《Inkwell Souls》


 Prologue: The Death of One

    The inky rain swelled into fat little beads before they dripped down the sides of the buildings to join the procession of black water rushing along the streets and into the culverts. A flood of people crowded the streets. The ramble swaying in lazy saunters, their umbrellas blending together to make the daily migration of the unbothered humans mindlessly herding themselves daily to their next destination.


    None of them would see him.


    The wool over their eyes kept them blind to the creatures that lurked beyond the Fabric and in the Shadow Weave where wolves in sheep¡¯s clothing stalked along the edges of the seams, waiting in patient civility for a tear within the Fabric. Tailuur existed in the Fabric itself, not a creature of the Shadow Weave or the Material, a transient entity in the between. A prophet who stitched the Fabric, mending the frail veil with the spirits that all living things left behind. He stood tall over their umbrellas, only seeing them through the haze that separated his world from theirs. His four slender arms sat in starched fabrics in stiff, fitted sleeves. A large, structured hat with a wide and ostentatious brim shadowed his features. Beads of onyx crystal lined the brim, the black rain kissing each beaded tassel before plummeting to the stones below.


    He felt the uncomfortable tear of a seam, each snap of coiled thread making frayed ends at the edges of his sensory essence. A primal essence, he could feel changes in the Fabric as entities came and went, just as all prophets, like Tailuur, could. Corval appeared beside the prophet, closing the seam behind him. The man was young in features, a strong face structure, crowned in a halo of brilliant blond hair and cold steel eyes. His eye color had changed dramatically since he first became a threadbearer, an indication he given himself fully. The link between prophet and threadbearer was now complete and their power woven together.


    Rich velvet adorned Corval¡¯s crimson suit, lined with the fluidity of silk, giving him the essences to move with graceful ease and change his solid form to bend and slip unnaturally. He did not enrich the fit with hardened jewels like that of his prophet, instead he layered silk flowers that traced up his arms and gauzier vines that embroidered the lush fabrics before flowing off his dress in long drifting strands, giving him the essence of speed over strength. He liked the freedom too much to follow the trend set by Tailuur¡¯s stiffened robes.


    ¡°She¡¯s faded between the weaves. Traversing the Fabric without the use of seams. I tracked her through half the city. She might be vexim.¡± Corval pulled his sleeve up. The sigils of his inkwell churned with motion as he commanded new links to form and others to diffuse, reorganizing his abilities to consider high maneuverability, replacing his velvet essences with more silk. Tailuur turned to his threadbearer, his gaze narrowing in curiosity. The appearance of a vexim was an omen of difficult times to come, as they often clung to areas of concentrated Fabric tears for their illusory tricks. These people would not be safe for much longer.


    ¡°Fading through the Fabric.¡± He chewed on the notion, his charcoal eyes scanning the surrounding area. Vexims didn¡¯t truly fade, they had to traverse the seams like everything else, but their illusions gave truth to that sort of trickery.


    Tailuur had heard rumor of a fading serpent making its way through the taut threads that spanned from city to city. They had a mindless hunger for the leeched power that gathered at a significant tear. The beast didn¡¯t take the form of a woman, though. Tailuur didn¡¯t like this. He hummed when he realized the migration of people had dispersed without notice. The quiet of the street sunk into his ears. Rays of sun piercing through the indigo clouds, bursting into a kaleidoscope of vibrant purple, blues, and pinks.


    Tailuur twisted towards Corval when he realized the shadows no longer moved, and the black rain gathered on the ground but ceased to fall around them. He felt the Fabric thin the Shadow Weave was growing closer, distorting the air in an eerie hum. The world beyond this one that was home to those without spirits. Creatures of hunger and annihilation. Tailuur felt the thrum of their power ring in his ears, their malevolence grew until it permeated the air and reached a terrifying apex. A creature of the Shadow Weave had arrived.


    Moving swiftly Tailuur plunged two of his hands through Corval¡¯s back, protruding all the ways through his chest. His long needlepoint fingers piercing flesh like a pincushion. Corval did not flinch or gasp, nor bleed, as Tailuur drew out the needles from his back, the threads of their connection pulling in gossamer ropes connecting them. Their power could now flow between them, and prophet would guide, and the threadbearer could fight. Tailuur acted first, his essence of stiff wool enrapturing Corval in black wool armor that fit with perfect form over his plush velvets.


    An explosion of force hit Corval straight on, snapping some of the connective threads and throwing the threadbearer against the Fabric, his solidity melting into a fluid substance that spread the impact thin against the ground before springing back to the form of the young man. Tailuur lost his balance for a second but quickly regained his footing. Their opponent didn¡¯t seem to have been aiming for the prophet. Tailuur reformed the protective layer over his threadbearer and began to stitch together a weapon for him.


    Before them was a woman, hunched in frayed nerves. A metallic thread piercing through her skin wove long strips of gauze that hung off her body in flowing streamers. Each stripe painted harshly with pulsing sigils. She looked nothing like any demon of the Shadow Weave they had seen before. The strange patterns of the gauze extended into her inkwell, which had expanded from her forearms to encase her body in strange, malformed markings. Strings of health sigils twisted around her arms and legs in an unnatural pattern. Stitched patches of power were stamped into her body, a tapestry of deep blues and sickly purples blemishing every inch of her. Tailuur¡¯s black eyes widened at the grotesquery that was her visage. A wool blindfold wrapped around her head, embroidered with a sigil of sight, the heavy fabric stiff with her dried blood.


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    ¡°What is she?¡± Corval could not snuff the astonishment in his voice as he looked upon the abomination. He looked at his own inkwell, gauging his health sigils, considering hers were much longer and seemed to have no end as they coiled around her body. His inkwell itched as it moved beneath his skin, warning him that he had been afflicted with Fear. He felt the debuff claw its way into his heart and plant itself, the subtle tingle of hesitation now dictated his movements.


    ¡°Trouble.¡± Tailuur yanked at their connection. Corval felt Tailuur¡¯s pull on and so he pushed the graceful fluidity of his steps to Tailuur. In exchange, Tailuur¡¯s defenses erupted through the Fabric through Corval¡¯s wielding of it and blocked off the woman¡¯s fading attempt. She screeched in anger as she found herself rebounding backwards and unable to enter the Material.


    Corval slipped loose from the wool and through a seam to the Material to hasten his travel. Tailuur could feel his passage, the power draining on both their reserves. The threadbearer then appeared back into the Fabric, on the other side of the street behind the woman. She spun unnaturally towards the threadbearer, facing him head on. Tailuur couldn¡¯t ignore her uncanny ability to sense changes in the Fabric. She wore gauze; none of the more expensive Fabric essences appeared on her. She shouldn¡¯t have been able to sense Corval, the sight sigil on her blindfold was primitive.


    Tailuur continued to work on the hardened stitches along the weapon, a large sweeping scythe. His fingers worked with rapid, mechanical speed as he embroidered the blade from hardened Fabric essences, he kept stored away for just such a use. Meanwhile, Corval engaged the woman. She stood facing him, her hands splaying outwards as sharp blades protruded from her wrists, doubling her reach. She enclosed her hands around each once they had hit a roughly equal length to her arm and then advanced with a practiced fluidity towards Corval. The threadbearer countered her, using the hardened woolen armor to deflect the strikes as he danced around her. He encased his feet with silk, leaving a trail of silk flowers behind him. This was how the young man would dominate the battlefield. The more the ground bloomed with the rich flowers, the faster he could move around his target and in turn the slower it made them as they tried to traverse the silk garden.


    Tailuur felt the need to rush the process of creating the scythe, but crafting one so powerful always took longer and he hadn¡¯t the time to prepare it beforehand. As Corval fought with the woman, Tailuur could feel his power draining through the strings that connected the two.


    Corval tore a strip of wool from his armor. He had little practice with manipulating wool, but he needed to slow this woman down. Silk flowers bloomed along his chest, the silk essence allowing him the power to malform his body and encircle her. He stitched the wool around her, wrapping it up and cinching it closed like a corset and pinning her arms to her sides. She tried to bite him, and he punished the attempt with a quick strike to her face, landing with a crack to her jaw. For a moment he looked at her terrifying visage, the Fear daring him to flee, gripping his heart in its clenched fist. He saw the sigils pulse on her blindfold. Whether it was stupidity or bravery that dictated him, he grabbed the blindfold and pulled.


    She resisted, spinning her blade towards him with an ear-piercing scream, ripping at the wool corset he wrapped around her. Corval kicked at her blades, but he couldn¡¯t relieve her of the weapons. She shrieked and wrestled with the wool bindings while he laced her shut, her frantic and feral movements tearing and warping the surrounding Fabric. The thrum became ceaseless as it grew in their minds. Corval couldn¡¯t fight the Fear off any longer and he pulled his connection to Tailuur and slipped with ease back to him, feeling the relief wash over him as he was no longer within the aura of her Fear.


    ¡°It¡¯s ready.¡± Tailuur offered the large scythe to his threadbearer. ¡°Careful, it could attract more attention than we want.¡± The enchantment pulsed in Corval¡¯s hands, it was meant to melt away the fear and add strength to his attacks. The threadbearer prodded the power of the Fabric enchanted weapon, but to his disappointment the Fear still gripped him, his inkwell didn¡¯t change. Corval¡¯s gray eyes met Tailuur¡¯s, Fear¡¯s grasp clench firmly around the young man¡¯s heart.


    Corval terrified gaze widened with a guttural choke, blood erupting from his chest. Tailuur felt his semblance of humanity clench the empty cavern where a human would keep their heart. He had no heart, no mind, and no soul. He was, is, and always will be a servant of the souls that passed into the Fabric. Facilitating death, for as long as the threads of time stretched into infinity. Grief and pain were terrible things, all-consuming. Without them, though, he would not care that he was watching Corval bleed like a man and die like one too. Humans were fragile things. The threadbearer slumped on the twin blades that protruded from his chest, the threads that connected the threadbearer to his prophet snapped with a pitched ting that coursed through Tailuur. He felt the hollow tear of losing his Material connection.


    It happened in an instant, before he could think. Wrapped in yards of tulle, translucent fabric entrapping him and pulling him through the Fabric as though he was transparent.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Loomia¡¯s feminine voice whispered in the Prophet¡¯s mind. She must have done this. Pulled Tailuur from the battle and plunged him into the abyssal travel.


    ¡°He knew the costs.¡± Tailuur replied dryly. ¡°Where are you taking me?¡±


    ¡°To find another. You are not the only one who has lost this day. Morgan is dead.¡± The voice was flat and unemotional, even as she spoke of her own threadbearers¡¯ death. Tailuur could feel her pain as she wrapped him in her protective tulle. ¡°Something is moving, Tailuur. It¡¯s killing the threadbearers, even before they come to know the Fabric. We cannot wait.¡±


    ¡°Take me to Reeth. I have something for him.¡± Tailuur clutched the blindfold of bloody wool, the strange sight sigils twitched along the threads.

 Chapter 1: One End of the Scalpel

    The body¡¯s skin had turned from its supple peach tones to the dull gray of suspended decay. Its inhabitant had long since left the carcass that laid upon the cold metal slab of Edwina¡¯s workspace, three large stab wounds in its side. The coroner didn¡¯t treat the body as just a dead thing, however. To her it was still very much alive and, even in its gray still state, it had so much to tell her. So many stories written upon its skin. Layer after layer of life it possessed, ready for her to uncover. Each wound a gaping canyon in the body, somehow looking more menacing after having been cleaned of any blood and debris. To document and retell. However, she was only to facilitate the telling of one story. The one where they died.


    The small morgue was a place of sterilized mourning. Smooth stone floors echoed the subtle shifting steps of her shoes and the rickety wheels of the metal cart that made her workstation. Metal implements laid out on top of the Voile enchantment that pulled contaminants from their surfaces. A handy and low-cost Fabric enchantment used in medical facilities. Her metal tools looked almost torturous under the flicker of the gas lamp light.


    They had delivered the body late the night before. A constable had called her flat to let her know, but he hadn¡¯t reached her there. So, he phoned the card club instead. Calling the woman from her revelries to attend to the deceased vagrant.


    The sound of her fountain pen upon paper scratched her ears as it echoed off her hollow workroom, where the sounds of the dead prevailed. Edwina never heard joyfulness in this room, only the mournful wails of those who came to identify their loved ones. The woman was averse to forms of physical contact with strangers, but Edwina had held a sobbing widow on a number of occasions. Her own comfort didn¡¯t matter much to her, not when the person who was clinging to her lab coat was experiencing the most uncomfortable moment of their lives.


    Edwina continued with her initial visual examination, making untidy notes on her report. She examined the body with a keen gaze. The lines on her forehead scrunched into a curious expression. There, on the body¡¯s chest, lying above the heart, in a perfect square, was a papery film lifting off the body¡¯s surface, like sunburned skin.


    Not everyone could see an active Voile augmentation or enchantment thrum with their subtle power like Edwina could. This was one designed to be undetectable, it was only her unique ocular ability that she could even see it was there. This sort of attention to the cosmetic effect of a medical Voile augmentation was highly advanced for a vagrant to have one installed on his chest. A heart augmentation, nonetheless, the sigils required to guide the Voile usage would be extensive.


    Edwina put down her clipboard and picked up the file for the deceased. She didn¡¯t remember a Voile augment having been in his medical reports. She tapped the small box with her pointer finger in confirmation, and a sigh escaped her lips. This would mean more paperwork, a lot of it.


    Perhaps she could have Benton do it? She considered that, then let out another sigh as she realized the time. Benton was late. Again.


    There, beneath the autopsy report, was the form for Benton¡¯s dismissal as her student assistant. She felt awful about it. Benton wasn¡¯t a bad student. The young man was very bright, with uncanny observational skills. Often, he would have a solution ready before even Edwina could. But even with all his interest and potential, he didn¡¯t care about the job. He constantly arrived late, did things halfway, and filled out reports so poorly that Edwina had to file amended forms on more than one occasion. Though, none of these offenses were egregious enough for immediate dismissal. When she needed him most, he had always performed in an exemplary manner.


    Benton could have had a promising career, if he hadn¡¯t been so bent on ruining things just to get back at his father. Arthur Wiles. The Wiles family was one of the wealthiest families in Ebonport. They were legacy graduates from¡ªand large donors to¡ªthe prestigious school of Wraithmire University. Edwina¡¯s alma mater.


    Benton may have been testing her. Wanting to see how far he could push until she dismissed him. To see if she would even risk it. Perhaps he wanted someone to finally tell him no. Tell him he couldn¡¯t get away with everything. Edwina, though, didn¡¯t believe him to be so ignorant. She had seen his intelligence firsthand, and every shortcoming had been deliberate. His natural work ethic was very good, and she would, of course, be open to having him study under her again. After he corrected his course.


    They would put this autopsy on hold until she was able to get some answers on what kind of Voile augmentation was protruding from the dead man¡¯s chest. Edwina picked up the phone and asked the switchboard operator to connect her to the local Fabrication office. Her mind began going through its mental checklist on the procedure for undocumented Voile augmentations, while her eyes narrowed in on an off-center structural line on the wall, losing herself to a thoughtless daydream until her vision unfocused. The voice on the other end brought her back.


    ¡°Karie, it¡¯s Edwina Sharp from the coroner¡¯s office.¡± She pulled out her professional voice from the back of her throat, shifting from a slouch to an upright stance. ¡°I have an unregistered Voile augmentation on an ¡®Adam O¡¯Hare¡¯ here. He was brought in last night. He was found in Sag Alley, known vagrant.¡±


    Edwina listened to the voice on the other end of the receiver scale up in surprise. Voile augmentations were expensive. They were not something a person of little money would¡ªor even could¡ªget their hands on. Voile was fragile and, depending on the complexities of the sigil, it would burn off in a matter of days or months. The primary use of long-term Voile augments required monthly monitoring and refreshing using more layers of stitched Voile to keep them working.


    ¡°Heart.¡± She answered the question and shifted to lean on the wall. The coroner continued to relay several clear, albeit short, answers for Karie to fill out on her own set of paperwork. ¡°It seems stable for now. It should be fine to wait a day. I¡¯ll call you back if anything changes.¡±


    Edwina hung up the receiver just as the doors swung open with a burst that only a youthful male that was running late to work would force through its hinges. Benton wasn¡¯t a quiet person. The young man was a boisterous socialite, relaying his exciting weekends at every opportunity. They were always filled with trips to the countryside to go hunting, large parties that gleamed of sparkling dresses and equally sparkling wine from the family vineyard. Benton was rich in experience and relished telling Edwina all about every succulent detail. It didn¡¯t matter that Edwina was ten years his senior and his superior, she couldn¡¯t manage to keep him on task. She was knowledgeable in her field, but that experience didn¡¯t translate into the teaching profession.


    Her office often lacked a student assistant. It was small, and in Millbrook. A rural town on the outskirts of Ebonport¡ªthe capital city¡ªmaking it the furthest commute for anyone who traveled there from the university. It was a last resort placement for overflow students. Benton picked it first for it¡¯s distance away from his father¡¯s prying eyes. When she was a student, she¡¯d never minded the daily train ride. It was an hour-long commute where she could play cards with other passengers. Although, after she had bled the daily riders of their extra gambling cash, she resorted to silently reading and studying until she found a fresh batch of people to play with.


    When she made the permanent move to Millbrook, she did find a proper card club, instead of gambling at various dorm parties. Edwina had always expected that one day she would grow out of the practice. A woman of her age, with a steady job, unmarried, and childless, she made more than enough to support herself. However, nothing precluded her from continuing the hobby. On most days after work, she would go down to the card club and her excess funds would lie scattered among stacks of chips, all being relentlessly fiddled with as a dealer shuffled cards over the felt table. She enjoyed it.


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    ¡°Sorry I¡¯m late.¡± Benton said breathlessly as he wriggled his arm through the sleeve of his lab coat. It was giving him a fit, static twisting the fabric and forcing him to nearly punch his way through, causing him to violently curse words Edwina had never heard him utter before.


    Something was off today.


    The young man had dark brown hair that he styled back, out of his face. He was always clean-cut and smelled of fresh aftershave. He rigorously washed, pressed, and kept his clothes spotless. Today, however, he looked disheveled. His hair was greasy and loose strands hung out of place. He wore a wrinkled shirt, as if he had slept in it. He was off balance, not the poise of a boy classically trained in dance and posture. Edwina tried not to react to the curses, she just didn¡¯t want to deal with it. Not with his impending dismissal.


    ¡°Are you? I could have sworn a ¡®Benton¡¯ had arrived earlier today,¡± She looked up with a wry grin at the skeleton representation that stood in the corner of the room adorned with Benton¡¯s hat and coat he left at the office the night before. ¡°opening up the office, finishing the morning reports. Preparing the slab, sanitizing the equipment. He even staged the body that came in last night and washed and prepared it.¡± Her tone remained even as she tried to bring levity to the situation, her eyes tilted up in a knowing look. He responded to the sarcasm with a mock chuckle as he snatched his hat off the figure. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter now, the body is going back in the fridge. He has an unregistered Voile augmentation. Let¡¯s see if it¡¯s still active, get the living ink, we¡¯ll document then tag him and put him in slot four.¡±


    Living ink would revitalize the dead man¡¯s inkwell, the phenomenon that everyone had. Black inky sigils that rippled beneath the skin on one¡¯s forearm that gave information about one¡¯s state of being. Current health, heart rate, differing levels of strength, mental state, and mental fortitude.


    She did her best to keep an eye on him but not lead on to the fact she was observing his subtle, but odd behavior. He sprang into action, spinning around dramatically to find something. Edwina jumped as Benton¡¯s motions clattering a workstation to the ground and more curses burst from the boys mouth. Metal implements skidding across the floor. Her heart thumped at the sudden scare, and she moved to make sure Benton hadn¡¯t hurt himself.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, don''t worry about it.¡± He said in an abrupt tone. They both knelt down and began picking up the scattered equipment. Edwina paused to watch him for a moment. His unsteady hands and shaky fingers caught Edwina¡¯s perceptive eye. She swallowed back her hesitations.


    ¡°Benton, are you well?¡± She lowered her tone to indicate her seriousness. He sputtered off that he was fine and turned his gaze away so she couldn¡¯t see. ¡°Benton, show me your arm.¡±


    Her request made the boy jump away from her, shouting that he was fine. Punctuating his words with definite force. He pulled his sleeve down to hide his forearm. Edwina needed to see the sigils that churned in black veins beneath his skin. As she was his superior and there was suspicion of a breach in Benton¡¯s contract by coming to work drunk then she had the right to demand to see it.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. I just had too much to drink last night, that¡¯s all. It was my flatmate¡¯s birthday, and he fancies the lounge on Carver?¡± He stepped back. ¡°More, he fancies the waitresses there. You know the ones. They wear those frilly little skirts that have a heart cutout over their bum.¡±


    He walked backwards until he bumped into the countertop. Edwina closed in and looked at his eyes. His pupils churned in an unnatural, shattered pattern.


    Her stomach sank.


    Edwina grabbed his arm and focused on the sigils. The ink was sluggish as it linked beneath his skin. Instead of the steady flow like thick water, it crawled and scraped like sand. It took form in the jagged sigil, frightfully angular in shape. The symbols spelled out the debuff of his recent drug use.


    ¡°You were smoking Fabric Shreds?¡± Edwina¡¯s disbelief in his betrayal bubbled up from her core and lodged itself into her throat. Heat radiated from her face enough that it nearly fogged her glasses. She was uncomfortable with conflict; she always made the worst decisions when trying to handle it. She preferred to work alone¡­ in a morgue¡­ with the dead. Her fingers gripped the young man enough to bulge the skin whitening her grip on him. ¡°Do you understand how dangerous that is? You could have gotten hurt. You do realize I have to report this. Benton, you are a promising young man, and I have forgiven a lot of things from you¡ªbut this¡­¡± She trailed off. Her chest was thumping wildly as the implications arose in her mind.


    ¡°It was once. It was my mate¡¯s birthday, what was I supposed to say?¡± He jerked his arm away from her grip. The young man was stronger than her, she didn¡¯t need to see her strength sigil falter to tell her that. ¡°You can¡¯t report this. My father wouldn¡¯t allow it.¡±


    Edwina gaped. He never relied on his father¡¯s standing to get out of things. It was true, he could, but the young man hated his father. It was a silent understanding he would just as soon chew his own thumb off before he would rely on his father¡¯s name.


    ¡°I am still the chief coroner here, Mr. Wiles. My signature is no smaller than that of your father¡¯s. I¡¯m sorry, but I cannot have this type of behavior in my lab.¡± Edwina stated firmly with a false bravado. In truth, her innards were trembling to the point she noted where the waste bin was in case she became sick.


    ¡°No! You won¡¯t! Do you have any idea what you¡¯re doing?¡± His voice became elevated and irrational, bellowing over the surfaces of the hollow room. Benton lifted and threw one of the stocked and upright workstations. Her tools echoed their prostrate positions, metal ringing long after they hit the cold hard ground causing Edwina to gasp and tense. She brought her arms to her center.


    He stalked the end of the room with violent shudders coursing through his limbs. Whatever walked into her lab this morning was not Benton. This man was feral, angry, so full of aggression it was boiling out of him in invisible fumes. He felt twisted somehow. Like a distorted image in a broken mirror.


    Edwina attributed the behavior to Shreds. She had never autopsied a Shreds user before. Even among those with wealth, it was nearly unheard of. Shreds wasn¡¯t an enjoyable drug as far as she knew. Processed Voile could do so much more to stimulate the senses. Smoking Shreds was like burning money and eating the ash.


    He paced in front of the threshold to the door out. There was an exit behind her, but that door remained locked, and her keys were in her locker. Edwina didn¡¯t know what to do next. Her stomach twisted so hard she felt like she had lost a few inches sucking in her stomach. He wouldn¡¯t leave and as the minutes¡ªor really seconds¡ªcontinued to tick by, he grew more unpredictable, angrily muttering to himself, and slamming spare items against the floor, battering cupboard doors. She couldn¡¯t call for help, nor was she confident enough to confront him.


    ¡°Benton, it¡¯s alright. We¡¯ll talk later about all this. You should go home, let the Shreds filter out of your system. I¡¯ll give you the week off. Go rest.¡± She spoke in a calm, but shaky voice. How she wished for a better mediator to handle the situation. The dealer at a card table would call over a bouncer to remove the belligerent drunk. Some other form of authority to take the reins.


    There was no one else now. Just her and an irrational Benton. She shifted herself to an untouched workbench.


    ¡°Benton?¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± He screamed at an alarming level and turned his body aggressively. Edwina sucked in a scream.


    Her mind wasn¡¯t quite processing the events taking place, but her body was reacting. She grabbed a scalpel and held it straight out towards the boy. She controlled her breath and did her best to school her face.


    ¡°Go home, Benton.¡± She commanded. Edwina wouldn¡¯t be able to overpower him, but the implement in her hand could do serious damage in the process. She didn¡¯t expect to beat him in a fight, but she hoped that the promise of harm would dissuade Benton from going after her. The fact she even thought this boy would even think of going after her filled her with shame. Other than his academic failings, he had never indicated he would resort to something like this.


    He wasn¡¯t a bad person. This wasn¡¯t Benton.


    Then he was gone. Stomping out through the doorway, leaving Edwina still holding the scalpel. She squealed as the phone rang, dropping the metal tool. The coroner gathered herself and rushed to the wall that held the phone. She pulled the earpiece off.


    ¡°Yes?¡± She heard Karie¡¯s voice come over the earpiece. ¡°Yes, thank you Karie.¡ª Tomorrow will be fine.¡ª Afternoon? Yes, I¡¯ll be here all day.¡ª Oh?¡ªOh no I¡¯m fine, just feeling a little out of sorts, I think I¡¯ll go home early today.¡ª Thank you Karie.¡ª Yes, you too.¡ª Bye.¡±


    Edwina looked over the ruins of her lab. She decided she would go to the card club early tonight.

 Chapter 2: Cards and Cigarettes

    It turned into a long day at the morgue. A tram crashed into a large, motorized carrier truck and the coroner got chained to the morgue for hours. Edwina pinched her cheeks to create the essence of rouge, freshening up on the way since she hadn¡¯t gone home to do so before her walk to the card club began. The rain drizzled black water down the sides of the red brick, marking every building with a dull gray tone. It was the constant daily battle of the town washers to keep the building from turning completely black as the ink rained down from indigo clouds.


    Her heels clopped against the street bricks as she crossed towards the adjacent pausing for a moment in the street to wait for a motorcar to travel past. She looked through the dim windows of the car and noticed a man on the sidewalk, tall and stiff. Her heart clenched as the car went by and the man stepped into the street. As the man bounded towards her, she startled as she saw Benton in the man¡¯s face. She stepped back and a loud honk sounded in her ear as she nearly bounced off a car behind her. The man quickly reached out and grabbed her arm protectively pulling her away from the car.


    ¡°You alright miss?¡± He asked, his face concerned. He looked nothing like Benton.


    ¡°Yes, yes I¡¯m fine, should probably watch where I¡¯m going.¡± She painted on a fake smile and reassured the stranger before picking up her pace towards the Marrin Delight Card Club.


    ?¡¡ ? ¡¡?¡¡ ? ¡¡?


    The familiar scent of the card club washed over her as Edwina passed through the heavy mahogany doors. The doors closed safely, separating her from the tensions that were following her from beyond them. Chamberlin met her in foyer, he was a burly man with a deep red beard, which he kept cropped and neatly groomed, and matching long locks of wavy hair pulled back into a tight braid and wound into a bun. Edwina once asked him why he never let his hair hang freely, and he had said, ¡°Can¡¯t have someone be able to pull your hair while you¡¯re throwing them out.¡±


    ¡°Miss Edwina, it is a blessing to see you, straight from work I see,¡± Chamberlin noted as he slid her raincoat from her shoulders.


    ¡°You as well, Chamberlin. I had a rather stressful day.¡± She said, waving her hand in passive dismissal. Chamberlin gripped her arm in a kind, delicate touch, nestling her forearm in his large grasp. She silently cursed the obvious black sigils giving her away. ¡°I almost got hit by a motorcar on the way here.¡±


    Chamberlin hummed, the Fear sigil branched wildly over her other statuses, making it more than just a simple scare. Their expressions conveyed as much as any spoken conversation could have, her deep brown eyes flicking between his concerned gaze. He caressed the debuff that coiled beneath her skin with his thumb. His eyes narrowed with worry, but Edwina shook her head. She hoped it would go away soon.


    He outfitted her with a sigil sleeve and let her into the main room of the card club to collect her chips from the cashier. She tugged the sleeve up to the hem of her cream-colored blouse and tucked it in. The opaque fabric fit like a second skin and made it such that no one could peek at the stirring inkwell, and it was tight enough that no one could hide cards.


    The main room opened before her. The small card club had a total of five felt tables arranged in a circular pattern around the room. Dealers sat towards the center while the patrons lined the outer sides. Bright swooping chandeliers, lit up by the gas that flowed through the copper pipes. Each pipe fitting kept a small flame, dancing within an orb of colored glass that encased it. The room was warm and smelt of fresh lilacs arranged in vases sat on shelves that housed hefty leather-bound books. The proprietor of this establishment went to great lengths to avoid the dingy smoke-filled card rooms that bred an air of suspicion and unsavory patrons.


    ¡°Edwina!¡± A man burst out with a joyous shout. He was a plump sort, a face always red with delight and would keep a handkerchief handy to whip the sweat that gathered at his brow. Edwina returned the smile to the man, it was impossible not to. She¡¯d first met Sam two years ago after he identified the body of his deceased wife. He had spiraled into a deep depression, and at times would come to the morgue, confused and distressed. Edwina did the only thing she knew how to do, and they played cards over one of her workstations. Sam was a wealthy man, and he eventually turned his energies towards something more constructive, so he invested in the card house.


    ¡°Sam,¡± Edwina greeted him warmly with a polite kiss on the cheek. ¡°Winning?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t be now that you¡¯re here.¡± He belly laughed at himself and the enjoyment prompted another smile from the coroner. She sat in the plush chair and sorted out her chips.


    ¡°Rough day?¡± The dealer, Finn, spread the cards over the table and swirled them around before pulling them all back together to shuffle. Finn was a tall man, even sitting down, his lengthy arms hardly had to stretch to reach all edges of the card table. He had tight mousy blond curls atop a fine face that offered a kind smile as he met Edwina¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°I handled the tram crash today.¡± She felt terrible for her relief for having a different excuse for the somber mood that hung off her like cobwebs, other than what happened with Benton. She couldn¡¯t help but think about how much the incident had rattled her.


    ¡°I heard it was a nasty sort, three dead. Drunk man in one of those new large carrier trucks. Shame in or little town.¡± A man at the far end of the table puffed a little orange cigarette.


    ¡°Layla¡ªLayla my dear,¡± Sam called over one of the servers, her long black hair brushed to one side, fitting with her off the shoulder dress. ¡°Can you get Edwina here one of your Voile cigarettes?¡±


    ¡°Voile cigarettes?¡± Edwina¡¯s voice rose in surprise. ¡°What do they do?¡±


    ¡°All sorts of things. She¡¯s got all kinds of flavors that do different things from sharpen your mind, to calm your nerves.¡± Sam spoke animatedly as Layla came back with an ornate wooden box. It smelled of tobacco with hints of floral and citrus notes. Felt indents perfectly lined each cigarette, like miniature soldiers on parade. ¡°The little orange ones taste like sherbet, they, erm, wake up all your senses.¡±


    ¡°Layla, do you know about someone who is selling something stronger than these? Shreds?¡± Edwina picked out a soft blue colored cigarette and placed it in her mouth. Layla responded by taping the end with a small metal stick wrapped in Voile and stamped with the sigil to ignite. Edwina coaxed the cigarette until she could draw in the taste of vanilla and blueberries. She felt a foggy haze come over her mind, stirring with her and pulling away her stresses.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°No, I¡ª¡° Layla stumbled in surprise at the odd question.


    ¡°No, no, no, not that I believe you would¡ª I had a Shreds user in the morgue today. I¡¯m not experienced in the matter, and I just wondered if you knew anything at all, or someone I could talk to. I¡ª¡° Edwina sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, the Voile cigarette muddied her thoughts as it fought against her anxieties.


    ¡°The action¡¯s on you.¡± Finn spoke up, signaling Edwina that it was her turn. She cupped her hands and tipped the corner of her cards to check, before throwing some chips into the center and calling.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Edwina. No, my manufacturer does not deal in Shreds. These are all manufactured safely, in a reputable shop in Ebonport.¡± Layla¡¯s beautiful voice was disarming, she spoke with singsong notes. ¡°The blue ones are my favorite. That one¡¯s on me.¡±


    Edwina shook her head mid draw and slipped a few chips into Laylas cigarette box before the server could protest. The dealer shot another concerned as he had to remind Edwina again that the round came back to her. She thought for a moment, her hand went unimproved with the second card, and she didn¡¯t have a very good hand to start with. She pinched the cards'' edges, making them flip up and flutter down in a flourish as she folded them.


    Each consecutive hand dealt to her became worse. She knew her current cards were bad before she even dared to peek. Her mood was bringing down the table. Sam laughed and told the same story twice, attempting to pull the attention away from the card-dead coroner. She mourned the thing that always brought her joy, she knew she was sucking the life out of the room.


    Finn paused and looked at Edwina as he slowed his shuffling. She felt the expectation seep into her, it made her inkwell itch, the fear hadn¡¯t left her. The coroner had reached her threshold for losing, she would either go to a different table or call it a night. She grabbed her chips and sorted them into her chip tray. Polite apologies as she left her friends to go cash out. Sam gave her knuckles a cheerful kiss, telling her she was an absolute delight. They both knew he was lying, but cheerful words may be believed if one repeats them enough.


    The cashier exchanged the tray of coins for a much smaller stack of bills the coroner had come in with. Layla came up behind her and slipped two voile cigarettes into Edwina¡¯s pocket.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think I¡¯d let you get away with that.¡± She smirked that disarming look of hers. Layla studied the coroner with a keen eye. Her smile softened and the music in her voice faded. ¡°Edwina what¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°I just need to sleep this day off.¡± Edwina wouldn¡¯t meet the woman¡¯s eyes as she clicked her cash against the table and replaced it into her pocketbook. She shrugged and slipped her pocketbook under her arm.


    ¡°You never sleep.¡± Layla¡¯s voice clipped in a soft but serious tone. She stood taller than the coroner, had an elegance to her as she walked with lithe grace. Edwina had met her years ago, during a criminal investigation. Layla had been in the room when a man was stabbed to death. She had been his companion for the night, and Edwina was the one who processed her for the investigation. At the time she¡¯d told the prostitute, that after the investigation was over, she could remove the sigil brand that declared her property. The scar lay over the woman¡¯s left breast, just above the hem of her off-the-shoulder dress. They never talked about Layla¡¯s previous employment again.


    ¡°I know, but perhaps I should this time.¡± Edwina gave Layla a look of appreciation as she left the card club.


    ?¡¡ ? ¡¡?¡¡ ? ¡¡?


    Edwina entered the empty flat, shaking herself off from the rain and shuttering from the cold. She kicked her shoes off and placed the food on the counter. She always appreciated the diner on the corner being open all night. Plates, silverware, and cups lay in order on the table. A moment passed as the dinner for two taunted her. The image of a relationship, two people sitting at a table, was this strange phantom dream that seemed to always lay just outside her reach. She resigned herself and put the dishes away, opting to just eat straight from the carton, a bite into the meal she thought maybe she would wait. It wouldn¡¯t be long before he came home.


    She got up and cleaned, as it was an easy repetitive task that helped her think. Her flat often mirrored her office. Clean, sterile, and with everything in its place. This flat looked and felt lived in. Dust lined the shelves, clothes sat haphazardly in the laundry bin, papers and mail strewn about the side table. A comfortable feeling of home. A home that was not hers. She cleared the table, finding a stack of envelopes marked harshly with red ink. She squinted her eyes to look closer but the door opened with the jingle of metal keys, and Finn greeted Edwina with a smile. She shoved the overdue bill notices away and returned the smile.


    ¡°I had a hunch I would see you tonight.¡± He made no time to drop his things to cross the room tilting Edwina¡¯s chin with his pointer finger and gave her a kiss.


    ¡°I had a bad day.¡± She replied, her eyes closed as she let his kiss melt over her lips.


    ¡°Why is it I never get to see you on a good day?¡± He asked, his voice turning down as it wove with disappointment.


    ¡°Because if I was having a good day, I would still be at the card club.¡± She chuckled a smile. A smile that he returned with a despondent thinning of his lips. ¡°Finn¡ª¡° The words died on her tongue.


    ¡°What did you bring to eat?¡± He changed the subject and turned away from Edwina grabbing one of the cartons of food, picking through the meal with a fork.


    ¡°Finn, I don¡¯t want to do this tonight.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to do this any night.¡± The words came out sharply, he sighed and pulled himself back. He didn¡¯t mean to. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Silence hung between them.


    ¡°Finn, are you paying for your sister''s debts again?¡± She asked and his eyes snapped back up to meet hers. ¡°If you¡¯re having trouble keeping up with your bills. I¡¯ll supplement your rent¡ª¡±


    ¡°And what? Not live here? You already pay for a flat you never sleep at. You stay here, but you don¡¯t really sleep here either. I would like to know that I¡¯m coming home to you, not as a surprise, but because you live here.¡± He sat down and continued to pick at the food, but didn¡¯t take a bite. Edwina had hit a nerve mentioning his sister, but she had already committed to the idiocy of conflict and she didn¡¯t know how to dig herself out.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± She exasperated. ¡°To make me a bride, have children, and move out to the countryside? You know why that doesn¡¯t work for us.¡±


    Finn¡¯s heart sunk to the bottom of a frigid pool, like a stone. ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t want to do this tonight.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not fair.¡±


    ¡°I love you, Winnie. I know you weren¡¯t ready to say it back and I have been fine with that, but I¡¯ve waited a year.¡± He placed the food on the low center table and stood up to meet her. His body language softened, his fingers trailed up her arm until his hand cupped her face. ¡°I love you; I¡¯ll always love you. One day you will either say it back or let me go. Because I know I can¡¯t let you go.¡±


    She knew she was torturing him, but she couldn¡¯t let him go either. Her heart fell into her stomach as he peppered her face with delicate kisses. They were falling into the same pattern, curing heartache with wandering fingers breaching the hems of their clothes. It wasn¡¯t long before the pair were strewn across Finn¡¯s bed, tangled naked between cotton sheets. Her heart was quilted onto him, repeating this pattern with familiar stitches.


    She stirred from her restful trance when he got up to a knock at the door. Edwina didn¡¯t know how long had passed, the food long gone cold, the knocks became more insistent. Finn muttered frustrations as he pulled his robe over his body and went to the door. Edwina curled herself deeper into the bed waiting for the disruption to leave.


    ¡°Winnie, get dressed.¡± Finn¡¯s voice sounded rushed.


    ¡°What happened?¡± She was instantly alert.


    ¡°There¡¯s been a break-in at the morgue. Something¡¯s been taken.¡±

 Chapter 3: Slot Four

    The pair raced down the street as the sun shot like a bronze bullet into the sky, streaking the purple hued clouds with the sunrise. Finn stumbled to keep up as Edwina held him by the hand and maintained a quickened pace down the street towards the row of government buildings. The road was emptier than she expected, a single constable had blocked off the area. Edwina strode past the barrier with no resistance, slipping her hands from Finn¡¯s as they neared the inspector.


    Inspector Harold looked up and scowled as they approached. He and Edwina found themselves at odds often. The middle-aged man was Edwina¡¯s height, wearing a gray, threadbare trench coat he must have worn for all his adult life refusing to retire the old thing. In his youth, the inspector may have been a much taller man, but time and wary days had worn him into a hunch. He wore a fitted wool cap with a small brim atop dark hair that showed a bit of gray. He pursed his wrinkled lips and inspected the coroner with a disapproving look. Her confusion mounted; nothing seemed amiss except the open morgue door. Retracing her steps in her mind, she confirmed to herself she did indeed lock the door the night before.


    ¡°Inspector.¡± She greeted him and he only responded with a grunt to inquiry. ¡°What¡¯s been taken?¡±


    ¡°A body.¡± His tone was flat and he eyed her expectantly as though she should know to ask more questions. Edwina went to look at Finn but refrained. She gritted her teeth.


    ¡°Which one?¡±


    ¡°The missing one.¡±


    Edwina wanted to strangle the man.


    Finn subtly grasped her arm, as the thought of yelling or screaming entered her mind. She gently pulled away from Finn¡¯s grasp, quelling the desire to lose her patience with the inspector. These sorts of guessing games riled her nerves. Harold had been in the business a long time and would often decide where an investigation was going to go, then shove the evidence into place until it fit, or close enough. Many times, undermining the coroner¡¯s report and even on occasion indicating she was either grossly incompetent or a shameless liar. He retired to Millbrook after finishing his contract as a military investigation officer but found that sitting around at home retired didn¡¯t suit him. So, he pulled that ratty old coat out of his closet and applied for the Millbrook Inspector position. He didn¡¯t suit the position well, unable to readjust to civilian life from the military. He was used to things going his way. However, having a decorated soldier on staff wrote nicely in the papers for the Millbrook station, so the poor fit had been overlooked and Edwina suffered because of it.


    ¡°Who reported the incident?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Flower. She was digging around in the alley out back, heard the door open and saw two men leave with a full body bag. Didn¡¯t get a good look at them though. She tried to use your telephone; said it was broken.¡± he pointed his pen towards a disheveled elderly woman that sat on the ground near the constable. She had layers of coats on her shoulders, ripped and torn from years of misuse. She was also a known vagrant from Sag Alley, Millbrooks poorest district.


    ¡°May I go inside?¡± She asked and he responded with a grunt, pointing her towards the open door.


    Finn followed her in, and Edwina examined the room. After the situation with Benton, everything was just as she replaced it the day before. It all seemed to be where she put it. The doors to the slots closed and locked, the cabinets shut away and supplies all untouched. The only thing out of place was the earpiece of her telephone that dangled from its hook. She put the earpiece back and then pulled the door to slot four to confirm her suspicion, but the body was still there. Puzzlement stitched her brow together.


    ¡°Why were you expecting that one to be the missing?¡± Harold called from the doorway as he entered. Edwina turned and shoved the body back into its slot, shutting the door and clicking the latch shut.


    ¡°I was just going through all of them, Inspector.¡± The coroner schooled her face and tightened her tone.


    ¡°But you didn¡¯t start with one, or six. You started with four. Why?¡±


    Edwina didn¡¯t answer. Starting at number one she opened it, finding one of the crash victims. The biker that had been caught between the carrier truck and the tram. She moved on to the next, finding the second crash victim, the driver of the carrier truck, who had been under the influence. Then she opened the third slot, empty save for a white cotton sheet.


    ¡°This doesn¡¯t make sense. This was Mrs. Miller, she was a part of the tram crash, but she died of a heart attack at the hospital.¡± Edwina opened her filing cabinet and began rifling through the papers.


    ¡°Did you do a full autopsy?¡± the inspector asked.


    ¡°No, I wasn¡¯t supposed to. She was declared dead at the hospital. Known cause.¡± The coroner sighed as she looked at the empty space where the file should be.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you supposed to investigate incidents? Provide a full report when someone dies unexpectedly. Wasn¡¯t Mrs. Miller in the tram crash?¡±


    ¡°Yes, she was, but she didn¡¯t die in the tram crash. She was transported to the hospital and died there. Her death wasn¡¯t a mystery, it was a heart attack. I was just supposed to finish preparing the body for burial.¡±


    ¡°But you did a full autopsy on the other two, even though the driver was declared dead at the hospital, as well as Mrs. Miller.¡±


    ¡°The other two died as a direct result of the tram crash. Mrs. Miller was sitting in the back, nearly unaffected. She was 93 years old with a history of heart problems.¡± Edwina snapped as the man irritated her. He raised his brows and clicked his pen across his paper.


    ¡°Where were you last night, Mrs. Sharp?¡± The inspector muttered as he continued to take notes.


    ¡°Doctor, it¡¯s Dr. Sharp.¡± Edwina asserted herself. She knew what he was doing, and she wasn¡¯t about to let him lie about her again.


    ¡°She was with me.¡± Finn stated, stepping forward. ¡°We spent the night together.¡±


    ¡°All night?¡± The inspector looked through his brows.


    ¡°Harold, what would I do with a dead body? Other than my job?¡± The coroner closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ¡°Her file is missing too.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t do your job, though. Mrs. Miller went unprocessed and now you¡¯ve lost her file.¡± Harold¡¯s accusation grated on the coroner. She gritted her teeth realizing she fell for his antagonizing bait.


    ¡°What are you implying, Inspector?¡± She pushed her hands into the pockets of her plaid wool coat to control the shakes that had overtaken them. The inspector shrugged his shoulders and cleared his throat, unbothered by the distress he was inflicting upon the woman.


    ¡°Anything strange happen yesterday?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No¨C yes,¡± Edwina resigned herself. Defeat washing over her. ¡°My student assistant came in yesterday. He was high on Shreds, he got¡­ violent.¡±


    ¡°Winnie!¡± Finn stepped into her view. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say something?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want you to worry.¡±


    ¡°Did he hurt you?¡± Finn pressed.


    ¡°No, I scared him off.¡±


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    ¡°How?¡± Harold cleared his throat to quell Finn.


    ¡°I threatened to cut him¡­ with a scalpel.¡±


    ¡°Winnie¡­¡± Finn¡¯s voice was dripping with worry and disappointment. She could see in his eyes that he was tearing himself up over the argument they had had the night before. Piling up those frustrations onto what happened to her yesterday morning.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, I¡¯m fine. I haven¡¯t seen him since, but that had nothing to do with Mrs. Miller. He left before the tram crash happened. I got a call to do a site report, then came back here when they brought in the first body. The driver came second, and Mrs. Miller wasn¡¯t delivered until the end of the day.¡±


    ¡°But he still had access to the building. He has a set of keys, right?¡± the inspector asked.


    ¡°Yes, yes, he does.¡± She answered defeated as Finn went to slip her hand into his, but she pushed her hand back into her pocket.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯ll be all for now. I¡¯ll be in touch, Mrs.¨CDr. Sharp, and--.¡± Harold stared at Finn expectantly.


    ¡°Finn Bartlow.¡± Finn answered.


    ¡°--Mr. Bartlow. I¡¯ll want to talk to you again, for a proper inkwell interrogation.¡± The inspector rolled his wrist as he tried to place the small notepad into his coat, missing the pocket a few times before finally finding it and shoving it in. He sighed and grunted, leaving Finn and Edwina in the morgue. Flower hobbled down her alleyway and it was an hour before the constable finally left the street.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Edwina asked as Finn followed her back into the morgue and settled himself into a chair.


    ¡°Your assistant got violent, and I would like to be here if he decides to come back.¡±


    ¡°Finn, I don''t need you here to protect me.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s not for you. Maybe Sam would never forgive me if he found out I left you here alone after your assistant tried to hurt you. Maybe Layla would be devastated if something happened to you, and then come to hate me, knowing I could have done something about it. So, no Winnie, this isn¡¯t for you. Like it or not, people care about you.¡± Finn crossed his arms and splayed his legs out, lounging in the chair. Every chair always came up a bit too short for his height.


    He adjusted his flat cap and settled in, signaling that he would wait for as long as it took for Edwina to do her work. A curt sigh escaped her lips as she went to retrieve her lab coat, pulling off her plaid woolen jacket, and relieving her fingers of her fitted leather gloves. She smoothed her soft brown hair as she pulled off her hat and hung everything on her coat rack in her office. Lacing her fingers into her hair, she pulled it all back and secured it into a brass hair comb she kept in her desk drawer. She didn¡¯t have the time to prepare that morning when they hurried to the morgue. Her clothes were from the day before. Cream-colored blouse, hemmed with an inexpensive cotton lace pattern that fit snug just above her collarbone at the base of her neck, and reached down into quarter sleeves that buttoned at the end. She tucked the shirt into a rich brown wool floor-length skirt. Stockings and short kitten heels completed her ensemble.


    The coroner began her morning, turning on the valve to let the gas through the pipes, and proceeded to light the gas lamps along the walls. Warm light brought a certain life to the otherwise dead room. The cold, hard metal softened in the glow of a warm fire. Finn still sat in his chair unmoving, with a patience Edwina could only dream of possessing as a virtue. She caught herself looking at him then peeled her eyes away to her paperwork and forms. She felt his eyes on her, though.


    ¡°You never told me how you became a coroner.¡± he softly stated.


    ¡°You¡¯re right, I never did.¡± Edwina let the notion hang unanswered.


    Finn¡¯s chair groaned as he readjusted himself, she heard an inhale as though he was going to say something, but he settled back in the chair and didn¡¯t say anything.


    They had never really done much talking about her in all the time they had spent together. People could take every word, every story, and use them against her, hurt her with that knowledge. So, she packed every memory that defined her and tied them with twine, locking them away in her mind until they were safe to share.


    Even after death, people''s stories remained vulnerable. Every unfulfilled wish wrapped up their bones, imprinting the ending of their story with disenchantment. People would lament someone''s death and say nothing but glowing confabulations about them. Edwina always saw past the flesh, where the rot that permeated them. She would never speak ill of the dead, but she saw just how hollow their life had been.


    Edwina couldn¡¯t figure out why the thieves had taken Mrs. Miller. She pulled Adam O¡¯Hare out of his slot and transferred him to the center slab in preparation for the Fabrication inspector¡¯s examination. Millbrook had established the Fabrication office just recently, as Voile enchantments started becoming more accessible.


    The Viole was harvested from a coiled cotton-like plant. Just like cotton someone discovered the delicate puffs could be spun into threads and woven into fabric. The fabric didn¡¯t make for good clothing, the Viole was too fragile for it and would soak up the black in the falling rain. Through experimentation it was found that the Viole made a perfect sieve to separate the black substance in the rain and after processing it refined a heavy oily-like ink that became ¡°living ink¡±. Then it wasn¡¯t a far stretch to print inkwell sigils on the Voile make a canvas for enchantments and augmentations. The largest Viole plantation was North of Ebonport, in the Hellmark cemetery. The plant grew on the graves of the dead.


    The rise in incidents involving Voile led to the Department of Fabrication Enchantments having to institute oversight everywhere. Including this sleepy little town. Edwina had yet to meet Millbrook¡¯s DFE inspector.


    ¡°What are you going to do with that thing?¡± Finn asked as he sat forward. His eyes widened when Edwina pulled out a comically large needle and attached it to a syringe. She chuckled softly as the color drained from his face, stunned by the sheer imposing nature of the object. Finn was always squeamish around needles and especially knives. He had gotten a nasty splinter in his finger once that turned to infection. It took her and Chamberlin to wrestle him down in order for Edwina to make the small incision to pull out the little piece of wood. She could have sworn he would never forgive her for it.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to perform a sigil reformation. After you die, your inkwell stops working. I can revitalize it with some living ink.¡± Edwina prompted him to observe. She pushed her finger into the gray flesh of the dead man, making a soft bulge in his skin. ¡°The inkwell starts here, once I push the living ink into it and I should be able to tell what his Fabric augmentation is doing.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s still doing something? It hasn¡¯t burned off yet?¡± Finn leaned over the body to observe; his hands held behind his back. His nose scrunched at the sterile smell. Edwina cleared her throat and averted her eyes as Finn looked down over her work. Having him around always messed with her thoughts.


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s still active. You¡¯re going to want to look away before I do this.¡± She warned him as she lined up the needle and began inserting it. Finn jumped back and shook his whole body overdramatically, as if to wiggle away the uneasy thoughts of the needle. Curiosity lured him back as Edwina hummed in observation.


    The black ink poured into the body, rushing down the channels of the inkwell like a breached dam. It filled in the normally unseen sigils, blackening the man''s skin. The sigils resurfaced, the mental alertness, the debuffs, the strength, and dexterity all moving to their baseline. Edwina watched as his health line found itself. The sigil dropped low, nearing death, but it was still there. It clicked once more down, and Edwina gasped.


    ¡°Get my health kit in my office, it''s a leather bag, in the back, in a low cupboard. Hurry!¡± She commanded, and Finn leaped into action.


    ¡°What? What happened?¡± He asked, as his long limbs crashed into her small office. He opened every cupboard, looking for the bag.


    ¡°He¡¯s alive! But his health line is dropping.¡± Edwina climbed up on the examination table to gain some leverage and threw her whole body into chest compressions. Finn came flying back with the bag. ¡°In the inner pocket on the left-hand side there¡¯s a metal tin marked ¡®VA¡¯, it has syringes in it. I need you to take one out and shove it into his heart and push the plunger.¡±


    ¡°But I¨C¡±


    ¡°Just do it Finn!¡± she yelled. Finn¡¯s finger lost all motor control as he fumbled with the tin. He picked out one of the small syringes and Edwina went back to walk him through the steps. Lined up with shaking breaths, he held the syringe with a tight fist before slamming down on the man¡¯s chest. He placed his thumb on the plunger and pushed, liquid squirting out to the side.


    ¡°It didn¡¯t go in.¡± Finn sputtered, confused.


    ¡°The augment. It¡¯s in the way and it¡¯s killing him.¡± Edwina slipped off the table and grabbed her scalpel. She found the edge of the Voile augmentation. She worked with steady hands to carve along the edge of the device. Finn¡¯s breathing was the loudest thing in the room, but he couldn¡¯t seem to peel his eyes away. Edwina removed the flap of skin. Strings of stretchy white thread snapped and coiled away from his body as they tore free from the flesh.


    The rapid descent of the health line on the body¡¯s forearm stopped. She looked at the flesh, tendrils of white cord curled like worms, searching, and reaching for something. She threw it into a nearby organ bowl and grabbed another one of the syringes, watching the health line, waiting to see if it dropped again.


    ¡°Did you save him?¡± Finn asked, and Edwina shushed him. The health line began to move upwards, and Edwina felt relief.


    The line shot upward and pushed past the man''s forearm, into his bicep and across his chest. Edwina moved away as Adam gasped and screamed, blood and black ink pouring from the large wound in his chest. The man violently convulsed on the table sending Edwina and Finn stepping back. The bubbling liquid coalesced into an appendage grabbing Finn¡¯s arm and lurching him forward before brutally throwing him backwards into the far wall, glass cabinets broke with an uncharacteristic strength. Finn fell hitting the counter shattering glass beakers and throwing supplies as he tumbled violently to the floor. Edwina screamed as Adam O¡¯Hare stood up, his body snapping unnaturally into place. His limbs jerked as the searing ichor began coating him. The stench was unbearable as the dead man sputtered out a growl towards the woman.


    This was no longer Adam O¡¯Hare.

 Chapter 4: Chiffon Makes You Weightless

    Warden felt the static of his prophet¡¯s presence in his office. That incessant hum of Fabric¡¯s change as she sat just on the edge of his sensory essence on the other side of the veil that separated the Material world from the transitory Fabric realm. Loomia, a prophet, was not truly here in the Material, but she hovered her body just over the chair in a sort of mock of human habit, just inside the Fabric realm. Warden was born with the primal essence to see into the Fabric realm, also known as his sensory essence. When he had given himself to be a threadbearer for Loomia¡ªthe Material counterpart to a prophet of the Fabric¡ªhis vision into the Fabric realm became much clearer.


    She was taller than his own great height, but it didn¡¯t come as a surprise considering she wasn¡¯t human. Her body stretched out over the small office chair as she worked alongside him. She had four long arms with hands that pointed into sharp nails that acted as a sort of sewing machine. Her fingers moved rapidly as they sewed together Fabric essences, the clothes that threadbearer¡¯s would derive their powers from. Her own Fabric essence was made of a stiff but translucent tulle essence. Large puffy sleeves that drooped down past her hips. The bodice sheer over her black charcoal skin revealing her silhouette in detail. She had no definable feminine features; she was smooth over her chest like a seamstress¡¯s dress form. She was like a sculpted version of a human, stretched thin and lean. An intricate embroidery of elegant lace patterned her skirt. A feat she had expressed took her years of delicate Fabric essence gathering to achieve.


    Warden had finally started getting used to the work of gathering Fabric essence. The ¡®spirit¡¯ of living things were different than the soul. For all his life he had known them to be one in the same.


    The spirit is what differentiates the living from the dead. The soul is what differentiates the humans from the rest of the living. ¨C A Tearsies Proverb


    Fabric essences are cultivated from the spirits that linger just inside the Fabric realm when the living of the Material die. Those spirits could be recycled and used to repair tears in the Fabric realm, but most were naturally woven into more life. Then there were others¡ªlike the ones Loomia was using¡ªthat were sewn together to create items of power.


    Warden moved into this office just a few months ago as a Fabrication officer for the Department of Fabrication Enchantments. The job had provided him with a suitable cover for his new purpose as a threadbearer for the prophet that sat before him. When people had discovered the cotton-like plants that grew threads of tangible Fabric essence into the Material, it wasn¡¯t long before a person with too much money figured out a way to make more. Fabrication of Voile had begun it¡¯s spread rapidly. How these plants came into being is still a mystery among the prophets, all they know is they grow on fields of the dead.


    ¡°I finally have a reason to meet Dr. Sharp.¡± Warden broke the silence and Loomia¡¯s sewing ceased. He felt a certain relief. There are those who hated the sensation of metal scraping against something. A shudder during lunch as a fork skids across someone¡¯s teeth. Warden was one such person. ¡°Thank you for setting it up.¡±


    ¡°Setting what up?¡± Her voice was breathy, like the low notes on a flute. A grey smoke puffed from her lips as she inquired. She looked at him, her charcoal eyes examining him without pupils or irises, just a solid satin black gaze.


    ¡°I am to go examine a Fabric augmentation on a vagrant in her morgue.¡± Warden waved his hand shooing away nonsense, as though it were obvious, and smiled. His white teeth shone brightly against his dark skin, his face scrunching. The contrast of his hazel eyes against his deep skin was almost unnerving, it would only become more so as his irises turned light steel grey the more he gave himself over to threadbearing. ¡°It¡¯s impossible an enchantment like that just appeared on a homeless man on accident.¡±


    ¡°I did not do it.¡± Her tone was flat and unfeeling as she answered. For a moment she just gazed back at Warden before abruptly getting up. ¡°We must go to her. Now.¡±


    ¡°Is that ready?¡± He didn¡¯t hesitate at her command as he turned his forearm and summoned his extended inkwell. More sigils came into view, spreading across his veins. He had only really delved into one Fabric essence, chiffon. The essence of weightlessness, adaptability, and illusion. For now, however, he had only adapted the weightlessness of the chiffon Fabric essence into his arsenal, unlocking the ability to jump great distances and temporarily remove or shift the weight of something. Loomia had been working on adding adaptability, but that essence ability required a range of Fabric essences gathered from many different spirits to truly make it work and it was taking a considerable amount of time to complete.


    ¡°It is not. We will have to go with just one essence. We shall have to supplement with tulle.¡± She stashed away her work into the sort of space between the folds of Fabric that she seemed to have access to everywhere. She jutted forward a single finger and pierced through Warden¡¯s shoulder with a long needle-like nail, connecting a single thread between them so they could share power, and she could track him more accurately as he moved about the Material.


    Warden ran outside, pulling on his coat and placing his hat over his dense crimped hair. The rain had ceased and a clear sky with a few scattered streaks of indigo clouds that lay overhead. He took a moment to look around for anyone viewing and then braced his feet against the ground and focused on his weightlessness. He felt his Fabric self warp and move, the chiffon against his skin lifted his weight away from him and he became light in the breeze as he pushed off the ground shooting into the air. Loomia was close behind him just on the other side of the Fabric, keeping herself grounded to his position and guiding his direction through their connection. Warden adjusted his weight, pushing towards his head to propel him upwards then down to his feet to bring him down. He then lightened himself before hitting a rooftop to avoid hitting the ground too hard and breaking something.


    ¡°I feel something. Something strange coming from the Material. It¡¯s making a tear.¡± Loomia whispered to Warden as she tugged on their gossamer connection to guide him to the source. Dr. Sharp¡¯s morgue.


    Warden leapt off the rooftop, launching himself urgently into the air towards the morgue. He felt the malevolence, a small bloody rot that snagged roughly. Inching its way into the Material bit by bit and chewing away at the Fabric like moths.


    With a few more great leaps Warden finally reached the rooftop of Dr. Sharp¡¯s morgue. His ears perked at the sound of a clatter below and a shriek. He signaled to Loomia, and she plunged all twenty of her fingers into Warden¡¯s back, pulling them out to create more connections. The threads bursting from his back like wings. She wrapped her tulle around them both and they phased through the roof of the building into the assaulted room below.


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    The haze of the phasing cleared Warden¡¯s eyes, and he came face to face with the scene. A tall blond man lay crumpled on the floor at the far end of the room. Glass shattered around him, the cabinet doors hanging uselessly on their hinges, spilling their contents onto the ground. A gradual pool of blood bloomed from his body. A woman, assuming Dr. Sharp, had locked herself in an office room, her wild screams sounded out as a large naked man beat with impossible strength on the door. Splinters of wood went flying as the door frame began to break way with every hit.


    ¡°The boys spirit is already calling more demons here.¡± Loomia instructed. She bolstered her defenses, with all twenty connections, her tulle could flow into the Material. She covered the floor of both the Fabric and the Material with laced tulle. Anything that walked overtop would find themselves sinking into the ground, and the lace would wrap around them, trapping them.


    The naked man went first, his feet sinking into the ground. He tried to turn to face Warden, but his feet were firmly planted as lace began to crawl up his legs. Warden lightened his body, pushing forward, then he moved his weight forward into his fist causing it to lurch for a heavier strike. He hit the naked man in the back of his head, his hand punching through skull bone and into the fleshy squish of brain matter. Warden pulled back on his hand, only to have something latch onto his fist. Rows of unnaturally formed teeth began growing at a terrifyingly rapid pace from the shattered bone. Warden got a good look at this thing as it bulged in twisted flesh, a perfectly cut square on its chest bloomed red and black ichor, rows of teeth lined the wound, as well as the wounds reaching across the creature¡¯s face. It was marred wildly with slashes and stabs, two scalpels protruding from its face. The black ichor covered its arms, squirming extra limps lifting off of him, one bursting forward to hit Warden.


    Warden felt the tulle flow over the strike, the black writhing limb whiffing air as though the threadbearer wasn¡¯t even there as it phased through him. The threadbearer moved the tulle essence into his arm and freed the limb by phasing it through the entrapment of teeth. The forearm of his coat was shredded, dozens of sharp scratches had torn the fabric thoroughly. The naked creature tried to move again, giving out choking growls of frustration, blood bubbling from the wound where a mouth might have been. It pulled forcefully on its feet, tearing the muscles and tendons, snapping its bones until it could crash through the door towards Dr. Sharp.


    ¡°Loomia, I need my staff.¡± Warden commanded. He felt ten threads snap as Loomia let go with two of her hands to begin her work crafting his weapon. Warden¡¯s command of tulle would be clumsier now that half their connection was gone, but it would be enough to get through the wall and between Dr. Sharp and the naked man.


    It was more of a drain, and he had to work to get through the brick wall and the many books on the shelf that stood on the other side it, but Warden managed the phase. Dr. Sharp was curled up on the ground behind a heavy wood desk in the far corner of the room. She had toppled shelves and piled anything she could carry against the door. Potted plants had sacrificed their clay pots, books, files, bags, side tables, couch cushions, and an ornate office chair was now giving Warden the precious time he needed to get to Dr. Sharp. She was a mess of tears and terror. Her limbs shook uncontrollably and the only sounds to come from her mouth were frantic cries. The threadbearer quickly grabbed her arm to see her inkwell, the sigils pulsed with Terror, she would be completely inconsolable until the debuff was removed. Her actions were entirely dictated to get away from the creature that was scaling the mountain of office furniture towards her. The threadbearer was relieved to see her health sigils were intact and full. She wasn¡¯t hurt.


    ¡°Dr. Sharp, look at me.¡± Warden brought her to her feet and took her trembling face into his palms making her eyes peel away from the entity and into his bright hazel eyes. Her soft brown hair was falling out of its brass clip, the strands stuck to her reddened face with tears and snot. The threadbearer summoned his chiffon, coiling the power around his fingers. He moved his one hand to cup her jaw, his fingers on one side and his thumb on the other, to keep her looking at him. His other hand dropped down to her forearm, feeling the Terror that had its claws in her. He lifted the weight of it. Dr. Sharp gasped as her vision became clear and her inconsolable cries quieted. The Terror was muted, but it wasn¡¯t a permanent solution. He let go of her face and held her hand as he assessed a way to get her out of the room. He did not have command enough of tulle to phase them both through the wall.


    The naked man had clambered atop the barricade, his stumps for legs pouring a bubbling liquid that seared the ground below him. The stench of rot curled into Warden¡¯s nose, and he gagged. Dr. Sharp seemed completely unfazed by the smell, her body calmed, the shakes had begun to subside.


    ¡°This is not ideal.¡± Warden braced himself between Sharp and the man. ¡°You¡¯re going to go for a bit of a float, I¡¯ll do my best to make sure you don¡¯t hit the ground too hard.¡±


    ¡°Wha-¡° Before Sharp could ask Warden lightened her body and the desk and threw both towards the open doorway, her body flailing and almost hitting the frame before she made it through. The creature slashed at her, but it hit the oak desk with a crunch of finger bones against the solid wood. As she neared the ground Warden gave her weight back and she rolled with a thud onto the floor. He also dropped the lightness on the desk, the heavy wood crashed down onto the creature, squishing it beneath. Warden continued this strategy, lifting bookshelves, filing cabinets, and any heavy object he could reach to pile on top of the creature, crushing it into a pulp of flesh and ichor.


    ¡°Finn!¡± Dr. Sharp¡¯s voice rang out from the other room.


    Warden looked into the main room. Dr. Sharp had her arms under the blond man¡¯s arms, and she was pulling with all her might, her feet slipping on his spilled blood. The threadbearer felt a prickle skitter across his skin as a tear opened up just around where the blond man had laid. Two hellhounds were nipping at the edge of the tear, reaching for the dislodged spirit of the blond man. Loomia had rushed in and hit one with the half-finished staff, the creature writhed and engaged with the prophet, leaving Dr. Sharp to fight off the second.


    The air buzzed with the presence of the Shadow Weave, the smell of metal and rot was heavy in the room. Hellhounds were easy to kill, but difficult to fend off if too many arrived at once, and it never seemed how heavily one trapped and area, they always evaded. The tulle pawed at their legs, the lace curling up latching onto their matted fur, tugging pieces of skin off. However, they continued to close in, ignoring the sinking floor.


    Warden, satisfied with the buried naked man, ran into the main room to attend to Dr. Sharp. He slid against the ground and kicked the imposing hellhound in the face, the hound whimpered, and its jaws unlatched, letting the blond man go. Dr. Sharp scrambled against the blood that covered the floor to pull him away from the threat. She couldn¡¯t see the hazy tear that hung suspended in the air, a black rippling weave glittering on the other side, nor could her eyes fully focus on the hellhounds, but she knew a threat was there. The confusion goading the Terror in her to resurface at any moment.


    ¡°Warden,¡± Loomia¡¯s soft unfazed voice sounded from the Fabric. A limp bundle of rotting black fur hung dead from the needles of her grasp. She let it drop to the floor of the Fabric with a dull thud. She pushed Warden¡¯s staff through their connection, he felt it ripple through the fabric and jut out from his chest. He grabbed the staff and finished pulling it out and into the Material world. He felt the weight of the enchanted weapon in his hands. It was a solid roll of Fabric essence, pearlescent and etched with blue sigils.


    The second hellhound barked, and Warden shoved the staff forward into its throat. One end phasing through half the creature before the threadbearer brought it back to solidity, shifting the weight from the back to the front piercing the hellhound completely through. The creature choked on its bark before going limp. Warden flung the thing off his staff. The room fell silent, save for the desperate scrambling of Dr. Sharp as she hurried to save the blond man¡¯s life.

 Chapter 5: Though Ones Fingers

    Dr. Sharp was frantically tearing at the blond man¡¯s clothes to reveal his wounds. Warden examined the amount of blood that painted the floor. It was simply too much for the man to still be alive.


    ¡°Get that bag, on the ground, over there.¡± She sobbed as she found the puncture wound. A shard of glass lodged in the man¡¯s neck, pouring a river of blood that covered the woman¡¯s hands, soiling her cream-colored shirt and soaking her skirt.


    Even though he had little hope that the man would survive, Warden still grabbed the bag and opened it, dumping the contents over the floor near Dr. Sharp. She began grabbing at little glass bottles, throwing some away and bringing others closer. She seemed oddly calm. Warden peaked at her inkwell, the sigils pulsing. The Terror was still muted, but her mental state was weak. However, a slash stopped her mental state from falling any more, it was stamped with the sigil of Focus. She was a doctor, performing a medical task, her training was preventing her from becoming hysterical.


    ¡°His spirit is still attached; she could very well save him.¡± Loomia spoke. Warden didn¡¯t turn; he didn¡¯t want to give away the fact that he could hear something. To Dr. Sharp, there was no one else in the room. If she had the primal essence of sight, she might see a soft hazy visage of Loomia, but nothing wholly tangible. She would mostly dismiss the image as a trick of the light or even a ghost. This whole situation¡ªsave for the naked man and Warden himself¡ªwas an invisible force tormenting her day.


    ¡°Hold his head here, steady, don¡¯t move.¡± Dr. Sharp was firm in her instruction. As she guided Wardens hold onto the blond man, every motion pouring more blood. Loomia sat just behind Warden, strengthening his steadiness through their connection.


    Dr. Sharp punctured the blond man with some type of syringe and then reached for rolls of gauze. She took a deep breath, the Focus sigil spawning another branch, almost overtaking the Terror on her own. Her hands became stable, and she began to carefully but firmly wrap the shard of glass with the gauze, then moved to wrap it around the blond man¡¯s neck, and then around the shard again. The pouring of blood slowed, but the man was pale, his lips fading their pink tone.


    ¡°The telephone on the wall is broken. The law office next door has one. I uh¡ªI need to call Dr. Harris at the hospital. We might need to do the surgery here. I have all the tools. I just can¡¯t do it by myself.¡± She sobbed but sucked it in, wiping the tears that had begun their fall on her cheeks, streaking her face with the man¡¯s blood. ¡°You can¡¯t move¡­ don¡¯t move.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a choice, it¡¯s not dead.¡± Loomia spoke through the Fabric, enough that Dr. Sharp could hear her. The woman turned wildly to find the source of the seemingly disembodied voice but could see nothing.


    A crash boomed against the wall in the office as the form of a blackened creature lifted from the remains of flesh and blood. It didn¡¯t resemble the naked man any longer, its body a mix of dead organs and black ooze holding it together. Its entire upper half snapped in a great maw that had many rows of teeth made of bits of shattered bones. It gargled a noisy squall and lumbered out of the pile of debris.


    ¡°You have to hold him.¡± Warden hurried to Dr. Sharp. She went to protest, but Warden cut her off before gently dumping the limp man into her arms.


    ¡°You will have to banish him yourself.¡± Loomia stated.


    ¡°What? Why? We¡¯ve always done that together. I¡¯ve never done it alone.¡± Warden said in confusion.


    ¡°That is fully of the Material, it is out of my reach, I cannot touch him. The burden will have to be yours.¡± She reinforced their connection with all twenty threads. ¡°I¡¯ll guide you through it, once we start you cannot stop until it is done. No matter what happens Warden, do not stop.¡±


    Warden stood up and slammed his staff against the floor. The threads that touched his back burst through, out from his chest and spreading rapidly through the air latching onto the snarled creature. The push and pull of power hit Warden hard, sucking the breath from his lungs, the creature¡¯s pulse attempted to overpower the threadbearer. He wrestled for control, trailing the edge of losing it for moment before Loomia balanced and invigorated him.


    The threads began to glow, each string thrumming with power that glided down the strands like dew drops on spider webs. The creature fought the threadbearer like a cornered animal. Writhing guttural squawks turned to heightened shrills of pain and torture as the creature was touched by the primal essence of purification. Warden felt he had the upper hand, power pulsing through him from Loomia. It was a rush of energy through his veins, an energy he normally shared, but he bore the weight of this alone this time. It felt as though lightning was coursing through him, his fingers and toes went numb, he felt light and disembodied.


    A lurch ran through Warden as he slipped on his hold of the power. He thought he had messed up the connection. He prodded at it, feeling for all twenty threads. Loomia¡¯s push faltered and five threads snapped away. Then he heard Dr. Sharp¡¯s scream. In the corner of his sensory essence, he felt several hellhounds tickle his periphery and then he felt the spirit of the blond man ripped from the doctor¡¯s grasp and pulled into the Fabric.


    ?¡¡ ? ¡¡?¡¡ ? ¡¡?


    There was nothing there, not that Edwina could see, but her grasp was fighting a faint glow of sharp demonic teeth as they ripped at Finn¡¯s legs. The world was all wrong, a canvas of reality smeared by some malevolent painter, taking all that had form and disgracing it. Edwina didn¡¯t know what she was fighting, but she fought it with all her might.


    The man standing over her was fighting too, she could feel it. He looked like an angel as the glow from his chest spread forward into the air towards the creature that had come from the body of Adam O¡¯Hare. His long coat bellowed behind him like a cape in the wind, and his shirt fluttered wildly of chiffon fabrics. His hat had long flown off his dark textured hair, and his eyes glared brightly towards the entity.


    Edwina felt her inkwell itch and bubble, she looked down at the black sigils, her Strength sigil was waning. The once rich black lines fading as she began to give out to whatever had Finn in its grasp. She couldn¡¯t anchor him here any longer, so she wrapped her legs around him and held on. As he was ripped away, she was determined to go with him.


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    Edwina¡¯s ears popped and a dizzy sensation coursed through her head making it throb with a painful headache. She clutched tightly to Finn¡¯s body as they got drug into an atmosphere that felt like it was underwater, but she could still breathe. She clamped her eyes shut; her hands clenched around the fabric of Finn¡¯s clothing. Her skin scraped against the rough ground as the creatures pulled both of them into the Fabric.


    Air forced itself from Edwina¡¯s lungs as she was yanked backwards. Her ribs crushed and bruised from the impact. Tulle had wrapped around her waist and pulled her back. She clenched her legs tighter around Finn and dug in her hands. The dog before her yelped and fell back.


    For the first time Edwina could see the world she was in full. It was like a haze of her own home. Glittering sheets floated in large strips of indigo lights. It reminded her of descriptions of the great lights that hung in the air in the far North. The ground was a rough black basalt, jagged versions of the buildings jutted out from the ground at odd angles, making an elaborate landscape around her. There was a strange familiarity, like two photo negatives layered atop one another. With a glance Edwina was able to orient herself, she had been pulled down the alley behind her morgue, but she had been unimpeded by the walls between where she was, and where she was drug too.


    Looking over her shoulder Edwina could see the semblance of a feminine figure. Her form, tall and lean like a ballet dancer. The lithe body fitted with a tulle dress that bubbled behind her in a full bustle and trailed along the ground in a lace train that seemed to move throughout the ground. A streamer of tulle reached from the figure¡¯s arm and wrapped Edwina around her waist. More of the black dogs enclosed upon Edwina and others stalked along the walls at the end of the alley, in pack formation. The surreal dream roiled her mind, the weight of the Terror that had rooted peaked through whatever that man had done to suppress it.


    Edwina kicked forward at one of the dogs as it went to bite at Finn¡¯s bloodied leg. Her kitten heel hit the dog¡¯s neck, and it barely reacted before it clamped onto her shoe. She slipped her foot out of the trapped heel and the dog spat it on the ground with a snarl. Edwina felt herself lurch once more as another dog had grappled Finn¡¯s other leg and pulled. Lace born from the ground snarled the dog¡¯s leg and started traveling up to its neck. Edwina looked back at the figurine woman, one of her hands outstretched towards Edwina, swiping the air, seemingly commanding the tulle Fabric.


    The onslaught didn¡¯t cease. Edwina buried her face and covered Finn¡¯s head with her body as the dogs nipped and pulled at her clothes and skin. Lace bloomed from the hard ground like dandelions refusing to die in the snow. The lace grappled the dogs and sunk them into the ground, but another would take its place, climbing over the writhing body of the last. The rotting maggot ridden fur and sharp teeth seemed endless as they toppled over themselves to rip at the pair, drooling and snarling with hunger.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Dr. Sharp.¡± The beautiful voice ripple through Edwina and prickled her skin with its melodic tone. It rang in her mind, all around her, echoing off the walls of a concert theater.


    Tulle crawled down Edwina¡¯s arms, spawning more fabric that connected in the intricate lace pattern that mirrored the lithe women¡¯s dress. Edwina¡¯s skin began to buzz, subtle vibrations that surged through her. She lost grip on Finn¡¯s clothes, her fingers now digging into her own palms. The moment of disbelief spawned the Terror through her as her legs and arms phased through the limp form of Finn¡¯s body and left it behind.


    ¡°No, no, no!¡± Edwina cried as her limbs swam through vacant air. She tried to scrape her fingers along the ground, kicking her feet for purchase, but to no avail, the lithe ballerina had pulled her back. Gasping cries and desperate pleas made Edwina¡¯s voice go hoarse.


    ¡°Hush.¡± The word from the lithe woman was like a command, silencing Edwina. Tulle filled Edwina¡¯s mouth and wrapped around her. In a drunk-like haze Edwina felt her wakefulness flee her and the world went unfocused. She drifted away, not knowing where.


    ?¡¡ ? ¡¡?¡¡ ? ¡¡?


    The struggle tempted Warden to look behind him. He couldn¡¯t, Loomia commanded him to not stop, no matter what. He trusted her. She brought him out of the darkness her hazy magic lifting the veil that kept him blind. He felt the weak spirit of the blond man disappear, but Edwina¡¯s spirit returned closer. The strange senses swirling around him like dye flowing through water. The creature wretched control again and Warden felt like his eardrum burst, ringing clattering around in his head and the pressure pushing on him.


    Warden knew Loomia abandoned the blond man, leaving him out for the hellhounds to devour in their hunger to save her own skin. Bait thrown carelessly for the starved to feed on, ripping the essences from his body. She didn¡¯t care; she never cared. He was the one who fought in the Material, to banish demons back into the Shadow Weave, she would feign inability and put him at risk. Cruel selfish thing she was. She would use Edwina too, force her into¡ª


    These are not my thoughts.


    A moment of clarity flushed Warden¡¯s skin. The chorus of hate rang through his ears and rattled his mind as the demon gained the upper hand. Warden prodded at his chiffon, tugging the power to aid him to lift the hatred from his body by making it weightless. The relief washed over him and he breathed out advancing forward into the creature. Loomia rejoined the five missing threads, the rush of her support flowed through his veins and ran out along the banishing strings. The world twisted with the Fabric coming to life as it swallowed the offending creature, leaving nothing left but a black stain in the quiet morgue.


    Fatigue filtered through Warden¡¯s body, dripping into every facet of his consciousness in the way that water trills down sculpted waterfalls. His ears rang with the thrum of the active Fabric realm. Warden faltered and the lassitude took him over as Loomia cut the strings to her puppet. A tulle cocooned Dr. Sharp fell harshly into the Material and the tear laced over with Loomia¡¯s power.


    Warden squinted to see if he could watch her take care of the hounds, but his vision into the Fabric failed him. He pushed up his sleeve, the chiffon Fabric essence drifting back into the cotton shirt he was wearing before. He scoffed, the sigils on his forearm were fading, his power reserves were nearly empty. He had the intense urge to close his eyes and sleep. He forced them open and counted the cracks in the wall.


    A pinch from Warden¡¯s inkwell caused his fingers to twitch. Like fighting a lead weight, he lifted his arm to look, coils of his connection to Loomia faded in and out. He inhaled and let go of the fear that Loomia wouldn¡¯t make it. The thoughts didn¡¯t do him any good, so he discarded them. He had to remind himself that the prophet wasn¡¯t weak, she was just limited to the Fabric.


    The first time he ever trained in her domain where her lace could cover the walls and fully unfurl from her, he had met the promise she had given him when they first bonded. The promise that she would make him powerful.


    She pulled that blundering drunk out of the gutter, covered in the wastes of human indecency, and promised him that he would become more powerful than the demons that hung off of him like parasites. The demons that haunted him with the faces of his failures. She had fitted him the chiffon shirt, the Fabric encasing him like that of armor. The prophet taught him how to lift away the things that weighed him down. To draw forward the power of the Fabric essence to make him weightless and let go of the Material life that chained him.


    The tulle that bound Dr. Sharp softened its hold and Loomia¡¯s influence on the Material faded. Claw marks and jagged bites from the hounds marred her body. Warden was hesitant to touch her, lest she wake from whatever dream Loomia had shoved her into. He would just have to wait. He hated waiting. So, he went back to counting the cracks in the wall.