“I’m coming out,” Sharkie called. “I’m unarmed.” Please tell me you heard that, Manuele. Don’t be a fricking idiot.

“Slowly,” the man cautioned. He had to be from Alabama or Georgia with that drawl.

“I’m unarmed,” she repeated. “I have to pull myself up.” Her arms shook, straining to lift her body slowly, bark sloughing from the tree where she gripped. “I’m just here for my quest.”

“Slowly.”

She found a foothold, got her torso above the rise, and then swung her legs up to sit. Heart pounding rapidly, she held up both hands. Her fingers burned as the warmth worked back into them. “See, no weapons.”

The man below her looked to be around 40, grays streaking his chestnut hair. He fixed her with a stern glare and extended a staff toward her. “Down the left side here. It’s an easier slope.”

Sharkie crab-walked a few feet to her right, then eyed the way down. The whole thing looked steep—both sides. She reached for a tree branch behind her, not taking her eyes from the stranger. She couldn’t grab it, fingers still partially numb. It bounced away, she fumbled for the trunk, strained to reach back, and—Sharkie slid down the rock.

The ground rushed up to meet her as her feet pedaled and hands clawed. Her rubbery rain pants skidded. She bumped hard on her hip bone. Then a sickening crack. She was seated. A sharp rock jabbed into her ass. Her shin began to throb, radiating hot pain.

She couldn’t look at it. Tears welled in her eyes as the pain intensified. She met the man’s eyes with a hard stare. She would not show weakness. She took in air and held it. She cast Shadow Mend and breathed out. The air stuttered as the darkness rushed toward her. She cast it again. Her breath smoothed.

Sharkie pushed herself to her feet, fixed a smile on her face, and said, “So, what’s up?”

The strangers shared a glance. Then, it was the woman who spoke. She had blond hair and looked the part of a mid-thirties southern belle, but she didn’t have the accent. “You said you’re here for the quest?”

“I did.”

“Know someone wearin’ a red Snuggie?” the man asked.

“Nope. Does sound pretty comfy though. Know where I can get one?”

The man ignored her question. “Killed a lotta people?”

“Nope.”

“You can understand why I’m none too trustin.’”

Sharkie shrugged and glanced back at the top of the hill before she realized what she’d done. Shit.

“Someone here with you?”

She sucked in a breath. “Manuele, come meet our new friends.”

Silence.

She hoped something hadn’t happened to him. If there was a way to aggro something or make a quest ten times harder, that man would find it. Worse yet, he’d better not be trying something stupid. The two strangers glanced from her to the hill. She could feel the tension radiating off them. It was almost visible.

“Coming,” rang Manuele’s voice.

Sharkie smiled meekly at the strangers. She needed them to relax. Their waves of emotion threatened to bowl her over.

“Hi.” Manuele emerged on the other side of the strangers and gave them a wave.

“Stay there,” the man said, backing up to the stone altar.

The woman whispered something in his ear. He jerked back with raised eyebrows.

“What? It’s a good option,” the woman said.

The man raised those eyebrows again and turned to Sharkie. “Chelsea, here, thinks you should join our party.”

“I like parties.” Manuele raised both hands and swished his hips.

“Uh…” Sharkie didn’t know where to begin.

“Just until we get back to shore,” Chelsea clarified. “Then you can’t attack us and we can’t attack you. Fair?”

“Um, Sure?” Sharkie said. “How do we do this thing?”

When they were done explaining and saying the words, Sharkie had three gray boxes hovering at the upper left of her periphery.

“Party interface, show names?” she said. The boxes fuzzed. “Huh. So you must be Miles.”

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“Yeah.” He held out a hand and she shook it firmly.

“I’m Sharkie. That’s Manuele.”

“So, not—” Chelsea started.

“No.” Manuele offered his hand.

She eyed it for a moment, then gave it a shake.

“So, that’s it?” Sharkie confirmed.

“That’s it,” Chelsea said.

“So… now that we’re official,” Sharkie broached a few minutes later, “the quest thing? I take it that’s the altar and, Chelsea, you’re here for it too?”

The blond woman nodded. “I was just starting when you got here. It’s like an NPC but not. You’ll see.” She approached the altar and laid her hands on the stone beside the base of the bowl.

“You good here, Manuele?” Sharkie checked.

He nodded and gave her two thumbs up, so she proceeded to the altar, opposite Chelsea. The ground sloped away slightly and she could feel the pull in her hamstrings. She mirrored Chelsea’s posture, leaning in slightly, feeling the grit under her palms. The liquid in the stone bowl shifted at different angles. It was water, stars, darkness. She leaned in more. The blackness showed the hint of a swirl.

Like the clouds, it formed into shapes: a rose, a cat, a little house with a garden. Zucchini and pepper plants were heavy with vegetables, almost ready to eat. The rose blossom opened, deepest red and smoother than silk. The thorny stem tilted under the weight of the bloom, bouncing in front of a door. It opened.

“Hello.” The female voice was as smooth as those petals.

Sharkie spun. She was in that garden. She was in front of that door, in the center of a green disc of meadow, floating among the stars. The land was perhaps 50 feet in diameter, with an edge like rough-cut sod. A ribbon of stars streamed above her, tucking around beneath that edge. Her Acute Vision let her see it all, almost as if it were day—except for the doorway, which had opened to pure blackness. The gray boxes showing her party were gone.

“Hello?” Sharkie tried.

“Hello, specialist.” The voice was low and made her arm hairs prickle.

“I’m supposed to come in?”

“Do, come in.”

The door was black like the bowl. She stretched an arm through it and it disappeared at the threshold. Can’t chicken out now. She held her breath and plunged into the depths.

A single tea light flickered atop a farm table with benches on either side. Her eyes adjusted to the room.

“Join me.” The speaker was seated at the farthest corner of the table. Shadows danced across the draping fabric of her dress, the curves of her body and face.

Sharkie slid onto the bench across from her. “Where am I?”

The woman smiled hungrily—dangerously—then shook her head sideways three times so quickly that it looked to be glitching. And then her face was that of a lion. Sharkie gripped the bench and tried not to react. Ice poured through her spine.

“I’m here for my class quest?”

“Ah,” said the lion. Her mouth seemed to move but not, and it was that same smooth voice. “It sends me the aberrations.”

“So, how do I do this?”

The freaky lion-woman watched her. She shook her head left-right three times. Then the lion became a horse. “I wonder.” The creature cocked its head.

“Uh,” Sharkie squeaked, then cleared her throat. “I’m supposed to offer my soul to the shadows?”

“You may make your bargain with me,” the creature said smoothly.

“How does it work?” Everything in Sharkie’s body was telling her to be very afraid. All she felt from the creature was cold.

“The soul is power,” the horse said, barely above a whisper. “The shadow is power.”

“Okay, but what happens if I do this?”

The horse raised one hand to the tabletop and began tapping her long fingernails against it, one at a time. They were filed to sharp points and painted black. She did not answer Sharkie’s question.

“Can you tell me anything more about it?” Sharkie tried again.

“If you are ready to accept the bargain, lay one hand upon the table.”

“Fudge,” Sharkie breathed and brushed a hand along the back of her head.

This was why she was here. There was no monster to fight, no puzzle to solve, she just had to put out her hand. Woman up. Stop being a baby.

Sharkie slammed her left hand onto the table with a smack that stung. She hadn’t meant to hit it that hard. She worked to keep a straight face. “Sign me up.”

The nails stopped tapping and reached out for Sharkie’s palm as the woman stood up. She leaned over the table, as tall as a man. She tugged Sharkie’s hand towards the center of the surface and flipped it palm-up. Her skin was glacial but hot breaths from the horse-head puffed inches from Sharkie’s face. Long icy fingers splayed her hand.

“You wish to exchange with the shadows?”

Sharkie nodded. It was too late now. This was why she was here. “Yes.”

The nails rapped on the table one more time. Then they pressed together like the head of a snake and jabbed into the center of Sharkie’s palm.

She screamed. Her eyes teared. She blinked them back and scrunched her face, fighting to school her reaction.

The horse-woman held down her arm with her other powerful hand and kept her nails in place. Sharkie jerked against the hold but the woman was strong. She shook her head to the side three times and it became a mastiff’s.

“Calm,” said the dog-woman. “Calm.”

A still energy flowed out from the creature, washing over Sharkie, quieting her instinct to pull away. The pain was still there but lessened to a dull throb.

“Calm,” the woman repeated.

Her hand felt cold. Blood pooled in her palm, the bright red of roses against the black of the nails and the sky. Then a trickle of white light flowed down her arm, like a firefly trapped beneath her skin. It washed out with the blood and swirled in the pool in her palm.

“Do not move.” There was death in that instruction.

The woman shook her head to the side three times and her face became almost human. The eyes were too large, cornea black as night. She removed her second hand from Sharkie’s arm and plucked the glowing ember from the blood in her palm. Then she sucked it through her lips with a hiss of wind. Light flashed through the inhuman eyes. She blinked and they were solid black again.

Sharkie started to jerk and the woman slammed down her arm to restrain her. Then she leaned down to the bloody hand, parted her lips, and blackness spilled out. The shadow cloud crawled to the wound, stilled, and then dove inside. Ice traveled up Sharkie’s arm, across her collarbone, and down her chest. It settled into her sternum, an inescapable cold.

The woman shook her head three times and regained the face of a lion. She tilted her head. Huge black eyes blinked and turned amber. She withdrew her nails from Sharkie’s hand and then rested her palm atop it. Sharkie’s hand underneath felt cold. Then the pain was gone. She couldn’t feel the hand at all.

A new panic rose from her stomach. Was the hand still there? Sharkie jerked against the lion’s grasp. The creature stepped back, holing up both hands, one coated in blood.

“You have exchanged.” The lion-woman said, sitting back on the bench. “Your bargain is done.”

Sharkie stared down at her left hand. It was clean and it was whole, filled in by a round white scar like a star in the night. Then darkness swarmed around her and she was falling.