Chapter 6: In the Human World - Part 1

The human world is disgusting, and it smells like a rancid bog. They don’t prepare you for the smell of it. I don’t know what I was expecting, but not this pervasive stench that sticks to you like hot rain. No wonder humans are so eager to leave their world for ours. I can’t believe they breathe this every single day without constant thoughts of taking their own lives. Perhaps outside the city, the smell doesn’t choke you. But, not here, not this ‘Boston’. They even name things like they are in charge. Boston. Boss-town? As if they could ever have any true authority over anything but misery.

It didn’t take much for me to find a body to command. The mission scroll said that Elijah Mott likes to attack whores, so that’s exactly what I took. It’s not difficult to control the mirrors once you are accepted as a Mirrorwalker. An enchanted Willowisp will guide you to your assigned mirror, one that shows the area you’ll be going to, and then you grab the mirror and speak what you need to see. I told it I wished to see nearby mirrors showing ‘desirable women with loose morals’. Once I found a suitable one, I locked the mirror and entered through it before possessing my target. Aesidhe can’t be seen in our true form within the human world, so we must wear their bodies in order to navigate.

I must say that my body, at least, smells divine. I keep sniffing my own wrist, which has the most gloriously delicate scent, like honeysuckle. The urge to bite myself is overwhelming. But, you absolutely mustn’t eat anything in the human world, especially humans. Mirrors can’t eat people, and for good reason. Ingesting anything from this place will be like eating moldy food, and eating a human? Pure poison.

My Vessel has a decent enough body, I suppose. I’m not partial to my temporary existence as a woman, but if I must possess one for the duration of a mission, she will do. Others might take time to explore their new surroundings, feel the curves, and delve into the womanly secrets, but I’ve no time for such base desires. I must find this Elijah Mott and kill him. But, before that, I need to arm myself.

“You were saying something about some knives, Miss?”

I grunt in a most unladylike manner at the balding old fool selling knives. The busy marketplace distracted me momentarily. Took many scents, and too many voices. And everyone so confusingly the same few colors. Pink. Brown. An occasional in-between color of the two. I try to pay it no mind. “Give me that one.” I point to a knife that looks sturdy enough, then spot another. “And that one as well.”

“These are hunting knives, Miss. Are you sure you wouldn’t like something more suited to the kitchen?”

Oh right, the weird gender roles. Such a strange quirk of this society. “No, they’re for my…” Brother? Father? “...husband. A surprise.”

The knife-seller looks dubious, possibly because of my low-cut attire, but gives me the knives. I pay for them with the money I found in this woman’s purse. “You be careful, Miss,” he says, “The Dockside Killer roams these parts. After sundown, it’s dangerous ‘round here for a lady.”

“Good to know,” I say dryly as I take my purchase and continue on my way. Somewhere further down the road, I secret my new knives where I can easily get to them. This dress hampers movement considerably but does have a lot of ruffles and folds in which to hide things. It’s no surprise that women are often considered prey here. Their clothing has been constructed in such a way as to hobble and constrict them. Nonetheless, I’m not worried about Elijah Mott being able to kill me. Death would just send me back to Anathema. No, I have better things to worry about. Mirrorblights. The Luminous Host’s answer to Mirrorwalkers. A Mirrorblight’s powers can inflict a fate worse than death. They can trap you in the human realm.

I stop and examine myself in the window of an apothecary’s shop. Bright green dress, ample chest squished into a revealing bodice much more low cut than that of the street’s more respectable patrons, and a goodly amount of rouge on my tanned cheeks. This vessel’s face is neither stunning nor unfortunate and her dark curly ringlets, kept in place by numerous pins and her hat, have become a bit frizzy in the weather. I pull off the gloves she’s wearing and head into the apothecary shop.

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“Pardon me, but do you know anyone named ‘Elijah Mott’? I found a book left behind in the park nearby with that name in it, and I just want to return it to him.”

The man behind the counter puts down his newspaper and then adjusts his spectacles. “Mott. Mott… Ah, I think we filled some orders for an Annabelle Mott a few years back. Let me look.”

The apothecarist pulls out an old ledger book and begins flipping through it. It takes forever for him to find what he’s looking for. Indeed, I can feel this fragile body aging as I wait. But, finally, he says, “Oh yes. Here we go. Coaline powders for Annabelle Mott. Picked up by Elijah Mott, her son. Let me get you her address.” This, of course, took looking through a whole different ledger, but at least this one appears to be alphabetical. Finally, after what seems like a century, I’m given a piece of paper with an address on it. I look at it, have absolutely no idea how to find this place, and then smile the sweetest smile I can muster at the man. That smile appears to unnerve him. Too many teeth, perhaps? Too menacing and forced? I don’t know, but I thank him as politely as I can and head out.

I’m lucky. This is only the fourth shop I’ve tried, the knife seller being a dual-purpose stop. I’ve heard of Mirrors tracking particular subjects for weeks, even longer, without learning anything.

It doesn’t take too much longer for me to be on my way to Ashmont Street with directions from a young man who spent most of the conversation staring at my chest. He smelled delicious, though, of ripe apples and caramel, stewed until soft. Conversely, I spend most of the conversation staring at his cheek, thinking about what a delectable morsel it would be, and how he’d shriek if I bit into it and pulled, ripping at the flesh and leaving behind a gap through which his teeth could be seen. What would he do then, as I stood in the street and chewed on his skin? Would he attack me? Flee? Fall to the ground in agony? Call for the authorities?

Ashmont Street takes longer to find than I would have liked. It’s a place with large houses stately enough to be roomy, but not ostentatious enough to be considered ‘mansions’. It’s October, and the trees of the area have turned interesting colors, oranges and yellows. I’m surprised. I thought such things were common only to Anathema. As I walk down the street, I’m seen as decidedly out-of-place by the residents, if the looks that both the women and the men give me are any indication. It doesn’t matter. They don’t matter.

I find the house that I’m looking for, but walk past it, slowly considering the possibilities for entry. The cream-yellow paint is peeling, and one of the shutters on the side hangs faintly askew. The place stands two stories tall, but I’m guessing there are additional rooms in the attic, if the windows under the gables are any indication. All of the curtains are pulled, and the yard is unkempt compared to the neighbors.

I continue down the street until I find a nice bench for my wait. If this Elijah Mott goes out at night to hunt his victims, it should be simple to break into his house and wait. If I can’t, I’ll just linger nearby when he comes home and hope that my vessel is his type.

When returning after dusk, I find the street dimly lit, and far more menacing. I keep a knife at the ready and my wits about me. Thankfully, it’s less likely to encounter Mirrorblights at night. I’d enjoy combat with one or two – it’d be a good way for me to rise in rank, but thankfully, they tend to glow unnaturally from within during the nighttime, something perceptible even by some humans. We don’t really know why, but my guess is that Anathema is lighting them up to help us find them. The Luminous Host doesn’t ask Anathema’s permission to travel to the human world via the mirrors. They force their way in, using the magic of the Lightcaller to do so.

When I find the house, I decide the best route will not be in the front. There appear to be windows quite low to the ground on the side. Basement windows? If I could find one that’s easily overlooked, it’d be a good entry point, even if I have to smash it to enter.

That’s when I notice it… Lights, flickering lights in a few of the windows towards the back. Mirrorblights attacking at night? How bold. They must badly want Elijah Mott for their army. His brutality would be immensely magnified once they managed to make him Lightchained. I rush over and crouch near one of the windows, trying to look inside.

What I see is not just unexpected, but so improbable, I freeze. Inside the basement room, a human male has drawn a ritual circle and surrounded it with all sorts of spellcasting items. Candles. A skull. Several unmarked bottles and vials of who-knows-what. Feathers and bound sachets of herbs. This would normally be unremarkable, as humans try to cast magic all the time to no avail.

But, at the center of this ritual circle, a young man is floating in mid-air. His mouth has been forced wide into a silent scream and his hair and clothing moving about as if being blown in a storm… Except that no wind causes a single candle to flicker.

Magic? Magic in the human world? One of the last bastions of the theft of the Endless Tower by Prometheus? A phenomenon unseen in hundreds of years?

This changes everything.