“Huh, kid’s alive,” Ken said, watching the local news on his living room TV.

Thomas Graves was wearing a blanket, sitting in the back of an ambulance, with a thousand-yard stare, a cup of hot cocoa in his hands and a news camera up his nose.

“You’re welcome,” Ken told the kid, putting his feet up on his ottoman and taking another sip of his beer while twiddling the ring between his fingers. When he put it on, he felt an unpleasant burn inside him, so he wasn’t gonna put it on unless he needed a charge.

Actually, come to think of it... The doodad was charged before I even put the ring on for the first time. Do I just keep it on my person, or what?

Ken frowned, inspecting the chintzy-looking ring. It wasn’t even real gold, but it was obviously magic, on account of the burn.

Maybe it was that demon trying to take over my body.

Ken shuddered.

Then how did my doodad get charged?

“Was there anyone else there, with you?” the newscaster asked as Ken took a deep swig of his beer.

“Yeah,” the kid said, staring dead-eyed into the camera. “My friend Kenneth Peterson was there with me. I’m glad he got away.”

PSSSHHHH! Ken spat out a mouthful of beer across his spotless coffee table.

“Fuck!” He took off his shirt and mopped up the mess, staring at the screen.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to your friend?” the newcaster said.

“I might have to take a break from work, Ken, but I’ll catch up with you later.”

“What. The. Fuck,” Ken muttered, staring at the screen.

That was not a sheep. That was anger. Somehow, that kid knew he’d been there. He knew he’d been there and he’d publicly declared he was coming after him.

Ken scoffed.

What an idiot. If he knew who was behind it, he should know enough to keep his mouth shut.

Add that to the list of loose ends, I guess. Obviously the kid was evil, in league with demons/supervillains, and needed to be put down.

The kid on the screen set the drink down beside him, and walked a short distance away from the ambulance, standing on his neighbor’s lawn. He pulled out his phone and frowned a moment before dialing.

Ken cocked a brow.

A moment later, his phone began ringing. An unknown number.

Normally, Ken didn’t answer his phone if he didn’t recognize the number, but…that direct address had knocked him off-balance.

“Hello?”

“You stole something that belongs to me, Ken.”

The kid on the screen waved at the camera, his lips moving.

“I want it back.”

“Fuck!” Ken flung the phone across the room like it had grown legs and venomous fangs, smashing the delicate piece of technology against the wall.

“Okay,” Ken muttered to himself, taking a deep breath. That’s creepy, but it’s not that hard to find someone’s phone number…right after your house is riddled with bullets and while you’re being questioned by the police.

Shit, does the kid have magic powers, too? Ffffuuuck. He already fucking knows about me.

***Tom Graves***

“Yeah, he looks pretty shook up. He’s been pacing around in the middle of the house, looking guilty as fuck,” Jacob said over the phone. “Now he’s arguing with his wife.”

“Thanks, now get out of there as soon as you can,” Tom said, marching toward the old folks home, wearing a hard hat and reflective jacket from Home Depot, with his ladder under his arm.

The police questioning and the people swarming all over him and his house had taken hours, and it was already noon the next day.

He’d never done this in the daytime, but he didn’t have any spare time. He needed more than information now. He needed power. A way to defend himself.

Goading the culprit like that had been a dumb, dumb move, but Tom had been seething inside, and rational thought was hard to come by. As was his ability to care. At least it confirmed what I suspected and made him scared. Scared people make mistakes.

“Scared people are also violent,” Tom corrected himself as he mounted the ladder.

“Excuse me, sir, what are—”

Tom swiveled his head and fixed a flat stare on the orderly looking up at him. “Vent repair,” Tom said before ignoring him and continuing up the aluminum ladder.

“…Okay.”

Tom climbed up onto the roof and trotted toward the vent with his soul engine on it, popping the box off with a flathead and snatching the fist-sized lump of gold. It was sizzling with quite a bit of power, making Tom’s guts dance as he got close to it.

It felt like a live wire.

That’s more than last time, he thought, pocketing it and running back to the ladder.

A moment later, he was down before the orderly could even talk to anyone, leaving the ladder in place as he walked away, tossing the hat and vest in the trash. He wasn’t planning on coming back.

Tom stalked back to his car and drove home. He’d briefly considered relocating, but that was a pain in the ass, and seemed like an admission of defeat. It might not be rational, but there it was.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

This fucker had attacked the day after he’d scoped out the house. There was no way he’d known Tom’s grandparents were going to be gone, which implied he simply didn’t care. Didn’t care if Tom’s daughter got caught in the crossfire.

Tom relaxed his jaw when it started hurting.

He marched into his holy home, joining Jacob in the basement.

“Wow, this is cool,” Jacob said, pointing at the black ink on the floor. “What is it, like a cultural good luck symbol or something?” He itched his nose.

“Not really,” Tom said, leaning forward and placing the gold cylinder at the center of the formation. The half-dozen tendrils of congealed fat and ash flared to life, spreading outward until the entire complicated formation was sending up a sheet of light.

“Umm…” Jacob’s eyes were round and he took a step back as motes of light floated upward, combining to form an image of a naked anteater-man. The fur ended at the Outsider’s waist, leaving everything else just hanging out there.

Why the lower half? Tom thought, scowling.

“Tremble, mortal, for you have contacted Hez’maw three four six one two of the Outsider Communications Center,” the Outsider said, his voice high-pitched on account of his tiny snout.

“Connect me to Ilspeth Eighty-nine,” Tom said.

The Outsider gave a high-pitched groan and rolled its beady eyes before reaching offscreen and pressing some buttons.

A moment later, the image flickered and was replaced by a purple naked woman, allowing Tom and Jacob to sigh in relief. Hypocritical, but there it is.

“This is Ilspeth eighty-nine,” the Outsider said, cocking her head in bewilderment, eyes narrowing as she studied him. “You asked for me specifically?”

“Yeah, you were referred to me by a friend of mine,” Tom said.

“En’hols,” Eighty-nine said, rolling her eyes. “Well, I’m happy I made a good hypothetical impression, I suppose. What can I do for you?”

“I need a cheap gauge, a familiar and an animated skeleton.”

“I see,” Eighty-nine said, tapping off to the side. “And what breed of familiar would you like? Hez’keth, Ocun, Ilsgot, Skitch, Palor…”

She glanced at Tom’s uncomprehending face. “You have no idea what any of those are, do you?”

“I’ve never done this before, no.”

“Oh, a—”

“Virgin, yes.”

She pouted for a moment.

“Well, I wouldn’t recommend a familiar and an animation to a virgin, but it’s not gonna kill you. You’ll just be really sore for a while.”

“I take it you don’t have the soul pulses for the familiar?” she asked.

“Highly unlikely.”

“Alright, we’ll get you set up with a Hez’keth, and the loan to cover it, which should be about a thousand soul pulses.”

“Actually, could you tell me what all my options are, and how much they cost?”

“Of course.”

Eighty-nine went on to list the description and price of each of the familiars.

Hez’keth were the cheapest option, a simple Outsider spirit that inhabited a nearby animal, making them nearly undetectable in whatever environment they were summoned. Inexpensive and discreet, with roughly a hundred-yard ‘capture’ range. They did not grow in power, limited as they were by the body they inhabited.

Ocun were doglike creatures with a lower capture range, with the added benefit of being able to inflict some damage on their own. They were quite a bit more expensive than Hez’keth, but they grew more powerful the more souls they passed along to the engine.

Tempting, but the long-term soul collection could become a problem. The lower range and inability to hide itself practically demanded it get its souls right from the tap, so to speak, but he couldn’t just sic the thing on randos in order to meet the quota.

I mean, technically I could, but that would be a psycho thing to do.

Ilsgot were purple toad-creatures with horns the size of small dogs. They boasted the highest capture range of the familiars, but had poor defense, relying on color-changing camouflage to stay hidden for extended periods of time while its long capture range did all the work. They became more powerful as they captured souls, gaining a modest amount of defense and mobility, but extremely limited attack.

Skitch were pale, oversized spider-like creatures, about the size of a large dog, who could weave webs capable of redirecting souls to the engine. They theoretically had more maximum range than an Ilsgot, but had to lay down a lot of fairly obvious webs to achieve this effect. In combat, they were roughly equivalent to Ocun, but quickly exceeded their abilities as they gained soul-pulses, and they were priced to match.

Palor were Outsider royalty and meant as a joke. When Tom didn’t react, she’d been tipped off to his ignorance.

“I’d like an Ilsgot,” Tom said after thinking about it for a moment. The creature had the highest capture-range to debt-ratio of all of the familiars, and Tom wasn’t planning on putting it in harm’s way. Maybe put it on top of a hospital or something. The range on an Ilsgot was high enough to cover an entire multi-building complex, and then some.

Tom was fairly confident more people died per diem at a hospital than a nursing home, if it was big enough.

“Good choice. Ilsgots are, in my humble opinion, the best,” Eighty-nine said with a smile. “Of course, that may have something to do with the fact I used to be one before I Molted.” She preened a moment, her skin flickering through all the colors of the rainbow before settling on purple again.

Tom shared a glance with Jacob, who shrugged.

“Do I have to worry about my Ilsgot…Molting?”

“What?” She paused for a moment, frowning. “No, no, that would take tens of thousands of souls. So, unless you throw your Ilsgot into a large battle—something I don’t recommend given their squishiness—it should take a lifetime to cause a Molt.”

She frowned, glancing off to the side.

“Alright, the Ilsgot is two thousand three hundred pulses, a modest gauge is five, and an animation will run you another fifty. I’ll set the terms of the loan to twenty-five hundred, giving you a couple months to get yourself on your feet.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now let me just pull up your planar address and I can—”

Her eye twitched.

“Something wrong?” Tom asked as Eighty-nine stared offscreen for a good five seconds, seemingly in deep thought.

“Just gonna be a lot of paperwork,” Eighty-nine said with a sigh. “I tell you what: Since you’re the only Soulmonger in your planar address, I feel pretty comfortable throwing in a bonus. My commission on your loan is pretty healthy, but if you make me your exclusive agent, it’ll be even higher. How about I use those soul pulses to buy you a spellbook to go with your familiar as a signing bonus?”

“Why the sudden support? What do you get out of it?” Tom asked. “Other than a higher percentage, that is.”

“Well, nothing really, but a higher percentage is good enough.” She went on to explain further. “Since your planar address is new, that implies you don’t have a lot of competition for soul pulses. No competition means you’ve got upward mobility, so I want to get in on the ground floor. I don’t know how you got there, but as far as I can tell, you’re the only Soulmonger on that planet.”

What about Lily? Tom frowned, but didn’t say anything to that effect. She didn’t make that offer last time. What’s different between now and then?

Jacob was standing nearby, which was a big difference, but the biggest was that he’d asked for Eighty-nine specifically, tipping his hand a little. She’d then called him an En’hol. Could she tell when he lied?

Interesting.

“The spellbook you're offering isn’t The Unified Theory of Soul Magic, is it?” he asked. Another copy of the book wouldn’t do him a lot of good right now.

“Let’s see. How about Metaphysical Vocabulary, and Material Spell Synthesis?” she asked, glancing offscreen.

Tom needed immediate advantages, but he also needed long-term ones. With the animated skeleton and the familiar solving his immediate issues, the book would cover the rest.

“There’s no catch to you being my agent, like claiming my soul whenever you feel like it, or something terrible like that?”

“I don’t know what I can say to convince you there isn’t,” she said, her rounded lips pouting as she frowned in thought. “How about this? I’ll add this to our contract: On my Power, if you are ever displeased with our arrangement, you may end it at any time, with a one-week retroactive reimbursement of any payment claimed by me or anyone working on my behalf.”

“…Alright, you’ve got a deal,” Tom said, hefting the box cutter.