Szeth stomped up the stairs, cradling a basket overflowing with all manner of leafy greens. Unfortunately, a significant proportion of them were brussel sprouts, that most detestable of vegetables, but it couldn’t be helped. The dense little cabbage knock offs carried a proportionally dense amount of earthy magic. They were like sponges soaking up all that sweet, juicy, healing goodness.

Maybe if he slathered them in garlic butter, he could coax the old folks to eat them. Especially Patrick. He smiled as he nudged the porch door open with his foot. With his talents and the vegetable equivalent of nuclear fuel rods, he was sure to see an improvement in the old man’s condition.

His musings were interrupted as someone bowled into him. There was no risk of him falling over, but the same couldn’t be said for whoever barged into him, so he dropped the basket and lunged for whoever it was, ready to arrest their fall. His fingers wrapped around McReady’s steel zimmer frame and Szeth suppressed a hiss of pain. Steel wasn’t as bad as iron, but it certainly didn’t tickle. He snatched his hands back as a sensation equivalent to a static shock on roids shot up his arms.

“Watch where you’re going, laddie,” McReady snapped.

“I could say the same thing to you, old man. Don’t tell me your eyesight’s going now, too?”

McReady snorted, trying to twist his face into a grimace and only half succeeding in masking a grin.

“I was a heavy weapons trooper. Didn’t need good eyesight, just the general gist of where the baddies were.”

“Bet Sheryll wished her eyesight was going too, so long as she’s shacked up with you.”

That broke McReady’s scowl, and he hunched over his frame, shaking with laughter.

“Bet she does too! Unlucky for her, not many options in here, so she’ll make do.”

Szeth chuckled along, but stopped when the pensioner’s expression turned grave.

“One fewer now.”

“What do you mean?” Szeth asked, apprehension crawling its fingers up his spine.

“Patrick’s gone.”

***

The home’s inhabitants had all gathered in the dining room. McReady was pacing, doing a full, albeit slow, circuit of the room, checking each external window in turn, hoping to find Patrick just outside. Sheryll was in the thick armchair in the corner, nervously playing with a strand of hair, while Eli and Carol sat at the table, outwardly calm, the strength with which they clasped each other’s hands betraying their worry. Gladys stood at the head of the table, her hands clasped in front of her in her stock grandma pose, but with a fire burning in her bright eyes.

They had searched the house from top to bottom, to no avail. Patrick was gone. And seeing as the home was surrounded by dense forest, it meant he was out there in the rain and mud as the sun rapidly sank towards to horizon. They needed to find him, and they didn’t have long.

“Can anyone think of where he could have gone?” Gladys asked.

“There’s nothing for miles around, Gladys. He’s lost his marbles and wandered off,” McReady snapped.

“Don’t take that tone with her, you oaf!” Sheryll barked. McReady blanched, but quickly regained his resolve and pointedly turned his nose up at her.

“I’m just saying, there’s no sense us sitting around talking about it. We need to go out and find him.”

“Go out and find him? You can barely find your way to the toilet for a piss.”

“That’s enough, you two,” Gladys warned, and the cantankerous couple fell silent.

“Eli, Carol, is there anything you can do?”

Eli shook his head slowly and Carol sighed.

“I’m sorry, Gladys,” she said, her voice light and ethereal to her husband’s deep, rich tone. “It’s hard for us to…”

She trailed off, her gaze sliding over to Szeth and he stiffened in surprise. What was she looking at him for?

“I think it’s time to put the pretences aside, Carol. Why can’t you find him this time?”

“This time?” Szeth interrupted.

“He’s disappeared before,” Carol said, giving the goblin a soft smile. “But Eli and I have always been able to find him. We’re Abherrants, all of us. Eli and I are of the druidic archetype. He’s earth attuned, I’m air. Between us, we’ve always been able to track him through the forest, but something is disrupting us this time. We can’t sense anything beyond a churning turmoil past the boundaries of our home.”

Szeth felt his hackles raise. These people had been nothing but kind to him, sure, but this was a big secret to have kept from him. Abherrants was the term humans applied to those of their kind who manifested supernatural powers. They had been reasonably common once. The old myths of witches and wizards hadn’t been myths at all, but since the Veil went up they had died out. Until the Sons of Solomon ripped a dirty, stinking great hole in it and let all manner of nastiness out into the world again. And more to the point, if they really were Abherrants then…

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“We knew you weren’t human,” Gladys said, her eyes boring into his.

“Then why did you let me in? What was your purpose?” Szeth asked, his muscles tensing up, ready to run.

Gladys shrugged and settled into her chair, wincing slightly as she lowered herself down and reclined back. Instantly, Szeth’s muscles twitched, but instead of the urge to run he had the urge to go and help her get settled. His mouth twisted into a grimace. The old bat was feigning frailty.

“What about you?” he asked. “What’s your power?”

“Not mind control, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said, giving him a warm smile.

“Mind reading then?” he asked, sourly.

Gladys chuckled. “No dearie. My powers are a tad unique so far as I know, and of limited use, I’m afraid. At least within a few kilometres of my home and friends.”

“Aye, we wouldn’t be settin’ Gravedigger Gladys off when we spent so much on this dump,” McReady interjected. She silenced him with a withering glare.

“Alright, so who is a telepath then?” Szeth asked. “Why have I been here this whole time looking after you?”

Gladys arched an eyebrow at him as the corner of her mouth turned up in a wry smile. “Dearie, that’s simple. I’m afraid you’re just a nice person.”

“I’m not a nice person. You don’t know what I was doing before I came here.”

“And you don’t know what we did back in the day, either. Come, dearie, sit.” Gladys patted the table beside her. “We aren’t a threat to you. Anyone, really. But I can’t talk to you if you’re one wrong word away from bolting like a rabbit out the door.”

Szeth stared back, fidgeting with his hands as he debated whether to do as he was told or cut his losses and, ‘bolt like a rabbit’, as she suggested. In the end, he decided he wouldn’t get far running if they didn’t want him to. He had no idea about McReady and Sheryll’s powers, but if Eli and Carol were druids, he’d make it a step or two outside before they caught him. He shuffled over and took the offered seat. Gladys took his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“We’ve all done bad things, Szeth. That doesn’t mean we are bad people. Just trying to do our best in a world that is neither gentle nor caring.”

“Why did you let me in if you knew I wasn’t human?” he asked. He had let her dance around the question for too long. She sighed and gave his hand another squeeze.

“It’s Patrick. He’s what we call a magician archetype. Broadly speaking, they wield illusions, though there’s a lot of variance across the archetype as a whole. Patrick could stop people going where he didn’t want them to. It’s what made this,” she said, waving a hand at the room, “possible. Anyone who comes near with ill intent gets turned around in the forest, or the road inexplicably loops back to the highway. It’s kept us safe from the things that would love to sink their claws into a bunch of Abherrants past their prime. And it kept us away from the general public, for their good, and ours.”

“Mostly ours,” McReady interrupted again. This time, Gladys’ glare wasn’t enough to keep him quiet. “Oh, come on,” he said. “We all know it. Feckin’ ingrates. We fight and bleed for ‘em and when the dust settles suddenly, we’re the monsters? Feckin bullshite it is.”

“Like I said, it’s what’s best for everyone.”

“Alright,” Szeth said. “If Patrick’s magic keeps nasty buggers from finding the place, how did that Paladin make it here?”

Gladys grimaced. “The magic isn’t foolproof. If a scared little beastie leaves a trail of muddy footprints leading up to our doorstep, then there’s not much Patrick could do.”

“So that’s why you let me in, and not the Paladin. You knew I wasn’t a threat because of the magic, but you weren’t sure about the nutter?”

“No, we didn’t let him in because we dislike the Order immensely.”

“We’ve got that in common, at least.”

“Indeed.” Gladys trailed off, suddenly looking a bit uncomfortable. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are you?”

“You don’t know?”

“We can tell you aren’t human, but that disguise of yours is pretty impressive work,” she said with a small smile. Szeth felt a flush of pride and couldn’t help smiling himself.

“Well, I was known for my illusions back home,” he said. “Alright, but no screaming or heart attacks when I drop the Weave. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Szeth took a deep breath, and let the disguise fall away. He felt a rush, the soul’s equivalent of sucking in a deep lungful of air after running a race, the burden of maintaining the magical illusion lifting from him like a physical weight. There was a chorus of soft gasps and exclamations around the room as he was revealed in all his green, pointy-eared glory.

McReady whistled. “A goblin, eh? Don’t see many of your folk around.”

“I guess that explains why my joints have been feeling so good,” Eli added.

“Eh?”

“The little guy has been spiking our food with restorative magic, haven’t you, Szeth?”

Szeth blushed, though, being a goblin, instead of going red, he turned a darker shade of green.

“What? I didn’ say he could spike me porridge!” McReady yelled.

“Oh, quit whining,” Sheryll spat. “First time in a decade you’ve gotten it up without a little blue pill. You should be grateful. I know I am,” she said, turning to give Szeth a warm smile. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“Uh… no worries,” Szeth said, trying with all his might to imagine a plain brick wall instead of the mental images trying to force their way to the forefront of his mind. “Although, I wish I could have done more for Patrick.”

He frowned, looking down at his lap, too ashamed to look any of the old folk in the eye.

“Oh. Oh, dearie, no. That’s not your fault,” Gladys said. He looked up at her and found her gazing back with warm, sad eyes. “His condition isn’t like Eli’s joints or McReady’s pecker. He was deteriorating because of the strain of keeping us protected all these years. No magic to fix his very life being consumed by a spell over four decades.”

Szeth’s eyes widened. That’s why Patrick hadn’t been getting better! And Gladys was wrong! He had been shaping his magic into cures and spiritual poultices, but that wasn’t what he needed. It was like trying to fill a container by mashing a square peg against a round hole. All Szeth needed to do, was do away with the shapes altogether and pour pure magic directly inside the old man. It was actually the simplest curative magic of all, a simple infusion of power into the food and drink, and Patrick’s reserves would be topped back up in no time. Granted, the amount of magic Szeth would need to shift would be significant, but as long as he could draw from the fertile soil around the home, he could do it!

But first, they needed to get him back. He pushed his chair back and stood. Most of the oldies looked at him with surprise at the sudden motion, but not Gladys. She smiled, and stood as well.

“Before you go,” she said, shuffling over to a large drawer tucked into the corner of the room. “Take this. It’s going to be dangerous to go alone out there.”

She opened the top draw, reached in, and pulled out a handgun only marginally smaller than a sub-machine gun.

“I call her Betsy,” the old lady said with a sinister grin.