Checking his watch again, Alan sighs and looks down the dark stretch of dirt road where Chase said he wanted to meet up for their little expedition. The sun has already set, and the looming trees on either side of the road make the gloom all the deeper. High above, the half-moon provides the tiniest bit of light, though it does little to chase away the shadows of the foliage. Out in the persistent darkness, crickets chirp, a chilled wind whistles through the branches, and an incessant owl's hoots echo across the tree trunks.

'Would werewolves be a concern if the moon was full?' Alan wonders, absently fingering the revolver hidden in his waistband. He leans back into the driver's door of the car, careful to not crush the backpack of supplies he's wearing. 'What has reawakened so far?'

Beside him, Prim sits calmly. Once more, she's disguised as a large, black wolf. Absent around her neck is any leash or collar. "I refuse to don any bindings frivolously, especially ones so humiliating. Were they not required to maintain social norms within your 'supermarket,' I would have refused then, as well," she said when they climbed in the car for the drive here. The slight cold and the sounds of the forest seem to bother her none. Alan gives the demon a sidelong look, noting how at ease she looks.

Yesterday, when they returned home from Barrmart, Prim said she wished to be alone to 'meditate on what I have seen thus far' and vanished. She didn't reappear until this afternoon, and she practically scared the life out of Alan when she crawled under the crack of his bedroom door as if made of liquid.

'Did going out to a common store shake her that much?' Alan frowns. Surely not. Prim is some kind of ancient aspect of nature, right? She has to have seen scarier things than mouth-breathing Barrmart shoppers in dubiously-stained pajama bottoms.

The demon seems to realize that she's being stared at, as she looks up at Alan with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, Alan?"

"Nothing. Just thinking, is all. I didn't mean to stare," Alan turns away and looks at the dirt road, towards the route that leads back to town. Where is Chase?

"If you've thoughts or concerns to share, I am willing to listen, no matter how foolish they may seem to you," she says, shuffling her paws. "As I stated during the prelude to our contract, I seek to understand modern humanity, and I have countless lifetimes worth of counsel that you may call upon should you be troubled."

Looking back down at Prim, Alan shrugs. "Well, it's not really any thoughts about myself."

"Truly?" Prim tilts her head. In the dark, even the mundane gray eyes of her disguise are like beacons. "It is my understanding that braving the wilderness after dark is a daunting experience for man. Is that not what is upon your mind?"

Alan shakes his head. "No, I actually wanted to ask if you were okay."

"I… Do not understand?" She seems taken aback.

"Yesterday, after we got home, you went off to – " he lifts a hand and rolls it in a vague gesture, "– on your own for a full day. Tell me the fuck off if it's not my business, but was yesterday actually that rough for you?"

For a long moment, Prim says nothing, merely looking up into Alan's eyes unblinkingly. "Your… Concern? Your concern is…" She hesitates again. "Appreciated, but do not dwell upon such matters."

"Didn't we do that ritual on the basis of – " Alan wiggles his fingers theatrically, as if casting magic – "trust and companionship and all that jazz? I'm not some all-knowing demon, but I like to think my advice isn't completely worthless. If something is bugging you, I can at least try to do something about it."

Again, Prim seems unsure how to respond. Other than a slight crinkling of her eyelids, her face gives away nothing. "You are… Indeed correct, ours is a pact of companionship and mutual exchange. I will not bore you with extensive ruminations, but I believe that yesterday showed me that there is much to learn."

When Prim doesn't elaborate, Alan takes the hint and drops the subject. "So," he begins, stuffing his hands into his pockets for warmth, "what are we getting into with gnomes? They're not going to secretly turn into big, flesh-eating monsters the moment we catch them, right?"

Prim lets out a wolfy chuff, a faint, amused smile on her lips. "Tonight's quarry do not present such dangers. Are there any details in particular that you wish to know?"

"Hit me with a little of everything. You know? The important bits. Assume I know nothing, because what I do know is probably wrong."

Prim nods. "Very well. A moment to gather my thoughts, if you please." Prim's tail sweeps the ground, rustling some fallen leaves, and after a few seconds, she begins to speak. "Gnomes are the lowest and most benign form of fae. Crafters above all else, they require time and reagents to perform many of their magicks, which are often utilized for selfless deeds. Thusly, gnomes are looked down upon by many. Regardless of their less-than-intimidating stature and timid nature, they are far from defenseless. One will find a gnome's physical might is disproportional to their size, and that is the least alarming surprise they may hold." She then looks up and down Alan reproachfully. "Tis rather arrogant to perform banditry upon them without so much as a dagger in your boot."

'Selfless deeds? Now that I think about it, I don't recall any legends about gnomes being dickheads or anything.' Silently, Alan can't help but feel a tiny bit guilty that he let himself get excited over the possibility of stealing some kind of treasure. 'Whatever. At least I'm here to try and dissuade Chase. He definitely got his mythological creatures mixed up.'

"I'm not defenseless," Alan rolls his eyes. He pulls up the edge of his shirt, showing Prim the handle of the 357 Magnum snubnose in his waistband. "I'm not dumb enough to wander out into the woods unarmed."

The demon tilts her head, clearly not impressed.

'Oh. Right. Prim started her nap somewhere in the early 1700s. She probably has no idea what she's looking at.' Alan pulls the gun out and holds it with the barrel facing the forest floor, then he turns it so Prim can see.

Prim leans in curiously, sniffing the revolver like an actual canine might, then she recoils and wrinkles her snout. "And that is?"

"A gun."

"A gun?" She parrots, eyeing the revolver in disbelief. "Tis no design I've ever seen. Where is the mechanism for the flint to strike the powder? It also seems to be a terrible design oversight to make the barrel so short. I am no expert in human weaponry, but it is my understanding that both the accuracy and velocity of the projectile suffer without a sufficient barrel." She stands and steps closer, eyeing the revolver with skepticism. "You did not pack a powder horn, either. How will you reload your weapon?"

Alan thinks for a moment, considering how best to explain a modern firearm to someone who has only ever seen flintlocks. He opens the cylinder and pushes the rounds up just enough that he can pull one out. He shows the 357 Magnum cartridge to Prim, who leans in curiously.

"This is a type of gun called a revolver, because of the cylinder here that revolves as it's fired," Alan begins, slowly rotating said cylinder as an example. "And rather than needing me to stuff powder and ball down the barrel after each shot, the bullet and the powder are both held by this brass case that goes in the cylinder."

Prim's eyes narrow as she follows along.

"Every time I pull the trigger, the cylinder rotates and a pin punches an impact-sensitive explosive on the back of the case-" he flips the cartridge around to show Prim the primer "-igniting the powder and firing the gun," he says, hoping he hasn't lost her yet.

The demon is still paying attention, but now she's beginning to lean back.

"The powder in here also packs more punch than black powder, and spiraling grooves in the barrel called 'rifling' puts a spin on the bullet, keeping it stable in-flight even with a short barrel like this. Put all this together, and you get a package you can fire off and reload pretty quick," Alan places the unfired round back in the cylinder of his gun and closes it, before stuffing it back in its holster.

By now, Prim's ears are lying flat, and her once wide eyes are narrowed in thought. No matter how well she hides it, the fact that she is troubled is plain. "I see…"

Unsure how he upset her again, Alan quickly changes the subject to one hopefully more in her wheelhouse. "So I've been meaning to ask about that ritual we used. I don't really feel any different, so are we sure that it actually did something?"

"It most certainly did," Prim is quick to answer, perking up. "Unusual that you have yet to perceive our covenant, but perhaps you simply are not sensitive to the energies of the wider world yet." After a beat, she adds: "I suspect the same holds true with many born of this befuddling era. Over time, the subtle weave of magick shall reveal itself to you." She nods firmly. "Worry not, for nothing is awry."

"Magic, huh?" Alan looks down at one of his palms, slowly curling his fingers into a fist and spreading them once more. In the halflight of the moon, it all looks the same, unchanged. No magic, no new sensations, nothing. 'Story of my life, feeling like I'm running in place.'

For a second, he's back in the office, the morning after meeting Prim.

"What do you want to do, then? Why be here if this isn't what you want?" Prim asks, her perfectly round eyes staring up at him intently, as if trying to understand him.

For some reason, the question bothers him, even though he has countless answers.

I like it here, just not all the time.

I don't have the patience to train for a new job.

I have bills to pay.

This is better than nothing.

The alternatives are worse.

Every answer was satisfactory to Alan before, but now it just feels like he is lying to himself. No one had ever asked him before what he wanted to do, what he wanted out of life. He always knew in the back of his mind that he was simply letting life string him along, but now that someone asked, the realization that he genuinely doesn't know what he wants out of life is a proverbial strike to the gut. Leaning back, he looks up at the moon.

'Is there even anything worth wanting?'

A good career? No, he already knows how damn near every job works. It's never about talent, never about drive or ethics, it's about who you know. To think otherwise will lead you to work fifty years to put money in someone else's pocket, and then you expire.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

A home and community? Forces beyond control all seem to conspire against such a thing. The rising cost of housing and the dog-eat-dog mentality consuming the masses means finding a place to belong is sheer luck. Even if one wins the jackpot and finds themselves in an accepting place, it only takes one faux pas to suddenly be branded an outcast in this world that sees only black and white.

A family? A younger, more romantic Alan wished for such a thing, but that dream was smothered in the cradle. His feeble stabs at romance ended in heartbreak, over and over, so he withdrew and kept to himself to avoid more pain. No one seems to have the social literacy to hold a relationship anymore, and the adulthood milestones of yesteryear seem to apply less and less as time goes on. It was a humiliating day when Alan realized that he is included in the ranks of the failures.

Regardless, why bother with a family? Without a career and a home to provide for said family, there is no point. It would be a cold day in Hell the day Alan willingly brought a life into this world without the means to care for it.

'I really have no idea what I want,' The thought is as unpleasant as a bucket of ice water over the head. 'Kind of fucked up that the literal manifestation of darkness was the first one to ask,'

Alan stares down at his hand, flexing his fingers once more. 'Prim could just be trying to get into my good graces, get me to let my guard down so I'm willing to give her anything she wants, but…'

He clenches his fist.

'Whatever kind of force is out there… Please, please just let me have this one thing with no strings attached.'

"Alan?" Prim suddenly speaks, breaking him out of his thoughts. Turning, he looks at the wolf-shaped demon, who stares up at him with yet another unreadable expression. "My mortal friend, would you care to learn proper magick when time allows?"

"I… What?" The question is so unexpected that Alan loses his train of thought. He points at himself with a finger. "I can actually learn that stuff?"

Prim nods once. "Of course. Even bereft of skill or innate talent, all with drive may learn should they possess a brave and open mind."

Crossing his arms, Alan gives her a look that clearly says: "Really?"

"Our pact may be temporary in nature, but the energies binding us still run deep," Prim continues. "Just as water within the loamy earth one day finds itself amongst clouds, the essence in and of us flows in a grand cycle."

'Essence in and of us? The fuck does that mean?'

"For that reason, even if your innate talent for the arcane is nil, you will still find arts within my sphere within your grasp, should you walk the path of a proper practitioner." She blinks and looks up.

Alan looks up as well.

High above, a plane flies overhead. The blinking lights on its wings are brighter than any star.

He returns his attention to Prim, whose eyes are still locked on the plane's blinking light.

"I taught man his earliest lessons," Prim murmurs, voice little higher than a whisper. "My Dark taught him fear, caution, and distrust, just as my Night taught him awe, rest, and dreams. Should you desire it, Alan, I shall teach you lessons never before passed to man." She finally tears her eyes away from the airplane as it disappears from sight, and levels Alan with a luminescent stare. "The world changes ever faster, and it would be prudent to learn."

"What's the price?" The words fall from Alan's mouth on pure reflex.

Prim shakes her head. "Consider this repayment for services rendered thus far and services already promised. Just as you teach me, so shall I teach you. Tis only fair."

Once again, Alan's first response is near-reflexive skepticism, since Prim can find everything she needs easily, but he stops. Somewhere deep in his chest is the inexplicable knowledge that the demon's words are just as they seem. No conditions, no unspoken promises, nothing. The sensation is utterly foreign, yet…

'Maybe…' A wild thought occurs. 'Maybe that would be worthwhile. If all these cryptids and whatnot are coming back, surely that means that magic and all that is coming back too, right? Maybe I should be on top of this like Prim says. Shit, maybe I can even make a career out of it? The metaphorical genie is already working its way out of the bottle, after all.'

"You know Prim?" Alan begins, nodding slowly. "I may take you up on that. When we get back to my place, let's –" his train of thought is abruptly cut off as headlights begin to illuminate the bend of the road. "Let's hold that thought. Looks like tweedle dip-shit is here."

Prim's ears fold back as the roar of a straight-pipe truck engine echoes across the trees. "Very well…"

The approaching pickup truck fits the driver so well that it's almost a rolling stereotype. The old body is colored in red "paint" which is less paint, and more of a colorful suggestion hiding rust beneath. One headlight is shattered, and one of the side mirrors is held on with tape. The truck passes them before pulling off to the side of the road, where the driver kills the ignition and lets the wheezing engine go silent.

"Hey, you actually showed up!" Chase practically jumps out of the truck, slamming the door carelessly behind him. "This is going to be sick, bro! We're out here hunting cryptids!" The other man is filled with such excited, manic energy that he almost dances in place. "Okay, gear up!" He exclaims, leaning into the bed of his truck and digging at things unseen within.

"Gear up?" Alan asks, looking down at himself. "I am geared up."

Chase looks at Alan. Even in the dark, Alan can see his friend's eyes roaming him up and down. "Uh, you look a little underprepared to me. You didn't even bring a leash for your dog."

Prim's eyes narrow, but she doesn't growl and give herself away.

"You didn't exactly give me a list of shit to bring, dude," Alan points out. "I've got enough for a night in the woods and that's it. And don't worry about Prim. She's not going to wander off."

Chase mulls over Alan's words, and after a moment, nods slowly. "Yeah, I guess you're right. That's okay though, I came prepared enough for two." He lifts a helmet from the bed of his truck and tosses it towards Alan.

Catching the helmet, Alan looks it over, both of his eyebrows rising to his hairline. The helmet itself is nothing special, but the pair of night vision goggles fitted to it on a swinging arm are a surprise. "Where did you get these? Last time we talked, you said good night vision stuff was stupid expensive."

"It, uh…" the other man averts his eyes. "It fell off a truck," he says lamely, lifting an identical helmet and setting it on his own head.

'Stolen. Got it.' Alan rolls his eyes and goes to put the helmet on, but pauses when he sees Prim tilt her head with obvious interest. "Curious, girl? Take a look in here," he says as if she were a pet. It takes a second to find the power switch on the goggles, but when they're flipped on, he kneels and holds them at eye-height for the disguised demon.

Prim shuffles closer and peers through one of the eyepieces, her jaw dropping a little. She looks up at Alan, and instantly he knows it's another question he's going to have to answer later.

Fitting the helmet to his head, Alan fumbles with the chin straps in the dark, but eventually, the helmet is semi-secure. He flips down the goggles, and instantly the night is lit up in a white-blue glow, everything nearly as visible as it is in daytime.

"Okay, now we're cookin'!"

In the time that Alan took to show Prim how night vision works, Chase strapped himself into an armored vest loaded down with rifle magazines and loops of shotgun shells, and as Alan turns to look at him, Chase lifts a large, black rifle from his truck and secures its sling around his body.

The rifle is a great slab of a weapon. An AR-15 of some sort, loaded down with a wealth of accouterments, some that Alan can name, and others he cannot. A red dot sight, a sight magnifier, and an IR laser are just a few. What really steals the show, however, is the underslung, sawed-off shotgun attached to the hand guard.

"Is that thing legal?" Alan frowns, his eyes homing in on the 'full auto' setting on the rifle. "I'm not trying to go to jail if a game warden busts us or something."

"I've got paperwork," Chase smiles and winks, slapping a magazine into place and cocking the rifle. He then begins stuffing shells into the underslung shotgun. "Don't you worry, friendo. I dotted all my I's and crossed all my T's."

Rolling his eyes, Alan leans against his car and waits for his friend to finish preparing.

Once more, Alan catches an inquisitive look from Prim in the corner of his eye, as she looks between him and the rifle in Chase's hands. "Another gun, one way bigger, meaner, and faster firing than mine," he whispers so quietly that only a canine a foot away could possibly hear. "If he lifts that thing like he's going to fire it, it's going to be loud."

The demon looks visibly disturbed at the revelation, her face in the very beginnings of a humanlike grimace.

"That should be everything," Chase gives himself a once-over and pulls a slip of paper from his pocket, letting his rifle hang by the sling. Unfolding the paper, he beckons Alan and Prim closer. "Come take a look at this."

Stepping close enough to peer down at the paper, Alan sees that in Chase's hands is a printed-out map of the area around them, one marked with a series of red X's. The marks follow a rather straight line for a while, then suddenly veer off with more distance between each one. At the end of the line of X's is a circled portion, which is rather close to their meeting point.

"So I've been tracking the gnomes for about a week now," Chase begins, kneeling like a doofus so Prim can see the map too. He taps each X on the map with a finger. "They've been stickin' to the denser part of the woods for a while, but then something happened here –" he points to one X, where the previously straight-line suddenly takes a turn following a well-trodden trail –"and now they're moving fast and hard each night, like something is chasing them. I want to be the first to get 'em, and based on patterns and some napkin math, they should be passing by a location about two hundred yards from here in about forty minutes, give or take."

Alan stuffs his hands in his pockets to ward off the night chill as he processes everything Chase has said. "Huh. You sure did your homework… Mostly…" He mutters the last part to himself. "Are you sure that it's gnomes that you want and not something like leprechauns? I don't recall gnomes ever having gold," Alan tries to reason. "Hell, most depictions of gnomes aren't malicious, either. I don't think there's any point in trying to shake them down."

"Leprechaun?" Chase mouths, his brows furrowing. "You mean the little Irish guys that appear at the end of rainbows, right?"

"Yeah, the ones with the pots of gold. You know? The most popular part of their legend?"

Chase is silent for a moment, then with a great sigh, he speaks a single, profound word. "Shit."

Alan quashes the urge to call his friend a dumbass. What kind of cryptid hunter mixes up gnomes and leprechauns? "So, now what? Are we going home, or…"

"Hell no," Chase cuts him off. "We're already out here, so we're gonna go meet 'em. I am not passing the chance up to chat with gnomes. Who knows what they have to say? Maybe they'll even do the whimsical fairytale thing and invite us for tea and those biscuit things no one eats."

"And if they're not so accommodating?" Alan asks.

Chase wordlessly hefts his rifle.

Together, the pair of men and the disguised demon begin to make their way through the woods and to the proposed intersection point that Chase figured out. The uneven ground and underbrush makes the walk noisy and a touch perilous even with night vision guiding the way. As they walk, Alan turns to Prim to make sure she's keeping up.

Where Alan and Chase push through the woods with a modicum of grace, Prim makes it look utterly effortless. Her paws make zero sound even when stepping on dead leaves and brittle branches. She weaves around the bushes and low branches, flowing almost like a liquid without ever breaking her stride. Even under the glow of night vision, she's a black, wolf-shaped void.

'Hopefully, Chase doesn't notice…'

The walk to the intersection point only takes ten or so minutes, so everyone hunkers down at the gnarled base of a large tree overlooking the beaten dirt path that the gnomes are likely using.

"Now we wait…" Chase murmurs, sitting down and propping his gun up on one of his legs. He takes out his map again and inspects it intently. "This is the place, alright."

Alan and Prim make themselves comfortable only a short distance away. The tall roots of the tree don't provide much cover for three, so Prim is nearly pressed into Alan's side. As he watches the path for any movement, the backside of one of Alan's hands brushes Prim's side, and he can't help but be surprised by how sinfully soft her fur is.

Suddenly, there's movement further up the trail, and Prim's hackles rise. "Alan," she hisses slowly, so quiet only he can hear. "We're no longer alone. Be prepared."

One of Alan's suddenly clammy hands wraps around the grip of his revolver. The warm rubber is reassuring but doesn't chase away the entire chill.

Chase perks up as well, keenly watching some distant bushes shake. In a flash, his rifle is in his hands and held at a low-ready position. "They're early…" He grunts. "What's the deal?"

It's not long before voices join the sudden, frantic trundling through the underbrush.

"Move! Hurry now, everyone! One foot after the other!"

"It's gaining! It's gaining!"

"We can't keep this pace! Puddlefoot's injuries are too severe!"

Out of the brush and into the sight of Alan, Prim, and Chase, an entire troupe of short men, no taller than two or so feet, burst out onto the path. Just like in the photograph that Chase showed Alan, each of the squat forms is covered in rustic, handspun clothes, but now their garbs are covered in dirt and ragged tears. A few of them have lost their backpacks, and each bearded face is screwed up into a rictus of terror. Bringing up the rear is a makeshift wooden sled pulled by two wild-eyed foxes, and in the sled is the final gnome, who is deathly pale.

The lead gnome, one of middling height but possessing the longest beard, takes notice of them with wide eyes. "Humans?! What are you doing here?! Begone! Shoo!" He demands. "There are terrors within these woods! You cannot be here if you value your lives!"

As he says that, the bushes behind the gnomes shake again, and this time a form far larger than a gnome barrels through with a shrill, hair-raising screech, drawing an open growl from Prim.

Alan's body instantly breaks out in goosebumps. "What the fuck is that thing!?" He yells, pulling his revolver free.

Chase says nothing. He shoots into a standing position, flips the selector on his rifle to 'full auto', and pulls the trigger all in one motion.

The stillness of the night is destroyed by the roar and flash of gunfire.