“People are going missing? Yes, what of it, Madam?“
A green eye twitched as the woman seemed unable to comprehend what she just heard.
“People. Are. Going. Missing,” she emphasized each word forcefully, as if he were a daft child. They were off to a great start already!
“Yes Madam. It is..." he paused, searching for the right word, "normal... here. In this city. Please, I mean no offense.”
“Are you-fff-!“ she pinched two fingers into her red-furred brow, “The problem is magical, I can sense it but, as you know, don’t-have-time. You, Investigate it. Fix it. Are we clear?”
“I am sorry, I do not understand the issue,”
“I don’t have time to expla-”
“-then, pardon but, we don’t have time to ‘investigate’, there is a limit to how blind we can go into something,”
“I don’t care h-”
He slowly raised his palm towards her in the universal sign of ‘Stop’.
Surprisingly, she did.
“Please, consider it rejected,”
Ashva awoke this morning, joyous, for he was on the cusp of completing his bachelors. A reward he’d toiled on for years, even when sidelined by the jobs he’d taken to keep his family afloat. Rose had just returned with cheesecake. Rail was out collecting rare beers for the occasion and Vritra was in the kitchen and a tantalizing scent lingered in the air, proving why he’d been scouted as a chef. They’d be celebrating today.
A simple plan.
He didn’t plan for their latest jailer to careen through the attic window with all the grace of a dying bat and plant her unwelcome ass on father’s recliner. Then, demand they investigate a common daily occurrence.
What’s the next task? Tracking Bigfoot? Wait, even that sounded more reasonable than this trite.
“…”
“…”
Ashva locked gazes with the latest pain in his brothers' collective backsides. At times like this, he wished the old hag’d drop dead. Her glare was sharp and hateful all at once. It would make a young man crumble. He had not felt young in a very long time. The intruder took a deep breath, then flashed him a terse, toothy smile too wide to be real, “I do not have time for this. You will take this task,”
His fist tightened under the table while she slowly rose to leave. Thus, he vomited out every appeal in between his few remaining brain cells.
“I am unaware of the task, and how to accomplish it. I am unaware that, there is a task. If there is a task, i cannot find it My prefrontal cortex cannot formulate any sane task from the frumpulets of fictitious foutre you have made flock to my franchisor. Suc-" he stopped himself before the inner idiot fully took over. He pleaded, "Please...please, understand, we cannot accept with so little information,”
“You can and you will,” her eyes scanned the room, a cube of cake big as a bottle-cap floated from the hastily prepared plastic plate and into her mouth, “By the looks of it, you’re not doing anything important anyway,”
His breath siezed inside his chest but he forced relaxation. Usually, when dealing with an agitated party, social lubrication helped. Offer some snacks, a drink, chit chat a little. So when the time to present their grievance, there was no edge, said issue might’ve even vanished. It was working, less than usual, but this was about as friendly as she’d ever been.
“Miss, it is not that we are unwilling-” they were extremely unwilling. The last time they’d expressed as much lead to the business end of a wooden stick that doubled as a rocket launcher. Ashva needed no reminder, “-we do not understand what the issue is,”
“You can stop wit that nonsense. Just because you don’ want to, doesn’t mean you can’t.”
“Please understand, it is impossible to wo-”
“I don’t understand, help me then,” she sarcastically intoned, polishing off her third bottle with a 'pop'.
“Madam, there is not enough information”
“Disappearances, here to Meldwood, magical in nature. What more do you want? And quit the ‘Madam’, makes moi faihl... old,”
“Disappearances are common here, Miss. Usually nothing to be worried about.”
He faked a grimace
“We wouldn’t know where to start. It would also be very difficult to accomplish the task keeping with the restrictions you laid out last time. If perhaps a few could be remo-”
She cut him off venomously.
“-You wouldn’t dare. I can end y-”
“-whatever idiotic fetch quest you’ve cooked up will ‘end’ us quicker if we don’t know what the fuck we’re doing!” he roared, fist splintering the wood beside him. Heat rose out the pores of his cherry-red face.
...
"You dare?"
His temple made a sickening crack against the table, forced down like the Ganges had crashed and cascaded over his crown. He grunted in a mix of surprise and pain. Panic fogged his senses. His hand clawed furrows across the varnish as he tried to push himself upright to no avail.
“Thought better of you, boy. Seems somebody ought to teach ye some manners,”
His only reply was a hacking cough, pressure spread down the back of his head and pressed the curve of his throat down to a straight line.
“I’m not in th’ mood t’ get’n some pissing contest with idgits too young t’ see straight. Youle do it. Nu way, why or how. You will, not because you want to, but because I told you to. We clear ___?”
A fire in his chest burnt away his hearing. In the corner of his eye he saw Rose, seconds from pouncing on this woman, and his brother Vritra, both hands under the counter for the ever reliable 12 gauge. The tail end of white earplugs peeked out from the curve of their ears. Regardless, he didn’t like the chances. Never had fighting an unknown gone even slightly well. His steel-studded leg ached in remembrance.
He steadied his breathing to mock silence in place of hacking and wheezing like the death-knell of a dying duck. Two fingers shakily flapped up and down behind his hunched back, twice. His brothers froze, but remained ready. He could imagine what lay under the kitchen counter, its shiny black barrel pointed squarely at her heart. Rose was still as a statue and taut like a pulled bowstring.
Good, it paid to be prepared.
His other hand gripped their prized linner table, digging crescents in the wood and every disturbingly defined muscle pushed against the weight of a mountain. His head trembled and his shoulders burned, brow rising less than an inch from the tabletop to let him stare into her eyes. How nostalgic.
----------------------------------------
He glared at Don Gracie. They were still small time, more known for unaffiliated shootings than any meaningful service. The old man's peepers were sickly pink slits buried in bags resembling the black barrel of a gun. The weathered codger's son had started this shitshow. A small scuffle that neither side let end, starting from a few drops of splattered blood on the roadway to more than a bucketful.
Now, a sea.
Ashva'd never seen so many blues patrolling. Blood was cheap but the 'minor spat' had gotten so bad the Gracie's bled green. He proposed a solution.
A toughguy'd smashed his head into the conferance table for the audacity.
"I am my word," he grunted defiantly.
Wrathful gazes bore into his unwavering form. He'd not cried out when his head impacted the hardwood, he'd not struggled either. All he did, was stare, at one whose gaze sent shivers down his spine and sent sweat beading into his mouth. The only person here whose opinion actualy matered. Eyes with the danger of a shiv to the throat tore through his soul.
"Tell me, more"
Ashva would've die right here if he’d any less conviction
----------------------------------------
Back then, a man had tried to crush his head into a table. Now, an invisible one tried the same.
In both cases, there was steel in his eyes, wordlessly promising righteous retribution.
Unfortunately, unlike Don Gracie, this woman had neither patience nor respect for any of them. His desires and life was nothing to her, the insistence demonstrated the former, this pain demonstrated the latter.
“Oh? I’m the bad one fer wantin’ you t’ do yer job?”
It wasn’t their job; they had no fucking clue what she was on about and had made that abundantly clear. Doing so again was an exercise in futility. Much like begging Sister Agatha to not whip him.
“You wish death soOo-o badly? Go ahead, it’ll be cleaner than your little ‘mission’,” He smiled, teeth stained pink from biting his tongue, “come on then,”
She tsked with a sneer, “Stop being so dramatic,” her eyes rolled and another square of stolen cake flew into her mouth, “Ih’s weak magic, a barely smart animal! There’s NO RISK! You think I'd endanger children barely wet behind the ears!”
He looked her dead in the eyes and spat four words.
“My lame leg disagrees,”
The fridge on his back instantly vanished and he shot up. The back of his head was catapulted into the couch rest. Fortunately, it was softer than their table. He rubbed the sore spot on his head, and flapped his fingers sideways.
Ready.
Then, he watched.
Her eyes shot to the size of dinner plates and he wasn’t sure she was ready to kill or cry. Probably kill, he had a habit of seeing things better than they were.
She swallowed and chewed on her upper lip, tracking each of their wary expressions. She languidly leaned back and her hands curled around her midsection. Her shoulders rose just a bit then dropped like they were tied to weights.
Good, he knew that look.
Finally, she felt the heavy atmosphere he regularly endured. He would take joy in this gambit if it weren’t so risky. He and his brothers could endure pressure, being on the back foot. His life, half of it was nothing but crawling under someone’s boot and the other half had him staring down the barrel of a gun. They were used to oppression.
But, the powerful? Those gifted at birth with wealth, prestige and power the likes of which most could only dream of? Those people rarely developed a tolerance for anything above them. he idea itself was foreign. When such a reality made itself known, they’d explode in vicious emotion, damn anyone ruined in the process. Damned, if it proved their fragility true.
This woman was strong, stronger than them. She was an unknown, with destructive power they’d never seen from anything other than a ring of grenades. All at the wave of a finger. And if they’d learnt anything these past few months, her fuse was shorter than a squirrel’s cock.
Who knew how she’d react to criticism. Hell, why should he care? He had more than enough reason not to. For one thing, this tense, suffocating atmosphere she was being crushed by was of her own creation. More than that, the disability she'd shackled him with had the mental importance of a forgotten errand. For all intents and purposes, she’d brought this grief on herself.
But that didn’t matter for people like her. She could afford to crush them just like they could afford to drown ants. Thus, her comfort was paramount. Her mood dictated their futures, or lack thereof.
Their grief didn't matter. Hers did and it was all she'd ever think about. People like her never considered for a second that they could be wrong, and as said before, that made them dangerous.
It needed to be said. This was the right course of action. ‘Disappearances are happening, make them stop’. What the fuck were they supposed to do with that?! This was right, necessary. He just hoped it wouldn’t be his last act.
Her cheap vinyl jacket heaved up with every hard breath she sucked between gritted teeth.
“Fine, fine. It’s not like the world’ll go belly up or anything. I’ll just waste some valuable time I co-”
“-oOoh-‘I don’t care’- remember?” he mocked while tilting his head sideways, adorably of course, his index finger pressing down on his bottom lip. Push; pull method, worked on borderline sociopaths just as much as the average person. He snapped his neck upright and snapped his eyes wide, “Get to the point, what, where, how, why.”
If gazes could kill, he’d have a neat pink hole between the eyes. Good. This cunt held too much power over them, every little bit they got back was a godsend. Even if her introduction in his life was nothing short of God spitting in his eye. He’d gladly risk his own to end her. He’d risk anything for his family. Alas, Rail, had made a good case out of. ‘don’t poke the blasted bear till we’re sure it’s dead or dying’ and ‘she saved us, she’ll prove useful’.
They’d be free eventually.
Fully. Free.
That, he swore.
“Reported disappearances in every district from Siparia to Me-Melt-Meldwood County. Ten this month, five last month, and three the month prior,” she intoned, agitation gradually melting from her voice, “On visiting the areas I sensed weak magic, didn’t check what type but I’d bet spatial. Same flavor in all spots too and always weak even if the scene was fresh. Whoever’s behind it is probably specialized, didn’t feel like battle magic, so it won’t be hard t’ rag ‘em. Don’t worry your ugly mugs,” her eyes snapped to the smallest brother, “And stop peepin’ at me like I’m bustin’ your chops!”
“…”
“How about… Nooooooooo-”
Rose, the youngest of them, trailed the o’s off and sunk even deeper into the couch, almost slipping into the space between cushions while pouting.
“oooooooooooooooooooooo.”
He kept going till only his button nose was visible between the couch pillows. Ashva scooted to the side, blocking her vision and slowly stretching his hand over Rose’s sunken silhouette.
Her brow twitched. She released a breath and tightly shut her eyes, rubbing circles over her bushy, red eyebrows. “No use snappin’ yer cap, breathe,” her mumbles were more than audible to them, “Anyway! That’s all I got”, Ashva slowly released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“The task 's 'mpossible. Siparia, be here, in this United States of America. Meldwood, is Britain. Even if ah draw one straight line from 'ere to 'ere, th' area's too large to cover.”
“What’re you young’uns smokin? Just go beyond the Veil.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“B-beg yer pardon?” his taller brother, Vritra, shakily broke the silence.
Her brow scrunched in irritated confusion, “…nobody not show you Veil-maps?” clueless, soundless blinking was the only response they could offer her, “Hairy bastards, with hunters like this might as well be whistlin’ Dixie,” she cursed.
Sounded, like a curse.
”Fine, it’ll cost some greenbacks but ill lend ya one o’ mine ‘nd run ye’ll though it. Don’t count on this happnin’ twice.”
What the hell is wrong with this woman? We didn’t choose this shit. This wasn’t the first time it was made readily apparent they knew jack-all about the supernatural or magic or any other crock of 'magikal' horsecrap. She never cared though; throwing them at a problem they had no clue about was clearly her preferred method. They’d have to correct this before it became a habit. Providing them with the bare minimum wouldn’t cut it. Even drive-bys need more information than what she’d given.
“Any similarities in the areas where them went missing?”
“None. Everywhere, from a doll dizzy in the sticks to a cookie in one o’ them glitterati antsvilles. Finding a connection ‘twen them’s right cockeyed,'' she huffed, “ain’t that a bite.”
“Got a list of all the victims? I’d be extremely grateful if you’d mark them off on a map,”
“Later,”
“How did they disappear?”
“What’re you bashin’ ears ‘bout now ?”
“How, any tracks, patterns, signs of struggle,”
Her lips squashed awkwardly in the shape of a peanut, one eye was wide while the other was squinted and rapidly pinching up her right cheek. This was the first time he’d seen such an expression on her face. Was this woman really that perplexed? About such basic things no less?
“Anything?”
“Can’t say I saw anything like that, no,”
“…Al’ama.”
“Eh?”
“A prayer, madam,”
A look of disbelief crossed her face. It was split by a sly smile and a snicker,
“Keep praying then, I’ll be back by nightfall,”
“…”
“…”
Only after the silence stretched far past his patience did he finally relax, sinking into the couch.
Crnch
His hand shot out and caught an airborne ice pack, pressing it to his bruised forehead.
“Rose,”
Silence.
“Rose?”
“Hmmm?”
A hesitant growl responded. Kid was still tense from earlier. At times like this it got hard for their youngest to word properly. Good thing he rarely needed to do that.
“Call Rail. Two more packs, preferably Smirnoff, and update him on…” he paused, then waved a wobbly hand in the air, “this, and call Mags to…clean…glass”
He could almost hear the enthusiastic nod, followed by footsteps sounding like a wind blowing through rafters. His whole sight consisted of five brown ceiling boards that grew smaller with every passing second. His eyes grew heavy and he only picked up the tail end of his brother’s phone call.
“-ever bitchy witch is back-”
----------------------------------------
Night now, the sky was now blue, deep as the ocean and burrowing deeper with every minute. Blacker and blacker till it swallowed all color ‘cept a few twinkling star grains. Night was falling; Ashva estimated it was just before seven. His watch read 6:20.
“When’s the hag gonna arrive ‘gain?”
“Yes?”
“AAAIII-” Rose screamed as his fist crashed into her stomach.
A blank glare was all she offered him, her march to their planning table unbroken and unobstructed.
“I’ll excuse you, once. It won’t happen again.”
She spilled three wizened dark oak caskets on their table. Each long and wide as a cricket bat, its contents tumbling and racketing against the insides as the witch leaned over the rim, resting her arms for a second.
“I’m only doing this once, pay attention,”
The casks opened of their own accord, ends raising and large wooden scrolls clacked onto their table, all seamlessly unrolling, each was exactly one arm’s length.
Ashva reached towards one, flinching when his vision blurred and the map appeared to stretch in slow motion. Suddenly, an ant bit his hand.
“Stop that,”
She chided. Not an ant, a slender stick in her pale hand. His eyes met hers, they seemed to sparkle in some odd emotion he’d rarely ever seen. They were like green snow-globes of sparkling stars. Resembled Sister Abigail’s, the only nun to not crack him crimson with guava branches. He didn’t like the implication. Her iris snapped to the side, then back and she shot him a shy, tilted smile.
“Watch,”
He turned his head, and his chest felt light.
The scrolls glowed, green sigils melting to warm blues as lines ran freely across the small pieces of wood knit together by pure, golden metals. The lines converged into a circle in the first map, a square in the second and a triangle in the third, then burst like fireworks.
Glowing azure particles rose, then fell and settled at different heights.
He squinted.
Buildings.
Buildings, parks and roads with moving cars, all fashioned from floating stardust.
It was, beautiful. His finger pierced a skyscraper but retracted almost instantly when the illusion sputtered.
A chuckle brought his attention back to the woman. She leaned over his seated form, arm stretched over his shoulder and a finger pointed at the middle projection.
“Mundus”
The maps zoomed out, becoming an irrationally accurate world map, down the recently-erased city of Detroit.
A gentle smile crossed her features as her eyes scanned his brothers, each possessed by spirits of wonder. Her hair brushed over his eyes when she turned, staining his cheek with the scene of ozone.
“If any of you paid any attention in school, you’d realize that was Latin. Mundus for world, urbs(Ou-er-B-S-eh) for city and subtus, if you’re searching for a basement,” clacking wooden boots walked away from their table, becoming them to follow at wand-point, "there’s more but I’m sure you’ll figure it out,”
She led them outside like a child with fish coaxing some stray cats out an alleyway. Which is, ironically, exactly where she stopped at.
“The veil is complicated, think of it like there’s three cities stacked on top each other. Ours is the one on top. Between the first and second is a wall called the ‘Veil’, that separates them. Going beyond the Veil means we exit the Veil, and then enter it at a different place. You understand now?”
“How does this help with going to Britain without spending a few thousand on transport?”
“The world below ours is smaller so it pinches the veil together."
She put two fingers apart on a portion of her sleeve, the material straight at first, then she pinched the material down with the other hand. The distance between her fingers shortened to almost nothing.
"Wall's weaker and makes random entrances between places. Come,”
She urged them to follow as she went deeper and deeper into the alley, a finger idly tapping the walls she passed. Ashva was beginning to get worried. All of a sudden, the area between her fingertip and the wall crackled and flashed like static. She snapped her hand back, then walked into the wall, the concrete swallowing her like it was made of grey water.
Rose cast him a skeptical glance, but Rail didn’t miss a beat. He marched on, disappearing with her. Van rolled his eyes and followed, Rose did so with a comically large frown of disappointment and Ashva kept a lookout for witnesses before jumping in with a blink.
He fell face-first into sand, barely catching himself with a rough palm. This place was cold, a shiver passed over his skin and set his hairs straight. Not too cold, but very bright.
Wait, Bright?
Sure as hell, the sun was high in the sky, seeming to have just stretched up from a long sleep. The air was frigid, in Summer.
“Check your phones,” Rail had just parted his lips before she answered him, as if sensing the query on his tongue, “ambient magic doesn’t disrupt tools, that was a special case,”
Fearless, his brother was.
“The City Of Gold, Johanasburg South Africa… Well fu-”
Two slender fingers hooked his lips together.
“Language,” she chided, then faced the older three, ignoring Rose’s muted struggling against her pinched digits, “This transition was smooth, but the sickness varies. Ambient magic is passive to tools, but volatile to the body. It’s worse the more magic you have”, Rose had finally started digging into her arm, sinewy fingers sinking down a segment like her forearm was putty,
She released Rose, sending him sprawling into a parked sports car. His body phased through the closed car door.
“Come on then,” she crouched and jumped into the door.
“…”
“I hate this,” Van choked out, rubbing his stomach after spilling out all three beers. He’d found a tap earlier and rinsed all thirty-one teeth while she spoke, “when we kill’n 'er?”
“Won’t have to,” Rail muttered, bending down and kicking off into a robber’s roll.
Van tightly closed his eyes and hopped in.
Ashva, cast a glance around, one last time, then slipped into a side roll with his right palm leading the descent.
The car’s hot-rod red melted away to black and he felt like he was floating for a second. Something pried open his mouth and slid down to his stomach, it felt like a fish was swimming in his gut, dragging his body in a direction before color and gravity returned in a blinding flash.
Muscle memory kicked in and his arm curled into the roll, from tricep to shoulder down his back and heel landing on the concrete like an ax chopping wood. Man, he loved these shoes. He rose quickly, but hobbled and flinched when something pricked his midsection. The pain was short-lived so he dismissed it.
His brothers had already arranged in a triangle in front him while the witch sat on air, idly dusting off her sundress.
“Alright, that should be everything, toodl-”
“Places, madam,”
“What?” she turned to Ashva, brow raised at the indignity of being interrupted.
“The places of disappearance, we do not have them. I would greatly appreciate if you could provide what you know,”
She stared at him, seeming to debate whether to throw him through the wall or not, before snapping her fingers. They were back at the table, maps untouched since their departure, all of them standing this time. The witch started rapidly blinking and muttering under her breath.A glow surrounded her forehead like a third eye and her features blurred away in the light. Ashva averted his eyes when her whole head turned to a plasma green silhouette and sharp whispers thrum in the air.
SZZZZZZS
Like sizzling embers, the light died and Ashva removed his palms and opened his eyes. On each world map was the same pattern of glowing red stars. More than twenty.
“That’s the best I’ve got, the brighter ones I’ve checked already”, she shot Ashva a saccharine smile, “Anything else? Maybe you need me to tuck ye in bed 'n read you a bedtime story? How 'bout it love? ”
“Respectfully, miss, I’d rather some tips on fighting whatever we’re running into,”
“Or how to use the ‘Walkways’. I suspect it needs a trigger,”
She scoffed, “not everythin’s gonna be the big bad boogeymann, can’t punch yer way through ‘em all’,” she arrogantly scoffed, blowing sparks from the end of her short-stick,“you got all them books n stuff. Some them belong in the can but most got it right. Make crib notes or something, you’re a smart cookie, got big cheaters ‘n all,”
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
“…”
“As fer Walkways, them’s triggered by anythin’ magical,” she grimaced and shot Ashva a disapproving look, “Then again, ye ain’t …hmmmm”
Rambling,, it was like she’d never had to explain herself before.
“Anything else?”
Voice crisp as it usually was, clear too, but he could tell Rail was growing impatient. Anyone unfamiliar with him would be hard-pressed to see it, the small things, a twitching finger, eyes a little too wide, stance, almost bladed. He wanted her out.
“Call a fairy or somethin’ if’n it gets tricky. If the world’s shakin’ a bit, their lot’ll know. Better bribe ’em good,”
“…”
~Brrrrrrrrrrrring Brring Metal Noises~
“Gimme a second,”
Wooden heels click-clacked as she walked straight through their wall, phasing through it and out the other side like it didn’t right exist. Through the window he saw her crush his petunias with her flat as fuck rear, animatedly destroying the garden while ranting to whomever called her.
Fantastic.
“This woman’s trying to get us killed,” Vritra sharply whispered, tensely wiping the fog from his glasses.
“Wouldn’t doubt it, got anything Rail?”
“A few things, we might survive this one,”
Coming from him, that was fantastic odds.
“Hmph,” he nodded.
“Where’s Rose?”
“I’s quite sharp,” Rose commented, a dollop of blood slipped off his thumb and scattered like spiderweb on the map’s edge. For a second, it's projection flickered like a faulty light.
The witch burst from the shadows, darkness sliding off her pale visage like water on a glass ball. She snatched the edge he was holding and swiped the blood off smoothly as a telemarketer selling window wipers. Somehow, the material hadn't stained.
“CAREFUL! These things are extremely hard to make. Avoid spilling anything, especially blood, on it; you know how organic magic interferes with tools,”
“We don’t, but why not cover the surface with something? To insulate it, so to speak.”
Rail, the brainy one, deigned to speak more now than he had in two days.
“Mine are, but I ain’t made a’ greenbacks, so you’ll have to make do,”
“The maps use fields, how does insulation work?”
“I know the mundane concept, is similar, but not quite. Can’t explain magic with logic. Map needs its magic to not get interrupted, that’s it. Reason why blood freaks it out 's 'cause beings produce 'eir own odd fields,”
“Uninterrupted?”
"Whole map has ah invisible square on top th' surface. That square needs t' not touch no other 'field',”
“What is an odd field?”
“...Dumb question”, she growled, then gave a small huff, “think of everything inside your skin as a big magical tool disruptor“, her shoulders jumped in a chuckle, “useless trivia, it’s strongest in the tube between the mouth and anus,”
“This is a human thing?”
“No, it’s a being alive thing,”
“I feel dead inside, does that count?”
Her neck slowly turned to Rose. She stared at him for almost a minute, motionless. Soon as he realized as much, his finger slowly inched towards her nose, face blank like hers. Just as his finger was about to poke her right in the schnoz, her wand raised his right cheek and her phone rang once more.
Everyone in the room was a statue of still flesh. All except two things. Rail, who had taken to writing notes and paging through a book, and a shrieking phone, slowly spinning off the countertop.
Rose's mouth bent to a crooked smile.
“You are a very, very lucky boy,”
The witch snarled, then flashed a toothless, irritated smile and snatched the phone. She kicked up onto the table and placed her ass where Ashva usually ate. She silenced the phone with a ‘bep’ and swept her eyes across the room.
“You have a week, do not disappoint me,”
And she wasn’t there anymore.
"..."
“Haaah,”
Ashva released a tense breath.
As soon as she left, Rose made his best attempt at sword swallowing using the rolled map.
For a few beats, all was silent. Rail stared blankly at Rose, who was doing his BEST impression of a pelican trying to swallow a struggling pigeon.
After the fourth breath he sighed and turned his head towards Ashva.
“Angel, Kao him”
Ashva vaulted over the table and slammed his shoulder into Rose, ejecting a squeaky “HUEH!” from his mouth, the map from his throat and all the air out his lungs.
Rail neatly caught the flying map, unrolling it, also holding a wet napkin while Rose rolled on the rubbery, ruddy red floor. Gently, he wiped the solid sigils while the glowing projection flickered erratically. It didn’t stop until he’d cleaned all the bodily fluids from the plastic-like paper
“We, will deal with that later, preferably after this,” Rail stretched the clean map in front of him, eyes darting to the red dots. He seemed to grow more frustrated with every second, until finally, putting it back into the wooden box, “Vin, Angel, bring me the box of books she dumped out back,”
“I’ve got some work to do.”
----------------------------------------
“Well, today’s been a shitshow,”
Three hours passed. Dinner was had.
Van looked dead on his feet, wobbling to and fro and held up by the caramel cane he was never without. Ashva hadn’t seen a more tired look on him since he’d done a three-day watch for the Triad.
“Cunt can’t detective for shit. Bet two twenty each scene got enough clues to know what the bugger ‘ad fer breakfast.”
“Taken, raise you two fifty”
“They paying waiters that good? Anyway, where’d we start?”
“I’m sending each of you a list, buy everything on it. The sooner I start the safer we’ll be,”
"Was it for?"
“Magical tools,”
“Didn’t she say somethin' like ‘There’s more magic in MOI arse than in your whole body’ like, last month?”
Rail’s side profile showed a sly half smile, “Even Merlin needed a wand”
----------------------------------------
Ashva awoke to the sound of choked sobs crawling out from under his room door. With a weary sigh and red eyes he rose from the floor and walked out, feet dragging like they were shackled by heavy chains. He had energy, he could be silent. But this, times like these brought out a bone-deep tiredness.
The kind that made his heart shake like it wished to leap out of his chest. An unending, aching thrum his bones. The kind never truly left, and no amount of caffeine or coffee creamer straight from the bottle could convince it to. Like a particularly stubborn housecat, it nestled on his chest and refused to leave. He pushed on regardless.
He navigated the hallways by echoes and small stomps which showed him a relatively clear path ahead. Till a small, feeble light graced his eyes, peeking out from the wire-thin window of a door unclosed. Good to know some things never changed.
He very much wished they would.
His brother’s door creaked open with the touch of his index finger, revealing a huddled creature curled around a small, yellow bulb barely the size of a palm.
Its body bonded at both ends to the wall, from which the glass flame burrowed a small shard of the sun. He squatted down beside the trembling boy. Rose was growing quickly these days. He could almost make eye-level with Ashva’s Pecs, quite an achievement since none of them had been that tall at his age. Rose was in the best shape he’d ever been in, better than them even. More flexible, faster and equipped with a good foundation for health, finances and fighting.
But that meant little when it came to the mind.
None of them had it as bad as Rose.
Ironic.
That name wasn’t even his, wasn’t theirs to begin with. But he’d kept it, lionized it.
And he was suffering.
This morning likely didn’t help none.
Ashva rubbed a shivering shoulder; Rose didn’t react well to anything below chest height, and spied two shimmering brown eyes peeking out behind the knuckles of his outstretched palm.
“I gotchu buddy,”
Rose blinked.
“We gotchu.”
He sat beside Rose, back to the wall, legs crisscrossed in front his torso, and set about going back to sleep. He felt a weight settle against his hip and gave a small smile. His eyes immediately grew heavy, ha, who said beds were important.
They’d always done fine without
----------------------------------------
The next day, Rail was in on' terrible mood. As the ‘face’ a their side gig, Vritra chnew it first.
“Head to the Andy's downtown. we got a job.”
His heart skipped a beat then there.
Didn' like the sound a that one bit.
----------------------------------------
Glass crunched under his boots, eyes cold and black as a mindless monkey’s surveyed the scene. By the time he’d arrived Andy’s were shaken, trembling creatures huddled in the corner of their small diner. Windows mashed to bits and teenage son almost delirious from a potent concussion. He was lucky these upstarts rarely considered murder as a possible message, tha' would’a been more work. Grabbed the daughter too, probably trying to get 'er on the game.
The Andy’s were day and night working class covered in grease, come by any time a th’ day and you’d get some. Best Chicken n Chips this side of Batuan. Nice folk, served with smiles and a good laugh even through them trembling arms after a long day skating from table and kitchen 'round and back like livin' penjulems. Family of four never did no drugs, never joined no gangs even if it'd smack some easy money in ’ere pockets. Good folk doing their best in this pisshole city.
The wife placed a cookie pan 'front 'f him.
Now their dau’er was prob’ly on heroin slowly gettin’ coaxed out her bra by some shifty rat in a warehouse. Unfortunate and unwarranted.
“You know these, these are t-t-errible people-“ the normally baritone voice gained a few octaves, hitching every now and again. Big Andy, almost twice his height, 'n he wan't small, sat hunched over a table just cleared o' glass. His woife, a t'in, gangly ole' maid curled into his saide, shouldas jumpin' ev'y na' and again like a sto-erin' jackhamma'. Togetha', they likely shed 'nough tears t' flavor everythin' fuh the next month a' so. They didn’ deserve this, “-we don’t want a problem. Paid them too but they just kept- W-we’re can’t-”
Nerves fry when this kind a' conf'ict happens, he didn’t get frustra-id at them for ih rather, he admiaed the fact the codger could speak a' all. He’d seen this same scene a few times, but rarely ever as undeserved.
“A'right, I’ll ficksh your problem,”
That cookie pan again. A small thing had hundreds of hundred dollar bills. Likely enough to get a kid through school. He knew this was 'eir savings, product a' years and years of back-breaking labor. The thing old man Andy’s hand a'most melted 'n oil for. The reason for them eternal dumpster-deep eye bags the Andys always had since he’d known them. It wasn’t a small amount, enough to tempt him, but even he had principles. Didn’ make sense to nick money off of a’ them, better to take it from someone whose really got it.
“No,” he gave a reluctant smile and gently pushed the pan back into Andy’s broad palm, “Tell you what, anytime anybody from the Abigail’s Orphanage comes by, you let ‘em eat good free, yeah? That’s th' price,”
If the pair could cry any harder they probably would’ve. Seemed to settle on more muffled sobbing. Vritra gave them a soft smile and a warm pat on the shoulder, leaving them to clean the remnants of the vandals.
The sky was dark and cast shadows over his face. His brother, Rose sometimes snuck out with him, dumpster diving round these parts and primarily in this one. Whenever the hunger started chewing holes in their stomachs and they’d gotten halfway delirious with fever. Sister Agatha hated them, since they acted as one, she’d’a despised cooperation for ‘t made kids harder to control. Said 't only made sense they ate a portion fit for one, with enough lashings between meals to bleed out them nutrients. Wonder how a kid less then ten years might survive that? Almost every time they escaped there’d be a Styrofoam-clad lunch, large enough for all o' them, hidden in a sealed off drain right ‘ere. One day they caught their benefactor in the act, a girl not tall as a dumpster, teetering on ‘er toes to hide the food too high for rats to bite. Every day probably, cause they never been without food when scavenging ‘round here. All that effort for someone she didn’t know. Someone she’d never seen.
The Andy’s were good people.
----------------------------------------
Their current side job had a simple, very simple business model. People talk about them, people heard about them or one of them. You know a problem and you want to make it go away, that simple. The average person had a lot of problems, but few made them desperate enough to talk wid someone whose service might cost an arm. Them kinds of problems were the bad ones, them peoples with the back against the wall wid a society that do’t want to or don’t see no use in helpin’ ‘em. Cause the person being the problem either got more money, more connections or more perceived value than lil' ole’ you. Them kinds of problems when someone might think is a good idea to trade their life to get rid of it. When life becomes hard t’ keep living and anything is preferable to the current situashun.
“Rose, we got a job,”
“Professional or Personal?”
“The Andy’s dau’er got taken ‘n probably getting’ coked up 's we speak. Diner’s wrecked ‘n the son’s got a noggin bumper bigger than mi fist.”
“Scouting?”
“Already forwarded, Rail had it l‘ready,”
“Give me three hours and they’re gone…Hmmmm, storm's commin'… Tell Ashva and Rail ah’ll be out on the town tonight,”
“Sure thing lil’ bro,”
“Also, puh-lease do me a favor and drop my birthday gift in Batuan Cemetary.”
Vritra huffed.
"Whatever you say shortie."
----------------------------------------
The moon was beautiful tonight. Lady Luna was in a good mood, for she painted lukewarm silver streaks on his golden skin. The night air energized him, a departure from the frigid currents that often choked its residents. He twirled and danced, flipped over fences and twirled around pole corners till he reached the venue for his midnight tryst. Even if this wasn’t personal, he needed it. He’d burnt hot since this morning. That woman who’d seen fit to chain them like dogs, he really was grateful for what she’d saved them from. Regardless, this was no way to live.
Crawl out one boot to scurry under another, how ironic.
This would do, for now. He palmed the screwdriver in his pocket.
Rarely, did he need to feel when these things were concerned. Killing rats was easy, trivially easy to someone of his caliber. Only one person ever gave him issue and she was nowhere close to this continent. Regardless, his neck felt, HOT. His eyes were ready to melt and burn the door from its hinges. His hands twitched in anticipation. He hated these animals, they dared to hurt someone they were indebted to. He’d make their leader suffer.
He hoped she had a family, been a while till he burnt down a nest.
He marched to the door.
Abruptly, he stopped. Feet planted together and eye peering at the closed door, lashes scraping the old wood standing almost twice his height. He shot a leg behind him, dropping low, low, low till his thighs were parallel to the ground. His arms rose above his head, rising to the sky like waking snakes before coiling downwards, forearms folding inward and palms passing the biceps, elbows flaring up and down. His torso rolled backwards, at the same time his arms coiled, then exploded forwards like taut vipers. His front hand pulled sideways in an upward block, the other shot forward with all his weight as his back leg took a snappy half-step to meet its twin
Bang!
His fist splintered the doors and blew them back, slamming violently into two muffled grunts. Perfect, he always fancied a ball.
Seated on a creaky wooden crate was a beautiful face as tanned as his, framed by extremely short hair the color of starlight. She was a broad-shouldered woman whose eyes threatened to tear him limb from limb. Likely could too, she was a giant, bigger than most men he knew, even the General. Rose reckoned he’d barely reach her beltline. Her lips twisted into a fanged snarl and her words were shot at him with the intention of a defiant loogie.
“You have two seconds till I-”
He offered her a demure smile, and a rock hopped out his palm; with one deft throw he’d toppled Goliath.
Talk, talk, talk. Amateur.
He smiled and smiled till his canines shone beneath full lips.
He was a tempest of blood and bone. Broken bones and screams unlike anything a man could ever enjoy.
His molars peeked out from beneath taut, full lips, such did he smile.
He got lucky with a gunshot, caught him in the shoulder and better with a patch. He twisted the man’s fingers slowly, and wrapped 'round him like a coat. He let the man’s allies take turns slicing their ally's flesh with many a dull cutlass. If they were his people he’d have cursed them for using such useless weapons. For now, he’d settle on just killing the mutts. From a haunting scream across the room, he figured the man who’d shot him was named Jerry.
By the end of his night he’d cut Jerry till he were beans.
And never would his Cheshire smile cease.
----------------------------------------
At first it was unbelievable. One grunt taking out her entire setup? There were almost thirty people here! With a goddamn screwdriver?!
Impossible, they shouldn’t have attracted serious attention. Nothing was out of order, just a few shakedowns, routine stuff Maybe a new shop or two. A pair of hostages fed and gagged in the corner to cover the bill for next week. Said it already, routine stuff. Yet, she was covered in deep pin-sized holes that ached down to the bone and bled red blots through her raggedy wife-beater. Her head felt light and her heart saw fit to beat out her chest. The monster in human shape had broken a table leg and smashed a curve into the back of her neck.
Her body shut down, limp and slouched against a wall.
But he came back.
He dragged her by the scruff of her hair, sending painful tremors down the bruise. It felt like someone stuffed the space between her shoulders full of cotton and nails. They pricked and jostled as her back scraped against the wet concrete. The cold helped a little with the pain, the drizzle made her tremble fiercely, earning a kick to her kidney. She tried to be as limp as possible after that.
----------------------------------------
He'd dispatched them over tenish minutes. The warehouse had two floors and was quite narrow, limiting the amount of gunfire they could use. He was at the level of an athlete and wore more than enough protection to make impotent any blow that connected.
Out of twenty people, he was struck only five times. Chest, hip, thigh, hip, forearm. Machete, bat, bat, stick, knife.
The gun didn't count, lucky shot.
Clotting powder had taken care of that, so he was, for all intents and purposes, in perfect health. 80% minimum. He doubled up the stairs, leaving behind motionless bodies and the screech of tires outside. He silently opened each door till he found a locked one. Two padlocks, fantastic.
He glanced under the door, light with no shadows. He peeked through the gap, no one standing. He listened for breathing, but couldn't pick up anything due to the blasted helmet.
His knuckles rapped on the door twice. Nothing.
He repeated the action, sometimes the sentries of amateur gangs took to napping, better a groggy opponent than one who shot awake and shocked enough to shoot him.
Still nothing.
He walked to the side of the door and used his flathead screwdriver to pry the hinge pins out.
He stooped down and let the door quietly down sideways, revealing a room empty but for three motionless captives. Two female, one male, all secured by duct tape.
He stamped twice and slowly approached them. The first to wake up screamed into her gag. A reasonable response to a fully suited, tactical midget rolling up to your tied self while menacingly holding a tiny, tiny knife.
The full-faced helmet probably didn't help either.
He raised his palms up towards her, just in time for the other two to wake and start gag-screaming as well. Not very loud, but what counted was the expression of wide-eyed, horror-movie exaggerated distress.
He raised his neck, revealing the giant police insignia. Perfectly paid for, of course.
That calmed them down good. Too good.
He squinted through the helmet.
Yep, dilated pupils, sweat for days, needle-stick wounds. Itchiness. Whatever they got wasn't a sedative. Sedatives don't let you feel fear.
Shame. Two out of the three were in for a hard time.
Slowly, he approached them and used the knife to cut their curled-in selves free. The knife was a great find, handle long as the four finger widths, thin and with a good grip. The blade was half as long, but had an excellent point and almost never got stuck. Great for cutting sticky tape.
And people, that too.
The Andy's daughter was obvious. Oil burns dotted roughshod hands, her face was stout and rife with acne and her frame wide, just like her daddy. The other two were too pretty to do hard work, and looked like they were on the stuff for a while.
"I know you ain't gonna remember this, most likely, I remember when I got shot with heroin, whoo boy I bounced all over th' place-" his voice hitched, blade sticking to the tape around her hands. He shifted her brown hair away from the tap, "-but this ain't bout me, what ah'm tryna say," he paused.
"Thanks fer feedin' all o' us n' bein' a good person like. Ah know it's gone be a lil hell next few weeks but ah'ma make you get through it, wouldn' be no me if ain't fer you," his voice hitched, "Thanks fer all."
He finished cutting her free and gently rose her boneless form. A princess carry, of course, never say he wasn't one to not pay his debts.
He brought her downstairs and handed her off to a medical worker he'd called in. Should set her up in drug therapy after convincing Andy's. Danny was really good at talking. Used to run door-to-door before they gave him the opportunity to earn a better place in life.
Suits milled about, collecting bodies and preparing cleaning equipment for the nights work. Charon was every bit as money-grubbing as their namesake, but there really was none better.
His left leg buckled, but he caught himself quickly. A few feet away, he spied the cunt who started this poor excuse for a syndicate. She was on the ground, seated with her legs spread and head hunched forward, unmoving except for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. The sight breathed new strength in his limbs. He strode to her, power in his steps and his fingers clawed holes in her hair. He began to pull her outside. After a while of dragging, his grip switched, had to hook 'round the collar of her jacket.
He felt like flying a kite today.
Her limp body made an awful scraping sound as he dragged it to Batwan Beach. She was a large woman, easily two heads above him and juiced to the gills, heavy indeed. He’d broken her shin and dislocated a few things, learned his lesson since the last time.
THAP
He heard a sick, wet thump on letting her go, the gigantic bitch planting her face squarely into moist cemetery soil. Perfectly unmoving, truly, he was amazing.
----------------------------------------
Her forehead slammed against unforgivingly hard ground and her wounds flared , stars burst across her vision. She felt like she was getting stabbed all over again, the echo of a long-thin rod sliding handle-deep out of her belly-button made her eyes sting, she curled inwards, hopefully shielding fro-
“uhih-hui!” she choked out a deep, gurgling whimper as she was pried upright.
Small hands tugged her jacket off and now attempted to loop the wife beater from her bulky frame.
No.
He would-
This wasn-was NOT happening! She was better than that!
Her struggles renewed, head bumping into the chest of the man hunched over her prone form. Her elbow scored true on his side. A grunt popped out his throat and just as her thighs tensed to buck him off her hips, stars exploded across her vision.
A dull throb spread across her neck and her temple curled sideways, almost touching her shoulder. All her pains and bruises and needling wounds felt worse. It was like going from outing a cigarette in your palms to getting doused in kerosene and lit on fire. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and bile punched the back of her throat, an iron hand shut her mouth for her. It crushed her bones and she could almost hear her jaw creak. Yellow slush smashed through the gaps in her teeth and burnt her gums, her tongue spasmed from the disgusting taste. The grip remained, the foul liquid remained as well and her gullet kept shooting. She set her cloudy gaze to two shining white marbles above a white crescent. She choked and trembled as her gullet shook and twisted wildly.
"MMUuhh UuUIi!"
The veins and sinews were printed on her neck as if wishing to burst out her skin. Some stinging, yellow goop dripped out her nose before that was clamped as well. The smell was killing her, her head was light, so, so light and fuzzy but the pain brought her back.
It was too much.
She trembled and writhed and hit and clawed, the shame, the revulsion pried tears from her eyes and sobs wracked her body. Her throat pinched, pressure popped behind her eyes as the shallow breath in her lungs expired. Her struggles slowed and slowed till they ceased entirely. The persistent burning faded in the background and black crawled in from the corners of her eyes. The monster never stopped smiling, even as strength bled from her bleeding limbs. Just before she passed out, her throat bobbed and the burning stopped.
----------------------------------------
How disgusting
----------------------------------------
She’d thought the worst.
She fully expected to wake up like her late mother, naked and aching in a dumpster. Or never wake up again.
She didn’t know how to react to this.
She was cold, very, very cold, stripped of everything but her skin. Her hairs stood straight, desperately trying to keep some heat on her naked form as frigid winds battered her every half second. From her fuzzy eyes, the sky seemed to churn shades of black, gray and crackling white. Like some god mixing death soup with a ladle far up in the heavens. Her abductor was fiddling with what sounded like keys, leaving her flat on the soil.
She felt tired. Her lungs felt like someone crushed them, her limbs were infinitely heavy and the slightest motion sent lancing pain through bone-deep stab wounds no wider than a pencil. Her head was hazy, tongue felt like a live caterpillar than a part of her body. Regardless, she had to try because even though she felt humiliated, even though she felt helpless and hurt everywhere.
There was nothing to her name now except debt and grudges. She’d lost everything, friends, money, her dignity. But even though she just wanted everything to, just, stop.
She wanted to live.
“Wha’re you-”
There was a pungent smell in the air. It almost overpowered the sharp, acidic one clinging to every crevice of her mouth.
“uh?”
She knew this place, the cemetery, well known for its unmarked graves. The warehouse door creaked opened,
“nO, no-”
Revealing a kite.
…
A very, very big kite.
…
Almost big as she was.
“…w-”
Thunder cracked, printing white the silhouette holding the kite’s frame. His pearly whites blinded her and his head bobbed slowly. Twice.
His smile never ceased.
“-can’t be serrio-”
----------------------------------------
Rael gave him a kite for his sixteenth birthday. A wide-spanning diamond kite tall and wide as he was.
“Please,”
He tightened the straps so they snugly dug into her naked biceps. Her hands extended just past the frame, such a shame.
“ ’ou’won, its yours, ewerything, wlease-”
His rough palm scraped shallow white lines across her inner and outer thighs, pressing both bare legs together and looping blue cord around them and the frame. He moved to the kite's head and pushed it upright.
Where did Rael get the materials for this thing?! Wasn’t even bending under the weight of a full grown adult!
Brainy bro knew him so well.
“Why a-rr ‘ou doing this,”
Thunder cracked across the sky like God’s glock. An automatic one. It sent a jolt up his spine. Heavy storm tonight, he prayed for a good wind. Nothing like flying a kite during a hurricane, it was an experience only this city could provide.
The wind revved harder, harder and harder till tiny rocks were slung into the air. The sea churned and rolled wildly, invisible serpents resurfacing and crashing gnarled waves against the sandy coast.
He needed more.
Stronger and stronger and stronger the wind grew. Strong enough to kick his helmet into the sea.
The kite bucked forward, he held tightly to the reinforced yarn, his shoes dug furrows in the soil.
Strong enough to tear a tombstone from the earth.
Finally,
Typhoon flung it high like an erratic firework.
----------------------------------------
She didn't have the energy to hate, just fear. Only fear, all fear. she couldn't move her limbs, not even her free fingers. Everything felt frozen, her head tried to swing sideways but even that was stolen from her. The ties were too strong, more like steel than plastic.
Maybe she was just too weak.
"P!-se, N-nu-n…wa-"
She cried, shivers wracked her body and tears ran free. The winds dragged her toes an inch out the soil.
"P're-nu-aaah-a- hic -auaa - a'm stop, aa'rl woon doh iiih-"
She choked on mucus, her throat dry and rough like sandpaper. She jerked backwards, crystalline droplets were torn from her face and pattered against her captor's eternal grin.
-hic- hic-
His eyes softened for a second. Small hope rose.
"P-prease," she garbled out, rivers running down her cheeks.
He chuckled.
Her hope died.
And the kite bloomed behind her. Her legs tried to scramble downwards as she was jerked up from cold soil to the frosty air. Shifting in place side to side, not enough slack for her to even tense.
“A!-uuOh,”
She tried to yell, but her tongue warbled and rolled of its own accord.
She couldn't even scream.
As the monster and his glowing white smile became a dot on black soil, her eyes found fit to shed new tears.
----------------------------------------
He loved flying kites. Strong wind battered his back and blew his chest out like a balloon. It dragged him up into a backflip and he landed with both feet against a bending palm tree, maneuvering the kite so it caught that good wind.
He was honestly surprised it took off so high, a diamond-shaped blue dot big as a bottlecap erratically darting around black clouds. It pulled him wildly and he loved it, testing the limits of his reaction and adaptability.
For the first time in forever,
He was wholly happy.
----------------------------------------
She couldn’t breathe. Water cold as ice slapped every inch of her body and sent shivering chills like needles endlessly pinching her skin. Winds smashed into her with the force of a trunk, almost caving in her breast and pressing her skin against bone. She swore her skin was slowly sinking back into her ribs. Soon it’d slip past her heart and maybe then this hell would stop.
----------------------------------------
This was the most fun he’d had since that time the Cartel invaded.
Wind whipped the hair out his eyes, euphoria and heat spread to each limb and his smile melted, no longer ruthless or scary or stiff, but childlike.
He beamed with joy and let out a bellowing laugh like no other. He fought the kite, gaining ground and losing just as much, an endless cycle lasting as long as the storm would.
He hoped it would be eternal.
----------------------------------------
It took them two days to prepare everything, four bags big as their torsos but no heavier than fifty pounds. Rose jokingly called them, ‘Californian survival packs’. He, however, picked his up without a smidge of complaint. A far cry from the first time Rail’d packed one. Each set was different depending on the situation. For a gunfight, most survival gear, save for quick-acting meds, was removed in favor of ammo and weapons. One time they’d gone hunting in the forest, almost all of the pack was MRE’s and survival gear. Boring stuff, usually. This time? Even a knucklehead like him was interested.
Magic gizmos.
One, three smooth, wooden cylinders big as a mini-water bottle, mundane in every way except for a blue bear face painted on the middle. It had a strong saffron smell that stuck to his hands and curled his nose. Two others were hooked to the side, a rat and an eagle.
“These are?”
“Storage and Sensor, Rat stores leftover magic, Eagle points to the source when the rat is next to it. Bear is supposed to sense living magic.”
“How’d you know these work? She did say half them books were trite,”
“Rat did nothing over the map, moved the map, rat glowed when placed where the map used to be. Eagle was tested similarly. Bear, not sure. It’s more complicated, but it should work.”
“You made these?” he said, amazement clear in his tone.
Second, a snow globe holding a whole forest ecosystem, also cylindrical and big as a two-liter bottle.. He could see ants and mites coexist between the grass-blades and living wood encased in what felt like fiberglass. The wood was like a hardy, mixed sponge cake, yellow and black alternating as it twisted and wrapped round and round up the sides, spreading like shattered glass on the top and bottom. The top was black, the bottom, yellow. A chord of green grass was suspended between the two ends, yellow ants poked out from the bright-green growth every now and again. The mites inhabited the wood, black as night and burrowing holes out the areas that faced the grass column. It was stunning. Rail created two of these.
A smile split ear to ear. His brother was unparalleled
“Been working on them for a while. Camping gear, repels everything alive within ten feet. Touch the glass together and it increases to twenty. Honestly, hardest part was finding said glass of the right width.”
“Rest is regular weapons, 1911, Kalakov-”
Van chuckled at the in-joke. The gun was named Kalashnikov, however the places that produced them lacked education in English. When he'd gone to survey stock, the turban-toting paki corrected him, calling the rifle a 'Kalakov' when he used the proper name. They'd taken to it ever since.
“-taser on belt, yes Rose I did the thing, rags, lights, zip ties, flex tape,” he lifted a heavy, black camera roll cartridge to eye level, “supernatural repellent power. Silver, salt, organics, everything’s in there. Chalk ball’s in a baggie too. Doubt we’ll need’em but we can afford the weight,”
Ashva nodded in approval. Better have and not need than need and not have. Most of the spots were in urban areas, but it never hurt to be prepared.
“If you noticed, all our gloves smell like coconut oil. Those trigger the Walkways, and the map can sense ‘em. Spent the whole two days working it out. Magic word is ‘Supra Velum’,”
The moment the words left his mouth, green lines connecting different blue dots on the world flashed across the map.
"Urbs,"
The map restructured closer to their location. Rail compared it to his world map and picked a Walkway close enough to one of the points. At most a mile or two away. It was located behind a clothes store. The blue-haired owner froze on seeing them. Luckily, she was easy to usher back in with an excuse of 'police investigation'. They looked the part, and acted the part.
The latter was all that really mattered.
Using the gloves, they found the spot quickly, accompanied by the characteristic crackle. It looked like a normal spot on the wall. Perfectly normal, except for the fact that it was now swallowing people. Ashva rolled his shoulders.
“Ready?”
Rose tackled him through the space. Rows of mirrors flashed against his eyelids and he tumbled out, easily landing on all fours and supporting Rose. Kid was light.
Ashva felt snakes unwinding in his stomach, but that was the worst of it. Van sounded a few seconds from throwing up.
Regardless, they marched to the place quickly, a run down warehouse that smelt of weed. One floor, luckily.
Ashva held the rat totem and began to scan the place.
“Holy Shit!”
Someone exclaimed from the building’s entrance, ten minutes after their arrival. Ashva’s head snapped sideways, helmet making a sound like sifting sand. Three teens had jumped through the open door while they were scanning the place. From the footsteps outside, he estimated a minimum of two more. Rail didn’t miss a beat.
“Rose, take care of them”
His brother casually strode towards the triplet. He lifted his hands at his chest, palms towards the group in a show of surrender, despite him being the only one among the engagees with a helmet on.
“By jurisdiction of Dickson Police Department, this area’s off limits to civilians, I’m gonna have t’ ask you to leave,”
The teens shakily nodded, one of them from outside slammed face first into their compatriot, who then fell face-first into Rose.
Rose's gloved hand locked the boy’s face like iron, holding all the weight by his fingers. Then slowly pushed the kid upright.
"Damn dude!" "What they feedin' th-"
"Thanks, we do our best at the department. You go'h a good neck, ever consider bein' 'n officer?"
Friendly conversation, with implications of future responsibility. Perfect for chasing teenagers off.
"N-no thank you sir," the boy bashfully looked to the side, "uUh, we'll be going, thanksbye!"
And they shot away faster than a rat from a cat.
A chuckle ran through the room and they resumed their searching.
Another hour and nothing. They checked inside and out but other than the ground bein' slightly more cracked, probably from use, no irregularities.
Checked the local disappearances too. Old man, local cleaner for whatever company was keeping this place in barely usable shape.
Nothing of note.
----------------------------------------
Another spot and nothing to show for it but noticing how poorly concrete was laid. Witch was right, he couldn't see a pattern either. Teenage girl, middle aged man, extremely old man. Not in that order.
One had burn marks and was excessively dusty. An odd combination for sure, no footprints or disturbances on the pattern. This development was either very old, very new or the captor floated the fucker off the ground.
Every single area, even the new ones had the roughest floors and walls he'd ever seen. Kidnapper must have a type.
----------------------------------------
Two more and still nothing. No pattern either.
They'd have to head back. It was getting late and the Walkway nausea seemed to grow worse with successive use. Van especially wasn't looking too good.
----------------------------------------
Next day, same setup. Same drill.
Two in France and one in Belgium, but too widely spaced to walk by.
They'd pushed it to do another two. Took significantly longer since the areas were huge.
One thing was for certain, most of these spots were old. There were some possible signs of struggle, old blood flecks revealed by blue light, but they were so tiny. Likely cleaned by whoever staffed these places.
A bloody museum, believe it.
----------------------------------------
Fifth day, already past half their deadline and nothing to show for it.
This would likely be their last attempt for the day, Van wasn't getting any more resistant to travel sickness.
This one showed promise, though.
Outside the area, as in miles from it, had magic. Weak magic, Rail explained, from how the rat totem faintly glowed, but it was still something.
Another alleyway greeted the quartet and they began. Ashva knew instantly, this was fresh.
Blood flecks dotted the landscape, hair as well and cloth fibers caught on a windowsill.
Struggle, definitely, but it was odd. The floor seemed fucked right through. Concrete raised in increments and ridges. Small spikes of solid stone like shark fins rising into the air all around the scene. He ran his gloved fingers over a glass window at the end of the alley, even it had notches, though more curved. Curved out towards the exit.
An idea struck him.
He retreated to the mouth of the junction and his orange iris traced the path of warped, spiky protrusions from the floor, up over and across then down, back to where he’d started.
An oval.
Like someone set off a bomb and froze it after the surroundings started peeling up and out into blades.
"Huh?!"
An exclamation drew Ashva back to the entrance. A pair of teenagers.
Always.
Bloody.
Teenagers.
A boy and a girl. Comically dressed, the boy in an all blue sweater and blue denims. Lanky, with circular glasses and acne to boot. The girl, a bright pink cardigan and light pink skirt. One word, spunky, with a pink bow.
Wow.
Wooooow.
Even Rail seemed speechless. But also not. He exhaled slowly,"Rose,"
His brother casually strode towards them. He lifted his hands just above his head, palms towards the group in a show of surrender, biceps rustling against his bulletproof vest.
“By jurisdiction of Dickson Police Department, this area’s off limits to civ-”
The rat totem hooked at his hip glowed an almost blinding pink.
CRRICKLE-CRACKLE “EEEEEEEEEEEEE!” CRACK
They’d fallen in the blink of an eye. Mid sentence he’d stuck the two prongs of a taser in the man’s mouth, the screeching fangs hidden under his sleeve like wolverine’s claws. The woman had even less luck, catching a picture-perfect hook from the hand yet to leave his ear. Her chin cracked sideways and their bodies ragdolled on the ground with a muted ‘Plop’. They almost formed the beast with two backs.
"Search them,"
Ashva walked forward to join Rose in the effort, but froze.
A pink, featureless face floated inches above the collapsed pair. Dangerously close to Rose. It emitted a dim glow but charged the totem a blinding white.
Van drew his pistol and Rail held a camera roll of anti-monster dust. Both poised to unload a full roll of either lead or salt and silver.
From its face stretched a slender pink neck, from the neck spun a body, from the body sprouted wings and from the wings, came a buzz.
Fae, the book warned about these things. Described as wild beastly creatures who acted on instinct and enjoyment rather than any form of logic. Like children, powerful, apathetic children trying to ease their eternal boredom.
"I mean thee no harm, if you mean they no harm,"
The faceless entity paused and stretched an arm forward, the forearm widening at the elbow to hands as big as its hairless head. It seemed to focus behind them.
"Why art thou here, child?"
His head snapped back, glanced at nothing.
Then forward.
Shit, they’d vanished in thin air like a fly when you tried catching it.
All three of them.
Goddammit that was their best lead!
Ashva let out a forceful sigh and cursed into the sky. Van and Rail relaxed, but didn't drop either item.
Rose seemed, odd.
All at once he dashed behind them, eyes fierce and knife out.
"There's someone here!"
He snarled and turned the corner. His racketing footsteps vanished.
They followed in formation, Ashva drew his taser and turned first.
Nothing.
Same pattern littered around the alley and dead end dead as could be.
Ho-
“Rose?”
Rail didn't, miss, a, beat.
“Rose, your status?”
“ROSE!”
The unused bear totem started to shake and he tore it out the pocket.
It glowed red.
no
No
no no no No No NO NO NO
“FUCK!”
Ashva wanted to scream, to claw these walls till he found Rose behind one. His fingers flexed to do just that, but a heavy hand clapped his shoulder. Van had taken off his helmet and locked eyes with him.
He shook his head.
"Won't help, you know that, leave it for later"
He breathed in through his nose, exhaled through the mouth. No more or less breath than his body was comfortable with. Just as that Russian shooter had taught him. His mind cleared, but fire burned steadily in the corners.
"What's the plan?"
“Same rule we’ve always had, dead in 48 hours, retirement doesn’t change the basics”
“Yeah, but what do we do now,”
Rail scanned the surroundings and drifted left, “Same shit,” he unclipped a bear totem from his backpack and swiped it around the area. It glowed red closer to the dead end.
He floated around and quickly found a dark red splotch. The totem brightened, now practically a bulb.
Ashva realized something.
There was a new pattern, he followed the line of shark fins up the wall, a giant circle. Blades of concrete riding up two stories high. One big circle slowly inching inwards.
Rail retrieved his eagle totem and clacked the totems together. At first, the eagle lightly glowed, then he turned towards the new circle's center, the plain wall crackled red.
“We find our way in, that’s what”