Was it possible I’d missed another one of the reeking creatures?

No, couldn’t be.

I’d cleared the bounty, which meant the gangly cannibal freaks were all dead and gone. There was something else in here with me, though, I was sure of it. I did a quick scan of the room and saw nothing that immediately set off warning bells. Then the rattle came again. This time I pinpointed its source. In the rear of the cave, near the rotting deer carcass and the odd pheasant, was what looked like a little birdcage perched on a rocky shelf protruding from the wall. There was a leather bag covering the cage, but I was sure that was where the sound was coming from.

I shot a look toward Cal. What’s the play?

“You gotta check it out,” Cal said, folding his arms. “What if it’s a cat? You know I have a soft spot for furballs. What if they captured it and planned on slow roasting it?”

“You’re dead, I’m probably losing my mind, more of those things could come back at any second, and you want me to go poke around looking for a cat?”

“Priorities, man,” he said. “You know it’s the right thing to do.”

I sighed. “Fine, I’ll take a look. But it’s probably some kind of murder parrot,” I grumbled as I slipped over to the cage.

Another rattle followed, this one more violent than the last. Whatever was in there was tiny, but it was real feisty and it did not want to be in the cage anymore. I braced myself, fully expecting to get acid thrown in my eyes, and yanked the leather covering off. It was indeed a rusty metal birdcage, but inside was no cat. There was a tiny humanish man, about six inches tall with flittering butterfly wings protruding from his back.

I’d played enough DnD to know a pixie when I saw one, though this was the dirtiest, grumpiest, most malnourished pixie I could ever imagine. The pixie wore patchwork leathers in a variety of colorful hues that stood out like a sore thumb even in the gloom.

“Yep. That is definitely not a cat,” Cal said, “but it’s still kinda cute. Maybe they keep pixies for pets here?”

“I’m no pet!” a tiny, high-pitched voice squawked at me. “And who do you bloody well think you are, entering my cave, killing my enemies, and stealing my loot? An outrage, is what it is!”

“I’m sorry, this is your cave?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at the little being. “I got the distinct impression that the gangly blister-skin shitheads I killed had first dibs.”

“Phft. That’s what they want you to think,” the pixie retorted, “but it’s all a pack of lies perpetrated by Big Ghoul and the Corporeal Mortka Trade Union! True, they were technically here before me, but I laid claim to the territory in accordance with the laws of the Fae Folk. As far as I’m concerned, those filthy reprobates were essentially illegal squatters. I was about to break out of this laughable prison and enact the Court’s justice for their open defiance.”

“Really?” I replied, deeply suspicious. “Because it definitely looks like you’re trapped in there and I saved your ass.”

“Maybe that’s the way it looks to you, but I can assure you I was mere moments away from a glorious escape.”

“Is that right?” I pressed, folding my arms in amusement. “Then I guess you don’t need me to open the door for you? I’ll just leave you to it.” I turned, as though to go.

The pixie buzzed in agitation, wings flickering as it paced the floor of his cage.

“Wait! Fine. I concede that I may have still been in my planning phase but rest assured that I would’ve gotten out in due time. Nothing can hold an emissary of the Throne.”

“Except a birdcage,” I noted stoically.

“It’s the iron,” the pixie said with a sigh. “Fae Folk cannot abide its touch. It’s one of the few things that neutralize our powers. That and a binding ring.” He grimaced and pointed toward the ground. There was a white, powdery ring encircling the cage. “A simple salt circle.”

“Seems like a lot of things can hold an emissary of the Throne,” Cal said.

“That’ll be quite enough lip out of you, spirit.” The pixie glowered at Cal.

“Wait, you can see him?” I asked, suddenly intrigued by what other secrets the pixie might know.

“Obviously,” he squeaked. “He’s a creature of the Etheric Realm, as am I. The fact that you can see us is the real oddity. You look human enough, but obviously there is something queer about you.”

“I don’t think you can use that word anymore,” I said.

“What? Queer? Odd, strange, unusual, bizarre, peculiar? Why would you take offense to this? Is it not true?”

“Eh, you know what,” I said, “let’s chalk it up to cultural differences. Probably shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. I really want to keep talking, but this place smells like the inside of an old jockstrap, and I’d really like to not be here in case more of those Ghouls show up. So, if I let you out are you going to try and hurt me or murder me?”

“Naturally,” came his immediate reply. “You have all the loot and I want all the loot. You reek of Hunger Affinity, which is what I came for in the first place. Since this is my territory by right, they belong to me. Obviously, I’ll murder you to get it.”

“Hey, how about that,” Cal said. “Murder parrot was actually pretty close to the truth.”

“At least he’s honest,” I said with a shrug.

“We Fae Folk are known for our scrupulous honesty. Honesty is the best policy we say among my kith and kin.”

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“Good to know, little guy—”

“Not little guy. Renholm of Greenburrow,” the pixie corrected.

“Sure. Whatever. Renholm of Greenburrow. Point is, I really appreciate you shooting straight with me, but now I’m in a bit of a pickle.”

“I don’t see a pickle at all,” the pixie buzzed.

“Not what I meant. What I meant is that you put me in a bad spot. See, if you’re going to murder me, then I’m just not going to let you out. I don’t want to leave you here to die—I think we could be useful to each other—but again, you’re going to try and kill me, so… Not leaving me with a lot of options.”

“Yes, I suppose it could come off that way in a certain light,” Renholm said after a beat.

“Not in a certain light,” I replied. “You literally told me you were going to kill me.”

“Very well, you drive a hard bargain, friend,” Renholm continued, ignoring me. “In light of the circumstances, I will graciously spare your life should you release me. All I ask for in exchange is the rights to this dominion and all of the loot you acquired from my captors.”

I squinted, lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not sure you understand how bargaining works.”

“Nope, he definitely doesn’t,” Cal replied, nodding in agreement.

“Let me break this down shotgun style for you, bud,” I said. “You’re trapped and can’t get out. I can let you out, but not if you’re going to murder me or try to rob me. I guess you can have the cave if you really want it, but since I killed the monsters in here, all their shit is mine. Period. End of deal.”

“Hmm. You really have me over a blacksmith’s barrel, no doubt. You’re astute. Sharp as Orken’s tack,” Renholm said. “In fact, you remind me of myself as a young sprite. You know your worth, and clearly know when you have the upper hand. I can respect that.” He rubbed at his pointed chin thoughtfully. “How about this by way of bargain? I will very generously not kill you, allow you to keep the spoils of war, and will even take you under my wing as a protégé. There is potential to be tapped—a partnership to be formed, I think. All you need to do is set me free of this wretched, impenetrable prison of the damned.”

“That’s an interesting way to spell birdcage,” Cal said. “Boyd, mind if we chat for a second?” He leaned in close. “Away from the crazy pixie?” he whispered into my ear.

I nodded.

“Look,” Cal said as soon as we were out of earshot, “I’m all for rescuing strays, but I think maybe we should leave this guy here. He seems a little too murdery for me. Ten to one he tries to shank you in the kidney or steal your molars. Am I sure he’s a violent tooth fairy? No. Am I not sure he’s a violent tooth fairy? Also no. It’s not worth the risk in my book. I mean, I’ll feel bad about abandoning him here, but some strays just aren’t worth it.”

“He’s not a stray, Cal. He’s a person. Or person-adjacent, anyway. Also, let me just point out that if a cat could talk this is exactly what it would sound like. Besides, we can’t just leave him. We need a guide.”

“Yes, you do,” the pixie agreed. It seemed we weren’t quite as out of earshot as I’d first thought. “Pixies have incredible hearing,” he said by way of explanation, “and also a voracious appetite for gossip and eavesdropping. Don’t listen to the incompetent specter. He’s jealous, and rightfully so. I won’t murder you. You have me at a disadvantage, so I will swear to do no direct or immediate harm to you should you release me.”

“That is both oddly specific and extremely suspicious,” Cal said.

“I am a valuable asset,” Renholm interjected. “Not only can I help guide you from this place, but I can teach you many things. Hidden things unknown to men.”

I frowned and absently drummed my fingers along the outside of my thigh. “Prove it,” I finally said. I opened the leather pouch at my waist and fished out an Affinity Scale. “You said you were after these, right? Tell me what they are. What they do. It says to consume them. How? Am I supposed to chuck ’em into a campfire or slow cook ’em over a grill?”

The pixie audibly snorted.

“Of course not, you ignorant slut.”

“Ignorant slut?” I muttered.

“Affinity Scales are power,” Renholm continued. “How in the world did you manage to dispatch three Crave Ghouls and not know that?”

“Let’s pretend I’m not from around here and explain it like I’m five.”

The pixie sniffed. “Affinity Scales are currency and power amongst the Mortka.”

“What are the Mortka?” I asked.

He rubbed at the bridge of a finely pointed nose. “You’re like a grub larva that hasn’t had its first molt.” He sighed and tossed up his hands. “Mortka is a broad term for the monstrous races. There are as many different types of Mortka as there are stars in the night sky, but they are generally grouped into family and kin groups. Amongst the Mortka, Affinity Scales can be consumed for a variety of purposes, but mostly to advance.

“I don’t know what you are—terribly queer indeed—but you are not Mortka. For Warlocks, Sorcerers, Magi, and the like, Affinity Scales can temporarily be used to replenish Arcana magic, heal the body, and temporarily grant themselves powers that align with the Affinity type consumed. Merely place it in your hand and focus on drawing its energy down and into your flesh. Doing so will consume the energy stored within.”

I took one of the lesser scales and set it in my palm. The crimson colors danced across the scale, oddly hypnotic. I felt the gentle thrum of power emanating from it—I reached for that power with my mind. The scale shimmered and strobed for a second longer, then vanished as a wash of energy flooded my system. Not just energy, though, anger and hunger in equal measure. I’d never been hungrier in my life, and all I could think about was ripping into warm flesh to fill my belly.

I needed food more than I’d needed anything else before in my life. I would kill to get it and rip anyone apart who tried to stop me.

The sensation was empowering and viscerally revolting and I wanted it gone from my system. I could sense my Colt calling to me from the small of my back where I’d tucked it away. It was a conduit and was only too happy to accept the influx of ravenous power. I channeled the Hunger Affinity from my body, feeding it into the pistol. Once there wasn’t any trace of the power lingering in my system, I drew the Colt and pulled back the slide. There were fresh rounds in the chamber, even though I hadn’t reloaded the weapon after battling the Crave Ghouls.

Stranger still, the chambered round was no longer the golden hue it had been before, but a seedy crimson, the same shade as the Affinity Scale. As far as I could tell, I’d just reloaded my weapon with energy bullets. I examined the pistol, pulling up its stat screen:

<<<>>>

Peacemaker

Type: Planar Colt 1911; Soul Bound

Class: Fatemarked

Ability: Soul Summon

Primary Effects:

* Upgradeable; See Soul Vault

* Arcana Foci: This item acts as a metaphysical focal point allowing you to channel raw Arcana into deadly force projectiles.

* Affinity Consumption: Consume Affinity Scales and channel their primary affinity into force projectiles of the same type.

Temporary Effects:

* Hunger Affinity Rounds (13): Upon impact, force projectiles eat through an additional portion of the target’s passive life force, healing your wounds in the process.

<<<>>>

I whistled through my teeth.

Now that was badass. Cal was right, Renholm the pixie was obviously dangerous and probably would try to harvest my organs at some point, but he knew things. Things I needed to know if I wanted to survive. Worst-case scenario, I would let the insane pixie out and he would try to eat or maim me—not necessarily in that order—and I’d have to kill him, too. But based on my life-and-death encounters over the past two days, I had at least a fifty-fifty chance of coming out on top.

I’d worked with worse odds in the Corps.

“I really hope I don’t regret this, Renholm.” I smudged the line of salt with my toe, breaking the binding ring. A gentle wave of energy dissipated into the air. Then, I flipped open the little iron door to the birdcage and shuffled back as the pixie took off like a bat out of hell. I stowed my pistol, attached the leather coin pouch to my impromptu rope belt, and followed the flitting pixie to the cave’s exit.