.¡± He turns to me and gives me a thumbs up. ¡°I¡¯ll give you two some privacy. I¡¯m not getting caught up in a murder case. Sally, load up Creature Mania. I¡¯m feeling a high score in the air tonight! And grab some water for Kacey. The girl looks like she¡¯s either gonna vomit on my floor or pass out.¡± With that, he pats my shoulder and leaves with Sally.


    I let the sound of their footsteps recede down the hallway, the beads shushing behind me. I stare at the lady and she does the same, her mouth open and deep purple lipstick smeared all over her face. She¡¯s stunningly hot, but in a tragic kind of way, and not just because she¡¯s dead. Smudged mascara amidst the coils of blonde make her look like an ornament in some Bloodsucker¡¯s antique store. I clear my throat and figure I should probably get started.


    ¡°Uh,¡± I say, walking to the table. ¡°Hey there. I know this is pretty sudden, but I need your help.¡±


    ¡°Did he say murder?!¡± She starts panting again, then looks down at the bowl she¡¯s inside and the shallow pool of blood collecting around her throat. ¡°Oh my Gods. OhmyGods. OhmyGods! Where the fuck is my body!¡±


    It¡¯s very apt timing to hear Sally and Sable start playing video games from the little lobby area behind me right now, but I do my best to comfort her, which is to pat her head. ¡°It¡¯s fine, it¡¯s fine. Okay, it¡¯s not fine. I found you in bits and pieces outside of my apartment building. Someone left you inside of a dumpster and I found you, so¡­¡±


    ¡°So what!¡± she says shrilly. ¡°I¡¯m gonna be a head for the rest of my life? What do you mean dumpster!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve got a twenty percent discount on month-old cadavers for first time customers! Installments, too. Not for premium bodies, so if you want some magic to come with that, you¡¯re gonna have to pay a little extra up front,¡± Sable shouts from down the hallway. ¡°Feel free to check ¡®em out. Bronze members get plastic surgery!¡±


    I wave him off and lean against the table, facing her. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him. I once saw him bring a Gremlin back to life and put it inside his cousin¡¯s necro-shop just so they could get shut down for health reasons. He just wants cash, but I did you a solid, so consider this a free get out of death free card, cool? The reason I brought you here was to bring you back to life, because dying in a dumpster, naked, sucks for a way to go. I needed your help.¡±


    She slowly stops breathing hard, then looks at me strangely. ¡°You look familiar.¡±


    ¡°You can make out my face underneath the black eye and scars?¡± I ask, laughing dryly.


    She doesn¡¯t laugh. Just frowns. ¡°I¡­I can¡¯t really remember where I¡¯ve seen you before.¡±


    ¡°It happens sometimes,¡± I say to her. ¡°Sable¡ªthe ¡®mancer trying to sell you a body¡ªsays that people who just came back to life get brain fog as your brain tries to put itself back together. No oxygen, brain damage, all of that is getting fixed. I think. I dropped out of school this year and wasn¡¯t great with Introduction to Necromancy.¡±


    She remains silent for a moment as her eyebrows slowly screw together. ¡°So you needed my help? Why?¡±


    ¡°Because there was magic around your body that snaked into my apartment, which had gotten smashed up and vandalized. I¡¯m trying to look for whoever did it, and you¡¯re kinda the only eye witness I can currently find.¡±


    ¡°Magic? Around my body?¡± she says. ¡°But¡­I¡¯m not a Mage. I¡¯m allergic to the stuff.¡±


    So someone else left it there, I think, nibbling on my thumbnail. That just makes it harder. A Vampire¡¯s scent would have tainted the magic, turning it into this worse-smelling odor I would have picked up in seconds. Not a Gremlin or even an Orc or Ogre. This was a Mage. Someone with magic potent enough for it to linger around her corpse maybe days after she had been killed. Or maybe I had just missed them leaving by a couple of minutes.


    For all I know, I could have walked past the guy on my way home and didn¡¯t even notice.


    ¡°Do you remember anyone that might have hated you?¡± I ask. ¡°Some kinda grudge that got you iced?¡±


    She thinks for a second, then I guess tries to shake her head, which ends with her swishing around in the bowl of blood and spilling it over the sides. Her wounds have stopped bleeding by now. ¡°I¡­I can¡¯t remember. Fuck, my head feels like it¡¯s being spun around on a top. Are you sure we¡¯ve never met before? You look oddly familiar.¡±


    I pinch the bridge of my nose, nearly peeling off the band-aid across it. ¡°I get that a lot, but unless you¡¯ve seen a flier for a bounty hunter with piss poor rates fluttering around in the subway, then you¡¯ve got the wrong¡ª¡±


    The woman sneezes, sucking blood back up her throat and dousing me in a spray of red.


    I stay still, my eyes shut. She quietly swears and apologizes.


    Relax. So I relax. Using my shirt to wipe my face, I keep it there for a second, counting to ten, then back down to negative ten, before I lower it and give the chick a warm smile. ¡°It happens,¡± I say. ¡°Name¡¯s Kacey.¡±


    ¡°Jane,¡± she says softly. ¡°Gods, I¡¯m really sorry that I can¡¯t be any help, but this is, like, a lot right now. I can¡¯t think straight. It hurts, but I haven¡¯t got a body that hurts. I feel scared, but I don¡¯t know why, and it¡¯s not just being like this, it¡¯s something¡­something else. Fuck.¡± She shuts her eyes, squeezing them tight. ¡°Gods, Jane, get your head together and think for once. I can¡¯t even remember what my second name is. Gods, you freaking idiot.¡±


    ¡°Hey, hey,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s fine. When you remember what you saw, we¡¯ll figure out what happened to my place. For now, you¡¯re coming with me, ¡®cause the rest of you is probably being eaten by some weird homeless Werewolf. I¡¯ll show you around, maybe ask if anyone¡¯s seen you before, then we figure out what happened to my place, ¡®kay?¡±


    Jane slowly opens her eyes. They¡¯re bright blue, so stunning they¡¯re almost unnatural underneath the pale white surgical light above us. ¡°I don¡¯t understand¡­Why would you help me? I could have broken in there. Maybe I¡¯m the person you¡¯re looking for.¡± She moans and shuts her eyes again. ¡°What did you do this time you clutz?¡±


    I lift her out of the bowl and gently shake her. She opens her eyes once more, and let¡¯s make sure she keeps them open this time. ¡°The second you remember who you are is the second I figure out what happened to my place. I don¡¯t see a reason why I shouldn¡¯t help you, anyway. Death by rotting in a dumpster doesn¡¯t roll off the tongue for the good old gravestone, so whaddya say, Jane? I help you, and you help me. We¡¯d be a freaking dream team, too.¡±


    The head in my hands stares at me, and I¡¯m quickly noticing that Jane¡¯s eyebrows are constantly stuck in this certain position that carves worry around her eyes, like she¡¯s permanently seconds away from messing up again.


    But I know all about messing up, and you kinda can¡¯t kick someone when they¡¯re down.


    It¡¯s also kinda hard to do that when she doesn¡¯t have any legs to sweep out from underneath her.


    ¡°Okay,¡± she says quietly. Then she moves in my hands, which I think is her trying to nod. ¡°I can do that.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡± I say, grinning.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she says, nodding again, which is something I¡¯m gonna have to get used to.


    Sable swishes aside the beads behind me, then frowns. ¡°Guess that¡¯s a no on the body replacement?¡±


    I pat his shoulder on my way out. ¡°As soon as I find the bastards who did this, I¡¯ll pay you back.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you said last time,¡± he mutters.


    Let¡¯s hope there¡¯s a next time. Because whoever killed Jane still has their magic coiling around her. I can see it if I concentrate, and watch as it soaks into her flesh and runs through her ears and nose and throat. Someone that powerful is a threat to me, especially if it¡¯s another Mage. I don¡¯t kill humans, I kill Monsters. This¡¯ll be new.


    And a part of me is already dreading it, because unless you haven¡¯t caught on, I can¡¯t use magic that well.


    So¡­good luck to me.

 Four - MageHunt

    Just a few minutes later, I¡¯m back home in the graffiti-covered alleyway, stepping over rats and trash that both make sounds when I accidentally step on them. The magic is fainter now. A lighter haze of purple sitting just above the ground like smoke. I know it¡¯s not a leak from a Magline, or else Anomalies would have clustered around this place like flies to garbage. Speaking of which, Jane¡¯s body is a rancid, fetid mess, and I¡¯m pretty damn sure I didn¡¯t leave it in this state. I hold my breath and swallow bile, and do Jane a favor and cover her eyes as I near the dumpster.


    The horde of flies humming around here, relentlessly finding pieces of her body they can burrow inside and lay their little maggot babies, is enough of a give away that Jane isn¡¯t lying about being allergic to magic. And deathly allergic, because even after death, her corpse is getting chewed up by the residue wrapping tightly against her rotting arms and even each one of the stumpy, green-gray bits that were her fingers. I glance over my shoulder and squint, looking at the faulty Magline running down the street. No, there aren¡¯t any leaks. Besides, MageCo would have been here in a heartbeat if they so much as heard that one of their lines was spazzing out right now.


    Either that, or some gang would have tried to get their grubby hands on it before MageCo.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Jane says to me. ¡°What¡¯s all that buzzing? They sound like flies.¡±


    I know it sounds bad, but I¡¯m kind of glad she doesn¡¯t have a proper sense of smell to catch onto the awful stench gathering in the dumpster. But¡­is it meant to rot that much? I take a picture with my phone and send it to Sable, asking him if the arm I just picked up should look like this, considering when I left an hour or so ago, her arm was just fine. I guess it also means Jane isn¡¯t gonna get a body any time soon, either. Minutes later, I got a reply.


    ¡®Sick,¡¯ he says, which isn¡¯t helpful, then: ¡®Soul poisoning. Probably a spell. Any dead flies?¡¯


    I look down at my feet and search the dumpster with my phone flashlight, which is so awesomely fun! I try my best not to vomit on the corpse, but sure enough, there are mounds of dead flies in the dumpster and even on my shoes. I shake my head, and¡ªgross, gross, gross¡ªseveral fall from my hair. ¡®Yep,¡¯ I text back. ¡®Plenty of ¡®em.¡¯


    ¡®Not my field of expertise then, Kace. Unless you wanna send me ten bucks.¡¯


    Bastard, I think, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. I¡¯m not bartering money I don¡¯t have. I¡¯m in enough debt with enough people, and I guess Sable is as much of a friend as my good standing with him allows for it. I sigh and comb my fingers through my hair, because the internet is telling me that soul poisoning can¡¯t be cured without either an exorcism (can¡¯t afford it), or divine blessings from an Angel (neither can I afford that, not in a million years), so I¡¯ve got a bit of an idea of what¡¯s going on here. They don¡¯t want her body getting far. That¡¯s for sure. It¡¯s a miracle I brought her head along with me for later, because Jane would have been in the same state as the rest of her body. They want to get rid of evidence, right? Completely and utterly wipe the slate clean, as well as anything that might have eaten her or even seen her. Gods, this is just so fun. Be a bounty hunter, mom said. It¡¯ll be fun, she said. I kick the dumpster, briefly scaring off the few remaining flies. Minutes later, and they¡¯re finished.


    All that¡¯s left in the dumpster now amongst a pile of dead flies are clean white bones.


    ¡°Um, K¡­No, that¡¯s not her name. Kara? Karina?¡±


    ¡°Kacey,¡± I say.


    ¡°Right! Hey, Kacey, mind letting me see?¡±


    I weigh my options a little, and decide that I might as well let her see the alleyway. I unhitch her from my belt and show her the dumpster. She stares at it, blinking slowly, then raises an eyebrow. ¡°Are those chicken bones?¡±


    ¡°Yours,¡± I mutter. Her mouth snaps together, immediately silent. ¡°Soul poisoning. Eats down bones, too.¡±


    Jane lets out a garish, horrified moan that makes me feel sick to the gut. But I can¡¯t blame her. Anyone¡¯s emotions would be a mess right now. A second chance at life is great, and possibly finding your killer is better.


    But you¡¯ve got no memories, and your body is being eaten into oblivion right in front of you.


    The one lead I had is now gone. She could have remembered something about her body. A birthmark or maybe a necklace she should have had, or a wedding ring, a piercing, literally anything. But she can¡¯t even do that to jog her memory. For her sake, I put her under my arm and left the dumpster, leaning my back against the sooty brick wall underneath the fire escape ladder. I set her down on a trash can, where she continues moaning and trying her best not to cry, but I let her go through the motions, because we¡¯re both kind of stuck right now. Fuck sake.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t there anyone you can call?¡± she asks me, hiccuping after crying. ¡°Mages have friends, right?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± I shrug and slide my hands into my jeans. ¡°One¡¯s dead, the other is missing, and I forgot one.¡±


    She blinks, then says, ¡°Oh. Oh my Gods, I¡¯m so sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to¡ª¡±


    I wave her off. ¡°Anyway, unless we get someone like a detective on this, it¡¯ll be a long ass night. I¡¯m thinking we¡­¡± I snap my fingers, making Jane flinch. Slinging my backpack off my shoulders, I rummage through it and find the several potions at the bottom. I move each of them aside, muttering to myself until I find where it¡­


    There.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I pull a vial of silver liquid out of my bag, dull and thick, kinda soupy. The label reads Shimmer.


    It¡¯s also only got one dose left at the bottom of it, so I¡¯ve got to make this count.


    ¡°What is that?¡± Jane asks quietly as I undo the lid. A scent of gasoline fills the air.


    ¡°Off-brand Shimmer,¡± I say, sniffing it just to make sure it hasn¡¯t gone bad yet. Shimmer is never all that fun to use, but when you¡¯re not a Medium, I don¡¯t really know how else you¡¯re supposed to go around asking the dead if they¡¯ve seen anything else. According to MageCo, you¡¯re not meant to take this stuff raw. Mix it with literally almost anything else except raw Shimmer, just so you don¡¯t have residue lingering around in your body days or weeks after you¡¯ve taken it. Something, something, lose your mind hearing all kinds of crazy phantoms.


    All I¡¯ve got is an old packet of juice at the bottom of my bag that tastes like I¡¯ve just licked the soles of my sneakers, but I down it, hold it in my mouth, and pour the Shimmer down my throat. I wince and swallow, the taste doing my tongue no favors whatsoever. I feel it slide down my throat, warm and awkward and thick. I wait until it vanishes from my mouth completely, but Gods, this stuff sucks. I nearly spit it out on reflex, but instead put a fist to my mouth to stop myself from puking. Then I shut my eyes and wait, counting for a few seconds until I finally hear them whispering. Muttering at first. Distant and nonsensical. Some angry. Some miserable. Until it¡¯s all too clear.


    See, if this stuff was real Shimmer, I could probably see the dead people, too. The Specters that linger around death looking for any magic they can suckle on, though, are entirely invisible to me. But I can hear them, and I know they can hear me. It¡¯s not my first time with this stuff flowing through my veins. Probably won¡¯t be the last either. But I¡¯ve got all of two minutes for a dose this small to work, so I walk over to the dumpster and talk.


    ¡°Hey, ghost people,¡± I say. Their chatter falters around me. I don¡¯t feel a chill down my spine or anything. They apparently find that a little bit of a stereotype, but I shudder regardless as they begin hissing into my ears.


    ¡°We hunger,¡± one says, hollow and distant. My head whips around, but there¡¯s nothing behind me apart from a graffiti covered wall and several mounds of rotting trash. ¡°Your magic is tainted. Savory. We prey for it.¡±


    They begin to mutter and hiss in unison, and now I feel a chill rake through my body. I must¡¯ve just been grazed, or poked at, as they try to see if the magic inside of me is the real thing. I don¡¯t know what that tainted part means, because even though I haven¡¯t showered in several days, surely I¡¯m not dirty to the point my magic is.


    I hope it¡¯s not.


    ¡°You want some of it?¡± I ask them. I must look batshit crazy right now talking to thin air. ¡°One condition.¡±


    Very quickly, they¡¯re willing to listen as they silence around me.


    ¡°Uh, Kacey?¡± Jane says from her trash can. ¡°Are you sure this is a good idea?¡±


    I shrug and tell the Specters, ¡°Look, you see that head over there behind me? Her body is what¡¯s pulling you to this alleyway right now. She¡¯s been dead for a while, but I need to know what killed her. You guys saw it.¡±


    They start muttering and mumbling amongst themselves. I hear one of them asking for some spare change. I guess someone recently deceased and not yet accustomed to being fully dead. Or something. Beats me. I¡¯m alive.


    The Specters go silent. Completely and utterly dead silent. I can¡¯t tell if they¡¯re still surrounding me, and being hostile with something that you can¡¯t touch that can definitely touch you isn¡¯t a good idea. It doesn¡¯t stop my basic instinct from putting a hand on my sword, because if there¡¯s any security you can get in this city, it¡¯s the one you carry with you. So I wait, hoping to the Gods that the Shimmer hasn¡¯t run its course through my veins. Just once, let me catch a break. Then the trash littering the dumpster rustles, swirling around as if a set of hands were rummaging through it. I wait, walking a little closer, and watch as the garbage parts away and something catches my eye. Something tiny, golden, and crazy expensive. I crouch, palm out, letting the Specter place the ring on my hand.


    I turn it in my fingers, and spot the black raven¡¯s head embossed into the gold. It¡¯s a thick ring. Wouldn¡¯t fit me, but it would a man. The tiny red ruby in the raven¡¯s eye glints under the broken street light as I stand again.


    They were hiding it, I think. But not that well on purpose.


    They wanted someone to find it, or for its owner to come get it from them.


    ¡°Who paid you to hide this thing?¡± I ask them quietly. Maybe it¡¯s the blood on the dumpster and on the fire escape that was their wayward payment. The dashes of it on the ground aren¡¯t Jane¡¯s. Those had been someone else¡¯s, so either Jane fucked them up big time, or they paid these Specters a lot of magic to do what they wanted.


    ¡®Your magic,¡¯ they hiss, ¡®is what we want. Pay.¡¯


    My phone buzzes in my pocket. A couple of seconds left. The bad thing about these things is that you can¡¯t say no and go back on your deal. You pay them, or they make you suffer for as long as they can until you either mentally snap, or you take your sword and put it through your temples. So, grudgingly, I sigh under my breath and cut open my palm with my dagger, squeezing my fist so the droplets of blood douse the alleyway. Not as much as the other Mage had done, but according to them, my blood is tarnished, and judging by the horrific cry of glee that echoes through my mind as soon as the Shimmer wears off, I think they¡¯re happy enough with a little bit.


    That just leaves me wondering why the other Mage had to give them so much, just for them to keep this thing here under some garbage. Heck, maybe they knew someone would eventually come looking for it for a price. Maybe the Mage would return searching for it, and would have to cough up some more of his magic-laced blood.


    His magic was potent, still strong enough to linger even right now. If they wanted him to return, then they loved his magic. They wanted to keep consuming it and bathing in it. In contrast, I only have to give them a drop.


    For all I know, they¡¯ve stolen something from me, too, and probably want me to come back for it later. But I can¡¯t find anything missing on me, so I¡¯ll take this as a win for old Kacey Summers. I was onto him. Very onto him.


    Think I just got one over you, I think, flicking the ring into the air and catching it. Or I¡¯m wrong.


    But this is New Salem. Even after death you¡¯re gonna be looking for some loose change. Specters screw with the living all the time, especially here downtown where there¡¯s death and misery a plenty. They¡¯ll hide your keys and snatch your cat, and you won¡¯t know where they are until you accidentally cut your finger and poof, next thing you know, your cat is on your bed and your keys are right there in your pocket. Fun bastards. Helpful, too.


    Because I at least have some kind of lead.

 Five - MageHunt

    ¡°Alright,¡± I say to Jane, taking her off the trash can. ¡°See? Told you that would work, and now everyone¡¯s a winner.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re very upbeat for someone who¡¯s home is in ruin and looks like she¡¯s been run over by a semi truck,¡± Jane says to me as I tie her hair to my belt. ¡°Are you always like this? So¡­optimistic? Aren¡¯t you exhausted? I mean, you literally just cut yourself so you could haggle with some dead people. Isn¡¯t that at least a little tiring?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°Nobody¡¯s gonna come wipe the blood off my lips for me, so what else am I supposed to do, you know? Besides, something good just happened for us, and I¡¯m not hearing voices in my head right now, so it looks like I¡¯m not crazy. As for being optimistic, I¡¯m not. My house got ruined. The cops wouldn¡¯t care. All I want to do is hunt down whoever killed you, so I can do them a favor and kill them back. Or maybe beat him until he pisses himself wet. Haven¡¯t decided yet.¡± Then I might rob them for all they¡¯re worth so I can fix my place up, but I guess we¡¯ll see when the time comes. I sling my backpack over my shoulder. ¡°Besides, no reason to be gloomy. It¡¯ll be sunrise in a few hours, and that means the sun doesn¡¯t give a shit about if you¡¯re sad or not. Clock is ticking, Jane.¡±


    ¡°I mean, that¡¯s one way to look at it,¡± she mutters. Then I stumble and curse as pain shoots up my ankle. I look down, but there¡¯s nothing that tripped me on my way out of the alleyway. I put weight down on my right foot again, then swear under my breath. Great. My sock feels wet and warm, and when I sit on a stack of forgotten cinder blocks and pull off my shoe, I find a nasty gash along my heel. I already bandaged my hand with a handkerchief I found in my bag, but this? This is just straight awesome. It doesn¡¯t take long for me to find the rusted nail I stepped on sticking out of my shoe. ¡°Wow,¡± Jane whispers. ¡°Have you considered a shrine? You¡¯ve got a lot of bad vibes.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for the advice, I¡¯ll remember to check if I¡¯m still banned from the one two blocks away,¡± I mutter, sliding my sock off my foot, peeling it away from the bloody skin. I squeeze my eyes shut and swear again, praying to the Gods that I haven¡¯t just given myself some kind of disease. I swear, this shitty building keeps shedding bricks and paint, rivets and nails every other day like some stripper living in Oceanica. Fuckin¡¯ cheapskate landlady Elf.


    She can sell that stupid purple poodle of hers and spend the money on fixing the place.


    Gods, the next time I see her¡­


    ¡°How, if I can ask, does one get banned from a place of worship?¡±


    ¡°Long story,¡± I mutter, fishing for a sewing kit, and instead finding a needle, staples, and glue. I guess I¡¯ll take the glue. Fuck. ¡°But just know that Angels really hate it when you try to save the Fairies in their basement.¡±


    Jane remains silent for a second, mulling over my words, then says, ¡°So the rumors are actually true?¡±


    ¡°Beats me. I got beaten halfway to Sunday by those chicken-winged priests ¡®for I even got down there.¡±


    ¡°And¡­this is your chosen lifestyle, a bounty hunter for hire?¡±


    ¡°Beats working at MageDonald¡¯s, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s safer!¡± she says, watching¡ªhorrified¡ªas I pinch together the wound and begin punching the few staples I¡¯ve got into my skin. Hurts, but¡­well, you grow up without shoes, your feet get kinda numb to this kinda stuff. Next comes the glue¡ªnot normal glue, at least. MageCo stuff. They sell it for a dollar a pop, so I¡¯ve got a few in my bag that can keep two things together for months. Is it bad for your skin, Kace? Don¡¯t know, don¡¯t really care.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Yeah, and it¡¯s more boring,¡± I tell her, the bottle of glue now in my mouth as I pull my sock back onto my foot. It hurts. Hurts like fucking hell. Can¡¯t afford to sit around and wait, though. ¡°That¡¯s not the life I wanna live.¡±


    ¡°What kind of life are you living right now, bruised and cut up and bleeding?¡± she asks me. ¡°Alone?¡±


    I immediately tense halfway through putting my shoe back onto my foot. It¡¯s that brief spike of anger that lets me force my foot into my Converse, tying the laces loose enough to not have pain throbbing up and down my leg, but tight enough to keep it actually on my foot¡ªdouble knot and everything. I stand up, put force down onto my foot, and swallow the heat of agony that burns up my foot. It¡¯ll get numb eventually, then start healing. Maybe.


    ¡°I¡¯m not alone,¡± I say to her. ¡°I¡¯ve got a talking head to keep me company on my way.¡±


    ¡°Once again,¡± she says, smiling, her cheeks flushing red a little, ¡°woefully optimistic, Kacey.¡±


    ¡°Anyway,¡± I say, limping out of the alleyway and onto the street. I look left and right, trying to weigh my options right now. The ring is around my neck, laced together with an old necklace with a tiny golden sword. ¡°I¡¯m thinking we hit a forge and see if they can find where this ring comes from. I know a couple people who might not want to see me, but they owe me, and I can cash in on those.¡± I limp for a moment down the street, then pause.


    Jane is shaking her head, which means rubbing her cheek against my thigh. ¡°Uh, can I recommend something?¡±


    ¡°All ears.¡±


    ¡°That ring doesn¡¯t look cheap,¡± she says, and this isn¡¯t a conversation we should probably be having with people sitting on curbs and footstools, looking for an easy picking. I duck back into the alleyway. ¡°Can I¡­?¡± I pull off my necklace and show her the ring. For a moment, her brow raises at the sword crest emblazoned on the shield pendant, but I¡¯m not gonna talk to her about that, and she takes my face as an answer. ¡°See the ruby? That¡¯s easily somewhere North of a handful of gold, maybe just Drachma instead. It¡¯s also worn down. Edges are smudges and there¡¯s no silver underneath the gold, so it¡¯s the real deal. Going to ¡®some forge¡¯ probably isn¡¯t a great idea, Kacey.¡±


    We¡¯re thinking the same thing, because I¡¯d probably be lied to and mugged for it, considering my previous debts to most of the forges around these parts. Good thinking, Jane. I sigh under my breath and say, ¡°What now?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± She hums a little, then says, ¡°I think I might remember someone. Someone I think I trust.¡±


    A lot of thinking in that sentence. ¡°Are you sure they¡¯d be able to tell where it¡¯s from?¡±


    ¡°Are Fallen Angels perverts?¡±


    ¡°Touche,¡± I mutter. ¡°But do you remember where they used to be?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± she says. I let her have this win. The brain fog must be clearing up. Then she frowns a little and bites the corner of her lip. ¡°The bad news is that it¡¯s all the way in Dogway East. But it¡¯s a great forge. Great people, too.¡±


    I stare at her. ¡°Did you just say Dogway East? That¡¯s, like, a death sentence for me!¡±


    She sucks air through her teeth. ¡°That many people hate you, huh?¡±


    I don¡¯t bother explaining, and instead run my fingers through my hair. She¡¯s got a point, though. I can¡¯t just take something this expensive to ¡®some forge¡¯ and hope for the best, especially if it¡¯s around here. One of these guys talks, and then that Mage knows who exactly has their ring. Or I can travel all the way to Dogway East and use someone that Jane trusts instead. Dogway isn¡¯t exactly known for its trusting and loving citizens, though, is it? But I kinda have both arms behind my back right now. Common sense is telling me to risk it here, but my gut wants to gamble on the underground forges instead. I groan, more out of frustration than anything else, and look at the head.


    ¡°You remember the way there?¡± I ask her. ¡°To the forge?¡±


    ¡°Yep!¡± she says. ¡°At least, I think so.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope you do,¡± I mutter. ¡°Or else I¡¯m about to get mugged and shot.¡±


    Alrighty, then. Let¡¯s go downtown.

 Six - MageHunt

    It¡¯s just my luck that the portals are down and out for general maintenance, so that leaves me in the decrepit old subway station. The place is packed full of all kinds of people. Gremlins skitter around legs, looking for loose rings or bracelets they can snatch. Down on their luck Angels smoke heavily and blow nicotine into the air, making an already hot subway even hotter. It¡¯s a pressure cooker just waiting to blow over, now more so than ever with the pushing and shoving and jostling as the shrieking sound of the train gets louder and louder. I keep an old baseball hat low on my brow, just in case someone notices me. But there are plenty of posters all over the walls, fluttering onto the tracks, and even under our feet to pick anything out. Flickering lights, all sickly yellow, light the place.


    If someone does manage to notice me, then that¡¯s just down to some terrible luck.


    And it just sucks big time to be down here. I¡¯m easily one of the shorter people in the station too, and the magic in the air is so pungent it¡¯s making me kinda nauseous. Someone next to me throws up, their vomit a mix of purples and reds and glittering bits and pieces I can¡¯t bear to look at or be around. The Orc he¡¯s just emptied up on spins around, roaring in disgust and lunging at him in a fury. We ignore them as they tousle on the ground. Not your fight, not your blood on someone¡¯s hands. A thin little Pixie even takes her chance to run off with the Orc¡¯s phone that slipped out of his pocket. As for me, my lucky little bunny teddy bear is firmly in my bag, and my sword is where it should be on my back. It¡¯s got a seal on it. Nobody can pull it from its sheath except for a few people.


    None of them are anywhere near New Salem, though, so I¡¯m not afraid of that, anyway.


    And finally, the train arrives, squealing on its old tracks and hissing open. One tide of people hits the next, and I¡¯m smushed up against shoulders and elbows, scales and wings and claws as I wriggle my way inside the train. I find a spot near the window, not that the thing can open that much, anyway. But I¡¯m wet with sweat. Can¡¯t even take off my shirt without accidentally getting stabbed by some Dragonborne¡¯s tail. Put the damn thing away, I think, but I¡¯m not allowed to say that, since it¡¯s their right to flaunt that barbed thing however much they like.


    Doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t accidentally step on it, making the guy curse me out and push away from me.


    ¡°Hey,¡± someone says, then nudges my shoulder. The train slowly picks up speed again, rattling and shuddering underneath our feet, making us sway and shove against one another. I glance over my shoulder, expecting a guy to chew me out for stepping on his tail again. Instead, I found a Vampire. Thin, stained white vest, silver necklace, and a golden canine. His eyes are rimmed with red, the rest of his face gaunt. I discreetly put a hand on my dagger, waiting. Watching. Fucking Bloodsucker. ¡°That head on your hip. You gonna eat it? Need a hit.¡±


    ¡°Piss of,¡± I hiss at him. ¡°Get your blood somewhere else, fuckin¡¯ gnat.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± he says, blood-red eyes gleaming. His mouth stinks of meat. His gullet of a throat throbs as he swallows saliva, kinda like those old exhaust vents that spew foul sewage. ¡°I¡¯ll pay you. Whatever you want, kid. Just need a bump. One snag. Heck, even you¡¯d do just fine. Your blood smells weird, but I ain¡¯t that picky.¡±


    I step toward him, my short black blade pressing against his gut. ¡°Fuck. Off.¡±


    He licks his lips but shuffles along, sparing one last glance at Jane, then at myself. Second person tonight to tell me my blood is weird. Don¡¯t care. Must be starving. Past the point of being violent for his food, and I¡¯m making that guess because of the amount of scars and bruises underneath his tattoos. The guy¡¯s been beaten like a dog the past few days. Passed that stage where they¡¯re feral, and now he just needs to survive. I watch him move through the train, scratching his skin, more so his neck, where two very faded bite marks are raw from his nails itching them so much. The bastard was gonna die soon. Not my problem. A docile, looney Vampire is better than a Vampire with even an inch worth of strength. Don¡¯t look at me that way. It¡¯s not racist. He¡¯s a godsdamned Vamp.


    You can¡¯t be racist to those things, not in a million years.


    Jane remains silent against my thigh. I know she¡¯s looking up at me, but I ignore her and sheath the blade.


    The train to get down to Dogway East takes nearly thirty minutes, constantly stopping at other platforms to let one horde off and let another one on. I¡¯m squeezed against the window, half my body pressing painfully against the warm metal. I¡¯ve got no other option than to watch the blur of the tunnel lights pass by, and without even knowing it, my free hand drifts toward my necklace, thumbing the pendant. It¡¯s the first time in literal days I¡¯ve been able to gather my thoughts, despite the noise and the heat and the smells filling my nose. I shut my eyes, one arm still clinging to the hold above me, the other on my necklace. Gods, I¡¯m pretty beat. I nearly even fall asleep standing if it wasn¡¯t for the tiny, long-fingered hand I felt tug on my hair. I glance over my shoulder, a flare of annoyance bursting through me. Then I pause. Just some kid on his mother¡¯s back, curious about the human¡¯s hair.


    It''s an Elf, pudgy and full of life, easily excitable, too. I give her a wry smile and stick out my tongue, making her giggle. Her face lights up before her mother turns her away from me, shooting me a disgusted look.


    We¡¯re on the same train, princess, I think, watching as she quietly scolds her child for even touching a human that way, then busies herself wiping her kid¡¯s fingers. Doesn¡¯t matter to me. My stop just got called out.


    I make sure to tuck my necklace into my t-shirt before forcing myself out of that boiler of a train. I walk onto the platform and stretch a little, finally free from the packed full prison that¡¯s just shrieked away behind me.


    A sign above the stairwell reads Welcome to Dogway, Home of Steel and Fire, and yeah, no kidding, the place feels like a furnace the moment you leave the air-conditioned station. It¡¯s mostly underground forges, the kind that blow smoke into vents that travel through exhaust shoots and out into the city above. The entire place glows a deep reddish orange, simply from the amount of fire and scolding liquid gold, iron, bronze, and almost any other metal you can find down here. Cars, bikes, watches¡ªhell, you name it, and Dogway will have a cheaper copy of it ready and waiting for half the price. It¡¯s what feeds most of us, as well as the gangs and guilds that own shops or streets. I walk quickly, like you do down here. No hesitation. Don¡¯t look people in the eyes. If some guy comes asking you for change or pretending he knows you, either smack him upside the head or do yourself a favor and run. The thunderous echo of Giants slamming their hammers down, of industrial presses booming through the air, makes the ground shudder. I walk where Jane tells me to, down a street that¡¯s more residential than forge stations.


    There¡¯s a hanging layer of black smoke in the air, making my throat sting. I hate coming down here. I avoid coming down here by any means. But, as always, MageCo have their billboards here, too, along the underground highways and blocking the windows on apartment buildings. I doubt that most of the kids who live in King¡¯s Village even know that this is where their uber special magic weapons come from. But that¡¯s not my problem today.


    ¡°It¡¯s just down here,¡± she says to me, as I head down one of the quieter streets underneath an overpass. Cars and trucks carrying all kinds of stuff rumble over my head¡ªthe kinds that have reinforced windows and grills, and more likely than not have someone at the wheel with a weapon on them. Down here, a lot of homeless people mill about looking for anything they can get their hands on, even if it¡¯s the trash thrown out of car windows that rains down from the rumbling, smoky overpass. Tents galore here, too. Cardboard cities. It stinks of fire and excrement.


    A couple of guys¡ªhumans¡ªon motorcycles whistle at me as I pass. I do ¡®em a favor and flip them off. They holler and laugh, the liquor in their hands swishing as they keep calling. The overpass above everything here makes everything filthier, fouler, and a lot harder to navigate. Larger piles of trash along the road. The apartments here are worse than the ones next to the forges, which is saying something. It can always be worse, Kace. I watch a group of kids go chasing after one another, ducking into mounds of garbage and putting on whatever pieces of trash they find the coolest so they can keep playing their imaginary games of killing monsters and saving the world.


    It¡¯s mostly humans down here, anyway. The Ogres and Giants and any other thing down here wouldn¡¯t live underneath the overpass. Too noisy. Too much crime. I pass a wanted poster that¡¯s been glued to a brick wall on top of a missing poster. But these aren¡¯t Mages. They¡¯re humans who¡¯ve got nothing better to do than run errands for the Monsters they slave away for, or try and make a quick buck at a gambling joint whilst you slam back shots with your buddies all day long. This place is despair incarnate, and also the same place where if I¡¯m found wandering, I¡¯d very quickly have my head on someone¡¯s platter, or between a vice, or a foot¡ªpoint being, gotta make this quick.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°Are you sure this is the right place?¡± I mutter, passing a shop full of guys modding their cars with magic. Weld enough runes and the right kind into the metal, and your car is gonna be something else entirely, too. But I would rather trust a blind Cyclops to do that instead of some drunken guys putting together anything they know.


    They¡¯ll be lucky not to cause an explosion, but I¡¯ll be honest, their cars do look freaking cool.


    ¡°It¡¯s the kind of place I¡¯d come to all the time,¡± Jane says. ¡°Shorter lines than the bigger forges.¡±


    For some reason, I can¡¯t quite imagine someone like Jane, with a face so cheery and eyes so lively, humming her way down these kinds of streets. The woman is a mystery to me, and she seems a lot more comfortable down here than back in the city. She¡¯s even singing a song under her breath, something that makes my skin warm.


    ¡°Take a right up ahead,¡± she tells me. ¡°He works in a garage, but he¡¯s legit.¡±


    Let¡¯s hope so.


    I hear footsteps behind me. Slow at first, but keeping pace. Here we go. I choose to slow down, and so do they. Then they start running, shoving me from behind and sending me crashing into overfilled trash cans. I fall and roll, getting onto my feet the same second they grab my necklace and rip it off my throat, using a blade to cut the chain. They sprint, run hard and fast, and I swear, yell after them and chase. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Steal my dagger but not my fucking necklace. The smoke-tinged air burns my throat. My sneakers smack against the concrete and I follow them around a corner, then get smacked in the face by a bat. The world blurs. Flickers. I stumble and fall and find myself on the filthy ground, moaning as pain ravages my face. I spit blood, shake my head, put one hand to the tarmac and look up, my swollen eye struggling to focus on the figure¡ªno, figures¡ªstanding over me. The one with the baseball bat swings it onto her shoulder, looking down at me with a nasty smile. I struggle, but get up.


    ¡®Cause nobody¡¯s coming to help me up, and these bastards just stole my shit.


    What else do I expect from some Dogway brats?


    ¡°Uh uh,¡± she says. She swings the bat. I duck and tackle her to the ground. I scramble on top of her and slam my fist into her face, giving her back what she gave me until her face is a bloodied mess. A hand grabs my collar and rips me off of her, dragging me onto my feet and slamming a fist into my gut. I vomit into my mouth, let it spill onto the tarmac as they let me collapse to my knees. I curse and gasp for air, fighting to keep myself awake.


    ¡°Kacey!¡± Jane screams. ¡°Y¡ª¡±


    One of them plants their foot into Jane¡¯s mouth, smashing her jaw and shutting her up. I go for their groin, punching upward and meeting their balls. They scream and collapse. I smack my knee into their nose as I lunge to my feet, because none of these guys have my necklace¡ªthey¡¯re the distraction. So I run and I run, my heart against my ribs and my lungs burning for air as I chase down the bitch sprinting toward a parked car. She slips inside and the car screeches away, tail happy and gushing rubbery smoke as it races down the road. I swear, search around the street, and find a guy loitering on a motorbike close enough for me to shoulder check him, swing my leg onto the bike, and gun down the street after them. I¡¯m not thinking. Barely have the time to as I shift upward, gear after gear until the bike is roaring between my legs and my hair is wild in the wind. Down side streets and alleyways, around corners and pulling on the bike¡¯s brakes to swing it on the pavement, skipping onto the curb and nearly battering into several people. Faster, goddammit, go faster. And then comes a straight as we near a parking lot in front of an old run-down forge, its flickering, large neon yellow sign illuminating the tarmac. I squeeze the throttle harder.


    They swing their car around the corner just past the forge, tire smoke gushing off the pavement.


    Fuck! I yank on the front brake, making the bike skip and shudder. I stop, breath hard. Look around. There, the fence into the forge is open, wires split by hoodlums looking for a place to crash. I gun the bike through the gap in the fence, swallowed by the darkness, led by the tiny headlight and the sound of the car¡¯s roaring echo. The forge is a monster of black pipes and sooty air. Run down, decrepit, littered with machinery I rapidly dart past, faster and faster, finally seeing the headlights from the car. I can hear their whooping. Their cheers because they¡¯ve gotten away. That¡¯s what they¡¯re thinking. I can hear it over the sound of the wind screaming in my ears right now, too.


    Then I turn right. Hard. And there we are, face-to-face, the bike¡¯s headlights illuminating their faces down this dark tunnel lost in the machinery. Time slows. I wince as the car¡¯s headlights slam into me, making me grit my teeth. But I don¡¯t slow down. Hell, I twist the throttle even harder, speeding up this hellish race toward calamity.


    Before they get the chance to run me over, I leap off the motorbike, slamming into the car¡¯s windshield, their roof, rolling over and over until I hit the tarmac, skipping and rolling head over heels, skidding my arms and knees and ripping my cheek against the ground, leaving my skin raw and bloody and red until I come to a painfully agonizing stop. I look up, groaning, the pieces of my arms missing already healing from the runes, and watch as the bike smashes right into the front end of the muscle car with a dull metallic bang. Smoke, sparks, and then fire.


    It throws the car off course, making it veer and smash into a lamp post that comes crashing down.


    Bastards. The runes carved into my arms burn as they try to heal me. I get onto my feet, staggering, holding my sides and panting like a beaten dog. Bastards. I limp through the dimly lit forge. Past machines. Into the dark, my arms bleeding, my head pounding and heart racing. I reach the car. Its hood is smashed to bits. The side where the reinforced bike smashed into it is completely crumpled in. I don¡¯t care. I grab the body slumped over the steering wheel and pull them out through the smashed up window, throw them onto the ground and stomp my foot onto the back of their head, smacking their face against the curb the lamp post sat on. Blood splatters onto the pale concrete, mixing with gasoline and grit. I turn, hobbling toward the car and searching through the window, huffing.


    I hear a click behind me, and the cold press of a gun barrel against the back of my head.


    ¡°Ease up,¡± my missing passenger whispers. ¡°And turn the fuck around.¡±


    So I do, slowly, and stare into the barrel of their silver hummingbird, and the steady arm behind it. It¡¯s a girl with tanned brown skin and light hazel eyes, a buzz cut to finish the look and piercings in her ears. She¡¯s got my necklace clutched tightly in her free hand, but she waves the gun in my face, making me focus on her alone.


    ¡°Give me,¡± I snarl, stepping forward, putting the gun to my forehead, ¡°my godsdamned necklace.¡±


    Her eyes narrow. I don¡¯t wait for her to make a decision.


    I smack her arm away. The gun barks, spitting out a bullet that pings off the giant neon sign. I duck, slam my fist into her side, spin her around and grab the back of her head, then do her a favor and pound her skull hard against the Mustang¡¯s roof over and over until she lets go of the gun. She collapses, groans. I slam my foot into her ribs. She curls up, so I stomp on the back of her head, and then¡ª She vanishes into a puff of wispy black smoke.


    I rear back. Shadow magic.


    Where¡ª


    A forearm wraps around my throat, gagging me. Then cold agony slides between my ribs.


    I gasp, the pain shocking the adrenaline right out of my system. I glance down. See her tattooed hand holding onto my dagger. The same dagger sticking out of my side. She yanks it out and shoves me against the car. I collapse, gasping like a fish, my head woozy as I clamp a hand onto my side. Blood pours through my fingers. She swears and wipes my dagger against her jeans, then slides it into her belt. She dangles my necklace in front of me. It glints in the yellow iridescent light. I reach for it, desperate, the sword and the shield pendant just inches away.


    She scoffs and stuffs it back into her pocket, then crouches in front of me. I can barely focus on her. My head is a pounding mess. I cough up blood whenever I try to move. Fucking heal already. But the runes on my arms aren¡¯t doing anything. They stopped stinging, stopped working. She grabs my jaw painful and looks me in the eyes, and all I can see are pits of honey-colored hatred swimming in hers. ¡°You¡¯ve got a nice couple of bits and pieces on you,¡± she says quietly, tilting my head side to side. ¡°Both your ears, both your eyes¡­a Mage like you, that¡¯s good money. Magic must be strong in your blood if you still had it in you to chase us down like that. I mean, fuck, steal a bike and ram us with it? You¡¯re insane!¡± She lowers her voice. Smiles. Her canines glint as my vision begins to fade. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Don¡¯t you freaking dare pass out on me now. ¡°Your blood will sell good. Enough to feed a couple mouths. We can peel those runes off your skin. Maybe get a couple old world bucks for your organs, too.¡±


    I spit the blood that¡¯s pooling in my mouth onto her sweat-stained vest.


    She stops smiling and stands, picking up her gun. ¡°Hey, at least it¡¯ll be quick, right?¡±


    And then her gun goes off.

 Seven - MageHunt

    What a fuckin¡¯ week. It¡¯s just been thing after thing after thing without any kind of happy ending, you know? I know it¡¯s kinda childish to think people do get happy endings, that you¡¯re going to meet your one true love and all will be well and one day you¡¯re gonna be on your deathbed, smiling, knowing that it was worth it. Gods, I don¡¯t even really know where I got that kinda thought from. Nobody I know has gone quiet into the good night. It¡¯s been struggle, suffering, and bloodshed. Everything in between has been money and survival. Nothing more, nothing less. Gods, where do I even begin? It started when mom called me to do her a favor. Now, if you think I¡¯m nuts, then you¡¯ve never met my mom. I should have let the phone ring, or told her, like I have before, to just leave me alone.


    And now here I am sitting in a field of white flowers and grass and bathed in gummy sunshine, because this must be what happens to people who kick the bucket, right? You go to places like this to reflect for all eternity. This blows, I think, laying in the grass, staring up at the clouds lazily floating through the endless blue. The one time I go out of my way to help someone, and look where it gets me¡ªshot through the head in freaking Dogway East.


    I¡¯d rather just get ripped apart by some homicidal Werewolf instead of having my body get picked clean by whatever raider groups get their hands on me, but¡­I guess it doesn¡¯t matter now. I finally tripped over some bad luck that I can¡¯t just shrug and forget about. The nail through my foot should have been a warning, some omen.


    But I¡¯m terrible at those, and don¡¯t really believe in fate or karma either. Just shit luck.


    So¡­I guess this is eternity. I roll onto my elbow and pluck flowers out of the soil. They come away easily, their petals dancing through the breeze and over the hills beyond. It¡¯s not that bad here. I mean, there¡¯s no debt for one, or that damn Elf wanting her rent earlier than expected, or Ricky wanting his cash, or some disembodied lady getting her shit butchered and wanting me to help her, but again, what to do? Eighteen years, Kace. Eighteen years, and it ends ¡®cause of some thug who wanted to make a quick buck. I laugh to myself and slowly sit back upright.


    I hang my head and let the breeze toy with my hair. I bask in the silence, for once letting it fill my mind. It almost feels like there¡¯s been a weight I¡¯ve just let go of. My mind feels gooey. A mess of thoughts and emotions I totally don¡¯t want to untangle, so I let myself stew, staring at the grass blades I twist around my fingers like rings.


    When I sigh and finally look up, expecting nothing but grassy hillsides, I pause.


    And find a woman sitting opposite me. I startle and get to my feet, but she stays there in the grass, smiling at me the same way you would a child that¡¯s just gotten freaked out from seeing an insect. She¡¯s gorgeous. Drop dead stunning in her silver armor and its golden accents. I don¡¯t recognize the symbol carved into her armor plating, this cycle and scythe crest shining a deep gold. Her sword lies on the grass beside her, long and sharp and if I saw it hanging around, I¡¯d either try to buy it or steal it, the thing is so beautiful. Her face, though, has one long scar running from her left eye all the way to her jaw. Her eyes are solid stormy gray orbs, and her hair is this veil of blonde hair that falls around her shoulders, wavy and thick and brighter than sunlight. She pats the grass beside her, and I guess if she¡¯s not attacking me, I don¡¯t really have a reason to fight. Either way, she¡¯d probably kill me, too.


    Her sword is nearly as large as me, so it wouldn¡¯t be too hard for someone so armed for battle.


    But still, I sit opposite her, a little out of reach.


    She smiles. ¡°Wary,¡± she says. Her voice comes from the wind itself. Everything around us moves when she speaks, from the grass to the flowers and all the way into my bone marrow. ¡°But I don¡¯t pose any kind of threat.¡±


    ¡°Can you blame me?¡± I ask her. ¡°I just had a slug put between my eyes by some two-bit gangster.¡±


    The woman laughs, and the flowers blossom and ripen almost instantly. ¡°Yes, that is true. Quite the conundrum when metal pierces your skull like that. Believe me when I tell you I understand your predicament.¡±


    Judgin¡¯ by that scar on your face, I¡¯m not surprised.


    But I¡¯ve gotta ask¡­ ¡°Who are you? And why do you know that? You¡¯re not, like, an actual god, right?¡±


    She shakes her head. She¡¯s got a braid of white hair hanging beside her face, one that comes loose in the wind, and one she takes a lot of care tucking behind her ear. ¡°Oh, certainly not. They¡¯re much too proud to come here and see one of their Mages in person. They would much rather send a message without stepping foot here.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re their messenger?¡± I ask, which is gonna be something. People believe in the gods, but the thing is, only really ancient texts talk about them, and the Five Guilds make very sure people don¡¯t stop believing either. You¡¯re taught songs in schools (I think), and according to what I¡¯ve heard, kids perform plays about them, too. Are they real? Beats me. Ask the philosopher I live next to, because pondering endlessly pays nobody¡¯s bills, I promise.


    ¡°No,¡± she says, smiling softly. ¡°I¡¯m more of an¡­aid.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s that got to do with me?¡±


    ¡°Quite a lot, actually,¡± she says. ¡°Seeing that you¡¯ve now reached the moment in your life that will require you to choose what happens next.¡± She pulls one of her legs toward her and rests her arm on it. She¡¯s got this air to her that¡¯s so¡­comforting. So homely and warm that a part of me almost wants to reach out and touch her, but I keep my fingers busy by plucking away at the grass. ¡°For one, you could remain here alongside me for eternity. Life here is pretty great. You no longer hunger or thirst, and there¡¯s no reason for you to continue to suffer. Once a millenia or so, a god will call upon you to do their bidding or ensure a prophecy, guide the dead or, as you would say, do their chores for them. Quite the calm existence, I must say.¡± Then her eyes twinkle, as if the swirling grayness in those orbs just lit up with lightning in the hungering depths of a growing storm. ¡°Or you choose the less trodden path, and bare arms against the gods themselves.¡±


    The wind makes the grass rustle and hush, swaying and shifting around us in whispers.


    ¡°What?¡± I ask quietly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, you lost me at millenia.¡±


    ¡°Their duties are quite easy, for one¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I say, leaning forward. ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand what I¡¯m getting at, lady. I just fucking died, right? I just got capped in between my eyes, and now here I am in freaking Heaven or whatever, being asked to either become a house maid for people I thought didn¡¯t really exist, or start a coup against literal freaking gods.¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    She blinks, then nods her head. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s right. Two simple choices, both with eternal consequences.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s insane!¡± I say. She has the nerve to giggle. I point my finger at her. ¡°Stop screwing with me.¡±


    The woman holds up her gloved hands. ¡°I do not kid, trust me. It is true that you have unfortunately died, after what was a grueling several months for you.¡± Her voice softens, and she reaches out for my hand. I pull away out of reflex, and she chooses to rest her palm against my knee. ¡°You living until this point is testament alone to what you have been able to withstand for so long. A testament to your tenacity and the pure, unbridled faith you had in yourself to ensure you alone could face any problem and win. But for however much you tried, the universe had other ideas for you, didn¡¯t it? Friend after friend, family after family, perishing in a never ending quest fueled solely by the goodwill that burns within your chest. And yet you do not concede to the world. That, Kacey, is why you¡¯re sitting here right now in front of me. Your life has been a tragedy from the moment your father mistakenly thought he wore protection, to the moment your own mother put a knife in your stomach and left you to bleed.¡±


    My eyes narrow. I put a hand to my gut from her words alone. ¡°Calling me a mistake, that it?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she says simply, her thumb still rubbing my knee. ¡°I call you unfortunate. Pain, suffering, these things do not have to exist for you. Stay here with me in eternal bliss. You will age, but by the time you are old enough to drink, decades would have passed within the confines of Pangea.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°Sorry, that¡¯s her old name, isn¡¯t it? Earth.¡± And then that gleam in her eyes shows itself again, and now the wind is colder, harder against my skin. ¡°Or you forsake the gods and the path they have placed you on even before your conception. Retaliate against those who forged your tail even before you had the opportunity to put a blade to their throats and demand they stop. No single person on this Earth deserves to be controlled, not by the Fates, nor the Gods and their books of prophecy and their incantations of faith. You alone write your own destiny, Kacey, or rest in eternal bliss.¡±


    I stare at her for a long time, the wind lashing against me, making our hair dance violently.


    ¡°You want me,¡± I say quietly, ¡°to fight the Gods out of spite?¡±


    ¡°Forsake them, yes,¡± she says, grinning. Starving. A wolf with an opportunity. ¡°A child they damned for an ancestor¡¯s sins heeds their own call and slays them with their own bullish writings. What a story, wouldn¡¯t it be?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re batshit crazy,¡± I whisper, and can¡¯t help but smile. ¡°And I kinda dig it, lady.¡±


    ¡°Andrea,¡± she tells me. ¡°Child of Prophecy to the Gods, Hero of Mages, servant to mankind.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t say I¡¯ve ever heard of you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, trust me. You and I will be very well acquainted.¡± She stands, holding out her arm. I grab her forearm and she lifts me off the ground. She¡¯s tall. Way taller than I can probably ever hope to be. ¡°But if you¡¯re to choose this pathway, Kacey, I¡¯ll warn you now that it won¡¯t be easy. You are not my vessel, you are not my will¡ªyou will, and have always been, yourself. Be just that and even more.¡± She places her hand on my shoulder and gently squeezes. Warmth bubbles inside of me, filling my throat, making me smile. I¡¯ve never felt cozy around adults, not once in my life, but she feels like security. Safety. But also more than that. She feels like a storm bottled inside of a woman. ¡°Before you leave, tell me one thing: your deepest secret, your deepest ever desire, what is it, actually?¡±


    ¡°I mean,¡± I say, scratching the back of my head. ¡°It sounds kinda silly.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as a silly dream. They hold value to someone.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­¡± I sigh. The wind silences around us. ¡°I¡­wanna be like Alxeandria Thorne.¡±


    I wanna be the Guild Master herself.


    It sounds stupid, for someone like me to even get there. With my kind of luck, I¡¯d probably trip and die the moment I reach her throne, let alone get anywhere close to any of the Five Guilds. It¡¯s an idea I¡¯ve had for years, one that¡¯s played out in my dreams since I was a kid. Over and over again, standing in front of the world with that golden sword and billowing regalia and¡­Happy endings aren¡¯t really for people like me, so I¡¯ll focus on getting Jane her body back somehow, and figuring out who trashed my apartment first. Then I¡¯ll pay my dues and keep saving my extra cash, which I would have used to pay for the Mageforge Entrance exam, if my apartment hadn¡¯t been ransacked and my stash of Drachma stolen in the process. You don¡¯t break into someone¡¯s house and run off with their future in your pocket. That¡¯s not how this shit works. My ticket out of that apartment was that apartment.


    Now someone has it, and I don¡¯t play nice with other people.


    I hadn¡¯t told Sabel because you keep those kinds of things to yourself. You go around telling people you¡¯ve got several Drachma on you, and suddenly you¡¯ve got the same thugs who killed me on your case. People would want their money. People would want to get rich and leave that shitty street and make it big. That was me.


    Until my home got broken into.


    Andrea smiles, proud, her teeth white, her cheeks full. ¡°Whether or not you do it is up to you, child. But may your conviction and your hatred for the guilds burn brighter than any flame the Mage Queen can conjure.¡±


    I pause. ¡°I never said I hated the guilds.¡±


    ¡°Oh, trust me, child,¡± she says. ¡°We all do, us warriors. Eventually.¡±


    ¡°Say that I do,¡± I ask, ¡°what do you actually want me to do about it?¡±


    Andrea leans in and lowers her voice. ¡°Be the next to burn them all down.¡± With that, she grins wide. She opens her hands, and in one, a quill appears¡ªin her right hand, comes a piece of paper. I take it from her after she gestures for me to read it, and it¡¯s all in a language I cannot understand. Something I probably did learn in middle school but was too busy with mom on her misadventures. I look up at Andrea. ¡°A contract,¡± she explains. ¡°By any chance, you know what a Blessing is, yes? And what it can entail if you agree to having one embedded in you?¡±


    ¡°I guess?¡± I say, shrugging. ¡°Uber rare and damned expensive to get your hands on, if at all.¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± she says, nodding. ¡°I¡¯d explain what this Blessing Contract entails in full, but you¡¯re currently needed far more back in your world than you are here. Rather, the time it will take for the Blessing to fully come in effect will take some time, and where you¡¯re going¡­ Well, I suppose it¡¯s better you are not told the entire truth.¡±


    ¡°Wait a minute,¡± I say, shaking the piece of paper. ¡°You¡¯re giving me, Kacey Summers, a Blessing?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Andrea grins even wider. ¡°Now sign the contract, and pledge yourself to this omen.¡±


    Hm. Now, on the one hand, I could be selling my soul to some Demon that¡¯s tricking me right now, and what that means could be eternal damnation, fiery pits of eternal hellfire, skin being stripped off my bones for all of time and beyond, but on the other hand¡­ Fuck me, a free Blessing? You know how hard one of these things is to get your hands on? My entire family¡¯s history practically boils down to us trying to hunt at least one of them down, and we¡¯ve been at it for hundreds of years and have gotten a grand total of one. Even finding someone with a Blessing is a pain in the neck, but trying to get one off them is a nightmare come true, nearly impossible, like tricking an Elf out of their money, and here I am, about to get one on a silver platter. It sounds too good to be true. So many people in my family have died trying to find them. Close but no cigar every single time. And yet¡­


    And yet, I¡¯m gonna be the one who gets it. Me. Kacey freakin¡¯ Summers.


    Maybe I should hesitate, maybe I should think this through.


    But when fate looks you in the eyes, you grin and shake her hand. In this case, though?


    I sign my name on her dotted line.

 Eight - MageHunt

    Before you ask me what business I¡¯ve got making deals with strange beautiful women, I¡¯ve got to tell you a little bit about myself: I¡¯m a Summers. Our Clan is a mess of deals and gambles that span generations. We¡¯re bad decisions, the family tree edition. But we¡¯re also still alive when we technically shouldn¡¯t be. We gamble, we live, we earn, and we die. Everything between the moment we¡¯re born and the second we¡¯re backstabbed in a dingy alley or musty little bar is just survival. My uncle says we¡¯re like roaches. My aunt says we¡¯ve got the luck of the Gods on our sides. Dear old mom used to spit on those ideas, because to her, we¡¯re just too stubborn to lay down and die.


    Even if we¡¯ve got every single right to call it quits, it¡¯s kinda just not in our nature. If some guy in a trench coat came and told me he¡¯s got an elixir that¡¯ll quadruple my Magical Potential, then I¡¯d probably beat him over the head with a brick and steal it from him, even if the only thing it¡¯ll give me is the shits for a week. We take what we can get, because the world doesn¡¯t give the Summers Clan much apart from the body you¡¯re born with. Hell, just ask Uncle Joey what he thinks about my mom and you¡¯ll get the picture that we don¡¯t even really have each other.


    If we did have each other, then I wouldn¡¯t be in this mess. But I am, and that¡¯s just how the dice roll.


    So when I gasp awake inside the stuffy darkness of a trunk, I¡¯ve got a grin already on my face. Ha! Don¡¯t know who the lady in the armor is, but if she¡¯s the reason I¡¯m alive again, I owe her the world over. It¡¯s a tiny space. So small I can hardly move without pressing the top of my head against the sidewall of the trunk. My hands are bound tight and my shoes are gone. My ankles are being held together by zip ties and rope, and I¡¯ve got the sneaking suspicion that I¡¯m not alone in here. As the car grumbles and rattles, banging against potholes that slam me against the top of the trunk, I squirm around, searching for¡­ There she is. She¡¯s been put inside a bloody sack.


    ¡°Jane,¡± I hiss. The sack says nothing, so I¡¯m forced to use my feet to roll the bag closer until she¡¯s at my knees, then my chest. I use my fingertips and teeth to rip a hole through the old, greasy canvas until I see her face.


    My smile vanishes almost immediately. Her jaw is skewed to the side. Gums are bloody and torn up, meaty and bleeding. Her hair is missing in clumps around her head, as if they took turns throwing her around and kicking her like some kind of soccer ball. She splutters and moans weakly. A single tear escapes through a swollen shut eye.


    She gurgles and says something I can¡¯t make out, then she whimpers and softly cries.


    I swallow past the lump in my throat. ¡°It¡¯ll be fine,¡± I whisper. ¡°I promise.¡±


    On my brother¡¯s grave, I swear it.


    Not too long, and the car slows to a sudden stop. I pull the bag gently over Jane¡¯s head again as best as I can and shut my eyes, lying limply in the dark on old pieces of rope, a jack, and a spare tire. It hurts my ribs being here, but my heart is beating hard against my chest like a war gong. I force my hands to relax and stop myself from digging my fingernails into my palms. I can still hear Jane whimpering inside the bag. Scared as all hell, just like a part of me is, I¡¯ll admit, as the trunk swings open. The smell of sewage pours inside the space, filling my nose and lungs. I almost gag, but don¡¯t. Three people are standing over me, talking amongst themselves in tiny whispers.


    As if they¡¯re afraid of being found, and if I was them, I would be too, ¡®cause they¡¯ll be dead soon.


    Mark my fuckin¡¯ words.


    ¡°Beck,¡± a raspy voice says. ¡°Grab the Mage. Haul her to Grim first. He¡¯ll bag us our bounty.¡±


    ¡°What about the head?¡± a thick-accented voice says. Something Old World. A little like a cousin I once knew. Where the hell am I? ¡°I mean, she¡¯s a talking head. She¡¯s gotta have at least a little bit of magic inside her.¡±


    The feeling of Jane¡¯s cloth bag against my arms vanishes. ¡°I¡¯ll take her,¡± the main voice says.


    One of them hasn¡¯t spoken yet. Beck, that¡¯s who. The one the bodily grabs me like a pig carcass out of the trunk and lays me on their shoulder. I try not to flinch when a hand smacks my rear, followed by laughter from the accented one and the raspy one. I hear the trunk slam shut, my eyes still closed. The stink of sewage only gets worse the longer I¡¯m carried. The sound of torrents of water surging into an abyss starts to put the pieces into place. I¡¯m somewhere south of Dogway, where all the reused water in the forges comes down from to get recycled. Some kinda water plant. Old, I¡¯m guessing, because the stench of Nectar is in the air, too. I hear the familiar rattle of a spray can. The hissings and jeers of other people wanting a piece of the pie, whether that¡¯s chunks of me or just the cash they want to get, I¡¯ve got no idea. Frankly, I don¡¯t give a fuck. They¡¯re whistling, striding. Joking and so proud, too.


    But I know one thing, and that¡¯s the fact that the bitch who shot me isn¡¯t one of them. She took my sword and my dagger, and would have probably carved the runes right off my arms if these guys didn¡¯t want to sell me.


    Because what good is a cow if you¡¯ve already taken bits and pieces from it before even selling it.


    I hear a heavy metal door groan open. I risk opening one eyelid. Vomit-green light illuminates a stairwell filled with people loitering on the stairs, drinking beer, snorting fairy dust, and asking what the three of them have in their arms this time around. The thickness of the air in the place only gets worse, almost choking. My heart gets a little bit quicker against my chest. When¡¯s go time, Kacey? But I need my stuff back, and that means I have to wait.


    Finally, we reach the bottom of the stairs. Beck shoves open a door, its breath huffing hard against the mask it¡¯s got on its face. It reeks of raw meat, the wet kind flush with blood. Some kind of Orc? Probably. One that¡¯s not had a good time of it, judging by how it limps and grunts as it walks, struggling to keep me on its shoulder without letting me slip out of its grip. The hallway beyond the door is silent. So silent I¡¯m scared one of them will hear my heart hammering away inside of my chest. Then we stop, the stink of sickly sweet cigarettes burns my throat as one of them bangs their palm against something metallic. We wait. Nothing happens. They bang even harder. Something rattles open, like the sound of a shop opening in the morning. Then I hear a sigh and a grunt.


    ¡°What¡¯ve you got for me this time?¡± a man asks tiredly. Another quiet sizzle. Another cloud of smoke.


    Must be that guy they were talking about. Grim, or whatever.


    I¡¯m dropped very roughly onto a counter top, my head smacking against the hard metal. It¡¯s got stains all over it. Blood. Ash. Cigarettes and scars that look like bullet grazes and knife carvings, like I¡¯ve just been put on some kind of board used for dicing up slabs of meat. I¡¯m not the first to be put on display on this table. Probably won¡¯t be the last either. I try not to let the pulsing headache of pain beating in the side of my head get the better of me as a pair of cold, gloved hands start prodding and checking, rolling me onto my back. My gut is pressed and my shirt is lifted, and then so is my compression bra. I try not to anger. Try very, very hard to stay calm as those same hands fondle and touch and let my shirt fall. I feel like meat on a spit. My arms are lifted and a blade is put to them. Not cutting, just grazing the ice cold metal tip along the black runes on my skin. A huff, a grunt, then I¡¯m on my belly. The back of my legs get squeezed. My toes are counted. I hear muttering under his breath when he finds the nail wound. Grim lifts my shirt up again, staring hard at my back, and then I hear a chorus of whistles from them.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°Hell¡¯s angels,¡± the raspy voice says. ¡°Girl¡¯s got some ink.¡±


    ¡°And a cloak o¡¯ scars, too,¡± Grim mutters.


    He spends time massaging each of them. Some are fresher than others, so fresh that pain spikes through my body, almost making me gasp. I bite down onto my tongue to shut myself up, trying not to wince, but I also can¡¯t help but wonder what the hell they¡¯re talking about. The only tattoos I¡¯ve got are the ones on my arms and one on the side of my neck¡ªa tiny little symbol, nothing else. My back is clean apart from the web of scars and stitches.


    ¡°That¡¯s gonna bag us more, right?¡± the accented one says. ¡°Runes like that go for double nowadays.¡±


    ¡°Unrecognized,¡± Grim grunts, turning me over once more. He rams his thick, sausage-like fingers into my mouth (nearly gagging me, mind you, as he tugs on my tongue and pulls my cheeks wide apart until they hurt), and then he begins fondling around my teeth, pausing on the silver tooth fillings I¡¯ve got in a few of my molars. I hear clattering, then taste something metallic in my mouth. Don¡¯t pull, don¡¯t pull, please don¡¯t pull. Maybe it¡¯s the Gods or that lady in the armor, but he seemingly changes his mind and stops. ¡°Ain¡¯t ever seen the one on her back. Gonna charge you extra if I¡¯ve gotta go looking for what it means. Might cut your pay by nearly a third if you want that.¡±


    ¡°What!¡± the raspy one says. A fist slams on the metal counter. ¡°That¡¯s centaurshit and you know that!¡±


    Silence, then: ¡°Get your paw off my table before I take it as collateral.¡±


    The raspy one obliges, albeit from encouragement from the others.


    ¡°Besides,¡± Grim grunts. ¡°Might be some family hex. This¡¯ll cost you more regardless for my sake. For all I know, I get one of my boys to start peeling off the flesh, and suddenly I¡¯ve got the Rott eating through everything.¡±


    ¡°Fuckin¡¯ cheapskate,¡± Raspy mutters. ¡°You just want extra cash.¡±


    ¡°How much more?¡± Accent asks, speaking over their friend..


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we ask her?¡±


    Then a fist slams into my gut, and I can¡¯t help but gasp and sputter awake. I cough saliva and curl into a ball out of reflex. My head is woozy. My eyes try to focus through the lingering smoke above me. Then I see Grim, and if Ricky was unfortunate, this guy is bad luck, the person. He¡¯s got an Orc¡¯s single tusk sticking out of his mouth, but the rest of him is ugly and human. His skin is pale and covered in warts. One of his eyes is stitched shut, the other is wide open and beady. He¡¯s got a pig¡¯s snout and tufts of gray hair dotting his large dome. I try to scoot away from him, but he¡¯s large. Very large. And chained, I notice, to his desk. His ankle is wrapped with heavy black steel coils welded to a slab of iron, but he grabs my jaw and wrenches my face toward him, ripping my gaze away.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± the raspy one says. Human. A kid with ratty blonde hair, goggles around his neck. Scrawny, ugly, smells like shit and has a sword on his belt, as well as one hell of a jagged pink scar along his throat. ¡°Thought¡ª¡±


    ¡°You idiots thought she was dead?¡± Grim snarls. ¡°Mages are like roaches. Step on ¡®em and they¡¯ll live.¡±


    ¡°She was shot,¡± the accented one says. Tall, slender, sleek and dark skinned. I can¡¯t tell what they are with that mask covering their face. Some kind of gas mask without the nozzle. ¡°I¡¯m sure that usually means they die.¡±


    ¡°Then you three were just askin¡¯ for it,¡± he grumbles. ¡°Where¡¯s the fourth one of ya?¡±


    ¡°She hates this place,¡± Raspy says. ¡°Figured we should cash in and then bounce.¡±


    She¡¯s gone to sell my stuff. I spit on him in particular, just for some showmanship.


    His eyes flare and he grabs the baseball bat off Accent¡¯s back and nearly swings. Grim catches the old, nail driven-through-it thing and wrenches it free from his hands. ¡°No pay for damaged goods,¡± he snarls quietly, using the bat to tap a glowing neon sign above us. Grim throws the bat back at Raspy, who stumbles and fails to catch it.


    ¡°What¡¯s the rate looking like?¡± Accent says, tilting their head at me. All I can see is my own blood smeared face in their large goggles. They toss Jane onto the counter beside me, the bag slipping off. ¡°Including her, too.¡±


    Grim grunts. ¡°¡®bout ten hundred bucks old world. Five thousand silver. One thousand gold. Ten Drachma.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck, man?¡± Raspy says, throwing his hands into the air. ¡°She¡¯s a prime haul! She chased us down and rammed a freaking motorbike at our ride, and still got up and iced two of Cleo¡¯s shadows, man! She¡¯s gotta be more than a handful of gold.¡± He leans over myself and the counter, and now I¡¯ve got his foul-smelling shirt in my nose. ¡°Tell you what? We¡¯ll take these two somewhere else and get a way better price for them, Grim.¡±


    ¡°Take ¡®em,¡± he says, folding his thick arms. He¡¯s got four of them. The two others sprouting from his sides are stumpy and flailing, fiddling with their own fingernails. ¡°Won¡¯t get any better offer than here for these things.¡±


    ¡°You know what¡ª¡±


    Accent grabs his shoulder and shoves him out of the way. ¡°Eleven drachma, and we¡¯ll toss in this.¡± They dig into their pocket and set something metallic down on the counter beside me. I struggle to turn over, trying not to make myself seem like too big of a threat, and then I pause, because that¡¯s my pendant on the table. ¡°And now?¡±


    Grim stares at it, then plucks it off the table, but not before Accent snatches it away.


    ¡°You get it only for the thirteen drach.¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t no ¡®smith,¡± he grunts. ¡°And you just said eleven.¡±


    ¡°Money is money, gold is gold,¡± Accent says. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I¡¯m even asking for just three extra drach.¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± I hiss. None of them look at me, except for Beck, who¡¯s a monster of some kind; some ungodly creature standing behind them, lost in the flickering lights and the glum cigarette smoke. Beck¡¯s eyes glow softly, almost gleaming in the dark. Beck shifts, rolling the shoulder I¡¯d been on, grunting in pain. ¡°That¡¯s mine. Give¡ª¡±


    Raspy slams the bat onto the table right next to my head. I flinch as one of the nails slices open my cheek, letting my blood slowly pool around my face, warm and stick. He grins wide. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, magi? ¡®fraid?¡±


    Accent shoves him. ¡°We¡¯ve already caught her. Don¡¯t need to add a slur.¡± They look at Grim. ¡°Well?¡±


    Grim grabs it. ¡°Twelve, for being loyal customers.¡± He smiles an ugly, rotten, yellow-tooth smile. He fishes around underneath the desk and hands over a fist full of glittering golden coins. More money than I¡¯ve ever seen. So much money that I almost lunge for it¡ªI do lunge for it, sinking my teeth into Grim¡¯s thick fingers and flooding my mouth with the foul taste of blood and leather and unwashed flesh. He curses and punches the side of my head. I daze and let go. The coins clatter onto the table and the floor, denting the metal and smacking hard onto the stone.


    ¡°Little bitch,¡± he snarls, wrapping his finger with his t-shirt. He grabs my shirt collar and tosses me behind his counter. I hit the floor with my shoulder, the wind knocked out of me. Jane gets thrown down on the floor beside me, half her face smashing into the floor. I wince and try to grab her, just before the portal runes I¡¯ve landed on begin to hum and glow, turn bright purple, and swallow us both whole. Last I see of Grim, he¡¯s glaring down at me, my pendant sliding between his fingers, bloodied by the skin I took off his hand. The bastard has the nerve to smile.


    And to blow me a kiss, too.

 Leaked Phone Transcript: Platinum to Unknown

    What the fuck do you mean you lost her? You put the bitch in a cage and a chain around her throat and you still managed to lose her? The fuck¡¯s wrong with you? I paid money for her to be in that pit and the best you can do is tell me that our guys got jumped by one person? I swear to Gods, what do I even pay you to do down there, huh? I don¡¯t even wanna know who¡¯s dead. Stack their bodies in some tires and light ¡®em. Fuckin¡¯ bastards, the lot of them. That¡¯s what I get for hiring lowlifes off the pier. It¡¯s your throat that¡¯s gonna be next if you don¡¯t get her back. The kid¡¯s important and you don¡¯t even understand the amount of shit you¡¯ve just unleashed on us, you ingrate.


    Last time I ever pick an Elf to do a human¡¯s job. You knife-eared pieces of garbage can¡¯t get anything right unless it¡¯s shiny. I swear, shoulda just painted her gold and maybe you would¡¯ve given more of a crap about her.


    [INAUDIBLE CHATTER]


    No! I ain¡¯t gonna be in town for a while so you better start coming up with a way to make me happy, because if I come back and I don¡¯t have a Mage in my office, then there ain¡¯t gonna be a way to fix this, you dope! How about I put it into perspective for you. Half of this year¡¯s bank was spent bidding for her body. Summers go for a lot on the market, but you don¡¯t know that, because all you ever do is talk to that Blight fellow and fuck those little Elven girls from down South. Yeah, I know what the fuck you¡¯re into. Don¡¯t start getting squeamish with me. All that money is up in the air! That was an investment, you understand that word, don¡¯t ya? Lemme say it in that tongue of yours: culdricak, you moron. A very big one that means Gambino isn¡¯t gonna be happy about his books.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    So it¡¯s not just me you should be worrying about, it¡¯s the honcho in River City that¡¯ll raise hell.


    Me? I¡¯ll just make sure you¡¯re crippled so there¡¯s no running away from him.


    [Nervous Chatter - Scrambled and Inaudible]


    Yeah, no kidding. Now get going and try to fix things. Set up a meeting with Blight and tell the bastard he can actually be useful for once somehow. Hell, I don¡¯t know, you idiot! Sort it out! I¡¯ve got enough on my plate with what¡¯s going on right now and I can¡¯t afford to start cleaning up your messes. Don¡¯t make me replace you, because I will, and very quickly. That Summers girl is gonna be a pain in our side if she gets to know who bought her. The kid¡¯s off her rocker, if she¡¯s anything like her mother. If you think Gambino¡¯s bad, then that family¡¯s gonna make you think there¡¯s no God in sight, not Elven or Human, that¡¯ll ever save your dainty, pale, knife-earned looking ass, you got it? Fuck. You fucked up big time. Make sure things run smoothly. Pay who you¡¯ve got to, learn what you can. Get the boys searching houses on the outskirts and the motels near the Inner Banks. Strip down San Fraccuros.


    Then, and only then, when you find her, will I not consider crucifying you, understood?


    Platinum out.


    [End of Transcript]

 Nine - MageHunt

    For a moment, it almost feels like I¡¯ve woken up on a pile of bodies, but old Kacey Summers is never that lucky, and it¡¯s just a blood-stained mattress instead. It¡¯s been soiled with filth and sweat, and the lazily spinning ceiling fan above me doesn¡¯t help with the latter in the slightest. I blink awake, feeling every single cut, stab, bite and bruise and break and burn in my eighteen years of glorious life come at me all at once, nearly making me call it quits right then and there. But I persist against the agony and force myself to search the room I¡¯m in, looking for someone I can tell that¡¯s just been in here, judging by the smell of roses in the air. Or maybe that¡¯s just the glass vase of flowers.


    Nobody¡¯s ever done that for me before, I think, dragging myself upright. I wait a moment, giving my brain a second to catch up with the rest of my body, which is sluggish and lazy and everything hurts. Bandages circle my forearms and my right shoulder, making it nearly impossible to get out of the thin sheets without puking with pure exhaustion, but eventually, I win this battle and get my feet to touch the warm carpet underneath the bed. I search the room properly, finding nothing but white stone walls and a Spanish-style window slightly ajar, letting in beams of bright yellow sunlight. The sound of cars and motorbikes, talk and chatter and general noise fills the room as my mind comes into focus. Where am I? It takes a sec for my legs to work properly, and I¡¯ve got to push against the walls and the drapes, a rickety desk with books and a computer on it, to finally get myself closer to the window.


    This isn¡¯t New Salem.


    The first thing that leaps at me is the sunlight. I¡¯ve never seen skies so¡­clear. I thought skies like this just don¡¯t exist anymore ever since the war, or if you¡¯re one of those rich people who can afford to pay MageCo every month to clear up the smog above their house. But this is pure. The wind is warm and smells of salt that comes right off the sparkling waters that stretch into the distance beyond the street running outside the window. For a moment, I can¡¯t bring myself to leave. I want to stay here forever. Wind this clean just doesn¡¯t exist if you can¡¯t afford it, so you either wear a mask or get used to inhaling diesel and tire smoke, cigarettes and rotting dead bodies dumped in the recycling bin. I shut my eyes and let my hair get tousled by the wind, resting on the window sill and taking in as much air as I can before some guy yells at me for wasting oxygen and being greedy, but this time, nobody does.


    It¡¯s just a shame there¡¯s someone getting mugged on the street by a guy with a gun. Iron to the temple for all of their stuff. Empty your pockets and kick off your shoes and move, goddammit, before I make a brain slushie.


    That¡¯s really not my problem, so I turn around and head to the door, even when I hear a gunshot bark and the thud of a body hitting the pavement. Now that¡¯s what I¡¯m used to. It beats seeing it with a shitty view. I can live with a homicide or two even if it means I get to stare at the waves and the palm trees and bask in buttery sunlight.


    Gods know I deserve it, after getting iced by someone who stole all of my shit.


    I hobble toward the door and turn the handle, finding it locked. That¡¯s weird. I search the desk beside me and find a paperclip binding together pieces of paper. I¡¯ve got to thank my older brother for teaching me how to get out of the house without mom ever finding out, and this isn¡¯t a magi-lock, so it¡¯s simple enough to click open after a few jiggles. I peep through the gap, still crouched, and check out the hallway beyond. A plush scarlet carpet goes down either side of the corridor, fit with depressions of people¡¯s feet and smelling fresh and clean. Walls lined with pictures and bedrooms with doors open ajar, enough to show rooms in various states of disarray, all bathed in the same overwhelming golden sunlight that¡¯s dousing the entire place with color and life and gummy, full warmth.


    Very slowly, I make my way down the corridor on my toes, mouth slightly agape, distracted.


    But it¡¯s purely bad luck when I reach the stairs and find someone at the foot of them. I¡¯d gotten wrapped up in searching the rooms around the hallway that I hadn¡¯t heard the first creak of wood underneath her foot. We stop. We stare at one another. She¡¯s got a tray of food in her hands, two burgers, two burritos, a glass of lemonade and a half-eaten sausage covered in mayo on her plate. Short silver hair, a wild mess sitting just above her shoulders. She¡¯s hot, I think, catching a glimpse of the tattoos on her neck, the piercing in her eyebrow, and her intense gray eyes. But she¡¯s also strong. Good set of shoulders. Biceps strong enough to tell me that she¡¯s probably got a good back.


    And her first words to me are: ¡°How the hell did you get out of your room?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do you one better,¡± I say, ¡°and ask you who the hell you are.¡±


    I hear more voices coming from outside. Laughter and chatter and things that I¡¯m not used to, because I must be dreaming right now, right? I¡¯m pretty sure that I never subscribed to the Happy Heaven Package from Lady Death¡¯s catalogue. Just never had the dough for that kind of stuff. But if that¡¯s even more food I¡¯m hearing getting made on a grill outside, my nose twitching at the strong scents lingering in the humid air, then sign me the fuck up.


    Because it won¡¯t be long until I¡¯ve got to get out of here and hunt a bitch down.


    You don¡¯t put Kacey Summers on ice and walk off with all of her shit.


    The universe just doesn¡¯t work like that, hun.


    The chick in front of me sighs and walks up the stairs, pausing on the landing. ¡°Whatever. If you want your own plate, don¡¯t start salivating over mine. Grab someone else¡¯s before it gets finished. Everyone¡¯s got an appetite.¡± I watch her food intensely as she eyes me. Shorter than me, but stronger, probably. Runes on her shoulders stop shy of her forearms. Some more on her back, too, shown off by the black vest she¡¯s wearing. She heads to the room opposite mine and kicks the door shut behind her. Seconds later, rock music starts blaring, muffled by the door.


    Dick.


    I head down the stairs, stopping in the foyer. The living room is lit up with multiple windows and flower pots sitting on every surface you can guess. An old gaming station sits under the tv, controllers still on the table. I hear more voices coming from out back, and that¡¯s where I tentatively go after checking the kitchen for a knife or two and finding nothing but a used fork in the sink, which is gonna have to do. Better safe than sorry. The sounds of Spanish music and a crackling barbecue lead me toward the back door, where I finger aside the blinds hanging on the door and check out the backyard. Nothing crazy. Strings of light looped around a tree, all off. A tall woman with black hair in a white vest mans the grill. She¡¯s got an empty holster on her chest, as well as an empty scabbard on her back. My eyes narrow as she laughs at something another woman says, shorter, sure, but glowing all the same with life. Soft brown skin. Deep brown hair threaded with grey hair. She¡¯s busy at a wooden table underneath the tree, helping serve out meat to a bunch of other people¡ªfour other girls, one younger kid¡ªall chowing down.


    I can see empty holsters and a metal baseball bat littered with stickers leaning against the tree. Just out of reach, but not too far away. Where the hell am I? A dog barks for some meat. The tall, muscular dark-haired woman tosses a strip of steak into the air. The dog, some kind of golden retriever, leaps and snaps it up in one large bite.


    Something¡¯s wrong here, because this just feels too¡­perfect. That¡¯s probably human meat, or hell, maybe it¡¯s even the expensive Elf kind, the type that ages in wooden drums for a couple of years. I knuckle away saliva on the corner of my mouth and swallow. My stomach growls with hunger. I should get out of here. Mama always said nothing comes for free. Hell, I had to give Aster a funeral in one of those rent-a-coffin things. You know the ones you get to use for an hour or two, depending on how much you paid before they cremate the body or dump it in some shallow hole in the ground, because holy hell, dying is expensive. Remind me to get some insurance later.


    Because I¡¯m probably going to die from diabetes, being around an environment so sickly sweet.


    The woman with the black hair turns her head, looking straight at me. I swear and let the blinds close, my heart racing, thumping against my chest like I¡¯ve just been caught trying to steal something. Time to head out.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    A gust of wind through the house later, and she¡¯s standing right there in front of me, grinning.


    I startle and step back, spine against the door. I glance through the gap in the blinds.


    Not a clone. She¡¯s here in front of me, the real deal, and she¡¯s a lot taller, a lot bigger, than she looked from afar. She¡¯s got faint freckles on her cheeks slowly aging out. A smile worth thousands (trust me, I sold teeth last year when things got a little tight), and old battle scars and runes litter her arms in odd places. She¡¯s got white overalls tied around her waist, filthy and smeared with what smells like engine grease and oil. She offers me her hand.


    ¡°No point sneaking around,¡± she says, hand still stretched. ¡°You owe me that much after I saved you.¡±


    I don¡¯t shake her hand, because I¡¯ve still got the fork in one and a fist in the other. ¡°Where am I?¡±


    ¡°San Fraccuros,¡± she says with a shrug, putting her hand back on her popped him. ¡°Heard of it?¡±


    ¡°Kinda, yeah,¡± I mutter. That¡¯s not too far away from New Salem. Three, maybe four hour train ride.


    ¡°Great!¡± she says. ¡°So you also know that it¡¯s bad manners not to come eat when offered here.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t offer me anything,¡± I say. ¡°Hell, I don¡¯t even know you.¡±


    She smacks the side of her head. ¡°Where are my manners? Name¡¯s Victoria. Vicky Wilde, for short. And I was hoping you¡¯d wake up soon and join us for some lunch before we all head out this evening for some work.¡± Vicky puts her hand on my back and steers me outside, and I¡¯m not weak by any metric, but it feels like I¡¯ve got an Orc shoving me along. I never agreed to coming with you guys for anything! ¡°Meet the rest of the crew. I¡¯ll grab you a plate and stack it full. You need to get some more meat on those bones before you head out for the night.¡±


    We stop at the wooden picnic table, where she¡¯s got her hand on my shoulder, stopping me from even turning around and going anywhere. The four girls keep eating but stop talking, looking at me with either some interest or not a single care whatsoever. The little girl is the one closest to me, standing on the bench with meat still in her mouth. Tongues of red hair spill out from underneath her backward baseball cap. An older girl beside her, short black hair, kind of looks like Vicky, just a lot younger, with somehow an even larger grin and working gloves tucked into a toolbelt hanging off her waist. She¡¯s got a gear tattoo on her right shoulder, but that¡¯s about it for her.


    The other two girls are hot and cold, like they¡¯re playing a secret game of good cop, bad cop. One of them, with nothing but a plate of barbecued vegetables in front of her, smiles at me. The other girl, deep brown skin, long and thin breads, keeps eating like I¡¯m not even there. Her eyes are fine, almost like slits. Blue eyes, dark brows, and I can tell someone who uses a sword just from their shoulders alone. Exactly the type. Except her meat is more interesting than anything I¡¯ve got to offer which, fair, it does smell delicious, and I¡¯m starting to get kinda hungry.


    The woman from before is at the other end of the table, not food in front of her, but standing to serve. There¡¯s something about her that rubs me the wrong way. Like I¡¯ve seen her face somewhere before but can¡¯t really remember where. She must have one of those faces then, but all the smiling and lingering joy is bugging me out.


    Vicky nudges me, still smiling. I clear my throat. ¡°Hey, I guess? Name¡¯s Kacey. Kacey Summers.¡± The woman putting meat on a plate drops a slice of turkey on the grass. Her dog takes its chance and snaps it off the ground before he can be told otherwise, escaping behind the tree to eat in private. Vicky raises an eyebrow at her, but the other woman isn¡¯t looking at her¡ªstraight back to putting food on the plate, but this time with her eyes on me a lot more than before. ¡°I¡¯m not from around, and I think I¡¯ve either been bought by Vicky, or I¡¯m really lost.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be the first stranger to find themselves here when they¡¯re lost,¡± the soft-skinned woman says, handing me the plate. ¡°Lucia, and this is my home. At least, it is when Victoria isn¡¯t around to take it over.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve always said you¡¯re liable for a cut of at least some of the profits, Lu,¡± Vicky says. ¡°I can pay.¡±


    She waves her hand through the air, and for a moment, all I can smell is honey, like the cluster of bees in that tree have all just remembered what they should be doing. Druid. Everyone¡¯s eyes here are glowing softly, but hers are the most luminous. An amber-brown, like aged honey, and wherever she walks, her bare feet sink into the soil and the grass, as if all the Earth wants to do is gobble her up. No wonder the grass around here is so fresh. The entire neighborhood is a dustbowl in comparison. ¡°I get by just fine selling wine and herbs. If I ever need cash, I¡¯ll go to a bank and wink at the manager, just like I used to when I was your age, and everything turned out just fine.¡±


    ¡°Whatever you said, Lu,¡± Vicky mutters. ¡°Just sayin¡¯ that you are getting up there.¡±


    Lucia smacks her arm with the back of her hand. ¡°Watch your mouth. You might¡¯ve gotten taller, but you¡¯re still the same pain that you¡¯ve always been.¡± She stops in front of me and smiles. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to have you, Kacey. Feel at home for however long you like. The room you woke in is yours until you feel you¡¯ve outgrown it.¡±


    Awesome. Free rent and free food? Yeah, sure, like I believe that. ¡°Why was it locked, though?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s to stop this little menace from getting in and disturbing you whilst you healed up,¡± the girl with the work belt says, jerking her thumb at the little redhead. ¡°Guessin¡¯ you found the key underneath the doormat?¡±


    I shrug one shoulder. ¡°Found a paperclip on the table with a bunch of papers.¡±


    Workbelt laughs, even if she¡¯s got food in her mouth. ¡°I like ¡®er. She¡¯s a quick thinker.¡±


    ¡°Or she¡¯s not capable of looking for a logical way out of something so simple,¡± Braids mutters.


    ¡°Oh, just ease up for one day,¡± the girl beside her says, gently pushing her shoulder. She looks at me and says, ¡°You¡¯re pretty lucky, though, since we were about to put a magi-lock on the door instead. Runt is a lot smarter than she looks. She broke into your room five times in thirty minutes with nothing except that bent fork of yours.¡±


    ¡°I just wanted to see what Vicky brought!¡± the redhead protests. ¡°We don¡¯t get new people that much.¡±


    ¡°We shouldn¡¯t be getting new people at all,¡± Braids says, and when she looks at me, it¡¯s almost like me just standing here is offensive to her eyeballs. I¡¯m about to ask her if we¡¯ve got some kinda problem, because talking like that back in New Salem gets you a beating, a mugging, and then a stomping if you¡¯re lucky enough to get your lights shut out before they start dragging your body into an alleyway so the cops don¡¯t yell at them to knock it off.


    I¡¯ve heard stories about San Fraccuros, but not much. Easy-going gangster paradise. Freeloaders and money makers, all boozing up on the same palm tree-lined strip of clubs and bars, strip clubs and casinos. The only reason I never cared much about this place is because the police care a lot more here than they do in New Salem about hunting people down and Monster rights laws and blah, blah, blah. The Mage Bureau actually do their job here, too, which sucks when you¡¯re trying to get away with boiling a Gorgon alive to use the fats just underneath its skin to easily tug its flesh right off its body, all in under an hour. And no, I don¡¯t want to explain what I was doing with several pounds of Gorgon flesh in my backpack a few months ago. Times got tough and decisions got tougher.


    ¡°Astrid, come on,¡± Purple Hair says, looking at the girl beside her. ¡°We spoke about this.¡±


    ¡°Besides,¡± Victoria says, pushing on my shoulder so I sit at the empty space on the table. ¡°Kacey here is going to be joining us tonight whether you like it or not, so you better cozy up, because she¡¯s your Second Sword.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Astrid says, dropping her cutlery.


    ¡°Yeah, what?¡± I repeat, taking a chunk out of the honey-glazed meat and¡­wow, suddenly I might actually go on whatever job these guys are planning on doing if it means I get to keep eating this stuff. ¡°Pass the hot sauce.¡±


    Runt slides it across the table, and I dash it all over my plate. This stuff rocks.


    I guess food tastes better when your pockets don¡¯t hurt after buying it.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me anything about this,¡± Astrid says.


    ¡°And I don¡¯t have to, last time I checked,¡± Victoria replies.


    ¡°What happened to being a ¡®team¡¯?¡± she asks, voice growing hotter. ¡°About listening to one another.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not gonna argue with you about this, so you¡¯re gonna eat up and take a nap and get ready for later.¡± It sounds pretty final from my standpoint, and Astrid probably feels the same way. She stands and leaves, ignoring the others when they call after her. She doesn¡¯t slam the patio door shut. Nice and gentle, but the air is a little more frigid, and this meat is tasting a lot better, especially when I grab Astrid¡¯s half-eaten plate and dump her food onto mine. If she¡¯s not gonna finish it, then I might as well do her a favor. But everyone else has seemingly had enough.


    ¡°You guys should prep for tonight,¡± Victoria says. ¡°I¡¯ll give Kacey a run down of our op later.¡±


    ¡°And more food if you¡¯ve got it. I¡¯ve not eaten in days.¡±


    ¡°That, too,¡± she says, smiling.

 Ten - MageHunt

    I¡¯m finding out the hard way why eating so much so quickly after supposedly getting your stomach pumped is easily a top ten bad idea. The sewer grate outside the garage has had its fill of my lunch by the time I stumble back into the open garage and sit on a stack of tires. I hang my head and knuckle away the vomit in the corner of my mouth. At least nobody saw. There¡¯s a van in here with me, beige with a red stripe along its side, something big enough for several people. Out on the street, the sun is going down, making the water glisten and the street simmer quietly with heat. Kids ride their bikes and guys straggle along, looking for something to inhale for the night. Beer or pixie dust, be my guest. San Fraccuros, like New Salem, just doesn¡¯t sleep anymore. Kinda like everyone¡¯s afraid another Rift is gonna open up and we¡¯ll be thrust back to eating rats as Monsters darken the sky and fill the streets.


    At least, that¡¯s what my grandfather used to say it was like. Seemingly, that mentality has lingered. Nobody has the time of day to sleep anymore. Work to do, money to make, a Rift might open tomorrow and that¡¯ll be that.


    But at least you won¡¯t have to pay your rent for that month if another war starts back up.


    ¡°There you are,¡± a voice says. I glance over my shoulder. Vicky comes over with a bottle of water and hands it to me, which I down, spit into a bucket full of wasted engine oil, and drink the rest. She leans against the van and folds her arms, looking at me, and then at the street and the waters beyond. ¡°Thought you ran off on me.¡±


    ¡°Tried to, I¡¯ll be honest, then I had to puke my guts out,¡± I mutter, crumpling the bottle in my hands.


    Vicky laughs a little. ¡°Lu isn¡¯t gonna be happy to hear that. She¡¯ll think she cooked it wrong.¡±


    I grunt and keep watching the street, silent for a moment, sitting with my thoughts. Then I look at her, and find that she¡¯s looking at me, circular red sunglasses hanging from her vest. ¡°You¡¯re some kind of bounty hunter.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡± she asks me. ¡°What gives you that idea?¡±


    ¡°You remind me of my older sister,¡± I say. ¡°You wanna play mama bear, but you¡¯ve got rough hands, scars on your back that look like something only a Vampire can give you, and you walk with a slight limp. Sprained ankle or something older. You¡¯re the first to enter a room and the last one out of it. Gotta make sure everybody else gets their cut before you call it quits.¡± I throw the plastic water bottle into a trash can, which I obviously make first try. ¡°I mean, look at you. You¡¯re physically gifted, but you¡¯re also not what you used to be. Too much wear ¡®n¡¯ tear.¡±


    Vicky¡¯s eyes glint as she says, ¡°Looks like we¡¯ve got a detective in our midsts.¡±


    ¡°Nah,¡± I say, waving her off. ¡°People think I¡¯m either an air-head or just don¡¯t care enough about my surroundings to check things out, but I pick up on small details, like how you¡¯re blind in your left eye, Vicky.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯d you come to that conclusion?¡±


    ¡°Gorgon saliva,¡± I say, then tap the side of my head. ¡°Happened to me once. This pair of eyes aren¡¯t even my original ones. Had a ¡®mancer friend of mine plug in a new pair after I paid him back with a favor. Black veins in the corner of your eye, involuntary blinking, and you tear up every once in a while and blink it away, but that¡¯s blood, not just salt-water. They look red to normal people, but I didn¡¯t lose my first set of eyes just to see normal shit again.¡± What I see on a daily basis is magic that lingers, like it had around the dumpster and my apartment. It¡¯s nothing special. Pay enough and you¡¯ll get your fix. Even now, sitting here in this humid and muggy garage, her magic simply doesn¡¯t exist, and that¡¯s what irks me the most. The way she moved earlier? That¡¯s not human, and not just any Mage can do that, and yet here she is with her plain-color eyes and missing magical aura. A pure plain jane.


    But I¡¯ve met people like her before, and they¡¯re the worst kind of people to have on your bad side. Anyone else woke me up in a weird house and entirely new city would¡¯ve gotten their jaw cracked and head smashed open.


    If I try it with her kind, then I¡¯m about to get a fistful of the tire wrench beside her work boots.


    You just don¡¯t fuck with Spartans.


    Which is weird, because I, for one, thought they were all ¡®decommissioned.¡¯ Relics of another era.


    Victoria smiles thinly. ¡°I like you, blondie. At first I thought you were just some street kid.¡±


    ¡°Pretty much am,¡± I say, standing up and stretching my arms over my head.


    ¡°But also one hell of a bounty hunter, from what I¡¯ve heard.¡±


    I fold my arms and ask, ¡°Please tell me you saw my poster? I¡¯m a freelancer. I need gigs.¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°It¡¯s the stories. Tales of some chick with green eyes and a scar on her nose. Heard this one story from an Orc friend of mine about how she comes knocking on people¡¯s doors at the dead of night, and if you hear her sneakers and the sound of her Walkman, then you know for a fact she¡¯s gonna turn you into a payday.¡±


    I laugh, because how can¡¯t I? ¡°That¡¯s the worst story I¡¯ve ever heard. You had to have made that up.¡±


    Vicky puts her hands in the air. ¡°All truths. They call you the Poppy Knight ¡®round these parts.¡±


    That¡¯s a shitty nickname. ¡°Go on, humor me. Why?¡±


    She shrugs one shoulder. ¡°Beats me. But tonight is when I¡¯ve got to find out why they do.¡± Suddenly, all the fun and teasing in her voice vanishes. ¡°Those girls you met aren¡¯t in my Party. They¡¯re a bunch of teenagers who needed work, a direction, and came to me for an opportunity. I pay people, I set them up, and they can leave this shit behind if they want to. Some of ¡®em end up getting sucked into this mess. Some of them just like mayhem.¡± She walks a little closer, stopping at arm¡¯s length. ¡°But you know how this line of work goes, and I¡¯m selling you exactly what I sold then: money, lot¡¯s of it, and you can do whatever it is that you want with it, but you listen to my orders and do as I say, and things are gonna go smoothly. If you buck the boat, I¡¯m gonna throw you overboard.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    I smile a little and lean on a weak table filled with tools. ¡°I¡¯m a great swimmer, and have been since mom figured it¡¯s best that I either learn how to, or get gobbled up by the same nasties she used to serve us for dinner.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t give a fuck if you want to act tough or not, that¡¯s not my problem,¡± she says. No nonsense kind of gal. I like that. Kinda gets my blood going. ¡°All I want you to understand is that when I call you for a job, you pick up your phone and we get it done. You¡¯re free to ask questions, but it¡¯s also not my problem if you¡¯re not happy with the answers I give you. End of the day, you¡¯re a Squire to me. Not my Party, and this isn¡¯t a Guild, either.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a gang, then?¡± I ask her quietly. ¡°A hit squad you can throw at your problems?¡±


    She shrugs one shoulder. ¡°Pretty much, but you know how these streets can be. You tough it out all alone, and you¡¯ll find out pretty quickly how fast your head can end up on someone¡¯s dinner table. We protect each other. We fight for each other. Sometimes, we even die for one another. But dying¡¯s just part of the game, and so is living.¡±


    Mom would¡¯ve adopted her as fast as she could, no matter how old this chick really is.


    ¡°And what if I refuse?¡± I ask her. ¡°Gonna hunt me down?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she says. ¡°That¡¯s your problem from then onward.¡±


    ¡°Just like that?¡±


    ¡°Just like that,¡± she says. ¡°It¡¯ll be a bit harder for you, considering how many people know you. Infamy breeds jealousy which breeds hatred and a lust for your head. Some people want you dead just because of who you are. Other guys just want you dead because it¡¯ll pay ¡®em. Did you know that you¡¯ve got a bounty on your head?¡±


    ¡°Centaurshit,¡± I say. ¡°Me? I couldn¡¯t harm a housefly, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°A hundred thousand Drachs,¡± she says. I blank. Her words hang in the air, swept around the garage by the winds that find their way inside this place. Hundred thousand? Gods, I might as well hand myself in. Does it even work like that? Probably not, but I think it¡¯s worth an effort if it means I get my missing Drachma back somehow. You know what a girl like me can do with ten thousand Drachma? I¡¯d drop everything, all these grudges, even my sword, if it means I get to leave this all behind, kick my feet up, and be sorted for at least a good thirty years if I¡¯m smart. Victoria nods slowly as my face moves from stunned to slack-jawed. ¡°Couldn¡¯t really believe my ears either, and I made someone very powerful very angry when I stole you from him. You made waves when your body hit the black market. Tried to get my hands on you, but I wasn¡¯t very liquid, so I brought the girls out here, pretending to give ¡®em some time off, but what I really wanted was you. And since I¡¯m all about the truth, I thought about killing you or handing you in, maybe skinning you and auctioning you off for a massive payday.¡± She leans closer. ¡°Or we could make shit loads of cash together, and as a bonus, you get people to watch your back almost every single day.¡±


    I¡¯m about to protest, but the white tattoo I¡¯ve got on the back of my right shoulder reminds me that she¡¯s right in some ways¡ªI just don¡¯t have anyone to do that anymore. One¡¯s in prison and the other one is dead, the last one hasn¡¯t been around since we lost her, and¡­hell, I kinda need the cash. Joining hunting Parties is great and all, but it sucks when it¡¯s being sponsored by some corporate bell-end who thinks he can make a name for his son and give him some streetcred, just so he can have more hype around him coming into Mageforge. The planning is always shit and the cut is always a fraction of what it should be for the pain we go through keeping a snot-nosed brat alive. Besides, I get more money, it also means I come back home knowing I can buy a new sword and potions.


    Doing that means I can go back to Dogway and kill the fuckers who killed me first.


    And get Jane back, too. That¡¯s also important. We still haven¡¯t finished our quest.


    ¡°Who bought me?¡± I ask Victoria.


    ¡°Guy called Platinum,¡± she says. I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Ever heard of Midas before?¡±


    ¡°Literally who hasn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Now just imagine an even bigger asshole.¡±


    ¡°Thought that was impossible.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised,¡± she mutters. ¡°Planning on getting your lick back?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m planning on paying him a visit, but only after I do a few more things on my bucket list,¡± I tell her. ¡°If you¡¯re also wondering if I wanna join your little Not-Party, I think I will, but not forever. I¡¯ve still got my own life.¡±


    ¡°And I respect someone who¡¯s upfront about that,¡± she says, nodding. ¡°I¡¯ll warn you, though. Morgan, the girl with the silver hair? She said she¡¯d leave two years ago. She kept telling everyone how she was gonna do one more job and then get out of this mess, because that¡¯s what she¡¯s always wanted. Peace and quiet and a place she can call her own in this wild, wild country.¡± Vicky smiles and shakes her head, because the sound of rock music has just changed over to older rap music, getting so loud that a few of the other girls yell at her to turn it down. ¡°They grow on you, but people like me and you don¡¯t ever get to know people that well. The ones who do get to know us¡ª¡±


    ¡°End up not living long enough to tell everyone else,¡± I say quietly, massaging my shoulder.


    Victoria squeezes my hand. ¡°Just give me a heads up when you want to check out new pastures.¡±


    ¡°What do you even get out of having me here?¡± I ask her. ¡°Some rep and more muscle?¡±


    ¡°That,¡± Victoria says, ¡°and because of that Knight¡¯s Blessing you¡¯ve got. One hell of a contract, kid.¡±


    I step back. How did she¡­? ¡°Don¡¯t know what you¡¯re¡ª¡±


    ¡°Play dumb, don¡¯t really care,¡± she says, turning around heading for the door that leads into the house. She stops, hand on the doorknob as she looks at me. ¡°It¡¯ll make a lot of people jealous, so let¡¯s keep it between you and me for now, m¡¯kay? Because I¡¯m here to make sure I¡¯ve got a front row seat to it when things start to kick off. When people start calling, just make sure to rope me in. Mama wants her million-Drachma commission for being the one who looked after you, found you, and trained you when I¡¯m feeling like it. Oh, oh! And a golden house with a pool and a pool house with butlers in sexy little swimming shorts. And if it sounds like I¡¯m putting in an early bid for when the Guilds start looking for you, then that¡¯s exactly right.¡± She pauses again. ¡°Tell Judy she still owes me ten bucks, and Mortimer needs to finish that joke. Hey, Kacey, do you know what you call an orc with half a brain?¡±


    ¡°Are you gonna skip over the fact that I don¡¯t know half of what you¡¯re saying right now?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a no,¡± she mutters, opening the door. ¡°Well, anyway, time to break a few laws.¡±

 Eleven - MageHunt

    Before anyone starts breaking any laws, Victoria decides she needs a shower and some downtime alone in her room, which leaves the rest of us together as the sun slowly begins to set. Back home, a setting sun usually means work is just about to get started. The smog burns a deep shade of red and the shadows start to stretch. Here? It almost feels like the city is waking up, shaking itself off from the day¡¯s scalding heat. The sky is a deep shade of purple. Music coming from way down the street fills the air. But inside the house is a different story altogether, because there¡¯s an assortment of weapons on the dinner table (all on top of a linen cloth), and everyone¡¯s picking out what they like.


    I think it¡¯s what they¡¯re doing. I came in late, after I tried getting Victoria to stop being vague, but that woman is like an Orc with how she¡¯s so stubborn with her information. Unless you pay me, you ain¡¯t getting a thing out of my mouth. And that was that. She headed upstairs and locked her door and we haven¡¯t seen her in an hour.


    So by the time I get to the table, the girls are bickering about who gets what and why they should. Lu is near the sink, finishing up with the dishes, making sure when someone starts threatening someone else to glance over her shoulder and quiet them all down with a stare. I lean against the counter beside the sinks, folding my arms and watching them go, because I figure it¡¯s a little hot and cold, me being here with them, and I¡¯m good with any weapon I can get my hands on, just as long as it¡¯s not a club. I hate those stupid things. If I wanted to parade around like some caveman then I¡¯d paint myself gray and turn myself into an Orc. But if push comes to shove, then fine.


    ¡°But Vicky said I can use the baseball bat this time,¡± Runt argues, trying to grasp for the bat I¡¯d seen before outside, the one with the stickers and scuff-marks, away from Morgan¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Hell, I stole it, so it¡¯s mine!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not going anywhere, pipsqueak,¡± Morgan says. ¡°You¡¯re sitting this one out.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not fair,¡± she moans. Out of all of us, she¡¯s the only one on a stool.


    ¡°It¡¯s what I¡¯ve decided,¡± Astrid says dryly.


    ¡°Yeah, right, Vicky probably said it,¡± Runt mutters.


    Astrid doesn¡¯t spare her a second. She looks up at me, sours a little, then turns to the girl with the purple hair. ¡°Two daggers and that¡¯s final. Bring your Grimoire if you like, but I¡¯m not letting you go off without them, Ju.¡±


    She moans as she turns the black-bladed knives in her hands, awkwardly, like a kid who¡¯s just found their mom¡¯s hunting knives soaking in the sink, trying to get the blood off the metal. What? That¡¯s never happened to you before? ¡°But I hate these things. They¡¯re so clumsy, and last time I almost stabbed myself trying to use them.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because you need to practice more,¡± Astrid says. ¡°Spend time with them like I told you.¡±


    I snort. ¡°They¡¯re not children. They¡¯re pieces of metal. Stab upward and away. Both hands on the grip if you don¡¯t feel comfortable, at least that way, if it rebounds off a ribcage, you¡¯re not gonna stab yourself, too. That¡¯ll suck hard.¡± I pull up my vest and tap a scar right underneath my right breast. ¡°Happened to me a few years ago.¡±


    Runt takes an interest in my scars, mouth opening wide in an ¡®o,¡¯ whilst Morgan nods, impressed.


    ¡°Yeah, thanks, but¡­I kinda don¡¯t want to stab myself anywhere.¡±


    ¡°And if you actually respect your tools, then you¡¯ll know how to properly handle them,¡± Astrid says.


    ¡°I mean, sure,¡± I say, waving my hand. ¡°But you can use a frying pan to kill a Cyclops just as well as using any sword.¡±


    The corner of her mouth twists, like her spit is now bitter. ¡°That¡¯s a stupid notion.¡±


    ¡°Ask the guy who¡¯s brains I beat out of his skull with a skillet.¡±


    ¡°A little graphic, don¡¯t you think?¡± Lu asks me quietly.


    The way she looks at me, suddenly I feel kinda awkward. I don¡¯t apologize, but I shrug and choose to stay quiet before my tongue gets its own ideas about what exactly graphic really means, because trust me, that¡¯s not it.


    ¡°She¡¯s cool,¡± Runt murmurs, then looks at Astrid. ¡°You¡¯re cool, too, Astrid, but she¡¯s awesome.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Rebecca,¡± she mutters under her breath.


    ¡°Like, you¡¯re Mage Smash II kind of cool, but she¡¯s like, Mage Smash Deluxe kind of cool.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Rebecca,¡± Astrid says a little louder. ¡°I¡¯m not saying you¡¯ve got to use them instead of your Grimoire, Juniper. All I¡¯m saying is that it¡¯s good to get some experience with them. Morgan, I think it¡¯s better¡ª¡±


    ¡°That you don¡¯t give me a recommendation, since you¡¯re not in charge,¡± she says, popping open the fridge and grabbing herself a beer. She glances at me and shakes one. I shrug and she throws one over their heads at me.


    ¡°Morgan,¡± Lucia says. Head still in the fridge, she mutters under her breath, kicks the fridge shut, and says her sorry half-way through taking a sip. Lu takes it from my hand before I even get a chance. ¡°Not until you come back. You, too, missy. I want that beer down. Neither of you are even old enough to be drinking this stuff anyway.¡±


    ¡°But we¡¯re old enough to walk into a weaponry and buy a fifty cal and an Enchanted sword without questions,¡± Morgan mutters.


    ¡°Cheers to the system,¡± I say to her. She nods, takes one long swallow, then hands the beer to Lu.


    ¡°What was that about me not being in charge?¡± Astrid asks her, hands on the table, not even looking at her but instead at the weapons spread out on the cloth. There¡¯s an edge in her voice, but barely any anger¡ªnot the kind to show her emotions, that¡¯s what I¡¯m getting from her, but you can read her like a book: she¡¯s plain pissed off now.


    ¡°It means exactly that,¡± Morgan says, grabbing her baseball bat off the chair it leaned against. She¡¯s about to head into the living room, but Astrid stops her simply by standing in her way. She¡¯s taller than Morgan by a head, and that means she can look down her nose at her. The conversation Runt and Work Belt were having dies off. Lu left a moment ago, checking on Victoria upstairs. Only us now in the kitchen, with the windows open and music playing, heat in the air and the smell of detergent lingering from the sink. ¡°Mind telling me what¡¯s wrong, Sid?¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna make something clear,¡± Astrid says. ¡°You need to grow up, and fast, because waving around a baseball bat against someone who¡¯s got hundreds of pounds on you, or better yet, a gun or even a sword, means you¡¯re going to end up very dead, very quickly, and that¡¯s not something I want on my head. So for the love of God, grab something more useful, or better yet, the hammer May made for you, and start taking something seriously.¡±


    ¡°Astrid¡­¡± Juniper says, touching her shoulder. The taller girl shrugs her off.


    The two of them keep staring at one another. Morgan¡¯s black eyebrows lower, narrowing her eyes. You can hear when her hand grips the bat tighter, or when her feet shift and plant on the wooden floor. This is interesting.


    ¡°No,¡± Morgan says, shouldering past her. ¡°Bat¡¯s mine, and that¡¯s that, unless Vick¡¯s got other ideas.¡±


    Astrid grabs her wrist, stopping her dead. ¡°Don¡¯t you walk away from me.¡±


    ¡°Or else what?¡± she asks sourly. ¡°Gonna call the cops on me, too?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t fucking call the cops on her, and you know that.¡±


    ¡°Do I?¡± she asks, getting closer to Astrid. ¡°¡®Cause from what I remember, it fucking looked like that!¡±


    May¡ªWork Belt¡ªslams two pots together several times, more than enough for us to have her attention. She drops the back in the drying rack and puts her fists on her hips. ¡°Both of y¡¯all need to get your shit together for once. We¡¯ve got a newcomer tonight and what¡¯s this looking like for her, huh? She¡¯s meant to trust us to have her back when we¡¯re out there, and we¡¯re bickerin¡¯ like a bunch of fuckin¡¯ hornbills!¡± Where the hell does she get an accent like that? Texas got wiped clean off the map, last I checked. Then again, I never really went to school. It¡¯s a miracle I can read, tell you what. I wouldn¡¯t know what I¡¯d be doing if it wasn¡¯t for mom telling me to fetch her the various cans of gasoline she had labeled in the house when we were burning bodies. ¡°Now kiss and make up ¡®fore I force your faces together, then none of us is gonna be happy, because now you¡¯d both be wasting my damn time.¡±


    Neither Astrid or Morgan move. They stand there, staring daggers at one another.


    ¡°Fine,¡± May says. ¡°Looks like everyone¡¯s gonna start doing their own maintenance.¡±


    Morgan¡¯s jaw tenses, then she quietly says, ¡°Just don¡¯t think you¡¯re the boss of me, and we won¡¯t have a problem, Sid. Vicky might¡¯ve made you First Sword, but I don¡¯t give a damn. You¡¯ll always be second to me.¡± With that, she goes and sits on the couch, unlaced boots on the table as she picks up a hotrod mag she flicks through.


    Astrid sighs, back turned to the rest of us, then turns around. ¡°Second Sword,¡± she says. I look at her, waiting for the verbal surprises she¡¯s got in store for me this time. ¡°What¡¯re you most experienced with using?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good with everything here,¡± I say with a shrug. ¡°I¡¯d probably prefer a sword, though.¡±


    Astrid pushes a claymore my way. Red leather grip, stainless steel blade. Awesome stuff, really, if I was in the business of accidentally gutting Party members open when I used it. She looks at me. ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a little chunky,¡± I say. ¡°I mean, it¡¯s sounding like we¡¯re probably gonna be indoors tonight, right?¡±


    ¡°Thought you said you could use anything?¡± she asks, then folds her arms. ¡°Or was that all a lie?¡±


    My mouth bitters. ¡°I can grab a teaspoon and be fine with that, too.¡±


    ¡°Then take the sword,¡± she says icily. ¡°And a backup, too.¡±


    Bitch. I know what she just did, but I also know myself.


    Can¡¯t really back down from indirect challenges. Aster hated me for it a lot of the time, and Gods forbid she ever left me in charge of all of our weapons and most of our cash. I¡¯d find some way to gamble almost all of it.


    Because you, too, are also one roll away from being a winner, and life is all about luck.


    And I know I¡¯m due for my lucky break some time soon. Dying and coming back to life is just what I¡¯m owed, I personally feel¡ªwhat¡¯s coming next has got to be something good, and trust me when I say this: Kacey Summers is gonna hit the green one day, and this is just one of those times. Who knows, maybe tonight is gonna be the night when I figure out how to use a sword better for trying to kill all your friends at once than for personal use.


    For my second weapon, I choose a handgun¡ªan AngelWeight II, something small and light. Easy to shoot. Not a lot of stopping power, but with how May¡¯s eyes light up when I put it in my waistband, I think it¡¯ll be fine.


    Gotta love an enchanted gun, right? The thing is oozing with magic. So much so it almost looks like it¡¯s dripping right off the barrel, like it¡¯s been dipped in scarlet. May¡¯s even gone the extra mile to carve her name in it.


    Better not blow up in my hand, though.


    Astrid almost turns her nose up as she watches me check the gun out. She¡¯s already got a sword of her own on her hip, the boring and placid way of carrying any sword in the first place. It shimmers with magic, too. The white kind; or the uninitiated, that¡¯s a step below the most potent kind of magic, which is usually a deep violet.


    Just like any Magline, and just like the magic that had been lingering outside my apartment.


    ¡°What about you?¡± I ask May. ¡°You¡¯re not carrying anything?¡±


    She pats a small fanny pack she¡¯s got on her hip, grinning. ¡°This is plenty.¡±


    ¡°That should be it, then,¡± Astrid mutters. ¡°I want all weapons back here for inspection afterward, and if you lose it, you¡¯re buying it¡ªit¡¯ll get cut from your share. Use them as much as you want, break them if you¡¯ve got to, but one, don¡¯t let some thug get their hands on them, and two, for the love of God, don¡¯t just throw it away, either.¡±


    ¡°Aye, aye, captain,¡± I say. Her eyes momentarily flare when Morgan snorts. ¡°Hey, Becca.¡± She perks up, since nobody¡¯s spoken to the kid in nearly fifteen minutes, she¡¯s sat there on her stool, bummed about not being able to go out tonight and probably kill a few people. ¡°You into video games? I used to play back at my place, then my console got trashed ¡®n¡¯ stolen.¡± I jerk my thumb at the tv. ¡°Since Vic is still getting ready, wanna play with me?¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± she asks. Then she looks at Astrid, who¡¯s shaking her head. Her energy falters. ¡°I¡¯m not allowed to play this late at night, sorry. Maybe we can play it in the morning, or¡­after I finish my homework later, too.¡±


    I blow a raspberry and say, ¡°C¡¯mon, what are rules if not things meant to be broken?¡±


    Becca glances at Astrid, then me, makes her choice, and says, ¡°I get first pick.¡±


    ¡°No, Rebecca,¡± Astrid says. ¡°You¡¯re meant to get ready for bed and start your homework with Lu.¡±


    ¡°Oh, can it, Sid,¡± I say, and Gods, you should see the look on her face when I say that. ¡°Let the kid live.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to make sure she¡¯s trained and prepared to one day¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hearing a lot of words I really don¡¯t care about,¡± I say, grabbing Runt¡¯s hand. ¡°Best of three?¡±


    ¡°Deal!¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m choosing Alexandria.¡±


    Of course I¡¯m gonna lose now, but hell, if it makes Astrid pissed, then I¡¯ll lose all night long.


    Besides, I was the little sister nobody ever played with, so suck on that, mom.


    And I also just died a few days ago, and I¡¯ll be taking life however it comes now. If Victoria is telling the truth about me having a Blessing, then life might just get a little more fun, if the rumors are true. Might as well take all the chances I¡¯ve got before people learn about it and start trying to peel me apart to drink all of my new magic.


    Until then, Becca is going to be the first person to try to kill me, which she probably will.


    And I don¡¯t think I mind that one bit.

 Twelve - MageHunt

    Lucia¡¯s house feels like a distant memory just a few minutes later. The van, at least, has padded benches inside it, both facing one another, so I get a full view of Astrid as she sits there with her eyes closed and arms folded. Morgan is beside me, smoking a cigarette that she keeps passing to May, who¡¯s in the driver¡¯s seat. Juniper has a small torch shaped like a flower held close to the pages of her Grimoire, this large red tome of a book with golden bindings on her lap, hunched over as she scans each line, muttering under her breath in a language I can¡¯t understand. Victoria is up front, arm on the window and looking out at the strip ahead of us. Cars. Girls. Money and casinos. Parties and drag races, cops yelling at people, and even now, a car rockets passed the van, soon followed by blaring cop cars.


    ¡°Hell-Riders,¡± Morgan mutters, blowing smoke through her teeth. ¡°Fuckin¡¯ A.¡±


    ¡°Some kind of gang?¡± I ask her.


    She shakes her head and steps on the dead cigarette. ¡°Magi-tech. Custom built hotrods and motorbikes. A few of ¡®em traffic parts from across the Wastes, sometimes weapons as well, but most of them just like going fast. May used to be one of their mechs a long time ago, if she ain¡¯t lying.¡± May holds up a middle finger from the front and glances into the rearview mirror, smiling. ¡°But Crafts like that cost you a fortune, and I¡¯m stuck in a sardine can on wheels, so I think that answers why I¡¯m in here instead of out there.¡± She sits back. ¡°Just how life is, I guess.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll get your rocket car one day, Morg,¡± Victoria mutters. ¡°I need your eye on the prize tonight.¡±


    ¡°Should be telling that to your First Sword,¡± Morgan mumbles.


    Astrid remains quiet, but her brow furrows.


    I lean in between the front seats and say, ¡°You never really told me what we¡¯re doing tonight, FYI.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t talk about this stuff when Lucia is around,¡± she says, still staring out the window, and I can¡¯t blame her, it¡¯s an orgy of colors and sounds, bodies and multicolored smoke on the streets. It¡¯s like a Unicorn just got itself blown up and smeared all over the dry concrete and the tall, dancing palm trees. ¡°If a cop comes asking her questions, she can say she doesn¡¯t know. Made sure to keep everything spick and span in that house, ¡®cause without it, we¡¯d be homeless and fucked.¡± She looks at me, half her mouth pulled into a smile. ¡°Gotta protect your nest, Kace, because your nest is really all you¡¯ve got to hope for, you know?¡± Trust me, I know. ¡°Turn left up here.¡±


    ¡°But since we¡¯re out of the house, can I get some kind of debrief?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Astrid,¡± Victoria says. ¡°Fill Kacey in on what¡¯s going down. Gotta make a call.¡± She motions for May to pull over on the side of the street in front of an armor store, where chest plates and helms are being sold at stupid prices and you can custom paint them anything you want. Vick gets out of the van and takes out a satellite phone, one hand hitched on her folded overalls (that we¡¯re now all wearing, like we¡¯re some kind of cleaning company), and walks away from the truck, just about far away enough to not be able to hear what she¡¯s saying into the phone.


    I settle into my seat and wait, but Astrid doesn¡¯t seem in that much of a rush to continue. May turns up the radio in response to her silence, and it¡¯s everyone¡¯s favorite bombastic blonde bombshell, Belle Starr. Her theme song plays for a while, enough time for us all to perk up when Vicky loudly curses and kicks a trash can onto the ground, spooking both a cat and a homeless man when garbage suddenly spills onto the street. Then Belle comes on air, loud and proud: ¡°Today is a sweet, sweet day, ain¡¯t it, New America?¡± Belle says, maybe a little too loudly. ¡°Sun¡¯s been out and another Rift didn¡¯t split America in two halves and dunk the rest of the world right into a nearly eternal, smoldering abyss of darkness and destruction! So if you crashed your car, got mugged, got stabbed, and maybe even got evicted, it really could be worse!¡± I glance at Morgan, who shrugs and jerks her chin at May, who¡¯s paying the most attention to the crazy lady who somehow managed to get herself a national radio hour.


    What¡¯s even weirder is that she¡¯s been around since even before I was born, sounding exactly the same. I¡¯ve only ever seen cartoon doodles of her in a cowboy hat, large red bandana around her neck, and most of her tits mostly out of her button-up blouse, six-shooter in one hand and microphone in the other, like she¡¯s some bandit.


    ¡°Turn it down,¡± Astrid mutters.


    ¡°Shhh,¡± May says, turning it up a little. ¡°This is the best part of her broadcast hour.¡±


    ¡°Now, before we start cycling through today¡¯s greatest hits¡ªat least, the ones I bought for a sack of gold, a scalp, ¡®n¡¯ a kiss¡ªhere¡¯s the scoop on this month¡¯s latest, greatest Mage prospects heading into the prelim rounds for this year¡¯s Mageforge.¡± Suddenly, I¡¯m very interested, and suddenly¡­prelims? That¡¯s a lot earlier than I thought it would be, isn¡¯t it? Fuck, must¡¯ve lost a or two month somewhere along the line. For a while, Belle reads under her breath, then says, ¡°Goddamn, these kids are all no-name brats that got pissed out of their dad¡¯s sack. Thank the Gods I don¡¯t have any sponsors, or ones that care, because believe me when I say I¡¯d be off the air in a heartbeat if they ever hear me say this: if you want a shot at getting into the Five Guilds, this year is probably your best chance in decades. Competition is as stiff as a dead snake. Cream of the crop nepo-babies. So someone, anyone, please come save us this time around and hit the jackpot, and if you are gonna win, come from the utter Dreggs, because we all love a good underdog story, don¡¯t we? Besides, I can¡¯t remember a time when one of us stole the crown.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°I said turn it down,¡± Astrid says louder.


    ¡°In other news, rangers,¡± Belle continues, ¡°there¡¯s been rumblings, underground movers and shakers stirring up all kinds of trouble right along the coastline, from Ridgeway, to River City, San Fraccuros, all the way to Oceanica in everyone¡¯s favorite Megacity, New Salem. Somethin¡¯ is happening, folks. So go to bed early and turn off your lights, because this comin¡¯ summer sounds like it¡¯ll be hot. Gunslingers, Monster Hunters, Magpies and Bounty Hunters galore in the next few months, so if your neighbor suddenly has a new Caddy, keep yer mouth shut!¡± I smile a little, because her energy is infectious in all honesty. Just never really had the time to listen to her. ¡°All honesty, y¡¯all stay safe out there. Them streets are wet and red; don¡¯t need any of you in a morgue, ¡®cause anyone who listens to me is for sure not paying for any After-Death Insurance! Live long, cowboy! Live proud!¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a hillbilly who¡¯s martyred herself into being the voice of the people, and a false one at that. If you want to listen to the radio, put something that isn¡¯t actively dulling my brain,¡± Astrid says. ¡°So turn it off, May.¡±


    May sighs, mutters, and switches the radio off completely.


    But it¡¯s pretty hard to focus when my stomach is in a coil of cold knots.


    ¡°I heard,¡± Juniper says quietly, ¡°that they¡¯re all betting on one guy this time for Mageforge champion.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s his name?¡± I ask her. Better to know the competition before I get there.


    ¡°Can¡¯t really¡ª¡±


    ¡°Luke something-or-other,¡± May says, turning around in her seat. ¡°Such a hunk. Jawline you can use to cut up strips of wild horse meat. Apparently he¡¯s the son of some Europa Duchess or whatever, so he¡¯s also real royalty.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a bunch of nonsense to me,¡± Morgan says, then looks at me. ¡°You know it¡¯s scripted, right?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s real,¡± Myself, Juniper, and May say at the same time. I continue: ¡°Realer than anything.¡±


    She throws her hands up defensively. ¡°Didn¡¯t know I was dealing with a gang of crazy people.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in a van full of girls with weapons, getting ready to commit Class A felonies, so¡­¡± May shrugs.


    ¡°Circling back to that,¡± I say, then nudge Astrid¡¯s foot. ¡°Mind telling me what¡¯s happening tonight?¡±


    ¡°In simple terms, we¡¯re collecting some cash that we¡¯re owed,¡± she says. ¡°In more complex terms, it¡¯s from a group of people who don¡¯t particularly enjoy having their things taken from them. Whatever else is found is free game, be that any money you find lying around, expensive tech, anything, but it cannot be kept around the house. We bag it and give it to May, who¡¯ll check what it¡¯s worth, then we sell it and divvy up the haul. Our goal is to get their top man and hold him ransom until the rest of what we¡¯re owed is paid. If the money we get in their hideout is enough, then we let the guy go. It¡¯s a show of peace, but also a warning not to step on our toes again afterward.¡± She reaches into her overalls pocket and hands me a neatly folded picture. ¡°That¡¯s our guy. Remember the face, and if you see him, alert everyone else. The thugs aren¡¯t our problem either. It¡¯s getting close to the Elf and grabbing him.¡±


    ¡°By any chance,¡± I say, handing the paper back. ¡°What if I fragg the guy accidentally?¡±


    Her eyes narrow. ¡°Let¡¯s hope you don¡¯t, because there would be hell to pay.¡±


    I nudge Morgan. ¡°She¡¯s hot when she gets all stern and corny.¡±


    ¡°I think she just looks a little stupid.¡±


    Juniper giggles, then stops when Astrid glares at her.


    Victoria gets back into the van, making the suspension squeal a little as she slams her door shut and bites her thumb. We all watch her, the mood in the van simmering out, just like the stink of Morgan¡¯s old cigarette. She doesn¡¯t speak for a solid minute, staring out of the front of the van, until she looks at May, then over her shoulder at the rest of us. She blinks, then says, ¡°Are you all waiting for something? If you want ice cream, I¡¯m flat broke.¡±


    ¡°Did your phone call go well?¡± Astrid asks. ¡°You seem perturbed by something.¡±


    Who speaks like that?


    Victoria waves her hand. ¡°Bad network, didn¡¯t really get through to them. Put this old girl in reverse, May, because we don¡¯t have all night long, and we¡¯ve got about an hour before our fat little Elf heads off into the ocean.¡±


    ¡°Ocean?¡± I ask her. ¡°I thought there¡¯s all kinds of Leviathans lurking around down there now.¡±


    What I¡¯ve heard (from my brother, so take it with a truck of salt) is most stuff has to come in through air freight now, not sea. What does come through the sea are PTSD riddled sailors, Mermaids looking to make it big in the shiny cities that end up at SeaWorld, or almost nothing at all, unless you¡¯re lucky as all hell. Even just going on a cruise is a deadly affair, but I¡¯ll be honest, there¡¯s just something about that deep blue expanse of nothingness that doesn¡¯t sit right with me. I mean, all that land, and someone decided to fill it with a liquid that can squeeze all of your insides right out of your mouth if you get too deep? No thank you. I¡¯ll stay on land, where I can die faster and not have my lungs burst open because they¡¯re filled with something meant to keep me alive. I don¡¯t even know how to swim, actually, because I¡¯ve mastered the craft of controlled flapping and squirming and holding onto anything to make sure my head doesn¡¯t go under. Nobody¡¯s ever taught me, and I think a pool is the deepest I¡¯ve ever gone.


    So I¡¯m going to do my best to make sure I don¡¯t even see this guy¡¯s yacht or whatever.


    ¡°When you¡¯re as rich as he is,¡± Vicky says, ¡°danger is just the word next to your alcohol percentage.¡±


    ¡°Must be nice,¡± I mutter, rubbing my bicep.


    ¡°And it¡¯ll be ours,¡± she says, grinning in the rearview mirror. ¡°Look alive, girls. Let¡¯s make an Elf beg.¡±

 Thirteen - MageHunt

    A nightclub has got to be the one of the best places to kidnap someone, especially in San Fraccuros. The smell of Shimmer is in the air, the vile, plastic-smelling kind that lingers in the back of your throat, and that means everyone here isn¡¯t going to expect a not-so-friendly emergency lockdown. The club is called the Burning Moon. It¡¯s a slim building with strobe lights near the entrance and valets taking keys from people with loud, shiny, sexy black cars. There¡¯s a clear separation, though. Normal people are getting squeezed through the main entrance. People in loose suits, no ties, and women in dresses I can¡¯t ever hope to afford, dripping in diamonds that look like crystalized stars, get taken through their own little private entrance around the building, almost like security wants to show off their clients to the poor people that have to line up, bribe, and sweet-talk their way into the club before it gets too late.


    Which doesn¡¯t work out too well for some of them, because we collectively wince when a younger group of people around our age, all dressed in shorts and beach shirts, get thrown to the street and nearly get hit by cars.


    Partying isn¡¯t really my scene, but tonight is gonna be a different kind of party since, according to Astrid, all¡¯s fair game in there, and what¡¯s in there is enough cash to send me right back home without a second thought. We¡¯re parked a few alleyways away, near some Android drop-off station closed for the night. Its Open Tomorrow! neon signs are glowing a deep, flickering red above us. Everyone except Vicky is hunched around May¡¯s tablet, something she pulled out of her fanny pack alongside a pure blue bird that clicked into life as soon as she wound up its dial and she tossed it into the air. Some kind of camera feed, I guess, because that¡¯s how we¡¯re checking out the club before getting anywhere near it. The bird sits on a powerline and tilts its head, zooming into a window.


    The top floors all have blinds shading the windows, making everything faint yellow outlines. People are smoking and drinking there, but that¡¯s about as much as we can figure out. Some kind of magical security system is making her tech get a little fuzzy the longer the bird stays up there. May swears and calls the bird back to her, shutting off the tablet and telling Vicky, who¡¯s leaning against a dumpster at the end of the alley, what we¡¯d seen.


    She passively nods and keeps waiting, satellite phone clutched in one hand.


    ¡°What¡¯s up with all this standing?¡± Morgan asks, stretching her arms. ¡°Let¡¯s go smash some heads.¡±


    ¡°If we¡¯re waiting, it means that Vicky¡¯s got a reason,¡± Astrid mutters.


    ¡°Or she just doesn¡¯t like filling in the rest of us,¡± I say under my breath, earning me a glare.


    As if on cue, a man comes walking down the street, casual and relaxed, Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned to show off all the hair on his flabby chest. Thick brown beard, a mane of hair getting tousled by the wind, tinted aviator sunglasses that hang from his collar. The guy looks like someone who was born and raised here, down to the way he walks with a slight swagger and has a mouth that looks quick to smile. He grins when he sees Victoria, stopping in the alleyway. She offers her hand, and he gives her one hell of a bear hug, even lifting her up off the ground, too.


    ¡°Nice to see you too, Dallas,¡± she mutters, massaging her spine. ¡°Girls, come ¡®ere. Kacey, meet officer¨C¡±


    ¡°Detective,¡± he corrects, as we get closer. ¡°Got a handy, dandy promotion.¡±


    A cop?


    He clasps my hand so tightly it almost feels like he¡¯ll break it. ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking, and no, I¡¯m not gonna rat you guys out. Can¡¯t get my cut if you all get locked up!¡± He barks out a laugh, then says, ¡°You¡¯re new here. Too pale for someone aged in San Fraccuros. Guessing you¡¯re some kinda tourist? How¡¯s your stay going?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s my new Second Sword,¡± Victoria explains. ¡°Name¡¯s Kacey. Bounty Hunter from New Salem.¡±


    ¡°From the shits! Good old Salem,¡± he says, still shaking my hand out of its socket. ¡°Replacement with some experience, then. Glad Vicky here didn¡¯t just sweep up any old random gal off the streets to fill Reya¡¯s shoes.¡±


    ¡°Reya?¡± I ask, having to yank my hand out of his bear-like grip, shaking it out. Well, that¡¯s useless now.


    ¡°Someone who¡¯s not your problem,¡± Astrid says dryly. ¡°Detective, it¡¯s nice to work with you again.¡±


    ¡°Bring it here, the rest of you!¡± None of them stand a chance when he wraps them all in a hug until Vicky tells him he¡¯s gonna have to do this job himself if any of them get hurt because of him. With a jaunty laugh he lets them go. Juniper looks woozy and May has to lean against the truck, massaging her back, too. Morgan clasps the large guy¡¯s hand, making a tiny smacking sound when their thick palms meet. For a second, they¡¯re almost even, until Dallas forces her hand down, spins her around, and playfully shoves her against Astrid. ¡°Getting stronger!¡±


    ¡°One day, you grimy pig,¡± Morgan says, rolling her shoulders.


    ¡°Onto what we¡¯re all here for,¡± Victoria says. ¡°Dallas?¡±


    ¡°Here I thought we could all catch up, maybe go for a drink first. You know, shake off some nerves.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a reason you¡¯re a private detective now.¡± Victoria folds her arms. ¡°Mr. Semi-Unemployed.¡±


    He shrugs one shoulder. ¡°The force is too rigid for someone like me, anyway.¡± He claps his hands together and then says, ¡°The good news for you is that there¡¯s no police around the Moon tonight, which usually means that Mr. Hark is cooped up in his office and there¡¯s plenty of unholy happenings in that building. It¡¯ll take a good forty minutes before the cops come to investigate after he leaves, so that¡¯s your window. Get in, raise hell, get out. He¡¯ll have the chief on speed dial just in case he needs the boys in blue, but he¡¯d rather deal with it himself. Elves, huh?¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Elves, indeed.


    ¡°What about Platinum?¡± Vicky asks. ¡°Haven¡¯t been able to figure out if he¡¯s here or not.¡±


    ¡°The big guy took off yesterday,¡± Dallas says, fishing around in his pocket for a packet of cigarettes. He offers, Morgan, May and I take one each, getting them lit from his tiny golden zippo. Astrid¡¯s nose wrinkles when we all spew out streams of silver smoke, but she doesn¡¯t take a step backward. ¡°All of a sudden, too, like he¡¯s got someplace urgent he needs to be. Earliest? He¡¯ll be back before morning. Latest? Maybe in a few days. Hark is in charge of the strip right now, then, and the last thing he probably wants is to get Platinum to come back so quickly.¡±


    ¡°Perfect,¡± Vicky says, fist hitting her palm. ¡°We¡¯re taking Hark out of the strip, anyway.¡±


    ¡°Got somewhere secure?¡±


    ¡°Bedbug Motel, seven or so hours out of Frac in the sands,¡± she says. ¡°Great place for hiding bodies.¡±


    ¡°Far away enough to be anywhere either inside this unicorn shit-colored town, or elsewhere,¡± Dallas says.


    ¡°That¡¯s a tight timeframe, though,¡± Astrid mutters, thinking out loud. ¡°¡®If¡¯ isn¡¯t a great foundation.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know when Platinum is going to be out of Frac any other day,¡± Vicky tells her. ¡°We get in and get out and take our chances when it comes. When we get our money, we dump him at the old droid depot on Sixth so Hark¡¯s boys have to go through Hoodlum territory to get him. We¡¯ll shoot up a few of their stores ¡®n¡¯ make those multicolored morons think Platinum¡¯s guys did it, and then they¡¯ll be busy dealing with that as we get out of here.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not staying in San Fraccuros after?¡± Juniper asks, holding her Grimoire to her chest.


    ¡°Too much heat,¡± Morgan says. ¡°Might as well skip over to River City for a few weeks.¡±


    ¡°Someone was paying attention to my debrief for once,¡± Vicky says, smiling.


    Silver-hair shrugs one shoulder and pulls on her cigarette. ¡°Got bored daydreaming.¡±


    ¡°New Girl is the silent type,¡± Dallas says, clapping my back and nearly making me swallow the cigarette. I cough and splutter. Vicky gives him a look that makes him apologize. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, something not groovy?¡±


    ¡°Maybe she¡¯s got cold feet,¡± Astrid says, shrugging. ¡°It happens when this is new to you.¡±


    ¡°Bounty hunting isn¡¯t just killing people, you know,¡± I tell her. ¡°I kidnap for a few bucks extra, and if you want them dead a certain way, you¡¯re gonna have to tip me whatever I want, depending how bad things might get.¡±


    ¡°Like a dog who¡¯s been taught how to attack people on command,¡± she says. ¡°Fetch, good girl.¡±


    The cigarette hangs from my fingertips as I stare at her. ¡°What the fuck did you just say?¡±


    She puts up her hands. ¡°I¡¯m just doing what you¡¯ve been doing all night and making a joke. Taking the edge off everything, trying to make sure your head is calm enough to handle something you¡¯ve never done before.¡±


    I speak before Vicky can tell us to both zip it. ¡°Yeah, and what¡¯s that?¡±


    Because I know for a fact her tight little ass hasn¡¯t done half of what I¡¯ve done.


    She shrugs. ¡°Work with people that aren¡¯t the same sewer-dwelling, inbred ingrates you¡¯re used to.¡±


    By the time my cigarette drops, my fist is smashing into her jaw. She stumbles into the trash cans behind her, spilling garbage into the alleyway. Before I can stomp my boot into the side of her head, two powerful hands grab me and hold me in place, hauling me backward. Dallas. But I¡¯m seething, angry, because who the fuck does she think she is, calling my friends sewer-dwelling ingrates? Aster is what she just said? Belle is what she just said?


    I didn¡¯t find my best friend¡¯s body rotting in an alleyway for her to keep running her mouth so easily.


    I did not leave the girl who stole my first kiss behind because she screamed for me to run, just for some preppy little bitch with a snarky, snake-like tongue to run her mouth however she likes and call them all inbreds.


    Aster would have told me to relax, to breathe in and then out.


    But I buried her last month, and she¡¯s just not here anymore.


    I slam my foot down onto Dallas¡¯ slipper-wearing feet, making him release me. I barrel into Astrid and smack her against the graffiti-covered wall, grabbing her by the overalls and getting so close to her face that I could count the number of dark little freckles on her nose. We stand like that for a moment, breathing hard against one another with that annoying neon light flickering above us, but I don¡¯t make a move. Vicky has her arms folded and her mouth in a thin line, and for a moment, when a car passes behind her, headlights bright, her hair turns into a fiery blonde mane sitting on her shoulders. Something loud and messy. Something that makes her look like my mom, and I guess it¡¯s subconscious at that point, letting Astrid go, even if I shove her against the wall before that.


    I point a finger in her face when she¡¯s in the middle of thumbing the blood off her lips. ¡°If I ever catch you saying that shit about my friends again, I¡¯ll show you what happens when your dainty skull hits the pavement.¡±


    The white aura around the sword at her side pulsates when she glares at me. ¡°I don¡¯t take you seriously enough to even bother fighting you, so get in order, get in place, and swallow whatever grudge you¡¯ve got, clear?¡±


    ¡°I swear to the Gods¡ª¡±


    Morgan grabs my shoulder and pushes me away from her. ¡°Stop blowing your load and chill, Kace.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s the one who kept running her mouth!¡±


    ¡°Kacey,¡± Victoria says flatly. I sigh and fold my arms, leaning on the wall opposite Astrid¡¯s. Whatever.


    ¡°Fuck me,¡± Dallas says, massaging his foot. ¡°Girl kicks like a mule with its ass on fire.¡±


    ¡°I suppose that wraps up our debrief,¡± Victoria mutters. ¡°Grab your shit and let¡¯s go. Oh, and Astrid?¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am?¡± she says. I roll my eyes and grab the claymore from out of the van, then check the AngelWeight and slide a few more magazines into my overalls¡¯ pockets. ¡°Has there been a change of plans?¡±


    ¡°None,¡± Vicky says. ¡°Just a word of advice: keep your fuckin¡¯ mouth shut. That kind of talk only floats in Frac because people let things slide more easily. Kacey¡¯s not from here. She¡¯ll break your jaw next time. So hush.¡±


    Astrid opens her mouth to speak, then closes it and tightly nods.


    ¡°Good girl,¡± I whisper when I walk past her. ¡°Now follow.¡±

 Fourteen - MageHunt

    I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s the speeding van that makes the crowd around the Burning Moon scream and scatter, or the armed thugs wearing party masks leaping out of it as soon as the thing shrieks to a halt. (My guess? It¡¯s a blend of both, but that¡¯s my partially biased opinion). Victoria is out first, snow eagle in hand and cat-themed masked on her face. Astrid comes next. Morgan grabs Juniper¡¯s shoulder and hauls her out of the van. I grab the Sorcerer¡¯s head and make sure she ducks before stumbling out the rear, stopping her from smacking her dome against the top of the van.


    It¡¯s Juniper¡¯s show from here on out, because our job is to scare off the security as she falls to the pavement, grabs a piece of chalk from her pocket, fumbles, catches it, then frantically starts scribbling onto the warm stone. A gunshot barks. A bullet ricochets off the curb, biting into the stones and spitting small bits of rubble against my face. Vicky takes a pot shot, gunning him in the gut and leaving him sprawling in a pool of quickly spreading red. I blink hard. Catch my breath. Have the gun in my left hand, my right on the hilt of the sword. Mouth is dry. Head is ringing. People are screaming and running. The security are yelling at one another, ducking behind cars, grabbing VIPs. Then I hear gunshots¡ªbangbangbang¡ªgo off like, well, gunshots, chewing the tarmac in front of Morgan and I. Glance over my shoulder. Thank the Gods. She¡¯s finished drawing her runes or portal, fuck, I don¡¯t know, I¡¯m not a Sorcerer, am I? She flicks open her Grimoire, murmurs off a line, shuts her eyes, then slits her palm open.


    As soon as her blood hits the chalk, foul-smelling smoke rises. ¡°Bear witness,¡± she whispers. ¡°Freeze.¡±


    And just like she¡¯s said, everything stops.


    And suddenly, everything is almost pitch-black a moment later.


    ¡°Lights!¡± Vicky yells, cutting on the flashlight we¡¯ve all got on our shoulders. One after the other, tiny white beams illuminate the gloomy shadows. As soon as mine turns on, I swear and take a step back, because there¡¯s a bullet frozen mid flight, violent turbulence still behind it, just an inch from my nose. Any closer and I¡¯d be dead.


    Again, by the way, and in the span of a few days.


    ¡°I owe you one,¡± I say to Ju, finding my voice.


    She gives me a thumbs up as she rests her hands on her knees. She lifts up her party animal mask, something cute with whiskers and blush, then vomits to her left. ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± she moans, swaying a little. ¡°I think I just need a nap and some ice cream.¡± She vomits again. I glance at Vicky, but she¡¯s already moving to the Moon.


    ¡°Got her,¡± May says, climbing out of the van and rushing to her side. ¡°She¡¯ll be fine. Not her first rodeo. Y¡¯all have got two minutes before things start speeding up. The barrier will stay up as long as missy here is awake.¡±


    Juniper mutters incoherently, eyes glazed over. The magic around her is¡­purple, but several shades lighter than the one outside my place. Weird. Sorcerer Pledges tend to gather their magic from their Grimoires, not from themselves, and right now, that book is a spitting cesspit of foul-smelling magic beside her. I never told Vicky, but this isn¡¯t my first nose, either. Got snagged by a Beast-Man when I was a kid. Some rowdy little bastard that wanted a taste and found out what a shard of glass can do to his throat. Mom¡¯s first and last gift to me was my sense of smell, and right now, Juniper is sitting in a pool of magic so sour, bitter, and turbulent, I almost feel like puking.


    But she¡¯ll be fine with May there, and the others are shouting for me to get my ass moving.


    I follow them into the nightclub, jogging past frozen-in-place cops that, upon closer inspection, turn out to be Beast-Men, not just normal guys. Something I take mind of as I splash through the puddle of blood and enter the swinging double doors. Inside the nightclub is a hellscape of booze, panic, spilled alcohol and lingering smoke. More Shimmer sits in the air, sparking away and caught in hesitant strobe lights. Everything else is still working. The lights are just slower. The music is weirdly upbeat and high tempo. Gun in my hand, though, and that¡¯s not our problem right now. Up the stairs, following Morgan. We brush shoulders with statues of people. The further up we get, the less of them seem to have heard the gunshots. Past private rooms now. So high up I pause and glance over the balcony to look down at the dance floor and the poles, the stage and its flourishing decorations, the bar and its wall of multicolored drinks. I shake my head and keep going, moving around people until I stop again and listen.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Really, really listen, just like how I¡¯ve been taught to do. You listen to your gut and force your brain to make sense of it, that¡¯s what my oldest sister always says. Bounty hunting is as much instinct as it is using your head. I¡¯ve got a feeling rampaging through my body right now and my brain is freaking out trying to make sense of what¡¯s giving me a cold spike of adrenaline right to the heart, sending cold beads of sweat dripping down my spine.


    My brother used to call me Pup when I was younger, just because it almost seemed like I was a hound more often than not. When my older siblings would take wine from the cellar and drink in the attic, they¡¯d tell me to sit at my door and bang on the wall the moment my ears, my skin, or my eyes felt something weird, which usually turned out to be mom stomping up the stairs, yelling at the five of us for breaking into her vault again without permission.


    It grew into this thing I could kind of just do. Like a sixth sense. It¡¯s saved me plenty.


    And right now, it¡¯s losing its mind as I stare at the lower floors. Nobody is moving. Barely any sound. And yet I can¡¯t move my head without my neck prickling and my scalp tingling, screaming at me to keep searching.


    Morgan glances over her shoulder, followed by Astrid and Vicky further down the hallway.


    It¡¯s just a short elevator ride to the top office, then we¡¯ve got our man.


    But something¡¯s not right. Call it experience, call it intuition.


    My gut just isn¡¯t sitting still in my body.


    ¡°Kace,¡± Morgan hisses, stopping. ¡°Fuck¡¯s the problem?¡±


    Vicky yanks up her sleeve and swears. ¡°¡®bout a minute left, girls. Let¡¯s get our asses moving.¡±


    I slowly step backward, tilting my head, waiting, barely breathing. I smell the air, through the haze of smoke and liquor, sweat and alcohol, there¡¯s something more than just the bodies surrounding us. Something big.


    Something watching us.


    It vanishes as quickly as it makes my blood chill, gone in an instance. I shake my head and look around, using a nose that isn¡¯t mine and eyes I paid out of pocket for to see or smell anything at all, but there¡¯s nothing to look at. Nothing at all except drunken men and women, the occasional Monster and the even more rare Beast-Men amongst the thick crowds. Note it. Remember it. Keep moving. So I do, and that forces everyone else to keep going, even if Vicky gives me a look that means far too much for the briefest second we meet eyes. Then it¡¯s into the large golden elevator, just when the hallway filled with people begin sluggishly moving, the music grows louder and the strobe lights spin around faster and faster, getting disorientating. By the time the two Tiger-Men realize we¡¯ve just hijacked our way into the elevator they were shoving people away from, I¡¯ve already put a round in each of their heads. They drop. A woman who¡¯s just gotten bathed in blood screams, still slow, still warped, languid and weird.


    But Vicky punches the button for the top floor as we bundle into the elevator,, our shoes smearing blood all over the shiny golden floor. It shudders, then jerks, moving upward, playing a ditsy little song on its speakers.


    My heart is still racing. The deafening silence in the elevator is killing me.


    Vicky shoots out the camera in here, hailing sparks from the light fixture she¡¯s just busted, too. Then she grabs me shoulder and leans closer, face mask close to the side of my head. ¡°Mind telling me why you cut short?¡±


    I bat off her hand and roll my shoulders. ¡°Got a feeling. Left a second later.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t start chickening out now, Salem,¡± Morgan says. ¡°Too late for that.¡±


    ¡°I fuckin¡¯ know,¡± I mutter, chewing my tongue. Nervous habit. ¡°Get off my ass. It was a gut feeling.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not time to start trusting your gut,¡± Astrid mutters, resting her hand on the hilt of her sword as we all watch the numbers tick higher and higher on the panel beside me. ¡°If you actually see anything, you tell us.¡±


    ¡°Fuck, man, I get it!¡± I snap. Silence in the elevator. I flick the safety on and off the gun.


    Finally, the elevator stops. My heart is in my mouth. Safety off.


    Doors slide open.


    Go.


    They were ready, waiting for us on the other side.


    And the man facing me doesn¡¯t hesitate to pull the trigger.

 Fifteen - MageHunt

    It¡¯s strange, because the last thing I see is the flash of a gun going off in my face¡ªthe next, I¡¯m hearing telephones going off inside an office. I look around, smacking my lips and drawing my forearm across my mouth, wiping away saliva. Have I been asleep? I shake my head and look around. It really is an office of some kind, maybe something like a high school principal¡¯s office? Don¡¯t really know honestly, never been inside of one. Those old-timey movies and shows made them look this way, as well as that one kinda meh superhero comic I read when I got sent to juvie.


    I never did finish that thing, because my brother said it was for wimps, even though he had the x-rated issues under his pillow with the girls in skimpy red, white, blue and golden costumes. Bastard probably stole ¡®em.


    Like he does with practically everything, sucking the fun out of life as he lives and breathes.


    I look over my shoulder at the wooden door behind me, at the blinds covering the glass partition and the offices muffled by them both. Where am I? Shouldn¡¯t I have a hole in my face right about now? I stand up, and I¡¯m still wearing the same white overalls, just missing my sidearm and sword. Not a good start. If this is heaven, then I don¡¯t want to sit in an office trying to file a complaint with some pencil-pushing worker Angel that only really sees me as some kind of digit on their to-do list, so I try to open the door, but it doesn¡¯t budge. I try knocking on the glass, but the figures beyond it are blurry and distant. Vague outlines of people and distant imitations of talking and calling, mumbling and laughing. I try to force the window open: nothing. I pick up a chair and throw it hard.


    It bounces off the glass, clatters onto the floor, and when I blink, it¡¯s behind me again, back in place like I didn¡¯t just try to use it to smash through what should be a thin little office window. Great, some kind of labyrinth.


    Because this is what it¡¯s got to be, right? Those pay-by-the-foot kind of labyrinths that HexInc put on display at the mall where you can enter one for free as a pretty lady tries to sweet talk you into buying one for your home security, because there¡¯s no better security than trapping someone for all eternity in a hellish pit of your own creation, is there? For extra, you can even pay for your personal labyrinth to link up with the ruins of the real one that, according to rumors down on the streets of New Salem, are still scattered around the Wastes, still festering and boiling, stewing in pools of its own blood, magic and acids. Remnants of the World Eater, they say. And you think HexInc is gonna just let you connect to the real deal for just any price? No way, you¡¯ve got to be very filthy rich.


    I¡¯m talking about the kind of rich to make someone¡ªme, I¡¯m talking about me¡ªwait for damn ages. At some point I get so bored that I find myself lying down on the paper-scattered desk, arm behind my head and my party mask on my chest. I try to take a power nap but the mutterings and mumblings from the offices beyond keep me awake, so there goes my beauty sleep. Then the door finally opens, and I turn my stiff neck to look over at it.


    A woman in gray sweatpants and a pizza sauce-stained t-shirt comes in and shuts the door behind her, and wow, she looks like one hell of a mess. She¡¯s barefoot and has slightly hunched over shoulders, frazzled hair kept in a tight bun atop her head, and smudged glasses sitting awkwardly on her little button nose. She doesn¡¯t even pay me any attention when she goes around the desk and fishes through the many drawers, finally finding a sign that says, Not In The Office Right Now, which she takes back outside, then returns without it, seemingly now satisfied.


    But not any calmer, because she¡¯s still got her back pressing hard against the door, like she¡¯s afraid of me.


    Or deeply in trouble and trying to hide from someone, maybe her supervisor or whatever.


    ¡°Gonna stand there and give yourself a heart attack, or¡­?¡±


    Her eyes dart over her shoulder, then she says, ¡°I¡¯m just the intern.¡±


    ¡°Okay?¡± I swing my legs off the desk and sit on the edge. ¡°What¡¯s that got to do with me?¡±


    ¡°Great question!¡± she says, then clasps her hands. ¡°I¡¯m not at liberty to answer that, though.¡±


    I tilt my head, reading the name written on a post-it note stuck to her chest. ¡°Well, Judy, a few moments ago I was about to eat a chip of iron with my forehead, but now I¡¯m here all of a sudden. Mind telling me why?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± She looks over her shoulder again, pries open the blinds, then turns back around and skulks a little closer to the desk. ¡°My boss usually answers those kinds of questions, but she¡¯s currently not in the office right now, which I hope you can understand. I can take a message if you like. Just need to grab a pen and some¡ª¡±


    ¡°Judy,¡± I say, hopping off the table and standing in front of her. ¡°Where am I?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ You know, I can make you some amazing tea, it might calm you¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re pissing me off, and I don¡¯t like people who do that. Got a short fuse. Blame it on my grandma.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re, um, how do I put this?¡± Judy keeps fiddling with her fingers, and I know she¡¯s probably just as tall as I am, maybe even a little taller, but she¡¯s hunched over like that baggy white rag of a t-shirt is keeping her closer to the floor than the rest of us. ¡°Well, you recently signed a contract with us, right? And I¡¯m in no position at all to speak about any long-lasting contracts with any of our clients, but what I can say whilst avoiding legal problems I might soon find myself in if I disclose anything I totally don¡¯t know about is this: your claim just got accepted.¡±


    ¡°My claim?¡± I ask her, folding my arms. ¡°What am I claiming?¡±


    She lowers her voice and whispers, ¡°Your Knight Blessing.¡±


    My throat dries. I put her at arm¡¯s length and say, ¡°Tell me you¡¯re kidding.¡±


    ¡°Legally? Yes, of course, this is all one big joke, but¡­for real?¡± She shrugs. ¡°Congrats.¡±


    ¡°Hooooooly shit!¡± I say, running my fingers through my hair. ¡°HOLY SH¡ª¡±


    Judy slaps her hand over my mouth. ¡°Do you want me to get punished?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you mean fired?¡± I mumble from behind her kinda sweaty palm.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Oh, please, being fired would be a blessing,¡± she mutters. ¡°But that¡¯s all I¡¯m gonna tell you, because that¡¯s all I¡¯m allowed to tell you. Your Helper, the woman who¡¯s supposed to be sitting at that desk behind you, is kinda maybe sorta on a business trip that she¡¯s been on for the past ten years, and she¡¯s the one who¡¯s meant to talk you through all of the legal framework, the Negotiations Board you¡¯ll have to go through, the Investment Committee and the Board of Gods as well, and I¡¯ll be really honest, if I do any of that, I am fucked. So here¡¯s a rundown, since I¡¯ve been doing this for everyone else that keeps popping up in this office every other freaking day, seemingly. God, what¡¯s with you people and dying so frequently, anyway? Must be those microplastics in the water, I swear.¡±


    ¡°Judy?¡±


    ¡°Yep?¡±


    ¡°Get to the point, kinda in a rush trying not to get my hairline painfully receded.¡±


    She snaps her fingers and says, ¡°Right, of course,¡± then digs through more drawers behind the large oak desk, a deep brown piece that screamed old-money and elegance, stained by nothing at all except the faint spillage outline from the bottom of a bottle of some kind of liquor in the corner of the desk. I trace my fingers over the small wooden animal carvings on the sides of the table, the lion heads and the dragons chasing after birds, all spiraling around the desk in slow-moving spirals. Dad would have loved something like this. A table this pristine would have looked great with him sitting in that cushy leather chair, but he would have said it was all too much for someone like him. Too loud and expensive. He¡¯s better off with a piece of plywood and some cinder blocks any other day.


    But if you ask me for my humble opinion, I think my old man kinda deserves it.


    That¡¯s if I ever get the balls to go and see him again.


    Finally, Judy slides a piece of paper across the desk. I look at her and she waves at it, resting her fists on the desk and waiting for me to pick it up, so I do just that and read through it, nodding along, then passing it back.


    ¡°So?¡± she asks me. ¡°That¡¯s a rough outline of your current contract standing with us. Pretty cool, right?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°If I was able to read and understand most of it, yeah, sure, that¡¯s pretty damn awesome.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­in English.¡± She checks the paper again. ¡°I was pretty sure you could read. You can read, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, of course I can, nerd,¡± I say. ¡°Just not the kind of English that reads like an old-timey book.¡±


    ¡°Not one for the arts I see,¡± Judy mutters. She reads off the piece of paper for a moment. ¡°In summary, your contract with us is currently live, and thus means you¡¯re liable for any actions caused upon others, whether that be in good faith or any other unsavory light. Your actions will be judged accordingly in due time to see whether your contract can be further pushed upward, remain the same, or be fully terminated and evaluated so another holder can take your place.¡± She reads some more. ¡°Legal stuff, legal stuff, oh, and if you manage to get killed again within the contract¡¯s live standing, then you¡¯ll be held for questioning. You¡¯ve been chosen by Arcadia Prophecies & Co as the best standing candidate for this contract. If you fail your ultimate objective, you will be liable for death and torment to a degree previously unknown to any living being. Succeed, and your bounty in the afterlife will be large and plentiful. Assistance requests are currently not available for your base-line contract, though your action will be held subject so as to further hold negotiations with investors who may find interest in your exploits as a contract¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna need to summarize this stuff for me to understand what you¡¯re talking about.¡±


    Judy shrugs and says, ¡°Keep slaying Monsters and you¡¯ll be fine. We¡¯ll have an audit in a few months¡¯ time to see your overall performance¡ªnot me, of course, that¡¯s for the legal department to deal with¡ªand if you¡¯ve done enough, you¡¯ll get a better contract, if you haven¡¯t done enough, then you might stay the same or get slid.¡±


    ¡°Slid?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Office talk for getting slid aside for someone else to be given a shot.¡±


    ¡°But I thought you said I was the best candidate for the job?¡±


    ¡°I mean, technically that¡¯s true, sure, but prophecies work in a weird sort of way, too. The Board is given a rough outline of who might do what and what their personality might be, and you seem to fit the bill, but there¡¯s billions of people on Earth and a few of you tend to overlap in personality here and there. You¡¯re a first draft pick.¡± She rummages around in her pockets and pulls out a small confetti cannon, spraying me with the stuff. ¡°Congrats.¡±


    I let my head stop pulsing for a moment before I can speak again, because this is a lot of information for someone who barely knows what¡¯s going on. ¡°So¡­what am I meant to do? You said something about objectives?¡±


    ¡°Basically just things you need to do,¡± she says. ¡°I don¡¯t know ¡®em. Just the intern, remember?¡±


    ¡°So what can you tell me?¡± I ask, a little exasperated and almost swallowing bits of colorful plastic.


    She slides the piece of paper back inside the drawer and thinks for a moment. ¡°Well, considering you¡¯re on the most basic contract offerable, your soul was used as a down payment for most of your abilities. But there was apparently some kind of issue in accounting when they were running the numbers, and your soul is kinda bleh in total, so we could only use half of it. Good news is that you¡¯ve got cooler magic now. Bad news is that usually, you¡¯re given a Training Period of about a month to get everything under control, preferably with a previous holder of your contract¡ªyou met one, Andrea?¡ªbut since your soul was kinda iffy, you¡¯ve got about a day and a half to get them down before you actually need to start paying for all your snazzy new abilities. Oh, and no Andrea, too.¡±


    I¡¯m hung up on about all of what she just said, so I ask, ¡°What?¡±


    A shout from beyond the door makes us both flinch.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Judy mutters. ¡°Been away from my desk for too long. I swear, she just had to take a holiday during our busiest season in millenia.¡± She walks around the desk and puts her hand on my shoulder. ¡°Look, all you really need to know is that you¡¯ve now got more magic than a lot of people can even dream of, but you¡¯ve got to earn it, and you don¡¯t have access to almost any of it right now. You get a sword and a shield and a lasso if you¡¯re lucky, but that¡¯ll only be for a day like I said. Then you¡¯ve got to start killing Monsters. Bigger kills equals bigger rewards and more things you can do. Impress a couple of gods and dead heroes and they might be willing to invest in your contract and help you along. Now, I¡¯ve gotta run. If you need me, call me. Dial 0-100-Arcadia & Co, ask for Judy, and you¡¯ll get me in a heartbeat. I¡¯ll be sending over a Familiar in a few hours once I find one compatible, cool?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I say, grabbing her wrist before she can leave. ¡°No, that¡¯s not cool, dude. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on or what you just said! Am I, like, some kind of goddess now? How do I know if I¡¯m even doing the right thing?¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯re you so hung up about this?¡± she asks, cocking an eyebrow. ¡°You literally signed the contract, didn¡¯t you read it beforehand?¡± And you know what? I don¡¯t like her invasive questions, thank you very much.


    ¡°...sure I did. I just need a refresher.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s with you contract holders and skipping over fine print?¡± she mutters. ¡°Look, I¡¯m gonna get in a lot of trouble if my supervisor finds out the lady meant to be sitting in the leather chair has been missing, so I¡¯m gonna keep this short: do your best, and everything else will fall into place. If you¡¯re confused, just use this thing.¡± I watch her reach into her back pocket and pull out an entire backpack, almost like the one I had a few days before I got iced in Dogway, and¡­How the hell? Where did she even get that thing? ¡°It¡¯s got a training manual, some snack bars I stole from the vending machine, power-aid and magic-aid gummies, the green ones, and a company dagger.¡±


    I take it, because she forces it into my hands the moment a darker, larger outline begins heading toward the office we¡¯re in. Before I can ask Judy why Arcadia & Co has a company dagger that she somehow has, she¡¯s gone.


    But not before she gives me a thumbs up and says, ¡°P.S., you¡¯ve got this. And duck when you get back.¡±

 Sixteen - MageHunt

    There are better times to start wondering what I¡¯ve gotten myself into, and I¡¯ve got enough sense to know now isn¡¯t one of those times. I take Judy¡¯s advice and duck. The bullet whistles past, splitting my hair and punching a hole into the elevator¡¯s metal wall. I swear, use my momentum from ducking to carry me forward, and barrel into the guy wearing a colorful suit still holding a pistol. When my shoulder rams into his gut, I squeeze the AngelWeight¡¯s trigger and put a round through his kneecap, buckling him and making him scream. Forearm around his throat, back to my chest, gun to his head, facing the six guys standing in the room. I pant, sweat and lick my teeth before I shout: ¡°I don¡¯t wanna put a body on my books but I will if you force me, so relax, and everyone gets to go home!¡±


    The others blink, almost coming out of whatever haze that¡¯s still hanging over everyone¡¯s heads. Must be something to do with vanishing and coming back, or whatever. Don¡¯t really know and don¡¯t really care right now.


    Victoria heads out first, gun raised and firing three shots, all of the bullets going in three heads. Bodies thud on the floor, spraying their brains on the book cases and large, cigarette smoke-stained windows behind them. Morgan shoves past me and swings her bat, cracking a guy¡¯s shoulder so badly you can hear the crunch from both times she smashes the bat into his body and then against his head, turning his skull into meat. Smaller runes on her neck glow a deep blue, and that¡¯s when I figure out she¡¯s some kind of Berserker Pledge. Normal people don¡¯t just bust someone¡¯s head open with one swing of a metal baseball bat. Two left, but they¡¯re making a human wall now.


    Because our target is sitting there in his comfy leather couch, shaking himself with anger as he tries to wipe the blood off his face with a napkin. His skin is pale, pretty and porcelain, with a mane of slick-back black hair and pointy ears. Ears too pointy for just a normal Elf. Nokarian. You can always tell, because some kind of genetic mutation makes the tips of their ears a deep scarlet. Expensive suit, no tie, chest out and a bottle of blood-covered booze on the table in front of him, but here¡¯s the catch: there¡¯s two of ¡®em sitting at the table, which isn¡¯t the plan.


    There was meant to be one person in tonight, maybe a few girls, sure, but just the Elf.


    It¡¯s a standoff the second the thugs¡¯ brains catch up to the surprise. Nobody moves, nobody breathes. Vicky is standing partially in front of me, not blocking my moaning, groaning meat shield, but keeping her pistol ready.


    In my frantic mess of a mind, trying to ignore the droplets of sweat stinging my eyes, I look at the other person at the table sitting opposite Mr. Hark, because they¡¯re staring at me, too, and I¡¯ve got to repay them the favor. But I don¡¯t even know what I¡¯m looking at right now. Our animal masks hide our identities, our gritted teeth and the sweat sitting on our brows, but this other person is wearing a mask. Bandages, I guess, is a better word. Head-to-toe, wrapped in a slew of them, and they still chose to put themselves in a comfy purple baggy silk shirt and black pants. They¡¯ve got holes for a mouth and a strip along their eyes, which are gray, dead, almost distant and chilling. Their mouth, though, is a wide, toothy smile, parted by the cigarette they¡¯re smoking and the alcohol they drink.


    Casually, too, like all of this is some circus they came into town expecting to watch.


    ¡°WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU PEOPLE?¡± Hark shouts, standing up, but not getting any further than the three guys standing in front of him. He makes sure not to step in the bloody puddle of one of his other thugs when he does. ¡°Have you got any clue who you¡¯re fuckin¡¯ wit? I will put you in a grave so deep I¡¯ll dig a damn Rift!¡±


    ¡°Sid,¡± Vicky says, jerking her head. ¡°Drop ¡®em.¡±


    Astrid waves her hand, then clenches her fist. A pulse of white magic flares around her, and the next thing we know, those two guys with guns collapse onto the floor, knocking over the bottle of liquor and the full ashtrays on their way to the shag carpet. She can do that? I thought she was a Knight Pledge at first. Girl knows spells, too. That means she¡¯s got two Pledges down, at least somewhat. I glance at her, not turning my head but eyeing her. She doesn¡¯t look at me, only stares at the bodies on the floor, her fist still clenched as her threads of white magic slowly suffocate them until they¡¯re either dead or completely comatose. My stomach feels weird standing here next to her, almost like I¡¯m jealous, maybe envious, because Alexandria has all five Pledges down, the only person in the modern day to even come close to mastering them, and here comes our bitch of a First Sword with two of them.


    She could have done that to me if she really wanted to, but she didn¡¯t, which only bitters my saliva.


    I take my anger out on the dude I¡¯m holding, whacking the butt of my gun into the back of his head hard enough to put him on his one good knee, and then face-first onto the floor, out cold. I stand over him and ignore Astrid as she stands beside me, placid, cold, with her freakishly poignant and icy magic rubbing against my skin.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I whisper to her. She turns her head a little. ¡°What do we do with the other guy?¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°What other guy?¡± Astrid asks dryly. ¡°Hark is the only one here.¡±


    I glance at Morgan. She shrugs, not knowing what I¡¯m saying. The man in bandages hasn¡¯t stopped staring right at me, blood slowly spreading through the white cloth wrapped around his chest, not caring one little bit.


    ¡°Mr. Hark,¡± Vicky says, stepping over the body and onto the carpet. The person covered in bandages sits there drinking their whiskey, watching this all play out. ¡°I¡¯ve got a proposal you¡¯re probably not gonna like.¡±


    ¡°I know you,¡± Hark snarls, stepping backward, stumbling over bodies. ¡°You¡¯re that thing. You should''ve been decommissioned years ago! Oh, we paid top dollar for you, bitch. You should be thankful, not some ailing Guild¡¯s attack dog. Went around talking all big, sayin¡¯ how you¡¯re more than a weapon, and now look at you!¡±


    Victoria says, ¡°Sit and be a good boy, so we can call your daddy to come save you.¡±


    His face gets even paler the moment his back presses against the window and Victoria is towering over him. ¡°Platinum? You want him? Are you out of your damn minds?! He¡¯ll kill me if I get in the way of his wo¡ª¡±


    She puts the gun to his jaw, which, from experience, shuts people up very quickly. ¡°Sit. Down.¡±


    For a moment, it almost looks as if he¡¯s going to maybe reach for the gun, but his jaw is clenched and his eyes are wide. Sweat glistens on his brow, and the thing about Nokarian¡¯s is that they¡¯re some of the rarest Elves you can ever come across. Apparently, way back when Rifts were tearing the world open and Dread Titans were gouging out Earth¡¯s guts, these guys were hunted down for their blood, their skin, their bones and every fibre of hair on their bodies. They¡¯re the kind of things we like to call Milkers in the bounty hunting scene, because you put ¡®em in a cage and feed them what they want, and you can keep taking bits out of them each day, enough to have your family set for generations, simply ¡®cause of the amount of raw magic that lives within them. I¡¯m talking pure, unadulterated magic that can heal anyone, energize anything, and turn your empty pockets into bulging sacks of golden dough. I¡¯ve got to stop myself from carressing the trigger, because there¡¯s instinct in my veins, screaming at me to do what I so badly want to do right now and put a bullet between those slit eyes of his. But I don¡¯t shoot him. I swallow and white-knuckle the pistol, keeping it beside me. They said spoils are for the taking? Cool, yeah, I can deal with that.


    When we eventually dump him, a stray bullet might find his body on the curb, just sayin¡¯.


    I¡¯ll be out of here soon, anyway. All¡¯s fair in love and war.


    And when all you¡¯re trying to do is make cash, you¡¯ve just gotta understand.


    Mr. Hark tries something stupid and grabs Vicky¡¯s arm. She grabs his wrist, spins him around, and pins him to the wall with just one hand. He struggles and roars in pain, but her gun is still hot, which she makes sure he knows when he presses it to the base of his skull. The stink of singed skin makes my nose wrinkle the next second.


    ¡°Listen here, you Elven fuck,¡± she snarls. ¡°I thought about being nice for a moment, about not having to tie you up and drag your body out into the streets like some dead little dog, but I¡¯m gonna do you one better and tell you what¡¯s going to happen next: I¡¯m going to put you in the back of a van, and then we¡¯re going on a field trip. If you want to come back from our vacay, you¡¯re gonna do what I say, when I say it, and exactly how I say it.¡±


    ¡°Who the hell do you think you are?¡± he says, struggling to breathe with his chest pressing against the window. ¡°Platinum¡¯s gonna have your head on a platter, I swear! Get your godsdamned, grubby monkey paws¡ª¡±


    She does what she promised him and smashes his head through the window. His body stays there limp, half of it hanging outside the building like he¡¯s just seen something really interesting on the pavement below. The breeze wafts in, muggy and hot, but the distant shriek of police sirens tells us everything we need to know about what¡¯s coming next. As planned, Morgan¡¯s got a body bag with her, which she and Astrid make sure that Hark fits inside of, then zip it up and give it all to Victoria to carry on her shoulder. I¡¯m first into the elevator, punch the button and hold the doors, waiting for Morgan to grab anything shiny that can fit in her pockets before Vicky loses her cool and shouts at her to hurry up. She finishes stripping a dead guy of his golden bracelet and another of his diamond watch, and for extra measure, when she bundles into the elevator next to me, I raise my AngelWeight.


    Then put one through the bandaged guy¡¯s skull. His head snaps backward, the bullet jerking his neck into an awkward angle. He slumps onto the couch and drops the cigarette and the alcohol onto the floor. The others spin around at the sound of the gunshot, stopping their fussing over Hark¡¯s limp body. I slowly walk to his body, still feeling that odd, skin-crawling feeling I¡¯d gotten on the way over here. I press the gun to his jaw, turning his head from side to side, making sure he¡¯s dead. I swallow, then check his trousers, taking the golden zippo lighter in his pocket. With a piece of cloth torn off a dead body forced into the open end of a bottle, I light the end and smash the bottle against the bookcase. In case you¡¯re wondering, no, they don¡¯t explode in an instant, but they burn and they burn quickly, and you don¡¯t get to buy me like I¡¯m some object and keep making money in the same breath. Tough.


    I¡¯d like to call it retribution, but I kinda just like torching someone¡¯s hard-earned property. You don¡¯t get to have an office two times bigger than my whole apartment off the backs of buying people, that¡¯s just not what I like to hear. When I finally get into the elevator, I don¡¯t look at the others. Astrid¡¯s eyes tell me she¡¯s got something she badly wants to tell me, especially when the fire begins to catch and burn and chew and crackle, but the doors are shut by then, and the stink of smoke is trapped upstairs, at least for a few minutes, before everything burns.


    Vicky says nothing. Morgan grunts quietly, resting her bloody bat on her shoulder.


    And revenge isn¡¯t best served cold, by the way. The hotter the better.


    Preferably hot enough to take down an entire building.

 Seventeen - MageHunt

    The cops, unfortunately, aren¡¯t very big fans of my handy work. San Fraccuros is a police-governed city, one of the very few still standing along the coastline, too. Their gun laws are tight and the mayor likes to run his mouth and make it clear that anyone who has an unlicensed firearm is going to be put against a wall and taken to hell with it. What does the president say about all of this? Go ahead and figure out which one they are this week, because last I checked, some Nomadic, cyber-tech wearing gang strung him up on the Freedom Isles and let his body get eaten away by a murder of ravenous Fallen Angels on national television. That¡¯s how New America spent its birthday.


    But I don¡¯t really care about voting in the newest soon-to-be corpse when we¡¯ve got to pretend like we don¡¯t have a man¡¯s limp body in the back of our van everytime a police car passes us. The trick isn¡¯t to shoot off into the distance, wheels squealing and guns blazing out the back of the van. Drive like the maniacs around you, which is usually above the speed limit, and mind your business. Since Vicky hitched a ride with Dallas in his bright yellow muscle car dozens of cars ahead of our own, I get to sit shotgun beside May, meaning I¡¯ve got a view in the side mirrors of the Burning Moon going up in flames. A tower of back smoke rises into the sky, almost high enough to get to the AVs up there, too. I can¡¯t help but smile, not even stopping by the time we grab Runt from Lu¡¯s house and head off for the rest of the journey south out of the city and into the Barrens. I think you did a pretty good job.


    I don¡¯t know who Platinum is, and frankly, I don¡¯t really care. Who does he think he is, buying me like I¡¯m some piece of property? Gods know what he even did to me when I was there. Can¡¯t remember anything other than darkness, dull sounds, screaming and thumping and a venomous, white-toothed smile. My memory is in bits and pieces, but I can¡¯t get hung up about any of it right now. I¡¯m gonna cash in after this job and head back home. Mama still needs to figure out who trashed her apartment, then find Jane before I completely lose her. Might not have known the chick for ages, but she was growing on me. Besides, she¡¯s the one person in my life who probably can¡¯t leave, even if she wanted to, considering I¡¯d watched her body get dissolved into bones via soul poisoning.


    ¡°That was metal,¡± May says quietly. I turn my head to look at her. I only notice now that one of her hands isn¡¯t really hers, but some kind of steel-wear with skin loosely stuck to it. Too rigid, too stiff. Huh. ¡°Burning it all.¡±


    I shrug and unzip my overalls, getting out of the sweaty, smoke covered thing. ¡°Just another day. Had this one friend called Sam, she would¡¯ve called me a pussy for only burning it. She would¡¯ve wanted an explosion.¡±


    Speak of the devil, because the ground shudders, soon followed by a whumph of light and sound.


    Guess I spoke too soon.


    ¡°Raise hell, Salem,¡± Morgan says, thumping my seat. ¡°Raise hell until the Angels come home.¡±


    May grins, and you know what? I think she¡¯s kinda cute, with those freckles and short hair pulled into a ponytail, but that¡¯s the adrenaline talking. My racing heartbeat wanting something to latch itself onto. Excess energy and all that, so I¡¯ll keep it in my pants for now. ¡°Bitchin¡¯,¡± she says. ¡°Remind me to rig a few next time.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s not meant to be a next time,¡± Astrid says from behind us. ¡°This was meant to be a one-time job and you¡¯ve now put us into a situation where Platinum is going to want to find whoever burned down his club.¡±


    ¡°Let the bastard come,¡± I say, folding my arms. ¡°I¡¯ll set him on fire, too.¡±


    Morgan chuckles. ¡°I like this broad.¡±


    ¡°I can help!¡± Runt says.


    ¡°Hell yeah, kid. I like your enthusiasm. Who¡¯s up for round two, huh?¡±


    The blocky radio sitting on the dashboard crackles, then: ¡°I¡¯d prefer that we didn¡¯t try our luck. It was a lot easier than I would¡¯ve thought it would be, but I won¡¯t tempt fate by spitting in her face, so we¡¯ll count out lucky stars and keep our heads low. There¡¯s gonna be a traffic stop heading out of Frac in a few minutes, so you girls better be on your best behavior or I swear to the gods none of you is getting paid. Drive smart, be smart, and for the love of all that¡¯s holy, please don¡¯t be stupid. All it takes to set these guys off is a gust of wind, and next thing you know, you¡¯ve got their gun in your face and a bullet munching on your brains.¡± Runt giggles and gags. ¡°We¡¯ll keep radio chatter low until you pass Magtroleum¡¯s drilling stations. Pretty hard not to miss. Old, derelict, bunch of raiders. Won¡¯t be stopping until we hit a gas station. Toilet, water, then we¡¯re back on the road. The Barrens are too iffy for a nap, so if you¡¯re gonna sleep, do it from the police stop to the drilling station. After that, I need everyone awake.¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    ¡°She talks like we¡¯re some pricks in the military,¡± I mutter.


    ¡°You should¡¯ve seen the time she made Morgan spit-polish her sneakers because she blew ten grand on a baseball bat,¡± May says. ¡°Girl was fumin¡¯ the entire day, trynna use a toothbrush and saliva to clean her shoes.¡±


    I whistle quietly. ¡°Old World dollar or¡­?¡±


    ¡°The Asian kind,¡± she says. Holy hells. Ten grand asdol on a bat? That can buy me a penthouse in Oceanica and a cute maid who¡¯d serve me cocktails whenever I wanted. ¡°Vic nearly blew an artery yelling at her.¡±


    ¡°Worth every dime,¡± Morgan says, patting the metal bat sitting beside her.


    Astrid grabs the radio and says, ¡°I¡¯ll make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible. We won¡¯t be too far behind. We¡¯ll radio in every thirty minutes to make sure you know where we are. But¡­I¡¯ve got a question.¡±


    ¡°Shoot,¡± Victoria says. ¡°Got one chance before you¡¯ve got to sit on it for a handful of hours, babe.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s about Kacey,¡± she says. I look into the mirror and meet her eyes. We¡¯re getting into the outskirts of Frac, and that means more palm trees, more strung up purple and yellow lights that splash their color onto our faces everytime we pass them. ¡°Her actions at the Burning Moon mean that Platinum is going to want to find us, yes?¡±


    ¡°Probably,¡± Vicky says. ¡°But we¡¯re not sticking around to find out. Besides, that¡¯s all Kacey. If he¡¯s got a problem with someone, it¡¯s her, not us.¡± We sit in silence for a moment, the van going over a street that hasn¡¯t been paved properly in years. I chew on my tongue and look out the window, my stomach swimming, but not with nerves and not with betrayal¡ªthis is just how it works, and I¡¯m fine with that. You get in a hunting party and you piss off a Warlock, then that¡¯s your problem, just as long as everyone¡¯s cut isn¡¯t tampered with in the end. Had enough screw ups in the past to know that getting cut is just survival. No beef or lingering hatred. Just gotta do what¡¯s good for you and the majority. I guess that¡¯s why I haven¡¯t seen my siblings in years. ¡°Anything else you need to ask, Sid?¡±


    ¡°None,¡± Astrid says. ¡°Good luck. We¡¯re coming to the checkpoint. We¡¯ll see you at the drilling station.¡±


    ¡°Copy that,¡± Vicky says. ¡°V, out.¡±


    The radio clicks, going dead. Astrid holds onto it, folding her arms. ¡°Best behavior.¡± We meet eyes again in the rearview mirror. No warmth in there to find. No hospitality. ¡°I don¡¯t need another fuck up, is that clear?¡±


    Nobody says anything, and I figure it¡¯s better to turn up the music, drowning out Hark¡¯s swearing.


    Runt, though, sticks her head between the gap of our sweets, baseball cap backwards and a lick of hair coming loose in front of her face. ¡°Kacey?¡± she whispers, tugging my sleeve. I lean in. ¡°You¡¯re really cool.¡±


    I can¡¯t help but smile and ruffle her hair. ¡°Keep eating your veggies and you¡¯ll be better than me.¡±


    ¡°What if I wanna be like you instead?¡± she asks. ¡°That means I don¡¯t have to eat all of them, right?¡±


    I put my arms behind my head. ¡°Trust me,¡± I mutter, looking into the rearview mirror¡ªAstrid¡¯s silvery eyes glow the same color as her sword, everything else illuminated as the Burning Moon and the neon city lights our tiny van, ¡°the last thing you want to be is me. Be your own thing, live your own life.¡± I look back at her and smile. ¡°And raise all the right kinds of hell, but make it yours.¡± I turn back around and angle the rearview mirror, making sure I don¡¯t have to see Astrid¡¯s glare in its reflection anymore. I shut my eyes and let the party city central flicker past my window, May quietly humming to herself and Morgan reading through a magazine; Juniper fast asleep and Runt bothering Astrid with all kinds of questions. In some ways, I think, it kinda feels like being with them again.


    But I guess the Valentine Guild died with her leader, and some dreams just don¡¯t last.


    Unless you¡¯ve got the money to pay for the monthly subscription, of course.


    Who knows? Maybe after this gig, I might just be able to afford it.

 Eighteen - MageHunt

    I only realize I¡¯ve fallen asleep when someone nudges my leg. It¡¯s a reflex to grab their wrist and nearly hit them, but it¡¯s just May in the driver¡¯s seat, bags underneath her eyes and a very exhausted smile on her face. I blink and look around. We¡¯ve stopped somewhere off the main road a long way past the checkpoint. Night in the Barrens is a scary thing. Pitch black landscape tinted by the cracked moon¡¯s silvery light. Old windmills stand like skeletons in the desert, creaking and groaning in the silence, pumping water and electricity for people that aren¡¯t alive anymore. My head hurts and I¡¯ve come out of a nightmare. Blood, guts, a wolfish smile, over and over like a broken record.


    Nothing I¡¯ve seen before. Must be from the days, maybe week or so when I was bought recently.


    I massage my face and look over my shoulder. Hark is silent in his body bag on the floor. Morgan is out cold, her head tilted back and mouth open as she snores. Runt¡¯s head is resting on her lap, fingers moving as she plays some video game that¡¯s got her biting her tongue in concentration. Juniper is fast asleep, curled up on the bench, no longer moaning about her tummy and instead mumbling. Astrid might be asleep, but I¡¯m not sure. Never seen anyone fall asleep with their arms folded and eyes shut, back straight and jaw clenched. She doesn¡¯t move. Not one bit. Sleeps like she¡¯s ready for a fight. Her glowing white sword sits between her legs, pulsing repeatedly like it¡¯s connected to her heartbeat. I wipe my mouth and look back at May, then gesture to ask her what was wrong.


    Because I can¡¯t see Vicky or Dallas anywhere in front of us. The strip of tarmac cutting through the Barrens is marked on a map sitting on the fuzzy dashboard, some place called Devil¡¯s Skid. Long strip of highway that runs alongside a railway that was meant to be some kind of bullet train before the world went to hell. Streetlights appear here and there, but not often enough to stop most of it being drenched in darkness. On the bright side, there¡¯s a tiny phone booth just a few feet away from the van, but on the bad side, it¡¯s so cold my teeth are starting to chatter.


    ¡°I¡¯m beat,¡± May says. ¡°Been driving for hours. V and D saw raiders at the drilling station and she figured we should keep shootin¡¯ for the motel instead. Should make it there by morning, but that¡¯s four hours away.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± I say, unbuckling my belt and stretching. ¡°Want me to grab the wheel?¡±


    ¡°If we fix the engine first, sure.¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± I mutter. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with it?¡±


    She gestures at the slivers of smoke escaping through the gaps in the hood. ¡°Overheating. When we got you from Platinum, old girl took a beating from some of his guys. I¡¯ve patched up the bodywork, because that¡¯s all I really had the time to do, but her guts were pretty badly torn up. Duct tape fixes a lot of things, but eventually¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna be honest,¡± I say. ¡°Tell me to kill a Leviathan and I¡¯ll figure it out in about a day. Tell me to fix a car and I¡¯m gonna be there all night figuring out why I¡¯m holding the manual upside down. But¡±¡ªI groan and stretch one more time, then open the door, and holy seven hells, it¡¯s cold¡ª¡°you¡¯re cute, so I¡¯ll help you out.¡±


    Her cheeks redden a little as she steps outside as well. ¡°Never took a bounty hunter for a flirt.¡±


    ¡°Live by your means, ¡®cause one day you¡¯re just dead,¡± I say, shutting the door. I shiver but try to stop myself from looking like a leaf in the wind. Nothing but silence for miles. I¡¯ve still got the gun in my waistband, and before you ask, yes, I slept with it¡ªscrew you and your gun safety course. ¡°My uncle said that, because my family doesn''t have a great shelf life, you know. Gotta kiss who you can and make as much money as possible.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a recipe for heartbreak and poverty,¡± she says, pulling a bandana out of her pocket.


    I shrug. ¡°If nobody comes for my funeral and I¡¯m buried in some tupperware, then I owe you five bucks.¡±


    ¡°Make that a cold beer and some Orc ribs, and we¡¯ve got a deal.¡±


    I smile. ¡°Looks like I¡¯ve got to get rich either way, then, to afford that.¡±


    May pops open the hood and I stand beside her. I do her a favor and hold a torch to the mess of very hot metal and the oils sputtering on surfaces that I think shouldn¡¯t have oil on them in the first place. It looks like charred spaghetti and stinks like roadkill. She swears and massages her eyes. ¡°Radiator¡¯s been punched right through. See that?¡± I lean closer and nod, squinting to see a ripped mesh-looking thing halfway obliterated. ¡°Glad I spent extra on getting a first-hand bulk plate to protect the engine. V said it was stupid, but look at me now.¡± She laughs, not bitterly, but just pretty exhausted¡ªtired to the bone. ¡°Should¡¯ve upgraded the exterior, though, too.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me this thing isn¡¯t bulletproof?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°Oh, no, she is,¡± May says, using the bandana to wipe her face and then tie her hair back with it. ¡°But being bulletproof doesn¡¯t mean it stays bulletproof. I keep telling them I need time to get this thing fully fixed, but it¡¯s one job after the other until we¡¯re all dropping like flies, including Betsy over here.¡± She leans on the van and looks into the engine bay, eyes scanning, jaw getting more tense. ¡°I figure I can do it, but it¡¯s not gonna be pretty.¡±


    The next second, and a piece of the engine gets shot right through the hood. We both flinch and duck, then look through the bolt-sized holes that''ve been made and the stars shining through it. The sounds coming from inside the engine aren¡¯t any better, kinda like a blender that¡¯s trying to chew up bits of metal. I look over at May.


    ¡°I think Betsy¡¯s just called it quits,¡± she mutters. ¡°Rest in peace, engine number five.¡± She crosses herself and gently punches the headlight, a thin smile on her face, almost like she really is sad that her van just died.


    ¡°How far away is Vicky?¡± I ask. ¡°We should call this in.¡±


    ¡°No radio signal out here,¡± Astrid says, climbing out from the passenger side. No sword. No stretching. The girl looks as clean as we did when we first left Lu¡¯s house. She stands with her arms folded, looking at the engine and then the hood. A moment later, and those shards of metal from the engine that got sent into lower earth orbit clatter onto the road and the van¡¯s roof. ¡°Hm. I don¡¯t think this is a favorable situation for any of us in the slightest. May, if we manage to get you parts, spare, old, anything, do you think you can get her to run for a little while?¡±


    ¡°Would an Angel refuse a pint of tequila?¡± she mutters, leaning against Betsy.


    ¡°Guess it¡¯s gonna be a night under the stars,¡± I say, looking up at the sky. It genuinely is stunning out here. We don¡¯t get much of the sky anymore in New Salem. If you can pay for a few wind Sprites to clear it up for you, then you¡¯re lucky enough to afford clean drinking water, too. This? This has my mouth slightly open. ¡°Not bad.¡±


    ¡°Not happening,¡± Astrid says, taking the torch from me. ¡°The chances of us getting caught by scavs or raiders or bands of roaming Monsters isn¡¯t our fight to have. Little ammo, even smaller amounts of food. We¡¯ve got several hours until dawn and we were scheduled to get to the motel at about midday with a working vehicle, and with one in its current state, that¡¯ll be late afternoon if we start pushing right now, so we best get our legs moving.¡±


    We both stare at her, because that¡¯s got to be a really, really, really dry joke, right?


    ¡­right?


    ¡°You want us to haul these two tons worth of steel across the Barrens at night?¡± May asks her. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Astrid rolls up her sleeves. Her hair is already tied back, but trust me, she would¡¯ve done that, too, if she had the chance. ¡°The Barrens aren¡¯t known for their hills, and V won¡¯t want any excuses for why we¡¯re so late.¡±


    ¡°I think she¡¯s gonna have to understand, considering we don¡¯t even have an engine,¡± I mutter.


    ¡°Or most of a tire,¡± May says. Astrid and I follow her voice around the van, near the back end where the left rear is slumped and flat. Astrid stares at it whilst May crouches low, gesturing for the torch as she sticks her head underneath the van, trying to find whatever it is that took out the tire. Personally? I can¡¯t freaking believe it. Pretty ridiculous if you ask me. All a girl wanted was some money and some revenge, and now I get to change a tire in the freezing cold and push a van right through one of the most dangerous Wastes in the country! Amazing! Totally rad!


    ¡°Fuck¡¯s going on?¡± Out through the driver¡¯s side door comes Morgan, half-stumbling nearly face first into an overgrown bush the size of her. She¡¯s barefoot and in very short jean shorts, short enough to see the pockets under their frayed ends and her choppy silver hair a mess. I tell her what¡¯s going on, and she does what I think is best for us, and lights a cigarette, pulls on it, swears, and hands it to myself, who then hands it to May. Astrid, for once, doesn¡¯t have much to say, and when I gesture for her to take it, she doesn¡¯t say no, but doesn¡¯t take it either.


    ¡°Verdict?¡± Astrid asks when May pushes herself out from underneath the van.


    She dusts herself off and I grab her forearm, hauling her up. ¡°Fucked.¡±


    ¡°Technical language would be more appreciated.¡±


    May lists them off on her fingers, cigarette in her mouth and bandana now around her neck. ¡°Exhaust fell off and I¡¯ve got no clue when that happened. The tire¡¯s carcass is shredded, which is weird, ¡®cause I would¡¯ve felt that when we either flipped over or shrieked to a halt, which we didn¡¯t. Underside is smashed to bits, meaning the engine¡¯s been pissing itself dry for the better part of several hours, ¡®cause there¡¯s nothing left in there. Most of what¡¯s on me is engine oil and grease leaking from who knows where, and¡­¡± She shrugs and flaps her arms. ¡°It¡¯s like some Gremlin is sneakin¡¯ around inside and taking it apart, y¡¯know? It¡¯s weird. Bad luck? No way. Not that.¡±


    ¡°Are you positive that you were driving it properly?¡± Astrid asks. ¡°I remember the road being bad.¡±


    ¡°Was that before or after you fell asleep and enjoyed the rest of the ride?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a history of not quite driving slow, May,¡± Astrid says, her voice nearly as cold as the wind that bites me so hard I wrap my arms around myself. ¡°That¡¯s why I suggested that you and I should be taking turns.¡±


    ¡°Nobody drives Betsy except me, ¡®cause until you pick up a fuckin¡¯ spanner and help, you can fuck off.¡±


    ¡°No reason to be hostile since it¡¯s your handiwork that¡¯s let us all down.¡±


    ¡°For your sake, Sid, I¡¯m gonna pretend you ain¡¯t just say that.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± she says. ¡°It¡¯s better to have a cool head at times like this.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re an asshole,¡± I mutter. Before Astrid can say anything, I continue: ¡°Look, we¡¯re pretty screwed, and we can fight all we want, and I think there¡¯s one person we should blame for all of this, and that¡¯s only Astrid.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± she asks, eyebrows rising.


    ¡°You¡¯re our leader, right? The one who kisses Vicky¡¯s ass the most. You¡¯re telling me that in all your ass-kissing, boot-licking greatness, that you didn¡¯t once think that we wouldn¡¯t be able to reach her at some point?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± She tenses her jaw and meets my eyes, then looks at May. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect something like this.¡±


    I snort and say, ¡°What a great leader you turned out to be.¡±


    ¡°Be quiet for a sec and smoke your cigarette,¡± Morgan says, sticking the tar into my mouth. ¡°Hear that?¡±


    We all strain to listen to absolutely nothing.


    ¡°That¡¯s how amazing the world sounds when you don¡¯t have three broads bitching in your ear about who fucked up when we¡¯re all pretty darned fucked,¡± Morgan says. ¡°Don¡¯t know about you guys, but I grew up around people who got shit done, and right now, we need to get shit done. Isn¡¯t there some kind of map inside the van? There¡¯s gotta be a town somewhere around these parts, right? The drills didn¡¯t shut down too long ago either. All those workers have got to live somewhere, and Magtroleum isn¡¯t gonna rent out their highrises to bottom feeders.¡±


    ¡°Angel Beach,¡± I say, blowing out smoke. They all look at me. ¡°Not my first time out here. There¡¯s a place called Angel Beach. Old resort that never got finished when MageCo thought they were doing the world a favor and making an unholy abomination of a resort in the middle of nowhere, I guess because the executives wanted somewhere cushy to live when they were still hoping most of the Breaches wouldn¡¯t dry up. It¡¯s a shanty town now. Raiders. Monsters. Scavs. The lot of ¡®em. Bad place, easy gas, iffy magical connection, but if you give a person what they want, they¡¯re gonna give you what you need, and right now, we need a car to get out of here. Quickly.¡±


    Astrid¡¯s eyes narrow. ¡°It almost sounds as if you¡¯ve got someone waiting for us there.¡±


    ¡°If you think I¡¯d sell you guys, you¡¯re absolutely right,¡± I say, then laugh. ¡°I¡¯m kidding. Everyone is so amped up right now I might as well cool you guys off.¡± I nudge Astrid. She isn¡¯t amused. Tough crowd. ¡°But I don¡¯t have anyone there that I know. Most of the people I did went East for something better or died trying to get richer. Just the name of the game, you know? Gonna have to look at the map and figure out if it¡¯s close or not, though.¡±


    ¡°What if it¡¯s not?¡± May asks me.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ve got another option, but you¡¯re not gonna like it.¡±


    Astrid sighs quietly. ¡°Let¡¯s hear it.¡±


    ¡°We build a campfire and make Elf s¡¯mores.¡± They all stare at me like I¡¯m pretty stupid, but I think it¡¯s as good of a time as any to stop with the jokes, because nobody here knows how to make a rough situation bearable. These guys wouldn¡¯t last a minute in New Salem. Get bogged down in your own bullshit and you get distracted by the things trying to kill you, or the people trying to tax you for almost all you¡¯re worth, and then you end up pretty dead, pretty quickly, so suck it up and square your shoulders, princess, that¡¯s just life. Jane would¡¯ve found that at least a little funny or would have humored me. Gods, I miss that beautiful talking head. ¡°Think about it, alright? We ward off travelers and we take watch, rotating every other hour until it¡¯s sunrise. Pushing this thing anywhere is stupid, because that just means you¡¯re a wounded animal in a slaughterhouse full of things that would rather want to eat us, enslave us, or rape us. The Barrens don¡¯t play games with you, so holding out until daytime is smarter.¡±


    ¡°You think we¡¯d survive an entire night in a single location surrounded by Monsters?¡± Astrid asks.


    ¡°Oh, please,¡± I say, waving my hand through the air. ¡°My mom¡¯s done it plenty of times.¡±


    ¡°And where¡¯s she now?¡± May asks. ¡°Hopefully not in some tupperware.¡±


    ¡°Last I checked, down a well,¡± I say, and this time I¡¯m not kidding. ¡°But that¡¯s beside the point. We make a fire and keep watch, two of us alert at a time, and then we tap out and swap over. The van is reinforced enough to hide in it if things get really bad. But all we¡¯ve literally got to do is keep our heads together and just not die. Easy.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Astrid says. ¡°No, that¡¯s not easy, it¡¯s suicide. We need to make progress toward¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stop suckling on Victoria¡¯s tits and think for yourself. Fuck sake, are you stupid? Think for once.¡±


    Her jaw tenses, but it¡¯s bitterly cold outside, and a harsh breeze has just thrown dust into our mouths and eyes and dimmed the cigarette. We stare at one another, because she really is starting to annoy me. People who snap to attention without a single thought crossing their mind scare me, because give them a gun and tell them to kill the person standing in the mirror, and they¡¯ll do it. I grew up being taught to question and to grab opportunities, to not take disrespect and to make sure your jaw is clenched and your fists are up. Mom would''ve hated Astrid, and I¡¯ll be honest, a part of me really doesn¡¯t want to lug this hump of steel across one of the most dangerous areas in New America just because someone said I should be at a motel in a few hours¡¯ time, so you know what, dear diary?


    Fuck that and fuck whatever else Astrid has to say, because I¡¯m taking my chance tonight.


    Kacey Summers is gonna sleep under the stars, because I haven¡¯t seen them since I was six, and I haven¡¯t smelt air this clean since I was twelve. Life might get bad sometimes, sure, but I¡¯ve seen bad, and this isn¡¯t that.


    Take it from the chick who just took a bullet to the head.

 Nineteen - MageHunt

    I think it¡¯s the hunger that¡¯ll kill us before any Monster. I¡¯m stuck with splinters underneath my fingernails and dirt caking my hands from pulling up bushes and shrubs, getting cut by thorns, and trying to start a fire. Good thing that I kept the bandage guy¡¯s zippo lighter. I managed to light the kindling and blow on it until it was a healthy lashing orange tongue spitting smoke at the stars. The cold didn¡¯t fully go away, but it was dulled like the edge of an old sword. Sharp but not deadly. Bitter but liveable. We sat around it on the hard soil, the road to our backs and the van not too far, either. Nothing much to say or do except keep watch, claymore behind me and AngelWeight beside me.


    But our stomachs were having a hard time dealing with being empty, grumbling and moaning like a Pixie you¡¯ve caught stealing your sugar. Barely any water left, too. Mouths are dry. Breaths are hot. Runt¡¯s GameBoy just died and, being a kid, has nothing else to do except play hide and seek with a scorpion she¡¯s found. Astrid tells her to stop before it stings her. I cheer her on and give her a round of applause when she finally catches the thing in her hands, grabbing it like it¡¯s some fallen bird. The kid¡¯s a natural. Baseball hat still backward and too large boots on her feet, she comes to sit beside me to show off her new friend, who doesn¡¯t look too happy getting manhandled.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you afraid it¡¯s gonna hurt you?¡± I ask her, watching it crawl and skitter over her hands.


    ¡°Not really,¡± she says. ¡°He¡¯s pretty grumpy because we¡¯re being too loud and we scared off all his friends. He also doesn¡¯t like Astrid¡ªhe says her vibes are weird and are making him  dizzy, but he¡¯s pretty nice to me.¡±


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°You can hear him?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a Druid,¡± Juniper says, Grimoire open in her law, chin on her hand as she reads. ¡°And a really rare one, too. Three percent of Druids can give animals commands they¡¯ll listen to. Only one percent understand them.¡±


    I ruffle her hair. ¡°Look at you! Freakin¡¯ prodigy over here. How about you come back to New Salem¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your first thought is to grift a child into making you money?¡± Astrid asks. She¡¯s managed to find something to sit on, a piece of wood or a rock, meaning she¡¯s just a little higher than the rest of us, and crucially not on the ground, either. It¡¯s the small things, the ones you don¡¯t catch if you aren¡¯t paying attention, but I don¡¯t really like people who paint themselves like her. Just not my cup of tea. ¡°How do you manage to take yourself seriously?¡±


    ¡°You sound like the kind of chick who¡¯s never had to decide whether to eat or pay for the light bill.¡±


    Runt looks at me and frowns. ¡°Are you poor?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not poor,¡± I say. ¡°I just like to save as much money as I can for later.¡±


    ¡°You should ask Astrid for money, she¡¯s got lots of it in her undies drawer.¡±


    The others laugh, but the woman of the hour folds her arms and says, ¡°Rebecca, we¡¯re going to have a talk about you going through my things. I told you that it¡¯s bad manners to go snooping through people¡¯s belongings.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t.¡± She points at Morgan. ¡°She was the one who told me.¡±


    ¡°Little shit,¡± Morgan mutters, trying not to smile. ¡°That was our secret.¡±


    Runt sticks out her tongue. ¡°You didn¡¯t buy me candy like you promised.¡±


    ¡°I was busy!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, buying naked people magazines again!¡±


    In the fire¡¯s dim light, you can still see Morgan¡¯s face turn red. ¡°We spoke about that, Runt,¡± she hisses.


    ¡°Aw, don¡¯t be such a grinch,¡± May says, putting her hand on Morgan¡¯s shoulder and keeping her from shaking the life out of the little kid. ¡°Besides, I saw Lu throwing ¡®em out a few days ago, just before Kacey came.¡±


    Morgan groans, head in her hands. ¡°Those were limited edition.¡±


    ¡°What kind?¡± I ask, purely out of curiosity and nothing but.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you like to know?¡± she mutters.


    ¡°There¡¯s a child here and I don¡¯t think talking about¡­that is appropriate,¡± Miss Astrid says, making the rest of the class quietly mutter under their breaths. ¡°It¡¯s about time we divide the sleep schedule. Based on ability alone, we should always have two people of varying Pledges together. Kacey and I, for example, shouldn¡¯t be together because we¡¯re both Knight Pledges.¡± I put my hand up, making her pause. She waves me on with a sigh.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t actually taken any official testing yet to see what my magic leans toward,¡± I say. ¡°So¡­¡±


    ¡°But from where we got you, weapons came second nature to you,¡± May says. ¡°Hell, that AngelWeight on its own can¡¯t hit the broad side of a barn because it¡¯s off center, but you work it like the thing is freaking perfect.¡±


    ¡°Muscle memory,¡± I say with a shrug. ¡°Knights just like telling themselves they¡¯re good with weapons compared to other people, but if we¡¯re being honest, anyone can be. Just need to train a little harder for a while.¡±


    Astrid¡¯s nose wrinkles. ¡°Knights are the centerpiece to any Party and Guild.¡±


    I roll my eyes. ¡°Yeah, sure, and I¡¯m The First Mage.¡±


    Juniper crosses herself in that odd, four-fingered way Sorcerers tend to do. ¡°That¡¯s blasphemy!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m kidding,¡± I say. Jeez, Church of the First Angel weirdos are everywhere. ¡°Everyone¡¯s important. A car doesn¡¯t work if it doesn¡¯t have wheels, but it also won¡¯t get anywhere fast without an engine, like old Betsy here.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t compare a Guild to a car, that¡¯s a fallacy in itself,¡± Astrid says. ¡°Every major guild in the world prioritizes the recruitment of Knight Pledges over other classes due to the crucial role that they play in supporting others with their magic.¡± I¡¯m starting to find playing with Runt¡¯s scorpion more interesting than this history class. ¡°When your Party¡¯s magic wanes, it¡¯s your magic they rely on to keep fighting, but I suppose you¡¯re right. You¡¯re not a Knight, you just don¡¯t have the will nor the ability to maintain a higher level of sustained magic, do you?¡±


    I lean forward, now pretty irritated. ¡°You¡¯ve got no clue what my Magic Grade is.¡±


    ¡°I doubt you know it either, seeing that you like ¡®saving your money.¡¯¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna put that rock under your ass right through your skull, Astrid.¡±


    ¡°Both of you need to quit it,¡± May says, then she jerks her chin at Runt. We look at her, and almost right away, my throat tightens. Her face is blank and so are her eyes as she lets the scorpion scamper around the dirt in between her feet. She looks deflated, almost like she¡¯s only sitting here because Hark is swearing up a tiresome storm in the van, and there¡¯s really nowhere else to go in the Barrens right now. May looks at the both of us and shakes her head, chewing on stale gum and muttering under her breath. Astrid looks at me, but I don¡¯t look at her.


    ¡°Runt?¡± Juniper says, shutting her book. The little girl looks up at her. ¡°How about you sleep first?¡±


    ¡°Not tired,¡± she mutters.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take your turn watching with you if you like.¡±


    She folds her arms, pulling her knees closer to her chest. She says nothing.


    What¡¯s gotten into her all of a sudden?


    Morgan stands up and says, ¡°Hey, Salem, grab a smoke with me?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± I mutter, standing up. Runt glances at me, but keeps her lips sealed. I sigh through my nose and brush past Astrid, following Morgan a little further away from the rest of the group and toward the empty phone booth. Old war posters were still stuck on the thing, with a very young-looking Alexandria with her sword raised and eyes set facing away from the words, WE WANT YOU! behind her. The bulb inside the thing flickers, bringing all kinds of tiny insects into the small space. Morgan folds her arms and leans against the booth, somehow not shivering in her shorts and black vest. ¡°I¡¯m sensing that we¡¯re not gonna smoke or make out, so what did I do?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take you up on those when you¡¯re not ruining what we¡¯ve got for ourselves.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I say. ¡°Astrid was the one who started the argument in the first place.¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Stop running your mouth and listen,¡± she says. ¡°Shit¡¯s not been great around here for the past month. I almost thought we¡¯d have to take a break from each other before one of us eventually murdered another, but we were on call, and we picked up when Vicky dialed, because she told us that you were gonna help us out, but she needed to get her hands on you first. A lot of hassle. A lot of planning. But we got you, we patched you up, and now you¡¯re Second Sword. Congrats.¡± She straightens, looking me dead in the eyes. ¡°But we lost someone trying to get you. Someone who I cared a lot more than I do about you. Raise as much hell as you want because we both know how short life can be and how suddenly shit hits the fan, but if you ever fuck that kid¡¯s night up again, I¡¯ll hurt you, and I¡¯ll hurt you pretty fucking badly.¡± She got closer, so close I can smell the old blood still freckling her cheeks. ¡°I¡¯ve run drugs, I¡¯ve been in a racket, been a gangster¡¯s muscle, but I¡¯ve never killed a Mage. Don¡¯t be the first.¡±


    I tense my jaw. My heart is beating slowly, shoving blood past my ears in droning waves. I chew my tongue and don¡¯t break eye contact, because that¡¯s just now how I work. ¡°I¡¯m fine with taking orders,¡± I say to her. ¡°I¡¯m fine with doing what I¡¯m told, but that shit?¡± I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. ¡°It doesn¡¯t float in Salem.¡±


    ¡°Are we in Salem right now?¡± she asks me.


    ¡°So what makes it any easier to stomach anywhere?¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t,¡± she says. ¡°Astrid¡¯s a pain in the ass, but I¡¯ve known her for years, and I¡¯ve known you for all of a few hours. I don¡¯t trust you, and I doubt you trust anyone here not to stab you when you¡¯re asleep, but we went through hell trying to get you from Platinum, so you better start acting like you¡¯re worth the life that was given to drag you out of his crew.¡± She shoves her finger into my chest, pushing me back a step. ¡°So don¡¯t buck the boat.¡±


    She¡¯s about to leave when I say, ¡°I¡¯ve met types like you, by the way.¡±


    Morgan pauses behind me but doesn¡¯t turn around.


    ¡°No family and no life outside what your hands can get,¡± I continue. ¡°Had a couple friends like that, you know, and each and every single one of them would¡¯ve been ten times worth the lives of anyone here, so don¡¯t start to think I give a fuck about who died trying to save me. I wear my guilt, and I¡¯m not gonna wear someone else¡¯s.¡± I turn around, jaw tense and eyes sharp as she looks over her shoulder at me, her silver hair dull under the moonlight. ¡°So I¡¯ll talk how I want and be who I am, because being alive is the only way I get to pay back the people I left behind. I¡¯ll be out of your hair when I get paid, and good fucking riddance, ¡®cause this whole Party is a joke.¡±


    The spiraling light blue runes on her arms flare. I duck when she swings, grab her throat and sweep her legs out from underneath her, slamming her onto the tarmac. I straddle her and put the AngelWeight to her forehead. We pant, making wisps of white air spill from our noses and mouths. She grits her teeth when I push the gun harder against her temple, so hard that a vein surges in her forehead and sweat trickles down her cheeks. My finger rests on the trigger. My gut rests in my throat. Knee pressing her stomach, forcing the air out of her lungs, making her light headed. She¡¯s still a threat. Still a Berserker Pledge. You give these people a chance and it¡¯ll be your brain that they¡¯re pulling out right through your stomach. They¡¯re still glowing a faint blue, still coloring the shadows.


    ¡°Go on,¡± she snarls. ¡°Try your fucking luck.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t need luck to ice you.¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯ll let you?¡±


    I smile wolfishly and get closer to her face so she can see that I¡¯m not kidding. She won¡¯t be my first and I doubt she¡¯s gonna be the last, and the only real shame of her dying is that there¡¯s nobody around here for miles who would want to buy her skin for the same prices as in New Salem. Oh, well, gotta make due, right? ¡°Try me, bitch.¡±


    Morgan bucks her hips, throwing me to the side. My shoulder hits the warm tarmac, nearly jerking the gun out of my hand. I hold it in both and take two shots at her that shatter the night. They ricochet off her arms, and that¡¯s not good in the slightest for me, because I scramble away and she lunges, missing me by inches and slamming her fists into the tarmac, pounding craters into the blacktop¡ªthen she pounces again, grabbing my overalls and nearly pulling me back into her embrace. I swing around and smack the butt of the gun against her temple. She lets go. I swing my leg through the air and smash my heel into her nose, sending blood spitting down her face. Fuck. I step back. She glowers and spits a tooth, knuckles away the red and runs right toward me. I expect another lunge.


    But instead she stops, skidding, ducks low and slams her fist into my gut. I buckle and collapse, gasping for air like I¡¯ve just been hit by a bus. Then I vomit saliva and cough and splutter. I hear footsteps and swearing, then the others are there surrounding us as Morgan stands above me, fists still clenched and chest heaving. I spit and clutch my stomach, because that should¡¯ve killed me by now. Her fist should¡¯ve gone right through my stomach and out through my back, her spine in my hands. I look at my hand. No blood. But it aches. Hurts. Agony erupts through my body when I breathe, but the gun is still in my hand, and I take it, aim it, and put one through her foot. She drops like a sack beside me, swearing a storm. Then I aim the gun at her face, resting on my haunches.


    My hair is loose over my face, caught in the wind. I stare at her, and so does the gun barrel.


    A hum of white magic quietly sings through the air, and Astrid is soon standing over me, her sword, still in its white leather sheath, hangs over my arm. I don¡¯t look at her. I¡¯m staring at Morgan, still breathing hard, still with pain in my bones and aching all over. I lick my lips and spit, then smile, blood on my teeth, at Atrid. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Drop the gun, or I¡¯ll take your arm with it,¡± she says quietly, eyes narrowing. ¡°Now, Kacey.¡±


    I raise one knee, but her sword gets lower. The magic coming from the thing is disgusting. Vile. So much of it that it feels like an icy tide trying to shove me back onto the tarmac underneath my feet. I buckle when I get up, but eventually, I¡¯m standing, arm still raised, gun still steady, and Astrid¡¯s eyes are narrow, her brow furrowed and jaw tense. The muscles in her forearm are stringy and twitching as she adjusts her grip, and the rest of them are looking at me with a mix of curdling emotions. Anger. Hate. Betrayal and wonder, like facing up to Astrid is some unspoken rule you¡¯re not meant to do. Then I squeeze the trigger. They all flinch. Runt dives on Morgan. Click.


    I shake the gun. ¡°Empty, morons.¡±


    Nobody speaks.


    Runt looks at me, rage and simmering tears burning in her eyes from just underneath her licks of red hair. She¡¯s got Morgan in a death grip, arms tight around her chest, body still covering her. Juniper clutches her book, and May is staring at me, shaking her head, crouched beside Morgan with a hand on her shoulder, disgusted.


    ¡°What?¡± I say, laughing dryly. ¡°Haven¡¯t any of you ever tried to kill one another before?¡±


    It''s all just a little bit of fun, right?


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡± Runt asks shrilly, voice cracking. ¡°You hurt her!¡±


    ¡°And she nearly killed me!¡± I say, waving the empty gun at the holes she¡¯d put in the tarmac. ¡°That would have been my skull if I hadn¡¯t been quick enough, and now you¡¯re all sad ¡®cause she¡¯s got a bullet in her foot?¡±


    Boo-hoo, grow up. It¡¯s not like it''s in her head or whatever.


    ¡°We don¡¯t work like that,¡± May says quietly. ¡°We argue and we slam doors, but we don¡¯t hurt each other.¡±


    ¡°Bunch of fuckin¡¯ pussies,¡± I mutter, waving them off. ¡°Never been in any real fights, tell you what.¡±


    ¡°Your soul,¡± Juniper whispers, making me look at her. ¡°It¡¯s bleeding.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck does that mean?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re hurt,¡± she says, getting closer. Astrid puts out her arm, stopping her. ¡°And now you¡¯re taking it out on those around you because they¡¯re not like the person you lost. That¡¯s why you¡¯re the way you are, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°How about you psychoanalyze that book of yours when I break your jaw with it?¡±


    ¡°Not a man,¡± she says quietly, her eyes almost cloudy. ¡°A girl. She died recently.¡±


    I step closer. Astrid points the end of her sheathed sword at me. I stare at it, then at Juniper, heat in my voice and my gut a rumbling mess of anger. ¡°I¡¯m gonna put my fist through your mouth if you keep running it.¡±


    ¡°She broke your heart,¡± Juniper says. They all stare at me, silent, watching. ¡°She broke a promise.¡±


    I chew my tongue so hard trying not to snap that I make it bleed. I swallow and breath, my chest full and ears ringing loud. My skin feels like it¡¯s on fire, just like my gut and the agony that¡¯s burning around my ribs. I reach into my overalls and pull out my final magazine, letting the empty one clatter onto the ground. When I slam it inside the AngelWeight, the air gets cooler and Astrid¡¯s free hand wraps around the sheath, flaring her magic.


    ¡°Aster,¡± Juniper says. I freeze and stare at her, not blinking. ¡°The devil on your shoulder.¡±


    I nearly turn to look, but instead raise the gun and point it at her. She doesn¡¯t quiver or flinch or turn away, and she even pushes Astrid¡¯s sword down and walks closer, even if the others keep telling her not to. Eventually, her head is square in the sights, her sweaty button nose and large glasses reflecting my eyes and the silver pistol.


    ¡°She says you should stop searching for her.¡± I tense and put the gun to her forehead. Juniper¡¯s eyes don¡¯t stop staring at me with that glazed look and that dreamy stare, as if she¡¯s not here, not seeing me, but instead looking at something else¡ªsome other place entirely. ¡°All she wants is for you to not become your mother.¡±


    I squeeze the trigger.


    The gun jams.


    The sound makes Juniper blink. She shakes her head, stares at the gun, then backpedals, dropping her Grimoire the same time her ass hits the tarmac. I stand over her and watch as she shakes herself to bits, worry on her face and tears welling in her eyes as she stares down the gun, because seemingly May was right, this gun really is a piece of shit, but I know it won¡¯t jam a second time, and I know for sure Astrid isn¡¯t fast enough to stop a bullet.


    But¡­


    I sigh and lower the gun, then turn on the safety. Juniper¡¯s shoulders drop and May can finally help Morgan off the ground, slinging an arm around her shoulders. We¡¯re all about a meter apart. Arm¡¯s length, maybe just about Astrid¡¯s sword length. I let my heartbeat settle into a rhythmic slowness until I can roll my shoulders, my neck, swallow the bile sitting in my throat and look off into the desert. Silence and cold wind lingers, and I can feel the grit and exhaustion collecting underneath my eyes. I rub them with my thumb and forefinger, sighing quietly. Get your head together. My thoughts are a jumbled mess and so are my emotions. Aster would have¡­ Nevermind.


    Nevermind.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the first watch,¡± I mutter.


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep an eye on her,¡± Astrid says. ¡°Juniper, Rebecca, I need you to help make sure Morgan¡¯s foot doesn¡¯t get infected. Clean it as best as you can with what we¡¯ve got. There should be a med-kit under the seats.¡±


    ¡°You can draw Elf blood and distill it,¡± I say quietly, not looking at them. ¡°Put it on her foot and it should heal her by morning. Not much. Just a drop. I suggest you cut his foot so it doesn¡¯t look like we tortured him when we eventually need to start negotiation. Or on the shin or knee. Kind of thing happens when you¡¯re being dragged around and dumped.¡± I nod slowly. They all remain silent. Astrid nods her head, and May carries Morgan away, taking Runt with them, who can¡¯t stop glaring at me, cheeks now wet and eyes turning a deep shade of scarlet.


    ¡°Where¡¯d you learn about that?¡± Astrid asks me.


    ¡°From being a dope who can¡¯t save her friends,¡± I mutter, walking toward the fire.

 Twenty - MageHunt

    Ever since I was little I¡¯d made a bad habit out of waking up in a different place compared to where I fell asleep. In the past few days, I¡¯d pretty much been relapsing, because I don¡¯t remember falling asleep under a bus stop with an empty crow¡¯s nest above me and the sun baking me halfway red. I can¡¯t move. Not at first. Body hurts too much to think or stay awake, but I keep my eyes open, however squinted, and stare at the bullet holes in the bus stop canopy and the pale, cloudless blue sky above me. I rub my face and slowly sit upright, the metal bench underneath me squeaking. One leg on the ground, the other on the bench, I look around in a daze and try to figure out where¡­


    There¡¯s meant to be a van somewhere around here, isn¡¯t there? Right now it doesn¡¯t seem that way, ¡®cause all I can see is a long, long strip of tarmac with heat rippling above it and a blistering landscape of dried brush and old machinery left to rust under the glare of the sun. No they did not. I stand but don¡¯t get further than the canopy, sticking to the shade as I look either direction. Nothing in sight for miles on end. None at all. They actually did.


    Those broads left me here in the middle of nowhere! Honestly, I¡¯m so amazed they even had the gaul that I¡¯ve really got nothing else to do. Too hungry and too thirsty to be angry, so I stand there, hands either side of me, under the bus stop and waiting for a bus that won¡¯t ever come. I cup the back of my neck and sigh, because at least they left the AngelWeight and an extra magazine with me. Stripped me of my overalls and left me in the shorts I¡¯d been wearing and the baggy t-shirt I¡¯d borrowed from May before coming here. Chest holster, at least, too, so I guess it¡¯s the small things in life, right? At least I¡¯m not naked and dead in a ditch in the dunes. I trudge back to the bench and sit down, elbows resting on thighs as I stare at the dead and dry carcass of a lizard on the tarmac in front of me.


    ¡°Last fuckin¡¯ time I shoot someone in the foot,¡± I mutter. ¡°Next time it¡¯s in the head.¡±


    I kick away a rusted can of witch-a-cola, the old stuff they used to put the grinning green lady on before the Witchflame Guild vetoed against it. Something to do with it being a stereotype, but I¡¯d kill for a drink right about now, and a ride, some food, and oh, right, the money I¡¯m owed that I got scammed out of, too. Like, what the fuck, man? You go through all this hassle trying to get me away from some big time coastline gangster, and the next thing I know, you¡¯re leaving me under some random bus stop with nothing except a gun, some ammo, and a bag?


    Wait a second, that wasn¡¯t there when I woke up.


    I pause and stare at the backpack, similar to the one I usually carry around, and just like the one Judy had given me what should have been yesterday. I crouch and unzip it, ruffling through its contents. A manual called So You¡¯re A Hero Now, What Next? is saddled together with, Monster Killing for Dummies, Volume 3. Some snack bars. A flashlight. A knife and a torn yellow parka, followed by a trucker¡¯s cap, red and white, that I put on backward to at least keep my hair in check. Bandages. A syringe. Tiny vial of Nectar¡ªscore!¡ªand a couple of potions labeled in a language I don¡¯t understand. Not bad, if this is what comes with a Free Trial. You know what would be even better?


    My money, that¡¯s what. Now I¡¯m broke, thousands of kilometers away from home, and guess what?


    There¡¯s a note they left for me in my back pocket, and all it says is, I¡¯ll call you soon, V, followed by a phone number and a winking smiley face. On the back, it says, P.S. you hurt one of my girls, so I cut your pay in half, and then cut it in half again so you can pay for May¡¯s van, since we risked our butts saving you. No hard feelings, you would¡¯ve done the same. Still believe in you, kid! Stay groovy and keep your head up, bounty hunter.


    I then make a promise, my life¡¯s work, to fuck Victoria over if it¡¯s the last thing I do. I swear and crumple up the piece of paper and toss it over my shoulder. She played me like a fiddle. Fed me fat and ruffled my hair, spoke how I speak and told me everything I needed to hear. Not my first time getting the rug pulled from underneath my feet. You find Party scammers like that everywhere, promising massive hauls, and the second you get the job done, they vanish and leave you in debt and on a hit list you were never meant to be on. I blame myself for this one. Took a chance with a Spartan and figured hey, maybe this relic of war, a soldier who fought for this country, who probably killed Dread Titans before I was even born, wouldn¡¯t fuck me over just so she can keep her pockets a little more full.


    But I guess everyone¡¯s a little needy if you¡¯re not rich enough to enjoy the sunlight.


    The rest of us poor people get burnt by it.


    ¡°Might as well start walking,¡± I mumble, slinging the bag over my shoulder. I look both ways. One of these directions will either lead me to River City, or right back to San Fraccuros. No idea which is which, and at this rate, I¡¯ll end up dead in the heat before I even get halfway, but I¡¯ll die sitting here, anyway, so I might as well, you know?


    ¡°Gods of the Six Realms it is hot,¡± a voice says, startling me. ¡°I told those pencil pushing nerds to send me somewhere nice, and this is the thanks old Mortimer gets for his years of service? Last time I ever get any of ¡®em any birthday presents.¡± I turn around and find a slender white cat on the bench I¡¯d woken up on, bright blue eyes staring at me as his tail flicks with annoyance. ¡°Hey, you, blonde kid with the gun. By any chance, you know where I am?¡±


    ¡°Where the hell did you come from?¡± I ask. ¡°Because I know I wasn¡¯t sleeping on you.¡±


    ¡°Magic,¡± he says, because right, of course, that makes perfect sense. ¡°So, location?¡±


    ¡°Bus stop,¡± I tell him, since he wants to be a smartass. ¡°Sun¡¯s out, too, by the way.¡±


    ¡°Got a future in the tv business with that kind of forecasting.¡±


    A thought crosses my mind, the good old ¡®there¡¯s more than one way to skin a cat,¡¯ and my stomach agrees almost instantly when it rumbles with hunger. The cat¡¯s tail stops swaying and his ears stop flicking. We stare at one another. My hand rests on the butt of the AngelWeight, now strapped to my thigh instead of my chest. Easier and quicker draw. Faster flick of the safety and smoother trigger squeeze. He¡¯s got a magical aura about him, swift and white like smoke, almost like Astrid¡¯s, but a lot warmer, and a lot less violent to the skin and my senses. Bet I can hit him through the eyes with one bullet. Use the road to fry up some cat skewers. Might taste chewy but hey, beggars can¡¯t be choosers, and I haven¡¯t skinned dead cats before just to find my morals now. So it¡¯s gonna be cat for lunch.


    ¡°Eat me, kid, and you¡¯re gonna have the worst time of your life shitting out your guts.¡±


    ¡°Got a tough digestive track,¡± I say. ¡°Grew up suckling on an Ogre¡¯s tit.¡±


    His nose wrinkles. ¡°Your ma¡¯s an Ogre?¡±


    ¡°Nah, just a messed up chick.¡±


    Then I shoot him, but the moment the bullet is near him, he¡¯s a fine white mist. The bullet punches a hole right through the bus stop and pings off a stone on the other side. The sound carries for miles like the echo of a thunder clap. I narrow my eyes and search, breathing slowly, making my heartbeat become rhythmic and languid.


    Suddenly, there¡¯s a cat-sized weight atop my head. ¡°Ten bucks says you can¡¯t hit me through your head.¡±


    I grab him by the ruff of his neck and hold him out in front of me. ¡°Fun¡¯s over, start talking.¡±


    ¡°Not too snarky now, are you?¡± Suddenly, he¡¯s back on the bench, licking his paw and grooming himself. He takes a while before he speaks again, almost like he wants to waste my time out here in this heat. He stops a few times, looks at me, considering, then goes back to licking his paws clean until he¡¯s satisfied, and I¡¯m left with this gnawing feeling of really wanting to shoot him. ¡°Truth be told, I was sent here for one reason, and it¡¯s kinda secret.¡±


    ¡°What if I give you some kibble?¡± I ask. ¡°Will you do it for some kiddle snacks, boy?¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I find that offensive.¡±


    ¡°I find being talked down to by a talking cat a waste of my time, but you don¡¯t see me complaining.¡±


    He almost looks deeply hurt by that. ¡°I¡¯m more than just a ¡®talking cat,¡¯ thank you very much. I¡¯m so old that it would make the Dread Titans and their horrible offspring look like toddlers. I am a manifestation of Arcane Magic. The magic that seeps from the World Tree¡¯s sap and gives new life to this planet is what I was crafted with by the hands of gods slain and old and gone.¡± He stands, tail flicking again. ¡°I am a Familiar, a war hero, and I want¡­¡± He pauses and frowns. ¡°Hey, blonde kid. Are you even paying attention to anything I¡¯m saying to you right now?¡±


    I finish cleaning out my ear and say, ¡°Something, something, cat made out of magic soil.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s hardly what I said!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, so?¡± I ask him. ¡°You¡¯re too hard to catch for me to turn into food, and you¡¯re too annoying for me to keep as a pet that I can sell later for some more food, so right now, kitty cat, you¡¯re nothing but kinda useless.¡±


    ¡°Useless?¡± he says, pouncing off the bench and prowling toward me. ¡°I was once a protector of gods.¡±


    I snort. ¡°What¡¯s that got to do with me, dude?¡±


    He blinks, staring hard at me. The cat says something under his breath, something along the lines of: I can¡¯t believe my luck, then sits down and tilts his head at me. ¡°By any chance, did you sign a contract recently?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I say, folding my arms. Can¡¯t be too sure about giving information like that out. A lot of Monsters want a lot of magic, and a lot of humans want to make themselves powerful if they get their hands on a Blessing. Kitty cat over here might be a Para-Demon in disguise for all I know. ¡°But I¡¯ve signed a lot of things.¡±


    ¡°Something tells me you¡¯re not the popular kind,¡± he mutters. ¡°This can¡¯t be right, though.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that mean?¡±


    ¡°It means you¡¯re not meant to¡­¡± He sighs, then says, ¡°I guess a prophecy only really happens when things are only about to start getting bad, and you won¡¯t be the first person in history that¡¯s so screwed up, anyway.¡± I¡¯m about to ask him what he means by that, too, when he talks over me. ¡°Well, kid, looks like me ¡®n¡¯ you are friends.¡±


    I wave him off and turn my back to him. ¡°Don¡¯t need ¡®em, thanks for asking.¡± Now, if only I can figure out a way to get back home from here. Fuck it. Both sides of the road look identical, and one way or another, I¡¯ll hit a settlement eventually and get my bearings. Hopefully it¡¯s not of the Monster variety, because human meat is in season, and I¡¯m not looking forward to getting eaten. I¡¯m allergic to seasoning, just a fun little fact for any Monsters reading this diary who figure that I¡¯m worth the extra cash to get cooked properly. If you wanna eat me, then you¡¯re gonna have to chew through the sword I¡¯ll put through your mouth. Can¡¯t blame a chick for not wanting that, right?


    Because that would just be one hell of a way to go, and a shitty one at that. Jane dying in a dumpster takes the cake, though, and I really don¡¯t want to end up as a pile of Monster excrement in a ditch somewhere either.


    Besides, I think, rubbing the sparrow tattoo on my wrist. Can¡¯t give up that easily.


    I¡¯m about to take a step forward when the cat appears at my feet. Don¡¯t get me wrong, though, I still take the step and move him out of my way, forcing him to quick-step after me. ¡°Don¡¯t you understand the importance?¡±


    ¡°Of a talking cat?¡± I ask him, sweat already building on the back of my neck. ¡°Sure. I can sell you to the circus and make enough money to have a roof over my head tonight. That reminds me, can you do flips, too?¡±


    He runs ahead then stops. We¡¯re smack-bang in the middle of the cracked, hot as all hell asphalt. If a car comes tearing through the desert right now, they¡¯ll see us and then hit us, since nobody¡¯s risking their ride and going off the road just to save the two idiots standing in the middle of the road. ¡°You¡¯re a Blessing holder now!¡± I shrug. He guffaws, pacing a little because, I¡¯m guessing, his paws are burning. ¡°The Knight¡¯s Blessing is one of the most sought after Blessings in all Six Realms. Gods have perished protecting it from Mages who seek to try and get its power for themselves. It¡¯s said to have been the First Mage¡¯s Blessing. Do you understand that? The magic inside you right now has belonged to just five people in all of history. Ten millennia and even more, and you¡¯re the sixth.¡±


    ¡°Do you come with an off button?¡±


    ¡°Why are you not listening to me?!¡± he says, becoming ecstatic.


    ¡°Because you¡¯re yelling about how special I am, and that means fuck all if I¡¯m stuck in the Barrens!¡± I snap. ¡°I¡¯ve got no food. I just got scammed. My body feels like shit, probably because they threw me onto that bench before they left, and oh, right, I¡¯m broke! I¡¯m poor! Magic is great and all if it means something, but right now, cat, I¡¯ve got just enough rations in my backpack to last me a day or two before things start to get hard and you start looking tasty, and trust me, I¡¯m crazy enough to spend the few bullets I¡¯ve got left trying to put one through you.¡± I start walking again. ¡°So if you wanna follow me, then be my guest. Just don¡¯t bring it up again for now.¡±


    He pads alongside me, silent for just a few seconds before he opens his mouth again. ¡°You¡¯re a hero.¡±


    I make a buzzer sound. ¡°Wrong, I¡¯m a bounty hunter.¡±


    ¡°Who wants to be a hero,¡± he says. ¡°That¡¯s why you were chosen.¡±


    I snort. ¡°Some chick in armor told me she had a deal for me, and all I wanted to do was stay alive.¡±


    ¡°Andrea, that crazy, crazy woman,¡± he mutters under his breath. ¡°I swear, when I next see her¡­¡±


    ¡°You know the chick?¡± I ask him. It¡¯s lonely out here, and very, very quiet. The hum of heat on the tarmac and the quiet buzz of hot sand is the only thing surrounding us for miles. Broken windmills and stripped battery packs from a time when people thought the winds would help charge up their industrial batteries. The occasional shack and outhouse, all made of wood, all of them busted and ancient and empty. And they reek, too, tell you what.


    ¡°Know her?¡± he asks. ¡°She was the second person to wield the Phoenix Flame and the Stormforge Winds.¡±


    ¡°Woah, really?!¡±


    He lifts his chin up, proud as he walks. ¡°I know, I taught her how to wield them both myself.¡±


    ¡°She must be really awesome if I knew what those were.¡±


    He looks at me like I¡¯m illiterate. ¡°Didn¡¯t you learn what those are in history class? Last I checked, you humans made it mandatory in schools. I¡¯m pretty sure the New Salem Library of the First Heralds has a section¡ª¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t go to school,¡± I say. ¡°Learnt how to read off the back of beer bottles and cigarette packs.¡±


    ¡°I find that highly unlikely.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re a talking cat, so I guess we¡¯re both in the marginal here.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re very snarky.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re plump,¡± I say. ¡°Heard that cat meat tastes sweeter dipped in magic.¡±


    That shuts him up, at least for a handful of minutes. He¡¯s more focused on wincing and cursing, and since the sun is beating directly down on my head, neck and shoulders, he can¡¯t follow after me in my shadow. Soon enough, he¡¯s lagging behind, and I¡¯ve got no other choice than to keep stopping, watching him pant his way back toward me, before I can continue. For a creature made out of pure magic, he sure is sensitive to the bad weather.


    And I guess he¡¯s making a long trip even longer, so I choose to stop and say, ¡°Come on already.¡±


    ¡°Give me a break, kid,¡± he says, panting like a dog. ¡°I¡¯m not used to being in a body.¡±


    I sigh, then crouch. ¡°If I carry you, will you tell me one thing and shut up after that?¡±


    His eyes light up. ¡°Sure!¡± Then he jumps, and now I¡¯ve got a cat on my shoulder.


    A very heavy, very dense cat on my shoulder that seems very happy up here.


    ¡°I heard something about objectives,¡± I say to him. ¡°And a prophecy?¡±


    ¡°Oh, if you wanted to know that, you coulda just asked me,¡± he says. ¡°Objectives are easy: you kill Monsters for more magic on a regular, that¡¯s the easy part, but occasionally, you¡¯ll find some that are Marked. You¡¯ll know they¡¯re Marked when you see ¡®em. Won¡¯t miss ¡®em, take it from me. The more of them you do, the better of a chance you¡¯ll get of negotiating your contract during the Twilight Summit, so in about a year or so¡¯s time for that.¡±


    ¡°Alright¡­¡± I mutter. ¡°I guess that makes sense. Kill more, get a better contract. What about the prophecy?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that?¡± he says. ¡°Well, that¡¯s even easier! All you need to do is stop the world from ending.¡±


    I stop walking and look up at him. ¡°I never agreed to that.¡±


    ¡°Of course you did,¡± he says. ¡°It was right there, first line of your contract¡­you did read it, right?¡±


    I sigh, grumble, and keep walking down the desert road. ¡°Of course I read it.¡±


    ¡°Great!¡± Mortimer says. ¡°Then this should be a piece of cake.¡±

 You Have: Three New Voicemail

    [Hey, this is Kacey Summers. If you¡¯re family, don¡¯t call this line again, or I¡¯ll eat you. If you want to hire me for a job, then stay on the line and talk after the beep. Oh, and if you don¡¯t know my rates, we¡¯ll talk about them soon.]


    Kacey, Kacey, Kaceyyyy! Hey there, superstar. Missed me? I know I¡¯ve missed you. I¡¯ve got about a billion things I want to say to you right now, but here¡¯s one: go fuck yourself. You said we shouldn¡¯t be in each others¡¯ faces after what happened in Brokway, but I come home one day and wham! My fuckin¡¯ house is on fire and I¡¯m hearing from a Pixie that some blonde kid threw a Witch¡¯s brew worth of molotovs right through my window! Oh, I am livid, kid. If I saw you I¡¯d strangle the life outta ya! Ha, good old Kacey Summers, always playing a good old prank on the people she¡¯s never meant to be around! I swear, you¡¯re just the life of the party¡­all the time¡­ Kacey, kiddo?


    My little girl was inside that house, and so was my wife, when it started burning. The fire department found their bodies in the basement. Smoke inhalation. No burns, no nuffin¡¯. Found handcuffs melted to their wrists and hooked to the floor, and the only reason they could identify their bodies was because you carved their names into their backs with your sword. That¡¯s what you did, right? Because you wanted to fuck with old Jimmy, huh? You must think you¡¯re so fucking funny, taking everything away from me like that, kid. Those were¡­That¡¯s all I had you fucking broad. You took them away from me and I swear to the Gods I¡¯m gonna put one through you! You hear me, you godforsaken devilspawn?! I¡¯ll hunt you down and rip you apart, limb from limb, I swear, if it¡¯s the last thing I do on this terrible Earth! You better sleep with one eye open, Summers. We had a deal, an¡¯ you blew it. Blew it all.


    Now I¡¯m gonna find you, and I¡¯m gonna hurt you, and you better start praying I don¡¯t.


    Because you¡¯re gonna turn to the Pantheon the moment I do.


    [Hey, this is Kacey Summers. If you¡¯re family, don¡¯t call this line again, or I¡¯ll eat you. If you want to hire me for a job, then stay on the line and talk after the beep. Oh, and if you don¡¯t know my rates, we¡¯ll talk about them soon.]


    Miss Summers. I don¡¯t know where you are this time or where you¡¯ve ran off to, and I know your¡­duties and the method you gather your money often take you many places, but you¡¯ve missed rent for three months straight now and I¡¯m quite frankly beginning to wonder how seriously you take your living standards. I expect to hear from you soon. And very soon. My nephew needs a place to stay and your room is a mess. The damages will be added to your rent and your past rent will continue to accumulate for just one more month. After that, then you¡¯re out on the streets like your kind belongs. My generosity is thin and you should be grateful I even offered to house you inside my building. Oh, the nerve of you filthy little humans. I expect a written apology and half your owed rent in a week. Longer than that, and I will pack your¡­belongings, if that¡¯s what you call them, and have them sold.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    The pennies I get from them will alleviate at least some of your charges, so you¡¯re welcome.


    This gold ring I found in your home should be worth the gold pieces, however. How a petulant child like yourself managed to acquire something so stunning is beyond me. As for the talking head¡­well, I will keep her.


    She is quite entertaining, and frankly, I¡¯ve been searching for a wedding gift for my son.


    You better not be dead, little girl. That will be a breach of your lease contract.


    [Hey, this is Kacey Summers. If you¡¯re family, don¡¯t call this line again, or I¡¯ll eat you. If you want to hire me for a job, then stay on the line and talk after the beep. Oh, and if you don¡¯t know my rates, we¡¯ll talk about them soon.]


    Yo, Kacey. It¡¯s me, Sam. Look, I know you wouldn¡¯t want to hear from me, and even if you did, you probably thought I would have died by now, but I¡¯m here, and I heard about Aster, so I¡¯m gonna pass by your place soon enough so we can patch things up. She wouldn¡¯t want us at each other''s throats like this. I heard from Alan¡ªyou know, the homeless guy near the deli¡ªabout where you put her body, and come on, dude, a rent-a-coffin? Really? What the fuck is wrong with you? You¡¯re still pinching pennies, even when she dies? Fuckin¡¯ cheapskate. I¡¯ll be there soon to bash you over the head with a studded baseball bat. Maybe I¡¯ll get some sense into those numb, grey brain cells.


    You should¡¯ve told the rest of us. Belle knows and so does Suki. They said they don¡¯t wanna talk.


    They said it¡¯s better if we don¡¯t see each other for a while, but I don¡¯t think so.


    Being apart is what got her killed in the first place. We should¡¯ve been there.


    And knowing you, Kace, you¡¯re gonna get yourself killed trying to hide from your feelings, and I kinda don¡¯t want to lose another one of my sisters. The Rose Guild might not exist anymore, but I¡¯m still Second Sword.


    ¡®cause of that, I¡¯m gonna give you an order: stay alive for me, will you?


    I don¡¯t need to bury someone else. See you around, Summers.


    And stay breezy, bounty hunter.