They turned a few corners, got off Arthur Avenue, made it down an alleyway. Brick, with a slight shimmer between the cracks. It was slightly translucent. Dumpsters off to the side—she saw a few regular city rats scramble away. She set her hand against the wall; it was humming, warm—yep. Passage portal. Within, an Underland.

  Good.

  Silas stood behind her, arms folded across his chest. He lifted out the glass device; she saw that in the corner of her eye, and twisted to face him, shaking her head.

  “Rule number one—you don’t report this to SEE until after we’re done.” She hissed. Shit, she hadn’t thought through this—no wonder her intelligence score was only eleven. “No photos, no nothing—you pretend to be a bad tourist here. Got it? You’ll just walk through with me and not threaten to take anyone away. Just a bad tourist.” She pointed at him. “No work. Just…watching.”

  “You said rule number one, but I don’t know where rule number ten started or began.” Silas’s tone was cheeky; his lids, low. His opalescent eyes shimmered more than usual—he was excited. She just glared at him.

  “Do you get my point?”

  He nodded once. “Bad tourist. No fun for me.”

  “Correct.” Jacinta held out a hand. “Give me your SEE device-thing.”

  Silas’s brow rose further. “Excuse me? Bold, Jacinta. Too bold.”

  “Then shut it off, at least.” She pulled her hand away.

  Silas rolled his eyes but complied; it flickered, then shut like an eye closing tight. No light, even after he tapped it. “Off.”

  “Weapons?”

  “Gun. Loaded for one round.” He pulled it out, holding it close to his chest. It was shaved down to a simple design, sleek. It’d almost look like a toy gun, an image of a gun in a child’s drawing, but it was real. She stared. Shuddered. “I wouldn’t suggest you try it, unless you want your face shot off. I’ve never fired it in public…and don’t plan to.”

  “Right. Like when you pressed it against me at the diner?”

  He exhaled. “It’s complicated. Trust me. I’m sorry for doing that, by the way.”

  She didn’t know what was real. It didn’t matter. At least he hadn’t shot her then, right?

  “Just…put it away and keep it away.”

  He complied easily. She faced forward, setting her hand back on the cracks. Alright, how did Banu say to go in? She traced the lines, the colored glass within the cracks, and traced her finger along it, waiting.

  It sensed her, it seemed like—the wall yawned and creaked, bricks falling away, re-arranging and stacking aside to reveal an opening. Ahead, a long and wide tunnel that was built of swirling, shifting stained glass, lights bobbing outside of it. She gave a quick look at Silas.

  “See you on the other side.” She said, smiling, stepping in.

  It was protected—not all passage portals were. Banu said that no humans were allowed here, unless they were in contact with a supernatural on the way in. Silas would be left behind; he’d hit the space like an invisible brick wall was left in-place. She’d be safe. She would go back, apologize, tell him next time, and—

  In. A gush of air shot through, past, her. She looked up, around, eyes wide. It was gorgeous, like she was inside a glass tunnel in an aquarium, seeing a swirling array of light and glass. She continued forward, air cooling to a pleasant temperature, eyes wide—

  Jacinta arrived.

Attention: you have become displaced from the physical realm. Scanning…

Update.

Passage Portal, connected to Earth 1. Three entry/exits, all localized within the Bronx, New York City.

Recognized Underland: “Littler Italy.”

[[info]]

  Littler Italy—ha. That was cute. She blinked, shook her head, shook the daze of displacement, replacement, being shot into a little pocket dimension or a space carved out of the Earth and—

  Wow. She stared at the sky, which was a ceiling of stained glass. It was cut into sections, fused together with black lines—but sections were moving in real time. An angled shape of what would be a fluffy, pale cloud; black glass silhouettes of birds flying through the distant air. She stared down, past the sky—buildings of marble, all marble. Bricks, outdoor stairways, in gold. No iron, definitely no silver. Certain buildings had the traditional vinyl signage, but everything was animated: videos along the canvases, moving text like digital advertising. Others were meshed with Roman Catholic church buildings—fancy cathedrals, complex carving, pointed spires. Gothic, Romanesque—gorgeous. Shimmering glass, bubbled, floating lights. Stone gargoyles were poised, wings flapping, gripping spires above.

  It was a space beneath space, full of magic. In the streets were fancy cars—old ones, new ones—and the streets were adorned with twisting, shifting red, white, and green garland. It moved like snakes, alive; or maybe they were actual, giant serpents? She couldn’t see too clearly. Underlands—spaces within passage portals, outside human eyes—were reflections of the places they came from, according to Gregory. The Underland in Soho, run by fae, was apparently full of art, all hipster-like; here, everything was deeply Italian-American. Littler Italy.

  Magical.

  Jacinta turned around. The entrance, exit—still open. She couldn’t forget about Silas. She moved to step through—

  But he was already there.

  Jacinta’s eyes widened. She stepped back. Silas chuckled and tilted his head to the side. He looked a little dizzy, but he was standing just fine. “Just one drop of blood, right?”

  “Of what?”

  Silas didn’t answer. Fine—Jacinta would find out for herself.

[[Data unavailable.]]

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Her eye twitched. Nothing? She tried again.

[[Data unavailable.]]

Was it because of him traveling the multiverse? She did an enemy scan on him before; why no data now in a general scan? She tried for anything—the Atlas would give her what it could find, but there was nothing. He was a void.

  Weird.

  But even more concerning: him in Littler Italy.

  “You have…wait—how?”

  “I already told you: I have my ways. But I still identify as human, if you must know—not like a percent’s going to actually make a difference.”

  “It does. And it did.” She pointed to the entryway, the open tunnel behind brick, the glass. “SEE wouldn’t let anyone in with even a drop of blood…”

  Silas’s expression turned sharp—he glared at her. Jacinta stiffened. “Remember where we are? If they find out who I work for, you think you’ll be treated so nice?”

  “We’re supposed to be partners here, so tell me why you can make it in. Is it SEE tech? Just like—”

  “A mix of both. Not all of my…coworkers can make it in. But as I said: one drop of blood.”

  “Is it from being in alternate dimensions, carryover magic and stuff, or—”

  A family exited the portal, giggling—mother with a stroller, husband at her side, dog walking with them. Jacinta’s shoulders locked; Silas held his tongue, but his gaze was firm. Jacinta’s neck warmed; she just rolled her eyes and waved a hand dismissively, waiting for the family to pass.

  “We’ll discuss it later.” She told him, caving. Dammit. The possibilities were limitless, literally—that was the problem. Well, one of many problems.

  Once the others were out of earshot, at least from a human distance, Jacinta began to move. She didn’t really know where she was going—Banu told her the location of Littler Italy, not the psychic within it—but the space was small, just a few blocks around. The bigger the space was, the riskier, she assumed.

  Still, Littler Italy was on Arthur Avenue. Risky. She heard it was a tourist spot for supernaturals, though; that made sense. It was nice, well-kept. She could understand the tourism here.

  “I take it this isn’t your first fully-fledged Underland.”

  Silas snorted. “Business, not pleasure, yes.”

  “Until now.”

  He chuckled. “Sure.”

  She eyed a barber shop-slash-grooming salon; the rotating pole out front, the white writing on the floor-to-ceiling glass: “Look your best before the FM! Come in for a cut and shave, human and wolfman and full wolf forms! Impress the ladies in your life!”

  FM? Full moon, maybe…

  An older man was getting a haircut inside; his silvery hair severed away, large curl by curl; in the corner, a half-formed werewolf stood aside, dark fur, clawed hands, body awkwardly bent over, short snout parted open, sharp teeth out. He was wearing little, just something like a pair of shorts—Jacinta decided she didn’t want to see what’d happen if the shorts came off to shave. Another shop—clothes making, seamstresses, designers; she saw gorgeous swaths of fabric swinging in front. A lot of FM-related holes and tears, she assumed. One model was being fitted by a gorgon seamstress that was wearing Versace, her head matching the company’s logo. A few of the seamstress’s snakes eyed Jacinta as she walked past.

  Streetlights flickered; they continued down the street. A movie poster for The Godfather, Vito Corleone’s shadowed eyes, the white sliver of a crescent moon behind his head, curling around the stylized text. About a family, a pack, him as an alpha, his son becoming the next. The actors were, mostly, werewolves. The actor’s eyes followed them, flashing gold.

  “You look like you’ve never seen this before.”

  Silas’s voice shook Jacinta out of her stare. She glared at him for a moment. “What, are you watching me?”

  “You’re not subtle.” he deadpanned, striding forward. “So you’re from Spanish Harlem. I’m sure you’ve heard of the recent raid there?”

  “Unfortunately.” Jacinta looked along the narrow street—apartment buildings, metal stairs; bronze and steel hovering, suspended in the air by shimmering magic. “Why are you asking—you trying to taunt me?”

  She recalled it—a handful of people were either deported or taken in, the rest either rotting in jail, or free. The raid was within a new Underland that’d just started; it was no bigger than a block across, started by a trusted coven. The Underland crumbled and shattered, everyone involved gone.

  Unfortunate, but not as bad as if the other Underlands there were found. Those were established, developed—historic, as old as the city itself. Immigrants and former slaves had that land for their own, since they had little else.

  She wouldn’t let Silas and SEE take this one, either. A memory spell, just to mix everything around. Yeah.

  Yeah.

  Still, the thought and the danger she’d just put all of Littler Italy into made her throat seize. Fuck…she needed to think things through. Then again, she needed some good luck; she deserved that.

  “Just checking to see how far word spreads.” Silas finally responded.

  Jacinta’s jaw tightened; she gave him a quick, sideways glance—he was as impassive as ever, though he was still surveying the world like she was.

   They moved into a more historic area, it seemed—cracked stone, flickering lights. An old woman was bent over, selling dried herbs, fresh produce, potions. The buildings were taller, grander—all marble. No cars, no streets; just walkways, spaces. In the marble cracks: gold, copper, pools of magic that shuddered and twisted like colorful resin. A marble, town square: A duo of kids were singing something beautiful—it sounded like a cross between a deep, throaty howl and an operatic aria.

  “Don’t remind me of the stuff your ilk do, alright? I’m trying to enjoy myself here…” she hesitated, biting the inner corner of her gum, “and drag you along with me in the process. You want to make a wish?” She gestured at the fountain, stepping closer. Coins lined the bottom like scales of a fish. She reached into her bag to grab a penny, waiting—but he just stared, shaking his head softly. “What? No fun?”

  “I don’t believe in luck—though if I did, I’d say that you definitely lack it. No point in losing money to…a stone cherub.”

  Jacinta eyed the cherubs that flanked the statue of the god—maybe Triton. Their wings were flapping, but it remained still, insentient. A stream of water was coming out of their mouth, and…private areas.

  “Charming.” She muttered aloud, throwing a coin in.

  A plaque mentioned that it was Littler Italy’s much littler version of the Trevi Fountain, three roads branching out of the square. Inspired by True American Fashion, this one was like a lottery: one lucky coin-tosser out of a few hundred would get their wish granted—whatever that meant.

  It also asked for merfolk and naiads to not swim inside the fountain…and no thievery. The fountain was enchanted, protected—the money went back to the community.

  Jacinta shut her eyes, wishing for Olivia to be back home safe, unharmed, unchanged. She held her breath, waited three seconds—the shut-eye vision black, swirling—and she opened her eyes, swallowing, waiting.

  No sense of a wish coming over her, if that was how it felt. Nothing different.

  She didn’t expect to be lucky enough, but still—she had hope. Always, hope.

  Maybe it wasn’t immediate.

  “You get your wish granted?” Silas asked, stepping beside her. He stared down into the fountain. Jacinta glanced up instead, the stained-glass sky.

  “Not yet.” She hissed, shoulders sinking. Maybe it wasn't immediate.

  The clouds shifted, glass folding over itself, panes stretching and squeezing and shifting in color. Darkening, growing clouds.

  Plan: the psychic, Silas’s memory, and maybe lighting a candle if she had time. She glanced down at her bag and closed her fist over the round pocket mirror, sighing.

  “Anyway. I still need to visit someone…we’re not done with this place just yet.”

  “I thought you just came all the way here to make a wish.” He deadpanned before gesturing away. “Yeah—go ahead. I’ll just continue to be a bad tourist. No selfies with the fountain?”

  Jacinta sighed. “No selfies.”

  She sucked in a breath, then began to walk in the direction of Roman columns, older buildings—hopefully the psychic, and more importantly, the answers she needed.

  And a way to help clear Silas’s head…literally.