The fall air rushed by, nipping my cheeks and tossing up leaves. It carried with it the scent of decay and oncoming rain as it brushed against my coat, its questing fingers trying to slip inside. I shifted my jacket tighter, a smile flashing across my face.

Cold or not, I was outside again.

It had been five days since my little adventure in the town hall. Bed rest had once again demanded its due, but the healers managed to get me back to the shape I was before getting the shit beat out of me by a necromancer's horde.

Now that I was hale enough to move around, things were progressing quickly. Preparations sped along, shoved forward by the unstoppable force that was Blair.

We were flying halfway across the country tomorrow in our trek to the Spirit Lord.

Blair had finished any and all packing and prepping she needed—probably before she even knew we were going. My packing was also quick, which I achieved mainly by throwing the things I needed into a bag and ignoring Blair’s pained protests.

Another gust ripped along the path, and I shivered. I glanced to the side. The woman in question didn’t seem to mind the wind, her dark jacket unbuttoned to expose a white T-shirt underneath. Her loose sweatpants weren’t any thicker than they’d been a month ago. Werewolves weren’t terribly impressed by the cold.

Her eyes constantly scanned about, her shoulders stiff with tension that never left. She was about eight notches past high alert, and that hadn’t changed since I’d woken up. Things were worse; I could tell that much.

Whatever she did to her Bond fighting against the wendigo had worsened in Portland. I couldn’t help but feel responsible for that. If she hadn’t been fighting to finish as quickly as possible to try and get back to me, would she have pushed her Bond further?

Was it my fault that her temper was shorter, that the tension never seemed to leave her?

I knew that wasn’t fair. It was the fault of the necromancer and the Barrow King for attacking us. But my emotions took a bit longer to understand what my brain was telling them.

We slipped beneath dense tree trunks, their needles filtering the light like curtains and casting distorted shadows on our path. The sidewalk was immaculately maintained, and even though we were only a few feet from the road, a layer of trees separated us from the asphalt, making the walk feel secluded.

We passed over a section of trail that was cracked and dented. If I didn’t know any better I’d say it looked like something had stomped on the asphalt hard enough to break it. Probably one of the undead from the Barrow King’s raid.

The cracks wouldn’t last long. The maintenance man always took good care of this area, it was one of his favorites or something. I’d ask the guy myself but trying to track him down was all but impossible.

Everyone you asked who should know how to reach him had only heard about him from someone else, but our roads got repaired, and our benches, trails and bus stayed in working order. Despite the fact that I had never actually seen someone repairing them. Plus, Rodgers had insisted that the man was real and was just, “A bit odd.”

I shook my head before focusing on the task at hand. The trail led us beneath a bridge, the shadows cast by the trees morphing into something deep and cold. The air smelled of stone, mildew, and something slightly acrid.

My eyes flicked to the corner of the underpass, to the deepest point of shadow.

A little green spirit began to worm its way from the darkness. It looked like a mouth stretched into a scream, warbling and morphing as it moved. If you focused, you could hear a distant cry, growing louder the longer you listened.

I unveiled my aura and slashed it through the spirit.

Fiends weren’t strong, but they were annoying and scared the hell out of people. I didn’t know how common they were in other parts of the world; my understanding was they weren’t very. But in places with exceptionally thick ambient magic, they cropped up like weeds, drawn to the emotions that created them. Greed fiends gathered in places of avarice and where lots of money changed hands: casinos, banks, and sometimes even stores.

Fear fiends… well, they gathered around sources of fear and places people tend to be afraid of.

Like a dark bridge in the woods.

Blair tensed further as the fiend popped. I glanced at her. “You alright?“

She nodded. “Fine.“ Her eyes tracked where the fiend had been.

“They can’t hurt you, you know.“ She shot me a look as we kept going.

“I know.“

We walked for another few minutes, the sidewalk turning into a steep climb as we neared the Northside, though we didn’t quite cross that barrier. Things were safer in this little section—not safe, but not filled with things of the same caliber as the North Road, which would be our last stop.

My rounds had already taken us through downtown and most of the busier haunts. People shouldn’t be screaming about little spirits and complaining that I hadn’t cleaned them up for at least another month.

I glanced to Blair, trying to be subtle about it. She had not taken this trip well.

I wasn’t sure why the fiends bothered her so much. They were mostly harmless. But each time one flew by or through us—well, through her—they bounced off me like a brick wall. She tensed further and further until I worried she’d snap like a cable under strain, and I didn’t know what was causing it or how to make it better.

The trees opened up to our right, revealing a set of benches shaded under the bow of a large pine. I chuckled as I walked over. Typically, there was a little- yep, there it was. A bright pink fiend shaped like a heart rushed out with a moan. I unveiled my aura again and slashed it. As it evaporated, a second fiend shaped like a pair of lips puckered for a kiss blew through Blair’s shoulder with a loud smacking noise.

I chuckled as I evaporated it, quickly veiling my aura as Blair glared furiously at the spot the fiend had been. “Love and lust fiends are a little cheeky. People often run out here for a nice secluded spot, so it tends to generate these little guys.“

Blair was still glaring at the spot, and I couldn’t help but laugh at her almost affronted expression. “It’s all right; I’ll protect you from the mean old spirits. I’ll just stand in front of you and block ‘em like a scrawny wall.“

Blair‘s eyes locked onto mine, and she snarled, the sound brimming with hostility. Specks of red floated in her eyes as her lips curled back to expose slightly elongated canines.

I took a quick step back.

In that brief moment, Blair glared at me like a stranger; the only time she’d ever given me a look of such raw hostility before was when we’d first met.

Okay, things had really gotten worse.

Blair grimaced, stepping back as her eyes flashed with horror. Her face paled, and she looked like she was going to be sick. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. I didn’t say anything. I just stood there and gave her some time.

Cars passed in the distance, the rumble of their engines barely audible through the forest. Birds chirped overhead, and I let the crisp air, decaying leaves, and the subtle scent of something freshly baked distract me as I waited.

After close to a minute, Blair opened her eyes. The flecks of red had vanished, leaving only deep blue behind.

I took a slow step closer, making sure not to meet her eyes, keeping my attention focused on her chin. “Is there anything I can do to help?“

She shook her head, and I couldn’t tell if she would growl or cry. “I- I’m sorry. I don’t-“

I shook my head at her. “It’s fine.“

Her jaw clenched. “It’s not!“ She snapped.“ A growl was back in her voice, and her gaze was furious.

A heartbeat later, she deflated, sinking onto the bench. She pinched the bridge of her nose, a sound somewhere between a snarl and a sob racking her shoulders.

I carefully moved next to her, sitting close enough for her to touch me if she wanted.

She shifted closer, bending to lean against me.

We sat like that for a few minutes, letting the forest calm us before I spoke.

“I want to help you, Blair. But I don’t know how. Do I need to not make jokes, or is there a specific thing that –“

She let out a sound packed with so much frustration I was surprised it didn’t create a fiend on the spot. “You should be able to make jokes with me. You should be able to say whatever you want without worrying that I will take your head off.” Blond hair hung about her face in a veil as she shrank in on herself as if trying to hide from the world.

She took several slow breaths before continuing. “Ghosts, spirits. They frustrate me. I can’t do anything to them. But they can hurt us, hurt you.“

“You can’t protect me or the others from them,” I said, understanding finally dawning on me. “It makes you feel helpless.“

She closed her eyes and nodded. “Which no part of me likes. It sets everything off.“

I made a mental note of which jokes I needed to rein in. I should’ve thought of that before; it had been stupid of me to poke at her. I didn’t say that, though. I had a feeling it wouldn’t make her feel any better.

Watching her like this was hard. The frustration, the pain, seeing the fear in her eyes, fear that she would hurt me.

And I didn’t know how to help her.

Her arm was warm against my shoulder, a pleasant sensation against the chill afternoon.

More cars rumbled by, mixing with the sounds of the forest around us.

I didn’t know how to fix this, and I didn’t have answers or the training to find them.

But the Spirit Lord did.

I laid my hand over hers and squeezed. “We’ll figure it out, Blair. It’s going to be alright.“

Now, I just had to make sure that wasn’t a lie.

~<>~<>~

Simon found himself drawn to Barry’s Grocers and Guns like a moth to a flame. He would get packed before they left. That might be five minutes before, but he’d get it done.

The important stuff was done already, though Blair was likely to have a stroke if she saw the state of his bags at the moment. But so long as he didn’t let her see how unpacked he was, everything would be fine.

Silver Spruce held quite a few things he felt a town of its size had no business having. Its aquarium was oversized for its population. The one local museum he walked by was as big as an apartment building and it was only one of the museums in town.

On top of that they had two large breweries across the street from one another, one made from red brick and white wood while the other was all glass and metal and bright colors.

Each of their signs proclaimed that they were the first and best brewery in town.

All of that was interesting and probably worth a look at a later date. But right now, Simon felt a particular explosive itch needing to be scratched. Something told him that Barry could help scratch it.

He walked into the store, pausing to obey the sign before entering. Feet wiped, he marched in.

As he walked inside, the smell of lavender and antiseptic struck him. The shelves that had been destroyed during their fight had been cleared out, and a decent number of them had been replaced.

At this time of day, a few other people browsed the shelves, but not many. Besides giving an extremely wide birth to a man who smelled sickeningly of sardines, Simon didn't pay them any mind.

He smelled the fish across the block and assumed somebody had been returning from a nearby lake. He didn’t know why the man smelled like he had bathed in a bucket of fish, and he didn’t want to know.

He went straight to the back of the store, entering the gun half as he searched for Barry. He found the man behind the long counter, casually cleaning a break action shotgun with meticulous efficiency.

Simon approached, and the man’s eyes snapped up. He nodded without saying a word.

Barry was a large man with a barrel chest and clean, if untamed, black hair that seemed to meld with his equally untamed beard to give him the vague impression of a lion's mane.

His clothes were slightly mismatched as if he grabbed the first clean thing he’d seen, but his bright blue eyes settled on Simon with an alert intensity.

Simon cleared his throat. “Do you have any interest in explosives?“

Barry stared at Simon. Simon stared back.

“…” Barry looked left then right. No one was close by. Simon could have told him that.

“Are you with the feds.“

Simon shook his head. “No.“

Barry considered him for a few seconds before grunting and motioning over his shoulder.

With a small smile, Simon followed him to the back.

~<>~<>~

Bobby had a plan.

With one day left to enjoy Silver Spruce until their trip, he decided to make the most of it. Unlike the others, who, aside from Blair, couldn’t plan their way out of a paper bag, Bobby had everything taken care of.

He’d checked in on the necromancer situation, he’d followed up on that idiot George, all of it. He was home free. And he was going to go on an adventure.

The halls of the manor creaked and groaned as he walked. He could feel the age of the place in every plank and painting, yet it wasn’t decrepit—just old.

He took a deep breath, the scent of old wood filling his nose. Behind it was something delicious from the distant kitchen, a touch of something bitter upstairs, and one cat. He smiled.

Like any aspiring adventurer, Bobby quickly faced a dilemma. Jack stood next to the front door, staring up at him with his big green eyes. The cat meowed, a clear question in the sound. “Do you want to go explore?“

“Meow.“

“Do you think you have what it takes?“

“Meow.“

“That could be dangerous, birds you can’t catch and mice big enough to eat you whole. I don’t know what we’re going to find out there. Do you have the spirit needed?“

“Meow?“

Bobby nodded. “Fair enough.“ He bent down and scooped the cat up with one hand.

Jack quickly scrambled up his arm to his shoulder, where he took his rightful perch. He stared around with curiosity, basking in his new vantage.

He caught The Trio just as they climbed into one of the Pack cars. “Oi, give a man a ride?”

The closest, Xavier, nodded. “Hurry up, freeloader.”

Bobby climbed in, moving Jack to his lap as he did. The others jumped in, and the car took off with a rumble of the engine and a lack of caution that Bobby found agreeable.

The Matello triplets were some terrors in their own right, running around and causing havoc wherever they went. He was never sure which of the Packs under the Northwoods they belonged to. The three seemingly went wherever they wished and generally fit in. It helped that they were competent, but most of all, Bobby respected their inclination to cause trouble and their willingness to give rides.

The car bounced and sputtered along the North Road and Bobby tightened his hold on Jack, less the cat be bounced away.

“That cat’s a bit strange,” said Xavier. The middle sibling. He stood at a respectable—if short for a werewolf— 5’7 with a lean frame and an easy smile. His black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he lounged in his seat like a throne.

“He has the spirit of an adventurer; the world’s odd, not him.“ Bobby said, defending Jack’s honor.

Coraline, the eldest of the triplets, eyed Jack as he purred in Bobby’s arms. She was taller than her brother at around 6’ with tousled black hair that fell just past her chin and a large mouth that always looked like it was struggling to suppress a grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a cat who’s quite that friendly with werewolves.”

Bobby absently stroked the cat's head as he adjusted, trying to reduce the bumps on his feline friend. “That just means he has good taste.”

Elias, the youngest and tallest of the triplets, said nothing, his eyes focused on the road. With his broad chin and serious stare he looked like he was contemplating philosophy. Elias didn’t talk much, but that was okay. In Bobby’s experience, the other two talked enough for the three of them.

“Shouldn’t he be with, like a witch or something? Doesn’t that fit more?“ Said Coraline. She waved her hand as if painting the scene. “Sitting on the windowsill as they toil away at a cauldron with some dark design, the setting sun casting deep shadows over cat and master alike!“

Bobby arched a brow. “I suppose I could put on a hat and some black thigh highs if you want. I can probably even find a skirt. Really complete the ensemble.“

They gave that more consideration than he felt they should, their eyes narrowing in unison as they studied him. Finally, they nodded and Coraline’s eyes flashed. “Yeah, we could see it. There’s definitely potential there.“

Bobby snorted as they bumped over one last pothole before the road switched from an unforgiving mess to standard pavement.

The triplets had only gotten in town a few days ago and hadn’t had a chance to explore. They’d been on lockdown after the Barrow King’s attacks while Alder recovered.

The thought of the Telss laying out in bed, a rotation of healers and bandages covering him, sent a tightness through Bobby’s chest.

People weren’t supposed to stay injured that long. It wasn’t natural.

Wind whipped against the car, howling as it raced through town. Bobby was quiet, content to enjoy the scenery. And by scenery, he meant the triplets reacting to the scenery. Their eyes were in constant rotation, widening as they pointed out some strange thing to their siblings.

The triplets tended to get themselves in trouble, so Bobby gave them a few days before they stumbled across ‘Grumpy.’ The memory of that thing made Bobby shudder.

The standing order from Adela herself was that all werewolves were to use the other side of the road, barring an emergency. Bobby knew that warning would serve only to tempt the triplets into exploring.

He would try to warn them himself, but that would just encourage them to do it faster.

They dropped Bobby and Jack off downtown before continuing their own adventure.

He stretched, the chill air doing nothing to dampen his mood.

Bobby sauntered along the sidewalk, his light jacket more than enough to protect him from the autumn breeze. He could’ve gone shirtless and been fine, but he didn’t need to distract the good citizens of Silver Spruce with his chiseled physique.

Jack had returned to his shoulder and nestled in as he looked around with open curiosity.

As he strolled through the streets, enjoying the sights, he noticed some people were shooting less than friendly looks his way.

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As he passed by an old man with grizzled features trying to glare a hole through his shoulder, he realized the man wasn’t glaring at him. He was glaring at Jack. He’d expected to catch some glances for walking around with a cat on his shoulder, but they didn’t look surprised. They looked angry.

The hell was that about?

He shook it off. Maybe it was a political statement here or something. It would hardly be the strangest thing about this place.

A cafe caught his eye, and he swerved towards it. A cute corner shop with crows and ravens painted along its walls in an intricate mural, and a steady stream of people wove in and out.

Bobby ducked inside. The barista, a woman in her early 30s with a silver streak dyed through the middle of her hair, glanced at him and then at the cat, shrugged, and took his order.

The shop had more artwork on the walls, a whole mural on one depicting a family of bears reading an encyclopedia, and a spattering of paintings from whom he assumed were local artists on the other. He liked the vibe, and a smile stole its way onto his lips as he took a seat.

Bobby listened to the hum of the crowd as he waited. People were mentioning the weather. One man said he missed his wife, and another commented that they couldn’t wait for the football game between some teams Bobby didn’t care about.

He let his eyes unfocus as he listened, the sounds washing over him.

“What if more undead come? What if the Adjudicator isn’t here to wipe them out?” A mage couple in the corner who didn’t strike him as locals.

“We’ll stop him! The Pact is hardly just the Adjudicator,” announced the other man, his voice full of bravado.

“Oh, will we now? Are you going to stop him?”

The bravado fizzled and died as the second man coughed. “Well, I didn’t say that.”

Bobby moved on. A woman named Janet was waiting for her daughter to pick her up, and a man with grey hair chatted about a clan of spiders that lived in town.

Even that strangeness couldn’t pull Bobby’s mind from the topic of the Barrow King. They weren’t saying anything he didn’t know, but it still sat in his mind as an unwelcome squatter. People were scared. Of the Barrow King attacking again, of the undead ripping through the town, of this cold war escalating into something hotter.

He sighed, forcing his mind to move to a different conversation.

The word ‘Grave Keeper’ caught his ear and Bobby glanced to a pair of old men, one thin and tall, the other short and wide. They were talking about Alder.

They didn’t use his name. Most people in town didn’t. They just said the ‘Grave Keeper,’ and it was definitely capitalized. “He cleared up the fiends finally. Took him long enough; I couldn’t even get a sip of coffee without seeing a spirit,” said the tall one.

“Give the man some slack. There’s been a lot going on right now. Maybe he’s got his hands tied with all this war business.“

“Baa.“

Bobby chuckled at that. Alder was a strange figure in the town. He heard people talk about him occasionally in hushed whispers as if he were some spirit that would descend upon them if they didn’t watch their words. Some thought he was insane, others thought he was dangerous, and others merely an odd recluse.

It was interesting. Bobby had never befriended someone with such a confused reputation, especially when the man behind the reputation was… well, Alder.

Bobby marched out of the café with a coffee in hand. Jack sniffed it curiously before turning up his nose. Bobby gave him a gentle pat on the head. “You might develop taste when you’re older. These things take time.“

The cat sneezed.

Bobby hummed to himself as he strode along the sidewalk. “Where do we go next, Jack? I’m of the opinion that a great adventure needs some spontaneity. It can’t just happen randomly, even though that’s what spontaneity means, I think. It has to be random with a purpose, you feel me? Each random encounter the wayward adventurers have has to link together somehow. To inform a larger whole, yeah?“

“Meow?“

“I’m choosing to interpret that as a question, and I will oblige you with an answer. We seek out adventure because it’s good for the soul. One must have a balance between relaxing rest and exciting adventure. It keeps the body sharp and the mind healthy. Meow if you agree.“

“Meow?“

“I don’t know if that had enough enthusiasm for my taste, but you did meow, so I think that’s what counts here.”

Bobby slipped into more shops, perusing knickknacks and novelty mugs. He bought one for Blair that had a wolf on it with arms crossed that said, ‘I’m a little grumpy before my coffee.’

She was going to hate that.

Chuckling to himself, he walked out of the store. It was about two stores later that he realized he was being followed.

A group of three, a man and two women, were trailing him. They were being somewhat subtle about it, but well, he was a werewolf.

They weren’t close to subtle enough.

He sniffed gently and frowned. Humans, non-magical humans, far as he could tell. Unless they were exceedingly good at veils, he couldn’t catch a trace of magic on them besides the usual bits and pieces people collected when living in a place like this.

So why were they following Bobby, and why did they smell upset?

Well, there was one way to find out. Bobby ducked between two buildings into a narrow alleyway and started walking. He began to whistle.

The trio followed him into the alley, which suggested less-than-wholesome intentions.

Well, I did want to go on an adventure. Being accosted on the road is the kind of thing an adventurer should be prepared for.

“You think you can flaunt that here without consequence? Do you think just cause it’s been a while, it’s safe?“ The man behind Bobby was not happy. He spat the words out with an impressive amount of vitriol behind them.

Bobby also had no clue what the hell he was talking about. He turned around to see his three tails had spread out to block the mouth of the alleyway. No one was blocking the other side, but perhaps there was a wall or something they thought he couldn’t get through?

Hard to tell.

The man at the front was stocky with broad shoulders and a heavy gut stuck in that middle point between impressive strength and too many beers. He had tanned, ruddy features and a neatly trimmed red beard.

The woman to his left could’ve been his sister, but where he was wide, she was tall and thin. Like a stick, somebody had jammed into the ground. Her red hair was pulled into a tail so tight Bobby was amazed her face wasn’t contorted from the pressure. Though her blue eyes did look a little watery, that could’ve been the cause.

The last woman was in the middle in terms of height and width. Perfectly average, with perfectly bland brown hair, brown eyes, and a dull, slightly lifeless expression on her face.

Bobby scratched his chin as he examined the trio. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why are you mad at me?“

The tall woman’s eyes narrowed, and she stabbed a pointy finger, not at Bobby but at Jack. “You think you can tote around that wretched witch spawn without consequences? We still hold up tradition here. If you give him over, we won’t hurt you.“

Bobby was completely lost. “So… I’m new in town. I’ve only been here for three weeks, could you fill me in on what the hell you’re talking about?“

The middle woman blinked. A look of mild surprise overtaking her. “Oh, this might be a little confusing for you then. Cats are evil. Black cats, at least. They are the spawns of witches and demons, and they’re used to spy on folks. You probably don’t even know who that cat is connected to. But they do not have your best interest at heart. Hand it over, and we will dispose of it quickly.“

She sounded patient and reasonable, even if she was asking him to hand over a cat so she could presumably kill it.

“Well, if you’re saying the cat’s connected to a mage, then I actually do know who, but I wouldn’t call him a witch. Though I guess I could get a hat for him if I’m already getting one…”

Bobby shook his head. “Sorry, that’s off-topic. I’m not giving you guys the cat. The hell is the matter with you? Any animal could be a mage’s familiar. It doesn’t have to be a cat. And focusing just on the black ones feels kind of racist.“

The man’s fists clenched. “Making light of this won’t help you. We tried to be nice.“ And with that, he charged Bobby.

Bobby considered that as the man rushed him. Well, rushed him for a human. Bobby had plenty of time to consider how absurd this whole thing was. It was just a cat.

To his credit, Jack was suitably unconcerned. He had moved back slightly, putting more of his weight into Bobby’s hood. His front paws were still perched on his shoulder, his little head poking out from just beside his neck as he observed the trio of idiots.

Bobby flexed his hands as the idiot charged him. What was the appropriate amount of force? They weren’t a threat to Bobby, but they were trying to kill a cat. He was rather partial to animals, and he didn’t appreciate people abusing them.

Broken bones? Too extreme? Eh, they were trying to kill Jack. He’d make sure they’d be healable ones. Maybe a broken nose?

Bobby sidestepped as the man tried to tackle him. There wasn’t much space for it in the alleyway, but Bobby didn’t need much space. His hand whipped out as he slapped the man hard. Well, hard for a human. He staggered, crashing into the wall as he rubbed his cheek.

Bobby stepped past the man as the pencil woman charged him. She pulled out a baton and swung, not for Bobby’s face, but for his shoulder. That got her a matching slap to the man. She’s staggered, crashing into the wall and sinking down.

The last woman examined Bobby, then her companions, who were groaning and rubbing their cheeks, which were already red and beginning to bruise. He had held back most of his strength. He didn’t think he had broken anything. But a cracked cheekbone was not out of the question.

She considered them for a moment, then stepped back from Bobby, giving him a clear route from the alley. He smacked her upside the head as he passed, gentler than the other two. Wisdom deserved some consideration, but it was still hard enough to smart.

As she winced and rubbed her head, he kept walking. “Don’t attack strangers cats, you weirdos. I don’t know how you’ve gotten this tradition or why you’re keeping it alive, but there are people here now who will do a lot worse than a well-earned slap if you try this shit again. Dumbasses.“

Jack made a sound somewhere between a squeak and a yowl at the groaning morons as they left, and it sounded scornful to Bobby’s ear.

As they slipped from the alleyway, he considered the next step in their adventure.

They’d spent enough time shopping in his estimate and he found his feet taking him back towards the North Road.

He could call someone for a ride, but he didn’t feel like it. It was a beautiful day, and he was going to spend more than enough time in a car soon. A chance to stretch his legs shouldn’t be ignored.

As the dense trees of the north road enveloped Bobby, he idly patted Jack. “See, that was a proper adventure when you think about it, Jack. We went out to see new sights, succeeded, and had an unexpected encounter. Have you done something in town, by the way? I didn’t know about people hating black cats here?“

“Meow?“

Bobby shook his head. “Of course, you haven’t; you’re a sweet soul. But that’s beside the point. So far, we’re moving at a good clip for a proper adventure. We just need to find one more suitably interesting thing on our walk home, and then we can consider this day a success.“

In Silver Spruce, it was harder to find only one interesting thing when you looked around. He passed by ordinary homes and strange lots. One looked like an abandoned mine, the road leading a few dozen feet up a hillside before widening into the plot of land.

In another town, he’d expect that to be the entrance to a museum or, at the very least, have some signage up to talk about the history of the place. But here? It was probably cursed or haunted or both.

He wasn’t taking the side that would lead him past Grumpy. Once was enough for a lifetime, in his opinion. But this side of the road had just as many dangers far as he could tell.

His instincts screamed at him to avoid some places, while others seemed to call to him. And as before, seemingly ordinary homes were mixed in between it all. It was baffling. Who could live in a place like this as an ordinary human?

Well, the residents of Silver Spruce, he supposed, though from what he had picked up around town, even the other locals considered the denizens of the Northside to be a bit off.

As the road curved up, Bobby’s eyes trailed to a pristine gravel drive cut into a thicket of trees, their bows so thick they seemed to form a tunnel. And unless his memory was failing him, it hadn’t been there on their way out.

He stopped, staring at the drive. It was a straight shot down, the angle steep enough that he’d need to be careful not to lose his balance.

That tunnel of green needle and shrub led down in a perfectly straight line, and at the end of it sat a house—an old, simple cottage with a green boarded roof and brown wooden walls. Red flowers lined the porch, and an empty rocking chair sat beside the screen door.

It swayed gently back and forth, the sound echoing through the forest.

Creak creak. Creak creak.

No one was in the chair, but that didn’t seem to matter. He could still hear it shifting, the weight of its occupant moving gently.

The blue flowers lining the porch were lovely- Blue? Weren’t they red?

The thought floated across his awareness before his eyes snapped up as the door began to open. Inside was a home.

A home Bobby recognized.

A carpet covered stairwell leading up, a blue wall with a cracked family portrait at its center, sharp lines obscuring the three smiling figures. The smell of smoke and gunpowder filled his nose.

The door continued to open, and the fire was gone. Instead, the scent of his father’s lasagna drifted out, as warm and tasty as he remembered.

It had been over a decade since Bobby smelled that, and he found his feet beginning to move without waiting for his brain to command them.

Creak creak, creak creak.

His mother laughed as his father told a bad joke, a pop song drifted gently through the kitchen, a gunshot broke through the laughter.

Crea- Jack’s furious hiss and the sudden pain in Bobby’s cheek snapped him back to reality. His foot was hovering on the drive, only an inch from stepping down. He froze, his instincts snapping awake as he blinked.

The door was closed, and the cottage no longer seemed inviting. The flowers were wilted, the rocking chair chipped and splintered, and the screen door hung on loose hinges.

And something was watching Bobby.

He staggered back, hopping on one foot, making sure no part of him stepped onto the property. He made it away from the drive then he turned and ran like hell was on his heels.

He only slowed down when he reached the manor drive, the scents of the forest doing little to banish the smoke and gunpowder from his memory.

He stopped, sucking in a deep breath. His lungs were fine, but his emotions were a mess.

He took slow, rhythmic breaths, and Jack purred on his shoulder, rubbing his cheek against Bobby’s. “Thank you. I am… I think our little adventure would’ve ended early if you hadn’t snapped me out of that.“

Jack continued to purr as Bobby stroked his fur. His cheek had healed almost as soon as the cat had scratched him.

The little guy really had saved his ass. “Somebody is getting a bowl of cream with dinner.“ Jack purred louder as Bobby continued up the drive. “I think it’s time for the part of the adventure where the hero returns and claims their well-earned rest. You’re the hero in this instance, Jack, in case you were wondering.“

“Meow!“

~<>~<>~

The road to Brock’s was nice and smooth, hell Laurel was pretty sure it was freshly painted.

It was jarring, switching from the pothole-filled mess to this, and it wasn’t just the road—that one she could at least understand. There was so much weird and dangerous nonsense on the North Road that a person would stay away.

Most Silver Spruce residents fell into that category when it came to that place. Other parts of the town, seemingly ordinary sections, would be skipped or left to almost total disrepair, while others were spotless.

She shook her head as she pulled to a stop, the van's tires squeaking on the dry pavement.

She felt a small rush of excitement course through her as she stared at the shop. It wasn’t proper, not with how much was on the line, but when official Pack business just so happened to give her an excuse to find proper outfits for her friends, she wouldn’t feel bad about relishing it.

Bartholomew wasn’t just eccentric, which seemed a requirement in mages as they got older. The man was said to have a fondness for costume parties, with outfits ranging from something as simple as a Halloween costume to full-on ensembles from different centuries. A man after Laurel’s own heart. And since they desperately wanted this man to like them, bringing a few outfits out just in case was a legitimate use of her time.

It was wonderful.

She stepped into Brock’s store, and the man in question noticed her immediately. He smiled, showing off a set of perfectly white teeth. His outfit was a strange mishmash of styles: a leather skirt that looked almost medieval and a stiff-sided jacket covered in pins. It wasn’t until she saw the copper wiring on his shoulders that she smiled. “Steampunk? Are you trying out costumes before Halloween?“

He nodded, his smile wide. “Dead on Laurel, my dear. This is the third I’ve tried this week. Still haven’t settled on a favorite.”

“I like it.”

She gave him another once over. “Though I think it needs a belt and maybe a hat?“

Brock nodded, tapping his head before pulling out a notepad. He spoke as he began to scribble. “You are the second person to suggest a hat and the first a belt. I like it. Now, what can I help you with?”

Laurel thrust a list onto the counter, the thick paper pinned down by one very neat, very orange nail. Each outfit was written down with a different color of ink, and there was a lot of ink.

Brock grinned and rubbed his hands together with childlike glee. “I think that’s the best thing somebody’s asked me all year!“

~<>~<>~

The rest of our walk was tense. Blair was upset with herself, and I knew nothing I said right now would help.

I could tell her it was okay, but we both knew it wasn’t. Every day, her Bond grew stronger, and every day, her control was tested further and further.

Blair wouldn’t become a monster overnight.

It would happen like most things, a bit at a time. She’d lash out more and more. First, growling at a joke, then at simpler things, not showing the proper deference, meeting her eyes. Then things would get worse. Those growls would turn into strikes. Eventually, she’d be savage, an animalistic brute. And past that… It- it wouldn’t be Blair anymore.

Which I was not going to let happen.

The reason I was agreeing to go on this trip across the country wasn’t to help the Pact. Oh, I didn’t want the Barrow King to win this war. I didn’t have very many nice things to say about the powers that be, but at least they hadn’t attacked my home with the living dead.

No, I was helping because Adela Northwoods promised me that the Spirit Lord could help Blair—or at least he knew how.

I let that knowledge light a little fire in my chest, and I tried to stop it from guttering out as we crested the manor’s drive.

A moment later, Blair tensed further. Which was an impressive feat considering she already looked like she was about to explode.

I shot her a look. “What is it?“

“My mother is here,” she said, her voice flat.

I winced. Adela had been roaming the country nonstop since the Barrow King’s attack. A spook of her age and strength was an invaluable asset. Where she went, dozens or even hundreds of other spooks could reposition, no longer needed.

That one woman could cover an entire city or do things no number of bodies thrown at the problem could solve.

There was an element of caution there, though. Adela and the others like her in the Pact couldn’t get locked down unless we knew where the Barrow King‘s big players were. The small fries were often sent out instead because if the enemy made a move, we needed to have an ace to respond with.

The end result was that Adela had been here for only a handful of hours over the last several weeks. Something which I was perfectly fine with. The woman was… civil in my presence. What I did at the summit seemed to have earned some tiny measure of her respect. Though she still tended to look at me like I was a stray raccoon Blair had brought inside and insisted be allowed to eat at the table.

As we entered the manor, a werewolf whose name I couldn’t remember approached us. She appeared to be in her mid-30s with short black hair and plain features. Her name was… It was something with an M?

She motioned to us before jerking her head towards the steps. “Alpha Northwoods wants to speak with you two. She’s in her office.“

We nodded and started for the steps.

Were’s bustled about, moving through the manor's halls in a frenzy. I only recognized a few of them. For the most part, it was Blair and her Pack and a handful of other werewolves staying here long term, but people constantly moved in and out, using the mansion as a staging ground.

And that was doubly true when Adela showed up, bringing people out of the woodwork with her arrival.

I nudged Blair as we walked, gently brushing her hand with mine. She flinched before relaxing slightly, lightly tapping my hand with her knuckles.

I cleared my throat. “It’ll be alright. She just wants to talk to us about the mission.“

Blair gave a slow nod, then continued, lengthening her stride slightly to pull ahead of me. Worry coiled in my gut, enough of it that the thought of dealing with Adela didn’t sink in until we approached the door.

She had taken over Master Brahms's old study, and the ornate wooden door, its surface neatly polished and cleaned, filled me with memories.

I close my eyes, trying to banish the images that door conjured.

“Enter.“ Adela said, her deep voice passing through the door like it wasn’t there.

Adela Northwoods resembled her daughter, looking more like her older sister than her mother. She had lighter hair, only a few shades from white, sharper features, and a slightly thinner, if still powerful, build.

Despite my personal distaste for her, I could admit she was a striking woman, beautiful as most werewolves were, but she had an extra something to her, like most truly old things did.

Like standing beneath a redwood or treading the halls of an old castle. There was a weight, a silent pressure that could be felt.

She leaned back in a leather chair, a dark maroon skirt falling to her calf. She wore a cream-colored shirt with a tan overcoat that probably cost more than my whole wardrobe…ten times over.

And despite how she was dressed, no part of me mistook her for anything but a predator.

Every instinct that had been carved into me over a life of danger screamed at me that the woman in front of me was dangerous, that the best plan for survival was to back up and hope she didn’t notice.

I ignored those instincts.

She was typing away at a laptop, her fingers moving at an absurd speed and filling the air with clacks.

Do they make laptops that can withstand spook strength?

Before I could examine that thought, she shot us a glance, her glacier-blue eyes just as pale and harsh as I remembered.

“I trust the flight plans are in order?“

Blair nodded once. “Excellent. I’ve called you here to fill the two of you in on anything that may have been omitted from the reports. I trust you have already read them, daughter?”

Blair’s jaw tightened, but she nodded.

Adela’s scornful gaze drifted to me. “The Spirit Lord has asked for you. He still hasn’t said why, but he has sworn that he means you no harm. I don’t need to impress upon you how important getting a spirit mage of his caliber onto our side is.“

I grunted. “Yeah, he’s a big shot against ghosts and whatnot. Which the Barrow King has to know about.“

Adela nodded. “I assume he’s made deals with some of them; the others he will try to kill. We’re fairly sure Bartholomew isn’t in his pocket. Which means his life could be in danger.“

I frowned. “You aren’t worried about sending us into a potential attack?”

Her gaze sharpened. “I have considered it, human.” Her voice held the bite of winter, and her glare looked like it could peel skin.

“We are tracking the movements of the Barrow King the best we can, and Bartholomew is as well defended as anyone. You will not be in danger from his agents; no more than you would be here.”

She pointed to a map she had laid out on the nearby desk. “Vintray must be approached by road. The town has no airport and can only be accessed from one direction. It is part of the magic that protects it. I’ve made sure your trip is relatively unknown, but the route will have you driving for some time.” As she spoke, her fingers danced across the keyboard like tiny pistons.

“It will take you a day or two by road. Once there, you hear Bartholomew's proposal and try to convince him to work with us.“

Her eyes settled onto me, and I could feel the weight of her years, of her authority. “And you convince him to help Blair.“

Blair remained still, trying to keep her face stony. She hadn’t spoken yet; that was how she usually reacted to her mother‘s presence.

The image of Adela standing in the hall, looming like a tyrant glaring down at Blair as she forced her into silence flashed through my mind.

I felt my hands balling into fists.

Even now, it was hard not to sneer at the woman. But that wasn’t productive. And I was efficient and productive and– “You don’t need to remind me. If this didn’t help Blair, I probably wouldn’t go. As much as I dislike the Barrow King, I don’t like all of you enough to leave my home and go on a potentially dangerous mission.”

Adela glared at me for a few seconds, the weight of her gaze oppressive. Her fingers paused, the sudden silence filling the room.

Adela’s presence didn’t slam against me as it had on our first meeting, but it felt as if she were a hair away from it.

Blair gave me a warning look, but I didn’t stop glaring. A small part of me almost wanted Adela to try it again. It was something tangible, a force, a problem I could just slam my will against to try and overcome.

After several increasingly tense seconds, Adela shook her head. “Go.“

I turned and strode out of the room before I could say something that would start a fight.

And by starting a fight, I mean get my ass knocked out by the ancient werewolf.

I clenched my fists so hard my palms ached, and my body thrummed with a desire to move, run, to do something!

But getting my bell rung by Adela wouldn’t help anyone. And well she was infuriating, terrifying, and more than a little alien at times, right now we wanted the same thing.

Help Blair.