“I think I’ll take the Deady Bear, actually. But before I decide for sure, I’d like a bit of a user manual, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind,” Cullyn said seriously. “It would be unsporting of me to take away the pleasure of discovery from you. I’ve already given you a more plain account of its effect than the item description, so you’re welcome.”

Jacob put a hand on his hip and turned the Deady Bear around so that they were both staring accusingly at the thune. “Really? You won’t tell me anything at all?”

“I can tell you what the item description itself would give you. It’s a rare Relic, it’s an energy type, and it’s soulbound. Soulbound means that you will need to attune to it through a process of familiarization, and once it is attuned, it can only ever be used by you, its owner.”

“I know what soulbound means.”

“Well well, aren’t we the learned one?”

“Your sarcasm is noted.”

Cullyn suppressed a coquettish giggle behind his hand. “Oh, I see what you did there! That’s the thing I said before!”

“That is the thing you said before, yes. For future reference, that’s known as a callback.”

“Callback,” Cullyn mouthed, nodding along. “Yes, very good. I will be sure to prepare a ‘callback’ for our next meeting.”

“And I will prepare to be amazed and delighted, I suppose.” He exhaled sharply. “You won’t give me anything else?”

Cullyn shook his head.

“Not a word?”

“I can give you the actual description, if you’d like.”

“I would like, yes.”

“‘He preserves the fleeting self before it is lost’.”

“Got it.” Jacob made a note on his System node.

Cullyn spat in his palm, held out his hand, and smiled politely. “Well, Jacob Sorenson? Do we have a deal?”

“Did you have to spit in your hand like that?”

“It is a time-honored human tradition. I’m attempting to be mindful of your customs.”

Jacob chuckled. “Yeah, fuck it.” He spat in his own palm and accepted the wet handshake. “Tell Mr. Ender, or Satan, or whoever he is, that I hope he’ll treat my spiritual anus gently when I die.”

“I will not tell him that. I will let him know that you send your regards.”

“Good enough.”

Jacob tried to disengage from the handshake, but the thune held on stubbornly.

“Could you maybe…?”

“Not until the binding vow is complete,” Cullyn explained. He withdrew a pure white silken band from the invisible folds of the air and wrapped it around both their hands. He spoke in a flowing, elegant language that all sounded like it flowed together into one word, then, returning to English, he said: “Now, make your vow. There are no specific words to be said. You just have to mean it.”

“All right,” Jacob said and cleared his throat. “I swear to, uh, pay you back the three million flora within three months. I swear on my father’s grave.”

Of course, Jacob had no father. And the fact that Victor Sorenson was certainly dead from a demon nuke gave him no small amount of private satisfaction.

Cullyn nodded, satisfied. The band sank into their skin, quickly disappearing, and Jacob was allowed to pull his hand back.

“Congratulations, you are now the proud owner of a brand new Deady Bear.”

Jacob stuffed the ratty teddy bear under one arm. “‘Brand new’ might be a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

“I hope you had a pleasant experience at Cullyn’s Curios. I am confident you will find that you were given exactly what you needed, exactly when you needed it. And, most importantly, don’t tell your friends about me.” Cullyn put a finger over his lips and winked with one of his four eyes, then another, then another, then another.

This time around, Jacob backed out of the store and watched the building closely, trying to catch the moment it disappeared. But he blinked, and then it was gone, replaced by just another dark ruin.

“Sneaky little alien,” Jacob muttered.

He looked over the purple stuffed animal again. Its stitched-on smile, along with its dead black eyes, were a little creepy.

Let’s hope you’re worth it, little fella. I have a few hours of non-consensual fun with the devil in my future on your account.

*****

When Jacob got back to the Lodge, he found both Thatch and Tarim waiting for him just past the airlock. They both had their arms crossed, and were giving the ‘where the hell have you been?’ angry parent look.

“Yes, I’ve been a very bad boy, I get it,” Jacob said as he walked into the room, hands raised in submission.

“Five or six hours, you said,” Thatch grumbled.

“And nothing at all to me,” Tarim added.

“I said I get it, okay? What do you want? A written apology?”

Thatch and Tarim looked at each other. Then, chin raised, Tarim said: “A sincere verbal apology will suffice.”

He got a smack on the back of the head instead. Thatch got away with a warning.

Jacob didn’t tell the director anything about the Relic. If the Guild didn’t know about Cullyn’s Curios already, he wasn’t about to break up his monopoly. Once he got back to his room, he showed it to Tarim.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m a little old for toys,” Tarim said, frowning at the teddy bear in his hands. “Besides, this one smells weird.”

“It’s not a toy, stupid. It’s a Relic.”

“What’s a Relic?”

“Man, read a book.”

After a brief introduction on the general concept and the Relic shop itself, Jacob explained everything he had learned from Cullyn about the Deady Bear.

“Attuning to it might take some time, but once that’s done I have an idea for how to use it. When I die, I go to the other side with my hero gear on. I would even show up with my sunglasses at first, but they’re of no use there, since dead people naturally aren’t affected by it, so they stopped appearing. This implies that I can consciously affect what I come into the other side with. So, if I manage to make the bear part of my outfit or equipment…” He shrugged. “After that, I’d just need to figure out how to bring a soul back through to the living world. But I already know that it’s possible to affect the living world from beyond death, because…” He pulled up his shirt, showing off the black handprint over his heart. “I got that while I was there.”

“Woah,” Tarim said, poking at the mark. “It looks evil.”

“I think that’s safe to say.” Jacob pulled his shirt back down. He didn’t like to look at the mark or think about it.

Because the more someone thought about the dark god with a thousand faces, the more they invited it in.

*****

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On the day of the Jubilon trip, Magpie had scored a pair of beers and gave one to Jacob. A rare find in a place like the Lodge, considering the Guild’s stuffy austerity and general hatred of fun. Likely pilfered from some employee’s personal effects.

They shared them in the rec room while Tarim was using his last bit of time to try and beat the high score on one of the arcade machines, filling the room with the tinny blooping of video game sound effects and the insistent clacking of buttons being mashed.

They were leaving in just a few hours, but the support workers were doing all the leg work with packing and provisions, so the heroes had some time to kill.

“I take it you’re a guy who finds a lot of things,” Jacob said and cracked open the bottle cap with a flick of his thumb, sending it bouncing across the carpeted floor.

Magpie grinned. “What can I say? They just fall into my lap.” He touched the bottle cap with a pinky, and it came away clean from the lip without any application of force, sticking to his little finger until he flicked it away.

“Neat trick. That your Blessing?”

“Yup.”

“Let me guess. Sticky Fingers?”

“Nope.”

“Aw, man. But it’s a Symbiosis, right?”

“Nope and nope. Aura. It’s called Thieves’ Tools.”

“Damn it. I’m usually good at this.”

Jacob had the Deady Bear propped up in his lap. He’d kept it on him ever since he’d gotten his hands on it, even slept with it the night before. He had to spend as much time with it as possible if he wanted to attune anytime soon. He’d gotten a few looks over it, but when anyone asked he just said it had belonged to a friend who was no longer with them, and suddenly they were all half-hearted condolences and neglected to pry any further.

Thatch was the only one who’d regarded the bear with any real suspicion. He had that shrewd wolfish look in his eye whenever he looked at it, making Jacob clutch it tighter like a band of pearls.

“Why’d you go bad anyway?” Jacob asked. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t strike me as a lunatic. Or a psychopath. Or an anarchist.”

Magpie played with the edge of his feather cloak. “Oh, I’m only a villain by category. I’m proud to say I’ve had a long career without killing any heroes or civilians. Bad for business, that.”

“You just steal, then?”

“It’s a living. I actually started out as a hero, if you’ll believe it.”

“I’m guessing that didn’t go well.”

“It was a disaster. I got put in C-Rank, wasn’t allowed to rank up even after two years. Do you know what kind of money a C-Rank makes?”

Jacob shrugged, took another drink. “Not a lot?”

“Not a fucking lot. And do you know what kind of assignments they get?”

“The shitty ones?”

“Correct again, my friend. Didn’t help that I had a Blessing like Thieves’ Tools—not exactly the traditional hero kit, you know? To this day, I think that’s why they didn’t let me rank up. Well, after two years of that, I was fed up. Guess I thought I’d get back at the Guild by switching teams. I mean, the money was part of the equation, too. It’s such easy money, I can’t even explain it to you. It’s like being a pig farmer, except all your pigs shit gold.”

“A golden goose analogy might have been less disgusting, but I get the picture. I guess the more important thing is, can you fight? No point in you going to Jubilon if the first demon you see beats you to a fine paste.”

Magpie didn’t look concerned. “I can fight when I need to.”

“Your Blessing lets you steal things, yes? And it’s an Aura Blessing, which means it should work at least at some range. I’m guessing you ‘stole’ the bottle cap from that beer just now, so can you apply that even more broadly? For example, steal someone’s heart out of their body?”

Magpie gave his crooked smile, tongue between his teeth. “Theories, theories. Just trust me, hero boy. I can take care of myself.”

“Well, good. I’m guessing the Guild is offering you something good in exchange for participating in this. A pardon, maybe?”

“If that was all I wanted out of this, I would’ve just let them think I was dead,” the villain said, wagging a finger.

“Money, then?”

“I’ve got money.”

“What else would a villain want?”

Magpie’s smile turned sour. “What indeed?”

Jacob was about to pry for more information, but a crackly voice came on over the speakers in the hall.

“Enemy at the doors!” the person called. “Hero presence is needed! I repeat, we have a confirmed enemy sighting at the doors! Preliminary Danger Rating is Storm, demonic energy signature.”

Jacob chugged the rest of his beer, left the empty bottle on the floor, and stood with a sigh. If this is Starman again, I’m going to fucking kill myself in protest against the universe.

“You coming?” he asked Magpie. Tarim was already next to him, bouncing from one foot to the other.

Magpie threw his feet over the recliner Jacob had just vacated and threw his cloak over himself like a blanket. “Don’t look at me, man. You’re the hero.”

Jacob chuckled. “You have yourself a nice nap, then.”

“Oh, I will. I always sleep best when I know others are working hard.”

Jacob put a moderate rush on getting to the mouth of the underground complex. A handful of other heroes were already there, along with Director Thatch, who had spilled coffee on his tie with spaceships on it and was desperately wiping at it with a napkin.

“Jacob, over here,” Thatch said, beckoning with his head. “Everyone else, stand down. We’ve got the situation handled.”

Steelfeather, who had slid into a sleek gray bodysuit and was already halfway into the airlock, stepped back with a questioning frown. “Sir?”

Thatch waved a hand in his general direction. “Shoo shoo.”

“But sir, DR Storm… can Hanged Man really handle that himself? Meaning no offense, of course, but I could easily—”

Thatch stopped wiping at his tie and threw the S-Rank a hard look. Steelfeather removed himself without further hassle and ushered the others before him.

“Okay, what’s this about?” Jacob asked once it was just them and Tarim. “If it’s the same to you, I’m happy to let Steelfeather kill this thing. I’m not in any rush to do more than I have to.”

“We have drone footage of the creature outside,” Thatch said. He rubbed ineffectually at the stained tie, sighed, and finally gave up on it. “A huge black wolf, the technician says. I thought that might be of some interest to you.”

“Say no more.” Jacob was about to run off, but stopped himself. “Oh, by the way. Do you know what the wolf’s name is?”

Thatch’s brows shot up. “Wouldn’t you know that?”

“It’s a long story.” He snapped his fingers repeatedly. “C’mon, tell me.”

“Um, I’m not sure I remember. I just skimmed through some report Fenway sent me. Fenrir, maybe? Or Fenris? Some Viking thing, anyway. Fenris, yeah I think that’s it.”

“Okay, thanks.”

The director followed him with a questioning look when he left, but Jacob offered no elaboration. When Tarim tried to follow, the director held him back and shook his head.

He was through the airlock in a minute and ascended out onto the field of razed earth that had once been the top half of the Lodge. At first he saw nothing, only a pair of Guild drones buzzing overhead and a third one broken on the ground.

He turned, and there it was. A black wolf pacing back and forth maybe twenty meters off. One red eye took him in, unblinking.

Except this was not the same wolf. It was bigger, much bigger. If the one he had seen before was the size of a large pony, this one was a small elephant. Certainly taller than Jacob at the withers, even in its low, ready stance. Its fur was ragged and bristly, almost quills, and fangs like knives poked out the sides of its mouth pointing up and down.

Its eye, which had once just been a vibrant shade of red, now burned like hellfire.

“What big ears you have, Grandma,” Jacob said with a nervous chuckle.

The wolf stopped pacing, just watched him. Its front paws dug almost imperceptibly into the soil.

If that thing comes for me, I’m saying hi to Satan sooner than expected.

Jacob figured it was best to keep talking. “Don’t think I didn’t see what you did. The ol’ rom-com airport scene, yeah? The love interest is at the airport, about to leave forever, and the main character rushes down there to confess his love just before the plane leaves. I like it, it’s very romantic.”

The wolf’s ears came up, facing forward. Listening.

“Fenris. That’s your name, right?”

The wolf tilted its head at the name.

“Pretty crappy of me not to remember that much, even. No wonder we had an end-of-second-act breakup. Frankly, I don’t blame you.”

Fenris padded forward, slow and careful. Despite his monstrous size, his footsteps were completely soundless.

“We’ve had our ups and downs, but I’m ready to give this thing another shot if you are.” Jacob shook his head. “I think I’ve run the rom-com bit into the ground at this point. I’ll stop.”

Fenris came in close, towered above him. He lowered his head, and Jacob reached out his hand to meet him halfway. His fingers brushed against the monster’s scarred snout. Fenris sniffed at him with heavy, warm puffs of air that made his clothes flutter and tossed his hair about.

“What do you think?”

Fenris slowly opened his mouth, revealing a maw of deadly teeth. Jacob forced himself to stay exactly where he was, hand out. The wolf wrapped its jaws around his open palm and, very very gently, bit down on his wrist.

After a few still moments passed and Jacob felt reasonably certain he wasn’t going to lose a hand, he removed his sunglasses with his free hand. Their eyes met, and the wolf shuddered.

“Nice to meet you too,” Jacob said, pretending that he was reciprocating a particularly drooly handshake. His second of the day. “Good to have you on the team again. Well, first time for me.”

The wolf released him, and Jacob rubbed at the faint tooth marks ringing his wrist.

He turned to go back inside, and the wolf stalked after him, his extremely large shadow.

The airlock and the underground halls it adjoined were a tad small for the wolf, and he eyed his surroundings warily. Thatch and Tarim waited inside.

The director gave only a quick few blinks of surprise before composing himself. He stepped forward, palm out. “You remember me, don’t you? It’s your uncle Thatch, yeah?”

Fenris padded over to him and sniffed his hand once before giving a loud snort and circling past him. He approached Tarim, who stood stiff, yellow eye swiveling around to keep the pacing wolf in his line of sight. Fenris sniffed at his hair, drawing the dark curls straight up like a vacuum before blowing them flat. With one smooth motion, Fenris caught the back of Tarim’s shirt on one long fang and yanked him to the floor.

The boy let out a startled yell. The sound was quickly muffled by a giant pink tongue being dragged repeatedly across his entire face, leaving a shiny film of drool. His cries quickly turned to laughter.

“He likes you,” Jacob said.

“I can— I can tell!” Tarim worked out over a tongueful of interference.

Jacob smiled at seeing the two of them get along.

Friendship restored. One less thing to feel guilty about.