Kendo spent the next ten weeks travelling between Olden and Reality to learn magic. Olden looked the same throughout the seasons to the point of being creepy. The weather never changed the landscape. Snow and rain and sandstorms (which came about once in a while to sweep through the outer sectors of Creature’s Court) never blanketed Olden. The weather always held within it an eerie incomplete feeling, as if it weren’t really there at all despite that it was visible. It was perhaps the only thing in Olden that felt like it was less real there than in Reality. Sometimes it would snow and the flakes would never fall completely to the ground. Instead they would hover just above the heads of the many creatures in the Court (well, those who had heads anyway) and dissolve, leaving not but a drip of perspiration behind. Other times the rain would travel sideways or upward like it was a creature all in itself, but if ever it touched Kendo’s skin, there was never any sensation. Still other times the air would adopt a fog that, if Kendo looked hard enough, had a face so soft it was hardly there at all. Oh but if it looked at him, he felt it.

Kendo always carried with him a pouch-full of Fastitocalon scales, jammed in his back pocket. Once he got the hang of it, they helped keep Melanie corporeal while he was out and about in Olden. After attacking magic with a headstrong resolve bordering on sheer stubbornness, he figured out how to control it enough so that Melanie could travel back with him to Reality. It only took him five weeks and plummeting grades in all his classes. Although Wilfred always warned of it, ever since that very first faefolk attack, Reality suffered no more aggressive movements from Olden, at least as far as Kendo could tell. A long time ago that would’ve made him quit this whole nonsensical magic business, but now that he could see some progress, now that he could actually make things happen, real or not, now he wouldn’t give it up for anything.

It was becoming an obsession. Kendo used magic for everything he could think of. If he was late to class and the teacher gave him a hard time, he would imagine up fears and nightmares and torment them. One time this bratty know-it-all cheerleader said he was a freak and Kendo imagined her tongue being tied. She became mute after that and forever suffered rope burn along the top of her tongue. From then on, if anyone spoke to her, all she could manage was a gurgling choke. No one complained. Oh, and the gym coach who always used to yell at Melanie, he mysteriously disappeared. There were rumors that when he vanished all that was left of him was a puff of smoke and the stench of something rotting. The adults didn’t speak of it and held a private wake for him, all in secret. Of course, since it was a secret, the whole high school campus knew. It was the talk of the school for weeks.

Oddly enough, despite all the rumors going around about strange happenings, nobody ever mentioned the faefolk. Kendo decided to pester someone about it once and they just stared at him entranced and said, “Faefolk? That’s old news. No one cares anymore.” He didn’t bring it up again, figuring Wilfred or Victor or maybe Olden itself had cast some sort of spell over Mustang’s Township High to keep everyone in an oblivious daze.

While Wilfred admired Kendo’s determination, he was utterly against using magic the way Kendo was using it, for less-than-admirable purposes. Nonetheless, he couldn’t deny Kendo’s skill and what the kid did with his abilities was ultimately his own business. After a while Wilfred didn’t even seem to mind Melanie’s company all that much, though in the beginning he couldn’t stand her obnoxious remarks. He said it reminded him too much of Victor. Melanie thought Wilfred’s recent tolerance of her was purely due to the fact that she had stopped questioning everything he taught Kendo. What she wouldn’t admit to anyone, even herself, was that the reason she stopped being snarky was that she feared Kendo’s abilities.

Kendo’s talent with magic was bipolar in nature. His spells were either perfect or abysmal. It left a lot of messes in Reality for Grivgas to clean up. Still, when Kendo did make a mistake, Wilfred was always able to reverse it, which Melanie was grateful for.

Wilfred had a way with magic unlike Melanie had ever seen, both in her travels with Kendo and in Death. He could stop a manifestation dead in its tracks with nothing more than a twinkle of his yellow eyes, could make something turn on a dime and flee with not but a waft of his hands.

Melanie found herself staring at his hands a lot. The hair on the back of his knuckles was pure white like the rest of his head of fur. She wondered if he was as cuddly as he looked.

But then there was Kendo. He saved her from Death itself and he never asked for anything more than her company. Even so, Melanie hated being attached to him. Forced to go wherever he went, to never sleep and never eat while he did both in front of her without the slightest hint of guilt in his eyes; it was driving her nuts. She felt like a tethered dog.

One time she tried to see if she could get away from Kendo. She intended to go back of course, but she wanted to know how far she could separate herself from him before something weird happened. She made ten yards before she was pulled back by an invisible straight jacket. Kendo had been asleep at the time, Fastitocalon scales tucked into his back pocket. (He always slept in his clothes. Melanie had thought it was cool when they first met but by now it was beginning to disgust her. It was stupid, she knew, but god did it bug her.) Melanie only wanted to know if she could wander away from him, just to get some time to herself. When she was tugged back by the magic she saw the scales glowing softly in Kendo’s pocket. She cried and wailed and moaned in agony. He never woke.

Melanie never told Kendo about that. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to upset him but really it was because she didn’t want him to know.

“What’s wrong?” Kendo asked, forcing Melanie out of her trance. She had been standing there staring off into space (in Wilfred’s direction, no doubt) for at least ten minutes while Kendo was working a spell. The glittering tree people were chattering in the distance at a yapping little red dachshund and the sun glistened off of Kendo’s hair. It was freshly dyed, blue-black this time and highlighted in green at the crown of his head. It matched his equally neon boots. Melanie didn’t like the change even though it looked good.

“Nothing,” Melanie coughed out, “I think I’m just tired.”

“You wanna sit?” Kendo manifested a deep brown wooden chair for her, complete with an embroidered cushion in the seat. He was being so goddamn nice. It made everything harder.

Wilfred sighed, readjusted his feet and leaned back onto his favorite tree, giving Kendo an unspoken break for the day. The little dachshund stopped terrorizing one of the tiny glittering people and bounced over to sit by Wilfred’s feet; it curled its butt to the side when it sat because it was so long. Wilfred glanced down at it and smiled. He decided to sit down too and stroke its back. The dachshund stuck out its tongue when it lied down and rolled over, exposing its belly for a scratch. Wilfred obliged with a scoff.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” he told the dachshund. It tilted its head farther into his scratching, looking very pleased with itself. Wilfred sighed and watched from the shade as Melanie snapped herself out of her thoughts and looked up at Kendo.

Melanie, seeing Kendo’s worried expression, forced a smile. “Thanks,” she said and sat in the imaginary chair. It was unbearably comfortable. You know, she always thought she liked nice. She couldn’t fathom how she had grown to hate Kendo’s blindsiding accommodations so much.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kendo insisted.

“I’m fine.” Melanie winced at the snippy tone that came out of her mouth, but it was too late to take it back.

Kendo gave her a sad look and walked away, awkwardly scratching his head. He couldn’t figure out what he was doing wrong. Maybe the chair was too poufy or something. Before he could agonize any more over why Melanie was so suddenly upset, Grivgas appeared in a giant heap in front of him. Kendo gawked, backing up a few steps while Wilfred rushed over with the little dachshund at his heels. Melanie just sat and observed them as they rushed and Grivgas let out a twitchy moaning growl. He didn’t sound like himself at all.

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“What happened?” Wilfred said in a frazzle. Kendo backed up to let him get a closer look. The dachshund sat and tilted its head, confused. Its tail jittered back and forth.

Grivgas dripped goop as a response and nothing more.

Kendo found himself backing towards Melanie as Wilfred leaned in closer to Grivgas, saying, “Take it easy. Tell me slowly.”

Its voice an ancient rumble, Grivgas responded, “The Gatherers are moving.”

Even so softly spoken, his voice drummed in Kendo’s ears. The dachshund bolted away with a yelp and its barking could be heard far off in the distance. It wasn’t a bark of fear; it was a warning. The glittering people shimmered from their trees and the wind picked up like some ode to a horror flick. As the wind died, Grivgas melted into a pool of sludge with one swimming, swirling eyeball in its center. Wilfred’s face scrunched into a horrified expression, his teeth grinding so loud it was even giving Kendo a headache. Melanie flickered out of view, only for a moment.

“My old friend.” Wilfred’s throat scratched like a desert wind, “Don’t go.”

He felt Grivgas’ smile as the swimming eye become glossy with film.

Wilfred clenched his fists over his knees in a squat. He squeezed his eyes shut. Kendo and Melanie both could feel the grief tumbling off of him. The forest and the glittering people dulled as night approached. This was the first time Kendo and Melanie had seen nighttime in this part of Olden.

It was pure, utter terror.

The wind blew in five directions, tossing their hair this way and that so it whipped at their eyes. The night was so black it blinded them like fog. The full moon hanging off the sky seemed close enough to swallow everything. Grivgas’ rotting fleshy pool filled the frigid air with the aroma of long-dead mice and burnt rubber. Half-dead squirrels and broken-winged geese swam out from under Grivgas, gasping and writhing and squawking until they finally died, pitifully broken over themselves, their eyes (those that still had them) as blank as Grivgas’ giant one in the center. The sand in the clearing mixed into Grivgas’ oily fleshy gray pool under the moon and reflected into Wilfred’s yellow gaze. It was grainy and cold and Melanie found herself feeling oddly grateful that she was dead, technically speaking. Kendo got twelve shivers at once up and down his spine and buckled over to try and warm up, crippled by uncontrollable shaking.

Melanie widened her eyes to try and see Wilfred. He was still crouched by Grivgas, surrounded by the road kill that had tried to escape. Some of the raccoon paws were still twitching. Despite everything, despite the moon and the wind and the death in the air, Melanie got a feeling so devastating that she couldn’t even muster any hope to deny it: The worst was yet to come. It was a fact, undeniable. Somehow, being dead made it less escapable. Melanie gulped. It echoed.

Then Wilfred stood up fast and whirled around and Melanie saw his yellow, yellow eyes.

“Kendo!” Melanie yelled.

Kendo gasped and tried to rise from his doubled-over stance. “What’s wrong?” He winced. The shivering just wouldn’t stop. If he was in Reality he would’ve thought he was seizing.

Melanie shifted backwards and pointed, “Wilfred’s eyes!”

Kendo inhaled sharp and painful.

Wilfred arched his back, head to the sky, and he howled. It rung in their ears like a trumpet and when Kendo tried to move he found himself paralyzed. Melanie was locked in a trance, like watching a disaster, she couldn’t look away. Morbid fascination kept her in check as Wilfred’s muscles bent and stretched and shrunk. The white fur on his head grew backward and down his spine, curling under his belly and around his limbs as they cracked and shortened; his face contorted and elongated. All the while his eyes glowed yellow at the moon.

“Can you move?” Kendo forced himself to ask.

Melanie tilted her head at Wilfred and responded absentmindedly, “Yeah.”

The darkness got darker.

“Listen Melanie,” Kendo winced as Wilfred wailed at the moon, now a white wolf with a gray underbelly and back paws so dark they could’ve been black, “Get out of here. I’ll catch up. I don’t want you getting hurt.” Wilfred legitimately scared him. That’s something Kendo hadn’t thought possible when he first started learning magic under the scruffy old grump. One thing was for sure: Kendo didn’t want Melanie anywhere near him right now.

“It isn’t like it matters,” Melanie said listlessly, “I’m already dead anyways.”

That got Kendo to look at her—really look at her—for the first time in a long time. She was pale in the moonlight, but not in a good way, in a washed-out faded way. Her hair used to fizz out, only slightly, so it looked purposefully unkempt. Now it was flat as can be, stiff against her head. The wind made it stringy. Her expressions used to be invigorating, always a hint of cleverness in her eyes, but now she just looked bored. Kendo realized then that she always seemed to look bored.

Wilfred’s bawling howl gripped Kendo from his thoughts. He returned his gaze to the wolf. Wilfred was pacing in circles, pawing at the ground every now and then before craning his snout towards the moon to wail again. His tail stuck straight up and out, rigid no matter what direction he paced or what angle he chose to stare at the moon.

The moon was a pore in the sky, a void. Melanie could relate. She looked upon Wilfred fondly. He wasn’t trying to deny anything, wasn’t trying to save Grivgas even though it was hopeless, and he wasn’t running from it either. He was admirably consumed by grief, unashamed in his fit. Melanie remembered how she wished Kendo had acted that way instead of just running when she died. She sighed. So much regret. She wondered if Kendo felt it too.

Melanie was staring at Wilfred with a kind of longing Kendo had never seen on her face before, dead or alive. It made him so angry he broke out of his paralysis and stumbled forward before he fell. The night was all around them and the moon hung low. Wilfred was circling Grivgas and the trees remained dull, lifeless. Everything looked the same. It was starting to drive Kendo nuts.

“Okay enough.” Kendo grabbed Melanie’s arm and forced her to look at him.

She blinked at him. He couldn’t tell what it meant. God that bugged him. The rage inside made his shivers cease and he gripped Melanie’s shoulders a little tighter than was necessary.

“Let’s get out of here. Come on.”

Melanie hated that tone, that stern tone her mother used to use. “Why.” She said rather than asked, defiant.

Kendo grunted in frustration, “Because who knows what he’ll do like that! We have to get out of here!”

Melanie gave him a blank look. “Why are you always running away?” Honest question, but so bluntly put it felt like an insult to Kendo.

Kendo avoided Melanie’s pointed gaze by glancing at Wilfred. He caught his breath and grumbled, “If we don’t run who knows what he’ll do.”

“You aren’t concerned for me. You’re concerned for yourself.”

“God, Melanie! Why are you being like this?”

Another howl resounded. The sand shifted under their feet. The moon encroached, glowing yellow, and Grivgas’ pool reflected the light like stagnant oil. The eyeball in the center wobbled as a gust of wind brushed the surface, glittering it with sand.

“Look, if you’re scared just stay here,” said Melanie as she backed out of Kendo’s grip. “I’ll be right back.” And then she left Kendo with his stupidly gaping mouth and his racing, confused thoughts as she traipsed her way through Grivgas’ sludge to Wilfred, kicking his eyeball along the way.

Wilfred was sitting now, whimpering and whelping in such a pathetic way that Melanie almost couldn’t find the nerve to speak. But she did.

“Everybody dies.”

A snort that sounded like a scoff.

Melanie reached out to pat Wilfred’s head. He recoiled.

“I feel like this all the time now. I bet you knew that already.”

No response.

“Dying isn’t that bad. Kind of freeing. You see all this stuff you never saw before.”

In a low growl from deep in his chest, Wilfred told her, “Get out of my sight and my scent, you insensitive figment.” Humans. They think they understand everything.

Melanie twitched her left eyebrow at him. No one had ever talked to her like that, ever. She decided she wouldn’t budge.

Then Wilfred gave her a yellow-eyed glare and she found herself walking away like a zombie. He began circling Grivgas’ melted corpse again, paws padding through the muck and what remained of the road kill, his friend’s last meal on display over curdling ooze. Drooping his nose down, Wilfred took a long whiff and his eyes flashed back to brown.

Kendo was still standing there in awe when Melanie reached him. She sat on the ground, half in the grass and half in the sand. She profoundly said nothing. Kendo stood there awkwardly for a moment, shifting his gaze between Melanie and Wilfred. Then he plopped next to Melanie and let out a resigned, nasally sigh. “So what do we do then?”

“We wait.”

And Wilfred’s grieving howls echoed across the night.