I slowly made my way down the bloodstained stairs. The more I moved the better I felt. I quickly went from feeling the worst I have ever felt to merely feeling like I survived a car crash. By the time I got to the bottom of the stairs I would go so far as to say I felt merely awful.

I found Alice mostly where I left her. At some point during the night she had tried to make it to the ziggurat but had fallen over and back unconscious. I checked her over, and despite some blood in her mouth from where she had bit her tongue in her fall, she seemed no worse than when I left her. I debated how I was going to carry her and decided on a fireman’s carry. I don’t know if that’s the wisest but I doubt I could make it fifty feet with her in my arms.

Making it across the island was slow going. Everything looked different during the day, and the ward scheme was down. I was surprised to realize I had been using to subconsciously to navigate the island. Luckily there was a footpath to town or who knows when I would have stumbled over.

As the sun rose Alice started making noises.

“Lemme down,” she mumbled.

I walked over to a nearby palm tree and set her down against it, plopping down next to her.

“You’re alive,” she said with a wince. She worked her tongue around her mouth and spit to the side, the saliva pink. “And you’re still doing your scary eyes thing.”

“I’m surprised as well,” I said as I dismissed the eye-pit thing and made my real eyes come back.

“What happened?” She asked.

I opened my mouth to explain, closed it again. I shook my head.

“A lot,” I said at last. “One relevant thing is that Trix saved me. My payment was making sure you got off the island.”

Alice raised an eyebrow.

“She might have suggested she was sorry for misleading you,” I elaborated. “And maybe if she helped me you’d talk to her again… some day.”

Alice looked down in thought.

We sat for a while, resting. The question that had been burning in me finally burbled to the surface.

“So Trix is your grandma?” I blurted.

Alice turned to me, her eyes big. “What? How—Who told you?”

“She did,” I replied.

“What?!” Alice nearly shouted. She started to rise.

I put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back against the tree. It didn’t take much effort. “Calm down,” I said. “It was right after that asshole took you, after the psychic attack. I figured there some something between you and her besides a mere working relationship. The way you talked to her on the ship reminded me of a fight I had with my brother. So when you turned up missing and I knew I was going to have to go and get you back if I was to ever live with myself, I summoned her up and asked if she gave a shit about you.”

Alice stared at me, unblinking.

“She did,” I said. “She accepted half payment for our bargain so I’d have a fighting chance of saving you.”

She continued to stare, but after a moment I noticed tears welling in her eyes. She finally blinked and turned away. “I—I guess I’ll have to think about whether I’m going to call her again.”

I let her collect herself, watching the horizon to pass the time. I wanted desperately to sleep but knew if I did I wouldn’t be able to wake up for several hours (or days) and I really didn’t want to spend the day asleep on Trash Pirate Island and wake up with a sun burn as well as whatever infections I’ve picked up since I’ve been here.

That reminds me. I closed my left eye and looked with my right, and was relieved to discover that whatever Trix had done to heal me had also fixed up my burned eye. Thank God.

“She’s actually my great-great-great-great grandma,” Alice said quietly. “But that’s a pain in the ass to say so we just call her Gran. My ancestor wanted a dynasty of magicians, and figured the best way to go about it would to have a child with some demon blood.”

“Were they right?” I asked.

She gave me a small smile. “Mostly. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

I nodded and got back to my feet. “Can you walk?”

She held out her hand. “With help.”

* * *

I don’t remember much of what happened next. I had to do a lot of talking and a lot of hiding as I was covered in blood, had tentacles and was covered in an eldritch onesie. The tentacles were an easy-fix as I could dismiss them for lack of a better term, but the Limbs of the Other Side were stubbornly refusing to come off. Luckily Alice stuck with me long enough to give me a small charm that made people not notice I had claws.

The Japanese and Australian Navies came to our rescue. Again, I don’t remember much (I think it was shock or just pure exhaustion), but I somehow got put on a boat back to America with the other American… prisoners? Victims?

I slept most of the way.

When we made it to customs and were being interviewed, I quickly made my escape with the use of a few attention spells and a memory spell Alice had hastily showed me before we were separated. I made a small detour to destroy the local CCTV storage server. Luckily most of the people who knew what I looked like had seen me with tentacles so maybe the authorities wouldn’t get a good description of me. Strangely, I was less worried about it than I had been in the past. Or maybe not strangely, I guess. I did face my worst fears and live. There’s something to think about. Oh yeah! And I punched out a fucking shark! I walked with a little more confidence after having that thought.

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Took me a couple of days to get enough money to buy a Greyhound ticket home. If I had been willing to skip a few meals I could have done it sooner but I was fucking starving in a way I had never felt before. How did I get the money? Let’s just say there are many ways a man with magic can easily (if not legally) acquire scratch.

Once home, it took another week to get the Limbs of the Other Side off. I basically had to rip them off one-by-one—they really didn’t want to go, tearing up my skin as they came off. I gave myself a day or two between attempts because it felt like I was pulling hooks out of my skin, which was given more veracity from the trails of blood that would be left behind after a successful attempt.

More concerning was that when I opened the interdimensional cubby to store them, they tried to dart out like excited puppies. I kept having to shove them back in. That was… not ideal. To say the least.

As for the transformations I had noticed…

My skin, starting at mid-forearm and traveling down to the tips of my fingers, was black as pitch. My nails were metallic—or maybe ceramic? They were hard, is what I’m saying. They didn’t seem to grow much, thank god, because I don’t know how I’m going to trim them. The same thing was also on my legs. Starting mid-calf, my skin turned black.

Of my silent passenger, the only thing I sense from him (me) was a begrudging respect? So I guess that’s good?

* * *

After I was home for two weeks I finally got around to calling Ida’s mom. It took several attempts because the fire spell I had used on the doorman had—apparently!—set off one of the bullets in my pocket and deformed the magazine. I was lucky the entire thing didn’t explode and take out my thigh with it, and doubly lucky it had remained in my pocket with a big hole in it. With what remained of the number on the magazine and some googling I managed to figure out what the number was.

The call, once I actually managed to make it… was awkward. Apparently Ida hadn’t been able to contact her yet. Pauline understandably thought I was prank calling her about her dead daughter.

After that I didn’t know what to do with myself. My worst fears had been realized and I had survived it. What do I do with myself now? I spent the better part of a month just puttering around my house, watching Netflix and having adrenaline fueled-nightmares.

One morning I was startled by knocking on my front door. That was strange. I had so many wards and spells laced over my property, no one should be able to approach my house (Except the DWP guy, and that was only because I was tired of having to call in every two months to have my power turned back on because they couldn’t read my meter. I should probably get solar panels.).

I went to my study and grabbed my Webley, the hateful gun slapping into my palm with almost eager energy. I loaded it with the speed loader I kept next to it and moved to the front door as another knock began. I aimed my gun at the door as I checked the peephole. A man in a DHL uniform stood with a bored expression on the other side. I frowned and cracked the door open.

“Yes?” I said, the hidden Webley in my left hand aimed at the man through the door.

“Colm Avery?” He asked.

Getting a better look at him, his uniform had the color scheme of DHL but lacked any markings or branding. Yellow and red shirt and a similar cap. My suspicion rose and I resisted the urge to thumb back the hammer on my revolver. I didn’t want it to make noise and also, it wasn’t needed as it was double-action.

“Who’s asking?” I asked.

“Got a package for you,” the man said boredly, producing a brown package from behind him tied with string. It was the size of a big lunch box. How had he held that behind him? Why would he? He held it out for me to take.

“I’m not expecting a delivery,” I said. “I don’t give out this address.”

The man pulled out his phone with his free hand and thumbed it a bit. “I was told you might be the paranoid type and I’m supposed to deliver a message if you don’t take the package… here it is. ‘Don’t be a little bitch, Colm.’ Signed, ‘Alice Martinez.’”

I sighed and lowered my revolver. I stepped back from the door long enough to tuck the revolver into the back of my shorts and cover it with my shirt before opening the door all the way to grab the package. The man didn’t react to my black hands or claw-like nails.

The man tipped his hat toward me. “Have a good day.”

I watched him leave, (he got into an unmarked, yellow van), then closed and locked my door. I took my new package to the study and placed it on my desk. Before I opened it, I unloaded the revolver and reloaded the speed loader, putting both back in their drawer.

Finally I cut the string with my nail (I had learned while scratching my ass that my new nails are pretty sharp. That had been an awkward discovery.), and tore away the paper to reveal an envelope and three textbooks. The titles were “Novice Magical Foundation,” “The Bulwark, and other Spell Casting Methods” and “Magic, Best Practices.” An author was not listed but each book had a raven embossed on the cover.

I sliced open the envelope with my thumb and pulled out a handwritten note.

Dear Colm,

You’re a fucking hard man to find, you know that?

I made it back home safely, you should know. My mom wants to meet you and give you a proper Martinez “thank you” but I told her you’re a very private guy and a raucous house party isn’t exactly your scene. Instead we pow-wowed and got these books for you, which will hopefully round out your magical education.

Ida finally made it home, and while she is glad you kept your promise to call her mom, she’s pissed you didn’t leave a call back number. Both of our numbers are at the bottom of this note, and if I don’t hear from you soon you can expect a visit. I might even bring my mom, and you don’t want that.

I haven’t forgiven Gran yet, but… We’ll see.

There were several crossed out words.

I guess that’s it? When you write everything out, it feels weird. I haven’t written a real letter since grade school. I feel like I’m going to get a D- for this letter, you know?

Anyway.

Call me or face the consequences.

Don’t be a stranger.

Alice

I reread the letter several times. As I did, tension I didn’t know I had been holding slowly released from my shoulders and stomach. Before I knew what was happening, my eyes were filling with tears. I moved the letter to my desk so I wouldn’t mar the paper.

I didn’t—I didn’t know what… to do with myself. I guess I never expected to survive. I just kind of fell into my old habits of… just hunkering down? Hiding again?

But that obviously wasn’t going to work. I can’t just… Hide. I can’t hide forever.

Well, if I’m honest, I probably can. But if I’m going to do that I might as well put the Webley in my mouth and pull the trigger. Living a life in fear, as far as I’m concerned, isn’t living. I’ve done that. It was hell.

Maybe lowering my guard isn’t… the safest thing to do. Maybe it makes me vulnerable. But the alternative—a life always looking over my shoulder, of being terrified of every interaction… That’s a hell unto itself.

After eight years of having only murderers and some internet weirdos for company, maybe it was time to—as cliché as it sounds—to live again.

With a smile on my face, I dialed Alice’s number.

“Hello?” She said on the third ring.

“Well, your threats worked. Thanks for the books.”

“Colm?!”

I chuckled. “Yeah.”

In the background I could hear a voice with a distinct mom vibe say, “I told you a letter would work.”

We talked for an hour, making plans. By the end of the conversation, I was… relieved. Almost peaceful. Content, even.

Everything in my life wasn’t fixed. The Doorman was still out there. I was still… affected—perhaps scarred, by forces beyond my understanding. I’d have to do something about that.

But for the first time in eight years, I wasn’t dreading the future. I might go so far as to say I’m happy. Maybe things can get better.

That thought alone had been impossible, two months ago.

With a small smile I grabbed one of the textbooks and cracked it open, planning to read for a few hours before calling Ida (it was currently 2AM in France).

Yeah.

I think things can get better.