《Tortus Bay》


 1.01: Checking In

    Henry Cauville arrived in Tortus Bay in the middle of an inauspicious downpour, on a night when the clouds hung dark and heavy over the quaint seaside village. Save for those incessant sheets of rain and the bright moon which made the red-tiled rooftops gleam like glass, he thought the entire scene might have been ripped directly from a postcard. Not that a single postcard had ever been produced for the Bay.


    ¡°Never driven anyone this far before,¡± the driver said. Up until that moment, he had been a pleasant and silent presence in the taxi.


    ¡°Appreciate it,¡± Henry said, leaning forward to press a couple bills into the driver¡¯s palm.


    He grunted appreciatively. ¡°Wasn¡¯t a sign. Did you notice that?¡±


    ¡°Maybe we missed it in the rain.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, maybe.¡±


    Henry bid his farewell, slung the top of his coat over his head, and stepped out into the storm. It was a windless sort of affair, where every fat rain-drop fell straight down and splashed back upward before joining the ubiquitous puddle that covered the entirety of the sidewalk. He was immediately soaked. The taxi wasted no time zipping off down the road, leaving him alone on the lonely intersection.


    Regardless of what the driver said, the storefronts themselves weren¡¯t shy about signage. Henry spun in place, spotting First Community Bank, Pale Moon Buffet, Off the Edges, and finally: Welcome to the Tortoise Shell Inn! He raced down the block toward that grey brick building, feeling water soak into his socks as he went, and burst through a heavy wooden door alongside a veritable waterfall of rain. He closed the door behind himself as quick as he was able, but thick rivulets of water were already streaking across the finely polished wood floor of the hotel atrium.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said, but needn¡¯t have. There was nobody else in the room. A desk covered in pamphlets and placards dominated the small space, behind which a flight of stairs led up to the guest rooms. In the corner there was an alcove that led to something called the Hell on a Shell Bar. Henry took a moment to shrug off his hopelessly sodden jacket and hang it on one of the vacant pegs on the wall before he ventured toward the desk. There was no bell. ¡°Hello?¡± he called instead.


    His response came quickly. A portly man somewhere in his late forties bustled through the alcove, spotted his visitor, and put on a warm smile. He was wearing a colorful apron over an untucked black button-up shirt. ¡°You must be Henry!¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    The man surged forward and took Henry¡¯s hand in his own, vigorously shaking it a few times more than was perhaps entirely normal. ¡°Jamal Neath,¡± he said. ¡°Welcome to Tortus Bay!¡±The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Glad to be here. Sorry about the water.¡±


    Jamal waved him off. ¡°What mops were made for.¡± He positioned himself behind the desk and began to peruse through a yellow legal pad, eyebrows furrowed.


    ¡°I¡¯m a day early,¡± Henry offered.


    He paused, flipped a page backward, and nodded. ¡°You¡¯ll have to forgive me¡ªwhole village is out of sorts. There was a funeral today.¡±


    ¡°Was it someone you knew?¡±


    Jamal set the pad down, then started rummaging through a drawer. ¡°Everyone knew him. I suppose that¡¯s how it works, if you take my meaning.¡±


    Henry didn¡¯t. He thought there was something strange in Jamal¡¯s voice when he said that, but he couldn¡¯t place what it was. ¡°I understand if you won¡¯t have room for me until tomorrow.¡±


    That made Jamal bark with laughter. He found what he was looking for in the desk, and held out a novelty keychain onto which two rusted silver keys were attached. ¡°I think we¡¯ll manage to squeeze you in. Little one¡¯s for your room, big one¡¯s for the back door¡ªwhich I¡¯ll show you in a moment. Luggage?¡±


    ¡°Just the backpack,¡± Henry said, rolling his shoulders. He examined the keychain, which was a cumbersome, garish piece of bright green plastic with the name of hotel printed on it, and smiled despite himself.


    ¡°Got a question?¡±


    ¡°T-o-r-t-u-s Bay, spelled like that, yet this is the Tortoise Shell Inn.¡±


    Jamal smiled back, and indicated that he should follow him up the stairs. ¡°Little bit of local flavor there,¡± he said. ¡°We got plenty of that, you¡¯ll learn soon enough. Word is that once upon a time we were called Tortoise Bay, before one of our illustrious Mayors decided that he didn¡¯t like the name very much. On account of there being no tortoises here, you understand. But they say that the locals were mighty attached to the name, having lived their entire lives with it, and a compromise had to be reached.¡±


    Henry trailed behind the animated hotel owner, vaguely aware that he was dripping water all the way up the carpeted stairs and down the long adjoining hallway. ¡°Same pronunciation, less false advertising.¡±


    ¡°So the story goes.¡± Jamal stopped outside of the last door in the hall, which had a brass number Five hanging above the lock. ¡°Is that what you¡¯re here to write about?¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a journalist, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Henry said. He was taken aback, until he remembered the questionnaire that the hotel required for online booking. ¡°I was a copy editor for an organization that published scientific materials. Informational pamphlets for national parks and advertisements for museums, that sort of thing.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Jamal swung number five open to reveal a modest room. It was appointed with a squishy single bed, an empty bookcase, a corner table with two sturdy chairs, and a large bathroom complete with mint-green shower tiles and an assortment of single-use toothpastes and hair products. No television, no phone, and no standard Bible in the nightstand. ¡°So what is it that brings you here, then?¡±


    Such was the disarming nature of their conversation that Henry briefly forgot the lie he¡¯d prepared, and told the man the truth instead. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    At that, Jamal winked, and made to take his leave. ¡°I imagine you¡¯ll be wanting to change out of those wet clothes. Come down to the bar whenever you¡¯re ready. First drink¡¯s always on the house.¡±


    ***


    Henry gingerly stripped off his clothes, setting them on the back of a chair to dry. He began with his socks, then his jeans, his sweater, and finally he fought back a grimace as he peeled his shirt away from the wound on his left shoulder. It was a small, neat hole in the flesh, red and inflamed for hours spent chafing against cloth. He sighed. It would have to be bandaged again.

 1.02: Barroom Promise

    Henry listened to the pitter-patter of rain on the roof while he dried himself off with a fluffy white hotel towel. He took his time. The lights were dim, and it was silent but for the steady beat of the storm outside lulling him to bed. But this was his first night in Tortus Bay, and he wanted to make a positive impression. Besides, a free drink was a free drink.


    He wrapped his shoulder with fresh bandages, pulled on some dry clothes, and made his way down to the Hell on a Shell Bar. It was a dark, cavernous room with curved matte walls that gave him the impression that he¡¯d walked into an underground bunker. Lanterns placed in regularly spaced alcoves along the crest of the ceiling cast dancing shadows on the floor, and there was everywhere the scent of stale tobacco. Three older men in flannels occupied a table near the door, but the place was otherwise empty.


    Henry took a stool at the bar, and was quickly joined by a beaming Jamal. ¡°Taking me up on my offer, eh?¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s still good.¡±


    He laid his palms flat on the bartop. ¡°What¡¯ll you have?¡±


    Henry cast his eyes around for a menu, a sign, or a blackboard, but came up empty. ¡°What do you have?¡±


    Jamal arched his eyebrows, and jerked his head at the shelves of liquor behind him. ¡°Beer,¡± he said, ¡°or I can pour you a couple fingers, if you like.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have a beer.¡±


    He grunted, retrieved a sweaty black bottle, and began pouring it into a frosted glass.


    ¡°If I went into a bar back home,¡± Henry said, accepting the glass when offered, ¡°and asked the bartender for ¡®a beer,¡¯ it would have been me who was the asshole.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like you and I come from different places.¡±


    He took a swig off the top, found it to be perfectly acceptable, and was real close to thinking of something clever to say when the front door clattered open. A rush of rain and cold ushered a woman with a shock of wild, auburn curls into the premises. She shook herself off, becoming¡ªfor an instant¡ªan image of flailing hair and spraying water, earning a few jeers from the flannel-clad men. These she ignored, heading straight to the bar to hook a stool.


    ¡°Got a beer for me?¡± she asked.


    Jamal frowned. ¡°Got any cash for me?¡±


    The woman side-eyed Henry as she threw a couple dollars down on the bar. ¡°You believe this guy?¡±


    ¡°A bartender asking for money?¡± Henry rolled his eyes. ¡°What has the world come to?¡±


    She laughed, and stuck out her hand. ¡°I¡¯m Clair.¡±


    Clair¡¯s palms were leathery tough. ¡°Henry.¡±


    Jamal served her the beer, which earned him a sloppy salute, and then rounded back on Henry. ¡°There¡¯s food, if you¡¯re hungry from the trip.¡±


    Once again, he found himself looking up, fruitlessly, for a menu. ¡°I would take some fries.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, we can get you that,¡± Jamal said, and promptly disappeared through the back door.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Clair took a long drink. She¡¯d neglected to remove her raincoat, and a large puddle of water was forming beneath her stool. ¡°So you¡¯re the new guy.¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯m told.¡±


    ¡°Journalist, right?¡±


    ¡°Why does everybody think that?¡±


    She laughed again. It seemed to come naturally and often to her, and Henry was irked to find it endearing. ¡°A gossipy old man who bought a new computer two years ago,¡± she said, ¡°and only learned how to Google last week. Oh¡ªspeak of the devil. Hey, you¡¯ve been spreading false information!¡±


    Jamal emerged from the back with a long-suffering grumble. ¡°Fries will be out in a few.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not the news anymore,¡± Clair said. ¡°Tell us: how long have you owned this place?¡±


    ¡°Twenty-one years.¡±


    ¡°And you think you have time to run around pretending to be a journalist yourself.¡±


    ¡°I am plenty busy.¡±


    ¡°Oh? What am I, the fifth ass on a seat of yours tonight?¡±


    ¡°There was a funeral. I spoke before the burial, which you would know if you¡¯d bothered to attend.¡±


    ¡°You know very well that¡­¡±


    Henry lost track of the argument swirling around his head. His attention was caught instead on the narrow window behind the bar, through which could be seen a thin slice of the kitchen beyond. Therein, a man was pulling a bag out of a freezer and spinning a knob on a fryer. He had light brown skin, a sharp jaw, and an untidy tumble of dark hair that bounced along with his steps. There was something arresting about him. Henry shook his head. He wasn¡¯t normally the type to stare.


    ¡°You been drinking somewhere else tonight?¡± Jamal was asking. His previously implacable demeanor had begun to crack.


    Clair scoffed. ¡°What does it matter if I have?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re making a mess!¡±


    She made an exaggerated ordeal of looking beneath her stool. ¡°That¡¯s the cost of doing business.¡±


    ¡°No, the cost of being served is having the common courtesy of using a hangar.¡±


    ¡°The cost of service is money, Jamal. I know you haven¡¯t forgotten that. Is this water really your problem? Yeah? Then bring me a mop.¡±


    ¡°You want a mop?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I do. Head on back and fetch me one. I¡¯m serious¡ªI don¡¯t want to see you again unless you¡¯ve got a mop for me!¡± It ended with Clair on her feet, staring down Jamal¡¯s retreating back, red in the face but smiling.


    Henry leaned over to her. ¡°Who is that?¡± he asked.


    She followed his eyes to the kitchen, and her flushing expression shifted from triumph to confusion to, finally, land on a knowing grin. She slid smoothly back onto her stool. ¡°That¡¯s Niles Homer. Strange name, solid guy. Baker extraordinaire. Works at the cafe in the morning to keep ¡®em stocked on muffins and then books it over here for lunch and dinner service. Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°Errant curiosity.¡±


    ¡°Right. You taking it easy, there?¡±


    Henry was surprised to find a second beer beside his first, and even more surprised that the first was empty. He took a deep pull, and wondered if he was paying yet. ¡°Is that what you have for entertainment around here?¡± he asked. ¡°Getting drunk and abusing bartenders?¡±


    ¡°He acts like my dad. Probably because I¡¯ve known his daughter since we were both in Elementary School.¡± She rapped her knuckles on the side of her glass. ¡°But you want to know how we have fun? All you have to do is stick by me.¡±


    ***


    Jamal never did re-appear with a mop, but he did deliver a delicious basket of fries. Thick, heavily seasoned, and drowning in vinegar. Henry and Clair relocated themselves to a table, where she finally bowed to societal norms and hung up her coat. Underneath she wore a ratty t-shirt that fit awkwardly around her broad shoulders. From head-on her face was square. Strong. She certainly drank like it¡ªfive empty glasses sat beside her, to his three.


    Their conversation chewed away the night, as around them the Hell on a Shell Bar gradually filled in. Everyone there seemed to know everyone else, and everyone seemed to have something to say, but Henry and Clair were allowed their bubble of privacy


    ¡°What if you need a CD?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Old Tommy¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°A blender?¡±


    ¡°Old Tommy¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Replacement frame for a photo of my mother?¡±


    ¡°Old Tommy¡¯s!¡±


    ¡°Your answer to all of these questions can¡¯t be to go to a General Store.¡±


    Clair raised her sixth glass to him. ¡°It can! Because it is. Or you can just use the internet. It¡¯s the future everywhere, you know.¡± In the growing din she paused for a moment, and closed her eyes. ¡°Listen. It stopped raining.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°So you can¡¯t talk mess about a town you¡¯ve never properly seen.¡± She pulled on her coat. ¡°You¡¯re coming to get a look.¡±


    Henry¡¯s shoulder still ached. His eyelids itched with sleep. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Clair leaned forward and fixed him with a smile that might have been charming, if not for its fire. ¡°Come with me, and I¡¯ll show you some magic.¡±

 1.03: Night on the Town

    Henry Cauville¡¯s first impression of Tortus Bay was formed in the soft yellow glow of the moon, with fresh rainwater streaming down the streets and a drunken Clair skipping on ahead. That image seared itself forever in his mind. The air that night was crisp, and they shared between them the sort of manic energy that comes from new places and new people.


    The village was centered around the twenty-or-so businesses that populated the intersection of Main Street and First Avenue. Clair flew past the area, chiding Henry all the while to keep up with her pace, but in shameless rubbernecking he was able to spot a grocer called Horizon Foods, a three-screen cinema called The Plex, a bike shop called Cycler, and the infamous Old Tommy¡¯s General Store itself. For an institution in which a person could apparently find anything their heart might desire, it certainly looked like a single-story cabin with a sign that was missing several important letters.


    He saw now that whatever vision he¡¯d had of a postcard village existed only from a great distance away, and through an obscuring haze of rain. Close up, he was taken by the purely functional aspect of the storefronts. There were few window displays, and no external decoration at all¡ªas though not a single one of them ever expected a tourist.


    ¡°Is everyone from the big city as slow as you?¡±


    ¡°Are you always this aerobic after six drinks?¡±


    She turned, jogging backwards, and grinned. ¡°You haven¡¯t seen anything yet.¡±


    Then she was running, and Henry was after her. Outside of the main stretch, the roads of Tortus Bay narrowed. Long rows of old Colonial houses, which could only be differentiated from one another by the color of the stain on their wooden facades, flanked them on either side. Porches, swing-sets, and decorative mailboxes lined their path to an expansive, dreary park that occupied several blocks. The deep green foliage of tall, densely crowded trees occluded the sky.


    Clair led the way inside. That night was hers, and Henry instinctively understood that there wasn¡¯t any pulling her away from this strange course. ¡°People like the idea of walking in the woods,¡± she said, ¡°but won¡¯t set foot in the real one because of all the stories about wolves. Here, you can get just deep enough so that all you can see is trees, but there¡¯s always the knowledge that you¡¯re surrounded by houses.¡±


    He immediately saw her point. They wound around a sea of wide trunks, squelching in the mud, and saw no paths, benches, or waste baskets. Only more trees. ¡°Are there really wolves in the forest?¡±


    ¡°Anything¡¯s possible. All you¡¯re likely to see around Tortus Bay is the lowly squirrel, though. A turkey, maybe. If you¡¯re lucky.¡± After a time, they drew up on a gnarled and towering Oak. Clair dropped down on her knees at its base, and began digging into the earth with her hands.Stolen story; please report.


    Now, he could no longer keep the obvious questions at bay. ¡°What are we doing?¡±


    She nodded her head off to the right. ¡°Do you see, through the trees?¡±


    At first he didn¡¯t, but at the perfect angle he found that an open field beyond the park was visible through the greenery¡ªat the end of which sat a squat cylindrical structure built on a rocky outcropping against what he was sure had to be the shoreline. ¡°The lighthouse?¡±


    ¡°Good eye,¡± she said, and unearthed her cache from the earth: cheap whiskey, and a battered leather satchel. Without hesitation she unscrewed the bottle, took a pull, and handed it over. ¡°The dock and the lighthouse have been condemned since before I was born. Nobody pays much mind to them, which is why I think they haven¡¯t noticed how easy it is to get inside.¡±


    The whiskey burned all the way down, making Henry miss the beer at the bar. ¡°What is all of this?¡±


    ¡°This is the village,¡± she said, ¡°like nobody else can show you. There¡¯s a ton of history sitting in that lighthouse. It¡¯s like a museum. I only took the really interesting stuff.¡± She produced from the satchel a locket on a thin silver chain. Inside, there gleamed a small emerald gem in the place of a photograph. A name was etched into the casing, but he couldn¡¯t make it out.


    Next, Clair showed him a yellowed and curling ship register. She flipped through the pages with the reverence of an archeologist handling a rare text, presenting a history of dates, times, and detailed lists of cargo. Then she set it aside, and handed him a notebook in exchange for the bottle. Unlike the register, its cover was clean and the paper stark white. New. ¡°That belonged to Mathas Bernard.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± Henry opened it up, and squinted down at an untidy scrawl. The words ran together like water, sometimes deliberate and blocky and other times a smooth cursive.


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised Jamal didn¡¯t tell you. It was his funeral today. He used to be a big figure around here. Married to Beth Brihte, and the Brihtes practically own the place. He ran the bank, served on the city council¡­ and was a complete weirdo in private.¡±


    He flicked through the notes in the book, and they became progressively stranger. Words like ¡®rune¡¯ and ¡®stave¡¯ jumped out at him. Two full pages had been dedicated to sketches of leaves and herbs. ¡°How did you get this?¡±


    She shrugged, and snatched the notebook out of his hands. ¡°People talk a lot around here. I want you to know that I love Tortus Bay. The good, the bad, and the odd. I¡¯ve lived here my entire life.¡±


    ¡°I believe you. But this doesn¡¯t count as showing me magic, okay?¡±


    ¡°Do you believe in magic?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t say that I do.¡±


    Clair opened her mouth to say something, but before any words came out she was jumping to her feet in a frenzy. She scrambled, shoving the locket, the register, and the notebook back into the hole, and began furiously piling dirt over the lot. Henry was confused, until he too heard the telltale sound of a tire skidding on gravel just outside the park. Then there came the siren, and red and blue lights strobing through the trees.


    She patted down the disturbed earth, jumped to her feet, and was running again. This time he stayed where he was, watching the lights play off the damp leaves, wondering how he¡¯d let his first night in the village play out like this.

 1.04: The Sheriff

    Henry stood in the locus of the flashing red and blue lights, tired and somewhat drunk. Some small part of his brain screamed at him to run, but he mastered the impulse¡ªprimarily by leveraging it against his desire not to do any more exercise. Whatever else his first night in Tortus Bay had been, it had also inarguably dragged on for too long. Now he ruminated on the prospect of it culminating in a cell.


    The wailing of the siren ceased, releasing the night to its placid silence, but the lights remained. They cast forward the shadow of a figure wending its way through the trees, strobing left and right with the rhythmic flashing. Henry watched, conjuring different pictures in his head of what this approaching small-town sheriff might look like. None of them were quite right.


    She was short, with an aquiline nose framed by voluminous sheets of black hair. Her uniform was plain and crisp, except for a pair of tattered leather boots. There was a sharpness about her, from her physicality to the manner in which her eyes focused in on him like prey. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°Henry Cauville.¡±


    Her hand rested on her belt, beside her gun. ¡°You been drinking tonight, Mr. Cauville?¡±


    ¡°A little.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Got a call about a couple teenagers raising hell in the park.¡±


    ¡°Not a teenager.¡±


    ¡°And is there anybody else in here with you?¡±


    He tried a shrug. ¡°Don¡¯t know anybody else around here yet.¡±


    ¡°Right. Just out for a midnight stroll.¡± She cast her eyes around the scene, as though willing one of the trees to step forward and admit to some sort of wrongdoing, but she relaxed when nothing was forthcoming. Her hand slid away from the holster. ¡°You¡¯re the new visitor everyone¡¯s talking about.¡±


    Henry wasn¡¯t sure if that was a question, but he nodded to be safe. ¡°Got in a few hours ago. Thought I¡¯d take a look around.¡±


    ¡°Listen, folk around here don¡¯t approve of people walking around their houses in the dark, and much less should they figure out it¡¯s someone they don¡¯t know¡ªand not one of Harvey Bold¡¯s delinquent brood.¡±


    ¡°I had no idea.¡±


    ¡°You must be staying at the hotel. Let me give you a lift back.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t being arrested. The realization washed over him. Still, he said nothing.


    She clicked her tongue. ¡°You can sit in the front, if that matters to you.¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    For whatever reason, he found that it did. He followed her back through the trees and out of the park, where an old police cruiser had been parked over the curb. In the relief of the red and blue lights, he thought he caught flickers of movement from the second-story windows of the overlooking houses. Then the dark-haired woman hopped into the car, flicked a switch, and all was dark again. Nothing more to see.


    ¡°I¡¯m sheriff Leia Thao, by the way,¡± she said, as soon as he climbed in beside her.


    Sheriff. At least he¡¯d been right about that. He wondered if that information had been contingent on his cooperation. Her ride was remarkable only in how plain it was. Only the bars that sequestered the back seat distinguished it from a civilian vehicle, and the only hint that it was anything other than a fresh lease straight off the lot was a half-empty bag of sunflower seeds laying on the dash.


    ¡°How long are you planning to stay in the village?¡± Leia asked. She kicked the car into drive and, with a lurch, peeled off the curb.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure yet.¡±


    ¡°Will you be looking for a job?¡±


    ¡°Job,¡± he said. ¡°Apartment. A local cafe.¡±


    ¡°A whole new life. Well, here¡¯s a tip: there¡¯s only two ways people make money around here. Those are working at the fishery, or working at the orchards.¡±


    ¡°By any chance would I have to file a resume with the Brihtes for either of those gigs?¡±


    She eyed him through the windshield mirror, then popped a seed in her mouth. ¡°You didn¡¯t do your research before you came, did you? The Brihtes and the Gauthes own just about all of Tortus Bay between them, one way or another. Old names. Deep roots.¡±


    ¡°Which is why what happened to this Mathas guy is such a big deal.¡±


    Leia spit her shell out of the window. ¡°Most of the village thinks that you¡¯re some sort of journalist.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±


    ¡°I know. We have a computer down at the station. But people love a rumor. And about all they can come up with that would warrant a journalist¡¯s visit is this business with Mathas Bernard.¡± They pulled onto Main Street, where they were still the only source of movement. ¡°He died of a heart attack. He¡¯d been doing some gardening work when it happened. Tried to crawl inside, get himself to a phone, but he didn¡¯t make it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s horrible.¡±


    They glided to a stop in front of the Tortoise Shell Inn. ¡°Do me a favor, and tell people that you¡¯re not here to write a story about it. Wouldn¡¯t hurt if you kept your wandering to daylight hours, either.¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡± Henry stepped out of the car, but paused before closing the door. ¡°Can I ask you an odd question?¡±


    ¡°You can ask,¡± she said, ¡°but I might not answer.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever been shot?¡±


    The expression that took her face wasn¡¯t anger, or even shock, but curiosity. Her eyes widened, the narrowed again with that peculiar, sharp focus. ¡°Never,¡± she said. ¡°Nor have I ever discharged my firearm, for you information. And I don¡¯t plan to.¡±


    ¡°Only a question.¡±


    Leia looked like she had something to say to that, or perhaps had a question of her own, but she only leaned forward and swung the door shut for him.


    ***


    Henry avoided the main foray of the Hell on a Shell entrance by ascending a wobbly wooden flight of stairs around back, which mercifully deposited him on the far end of the hotel hallway beside room number five. He fell immediately into bed.


    He hadn¡¯t undressed. He hadn¡¯t unpacked. He¡¯d made what he was sure was a bad impression on several important people. His mouth tasted like bar food and cheap whiskey. His head hurt, his arm was slipping into numbness, and as he nestled down into his pillow he couldn¡¯t strike the broad smile from his lips.


    When before had a night out drinking taken him on an adventure like that? When in his old life had he met anyone even half as interesting, or interested, as Clair or Jamal or even sheriff Thao? That night, Henry Cauville fell asleep feeling very hopeful about his upcoming time in Tortus Bay.

 1.05: Meat and Greet

    The sun rose bright in a clear sky, drying the storm-dampened streets of Tortus Bay and rousing Henry from what had become a pleasant slumber. He certainly hadn¡¯t intended to wake up so early, but he felt energized in the light streaming onto his face through his open blinds. Thin, perhaps, and not too sure about the state of his stomach, but energized all the same.


    A number of people milled about the Hell on a Shell bar that morning, quietly eating their breakfasts. Delicious scents wafted upwards and compounded in that dome-like structure to incite a ravenous hunger in Henry. In one glance he saw waffles piled with cream, pancakes covered in blueberries, plates of fat blackened sausages, and thick rashers of charred bacon. When was the last time he¡¯d eaten something other than fries?


    Jamal, standing behind the bar, motioned him into a stool. ¡°Surprised to see you out and about so early. I like that!¡±


    From his seat, Henry got an even better view of the veritable mountain of food being pumped out of the kitchen, as well as the harried woman bustling back and forth to produce it. ¡°I¡¯m as surprised as you are,¡± he said. ¡°Bu I figured I¡¯d stop down to see about settling up.¡± While the website for the Tortoise Shell Inn had featured a complete (if not obtrusive) survey prior to booking, it had not supported online payment.


    Jamal shot him a wry smile, then wordlessly swiped a full plate from the serving window and set it in front of him.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he said, because he knew better than to turn down a good thing. His mouth watered. ¡°What do I owe you?¡±


    ¡°You can pay when you¡¯re ready to leave.¡±


    At that, the harried woman made a choking sound. ¡°He¡¯s asking!¡± she said. ¡°He wants to pay.¡±


    ¡°My wife,¡± Jamal said, under his breath.


    Henry leaned around the bartender to make eye contact with the man¡¯s spouse. She sported a paisley apron plastered in batter, and wore her hair pinned up in a tight bun. ¡°How much, Mrs. Neath?¡±


    ¡°Diana.¡± She eyed him up and down. ¡°Thirty dollars per night. Five dollars for a meal, when we have them.¡±


    ¡°Breakfast¡¯s free,¡± Jamal said, forcefully. ¡°Continental.¡±


    Henry shoved half a pancake into his mouth to excuse himself from the awkward situation, but was saved regardless by the next distraction¡ªwhich came in the form of a man named Clint. He plodded loudly down the stairs, the plaid from the previous night wrapped around his shoulders, looking wet in the eye and red in the cheek. Stale tobacco and even staler sweat emanated from his person, but nonetheless Jamal summoned him to the bar and served him a heaving plate of food. ¡°I¡¯m good for it,¡± Clint said, almost inaudibly.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Jamal returned a well-practiced whisper. ¡°I know it. Pick up a fresh shirt on your way out. There¡¯s a box near the front desk.¡±


    The man grumbled something to that, then set himself wholly to the task of eating. Under Diana¡¯s watchful eye, he steadily worked his way through the entire plate without once looking up, or reaching for his glass or water, and ladled one final spoonful of sweet syrup into his mouth before Henry had begun his sausages. Then he sat, for a long moment, staring down at the bar, before hauling himself onto his feet and heading off toward the hotel exit.


    ***


    Outside, Tortus Bay baked under a brilliant sun. No evidence whatsoever remained of yesterday¡¯s torrential downpour, nor did any of the people of the village appear to be showcasing any extended grieving for the recent high-profile funeral. If anything, they appeared to be in aggressively joyous spirits. Every door up and down Main Street was propped open, and knots of animatedly chatting folk formed around each entrance. It seemed an entirely social affair, and Henry wondered if anyone was honestly trying to sell, or buy, anything.


    They absorbed him into their groups as he passed, with the energy and determination of a jilted relative at a family reunion. Everyone was so happy to meet him, wanted to tell him just a few things about themselves, then asked him how long he would be staying before handing him off to the next in line like a stubborn pinata. At first he tried to remember the stream of names, faces, relationships, careers, hobbies¡ªbut before long it all became a mess in his mind, and through repetition his own name began to feel awkward on his lips.


    Surrounded so closely on all sides by loud and distracting figures, Henry became aware that his hand was instinctively flicking toward his back pocket every minute or so. He worked to master that impulse.


    After what was certainly a world record for the slowest walking pace down two and a half standard blocks, Henry freed himself from the mob in front of a store whose sign simply read ¡®SS.¡¯ The only clue that gave it away as a cafe was the neatly lined, hand-printed menu posted in the window. Still majorly preoccupied, he made to push open the door when it swung out toward him instead, and he nearly collided with a familiar face.


    Sharp jaw. Dark, bouncing hair. Niles Homer. Strange name, solid guy. Henry remembered that he ought not to know that name yet, and stopped himself at ¡°hello.¡±


    ¡°Oh, hey.¡± He smiled, and caught Henry in a stiff handshake. ¡°New guy, right? Niles.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Henry.¡±


    Niles smelled like the rare intersection of a patisserie and a lumberyard. ¡°Good to meet you, Henry. I saw you down at the hotel, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s where I¡¯m staying.¡±


    ¡°And where I¡¯m late to arrive. Diana must be losing her mind; she hates it when I leave her to handle the breakfast rush.¡± He pulled a plain white business card out of his pocket, and pressed it into Henry¡¯s palm. ¡°I¡¯m always rushing back and forth, so in case I don¡¯t see you before then, that¡¯s the address of where the Tortus Bay Hiking and Wilderness Society meets every Saturday. Oh! Don¡¯t worry, we don¡¯t actually do any hiking during the weekly get-togethers.¡±


    Was this overt friendliness an affectation of small-town life, or was something else at play? Henry could only nod.


    Niles had managed to negotiate his way out of the door while he spoke. ¡°So I¡¯ll see you there?¡±


    ¡°Okay. Yeah, you will.¡±


    ¡°Great!¡± He waved, leaving Henry to look down dumbly at the card in his hand. ¡°You and I have a lot to talk about.¡±

 1.06: The Double S

    The SS cafe was clean, cozy, and very nearly empty. Vaulted bay windows spilled sunlight onto dozens of high-backed chairs tucked into rustic wood tables. Two plush armchairs sat in the far corner, underneath a crowded community bulletin board. Henry approached the counter, behind which a bored-looking woman with the name ¡®Patty¡¯ on her name tag was flipping through a tattered paperback. ¡°Slow morning?¡±


    Patty glanced up, took a moment to dog-ear a page, then gave him a smile. ¡°I call it the AM Bazaar,¡± she said, nodding at the large group of people still milling about the street outside the windows. ¡°Nobody wants to be trapped inside, so they grab their stuff to go.¡±


    ¡°Not very exciting for the barista.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°It all comes around in the winter.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be sitting in, assuming that won¡¯t mark me as some sort of social pariah.¡±


    ¡°It can be a lot to get used to,¡± she said, sparing another glance for the window.


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of¡­ friendliness. Can I just have a coffee, please?¡± he asked, regretting the number of sausages he¡¯d so recently consumed. The front of the counter was a glass display case stuffed with fresh blueberry muffins, orange scones, and glazed fritters. All courtesy of one Niles Homer, no doubt.


    She turned to rummage through a drawer of mugs. ¡°So what¡¯s on the schedule for today?¡±


    ¡°You mean beyond shaking the hand of every single person in the village? I¡¯m not sure. Start looking into the help wanteds, maybe.¡±


    Patty selected a wide, ruby-red mug with ¡®SS: Sip and Serve¡¯ emblazoned in silver cursive on the side, and began pouring steaming coffee from a battered carafe. ¡°You should check out the Anderson.¡±


    ¡°The Anderson?¡±


    ¡°Old warehouse down on Hyacinth and Fifth. Got converted into art space when our Target went belly-up. If you stop in, ask for Kara. She might have a job hookup for you, and I know for sure that she has a lead on an apartment. That is, if you¡¯re trying to get away from the Tortoise Shell.¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± he said. That made it official: literally everyone in the village knew about his business, without having to ask. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    She set the mug on the counter with care. ¡°That¡¯s exciting. You must be liking what you¡¯ve seen of Tortus Bay.¡±


    He thought about that. Fewer than twenty-four hours had passed since that uncomfortable taxi ride, but so much seemed to have already happened. ¡°It¡¯s been great. I got sort of kidnapped, for lack of a better word, by a woman named Clair last night.¡±


    ¡°Wild curls? Boxy face?¡± Patty rolled her eyes. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be my first choice for village liaison. I¡¯ve heard she can be fun, but it¡¯s embarrassing.¡± She lowered her voice a bit, though they were still the only two people in the cafe. ¡°It¡¯s one thing for the sheriff to chase drunk teenagers around the village, but Leia Thao spends most of her time nowadays trying to corral an adult woman. It¡¯s a waste of time for everybody concerned, and honestly people are starting to get sick of it.¡±Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ***


    Henry sunk into one of the armchairs with the intention of giving his brain a second to unspool. Perhaps he was simply unused to the intensity of local gossip, or perhaps everything was truly happening as fast as he felt it was. From his vantage in the corner, he had a clear view of patrons as they trickled into the cafe. They often said hello, or shot him a wave, which he dutifully returned, but it was as Patty said¡ªthey grabbed a coffee or a bagel and were right back out of the door, often enough with a second cheerful wave.


    The card that Niles gave him bore only one hand-written line: ¡®27 Glosspool Ln, 3:00 PM.¡¯ Had Niles written that specifically for him, or did the man often advertise his Hiking Club on the backs of blank business cards? More importantly, why would he invite a complete stranger to such a club in the first place? And even more importantly than that: why did he seem to think that they had something to talk about? Henry tried to stuff all of those questions into a box in his mind, beside that buried briefcase of historical curiosities and the proclivities of a recently deceased man. It didn¡¯t work very well.


    He watched an older gentleman with a cane order a box full of muffins, then twisted in his chair so that he could see the community board. There were a pair of  fliers announcing various openings at the orchards and the fishery; a banner for the upcoming PRIDE parade; an invitation for art submissions to some sort of exhibition; a poster of a missing cat offering a hundred dollar reward for information; and a single entry at the end of the monthly calendar for something called the ¡®Golden Goose Fest.¡¯


    ¡°What¡¯s the Golden Goose Fest?¡± Henry asked, loudly enough for it to carry across the room.


    Patty¡¯s eyebrows shot up, for a split second, behind her book. ¡°Who told you about that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s on the calendar.¡±


    ¡°Community event,¡± she said. Her voice sounded carefully uninterested. ¡°Another excuse for everyone to get together and gab. You know how they need another one of those.¡±


    Their conversation was cut off by the sound of the door. Patty moved to stand, ready for another rapid takeout order, but the woman who entered made a beeline for Henry¡¯s corner without a spare glance at the counter. She was short, and her pallid skin gleamed in contrast with the heavy black jacket she wore despite the heat of the day. Without preamble this woman perched on the arm of the unoccupied armchair, leaned in close, and spoke in a sort of high-pitched, rushed whisper. ¡°You¡¯re Henry Cauville?¡±


    Patty stared at them curiously, but didn¡¯t move from her spot. He returned the whisper. ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°Jamal told me all about you,¡± the woman said.


    ¡°Then I¡¯m sure he mentioned that -¡±


    She cut him off with the wave of a many-ringed hand. ¡°Only good things. You met with the sheriff?¡±


    ¡°We ran into each other.¡±


    She exhaled. Up close, the lines on her face were deep and drawn. ¡°Then you know the story of how Mathas died.¡±


    ¡°He had a heart attack,¡± Henry said, trying to remember from the previous night. ¡°While out in the lawn. Couldn¡¯t make it to the phone.¡±


    ¡°While gardening. Late at night.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    She looked him in the eyes, and held the stare for a beat or two longer than was comfortable. ¡°A man who paid a professional to maintain his yard, and was famously frightened of the dark, died while gardening at night.¡±


    ¡°What are you trying to say?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s information that I think you ought to have,¡± the woman said, prim and crisp, and then she was gone as quickly as she had come. She stalked back across the room and out of the door with only a curt nod for goodbye.


    Patty, still standing behind the counter, was left agape. Her book lay forgotten beside the register. ¡°What did she want?¡±


    ¡°Mistaken identity, I think,¡± Henry said. He hoped. ¡°Who is she?¡±


    ¡°Beth Brihte,¡± she said, then shook her head as she remembered herself. ¡°That¡¯s right, you wouldn¡¯t know. She was Mathas Bernard¡¯s wife.¡±

 1.07: Arts and Crafts

    Henry found his second venture through the directionless crowd of people milling around the intersection of Main and First¡ªwhich Patty had fondly referred to as the AM Bazaar¡ªto be substantially easier. Perhaps the sheen of novelty had rubbed off him already, for the familiar faces amongst the mass let him by with only a nod or a wave. It was the new faces, who still required of him a shaken hand and an exchange of niceties, which slowed him down so that he did not arrive on Hyacinth Street and Fifth Avenue until midday.


    It wasn¡¯t his fault that Beth Brihte, Clair, and seemingly everyone else in the village thought he was something that he very much wasn¡¯t. There was nothing he could do about it; and there was especially very little he could do to help them, whatever sort of help they might need. That much he could swallow, but to try to convince himself that he wasn¡¯t interested was another matter altogether. He could always go to the sheriff¡¯s office and report what he¡¯d heard, but what would that do? The sheriff herself clearly didn¡¯t want him to be involved, and that was alright by him. But if people wanted to talk so badly that they didn¡¯t care if they¡¯d found the wrong ear, that didn¡¯t make him a villain.


    With a long list of things he shouldn¡¯t do swirling about his head, it was a desire for more mundane and tangible progress that drove him forward. Certainly he didn¡¯t need to do anything more than shake hands and see the sights; he¡¯d brought along with him a comfortable nest egg, and the seventy-five cent coffee he¡¯d just enjoyed exemplified that the cost of living in the village would be even lower than previously imagined. He hadn¡¯t lied in the cafe, when he said that his time in Tortus Bay had been great, but for him to stay he knew he had to chase down every opportunity for work that wasn¡¯t as an extra hand plucking fruit or boning fish, and every lead on a place to live that wasn¡¯t a hotel¡ªregardless of how cheap that hotel might be.


    He found the large grey warehouse on Hyacinth, conspicuous in the middle of an otherwise residential street, and stepped through an open side door to find color, movement, and a smell that he could only describe as ¡®industrial accident.¡¯


    The floor space had been completely cleared of the belts and machinery that must have defined its previous life. In their place, streams of paint washed over the hard concrete in unconventional rainbows. Looms, tubs, basins, and drying racks were lined up in long columns. In the corner, a large kiln was halfway through its firing. Several easels stood ready on the west end of an observational balcony that ran around the interior of the building, while the east end had been given over to an enormous, half-finished wall mural of a young boy smoking a cigar.


    A balding man leaned precariously against the railing there, brush in hand, staring thoughtfully at the work. Another man, who had perhaps more hair than he knew what to do with, was hanging a strip of leather on one of the racks. There was a woman fussing about with something in the center of the room, and another sitting in a chair knotting a rope. All four of them were splattered in different varieties and volumes of paint.


    Henry approached the woman with the rope, who did not look up from her work. ¡°I¡¯m looking for someone named Kara,¡± he said.


    ¡°Hey Kara,¡± the woman bellowed, ¡°you have a visitor.¡±


    ¡°Great,¡± the other woman called back, ¡°send them over.¡±


    Henry tripped and tip-toed across the room to find Kara on the other side of a brass barrel, crouched in an uncomfortable stoop and pressing a metal stick into a rectangular strip of uncured leather laying on the floor. Her hair, straight and brown, was at that moment visibly greasy and trapped up into a messy bun. ¡°Not the best way to do it,¡± she said, by way of greeting, ¡°but it¡¯ll get the job done.¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he said, ¡°I think I came at a bad time.¡±


    ¡°No, I mean to say that I would get up, but I can¡¯t let off pressure. Can you run over to the kiln and tell me what color the light is?¡±


    Some part of him wanted to deny her, but a much larger part reminded him that he was in Tortus Bay for something different than the usual routine, and besides he had little else to do that day. He darted over to the kiln, a red-brick monstrosity which emanated waves of nauseating heat, and reported: ¡°green.¡±


    Kara wasn¡¯t satisfied by that. ¡°Would you say it¡¯s more of a dark cyan, or a light lime?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s like a¡­ faded seaweed,¡± he said.


    She nodded. ¡°Can you stir the vat on your left? The one with the golden handle, please.¡±


    So it went. Henry spent the rest of the afternoon jogging circles around the Anderson, performing various menial tasks for what he imagined must be about a dozen separate projects. He stirred, he strained, he flattened, he pressed, he prodded. At one point, he used a pair of tongs to entwine a thin silver chain. As soon as he was done with one inscrutable task, another was waiting. All the while, he and Kara chatted, sometimes quite loudly over the expanse of the warehouse and the rumbling of the kiln.


    ¡°So you¡¯re the scientist,¡± she said.


    ¡°Nope. And I¡¯m not a journalist, either.¡±


    ¡°The news on the street is wrong! What are you, then?¡±


    ¡°Looking for a job.¡±


    She chuckled. ¡°Something other than an art go-fer, I presume?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, does this pay?¡±


    At that, all four of the resident artists laughed. ¡°Not nearly so much as a human needs,¡± Kara said, ¡°but I might have an idea for you.¡±


    Several hours in, awash in sweat and grime, Henry belatedly realized that he¡¯d been helping all four of them. The brown, grey, and white paints that he mixed went to the woman with the impressive length of rope, who made a quick job lathering it in color. If he was put out by the extra work, his hand in the final product made it worthwhile.


    Standing on the ground, he held one end of the rope while the woman climbed to the balcony and attached the other end to the wall mural with a nail gun. ¡°Okay, is it holding?¡± she called down.


    The man with no hair and the man with too much hair looked on nervously. Henry gave it a tug. ¡°Seems to be.¡±


    ¡°Then hang it on that hook there, and step back quickly.¡±


    He did as he was told, looping the heavy rope around a metal hook jutting out of the wall, and as he stepped back the woman on the balcony let go. There was a tense moment of silence, followed by a round of applause as it held in place. Now standing back, Henry saw what the rope was meant to be: a dreaded lock of the young boy¡¯s hair, curling in and out of the smoke from his cigar.


    ¡°We¡¯re trying to spruce the place up a little,¡± Kara said, into his ear. He jumped. He hadn¡¯t heard her come up behind him. ¡°We want to start hosting exhibits here, since we have the space. And it¡¯s easier than hauling everything down to the community center, or the cafe. Thanks for helping.¡±


    ¡°Does that mean we¡¯re done?¡±


    She rolled her shoulders. ¡°I know I could use a break. Step outside with me?¡±


    While the other three artists laughed and clapped each other on the back, Kara led Henry past the mural, through a rough concrete enclosure, and out to the loading bay wall. All three of the docks stood open, revealing the hazy yellow evening sky. A cool breeze rushed in to greet them, goosebumping their overheated skin. They perched there, letting their legs dangle out of the closest bay. Beneath their toes, the broken asphalt of the warehouse¡¯s parking lot was being reclaimed by thin shoots of pale grass. ¡°I got you a thank-you present,¡± she said.


    ¡°How is that possible?¡±


    She drew a necklace out of her pocket. ¡°I knew I was going to be making it today, but I wasn¡¯t sure for who. Guess I know now.¡±


    It was a simple thing, a strip of folded-over leather adhered to a silver clasp chain with a bit of industrial glue. An odd symbol was pressed, or perhaps burnt, into the leather. Four jagged lines arranged in a rhombus, with a fifth striking through. At a squint, Henry thought it could be a house. ¡°What is this?¡± he asked.


    ¡°A protection charm,¡± Kara said, as matter-of-factly as ever. ¡°Wear it under your shirt, against the skin. Don¡¯t take it off unless you need to. The longer it rests on your body, the more it will learn of you, and the better it will keep you from harm.¡±

 1.08: Confession, part 1

    Kara and Henry whittled away much of the evening on that disused bay in the Anderson warehouse, watching the dandelion yellow of the sky gradually fade into purples and pinks. The other three artists filed out one after another, yawning and bading them both a good night before vanishing back into Tortus Bay proper. None of them seemed interested in hanging around the place any longer. Henry supposed it was different, when you were there every day. For him the past few hours had been an interesting lark, but for them it would have been just another day.


    ¡°Do you sell these?¡± he asked, fidgeting with the chain around his neck. He¡¯d done what he was told with the protection charm, placing the leather against the bare skin of his chest.


    ¡°I do,¡± Kara said.


    ¡°Do you wear any yourself?¡±


    She side-eyed him. ¡°You trying to figure out how crazy I am?¡±


    ¡°Just a question.¡±


    She pulled her left leg up from where it had been dangling out of the bay, laid her foot flat on the concrete, and pointed at a spot in the middle of her thigh. There, what Henry had previously mistaken for a paint splatter was a tattoo not dissimilar in style to the marking on his new necklace. Three rough lines, in a non-intersecting triangle. She lifted the lobe of her right ear to show him another, and pulled down the back of her shirt to reveal a third between her shoulder blades. From there, he could also see a fourth: this one the exact same rhomboid as on the necklace, centered on the nape of her neck beneath the hairline. ¡°Vitality. Fortune. Empathy. And protection,¡± she said. ¡°So ask your question.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe in at all?¡±


    ¡°I believe in miracles. Four years ago, I was homeless. Three years ago, I moved here. Two years ago, this warehouse lost its purpose, and this year I¡¯ve found my own inside of it.¡±


    ¡°I had no idea. It¡¯s amazing what you¡¯ve managed to do with the place in a year. And I guess that means you¡¯re also a recent transplant.¡±


    ¡°The most recent,¡± Kara said, ¡°before you. Suppose I should say thanks for that; now there¡¯s a new baby in the family, and everyone can stop treating me like a charity. That must be why you were sent to me. Nobody else remembers what it¡¯s like to try to get established.¡± She jumped off the bay, landing with a crunch on the broken concrete, and offered a hand. ¡°Speaking of, I have a place you might want to see. I¡¯ve been doing some remodeling work for a man named Benny for a few months, and I think I can convince him to open up a little space for an apartment.¡±


    Henry took her hand and followed her leap out of the bay, landing with a slightly more muted crunch. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me until you¡¯ve seen it,¡± she said, and they were walking back toward the heart of the village. He idly wondered if anyone in Tortus Bay owned a car, or if the perk of living within five minutes of anything a person might need made it irrelevant. The Gauthes and the Brihtes must have vehicles, he reasoned. That status symbol would be too much to give up.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°What did you think of Mathas Bernard?¡± he asked. It wasn¡¯t an investigation, it was a simple curiosity.


    ¡°Getting involved in politics already?¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t know, I only met him a handful of times. Some of the Brihtes can be reclusive like that, not that he ever took the name. His wife never took his either. He was always awfully supportive, though. Considered himself a patron of the arts. Susan Petry was trying to swoop up the Anderson to convert the lot into a house, but Mathas outbid her and gifted the place over to us. He¡¯s the only reason we have it.¡±


    ¡°I heard he was afraid of the dark.¡±


    Kara chuckled. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t read too much into that. A lot of people around here get awfully suspicious about anything that moves around at night. That¡¯s one of the weirdest things to get used to, when you¡¯re new.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of weirdness: why is it that you chose to move here?¡±


    He tried to focus on her face for the answer. The failing light and the motion of their walking made it difficult, but he thought he caught a frown. ¡°I couldn¡¯t stay where I was,¡± she said, ¡°or keep living the way I had been. Hitching was my only way out, and I didn¡¯t stop until I found somewhere that felt right. What do you say, when they ask?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know yet.¡±


    ¡°You should figure that out.¡± They emerged onto Second Avenue just as the streetlights lit the length of the street. Warmer lights, fighting through drawn curtains, joined them from all but a few of the surrounding houses. Kara led him to one of the darkened ones, a resplendent cherry-red manor with ochre window frames and a dramatically peaked roof, and fumbled around with a large keychain before swinging the front door open for him.


    Inside, Henry found the skeleton of a house. It struck him as similar to the Anderson warehouse, minus the chaos and with the addition of the overwhelming scent of sawdust and cleaning detergent. The walls and floors were barren, but gleamed with fresh polish and paint. There were no doors in the frames, no appliances on the counters, and no furniture whatsoever¡ªunless the odd step-ladder or bucket could be counted. ¡°Benny¡¯s harboring some sort of grand design of having the place ready for his daughter when she decides to move back home,¡± Kara said. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly a qualified contractor, but I am very cheap. There¡¯s always a flurry of activity whenever she calls home, but we¡¯re in-between those right now. Come on, let me show you upstairs.¡±


    She brought Henry up, past the similarly stripped-down second floor, into a small attic space with was clearly the cause of the pointed roof. There, the situation was entirely different. Boxes lay strewn about the floor. The ceiling was only half finished, exposing insulation and wood beams. And over all of it, there was caked a layer of dust an inch thick. ¡°Obviously it needs more work before you could move in,¡± she said, ¡°but I think Benny would let it go cheap to make something off this place before his daughter comes back. Which, if you¡¯re interested, she won¡¯t be. Last I heard, she was having a grand time off at college.¡±


    Henry surveyed the space, unsure of what to say. It was larger than some of the places he¡¯d lived before, but that was something he was trying to get away from. Then there was the matter of the mess.


    ¡°Don¡¯t say anything yet,¡± she said, saving him from his thoughts. ¡°There¡¯s an additional bonus.¡± She tip-toed through a narrow passage in the junk, grazing her fingertips on boxes to keep her balance along the way, and pulled a small milk crate off of what turned out to be a mini fridge. A cord led from the back into a hole in the ground, and when she opened the door there came a light and a reassuring hum from within. ¡°Put a secret stash up here for long nights. Go ahead, help yourself.¡±

 1.09: Confession, part 2

    Henry grabbed a tall yellow can from the bottom shelf of the mini fridge while Kara scrounged up a pair of dusty pads for them to sit on, and they cheersed. It was a disorderly mess in that attic, but nonetheless cozy¡ªand somehow comforting. The beer tasted almost identical to what they served on tap at the Hell on a Shell Bar.


    ¡°I almost forgot the best part.¡± She swiped a grey tarp off the wall, revealing a small cylindrical window. ¡°The view¡¯s nothing to complain about.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t. From where he sat, Henry could see straight out across the tops of the houses that led to the park, the lighthouse, and the dark glittering ocean beyond. More stars shone in the light above that water than he could remember seeing in his entire lifetime, and he silently resolved to spend more of his time looking skyward in the future. ¡°Is this what you did,¡± he asked, still staring out of the window, ¡°when you first got here? Odd jobs, like fixing up this house, until you found something bigger?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly it. And let me tell you, I slept wherever I could. Took advantage of Jamal big time, not that he makes it difficult. There aren¡¯t many apartments around here. Most everyone owns their own home, and most of those homes have belonged to a single family for generations.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take it,¡± he said, deciding right then and there.


    They clicked their cans together again. ¡°I thought you might. I can probably have it ready for you in a week. Depending on how toxic that insulation turns out to be.¡±


    Henry smiled. That was, he thought, the first time he¡¯d heard her make a joke. ¡°I hope it really does come cheap, because I don¡¯t know about finding a job. Everyone seems to think I already have one. Or two.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can promise anything, but I¡¯ll put a good word in for you at inHale. That¡¯s our own local tech startup. Some of us are very proud of it.¡±


    ¡°Some of us,¡± he echoed.


    ¡°The ones who understand it. But as both a scientist and a journalist, I imagine you¡¯re qualified.¡±


    He took a deep drink, and continued gazing at the sea. It was nice, the feeling that he had someone in his corner already. When he first contemplated moving across the country to a small village that he¡¯d never heard of before, it was the prospect of leaving his friends that rankled the most. He¡¯d imagined tight cliques, alienating in-jokes, and months of slowly building trust. None of that turned out to be true. Jamal was willing to house him on credit, Clair cared immediately what he thought of her, and now Kara was sticking her neck out to help him find an apartment and a job.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    So, he told her everything: Jamal¡¯s comedic misunderstanding; Clair¡¯s cache in the park; Mathas Bernard¡¯s strange journal; sheriff Leia Thao¡¯s request; and his run-in with Beth Brihte at the cafe¡ªhe babbled and babbled until he thought there was nothing left inside, and found himself completely off guard for the question she then asked. ¡°What about your shoulder?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    She sighed. ¡°I just spent all day watching you lug stuff around a warehouse. You think I wouldn¡¯t notice you keeping anything that weighed more than about five pounds off your left arm? So what happened? Did Clair get a little too rowdy for you?¡± The question started with a smile, but it faded when he turned to look at her. ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me,¡± she continued, a little more chaste, ¡°but you should at least show someone.¡±


    That seemed fair. Henry set his beer on the ground, pulled his shirt off, and then carefully peeled the bandages off his shoulder. No matter how much gauze he used, it always hurt.


    Kara sucked in air. ¡°You were shot.¡±


    ¡°I was.¡±


    ¡°When?¡±


    ¡°Before I moved here,¡± he said. He hadn¡¯t decided to tell her. He¡¯d decided, in fact, not to tell anybody, but the words came out regardless. ¡°It was my lunch break, and I really needed to stretch my legs. Work had been hell, but I can¡¯t remember why. Normally I would pop out for ten minutes or so, but I went further that day.


    ¡°The weather was beautiful, and the last thing I wanted to do was sit back down at my desk. They wouldn¡¯t notice my absence anyway. I made it all the way down to Frida Middle School, about twenty minutes from my work. The front doors were open, and I remember thinking that the kids must have been out for recess. When I walked past them, I heard the sounds. Firecrackers, I was sure, or balloons popping. My feet moved faster than my brain.


    ¡°I still have no idea why I did it. I didn¡¯t accomplish anything. I didn¡¯t help anyone. I remember the hallway, then the classroom, and the¡­ the kids on the floor. I remember seeing that fucker¡¯s face, only for a second. Then I was in an ambulance, trying to focus on an EMT.¡±


    Kara was hugging him. Henry was crying. Hot, effortless tears that came more for the words in the present than the memories of the past. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± she said. ¡°You were brave. You did it because there was nothing else you could do.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a lot.¡± Henry wiped at his eyes. He was shaking, and his body felt empty. ¡°It happened a while ago, but I¡¯m still not good at talking about it.¡±


    ¡°A while ago?¡± She pulled away from him, slightly. ¡°This looks recent.¡±


    ¡°It never healed,¡± he said. ¡°Doctor thought it was normal at first, said my body needed time. That time passed, and I was still wrapping the same wound every morning. Still bleeding.¡±


    ¡°And you never went back to the doctor?¡±


    Henry upended the tall yellow can, finishing the bottom half of his beer in one enormous gulp. The air in that drafty attic had become cold in the deepening night. ¡°Seeing what I saw that day disturbed my mind,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s no better way to put it. It separated me from my family, and my friends. It made me realize that the life I¡¯d been living wasn¡¯t worthwhile. It sounds like maybe you can relate to that.


    ¡°But it was this wound that made me leave. It was agonizing pain, for every minute of every day, and it¡¯s only now been manageable since I showed up at the Tortoise Shell Inn. I would love to know why that is.¡±

 1.10: Normality, Briefly

    Failing to affect change never makes a person a hero, no matter how noble that person¡¯s intentions might have been. Henry learned that the hard way. He never expected to be lauded for what he tried to do, but the pity caught him off-guard. The embarrassment. Then there were the ones who drew no distinction between him and the shooter. They would never outright say it, but it had been clear in their eyes; if Henry had known what he was doing, how many kids might have been saved?


    In their estimation his failure was tantamount to murder, and he couldn¡¯t help but agree with them. There was nothing more he wanted than to go back in time to that afternoon at Frida Middle School, and make things play out differently. Stop the shooter, or be killed instead of injured for the attempt. Short of that, he wanted to be as far away as he could from anybody who knew. But now he¡¯d told Kara.


    There was no regret there. She deserved to know, and the weight of the secret had become crushing on his back alone. His wound showed no sign of improvement, looking functionally identical to how it had the day he walked out of the hospital some months ago, but the pain was more manageable in Tortus Bay. He could operate again, like a normal member of society, and that is what he set out to do.


    Over the next few days, a sense of routine settled into life in the village. Henry woke up with the sun in the mornings, and took his breakfasts in the bar with a perpetually chatty Jamal. He learned not to bring up the concept of money with the man; instead he sought Diana out in private, and slipped her the appropriate amount of cash. She kept the hotel¡¯s records in a locked drawer in the back office, away from her husband¡¯s prying eyes and questionable business sense.


    He met their daughter, Jessica, who came by the bar with obvious reluctance and treated him with an exacting aloofness¡ªas though he was simply another one of the rundown regulars. That, he supposed, wasn¡¯t entirely unfair.


    No word came to him from Kara, except for a parting promise that she would pass his number (and a good word) along to Aria Bethel, and that he could expect a call from her. That drove him to dig his cell out of the bottom of his backpack, whereupon he discovered that he had zero messages and zero missed calls. He supposed that wasn¡¯t unfair either, but it did leave him with a pang of sadness and a lurch of homesickness in his gut.


    Kara¡¯s protection charm hung around his neck at all times: in the shower, into bed, and during his midday walks around Tortus Bay. If she could believe his impossible story, then he could believe hers. Sometimes he worried that people around the village saw the silver chain poking out of his shirt, and knew what he wore¡ªfor whatever Kara said about selling the things, nobody else seemed to find it appropriate to wear them.


    The man behind the counter at the Pale Moon Buffet openly stared at his neckline while ringing up his order. Henry ate lunch at the buffet two days in a row, for although it was doubtlessly the most Americanized Chinese food he¡¯d ever encountered, they also served the best french fries and chicken nuggets he could remember consuming. And for that, he would put up with the extra attention.


    He got ice-cream at Pop Up and Scream, perused the shelves of Old Tommy¡¯s General Store, and made a habit of checking the daily schedule down at The Plex. The theater boasted three screens, but appeared mostly interested in playing obscure action moves from the eighties and nineties. Several times he tried to visit Off the Edges, a small book store at the tail end of the shops on Main Street, but their sign said they were ¡®out for a minute¡¯ each time he walked by, with no indication of when that minute might end. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    By some miracle he managed to keep the troubling figure of Beth Brihte out of his thoughts, until the exhaustion of a long afternoon walking out to the orchards saw him stopping in to Cycler to inquire about the price of a new bike. It was the owner of the shop, an elderly and well-tanned woman, who broached the topic of the widow by bragging that even so rich a woman as a Brihte bought a bike from Cycler rather than shipping one in from outside the village. Henry regretted his decision to ask for more detail when he saw the anxiety his question wrought in the shop owner¡¯s face.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about it,¡± she said, wringing her hands. ¡°The poor thing, it was a tragedy. She¡¯s devastated. How could she not be? Been locked up in that house of hers since it happened.¡±


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t come out at all?¡±


    ¡°No. Nobody¡¯s seen her since.¡±


    How had the rumor mill of the AM Bazaar let Beth Brihte¡¯s early morning trip to the Double S slip them by? Or had that dark coat she¡¯d worn really concealed her identity? Henry doubted it. If nothing else, Patty had recognized the woman easily enough from behind the counter. With apologies he left Cycler empty-handed, and headed back to the Hell on a Shell bar. That is where he wiled away his evenings, and where he figured he had the best odds of running into Niles.


    This had happened a few times, but always in passing. Niles would smile and nod, or say a brief hello, but never stop to chat¡ªand once that man was in the kitchen, that¡¯s where he would stay. He seemed born to cook. More reliable was the presence of Clair and Clint, who were fixtures in the bar in much the same fashion as the tables. By routine they began their drinking at the turn of five, and would still be going long after it was time for Henry to retire for the night. He didn¡¯t get the impression that the two of them knew each other outside of the bar, but their constant adjacent drinking had clearly bonded them within those walls.


    Clair¡¯s behavior was more muted around Henry, especially compared to how she had acted that first night. He tried asking for what her opinion on Beth Brihte was, but she didn¡¯t seem interested in the topic. She talked mostly about how tired she was of living with her parents, and how boring her job stocking shelves at the grocery store was. He did not bring up their trip out to the park, or her secret cache therein. They were always surrounded by people, and he imagined that it would be a sensitive topic.


    ***


    On Saturday Henry woke up late, and wandered downstairs in pursuit of pancakes to find a commotion in the barroom. Every table, chair, stool, and solitary stretch of wall was occupied. People spoke with one another in hushed yet hurried tones, occasionally breaking out of their groups to run across the room to another, where they would confer for a moment before returning again. In the middle of it all stood Jamal, his face smiling yet grim, taking random passersby by the shoulder and speaking a few brief words into their ears. For this occasion he wore his finest pressed shirt, and no apron at all. Presumably everyone was too preoccupied to eat.


    ¡°Have you heard the news yet?¡± Jamal asked, as Henry worked his way through the milling mass.


    ¡°I just woke up.¡±


    ¡°I thought,¡± he whispered conspiratorially, ¡°that you might have heard it days ago.¡±


    Henry sighed. ¡°You and I have got to get on the same page about what I¡¯m doing here.¡±


    He held his hands up in faux surrender. ¡°Fine, you didn¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°And I still don¡¯t. What¡¯s happening?¡±


    ¡°Mathas Bernard didn¡¯t die of a heart attack,¡± Jamal breathed, his voice a delicate balance between sorrow and self-importance. ¡°I confirmed it with the sheriff myself this morning. The coroner made a mistake, or else didn¡¯t see something until yesterday. Nobody¡¯s clear on that part yet, but Leia says she¡¯s going to get down to the bottom of it either way.¡±


    Henry felt his stomach twist. ¡°Jamal,¡± he asked, ¡°how did Mathas die?¡±


    ¡°Blunt force trauma. To the back of the head.¡±

 1.11: Conspiracy

    Mathas Bernard became the talk of Tortus Bay once again, though not for fond reminiscence or familial condolence, but for wild murder conspiracy. For that is what the village decided upon learning the true cause of the man¡¯s death: it could be nothing but homicide. But by whom? And with whose assistance? Unanswered questions stirred the people of Tortus Bay into a frenzy. How had the coroner missed such a basic piece of information? Was it the sheriff herself, concealing facts? Or the family? By noon, Henry had enough of the whole lot.


    He slipped out of the Tortoise Shell Inn and headed not toward the center of the village, as had become his routine, but to the park for a chance to catch his breath. To his mind, there was no doubt what would happen next. He saw the thoughts behind their eyes already. Emboldened by the chorus, people would start asking him what he knew, and demand to know exactly what he was doing in their village. A majority of them believed he was a journalist, and his silence on the matter would certainly now be taken as evidence that he was some sort of undercover reporter cracking a case behind the scenes.


    The thought of himself as a hard-bitten murder investigator made him laugh, but if it could be believed anywhere then it would be in a small, insular community which eschewed newspapers in favor of their local barkeep. Up until that morning he¡¯d thought that the entire thing would blow over. Time would pass, no theoretical story on the death of Mathas Bernard would materialize, and people would eventually forget the entire matter. He¡¯d been wrong.


    A buzzing in his pocket roused Henry from his thoughts, and he accepted the video call without thinking about it. ¡°Am I speaking with Henry Cauville¡¯s¡­ torso?¡± asked a woman¡¯s angular face. She had a dramatically pointed chin, and thin lips.


    ¡°Yes, it is. Speaking.¡± He hastily tried to right the phone to point at his face while he crossed the street to the park. ¡°Hello.¡±


    ¡°Yes, hello. Can you stop walking for a moment? The motion¡¯s making me nauseous.¡±


    He pulled up short, looked around, and belatedly remembered that there were no benches in the park. Standing it would be. ¡°Is that better?¡±


    ¡°Much. This is Aria Bethel, giving you a call from inHale. I hope I didn¡¯t catch you off-guard¡ªour office is open seven days a week, and we observe flexible schedules.¡±


    ¡°No, not at all.¡± Henry reminded himself to smile. ¡°That sounds very productive.¡±


    Aria met his smile with a slight frown. ¡°We do our best. I have a referral here from my colleague Kara; I understand that you¡¯re interested in our open Communications Assistant position?¡±


    He told her that he was, and reflected on his past work as an in-house editor. She told him that the aim of her company was to provide clients with ¡®a streamlined amalgamation of the latest diets, workouts, food science, and healthy lifestyle tips¡ªpersonally tailored through clever data aggregation and delivered through a proprietary algorithm. To keep you hale.¡¯ Aria went on in excruciating detail about how proud she was of having founded a successful, local tech company, and how she needed dedicated employees to keep it going.


    All things considered, it was a standard interview, up until the very end. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind me asking,¡± Aria said, ¡°but how long have you been in Tortus Bay? The referral doesn¡¯t say specifically.¡±


    ¡°Almost a week now.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± She visibly exhaled. ¡°Well, Mr. Cauville, we believe in fast actions and direct answers here. I¡¯d like to thank you for your interest, but at this time I don¡¯t believe that your experience lines up with the expectations of the position. We have your information on file if anything comes up in the future.¡±


    What had seemed to be a pleasant conversation and a hopeful interview was abruptly finished, leaving Henry staring down at his lock screen. It told him that it was already 2:15, and that reminded him of something important.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ***


    Glosspool Lane was a short jog from the park, but it may as well have been in a different country. Sprawling mansions dominated the wending drive, secluded from one another by stately lawns and immaculately maintained hedges. Wrought-iron gates of silver and gold bore old family names and barred casual entry from the street. It was the sort of place to have a wide street and no sidewalk. Henry walked in the margin up to number 27, to find two surprising things awaiting him.


    The first was the name ¡®Brihte¡¯ in metal above the gate. The second was a broadly smiling Niles Homer, rising to stand from where he had been sitting on the curb. ¡°You came,¡± he said. ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure you would.¡±


    They met each other in an unexpected, and slightly awkward, hug. Outside of the bakery, Niles smelled more sawdust than confection. ¡°This is where the Hiking Club meets?¡± Henry asked.


    ¡°Only every once in a while.¡± He looked much the same as he ever did, from the dark jeans to the bright sweater and that perfect bounce in his unruly hair, but there was something markedly different about his demeanor. No more was he anxiously dodging away from interactions in a fevered attempt to get from place to place; now he seemed to have all the time in the world, and the heart to enjoy it. It was a good look on him. ¡°Lucy Brihte runs the club, and we rotate who hosts. Needless to say, we all look forward to her turn.¡± As he spoke, he punched numbers into a pad beside the gate, which promptly began to open for them. ¡°Not that the rest of the family appreciates it. This is the family estate, and Lucy has always been the black sheep. Everybody knows it, but don¡¯t tell anyone I said it.¡±


    They entered the grounds and came upon a series of cobblestone paths that cut through the short emerald grass. Niles led them down the left-most path, which veered around the outskirts of the grounds to the left side of the four-story marble manor house. ¡°How does Lucy relate to Beth?¡± Henry asked.


    ¡°They¡¯re sisters. Never been close, but always been blood. Lucy spends as little time around here as she can. When she¡¯s not doing something for the club, she¡¯s running her bookstore.¡±


    ¡°The one that¡¯s always closed?¡±


    Niles laughed. ¡°That¡¯s the one. She only opens it when she wants to sit back and read, and with everything happening lately¡­¡±


    The cobblestones brought them into a patch of taller, yellowed grass surrounding a shallow pool. Rotund toads hopped back and forth, grasshoppers sang, and there was the flitting of birds from branch to branch in the tree line not far away. It seemed no matter where a person went in Tortus Bay, they could never be far from the border of the forest. ¡°I¡¯m sure all of the Brihtes lead busy lives,¡± Henry said.


    ¡°They do tend to be perfectionists. It¡¯s how they¡¯re raised. I wouldn¡¯t know anything about it; I¡¯m just your typical workaholic.¡±


    A fanciful but weather-worn bench sat before them, positioned to ponder the toads, but neither of them sat. ¡°Is this where it happened?¡± Henry asked. He¡¯d been looking around, trying to imagine how it might have played out. ¡°Is this where Mathas Bernard died?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Niles said. ¡°Emil and Petunia Brihte are still alive, bless them, and they¡¯re the ones who live here¡ªtheir brood has long fled and all have houses of their own. But I see that I wasn¡¯t as coy about inviting you over here as I thought. I need to talk to you about Mathas.¡±


    His heart beat heavy and painful in his chest. Of course that was the reason they were having this conversation. What else did anybody in the village ever want to talk about?


    ¡°That¡¯s part of the reason,¡± Niles clarified. He was talking fast now, his mood anxious once more. ¡°Obviously I thought it was enough to tell you about even before the news today, but now there¡¯s no way that it¡¯s wrong, and I really think you have to -¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± Henry interrupted, ¡°let me talk first. And listen. I am not a journalist, a reporter, or any kind of scientist. I have no authority over anyone or anything. If you think you know something about Mathas Bernard, you have to bring that to the sheriff.¡±


    Niles¡¯ face fell. He took a few steps, dropped down into the bench, and covered his face with his hands.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to be so direct,¡± Henry said. ¡°It¡¯s just that people don¡¯t seem to want to hear that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not here to write a story?¡±


    ¡°No, afraid not.¡±


    He uncovered his face, slightly paler than a few moments before. ¡°Everyone said that¡¯s what you were doing, and I thought I¡¯d found the perfect solution. It¡¯s nothing I can prove. It wasn¡¯t enough to cause a stir, but after this morning¡­ now it might be important, and I¡¯ve just been sitting on it for over a week.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± Henry sat beside him, and briefly considered throwing his arm over his shoulder before deciding against it. ¡°Maybe you should just tell me what it is, and then we can decide what to do about it together.¡±


    Niles nodded, breathed out, and steadied himself. ¡°I overheard Lucy talking on the phone, the day after it happened. She wanted to speak with me about catering the funeral service, but I showed up early¡ªand obviously I know how to let myself in. I don¡¯t know who she was talking to, but she thinks her sister was at home that night. Beth told everyone that she¡¯d been out, that there was nothing she could do for her husband, but it¡¯s not true. She was there. Beth killed Mathas Bernard.¡±

 1.12: Employment

    That Saturday¡¯s meeting of the Tortus Bay Hiking and Wilderness Appreciation Society (as they preferred to be called) went on as scheduled. A dozen members congregated in the four-season patio of the Brihte Estate, which was as large itself as many houses in the village, and were served coffee and finger foods. They sat arranged in plush armchairs and cushioned dining seats, pleasantly chatting and waiting for their leader to arrive.


    For a woman who supposedly knew a damning secret concerning her brother-in-law¡¯s murder, Lucy Brihte exhibited no difficulties delivering the mundanities that the TBHWAS had to concern itself with that day. She was a thin woman, with a whispery voice and the tendency to stare at an unfixed point in the distance while speaking. Compared with her sister¡¯s dramatic flair, she looked mundane in a brown blouse and a faded blue hair-band.


    After the catching up and other social niceties, Henry was asked to stand and introduce himself. ¡°I¡¯ve already met a few of you,¡± he said, ¡°but I apologize in advance if I can¡¯t remember your names. To everyone else: my name is Henry. I¡¯m new to Tortus Bay.¡±


    A few people leaned in to whisper to their neighbors. ¡°What brought you to our club?¡± Lucy asked, disconcertedly staring at the glass wall behind him.


    ¡°Niles invited me. I never got a chance to get outdoors, back where I came from. I figured while I¡¯m still looking for a job, I might as well try something new.¡±


    That generated even more whispers, but Lucy didn¡¯t seem to notice. She thanked him, asked him to sit, and then every other member took it in turn to introduce themselves. The group was comprised primarily of older couples, but there were a few other people his age in attendance as well. They looked bored.


    The meeting proper wrapped up with lengthy affirmations of each of the society¡¯s long-term goals: establishing hiking paths in the forest; petitioning City Hall for wild-life protection; and finding better methods to educate the public that there are no wolves living in the trees outside of the village. Lucy disappeared back into the manor during this last discussion, with no indication that she meant to return.


    Affairs then proceeded outside, where again people grouped up to chat. Niles was dragged away to discuss a piece of inscrutable society minutiae, leaving Henry to fend for himself against a tide of people who wanted to know if he would be attending their ¡®live meeting¡¯ next week.


    ¡°It means that we¡¯ll actually go out into the woods,¡± Tod, a man with a proud pot-belly and stately white whiskers, explained politely. ¡°There¡¯s a lot to do out there, especially if you¡¯re at all taken with the sport of bird watching.¡±


    He feigned a nascent interest in birds until he heard several loud apologies from across the lawn, and saw Niles extricate himself from the group which had taken him. They rejoined each other by the pond. ¡°I suppose you really must be looking for a job, then,¡± Niles said.


    He nodded. ¡°I had an interview earlier today, but they turned me down after I let it slip that I¡¯ve only been in the village for a week.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure they just wanted to make sure that you would be in it for the long haul. A lot of people who move here end up leaving after a few weeks.¡±


    They found the cobblestone path, and followed it away from the congregation. ¡°Why is that?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of things you can¡¯t know until you¡¯ve been around for a while.¡±


    Outside of the gates, starting down the wide avenue of Glosspool Lane, Henry decided they were safely out of earshot. ¡°Was Lucy acting oddly back there?¡±


    ¡°No, that was classic Lucy, I¡¯m afraid. She¡¯s a little better in small groups, or out in the woods, but I don¡¯t get the impression that she cares much about people. At least, not interacting with them.¡±


    ¡°So I suppose confronting her is out of the question?¡±This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Niles shook his head. ¡°She¡¯d cut ties with me. I know she likes my food, but not that much.¡±


    The sun was failing by the time they turned off Glosspool Lane. ¡°She didn¡¯t strike me as someone who¡¯s harboring a secret like that.¡±


    ¡°I know what I heard.¡±


    ¡°Then I think you have to talk to the sheriff, if for nothing else than to clear your conscience.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± Niles stopped, running a hand through his hair. ¡°You don¡¯t think I¡¯ve done anything bad, do you? By waiting so long to tell anybody?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    He looked at Henry for a long moment. ¡°Do you like hiking?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I invited you to this club, and I never even asked if you actually care about hiking or not. Are you going to come to the live meeting? I promise to make it more entertaining than this was.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re not being hunted like game by Lucy by then, I¡¯ll be there.¡±


    ¡°Here, take this. In case you need to get in touch with me.¡± Niles rummaged in his pocket, producing another blank business card. ¡°Thank you. You didn¡¯t help how I thought you would, but you helped me all the same.¡±


    Henry turned the card over in his hand, finding a phone number and an address scribbled on the back. ¡°This is unbelievable. Do you just carry these around with you at all times?¡±


    But Niles was already striding off in the other direction, looking back only to wave.


    ***


    Henry returned to the Hell on a Shell Bar with tired legs, an aching shoulder, and a dark cloud hanging above his head. To his surprise, the bar had emptied out. Only the regulars remained. Perhaps everyone else had their fill of the daily gossip. He took a stool beside Clair, ordered a beer, and began stretching out his legs.


    ¡°Long day?¡± she asked. A single half-empty glass sat in front of her.


    ¡°Long day.¡±


    Jamal, who by now had thrown a colorful apron on over his nice clothes, served the beer without comment and then hurried off to help Clint on the other end of the room. There was an exhaustion behind the man¡¯s eyes. ¡°For everyone,¡± Clair said. ¡°You heard the news?¡±


    Apparently not everyone got their fill. ¡°Is it true?¡±


    ¡°The sheriff herself came around a few hours ago to confirm it in person: Mathas Bernard died due to complications arising from blunt force trauma to the head, and the case has been re-opened as a homicide investigation. She also advised all of us to stop throwing around wild theories. Apparently it was a mixup over in Yungton that caused the confusion. You know, that¡¯s where the examination happened. There¡¯s no coroner here in the village.¡±


    ¡°You believe all that?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know why I shouldn¡¯t. Does seem like a massive fuck up, though.¡± She sipped her beer. ¡°You were asking about Beth Brihte, the other day.¡±


    ¡°I happened to meet her,¡± he said. ¡°Only curious to know how you felt.¡±


    ¡°I feel the same about Beth as I do about any of the Brihtes.¡± She drained her glass. ¡°You¡¯re not here to deal with any of this. You don¡¯t care about Mathas Bernard, do you?¡±


    Henry thought about that. ¡°I never met the man. I never knew him. Mostly, I care that everyone thinks I¡¯m here because of him.¡±


    ¡°Is that what¡¯s bothering you?¡±


    He took a long drink for himself, and then told her about his interview with Aria Bethel. He left out everything that happened afterwards, with Niles and Lucy Brihte.


    Clair slapped her palm down on the bartop. ¡°That¡¯s the problem with this place. Once these people think they know who you are, nothing can change their mind. I¡¯ll bet you anything that Aria thinks you¡¯re here to write a story on Mathas, and only want the job as a cover. Good luck making anyone hear reason on that.¡±


    ¡°It might be because she thinks I¡¯m a tourist, instead.¡±


    She waved that idea down. There was a spark to her now that he hadn¡¯t seen since his first night in the village. ¡°You want a job?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± he said, nervously, ¡°but not at the orchards or the fishery.¡±


    She leapt off her stool. ¡°Finish your beer.¡±


    Henry upended the rest of his drink. ¡°Just promise me there won¡¯t be any skipping this time.¡±


    Clair grabbed him, hauled him roughly out of his seat, and frog-marched him straight out of the bar and down the street. They ducked into the harsh florescent glow of Horizon Foods, where she released him into the fresh produce aisle. For a grocery store, the building was on the small side, but its shelves were narrowly spaced and densely packed. Most of the food was unlabeled, and there were very few price stickers. Only one check-out lane. ¡°Howie!¡± Clair bellowed. ¡°Where are you?¡±


    A disheveled man with thick auburn hair and a deep scowl showed himself from behind a potato display. ¡°Your shift¡¯s over,¡± he said.


    ¡°I found you a cashier,¡± she said, pushing Henry forward.


    The man considered him. ¡°I¡¯m Howard,¡± he said, pointedly emphasizing the name.


    ¡°Henry.¡±


    ¡°You have any experience handling money, Henry?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s good with numbers,¡± Clair cut in, ¡°and he¡¯s eager to work.¡±


    Howard¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°I¡¯ve been looking to fill that position for a long time now. A little longer won¡¯t hurt.¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow,¡± Clair said, ¡°is Mrs. Fevra¡¯s monthly grocery run. And I¡¯m coming in late.¡±


    Howard¡¯s mouth twisted, but he smoothed it again at great apparent effort. ¡°Okay, Henry, you can have it¡ªas long as you start tomorrow. I¡¯ll see you at nine in the morning.¡±

 1.13: Rambles and Brambles

    Henry learned several important things the next day, at his brand new minimum-wage job. Some of them came hard and fast, like the exacting intricacies of Mrs. Fevra¡¯s monstrously long monthly grocery list, and others came over time, like the reason the position of cashier at Horizon Foods had been so long vacant. Howard, the manager, met him in the morning with a wary look, and proceeded to treat him more like an adversary than an employee. Relevant details came out of the man like food from a starving dog¡¯s mouth, while anecdotes streamed out like water from an open tap.


    ¡°I¡¯ve lived in Tortus Bay my entire life,¡± Howard said, ¡°and I¡¯ve never been one of the chosen ones of the Brihtes or the Gauthes. Never had money. I¡¯ve watched a lot of people like me fall flat on their faces. They pump gas; they take tickets at the Plex; they wipe tables down at the bar. I run a grocery store. The only grocery store.¡±


    Later, he went on. ¡°What are you, twenty years old? Did you do a couple years at a Community College, or did you figure you¡¯d skip it altogether? Normally a job like this would go to a teenager, you know. How do you feel about achieving as much as a thirteen year old?¡±


    And later, still more. ¡°A lot of people get excited by a new face, kid. Something to stir the pot. But trust me, the cheese will settle eventually. It always does. And you got to choose if you want to end up sitting on the top of that pot, or the bottom.¡±


    While Howard talked, he ran his fingers through his thick auburn hair, until it lay flat on his scalp and his fingers shone with grease under the florescent light. Henry was the only other employee in the store, and the man seemed to never run out of things to say. It was unfortunate that not a single one of those topics related to instructions on how to operate a cash register. Questions in that line were met with suspiciously narrowed eyes, and indecipherable grumbles.


    So, he rang people up on a notepad. Howard watched, leaning against the wall, shaking his head like a disappointed father. Henry had worked his fair share of lousy jobs in the past. The repetition, boredom, and the constant low-level humiliation; it was like slipping on an old pair of gloves. But he thought he¡¯d left that behind. He never imagined he would be back. There was so much about his life now that he never would have imagined.


    People trickled into the store in a slow but steady stream, and Henry realized that he recognized a majority of them¡ªeven if he might not be able to recall any specific name. Such was the power of the AM Bazaar. From the way their eyes widened at his presence behind the register, he suspected they recognized him as well. The story of his new job would be known to everybody by the next morning. Would that finally convince them that he was an ordinary person?


    By the end of his shift, no matter his composure, Henry was ready to pull his hair out of his head and stick it onto Howard¡¯s slimy dome¡ªand he might have, if a familiar face hadn¡¯t walked through the door.


    Kara¡¯s hair was pulled back, and dark black smudges lined both of her bare arms, as if she¡¯d recently been working with ink, or charcoal. None of her tattoos were visible, hidden by clothing or the necklace she wore. She grabbed a box of cheese crackers and a case of beer from the fridges in the back, and jumped up on the counter while he ruefully readied his pencil. ¡°You hit the green button to start a new transaction,¡± she said.


    He jabbed the button, and the machine sprang to life.


    ¡°From there you can enter the price of the products, one by one. There are codes to tell it what you¡¯re selling, but you don¡¯t have to worry about that.¡±


    ¡°How do you know how the register works?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Worked a lot of jobs around the village, and there aren¡¯t that many to go around. I¡¯m guessing inHale fell through. What happened?¡±


    ¡°Current theories range from ¡®I¡¯m still too new to the area¡¯ to ¡®she thinks I¡¯m taking the job as a cover.¡¯ I don¡¯t know what happened.¡±


    ¡°If either of those are true,¡± Kara said, ¡°you could wait it out and try again later. It¡¯s not like you¡¯re going to want to stay here for too long. To make this job last, you have to meet Howie¡¯s obnoxiousness with an equal level of your own. Fight fire with fire. That¡¯s why it¡¯s just been Clair, and a constantly rotating cast of teenagers around here.¡±


    ¡°Well, at least it gives me something to do other than loitering around the bar.¡± He finished ringing her up and bagged her items, but she did not take them.


    ¡°How¡¯s the shoulder doing?¡±


    ¡°Fine. You haven¡¯t told anyone, have you?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± she said. ¡°Care to prove to me that it¡¯s fine?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly.¡±


    Kara hopped off of the counter, and scooped up her bag. ¡°I know you haven¡¯t had any luck with hospitals. Lucky for you, we don¡¯t have any in the village. What we have is the Brambles.¡±


    ¡°Is that some sort of home?¡±


    ¡°Teresa Bramble, and her daughters. They might not have all of the equipment, or the modern pills, but they¡¯ve been keeping Tortus Bay going for decades. It can¡¯t hurt to let them look.¡±


    ¡°It can, if they tell everyone my secret.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    She rolled her eyes. ¡°They¡¯re very discreet. Go whenever you like¡ªthey¡¯ll be expecting you. 41 Spruce.¡±


    With that she was gone, leaving Henry to stare blankly into space for the last ten minutes of his shift, before chucking off his uniform and wandering into the back. There, he found a truck docking bay and a storage space equally as large as the storefront. It was cold back there. Sitting at a desk by the door, staring into the blue light of an ancient, boxy computer, was Howard. ¡°You think you¡¯re coming back tomorrow?¡± he asked, not looking up from the screen. ¡°You didn¡¯t exactly take to it quick, did you? I¡¯ve seen worse, but lord have I seen a whole lot better. There¡¯s an art to the process that can take a while to learn, if you¡¯re not the sharpest cookie in the box. It can¡¯t be taught, but it can be observed, if you take my meaning, and¡­¡±


    At some point during that monologue, Henry quietly said ¡°see you in the morning,¡± and walked out. He swiped his new time card just as Clair entered through the front door, a knowing smile already plastered on her face. He stuck two fingers in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.


    ***


    Henry still had nightmares. Months of therapy helped, but he suspected that they would never fully go away. They were rarely of that horrible event itself, the precipitating memory that introduced the concept recurring nightmares into his life. But the anxiety, and the blood-clotting dread, were the same. Shapes and colors, or familiar faces talking about familiar things, but behind it all would be the dreadful certainty that he was about to round a corner to enter the school and see everything again.


    He sat up, drenched in thick sweat and free-flowing blood. Normally the wound in his shoulder kept itself dry, but a day of bagging groceries and lifting crates of pancake mix and peach preserves into Mrs. Fevra¡¯s station wagon had agitated the area. He caught his breath. He closed his eyes, told himself that it had only been a dream, and then he hauled himself onto his feet to get cleaned up. Paper towels and pressure would do the trick. They always did.


    Afterward, he was awake for the day. Although the sun had not yet fully risen, the pain radiating down through his arm was too great for sleep. So he sat on the edge of the bed in the hotel room he¡¯d now lived in for over a week. There was nothing to do. No television, no radio, and he hadn¡¯t brought any books along for the trip. He hadn¡¯t brought anything that didn¡¯t fit neatly into his backpack. The bar¡¯s kitchen wouldn¡¯t be open yet. There was simply nothing to do, but sit in pain.


    Kara told him the Brambles were expecting him at any time. Perhaps she hadn¡¯t imagined that time being the crack of dawn, but he could always take the scenic route over there.


    Henry bandaged his shoulder, dressed, and headed off down the rickety wooden staircase that wrapped around the bar to the street below. It was cold that morning. Not so much to be freezing, but enough to make fog of his breath. Summer would soon be over; fall rapidly approached. Unperturbed by time, he made his way slowly through the silent village. Not so much as a squirrel moved. As he walked, blue retook the sky.


    The house on 41 Spruce was not itself dissimilar to any of the others in Tortus Bay, but its front lawn certainly was. A sense of purpose existed there, beyond the growing and cutting of grass. One third of it was devoted to an overgrown garden, another third to a fenced enclosure with no visible animals, and the rest to a swingset and a set of aged patio furniture that sank into the dirt. Henry stepped over a welcome mat that said ¡®Check Your Feet,¡¯ let his eyes rest a moment on the sign in the window that said ¡®Fuck Off,¡¯ and knocked very softly.


    A woman with a creased face and billowing grey hair, wrapped in a colorful patchwork quilt against the chill, opened the door. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°My name is Henry Cauville,¡± he said. ¡°I was told you would be expecting me.¡±


    ¡°Come on in then,¡± she said, ¡°before you catch a cold.¡±


    If the Bramble House was creaky and old, then it more than made up for it with an abundance of human comforts. Built-in bookshelves ran along the hallway walls. Carpets depicting pumpkins, cats, and fanciful creatures covered the floorboards. Art hung everywhere, of such a variety of style and skill that Henry was sure it had all been painted by locals, if not the Brambles themselves.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to bother you so early,¡± he said.


    ¡°People come when they are hurting, and we are here to help. Whenever that may be.¡± She eyed him. ¡°Has your shoulder been hurting?¡±


    ¡°Kara told you everything.¡±


    The woman smiled kindly. ¡°I am not a doctor, but please understand that I take my patient¡¯s confidentiality very seriously. My name is Teresa, as I¡¯m sure you know, and I am glad to meet you.¡± She ushered him through the entrance hall and into the kitchen. ¡°I¡¯ve lived here in the village my entire life, as did my mother and her mother before that. And possibly her mother before even that, but who¡¯s counting at that point? You don¡¯t mind doing this in here, do you?¡±


    The kitchen was beautiful and white, with windows that caught the morning sun like rounded bowls of light. Fruits, vegetables, and herbs lay arranged around the countertops, and through the open pantry door Henry spied a treasure trove of sugary cereals and snack cakes. ¡°Do what, exactly?¡±


    ¡°Nothing more than you want,¡± she said, indicating that he should hop up on the dining table. ¡°These are my daughters, by the way. Sofia and Lola. Say hello, girls.¡±


    Henry jumped. He hadn¡¯t noticed the two other people in the room. Sofia, the elder of the sisters, was leaning in the windowsill with a steaming mug and an open book. She had long, dark hair and looked to be anywhere from sixteen to twenty years old. Lola was several years younger, and had a head of frizzy brown madness. She was sitting politely in a chair beside her sister, kicking her legs and watching the new proceedings with interest. ¡°Hello,¡± he said.


    The girls waved at him, and he turned his attention back to Teresa. ¡°Do you believe what Kara told you about me?¡± he asked. ¡°That I have a gunshot wound that won¡¯t heal?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°I have no way of knowing, so there¡¯s no reason for me to believe or disbelieve. But you are hurt, and need help. That is all that matters. May I see the shoulder?¡±


    Lola stared with open interest, and Sofia surreptitiously glanced over the top of her book, as he pulled off his shirt and undid that morning¡¯s hurried bandaging. ¡°It was bleeding when I woke up.¡±


    ¡°Is that unusual?¡± Teresa asked, circling him curiously.


    ¡°It¡¯s rare.¡±


    She reached out, and gently touched the skin beside the wound. Her hand was warm. ¡°It hasn¡¯t healed at all?¡±


    ¡°It closed up a little, at first,¡± he said. ¡°You can see, the back looks better than the front. Then it just stopped. The pain is always there, but it¡¯s been more bearable since I got to Tortus Bay.¡±


    Teresa frowned down at him, her arms crossed. ¡°Sofia, honey, will you grab the salve?¡± she asked. ¡°Top shelf, next to the balsam.¡±


    Sofia straightened, set her book face-up on the windowsill, and slipped out of the room. From where he sat, Henry could barely make out the figures on the sun-washed pages of the girl¡¯s abandoned book. What he saw was enough.


    Diagrams. Sketches. Strange words. And the shape of a curiously constructed leaf, etched out in pencil, that he had only seen one time before¡ªin the journal of Mathas Bernard.

 1.14: Digging Up Dirt

    Henry tried to convince himself that the two drawings were not the same. The first he¡¯d seen for only a second, while drunk and overwhelmed. The second, he could barely make out in the windowsill of the Bramble¡¯s kitchen. They were only leaves, above all; but somehow he was certain. Teresa bustled around, still wrapped in her colorful quilt, asking seemingly disconnected questions while she pulled various ingredients down from her shelves. How old was he? Where was he born? What was his grandmother¡¯s name? Did he enjoy the taste of peppermint?


    He answered them all automatically, his mind occupied with a more important question: how could he have forgotten that he saw the journal of Mathas Bernard? At the time, it had been a half-interesting curiosity from a recently deceased public figure. Now, it seemed a lot more important. Clues to the man¡¯s death¡ªhis murder, as it now seemed¡ªmight be within those pages. And Clair had mentioned nothing about it.


    Sofia, the elder of the two Bramble daughters, re-entered the kitchen with a tub of translucent paste. She handed it off to her mother, then perched by the window once more. Teresa piled the salve and her gathered assortment of ingredients into a bowl, and began mixing it all together with a large wooden spoon. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard anything quite like your situation before,¡± she said.


    ¡°Hm?¡± He pulled his mind back onto the topic at hand. ¡°Oh, right. Do you think you can help?¡±


    ¡°Today, I¡¯m going to give you something topical, to help with the discomfort, but you¡¯ll have to come back to me so that we can reassess.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate it,¡± he said. In the windowsill, Sofia resumed flipping through her book, and try as he might to stop himself his eyes repeatedly strayed to those pages.


    ¡°I¡¯m not promising any miracles,¡± Teresa said. ¡°It might take us some time to figure out what makes this thing kick.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t contain his curiosity any longer. ¡°What are you reading over there?¡±


    The look the girl gave him suggested that he had failed in keeping his voice casual. She flipped the book over to display a brown leather cover, complete with an ornamental brass latch. ¡°An old diary,¡± she said. ¡°I like to draw.¡±


    Lola looked back and forth from Henry to her sister, mouth slightly open. He coughed. ¡°That¡¯s great.¡±


    Teresa scooped her mixture into a small container, and pressed it into Henry¡¯s hand. ¡°Apply this to the front and back of your wound, once in the morning and then once again before you go to sleep. Keep your bandages fresh, and it should at least ease the pain. We can go from there.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± He pocketed the salve and pulled his shirt back on. ¡°Do I owe you anything?¡±


    She smiled as she took his elbow and guided him back through the hallway to the door. ¡°The Brambles have lived here for a very long time, doing what we do. We have never charged for it. The village pays us back in different ways. Perhaps you will stick around long enough to see what those are yourself.¡±


    ***


    The biggest advantage to having a cashier position at Horizon Foods was the unobstructed time if afforded Henry to think. At any given moment his job was to stand behind the register, and wait for a customer to appear. This was interrupted only ever briefly by the actual function of ringing someone up, taking their money, and engaging mild small-talk. The people of Tortus Bay, or at least that subset which came in to shop that day, seemed interested solely in sly remarks about how much nicer it was to pick up their groceries now that Howie wasn¡¯t involved in the process.


    Howie (or Howard, as he preferred to be called) was the biggest disadvantage to having a cashier position at Horizon Foods. The man made himself more scarce that second day, especially after learning that Henry had somehow figured out how to operate the register himself, but every five minutes in his presence felt like an hour. He¡¯d given up the jabs at his new employee¡¯s lack of intelligence, and moved on to self-congratulatory speeches¡ªinto which he inserted long pauses to allow his audience time to produce the appropriate verbal reactions.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Never married, myself. Had plenty of opportunities, and plenty of committed women, but none of them were right. It takes a lot of experience, and a good lot of wisdom, to realize that the women around here will never be right. Out there in the world, things are different. You couldn¡¯t imagine. Here, there are no more values. They want me to give them everything. And for what? Ah, it¡¯s nice to have another guy around for a change. No girlfriend, right? I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find a woman soon enough.¡±


    Clair arrived a few hours earlier that day, and took over from Howard. Apparently she was trusted enough to deal with the keys and the inventory herself. She set to stocking and organizing the shelves, her demeanor so much different at work than in the bar, and Henry watched her while he chased his thoughts in circles about what to do.


    Perhaps nothing at all suspicious was at play. Sure, Clair had access to the journal of Mathas Bernard¡ªbut there was nothing to tell him that she hadn¡¯t already gone to the sheriff with what she knew. Moreover, maybe what she knew was nothing. The journal looked a lot like it may have been an art project, or a piece of fiction. On the other hand, she had admitted to stealing it. Plus she had more or less claimed to despise the man, on the evening of his funeral.


    He could ask her, straight out. That would be the simplest way¡­ but what if she did have something to do with the death? She wouldn¡¯t tell him, and he honestly wasn¡¯t sure if he would even want her to, but it would certainly get him involved either way. It would show his hand. At best, it would call into question one of the few friendships he¡¯d managed to cultivate so far.


    By the time he swiped out that afternoon he knew what he had to do, even if the idea still sounded insane in his own head. He had to see the journal again himself. That way, he would know what was happening without having to involve anybody else. And most likely, it would be nothing.


    Henry whiled away time at the bar. He sat beside Clint, but the old man was in one of his gruff moods and didn¡¯t want to talk. The action of repeatedly raising glass to lip consumed him. Jamal was still busily explaining to anyone who would listen how he was the first one in the village the sheriff trusted with important news. True dark fell outside, Henry made a point of excusing himself to his room, and then snuck out the back way.


    Few people roamed the streets at night, but his heart thumped in his chest regardless. Nobody could possibly know what he was doing. Except Clair. He made fast time stealing through the village, and entered the park with a few furtive looks back over his shoulder. If anyone in the surrounding houses noticed him, they would be liable to notify the sheriff. That was an incident he was keen to avoid a second time.


    It took an hour for him to find the spot. His memories from that night were hazy, and crowded by more dramatic trappings. But by weak and occluded moonlight, tripping over exposed roots and repeatedly circling back on himself, he finally found that particular gnarled tree and the subtly displaced earth at its base. There he dug, and after a few minutes unearthed the old leather satchel.


    Inside, there was only the locket. Plain silver, with an emerald inlaid where a picture might have been, and the name Emmaline Cass engraved on the case.


    He dug a little deeper, meeting only worms and compacted dirt. He circled the tree, displacing bushes and removing sticks in the vain search for a second hiding place, but it was clear that Clair¡¯s cache had been emptied. Had Clair herself done it? Was this proof that she had brought what she had to the sheriff? Or was it emptied to keep him from doing exactly what he¡¯d just tried? Either way, why had the locket been the only thing left behind?


    What had Sofia told him about the book she¡¯d been reading? An old diary. Not necessarily her own. Henry tried to blink away his exhaustion. It was nearly one in the morning, and all he really wanted to do was sleep, but he knew that he couldn¡¯t leave this unresolved. If he had stumbled onto something important, it was his duty to report it as quickly as he could.


    Those were the things he told himself. They sounded logical. But as any night wears too long into morning, the power of the brain in the decision-making process weakens, allowing other entities to have their say.


    ***


    Henry trudged up the walk toward a small, but respectable, single-story bungalow in the northernmost part of the village. He hesitated on the walkway. Some small part of him knew that he was being rash. Nothing would change, if he left it for tomorrow. Then a light came on in the window, the warm glow of a living room cast forward on the blinds, and he was knocking on the door.


    The first reaction was the deep booming of a dog, followed by the scrabbling of nails on tile as it rushed to investigate the disturbance. A few moments later there was a voice, the sound of man and dog negotiating a small area, and then Niles¡¯ face appeared through an opening crack in the door.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to come over so late, but I needed someone to talk to.¡± Henry pulled the locket out of his pocket and held it out like it would be some sort of explanation.


    Niles seemed to accept it, still wrestling with the dog behind the door. A slightly stubby snout made it out of the crack, snuffling madly. ¡°Do you want to come in?¡±


    ¡°Is that okay?¡± he asked. ¡°Would I be disturbing anyone? Wife? Girlfriend?¡±


    He might have imagined it, but he would have sworn that Niles¡¯ mouth brightened into a smile for some fraction of a second. ¡°No. No wife, no girlfriend. Only me and Bruce here. Come on in.¡±

 1.15: Arresting Conversations

    Golden rays of sunlight roused Henry from a deep and dreamless slumber. He was laying on a beaten-in leather sofa in an equally beaten-in living room, with mushroom grey walls and brown carpet. A chipped glass coffee table held stacks of tattered fiction paperbacks. They were roughly sorted out into Romance, Mystery, and pulpy Sci-Fi. A book titled The Alpha Alien Patrol Saves Jupiter¡­ Again! sat on the stack closest to the couch.


    He found it comfortable, and comforting, after more than a week in the sterile and barren environs of the Tortoise Shell Inn. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a striped yellow armchair, upon which sat a spotted lab mix named Bruce. The dog regarded Henry curiously, head tilted to the side. His floppy ears twitched.


    ¡°Good morning.¡±


    ¡°Good morning,¡± Niles replied, rounding the corner and making Henry jump. Sleep still pulled at the man¡¯s puffy eyes, and his hair stuck straight up on the left side of his head. He bore two steaming mugs. ¡°Like tea? It¡¯s black, with raspberry and honey.¡±


    ¡°Sounds great.¡± He sat up, acutely aware that he was still wearing his outfit from the previous day.


    Niles looked from one graphic mug to the other. ¡°Do you want ¡®Judith with Holofernes¡¯ or ¡®Giant Squid Attacks City?¡¯¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the squid.¡±


    ¡°Thought you might.¡± He set the chosen mug down atop one of the more structurally stable stacks of books, and took his own back with him across the narrow hall to the kitchen. ¡°I¡¯m making omelettes, to thank you for the company last night.¡±


    A long night, during which they hadn¡¯t talked about anything. By the time they got Bruce settled down and Henry had apologized a hundred times for stopping by so late, exhaustion had taken them both. Niles insisted that he take couch. ¡°Why were you up so late, anyway? If you don¡¯t mind my asking.¡±


    ¡°I went down to talk to the sheriff. Had to stand in a line.¡± Niles spoke loudly to be heard across the hall and over the clattering of pans and the subsequent cracking of eggs. ¡°She didn¡¯t take me seriously. Didn¡¯t take a single note. She told me that everyone has their ¡®own theories,¡¯ and that she¡¯s ¡®investigating every angle.¡¯ Whatever that means. I was too anxious to sleep, after that. Until you showed up. It¡¯s good to have somebody who understands.¡±


    Bruce, belatedly recognizing that the target of his curiosity was awake, stretched his way out of the armchair and padded over to sit on Henry¡¯s feet. ¡°Were you close with Mathas Bernard?¡±


    ¡°I was. The man could be a bit arrogant, but he put his money into what he loved. Not anything that he knew even the first thing about, mind you, but the things he loved all the same. Plus, he always took me on for catering jobs. Take a look at that bookmark beneath your mug.¡±


    Henry scratched Bruce on the head while he negotiated his hot tea to safety and pulled an aged photograph out from within the yellowed pages of Alpha Aliens. It showed a visibly younger Niles, chin round and eyes bright, grinning over an elaborately decorated birthday cake. Standing beside him, giving a thumbs up, could be nobody but Mathas himself. The man was dressed in a suit that matched the grey tone of his receding hair, and there was a serene¡ªif somewhat distant¡ªsmile plastered on his face.


    A small group of people fanned out behind them, including Beth, dressed in bright yellow, and her sister Lucy, who looked as insubstantial as ever. Crowded around them stood several other people Henry didn¡¯t recognize, but who all bore the distinctive jagged jawline and dominant brow ridge that marked them as Brihtes. Behind them were a varied assortment of others, hovering a slight distance away from the family. The bald man from the Anderson warehouse waved. Aria Bethel glowered at the camera, and beside her Patty wore a confused expression.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about him a lot lately,¡± Niles continued. ¡°I¡¯m sure everyone has. Things like this don¡¯t happen very often around here. People tend to pass away from old age, and believe me when I say that age tends to be particularly old.¡±


    Henry swallowed. Seeing an image of Mathas Bernard made it real. A weight he had not noticed in his chest now dropped down to settle in his stomach, where it festered and kicked. A man was dead. Perhaps murdered. All he had managed to worry about was how foolish the village was acting, or how unfair it was that he was involved. Suddenly he felt silly, sitting there on a stranger¡¯s couch in his day-old clothes.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    The scent of egg, pepper, mushroom, and cheese filled the living room. Bruce drooled on Henry¡¯s leg. Niles continued to talk, his voice drifting in from the kitchen, apparently unconcerned with his audience¡¯s prolonged silence. ¡°I guess I did what I could, but I still feel like an idiot. I don¡¯t have any evidence. Nothing real.¡±


    ¡°We did what we could do,¡± he said, but it sounded thin coming out of his mouth.


    ¡°Then what was keeping you up so late last night? If you don¡¯t mind my asking.¡±


    He could have told him everything before, and saved him the concern over Beth Brihte. He should have. Henry pet the dog absent-mindedly while he told the story about his night in the park with Clair, his run-in with Beth at the cafe, and the mixed results of his excavation the previous night. By the time he was finished speaking he was sitting at Niles¡¯ alcove-style kitchen table, halfway through a delicious omelette.


    Niles toyed with the locket, thumbing it open to reveal the gem inside. ¡°Emmaline Cass,¡± he said.


    ¡°Does that name mean anything to you?¡±


    ¡°She was one of the original founders of Tortus Bay. The wife of the man who led the expedition that discovered this valley. If this really belonged to her, I know quite a few people who would be interested to know.¡±


    ¡°Do you know why Clair would have it?¡±


    A strange look crossed his face. ¡°The park was named after Emmaline Cass, not that you would know it. No signs, obviously. There¡¯s a lot of history to that name. A lot of things a person can¡¯t know until they¡¯ve been around for a while.¡±


    ¡°You keep saying that.¡±


    Niles closed the locket, and slid it across the table to Henry. ¡°I don¡¯t think Clair had anything to do with Mathas¡¯ death.¡±


    ¡°What makes you so sure?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve known her almost my entire life. She grew up here. She loves Tortus Bay. She used to love her job down at the orchards, too, until the fire. The Brihtes say it started on her shift; she says she wasn¡¯t even scheduled to work that day. Either way, it made her unemployable afterward. You can¡¯t imagine how hard it is to have an entire community, your only community, turn against you. But she would never have killed Mathas. She knew better than anyone what he meant to the people she loved.¡±


    ¡°I do know,¡± Henry said, ¡°what it¡¯s like for a community to turn against you. For what it¡¯s worth, I don¡¯t think Beth had anything to do with the murder either. Not after what she said to me at the cafe.¡±


    Niles was silent for a moment, but then nodded and took a thoughtful bite of his omelette. ¡°So where does that leave us?¡±


    ***


    Talking would get them nowhere. Taking no action would be unconscionable. Speaking to the sheriff again would be pointless, without some kind of proof. So the only thing for them to do was to find it. They emerged that afternoon into the dreary cover of black clouds, intent on doing what Henry should have days ago: speaking with Clair.


    Not ten yards from Horizon Foods they knew something was wrong. A throng of people were gathered there, in the street. The mob watched, silent, mouths hanging open as though they had interrupted some ongoing scandal. Two police cruisers were parked on the curb, flanking the fluorescent-haloed grocery entry.


    Henry felt what was going to happen even before the door opened. A uniformed deputy stepped out, clearing the way for Clair. Her arms were pinned to her sides, held on the left by sheriff Leia Thao and on the right by a second deputy. Together they hauled her forward.


    ¡°This is bullshit!¡± Clair screamed, straining against the twin vice grips. Her face was a curtain of red. ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything!¡±


    ¡°Clair Knoss,¡± Leia said, in a smooth and steady voice, loudly enough for everyone to hear, ¡°you are under arrest for the murder of Mathas Bernard. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say now can and will be held against you in a court of law.¡±


    The crowd broke into raucous murmurs. A few people nodded. Some jeered, and many others cheered. ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything!¡± Clair screamed again. She twisted and turned, dragging her feet on the pavement, but the officers pulled her on regardless. ¡°I can¡¯t have! I already told you!¡±


    Niles wasn¡¯t standing beside Henry anymore. He¡¯d stepped forward, placing himself between Leia and the police cars. ¡°What¡¯s happening here?¡±


    ¡°Make way,¡± the sheriff demanded.


    The unencumbered deputy stepped forward, and placed a hand on Niles¡¯ shoulder. Half of the crowd tried to peel back, away from the unfolding confrontation, while the other half pressed forward¡ªand in that moment Henry was stuck in the middle, shoved left and right simultaneously, unable to move. Leia¡¯s jaw tightened, and the deputy by her side let his hand fall to his belt.


    The moment passed. Niles raised his arms, and stepped aside. They marched Clair past him, her head swiveling frantically from side to side. Her eyes fell on Henry.


    She opened her mouth, a new brand of urgency written on her face, but then her lips twisted and she closed it again. The fight left her body. Leia folded her into the backseat of the squad car, barked at the crowd to disperse, and wasted no time vacating the scene.


    Henry and Niles watched their tail-lights disappear around the bend in the road, and with them their chance at an easy way forward.

 1.16: Crime Scene

    Clair murdered Mathas Bernard for revenge. She killed him in a fit of jealousy. She hit him by mistake, thinking he was his wife toiling away in the garden. Actually, Clair did it on the instruction of the beleaguered wife. She¡¯d always been a violent person. She was prone to sneaking out at night. After the burial, she dug the corpse back out of the earth.


    Those were the things Henry heard during his shift at Horizon Foods that afternoon. He suspected that the townsfolk were swinging through for little reason other than to try out their theories. Tod, the portly man from the Hiking Club, quietly asked how long he had known, and if there were any more surprises out there that he should be anticipating. Not a single person floated the idea that Clair might be innocent.


    ¡°You can¡¯t trust people anymore,¡± Howard, the store manager, told him. He leaned up beside the register, pointedly declining to assist in the growing line of customers. ¡°Those officers marched right in here, and took her out in handcuffs. Mid-shift! Can you imagine? Now she¡¯s really bitten the both of us.¡±


    ¡°Both of us?¡±


    Howard nodded. ¡°Me, obviously, because it¡¯s bad for business. And you, because now there¡¯s nobody else to do the re-stocking tonight.¡±


    Henry focused on getting through his line. Red cans of beans, orange blocks of cheese, boxes of cereal and crackers and nuts. He scanned, smiled, and made change, trying to tune all of the words out of his head. Again and again and again, for second after minute after hour, until ¡°they¡¯re not letting anyone in to see Clair.¡±


    Niles stood on the other side of the counter. ¡°The jail¡¯s locked up. Nobody¡¯s getting inside without a good reason.¡±


    ¡°Is that unusual?¡± He pretended to forget the code for the loaf of bread that Niles was purchasing, punching in random keys.


    ¡°Normally visitors are allowed. I don¡¯t know, it seems like they¡¯re really taking this seriously.¡±


    ¡°Would they let family in?¡±


    Niles looked haggard. ¡°She doesn¡¯t have much of that left.¡±


    ¡°We have to keep trying to talk sense into Leia.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s never going to take us seriously.¡±


    The line was growing restless. Henry keyed in the correct code. ¡°Then there¡¯s nothing else we can do.¡±


    ***


    The only problem with that verdict was that Henry himself did not believe it. He knew that there was one last thing he might try, but he reminded himself that the last time he¡¯d gone grasping for straws all he found was a useless locket. Uneasily he put the reckless idea out of his mind, focusing instead on the maddening task of re-stocking the grocery store. Whatever other virtues Clair might have possessed, organizational prowess was certainly not among them. Not a single crate in the storeroom bore any kind of indication as to what it might hold. Howard, smiling, simply dropped a key by the computer and left with the vague instruction for Henry to ¡°lock up behind himself.¡±


    He thought about walking out early. The job was demonstrably unworthy of the stress it had already caused. But then there was Clair, let go from a position she loved and afterward unable to find any other decent work. He knew how the village saw him already, a distracted outsider who couldn¡¯t handle or didn¡¯t need a serious job anyhow; would that image be indelible? A vision of his future self, still living off Jamal¡¯s generosity in room number 5 at the Tortoise Shell Inn, flashed into his mind. He shuddered, broke open another crate, and set to work trying to figure out whether he was dealing with potatoes or beets.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    When the main door opened, he assumed it was Howard coming back around to check on his progress. Kara¡¯s voice surprised him. ¡°Henry?¡± she called.


    ¡°In back.¡±


    ¡°Howie around?¡± she asked.


    ¡°All clear.¡±


    Kara entered, a frazzled look about her. Heavy bags hung under her eyes. ¡°I was waiting at the bar for you, until I put two and two together. Should have checked here first. It¡¯s a grim scene down there.¡±


    ¡°I thought everybody would be celebrating.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°Clint¡¯s beside himself. Vowed to never drink as long as Clair was locked up. That lasted about an hour and a half, then he changed tac and vowed to never stop drinking again. Things were starting to get out of hand when I left. Speaking of, why are you sitting on the floor in front of a crate of baby squash?¡±


    ¡°Baby squashes,¡± he breathed, rotating one of of the ribbed fruits in his hand. ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°You really are from the city, aren¡¯t you?¡± She put on a mocking accent. ¡°Those are cucumbers on your other side, cauliflower on your left, and about fifty cans of baked beans behind you. Those ones have their names printed right on the label, so you can¡¯t get confused.¡±


    Henry laughed. ¡°I suppose I deserve that.¡± She laughed along with him for a moment, but there was a distant look in her eyes. And that exhaustion, written all over her face. ¡°Are you feeling alright? You look a little rough.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. Do you still have that charm I made for you?¡±


    He pulled the chain out from under his shirt. ¡°Haven¡¯t taken it off. Is that why you hunted me down here?¡±


    ¡°No. And it wasn¡¯t for gossip, either,¡± she said, crossing her heart. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve had as much of that as you can handle, and you know I¡¯m around to talk whenever. No, I bring you something much better: an opportunity to avoid the shit-show currently developing down at the bar.¡± With a flourish, she produced a set of keys from her pocket.


    ¡°The apartment?¡±


    ¡°All yours.¡± Kara tossed him the keychain. ¡°You did have locks where you came from, didn¡¯t you? Big one¡¯s for the outer door, small one¡¯s for the inner door.¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, couldn¡¯t help it.¡±


    Henry¡¯s eyes stung. He swiped at them uselessly. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°I would do a lot more for a friend. And no matter how recently we met, I know that we¡¯re friends. That¡¯s something you can feel right away.¡±


    ***


    That night the black clouds that swirled over Tortus Bay broke into heavy rain, forcing Henry to pull his coat over his head as he made his way down the street. Past the park, the village ended. There were no more lawns, houses, or businesses; only the snaking street, which led him closer with every step to the crashing waves of the ocean. Wells of mud bubbled through the cracked asphalt.


    He drew up to the squat, abandoned lighthouse amid the onset of crashing thunder. This was where Clair claimed to have found Mathas¡¯ journal. She may have returned the offending article to hide her crime. Or, there might be something more interesting inside. More likely, there was nothing¡ªbut he could not know until he checked. And if she could get inside, that meant he could as well.


    The heavy iron door was not only locked, but barred. Henry circled the structure, trying to figure out how Clair had done it. There was no evidence of any previous entry. Had it all been a drunken lie? Besides the door, there was only a small, cylindrical window, about twenty feet off the ground. He began to climb.


    Crumbling stonework provided ample, if precarious, handholds. In the streaking rain his hands slipped against the jagged surface, his blood mixing with the sodden chalk. He angled himself atop the door-frame, sprang upward, and scrambled the rest of the way to the narrow windowsill. There, he stopped to breathe. Then he pulled the stone out of his pocket, and smashed the glass.


    Peels of thunder masked the noise. Henry slipped inside, finding purchase on the steps of a winding staircase. He flicked his flashlight on, and cast the beam of light up, where he saw that a good portion of the roof had collapsed. Fractured stone littered the stairs. He followed the detritus down to the base of the lighthouse, and more peels of thunder masked the noise of his scream.


    Thick, red-brown splashes stained the walls. Puddles of it gleamed in the exact center of a chalk circle on the floor. Books, daggers, and jewels lay scattered beside. The circle was surrounded by a dozen symbols, one of which Henry recognized immediately.

 1.17: The Festival, part 1

    Waves of shock and horror rippled through Henry¡¯s body, compelling him away. There was no thought. There was no plan. He scrambled back out of the broken window, half fell and half slid down the crumbling lighthouse wall to the ground, and took off running toward the village. Blinding flashes of lightning lit his path. A deafening tattoo of thunder urged him forward.


    The image was burned into his retinas, so that he saw it with every blink: dried blood on the walls, gleaming daggers on the floor, and those symbols inscribed in that ceremonial circle. He re-lived it every time his foot came down hard on the broken, muddy street. Rain soaked him through. He didn¡¯t know where he was going. There was nowhere he wanted to be. Nobody that he wanted to see. He wanted to be alone. And that was something he could do.


    Henry fumbled with the keys for a second in the downpour before he swung open the front door of the cherry-red house on Second Avenue. He emerged into the same skeleton of a building that it had been, but the portion that would be his apartment¡ªthe third story attic¡ªwas completely transformed. The floor was clear of clutter, the roof was sealed, and the walls had been scrubbed down and varnished. A bed sat in the corner, beneath the slope of the ceiling, and a small dresser stood beneath the circular window.


    He stripped his clothes off, let them fall in a pile on the floor, and crawled into the sheets. Kara didn¡¯t have to give him sheets. She didn¡¯t have to do any of the things she had. Henry curled into a ball and tried to focus his thoughts on Kara, or the apartment, or Niles, or anything except what he knew was sitting back in the abandoned lighthouse. Rainwater soaked into the bed. He¡¯d seen worse things. By far. Shouldn¡¯t that have made him tougher? Didn¡¯t the experiences of the past leave a callous?


    Outside, the storm raged. Wind bent the trees and lightning lit the sky. As it passed midnight, the day of the Golden Gull Fest dawned. Henry had long since forgotten seeing a reminder for the festival on the cafe bulletin board. It hardly seemed important at the time. If anything changed about the village, it was a subtle thing. Perhaps the ferocity of the storm ebbed, by a fraction. Maybe the air cooled.


    If he had managed to settle himself, he might have slept through the day and never known it to be different. Instead he tossed and turned, shivering, and sometime in the small hours of the morning rolled over to see Clair through the window.


    Clair, through his third-story window, floating unsupported in the air.


    Her face was placid. Determined. Then, almost curious. Her clothes blew back and forth in the wind, and her hair was plastered to her skull.


    Henry was no stranger to nightmares. He was familiar with persisting dreams and night terrors. This was none of that. He was awake. Questions flooded his brain, but in entirely the wrong order. How did she find him? What did she want with him? Did she know what he¡¯d seen? How did she get out of jail? How was she flying?


    Clair was calm. She reached out to touch the glass of the window with two fingers, and the pane opened inward. With a smile she made to move forward into the room, but then stopped. She was repulsed, as though the window were still firmly shut. Her smile became a confused grimace, and she tried again¡ªonly to be rebuffed a second time. She opened her mouth to speak, plainly mouthing the words ¡®what did you do?¡¯ but no sound came out.


    Kara¡¯s protection charm burned against Henry¡¯s chest. It seared into his skin. Clair¡¯s silent speech morphed into silent screaming, her eyes pleading. He stood, legs shaking, and took a step toward the window. She flew back as he did, as though pushed by a giant hand.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Did you kill him?¡± he asked. ¡°I saw the lighthouse. After all of this, was it you?¡±


    Another step, and she was forced further back. Her lips moved with desperate speed, but if her words made a sound then it was nothing to him. He strode to the edge of the window, naked save for the burning necklace, and she flew deep enough into the dark and the rain that he could no longer distinguish her form.


    For a time he stared after her, into the night. His mind was clear.


    ***


    Kara would know what was happening. She had to. And she had always been a friend. She would tell him what was happening, if he asked. She had to.


    Henry raced through the deserted streets of Tortus Bay, wearing nothing but a sheet hastily wrapped around his shoulders, with the single-minded determination that he would find her at the Anderson Warehouse. As he ran he kept a wary eye to the sky, but nothing bothered him from above beside the storm clouds.


    He knocked on the side door of the warehouse, and Kara answered it. She looked awful. The bags under her eyes from earlier in the night had stretched down through her cheeks, giving her entire face the impression of a bruise. Her hair hung in clumps. Her shoulders shook, and her knees knocked, with the apparent effort of opening the door. Everywhere her skin was paper-white and thin.


    Every other question left his head. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Get inside,¡± she croaked. She closed the door behind him, then leaned on it for support. ¡°Are you naked?¡±


    He glanced down at the thin, drenched sheet clinging to his body. ¡°A lot has happened tonight.¡±


    ¡°Up top,¡± she said, ¡°Ray keeps a spare set of-¡± and she collapsed, toppling over sideways.


    Henry sprung forward, and caught her before she hit the floor. She felt light in his arms. ¡°What happened to you?¡±


    ¡°Need to sit.¡±


    He helped her onto the warehouse floor, and eased her into the nearest chair. ¡°Is there anything I can get you?¡±


    She shook her head, and reached out for the charm around his neck. ¡°I thought you might try to find me tonight. This has been used, no?¡±


    The necklace was still warm. ¡°I don¡¯t understand what¡¯s happening.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t tell you sooner. Please know that I wanted to, as I¡¯m sure Niles and Clair wanted as well, but¡­ there are difficulties. Most of the people who come to this village only pass through. They leave, or are called away, well before the day of the festival.¡± Her voice grew weaker the longer she spoke, and her eyes drifted shut. ¡°They never get to see what makes it special.¡±


    He drew in a deep breath. ¡°Magic is real here, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Is that what you need to hear? Magic is real everywhere; you should have learned that when you got that wound of yours. Once a month, for a single day, it becomes more powerful here. We call it the Golden Gull Festival. Before you ask: no, I don¡¯t know why it¡¯s called that; and no, I don¡¯t know how it works. Only that it does.¡±


    ¡°So everyone in the village gets superpowers?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly. It comes to everybody differently. It doesn¡¯t come to some people at all,¡± Kara said, finishing the sentiment with a hacking cough.


    ¡°Does it normally hit you this hard?¡±


    She smiled, but her eyes remained closed. ¡°I make charms. They do nothing, for the majority of the month. They¡¯re only trinkets. Then on the day of the festival, every last one of them wakes up. All of that energy comes straight out of me.¡± She sighed. ¡°I know that¡¯s a lot to digest. It¡¯s understandable if you need some time.¡±


    It was a great deal, but somehow hearing Kara¡¯s words made everything snap into place in Henry¡¯s mind, and it wasn¡¯t overwhelming. Frightening, and new, but no longer crushing like the weight of an old secret. ¡°I didn¡¯t suspect, when my wound wouldn¡¯t heal,¡± he said, ¡°but like you say, it should have been a clue. The thought started building in me, when I left my home. My trip wasn¡¯t a straight shot to Tortus Bay. I had no idea a place called Tortus Bay existed. But everywhere I stayed, I never felt settled. There was always the voice inside of me, telling me to move on. Giving a direction, but never a destination.


    ¡°Even in Yungton, not too far from here, things weren¡¯t right. The unease followed me, so much that I began to consider that it was just a new part of my personality. But I talked to people. Eventually one of them mentioned Tortus Bay, but even with the name this place is hard to find. Not on any maps, is it? After a while I found a taxi driver who thought he might know something, and was willing to take the chance. I knew I was home, the second I stepped out of his car. Even in the pouring rain.


    ¡°So yes, I needed to hear you say that magic is real¡ªbut I¡¯ve known since I got here. And besides, I don¡¯t know if I have a lot of time for processing. I think I might be caught up in something dangerous.¡±

 1.18: The Festival, part 2

    There is no place safer that you could be, than here at the Anderson with me.


    Henry hadn¡¯t meant to fall asleep. At Kara¡¯s insistence he sought out the makeshift bedroom in the guttyworks of the Anderson Warehouse, dried himself off, and pulled on a baggy change of clothes. Then he sat on the cot, and found that he could keep his eyes open no longer. No matter what is chasing you, it won¡¯t be able to find you here.


    Now he rose, disoriented and exhausted. The rain had stopped, but not more than a couple hours could have passed. There was a tiredness in him that went beyond the physical constraints of his body. Magic was real. It flowed through the village every month. Clair knew how to fly. Kara made charms that actually worked. The crimson brand on his clavicle bore witness to that truth. How much deeper did it go?


    Henry stepped out on the scaffolding, beside the wall-length mural of the boy smoking a cigarette, and surveyed the empty floor below. Kara¡¯s voice trailed down to him from above. She sounded weak. ¡°Up here.¡±


    He followed her voice to a ladder against the wall that led him onto the roof. Dawn was fresh outside. Milky yellow clouds covered the sky, pushing back the fledgling purple of night. ¡°How long was I out?¡±


    ¡°Not long.¡± Kara sat on the edge of the building, her back propped up against a length of ventilation, looking out at the village. The bags under her eyes were darker than ever, and her skin shone nearly translucent in the yellow light.


    ¡°Did you haul yourself up here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not as bad off as I look.¡±


    He sat down beside her. ¡°Didn¡¯t you sleep at all? Aren¡¯t you tired?¡±


    ¡°Exhausted. But every time one of my charms activates, I can feel it. I won¡¯t be sleeping today. Nor will I be leaving the warehouse,¡± she said, nodding toward the horizon,¡± and I recommend you follow suit.¡±


    Henry followed her nod, and realized that he¡¯d been wrong about the sky. It wasn¡¯t a case of dawn¡¯s light pushing out the darkness. The sun was fully risen, but it did not shine down on the park. There, and only there, was something that he could only think to call a storm, swirling like a tornado, blotting out all light in its vicinity. ¡°What is that?¡±


    ¡°Nothing natural. I¡¯ve been watching it for a while now, and all I know is that it¡¯s not quite like anything I¡¯ve ever seen before.¡±


    A looming sense of dread settled over him. What were the chances that something like that would just happen to occur over the park? What had Clair been mouthing to him, only a few hours before? ¡°So this is weird, even by your standards?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Weird, and getting bigger.¡±


    And it was. Even as he watched, the edge of the black cone¡ªthe storm¡ªreached out to cover a few more trees. Beyond the park, the wind scattered garbage and detritus down the vacant streets of Tortus Bay. ¡°Kara, why are we the only people watching this thing? Where is everyone else?¡±


    ¡°Folk stay inside on festival day. It¡¯s an old tradition. They have their own things to do, or else they¡¯re frightened of what they might see.¡±


    Henry thought that wasn¡¯t entirely unreasonable. ¡°Isn¡¯t there someone we can tell?¡±


    ¡°There are no people left who would come.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going to happen? Will it just keep expanding?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid it might.¡±


    There were a thousand questions he wanted to ask. A thousand things that he needed to know. The storm raged on, expanding, its interior hidden by obsidian gusts of wind. ¡°Clair can fly,¡± he said.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°I think she might be dangerous.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°And she broke out of jail last night.¡±


    Kara looked at him. ¡°She did?¡±


    He did not return the look. His eyes were locked on the vortex. Every now and again, it cast out sheared leaves and shorn branches as evidence of the veiled damage it wrought on the park. ¡°I stole the locket she had hidden there. One with the name ¡®Emmaline Cass¡¯ inscribed on the side.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± She breathed out one long, slightly uneven breath. ¡°When an object becomes strong enough, it can come to belong to a certain person or place. I imagine that necklace I made you wouldn¡¯t fit so comfortably around another¡¯s neck. It knows you well enough, by now, that it would try to find its way back. And perhaps if you lost it, you would try equally as hard to reclaim it.¡±


    ¡°I have to go in there, don¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°You have to make a decision,¡± Kara said. ¡°Keep in mind that people can just as easily belong to their places. You were brought to Tortus Bay by feelings that you couldn¡¯t fully understand. I was the same way. Now, I belong to this village so deeply that I think the leaving might kill me. If you go into that park today, the same will happen to you. This village will become a home to you like a prison is to others. So you have to choose¡ªbut whatever you do, do it quick.¡±


    ***


    Henry wasn¡¯t sure if he was going in.


    For as long as he¡¯d held onto an inkling that there was something different, or bigger, about the world than what he¡¯d ever known, he never once imagined anything as different or as big as what loomed before him. The storm of obscuring darkness now encompassed the entirety of the park. It blotted out the sun, and scattered larger debris than ever: bushes, stones, and a small tree complete with upturned roots. Up close, the sound of the howling wind was deafening. So close, the black of the impossible storm was impenetrable and complete.


    Nothing would stop him from leaving. He was alone; there was nobody to see his cowardice. Thousands of other similar villages existed, and they would all be blessedly bereft of reality-shattering weather anomalies and magical jewelry. But he remembered, with perfect clarity, the sense of unshakable unease that had followed him on his journey away from home. He remembered the pain in his shoulder steadily growing worse, as the wound widened and bled. All of that stopped in Tortus Bay.


    Henry wasn¡¯t sure if he was going in, but like that day in front of Frida Middle School, his feet moved faster than his brain. Wind whipped his clothes against his body and stung his eyes. Dirt and leaves plastered his body. Then he crossed the threshold of the storm, and everything stopped.


    The wind died. Everything stilled. There was no storm here, wherever he was. It was dark, but he could see the towering trees which stood before him. He turned, and there was the village behind¡ªbut somehow muted. The yellow of the sky became a light grey, the facades of the buildings all uniform black. All was calm. Simple. Then, the howling of wolves rent the silence.


    First one, then another, and another, until the trees sang with the sound. They were too far away, for the size of the park. Henry shut his eyes and told himself that there couldn¡¯t be wolves, until their howling trailed off on a single, mournful note.


    It was like a dream. The wilderness rung in the silence left by the distant wolves. He walked through dense undergrowth until he was certain he would have passed through the length of the park twice over, but no matter how deep he went there was ever only the endless forest ahead. The leaf-strewn dirt underfoot shone grey in the faded sun, and none of the trees cast a shadow. He thought he might be going in circles. Then, another strange sound.


    Metal displaced air, followed by a faint grunt. Henry turned toward it, and the howling resumed. Louder. The wolves were close.


    He ran. The noise of swishing metal continued, but it was quickly overcome by the howling and the bone-chilling noise of claws ripping through dirt. When the first wolf leapt from the shadows, he broke into a sprint. The first one missed him. The second did not.


    White fur and yellow fangs hit him, but did not take him down. A powerful maw wrapped around his arm, and pain coursed through his body, but after a frenzied moment the wolf dropped back. His shirt, and flesh, were left intact.


    Again and again wolves leapt out at him, fur white and black and grey, tearing in turns at his throat and his legs. Angry red welts sprang up on his skin. A burning sensation radiated out from the marks, leaving him shaking and stumbling, but still he did not stop. One foot in front of the other. He slowed. The wolves cried. His saliva ran thick, dribbling out of his lips.


    With a furious coordinated attack on his hamstrings and red-raw throat, the wolves reached their crescendo. Henry took another step, and half fell out of the vast sea of trees into a small clearing.There, the world resolved slowly through the tears in his eyes and the ringing in his ears.


    A great old oak stood in the center of the clearing, a section of displaced dirt at its base. Beside the tree, Clair swung a metal pole wildly through the air. Two lumbering wolves snarled at her, haunches raised, ready to strike. But when she swung her weapon, they leapt back from its arc. Something at the tip of the pole glimmered, a light unlike anything else in the grey landscape, and the wolves treated it like fire.

 1.19: The Festival, part 3

    ¡°What the hell took you so long?¡± Clair spoke out of the corner of her mouth, all of her attention focused on the glimmering metal pipe in her hands, and the pair of wolves snapping at her heels. Neither of them looked away from her weapon, even as he stood exposed in the clearing.


    She was the last person he expected to see, and for a moment Henry was dumbfounded. After her dramatic appearance at his apartment, she hadn¡¯t shown herself again. Had she come straight here? Was she trying to help? His own trio of wolves hadn¡¯t followed him into the clearing, but the angry red welts they left across his body still stung. Above, the sky was a still and uncompromising grey¡ªone of the apparent effects of the growing storm which had engulfed the park, at the center of which he now stood. ¡°How was I supposed to know to come here?¡±


    ¡°I told you,¡± she said. With every swing of the pipe, she took a single step backwards, and the wolves advanced. In this way, they slowly circled the old oak tree in the center of the clearing. ¡°Through your window.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t hear anything you said.¡±


    Clair¡¯s eyes flicked toward him, and her attention broke. The larger of the two wolves hooked its snout beneath the pipe and jerked it aside, allowing the second to close in on the opposing angle. She took several stumbling steps back, feigning kicks at the drooling set of teeth lunging for her abdomen.


    Henry brought his foot down on a stick. The snap finally caught the wolves¡¯ attention, and both of them turned. Clair swung forward hard, driving the pair back together, and their balance was restored. One swing, one step back. One swing, one step back. ¡°It¡¯s that charm around your neck,¡± she said. Her voice was strained. ¡°Were you really that scared of me?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how I feel.¡± He watched her swing wide¡ªtoo wide¡ªand be forced to kick out again to keep the wolves away. ¡°I don¡¯t think those things are exactly real.¡±


    ¡°Real enough to me.¡± She jerked her leg, exposing torn cloth and blood streaking down her calf.


    ¡°Okay. Real.¡± He swallowed. ¡°How do I stop all of this?¡±


    ¡°You have to bring back Emmaline Cass¡¯ locket.¡±


    He held it up. ¡°Ahead of you there.¡±


    ¡°Try putting it back in the ground.¡±


    ¡°Are you making this up as we go along?¡± Henry waited for Clair and the wolves to round the far side of the tree, then darted forward. How scared were they of her metal pipe?


    ¡°I found that locket buried here,¡± Clair said. She spoke loudly, almost screaming, and the wolves stayed focused on her. ¡°It wasn¡¯t part of my stash, and I had the good sense not to move it. I might have figured you were an idiot, or a thief, but it was my mistake to think you wouldn¡¯t be both.¡±


    Henry fell to his knees at the base of the tree, and dug his fingers into the dirt. Fire shot through the welts on his arms, and his shoulder screamed in protest, but he knew he had to move fast. There was no other option. Clair slowly came around the other side of the tree, her assailants desperate in their attempts to push her back. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The hole grew. With an almighty effort he heaved aside fistful after fistful of earth, opening the space a foot deep, and dropped the locket inside. He held his breath. Nothing happened. ¡°It didn¡¯t work!¡±


    ¡°Go deeper.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    You have to trust me,¡± she shouted, ¡°dig down deeper!¡±


    He threw everything of himself into digging. He clawed, scraped, and tore, until he was coated in mud and three of his nails hung loose from his fingers. Blood flowed freely from his hands and his shoulder, streaking up and down his arms with the muck.


    Clair backed up to the edge of the rapidly deepening hole, and there held her ground. Her heels sunk in, and her body twisted left and right with her increasingly desperate deflections. The wolves fanned out, flanking her, striking out with less fear now for the glittering weapon.


    Several feet down he ran into thick, twisting roots. He tore through them with the remainder of his fingernails, until they too peeled back off his fingers. Then he bit in with his teeth, whipping his neck back and forth like a dog, swallowing mouthfuls of damp and wormy earth. The roots gave way, and the bloody nubs of his fingers met rotted wood as Clair screamed above him.


    There was no time for distraction. Henry peeled back the board like paper, uncovering a casket. He stared into the empty eyes of a flesh-less skull within. The tattered fabric of a decorative hat clung to her crown. Emmaline Cass. Buried beneath the tallest tree in the park which bore her name.


    With another strangled cry, Clair fell. Her body crumpled into the hole beside him. Blood dotted across her shirt.


    Henry reached forward with shaking hands, clasped the locket closed around the skeleton¡¯s neck, and closed his eyes. Any second, he was sure the weight of a wolf would come crashing down on him. Its teeth would sink into his neck.


    Nothing came. No weight, and no teeth.


    He opened his eyes to the full light of day, and the fresh scent of grass. The sky was clear. The storm was over. Clair crawled atop him, her body trembling and frail. Blood dribbled out of her mouth.


    She pressed her hand into his chest, and a bizarre look came over her weary face. Questioning, and then awed. The pressure of her hand increased, and then she was lifting off of him, raising into the open air like a feather caught in the breeze. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said. She soared further into the air, finally disappearing into the obscuring treeline.


    ***


    Henry pulled himself out of the grave, and lay sprawled on the ground. He looked up at fluffy white clouds. His hands bled, pulsing with spasms of pain. His shoulder was cold. His legs twitched. In the distance, there was a siren. Much closer, a rustling in the leaves.


    That¡¯s it, he thought, they¡¯ve come to finish me off.


    The rustling continued, but came no nearer to where he lay. Henry shifted his head, fighting fresh nausea at the movement, and looked across the way to a figure poking through the trees.


    The man looked back. He was tall, and old, with receding hair and a plain grey suit. Despite the extra years of lines on his face, Mathas Bernard was unmistakable from his photo. There was nothing in his eyes, and nothing in the slight smile that lifted his lips. He stepped back into the foliage.


    Henry let his head loll there on its side, musing idly to himself that he should be having a greater reaction. The man was dead¡ªyet there he was. And what of it? Perhaps it seemed blas¨¦, compared with the other things he¡¯d seen that day. Perhaps he was rapidly losing blood. There was no feeling in his hands. He listened to the sirens approach, and watched the flashing colors reflect on the bright green leaves.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move him. We have to be careful. Call Teresa, and tell her what happened. Yes. Now!¡± Sheriff Leia Thao¡¯s face materialized in front of him, coming together like a fuzzy jigsaw puzzle. Henry tried to turn his head, and a pool of black washed over his eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to be fine,¡± she continued. Her voice sounded confident, which he found soothing. It also sounded very far away. ¡°But I wouldn¡¯t look forward to it, if I were you. We have some questions that need answering, down at the station.¡±

 2.01: Accusations

    ¡°I want to make sure that I understand everything. You were brought to this village by a mystical and inexplicable force beyond yourself which you don¡¯t understand. You have a magical piece of jewelry which wards off evil. You fought off half a dozen wolves, and dug up the remains of one of our oldest founders. Let¡¯s see¡­ Clair is also a magical person. She can fly, and create glowing weapons to scare wildlife. Together, the two of you battled and ultimately defeated an otherworldly storm centered entirely around the local park.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    Leia rubbed her temples above a mountain of scribbled notepaper. ¡°Is there anything else?¡±


    ¡°You need to take a look in the lighthouse,¡± Henry said. The manacles had been sprung from his wrists, but he was under no illusion that he was at liberty to leave the minuscule interview room. One of the deputies stood guard on the other side of the door.


    ¡°Because I¡¯ll find the remains of some sort of Satanic ritual inside.¡±


    ¡°I never said anything about Satan.¡±


    The sheriff leaned back in her chair, and glowered. ¡°Do I seem like some sort of moron to you?¡±


    ¡°I never said -¡±


    ¡°What about how I act makes you think I¡¯m a moron?¡±


    Sweat beaded on Henry¡¯s forehead. His back ached from hours in a straight-backed chair. He didn¡¯t know how long he¡¯d been out, or how he¡¯d come to be in the Tortus Bay jail. ¡°I don¡¯t understand. You must have seen it.¡±


    ¡°Seen what? I didn¡¯t see any shiny weapons. I didn¡¯t see any wolves. I sure as hell didn¡¯t see any hole in the ground in the park.¡±


    ¡°That all went away!¡± he said, and she threw her hands up. ¡°But you saw the storm.¡±


    ¡°A couple of dark clouds.¡±


    ¡°It was a tornado.¡±


    ¡°You would think a tornado might have damaged a few trees. These aren¡¯t even good lies.¡± Leia slammed her open hand down on the table. ¡°You¡¯re wasting my time, and I¡¯m going to figure out why.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you the truth.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve clearly been hanging out with Kara. You think this is the first time I¡¯ve heard shit like this? I just can¡¯t figure out why she would get herself involved. She¡¯s always been smarter than that.¡± She folded her notes in half, and shoved them roughly into her jacket pocket. ¡°You helped Clair break out of this jail, and the two of you are doing something in that park. Was it a late-night rendezvous, or do you have something hidden in there?¡±


    ¡°Neither.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re being a smart ass, and it¡¯s not a good move.¡± Abruptly, the sheriff stood and opened the door.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°To check on a report about this lighthouse of yours. And when I hear that there¡¯s nothing there, we¡¯re going to continue our chat. You¡¯re not leaving until I have real answers.¡± She stormed out of the room, leaving the door open, and passed the deputy outside with a sharp ¡°watch him!¡±


    The man nodded, and stood a little straighter. Henry recognized him from outside of Horizon Foods, where he had helped arrest Clair. He had short-cropped dark hair, and a chin that disappeared into his neck. As Leia¡¯s footfalls trailed off down the hall, he fell back into his unconcerned slouch.


    ¡°You normally keep people in the interview room?¡±


    He craned his neck to look through the doorway. ¡°Your friend left a hole in the wall when she took off. Now the stonework is crumbling in both of our cells.¡±


    ¡°She left a hole in the wall?¡±


    ¡°Blew out the window, as far as we can tell.¡±


    ¡°And you think I had something to do with that.¡±


    The deputy peered down the hallway, waited for a beat, and then stepped into the room. He closed the door behind him. ¡°The sheriff thinks you did.¡±


    ¡°But you don¡¯t?¡±


    He took a seat, laid his right forearm down flat on the table, and lifted his sleeve to reveal his wrist. There, centered over his radial, was a tattoo rendition of Kara¡¯s protection charm. ¡°I believe you.¡±


    ¡°You saw the storm?¡±


    ¡°No, none of us did. The sheriff wasn¡¯t lying about that.¡± He shook his sleeve back out, and leaned back in the chair in an exact approximation of Leia. ¡°Per her instructions, we tend to stay inside on festival days.¡±


    ¡°Then why did you come?¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°We started getting reports about the oddities around the park early in the morning, and advised people to stay inside and away from the area. Then we got an anonymous tip that someone had seen Clair in the area.¡±


    ¡°You came to make an arrest.¡± Henry ran a hand through his hair. His shoulder throbbed. At least they hadn¡¯t asked him about that. ¡°I don¡¯t understand how the sheriff of a place like this doesn¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Kara didn¡¯t explain anything?¡±


    ¡°There was a storm.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± He rapped his knuckles on the table. ¡°It¡¯s difficult to explain. I¡¯m probably not the one to do it. Hell, maybe nobody understands it well enough to explain. But you¡¯re new, and you deserve something. I remember what it was like.


    ¡°We can¡¯t talk to outsiders about it. You¡¯ll experience that for yourself, at some point. But as far as I can tell, anybody who¡¯s been around long enough has the chance to see the magic. A lot of people choose not to. They¡¯re scared of it, or scared of themselves. It¡¯s only one day a month they have to close their eyes, and normally there isn¡¯t a tornado.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not following any of this. It¡¯s the people who don¡¯t have magic who refuse to see it?¡±


    The deputy shrugged. He raised his left hand, and passed it through the air. It left behind an arc of twinkling golden light, which hung suspended over the table for a moment before winking out of existence. ¡°It comes to everybody differently, and at different times. Most months, that¡¯s about all I can muster. Sometimes, nothing at all. Kara is famous amongst us because of what she¡¯s figured out how to do with her powers. All intuition, that. And a little experimentation, I suppose. Only the Bramble women are more powerful.¡±


    In another room a door slammed open, and the deputy jumped to his feet. He winked, pressed a finger to his lips, and slipped back out of the door in an instant. As it closed, rapid footsteps announced the return of sheriff Leia Thao. Her voice followed, shouting commands to ¡®tape off the area¡¯ and ¡®photograph everything.¡¯


    She barged back into the interview chamber without slowing her pace, and threw herself into the vacant chair. Her hair was tousled, her face the color of raw tripe. ¡°What made you break into the lighthouse yesterday?¡±


    ¡°I told you: Clair mentioned something about it the night we met, and I thought there might be something inside that could exonerate her.¡±


    ¡°So the two of you are working together.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not.¡±


    She leaned forward. ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you come straight here after stumbling onto a crime scene?¡±


    ¡°I panicked.¡±


    Leia exhaled through her nose. ¡°I¡¯m sure murders happened every day, back where you came from. They didn¡¯t even make it into the papers, did they? It¡¯s different here. We¡¯re a family. We take it more seriously.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t trying to be flippant.¡±


    ¡°I could press breaking and entering charges. Trespassing. Destruction of public property. Do you understand that?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed. ¡°You¡¯re not to leave the boundaries of the village. And if you see Clair again, you come straight to me with that information. No more panicking. I don¡¯t want any more surprises out of you.¡±


    ***


    Henry should have returned to Kara. He knew that. There was a lot that he had to tell her, and much more that he still wanted to hear. Instead, he found himself walking in the direction of Niles¡¯ house. Tortus Bay was still a ghost town. The shops were closed, the homes all shuttered and dark. He wondered what sort of magic was happening behind closed doors. He wondered if everyone was watching him, the only moving figure on the street. Some kind of festival.


    Niles opened his door with Bruce bounding at his heels, an apron slung over his shoulder, and a tray of chocolate muffins in his hand. ¡°Henry! What are you doing outside?¡±


    He blurted it out, without thinking and without warning. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me anything about magic?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± His eyes widened. ¡°I couldn¡¯t. Whatever it is, we can¡¯t say anything about it to outsiders.¡±


    ¡°So you didn¡¯t even try?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Niles said. Bruce whined, trying to squirm through his legs. ¡°Will you please come inside?¡±


    ¡°Kara at least tried to say something. I didn¡¯t understand it at the time, but she tried.¡±


    ¡°If people see us outside, they¡¯ll call the sheriff.¡±


    ¡°What is it with you all?¡± Henry didn¡¯t mean to shout, but couldn¡¯t stop himself. ¡°You can¡¯t go outside at night, you can¡¯t go outside during your festivals; what are you afraid of out here? Kara? Teresa Bramble and her daughters?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how it¡¯s always been. Please, just come inside. I promise to tell you everything that I can.¡±


    He stepped through the door, begrudgingly scratching Bruce behind the ears on his way in. The dog didn¡¯t do anything wrong. ¡°So you¡¯re able to talk now?¡±


    They stood facing one another in the entryway, Bruce twirling in circles between them to press his wet nose against their legs in turn. ¡°None of us are able to talk about -¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t really care about that,¡± Henry said. ¡°I want to know why you pretended that you needed my help with Lucy Brihte, when you knew full well that I had no clue what was really going on in this village.¡±


    Niles missed a beat, his mouth hanging open. Then he swallowed, and snapped it shut. ¡°I liked you. You were interesting. I¡¯ve liked a lot of people who¡¯ve come through Tortus Bay¡ªwho turn out to be only passing by. I didn¡¯t want you to leave. I thought you were a journalist, and I wanted to give you a reason to stick around. Then it¡­ well, then it got more real.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do with that.¡±


    ¡°Will you take a muffin?¡±


    They were still warm from the oven. He took a large bite, and rich chocolate flooded his mouth.


    Niles watched him eat. ¡°When¡¯s the last time you had any food?¡±


    ¡°A while.¡± Henry wolfed down the rest of the muffin, and wiped his mouth. ¡°Is this what you do during every festival?¡±


    ¡°I bake whenever I have free time. And this has sort of become a holiday for me.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯m sorry to interrupt.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous.¡±


    ¡°Are they magical?¡± he asked. ¡°The muffins. Is that what you do?¡±


    A timid smile bloomed on Niles¡¯ lips. ¡°I¡¯ll take the suspicion as a compliment. I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve never been able to create sparks, or make plants grow, or anything like that. But I¡¯ve also never tried to do any of those things. It¡¯s not all crazy here, it just gets a little weird every now and again.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d hate to live somewhere that wasn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to be able convince you to hang around for a while, am I? Maybe tell me about what happened?¡±


    Henry shook his head. ¡°There¡¯s a lot I still have to do.¡±


    ¡°Then promise that you¡¯re still coming along on the hiking trip. Get some rest, and we can talk more.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s important to me that the people in my life are honest.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never lied to you about anything that I could tell the truth about.¡±


    Henry skirted around the slobbering Bruce, and reached for the doorknob. ¡°I¡¯ll think about the hike.¡± He stepped out into Tortus Bay, and the world fuzzed around the edges. The buildings tipped, left and right, coming in and out of focus.


    He made it halfway down the street before the exhaustion caught up forced him to a crawl. The welts on his body faded just the same as the wolves which left them, but the pain persisted. He spat out thick, rusty saliva. There was only so long he could go on adrenaline alone.

 2.02: Theories and Explanations

    Henry slept for a long time, and while he slept he dreamed. He saw his mother¡¯s face. His father¡¯s. He ran through the streets of his old hometown until he road names all became unfamiliar and the buildings shrank to single-story boxes. Tortus Bay. He spun, swung, and raced back off in the opposite direction, but the village stretched on forever. The sidewalk stretched on forever.


    And it had teeth. Long rows of razor sharp fangs, sprouting inward from the edges of the white cement. He leapt, landing on the black asphalt of the street¡ªwhich squished under the weight of his feet. A tongue. He turned again, to sprint away, but it was too late. He fell weightless into the yawning maw.


    Kara was there. She was telling him something important. Clair hovered above her. She was also telling him something important. Their voices overlapped, their words combining into nonsense. Magcedome. Trabay. Desope.


    Then there was Niles, ducking into a doorway. Niles, stepping into an oven. Niles, climbing atop the Tortus Bay Inn with Jamal and Diana. Niles, standing at the end of the street.


    When Henry finally woke, he wasn¡¯t sure if it was the gentle rapping on his bedroom door or the persistent twinge in his lower back which roused him. Regardless, he pulled himself out of bed and blearily answered the knocking. ¡°You were just in my dream,¡± he said.


    Kara¡¯s eyebrows arched. ¡°Impossible. I¡¯ve been out here the entire time.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m awake?¡±


    She kicked him in the calf, and he jumped back with a yelp of pain. ¡°Sorry, that¡¯s the only thing that works. Trust me, I know. I also slept the entire day away.¡±


    ¡°Wait. The whole day?¡± He tripped his way over to the window and pulled back the blind to reveal the yellow light of dawn.


    ¡°And night.¡± She held up a greasy take-out bag. ¡°Breakfast?¡±


    ***


    He filled her in on everything that had happened over their well-deserved meal of beef tongue tacos and their subsequent walk across the village to the Inn. There, they collected everything that he owned (which amounted to two large armfuls), paid up with a grateful Diana, and offered their farewells to Jamal.


    ¡°I knew you were gonna stick around here,¡± the man said. He smiled. ¡°Had that feeling from the first moment I laid eyes on you.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. I appreciate everything you¡¯ve done for me.¡±


    Jamal winked. ¡°You do like keeping your secrets though, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°You think I''m much more interesting of a person than I actually am.¡±


    With the entire contents of room number 5 divided up between them, Henry and Kara trundled back toward his new apartment. There they returned to the matter at hand. ¡°You¡¯re sure you saw Mathas Bernard?¡± she asked, softly. A large number of people milled about the street.


    ¡°I¡¯ve only ever seen him in a picture, but he was the spitting image. There¡¯s no long-lost twin brother, is there?¡±


    ¡°Not that I¡¯m aware of.¡±


    Henry smiled at a throng of older women outside of the Double S, shrugging at his backpack to indicate that he was unable to stop and chat. ¡°Is the other thing possible? Could he be¡­ back?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± She was quiet for a moment. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. But I couldn¡¯t say for sure.¡±


    ¡°A deputy down at the station told me that you¡¯re one of the most powerful in the village.¡±


    Kara side-eyed him. ¡°Taylor. He¡¯s an alright guy, despite being a cop. Would turn the village into a coven, if he had the chance.¡±


    ¡°So why doesn¡¯t he? What¡¯s stopping him from throwing some sparkles in the air in front of all the people who don¡¯t believe in magic, and giving them no other choice?¡±


    They took a break in the entrance hallway, dropping their bags on the floor and leaning up against the stripped bare walls. Sleeping for a day and a half takes a surprising amount out of a person. ¡°I have a theory. But everything from here on out is speculation,¡± she said. ¡°Nobody knows exactly how it all works.¡±


    ¡°Theories are better than nothing at all.¡±


    ¡°The magic here selects people it wants to gift. Broadly, by drawing certain people to the village, and more specifically by imbuing certain individuals with more or less strength every month. I think on a similar level, the people who aren¡¯t supposed to know aren¡¯t able to know.¡±


    ¡°So something would miraculously stop me, if I wanted to walk up to the sheriff and dazzle her with a light display?¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°By all means, be my guest and try it out. That¡¯s never how my magic has worked.¡±


    Her explanation certainly made more sense than the deputy¡¯s. ¡°How did you figure all of that out?¡± he asked. ¡°How long were you here before it started coming to you?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s hard to say. I¡¯ve always been into the arts¡¯n¡¯craft bullshit. Been making little pendants and bracelets for people since I was a little kid. When I got here, I just continued to do what I¡¯d always been doing. Eventually I realized that they were coming alive on the Festival days. Teresa helped me from there, with the specific iconography. With the intentionality.¡±


    ¡°Is she the person to go to, if I want to find out if I can do anything?¡±


    Kara grinned. ¡°She won¡¯t turn you away, but there¡¯s not a lot that she can do until you have something to go on. Something other than a persistent shoulder wound.¡±


    Together, they made quick work of unpacking all of Henry¡¯s belongings and splaying them out around his small attic room. The dresser, miniature as it was, held all of his clothes with room to spare. If it now looked occupied, then it was by the thinnest of margins.


    ¡°You need some decorations. This is sort of depressing.¡±


    He surveyed the space. ¡°I was never big on that sort of thing.¡±


    ¡°New place, new life.¡± She took a seat on the floor beside the mini fridge, popped it open, and tossed him a tall yellow can. ¡°Cheers to the easiest move I¡¯ve ever been a part of.¡±


    ¡°Cheers.¡±


    Kara took a deep drink. ¡°So, let¡¯s assume for a moment that the man you saw in the park wasn¡¯t a doppelganger or a twin.¡±


    ¡°Or an illusion, like the wolves.¡±


    ¡°Right. That would leave us with the real Mathas Bernard wandering around Tortus Bay.¡±


    He sat on that. ¡°Is it something that Clair did?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t feel right. She doesn¡¯t have any love for Mathas. Or any Brihte, for that matter. And her magic¡­ she¡¯s been an angry person, for some time now. I¡¯m not saying she doesn¡¯t have that right, but on Festival days she tends more towards concentrated bursts. Like blowing out the wall in a jail cell.¡±


    ¡°He showed up right after the storm went away, and she was the only other person around at the time. Other than Emmaline Cass¡¯ corpse.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s interesting, as well. All of this started because the locket was removed from Emmaline¡¯s resting place.¡±


    ¡°Supposing it¡¯s really her body. We didn¡¯t exactly do any forensics.¡±


    ¡°We might know more about that soon enough. Somehow, word got out that our most famous founder might not be buried where we think she is. They¡¯re set to exhume the grave, to quiet everyone down.¡±


    ¡°That seems fast.¡±


    Kara chuckled. ¡°Rumor is, sheriff Thao is beside herself. Not too happy about letting her prime suspect get away. And the eldest living descendant of Emmaline Cass, our Mayor, was happy to oblige. To help put things at ease.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know Tortus Bay had a Mayor.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Noel Gauthe. It¡¯s mostly a ceremonial position.¡±


    ¡°Gauthe.¡± One of the two big family names in the village. ¡°That does run deep. Who exactly was Emmaline Cass?¡±


    ¡°Alright, let me show you something.¡± She pulled herself onto her feet. ¡°Feeling limber?¡±


    ¡°Not particularly.¡±


    ¡°Then pay close attention.¡± Kara slid open the window, and stuck her head out as if looking for something. She planted her feet on the sill, took hold of the overhanging eave, and hauled herself in one easy motion on top of the roof. Henry poked his head out after her, and she dropped a hand for him. ¡°Thought you were supposed to be good at this.¡±


    He took hold, gripping with his good arm. ¡°Only got about one a year in me.¡±


    She pulled him up, and they arranged themselves on the bleak, mossy grey tile. ¡°It¡¯s a good place to come, just to be. Not to mention the view.¡± They were facing the endless swell of trees outside of the village, rather than the ocean. She pointed. ¡°Do you see that?¡±


    Henry focused, and thought he might. There was something white, pointing up above the treeline, not too deep into the forest proper. ¡°What is that?¡±


    ¡°Emmaline Cass¡¯ headstone. Technically the tallest structure in the village. That¡¯s the old graveyard. Strictly for the famous. If you or I die, our bodies will be shipped off to Yungton¡ªmark my words.¡±


    ¡°Okay, I believe you: she was a big deal. What¡¯s her story?¡±


    ¡°Apocryphal,¡± she said. ¡°Or, hell, Tortus Bay being what it is, maybe not. They say she came along with the first families who settled the area. There were boom times then, in the beginning. The village was strategically located along the coast, and for a long while the soil remained fertile. Everything looked perfect.


    ¡°In time some nearby communities started to fail. There are ruins still, supposedly. Nobody thought much of it at the time. Founding a brand new settlement is hard, and some failures are expected. But with every one that winked out, the trek time from Tortus Bay back to civilization became that much more arduous. Maybe nobody was paying attention, or maybe they thought their own fortunes couldn¡¯t be reversed. The village became stranded.


    ¡°And then, of course, their luck turned. Crops failed. A brutal winter made the waters impassable. Wolves pushed in from the surrounding woods. After months of hardship, even the steeliest of the bunch understood that there was nothing more to be done. But they also knew that they couldn¡¯t get everyone back to the nearest settlement alive. So it goes that the leader made a choice, and announced to his people that only the strongest amongst them would make the trip.


    ¡°None of the children. None of the women. None of the sick, or the frail. Emmaline¡¯s husband left her, as did her son. She cursed them for their cowardice all of the way out of the village.


    ¡°They suffered, those who were abandoned. They were left with little food, equipment, or defenses. Easy prey for the cold, and the wolves. Nobody knows how long they held out in that state, but in the end Emmaline snapped. She wouldn¡¯t go out like that. It would be by her own terms. So she stripped herself of what little she had, said her final goodbyes, and walked one afternoon into the freezing ocean.


    ¡°That night the waves rolled back crimson, staining the beach all the way up to the doorstep of the nearest house with the color of her blood. The water warmed, and stayed warm for the rest of the winter. Fish returned. Wolves continued to roam around the village at night, but they no longer picked off stragglers. Instead, it is said that they left strips of fresh deer meat in the alleys.


    ¡°Tortus Bay recovered, and survived¡ªand it was all thanks to the sacrifice of Emmaline Cass. Everything we have here is due to her.¡±


    Henry leaned back, peering out at the exposed tip of the woman¡¯s elaborate headstone. It was a good story. It was a somewhat familiar story. ¡°If that¡¯s true,¡± he said, ¡°how do we have her body at all?¡±


    Kara looked over at him. ¡°You know, I never thought about that.¡±

 2.03: Leaves and Lips

    Despite everything he now knew, Henry felt no more informed than he did the first time he stepped foot in Tortus Bay. Every answer led to another ten questions, and nobody would speak to him with authority. All he got were rumors, stories, conjecture, and ritual. He would have been mad, but he¡¯d seen the magic work regardless.


    He considered that for a moment, and decided that he was still mad. Ugly purple bruises lined his fingers, his shoulder wound looked no better despite days of soothing ointment, and streaks of pain still occasionally seared across his body along the shadows of the welts the wolves left. The pain was a constant dull throbbing. He grumbled it about it all the way across the village that afternoon, and into the heavy canopy of the surrounding trees.


    There, he quickly found the huddled mass of the Tortus Bay Hiking and Wilderness Appreciation Society. They were a conspicuous lot, with their festive shirts, cameras, and binoculars. Like a flock of stranded tourists. Already a few of them were looking around nervously, even though they were hardly ten paces into the woods.


    Niles peeled himself away from the group and waved at him as he approached. ¡°You¡¯re here!¡±


    Henry reminded himself of all the sleuthy and incredibly legitimate reasons he had to be joining the hiking society on their trek that day, despite the ache in his shoulder and hands, but he was saved from having to speak by the abrupt appearance of Lucy Brihte. She was the same whispery, aloof presence as he remembered, speaking more to the horizon of trees than to any of her congregated club-mates. ¡°Is that everyone now?¡± she asked. ¡°Are we free to move forward?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Niles looked down at his feet.


    ¡°Today, our only goal is to explore. The paths through these storied woods have been eroded by time and disuse, and they need our attention. As we walk, try to listen to the earth. The animals. Keep yourself open to it. Take your pictures. Document your birds. Together we will rediscover the heartstrings that our forebears birthed here.¡±


    Lucy was more herself in the company of trees. No more cogent, perhaps, but passion and confidence came through in her voice regardless. She led the group forward into the light undergrowth, following the faded grooves of an old wagon path, and Henry filed in at the back of the ranks.


    Inevitably, Niles dropped back to walk beside him. He was dressed for the occasion, in a pair of lime green shorts and a v-neck that showed a glimpse of smooth skin with a prominent clavicle. ¡°I¡¯m glad you decided to come on the hike.¡±


    Henry kept his head pointed forward. The TBHWAS made slow progress along their chosen path, due to the tendency for half of them to stop and take pictures of moss, and for the other half to then admonish the photographers for scaring away the birds. ¡°I didn¡¯t follow along with Lucy,¡± he said. ¡°What are we supposed to be doing out here?¡±


    ¡°Supposedly there are tons of hiking paths around here. There used to be other villages in the vicinity, you know, and folk would walk back and forth between them. But a lot of those paths are gone, all of their signage lost. If there was ever any signage to begin with. So we¡¯re trying to determine where our resources are best spent, in terms of resuscitating some of that.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Why didn¡¯t she just say so?¡±


    ¡°She has her own way of things.¡±


    Lucy turned and halted the group as soon as they were out of eyesight of the edge of the woods. Tod, the corpulent man who spoke with Henry at the last meeting about birds, clutched his binoculars to his chest with white-knuckle intensity. ¡°Remember to pay close attention to the heart of the wilderness,¡± she said. ¡°We will follow the path which calls out to us most clearly.¡±


    ¡°I think Tod might have a heart attack,¡± Henry whispered. ¡°Haven¡¯t you guys done this before?¡±


    Niles stifled a laugh. ¡°Not really. The club used to be for talking about local environmental concerns, until Lucy took an interest in it. Now we¡¯re trying to be more active.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re all scared of wolves.¡±


    ¡°Is that unreasonable?¡± The group set off again, at a comfortable crawl. Niles and Henry kept pace behind them, walking in silence for a time.  ¡°If you came here for the woods, I can leave you alone.¡±


    Henry was surprised how easy it was to talk with him¡ªand annoyed, because he was still supposed to be mad. ¡°Kara mentioned something about an old graveyard around here.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. The only one we have. Is that what you want to see?¡±


    He pulled up short. ¡°Would that be possible?¡±


    ¡°Officially speaking, I¡¯m the group cartographer.¡± Niles tapped a bulge in the pocket of his shorts. ¡°It¡¯s up to me to map out what we see, and help Lucy with the ultimate decision about which paths are worth our investment.¡±


    ¡°Is there an ¡®unofficially speaking?¡¯¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°I think we can get away with a little excursion.¡±


    They slowed their pace even further, distancing themselves from the rest of the pack. ¡°You know the way?¡±


    ¡°They didn¡¯t make me the cartographer for nothing.¡±


    In due time the colorful mob of the TBHWAS trailed out of eyesight, and Niles took them off in the other direction. They picked their way through sparse shrubbery, forgoing the path to make better time. Birdsongs and the skittering of squirrels filled the void of idle chatter and shuttering cameras. ¡°Lucy¡¯s really into the heart of the forest.¡±


    ¡°Always has been,¡± Niles said. ¡°She used to come walking out here alone, before anyone else was brave enough to join her.¡±


    ¡°What changed?¡±


    ¡°She never got eaten.¡±


    As they approached the old graveyard, Emmaline Cass¡¯ ludicrous headstone rose out from the tops of the towering trees like a beacon. ¡°Is she talking about magic?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to tell. Some people just talk like that. And as someone who stays inside on Festival days, it can be hard to know.¡± Niles stopped, breathed, and looked Henry in the face for the first time that day. There was anxiety written all over it. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I never told you about the Festival. I¡¯m sorry that I didn¡¯t even try.¡±


    They stood in a sliver of light amidst the shade of the trees. For a moment, all of the various sounds of the surrounding wildlife ceased. ¡°That wasn¡¯t the point.¡±


    Niles took a step toward him, palms upturned. ¡°Then what is it?¡±


    ¡°My god, it¡¯s hard enough as it is. Did you have to erect the false pretense? Did you have to make me wonder if this thing only existed on my side? The first time I saw you, it was through the kitchen window of the Hell on a Shell Bar. I don¡¯t know if you saw me that night, but I was taken with you. Then, off all things, you came to me. But it was to invite me to a hiking club. It was to help you with a piece of murder trivia that you didn¡¯t need help with at all.¡±


    He blushed like a strawberry, blooming from his chest out to his arms and up his neck. ¡°I saw you, that first night.¡± His voice was quiet. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have misled you.¡±


    Henry closed the distance between them, and there was a moment of heat. An instant of anticipation so strong that it twisted his stomach. Then their lips briefly brushed, and parted. A second to breathe. And back together again. Something strong uncurled in his core, telling him to push Niles back against one of the trees. They both wanted it. At the same time, something in his chest told him to stop. He broke the kiss, and stepped away.


    Niles steadily progressed beyond strawberry, going the color of a dark cherry from the tips of his fingers to the lobes of his ears. He looked down at the ground, and smiled broadly. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to presume.¡±


    ¡°A little bit wouldn¡¯t have hurt anybody.¡±


    ***


    The old cemetery turned out to be a relatively small plot of land which had been almost completely overgrown with vines and moss. An ornamental fence ran around the circumference, but it was decrepit with age and would have kept nobody out by itself. The police tape sectioning off the area looked far more imposing. ¡°They¡¯re exhuming Emmaline¡¯s grave,¡± Henry explained. He and Niles kept to the treeline, despite the fact that the graveyard was currently empty.


    ¡°That makes it a crime scene?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. If someone really dug her up.¡± Approximately a dozen plots comprised the space, their ornamentation ranging in pomp from a simple white cross to the towering plinth of the most famous Cass herself. Up close, it resembled the trunk of a tree¡ªround and gnarled, but constructed of immaculate white marble. Delicate inscriptions ran up the length of the headstone, some meant to be the waves of the wood, and some meant to be words, but it was not always easy to tell the two apart. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful.¡±


    ¡°Pride of the village. Carved by a local, or so the legend goes.¡±


    The inscription of her name was clear enough, but the dates of her birth and death were partially worn away. Beneath that, a quote was rendered illegible by curlicues and decorative twirls. Henry stepped out of the trees, and over the police tape. Something different had caught his eye. ¡°What is that?¡±


    Niles hung back, behind the line. ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen that before.¡± Ten feet off the ground on the southern face of the headstone, all of the swirling converged on the image of a many-fingered leaf with one smooth side, and one jagged. ¡°It was in Mathas Bernard¡¯s journal, and a book that one of the Bramble daughters was reading.¡±


    ¡°Aldounis,¡± Niles said, matter-of-factly.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The leaf. It¡¯s called Aldounis.¡±


    ¡°Okay, do not pretend that that¡¯s common knowledge.¡±


    He rolled his eyes. ¡°It grows in the forest here. I guess I only know that because I come out here sometimes. Not surprising that you saw it at the Brambles, though; everyone knows they use it in their concoctions. Sort of like aloe, I guess.¡±


    Then it was for healing. ¡°Can we pick a sample?¡±


    ¡°We can do whatever you want.¡±


    Henry returned his attention to the inscriptions, circling the headstone with his neck craned back. Dozens of other images were scattered across the base of the marble, and even more above. Among them he recognized the simple geometric slashes of Kara¡¯s protection charm, and several artful depictions of trees and crashing waves. It was a masterpiece. In the sun it glowed, pools of light catching in the fine grooves. He could have stared at it for hours.


    After a time Niles gingerly stepped over the police tape to join him, resting his warm hands on his shoulders. He forgot about his pain.

 2.04: Covert Messages

    Howard, the unfortunately proportioned manager-owner of Horizon Foods, leaned against the register with a frown on his pale lips. The store had been open for almost an hour, but the doors remained locked. ¡°You missed two full shifts.¡±


    Henry tried his best to remain calm. They were going around in circles. ¡°I had no idea I was scheduled.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re my only employee right now,¡± he said, for the tenth time in a row. ¡°Do you know what happens when you decide not to show up? I have to cover for you. Don¡¯t you think I have more important things to be doing?¡±


    ¡°I think about five people come through this store on a busy day.¡±


    ¡°Shipping. Receiving.¡± He stuck up a finger with each over-enunciated word. ¡°Inventory. Payments. Advertising.¡±


    Many aspects of life were different in Tortus Bay. Some were down to the slower pace of a small town, and others were downright fantastic. The one unifying constant between the old and new worlds seemed to be a reddening man listing off vague business terms as a threat. Henry couldn¡¯t imagine why that would be the case, but there was the proof throwing spittle in his face. ¡°Howie, do you believe in magic?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± His face contorted in fury. ¡°You think I¡¯m being funny? Do you know what you are? You¡¯re a criminal. That¡¯s right, I know where you were: in the clink! That¡¯s what I get for trusting a reference from Clair. That¡¯s what I get for offering people second chances. What do you think about that?¡±


    ¡°I think you should either fire me, or let me get to my job.¡±


    ¡°Then start working!¡±


    After a confrontation like that, there was a soothing simplicity to be found in the inventory. Henry knew from long ago that the trick to endurance was in maintaining a healthy mental distance from the world. To that end he focused his thoughts that morning on the beautiful engravings on Emmaline Cass¡¯ headstone, and the comforting warmth of Niles¡¯ lips. He held that beauty and that warmth up as a shield, and with it could have bore a century of pointless abuse.


    In the storeroom he busied himself with the rote repetition of grouping like with like¡ªcreating mountains of vegetables and imposing bunkers of colorful cardboard boxes. It looked as though nobody had touched a thing in his absence. That, at least, was how he wanted it; there was no reason to waste extra time sorting out whatever chaos Howie would have created.


    He saved the most cumbersome group of the lot, the canned goods, for the end. It was there, halfway through unboxing a crate of baked beans, that he noticed a torn label. Underneath the tear, the label bulged as though someone had stuck something inside. A folded slip of paper. There was a single line of clean print inside: ¡®Help. I¡¯m trapped in the beans! Can anyone hear me?¡¯


    Howard¡¯s footsteps startled him. The man was making quite a show of walking around the place in a huff, talking loudly on his phone about all of the vital store functions which were now hopelessly delayed and which he personally had to set right. His voice and his heavy footfalls echoed around the empty space. He had forgotten to unlock the front doors.


    Henry set the can aside, and went about the rest of his shift, thinking idly of how nice it would be to have a different job. Even the orchards, or the fishery, didn¡¯t strike him as that bad of a prospect in that moment¡ªif only he could keep up. As it was, his shoulder hurt too badly for him to do the job he already had. He stocked the shelves with his good arm, one item at a time. Box after box after box after box.


    He imagined a life in which he could craft necklaces for a living. He imagined a life in which he could mix poultices in peace in his kitchen. He imagined any life, in a healthy body. The shield over his heart melted into a dagger pressed into the flesh. At the end of his shift, he returned to the storeroom and scribbled a short reply on the opposite side of the hidden paper: ¡®Only I, lowly grocery servant. Can you swim?¡¯


    ***


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, he probably never changed the locks.¡± Henry walked down the street at a brisk pace, his phone pressed to his ear. ¡°And I doubt Clair turned in her keys.¡±Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°I guess that makes sense,¡± Kara said.


    ¡°Who else could it have been?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right. At least now we know she¡¯s nearby. And that she has access to food.¡±


    The roads of Tortus Bay were rapidly emptying, as evening veered off toward night. Those occasional stragglers waved as they passed, but thankfully didn¡¯t stop to talk. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do.¡±


    ¡°Implicate your friends, I guess.¡±


    He ignored that. ¡°I don¡¯t want to turn her in.¡±


    ¡°Presumably you also don¡¯t want to be linked with a woman who¡¯s been accused of murder.¡±


    ¡°Preferably.¡±


    Kara was silent for a moment. ¡°I know some things have changed. You told me how she acted in the woods. Do you think she had anything to do with Mathas Bernard?¡±


    ¡°I think there¡¯s still a lot that she hasn¡¯t told me.¡±


    ¡°But murder?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Then if you want my two cents, I say you sit on it. At least until you know more.¡±


    Henry turned onto Spruce, and into the oncoming wind, bracing himself against the chill. The weather was turning. Summer was almost over. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that make me an accomplice?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think anonymous conversations with beans can be tried in Tortus Bay. We got rid of that ordinance a long while ago. Now, can we move on to what you really called to talk about?¡±


    He smiled. ¡°I don¡¯t know. We kissed in the forest.¡±


    ¡°Romantic!¡±


    ¡°Right outside of the graveyard.¡±


    ¡°Still romantic.¡±


    ¡°He seemed nervous. Or surprised, maybe?¡±


    Kara cackled. ¡°That¡¯s Niles for ya. I swear, I was starting to think that boy was a potted plant for how little¡­¡±


    Their conversation trailed off as Henry approached number 41. He picked through the overgrown garden of the Bramble¡¯s front yard, gave brief pause at the prominent window sign (which brightly told him to ¡®Fuck Off¡¯) and knocked on the door. When it swung open, he found himself looking down at the older of Teresa¡¯s two daughters. She regarded him with cool eyes under long locks of dark hair. He worked for the name. ¡°Sofia.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Cauville.¡± She inclined her head. ¡°Like my sign?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Does it work?¡±


    Sofia smirked. ¡°Not as well as you¡¯d think. Come on in. My mom is with someone right now, but you can wait.¡± The girl led him inside, through a long hallway laden with eclectic art and dusty bookshelves, sitting him in a straight-backed chair outside of a door which he knew opened onto the kitchen. She sat across from him, joining her younger sister on the floor. ¡°Say hello, Lola.¡±


    Lola was curled against the wall, worrying a stuffed bear in her hands. Her corkscrew curls hung in an obscuring mess over her face. She gave no indication that she heard anything.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a long day,¡± Sofia said softly.


    ¡°I understand.¡± He twisted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. ¡°The last time I was here, you were reading a book. Do you remember that?¡±


    She flashed him a guarded look. ¡°I read a lot of books.¡±


    ¡°You told me it was an old diary, and that you liked to draw,¡± he continued, and she stared at him with tight lips. ¡°I only bring it up because I thought I saw a strange plant on one of the pages. Jagged on one side, smooth on the other, with six or seven fingers?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Sofia relaxed a little. ¡°Aldounis. And they¡¯re called ¡®leaflets.¡¯ I guess it doesn¡¯t grow much outside of the village, you might have never seen it before. Mom has us collect it for its ¡®natural soothing agent.¡¯¡± Her impression of Teresa was spot on.


    ¡°Soothing? Is that all it does?¡±


    Lola mumbled to her bear, under her breath: ¡°it regrows the skin.¡±


    ¡°Our bodies mend themselves over time.¡± The smile on the elder sister¡¯s face became forced. ¡°Something like Aldounis makes the process a little more pleasant.¡±


    Henry held his hands up. ¡°You don¡¯t have to hide anything from me. I know the village¡¯s little secret now. I know what the Festival is.¡±


    ¡°I believe you,¡± Sofia said, in a tone of voice that also told him she didn¡¯t care, ¡°but I¡¯m not trying to hide anything. It¡¯s a mildly medicinal plant. There are probably hundreds of sketches and pictures of it around here.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± He relented, and an awkward silence settled over the hallway. From the kitchen, muted sounds of shuffling cloth and the indistinguishable cadence of a quiet conversation. The sisters settled in and stared off in opposite directions, boredom glazing their eyes. Plainly they were accustomed to this process. He wondered why they weren¡¯t sitting in on their mother¡¯s appointment, as they had during his original visit. ¡°That¡¯s a very nice bear,¡± he said.


    It happened very fast. Lola repositioned herself, not meeting his eye, and for a second he mistook the motion for her offering out the toy. He likewise turned in his seat, leaned forward, and reached out. Her eyes, wide and terrified, jumped up to meet him¡ªand then she sprung up, and sprinted away through the kitchen door.


    ¡°Shit.¡± Sofia shot him a bewildered look of disgust, leapt up right after her, and likewise disappeared. The stuffed bear lay forgotten on the garish carpet, arms splayed open.

 2.05: Checkup

    In their wild flight the girls had knocked the door ajar, and it did not completely shut behind them. Teresa¡¯s voice floated into the hallway. ¡°... about that. You know how kids can be.¡±


    ¡°Suppose I don¡¯t.¡± This was Clint¡¯s rough voice. He sounded the same as he did in the bar, turned down a few notches. ¡°Never got around to that part of life.¡±


    The sound of ripping cloth. ¡°It¡¯s a lot of extra stress, anyway.¡±


    ¡°They keep telling me I need less of that.¡±


    ¡°You do. Since when are you listening?¡±


    Clint laughed, producing a noise like a piece of plywood being torn in half. ¡°Can you fix me up?¡±


    ¡°I can do what I always do. It¡¯ll ease the pain. But the only fix is for you to stop doing this to yourself.¡±


    Two solid thumps of heavy boots hitting the floor.  ¡°That ain¡¯t the fix. When the world¡¯s broken, it can¡¯t be on me to be the solution.¡±


    ¡°If you think the world is your problem, you may need to adjust your perspective. Take this, either way.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Would you like to go out the back?¡±


    There was silence for a while, punctuated only by the soft echo of footsteps and the creaking of a door somewhere deep in the house. Then Teresa¡¯s face unexpectedly appeared, leaning into the hallway. ¡°I know you weren¡¯t harassing my daughters out here.¡±


    Henry jumped out of his chair. ¡°I wasn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± she repeated, ¡°because if you had, you would have been the one running. Come in, Mr. Cauville.¡±


    The Bramble¡¯s kitchen looked substantially the same as it had before. If there was any difference, then it was in the variety and volume of herbs and vegetables scattered about the expansive room. Hanging in the background, there was also the scent of something unpleasant. Faint, but undeniable once noticed. Vomit. ¡°They¡¯ve been under a lot of stress lately. Especially my little one,¡± Teresa said. She was dressed in a simple white pantsuit that day, in place of her colorful shawl. Her eyes were drawn, but she spoke with energy. ¡°We¡¯ve been busy lately, and you know school doesn¡¯t get any easier.¡±


    ¡°I remember what that was like,¡± he said, trying to inconspicuously cover his nose. ¡°Thanks for making time to see me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I do. Hop on up. How¡¯s that shoulder looking?¡±


    Henry sat himself on the table, and pulled his shirt over his head. ¡°It¡¯s about the same.¡±


    ¡°No improvement at all?¡± She clucked at that, removed the bandaging from the wound, and spent several silent minutes examining the area in question. She poked, prodded, and circled him like a bird of prey. ¡°It¡¯s worse,¡± she announced, stepping back and rubbing her hands together.


    ¡°Worse?¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°It is clearly agitated. Producing copious amounts of pus and blood. Have you stressed the area recently?¡±


    He didn¡¯t have to think very hard about that. ¡°Yes.¡±


    Teresa fetched a leather-bound notebook out of a drawer, and began flipping through its thin pages. ¡°Would you listen to me, if I told you to keep weight off the arm?¡±


    ¡°Would you write me a doctor¡¯s note for work?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a doctor.¡±


    ¡°And I still need to pay rent.¡± She continued to peruse the book, her eyes scanning rapidly down the pages. ¡°Would it help anything if I told you that I know?¡± he continued. He still felt awkward bringing it up, certain that someone would eventually have no idea what he meant and demand a thorough explanation. Was he supposed to throw around the word ¡®magic¡¯ like it was normal? ¡°The Festival, I mean.¡±


    Teresa only nodded. ¡°I might have figured, with that chain around your neck. One of Kara¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°It is.¡± He absently fingered the charm. ¡°Do other people make them?¡±


    ¡°Not for many years. Not like that.¡± She spoke out of the corner of her mouth, fully engrossed in finding whatever she was looking for. ¡°I have wards around the house, of course. Several people do. And the tattoos.¡±


    ¡°Does it work better, as a tattoo?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Harder to misplace. And they don¡¯t leave the burns.¡±


    Henry¡¯s finger fell into a shallow groove centered above his breastbone, where he knew the skin was still red raw. ¡°There¡¯s one on Emmaline Cass¡¯ headstone.¡±


    ¡°It used to be customary, to leave marks of protection around a grave. Whoever carved that one is long gone. No power left.¡±


    ¡°Kara mentioned that you helped her with the symbols.¡±


    Teresa turned the final pages of the notebook, tossed it down on the counter, and started the process anew with a second, identical notebook. The handwriting inside was spiraling and dense. ¡°The magic of Tortus Bay is old, and stubborn. It has found its favorite shapes, and its favorite numbers.¡± She spoke in a rote fashion, as though reciting dates from a dry text. ¡°Every thirty days it comes. Every seven, it rests. Circles channel. Divets¡ªor straight lines¡ªdirect. There is an incredible amount of theory, as the state of this house might suggest. Magic came easily enough for Kara; she just needed help focusing it.¡±


    ¡°How did you know that it was going to come easy for her?¡±


    At that, she peered at him over the top of her book. ¡°Travelers who find their way to Tortus Bay often discover that they were called for a reason. That is not to say that your destiny will be to wave your hands and produce balls of fire, mind you.¡±


    ¡°Can I come visit again, on the Festival? I want to see what you do.¡±


    Somewhere in the middle of the second book, Teresa seemed to find whatever she was hunting. She exclaimed, brought her palm up to her head, and promptly bustled over to the pantry. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t do much fire throwing myself, but you¡¯re welcome to join. The Bramble house has always been a safe haven during trying times. Oh, and the times sure are getting trying again.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t use magic?¡± There it was. He used the word.


    Teresa went after her pantry with a passion, pulling out leeks, berries, bundles of dried Aldounis, and jars of unidentifiable objects floating in viscous liquids. ¡°It¡¯s a subtle thing, deary. There are old stories about people who could stitch wounds together with a touch of their hand, but my expertise is more focused on earthly matters. Everybody needs looking after, regardless of what day of the month it is.¡±


    Henry watched her set about grinding her ingredients into a thick green paste, tasting as she went and adding pinches of various herbs. ¡°Is this another ointment?¡±


    ¡°A different ointment. There are some other old stories,¡± she nodded her head toward the open book on the far counter, ¡°about people with persistent wounds.¡±


    ¡°And this worked for them?¡±


    She captured the paste in a delicate glass phial, and pressed it into his hand. ¡°No. But it did halt the expansion.¡±


    The expansion. What a purposefully vague and non-medical word to describe what was happening to him. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with me?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said, ¡°but I promise you that we will figure it out.¡± He wrapped his fingers around the medicine, and slipped it into his pocket. ¡°It¡¯s a dangerous world out there. We have to look out for one another.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think my shoulder is really all that dangerous.¡±


    Teresa shook her head. ¡°Not the shoulder. It¡¯s everything else. There was a storm in the park. I haven¡¯t heard of reality warping itself that strongly in years. Then there are the rumors about Emmaline Cass¡ªdon¡¯t ask me about it, I don¡¯t know. And stories, from several of my patients, about horrific screaming coming from Mathas Bernard¡¯s late estate. Well, I suppose none of that has anything to do with you, does it?¡±

 2.06: Exhumation

    Henry fidgeted with his ratty hood and tried to ignore the sensation of rainwater dripping down his back. Grey clouds crowded the sky. He took the long way around the village into the woods, retracing the path by memory from the TBWHAS expedition. The canopy provided moderate relief from the drizzle. He let his hood fall back down. All around him, there was the rhythmic patter of raindrops striking leaves¡ªand no other noise at all. The scent of damp earth, and growing things. It was nice. With any luck, it would hide his presence.


    News of Emmaline Cass¡¯ exhumation would be a matter of public knowledge in Tortus Bay in a matter of hours. Hearing the news would require nothing more than taking a stool at Jamal¡¯s bar and uttering a single word of interest. But could he really trust any report coming out of sheriff Leia Thao? More importantly, when would he have a more convenient excuse to see the Cass headstone again? He knew he was on the right track when he caught sight of the white marble spire peering out above the tops of the trees.


    It had infiltrated his usual dreams. No longer did he see the classroom, or his childhood bedroom, or his new home, that in the corner there didn¡¯t loom the monument.


    Henry drew up as close as he dared to the old graveyard, sequestering himself away behind a broad tree trunk, and looked onto a great commotion. Leia Thao and her two deputies¡ªwas that really the entirely of the Tortus Bay police department?¡ªloudly directed over a group of people jogging around and hauling equipment. The process had already begun. They blocked most of the view from where he stood, but it sounded like they were encountering issues with the rain.


    Besides the deputies, he didn¡¯t recognize a single person in the area. They wore slick, professional raincoats and cheap plastic visors. He let his attention slide over to the headstone, awash and streaming in the downpour. There was the protection symbol, in the center of a great deal of other iconography that he did not recognize. Notably not protecting anything. If Kara died, would the charm hanging around his neck become a useless trinket?


    If he died, would she be able to feel it?


    A snapping twig brought Henry back to his surroundings. His stomach dropped. Somebody had come up from behind him. ¡°Hello.¡± It was a man¡¯s voice, cool and composed. ¡°Henry Cauville, if I¡¯m not mistaken.¡±


    He turned. A few paces away there stood a tall man wearing a navy blue sweater, and carrying a checkerboard umbrella. Both his eyes and his mouth were smiling, in what appeared to be an entirely genuine way. ¡°I am,¡± Henry said.


    ¡°Noel Gauthe,¡± the man said, reaching his free hand out for a brisk handshake. ¡°I was hoping I might run into you here.¡±


    ¡°Noel Gauthe¡ªthe mayor?¡±


    His smile widened. ¡°So you¡¯ve heard of me. Indeed I am. Not exactly the environment I anticipated for this message, but please accept my belated welcome to Tortus Bay regardless. I understand you recently secured more permanent housing than the back room of the Tortoise Shell Inn?¡±


    ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t think I¡¯m keeping tabs on you. I¡¯m just a naturally curious individual, and keeping in the loop with the latest gossip is part of the job. Nearly all of the job, in fact.¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°Is that how you knew I¡¯d be here?¡±


    Noel¡¯s lips flattened, but the smile remained in his crinkled eyes. ¡°I overheard somewhere that you had something to do with precipitating this event. You know, they had to come to me for permission. At least, Leia said she did. Between you and I, it seemed as though she was hoping I would refuse. But if the people need to know, then I wouldn¡¯t imagine impeding the process. And yes, as I mentioned, I also hoped to run into you.¡±


    ¡°So you¡­ combed the forest?¡± Henry asked, trying to make it sound like a joke.


    The mayor didn¡¯t miss the cue. His laughter briefly overpowered the sound of the falling rain, and Henry was sure the exhumation crew would hear. None of them looked up from their work. ¡°Pure coincidence,¡± Noel said, both smiles firmly back in place. ¡°I became rather bored standing around watching people work, and there happens to be a pond down this way. Beautiful area, great for a walk. I had hoped to see some toads, but I suppose it¡¯s getting late in the season for that.¡± He sighed, in a somewhat wistful manner, and then was silent for a moment before gesturing to the headstone which towered before them. ¡°Quite the eyesore, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°You think so?¡±


    He spoke slowly, now. ¡°I feel somewhat responsible for the thing, if truth be told. Bearing down the family legacy and all. You might not know this, being new to the area, but there is something of a local occult interest which has taken root around the memory of Emmaline Cass.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard.¡±


    ¡°You have? Well, of course the stories are good fun. And there¡¯s no harm in a bit of shared folklore, of course. But there are a few characters who take the whole thing a little too seriously.¡±


    Henry knew he was supposed to say something then, by the pregnant pause. ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°My job is to absorb gossip, not help spread it. That would hardly be fair. But I will say that some of the stories are ludicrous. You¡¯ll know them, if you hear them. Emmaline certainly was a hero for all of us who live here now¡ªas were all of the first families who settled Tortus Bay. It¡¯s a shame that we have no primary sources from that era. So few of the settlers were literate, you know. Every one of the tall tales we have about her was made up decades later, by people trying to instill a little civic pride. Same goes for the monument here. Well, there are worse motivations in this world, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡±


    ¡°I suppose so.¡±


    Noel eyed him for a moment, then chuckled. ¡°I think we get along just fine, Henry. I apologize if I talked your ear off about inconsequential fantasy. Now, I believe I will be missed soon, so please excuse me. It was a pleasure to finally meet you.¡±


    Henry said nothing to that, because by the time he registered that the mayor had finished speaking and opened his mouth to respond, the man had already stalked off into the trees. He made very little noise as he went, only the soft squelching of his leather boots in the damp earth.


    Sure enough, not long after he disappeared, Leia¡¯s head popped up out of the open grave. ¡°Mr. Mayor?¡± she called. ¡°Where did he go?¡±


    Noel Gauthe strolled casually out of the woods, no more than thirty feet from where Henry stood frozen to the spot. ¡°Am I needed?¡± he asked.


    The sheriff waved him over. ¡°Come look at this.¡±


    He joined her, looking down at the Emmaline Cass¡¯ exposed casket. ¡°Empty.¡±


    ¡°Fucking empty.¡±


    ¡°Now do you believe me? Half these plots are likely the same. Just place-markers to venerate the past.¡±


    Leia scowled. ¡°I need to talk to that goddamn kid again.¡±


    Henry, from his concealed position in the woods, saw the mayor¡¯s brows knit together. ¡°I think you should, though I doubt it will be productive.¡± Did his eyes flick over to the treeline? ¡°Like us, I am sure that he knows a great many places where Emmaline¡¯s body is not.¡±

 2.07: Uninvited Guests

    Henry leaned against the light-post on the corner of 2nd and Fuller, doing his best to keep a low profile, phone pressed to his ear. ¡°Do I even need to say that it was a weird conversation?¡± he asked. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve had a single normal conversation since I got here.¡±


    Kara laughed. ¡°You want to talk about taxes?¡±


    ¡°I have no doubt that even if the mayor and I had been talking about taxes, he would have made it sound sinister.¡±


    ¡°By now you¡¯ve met enough of the Brihtes and the Gauthes to know that they¡¯re strange people. Something about generational wealth scrambles the brain.¡±


    He repositioned himself slightly, double checking that he was still alone on the street. ¡°He didn¡¯t turn me in.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re in the clear. What¡¯s got you so paranoid?¡±


    In the distance, he watched the door of his house swing open. Sheriff Leia Thao stepped out, rolled out her shoulders, and leaned up against her squad car. He flattened himself further against the post. ¡°I can¡¯t tell them where Emmaline¡¯s body is. Not after what happened the last time somebody messed with it.¡±


    ¡°That ¡®somebody¡¯ being you?¡±


    ¡°Irrelevant information. I already let it slip that it was in the park. Do you think they¡¯ll do some exploratory digging?¡±


    ¡°Not likely. Even if they knew exactly where to go, they¡¯d have a hard time convincing people to let them tear the place up.¡±


    Leia rustled through her pockets for a moment, produced a small bag of sunflower seeds, and popped a few into her mouth. She spat into the gutter. ¡°Then I¡¯ll just have to avoid them for a while,¡± Henry said.


    ¡°It¡¯s a small village. You¡¯re welcome to pop around the Anderson. Lots of hidey holes I can stick you in.¡±


    He took a few slow, careful steps backward, then pivoted and hurried off in the opposite direction. ¡°As much as I might like you to fold me into a wall, there¡¯s something else I have to take care of.¡±


    ¡°Oh really?¡±


    ¡°We haven¡¯t said a word to each other since we kissed.¡±


    Kara made a noncommittal noise. ¡°He¡¯s a busy guy.¡±


    ¡°Everything is getting so complicated. It would be nice to have one thing going that was simple.¡±


    ¡°Romance is a rocky road if you¡¯re after simplicity.¡±


    ***


    Henry worked to master his frayed emotions, walking up to Niles¡¯ house. He tried to move fast, but not so fast as to be suspicious. Every voice he heard, and every car turning a corner, made him whip his head around to investigate the source. How long could it possibly take the sheriff to track him down? In a village like Tortus Bay, it felt like it would be a matter of minutes until the rumor mill alone found him.


    Then he would find himself in front of Leia once more; except this time, she might take him seriously. She might force him to point out exactly where he dug down to Emmaline¡¯s grave. There was nothing he could say to stop her, if she wanted to check. No threat of magical repercussions would sway a woman who did not believe in the first place. And there Henry was, knocking on Niles¡¯ door instead of dealing with any of that.


    He felt ridiculous. There was no way around that. But of all the questions he had, this one would certainly be the easiest to answer. He knocked again, and Bruce¡¯s deep booming finally replied. The dog audibly skidded down the hallway, then resumed barking.


    That was all, for a while: the barking, which started slightly deeper than normal and gradually piqued into a whine. ¡°Are you okay in there?¡±


    The whining redoubled. Bruce pawed at the door. Henry tried the knob, and found it unlocked. He only experienced a moment of indecision, before pushing it open. The dog did not bound at him, lick him, or even raise a hackle at the near-stranger. Instead, he took one look, turned around, and raced into the kitchen¡ªwhere the loud whining continued.


    ¡°Is anyone here?¡± Henry crept down the hall. ¡°Not a burglar. Just a concerned neighbor. Part-time amateur mystery investigator. Viable romantic interest.¡±


    Bruce¡¯s odd behavior was explained the moment he stepped into the kitchen. A cutting board and a bread knife lay on the floor. An empty plastic container was wedged in the gap beneath the fridge, clearly torn open by canine teeth. On the counter sat a partially opened can of dog food, and a stainless steel dish. ¡°You were about to get fed, weren¡¯t you?¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Bruce boofed.


    He picked up the mangled container, and immediately regretted it. The plastic was dripping with saliva. ¡°Or did you take matters into your own¡­ paws?¡±


    Bruce boofed again, this time with a hint of guilt in his large brown eyes.


    ¡°You had no idea you were dealing with Tortus Bay¡¯s pre-eminent PI, did you?¡± Henry found the can opener beneath the stove, and popped the lid on the food. The dog promptly spun in circles. ¡°So what happened to Niles? No, nothing. I see you¡¯re a shrewd negotiator.¡± He slopped the can¡¯s contents into the dish, set it on the floor, and had to snatch his hand away from Bruce¡¯s slobbering maw. ¡°Very shrewd.¡±


    He collected the knife and the cutting board, and set them in the sink. Niles¡¯ kitchen was busy, but immaculately organized. Glass jars of rice, beans, and a dozen different varieties of pasta that he didn¡¯t recognize lined the cabinets. A heavily laden spice rack hung on the wall beside the window. Colorful mixing bowls, strainers, pasta makers, and various utensils took up the rest of the space. It was warm, somehow. A lot of time was spent in this room.


    Henry took a stroll around the rest of the house, accompanied by a zoomy and effusively happy Bruce, and found every room empty. He settled in on the couch. The dog leaped up beside him, and buried his snout in his lap. Stacks of books still towered on the coffee table, but they had been rearranged. No sign of The Alpha Alien Patrol at all. Time-consuming hobby, for a supposedly busy guy.


    Would Leia think to look for him here? Did anyone beside Kara know that this might be somewhere he went? And why was he here anyway? Was that connection real, or had he imagined it? Was that connection real, or was he trying to force it? He allowed his eyes to drift shut.


    The front door swinging open woke him, sometime later. A tight ball of anxiety pulsed in his stomach. Bruce bounded off his lap, racing to the entryway. There, he was met with two pairs of footsteps. ¡°I¡¯m sorry it took so long,¡± a woman¡¯s voice said.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to apologize,¡± Niles said. ¡°Except maybe to Brucey. Hey, bud! You hungry?¡±


    ¡°I already fed him.¡± Henry stepped into the hallway. He recognized the woman from his first visit to the Anderson. Jennifer, the one who¡¯d been working with the rope. Dried tears lined her cheeks, and her eyes were puffy. ¡°I came around and found the door open. Bruce guilted me into the rest of it.¡±


    Niles snapped his gaping mouth closed. ¡°He¡¯s good at that. Thank you.¡±


    Jennifer splayed her hands and awkwardly stepped back toward the door, murmuring something about ¡°not wanting to disturb,¡± but Niles caught her in the small of the back and pushed her forward. ¡°Please, make yourself comfortable,¡± he said. ¡°I think you two might have a lot to talk about.¡± At that, he caught Henry¡¯s eye¡ªonly for a second.


    The three of them shuffled into the living room, where Henry took a seat on the armchair and was instantly leaped upon by Bruce. ¡°You feed a dog one time¡­¡±


    ¡°And you have a friend for life.¡± Niles and the woman sunk into the couch. ¡°But apparently feeding one every day of your life gets you nothing.¡±


    ¡°Only the most recent meal counts.¡± He scratched behind Bruce¡¯s ears. ¡°Jealous?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a display. Don¡¯t get a big head.¡±


    Again, Jennifer raised her hands. ¡°You¡¯re sure I¡¯m not intruding?¡±


    ¡°No, no, of course not.¡± Niles shook himself. ¡°Can you tell him what you told me?¡±


    She squinted over at Henry. ¡°Kara says you¡¯re not who everyone thinks you are.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a reporter,¡± he said, ¡°and I¡¯m not any sort of cop.¡±


    ¡°But you seem to be involved in just about everything.¡±


    ¡°You have a very engaging community.¡±


    She smiled, for a moment, but then it wavered. ¡°You¡¯re not going to believe me. I don¡¯t know, I don¡¯t think anyone will believe me. I saw Mathas Bernard.¡±


    ¡°I believe you. I¡¯ve seen him too.¡±


    Astonishment lit her face. ¡°When? How did he look?¡±


    ¡°On the last festival day. He looked exactly like he did in his pictures. Except older.¡± So he hadn¡¯t imagined it. It was real. ¡°Where did you see him?¡±


    ¡°Out behind the hotel.¡± She shivered as she spoke. ¡°Lurking around the dumpsters. There was something wrong about his face, but you¡¯re right: he looks the same. His suit was dirty. I didn¡¯t get a good look. I panicked, and ran for the nearest friendly face.¡±


    Niles nodded. ¡°We went back to check it out, but there was nothing there.¡±


    ¡°Was he going through the garbage?¡± Henry¡¯s head spun. ¡°If he¡¯s faking it, he¡¯s not doing a good job of keeping a low profile.¡±


    Jennifer leaned back into the couch. ¡°I don¡¯t know what he was doing. And I don¡¯t know what a person like him would have to gain from faking his own death.¡±


    ¡°No shady mafia ties?¡±


    She rubbed her eyes. ¡°The Tortus Bay mafia isn¡¯t scary enough for all that.¡±


    ¡°Has anyone else seen him?¡±


    ¡°Aria mentioned that there¡¯s been some screaming lately, coming from Beth Brihte¡¯s place. The police have gone to check it out a few times, but they never seem to come back with anything.¡±


    ¡°Maybe she¡¯s had enough of her husband¡¯s antics.¡±


    ¡°Or maybe he¡¯s rooting around her trash cans as well.¡±


    Niles cleared his throat. ¡°Okay,¡± he said, ¡°I think it¡¯s been a long enough night for us all. Jennifer, please stay on the couch. Henry, do you need to crash?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He stood, disrupting the slumbering Bruce, who sloped away with a baleful groan. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine on my own.¡± On his way out of the room he glanced back, and once more locked eyes with Niles. Large, and brown. Beautiful. Words formed noiselessly on his lips: we¡¯ll talk.

 2.08: Hunted

    The long arm of sheriff Leia Thao could be felt all across Tortus Bay. Police tape appeared overnight around the park, forbidding entrance. Similarly, at most hours of the day a deputy sat parked on Glosspool Lane, turning any would-be visitors away from Mathas Bernard¡¯s old estate. ¡°We¡¯re here at the request of Beth Brihte,¡± one of them said, when asked. ¡°The woman deserves a bit of peace and solitude, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Henry couldn¡¯t fathom why it would be that she could command such a sizable percentage of the village¡¯s police resources. Especially when there were people they were trying to find. Clair, Mathas, and now himself. The village hardly seemed large enough to conceal three fugitives for long.


    He stood a safe distance down the road, wondering to himself how Leia was able to be everywhere at once. Her squad car was parked in front of Horizon Foods. What was Howard telling her? Nothing good¡ªof that he was certain. And nothing true. People stared as they passed him, and he tried not to meet their eyes. Did they know he was wanted? Would they rat him out, if they did? He half expected to see his face on posters plastered down main street.


    The sheriff stepped out with a sour look on her face, and wasted no time peeling away from the scene. She was heading in the general direction of Glosspool. Henry waited a few beats, then strolled into the grocery store in as casual a manner as he could muster. He ignored the eyes on his back, and the drumming sense of impending doom which told him to turn around.


    Howard, face ruddy like an aged beet, seemed content for the moment to ignore him. Pointedly, he busied himself flicking through the contents of the store¡¯s register. He didn¡¯t speak until Henry had nearly reached the door to the storeroom. ¡°Do you have any idea who I was just talking to?¡±


    He turned to survey the empty store. ¡°Yourself?¡±


    ¡°The sheriff.¡± Howard rounded the counter, but kept a healthy distance between them. ¡°Do you know what we talked about?¡±


    ¡°Myself, I presume.¡±


    ¡°You!¡± he said, eyes then widening when he registered Henry¡¯s response. ¡°So you know. You¡¯re avoiding her. I told you¡ªI knew you were some sort of criminal! You think you can lay low here? Do you really think that I¡¯m going to let you bring this whole establishment down with you?¡±


    Cold sweat prickled his skin. ¡°You have a flair for the dramatic, Howie. What did she say she wanted?¡±


    ¡°To talk with you.¡±


    ¡°Right. Nothing so suspicious about that. I¡¯m going to head down to the station as soon as I¡¯m done here, but I figured you wouldn¡¯t appreciate me being late for another shift.¡±


    The manager¡¯s face flushed through several more variations of red, before landing on purple. ¡°What did you do?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing that I did. Only something that I saw.¡± Henry took a step closer to the storeroom. ¡°Do you really want to be implicated with that knowledge?¡±


    ¡°This has something to do with Clair, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Let me take care of the shelving, Howard. Then by all means, let the sheriff know where I am. Or let me hoof it over to the PD myself.¡± He didn¡¯t wait for a response. The door swung shut behind him, and he jogged through the rows of unmarked and unsorted goods. Speed was key.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The can of beans with the torn label was right where he left it. He unfurled the hidden paper, and saw that a line had been added: Treading beans. Couldn¡¯t hurt to know where the life preservers are stashed. He considered that a moment, before jotting down his response: Not many to go around. Might need one soon myself.


    Henry replaced the can, straightened up, and was on his way to the exit when his pocket started vibrating. This time, he repositioned his phone before answering. ¡°Ah, Henry Cauville¡¯s face,¡± Aria Bethel said. A smile spread across her pointed face. ¡°Much improved. Hello.¡±


    ¡°Hello,¡± he whispered, as he slipped by the back office. Just as he feared, Howard was hunched over the phone.


    ¡°Are you busy right now?¡±


    Howard looked up. Henry ducked, scurried past the door, and shouldered his way out of the exit. Fresh air met his face like freedom. ¡°No, not at all. What can I do for you?¡±


    ¡°You seem quite sweaty, if you don¡¯t mind my saying.¡±


    He took the side way around the main street intersection, and hurried down the street. ¡°Caught me in the middle of a walk.¡±


    ¡°Can you take a break for a minute? I¡¯m afraid all the movement is making me nauseous.¡±


    ¡°Afraid not. Have to maintain heart-rate. You should understand that.¡±


    ¡°I suppose so.¡±


    Henry turned on to Fuller, where he saw the first squad car. It crept down the road. He stopped, spun, and went off the other way. ¡°You don¡¯t have to look at the camera,¡± he said. ¡°We could pretend this is a normal phone call.¡±


    ¡°That might be a good idea.¡± There was the sound of Aria setting her mobile down on a desk. ¡°I wanted to congratulate you on your tenure in the village so far. You know, so few people stick around for longer than a few weeks. And I hope there¡¯s no bad blood between us about the job.¡±


    ¡°Not at all.¡± He circled down to Fourth, where a second squad car again forced him to double back. They were surrounding him. A woman he didn¡¯t recognize pointed in his direction. ¡°I understand.¡±


    ¡°Glad to hear. And in fact, I¡¯m calling because I¡¯ve changed my mind. I would be honored if you accepted the position.¡±


    Henry¡¯s heart thundered in his chest. He ran, now. He wasn¡¯t sure which street he was on. Sirens wailed in the distance. ¡°I can¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s surprising to hear. You¡¯re enjoying your current gig?¡±


    His feet, more than his head, brought him where he needed to be. He stepped onto Hyacinth a few blocks down from the Anderson warehouse. So too did one of the squad cars. ¡°Don¡¯t know if I would go that far,¡± he said. ¡°But I¡¯ve got a few independent projects that have been taking up a lot of my time.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    He sprinted, and the squad car turned on its siren. Tires squealed on the pavement. Unthinking, he dodged back onto Sixth, leapt a white picket fence, and tore through a backyard. Somebody yelled in his direction. He barreled through a hedge, tripping, and emerged in the Anderson¡¯s parking lot.


    The siren rounded the corner. They were entering the lot from the street. Henry headed for the docking bays. Red and blue lights lit the cement. He dove, landing hard on his side, and rolled into one of the sheltered enclaves beneath the docking mechanism. His back slammed against the wall.


    Leia Thao sat behind the wheel of the squad car. She drove slowly through the lot, her head swiveling left to right. She had not seen him.


    He brought the phone to his ear, after the danger had passed. ¡°Are you still there?¡± Aria was asking. ¡°Hello?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here.¡±


    ¡°You take interesting walks.¡±


    ¡°We all make sacrifices for our cardiovascular health.¡± He breathed out. Adrenaline coursed through his system. ¡°There is something you could do for me, if you¡¯re interested.¡±


    Aria licked her lips. At some point she had picked up her phone again. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°I need to talk to Beth Brihte.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a difficult ask. And a peculiar one.¡±


    Henry stretched out on the hard, broken concrete. Somewhere not too far away, the sheriff was circling. ¡°It¡¯s important. If you trust Kara, you can trust me as well. And if you do it, I¡¯ll consider the job.¡±


    ¡°Do you mean that?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    She scratched her chin, and frowned. ¡°She¡¯s become a reclusive woman. I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡±


    The wailing of sirens trailed off into the distance, then disappeared. Thick saliva filled Henry¡¯s mouth. He lay there, trying to catch his breath, and looked up into the sky. Clear blue.

 2.09: A Midnight Picnic, and Other Schemes

    Henry tried to marshal his thoughts. Order them, to make some sort of sense. The further he traveled in time from what he witnessed on the Festival, the less real it felt. How could it have been real? People flying. Wolves in the park. A storm that hadn¡¯t really existed. Whenever he allowed himself to sit on the memory the logical center of his mind kept insisting that it was all somehow a show, and that he needed to leave before whatever cruel play he¡¯d found himself in progressed any further. Every other part of him told him that it was all real. Then there was the matter of his inevitable arrest, the reality of a dead man walking around town, and Niles. It all swirled together into an aching ball of anxiety in his gut.


    Distraction was the only way to deal with it. The Anderson was a hive of constant activity, as the four quasi-resident artists prepared for their upcoming exhibit. Jason, the bald man who painted the mural of the boy with the cigar, spent most of his time fretting about how light was going to hit the back wall. Hiro, the man with more hair than he knew or cared to deal with, worked frantically to get his newest leatherworks ready in time for the show. Jessica didn¡¯t show up much, and when she did she seemed distracted.


    Henry helped them clear and scrub the floor, store the supplies, and set up showcases for the finished work. There was always something more to do. It was exhausting work on an already exhausted body, but he was happy to be doing it.


    Leia showed up on the morning of his second day there. She wore a plain black sweatshirt instead of her usual uniform, and a pair of shades rested on her head. Her lips were pursed tight. ¡°I still can¡¯t find your boy,¡± she announced, by way of general greeting.


    ¡°While I do find him handsome,¡± Kara said, pausing in her task of dragging a barrel out back, ¡°that hardly makes him ¡®my boy.¡¯ Both parties have to be interested to make that work.¡± In the background the other three artists continued on with their own projects unperturbed, not even bothering to look up.


    ¡°Be that as it may, you still know him the best around here.¡±


    Henry watched from the rafters, where his hosts had been kind enough to provide him with a blanket and a thermos for such occasions. He made a mental note to ask for a pair of binoculars next time. On the floor, Kara shrugged. ¡°I already told you where he¡¯s staying. You didn¡¯t find him there?¡±


    ¡°Obviously not.¡±


    ¡°Then he must have left the village.¡±


    Leia was silent for a moment. ¡°Could he?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re becoming a believer. I have a nifty tracking talisman on sale right now.¡±


    ¡°You know I hate it when you start talking cryptic,¡± the sheriff said. She sighed, and took a look around the warehouse as though seeing it for the first time. ¡°But I suppose that¡¯s the point. The place looks nice. It was the right call, pulling out of the community center. I want to know if Henry shows himself around here.¡±


    He waited a few minutes after the door fell shut behind her, before clambering down and helping Kara hoist the barrel. ¡°How illegal do you think it is to hide from the police?¡± he asked. ¡°On a scale from misdemeanor to felony.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want me to answer that. How illegal do you think it is to knowingly conceal a wanted criminal?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t committed any crimes. Unless you count the hiding.¡±


    ¡°Somehow I think they will. Are you sure all of this is worth it?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t let her dig up Emmaline yet. Not until I know what will happen. Not until I can talk to Clair.¡± They hauled the barrel outside, and dumped its waste water out on the parking lot. It puddled in the cracks of the broken pavement, and slowly sunk away. ¡°Did you mean what you said, back then, about me being trapped in Tortus Bay?¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Kara considered him. ¡°Do you want to leave?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    She easily slung the empty barrel over her shoulder. ¡°Well, I think that¡¯s the heart of it. There¡¯s no force field, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking.¡±


    At night cold wind whistled through the empty warehouse, making it impossible for him to sleep. So he lay awake, or perched on the rafters, trying to do anything besides letting his thoughts unspool down the tangled alleys they wished to explore. Not for the first time, he wished he had some sort of hobby. Surrounded by just about every art supply a person might need, and he was bored. He added ¡®TV¡¯ to his mental wishlist.


    When the wind picked up, it sounded¡ªif only distantly¡ªlike wolves. Like howling, rising and falling. Then banging. Henry¡¯s eyes snapped open. That wasn¡¯t the wind.


    He skimmed across the rafters, crouched against the wall, and peered out of the window. When he saw who was knocking on the door, he hurried down to answer it.


    ¡°Niles?¡±


    The man stood there, shivering slightly, in a puffy black coat and wrapped in more scarves than Old Tommy had sold in a lifetime at his general store. ¡°Kara came around to tell me where you were staying. This was the only time I could make it over. Figured you could use the company.¡±


    Henry smiled. ¡°I could.¡±


    ¡°I brought food. Thought we could have a midnight picnic.¡±


    ¡°You know there¡¯s no refrigerator in here? You¡¯re a lifesaver. Come in.¡±


    He hesitated. ¡°I know I¡¯ve been avoiding you. I know we have to talk. But I don¡¯t want to.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Not at all.¡±


    ***


    Aria got in touch the next day, while Henry was stowing the last of the paints in the supply room. He smiled for the camera. ¡°Why do you always video call?¡±


    She shrugged, and sipped her coffee. There were heavy bags under her eyes. ¡°I like to see who I¡¯m doing business with.¡±


    ¡°Does that mean we¡¯re doing business?¡±


    ¡°It does. Have I finally caught you at a good time? You¡¯re not out for one of your constitutionals, are you?¡±


    He perched up by the window. ¡°I¡¯m staying put.¡±


    ¡°Good. You know, you seem very outdoorsy for the kind of position I¡¯m offering you. Athletic, almost. I hope you realize you¡¯d be sitting in a chair all day.¡±


    ¡°Well, three phone calls isn¡¯t a great sample size.¡±


    Aria shrugged again, and set her coffee aside. Behind her, people chatted and walked in and out of view. The office was busy. ¡°Why do you want to meet with Beth?¡±


    ¡°I think there¡¯s something more going on with her late husband than anybody knows. And I think I might be in a unique position to help.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°As you know, my main job is managing things here at inHale. On the side, I¡¯ve become something of the go-to person for the entire village¡¯s technical woes¡ªof which there are multitudes. I listen, ask them if they¡¯ve turned it off and on again, and occasionally reset a router. Basically the same thing I was doing growing up, only now I charge for it.


    ¡°Anyway, the point is that I managed to get in contact with Beth, and convinced her that there¡¯s something vague wrong with her internet. She¡¯s expecting one of my people at her place this afternoon. She insisted on the time. You know the type. I don¡¯t imagine she¡¯ll ask too many questions.¡±


    ¡°I can do that. But how am I supposed to get past -¡±


    Aria frantically waved her hands in front of the camera, until he stopped talking. ¡°I can¡¯t help you with any other obstacle you may or may not encounter. None of which I could possibly know anything about.¡±


    ¡°Why are you doing all of this for me?¡±


    ¡°Do you know how few people in Tortus Bay know how to answer a video call? Don¡¯t get me wrong, you¡¯ve had your own struggles in that department, but I figure you¡¯re still overqualified for the position. Besides, any friend of Kara¡¯s is a friend of mine. I¡¯ll talk to you again tomorrow.¡±


    Henry hung up and sat there for a minute, chewing his lip. The warehouse was cold, but the sun streaming through the window lit his back with warmth.


    ¡°Scheming?¡± Kara asked, as she walked with an armful of paint-splattered rags. ¡°I know that face, and it always means scheming.¡±


    ¡°I have a way in to talk with Beth Brihte.¡±


    ¡°So your plan is to walk into a spooky murder house, from which many people have recently heard blood-curdling screams, to talk with a woman who has been seen less in the last couple weeks than her supposedly dead husband?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    She dropped the rags. ¡°How can I help?¡±


    ¡°I need a way around the roadstop on Glosspool.¡±


    Kara laughed. ¡°You¡¯re in luck. I may have just what you need.¡±

 2.10: Roadblock

    Glosspool Lane was quiet and deserted that evening. Everyone with business to do, or gossip to share, was still out and about in the village. Everyone else had presumably turned in early. Like every other street in Tortus Bay, Glosspool was meticulously neat. Unlike any other street, a line of cars were parked along the length of it.


    Henry and Kara used them to their advantage. They leap-frogged down the lane, crouching behind one vehicle before taking a deep breath and sprinting to crouch behind the next. ¡°Do you think he¡¯s seen us?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Feeling ridiculous?¡±


    ¡°A little.¡±


    Kara took a sly peek over the hood of a cherry red pickup. ¡°He¡¯s reading a book. Hasn¡¯t seen anything. And we¡¯re in luck.¡±


    Henry cast his eyes over the canopy of overlooking windows. None of the blinds stirred. ¡°Lucky how?¡±


    ¡°They put Taylor on the beat. My favorite. Thought they might. He¡¯s always getting the drudge work. Are you ready?¡±


    ¡°As I¡¯ll ever be.¡±


    She straightened herself up and strode out into the middle of the street, waving at the parked patrol car. It took Taylor a moment to notice. When he did, he tossed his paperback into the passenger seat and rolled down his window. ¡°Kara!¡± he said, beaming. ¡°What brings you down this way?¡±


    ¡°Taylor!¡± she said. ¡°They got you keeping the riff-raff off the street?¡±


    ¡°Ah, Beth hasn¡¯t been doing so well lately. Getting a lot of unwelcome visitors. We¡¯re just here to help offer a little privacy.¡±


    Kara leaned up against the hood, keeping his attention forward. ¡°Well, it¡¯s a piece of fortune either way. I¡¯ve been meaning to talk with you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, really?¡±


    While they were distracted, Henry moved as silently as he could manage around the bumper of the truck, and out into the street behind the patrol car. He just had to cross unnoticed, and he would be home free.


    ¡°I wanted to get you alone.¡± Kara was whispering now, forcing the deputy to lean out of the window to hear. ¡°Have you noticed anything different about the power lately?¡±


    Taylor matched her whisper. ¡°I think it might be getting stronger.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ve noticed that too.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, I totally have.¡±


    Henry slinked his way across the street and up to Mathas Bernard¡¯s homely estate. It was nothing at all compared to the Brihte residence¡ªit looked more like something a reasonable human being might actually live inside¡ªbut it was stately nonetheless. Miniature statues of goblins and lions lined the walk up to the steps. At the base of the stairs one of them lay broken in a pile of its own dust.


    Beth Brihte answered the door with a wide-eyed stare. She was wearing a wrinkled bathrobe. Her skin was as pallid as ever, but now it almost glowed with a waxy shine. ¡°Who is it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here to take a look at your internet,¡± Henry said. He wondered, idly, if he should have put the effort into a fake uniform of some kind.


    Her eyes focused. ¡°That¡¯s right. There was a¡­ an issue, of some sort. Aria sent you?¡±


    ¡°Correct.¡±


    ¡°A good girl. Always has been.¡± Beth wavered for a second, then pulled her robe a bit tighter and stepped aside. ¡°Where are my manners? Please, come in.¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    The widow¡¯s house had once been gorgeous. That much was plain to see. Wide spaces, sweeping arches, and highly detailed woodwork belied the amount of time and money which clearly went into the home. There was also the stench of human sweat; the thick layer of dust; and the pillows and blankets which had been chucked all around the living room. ¡°The internet stuff is over there,¡± she said, with a vague waving of her hands. She didn¡¯t seem to be in the mood to lead a tour.


    ¡°Can you show me?¡±


    They picked through the mess into an adjoining office, which clearly had not been used in some time. The air was stale, a spider had spun a large web on the face of the bookcase, and the bay windows overlooking the messy yard were streaked with grime. On the desk beside an old-fashioned computer sat a router with three blinking green lights. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about the mess,¡± she sighed. ¡°I haven¡¯t been feeling much like myself lately.¡±


    ¡°Why is that?¡± He approached the desk, wondering how he was going to pretend to be doing something consequential to the woman¡¯s perfectly functioning internet.


    ¡°Since Mathas passed, and all the affairs¡­ the costs of it were, were unexpected,¡± she spoke in a lilting and broken manner, occasionally so softly that she became inaudible. ¡°The house, I love it¡ªlived in it, for a long¡­ for my entire life. And it¡¯s huge, you know, it¡¯s hard to¡ªit can be difficult to keep up.¡±


    Henry switched the router off, waited a few seconds, and turned it back on again. Up close, he could see through the muck on the windows to the lush garden beyond. Where the heart attack happened. Supposedly. ¡°I understand that,¡± he said. ¡°So you want a little privacy, while you¡¯re getting everything sorted out?¡±


    She said nothing to that. The lights on the router went from red to orange to green again. He turned, and found her with a dumbstruck expression on her face. ¡°I recognize you.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°From the cafe. You¡¯re the new person. You¡¯re Henry.¡± Beth spoke with a renewed sense of energy, pacing the office. ¡°You¡¯re the private investigator. Aria didn¡¯t send you at all!¡±


    He should have faked a uniform. ¡°I can assure you that she did.¡±


    ¡°You know you did such a shitty job with my husband, I didn¡¯t even consider you, but now that you¡¯re here¡­¡± She stopped pacing. ¡°Why are you here?¡±


    He took a step back. ¡°For the internet. Only that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re still looking into it, aren¡¯t you? That¡¯s always what you were looking into, wasn¡¯t it? That¡¯s what I didn¡¯t understand.¡± Beth rushed forward and took his collar into her surprisingly strong hands. Her breath smelled of mint, and figs. ¡°You could have told me. I haven¡¯t slept in days. You could have told me that he would be back.¡±


    ¡°Mathas.¡±


    ¡°I found him here.¡± Tears slid down her face, but she gave no indication that she noticed. ¡°Not in this office, in the kitchen. Face down. Already dead. The cops wouldn¡¯t listen. They still won¡¯t listen, they never do.¡±


    He tried to speak in a soothing voice. ¡°What didn¡¯t they listen to?¡±


    ¡°Me!¡± Her grip tightened around his throat, then eased and fell away entirely. She sloped back. ¡°They parked a car out front to try to chase him away. Or was it to keep me from being able to talk to anybody? It doesn¡¯t work either way. Here you are. And he comes around whenever he pleases.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve seen Mathas Bernard?¡±


    She crumpled down against the wall. ¡°At night. He never comes in. Even when the doors are open, he never comes in. Just rustles around in the garden. Taps on the windows. It¡¯s him. I see his face in the moonlight. He doesn¡¯t let me sleep, you know?¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what he wants. He never speaks. He never does anything, but walk and tap. Walk and tap.¡± Beth¡¯s eyes were wild again, wide and staring. ¡°Do you believe me? Nobody believes me. Please, tell me that you do.¡±


    Henry took her into his arms, and let her cry on his shoulder. ¡°I believe you, Beth.¡±


    ***


    He left not long afterwards, feeling distinctly like he had just poked a beehive to no apparent benefit for anybody involved. His shirt was soaked through with her weeping. Of course he believed her, but the woman was clearly distressed. He needed proof as much as she did, but that was something that neither of them could offer the other. Unless he staked out their garden. That idea rolled around in his head,


    Brain preoccupied with half-formed plans, Henry shut the front door behind himself and stepped out into the cool night air. There, standing nonchalantly in the middle of Glosspool Lane, was sheriff Leia Thao. She had her uniform on, and a wicked grin on her face.


    He fished his phone out of his pocket, and saw a missed call and a missed text from Kara: Sheriff here. STAY INSIDE. ¡°Whoops.¡±


    ¡°Evening, Mr. Cauville,¡± Leia said. ¡°You¡¯ve been a hard man to find.¡±


    ¡°I like my privacy.¡±


    She clicked her tongue. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure it¡¯s nobody but you and I, down at the station.¡±

 2.11: False Accounts

    The interview room at the Tortus Bay police station was fast becoming a familiar location to Henry. Sitting in the chair on the far side of the empty black table, he tried to master his frantic breathing. He wasn¡¯t restrained. There was nothing he had to panic over; he hadn¡¯t done anything wrong. Somehow, telling himself that did nothing to stop the panic.


    Leia Thao was running down Movie Cop 101. She scowled at him from across the table. She rapped her knuckles and hummed to herself, but didn¡¯t say a word. Several times she left the room, to fill her coffee or have a loud and banal conversation with one of her deputies. When she finally sat down and spoke, it was in a calm and measured tone. ¡°You¡¯ve been avoiding me.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t pull that monosyllabic stunt of yours on me now. It¡¯s time to talk.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve never had a problem with talking.¡±


    ¡°Fine. Then tell me why you¡¯ve been running. This village isn¡¯t so big; you must have known I would find you eventually.¡±


    ¡°I thought this was about Emmaline Cass.¡±


    Her mouth twisted. ¡°I¡¯m the one who decides what this is about, and right now it¡¯s about you.¡±


    ¡°I told you what I knew, and you chose not to believe it.¡±


    ¡°And what if suddenly decided that I did?¡±


    ¡°Then you would know that I don¡¯t belong here.¡±


    Leia leaned back, and took a long drink from her mug. ¡°Do you know that we dug up Mathas Bernard?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Empty grave. Now that¡¯s two bodies that we¡¯re missing. Two missing bodies, an escaped murder suspect, a disturbing goddamn scene in the lighthouse, and you somehow in the middle of it all.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have anything to do with any of that.¡±


    ¡°You and Clair didn¡¯t dig up any bodies?¡±


    Henry hesitated. ¡°Why would we do that?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d have to tell me. But you claim to have seen Mathas.¡±


    ¡°I have.¡±


    ¡°After his murder.¡±


    ¡°So has Beth. You must know about that.¡±


    She set her mug down hard on the table. ¡°What is it about Clair that you¡¯re all so desperate to protect?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t think that I don¡¯t know what this is all about. All of this nonsense¡ªthis poorly conceived misdirection. You had something to do with Clair getting out of here. She was seen. We know she went to your place that night.¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°Yes, to try to collect Emmaline¡¯s locket before the Festival.¡±


    Leia threw up her hands in frustration. ¡°That garbage won¡¯t work here. Maybe with Kara, but not with me. Just tell me where Clair went.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Have you had any contact with her since that night?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Not a word?¡±


    ¡°Not a word.¡±


    She stared at him. He blinked back. ¡°You said that Emmaline was buried somewhere in the park. If you¡¯re right about that, maybe I can start considering that you¡¯re right about other things as well. So tell me exactly where to find the site.¡±


    ¡°Can I have a glass of water?¡±


    ¡°Answer the question.¡±


    ¡°My mouth is dry.¡±


    ¡°Fuck.¡± Leia pushed herself off the table and swung the door open. ¡°Bring our guest a glass of water!¡± she shouted down the hallway. ¡°Anything else you need?¡±


    ¡°That should be fine.¡± After a minute Taylor, eyes cast down, sidled into the room and placed a plastic cup on the table. ¡°Thank you,¡± Henry said. Then, before the deputy had the chance to leave: ¡°I wish Clair were around. She would know exactly where to look for Emmaline.¡±


    He thought that he saw Taylor nod. ¡°Thank you, you can leave,¡± Leia said, and the deputy retreated. ¡°Now where were we?¡±


    The water was cold on his lips. ¡°She¡¯s on the outer edge of the park,¡± he lied. ¡°Near the street. I can show you.¡±


    ***


    Henry spent the night at the station. The cot in his cell was comfortable enough, at least compared to the cot at the Anderson, but there was an uncomfortable breeze that he knew was blowing in from the hole in the wall next door. Leia made calls deep into the night. From what he could hear, she was mostly speaking with the mayor. She finally left at two in the morning, and the station lapsed into absolute silence.


    There was nothing to distract his thoughts. No chance in hell that he was going to sleep. He stared up at the ceiling. If they locked him up until the next Festival, would Clair come back and knock another hole in the wall? If she did, would it be to free him or kill him?


    Had he made a mistake, coming to Tortus Bay in the first place? It had given him nothing but quasi-homelessness, unemployment, and a fresh new criminal record. But then, not all of it had been bad. He fell into a fitful sleep thinking about a pair of beautiful brown eyes.


    In the morning, Leia returned with two coffees, her sunglasses, and a more conciliatory tone. Together they climbed into her patrol car and ate a donut apiece out of a box sitting on her dash, before heading over to the park. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to come down on you so hard yesterday,¡± she said. ¡°I appreciate your help. We¡¯re just trying to get to the bottom of what happened.¡±


    ¡°What happened before I arrived, I would point out.¡±


    ¡°I know that. You sure picked a funny time to pop up.¡± The sheriff drove slowly down the main drag. ¡°Was it Kara?¡±


    ¡°Kara what?¡±


    They parked beside the police tape that stretched around the village¡¯s only park. ¡°That you came here for. You seem pretty deep into this local occult bullshit, if you don¡¯t mind me referencing it that way. Beats me why it would interest anybody outside of our bubble, but I suppose you found it on some message board somewhere.¡±


    ¡°You know a lot about that particular bubble?¡±


    ¡°What I need to. What anyone learns, coming up around here. It¡¯s folksy, when it¡¯s coming from Teresa Bramble. I know that. But if you want a word of advice, and you never seem to, then be more careful around Kara and that lot. You and her and whoever else can believe whatever you want on your own time, but it gets a lot less cute when we¡¯re talking about a murder.¡±


    Leia didn¡¯t wait for a response. She stepped out of the car and escorted him past the police line. They walked around, in and out of the trees, for what Henry dubbed to be a believable amount of time. Then he pointed out a stretch of bare dirt near the road. ¡°There.¡±


    ¡°No disturbed earth,¡± she said.


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you, this is where I saw it.¡±


    The sheriff sighed. ¡°Alright. You can leave.¡±


    ¡°I can?¡±


    She crouched down, no longer paying him any attention. ¡°Don¡¯t leave the area. And do yourself a favor, and take my advice this time.¡±

 2.12: Noodle Blues

    Henry fielded a familiar call on his walk back the park, where he¡¯d left the sheriff to unearth his hastily concocted lie. ¡°Oh, no,¡± Aria said. ¡°You¡¯re out in the wild. What is this, four out of five now?¡±


    ¡°Not much to do besides enjoy the weather, when you¡¯re unemployed.¡±


    ¡°Unemployed maybe, but not inactive. Beth Brihte says that her internet is working better than ever.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°I know how to reset a router with the best of them.¡±


    ¡°Thought you might.¡± Aria pointedly rearranged a handful of loose papers on her desk. ¡°She also mentioned a little side project of yours. I had to work to convince her that I wasn¡¯t a part of it. Something about tracking down Mathas Bernard?¡±


    ¡°I was under the impression that you didn¡¯t want to know anything about what I was doing.¡±


    She bit her lip. ¡°I don¡¯t. But one can¡¯t help but notice that the man in question has been deceased for some time now.¡±


    ¡°So he has.¡±


    ¡°I told you that I trust you because I trust Kara, but if you¡¯re out there taking advantage of -¡±


    Henry abruptly stopped walking. ¡°I¡¯m not taking advantage of anybody. If you want to know more I¡¯m happy to share the details, but if you¡¯re worried at all about getting mixed up with the police then the time for that isn¡¯t now. The way things are headed, I¡¯ll be hanging out with Leia Thao again in a matter of days.¡±


    She leaned back in her chair, and frowned. ¡°I take it that means you¡¯re currently unwilling to accept my generous offer of employment?¡±


    ¡°I think it would be premature.¡±


    ¡°Very well. We¡¯ll be in touch soon.¡±


    Somehow, Henry didn¡¯t doubt that at all. He dropped in at the Anderson for a change of clothes, and found the place deserted. He didn¡¯t know where Kara went, or what she did, when she wasn¡¯t at work in the warehouse. The part of her life outside of her creative endeavors seemed very small¡ªbut then again, he had hardly asked. There always seemed to be something more pressing at hand.


    With fresh clothes and a clearer mind, he headed out into the village. There was nothing for him to do in the Anderson, and the less time he spent cooped up there the better. He was an unwanted man, if only for a brief moment, and he wanted to take advantage of it.


    But there was little for him to do. It was too early to drink, and he didn¡¯t feel up to fielding an endless barrage of questions from Jamal anyhow. Howie would hardly welcome him back to the store with open arms. Then there were the reactions of the people on the street, who cast sideways glances in his direction and made wide berth for him to stalk past. It was almost like being back home.


    They would have all heard about his overnight stay in jail. None of them would know why¡ªeven the sheriff didn¡¯t know that¡ªbut proximity to criminality alone seemed to prove damning enough for them. So Henry went to the only place he could think to go, and ultimately the place he most wanted anyhow. He knocked on the door to a cavalcade of excited barking.


    ¡°Hey Brucey, is your dad home?¡± The barking continued, followed by scratching on the wood at the sound of his voice. ¡°Are you going to be a good boy, if I come in there?¡±


    He tried the door, and found it unlocked. Apparently a habit that Niles was in. Bruce took one long look at him, then bounded toward the kitchen. ¡°I don¡¯t feed you every time I come over here,¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s not reinforce that expectation.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Still, he found a box of bacon-adjacent treats in one of the cupboards and tossed a couple down to the appreciative, drooling dog. The rest of the house was empty. ¡°He¡¯s gone a lot, isn¡¯t he?¡± Bruce snuffled at the ground, on the search for additional goodies. ¡°Must get lonely in here.¡±


    Henry resolved himself to keep Bruce company. He stretched out on the couch, and leafed through a couple of the more tattered paperbacks on the table. He poked through the kitchen, and spent a good amount of time running back and forth down the hallway with Bruce. ¡°Do you have any toys?¡± he asked, to which the dog cocked his head. That seemed like a yes.


    Past the bedroom there was a door which opened onto a small, dusty garage. He cracked it open, and peered inside. Most of the space was taken up by storage¡ªdozens upon dozens of crates and cardboard boxes filled to the brim with indescribable ephemera. Then he did a double-take. Against the far wall there sat a cherry-red motorcycle, gleaming and freshly polished amidst the surrounding detritus.


    Henry craned his neck. The garage door was blocked off by more storage, and an upturned paisley love-seat. No joy riding for Niles, then. Bruce pressed his nose into the back of his calf. ¡°Right, right, I nearly forgot.¡±


    The toys were stored within easy reach. He grabbed a handful of lightly slimy, chewed-upon tennis balls and tossed them down the hall, laughing as the dog toppled head over heel in the attempt to retrieve them. ¡°Let¡¯s not destroy the place, huh?¡±


    In time Bruce tired himself out, and Henry knew that he should leave. He was a stranger in the house, and though the dog seemed delighted by his presence he¡¯d never strictly been invited. While he pondered the concept of trudging off home, or to the bar, a better idea presented itself. He would cook for the cook. Had Niles ever come home to a fresh meal prepared for him? Henry wasn¡¯t nearly as good of a chef, but he knew full well how to produce something edible.


    Soon the house was awash in the heady aroma of garlic, butter, and bay. Bruce curled up on the tile, and promptly began snoring. Henry hadn¡¯t had the privilege of working in such a well-stocked kitchen in quite a while. He couldn¡¯t deny that it was nice.


    ***


    Niles returned home not fifteen minutes after Henry put the finishing touches on their meal, swinging open the front door with a boisterous greeting for Bruce. Then he paused. ¡°Hello?¡±


    ¡°Surprise!¡± Henry said, sauntering into the hallway in a messy apron, swinging a wooden spoon.


    Niles smiled, and dumped his bag on the floor. ¡°It smells¡­ delicious in here.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t be offended by the shocked intonation. Hope you¡¯re hungry.¡±


    He shrugged off his sweater, the look of pleasant disbelief still etched on his face. That was one of the things which Henry loved the most about him¡ªthat expressive face. ¡°Yeah, I am.¡±


    ¡°Then come take a seat. I hope you¡¯re not weirded out, I came by to say hello and then¡­ well, things progressed from there. Figured I owed you for that picnic. Are you aware that you have a motorcycle in your garage?¡±


    ¡°I was on a collision course with a frozen dinner tonight, so this is nice. And yes, I am aware of the motorcycle. It¡¯s an artifact of my youth. Never ride it anymore, but I do enjoy keeping it in good condition.¡±


    ¡°Well, we all have our peculiarities. Come on, your plate¡¯s getting cold.¡±


    Niles hesitated in the doorway. Oh, that expressive face. Every bit of pleasure drained away from it. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can do this.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not talking about the meal, are you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s never been easy.¡± He swallowed. ¡°I don¡¯t know what it was like for you, growing up, but it was bad for me. Maybe you¡¯ve been able to live a life where you can do whatever you want, but this is Tortus Bay.¡±


    Henry hesitated. ¡°What are you trying to say?¡±


    ¡°I never lied to you. I liked you, and I wanted to find a way to convince you to stay. But I never thought it would work. It never has with anyone else.¡±


    ¡°So what, you wanted me to stay at the Hell on a Shell Bar so that you could have something to look at during your shifts?¡± he asked. Then the rest of those words filtered through his brain. ¡°Never?¡±


    A note of defensiveness crept in Niles¡¯ voice. ¡°I have Bruce. I have a room full of books I haven¡¯t read yet, and a motorcycle in my garage. I have three jobs¡ªall of which I love. That¡¯s a full life.¡±


    ¡°And there¡¯s no room for anything else?¡±


    ¡°A full life,¡± he continued, as though he had not heard, ¡°that I worked so hard to build for myself. I¡¯m comfortable.¡±


    ¡°Being uncomfortable is scary, but it can be worth it. This could be worth it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, too.¡± Henry stood. His face was warm, his vision swimming with the effort not to cry. ¡°Enjoy the spaghetti.¡±

 2.13: Altercation

    Henry left Niles¡¯ house feeling embarrassed. He felt ashamed. But more than anything, it was hot anger which clouded his senses. At what, he wasn¡¯t yet sure; his brain spun at a nauseating pace through the laundry-list of possibilities. Niles, himself, Tortus Bay, his parents, Leia, Niles, Kara, himself, himself, himself¡­


    Something in the minute corner of his mind, operating beneath the deafening streams of anger and blame, suggested that perhaps if he couldn¡¯t identify at whom he ought to be mad, that it wasn¡¯t the proper reaction to be having. But it certainly felt right.


    The Anderson was still empty, but it was now fully set up for the upcoming exhibition. Every trace of splattered paint had been scrubbed off the concrete, and informational plaques attached to the walls beside the artwork. He was sure the artists were happy to take a little time away from the place, after the fevered work it took to whip everything into shape. For a moment he considered calling Kara, but thought better of it. The last thing he needed to hear was about how Niles had acted was inevitable. Or simply in his character.


    Instead, Henry headed back to his lonely attic apartment¡ªand there sat in his bed while the sun set over the village. Vibrant pink blushed the sky, struck through by streaks of soft lilac. There was a time, when he was younger, when he would have cried. There was a time, not too long ago, when he would have fallen into sleep to hasten a new day. Either one of those reactions seemed just; but what had he come to Tortus Bay for, if not to start a new life? If not to become a new person?


    True night cloaked the streets, and¡ªas usual¡ªall movement on them ceased. Henry shrugged on his coat, collected an errant crowbar from the chaos of the construction downstairs, and headed out. His walk to Main Street was undisturbed, save by cold wind, and he drew up quickly on the back entrance of Horizon Foods.


    The locks had been changed. Of course. He tried jamming the door a few times, but the wood protested loudly enough to put him off the idea. The window proved less of an obstacle. It had always been loose. He wedged the bar into the bottom corner, applied pressure, and the chipped wooden frame popped open.


    Darkness met him in the storeroom. It was better that way. The industrial lights of the grocery store were strong enough to illuminate half of the street; People would wonder, if they flicked on in the middle of the night. He crept through the aisles by memory, and the thin slivers of silver light cast by the moon through the jimmied window. His hand fell on the can of beans which he had hidden away, and a wave of relief spread through his body.


    The new writing on the paper was scribbled with a rushed hand: That happened faster than I thought. We need to meet. Two miles east of the graveyard. Follow the boulders.


    Cryptic. Useless. Henry balled the note into his fist, and at that moment the lights came on. He was stunned, caught between ducking down and dashing for the window. A second later, it was too late to do either.


    ¡°You!¡± Howie¡¯s voice was exultant. He sprinted to position himself at the end of the aisle, between Henry and the exit. ¡°I¡¯ve already called the police! What did you think I was, a moron?¡±


    ¡°Howie,¡± he said, slipping the note into his pocket.


    The manager''s breathing was ragged, but his lips were curved in a grin the size of the crescent moon. ¡°I suppose if you ever did something worthwhile with your life, and opened your own store, you would leave it unattended at night even when you know that a disgraced former employee of yours is a crook, huh?¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°I only assumed you had better things to be doing with your evenings off.¡±


    ¡°So witty! You always were. People with jobs don¡¯t have the time to come up with perfect quips.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it has anything to do with having a job. I imagine you can¡¯t think of the right things to say on account of you being a moron, Howie.¡±


    The man¡¯s face turned bright red. ¡°Stop calling me that!¡±


    ¡°What is it, Howie? What about me struck you in such a way that you¡¯ve felt the need to act like this?¡±


    Step by step, the two men approached one another down the long aisle of canned goods. Howard spat while he spoke. ¡°I am sick and tired of people like you. And finally, you¡¯ve gone too far. You¡¯ve crossed the line with somebody who isn¡¯t about to let you off the hook. What, did you think you were special? I¡¯ve been watching people like you show up in this village for decades. You didn¡¯t have any skills out in the real world. You had a real hard time. Then you come here, and expect everybody¡¯s charity. Their gratitude for your presence. Well I don¡¯t care that you¡¯re here. I don¡¯t care which city you came from. You¡¯re a low-life thief who¡¯s never been willing to work for anything.¡±


    ¡°I was willing to work for you.¡±


    ¡°You were willing to take my pity. What do you have to offer this village? No skills. No job prospects. Sleeping in the attic of another man¡¯s home.¡±


    That anger returned, unfolding itself deep in his gut. ¡°What do you know about it?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know plenty. I know things about you that I bet your own mother doesn¡¯t. Unless it was her who did the right thing, and kicked you out for it.¡±


    ¡°Howard....¡±


    ¡°What use are you? You¡¯ll never settle down here. You¡¯ll never start a family.¡±


    Henry took a lunging step forward, closing the distance between them, and punched Howie in the face. A satisfying crunch met his knuckles, followed by the sound of the man falling to the floor. Blood streaked his milk-white face. Tears welled in his eyes. ¡°You live a sad life. You don¡¯t understand why people don¡¯t like you, and you¡¯re intimidated by anyone who does better. I feel bad for you.¡±


    He left his old boss laying there, on the hard floor of the storage room, failing to stifle the sound of his pitiful sniffling.


    ***


    The Hell on a Shell bar had long since closed for the night, but he knocked until somebody roused to answer. Jamal opened the door with a wary look. His eyes widened in shock when he saw who awaited him. ¡°Henry! What are you doing out so late?¡±


    ¡°I need a drink,¡± he said, simply, ¡°and my mini-fridge is empty.¡±


    The bartender was dressed in a crumpled set of white pajamas, and his hair was a frayed mess, but nonetheless he shrugged and stepped aside. ¡°Come on in. What can I do you for?¡±


    No lights were on inside. They moved to the bar by the illumination of neon signs. ¡°On my very first night here, you offered to pour me ¡®a couple of fingers.¡¯ Never specified what of, but if that¡¯s still on the menu then I¡¯ll take it.¡±


    Jamal ducked beneath the counter and emerged with an unmarked bottle of brown liquid. ¡°Mostly beer drinkers around these parts, you understand,¡± he said, nodding his head off to the side.


    At the end of the bar, blending almost perfectly in with the grain, sat a slumbering hump of a man. Face down on the wood. Clint. ¡°Shit. Is he okay?¡±


    ¡°Always turns out to be. Sometimes I don¡¯t have the heart to wake him.¡±


    Henry downed two fingers of what turned out to be perfectly acceptable Scotch. ¡°You ever think about cutting him off?¡±


    ¡°Tried it. Couple of times. He winds up drinking by himself down by the docks. Falls in, gives everybody a real good scare. At least here he has somewhere safe to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Guess I¡¯m not the only one having a bad night.¡±


    Jamal re-filled his glass, then poured a shot for himself. ¡°What¡¯s troubling you?¡±


    ¡°Tough times. I suppose I came here trying to get away from myself. That didn¡¯t work. What do people always say? I was already here waiting.¡± Henry downed his drink. ¡°Anyway, I wanted to thank you proper, for everything you did for me, and it¡¯s only right that you¡¯re the last person I talk to. I think I need to leave Tortus Bay.¡±

 2.14: Displaced, part 1

    Hey, this is Kara. Haven¡¯t talked to you in a few days. I heard you took off. What happened? Well, I guess it doesn¡¯t matter what happened. That¡¯s not why I called, if that¡¯s why you didn¡¯t answer.


    Jamal says you were pretty down that night. I told him he was an idiot for ordering you the car. Guess you probably would have figured it out yourself eventually. You got yourself here well enough. He says you¡¯ll be back. I told him that I¡¯m not so sure. He doesn¡¯t know about Niles. Nobody does, if you¡¯re curious. That boy is one of the only people around here who knows how to keep his private life private.


    But what did I say? I don¡¯t care what happened. I called to thank you, for everything you did to help out with the exhibit. We couldn¡¯t have set it all up in time without you. It¡¯s too bad that you won¡¯t be there for the event. I would kick Niles out, if you wanted¡ªokay, okay, I¡¯m done with that.


    A lot of shit got dumped on you. Nobody blames you for needing a moment to catch your breath. Or longer than a moment. Know that you can come back whenever, and we¡¯ll be waiting. Okay? Try to take care of yourself out there.


    ***


    Henry wasn¡¯t met with a force field beyond the boundaries of Tortus Bay. There was no immediate compulsion to return, or any homesickness. Of course, it would have been odd if there were. He¡¯d only lived there for a month. Looking back on that time, it felt much longer. Every day seemed so full.


    Jungston was the same as it ever had been; A village, only slightly larger than Tortus Bay, but which he¡¯d occasionally heard referred to as ¡°the city.¡± He stayed at a hotel there for one night, and enjoyed a pleasant chat with the woman who owned the place. She talked about the troubles of growing up in the area, and opined on the general rarity of visitors. She¡¯d never heard of Tortus Bay before, and their conversation came to an abrupt end shortly after he brought it up.


    The urge struck him to ask her what possible end could be served by making up a fake village, but decided against it. He didn¡¯t know her, and she ran the only hotel in the village. So he acted dumb, dumped his backpack in his vaguely mold-smelling room, and made a few calls.


    At first he used his cell phone, but nobody answered. Not his mom, not his dad, and not Ray. Then he switched to the hotel phone. None of them would recognize the number that way. Still, none of them answered. Not his mom, not his dad, and not Ray. They were all busy people. He didn¡¯t leave any of them a message.


    That night he thought about nothing, but watched the light of the bedside lamp slide off the stucco ceiling. Thoughts came to him, in that way, but he let them slip away into whatever ether from which they had come.


    What was he doing? How long would he do it for? How long could he do it for? When he needed money, how would he get it? Were people ever happy, roaming the road from hotel room to hotel room? Were people ever happy, going back home? Were people ever happy?


    He could write a book. People would think of it as fiction. He could tell them the truth. Seldom few people believed the truth, even back in Tortus Bay. He could force someone to come back with him, to show them what was happening in that strange village. But some people lived there, and still never saw it.


    How stupid did a person have to be, to run away from magic?


    ***


    The next day he moved on to Greenfield, which was perhaps large enough to be called a city. That, or his perception had become skewed much faster than he imagined it would. His driver seemed disinterested in small talk. They listened to a country music station the whole way. He had him stop at a Super 8 on a street outside downtown, and the teenager at the desk inside didn¡¯t seem any more inclined toward conversation.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Henry once more retreated to his room. What was the point of travelling from place to place, if all he saw there was the inside of hotel rooms? The thoughts were coming thicker, now¡ªhanging on stronger, and demanding rumination. He didn¡¯t have to care where he was at the moment, if there was an ultimate destination. But there wasn¡¯t. He didn¡¯t have to care where he was at the moment, if he was running away.


    He decided he wasn¡¯t doing that either. On a literal level he was running from Leia Thao, of course, but that was all bullshit anyhow. Nothing he ever needed to get involved with in the first place. No matter where he went, or with what intention, he always seemed to do that. He always found something nasty to stick his nose into. Tortus Bay hadn¡¯t worked out. Now he was moving on. That was all there was to it.


    Once again his mother ignored his call. As did his father. But Ray picked up. His voice was crackly, and distant. ¡°Hey. Henry?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± The voice brought back memories. He nearly hung up.


    ¡°Where are you?¡±


    On a hotel bed. Alone. ¡°Greenfield,¡± he said. ¡°Middle of nowhere.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you don¡¯t say. Never heard of it.¡± There was a commotion in the background. Construction? Traffic? ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    There was silence on the line, but neither of them hung up.


    ¡°So you called to chat?¡± Ray asked.


    ¡°But then I had nothing to say. That¡¯s the theme of the day.¡±


    The background noise died away. ¡°I don¡¯t understand. Are you sure you¡¯re okay?¡±


    ¡°My parents won¡¯t pick up the phone. They never called me one time. Neither did you.¡±


    ¡°Look, you weren¡¯t banished, Henry. You left. And I don¡¯t know about your folks, but I never thought I¡¯d hear from you again.¡±


    ¡°I think I know how-¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s kind of fucked up to call someone out of the blue, after you put a hell of a lot of effort into convincing them that they¡¯d never hear from you again. Especially when you have nothing to say.¡±


    ***


    Henry spent a lot of time re-imagining that call with Ray. There were other ways he could have started it. So many more things he¡¯d wanted to say. He wanted to tell him about the secret magic of a small village of which nobody had ever heard. Ray knew he wasn¡¯t crazy. Ray would have listened, at least. But instead his voice had toppled him sideways. Now it felt wrong to call back. Maybe he would, anyway.


    Greenfield boasted three grocery stores. One of them was only a few blocks from the Super 8, so he hoofed it down there in the morning. He wasn¡¯t hungry, but he couldn¡¯t exactly remember the last time he¡¯d had something to eat. So he bought what people buy in those situations: a bag of carrots, a rotisserie chicken, and a wide assortment of juices and colorful energy drinks. ¡°Have you ever heard of Tortus Bay?¡± he asked the cashier.


    ¡°No,¡± she said, smiling. ¡°Where¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Not far from here. Maybe five hours by car.¡±


    ¡°Is that where you¡¯re from?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly. It sort of¡­ called to me. The people there do magic.¡±


    Her smile fell away. ¡°Like tricks?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s more¡ªwell yeah, I guess. Like tricks.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Have a nice day.¡±


    That night Henry¡¯s shoulder kept him up until dawn. The old wound ached and bled as though it were new, sending him repeatedly into the bathroom to grab another cheap towel to try to staunch the flow. He wondered what the cleaning staff would think.


    Eventually he scrounged in the bottom of his bag, and applied the last of Teresa Bramble¡¯s paste. The white of the medicine clumped on his skin, and was swept away in the blood. It did nothing to help him.


    ***


    Hey, buddy. It¡¯s Jamal. Not answering your phone, huh? Maybe you weren¡¯t expecting to hear from me so soon. I don¡¯t know, maybe I shouldn¡¯t have called at all.


    I figured you were in some kind of trouble. Thought it was personal, and I wouldn¡¯t press too much into it. A lot of people say that I¡¯m too nosy about people¡¯s personal lives. They don¡¯t think that I listen, but I do. Sometimes.


    Then I got to talking with Kara. So I¡¯ll ask: are you in real trouble? If you are, you can come right on back. Don¡¯t have a lot of business recently, I can put you up for a while. Could even be quiet about it, if I have to.


    If I¡¯m rambling about nothing just ignore me, I guess. But I wanted to throw all that out there. You¡¯re one of the good ones. Lord knows we need some more of that around here. But you have to do what you have to do, I suppose. Take care, alright?

 2.15: Displaced, part 2

    Hey, honey. I see you¡¯ve been trying to get a-hold of me. Your dad says you¡¯re calling him as well. We¡¯re both very busy at the moment. You should know that. We love you. You know that, too.


    How long are you planning on keeping up this charade? I still mean what I said. We¡¯re not interested in speaking with you unless you¡¯re willing to come home. Can¡¯t you see how worried you¡¯ve made everyone? And money is right out of the question. I don¡¯t know where in the world you are, but all you¡¯ll get out of us is a ticket back to the city.


    Oh, of course I would love to talk. I don¡¯t mean to be so harsh, but we think it¡¯s the only thing that will work. I¡¯m sorry about what happened. I¡¯m sorry about everything.


    Nobody sees you in this way that you think they do. You have to know that. You¡¯re not some supervillain roaming the streets. Come home, okay? Give me a call back, and tell me you¡¯re on your way.


    ***


    Henry hadn¡¯t noticed how displaced he¡¯d become, until he wanted to reconnect. He never realized how far he¡¯d traveled from the rhythm of a normal life. The only thing he wanted to talk about was Tortus Bay. The only thing he wanted to do was make someone believe him. But nobody wanted to talk to the crazy, disheveled man on the street.


    He wasn¡¯t running away. To run away, he would have needed to intend to stay in the first place. To intend to stay, he would have needed to find something new. There wasn¡¯t anything new there. Not really¡ªnot anything more than a fancy veneer on the same problems he¡¯d been trying to escape. Every place in the world had a Howard. Not nearly enough Howards had a broken nose.


    No regret there. Of everything he¡¯d ever done, he was crystal clear on that point: He should have punched the man the moment he met him, instead of subjecting himself to the extended misery of his company. If that punch became his legacy in the village, then so be it. Hell, if that became the legacy of his life, so be it. And maybe by default it would be. There wasn¡¯t much opportunity for notable deeds, in the confines of a hotel.


    He sat inside, and looked out of the window. Passersby didn¡¯t pay him any mind. They all looked like normal people, walking back and forth to work. Around noon they started carrying sandwiches, and chatting happily. In the evening the teenagers came out, milling on the corner or shouting out of their cars.


    He sat inside, and scrolled through the endless reams of his contact history¡ªimagining the conversations he might have if he reached out. Imagining the lives those people might now be living. Certainly they would all be living a life. None of them would be caught in a limbo, laying in a temporary bed on temporary sheets thinking temporary thoughts.


    That¡¯s what his life had felt like, since that day at Frida Middle School. Temporary.


    ***


    Henry had never been afraid of danger. He had, in fact, always displayed an unnerving tendency to saunter head-first into the midst of it. There was nothing brave about it. The habit was stupid, if anything. There¡¯s nothing heroic about walking into a busy intersection because you feel the need to get to work on time.


    There was nothing heroic about wandering onto the scene of a school shooting.


    He watched basic cable. There were channels upon channels upon channels of loud commercials. Game shows. People shouting at one another. And cooking. A man in a bright apron slapped a giant salmon down on a counter beside a grill, and walked through the steps of cleaning and preparing the fish. He transformed the animal into a slab of mouth-watering meat.


    Then he added the spices. Lemon pepper, garlic, brown sugar, soy sauce, salt. Did anybody watching need to know those proportions? How many people watching a cooking show in the middle of the day on a workweek would attempt to emulate the recipe for themselves? Perhaps they just enjoyed watching the process of something being improved.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Because they can¡¯t improve the conditions of their own lives? Two tracks of thought converged in Henry¡¯s mind; the one attached to the cooking show, and the one that he had been trying to drown out with said cooking show.


    He¡¯d never been particularly scared of anything in his life. He still wasn¡¯t scared of the things he should be: guns; schools; loud noises; and the crushing weight of the cruelty of mankind. That was what he told the therapists, and that was the truth. They told him he was deflecting, and that was also probably the truth.


    What scared him was the thought that the entire world was painted with the same shitty brush¡ªwith the same little people and the same little problems¡ªand that nothing and nobody was capable of rising above it.


    There was nothing left to improve of his old life. Once he¡¯d loved Ray, as a man can only love his first love. Once he¡¯d loved his mother, as a man can only love a parent. But too much had come in the way. It was stagnant, now. Too large for him to hold or handle.


    ***


    His phone rang. ¡°Hello?¡±


    ¡°Ah, Henry Cauville¡¯s¡­ is that a chin?¡±


    He pulled the phone away from his face to reveal Aria Bethel on his screen. She was standing outside of her office building, leaning against the brick wall. ¡°We¡¯ve traded places,¡± he said.


    ¡°Thought I could use some fresh air. And fewer prying ears. Don¡¯t worry, I promise not to break out into a run.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t say the same.¡±


    Her eyes swiveled, right to left. ¡°Where are you?¡±


    ¡°Greenfield.¡±


    ¡°I take it that means this phone call to convince you to come work for me isn¡¯t going to be a success?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m coming back.¡±


    ¡°You got something good out there in Greenfield?¡±


    She didn¡¯t know about Niles. She didn¡¯t know about Howard. She had seemed to make it a priority not to know anything about anything inconvenient. ¡°Magic is real,¡± he said.


    ¡°Yes, I know.¡±


    ¡°Mathas Bernard has come back from the dead.¡±


    A nod. ¡°I figured something like that was going on.¡±


    Henry laid back on the bed, tossing his phone onto the pillow beside him. Aria could look at the ceiling for a while. ¡°There¡¯s nothing here in Greenfield. I don¡¯t know what to do out here. Start a normal life? I tried that. Twice.¡±


    ¡°It takes plenty of people more than two tries.¡±


    ¡°Tortus Bay is the last place that I felt good. But it wasn¡¯t because it was normal. It was because it felt impossible.¡±


    ¡°I know exactly what you mean. That¡¯s why I could never leave. That¡¯s why I run my tech startup from the actual middle of nowhere. Do you know what it took to bring decent internet out here?¡±


    He was looking up at the ceiling as well. Orange, rapidly shifting light from the TV spilled over the bed. ¡°You stayed, and you changed things.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I guess.¡±


    ¡°If I come back, it won¡¯t be to chase a regular life. It¡¯ll be to make people see the truth.¡±


    She paused. ¡°That Mathas is back.¡±


    ¡°All of it. Everything I know that everyone else refuses to see. Everything that makes the village so unique, but which nobody cares to recognize.¡± He picked up the phone. Aria was smiling broadly.


    ¡°I can help you with that.¡±


    ¡°You can?¡±


    ¡°Pay a visit to my office. The secretary is expecting you anyway. It¡¯s not exactly what I had in mind for your employment, but I¡¯d be glad to see somebody try to do it. Tortus Bay could use a little bit of education.¡±


    ***


    It¡¯s Kara again. Wasn¡¯t planning on calling you back so soon, but I wanted to let you know that the exhibit went really well. Everybody loved it. I was rude to Niles. He seemed to get the picture. Surprised he even showed up, honestly. Maybe he was trying to run into you?


    How am I always getting mixed up in the lives of the most dramatic boys? And stupid. Listen, I know we haven¡¯t known one another for that long and I don¡¯t know that much about you, but you¡¯ve told me a thing or two. Maybe more than you realize you have. You might not want to hear it, but those people who haven¡¯t contacted you since you left aren¡¯t worth the time.


    Your future isn¡¯t in the past. It¡¯s here. So come home, alright? Get back to it.

 2.16: Off to the Races

    The weather turned in Tortus Bay. Morning frost clung to the eaves of the shopfronts on Main street, as well as the auburn leaves of the trees in the park. The sun shone in a clear sky overhead, but despite the light it was a frigid day. Despite everything that had happened, the village still felt more like home than anywhere else in the world¡ªand returning was a joy.


    Aria Bethel wore an overlarge, puffy white sweater which covered most of her body. In person the sharp lines of her face were softer than they appeared via phone screen, and the red of her lips was a gentler pink. ¡°So you¡¯ve returned from your sojourn to Greenfield.¡±


    ¡°I have,¡± Henry said. He shifted to make himself comfortable in the hard plastic chair on the opposite side of her office desk. It felt like a bit of an afterthought, as though she didn¡¯t take meetings in her office very often. ¡°And I know what I¡¯m doing.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s hear it.¡±


    ¡°A newspaper.¡±


    She smiled. ¡°A lot of people aren¡¯t going to like that idea.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about a lot of people. I care about you, right now.¡±


    Aria leaned back in her chair. Behind her, wall-length windows revealed the breadth of inHale¡¯s open space office space. It wasn¡¯t a large operation; perhaps five other people worked for her, flitting from desk to desk to lean and chat. ¡°I take it you mean to publish the truth?¡±


    ¡°Nothing but. About magic and Mathas Bernard and anything else that I can get my hands on.¡±


    ¡°A print newspaper?¡± she asked, then shook her head. ¡°Of course a print newspaper. You want people around here to actually read it. Well, it¡¯s not at all what I had in mind when I initially offered you a job, but I¡¯m willing to help.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll print it?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Give me a little time, I think I can arrange printing and distribution. You realize this is going to make us supremely unpopular individuals?¡±


    ¡°I believe I¡¯ve already accomplished that. Is it worth it for you?¡±


    Aria lifted herself out of her seat, flicked closed the blinds, and sat back down. ¡°I¡¯m not a stupid person.¡± She spoke very softly, leaning forward over her desk. ¡°And I cannot tolerate being willfully ignorant. Not any longer. Even a person¡ªsuch as myself¡ªwho is not touched at all by the magic of this place cannot live here for long without encountering some aspect of it. I tried to deny it, for much of my life. Even after I accepted it personally, I pretended publicly not to know. I¡¯m the tech person, for God¡¯s sake. What would people think?


    ¡°That worked well enough, for a long time. Now things are changing. There are storms over the park. Nothing like that has ever happened before. Nothing like that could have ever happened before.  I don¡¯t know how you stopped that thing from enveloping the entire village, but I¡¯m glad you did¡ªbecause while it was swelling, about ninety percent of the population was determinedly looking in the other direction.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been tossing it all back and forth in my mind since then. Everyone in this community needs to be on the same page, if we¡¯re going to deal with whatever happens next. I don¡¯t think I can keep looking in the other direction any longer.¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Henry found himself mimicking her body language, leaning into the conversation and responding in an equally hushed whisper. ¡°Is the sheriff, or the mayor, going to try to shut us down?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve no doubt they¡¯ll both try. We¡¯ll do this thing in secret. I have contacts out in Jungston who should be able to print. We¡¯ll do distribution through the Anderson, assuming Kara and her cohort are happy to turn a blind eye.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that group will take much convincing.¡±


    She offered her hand. ¡°Then we¡¯re partners. Fifty-fifty, after I recoup losses.¡±


    He took it. ¡°Partners.¡±


    ¡°The trick now, Henry, will be convincing as many people as we can, as fast as we can and as thoroughly as we can, so that the powers that be will be unable to shut us down when they inevitably route us out.¡±


    ¡°A race against time.¡±


    Aria grinned. ¡°A race against convenient ignorance.¡±


    ***


    Kara nearly lifted Henry off his feet with the ferocity of the hug she administered when he stepped into the warehouse. ¡°Of course we¡¯ll do it,¡± she said. ¡°This old place was practically constructed out of hidey-holes. Trust me, you only know a couple of them. But where in the hell did you get the idea for a newspaper?¡±


    ¡°Always struck me as odd, that Tortus Bay didn¡¯t have one. I think it¡¯s been on my mind since I saw that bulletin board in the cafe.¡±


    ¡°Just took you a mini mental meltdown to put the pieces in place?¡±


    The Anderson was freezing. Much of the art was still hanging in exhibition, but here and there pieces had been moved. Paint cans and drying racks were once again making their way back out onto the floor. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I missed the exhibit.¡±


    ¡°It was nothing special. Lot of folks milling in a circle, reciting old art terms they learned in high school. The mayor bought Cigarette Break.¡±


    Henry looked to the far wall, where the mural of the young boy smoking a cigarette was hanging in a partially deconstructed state. ¡°I didn¡¯t know that was for sale.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Neither did I, but he made a very generous offer. Wants it installed in his house.¡±


    ¡°What a house that must be.¡±


    ¡°The man is a long-term supporter of local art.¡±


    ¡°Rings a bell. That makes him a friend?¡±


    Kara arched a brow. ¡°Of course not.¡±


    Henry took a long look around the warehouse. They appeared to be alone. ¡°Listen, there¡¯s something else that I need to do. Something I didn¡¯t mention to Aria. And I might need your help.¡±


    ¡°What do you need?¡±


    ¡°To find Clair. She¡¯s a part in all of this, and there¡¯s a lot more that she can tell me. There has to be. She left me a note with directions on where to find her, but I don¡¯t know if it¡¯ll be good anymore. It¡¯s a place to start, at least.¡±


    She leveled a shrewd look in his direction, and folded her arms. ¡°You mean business.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t hop from place to place,¡± he said. ¡°Not anymore. For whatever reason, Tortus Bay is the only place I¡¯ve ever found that feels right. It¡¯s the only place where the bullet wound in my shoulder doesn¡¯t ache. But I need to help it as much as I think it can help me¡ªand now I know how.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°You¡¯ve seen how I work. What I do. The magic that I imbue into the things that I create is carried out into the world by people who believe in me, and once a month we are connected through that craft. All magic works like that. It¡¯s a connective force.¡±


    ¡°What are you saying?¡±


    ¡°Clair has a particular tattoo on her leg. It wasn¡¯t something of mine, but it is something of the magic of Tortus Bay. And so it is connected in some way to the village.¡± Kara began pacing, arms still tightly crossed, as she talked it through. ¡°I know exactly where everyone who bears one of my trinkets is, on a festival day. Tracing that at the right time, in the right way, might clue us in to her location. I don¡¯t know the first thing about how to tap into that, but someone with a deeper understanding might have the secret to get it started. Someone like Teresa Bramble.¡±


    ***


    They didn¡¯t make it to the Bramble estate. As Henry and Kara walked down the street, a squad car pulled up beside them. Sheriff Leia Thao jumped out, her face a mask of determination.


    Henry knew what was about to happen the second before it did, and his overwhelming reaction was confusion. He should have had more time. Did she know that he¡¯d skipped town? Had she already dug up his fake plot in the park?


    He didn¡¯t have to wait long for the answer. In a single motion, Leia fished a pair of manacles from her belt with one hand and pulled his arm behind his back with the other. ¡°Henry Cauville,¡± she said, ¡°you are under arrest for the assault of Howard Drucker. Anything you say now can and will be used against you in a court of law.¡±

 2.17: Stories of a Dead Man

    Henry was thrown directly into a cell¡ªhis cell, as he disturbingly now thought of it. No sarcastic remarks from the sheriff. No interrogation room. He made himself as comfortable as he could on the thin cot, rolled out his aching shoulder, and waited for the first sign of deputy Taylor. If anyone would listen to him, it would be Taylor. He might even be able to provide a clue about Clair¡¯s whereabouts, if their significant eye contact during Henry¡¯s last incarceration had been anything more than the product of a desperate imagination.


    But Taylor never materialized. Nobody at all walked down the long hallway that connected the cells to the main body of the station. He was, apparently, forgotten. Night fell, and his stomach grumbled. No food came. For a time, he considered calling out. Certainly somebody was on duty. But it felt undignified, so instead he curled up and fell into fitful sleep.


    A slight commotion roused him in the morning. There were a pair of voices arguing in the station. ¡°I have every right to be here,¡± Kara said.


    The sheriff sounded tired. ¡°I get to decide that.¡±


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t. I¡¯m allowed to be here, and he¡¯s allowed to have visitors. What would the mayor think?¡±


    There was a pause. ¡°Fine. You can have ten minutes.¡±


    Henry managed to sit up and blink most of the bleariness out of his eyes before Kara rounded the corner. ¡°You decent in there?¡±


    ¡°Not really.¡±


    ¡°Well, what¡¯s a little indecency between friends?¡± Kara pulled a stool from the corner over to sit in front of his cell. She was smiling, and holding a small bundle of white towels and bandages. ¡°How¡¯re you holding up?¡±


    He laughed. ¡°Better in here than a two-star hotel in Greenfield.¡±


    ¡°Yes, well. I made it out to Teresa¡¯s last night.¡± She handed over the bandages, along with a fresh vial of the ointment. ¡°She figured you might be out.¡±


    ¡°Thanks. Mind blocking the view?¡±


    Kara obliged, turning her back on him to cut off the narrow line of sight from the main room to the cells. Leia didn¡¯t need to know about his shoulder. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you didn¡¯t tell me that you punched Howie.¡±


    ¡°Seemed like a minor piece of information, at the time.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Seems fairly important now. Word on the street is that he¡¯s pissed. Wants to take this thing as far as he can.¡±


    ¡°If that man scared me, I wouldn¡¯t have hit him in the first place.¡± Henry dropped his shirt back over his head. ¡°Alright, we¡¯re good.¡±


    Kara reached through the bars to retrieve the ointment and the used bandages, and stuffed them neatly under her shirt. ¡°I also come with a present.¡±


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t the present?¡±


    ¡°Of course not.¡± She fished in her pocket, and after a moment produced another pendant. This one was different from the one currently hanging around his neck, or any of the others that he had ever seen. The metal was a glittering gold. The design was simple: three concentric circles, connected by double bars. ¡°This is a secret,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m serious. Nobody gets to see this. Not even a glimpse.¡±


    Henry nodded. ¡°What is it?¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°I don¡¯t make these. And if anyone asks, even Teresa Bramble, you tell them I wouldn¡¯t even know how.¡± She sighed, wrapped the chain up in her palm, and handed it over. ¡°It amplifies power. I know you¡¯re curious about whether you¡¯re connected with the magic of the village or not. If you are¡ªeven by just a hair¡ªthis will make it obvious to you.¡±


    He put it on, and felt the metal sizzle, if only very slightly, when it made contact with his skin. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to thank you.¡±


    ¡°Thank me by not thinking about it too much. I started work on that charm a few weeks ago, well before you had this idea of yours for a newspaper. You know as well I do that you were brought here. And that wouldn¡¯t have happened if you weren¡¯t needed. I don¡¯t think it matters if you end up having any ¡®power¡¯ one way or the other; this thing you¡¯re trying to do is going to be more important.¡±


    ¡°This thing I¡¯m trying to do might never happen, if I can¡¯t get out of here.¡±


    The smile on Kara¡¯s face widened. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be so sure about that. I¡¯ve been spreading the word around town.¡±


    ***


    Tod, the most prominently white-whiskered and pot-bellied member of the TBHWAS, was the first to brave the Tortus Bay Police Station to speak with Henry. ¡°I¡¯ve seen Mathas Bernard,¡± he said. ¡°I couldn¡¯t believe it at first, but it was definitely him. Walking through the park, like he was going somewhere, you know? I didn¡¯t call out to him or anything. Something felt wrong about it. About him, I mean. There¡¯s something the matter with the man, isn¡¯t there?¡±


    Then came Patty, from the cafe. ¡°He tried to get in,¡± she said. ¡°I haven¡¯t told anybody else. Nobody would believe me, right? It was late at night. I stayed to finish up a load of dishes.¡± She shuddered. ¡°I haven¡¯t stayed past nightfall since. There was a scuffling from outside, and I figured it was an animal trying to get into the trash. I opened the back door, and there he was: Mathas Bernard, looking exactly like he always did. Except for the grimy clothes, I suppose. He looked up at the light from the door, and jumped at me. I slammed it in his face, ran to hide in the kitchen, and he was nowhere to be seen by the time I got the courage to go look again.¡±


    Jamal was next, beaming from ear to ear and sporting a grease-stained apron. ¡°Knew you¡¯d be back,¡± he said. ¡°Felt mighty guilty after you left, but I told everyone you wouldn¡¯t be gone long. Shame about this.¡± He rattled his fingers against the bars, and his smile faltered. ¡°There¡¯s no sense I can see in locking somebody up over a well-intentioned punch. Not like you broke anything. But that¡¯s not my expertise. I only run a bar.


    ¡°Anyway, I hear you¡¯re collecting stories. You know I¡¯m good at that. And this one¡¯s true. I was out late a few nights ago, helping¡­ well, helping someone up into their room, and I saw a strange figure sort of loping across the street. Didn¡¯t think too much about it, until I noticed two more figures behind it. Kind of chasing it, I thought. When that first figure passed under a streetlight, and I was that it was Mathas Bernard¡­ let me tell you, it was almost me who needed to be carried to bed.¡±


    The woman who ran Cycler told him that she had seen Lucy Brihte chasing Mathas Bernard down Main Street. The man who worked at the Pale Moon Buffet swore up and down that Mathas Bernard had faked his death to be with the woman he truly loved¡ªthough he had not actually seen the man himself. Just about everyone in the village seemed to have one story or another, and Henry diligently wrote them all down. He had no idea how he was going to go about verifying anything he heard, but he figured that recording it was the right first step.


    Sofia and Lola, the daughters of Teresa Bramble, visited him late that night¡ªand had to spend a good amount of time arguing with the sheriff before being allowed in. The concern, it seemed, was both with their number and the time of day, but in the end Leia relented. They were the only ones to visit him that day without a sighting of the not-dead man.


    ¡°Our mother wanted to come herself,¡± Sofia, the elder daughter, said, ¡°but she got caught up. Did you get the ointment?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Henry said. He eyed Lola, the younger daughter, for signs of distress. The memory of her panicking at bolting at his slight movement was still fresh in his mind, but she seemed fine at the moment. ¡°Tell your mother that I appreciate it.¡±


    ¡°We will. She wants you to come to her as soon as you get out of here. It¡¯s important.¡±


    ¡°I understand. I will.¡±


    The girl hesitated, biting her lip, and Lola spoke up to fill the ensuing silence. ¡°You¡¯re looking for Mathas Bernard.¡± Not quite a statement, not entirely a question.


    ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because I don¡¯t think he¡¯s really dead.¡±


    Sofia cleared her throat. ¡°You¡¯ve seen him?¡±


    ¡°I have.¡±


    Her expression was unreadable. ¡°That¡¯s interesting. If we see anything out there, we¡¯ll let you know. Please, try to get out of here as soon as you can.¡±

 2.18: Respect

    The scraping of a key into his cell door lock interrupted Henry¡¯s frantic dreams. There had been something about¡­ teeth? Or had they been streets? He shook dense cobwebs from his mind, and sat up as Leia Thao swung the door open. Her mouth was a thin line. Her face was red. She was livid. ¡°Explain yourself.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°The park,¡± she hissed. ¡°The supposed burial site of Emmaline Cass. There was nothing.¡±


    He blinked, struggling to get up to speed. He hadn¡¯t expected that shoe to drop so soon.


    The sheriff dropped into a squat, to lower herself to his level, and spoke softly. ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit about recovering any Cass bones. The Mayor doesn¡¯t care very much either. But the village sure as hell does. Those people want answers, and they know enough to realize that those answers have been coming from you. It¡¯s them you have to worry about.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s funny. I thought it was you, who threw me in here.¡±


    ¡°And if they want me to keep you in here, I won¡¯t cry about it. Do you understand that?¡±


    ¡°I gave you the wrong location.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed. ¡°Is that right?¡±


    ¡°If you want, I¡¯ll bring you to the real place. No tricks this time.¡±


    ¡°This is your last chance,¡± she said, straightening herself up and speaking once more in a normal tone. ¡°One more mistake, and I¡¯m going to make it my life¡¯s work to bury you.¡±


    ***


    Henry figured she was telling the truth. He brought her to the park and flagged the area beneath the old gnarled oak where he had first seen Clair unearth her special cache. There were so many things he¡¯d meant to do, before giving up the real location. Speaking with Taylor and finding Clair were chief amongst them. If he hadn¡¯t left the village, perhaps he would have had time.


    He shook his head. There was no time now to dwell on past time wasted. Or on why he¡¯d wasted it. Or on hearing Ray¡¯s voice again. The deputy who was not Taylor drove Henry back to the station, and locked himself out of the building after securing him in his cage.


    Then there was nothing to do. No visitors. No books. No phone. Nothing. He browsed through the notes he¡¯d taken over the previous day, trying to synthesize some sort of trend out of the mess of stories, but there was little to work with. It seemed as though Mathas Bernard liked to go out at night, and had some sort of affinity for routing around in trash. Perhaps he was hungry. Perhaps he was lost. He either despised, or was intrigued by, light. And he was sometimes seen chasing someone. Or being chased.


    Useless thoughts and theories flitted about his mind, colliding and ricocheting off one another, until finally the station doors clattered open¡ªand two pairs of footsteps made their way down the hallway floor. ¡°Of course you can see him,¡± Leia said. ¡°You can take as much time as you need.¡±


    That was all the warning Henry got, before Howard sidled into the room. He had a nasty sort of grin plastered on his face, and an even nastier welt on the side of his nose. What had before been a red complexion was now verging on cherry. The man stood in front of the cell, arms crossed, saying nothing.


    ¡°You¡¯ve come to gloat,¡± Henry said.


    ¡°Not worth it anymore, is it?¡±


    ¡°Howie, if I could go back in time, I would do everything in the exact same way.¡±


    His face twisted into a scowl. ¡°I actually came here to be reasonable. To offer you a way out of this mess you¡¯ve found yourself in.¡±


    ¡°Is that right?¡±


    ¡°It is. I¡¯ll drop the charges, if you apologize. To me, and to everyone else in this village.¡±


    Henry laid back on his cot, and considered the man standing before him¡ªfrom his beady focused eyes all the way down to his anxiously tapping feet. ¡°Howard,¡± he said, ¡°how in the hell is that going to help you?¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    He missed a beat. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I told you this already. You live a sad life, Howard, and you have no clue how to make it any better. Nobody respects you. Did the sheriff look you in the eye when you called her with a bloody nose? I think, deep down, you know that what I¡¯m saying is true. And I think, deep down, that you understand that my punching you in the face was far more than you ever deserved. I treated you like an equal. Which you are not. That¡¯s the most respect you¡¯ll get out of me, and that¡¯s more than you¡¯ll get from anyone else, either.¡±


    His face contorted even further. His meaty cheeks curled into dense folds. ¡°I came here,¡± he spat, ¡°to offer you a chance. I came here to be the bigger man.¡±


    ¡°Howie, you don¡¯t have to try for that. You¡¯re already the bigger man.¡±


    ***


    Little else of note happened that night. He was fed¡ªtakeout from the buffet. He wondered if that was their standard procedure. There was no kitchen in the station, as far as he knew. Nobody bothered him. Off and on there was the noise of the main door sliding open, presumably to let Leia in and out, but nothing beyond that.


    Henry eventually found comfort in the silence and boredom. It wasn¡¯t so different, laying on a cot instead of a cheap hotel mattress. The calm was arguably the superior companion to the background noise of basic cable TV. He drifted in and out of light sleep.


    Through the window the sky lightened to a pastel purple. Hours or minutes had passed, he wasn¡¯t sure. It was the break of dawn, and the sheriff stormed into the station with her characteristic fury. He sprung up, prepared for what was about to happen.


    ¡°We found the damn casket,¡± she said. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her uniform hung loose around her shoulders and waist. Had she been up all night? ¡°Want to take a guess what we found inside?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    She gave a hoarse bark of a laugh. ¡°Not exactly. An empty bottle of whiskey. What kind of joke is this?¡±


    ¡°I keep trying to tell you, it isn¡¯t a -¡±


    ¡°Why the hell am I even asking? You¡¯ve done nothing since you got here but lie. You should have stayed out in Greenfield. Yeah, I know you took off for a couple days. Against my explicit directions, mind you. It isn¡¯t hard to keep track of people in a place the size of Tortus Bay.¡±


    Except she hadn¡¯t been able to track him down, at the Anderson. ¡°But the casket is proof that -¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to hear anything more out of you,¡± she snapped. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m charging you with, but I¡¯ll have something.¡±


    ***


    Henry had plenty of time to wonder how Emmaline Cass¡¯ body had been moved from her casket. Perhaps Taylor had passed his message on to Clair. Or maybe more people than he thought knew about the burial site. He had no opportunity to ask anyone about it. The sheriff sat at her desk for the entirety of the day, loudly turning away potential visitor after potential visitor. Even Kara had no luck. ¡°Tell the Mayor, then,¡± Leia yelled. ¡°March him down here and let him sort it out, but until that happens you¡¯re not getting back there.¡±


    It took until nightfall for someone to finally break the sheriff¡¯s will, by which time Henry had already given up hope. He heard someone enter, and the pursuing lilting noise of a conversation, but the words were too soft for him to decipher. Gradually they got louder. ¡°I don¡¯t understand what you think your authority here is.¡± It was Aria¡¯s voice. ¡°The charges were dropped.¡±


    ¡°I have the authority,¡± Leia spat the word, ¡°to hold him for as long as I need.¡±


    ¡°You know that¡¯s not true.¡±


    ¡°Listen, I¡¯ll tell you what I told Kara: if you don¡¯t like it, you can go to the Mayor.¡±


    ¡°The Mayor? What¡¯s he got to do with it? If I go somewhere¡ªand I will¡ªit will be to the State. I do a lot of business out there in the wide world. How are they going to like a report of indefinite detention?¡±


    There was silence. From his cell, Henry thought he could feel the seething anger. Then there were loud footfalls down the hall, and Leia unlocked his cell without meeting him in the eye. ¡°Mathas Bernard is out there,¡± he said, instead of stepping out. ¡°That¡¯s what you need to be worried about.¡±


    ¡°Leave.¡±


    ¡°Look for him,¡± he pleaded. ¡°A word from you could mean a lot.¡±


    Her voice was cold. ¡°Stop spreading misinformation in my village.¡±


    ¡°Next time you bury me, right?¡±


    She had nothing to say to that. Aria met him by the entrance, with a brief smile and a harried look about her face. ¡°The charges were dropped?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Early this morning,¡± she said. ¡°Some people went to intervene with Howard on your behalf, but he¡¯d already done it. Wouldn¡¯t tell anyone why the sudden change of heart.¡±


    He grinned. ¡°Thank you for talking sense into the sheriff.¡±


    ¡°That was never my intent.¡± She held the door open, and they stepped together out into the blustering autumn air. ¡°Simply wanted to give a business partner a quick update, but she wouldn¡¯t let me back to see you.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s an update?¡±


    ¡°Everything¡¯s set up. All we need is the copy for the first issue, and we¡¯ll have the Tortus Bay Examiner out in people¡¯s hands by the end of the week.¡±


    ¡°The Tortus Bay Examiner?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I thought of it myself.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that make it sound a little bit like, I don¡¯t know, Turtle Fancier?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to need more imagination than that, my friend, if you want to succeed in the publishing business.¡±

 2.19: Following Directions

    Teresa Bramble met Henry and Kara at her door the next morning, bearing a half-concealed scowl and a pot of what turned out to be exceptionally strong coffee. She beckoned them inside regardless. ¡°My daughters spoke with you?¡±


    ¡°They did,¡± Henry said. ¡°Paying you a visit was pretty high up my on priority list in the first place, but they made it sound especially important.¡±


    ¡°Are they around?¡± Kara asked.


    ¡°No.¡± Teresa led them through to the kitchen, where she set to work hunting down three mugs. ¡°They ran off before I got up. Who knows what they get up to recently. Kids love their little secrets.¡±


    They lapsed into comfortable silence for a time, arrayed haphazardly around the room, sipping coffee. They were a rough and disheveled trio. A casual observer might have reasonably guessed that all three of them had spent the last few days of their lives in jail, when in fact only one had. Neither Henry nor Kara had eaten breakfast, and he was just starting to wonder if it would be rude to ask to raid Teresa¡¯s pantry when she suddenly set down her cup and smacked her lips. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s see it.¡±


    Henry didn¡¯t need to ask what she meant. He promptly pulled his shirt over his head; he hadn¡¯t bothered to wrap the wound that morning, and he regretted it as the cloth pulled away at drying blood.


    Teresa swooped in like a hawk, circling him as she had before, but it did not take long for her to pull back. ¡°You got the new ointment?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And you used it? Last night and this morning?¡±


    ¡°I did.¡±


    Her scowl returned, full force. ¡°Well, fuck.¡± The word hung in the air. She caught their aghast expressions. ¡°What? I told you, my kids aren¡¯t home.¡±


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± Kara asked. ¡°I mean, more wrong than normal?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s gotten worse.¡±


    He knew that. Somewhere deep down, he knew that. Over the past few days he¡¯d avoided looking at his shoulder. Took care to wrap and unwrap it in dim lighting. ¡°I think it happened when I left Tortus Bay.¡±


    ¡°Exacerbated or not by your leaving,¡± Teresa said, ¡°the fact remains that it is destabilized, changing for the worse, and not responding to treatment.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Kara asked. She was a good checkup companion. The important questions seemed to filter into her head so much quicker than they did into his.


    Teresa sighed. ¡°It¡¯s worse than I thought.¡±


    ¡°How bad?¡±


    With a caliper and a notebook in hand, she resumed her hawkish circling, prodding him occasionally and taking notes. ¡°Difficult to say. I¡¯ve done all of the research that I can, at this point. There¡¯s not a lot of records of wounds like these. But they do exist. And they¡¯re grim. You could lose the arm.¡±


    Henry felt capable of fielding the next question. ¡°How do we stop it?¡±


    ¡°There are things we can try,¡± she said, poking away with abandon, ¡°on the next confluence. The festival. I need to learn more, but I know where to look now. Do you mind if I take a blood sample?¡±


    He nodded. ¡°What are my odds?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a doctor. And even if I were, I wouldn¡¯t give odds on a procedure I haven¡¯t yet learned and never heard of being performed before.¡±


    ¡°So, low.¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    She inserted a needle into his arm, just beneath the red-raw rim of his eternally festering wound. He jumped, and bit down hard on his lip. ¡°I never said that.¡±


    ¡°Have you heard anything strange lately?¡± he asked. Kara shot him a look, but he continued on. ¡°Anything about Mathas Bernard?¡±


    Teresa pulled the needle out of his arm and tottled over to the counter, where she began working on something he could not see. ¡°I think you need to work on resting and recuperating. If what we¡¯re going to try on the festival is going to work, we¡¯ll need you at full strength.¡±


    ¡°So you have heard something.¡±


    She shot a look at Kara over her shoulder. ¡°Can you talk some sense into him?¡±


    ¡°Wish I could,¡± Kara said, ¡°but your help here might do more good. Without it, I imagine Henry will be tripping and stumbling around the forest by himself.¡±


    ¡°I saw Mathas on the day that he died,¡± Teresa said, with a distinct note of reluctance in her voice. ¡°I was the one they called, you know. And I can tell you that he most certainly passed away.¡±


    That took some of the wind out of him. ¡°But I''ve seen him.¡±


    ¡°Yes. A good number of people are saying that.¡±


    ¡°Then is it possible? Could he be¡­ I don¡¯t know, back somehow?¡±


    Teresa paused in her work, and turned around. Her face was no longer a scowl. Something more speculative, and perhaps tired, had taken over. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve never heard of anything like it, and I hope it is not as it appears.¡± She spread her hands. ¡°I truly hope not.¡±


    ¡°We need to find Clair.¡±


    ¡°You need to rest.¡±


    Henry shook his head. He didn¡¯t yet know how to explain what he felt, but he felt it with a certainty which would not let him go. ¡°It¡¯s all connected. This wound, Mathas, Clair, Tortus Bay, and Emmaline Cass, somehow.¡±


    ¡°Do you know that? Or does it only feel that way because it¡¯s all happening to you at the same time?¡±


    Kara coughed. ¡°Or are you in a manic state after a bad breakup?¡±


    He turned on her. ¡°Whose side are you on?¡±


    ¡°Yours, of course¡± she said, ¡°but I don¡¯t know why both couldn¡¯t be true. Teresa, is there a way you can find Clair? She can¡¯t be far from the village. Probably out in the woods somewhere.¡±


    She began grumbling, resuming her work on the counter with extra vigor. ¡°Nobody listens. I tell them to eat a vegetable, they go out and buy a bag of potato chips. I tell them to rest, they want to stay out all night romping through the forest. Yes, I could probably track the girl down. But it will take time before I¡¯m ready to start.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s alright by me,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve got a different lead to follow.¡±


    ***


    Henry had long since crumpled and discarded the cryptic series of directions he¡¯d fished out of the can of beans in Horizon Foods, but he remembered the hastily scribbled words perfectly. Two miles east of the graveyard. Follow the boulders.


    Finding the old graveyard wasn¡¯t difficult. Now that he knew to look for the towering marble Cass headstone, it proved nearly impossible to miss. The area called to him, and he briefly considered stopping to peruse the graves, but he resisted. Instead he plunged eastward, deeper into the trees, eyes peeled for signs of the next clue. There were large rocks on either side of him, and scattered at random further afield. Is that what Clair had meant? How was he meant to follow them?


    He skirted around a dense copse, and understood. Before him stood a weathered and mossy boulder, with the faint indication of an arrow scratched onto its surface. It pointed left. Then perhaps thirty feet in a straight line leftwards, there was another boulder, this one pointing him to the right. And so on, boulder after boulder, turn after turn. The marks were rough and faded, as though they had been etched with the edge of a sharpened stick. It was lucky anything remained of them at all.


    As the scenery swirled together and he started to think that he was going in circles, the boulders ceased and the forest opened up onto a small, beatific lake. The regular sounds of the surrounding woods fell away, replaced by the distant chirping of grasshoppers and the faint sloshing of water. The sky overhead went yellow. A memory surfaced in Henry¡¯s mind, of someone telling him of a nearby lake they enjoyed visiting.


    By then it was too late. The Mayor, in his casual sweater and well-pressed slacks, had already turned from where he had been gazing out over gently rippling waves. ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting for a long time.¡±


    Henry was rooted to the spot. He couldn¡¯t speak.


    ¡°There is a delicate balance to our lives here in Tortus Bay,¡± Noel continued. ¡°I believe you yourself have stumbled onto that truth. It exists, as you no doubt know somewhere deep within yourself, between the haves and the have-nots. Between those who know, and those who refuse to see.¡±


    Words returned to him. ¡°You¡¯re the one who left me all of those notes.¡±


    ¡°What is the expression? It takes all kinds. I believe that to be true. My newest friend, my dearest child, nobody here could begrudge a man with the strength of spirit to seek the truth.¡± As the Mayor spoke, pairs of yellow lights appeared in the shade of the trees around them. Eyes. Tens of them, then hundreds. ¡°What we might take exception with is a man who uses his knowledge to upset a balance that we have worked so long to establish.¡±

 2.20: Connections

    Eyes continued opening in the forest surrounding them, glowing like fireflies, illuminating the lumbering forms of shaggy four-legged bodies. Henry took a step back. He didn¡¯t want to run. Not yet. Information is what he came for, and information is what he would get. ¡°What did you do with Clair?¡± he asked. ¡°Where is she?¡±


    The Mayor smiled, serene. ¡°I honestly haven¡¯t the faintest impression. Clair does not concern me. She is a part of the balance. There is nothing more important than maintaining that delicate tight-wire act. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°No. No, I don¡¯t. What are you?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s more at play here than the Bramble¡¯s folksy remedies, or Kara¡¯s quaint charms.¡± Noel raised his arms, palms up. ¡°I¡¯m only me. And you, I presume, can only be you. Why is it that you returned from Greenfield?¡±


    As far as Henry could tell, the surrounding field of eyes was no longer multiplying, but had begun shifting around. The wolves were spreading themselves out. ¡°I¡¯ve made friends here.¡±


    ¡°So you came back to see them. How charming.¡± The Mayor paused, lifted his chin into the air, and breathed in deep through his nose. ¡°Do you know that everything has a smell? Sorry, perhaps that seems obvious. I am not speaking only of physical objects. Do you know that ideas have scents? And words? Intentions? They are faint, like a lemon wedge squeezed into a gallon of water, or a single sprig of lilac laying over a distant hill. But they are distinct, and they do not lie. Unlike you.¡±


    It was time to run. He knew that, but couldn¡¯t convince his feet to part the ground. ¡°It wasn¡¯t a lie.¡±


    ¡°And people, of course. Each and every one of us has a particular scent¡ªbeyond the sweat and the salt and the bacterial mass of our bodies. We had you pegged from the moment you stepped foot in the village. Trouble, one way or another.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s we?¡±


    The Mayor inclined his head, and a howl went up through the woods. One, to start, then joined by another and another until the sound filled the air in a deafening, unified cacophony. Birds shot out of nearby trees. Squirrels dove into their hidden holes. Henry regained control of his body, turned, and sprinted in the opposite direction. Back toward Tortus Bay. Back toward safety.


    He kept his eyes trained on the ground in front of his feet. He never looked back to see, for he didn¡¯t want to know, if he was pursued.


    ***


    ¡°It¡¯s quite the story,¡± Aria eventually said. Her chin was planted firmly in her hand, her eyes closed. She was sitting on a metal folding chair in the loading bay of the Anderson warehouse. Beside her, Kara was pacing in a circle. Tortus Bay¡¯s inaugural editorial board meeting had been rapidly convened in the middle of the night.


    ¡°You believe me, don¡¯t you?¡± Henry asked.


    ¡°Of course I do. It doesn¡¯t surprise me at all that the Mayor is up to some spooky shit. There are worse rumors than what you just told us. But there¡¯s a difference between pissing off the powers that be, and coming right out of the gate with a left hook for their face.¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Darkness poured through the windows like an invasive stain, shrouding the flickering fluorescence. ¡°What I¡¯m worried about,¡± Kara said, ¡°is believability. If people pick up the first issue of the Tortus Bay Examiner and see a headline story about their Mayor being some sort of dark magician, what are they going to think?¡±


    ¡°That we¡¯re some sort of click-bait organization for the physical print crowd,¡± he said. Unfortunately he could not entirely disagree with the reasoning. More unfortunately, it seemed as though the name Tortus Bay Examiner had stuck. ¡°I want to publish the truth.¡±


    ¡°And we can do that,¡± Aria said. ¡°But maybe it¡¯s a better idea to earn trust first. Run with the first-hand stories you collected about Mathas Bernard. Those are from the people who will become your first wave of readers. They¡¯ll respond well.¡±


    Henry chewed his lip. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored the call. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s your decision. You¡¯re the one in charge.¡±


    He joined Kara, in pacing. Making decisions was easier with some blood flow. They could work up to the big truth. He didn¡¯t know enough details about what he¡¯d just seen, anyway. If he only waited, and dug in deeper, what he ultimately published could be that much more complete. And yet¡­.


    His pocket buzzed again, jolting his thoughts off track. ¡°What the hell? Who thinks it¡¯s okay to call me at -¡± He saw the number, and answered immediately. ¡°Niles?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He spoke in a quavering whisper. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I know I shouldn¡¯t be calling you, but I didn¡¯t know what else to do.¡±


    Henry was already headed for the door. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°I know you¡¯re looking for information about Mathas.¡±


    Kara and Aria stood to join him, but he waved them back into their seats. ¡°You¡¯ve seen him?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s here. He¡¯s inside my house.¡±


    ***


    Henry wondered if he would ever get any sleep. The reflective purple of the sky told him that it was sometime pre-dawn, but he dared not glance at his phone to check. He didn¡¯t want to know. It stood to reason, if some significant part of his life was going to include chasing down Mathas Bernard, that he would have to get used to staying up all night. That¡¯s when nearly every sighting had so far occurred.


    When he got within eye-shot of Niles¡¯ comfortable bungalow, he slowed and fell into a crouch. Naturally he hadn¡¯t thought this far ahead. All of the momentum which had propelled him halfway across the village from the Anderson drained out of his system, as he slowly approached the front door. It hung ajar.


    No sign of Niles. No sound of Bruce. There was not a hint of motion anywhere. Henry slipped into the front hallway as quietly as he could manage, and stalled in place. There, finally, was a noise: faint snuffling, and that of fingers being dragged across linoleum.


    Niles¡¯ face appeared, from around the corner leading into the living room. His hair was mussed, his eyes wide with terror¡ªand so disarmingly warm. The fear and unease roiling in Henry¡¯s gut were overpowered by something more familiar. More pleasant, at first, until it too began to kick and writhe inside him. ¡°Over there,¡± Niles mouthed, nodded toward the kitchen.


    At first, there was nothing to see. Then, creeping forward another inch, Henry found the angle of reflection from the stove-top mirror. Standing unperturbed amongst the cutlery, running his flat hands back and forth across the counter-top, was Mathas Bernard.


    The man did not look much different. There was a sallowness to him, which perhaps had not been present that day at the park. His skin looked stretched, where it was not wrinkled or doubled up on itself. Dirt covered him from head to toe, giving his bald head the appearance of a poor toupee, and his grey suit the appearance of being brown. Clumps of grass sat atop his shoulders. Something wriggled around his coat sleeves.


    Mathas looked up, and turned his head to gaze into the mirror. They locked eyes.

 2.21: Temptations

    Henry stood paralyzed in the hallway, staring down the unblinking gaze of Mathas Bernard. The man¡¯s eyes, he could now see, were not quite right. They were filmy, and unfocused. Yellowed. And there was dirt in them, clumping along the ridge of the eyelids.


    Niles waved to get his attention. ¡°In here!¡± he mouthed.


    He beckoned Into the living room, which would require Henry to approach Mathas. But even as he pondered the thought, the man¡¯s head turned away, once more resuming what looked like a blind search of the counter-tops.


    Henry took a deep breath, steeled himself, and darted across the hallway into the living room. To enter, he had to vault over a sort of barricade which had been set up. The armchair sat toppled on its side, blocking the entrance. A few boxes had been piled on top, for weight. He sat with his back against it, waiting for the inevitable sound of the dead man¡¯s approaching footfalls. It did not come.


    Bruce lay huddled in the corner, soundlessly whimpering. Niles sat on the floor behind the couch, clearly trying to decide whether it was worth the effort to add it to the barricade. Sweat poured down his face. ¡°I don¡¯t believe it,¡± he said. ¡°I mean, obviously I believed Jenny, and you, but I didn¡¯t believe, you know? Now he¡¯s here.¡±


    ¡°We have to get out of the house.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Niles snapped. A rare hardness entered his voice. ¡°No, he¡¯s not kicking me out of my own house.¡±


    Henry peered over the top of the armchair. From his angle, he could only see the faint reflection of movement. Mathas was still safe in the kitchen. ¡°What happened?


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize anything was off until Bruce started whining. I thought he was sick, at first, but he kept nipping at my heels and staring off at the kitchen. I walked in there, Henry.¡± He shuddered.


    ¡°What was he doing?¡±


    Niles covered his face with his hands. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    He wanted nothing more than to crawl over to the couch, and take the man by the shoulders. But he stayed where he was. That would be too much. ¡°Did he come in through the front?¡±


    ¡°No, through the back. I had the door open. I was baking a cake, and I wanted to air the place out.¡±


    That settled into Henry¡¯s mind. ¡°You were baking a cake?¡±


    ¡°Yes. What does that matter?¡±


    ¡°Where is it now?¡±


    Niles drew his hands away from his face. ¡°I think he ate it.¡±


    And he¡¯d stayed in the kitchen since, looking for more. ¡°You used to bake cakes for his birthdays, right? How often did you do that?¡±


    ¡°Every year. And more, besides. The man had a sweet tooth.¡±


    ¡°I think he still does.¡±


    Niles¡¯ eyes widened in understanding. ¡°He¡¯s looking for the things he used to love.¡±


    ¡°Which explains why he was caught circling his old house.¡± Henry leaned over and pulled the bookmark out of the ratty paperback copy of The Alpha Aliens Save Jupiter¡­ Again! A photograph, featuring a slighter younger Mathas Bernard standing in a crowd of people. Most notably amongst them was his wife. Beth Brihte beamed out of that photo as Henry had never known her to in real life. He stood, and whistled.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Niles hissed, but the trick had worked. Mathas looked again into the stove-top mirror, and saw when he did the photograph which Henry held above the barricade.


    In this way they lured the man out of the house. He moved with a limping gate, but a surprising speed, once he was focused on a target. There was a single-mindedness to it which recalled a cat, or a toddler.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Now what?¡± Niles asked, when they had moved a good distance down the road. They kept a comfortable pace ahead of Mathas. There was no longer any possible way that the man could still see the photograph, but it did not appear to matter.


    ¡°The Anderson,¡± Henry said. They could hold the man there. Lock him in one of the back rooms, and call the sheriff to come see. He smiled at the thought of Leia Thao coming face to face with the reality of the dead man walking. But it turned out to be a premature fantasy.


    On the corner of Fuller, where the road curved away from the forest border to connect Tortus Bay¡¯s northernmost neighborhood to the rest of village proper, there came a scuffling from the grass. It was a substantial noise, like a deer jumping up from where it had settled or a flock of birds scattering from a bush. Either way, Mathas turned at the commotion, and stepped off of the road into the obscuring night.


    ¡°Get him back!¡± Niles said.


    Henry raised the photograph further above his head, and whistled. ¡°Mathas! Hey, Mathas!¡±


    By the time they jogged over to where the man had stepped off the trail, there was no sign of him. Not a sprig of displaced grass nor a depression in the damp earth¡ªat least, not that they had the ability to see. He had disappeared into the trees. Henry looked out after him. Pale yellow fingers of light streaked over the sky, the herald of a cold morning approaching, but it was not yet bright enough for him to see anything. Not by far. ¡°What¡¯s out there that he¡¯s more interested in than Beth Brihte?¡±


    ¡°A picture of Beth Brihte,¡± Niles corrected. ¡°Maybe he was trying to stay out of the sun.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. Was he a hunter?¡±


    ¡°People around here need the support of a dedicated club just to set foot in the forest. No, he wasn¡¯t a hunter.¡±


    The two of them lapsed into silence, looking out over the cusp of the forest into the coming dawn. Adrenaline drained out of Henry¡¯s body. Exhaustion did not rush in to fill the void, as he expected. As it deserved to. He found it nearly impossible to feel tired, while standing out in fresh air, watching the birth of a new day.


    Instead he was overcome with the desire to turn, grab Niles by the shoulder, and spin the man into his embrace. To kiss him. To run his hands over the nape of his neck, the small of his back. In that moment it felt like the most natural and correct thing in the world, like it had before their first kiss in the trees, and like it did in his dreams. But Henry mastered himself, and simply looked on in silence¡ªuntil Niles cleared his throat. ¡°You can walk me home.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll probably head off. I¡¯m already halfway back to the Anderson.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, I meant¡­ will you walk me home?¡±


    Henry nodded, and they turned back at a leisurely pace. Perhaps they were more tired than either of them were willing to let on. Perhaps it was the dread of the arrival. ¡°I looked for you at the exhibition,¡± Niles said. ¡°Thought for sure you¡¯d be there.¡±


    ¡°I was meant to be.¡± He gave the whole story: Howard, the fight, his parents, Ray, and Greenfield.


    Niles gasped and groaned at all the appropriate moments. He cheered, at the part of the retelling when Henry punched Howard. Then, naturally, he chose to focus on the least pleasant aspect of the entire ordeal. ¡°Who is Ray?¡±


    There wasn¡¯t much to say about that. Infatuation and passion, followed by zero commitment and inevitable heartbreak. Like everybody else¡¯s first love story. By the time Henry was through telling it, they were walking through Niles¡¯ front door and setting to work righting his belongings.


    The armchair had to be flipped over and set back in its intended position. Scattered paperbacks had to be collected and returned to the coffee table. The kitchen was a mess. Mathas may indeed have consumed a sizable portion of the cake, but more than that had been smeared on the counter-top and across the cupboards. They coaxed Bruce out of his hiding spot with treats, and kept up with pets and encouraging voices until he became comfortable loafing around all of the rooms of the house. Immediately after performing such a loop, he curled up on the couch and fell asleep.


    Niles ran a hand through his hopelessly ruffled hair. ¡°Listen, what I was trying to say earlier is that I¡¯m sorry about -¡±


    Henry took him, then, and pulled him close. Ninety percent, and then he let Niles close the gap. It no longer felt right. It felt necessary. There was a balloon expanding between them, whose vibrating tension needed to be punctured. Their lips met with a delayed electricity, like the heartbeat between lightning and its thunder. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, too,¡± Henry said, stepping back. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be the thing that makes your life difficult. I don¡¯t know, because I¡¯ve never had to live it, but I can imagine the reactions you¡¯d get in a place like Tortus Bay.¡±


    ¡°Anybody who matters, knows. Everybody else could guess. I¡¯m sure they already have. But I¡¯ve done a lot, to make myself comfortable on my own. I¡¯ve never tried it any other way.¡± Niles paused, and looked around the room¡ªat the slightly off-kilter furniture, and hastily re-arranged books. ¡°Nothing is going to be the same, no matter what I do, will it?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    He breathed. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you exactly what I want. I don¡¯t know if I know exactly what I want. I like being around you. And I like kissing you.¡±


    Henry took another step back, and looked into those warm eyes. How easy it would be, to give in. To give him everything he needed. Whatever he wanted. But Henry had been down that path before. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m comfortable with that.¡±


    Niles smiled, then, in a mischievous sort of way. ¡°What if I told you that I have a lead on tracking Mathas down, and a great story for this newspaper of yours to boot?¡±


    The sun had fully risen. Its warmth blanketed the small, comfortable living room. ¡°Then I¡¯d say that you have my continued attention.¡±

 2.22: Logistics and Crime

    The number of days until the next festival¡ªthe next unpredictable confluence of magic¡ªsteadily ticked down. Something shifted about the energy in Tortus Bay, and Henry was astounded that he had not noticed it last time. Perhaps it hadn¡¯t happened then. Or perhaps he had chalked it up to the newness of life in the village.


    The streets thinned out early in the day, transforming the usually bustling A.M. Bazaar into a sidewalk event. Yellows and greens snaked into the sky, ushering along with them the repressed electricity of a coming storm. Henry¡¯s main focus, to everyone¡¯s general frustration, continued to be finding Clair. Aria encouraged him to focus on the paper, Kara insisted that he go back into hiding, and Teresa wanted only for him to rest. But he was certain that if he could only find the girl, and hear what she had to say, that it would resolve every other one of his issues at once. She would be the linchpin.


    ¡°Why not talk to this Taylor person, then?¡± Teresa asked, with a sigh of frustration. She had herded her daughters upstairs to afford her guests a private conversation. They spread out, as usual, in the Bramble¡¯s kitchen, sipping strong black coffee as they spoke. ¡°If you think he knows where she is, that should be your first step.¡±


    ¡°No good,¡± Kara said. ¡°I talked with him the other day. He got Henry¡¯s covert message alright, but the only thing he did with it was hide a note for her in her house.¡±


    Henry held his head in his hands. ¡°We could have done that.¡±


    ¡°Only reason he got in is because he¡¯s a deputy. Supposedly Leia is in and out of there every day. Top priority surveillance.¡±


    ¡°Then we use him to get back in,¡± he said, ¡°at least to look for clues.¡±


    Kara shook her head. ¡°Leia is suspicious. Of everyone, I think, but especially Taylor. He used to get all the drudge work¡ªnow he gets no work, period.¡±


    ¡°But Clair must have seen the message,¡± Teresa said, ¡°or else where did Emmaline Cass¡¯ body go?¡±


    Henry had been through all of this, over and over again. It only led in circles. ¡°The fact is, we don¡¯t know anything. Anything could have happened to that body. We can¡¯t assume that we were the only people who knew about it. Not after what happened with the Mayor.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Tersa said, ¡°the man who can consort with wolves. If what you have said about him is true, then we have a much bigger issue on our hands.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true. What else could it have been?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°He lured you to that spot in the forest specifically to show you that scene. He wants you to know what he can do. But let me ask: how is it that you managed to outrun an entire pack of wolves? And why didn¡¯t you clearly see any of them?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re saying it was a trick.¡±


    ¡°A glamour, perhaps. The ability to exert control over animals, especially that number of animals simultaneously, is vanishingly rare. Especially outside of the confluence.¡±


    ¡°So, as you¡¯ve said, is bringing a dead man back to life.¡±


    ¡°That is not necessarily what we are dealing with there.¡±


    Kara cleared her throat. ¡°Okay, we¡¯re getting off track again. What is our plan for right now? For today?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have enough information,¡± Henry said. ¡°If Emmaline¡¯s body isn¡¯t in that park when the festival dawns, we¡¯re in for a repeat of last month. And Mathas might only be a nuisance right now, but who knows what will happen to him then. We have to find Clair. Teresa, are you willing to help?¡±


    ¡°The girl is alive, at least. And not too far away from the village. Every bit of magic leaves a trace, and I am familiar enough with her to know those things. For anything else, we will have to resort to a bit of trickery.¡± She drew a small, plain brown strip of leather from her pocket, and pressed it into Henry¡¯s hands. A strange symbol was burned into the face of it, blackened around the edges.


    ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°Call it a totem, if you need a name.¡±


    He turned it over in his hand. ¡°And this symbol?¡±


    Teresa pursed her lips. ¡°Kara, why don¡¯t you tell him?¡±


    ¡°It was a secret,¡± she said. ¡°I was never supposed to know. Clair came to me one night a few years ago, after she found out what it is that I can do. She told me she had something tattooed on her, and she wasn¡¯t sure if it was safe. It worried her. She wanted the opinion of an outsider, of someone she could trust.¡±


    Henry held the swatch face-up in his palm. The symbol was similar in design to the charms he wore around his neck, and the sigils he¡¯d seen carved onto the Cass headstone, but it was more intricate. More fleshed out. The longer he looked, the more it seemed to resemble a pair of legs. ¡°What does it do?¡±The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Never found out,¡± Kara said. ¡°She needed to trust, so I didn¡¯t ask. It wasn¡¯t a threat, which I told her. Then I forgot about it, until the day you told me you saw her floating outside of your window.¡±


    ¡°Who gave her the tattoo?¡±


    Teresa clicked her tongue. ¡°Now who¡¯s getting off track? We don¡¯t know anything more than that she has the thing. The point is that we can track her. All magic calls out, and responds when called upon. What the girl has on her leg is almost certainly experimental, and so also assuredly unique. The tattoo and the leather will recognize one another, if they should get close, and they will sing to one another.¡±


    ***


    There was no singing that day. Henry and Kara ventured into the woods, starting close to Clair¡¯s house and radiating out from there, but the leather totem remained inert. Neither of them knew what they were waiting for, exactly, but Teresa had repeatedly assured them that they would recognize it once it happened.


    ¡°Could we make more of these?¡± he suggested, several fruitless hours into the exercise. They had circled the village twice, and his legs ached. ¡°Then we could split up, and cover more ground.¡±


    Kara shook her head. ¡°Weren¡¯t you listening? If this is going to work, then it will be because these two symbols are the only two which exist in the area. If there were three, then they would interact with each other and spoil the whole thing.¡±


    ¡°Meaning that if there¡¯s already more than one, we¡¯re just wasting our time out here.¡±


    ¡°Quite right.¡±


    They walked in ever widening circles, until the sun began to fail. The yellows became goldenrods and the greens became purples above them. It wasn¡¯t long before Kara called it quits. ¡°We have a few days left,¡± she said. ¡°It doesn¡¯t make sense to burn ourselves out.¡±


    Henry continued despite that logic, worrying the leather in his hand until it was damp with sweat and warm with the heat of his body. His breath fogged into a cloud. Whatever anybody else said, he knew they were running out of time. And it was he who wasted it. It would be him with whom the fault lay, if anything bad were to happen. But Teresa¡¯s plan was not his only option.


    He frowned down at his phone, but followed the directions he¡¯d been texted regardless. They brought him through the wild woods and into the more tamed horticulture of Glosspool Lane, where Niles sat waiting for him on a white park bench beside a small, still pool. ¡°You made it!¡± he said, jumping up and visibly restraining himself from initiating a hug.


    Henry went in. The man was warm, and pleasant, against his chest. As usual, he smelled like the delicious intersection of a bakery and a sawmill. ¡°We¡¯re allowed to do this.¡±


    ¡°Only this?¡± Niles whispered into his ear.


    He coughed, breaking their embrace, and was thankful for the obscuring dark. ¡°Why are we meeting here?¡±


    ¡°Lucy Brihte invited me over to strategize for the next TBHWAS meeting. I think that means she just wants to go over the food options, but still¡ªI can stretch it out for a while.¡±


    Henry blinked. ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°So, Lucy is Beth¡¯s sister, and she always hated Mathas. I even thought she knew something about how he¡¯d been killed, don¡¯t you remember?¡±


    ¡°Do you still think that?¡±


    Niles nodded. ¡°I¡¯m sure of it. Listen, I told you that I had an idea to help you track Mathas down again. This is it. There¡¯s information here, and Lucy is home alone. I¡¯ll distract her, and you sneak in. I can probably buy you an hour to snoop around. I have a lot of elaborate and important opinions on cake.¡±


    It was crazy, dangerous, and unlikely to work¡ªbut no less crazy, dangerous, or unlikely to work than wandering around the forest at night. Henry nodded. ¡°Okay, get me inside.¡±


    Niles smiled and took the lead, bringing him across the expansive backyard of the Brihte Estate. Outside the patio door Henry crouched to the side. Niles waited until he was in place, shot him a thumbs-up, and rapped on the wooden frame. After a moment, lights flashed on and footsteps approached.


    ¡°Niles!¡± Lucy said, swinging the door open. ¡°I¡¯m glad you made it. We really have to discuss our next hike. Come in, come in.¡±


    Niles followed her inside, taking an extra second on his way to kick the mud off his shoes. Henry caught the corner of the door and held it ajar. He waited there, crouched and shivering in the cold, heart in his throat, until he could no longer hear their footsteps. Then he exhaled, and slipped inside.


    The Brihte Estate¡¯s famed opulence was obscured by the dim light in the hallways through which Henry crept. He slowly tip-toed through the house, trying to avoid making noise while straining his ears to track Niles and Lucy¡¯s conversation. From what he could tell they were in the kitchen, still working their way through pleasantries. He steered himself in the opposite direction, through a well-appointed parlor and several smaller rooms which he could only guess were studies, until he found the stairs.


    On the second floor he knew there would be several bedrooms, but only one would be unlocked. Only one was still in use. He walked with less caution now, so far removed from the kitchen, but tested his weight carefully with every step. Old houses were creaky houses, and one creak might give him away. He found himself surrounded by less lavish decorations; this area was clearly meant for family, not guests. There was a small secondary kitchen and dining room, followed by a crooked hallway.


    As promised, Henry came upon locked door after locked door. His sweaty hands slipped off of polished brass. Then, finally, a doorknob gave way, and opened with a slight click. He stepped into what was the least decorated and most plainly lived-in section of the enormous house. Clumsy, unframed landscapes hung on the walls. Clothes lay scattered on the floor. In the corner sat a single mattress, its sheet twisted up in the middle, covered in colorful pillows. On the shelf beside the bed there was an old-fashioned landline, where Niles must have overheard the conversation which originally roused his suspicions.


    There was no better place to start. Henry opened the top drawer of the shelf, and thought at first that it was a junk drawer. He saw scattered, uncapped pens, bobby pins, and the bottom half of a stapler. But underneath, there was a slim black notebook. He reached for it.


    Behind him, the door opened. ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be here,¡± Lucy Brihte said.

 2.23: The Missing Link

    Lucy Brihte looked the same as she ever did: pale and slight, in old faded clothes. Even caught in a moment of obvious rage, her eyes still seemed somehow detached from reality. They didn¡¯t focus where they should have. Henry stood stock still, hand hovering above her bedside notebook. Neither of them spoke.


    Niles, panting slightly, jogged down the hallway. ¡°Ahh,¡± he said. ¡°Henry, uh¡­ she¡¯s coming.¡±


    Henry straightened up, retracted his hand, and bumped the drawer closed for good measure. ¡°Thank you for the heads up.¡±


    ¡°She, uh, she went to the bathroom and must have¡­¡±


    Lucy nodded. ¡°Heard something from my bedroom. What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m looking for Mathas Bernard,¡± he said. ¡°I need all of the information I can find.¡±


    ¡°And you think that makes it okay to break into somebody¡¯s bedroom?¡± She spoke in her characteristically serene voice, but her cheeks flamed red and her hands balled into fists at her side. ¡°Is this for that childish new project of yours? The newspaper?¡±


    ¡°You know¡­¡±


    ¡°Of course I know about the newspaper. And of course I know that you¡¯re the one behind it. Who else? When I heard that you were looking for testimonials about Mathas, I chose not to participate.¡±


    ¡°Because you don¡¯t know anything?¡±


    She scoffed. ¡°I know more than anyone who¡¯s spoken with you yet. I can guarantee that. I didn¡¯t come forward because of this. What is this? As incompetent as it is illegal. You can¡¯t steal people¡¯s notes. If you¡¯re going to be a journalist, you have to act like a journalist.¡± Her fists relaxed. ¡°That¡¯s the problem with this village. A journalist who doesn¡¯t know how to do an interview, and a sheriff who doesn¡¯t believe what she sees in front of her own eyes.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I mean what I said.¡± The rest of the red drained out of her face. ¡°Niles, at least, knows how to bake a cake. That¡¯s why he¡¯s a baker.¡±


    Niles had slowly backed down the hallway. ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± he called.


    Lucy glowered at Henry for a moment longer, but then seemed to tire at the effort of it. ¡°I should throw you both out. I should call the police.


    ¡°We¡¯ll leave.¡±


    ¡°Tell you what: you can leave, and I won¡¯t even call the sheriff, but first you have to tell me how you knew that I know anything worth stealing about Mathas. And why didn¡¯t you just ask me? Unless¡­¡± Her eyes widened. ¡°You think that I had something to do with it, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Niles peeked around the corner, waving his hands. ¡°No, no, no, no, no.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Henry said.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Niles amended, ¡°that¡¯s right. I overheard you talking on the phone last month. You said that your sister was home on the night that Mathas died.¡±


    ¡°How long have we known one another?¡± Lucy shook her head. ¡°You should have just asked me. I was talking to Leia. Truth be told, at the time I did think that my sister might have done it. I was scared. And a little proud. Come on, let¡¯s talk about this somewhere other than my bedroom.¡± She turned and strode out of the room, leading them back through the upper kitchen and down the stairs while mumbling under her breath about Leia Thao. In the main kitchen she offered them chilled wine in thin stemware. ¡°Whatever I might tell you will not be quoted to me directly. Are you at least competent enough to manage that?¡±


    They arranged themselves around the corner of a table that could easily have sat twelve. It looked as though it had not been used in months. A thick film of dust had settled around the golden candelabras in the center, which apparently proved too difficult to clean. Henry knew that the estate was Lucy¡¯s in everything but name. Nobody besides her stayed in the place for long. And yet she sat ill at ease, as though she was as much a guest there as them. ¡°Nothing identifiable will be printed.¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    She took a long drink. ¡°I¡¯m sure you realize you¡¯re making targets of yourselves. Have you thought about the attention you¡¯re going to throw on anyone who chooses to contribute?¡±


    ¡°That will all be anonymous.¡±


    Lucy sighed. ¡°Good luck with that. Oh, I suppose there¡¯s nothing to be done about it. When you have an incompetent sheriff, the people will inevitably start taking investigations into their own hands.¡±


    ¡°Are you speaking from experience?¡±


    She refilled her wine, and then topped each of them off, though neither of them had taken more than a sip. ¡°You must have been pursuing this for a while, if you know about the phone call. I understand why you didn¡¯t approach me back then, if you thought I was close to the murder. What changed?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m running out of time,¡± Henry said. ¡°The festival is happening in a few days.Mathas is up and walking around the village. I don¡¯t care what happened to him. I¡¯m trying to find out where he is.¡±


    Lucy leaned back in her high-backed table chair, and closed her eyes as she spoke. ¡°I never liked Mathas. That was never a secret, except maybe to him. I¡¯ve known him all my life. I couldn¡¯t help it; we both grew up in the village. But he was always one of those low-level assholes you try your best to avoid. You know the type. He made an aggressive pass at my best friend while she was drunk at a party, and spent the rest of his high school career dedicated to convincing everyone that it hadn¡¯t happened. Including her.


    ¡°He was the one who dragged me back here. I made it out, you know? Off to college, and then from there off to backpack through the Balkans. That was how I wanted to spend my life. Then I heard that my sister was marrying that same asshole from high school, and I decided I had to come back for the wedding.


    ¡°I did my best to talk her out of it, of course, but she wasn¡¯t having it. I assumed that he was after our family money, at first. But things had changed since I¡¯d left. He had some fancy title at the bank, and more than enough cash for himself. Everyone was talking about the generous donations he made a habit of splashing around town. He saved the coffee shop from bankruptcy. He was halfway through a deal to secure the Anderson warehouse and donate it to a local art troupe. I was surprised. I almost understood the marriage.¡±


    Niles brows knit together. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard that side of it.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have,¡± she said. ¡°That man¡¯s reputation was as important to him as all of the money and power in the world.¡±


    ¡°Is that why you still didn¡¯t approve of the marriage?¡± Henry asked.


    Lucy bit her lip. ¡°It¡¯s hard to put into words. Once you¡¯ve smelled someone¡¯s bullshit, it sticks with you. And it gets easier to pick up in the future. I think he was ¨C is ¨C a power hungry man, no matter how talented he was at putting on an unimposing face. I did not approve of him marrying my sister, and I certainly did not approve of him trying to leverage what minuscule magical talents he might have had by employing the tutelage of the Bramble daughters.¡±


    Henry choked on his wine. ¡°He did what?¡±


    ¡°Oh. You didn¡¯t know.¡± She bit her lip a little deeper. ¡°It was a secret. Teresa refused to help him, as did everybody else with an ounce of intelligence.¡±


    ¡°How did you find out?¡±


    ¡°Like I said, people start doing their own investigations when they lose faith in the proper channels.¡±


    ¡°Where did they meet?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Not a clue. At his house, I assume. But that is all I have to tell you. Do something with it, okay? Caring is nice, but it¡¯s not enough. We need somebody who can get things done.¡±


    Henry and Niles rose from their seats, but Lucy waved Niles back down. ¡°I still intend,¡± she said, ¡°to talk about the route tomorrow. And I think we should have a discussion about your security access, as well.¡±


    Niles slowly slid back into his seat, his face frozen in a grimace.


    ***


    It was the middle of the night when Henry left the Brihte Estate, to stumble by the light of the stars across their expansive lawn into the surrounding trees. His brain buzzed with what he¡¯d just heard, but he didn¡¯t know what to do with it. Didn¡¯t know if there was anything to do. He didn¡¯t want to bring an accusation to Teresa yet. He wasn¡¯t ready.


    All he knew was that he was no closer to finding Clair. He wandered out into the forest, moving slow, holding aloft the strip of leather which he had come to think of as a tracking device. In his mind, he imagined it would start beeping and emitting red lights if he got close. If it worked at all. The girl is alive, Teresa had said. And not too far away from the village.


    How was that possible? Was she a secret naturalist? Or was she getting help? Who would help her? Why was she staying in the area? Henry walked that night like a man convinced that worry might be expressed through the soles of his shoes. He walked undisturbed until finally his exhaustion overwhelmed his anxiety, and then he headed home.

 2.24: News

    The Tortus Bay Examiner


    Issue One


    Important! Missing items and personages of great value! Have you seen:


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Clair Knoss;</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Mathas Bernard (dead or alive or both); </li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">A locket inscribed with the name of Emmaline Cass; or</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">The skeletal remains of Emmaline Cass?</li>


    </ol>


    If so, please contact the staff of the Tortus Bay Examiner at the address listed below. All that is missing must be recovered before next week¡¯s Golden Goose Fest! Why? Keep reading for details!


    ***


    The front page of the Tortus Bay Examiner caused a ruckus when the first issue landed in the village. If Henry had thought that the initial wave of readers would be able to keep the paper under wraps, he had been mistaken. The street outside of the cafe once more exploded with people, a reformed A.M. Bazaar, and each and every one of them seemed somehow to have obtained a copy. They traded them back and forth, gossiped about who had said what, and lamented that every story got certain details just a little off.


    Nobody needed to speculate at all about who the editor-in-chief might be. Everyone in the village knew that Henry had been collecting stories about Mathas, and this was the logical conclusion of that. Some of them were perturbed that no credit was given for their testimonies. Many more were relieved. In the back room of the Anderson warehouse, the editorial staff was already working on their next project.


    ¡°As long as we don¡¯t slip up,¡± Aria said, ¡°Leia won¡¯t be able to track anything back here. It¡¯s one thing to know who¡¯s responsible; it¡¯s another to be able to prove it.¡±


    Kara smiled. ¡°And our sheriff doesn¡¯t have a good track record with finding evidence..¡±


    ¡°Is the printer ready to go with what we have for the next issue?¡± Henry asked. He held a half-drained coffee mug in his hand. The morning was young, yet, but the day was long ahead.


    Aria frowned. ¡°Yes. They¡¯re waiting on the word. But are we really going forward with that?¡±


    ¡°Only if we don¡¯t find anything today. People deserve to know what could happen on the festival day if we don¡¯t find Emmaline or her locket.¡±


    ¡°And if you find what you need?¡±


    ¡°Then they need to know what it was. We write a new article.¡±


    ¡°You write a new article,¡± Aria corrected. ¡°I will continue maintaining our front, so that our printers do not become aware that we are running a clandestine operation.¡±


    ***


    Henry and Kara spent the entirety of what turned out to be an unseasonably sunny day out in the woods. He let her hold the leather strip with which they were trying to track Clair, on the basis that perhaps her connection to that type of magic would help their chances. They had run out of all other ideas. ¡°There¡¯s nothing more to do than walk,¡± he said. They went deeper into the trees than they ever had before, and were having a difficult time keeping track of what ground they had covered already.


    ¡°Walking I¡¯m fine with,¡± Kara said. She held the strange, hopefully unique, symbol above her head as though it were a treat, and it was a lost dog they were seeking. ¡°What I need is for us to talk about something less depressing than the impending destruction of my home while we do it. It¡¯s still early. I¡¯m not up to doom and gloom yet.¡±


    ¡°What did you have in mind?¡±


    A wicked grin lit her face. ¡°You went to visit Lucy Brihte with Niles the other night. So¡­ you¡¯re seeing Niles again.¡±


    Dense vines and thorny bushes slowed their progress, compounding and multiplying the further they pushed into the woods. They were often thrown off course by ditches, muddy cricks, and the rotting trunks of fallen trees. Henry had a compass, so as not to get lost, but he wished with every step that they had someone along who knew even the first thing about what they were attempting to do. ¡°I like working with Niles,¡± he said. ¡°I like talking to him. I like seeing him.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Statements as true as they are short, and evasive.¡±


    ¡°He wants something casual. He¡¯s not ready for a commitment.¡±


    Kara yelped, yanking her foot free from a bush she¡¯d just attempted to step through. ¡°Thorns,¡± she said. ¡°Stay away from that one. So what, you¡¯re looking to marry?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m looking to date. I don¡¯t need another relationship where I give one hundred and twenty percent effort, and my partner gives ten.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± She fell back to walk beside him. Her pants were torn at the calf. ¡°It¡¯s smart, to examine old relationships and watch out for toxic patterns in the future. A lot of folk don¡¯t do that.¡±


    He eyed her. ¡°Is there a ¡®but¡¯ to that statement?¡±


    ¡°No. Full stop,¡± she said. ¡°You know, I¡¯ve only ever dated one person in my time in Tortus Bay. Devin Yerie. He was tall, rugged, and a little too clever for my taste. Worked down in the orchard. Still does, as far as I know. He doesn¡¯t come into the village very often, but you might have seen him once or twice.¡±


    Henry shook his head. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard you talk about this before. I assumed you were¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not uninterested. At least, I tell myself I¡¯m not. But I suppose if you¡¯re not interested enough to make time for it, then what¡¯s the difference? I have a full life here. And when I first arrived, I¡¯d just discovered that the lousy little craft projects I¡¯d been doing my whole life suddenly held magical power. It was insane. It was all-consuming. Devin wanted a little piece of my time. He got upset when I forgot about our plans. I was certain that he was about to demand that I give up what I cared about to be with him. So I didn¡¯t give him the chance. I ended it right then and there.¡±


    Henry chewed on that story, while they explored. It was a nicer thing to ponder by far than what he was currently doing, but it filled him with no less hopelessness. The sun crested above them. They stopped to eat a lunch of beef jerky and apples, and shortly continued walking. The sun began its slow decline. Their emblazoned leather strip remained a leather strip. ¡°Damn it,¡± Kara said, after clearing a bug-infested stump. ¡°Check the compass.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I think we went in a circle.¡±


    And so they had. At some point they had turned themselves around, and come back around to the edge of the village. Henry eyed the horizon. ¡°We can do another loop.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s no use doing this at night,¡± Kara said. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be dangerous to let whatever is going to happen -¡± he fell silent. Suddenly the silent trees around them were filled with noise. Dozens of pairs of feet, running in dozens of different directions. Scattering. ¡°What the hell is that?¡±


    ¡°One of them¡¯s coming this way.¡±


    He didn¡¯t know whether to run or to hide. In the end, he didn¡¯t get the chance to make the decision. Tod burst through the undergrowth, belly swinging and mustache bristling, and barrelled straight in their direcion. His face was red. His eyes were wide. ¡°Wolves!¡± he cried, already streaking past them in a khaki blur. ¡°Wolves! Run!¡±


    All that happened next was a confused blur of motion and sound. Henry ran, trying to follow Kara, but that immediately proved fruitless. A good number of the TBHWAS had followed Tod, and were now streaming through the forest in the opposite direction, screaming about wolves or else screaming just to scream. He ricocheted off of them, bouncing between bodies and vines and trees, terribly aware that whatever had set them off wasn¡¯t entirely hysteria.


    There were thin yellow eyes in the forest again, now accompanied by slobbering maws and the low thrum of howls. The wolves panted. They circled. They ran alongside the fleeing mass. But they did not emerge from the darkness.


    One of them darted behind him, keeping apace with bounding leaps and then sinking into the underbrush, threatening to pounce. Whenever he turned to follow a fleeing figure, the wolf was already there. Blocking the path with a snarl. Henry slowed to a jog, then stopped altogether. The instant he stopped moving, his pursuer vanished into the forest.


    A stitch cried out in his side, and his shoulder throbbed painfully from where he had knocked it against a tree. All was still and silent around him. In the distance he could still hear muffled footsteps, but he guessed that most of the club must have made it back to the village. They weren¡¯t that far away to begin with.


    He stood there a moment, to catch his breath. Then he straightened. ¡°Kara!¡± he bellowed. ¡°Kara, where did you go?¡±


    At the sound of his voice, the eyes in the trees reappeared. They fixed him a terrible glower. The wolf¡¯s body tensed, and lowered - ready to strike.


    ¡°Kara! I¡¯m here!¡± he continued. The wolf stared, unmoving. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what I figured.¡±


    Nobody, human or animal, answered his call. And in the confusion, he had become lost again. So he took his eyes off the forest lurker to grab his compass, but as he did his fingers brushed against the leather strip beside it. It was warm.


    The symbol gently pulsed against his skin, and let off mild heat. Henry gripped it in his hand, all thoughts of anything else temporarily forgotten, and took a step to the left. The pulsing stopped, and the leather grew colder. He stepped back, and went instead to the right. Again, nothing. When he moved forward, the heat intensified. It beat like a heart in his palm.


    In that maddening fashion he walked like a blind man through the trees, until after many careful steps the leather boiled in his hand and vibrated so hard that he thought his whole arm might shake off. Still he saw nothing.


    ¡°Henry?¡± The voice came from up in the canopy. He craned his neck, but there was only green. Then, something rustled the leaves, and Clair¡¯s face poked through. She looked down at him with some combination of relief and incredulity. ¡°Is that really you?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    She frowned. ¡°If you¡¯re a wolf you have to tell me, okay? I swear if you¡¯re a wolf under that skin I¡¯m never going to come down again.¡±

 2.25: Treetop Confessional

    ¡°I¡¯m not a wolf,¡± Henry said, ¡°I promise.¡± He was looking up at Clair¡¯s face, hidden amidst a great mass of branches and leaves in the canopy overhead. It was tough to distinguish details, but he thought she was still scowling at him.


    ¡°If that¡¯s true,¡± she said, ¡°then tell me something to prove it. Tell me something that a wolf would never know.¡±


    He scratched the back of his neck. ¡°The safe internal temperature for chicken is one hundred and sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit.¡±


    ¡°One of these wolves could know that.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯m afraid they¡¯re as smart as me. What are you doing up there?¡±


    She definitely scowled, now. ¡°Staying away from tricksters.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been looking for you for a long time.¡±


    ¡°Have you? Okay, come on up then.¡± Her face disappeared.


    He considered the tree standing before him. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can. I haven¡¯t climbed a tree since I was a kid. Not to mention the bum shoulder.¡±


    Clair¡¯s face reappeared. ¡°That¡¯s exactly what a wolf would say!¡±


    ¡°A wolf would tell you that it can¡¯t climb because it has a bad shoulder?¡±


    ¡°It would tell me whatever I needed to hear, to make me come down to the ground,¡± she said, and was gone again.


    Henry called to her several times, to no avail. Finally he sized himself up against the trunk. It was a gnarled old thing. Thick strips of bark peeled away like strips of cloth from a sweater. He set his feet against them. If he could climb a lighthouse in his condition, then he could certainly climb a tree.


    It was a slow and painstaking process. He pushed himself up with his legs, using his good arm to keep balance. Five feet off the ground one of his holds fell away, the bark sloughing from the tree like blistered skin, and he swung like a rock climber¡ªbut wrapped his thighs around the trunk to stabilize himself, preventing a fall. Once he reached the branches it became easier. He had only to hoist himself from one seat to another, steadily rising into the sky. It smelled like cold, fresh air, and the coming of a placid night.


    Clair watched him the entire way, the expression on her face gradually transforming from disbelief to skepticism to wonder. When finally he hauled himself onto the wide branch upon which she sat, she wrapped him in a tight hug. Her smell was overwhelming. It was like an expired egg-salad sandwich which had been dunked in a vat of hair grease and left in the sun for a week. He held his breath, and narrowly managed not to gag. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it¡¯s really you,¡± she said. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you found me. I can¡¯t believe it was you who found me. How did you find me?¡±


    She released him, and he drew the leather swatch from his pocket. It was inert, now, for having been joined with its pair. She marveled at the symbol burned onto its face. ¡°How did you know?¡±


    ¡°Kara.¡±


    ¡°Of course. That was supposed to be a secret.¡±


    ¡°She didn¡¯t tell me who gave you the tattoo. Nobody knows.¡±


    Clair smiled at him. With her suspicions gone, a warmness emanated from the woman that sat at odds with the rough state of her body. Her clothes were torn and dirited. Shallow cuts and bruises ran up and down the length of her arms and legs. Her hair was a matted bunch, and she had clearly lost a great deal of weight. That was nowhere more apparent than in the tendons straining against her emaciated neck. ¡°The secret doesn¡¯t matter anymore. Marjorie Gauthe gave me the tattoo.¡±


    ¡°Gauthe,¡± he said, ¡°as in¡­¡±


    ¡°As in, the daughter of the mayor. We were friends growing up. That was how I learned about magic. No, even those who grew up in the village don¡¯t get told. Marjorie was just bad at keeping secrets. Back then, I was certain that it was the difference between what I was and what I wanted to be. Magic. The Gauthes and the Brihtes both knew about it. Used it. That had to be why they were the wealthy families.¡±


    Henry dug out the last of his jerky while she talked. ¡°Was it not?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said, gratefully accepting and then immediately gnawing on the dried meat. ¡°But when we got older I made her promise to help me get some, or I would tell everyone how bad she was at keeping secrets. I don¡¯t know where she learned the pattern. I guess you already know that Teresa and Kara don¡¯t recognize it. Some hidden Gauthe family trick.¡±


    ¡°Did it work?¡±


    ¡°Was I not floating outside of your window last month?¡± She swallowed the last bite of the jerky. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about that, by the way. Secrets have weight in Tortus Bay. We all feel compelled to keep them¡ªeven if simply telling the truth would save someone a great deal of pain.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Night fell rapidly around them, stealing the color out of the sky and the warmth out of the air. ¡°There aren¡¯t going to be any secrets much longer,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m starting a newspaper for the village. Everything is going to come out.¡±


    Clair gave him a wild look. ¡°Is that right?¡±


    ¡°The first issue went out the other day.¡±


    She whistled. ¡°Then I¡¯m impressed. It must sound like madness to you, if you can¡¯t feel it for yourself, but telling people certain truths about Tortus Bay is hard. The village wants to protect its secrets as much as any of its people do.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you did what you could,¡± he said, ¡°that first night we met. But I wish you could have done more. I wish I would have asked more, afterwards, but I thought¡ªwell, I thought you had something to do with Mathas Bernard¡¯s death.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± She crossed her arms, balancing on the branch with only her legs. ¡°I did.¡±


    Wind whistled through the trees, trailed closely by the rustling of leaves. Henry shivered. ¡°We should talk about this back in the village,¡± he said. ¡°I came to bring you back.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I can¡¯t go back. The wolves would never let me. They started acting strange, the moment I entered the forest. I was just going to camp out for a day or two. But then they were surrounding me, chasing me. At first I thought I was really lucky, to keep getting away unscathed. Then I realized they were shepherding me. I can¡¯t go too deep in the woods. I can¡¯t get too close to the village. I don¡¯t know why they want me here, but here I am.¡±


    ¡°Clair, I don¡¯t think they¡¯re real. I think they¡¯re like the ones we saw in the park. Don¡¯t you remember?¡±


    She continued shaking her head. ¡°When they come in large groups, they are not real. Not entirely. But one or two? Real enough to sink a fang into your calf. And every day that passes, those teeth get sharper. How long until the festival now?¡±


    ¡°We have to try.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t. And I will not. The wolves bring me food. They brought me blankets. And I¡¯m safer out here than I would be in the village.¡±


    ¡°Why do you think that?¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you listening? The festival. The wolves are spreading out. They¡¯re surrounding Tortus Bay. Something bad is about to happen.¡± Clair leaned back, making herself comfortable. ¡°So I¡¯m glad you found me. Believe me, talking to a real human being after a month is a real treat. Ask me whatever you want, and I¡¯ll tell. No more secrets. But once we¡¯re done, I feel like I¡¯ll be safer out here than in there. If you¡¯re smart, you would stay with me.¡±


    Henry chewed on that. Clair was so stick thin and bruised that he thought he would have no trouble at all in throwing her over his shoulder, if he wanted to. But then agaa\in, he only had the one good shoulder. ¡°You had something to do with Mathas¡¯ death?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, as matter-of-fact as if she were discussing the weather. ¡°I wasn¡¯t the one holding the knife, or anything like that. I wasn¡¯t there, when it happened. I told you the truth about the lighthouse. I thought I was the only one who knew how to get in. Then one day, just before you showed up in the village, I went for a look around and found the scene.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°I¡¯ve seen it.¡±


    ¡°Horrible, isn¡¯t it? First thing I wanted to do was scream. Then I really saw it, and I knew that it had to be kept a secret. I¡¯m pretty good at those, if you¡¯re not following along.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand. You let everyone think his death was an accident.¡±


    ¡°And everything would have been better that way. I never liked Mathas. Anybody who says they did let themselves be bought. He was a mean, nasty old man.¡±


    ¡°Did he do something?¡±


    ¡°Oh no, nothing specific. No, never anything specific. He was too careful for that. But whenever you left a room, you felt his eyes on you. We went to school together. That was years and years of lingering eyes and drool.¡± She sighed, gazing blankly out at the sky through the leafy canopy. ¡°I hated the Gauthes because Marjorie left me. She used her family¡¯s money to get herself out of Tortus Bay, and she never looked back. I hated the Brihtes because they let Mathas marry into their little club. That¡¯s why I let everyone believe the murder was an accident.¡±


    ¡°Was he really bad enough to deserve that?¡±


    ¡°Someone from the community did it,¡± she said, ¡°and I¡¯m sure they had their reasons. I¡¯m sure he deserved it. If you¡¯re looking into the truth because you want to punish someone, then you¡¯re going to do more harm than good.¡±


    ¡°I hear that he was taking magic lessons from the Bramble daughters.¡±


    A dark look crossed Clair¡¯s face, briefly making her beaten body look healthy by comparison. ¡°If you want to punish someone,¡± she repeated, ¡°you¡¯re going to do more harm than good.¡±


    Henry ran a hand through his hair. ¡°I thought finding you was going to be the key to all of this. I don¡¯t know, I guess I built it up in my head. Things aren¡¯t good in the village. Emmaline¡¯s body is missing again. Along with her locket. And Mathas Bernard, or his animated corpse, is up and wandering around. I¡¯ve seen him myself.¡±


    Clair listened intently, that dark look creeping back onto her face. ¡°How is that possible?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry if you thought I was going to be able to help. Last I knew, Emmaline and her locket were safe and sound in the park, and Mathas was rotting in his grave.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m starting to think he never made it into that grave. Or if he did, he got bounced right back out.¡± He massaged his temples. It felt as though the cold was seeping into his skull. ¡°You¡¯re sure you won¡¯t come back with me?¡±


    ¡°I am. Are you sure you won¡¯t stay here with me?¡±


    He smiled. ¡°You said it yourself: In a few days, these wolves are going to be more than illusions in the dark.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯ve seen it yourself: In a few days, I¡¯ll be more than helpless.¡±


    Henry positioned himself for the start of a difficult journey back down the trunk of the tree. ¡°Keep your eye out for that locket, will you? And Emmaline and Mathas, while you¡¯re at it. At this rate I think we¡¯re about to have another repeat of the park incident.¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll deal with it like we did back then.¡±


    He started down, then stopped. ¡°Clair?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°It was good to see you again.¡±


    ¡°It was good to see you, too.¡±

 2.26: Goodbye, Mathas Bernard

    Henry¡¯s stunt on the front page of the first Tortus Bay Examiner proved successful, if measured solely in response rate. If measured by any other metric, it was somewhat less sterling. The people of the village called incessantly¡ªto reminisce about Mathas Bernard, talk about editorials they would like to see in future issues of the paper, and vaguely describe pieces of jewelry that they had once owned and which, according to them, could have been the original property of Emmaline Cass.


    Reports of real sightings went up as well, but so clogged was their sole telephone line that those messages were generally relayed to Henry long after the man had left the scene. He was left to play a cold game of cat and mouse, wherein he spent the majority of his time trying to calm over-anxious people while he himself couldn¡¯t find a way to relax.


    He tried to tell himself that it was going to be okay. Nobody knew how magic worked in the village, least of all him. Maybe there are no rules. What happened last month won¡¯t necessarily happen again.


    ¡°There is every indication that it will,¡± Teresa said, late one evening. Her daughters had just come back from a trip out to the store, and she was in the process of preparing dinner. ¡°If Emmaline¡ªor whoever is acting on her behalf¡ªis still exerting power over Tortus Bay, it is unlikely to have subsided over the course of thirty days. And its priorities are equally unlikely to have changed.¡±


    ¡°How can you know that?¡±


    ¡°There are no rules, Henry. You couldn¡¯t be more correct about that. This isn¡¯t science, and there¡¯s no way to predict exactly what will happen. But there are patterns. There are eddies and currents in the flow of magic¡ªcan¡¯t you feel it?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°Even if I didn¡¯t have a calendar I would still know the festival is tomorrow. I haven¡¯t been able to sleep in¡­ a while.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll get used to it. Eventually. I would be happy to show you some breathing exercises that I have found to be helpful.¡± Henry held his head in his hands. Teresa snapped an unholy portion of spaghetti in her hands, dumped it in a pot of well-salted water, and called out to her daughters: ¡°nine minutes!¡±


    ¡°What about Mathas?¡± he asked.


    She leaned against the counter, and frowned. ¡°I haven¡¯t been able to find anything more about that. There¡¯s nothing in any of the books I¡¯ve ever read that indicates that anyone has come back like that before. But after what you told me about Clair¡¯s tattoo¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I never had the inclination before that the Gauthes knew the first thing about magic, but if there¡¯s something more there¡ªwell, then getting a look at it might help.¡±


    Footsteps came raining down the stairs. ¡°What would I need to get some alone time in the Gauthe estate?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid you¡¯re getting the wrong impression,¡± Teresa said. ¡°These things come and go. This is not The End Of All Things, Henry. What you need before tomorrow is sleep. Are you staying for dinner?¡±


    ¡°No, thank you.¡± He stood as the Bramble daughters filed into the kitchen. ¡°Enjoy your night. I¡¯ll see you all tomorrow.¡±


    She waved a wooden spoon at his retreating back. ¡°Bright and early! If there¡¯s going to be trouble, you might as well head into it with a mended shoulder.¡±


    ***


    The problem was that he could not sleep. He wandered through the streets of the village, hoping eventually exhaustion would creep from his legs into his brain, but it did not work. With every step an electricity coursed through him¡ªan excitement that he could never remember experiencing before. It was like the manic anxiety before a disaster, or else it was his body finally reacting to the budding magic of Tortus Bay.


    He called Kara, and talked to her as he walked, but he couldn¡¯t focus on what she was saying. Besides, she had a lot of preparations left to make. ¡°Will you need my help?¡± he asked. Memories of her, drained, barely able to stand, resurfaced in his head.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I¡¯m better off alone. Trust me, I¡¯ve tried it before. Nobody needs to sit around and watch me sweat it out.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to be able to sleep?¡±


    It took her a long moment to respond. ¡°It gets easier. You need to try to rest.¡±


    There was one person who would not tell him to try to sleep. He called Niles next, and they talked about nothing. Favorite foods, childhood fables, and the weather. Henry couldn¡¯t exactly focus on the words, but it did not matter. Niles kept up a stream of dialogue mostly by himself. But eventually the night grew late, and they ran out of inconsequential things to say. ¡°Thank you for calling. I was worried about you.¡±


    ¡°It was nice to hear your voice.¡±


    Alone, Henry found himself circling the park. A yellow ribbon of police tape still circled the area, blocking the unearthed grave from casual access. He looped around the perimeter¡ªonce, twice, three times¡ªwilling himself to finally feel tired. Then he heard it.


    Of course that was when he heard it. What else would Mathas Bernard be doing, but the exact same thing as he? Henry jogged down the street, rounded the corner, and through the dim light spotted the unmistakable figure of the recently deceased man removing the lid of a garbage can and sticking his head into the trash therein. Even from that distance, the man looked worse for wear. Most of his burial suit had been torn away, revealing patches of ashen skin and caked mud.


    ¡°Found you,¡± Henry said, loudly. Mathas looked up slowly. His right eye remained closed, the lid occasionally twitching. ¡°Anything good in there? You like food, don¡¯t you? You like your old house. Maybe you even like your wife.¡± The man turned, and began hobbling off. ¡°I think I might know what you like more than any of that.¡±


    Mathas stopped, as though struck, at the faint tickling of metal on metal. Henry stood in the halo of a streetlight, holding aloft the charm of power. ¡°Do you recognize that?¡± he asked. Mathas loped forward, then started shuffling toward him with surprising speed. ¡°I thought you might! You were really getting into this magic stuff, weren¡¯t you? And with your connections, I bet you had access to all kinds of secrets. Did the Brihtes know as much as the Gauthes?¡±


    Mathas broke into a run, and the race was on. Henry burst through the police tape encircling the park, pursuer hot on his heels, and dodged around trees as he tried his best to keep his footing. Sprinting over uneven ground in the dark was challenging enough, without being chased by a dead man. A dead man who, as it turned out, was much lighter on his feet. Henry skidded into the center of the park just as Mathas reached out to grab the back of his shirt¡ªbut then he jumped, and Mathas didn¡¯t.


    Gasping for breath, he slid down the side of the gnarled old oak. The tallest tree in the park. Mathas had fallen into the deep hole at its base. He scratched at the dirt and groaned. ¡°Wasn¡¯t exactly dug for you,¡± Henry called down, ¡°but it should keep you until I get the sheriff to take a look herself.¡± Mathas scrabbled helplessly against the hard-packed earth of his new confines, raining additional dirt down onto his thin body. ¡°Which I should probably do before anything freaky starts happening around here.¡±


    ¡°Well done,¡± a voice said.


    Henry thought his heart stopped. Exultation twisted into dread in his gut. Then, belatedly, he recognized the voice. Two people stepped out of the trees toward him. One was tall, and the other was very short. ¡°What are you -¡±


    Sofia Bramble, the elder of Teresa¡¯s daughters, smiled grimly at him. She held a baseball bat loose in her right hand, dragging through the dirt. ¡°You know, he runs from us no matter the bait we offer. But not from you. He never knew you, when he was alive. It was a good thing you stopped by the house today¡ªyou¡¯re easy to follow when you¡¯re distracted.¡±


    The younger daughter, Lola, had no smile to offer. She stared at the grave between them, red anger burning away in her eyes.


    ¡°How long have you been hunting him?¡±


    ¡°Only a little longer than you have,¡± Sofia said. ¡°He moves pretty fast, doesn¡¯t he? When he wants to.¡±


    ¡°Mathas died two months ago, on the night of a festival. You two were with him, weren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°How long have you known?¡±


    ¡°Not long now.¡±


    ¡°And you didn¡¯t tell our mother.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Henry said, softly, ¡°but you have to.¡±


    Sofia¡¯s eyes hardened. ¡°Do you have any idea what it means to teach someone to use magic? The trust? The vulnerability? It is a constant back and forth of control.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± Lola said.


    ¡°He already knows!¡± she snapped, and then continued. ¡°Do you have any idea what happens, when a man like Mathas gets the upper hand? When he¡¯s drunk on the feeling of power, and thinks he¡¯s immortal?¡±


    Henry nodded. ¡°I think I do.¡±


    ¡°Then leave us alone.¡±


    He looked at the girls over the grave for a long moment, and then turned to leave. They waited until he was back out on the street, before getting to work.

 2.27: Consequences, part 1

    The day of the Golden Goose Festival dawned cold and grey. Henry walked, as though dreaming, out of the mustering dew of the park to the front door of the Hell on a Shell Bar. He knocked, waited a beat, and then rapidly knocked fifteen more times for good measure. That building sensation of electric anticipation still roiled around in his gut. He felt like a lightbulb whose drawcord had been grabbed, but not yet pulled. And he was still wide awake, though he had not slept a wink through the night.


    Jamal, sleepy-eyed and wearing disheveled clothes, opened the door. ¡°You have to stop doing this to me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a special day,¡± Henry said, sidling around the man into the bar. Like last time, he thought the room was empty until he sat on one of the stools. Then he saw the form of Clint slumped over at the end of the bar. Slumped, but still awake. ¡°Long night?¡±


    The old man adjusted the ancient flannel he had been using for a pillow. ¡°This time of month always gets me,¡± he said. His words were quiet, but not slurred by drink. ¡°I can never sleep.¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±


    Clint lifted his head. ¡°I was hired on a festival day. Someone didn¡¯t show up for their shift, and I did. That was thirty years ago, down at the docks. Same docks I work at every day. Same job. Same life. Same fish. Barkeep, fetch me something cold.¡±


    Jamal wasn¡¯t behind the bar. He had joined them in front. ¡°You know I don¡¯t serve booze before noon. Let alone before the sun is up.¡±


    ¡°Who said booze?¡±


    ¡°You want a glass of water?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, with just a shot or two of vodka.¡±


    Jamal ignored the old man. ¡°What makes today so special, Henry?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you asked,¡± he said, with a flourish. ¡°I have failed to do everything that I set out to do. Today, I get to reap the consequences.¡±


    ¡°And there isn¡¯t anywhere else you¡¯re supposed to be?¡±


    ¡°Of course there is. But the day doesn¡¯t start until I go, so I plan to sit for a while.¡±


    With a groan the barkeep bustled behind the bar, retrieved a sweaty bottle of pale ale from beneath the counter, and set it in front of Henry. ¡°If today hasn¡¯t started, then I guess you¡¯re still in last night.¡±


    He laughed, and took a deep drink. Clint watched closely. A line of drool connected his mouth to his flannel. ¡°I haven¡¯t slept either!¡±


    Jamal gave the man a blank look. ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about.¡±


    So the three of them passed time. Henry sipped in the corner. Clint lay on the bartop with his eyes open. Jamal sat with his chin on his chest, appearing time and again to nod off before shaking his head and surveying his bar.


    When the first ray of sunlight pierced the window, Henry figured it was time to report to Teresa. He did not relish the conversation he might find there. He liked even less the prospect that he might have to bring it up himself. Up I get, he thought to himself, but stayed where he was seated. Over and over he told himself to move, but his butt stayed fastened fast to the uncomfortable stool. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Then the building shook.


    At once the three men were on their feet, looking wildly around at one another. The building shook again, with a mighty reverberating bhruum. Henry and Jamal dashed to the window. Clint took a single step after them, but then collapsed sideways back onto his stool.


    The shops of Main Street were dark. The sidewalks were empty. Everything looked much the same as it ever might, with the exception of the pile of rags and bones walking confidently down the center line, upsetting the world like an earthquake with every footfall. Emmaline Cass was leaving fissures in the asphalt as she walked.


    Jamal rubbed his eyes. ¡°This one of the consequences you were talking about?¡±


    ¡°I suppose so.¡±


    ¡°What do we do?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    She made slow progress, dragging her bones down the street. Bhruum bhruum bhruum. Curtains were drawn in surrounding houses. Brave figures stepped out of their doors, saw what was happening, and then retreated back inside. Emmaline, bleach-white skull blinding in the sunlight, approached the intersection.


    A siren sounded. From down the way a patrol car came speeding, dodging Tortus Bay¡¯s massive new potholes, and screeched to a stop. Emmaline continued unperturbed, even after Leia leapt out of the car and began shouting in her direction.


    Henry couldn¡¯t hear a word, but he could see the sheriff¡¯s face. Her eyes were wide and white. Her nostrils flared. She was dressed in a white cotton t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.


    ¡°Should we go out there?¡± Jamal asked, but Henry was already gone. He watched Leia unravel, in the few short seconds it took him to reach the door. Sweat dripped down her brow. Her arm was quaking, even before she drew her gun. By the time she brought it to bear, it vibrated like a wind-up toy in her hand. She continued to shout indistinguishable words. More desperate for every passing moment. Emmaline did not turn around. Bhruum. Bhruum. Bhruu¡ªLeia Thao fired her pistol.


    The shots cracked off like a backfiring car. Despite her convulsions, the sheriff¡¯s aim proved true. Three bullets struck Emmaline in the abdomen and right shoulder, sending forth a spray of dirty cloth and bone fragments. Emmaline stumbled, crouched, and stilled.


    Leia shouted again¡ªwords that Henry could now hear, standing in the open doorway of the bar. ¡°Please stop! Right there! I don¡¯t want to hurt you!¡±


    Emmaline righted herself. She did not turn. She did not step forward. Her skeletal arms hung limp at her side. Her jaw hung disconnected from her skull. She leaned her head back, looked up at the rising sun, and then raised her arms.


    Henry saw the concussive waves only an instant after the sheriff. Leia dove to the side, and was spared the fate of her patrol car. The metal was split in twain, and thrown aside in two messy halves. What was left of that blast shot down the street toward the park. On Emmaline¡¯s opposite side, an equally destructive blast arched straight into the Tortoise Shell Inn.


    The collision threw Henry back inside. He hit the ground hard. A column of pain raced up and down his spine. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, then expanded to cover his entire field of vision.


    ***


    Henry blinked. He wondered why, even with his eyes open, he could see nothing. He blinked again. Slowly and blearily the sight of the world returned to him. From where he was laying, he could see the clear blue of the sky¡ªand blankets of dust settling all around him.


    The Tortoise Shell Inn had been destroyed. Nothing at all remained of the second story. Half of the barroom still stood, groaning under the additional burden. Everything else was splinters of lumber and the debris of pulverized furniture. Henry lay in the protective cradle of the door-frame. Jamal had been thrown into the corner by the window, but was already shakily rising to his feet.


    Clint, who had the misfortune of remaining on the other side of the bar, laid beneath a length of collapsed beam. Only his head and one of his arms was visible. His eyes lolled. Blood dribbled out of the corner of his mouth.

 2.28: Consequences, part 2

    The blunt force of a thousand thoughts hit Henry all at once. He scrambled up onto his hands and knees, unsure which he was about to voice, and shouted ¡°Diane!¡±


    Jamal was already at his side. ¡°Staying at her sister¡¯s. Can you stand?¡±


    Henry grabbed Jamal¡¯s arm and pulled himself upright. The world spun. The wreckage of the Tortoise Shell Inn warped and blurred together. It looked like a plane crash. It looked like a lumberyard. ¡°It was just the three of us?¡±


    But the bartender wasn¡¯t at his side any longer. ¡°I¡¯m going to get help! Don¡¯t move!¡±


    He took that advice seriously. He would not move. He tried to stop swaying. He tried not to throw up. The unfocused eyes of Clint swiveled generally in his direction, and blinked.


    Henry raced forward and fell to his knees in front of the old man. An entire section of wall had fallen on him. ¡°Can you hear me?¡± He set his hands on the wreckage. Clint gurgled something. He focused on his arms¡ªon having the strength. He thought of the charms on his neck connecting him to Kara, connecting him to a world of magic. They responded with a pulse of warmth against his chest.


    Moving the collapsed wall was not easy, regardless. The boards split as he applied force, so he had to peel the wood away in sections. In the end he had constructed a sort of cocoon, shielding Clint¡¯s shuddering body within. The man¡¯s chest was a swamp of exposed bone and running blood. His skin was pale as paper. He twitched, staring up at nothing.


    Henry felt the magic of the village still pulsing through his body. He placed his hands in the mess of Clint¡¯s body. There was nothing else to be done. There was no time to wait for help. He laid his palms flat, and the voice of Teresa Bramble sounded in his head: There are stories of those who could heal with the touch of their hand.


    What had begun as a pulsing warmth, the force of electricity he¡¯d felt building over the last few days, finally spilled over, boiling out of his gut through his body¡ªsnaking down his arms, and out through the tips of his gore-soaked fingers. Clint gasped. His eyes focused. A nauseating pain radiated from Henry¡¯s shoulder. His arm grew numb. Under his hands, skin was beginning to knit back together. Bone fused. The process continued until Henry lost sensation in the arm altogether, and it limply fell away from Clint¡¯s body. Their connection was severed.


    The world was quiet and still. Nothing moved. Then after a moment, Clint sat up. His bare chest was still a mess of blood, but it was drying against healed skin. ¡°What the fuck was that?¡±


    Henry didn¡¯t answer. He sat, exhausted, and stripped his shirt off. The black rot around his wound had run in streaks down the length of his arm, purple and pale like watery grape jelly. He could not move it at all.


    The old man grumbled a few more incoherent words, then lapsed once more into unconsciousness. His breathing was stable, but strained. Henry stood and loped for the exit, before remembering that it had been lost in the rubble. Instead he wandered through the rubble into the street, and found himself in the middle of a tense scene.


    Sheriff Leia Thao stood where she had before, her gun held aloft in her hand. Her eyes were wild. Her arms shook. At her side stood one of her deputies, his own gun leveled at Emmaline Cass. The woman (corpse? skeleton?) stood on a smooth island between two long lines of broken pavement.


    Somebody was talking. It took Henry a moment to tell where the voice was coming from, but eventually he zeroed in on the form of Sofia Bramble. The girl stood on the other side of the rubble. Her clothes were stained red. Fresh gore dripped down her arms. ¡°Don¡¯t shoot,¡± she was saying. ¡°Whatever you do, don¡¯t antagonize her.¡±


    ¡°As long as she doesn¡¯t move,¡± Leia said.


    ¡°Even if she does. Please, don¡¯t shoot again.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Henry limped down the street toward the confusion. Pain like needles shot through his leg with every step. By contrast, the numbness in his arm was paradise.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Leia called.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think she can hear us,¡± Sofia said. ¡°My mother will be on her way. She¡¯ll know what to do.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t need a doctor, kid, we need -¡± the sheriff stopped mid-sentence when she saw Henry step out into the intersection. ¡°Did you just come out of there? Is everyone okay inside?¡±


    He meant to tell her that everything was fine. Clint was asleep. Jamal had run. Diane wasn¡¯t inside. She was staying with her sister. When he opened his mouth, Emmaline turned on the spot. She rotated like a ballerina, pivoting on the spot to land in his direction. There was a moment of silence, and then she raised her hand. A single, bony finger singled him out.


    Emmaline started walking. ¡°Hold your fire!¡± Leia barked. Henry thought it was more for herself than the deputy. ¡°Move away. Walk away. Henry, can you hear me? Stay away from her.¡±


    There was nothing threatening about the approaching figure. Emmaline acted like Mathas had, blindly following him down the street. Her shambling gait was slow. Her face was mostly skull, but he thought it smiled. A familiar voice from overhead snapped him out of his stupor.


    ¡°Look what I found!¡± Clair swept through the air, moving in kicks and strokes like a swimmer. She came to a mid-air stand-still, and let Emmaline¡¯s locket fall from her open hand.


    Henry caught it with his good arm. His brain restarted, and he took a few uncertain steps backward. Emmaline was close, and still advancing. ¡°I thought you weren¡¯t coming back,¡± he said, holding the locket close to his chest.


    ¡°What can I say? I saw a skeleton marching through the woods, and my curiosity got the better of me.¡±


    ¡°What do I do?¡±


    ¡°The park!¡± Clair said. ¡°Lead her back to the park, and let her rest. Just like last time. But hurry, alright? The folks I stole that from aren¡¯t too happy about it.¡± She kicked herself further into the sky. ¡°Yeah, not happy at all. They¡¯re coming.¡±


    Henry looked around, but saw nothing. Then he backed up into an intersection, and was afforded a clear view of the street leading down toward the forest. A pack of wolves raced toward him. It took a second for the sight to sink in: twenty shaggy wolves, in colors ranging from mottled grey to dark brown. He wanted to scream. Someone else beat him to it.


    Bystanders scattered, running either into surrounding buildings or down the street away from the incoming pack. There was more screaming. Distant gunshots. Then, Henry¡¯s feet left the ground. Clair held him up by his armpits, struggling wildly against open air to lift them skyward.


    ¡°Stay there,¡± she rasped, setting him atop the closest building, and was gone. One by one, she began pulling everyone in the area onto the safety of the rooftops.


    Down below, the wolves had fanned out around Emmaline Cass. The biggest of their number, a light grey male with a jagged scar across his nose, stared her down. A low growl rose in his throat. She raised her hand, and he lunged. The rest of the pack followed.


    The ensuing combat moved too fast for Henry to track. Emmaline¡¯s arms moved like sticks on marionette strings, pulsing energy which cracked the street and threw back her attackers. The wolves landed hard, but bounded up and lunged again to start the cycle anew. He could not guess who was going to tire first.


    A warning shout drew Henry¡¯s gaze away from the frenzied action. Leia and her deputy were running, not toward the scene, but in opposite directions down the street. There were two mobs of people closing in on the area. One came with shotguns and rifles, headed up by a man Henry faintly recognized from the bar. The other came empty-handed, but many of those empty hands glowed with an unnatural light. Taylor led them.


    Henry had a mind to watch how these confrontations were going to go, but something else caught his attention. Sofia Bramble stood on the roof of the building across the way, waving her arms above her head. Her mouth was open. ¡°I can¡¯t hear you!¡± he said.


    She shook her head, and pointed. There, past the edge of the village and the tops of the surrounding trees, the tip of Emmaline Cass¡¯ headstone glowed like a beacon. ¡°Clair!¡± He shouted. ¡°Clair, where are you?¡±


    The woman zipped to his side, landing on her knees. ¡°I¡¯m here. What is it?¡±


    ¡°Change of plans. Go find Teresa, and bring her to the old graveyard. As fast as you can.¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡±


    ¡°No time! Just go!¡±


    Clair shot him a disgruntled look, but took off regardless in the direction of the Bramble¡¯s home. Henry stepped to the edge of the roof, and looked down upon the complicated tangle of fur, snarls, and bones beneath him.


    These wolves are not regular animals.


    Let this charm rest against your skin, and it will protect you.


    He took a deep breath, and jumped.

 2.29: Consequences, part 3

    Henry regretted his decision all the way down. He landed with a thud in the middle of the madness in the street, and for a long moment there was stillness. Neither the wolves nor Emmaline moved a muscle. Then as one they turned, to regard the strange newcomer, and without warning the chaos resumed. All the world around him became bloody snarls, leaping fur, and great gusts of raw power issued from the dead woman¡¯s quick hands.


    He fell onto his hands and knees, and crawled. Paws danced around his head. Bodies thumped against his back. Claws scraped over his skin, and jaws closed around his legs, but each time the charm on his neck burned bright, and the assailant was rebuffed. In time he drew up beside a downed wolf¡ªa sleek mountain grey with a twisted leg¡ªand laid his hands upon it. The beast reared back and snarled at the touch, but then paused and caught his eyes. They stared at one another. Power coursed through his body, streaking down his ruined arm, and spilled from his fingertips.


    The wolf leapt up, and resumed its snarling, but this time at any creature who came too close to Henry. In this manner they navigated through the madness of the fight, and he helped several more from the ground. Soon a pack of five stood around him, creating a yelping and snipping buffer zone.


    Emmaline blasted one last wolf off of its feet, and paused. The wolves hung back, wary eyes regarding either her or Henry in turn. Leia was still shouting something from down the block, but that sounded as though it was a lifetime away from them. Emmaline swept in a complete circle, and stopped facing Henry. Her empty eye sockets did not stare.


    Henry held the locket up, and walked forward. Sweat dripped down his back. His heart beat in his throat. He could not feel his left arm. At any moment Emmaline could have sent him flying through the air, but she did not. Her skull rocked curiously on her spine.


    ¡°You want this?¡± he asked.


    She inclined her head.


    ¡°Then you¡¯ll have to follow me.¡± He turned to run, and got a single step away before a bolt struck him in the back. The concussive force sent him stumbling forward, but he managed to stay on his feet.


    Howls filled the air, and the fight resumed. Wolves leaped in to defend Henry. Wolves leaped in to attack the dead woman. Wolves leaped in, it seemed, just to be involved in the fray¡ªand now there were human bodies as well. Taylor whirled through the chaos, issuing sparks and weak gusts of force from his palms. Leia followed close behind, trying to seize his wrists. Emmaline rent through the mass once more, but this time she was not defending herself. She was giving chase.


    Henry weaved to the right and left, trying to move unpredictably, barely escaping bolts of asphalt-tearing power. He made it down the block before his luck ran out. A blunt force hit him in the back of the head, and his charm burned into his chest. Another hit him in the small of his back, and his charm seared through his flesh. Then a third struck his calf, and he spun out. The ground came up to meet him, and he rolled to a rough stop. His charm hung loose and cold around his neck.


    Noise surrounded him, but it was a tangled cacophony which he struggled to straighten out. Shouting. Thumping. More gunshots. Bones dragging along the street. A revving engine. ¡°Are you okay?¡± Disbelieving, Henry looked up into Niles¡¯ frowning face. The man sat astride his cherry red motorcycle, hand outstretched. ¡°Need a ride?¡±


    Emmaline had momentarily turned aside. The mountain grey wolf had hold of her tailbone in its mouth, and she was busy knocking it loose. Henry seized Niles¡¯ hand. ¡°To the old graveyard. Slowly.¡±


    ¡°How slow?¡±


    ¡°Enough that she can follow. Not so much that she can hit us.¡±


    ¡°Hit us?¡± As he asked the question, Emmaline flourished her bony fingers, sending another bolt in their direction. Niles nodded, and gunned it. ¡°Understood!¡±


    They led a strange convoy through the village, occasionally impeded¡ªbut never fully stopped¡ªby the incidence of one of the wolves breaking through to tear at Emmaline¡¯s legs. Bringing up the rear, curious villagers followed along, themselves trailed closely by Leia and her deputy trying to convince them to go home.


    ¡°What¡¯s the plan here?¡± Niles asked.


    ¡°The Cass headstone was never meant for protection,¡± Henry said. ¡°I should have realized when I was talking to Clair. It was designed to imprison her.¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°You¡¯re sure of that?¡±


    ¡°Call it a strong hunch.¡±


    When they hit the dirt, the wolves gained the advantage. Their claws dug into the earth, and they moved with terrifying speed. Niles slowed the bike, swerving around boulders and trees. Emmaline walked backwards between their two factions, issuing streams of destructive magic in wide protective arcs.


    They met Teresa and Clair in the thinning undergrowth surrounding the old graveyard. Teresa saw Henry first, and her eyes were drawn to his shoulder. ¡°What happened?¡±


    He had forgotten that he was topless. Most of his arm had gone black, as if with rot, and it limply flailed back and forth against his side. He opened his mouth to answer, but by then she had spotted the circus which was following them. ¡°What have you done?¡± she cried.


    ¡°It¡¯s a lot to explain. I need to know if you can activate these sigils.¡±


    Teresa looked up at the monument, whose unearthly glow was near blinding in their proximity. Its orange light lay on the short grass like a diluted shadow under the yellow of the sun. ¡°Why?¡±


    In the distance, wolves yelped in pain. A tree came crashing to the ground. ¡°Please, trust me.¡±


    ¡°As a rule, I do not partake in experimental magic.¡±


    Henry anxiously scanned the tree-line. ¡°But you¡¯ll make an exception because you like me?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll make an exception because I think that if I do not, you will be killed by a skeleton.¡± She raised her hands, and closed her eyes. The world stilled. A wind rose around the graveyard. Dirt picked up in eddies around her feet, spreading in miniature dust devils which inevitably spun into grave markers and broke apart. The symbols on the Cass monument sparked to life. Like fresh tattoos they flashed stark and black against the orange glow of the spire. ¡°These sigils are old,¡± she said. ¡°They¡¯re¡­ strange. I can¡¯t tell what I¡¯m doing.¡±


    Human and canine cries alike sounded in the woods, punctuated with the occasional crack of a rifle or the snapping of a branch. ¡°We need to hurry.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to have to activate everything here, all at once.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± Henry said.


    Niles and Clair eyed on another. ¡°Is it?¡±


    Teresa¡¯s arms, stuck out at her sides, went rigid. Her fingers curled. Her head lolled back, her mouth fell open, and her feet lifted off the ground. She rose into the air as Henry had only seen from one person before, and began to twirl. An orange light emanated from her hands.


    From the forest, a second figure joined her. Emmaline appeared above the canopy, ensorcelled in the same orange glow. Her skull hung loose to the side. Her legs were struck, caught in a running pose. She hovered there for a moment, and then began floating in their direction.


    ¡°Can you hear me, Teresa?¡± Henry asked, looking skyward and shielding his eyes. The woman did not reply. ¡°You have to get her into the grave.¡±


    Emmaline drifted over their heads¡ªinanimate as a corpse once more¡ªand lowered toward the headstone which bore her name. Her toes grazed the dirt, and the sounds from the forest died away. The orange radiance dimmed, and the world regained a more natural light. Henry could once more bear to look in the direction of the headstone. What he found was the hollow grey abyss of Emmaline Cass¡¯ eye sockets. They were not looking at each other. Looking required eyes. Just as speaking ought to have required a tongue.


    You owe me fealty, child. Much has been paid. Much more is yet owed.


    Henry couldn¡¯t tell if he was hearing the words out loud. The voice was youthful and clear; it rang in his mind like a bell.


    I am the protector of the abandoned and the lost. I am the watcher of the tides. I am the chooser, and so I have chosen.


    ¡°How are you doing this?¡±


    All power must one day fade. Tortus Bay must not be allowed to follow.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    Are you a traitor?


    Teresa twirled in graceful arcs back toward the ground, clothes streaming about her like silk streamers. Henry could not take his eyes off of Emmaline.


    I brought you here. You heard my call, and you followed. But this place is mine, and you will obey.


    Teresa landed, and with a sigh the magic thread was severed. Emmaline fell. Her remains were once more remains: A pile of bones, laying inert in an excavated grave. The four of them gathered around its edge.


    ¡°What do you guys think of putting a bell on her this time?¡± Clair asked.


    One by one, onlookers emerged from the trees. The first amongst them was Sofia Bramble, who took one look at her mother and burst into tears. Then came Tod and Lucy, heading up a good showing of the TBHWAS. There was Taylor with a flushed smile, and several older folk with rifles resting against their shoulders.


    ¡°What happened to the wolves?¡± Niles asked.


    Lucy smiled at them. ¡°Vanished,¡± she said, ¡°the second that¡­ was that Emmaline Cass?¡±


    ¡°Yes, it was.¡±


    ¡°When Emmaline was lifted into the sky, they vanished. Like they¡¯d never been here in the first place.¡±


    ¡°Was anyone hurt?¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    Leia Thao was the last to join them. Drying mud streaked her sagging sweatpants, and blood flecked her face. She allowed her gaze to pass right over Clair, looking long and hard at Henry. ¡°Well,¡± she said, ¡°what do you figure we do now?¡±


    His eyes widened. Someone had been hurt. ¡°Kara.¡±

 3.01: Aftermath

    All other considerations evaporated, and Henry sprinted from the old graveyard on foot. By the time he made it through the trees Niles had caught up with him, and wordlessly pulled him onto the back of his motorcycle. They sped together to the outskirts of Tortus Bay, where the Anderson Warehouse sat unperturbed beneath the cool noon sun. Inside, Kara lay lifeless on the floor. A dim halo surrounded her. How many of that day¡¯s falls and wolf bites had been hers to bear? Too many for the woman¡ªfor any person¡ªto have sustained.


    Henry was the first at her side, taking her limp form by the shoulders and calling her name. Her lips were purpling; if she breathed, it was too shallow to be felt. Behind him others filed in. They had followed in the wake of the motorcycle, and now fanned themselves out with somber looks on their faces. Teresa was one of the last inside. She had only just elbowed her way through the crowd when she cried out ¡°Wait! Stop!¡±


    But it was too late. Henry had already placed his hands over Kara¡¯s heart, and closed his eyes to focus. Once more the magic of the village flowed through him. It filled his body, streaking from his mind through his chest and finally into the tips of his fingers. This time a horrible burning sensation came along with it, as though white fire and not blood coursed through his veins. Everybody but he saw the black rot on his arm expand, growing into a complete sleeve. Everybody but he saw the black rot on his shoulder leach onto his chest.


    Kara drew in a loud, shuddering breath, and opened her eyes. Henry opened his own, but saw nothing. He fell down beside her, writhing.


    ***


    Teresa¡¯s house was quickly transformed into something akin to a field hospital. What few stretchers she possessed were set up on her lawn, for the use of those too hurt to walk, but not so hurt that they needed constant attention. Beds and spare mattresses had been set up inside for people more critically injured.


    That is where Henry awoke that evening, confused for a time by the sight of Teresa¡¯s kitchen, until his mind caught up with his body. He was lying on an inflatable camping mattress, which had lost most of its air on either end. ¡°Kara,¡± he said, trying to sit up. Nausea forced him back down.


    ¡°Shh.¡± Niles sat beside him, holding his hand. They were on the floor to the side of the table, off of which someone¡¯s arm dangled. The counters had been cleared, and people slept there as well. It seemed that every spare inch had been giving over for makeshift beds. Not everyone got as lucky as an inflatable mattress. ¡°She¡¯s fine,¡± he said. ¡°Up and helping out. I can go get her, if you want. I¡¯m supposed to tell Teresa when you wake up, anyhow.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Henry said, but he did not let go of the man¡¯s hand. He squeezed as tight as he could manage.


    Niles smiled, and brought his lips down to kiss Henry¡¯s forehead. That sensational smell of sweet bread and lumber hit his nose, undercut by something foreign¡ªbut pleasant. Gasoline? ¡°You did good. I¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    Cold dread worked its way through Henry¡¯s gut. Stale sweat slicked his body. In Niles¡¯ absence, the stench of clotting blood overwhelmed the room. He did not need to lift his head and look down upon his body to know that his injury had escalated. Not only could he not move his left arm, or any of the fingers on his left hand, but he could not feel any of it whatsoever. It was as though the appendage did not exist at all, so that he could only convince himself that he had not undergone an emergency amputation by reaching out and feeling the clammy flesh with his good hand.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Then the door opened, and his anxiety was pushed aside in a rush of light and movement. Kara skidded to a stop at his side, and then threw herself on top of him in a fierce hug. ¡°You idiot,¡± she said, wiping away her tears. ¡°You absolute moron. You saved my life.¡±


    ¡°You saved mine first.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s keeping track anymore? How are you feeling?¡±


    ¡°Like I jumped into a pit of wolves.¡±


    She ran her fingers along the crook of his elbow. Once, that would have been ticklish. ¡°It¡¯s a complete circus outside. The whole village knows the truth now. A line of volunteers are keeping non-injured people away from the house. They all want to see you.¡±


    He sighed. ¡°That might be worse than when they all thought I was insane.¡±


    ¡°Everybody in a ten mile radius with so much as a bruise to complain about is going to want to see you,¡± she laughed. ¡°How did you discover that you could do this?¡±


    ¡°Clint,¡± he said, remembering. ¡°I left him back in the Tortoise Shell. Is he okay?¡±


    ¡°Leia dragged him out. He¡¯s not feeling great, but he¡¯s still alive because of you.¡±


    Behind them the door opened again, and several more people entered the room. First amongst them was Teresa, who gently nudged Kara out of the way to take her place. Her hair was completely frazzled, and there was a wild bloodshot quality about her eyes. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Can¡¯t feel the arm anymore.¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have been so rash.¡± She took his forearm and pressed her forefinger deep into the skin.


    ¡°Take it easy on him,¡± Niles said. He was hovering back near the door, looking on with a worried face. Beside him Sofia wore a different expression. Her eyes were hard, and her jaw locked. There was no telling if the blood on her clothing was from tending to the patients around the house, or if it was leftover from her encounter with Mathas Bernard.


    Henry gave a one-shoulder shrug. ¡°I still can¡¯t feel anything.¡±


    Teresa continued in this manner, twisting and prodding every bit of his arm, trying to elicit some sort of response. Nothing came. Henry didn¡¯t like looking at it. All that came to his mind was necrosis; decaying flesh, and grisly medical operations. So he let his eyes wander, and they eventually found their way back to Sofia. She nodded to him, very slightly.


    ¡°Listen,¡± he said, ¡°about Mathas, I¡ªI wanted to say that-¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to say anything,¡± Teresa whispered, bringing her hands from his arm to his chest. ¡°And you certainly don¡¯t have anything to apologize for. Now, tell me when you can feel my fingers.¡±


    He could not do so until her hand was in the center of his chest. ¡°That¡¯s not good, is it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s better than nothing,¡± she said, sitting back. Some of her manic energy ebbed off into exhaustion. ¡°You have a great gift. I¡¯m sure you realize that you cannot use it again.¡±


    ¡°What are you saying?¡±


    ¡°Henry, I¡¯m afraid that this rot is heading for your heart. A small amount of it might be there already. If you use this talent again, it may very well kill you. I cannot say that you have long to live, even if you abstain.¡±

 3.02: The View From The Top

    Henry wandered for a time that night. Many people insisted that they accompany him, but he was more insistent on being alone. There was a pressure¡ªa sort of buzzing¡ªbuilding inside of his head through which he couldn¡¯t talk. It wouldn¡¯t let him think.


    What Kara told him about the village was true. Though he discharged himself from Teresa¡¯s converted field hospital well after nightfall, and cast his eyes down, people in the street still spotted him and tried to approach. Gone was their characteristic fear of the dark. Now it felt like a real festival in Tortus Bay; everywhere people chatted loudly and drank deeply beneath the moon. Whenever he was spotted, he hunched over and hurried on. That was enough for most of them. For the rest, there was the cold shoulder. They were still too polite to be that much of a bother¡ªand there was still somewhere that none of them would go. Somewhere Henry could be alone.


    The door to the lighthouse sat ajar, unobstructed by boards or police tape. It was completely scrubbed out. No evidence remained of the crime which had been committed there. The crime, or its inevitable repercussion. Regardless it was with hesitation that he stepped inside. The window he¡¯d smashed was now whole, and the splintered staircase reinforced with new wood. Up top, additional boards had been fitted to occlude the sky, but not so completely that he was unable to wedge his way in-between. There he saw the moon again, reflected infinitely over the ocean¡¯s placid waters. He sat on a block of broken stone.


    Teresa put his useless arm in a cast. Kara told him that they might yet find a cure. Niles said nothing at all, but looked at him with sad eyes. Henry couldn¡¯t hold any of it in his mind. He watched the waves, and thought about nothing.


    ***


    He did not properly sleep that night, but neither could he claim to have stayed awake. All he knew was that eventually the sun rose, arced through the sky, and beat down from overhead. He made his way down the stairs, and out the lighthouse door.


    Tortus Bay had not yet fully risen. Those few who roamed the streets did so with destinations clearly in their mind, and coffee cups clutched in their fists. Litter built up in the gutters. Henry arrived at the Police Station just as three figures departed the building.. Teresa, Sofia, and Lola looked briefly in his direction, but not one of the three acknowledged his presence. The daughters huddled around their mother¡¯s skirts, and they hurried the other way down the sidewalk.


    Leia Thao sat at her desk, looking worse for wear than Henry had ever seen. The bags under her eyes stretched down to her jaw. Her greasy hair stuck up in clumped horns. There were yellow stains around the collar of her t-shirt, and her sweatpants were torn and bloody. She glanced up at him, and sighed.


    ¡°I came to talk about Mathas Bernard.¡±


    ¡°Save it.¡±


    ¡°If you listen, I can ex-¡±


    ¡°I said save it!¡± she snapped. ¡°There¡¯s nothing more you need to say.¡± A crumpled bag of sunflower seeds sat on the edge of her desk, which she now seized and upended into her mouth. For several seconds she chewed. ¡°Do you remember what I told you three months ago, when I picked you up in the park?¡±If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Henry thought back. ¡°To get a job and fit in?¡±


    ¡°I did, didn¡¯t I?¡± She smiled, but there was no hint of joy in it. ¡°I also told you that I had never once fired my service pistol. Never one time, in all the years I¡¯ve worked as this village¡¯s sheriff.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure that shooting a skeleton breaks your record.¡±


    ¡°Three people died last night,¡± she said. ¡°Heath Tiller, Patil Derderian, and Tod Donald.¡±


    Those words struck him. Heath, the fisherman. Patil, the friendly waitress at the SS cafe. And Tod, the portly bird watching enthusiast. ¡°I didn¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°We found the bodies this morning. That¡¯s me talking to a journalist, alright?¡± She spat out a shell. ¡°From what I hear, there would be a lot more names if not for you, Kara, and Teresa.¡±


    He shook his head. That buzzing was back, drowning out the world.


    ¡°And what if I had helped? What if I had done my job, as it should have been done? Would that number be zero?¡± She paused again, but continued on when Henry made indication that he was about to talk. ¡°Do you know what it¡¯s like, to fight for the wrong thing for your entire life? To choose to believe on faith, despite the evidence of your eyes, and in the end have it cost human life? After today I will no longer be the sheriff of Tortus Bay.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re resigning?¡±


    Leia nodded. ¡°I will stay on in a volunteer capacity, to help clean up. Then Taylor will take over as interim chief, until something more permanent can be arranged. My last official act as sheriff was closing the Mathas Bernard case, which I did today.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°The man died of a heart attack outside of his home. There is no basis for further suspicion.¡±


    Henry didn¡¯t trust the strength of his voice to last for long enough for him to say what he needed to say, so instead he turned to leave¡ªand made it nearly to the door before she spoke again.


    ¡°How¡¯s the arm?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Very bad.¡±


    ***


    Exhaustion finally caught up with him. Henry took the long way home, to avoid the devastation on main street. He could not bring himself to look at it, yet. Along the way he did not bother to cast his head down or disguise his appearance, but no passersby attempted to stop him. Perhaps they had also heard the news.


    On the curb outside of his apartment there sat a lump. Henry squinted. It was a plaid lump. As he approached it stirred, and stood. Clint was red-faced. ¡°You,¡± he said. The man staggered. He wore the same outfit as he had the day before, torn apart and spattered with his own blood. ¡°I never asked you.¡±


    Henry took a precautionary step back. ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°I never asked you!¡± Clint surged forward in a hail of finger jabs. ¡°I never asked you for anything, okay?¡±


    ¡°Fine!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not fine!¡± he yelled. His eyes were clear, and there was no scent whatsoever on his breath. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask you for anything. Ever. Alright?¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    Clint huffed, and shook his head like a wet dog. ¡°Didn¡¯t ask,¡± he said again, and spun on the spot to wander off down the street.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you¡¯re feeling better,¡± Henry said, but he wasn¡¯t sure that he heard. He watched the man disappear into the distance, wondering what in the world he should have said instead of what he actually did, and by then he didn¡¯t feel like going to bed any longer. Instead he made a phone call.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Niles said. ¡°Glad you called.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know where you and I stand.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know either.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what we¡¯re doing.¡±


    ¡°Neither do I.¡±


    Henry breathed. ¡°I want to see you.¡±


    ¡°Then come over.¡±

 3.03: Game Night

    Everything was in flux. From one day to the next it seemed that nothing, no matter how basic, was guaranteed to remain unchanged. But even in Tortus Bay, where once a month the fundamental forces of reality upended themselves, Henry relied on one thing: Whenever the world might go fuzzy, Niles could make it clear again. But it wasn¡¯t he who answered the door.


    ¡°There are three rules in this house,¡± Clair said. She leaned against the door-frame, arms crossed, with a strange glimmer in the eye. ¡°One: no shop talk; two: no magic talk; three: no talking about any event which may or may not have transpired yesterday. And four: no talking about how tired we are. That wasn¡¯t one of the original rules, but I think the committee will back me up once they get a look at you.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Henry said, ¡°hello to you as well.¡±


    ¡°Do you agree?¡±


    ¡°I suppose I have to.¡±


    She pulled him into a tight hug. In sharp contrast with the last time they¡¯d been in close proximity, she now smelled of fruity shampoo and damp cotton.


    Free space in Niles¡¯ living room had been forcibly achieved by shoving the excess stacks of books against the walls. Some sort of complicated board game was spread out on the table and part of the floor around it, consisting of dozens of plastic figurines and hundreds of cardboard tiles. Kara and Niles hunched intently over the chaos. ¡°What is this?¡± Henry asked.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Niles said, ¡°Clair insisted that she answer the door. Didn¡¯t get a chance to warn you.¡±


    Clair swept back into the room, and rolled a handful of colorful dice. ¡°The host doesn¡¯t get up. That¡¯s rule number five.¡±


    ¡°We have an even number now,¡± Kara said. ¡°Can we please switch to the trivia game?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to play this one out?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Come on, he can be on your team if you want.¡±


    It was game night. After a moment¡¯s hesitation Henry settled in, and the four of them sat around Nile¡¯s small table, moving pieces, drawing cards, and rolling dice. There were homemade chocolate-chip cookies to snack on. Eventually Niles produced a pizza from the kitchen. Bruce broke in every now and again, sniffling madly at the source of attention that was not him, until he got his fill of head pats and belly rubs. Kara and Clair had each brought a bottle of wine with them, and Niles provided several more beside.


    Somehow, despite all logic and reason, Clair¡¯s rules worked. Under her watchful stare none of them dared broach a forbidden topic, and so they talked about pleasant nothings. Henry¡¯s exhaustion melted away. The tangled knot in the pit of his stomach came loose, and he found he was able to laugh again.


    ¡°I swear, this die only rolls fives,¡± Clair said. ¡°Okay, ignore that one, but I¡¯m serious. It was like six fives in a row.¡±Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Is this something that you guys do?¡± Henry asked. ¡°Have I been missing out this whole time?¡±


    ¡°Never once.¡± Niles took the die from Clair, and rolled a five. Her eyes became saucers. ¡°But apparently word got out that I have a stash of games in the garage. Haven¡¯t played most of them. They were left over from the previous owner.¡±


    ¡°And you thought, ¡®why not invite everyone over now for their inauguration?¡¯¡±


    ¡°I came looking for you,¡± Kara said.


    Clair nodded. ¡°So did I. Knew you would show up eventually. Now shut up and play.¡±


    A clear, pleasant night fell while they played. Darkness seeped through the window into their bubble of oblivious light. Over the course of the night, Henry found himself casting sideways glances at Clair. That mischievous glimmer stayed, but he thought there was something else hidden underneath. ¡°Are you okay?¡± he asked.


    Her face puckered sour. ¡°Who¡¯s turn is it?¡± Kara passed her the die, and she busied herself pretending to read the instructions on the board.


    ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± he pressed. ¡°You spent a month out in the woods. How are you?¡±


    ¡°This is a violation of the rules!¡± she said, wagging her finger to soften the sudden bark in her voice¡ªbut the three of them only leaned back and gave her expectant looks. She sighed, set the die aside, and spoke slowly. ¡°Physically, I am fine. In my head, I am not. In my heart, I am not. Is that what you want to hear?¡±


    ¡°I only wanted to hear the truth.¡±


    ¡°Then there it is. Are you surprised? None of us are doing okay. Three people died. People I knew. Well.¡± As she spoke, her words came more frantic, until by the end she was nearly shouting. ¡°And I should be at home crying for them, but I don¡¯t have a house to go home to. It¡¯s still in pieces from Leia¡¯s ransacking, and the power was shut off. But all of that should be obvious, so I have no fucking idea why you would make me say it. No, I¡¯m not okay. Are you?¡±


    Henry set aside his wine. ¡°No. I¡¯m not.¡± He looked down at his limp arm. ¡°I¡¯ll be number four, soon enough.¡±


    Her eyes locked onto his. They were solid, for a moment, as she processed the words. Then her lips started trembling, and angry tears spilled down her cheeks. ¡°Fucking liar.¡± She scrambled toward him, knocking over glasses and game pieces. ¡°You fucking liar,¡± she said again, taking him by the collar. ¡°Tell me that¡¯s not true.¡±


    Niles gently pried her away, and handed her a package of kleenex.


    ¡°Teresa thinks we might still find a cure,¡± Kara said. Her voice was quiet.


    Clair sat in a blubbering huddle, dabbing her eyes with tissues.


    ¡°And there might be something,¡± Kara continued, ¡°that I can do with my charms. Some way to protect against whatever it is that¡¯s hurting you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m giving the charms back. Both of them.¡±


    Now it was Kara¡¯s turn, to wear a disbelieving expression. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t keep going on as you have been. If I hadn¡¯t been there¡­¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s never happened before.¡±


    ¡°What if it does? You¡¯re stretching yourself too thin.¡±


    Kara¡¯s face became stone. ¡°It¡¯s my art, Henry. This is what I do.¡±


    Clair sniffled. ¡°This is why we had the rules.¡±


    A hand on Henry¡¯s back made him jump. Niles had come around behind him. ¡°Do you want to step outside?¡±


    ***


    They walked by moonlight under a dense canopy of stars. A song of cricket chirps and rustling grass surrounded them, but they did not speak. After a lap around the house Niles took his hand. They leaned against a rickety wooden fence. In what passed as the village¡¯s mini suburb, their view was less than inspiring, but they pretended.


    ¡°I¡¯m not very good at this,¡± Niles said. ¡°I¡¯m not used to it. It¡¯s like waking up early one day, going to the window to watch the sun rise, and it never comes.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Nothing used to change around here. We got a baby a year, and maybe a death too¡ªbut they were expected. A person could build a life like a blanket, and sit wrapped in its warmth for decades. Now change is coming, no matter what anybody does.¡±


    Henry considered his next words carefully. ¡°Change is good. If you live your life in the same blanket, or looking back at a blanket you lost, you might never recognize the options in front of you. Sweaters, for instance.¡±


    Niles¡¯ hand ran up his arm. ¡°A sweater?¡±


    ¡°Or a snuggie.¡±


    ¡°No, not that.¡± Niles pulled him in, and their lips met in the dark.

 3.04: Bodies of Decay

    When Henry slept, he dreamed of Emmaline. Sometimes she was as he saw her on the day of the festival: a pile of ambulating bones. Other times there was flesh on her skull, eyeballs in her head, or boots on her skeletal feet. She never said anything to him. She would not say a single word, no matter how he asked or begged. He brought her bones. Plucked from his fried chicken, stolen from the garbage, and then finally torn from himself. He did not know why, but he brought her all the bones in his own body.


    He washed the grime of sleep out of his eyes, splashing his face with his one good hand. The other he kept in the cast. It had no feeling at all¡ªunlike his chest. That had begun to hurt. A throbbing discomfort grew throughout the day, until he could no longer ignore it. Teresa met him at her door, and wasted no time in ushering him inside. Her house was still full of convalescing patients. Henry knew of at least one other significant weight on her mind, as well. ¡°The rot is spreading,¡± she announced, virtually as soon as he¡¯d removed his shirt.


    ¡°So, nothing new.¡±


    Teresa spoke with uncharacteristic brusqueness. ¡°The distinction, as I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware, is that you have quite a few more vital organs in your chest than in your shoulder.¡±


    ¡°You think I shouldn¡¯t have done it?¡±


    She retrieved a fresh vial of ointment, and set to work applying it around the edge of the blackened flesh. ¡°Kara might have been saved by less detrimental means. You could at least have thought to let me take a look first.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t see her up close. I did what I had to do.¡± He flinched away from her pressing fingers. As she roamed onto his chest, the medicine began to burn. ¡°You told me that you thought you had a cure, anyway.¡±


    Teresa pursed her lips. She finished applying the ointment, and fetched a spare vial for him to take home. ¡°I thought I had something for your shoulder,¡± she said. ¡°I didn¡¯t know if it would work then, and I am even less convinced now. But it is still worth trying.¡±


    ¡°If I make it to next month.¡±


    ¡°I assume you will not be taking my advice to rest until then.¡±


    ¡°Why do you assume that?¡±


    ¡°Because nobody ever does.¡±


    Henry pulled his shirt on. ¡°I don¡¯t want to die any more than you don¡¯t want me to.¡±


    She bit her tongue, gave him a long look, and then sighed. Her stiffness melted away. ¡°I have what might be interesting information, if you are intent on further stirring the pot.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I do best.¡±


    ¡°If you remember, I told you that I didn¡¯t recognize any of the sigils on the Cass headstone, which was true at the time. Then I started activating them. They revealed themselves to me, as they came alive. One to identify her remains; one to tie her essence to the earth; one to give a voice to the corpse; and many more besides. But the one that caught my attention was in the center of the plinth. It was the most powerful, and it activated last. Took nearly everything I had. Its purpose was to contain the magic inside of the grave.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not following.¡±


    ¡°A sigil like that does not simply go defunct, regardless of whether its original creator is still alive. Emmaline did not break herself out of that prison. Nor could anybody else, unless they were extremely powerful in their own right. More powerful than me, by any rate.¡±


    ¡°I thought you were the most powerful in the village.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    She frowned. ¡°So did I.¡±


    Henry collected his medication, and gently set his lifeless arm back in its sling. ¡°Would that sigil work, if it were placed somewhere else?¡±


    ¡°One step ahead of you.¡± Teresa pulled a sketch of a spiraling geometric pattern out of a drawer. ¡°Take it with you. I can¡¯t get the thing out of my head anyway.¡±


    ***


    That night Henry visited the destruction on main street. He could not stay away any longer; sooner or later he was going to have to see it, and in the end he wanted that to be on his own terms. The sight was made worse for the absence of distraction brought on by confused fighting. In that absence the broken street was nothing more than a broken street, crowned by the splintered lumber pile that used to be the Tortoise Shell Inn. None of the second story survived. Time had brought it crashing down to join the rest of the rubble.


    The site was left open, but not untouched. As Henry approached he spotted a figure rummaging through the mess. After a moment Diana showed herself, carrying both halves of a broken landline in her hands. She did not seem surprised to see him standing there. ¡°Already got everything important out. I¡¯ve started on the sentimental.¡± She spoke in a listless, unbroken gait, not exactly to him and not exactly to herself. ¡°We took this phone from my old family home. Not much of a wedding gift, but it was all my folks could afford to give.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been going through all of this?¡± he asked. ¡°Alone?¡±


    ¡°Jamal isn¡¯t in a state to look at it, quite yet.¡±


    ¡°Do you need a hand?¡±


    Diana shrugged. ¡°If you find the nine button, let me know.¡±


    As she intimated, the rubble was already heavily picked over. He climbed over upturned booths and hauled loose floorboards off of likely locations, but there seemed to be little left over other than piles of dust and the occasional can of unruptured beer. ¡°I keep imagining that I¡¯m going to find a body,¡± she said. ¡°I think that¡¯s why I keep digging. They tell me that there was nobody else here. It¡¯s hard to imagine. There were always so many people. Jamal is like that. He invites everyone in.¡±


    ¡°That he does,¡± Henry said, stepping gingerly over a shattered glass pane. ¡°Sometimes I felt like he didn¡¯t want anyone to leave.¡±


    She laughed. ¡°It¡¯s a wonder we made any money at all.¡±


    He pulled a torn seat cushion off of a collapsed beam, and found a grimy but recognizable brass number five underneath. ¡°Do you mind if I take this?¡±


    ¡°If it means something, it¡¯s yours.¡±


    In the meantime she had recovered several more odds and ends; an animal calendar, a twisted butcher¡¯s knife, and a muddied straw hat sat on the street beside the phone halves. ¡°Where are you taking all that?¡± Henry asked.


    ¡°We¡¯re staying with our daughter. Have you met Jessica? She¡¯s right around your age.¡±


    He smiled. ¡°Nice of her to take you in. If you ever need my help, I hope you know that you can always ask. I owe you and your husband more than either of you can probably guess.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, shaking her head, ¡°but I don¡¯t think anyone can help us now.¡±


    Henry continued rummaging long after Diana left, in time watching the clouds gather over the moon far more diligently than he watched the wreckage around him. He wiped the room number off on his sleeve, and held it tight in his hand. For months he had worn Kara¡¯s charm around his neck, and now he felt naked without a totem. Perhaps he would affix the number to a chain. Nobody was likely to be calling him crazy any longer, no matter what he might do.


    Footsteps approached from around the side of the building. ¡°Diana?¡± he called. ¡°If you¡¯re looking for more loot, I hope you brought a flashlight.¡±


    ¡°Henry, is that you?¡± Aria rounded the corner. ¡°What are you doing in there?¡±


    ¡°Disaster tourism,¡± he said.


    ¡°I think if you were at ground zero, it¡¯s called ¡®therapy.¡¯¡± She stepped over the crumbled wall to join him. If she noticed the strange item clutched in his fist, she said nothing about it.


    ¡°Why are you out so late?¡±


    ¡°Midnight walks clear the head,¡± Aria said. ¡°I¡¯ve only recently been at liberty to take them in the village proper. Thank you for that, by the way.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t mention it.¡±


    ¡°Plus, it beats the hell out of trying to get into contact with you. I thought we were business partners. Are you not taking calls from your business partner?¡±


    He groaned. ¡°I¡¯ve had my phone off.¡±


    ¡°Well, maybe it¡¯s suiting that Tortus Bay¡¯s founding newsman is the last to hear the news.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    The smile Aria turned on him was bright enough to banish the cloudy night¡¯s grey gloom. ¡°We¡¯re rebuilding it,¡± she said, raising her arms and twirling. ¡°The Tortoise Shell. Better than before, and we¡¯re doing it without taking a single cent from Jamal or Diana.¡±

 3.05: Possession and Dispossession

    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    The Tortus Bay Examiner


    Issue Two


    Readers, we hear you loud and clear. Everyone in Tortus Bay wants to know what happened last week, and you deserve to be told the truth. But to understand the explanation, you first have to hear the history.


    There is magic in this village. Not happenstance, or coincidence, or strange phenomena that don¡¯t deserve to be investigated. Magic. And it is not new. It was born of a woman named Emmaline Cass¡ªwhose skeletal remains, as some of you will be aware, terrorized our streets. She was one of the original founders, and it is due to her sacrifice that Tortus Bay still stands today. When the land turned sour and neighboring settlements began to fail, Emmaline stayed behind with those doomed to die. Instead of accepting her lot, however, she chose to meet her own fate by walking out into the sea...


    ***


    Swirling, sworling, endless water. Long thin hair, caught up as in a drain. The frosting on a cinnamon bun. Then her face, bone. Bone white flesh, and thin lips forming a perfect immobile circle. Her tongue whipped and wagged within. Flecks of saliva painted her cheeks. ¡°You owe me. Will you do what needs to be done?¡±


    Henry shot up out of bed, drenched in sweat, momentarily disoriented. The dream had been so real. Salt water still stung his nose. ¡°These aren¡¯t dreams.¡±


    ¡°Wazzat?¡± Niles snorted, rolling over heavily. It was a few minutes before dawn; weak yellow light streamed through the window.


    ¡°Go back to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Nah, I¡¯m up. Why is the bed wet?¡±


    ¡°Sweat. Sorry. Nightmare.¡±


    He pulled him into an embrace. ¡°Again?¡±


    ¡°Every night. I don¡¯t¡­ listen, it¡¯s crazy, but I don¡¯t think they¡¯re just dreams.¡±


    ¡°You think Emmaline is communicating with you,¡± Niles said, and laughed at the expression on his face. ¡°Come on, it¡¯s not that hard to figure out. She talked to you before you put her back in the grave, and now she¡¯s figured out how to get into your dreams.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re taking this much better than I am.¡±


    He kissed his forehead. ¡°I¡¯ve lived here my whole life. Can¡¯t say I¡¯ve seen anything more strange, but I got a lot of practice on a wide variety of things just slightly lower on the scale.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t think I¡¯m losing my mind?¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t. How do you feel about pancakes?¡±


    Henry returned the kiss. ¡°I¡¯m pro-pancake.¡±


    ¡°Mmmm. Banana or chocolate chip?¡±


    ¡°Both.¡±


    ***


    Glosspool Lane was as radiant that morning as ever it was, but Henry brought to it his own personal dark cloud. His useless arm had recently begun to itch or sting in places. Teresa called it good news, but he preferred the thing lifeless. No matter how he scratched, nor how much ointment he applied, the sensations would not leave him alone.


    So it was that he rolled up to the Brihte estate heavily distracted with his own pinching and scratching, and took a moment to notice the unusual level of activity on the premises. The wrought-iron gates hung open. A series of trucks were parked on the driveway, and from them many men hauled objects to and fro. Tables, shelves, and candelabras.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Henry skirted around the work with a minimum of questioning eyes, slipped through the front door, and found Lucy and Beth Brihte sitting on a couch in the far corner of their foyer, sharing a glass of deep red wine. ¡°Henry!¡± Lucy called, ¡°if you¡¯re intent was to rummage, I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ve been caught.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Beth asked.


    ¡°Did I never mention? I caught this one breaking into my bedroom, rooting around for imagined details about Mathas Bernard.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, ¡°he pulled a similar ruse at my house, I think. Taking advantage of the emotionally distraught. But he had a good reason, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    The room was in a state of disarray. Everywhere the furniture was half pulled apart, or else packed into tidy boxes. A table against the wall was covered with nick-nacks and old letters that the two women had apparently been in the process of sorting through. Henry felt the strange urge to bow as he approached them, but mastered it. ¡°I guess it didn¡¯t matter what I did, in the end,¡± he said. ¡°Everything seemed to work itself out.¡±


    Beth smiled. ¡°Humble, now.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s always been humble,¡± Lucy said. ¡°That¡¯s his saving grace.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s happening around here?¡± he asked, watching a man walk out of the house with a rug thrown over his shoulder.


    ¡°We¡¯re liquidating,¡± Beth said. ¡°There used to be a whole host of Brihtes in this village, but now it¡¯s just me and my sister. And she¡¯s been bothering me to do this for ages.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing here for us anymore. Oh, we had our distractions. A hiking club, a husband. Now that¡¯s all gone. Wine?¡±


    Henry awkwardly stepped forward to accept the glass. ¡°So that¡¯s it? You¡¯re leaving?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the last person I expected to be upset by that,¡± Beth said. ¡°Do you see this house you¡¯re standing in, Henry? And I have another, only a little smaller. What happened with Emmaline made it clearer for me than ever: the Brihtes have been a drain on this village for decades now. I¡¯m sure it wouldn¡¯t surprise you to hear that we have been funnelling money into the mayor¡¯s office and the sheriff¡¯s department, to maintain the fiction that Tortus Bay is a regular village filled with regular people. You have done more damage to that narrative with one issue of your newspaper than we allowed in the last hundred years.¡±


    ¡°And about time!¡± Lucy said quickly, raising her glass.


    He took a drink. ¡°What do you imagine the Gauthes will do? Are they also going to skip town?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Then I suppose your parting gift to the village will be to leave it diminished. I would imagine that the immense resources of this estate could be put to a lot of good.¡±


    A sort of well-humored scowl settled into place on Beth¡¯s face. ¡°What did you come here for?¡±


    ¡°To convince you of several conclusions you appear to have reached for yourself, if I¡¯m honest. I heard from a friend that the blood of the Brihtes and the Gauthes runs deeper than money.¡±


    She leaned forward, subconsciously rimming her wineglass with her forefinger. ¡°What are you getting at?¡±


    ¡°Books,¡± he said. ¡°Secrets. Magic that nobody else has access to. How your family got ahead in the first place.¡±


    ¡°No such thing ex-¡± Lucy began, but her sister cut her off. Beth stood, and motioned for him to follow. He set his glass down, and she led him on a meandering route through the house. As they plunged deeper, they passed progressively fewer of the movers, and the opulence with which he was familiar re-asserted itself.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to forgive me,¡± Beth said. ¡°Me and my sister get like that, when we¡¯re together. I wanted to thank you, for everything you did in my husband¡¯s case.¡±


    ¡°You want to thank me?¡±


    She laughed. ¡°I know the truth. Teresa told me everything. Or at least, as much as I could stand to hear. What a legacy, for this family. What a disgrace.¡± She led him to a locked door in the rear of the house, which opened onto a modestly sized library. The majority of the titles appeared to be assorted fiction, literary analysis, and poetry. Henry wondered if she had understood his request.


    ¡°You never knew, then?¡±


    ¡°Could I have been more attentive? Could I have cared more about the red flags? The answer to those questions is always yes. But I did not.¡± They stopped in front of a single squat shelf tucked away in a dark corner of the library. She unlocked the sliding cover with a rusted old key, and revealed a collection of twelve dusty tomes. ¡°There you have it,¡± she said. ¡°You said we would leave Tortus Bay in a worse place than we found it? Let this be the first step in fixing that: the collected knowledge of the Brihte family. Including, yes, a fair amount of secret magic.¡±


    He stooped down to inspect the titles, of which only three were in English. ¡°You mind if I take these with me?¡±


    ¡°Help yourself. I don¡¯t want to see them again.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. Would I be pushing my luck, to ask for one more favor?¡±


    She crossed her arms. ¡°What do you need?¡±


    ¡°A meeting with the mayor.¡±

 3.06: Deconstruction

    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    The restoration of the Tortoise Shell Inn got started quickly. With the entire village united in a singular goal, they proved that they could accomplish greatness. Together they established a dumping site, cleared the loose rubble, and sold whatever of the refuse was of any value. It remained unclear whether the mayor backed the project or not. Nobody imagined that he hadn¡¯t heard¡ªit would have been impossible for anybody to miss the news¡ªbut he did not show himself at the site.


    By contrast, Henry was there almost every day, helping out however he could. Generally that meant moving small objects, and providing moral support. People seemed to appreciate it. But Jamal had him beat on both counts. The man never left, and he presided over an endless keg of beer. He made incessant jokes about drinking while on the job. If anyone stuck around too long, the jokes would become sincere and sometimes tearful thanks¡ªso most of the volunteers took their cups and ran.


    Long days sweating under the autumn sun became the only times in which Henry could see his friends without the dark cloud of his worsening condition hanging over their heads. They could pretend, if only for a little while, that the only injustice that existed was the destruction of the Tortoise Shell Inn. And that, they were fixing. The problem was with others.


    ¡°Can you help him?¡± a tearful Mrs. Donald asked him one afternoon. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry to bring it up, it isn¡¯t fair¡­ but¡­ but could you? Could you bring him back?¡±


    Kara, standing nearby, rushed in to save him from stuttering and stumbling. ¡°We all miss Ted,¡± she said, ¡°but he¡¯s gone. I know it hurts.¡± Henry went home early that day.


    The memorial service for the three deceased was held in the Anderson warehouse, in order to accommodate the turnout. More people than expected still showed up, and by midday the ceremonies were moved outside. Relatives and friends who hadn¡¯t been seen in the village for years came to pay their respects. Henry met Benny, the man who technically owned the house in which he was little more than a squatter. The man embraced him, kissed him on the cheek, and loudly announced that he was proud to provide housing to someone such as himself.


    Leia Thao came dressed in a plain black dress. She stood in the back, hung her head, and did not speak to anybody. After an hour she left, and wasn¡¯t seen around the village for several days to come.


    ***


    ¡°Do you think what you have is a ¡®wycked spreading rott?¡¯¡± Niles asked. He was stretched out on the sofa, flipping through one of the Brihte family books. They kept the three in recognizable English, and farmed the rest out to Teresa, Kara, and Clair¡ªwho each promised to find some way to help, digital translator or otherwise.


    Henry closed his own book. Largely, it seemed to be a bestiary of animals and creatures which he had never heard of before, and did not in any way believe in. ¡°Description matches,¡± he said, joining him on the sofa. ¡°What does it say?¡±


    Niles read down the page. ¡°Spreads rapidly, sometimes unpredictably, across the body. Inflicted by a powerful magus. Horrible punishment, agonizing death, so far and so forth¡­ oh, it says it is sometimes attached to an opposing magus¡¯ ¡®animus¡¯ to prevent them from using their magic.¡±


    ¡°That sounds like it might be it!¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing else here,¡± he said, turning the page back and forth. ¡°Only instructions on how to cast it. Which, if you¡¯re curious, make no sense to me. But nothing on a cure.¡±This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s because it doesn¡¯t have one.¡±


    Niles pulled him close. ¡°Well find something. Now we have a name. Teresa can work with that.¡±


    ***


    This was the new order of things in Tortus Bay: if someone needed a drink, they stopped by the Tortoise Shell construction site. If someone needed a drink, and silence in which to enjoy it, they went to the park. Word had long since spread that Mathas Bernard¡¯s remains wound up amongst the trees, and to honor his memory people had gotten into the habit of taking long walks and spitting at every pile of disturbed earth.


    Henry was one of the only people who knew the true location of the corpse. It was there he liked to drink, with his back against the wide trunk of the gnarled oak, and a cooler at his feet. Oftentimes he took to staring at the ground. He thought about the man decomposing underneath, and the woman buried not too far away who had finished that process a long time ago. Two people¡ªtwo dead people¡ªwho he put back into the earth. Two people who knew far more than he about magic in Tortus Bay. If they could talk to him, would they have anything to say about his condition? Would they help him, if they could?


    A rustling of leaves announced that he was not alone. Sofia¡¯s angular face appeared through the greenery. ¡°Mind if I join you?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Sure. I¡¯d offer you a beer, but I think your mom is mad enough at me as it is.¡±


    The girl was dressed warmly for the season, and her face seemed paler than usual. She sat beside him, and stuffed her fists into her sweater. ¡°She¡¯s not mad at you. I think she¡¯s mad at the world. Or him.¡± She spat at the ground.


    ¡°I would be mad at me, in her place.¡±


    ¡°We already did it once,¡± she said. ¡°What was the harm in doing it a second time?¡±


    Henry tried to catch her eye, but she turned her head away. ¡°I don¡¯t know. What is the harm?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t come here to complain.¡±


    ¡°Just wanted to sit and spit? Come on, we all have the right. And you more than most.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the only person I can think of to talk to. I know that sounds messed up, but it¡¯s true. Everyone keeps saying that I need to talk about it, but there¡¯s nobody. You were here. You know what happened.¡±


    Henry finished his can, and cracked a new one. ¡°That might be true. I still can¡¯t imagine what it¡¯s been like, for you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m scared,¡± she said. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me that it doesn¡¯t make any sense, because I know. I¡¯m scared all of the time.¡±


    ¡°Of people like him?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°Mom used to treat people from outside Tortus Bay. I don¡¯t remember all of them, but I definitely remember a couple. They were dirty. They were mean. I don¡¯t know what the matter was with them. The worst we had here was Clint, and he was never mean.¡±


    ¡°Tortus Bay used to be filled with the good guys. Now it seems like anybody in the world could be evil.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she said, ¡°I guess that¡¯s it.¡±


    Henry took his time with the second can. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for what happened to you. And I¡¯m sorry for what you had to do, but to be honest I¡¯m glad that you did. It went a lot better than it might have. I¡¯m sure you know that.¡±


    ¡°It felt good, at first. Both times.¡±


    ¡°I think you do need to talk to someone. Someone qualified.¡±


    ¡°My mom wants to bring in a therapist, but it¡¯s hard. And digital appointments just aren¡¯t the same.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever tried leaving the village?¡±


    ¡°Never seriously. I ran away a few years ago. The deeper you get into the magic here, the harder it is to leave. For me it would be impossible.¡±


    Henry¡¯s pocket buzzed. He checked his phone, and denied the unknown number. ¡°This might be nonsense,¡± he said, ¡°but a lot of what you¡¯re talking about reminds me of Clair. Do you know Clair?¡±


    ¡°I know of her.¡±


    ¡°Let me introduce you sometime. You might get along¡ªat least until something better can be figured out.¡±


    ¡°I would like that. Now answer your damn phone.¡±


    Same unknown number. ¡°Hello?¡± he said.


    ¡°Hello, Henry,¡± a familiar voice said. ¡°I hear you wanted to have a meeting with me. I must confess, I was surprised to hear it¡ªbut also impressed. Perhaps we can settle things in a sophisticated manner. That¡¯s all I ever wanted, as you remember. Yes, I think we ought to talk.¡±

 3.07: Extreme Measures

    ¡°Why are you still looking through those?¡± Niles asked. It was late in the evening, and the last of the light was burning out of the sky. ¡°We already have enough for Teresa to go on.¡±


    Henry sat huddled on the couch, flipping gingerly through the yellowed pages of the bestiary. None of the books were titled, at least in any meaningful way; the ones which bore text on their cover often contained nothing to do with those words. But there was interesting information nevertheless. He could not tell how much of it was real. A little part of his brain argued that at this point he¡¯d seen enough that he ought simply to assume all of it were true. Yet some things were too fantastical for even him to accept. ¡°There¡¯s a lot more to know.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m worried that you might be psyching yourself out.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Henry said, closing the book and rubbing his eyes, ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to put something off. I¡¯m going to visit the mayor.¡±


    Niles¡¯ eyes flicked toward the darkened window. ¡°Tonight?¡±


    ¡°I need to see him before the next festival. If he¡¯s planning something, I¡¯ve been too distracted to notice it so far.¡±


    ¡°And you imagine that he¡¯ll spell it out for you?


    ¡°I think he¡¯ll talk around me for a couple hours, offer me some weak tea, and I¡¯ll leave knowing a little more than I went in with.¡±


    Niles pursed his lips. ¡°This doesn¡¯t have to be your fight.¡±


    ¡°It does. I might not be sure about everything yet, but that much seems clear to me.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s dangerous, then.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to the man¡¯s house. You know where I¡¯ll be.¡± He stood. ¡°If I¡¯m not back by midnight, come looking for me. And bring some whiskey.¡±


    ***


    The Gauthe estate lay at the tail end of Glosspool Lane, which whipped around itself in a well-manicured cul-de-sac. No gates, watchhouses, or alarms impeded his way, despite the opulence of the looming mansion and the exaggerated time of night; there were only lines of emerald hedgerows, arranged almost to be a maze.


    The knocker was a gaudy golden teardrop, which Henry didn¡¯t have occasion to employ. No sooner had he set foot on the bottom step than the door swung open, spilling golden light onto the broad lawn. ¡°Henry,¡± the mayor said, beckoning him inside, ¡°I¡¯m so glad you came by. Can I interest you in something to drink? Darjeeling? Green? Honeysuckle?¡±


    ¡°No, thank you.¡± Upkeep was the only differentiator between the gross displays of wealth in the Brihte and Gauthe estates. Where in the former there hung an air of disuse, in the latter Henry walked through an impeccably dusted and lovingly polished showcase. Noel led him through several crowded drawing rooms. ¡°Do you live here alone?¡±


    ¡°My wife and children are here, as well. I have three of them. The real trick to parenthood, you know, is in securing a home large enough that if you stand at one end, you will be incapable of hearing a child¡¯s wails from the other. But this is the reception wing, and it is quite late, you know.¡± They landed eventually in a narrow study, where the mayor insisted that Henry sit in a plush office chair behind the desk. He himself took the leather armchair in the corner. ¡°I was overjoyed, of course, to hear what you did for Clint. The entire village owes you a debt of gratitude. Perhaps even more than gratitude. But how is that shoulder holding up?¡±


    The desk was littered with old envelopes and pens. A few books sat on the ground by his feet. ¡°It looks worse than it is. Teresa says I¡¯ll be doing handstands again in a matter of weeks.¡±


    ¡°That is excellent news. I heard through the grapevine that you wished to speak with me. I was overjoyed at this, as I also wish to speak with you. It was my impression that you might be hesitant to meet. Yet here you are. So tell me: what can I do for you, Mr. Cauville?¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t long now until the next festival. I only wondered what your intentions were.¡±


    The mayor¡¯s eyes widened, and then he laughed. Booming, echoing laughter that seemed inappropriate for his slender frame filled the room, and he held his stomach as though trying to keep it in place. He wiped the corners of his eyes. ¡°A farewell to gamesmanship. I am honored, honestly, that you feel we know each other well enough that we can dispense with the lies.¡±


    Henry gave a one-shoulder shrug. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard a word about you, in the last month. Or seen anything of you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been studying, as I think you have as well.¡± He pressed himself deep into the chair. ¡°What plans I had were complicated¡ªas you must know, since you were that complication.¡±If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°That¡¯s something I still can¡¯t figure out. What were you trying to do?¡±


    The mayor considered him, then stood and excused himself from the room. When he returned he bore a tray with two steaming mugs, and an assortment of sugar cookies. ¡°Scrounged it up from the kitchen. Most of the help has retired for the night.¡±


    Henry took what was offered to him, and arrayed his selection on the desk before him. The liquid in the mug was a pale yellow; the cookies were slightly hard, as if they had been sitting out most of the day. Noel took the rest with him, and set them on the bookshelf beside his seat. ¡°Doubtless you understand more than I might be compelled to give you credit for,¡± he said, swirling his mug in his hand before taking a timid sip. ¡°But you cannot know enough to be a player in this game. You must be aware of that. This must be why you have come here like this, and layed all of your cards on the table, as it were. It happens that you have caught me in the opposite position. I know much, and find myself with few routes to action. At this curious intersection I have little more than my friendship to offer. Is your friendship also up for offer?¡±


    ¡°Depends what I hear.¡±


    Noel smiled. ¡°I think perhaps you and I may speak frankly. I hope you appreciate the magnitude of that statement. Speaking frankly is one of my least favorite things to do. But tell me first: how much of this puzzle have you figured your way through?¡±


    ¡°Emmaline wants something from me. I don¡¯t know what it is, but she called me here to provide it. Now I¡¯m living on borrowed time, and I¡¯m nowhere closer to finding it than I was my first night in Tortus Bay.¡±


    ¡°You think I might know what she¡¯s after?¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t, nobody does.¡±


    The mayor sipped his tea contemplatively, and nibbled on one of his cookes. ¡°You really should eat. You look thin.¡± Henry took a cautious bite. It was delicious. Whoever the Gauthes employed, they were good enough to give Niles a run for his money. ¡°As with everything else, it is a matter of power. Emmaline once sacrificed herself, and in so doing provided protection for the entirety of the village. You¡¯ve heard this story, I trust?¡±


    ¡°I have.¡±


    ¡°That much of it seems unassailably true, though I can¡¯t imagine how she managed the feat. But let me ask you this: if you have the absolute protection of a thing, what else must you hold over it?¡±


    ¡°Control.¡±


    The mayor raised his mug in cheers. ¡°A woman dead for hundreds of years still fiddles with the lives of her descendents. I will tell you that I do not know her plan. Whatever craft she may or may not have had in her day, it is long since vanished to us. In truth I suspect that even the most powerful of us now only follow in her footsteps.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re the hero, freeing us from tyranny.¡±


    ¡°Tortus Bay is unique. Maybe the most singular place in all of the world. You lived on the outside, so you know this even better than I. That must be preserved. But it is the living who should direct the living, not the dead.¡±


    ¡°Then you would be our new tyrant.¡±


    Noel waved his hand. ¡°Emmaline has put forward an incredible effort lately. Calling a newcomer from halfway across the country, and lifting her old bones out of the earth. They are moves which reek of desperation. I feel that she is weak, or else weakening, and now is the time to move.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the one who dug her up in the first place, aren¡¯t you? So you broke through her sigils, and never thought to speak with her? Or was she not impressed with your ideas?¡±


    The mayor stopped mid-sip, as though stricken by a bolt of lightning, and lifted his gaze up and over the desk. ¡°Well, that is why we speak with those we may easily assume are the irrelevant players in our lives,¡± he said, shaking his head slightly. ¡°That is often how we learn the most.¡±


    ¡°I wish I could say the same.¡±


    ¡°I do apologize if I haven¡¯t been helpful. But we each hold a piece of this puzzle, as I said. I have the strength to take the mantle. You have Emmaline¡¯s ear. I never imagined, but can¡¯t you see how easy that makes it?¡±


    Henry set his mug aside. ¡°Whatever Emmaline wants, I think it¡¯s important that we hear it out.¡±


    ¡°We could make that discovery together.¡±


    ¡°After everything I¡¯ve heard,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯m not convinced that you¡¯re the right person to lead.¡±


    Noel mimicked him, setting his mug on the hardwood floor with a muted clink. ¡°Our magic has been unstable, this past month. Waxing and waning without any attention to the moon. I mentioned that I¡¯ve been studying, and I¡¯m happy to report that it has been fruitful. What once I could only manage on a festival day, now I can bring upon myself at will.¡± He smiled, and the crinkles on his cheeks grew dark. Fine silver hairs sprouted from them. His nose widened, and began to grow.


    Even after everything Henry read¡ªeven after seeing it in front of him¡ªhe still didn¡¯t fully believe. But belief was always less valuable than muscle memory, in times of crisis. He leapt across the desk, scattering the remains of his uneaten cookies to the floor. He fell upon the mayor before the man had a chance to react, drawing from his back pocket an antique he¡¯d rummaged from Niles¡¯ garage. Henry clamped the silver spoon against Noel¡¯s thrashing arm, and it seared. Smoke billowed from the skin, and Noel screamed. ¡°Stop! Stop! Where did you get that from? How did you know?¡±


    He threw the writhing man onto the floor. ¡°The Brihtes and the Gauthes have been keeping each other in check for decades, haven¡¯t they?¡± He held the mayor down, and tried to tear open his shirt, but his flailing grew desperate. ¡°Settle down!¡±


    But Noel was no longer in control of his own body. Thick puffs of grey fur grew from his forearms. The nails of his fingers became thick, and sharp. ¡°Your shoulder!¡± he said, his voice breaking over and over again. ¡°I know how to fix it. If you let me be, I can fix it!¡±


    Henry finally tore the man¡¯s shirt open, and pressed the silver against his left breast. He stilled.


    ¡°You win,¡± Noel panted.


    ¡°Not yet.¡± Henry leaned in, and the lip of the spoon broke flesh. Horrible wailing once more filled the study, drifting off to die unheard in empty chambers. Henry twisted his instrument this way and that, trying to concentrate. He hadn¡¯t anticipated the smoke. When he stepped away, he looked down and judged his work to be fairly accurate. The sigil Teresa drew for him had straighter lines, but that had been done on a piece of smooth paper¡ªnot a quivering, crying lump of flesh.


    ¡°What did you do to me?¡± Noel asked, patting his chest to staunch the blood. ¡°What did you do?¡±

 3.08: Expectations

    Kara opened her door with a stern expression on her face. ¡°Figured I might be seeing you tonight.¡±


    Henry stepped inside. ¡°Have you thought about it at all?¡±


    ¡°No, I haven¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯re going through with it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m doing something that I have done every month since I moved to Tortus Bay.¡±


    He wanted to shake her. ¡°You don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°What don¡¯t I understand?¡±


    ¡°Things are different! You saw what happened last time, and the time before. It¡¯s dangerous. You can¡¯t expose yourself to -¡±


    ¡°I can do what I want to do.¡±


    Henry pulled his charms out of his pocket, and thrust them at her. ¡°I did something to the mayor. Something serious. I don¡¯t want to explain it all right now, but I think that he might be out looking for revenge tomorrow.¡±


    Kara wasn¡¯t listening to him. She was staring at his hand. ¡°Do you have any idea how much work went into those? No one¡¯s ever given one back.¡±


    ¡°Well, I am.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said. Her eyes reddened. ¡°No, this is what I do. Why don¡¯t you understand that? It¡¯s important to me that -¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t save you again! I already watched you die once. If your game goes wrong again, I won¡¯t watch it a second time.¡±


    ¡°My game?¡±


    Henry let the charms fall out of his hand. They clattered against the stone floor.


    ***


    Once more, Henry slept not a wink the night before the festival. He hauled himself out of bed well before dawn, spent a useless hour trying to convince himself to read more of the books he had liberated from the Gauthe estate, and then resigned himself to laying on the couch, waiting. Sometime after the sun rose, Niles set a cup of coffee down on the floor beside him. ¡°How are you feeling?¡±


    ¡°Like I¡¯m too old to be pulling all-nighters.¡±


    ¡°You took care of Noel.¡±


    Henry sighed, and sat up. ¡°I think I did. I carved that symbol onto him, but I didn¡¯t exactly stick around to do any tests. Maybe it didn¡¯t work at all, and he can still do his magic. Or maybe he has some way to get rid of it. Or, hell, maybe he doesn¡¯t need to do anything spooky. If he knows what Emmaline is really after, all he would need -¡±


    Niles took him by the shoulders, and pressed his lips against his head. ¡°Today is about you. Whatever else happens, nothing changes that. We¡¯re looking after your arm. Speaking of, are you ready to get going?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t get to finish the coffee?¡±


    ¡°Take it with. Teresa said we should start as early as possible.¡±


    ¡°I love you.¡±


    ¡°Love you, too.¡±


    ***


    Day proper came along with chilly winds and downcast sky. The ground in the old graveyard was hard from the night¡¯s frost, and the leaves around paled toward autumn yellow and orange. ¡°I don¡¯t understand why we have to do this here,¡± Teresa said. She had brought with her several bags stuffed to their brims with herbs, phials, and notebooks.


    ¡°He¡¯s scared of boney down there,¡± Clair said. She was perched on a headstone opposite the Cass monument, yawning and rubbing her eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m not scared of her,¡± Henry said, ¡°I just think it would be wise for us to keep our eye on things. We don¡¯t know how long this will take, and we don¡¯t know what¡¯s going to happen here. Two birds, one stone.¡±


    Niles nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s get started, then.¡±


    Teresa began rummaging through her many bags. Henry cleared his throat. ¡°Actually, I wonder if we couldn¡¯t start with something else.¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Clair laughed. Teresa paused, and looked up with ice in her eyes. ¡°We are a month behind, as it is. And, like you said, we don¡¯t know how long this will take.¡±


    ¡°She talked to me, the last time I was here. Emmaline. You told me yourself that one of the sigils on this spire allows for communication. We don¡¯t know what¡¯s going to happen today. But we do know that we have a chance to do this now.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been acting very strangely recently, Henry.¡±


    Niles frowned. ¡°You¡¯ve still been dreaming about her, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    He ignored him, focusing instead on the woman with the bags. ¡°Something serious is happening right now. You know that better than I. What we need is knowledge. We need to figure out what¡¯s happening.¡±


    Before he finished speaking, he knew the argument had worked. Teresa scowled, but approached Emmaline¡¯s grave nonetheless. Once again she closed her eyes, and spread her arms to either side of her body, but this time her feet did not leave the ground. Neither she, nor the monument, glowed. The sigils remained dormant. Her eyes opened.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Clair asked.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing,¡± Teresa said.


    ¡°What do you mean, nothing?¡± Henry asked.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you feel it? Concentrate.¡±


    As soon as she said it, he felt it¡ªbut still he closed his eyes and reached out. That growing sense of electricity which had come to him during the past two festivals was nowhere to be found. It felt, in every way, like any other regular day. ¡°What happened?¡±


    Teresa shrugged. ¡°There are ebbs and flows. Some months are like this. The average festival was something more like this, before you showed up.¡±


    ¡°We have to keep trying.¡±


    And so they did. They made a strange party, arrayed in silence around the graveyard. Teresa and Henry sat under the monument, waiting for a hint that the magic was going to come. Niles leaned against a tree trunk, reading a ruffled paperback. Clair wandered through the woods, surfacing every fifteen minutes or to check that nothing had changed before disappearing again. Time passed. Whenever one of them opened their mouth to suggest that maybe they were better off changing course, Henry would glare at them until they fell back in line. The sun passed over their heads and was well on its way into the west when Teresa broke the silence. ¡°It¡¯s time to take care of the shoulder.¡±


    Henry screwed his eyes shut tight.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear her?¡± Niles asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to do it,¡± he said.


    Silence followed those words. Henry did not open his eyes, but he imagined that each one of his friends had affixed him with some bewildered look or another. Clair was the first to speak. ¡°That¡¯s the dumbest thing I¡¯ve ever heard.¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± Teresa said. ¡°I told you how serious this was, did I not? Was I not dire enough for you? This thing will kill you, if given the time.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°I understand.¡±


    ¡°Then why? What in the world could possibly make you not want to at least try to save your own life?¡±


    Hesitantly, Henry opened his eyes. Found Niles¡¯ face. There, he expected to see betrayal. Hurt, or even anger. But it was none of that. Niles looked at him with a sadness, it could not be denied¡ªbut also an understanding. Support. ¡°Emmaline once sacrificed herself to save this village,¡± Henry said. ¡°She is the reason Tortus Bay still exists. She is the reason that magic lives here. And she called to me. That is why I am here. She wants to talk to me; she thinks we have some sort of connection. And whatever her bones might have done, I¡¯m not convinced that she is the villain here. Noel is trying to pervert her legacy, or replace her in some way. And he offered to heal me. That is enough for me to take the risk to carry on with the wound.¡±


    Silence. Then again, Clair gave the group¡¯s reply. ¡°That is the second dumbest thing I¡¯ve ever heard.¡±


    ***


    Henry walked alone in the small hours of the night. Though the village¡¯s attitude toward activity after dark had softened, few people took advantage of it. Especially on a festival day, and especially at the truly absurd hour that he drew up outside of the Anderson warehouse. ¡°I¡¯m not waking you, am I?¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± Kara said.


    ¡°It must have been a light day.¡±


    ¡°Still not used to sleeping until it¡¯s all over.¡±


    He held up a greasy bag of take-out food. ¡°Hungry?¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t heard, have you?¡± She smiled, and stepped outside. ¡°You¡¯ll have to tell me what kept you so preoccupied. Come on, let¡¯s eat somewhere more scenic.¡±


    She led him down the road, away from the Anderson, and then away from the village entirely. He trailed behind, asking where they were going, but she refused to answer. Finally, it dawned on him. They must be headed for the lighthouse.


    The tall white spire loomed into their vision on the horizon, and Kara veered off to the side. She brought them through the open grass field which buffeted the lighthouse and the village, then continued onto the beach. There, she stopped. Waves lapped at the shore. The water carried the light of the moon better than the dirt, or even the sand, casting illumination forward and back on the shadowed forms of moving beasts. They milled in lofty circles, unconcerned with their new spectators. ¡°Tortoises,¡± Kara said. ¡°They came back.¡±


    Dozens of them roved the beach. The smallest was no larger than a dachshund; the largest, in the distance, might have rivaled an economy car. That one looked like a wandering mountain, casting shifting shadows on the glittering sand. ¡°When did this happen?¡±


    ¡°If I had to guess, I would say the minute the festival started. But nobody noticed for a while. Most people hunkered down. Old habits die hard, and who can blame them after the last few months?¡±


    Moss covered many of the tortoise¡¯s shells. Henry guessed those were the older ones. The rest¡ªthe younger ones, as he supposed¡ªhad brown or dark green colorations. Nothing fantastic. Nothing magical. Still, he thought they were more striking than an entire forest full of ethereal wolves. ¡°I¡¯m sorry that I tried to tell you what to do. I was scared, but that doesn¡¯t give me an excuse.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry too. I shouldn¡¯t have jumped down your throat. All my life people have been telling me not to do the things that I love doing. I guess it threw me off, hearing the first good argument.¡±


    ¡°Friends?¡±


    ¡°Friends.¡±


    They sat on the outskirts of the shore, sharing stale tacos and congealed fries. Kara had nothing to say, when he told her his decision about his shoulder. Instead she hugged him. Together they watched until the last of the tortoises slipped away into the grey-blue ocean, and the crest of the rolling horizon broke deep purple.

 3.09: Phantasms

    In bundles and carts and back-bending armfuls, the last of the Tortoise Shell Inn¡¯s rubble was cleared away. Most of the village continued turning out to help¡ªdispelling any potential rumors that some were only trying to put in a good face. Many threw in day after day, chipping away at the seemingly insurmountable work until it shrank in scope before them. From a mountain, as it were, into a blank slate. At first there was little oversight. Helpers showed up, milled around, and eventually got the idea that they should be taking broken stone and shattered glass off site. In time, Aria stepped in to give direction.


    She brought in an outside contractor, who took one look at the site and declared that, before even thinking about building anything new, they would need to demolish the portion of back wall which had stayed standing. A few days later, a bulldozer entered the scene. Aria, wearing a bright orange hard hat, watched the wall come down and be transported in chunks down to the dump. From that moment she was on site every day. Advisors, architects, and professional construction workers occasionally came along with her.


    ¡°How is this being paid for?¡± Henry asked one particularly exciting morning, while everyone was unpacking and sorting the lumber which would be the new Tortoise Shell¡¯s frame.


    ¡°Business has been good,¡± Aria said. ¡°And it¡¯s not like I¡¯m not being compensated at all.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Jamal says he¡¯s going to name a sandwich after me.¡±


    Jamal still presided over an endless keg, but as time passed his attitude changed. No longer did he trap people in endless conversations wherein he made nothing but tearful dad jokes. Instead he began helping more and more with the actual project, in time performing more work than anybody half his age. He politely listened to the stories of the day, whatever they might be, but did not contribute any of his own.


    It took Henry a week to corner this new reticent version of Jamal, taking a rest on the rough stone foundation where the wall had recently been toppled. ¡°How are you holding up?¡± he asked.


    Jamal jumped at the sound. ¡°Henry! I didn¡¯t see you there. Sorry, I must have dozed off.¡± He was damp with sweat, his forearms red and bleeding with days of hard labor.


    ¡°You should rest, if you need it.¡±


    He struggled to his feet. ¡°No, no. It¡¯s all for me, isn¡¯t it? That wouldn¡¯t look right. I just wish I could do more.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous. The village is doing this because they want their bar back¡ªnot to break your back.¡±


    ¡°I used to be the helper,¡± he said, then shook his head. ¡°Ah, don¡¯t mind me. Just a big adjustment, you know? But the Tortoise Shell 2.0 is going to be even better. And I¡¯ll tell you what: I have a surprise for you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    Jamal lowered his voice. ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to say anything until it was official, but once we get this place built, you can say hello to the new distribution center and sales point for the Tortus Bay Examiner. If you like the idea.¡±


    ¡°Of course I do. It was sexy for a bit, running an underground newspaper, but I suppose there¡¯s no need for that anymore. Are you sure you¡¯re okay?¡±


    The frown hadn¡¯t left his face. ¡°It¡¯s foolishness. Do you know the feeling of being given some sort of great gift, and feeling ashamed? Like you¡¯re not able to look it in the eye?¡±


    ¡°I think I do.¡±


    ***


    Henry spent his nights on a timer. He slept out on the couch; even with limitless patience, Niles didn¡¯t deserve to go through that with him. It wasn¡¯t a natural way to live. Every two hours, after being pulled out of deep sleep, he silenced and then switched the alarm tone on his phone. If he got used to them they would become ineffective. They would meld into his dreams.


    They were, and needed to remain, of Emmaline. It was the same thing every time: he brought offerings to her molding bones, and she looked at him as though there was something she wanted to say. But she never would. Sometimes she was missing her mandible. Other times it flapped uselessly at him, producing no noise.


    He woke, and switched the alarm. He read the trance to himself again.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    It was a spell he found in a book titled Projection Dreaming¡ªthe only volume he had taken from the Gauthe estate. The pages were filled with dry musings on the philosophy of dreams, practices for astral projection, and a stanza which the authors guaranteed would reveal the truth behind any recurring phantasm. Henry followed the instructions. He repeated the lines over and over to himself, until he could no longer keep his eyes open.


    Emmaline crinkled. She popped and scraped wherever she moved, her empty joints complaining against worn bone. Henry crawled to her. He kissed her fragile toes in supplication, but from her mouth received only the senseless chattering of teeth.


    ***


    Clint scarcely seemed to leave the construction site. At first this came along with the obvious jokes¡ªhe¡¯ll do anything to get another beer, even rebuild the bar himself¡ªbut as the weeks wore on a difference could be distinguished in the man by even the most casual observer. His complexion improved, his eyes cleared, and his wild tangle of a beard was regularly trimmed; in every regard he was a new man, and seemed to relish every second he was afforded to toil under the sun. But Henry was not one of those casual observers, content to observe and praise from afar. He still wanted an explanation for their abrupt encounter outside of his apartment, but every time he approached, Clint found somewhere better to be. For several days they played cat and mouse, until Henry finally decided to call it quits.


    If the old man didn¡¯t want to talk, that was his own business. He put it out of his mind, and focused on the task at hand, until late one evening¡ªshortly after the frame of the new Tortoise Shell went up. All of the other volunteers had left for the night, and he was just considering following suit himself, when he saw movement from within. A brief flash of plaid.


    ¡°Can we talk?¡± Henry asked. ¡°There¡¯s nobody else around.¡±


    Clint froze, and then rapidly shuffled off in the other direction.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to chase you. I only wanted to clear the air,¡± he said, but it was no use. The man was already gone.


    ¡°I think it would be grand to clear the air,¡± an unanticipated voice said. Noel revealed himself from the shadowed beams of the framework, dusting off his rumpled sweater. ¡°Unlike you, I would be willing to give chase, if necessary.¡±


    Henry¡¯s hand instinctively reached for his back pocket, where he felt the reassuring presence of the silver spoon. Carrying it on his person at all times had become something of a paranoid tick, but now it would pay off.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for anything dramatic,¡± the mayor said. He stayed far back, and spoke quietly. ¡°You made sure of that, didn¡¯t you? I¡¯ve spent weeks digging back through your work. You found out about what I am through the Brihtes. I had no idea how far that family had fallen. But the rune? That threw me for a long time. You got it from Emmaline, didn¡¯t you? How did you learn her craft? How were you successful where nobody else has ever been?¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t tell you. I don¡¯t know myself. But you¡¯re misinformed; I¡¯ve seen others use her magic.¡±


    ¡°Is that so? Well, maybe they can help, then. You have to reverse it.¡±


    ¡°Even if I could, why would I?¡±


    Noel took a single step forward, entering the relief of a streetlight. He was thin. Coarse, unwashed hair covered his face. ¡°Because you¡¯re ashamed. I¡¯ve been silent to the public¡¯s eye lately. They probably assume I¡¯m out on one of my infamous vacations. But I¡¯ve been waiting for the tell-tale issue of your ratty publication to surface. May I ask where it is?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re waiting until we -¡±


    Noel cut him off. ¡°Do you have any idea what it¡¯s like? What you really did to me? That was a gift I¡¯ve had since I was a child. It wasn¡¯t all illusion and sleight of hand to scare the locals. There are real wolves out in those woods, and I¡¯ve been speaking with them for decades. They¡¯re my friends. Do you understand that? You must, or else you would have spilled it all already.¡±


    ¡°I did what I had to do.¡±


    ¡°And who have you told of this proud accomplishment?¡±


    ¡°Everyone will know. As soon as I have the full story. As soon as I figure out this thing with Emmaline.¡±


    ¡°Emmaline! You¡¯re even dumber than I thought. Where did that woman end up? At the bottom of the ocean. That¡¯s the path you want to follow?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s better than yours.¡±


    ¡°Everything can go back to normal. I know when I¡¯ve been bested, and this is it. You have my word that I will snoop no further in this Emmaline business¡ªas long as you reverse what you did to me. Or else, I will tell everyone what you did.¡±


    Henry drew his hand from his pocket. ¡°They believe me. They believe in my paper. You have the rest of the month to get your things in order, or else to get out of the village, if you can. Everything we both did is coming out. The public can decide which of us acted worse.¡±


    Noel¡¯s eyes became little reflective plates under the bright fall moon. He stood there in silence, digesting those words, then nodded his head and turned away, melting into the shadows.


    ***


    That night Henry fell straight into sleep. He didn¡¯t have the energy to lull himself with the book¡¯s doubtful incantation. Perhaps because of this he found himself in a different dream than usual. Something familiar, but which he had not been forced to endure in months.


    He stood outside of the middle school, thoughts drifting a million miles away. But the door stood ajar, and there were noises from inside. Popping popcorn? Bottle rockets?


    Something deep in his mind told him what it was, but even that couldn¡¯t stop him from entering. His feet fell with absolute dread. They echoed off the lockers, off the squeaky linoleum. At the end of the hallway a classroom door opened. That something in his mind started screaming. Don¡¯t look don¡¯t look don¡¯t look!


    There were no desks inside. No chalkboard, no cubbies, and no tiny limp bodies on the floor. In fact, there was no floor at all. Emmaline hovered above the crashing waves of the endless ocean, her arms spread wide, smiling down at him.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Give yourself to the water.¡±

 3.10: Intervention

    The truth hung heavy around Henry¡¯s neck. He related his dream to Niles¡ªso vivid in his mind that it felt like recalling memory¡ªbut the man didn¡¯t seem interested in talking about it. All he wanted to discuss was their plans for the next festival: healing Henry¡¯s shoulder, maybe taking a look at the tortoises down by the shore, and so on and so forth. So he sat inside, curled alone in bed, and quietly dreaded the passing of time. He often found himself wishing that he had not learned the plan. Never tempted the dreams. He devised fantastical scenarios in which he might have walked blindly into his fate, and given Emmaline what she desired without becoming intimate with the strife of choice.


    One morning he woke to an unexpected commotion in the living room. He turned over. The alarm clock flashed one in the afternoon. Squeaking and scraping, the noise picked up. Was Niles moving furniture around? Were those voices?


    He stepped out a dishevelled mess, and was met with a collection of sombre faces. Niles, seemingly caught somewhere between anxiety and embarrassment, stepped forward. ¡°I love you, Henry,¡± he said. ¡°You haven¡¯t been yourself lately. I know it¡¯s difficult to talk about, but from what I¡¯ve heard, the pieces aren¡¯t hard to put together. We¡¯re all here because we¡¯re worried about you. Please, tell us that you aren¡¯t considering what we think you might be.¡±


    Clair rolled her eyes. ¡°Tell us you¡¯re not about to kill yourself.¡±


    Henry hovered in the doorway. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple.¡±


    ¡°Seems simple enough to me,¡± Clair said.


    ¡°This is why Emmaline called me here.¡±


    ¡°To what? Walk out into the ocean like she did?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what she wants.¡±


    ¡°Does it seem like I give a fuck about that? Do you think any of us do?¡±


    ¡°If I don¡¯t, the things that make Tortus Bay special will fade away. Her magic will leave. All of your magic will.¡±


    Clair popped up off the couch. Niles laid a hand on her shoulder. ¡°We thought that¡¯s how you might feel,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re here¡ªwe¡¯re all here¡ªto explain what we think. Clair, tell him. Henry, no more talking. Just listen.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t known you very long,¡± she said. ¡°None of us have, but in particular I spent a while hiding out in the woods. There are times that I¡¯ve hated Tortus Bay. You know that. I¡¯ve wanted to be able to leave with every ounce of my being, but that trade-off isn¡¯t worth it. I would rather be stuck here forever than be anywhere else at your expense. And if you can¡¯t see that, then you really are stupid.¡±


    Aria stood up next. ¡°I also haven¡¯t known you for very long. For some of it, I think you might have hated me¡ªand for good reason. I didn¡¯t believe in you. I thought you were another wash-out who wandered into our village and would wander back out before anyone noticed your presence. But I was wrong. You¡¯ve changed more about this village in the short months you¡¯ve been here than it¡¯s changed in all the time I¡¯ve been alive. And for my money, all of it has been for the better. Now you want to die to preserve the status quo? What a waste.¡±


    Lola and Sofia held hands. Only the elder sister spoke, staring determinedly down at the carpet. ¡°Everyone else seems to be saying it, but I¡¯m pretty sure I know you the least of everybody in this room. But I came, because I think you¡¯re important. You¡¯ve meant a lot to me, at least. Don¡¯t do it, okay?¡±


    Teresa placed a hand on her daughter¡¯s head. ¡°When I first met you, and saw that wound on your shoulder, I knew interesting times would be coming. I never could have guessed how interesting they would be. I built my life on this village¡¯s magic. I¡¯ve helped many, many people with it. But please understand that I did so because there was no other choice. You think that every time I treat a patient with a broken bone, or a chronic illness, I don¡¯t wish I could send them to a hospital instead? If without your sacrifice the magic of Tortus Bay will fade, that will indeed be a loss. But as a healer, a friend, and a fellow human being, I need you to understand that the loss of a life is so much deeper.¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Jamal wrung his hands, and spoke softly. ¡°I¡¯m only your bartender. I never counted us as friends, exactly, though I know we¡¯re close. Oh, you know I¡¯m a busybody. Everybody says it, and that¡¯s the truth. I figured out more about you than anybody else in this village before you even arrived, and I¡¯ve kept that lead right up to today. When my bar collapsed, I ran for help¡ªso I never saw what you did for Clint. But that¡¯s not important, because your love for people is so clear that the blind could see it. You love life, no matter how gloomy you act. Which is why I don¡¯t believe that you¡¯ll do it. Just like I didn¡¯t believe you¡¯d stay away from Tortus Bay, remember? But in case you¡¯re really thinking about it: don¡¯t. It¡¯s not you.¡±


    Kara smiled at him, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. ¡°What more needs to be said? You¡¯ve been the best friend I¡¯ve ever had, and the thought of losing you hurts. It hurts. We¡¯ve lost a lot of people recently, and losing you would be too much. That might be selfish. I don¡¯t care. Killing yourself is selfish, you know? And if you do, I would never forgive you. I love you.¡±


    ¡°And so do I,¡± Niles said. ¡°I love you with all of my heart. I¡¯m excited for our future together. A future that I never imagined before. We made a deal. Or did you already forget? You told me that you were ready to move beyond your past. This is wallowing.¡±


    Silence lingered for a long moment, then Leia Thao stood from the corner of the room. ¡°I¡¯ve been wrong about a lot of things. More things than I¡¯ve ever been right about. When we first met, I told you the only way to survive here was to get a job at the orchards, or the fishery, and blend in. You didn¡¯t do any of that. What I think I really meant, though, was that you had to ingratiate yourself with this community. Back then, I thought I was the leader of that community. Now, I see that you were doing it all along.


    ¡°The decision is yours. That particular decision  is always a personal one. But let me tell you that if you leave my sights tonight without making me believe that you don¡¯t intend to go through with this idiocy, then I will hound you. You care about Emmaline¡¯s legacy? Well, I care about my own. It will be mistakes and bodies. I¡¯m not adding yours.¡±


    Henry breathed. He tried to still himself, but his head spun like a marble in a bowl of jell-o. ¡°You understand, then. You don¡¯t want your legacy to be my death. That¡¯s my responsibility. I don¡¯t want my legacy to be the death of this village. I didn¡¯t come here to tear everything down. This is something that I¡¯ve always been trying to do. Don¡¯t you see that? When I walked into the school, when I healed Clint, when I jumped into the middle of that pack of wolves¡­ it¡¯s the only thing I¡¯m good at. It might be the only thing I have to give. And god, if I¡¯d known this day would come I never would have talked to any of you, because this pain is unbearable.¡±


    ***


    Long after the hullabaloo died down, Henry stood out in the lawn, leaning against the fence, looking out at nothing in particular. The chill in the air had become a freeze, and he was dressed in his ratty sleep-shirt, but he wasn¡¯t going back inside until everyone else left. Their words left his forehead hot, and his thoughts no less muddled than they¡¯d been before.


    When he heard footsteps approaching, he assumed it was Niles bringing him a sweater. Or possibly Clair, to kick his ass. Teresa¡¯s voice surprised him. ¡°I hope we didn¡¯t gang up too much.¡±


    ¡°You made yourselves clear.¡±


    ¡°But you knew all of that already, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    She leaned on the fence beside him, choosing her own indeterminate spot in the middle distance to gaze into. ¡°Then let me fill you in on something new. When Niles told me about that dream of yours, and what he thought you took from it, it made me curious. I started playing around with some numbers. I told you that magic likes numbers, right? It waxes and wanes in patterns which might be hard to see in the moment, but which can be traced over large periods of time.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you don¡¯t care about any of that right now. You¡¯ll have to forgive me, I have a hard time breaking out of lecture mode. I¡¯m a doctor, a wizard, and a mother all wrapped up in one. What I¡¯m trying to say is that our next festival is on track to be the weakest showing of magic in the recorded history of Tortus Bay. It¡¯ll make last month¡¯s nothing seem like nothing.¡±


    ¡°You think I have time to make my decision?¡±


    Teresa chuckled. ¡°A smarter person than I might lie, and say yes. But I have a lot wrapped up in being right. Plus, I think you¡¯re a smart kid. And there are people who love you. I believe you¡¯ll make the right choice. What I¡¯m saying is that our next festival looks like it will be the pivotal moment when the village slips out of whatever strange grasp Emmaline has on it. It will be exactly two-hundred years since her death¡ªto the month, as close as I can figure. Her magic will leave.¡±


    ¡°And never return again, unless I do something about it.¡±


    ¡°Which I sincerely hope you do not. I¡¯ve met every person in Tortus Bay. I¡¯ve learned a lot of their secrets. The Brihtes and the Gauthes are both good at their own little branches of magic, but whenever they needed healing they came to me. I¡¯ve seen people lose themselves entirely to their gift. Like Noel. Please, don¡¯t follow him down that path.¡±

 3.11: Recollections

    A late autumn snowfall briefly dusted the eaves and sidewalks of Tortus Bay. It fell overnight, and melted away by morning, so few people knew it happened at all¡ªbut Henry was one of them. He sat awake by the window, chin in hand, watching the large flakes drift by the chilled pane. It snowed every year, back home. He¡¯d come to hate winter, and all the unnecessary difficulties it imposed on daily life. Now as he watched he was filled with happy memories of days spent stomping through snow banks and nights sipping hot cocoa in an oversized sweater on the couch. None of that would happen in Tortus Bay. It would rain for the rest of the season, which would bring along with it a different set of difficulties. And perhaps, opportunities for new pleasant memories.


    It rained on his first night in the village. A storm, as he remembered. He hadn¡¯t touched his umbrella since then¡ªit still sat where he last left it, in the cramped attic apartment which Kara had so kindly set up for him. Some of his less important possessions remained there, awaiting some point in the future wherein he would go cleaning. He loved staying at Niles¡¯ place. There was the constant supply of good food, a dog always at hand to drool on his knee, and the privilege of spending uninterrupted time with the man who had become both his best friend and his lover. But at the same time, there was a sense of security in having the back up.


    Bruce grumbled in his sleep, and his legs twitched. ¡°Chasing a rabbit, buddy?¡± Henry asked, scratching him behind the ear. The dog licked his lips, repositioned himself, and drifted back into a peaceful slumber. Henry tore his eyes away from the window, returning to the newspaper spread on the table: an advance copy of the next Tortus Bay Examiner, due out later that day. He personally wrote, or read and approved, the entire thing, so he didn¡¯t know why he felt the compulsion to pore over the final product. Yet there he sat, unable to stop himself.


    Every detail of his encounter with the mayor was painstakingly detailed in black and white. Whatever anyone might say about his behavior, they at least would not be able to call him a liar, or accuse him of obfuscating the facts. Who knew if the people of the village were ready to believe what he discovered Noel to be. Even if they did, it seemed like there was little official to be done about it. There were no codified laws about magic in Tortus Bay. But what he¡¯d done fulfilled the definition of assault and battery, no matter the justification.


    Something told him that the mayor would not be around to meet the repercussions, whatever they might be. He stood, displacing Bruce, who registered his complaint with a deep-seated grumble. The matter of this political fallout was trifling. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he was only fixating on the smaller issues to avoid engaging with the stormy cloud looming overhead. So he folded the paper, stuck it beneath his arm, and headed out into the lazily drifting sheets of snow in pursuit of a more productive place to think.


    His feet brought him to the skeletal wooden framework of the new Tortoise Shell Inn. The walls were partially complete, and the floor entirely¡ªplacemarkers were already set out for the bar and the tables. Henry sat there, on a nonexistent stool, and let the falling snow melt into his hair. There wasn¡¯t much of a chill in the air. If anything, he felt warm. Comfortable. He closed his eyes, and thought he could fall asleep.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Footsteps foiled this ambition. He looked up to see Clair stepping through the area where one day a door would be built. Her cheeks shone as red as her hair, and her breath fogged out of her mouth. ¡°I need to stop hanging around here after midnight,¡± he said. ¡°You run into the strangest people.¡±


    ¡°Oh? And who else have you met?¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe me if I told you.¡±


    She sat beside him, claiming her own invisible stool. ¡°What are you doing out here?¡±


    ¡°Came to think. You?¡±


    ¡°Looking for you. I don¡¯t know if you¡¯re aware, but you have something of a habit.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡±


    ¡°On the night before a festival, you wander around the village like a zombie. Every damn time.¡± She snatched the paper out of his lap. ¡°This the new issue?¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±


    Her eyes tracked rapidly down the main story. ¡°I see why you need to think. You could pass this thing off for a fantasy magazine.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure that¡¯s how some people will take it.¡±


    She tossed the paper into the snow. ¡°You know, this is where we met. I remember the seating being more comfortable, though, now that I think about it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s funny. I remember there being a drunk at the end of the bar.¡±


    Clair laughed. ¡°Clint¡¯s been doing really well.¡±


    ¡°He seems upset with me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, he hates you. And he¡¯s not shy about telling it, either. That¡¯s what you get for saving a man¡¯s life, eh?¡±


    Henry shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t get it.¡±


    ¡°I think he made peace with what the rest of his life was going to look like. Namely, drinking himself into the grave. Then you came along and hurt yourself to give him a new lease.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Now he feels like he¡¯s got to do something with it.¡±


    ¡°Maybe he¡¯ll wind up feeling real foolish in a few hours.¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± She glanced over to the corner. ¡°We met here, but then we moved to a table.¡±


    ¡°By all means, let¡¯s scoot.¡±


    They swept clean a section of floor against the wall and, following custom, sat facing each other across an imaginary table. Henry considered her. ¡°You¡¯re not going to ask me about my decision, are you?¡±


    ¡°I already told you how I feel. You¡¯re smart, you don¡¯t need to hear it again. Besides, I¡¯m fine either way. I have two plans all worked out.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s hear them.¡±


    ¡°Plan number one: let¡¯s call that the contingency. If you make the stupid decision¡ªsorry, sorry, couldn¡¯t help myself. I¡¯ll get a job here. Already talked to Jamal about it. He needs a numbers person, and someone to help out with the orders. He¡¯s getting older. It won¡¯t be glamorous, but it might just be the best job I¡¯ve ever had.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s plan number two?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been talking to Sofia. You turned her on to me, didn¡¯t you? We have an outing planned. See the world, find a therapist. Maybe reconnect with a long-lost friend. You know, girl stuff.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°You¡¯re covered either way.¡±


    ¡°Have to be prepared to weave, when the bull in front can¡¯t decide where he¡¯s going.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve felt like I¡¯m living on undeserved time.¡±


    ¡°Sorry we¡¯re all making it so difficult for you.¡±


    ¡°No, this helped. I think I know what to do.¡±


    ¡°Just like that?¡±


    ¡°Just like that.¡±


    Henry led the way out of the bar, and as he walked the snow stopped. It melted into the earth under the cold light of the moon, leaving in its wake deep emerald grass and slick, clean streets. This time he did not mindlessly follow the whims of his feet. He knew where he was going, and as he approached he was pleased to find light streaming through the windows.


    Teresa opened her door on the first knock. A smile spread on her face. ¡°You came.¡±


    ¡°I want to be healed.¡±

 3.12: Onwards, Upwards

    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    As night wore into dawn others showed up at Teresa¡¯s home, until they were virtually a party in her perpetually overburdened kitchen. Niles came around after waking to find himself alone in bed. Kara followed the same logic as Clair, only slightly delayed, and arrived after checking out all of Henry¡¯s other usual haunts. Sofia and Lola were even allowed to stay and watch, after being told to go to bed several times, on account of their mother¡¯s general level of distraction. She lit candles, and set them in a wide circle around the room. She pored over texts. She washed her hands.


    In the meantime, the man of the hour sat silent on the dining table. Henry had his shirt off, and his bandages removed. It had been a while since he looked at his wound. At some point it had become his custom to change the dressing in the dark, or while he looked resolutely away. The black rot looked ever more like a bubbling tar spill, running from his shoulder all the way down his chest. Breathing burned. His vision swayed and faltered. But despite his sober mood and questionable health, the atmosphere in the kitchen was joyous. Kara and Niles chatted happily about plans for another art exhibit. Clair entertained the girls with inappropriately gory stories. Lola continually pitched the idea of breaking out a puzzle, but everyone artfully pretended not to hear.


    Henry¡¯s nerves jangled like bolts in his stomach, making him queasy. He closed his eyes and tried to still himself. Tried to concentrate on something¡ªanything¡ªother than what was about to happen. All that came to him was that intrusive thought: he couldn¡¯t feel anything. There was no magic about them.


    Eventually Teresa closed her notebook. ¡°I am ready.¡±


    ¡°Do you think it¡¯s going to work?¡± Henry asked.


    ¡°This will be my only time trying this particular spell. But I understand how it works.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no magic.¡± He didn¡¯t need to say the rest. By waiting too long, he had inadvertently chosen Emmaline¡¯s path. The wound would slowly eat through him, as perhaps she had always intended, and one day it would be his bones ambling down the village¡¯s terrified streets.


    She smiled. ¡°I¡¯m not mending skin or setting bones, dear. I never did explain the details, did I? I¡¯m attacking whatever wicked thing has nestled itself into your shoulder. And knowing Emmaline, I think it will not go without a fight. Now everybody stop talking, I need silence.¡±


    The background hum ceased. Nobody moved a muscle. Pale purple light, the first rays of a new day, illuminated the window¡ªand Teresa began her spell. Her eyes drifted shut. She hummed something, a poem or a song, under her breath. Then with a deep exhale she placed her steady hands on Henry¡¯s shoulder, and for several long moments nothing happened. Clair cast a sideways glance at Kara. Lola looked away. Niles bit his lip.


    Teresa¡¯s fingers shook, and glowed. Faintly at first, then brighter and brighter until they were like ten blinding headlights searing into his skin. Henry pulled away but she followed, knocking him flat on his back on the table to keep her hands in place over his wound. Steam, white and fluffy like dissipating snow, billowed from the rot. It filled the room in rolling waves, more foam now than snow, and extinguished all thirteen candles. The only light was that of her molten hands, battling against the occlusion of the mist they spewed. The only noise was screaming.


    Henry shut his mouth to make it stop, but he was not the source. Teresa shouted like a wounded animal, or else like someone strangling a despised foe.


    The door clattered open, and closed. Sofia and Lola had seen enough. Niles surged forward, unsure of what he was doing but committed at least to trying to help, but he faltered in amazement at the edge of the table. Where Teresa¡¯s hands passed over Henry¡¯s flesh, the rot shrank away. She started near his stomach, at the faintest edge, and worked upward. When she got to the shoulder, to the deep and long festering bullet hole, she cupped her hands and pressed.


    White blanketed them. The light went out. Nobody could see¡ªnot even Henry, who was only inches away from Teresa. Her hands went slack. They slipped off his chest, and the first noise to break the stunned silence was her hitting the floor.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡°Teresa?¡± Kara said. A blind, groping search began, in which the most that was accomplished was the bumping of many heads against one another, until Niles finally discovered and opened the window. The thick white fog caught the breeze, slipping outside. By degrees the room cleared.


    ¡°She¡¯s okay. Henry, help me lift¡ªHenry, oh my god!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± he asked.


    ¡°It worked!¡±


    He didn¡¯t need to look down at himself to know that was true. His shoulder felt whole in a way it had not in nearly a year. That constant pain, which long ago he had disassociated with the condition of his shoulder and begun to think of as a fundamental value of life, was gone. He felt strong enough to fling Teresa over his arm¡ªwhich presently he did, transporting her to the couch.


    They roused her with cold water, and covered her in blankets. They cheered and bellowed and generally acted like wild people. Clair insisted that she make breakfast. Everybody forbade Teresa from moving. She repeatedly told them that she felt fine, but each time she tried to leave the couch somebody pressed another glass of water into her hand.


    Henry sat dazed in the corner, holding Niles¡¯ hand. His friends afforded him that space.


    ***


    Taylor leaned back in his chair, and fiddled with the badge pinned to his chest. It didn¡¯t sit quite straight, lilting off to the left or right depending on how he adjusted. In time he left it lopsided. He lifted his hand, and snapped his fingers. ¡°Nothing. No matter how hard I try, nothing. It¡¯s not coming back, is it?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Henry said. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been going down to the shore in the evenings. Watching the tortoises. I guess they¡¯re around to stay. And the pigeons, and the gulls. Squirrels. I kind of forgot that squirrels even existed. It might not seem like a good trade, to most people.¡±


    ¡°But to you?¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not really about me, is it?¡± He tossed a copy of the tell-tale issue of the Tortoise Bay Examiner on the desk between them. ¡°You¡¯ve caused quite a sensation with that.¡±


    Henry frowned. The man was no Leia Thao, but there was no doubt that he could cause enough trouble on his own. ¡°That wasn¡¯t my intent.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s garbage. A tabloid. Don¡¯t understand what anyone sees in it. You know some of the villagers even believe this stuff you write?¡±


    He worked hard to master the impulse to smile. ¡°It¡¯s just a warning, then?¡±


    ¡°If you did these things you said you did, and Noel Gauthe wanted to press charges, then maybe we¡¯d be talking about something more than a warning. But seeing how it is¡­¡±


    ¡°The mayor doesn¡¯t want to press charges?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know. Nobody can find him. Empty estate, just like the Brihtes. At least we got instructions on what to do with their stuff.¡±


    ¡°So Lucy and Beth really left.¡±


    Taylor squinted at him. ¡°You haven¡¯t heard? I figured you had a hand in that one. They donated the proceeds of the estate sale to cover the new Tortoise Shell.¡±


    ¡°And Aria let me go on thinking that she was paying for that out of the goodness of her heart.¡±


    ¡°Maybe a journalistic test for our preeminent newsman? You seem to have failed.¡±


    Henry grabbed the paper, and shoved it into his pocket. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to practice a more moderate hand in the future. You know me¡ªit¡¯s not my fashion to stir the pot. But am I free to go? I¡¯m running late for something important.¡±


    The sheriff squinted again. Maybe he thought it was intimidating. ¡°You can go. I don¡¯t want to see you in here again though, alright?¡±


    He departed with an ironic salute, and broke into a jog the second he hit pavement. Passersby waved and called his name, but he was stopping for nothing. He made it to the edge of the village in record time, and there met the usual crew just as they were starting the goodbyes. Niles wrapped him in a warm embrace, and planted a kiss on his forehead.


    Kara pressed his charms back into his hand. ¡°Now that they¡¯re nothing but jewelry?¡±


    ¡°Of course. Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Thought you were going to skip out on us. Bus schedules wait for no man,¡± Clair said. A heavy pack was strapped to her back. Sofia stood beside her, with an almost identical pack on hers. A red-face Lola was hugging tight onto Teresa¡¯s leg.


    ¡°Never imagine it,¡± Henry said. ¡°What are you guys going to do first?¡±


    ¡°Probably get a burger. See how bars not run by Jamal operate. My guess: better. But we really have to run!¡±


    The farewell party stood watching on the grassy slope leading down to Tortus Bay, waving away their friends. Tears shone in their eyes, and smiles on their faces. It was a beautiful, clear day. The perfect sort of day to start something new.


    Clair and Sofia trailed down the road until they were little more than distant blobs on the blue horizon. Then Clair paused, turned, and kicked off into the air.


    THE END