Static electricity hummed from Lord Cryptic’s CRT monitors. A woman on the phone pursed her lips and left her child alone in a highchair; a balloon bounced from its place, tangled in a tree branch.

A sharp crack sounded as all the screens changed to several angles of Epoch, Lord of the Change, as he entered the darkened chamber.

“Lord Epoch,” the stern voice sounded out, echoing in a room lacking walls and ceiling.

“Lord Cryptic,” Epoch responded, lowering his head in a bow.

“Tell me of our progress.”

“It is steady,” Epoch stated, forcing his chin up. “We’ve taken the Black Root, per your orders, sir; the Willow School, as the mortals call it.” Cryptic sneered at the name.

“And the other two?” they asked. Monitors coughed as the images shifted.

“We’re planning our occupation now. We plan to move in within the week.”

“I don’t have to remind you of the importance of vortices, do I, Lord Epoch?”

“No sir.”

Leather squeaked under Lord Cryptic’s grip. “That’s good. You know how I enjoy repeating myself.”

Lord Epoch grit his teeth under his bow as he exited, closing the door behind him. He hardened his eyes and turned, looking down the impossibly long hallway. Faded red doors lined either side and the hum of florescent lights buzzed in his ears.

The tap of Epoch’s pace echoed as he walked, grumbling to himself, until he reached an unremarkable door. He twisted the knob and walked through, stepping onto the wet pavement of an alley between two tall buildings. The door clicked shut, leaving a brick wall in its place.

Epoch made eye contact with a cat, that same cat. He nodded and marched to the end of the alley, stopping next to the shadow with chipped teeth.

“Are we ready to proceed, Smog?”

“At your word, Lord,” Smog the shadow answered.

“Proceed.”

Smog flashed his sharp teeth and melted into the shadows stretching down the street like echoes of people grasping at the pavement.

Epoch’s gaze lazily crept up to the brick face of a battered apartment building. The light in windows of the unit on the top floor all blinked in unison then went black. One window illuminated with an eerie green glow and a scream shrieked out. Epoch smiled.

An hour later Pembrook, Third head of the GreenGaters, stepped out of a taxi wearing dress slacks and a brown overcoat. He tipped the driver and looked up at the building before entering.

“Oh, thank god you’re here, Father,” an elderly woman stuttered as she opened the door.

“I understand there’s a problem, ma’am,” Pembrook said. “May I come in?”

The old woman stood aside. “Please. Please; by all means.”

Pembrook stepped in, sniffed, and pulled a dainty, gilded lighter from his pocket. “When did this start?”

“Just today. I’m afraid I didn’t know what to do. She’s just a little girl. She looks like a little doll with her little curls. And it gets so cold.”

“I understand. But you can rest assured, ma’am. This type of situation happens to be specialty. I’ll have your home back to normal directly.”

Pembrook reached into his shoulder bag and pulled out a small, wooden horse. He instructed the lady to stay near the door and made his way to the rear of the apartment, unwinding a string affixed to a wheeled platform at the base of the toy.

At the end of the primary hallway of the apartment, Pembrook set the horsey on the wooden floor and started slowly walking toward the entrance, dragging the toy behind him as he sang.

“Here we go round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush. Here we go round the mulberry bush on a cold and frosty morn’.”

A door rattled as he reached it. He narrowed his eyes and back tracked, dragging the toy back and forth again, continuing his song. His breath began to fog in the sudden and unnatural cold as the door shook, rattling the jamb in the wall. Drywall dust floated down, catching the light from the cracks around the door. He flashed his eyes to the entrance of the building, making eye contact with the tenant. He offered a kind, knowing smile, rewound the string, put the horse in the bag, and pulled out a feather quill. He pressed it to the door when the old woman called.

“You won’t be marking my doors, will you?”

“It’s Brittany, bitch!” a voice shouted as the door flung open.

Pembrook’s face blanched as he fumbled with the quill. It fell to the floor while he rifled in his bag for something but too late. Smoky hands clawed at his chest, clamping down on his lapel, and dragged him through the door.

Epoch watched from the street with a smirk as a body crashed through the window of the top floor and plummeted to the ground. An unholy thump and splat echoed out followed by a scream in the distance.

Lord Epoch kicked the packet of pop-rocks out of Pembrook’s mangled hand, turned, and walked into the alley. He touched the wall of a building. A worn, red door opened and he walked into the buzzing light of the hallway singing “hit me baby, one more time,” through an evil smile.

----------------------------

“Hello,” Aury said. Shouting erupted from the other end of the phone. “What do you mean ‘dead’?” The rest of the crew immediately perked. Aury extended a finger in their direction as he listened with pressed eyebrows. “And you’re sure it wasn’t a Victorian?” The voice continued, much subdued now. “We’ll be right there.”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“What the hell was that?” Bruce asked.

“Pembrook is dead.”

“Dead?” Zer0 gasped. “How?”

“He was on a call; Victorian. At least that’s what he thought. He was thrown out a window.”

“Good old defenestration, eh?” Pepper said from behind his phone, breaking the shocked silence in the room. “Yup. That’ll do it every time.” The three humans gawked. “What? It was all the rage back in my day. Why blokes was getting tossed out windows all the time, though usually with much less spectacle; what with the buildings being not so tall and all. I ‘member this one time Baxter—an old chuckaboo of mine. He was chattin’ up a killcalf while I was nickin’ a little something for dinner.” He passively scrolled his phone as he continued. “Well, I was never the nimble type. I might’ve bumped the counter and alerted the ol’ boy to my presence. Picked Baxter up by his coat and tossed him straight out, he did. Fine sight. I dare say he looked practically graceful, all placid and airborne and such. He… Oh, what are you on about now?”

“Just get in the damn car,” Bruce grumbled as they all made for the door.

----------------------------

Pepper stopped and glared at the massive door man who glared right back. The human-brick-wall stepped to the side, allowing the team through. Pepper was sure to make a minor scene by adjusting his beans as he walk past.

Inside, the factions were abuzz with murmuring from every level of the tiered hall, murmuring that ceased the instant the Aury’s shadow lengthened from the doorway.

Aury walked in, trailed by his ragtag bunch, the clack of his shoes echoing in the stillness until Henry broke the silence.

“How is this possible?” Henry hissed, barging past a man and woman dressed in civil-war-era uniforms. “You knew about this? How?”

“I told you: something is happening.”

“It’s a Turn,” Bruce added. “Another faction of demons is pushing for power. Millennials are taking their place as the dominant era.”

Henry threw his arms down and began pacing. “This doesn’t make sense. What about the industrial revolution or the world wars?” The few hunters dressed in slacks and suspenders sniffed and stood taller. “Why do 20th century spirits simply get to usurp the station?”

“No one knows that, you ass,” Zer0 interjected. “You know that. The only thing we know is how fucking dangerous this is. Two god damned demons chased me through Willow in broad daylight and now one of yours is dead. We don’t have time to blame each other for this. We have to do something.”

“What’s left to do?”

“A Change is inevitable,” a deep, drawling voice announced from the shadows. “The question is how we maintain balance. Much has been lost already,” the Duchess continued, as she stepped into the center of the open hall. Whispers rang out among the clap of a few uneducated lighters.

“What makes you think you can come in here unannounced?” Henry spat.

“Simply because you are uninformed does not mean she is unannounced, Henry,” a voice echoed from the top floor. “Or have you forgotten that, despite your Mob’s prestige, this is still my Barrow?” Henry shot a disdainful look at the voice, then stomped away as the Regent, keeper of the Northern Barrow, made his way down the stairs. “My apologies for our young greeter,” the elderly man said, brushing his cloak aside at the base of the steps. “He’s still a bit headstrong though not all together incorrect. I hope we can help each other.”

“It’s been a long time, my lord Regent,” the Duchess said, lowering her chin to her clavicle.

“Indeed. And now that the pleasantries have been paid their due, do you have something for us?”

“News of my cousin, but I’m afraid it will come at a price.”

“Name it.”

“I fear for my life.”

“Not while I’m around!” Pepper grunted, heroically bursting through the loose flaps of cargo pants between Bruce’s calves. “Just let me know who needs a rodgering.” Pepper was immediately scooped up by Zer0 where they all went back to intently listening.

“From whom,” the Regent asked.

“My cousin, the Victorian.”

“Come. Sit. A bottle of wine for our guest,” the Regent announced. “You’re welcome here.” The two walked cautiously to a sitting area near one of the far columns as the hush in the massive room loomed. “Pray, tell us what you’ve come to learn.”

“We’ve not spoken in decades, but I know her. She has been in power longer than I can remember. She fought off the rise of the industrial revolution and the great wars. She faced down the era of the automobile and even the microchip. But the internet is a power that echoes further and deeper into the ether than any before it. It’s given rise to a new power.” Grumbles rose like a wave among the factions in the Barrow. Zer0 and Bruce both reached into their pockets and powered down their phones. “And I fear it’s given power in an undue time. The millennials are not ready to reign the realm of spirits. This is not a Turn in its natural time. Power is being usurped.”

“That’s why we saw the demons,” Aury said.

“Precisely, and why they’ve taken the Black Root.”

The door burst open turning every head. A wild-eyed man dressed in a long coat and dress slacks stumbled in, panting and sweating.

“They’ve taken the Basin!”

Henry rushed to the man’s side, catching him as he fought to stay on his feet. “Who?” he pressed. “Who took it?” The man stuttered, trying to speak. “Was it a millennial spirit? What did they say?”

“I don’t know, sir. I didn’t understand it all. I just remember him calling me ‘Mr. Anderson’ and telling me ‘resistance was futile.’”

Aury drew his mouth to a line and nodded at Henry, who’s eyes were burning a hole through Aury’s skull.

“There is but one Vortex in the city left, the Cauldron,” the Duchess said, her eyebrow raising as her eyes landed on Zer0. Zer0 shuffled back a step.

“You believe the Millennials will move on the Happy Warehouse?” the Regent asked.

“With all three vortices in their position, the Millennials will have an entrance into the living-realm. Their numbers can spill into the world, giving them the foothold they need in the under-realm. They can take the under-realm for themselves.”

The crowed hushed even further as a dark mood spread across the faces of everyone in the barrow. The man on the ground coughed and Henry pulled his laced handkerchief from his sleeve, pressing it to the man’s mouth.

“Okay, okay,” Pepper shouted, breaking the quiet. “I get that spirits is bad and what not, but what’s that gotta do with us? How are some spookies gonna affect the rest of the world.”

“The same way they affected Pembrook,” Henry said, helping the man to his feet and ushering him to another man’s shoulders.

“A Century’s Turn is a shift in reigning power in the other world. It only happens when the incoming faction has the strength necessary to overcome the sitting establishment,” Zer0 explained. “They gain that power by attention from humans and by presence on earth.” She met Aury and Bruce’s eyes, then shifted to her feet before locking on Pepper again. “That’s why we’ve been seeing more spectral activity. They’ve amassed enough power from human attention and they’re increasing their presence on earth now.”

“And what’s the best way to get attention?” Bruce asked.

“Killing someone,” Aury rasped.

“If the Millennial hoard seeks takes over the spectral realm while the Victorians still have power, they’ll need as much strength as they can muster; and access to earth’s inhabitants through the vortices is the most efficient way to achieve that,” the Duchess asserted.

All eyes shifted from the group in the center of the marble floor to the table with near the side. The Duchess set her wine down, uncrossed and recrossed her legs, pale skin poking through fishnet stockings.

“Then we shall not let that happen,” the Regent announced. “We shall mount our defense at the Cauldron and you shall equip our number with the training and artifacts necessary to prevail,” he added, swinging a finger at Aury.

Aury felt the weight of every eye on him and pursed his lips. His mind raced. Flashes of threats and exile and jeers echoing across his memory. These people didn’t deserve his help, but the rest of the world? Who was he to deny the innocent?

He felt a hand on his shoulder and raised his head. He met eyes with Henry, who gave a resounding head nod, his lips pressed thin in determination.

Aury looked behind him, catching glances with his crew. He stood tall and walked forward, presenting himself to the entire hall.

“I’m gonna be spending a lot of time on eBay,” Bruce grunted.

“What’s an e-bay?” Pepper asked.