He hummed his favourite tune as night fell around the simple town.

A slight breeze, cool to the touch, ruffled the leaves and branches around him. He missed a note, his voice stopping in his throat. That was a dangerous breeze. A warning. They were watching him everywhere he went. Fear prickled his skin. He pulled his sleeves over his fingers and walked quicker towards the house.

The arcade was closed. Good. The job was done, and the client would finally stop pestering him. All that was left of the abandoned building was a shadow. Soon, the trees would completely envelop it. As they always did.

He reached the dirt path leading to the House when he heard a second pair of footsteps tailing close behind. It stopped as soon as he did, but not before he heard the third set echoing. Everything went quiet. Even the wind stilled.

“If you’re here to take me away,” he called out, “I’m not interested. Prison isn’t my scene.”

Five people stepped into the light. It wasn’t tree spirits from his clan, like Greyleaf thought. But it was a threat nonetheless. His hand went to his dagger immediately.

“Relax,” said one of them. A larger, sixth shadow spoke from behind the group. “We’re not looking for a fight. We’re here to make sure you’ve done the job, that’s all.”

“I have done it. The arcade is closed.”

“Hmm. We didn’t find a body.”

“What?”

“Listen,” said the orc. He stook a step forward so that Arro could see how large he was, the muscles on his forearms tightening. He swung a metal mace over his shoulder; it rang with the movement, slicing the air. “You and I have something in common. We’re both just doing our job. I understand you. You understand me. Right?”

Arro didn’t reply.

“Good, so we have what you would call an understanding. You were hired to kill someone. I was hired to make sure you actually did it, and not run out with the money. I mean, it’s not a cheap task. In that way, my employee and I also understand each other.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. The boy is dead. Get out of here.”

“Don’t be rude. Listen, my name is –”

“I don’t care.”

The orc’s lower tip twitched. Arro watched the others around him shuffle their feet in preparation. He had to dissolve this now, before they got into the House. The thought of this monster setting his eyes on Ace uneased him.

“I’ll bring you the body,” Arro told them. “Give me some time.”

The first punch came out of nowhere – literally, it was as if a violent gust of wind hit him across the face. His eyes stung.

“My employee made it clear,” said the orc, “that I had to give you a warning. It’s nothing personal. You and I still have an understanding.”

Another hit, directly on his chest, knocking out the wind from his lungs. Arro fell on the dirt, his dagger ready in hand. He searched around, but none of the orcs had moved. His opponent was completely invisible.

Wind spirits. At least a pair of them.

The third strike landed on the back of his head, and the night disappeared.

Someone had put a blanket over him. Gentle, soft hands. Careful. Tender, in a way he had never felt before. Too tender.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He opened his eyes in panic.

Ace, holding a mushroom over him, froze. “You’re awake.”

“You were going to put a mushroom on me.”

“It’s actually for this tincture. Your face is bleeding. And your palms. And err – this one has healing properties. So, do you mind? Give me your hand.”

Her touch was cold, but strangely comforting. Arro wanted to feel her soft palm on his cheek. A touch that didn’t bring pain with it. A touch that wasn’t the sharp thorns on a branch.

“Do you like your room?” Ace asked.

“What?”

“I’m asking for a review of your stay. Err – since I found you sleeping on the dirt outside. Do you not like your room?”

Arro didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say. He looked away, instinctively making note of where they were. Ace’s room. Stacks of books beneath the window, revealing the night sky. Some lay open on the bed next to him, on a bizarre page illustrating the anatomy of a … tree spirit. He blinked at it, hoping he had misread. No, it was clear. She was reading about tree spirits. He looked about the room again, at a tall mirror leaning against the opposite wall. His reflection.

Her reflection.

“I know you’re a shapeshifter,” Ace said, conversationally. “Tree spirits, notoriously free of form.”

Her voice didn’t betray any fear. Either she was really good at hiding her true feelings … or she wasn’t afraid of Arro at all.

“It’s true,” Arro said, letting Ace apply the tincture on her chin now.

“I know. And err – the dress makes sense now. Grey leaves? You were afraid to go into the forest? You family was never your family? Hence, instead of flourishing, blooming flowers and leaves with chlorophyll, you decide the dead and dying leaves will be your symbol. Arro Greyleaf. You chose that name for yourself?”

“I did.”

A brown and black furred cat pounced soundlessly onto the edge of the bed. It stuck its yellow eyes on Arro.

“That’s Moss,” said Ace. “She started hanging around here a bit ever since I resurrected her. They gravitate toward the house, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Arro repeated, her heart racing in her ears. Resurrections, Ace said. The books stacked nearby suddenly seemed to be the centre piece of the room. Its titles jumped at her. Exploring the Laws of Necromancy. First edition Necromancy. Inventions that changed the Netherworld.

“Did you know fungi are the key to Necromancy?” Ace said. “They’ve survived every major extinction event in history. They feed on dead matter, making all life possible. Their medicinal, nutritional, and ecological benefits are beyond measure. I am a descendant of mycelium. We all are. You must be familiar.”

Arro nodded. She vaguely remembered that trees used the underground network of mycelium to communicate, to share and exchange nutrients. Vaguely. She was banished before she could learn any further.

She hesitated to say anything, unsure of how much Ace knew about her past. There was a gnawing suspicion that needed confirming. “Why would… Resurrections gravitate toward the House?”

“Because of me. I suppose I’m familiar. Comforting to them.”

“That zombie …”

“Not mine.”

“Not yours.”

“Nope.”

Arro shifted her legs away from the cat. “Are there any other Resurrections around right now?”

Ace didn’t reply. She bottled up the remaining tincture into a jar and sealed it away in her satchel. She stood.

“There are two other guests in the next room,” she said, making her way out. “A woman and a young boy.”

“Congrats. You’ll be saving up enough to get that tool you wanted in no time. What was it called again?”

“Yes. The Bone Tablet. Anyway. I’m going to the forest to gather more mushrooms for the new garden. I probably won’t be back until morning. You should rest.”

“Of course.”

The cat followed her out the door.

Arro waited a few moments in silence. She listened for Ace’s footsteps, a brisk trot across the courtyard, a call for Half-Smile – inquiring whether he wanted to join her on the trip – and then the front double doors closed. She waited some more.

There was a matt black business card sitting on the bedside table, among an assortment of small bones and shells. Golden font gleamed on it. Ace Slyspore, fungus faery & Necromancer.

Out of all the godamn places, Arro thought, she had to lodge with a Necromancer. Worse – the same mingling Necromancer entangled in her own business.

A plan formed in Arro’s mind. She needed to finish the job, without killing Ace.

Who had she said was in the next room? In a vacant, dark house? The owner, conveniently gone? A trap? No matter – Arro would be quick with them both. And then she would leave and never return to this House. It had grown too personal to her too quickly.

She felt the fungus faery’s phantom touch on her chin. Ace had grown too personal to her. She was so tranquil here, sharing her little world with zombies and ghosts and mushrooms. Arro had enough.

The courtyard was dark. Clouds shielded the sky and the moon’s light. It was also deathly quiet. Half-Smile must have gone with Ace, for not even wood creaking filled the silent space. Arro gripped her dagger and headed for the next room. The cold enveloped her.

“Ghost,” she whispered.

The door was unlocked. Strange. Definitely a trap. She looked behind her. The courtyard was deserted. She opened the door.

They were asleep on the bed, holding each other. Arro took a large stride toward them – and something caught her ankle mid-step.