The nauseating stench of sulfur sank into her skin and caught in her throat. It made her stomach churn as she stepped out of the glider.

Though scientists insisted there was no correlation, Susan had always felt like rain intensified the smell.

At least, the rain itself had stopped now, though the humidity that permeated the air was exhausting her.

Oh, how she hated this planet...

Her uncle greeted her with a hug.

“It’s so great to have you back,” he started, then lifted a hand to ward off her protest. “I know, I know, you’re not really back.” He laughed and stepped aside so she could get out of the cold.

“Right. Well, I might be around longer than I would have liked.”

“Complications?” he asked as he took her coat and hung it on the wall.

“You could say that.”

They went into the living room, and Duncan poured them drinks.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the curse?” she asked.

He glanced at her. “You found out about that, eh? I guess I should have expected it.” He gave her a glass and sat across from her. “Your parents didn’t want you to know. I just didn’t think it was my place to tell you...”

She frowned. “That would have been a good excuse if they were still alive.”

He stared into his glass. After a moment of silence, he looked back at her. “The truth is... I feel guilty for what happened to your mother.”

“Why?” she asked, surprised.

“It was my idea. I mean... I talked her into joining a magic workshop.” He shook his head. “Your mother had no talent for it. Not only that, she kept botching things up. In one particular incident, she miscast a spell that backfired on her. She had rashes for forty-eight hours, along with headaches and other unpleasant side effects. She gave up after that.”

“I don’t understand... What does that have to do with anything?”

“They diagnosed her curse about a week later. They never figured out what had caused it, but I think it was because of that failed spell.”

“That wasn’t your fault if she miscast it...”

“True. But if I hadn’t insisted on her joining that workshop, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

“Nor if she hadn’t moved to Vuulthur,” she snapped, “or if she hadn’t been born!”

He made a face. “Regardless, how is this knowledge going to help you understand your parents’ murder?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

There didn’t seem to be any link, but she still was happy to have resolved a small part of the mystery... It gave her the feeling—or was it an illusion?—of making progress.

“There might be no connection,” she continued, “but I can’t afford to ignore any clue, however insignificant it may seem. Everything else I’ve tried has led me nowhere... This is all I have left.”

“And then what?” asked her uncle, echoing a similar question he had asked earlier.

The implication that there might be no answers for her to find made her now—just like it had before—very uncomfortable.

***

Lying in bed, his friend seemed so weak—pale, drained, sickly. It felt like he might die at any minute...

That thought made Will’s heart sink and tears welled up in his eyes.

“What did they do to you?” he muttered as he sat next to the bed.

Jack made a dismissive gesture—though that, alone, seemed to drain all the strength he had left. He let the arm fall and coughed.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he finally said. “It was just cold there, and I wasn’t getting enough food.”

“You really should let me get you a doctor—”

“No! There’s no need for that. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

“I hope so. Where were you?”

“They locked me up in a dark cell, in a house... I gave directions to the cops, but I don’t know if it’ll be enough to find them. It’s all so fuzzy...”

His voice trailed off as his eyes closed.

Will still had so many questions, but he didn’t want to exhaust him either. He’d gone through so much already.

Jack’s eyes popped open again, and he looked at his friend.

“Where’s Paul?”

“He went to help at the Royal House. I guess you haven’t heard, what with all you’ve been through, but some of those madmen set off a bomb there.”

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

“Oh.” Jack coughed some more, his voice hoarse. “We gotta get the mask.”

“You and your obsession...”

Jack closed his eyes again, though he kept speaking.

“It’s important, Will. It may be the only way...”

“The only way? What are you talking about?”

He worried his friend was becoming irrational.

“The only way to understand it,” finished Jack after a moment of silence.

“Well, you won’t be going anywhere for a while, so you should just focus on resting and getting better. We can talk about that darned mask once you’re back on your feet. Alright?”

Jack grimaced—though it was hard to tell if it was from pain, or from displeasure at hearing his friend’s suggestion.

“Could you ask Paul to come see me?”

“Sure. Soon as he gets back.”

Will watched as his friend fell asleep and worried if he’d ever be the same again. He had never seen him like this before.

***

The trail was easy to follow. Jack’s description—long freckled black hair, large nose, frail-looking body—was distinctive enough that people remembered seeing him.

Two hours into his tracking, Ed stopped at a diner to get some food and rest a bit.

After placing his order, he described Jack to the waitress.

“Oh, yeah. Good tipper. Didn’t stay long. Just bought some stuff for the road...”

“Did he mention where he was going?”

“Afraid not, hon. Sorry.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About an hour, I’d say.”

He was catching up—he’d been two hours behind when he’d set off—but if Jack didn’t stop to rest, he’d make up for it... Why was he in such a hurry? Where was he going?

“Could you put all this in a bag for me, please?” he asked the waitress when she returned with his order. “I think I’d rather take it with me after all.”

“Sure, hon.”

When he walked out of the diner, he saw five men circling around his glider.

“This your ride?” asked one of them as he approached.

“Yes,” he answered warily.

They were large, wore leather jackets, and seemed like they might be looking for trouble.

“Can you drop us off in the next town?” asked the guy with a crooked smile.

“Sorry. I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

He opened the door and dropped his food inside—mostly to get it out of the way, preparing for what might follow.

“Oh yeah? Where you going?”

He closed the door and turned to face the man.

“Somewhere that isn’t here. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

“Hey now! No need to be rude. We’re just having a friendly conversation.”

He glanced at the other guys. Two were sitting on the vehicle’s hood, while the other two had circled around him.

“Would you mind moving away? I need to get going.”

Their leader crossed his arms and grinned.

“What if we do mind?”

Ed scratched his neck. “I’m trying to keep this civil.”

“Oh no,” laughed the other, “don’t hold back on our behalf.”

One of the men standing behind him grabbed his shoulder. “Just give us a ride, buddy, that’s all we—”

Before any of them could do or say anything more, Ed grabbed the guy’s arm and pulled on it, lifted him in the air, and brought him down hard on the leader. In the same sweeping motion, one of his legs kicked backward at the other guy behind him, hitting him in the groin.

The two on the hood jumped off and came rushing at him, knives in hand.

He ducked and hit one of them so hard it sent the guy flying against another vehicle. An alarm blared.

The other turned to face him and yelled: “I sold my soul to Xian!”

As if that was supposed to strike fear in his heart.

It did give him pause, but only because the notion seemed so ridiculous to him it caught him by surprise. He would have laughed if he hadn’t been in the middle of a fight.

The man’s knife slashed at his face and nearly connected, but Ed pulled back just in time. He kicked the weapon out of the attacker’s hand and, in the same motion, hit the man’s skull.

He spun around.

The boss was getting back up, looking pissed.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, wiping blood off his lips. “Now, we’re gonna have to hurt you.”

Ed looked at him coolly. “I’m not sure you are properly assessing the situation. Maybe your thoughts are not very clear right now. Here, this might help.”

His fist flew into the man’s face so fast the boss didn’t have time to duck. There was the sound of bone cracking. More blood trickled on the guy’s lips as he fell back down.

The others stared at him, then at their leader, unsure what to do next.

“Hey, mister!” cried out a woman’s voice. “Are you okay? I called the cops!”

Ed glanced at the diner and saw the waitress running in his direction.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Not sure about these guys.” He opened the glider’s door and stepped in. “Thanks for caring, but I can’t wait for the cops. I’m in a hurry.”

He closed the door as the waitress reached the scene.

With a few quick gestures, he got the glider into the air and continued his trip southward.

He wondered if Jack knew he was being followed... could he have sent those goons to stop him? How would he have known, though?

That would just be one more question to ask him when he finally caught up with him.

In the meantime, he sat back, pulled his food out of the bag, and ate.

***

By the time he was ready to leave, the toll had increased to twelve dead and fifty-six wounded.

Paul was exhausted. Clearing out rubble—even with magic—was not a simple task. Dealing with dead bodies and wounded victims did not help.

He had felt sick many times, but he had kept going. His feelings were nothing compared to what these poor souls had endured—or still were enduring, for many.

When he was so tired he barely could move anymore, one of the medics chided him.

“Go get some rest. Now! You won’t be any use to anyone if you work yourself to death.”

Knowing the man was right, he walked himself out.

Night was falling, and a crowd had gathered at the front of the hotel. Right away, he noticed something was off.

Maybe it was in the expressions, or the general mood, but he could tell these people were upset. At least some of them were. There was a clear rift in their attitudes.

The police were there, too, keeping the masses in control, and checking everyone who wanted to go into the hotel.

He stopped on the porch and studied the crowd.

On the left was a group chanting and waving their fists. They held signs reading things such as “Stop stealing our resources,” “Leave our gods alone,” “Qojja to Qojjans!” or “Get off our world!” Paying more attention, he heard some of the words they were chanting... “offworlder scum” were the most prevalent ones.

On the right were those who protested against the former, calling them extremists, fanatics, delusional fools, and other niceties. They bore signs of their own, and yelled insults rather than chanted. Though some in the back were more peaceful, as they recited the same words repeatedly: “Blessed be Norkh, he the one who rises from the ashes.”

“Are you going in, or out?” he heard someone ask.

He blinked and turned. A cop was standing behind him.

“Oh, sorry. Heading out. Need to get some rest.”

The officer nodded. “You should go, then... while you still can. This crowd could get out of hand quick.”

Paul sighed. “You’re probably right. Thanks. And good luck with that.”

He walked away—toward the right, since those standing there were less likely to attack him on sight.

The rest of the way was deceptively quiet. The streets were near empty. He wondered if everyone had gone to the Royal House.

When he reached his own hotel, he found Will had left a message for him.

He read it and smiled. Finally some good news.

Jack was back!

He realized he had gone to the bombing site not only to help, but also to keep himself busy so as not to worry sick about his friend. Not being able to find him had made him feel so powerless... At the hotel, on the other hand, he had been able to do some good, to be useful.

Still smiling, he hurried off to visit Jack.