​We had found no leads in months. Whatever system Henry had expected us to know for his book to help with ours was not as obvious to us as it apparently was to him, and now we had no way to ask him for help with it. We were still hopeful we could find something if we reviewed everything we did know, however, and were walking through Pittsburgh on our way to check on a possible source when a child stepped on my shoelace and pulled it just enough that I needed to stop and retie them. I knelt out of the way to do so, with Akshainie leaning on a wall between me and a pay phone. Just as I finished up, the phone rang, and before I realized I should tell her to ignore it Akshainie had answered it. I sighed and stood, realizing I was going to have to wait until she finished whatever was happening before we could move on.

“Yeah, he’s right here,” she said, then handed the phone out to me. “It’s for you.”

“They asked for me, specifically?” I asked. She nodded, and I stared at her for a moment in confusion before taking the receiver. “Father de Monte.”

“Father, hello,” a male voice, British accent. “I was hoping you had a moment to talk.”

“Where are you? How did you get this number?”

“It was given to me. I was told to ring this exact number at this exact time to speak to a Father Benedict de Monte about an unusual red spiral.” He must have heard my hesitation, as he added after a moment, “is this unexpected?”

“This is a pay phone. We only just happened to be walking past it when it rang. I would be very curious about your source.”

“As would I. Unfortunately, they had at least one intermediary. I suspect we will get much more done if we focus on the matter at hand.”

“The red spiral.”

“Indeed. I’m told you’re familiar with the cult who uses this symbol?”

“The Brood of Nachash,” I said, softly, as if anyone walking by was paying attention. “I’ve been working that case for some years.”

“Good. I have reason to believe they are active in my territory, and I would like to bring you in to shine some light on the matter.”

“And your territory is what, exactly?”

“The British Empire.”

“Not much of a British Empire left, is there?” I saw the color drain from Akshainie’s face at that, and her hands ball into fists.

“Who is that?” she hissed through her teeth.

“I suppose it’s a matter of perspective,” the man said.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” I asked.

“Oh, goodness me, of course. My name is Michael Hudson, son of Lord Hudson, acting emissary to the magical population in service to the Queen.”

“Michael Hudson,” I whispered, covering the receiver. Akshainie’s eyes narrowed.

“You tell that posh bastard I’d rather clean up the mess after the Brood burns his whole nation down than work with a Hudson.” The words were dripping with venom, and I wondered if there was any real venom involved when she spit as if the name itself wasn’t suitable for her mouth.

“What’s this all about?”

“Is everything okay, Father?” Michael asked.

“Ah, it seems my associate has some…hesitation to work with you.”

With that, she ripped the phone out of my hand and spoke into it herself.

“Listen here, Hudson,” she was barely stopping herself from yelling into the phone, “whatever problem you have with the Brood is on your own head.” There was a pause, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m from Iravati. Check your records, if you don’t know. I doubt your dog of an ancestor bothered hiding his work.” There was another pause, her expression only growing more stern. “Fine. Ask what you want, but know that if you show up looking for us I’ll slit your throat before you can spit a single curse from your foul lips.” She slammed the phone back into my hand and stormed down the street a little bit, where she began pacing.

“So,” I said, watching her, “that sounds like it went well.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened at Iravati, but I will find out,” he said, suddenly sounding much more tired than he had before. “The fact is, I am at a complete loss here, and fear there is a real danger that only you can help address. If there is something I can do that will begin to smooth things over with your associate to ensure you can come, know that I am more than willing to entertain the idea.”

“What’s the nature of the problem?”

“There is much I am not going to discuss over a transatlantic phone call. It will have to be enough to know that I have found evidence they are still active, and a possible hub of their power.”

“How, exactly, do you plan on us getting there?”

“Well, I would send a plane, naturally, for you and anyone else you need to bring along.”

“If there’s a site, I think I’ll need to call in someone specific.”

“Very well. It’s not like I’m paying for individual tickets.”

“Fine. Send the plane, let me try to work on things on this end. What number can I call to confirm details with you?” I wrote the number down as he said it to me, then thanked him and hung up. Once she saw that, Akshainie returned.

“Well?” she demanded. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him I’d see who I could get involved. I would very much like you to be involved, and he is willing to make some amends if they’ll get you there.”

“It shouldn’t require that! What his family did to us was wrong, and if he can’t see that—”

“He says he doesn’t know what happened yet. But he’s going to check, and hopefully he will have by the time I call him back.”

“And what do we do in the meantime?”

​“We should get back to the hotel. I’ll have another call to make first, and I am very curious to hear what you hate so much about this man’s family.”

If any of our ancestors knew anything concrete about the Red Spiral, they didn’t write it or pass it down. I was going to have to seek alternative sources of information. So today, I made a stop off at The Horn & Thistle. It’s well known among the locals that the place dates back to the Danelaw; less commonly known is that the owner does, as well. She doesn’t hide it—hell, she doesn’t even try to look human—but people always seem to have some other explanation for her odd look and their aversion to the place. With her piercings and tattoos and white hair, the reigning theory for the last few decades has been that it’s a punk bar with a barkeep surprisingly fond of plastic surgery.

“Business or pleasure today, Mike?” Aslaug asked, fixing her solid black eyes on me as I sat down at the bar.

“Maybe a bit of both,” I answered. She snorted and leaned on the bar.

“I warned you, you’re no good doing both at once.” I chuckled.

“Then I’ll start with business.” She sighed and stood as another man sat down next to me.

“You at least planning to spend some of that money while you’re at it?” I nodded toward the bourbon, and she turned to fix my drink. As she drifted off to her task, the man next to me watched her go with a soft hum. He was clearly a few drinks into his day, which his breath confirmed as he turned to speak to me.

“You think she’s blue all the way down?” He asked with a waggle of his eyebrows. She is, of course. That’s just how her kind is when they aren’t trying to hide as human. The problem is that Aslaug is not a kind lover, and the places he wanted the conversation to go would be dangerous if realized. I still have an elbow that always knows when it’s about to rain.

“One of life’s great mysteries, mate,” I said, focusing my attention to getting the notepad from the inside pocket of my jacket. He either took the hint or got lost in his own reverie; either way, we were done discussing the bartender. She returned with my drink and took care of the other man as I waited. Once he was squared away, she turned back to me, and I laid my notepad on the bar.

“No,” she said, pushing it back toward me and stepping back to lean on the counter with her arms crossed.

“Oh, now you have to,” I said, flashing a smile that always gets me what I want around here, as I slipped the notepad back into my jacket. She growled, but after a minute gave a huff and threw her arms in the air.

“Fine. When I close to switch over for dinner.”

So I ordered some lunch and took a booth to wait. It was a couple hours and bourbons before she threw the last straggler out, locked the door, and slumped into the seat opposite me with a bottle of mead. Aslaug is a dark elf, native to one of the realms below Midgard. She doesn’t talk about how she got here, or why, but she did so alongside the vikings and then just never left. She’s a registered magical citizen, and part of that arrangement includes the occasional bit of information when the Hudson estate needs it. Her longevity and connections have made her contribution invaluable to us, but she’s well aware of what she holds over us and how much she can ask for it. So it was some surprise to me when, this time, she didn’t open with a demand.

“I hope you haven’t just been flashing that symbol around,” she said, before knocking back a large swig of her drink. I finished mine and slid the glass to the side.

“Would it be a problem if I started?”

“Not for me.” She glanced at my glass. “You want some?” I nodded, and she poured me a share before setting the bottle down.

“So what is this?”

“It’s called the Brood of Nachash. Very old cult, fancy themselves dangerous.”

“To who?”

“The gods.”

“Are they?” She considered the question a moment, then shrugged.

“Wouldn’t know. They’re not in my network.”

“Is that why we haven’t talked payment yet?”

“Oh, you’ll pay, Hudson. Just not me.” She reached into her bra and pulled out a small paper, with a phone number and a time written on it. “Some birds told me you’d be needing this.” I looked the paper over, then folded it and placed it into my pocket.

“And who will I be calling?”

“Catholic priest, one Father Benedict de Monte. He’s almost the closest thing to an expert walking the earth today.”

“Almost?”

“There’s one expert. If he wants you to find him, he’ll turn up. The priest is more reliable, and I know how you nobles love reliability.”

“Thank you, then. Do I happen to know these birds?”

“Everyone does. They just don’t all know it. But you’re on a schedule.” With that, she left the booth and went back to work. I knocked back the rest of my drink and let myself out.

On returning to the estate, I took a brief lunch and began investigations in the library. I searched for any records related to the geographic area around the site, and found nothing that indicated knowledge of the chamber, aside from one bit of folklore about a beast that could be heard groaning on certain cursed nights nearby. I made note of that, but turned my attention to the iconography of the site as the most sensible alternative lead.

The runes were an old script. Most such markings in Britain use Norse runes, but these were most similar to a small handful of pre-Roman sites we had on record. As such, there was no translation available, or even any certainty that it was something that held a translatable meaning; but it did suggest that the reason no one knew about it was that it predated any of the attempts to categorize these things. That did happen from time to time, but my search showed no other such site that was still active when it was found. This line of research led nowhere.
​
The spiral, however. There were precious few references to it, all in secret documents not to be studied outside of their storage room, which I only gained access to last year when I took over the main body of field work from father and had not needed before now. The few instances of this specific red spiral appearing were tied to events with major attempted disturbance to the magical equilibrium of Britain. What connected the events, aside from the spiral itself, was not immediately clear. However, I had somewhere to start. I determined to speak with father about this later and, if needed, to call on a source who has been on Britain long enough to know about this sort of thing.

Arrived at the site shortly after dawn to find it locked down. The construction barrier was still in place for the public, but a little further in was a hastily-constructed security stop that accepted my credentials. I had to park there and walk the rest of the way, led by one of the men who found the site. The work site was largely underground, as they were apparently excavating to build a basement when they found a chamber.

The opening was small. The man explained as we descended that they had been digging next to the chamber when a piece of wall broke through. They noticed it was man-made, but not on any of the records they had for the site, so they’d contacted the government for input. I thanked him for his input, and then stepped through the hole and, safely out of sight of the laborer, cast a light spell.

The chamber was about ten meters across and circular, with a few other chambers exiting off in other directions. The floor of the room was occupied by a massive red spiral, and the walls were lined with runes and sconces. I could feel an incredible amount of magical energy in the chamber, which confirmed that it was still active. This, of course, is a problem, as I found no record of a registered magical site in this location.

​I explored the side passages but found very little. I took a picture of an idol at the end of one passage, and another passage led to a dead end that looked as though it was originally an entrance that was blocked off. The third passage led down into the earth, but was collapsed partway through. I took more photographs of all the runes I could find, and the spiral, before heading back to the estate. I called Father on the way back to update him, but it seems he was in session. I will inform him of my findings later, in person.

This morning, I was called upon by the Queen to discuss a matter relevant to my office. I informed Michael to be on alert as I did not know what to expect from the meeting, and arrived at our usual chamber. As is my custom, I arrived first by way of my Gate and ensured the place was ready to receive her, then alerted the guard outside who inspected me and verified that I was expected.

It was only a few more minutes before Her Majesty arrived, just enough time for me to have tea ready. She took her usual chair by the fire, thanked me for the cup, and we sat together in silence for a moment. I dare say she takes longer these days before beginning, but far be it from me to suggest such a thing to her.

When she was ready, she inquired about the recent news article, about a construction site in Cornwall that had to stop after stumbling upon a point of archaeological interest. I confessed that I had seen the headline, tucked away somewhere in the paper this morning, but had not as yet read the article. She gave me the general sense of it, and then set her cup down. I asked if that was really all there was to it as I made to pour her another, but she stopped me.
I was then informed that the first impression of the affair was, indeed, that it was an historical site. However, upon inspection by the local historical society, it was declared ritual in nature and disconnected from the known history of the area. She asked me to see about the site’s registration, and I told her I would do so at once. I keep a copy of common records there, so I did not have to leave Her Majesty’s presence while I searched; as it turns out, the site was not registered at all.

​At the request of the crown, I contacted Michael to investigate the site and learn what purpose it may have, and to look into the owners. Hopefully it is simply an accident that it was not filed for registration, and he can have the matter sorted quickly with little more than some paperwork. The Queen and I then worked out a story to cover my son’s activities, and she thanked me for the tea before returning to her other affairs.

Case: Trial of Father Benedict Michel de Monte
Contents: Records and personal journal entries relating to a case handled by Lord Michael Hudson, current Magum Imperatoria* in service to the throne of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.
Notes:
File copied through arrangement with Church of England. CoE included copies of every record related to the case, as relevant context to the actions carried out by Fr. de Monte. These records are treated as incomplete as they do not include specific actions taken by two other individuals involved in the case. Attempts to retrieve records of this case from the office of John Matteson have been consistently turned aside by one Ms. Fox. Due to the nature of this case, no attempts to coordinate with American authorities to retrieve those records has been attempted. Information from public sources, such as personal blogs, have been included but their veracity cannot be assumed.

​*Magum Imperatoria: It has been suspected by the Holy See for some time that the Church of England has maintained a notable relationship with the supernatural and has entertained the use of magic for its purposes. Confirmation of a seated Imperial Wizard would seem to confirm this suspicion, as does the nature of Lord Hudson’s work as described in the case files. Future attempts to work with the Church of England should bear in mind this practice of consorting with demonic forces.

“So this thing we’re doing, we’re expected to dress in new clothes for it?” Akshainie asked as we made our way down the street. She was in a dress we had just bought the night before, with some flats and a purse. I had made a point of picking out a nice outfit that wasn’t part of my priestly attire.

“No. But wearing nice clothes is common, and you insisted on buying things for utility when we got your initial outfits.”

“Do you think I look nice today?” It was a very flattering dress. It had been something of a fight to find one that she would be willing to wear that I felt was also appropriate, and this one was something of a compromise. Seeing her move in it now, I felt like she gained somewhat more of what she wanted out of the deal than I did.

“Of course. There will be a lot of moving around, mostly between standing and sitting and kneeling. And there’s going to be a bit we call the Eucharist, this is technically only for—”

“We went over all of this last night, Benedict. I think I can make sense of it.” I sighed as we stopped near the steps leading up to the church to let a pair of older ladies pass.

“I just…I haven’t really taken many guests to Mass before. Usually I was either busy or surrounded by people who I didn’t know.”

“Is that why this is important to you?” I adjusted my tie.

“I want you to know what I’m fighting for.” She looked at a couple walking into the building, then put her arm around mine to mimic them. I looked down at her arm, then back to her face, and she smiled.

​“Well then. Let’s go blend in.”

I had called 911 and told them about the collapsed building as soon as we found a payphone, but when they wanted me to keep talking to them I let the phone hang off the hook. We slipped into the spiritual realm together, now that we could, and made our way back to the site and watched as emergency services arrived and began searching for people. When Akshainie determined the number of broken bodies being pulled out was getting to me too much, we left. I don’t remember much of the walk away. I don’t remember much of that night, mostly just the feeling of her stroking my hair as I fell asleep.

Now here we were, standing in front of a two-story house on a small side road, on the corner of a broken alley. The house was grey, or at least had been made grey by the elements and age, the paint peeling off the porch and various parts of the walls. The fence running along the edge of they alley was rusted, and the grass under it was longer than the neighbors kept theirs. The neighbors were so close. I always thought American homes had more space between them. I stared at it for a long time.

“Are you okay?” Akshainie asked.

“I…I don’t think I expected it to look like this.”

“Are you telling me you’ve been this man’s friend for decades, and you’ve never seen his house?”

“It hasn’t been that kind of friendship.” She huffed. I wondered if maybe it should have been. “Well, come on, then.” We walked up the stone stairs set into the small hill of the front yard, if it could be called a yard, and then onto the porch, where we could hear music coming from inside. There was no doorbell, so I just knocked on the solid wooden door loudly. After a moment I heard a faint shuffling, then the door opened to reveal Henry. He smiled and stepped back, urging us to come in.

The room was much better than the exterior. There was a recliner that looked fairly worn, but otherwise the couch was nice and the hardwood floors were beautiful. The television was off, sitting in a cabinet next to a component stereo system the likes of which I hadn’t seen in probably twenty years. This had a record going, which he turned down as we entered and I later learned was by an artist named Lionel Richie. He waved us toward the couch, then sat down in the recliner.

“What brings you guys here?” he asked, reaching for his glass of water on the end table next to his chair.

“A couple things, really,” I said. I cleared my throat. “So, for one, we met your son.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that. Hell of a night you guys had. I said he should’ve got more money out of those friends of his.”

“Did he mention telling us about your condition?” He paused, then set his glass back down.

“No. No, he didn’t.”

“Henry, I—”

“Don’t. I appreciate the visit, but I sure as hell don’t need reminding what I got.”

“Right. I just, I guess I wanted to check on you.”

“You said there were a few things?” I looked to Akshainie, who pulled the folded map out of her bag and walked over to hand it to him. He began opening it as I continued.

“We found a site the Brood had managed to occupy. They took everyone, Henry. Kept them in some kind of stasis, or death, or something. I don’t know, we weren’t…we didn’t manage to save them. But the whole place had a lot of weirdness to it, and I can’t help but think we’d know a lot more if we could read the symbols on this map.”

“I think you’re right about that,” he muttered, looking it over. “Come with me.” We followed as he made his way into the kitchen, then down the stairs into the basement. This was his library, walls covered in books on shelves, a large table, and assorted smaller ones next to armchairs. He laid out the map on the large table, then went to the shelves and pulled out a couple books before returning. “Let’s see what we have here.” He started talking to himself softly, never quite finishing his sentences, as he ran his fingers over each symbol. He would occasionally pause over one, flip through a book until he found something that apparently satisfied him, and then continue on.

“I thought maybe this was familiar,” I said, pointing at one symbol that I remembered from an alchemy text I’d skimmed through once, “but I don’t know if position means anything.”

“It does,” he said, looking at the symbol over the rim of his glasses.

“So, being here at, what, about five o’clock, that—”

“Wrong,” he snapped. He reached across the table and pointed to a different symbol. “This is your key mark. The structure is aligned to the south, not the north.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Now let me finish this before you tell me any other theories.” He continued as I looked to Akshainie, who was beaming. I couldn’t tell if she really enjoyed the things he said, or just the way he was saying them to me. I turned my attention back to the table and waited for Henry to finish. When he finally did, he sat down in one of the chairs and swore.

“What? What is it?” He grumbled and stood back up, making his way past us to a cabinet on the wall, which he opened to reveal a small collection of glasses and liquors.

“You guys want something to drink?”

“I’ll take whatever you’re making,” Akshainie answered. He nodded.

“No, thank you.” He poured two glasses of whiskey on ice, handed one to Akshainie, then returned to his chair before knocking back about half of it.

“Bastards figured out how to do what Johnny does.”

“What?” I walked around the table and sat in the chair closest to him. Akshainie took a careful sip of her drink, nodded, then made her way to another chair near her.

“Look, this…thing they did, in that town. It breaks magic, like my son does. And it does more than that. More than I’ve ever been certain he could do, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Can you walk me through it a bit?” He waved his hand as if trying to form a thought in the air.

“It’s…okay, look. What did you guys experience while you were there?”

“I couldn’t cross over,” Akshainie said, “burned like hell when I tried.”

“Yeah, and neither of us could access anything that wasn’t normally human,” I added. Henry was nodding the whole time. “And there was a strange truck tracking me, but didn’t seem to notice her as much.”

“That’d be the enforcer they used, then,” he said. “John, he doesn’t really break magic. It’s easier to say he does, but that’s not quite what an Anchor does. It’d be more accurate to say that he enforces a certain set of rules on reality.” Akshainie growled slightly, downing the rest of her drink and then sternly making her way to the cabinet to pour another. Henry either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “The metaphysical realm doesn’t really make its own rules. It has rules, near as I can tell, but they’re ultimately decided by the way sapient physical creatures understand and imagine it. Somehow. I don’t understand exactly how that works, I don’t think anyone does, but it’s the best explanation we got. But the rules that keep all the physical stuff here and all the metaphysical stuff there don’t just exist. They’re maintained, passively by all of us, and actively by Anchors.”

“I don’t see how that means he doesn’t anything more than break magic.”

“Normally, it doesn’t. But that,” he said, pointing at the map, “does. And it uses a power very like his to do it.”

“So what does it do?”

“I redefines an area of spiritual reality,” Akshainie said, her hands balled into fists and her back to us. “It takes a place and it cuts it off, and then it gives it a new set of rules, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does.” Henry stood, setting his glass down. “Have you seen this before?”

“Once. But not like this.”

“Well, whoever did it, if they were powerful enough—or had enough raw magical energy to manipulate, like from a town’s population of captured minds—could basically make the rules in that bubble be whatever they want them to be. It’s to be expected that bubbles made by different people would look different in practice.”

“So they were making a pocket of reality that was different? Why?” I asked.

“It’s the Brood, Benedict. This was a practice run, and it probably wasn’t the only one. But that town, by your description and what I’m seeing here, would be completely cut off from the greater spiritual reality of the world. Remade in their image. Devoid of gods and spirits, completely sanitized.”

“Is this their big plan? To do this, what, to the world?”

“We have to consider that possibility. And with what I heard about them trapping and drawing power from dread gods, they may be well on their way to having the power to pull it off.” I stood and Akshainie turned to face us. “You guys need to find out if they have more of these gods, and if so, to break that flow of power. Any way you can. If this is where they’re going with this, they can’t be allowed even another chance to try it.” His hand was shaking, and I considered asking if he was okay, but decided he wouldn’t want me to.

“Of course. Is there anything you can give us to help us find these things?” He nodded, then turned back to the shelves. It took him a minute to dig around, but he finally pulled out a book and set it on the table.

​“Did you ever get that Book of Shadows?” I nodded. “Good. That will get you far, but this,” he said, resting his hand on the worn leather cover, “this is basically an index for it. You can find out what you’re looking for with this, and hopefully where it is with your book. Won’t be perfect, things change over the span of a hundred years, but you ought to get some positive hits off it.” We thanked him, accepted the book, and wished him well. He walked us to the door, waved goodbye, and returned to his music as we slipped off down the street.

“They were still alive, Akshainie,” I said. I dropped to my knees and faintly heard the map fall into the street beside me.

“You don’t know that.”

“They had to be. There was no reason otherwise.”

“Well, okay, do you know a reason they would have been kept alive?” I stared in silence for a little while, then closed my eyes and shook my head. “Then you don’t know. It isn’t your fault, you did everything you could for them.”

“No,” I said, wiping a tear from my cheek and standing, “Not yet, I haven’t.” As the dust began to settle, I walked to the very edge of the crater and looked down at the rubble. I couldn’t sense anything. I couldn’t hear anything, I couldn’t see any movement and had no good way to get down there to try and dig anyone out even if I did. I knew, deep in the pit of my stomach, that there was no one alive down there. I watched and listened, tried to reach my spiritual senses out to touch any minds or emotions or anything. I found only silence and wreckage. So, I set myself to the task of reading last rites over the site. May these tortured souls finally know peace. When I turned around after completing that, Akshainie had the map unrolled and was looking it over.

“What is this?” she asked.

“A map of this town, looks like.”

“Well I know that, English. What are the markings?”

“Still not English.”

“Still acting like an ass.” I sighed and started walking over to her.

“I don’t know what the markings are. Seems like a spell of some sort, probably whatever they were trying to accomplish here, but I don’t know how to make out what it means.”

“Know anyone who might?” I slipped my hands into my pockets and looked down.

“Yeah,” I said, softly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to him, anyway.”

​On my way to Akshainie, I felt something begin to change in me. I couldn’t quite place the feeling, but I suspected I knew what it was; and when I found myself standing in front of the building identified by the ghosts, I confirmed it by igniting the blade of the sword I carried. I smiled, took a deep breath, and stormed through the door.

The outside of the building looked like a repurposed fire station, presumably the large bay door was where the truck rested when it wasn’t active. Inside the door beside it, however, I found a single large room with a sloped concrete floor running into a tunnel large enough to house the truck. I made my way down the slope, and hadn’t gotten far before I heard the sounds of a fight. I began to run, and when the tunnel finally opened it was to a massive chamber. In the center of that chamber was a man, his arm sheathed in dark energy, his eyes serpentine, trying to shield himself against Akshainie. She was lunging at him from across the room, having regained her full naga form, the shreds that must have been her trousers on the floor near me and far too much of her torso exposed through the slashes and tears in her shirt. I yelled to her as she made contact and was thrown back across the room, sliding to a stop about ten meters away from me. She glared over to me, and I threw her the sword before shielding my eyes.

“The people!” she cried. I looked around, trying to avoid looking directly at her, and it was only in averting my eyes up that I saw them. Pods embedded in the high ceiling, each containing a human being, asleep or dead or something else I dared not imagine. Dear God, there were hundreds of them. Must have been everyone that went missing, everyone that was still alive in this town when the dread work was completed. They must have been alive, I reasoned as I heard the fighting continue, because there’d be no reason to keep them otherwise. But if they were alive, then I needed to find a reason for that, which I hoped would be somewhere near the means to keep them alive. I followed the pipes and wires until I found a rusty electric console against the wall. Words of power were being shouted, there was the clang of steel and explosions echoing through the room, a bit of water splashed against the floor in front of me, as I ran to the console.

The knobs and buttons had no labels, and the few labels that were on the dials were so worn I could barely make them out. I searched the console for some idea on how to free the people safely, but I couldn’t find anything until I stumbled on a map. I unrolled it on the console and looked over the places they had marked, the circle over the town, the way everything was arranged. It was a spell, that much I knew, but they didn’t exactly teach us how to work with or read magic in seminary. The only person I knew I could trust, who I was certain could read this, was apparently dying of cancer across the state line. I should have visited Henry before we dove into this. I considered it of course, but this just seemed so pressing. I think I just wasn’t ready. Wasn’t ready to see someone like Henry in such a state, and then what, dive into this mess, dealing with whatever he said to me? Maybe I made the wrong call. Maybe I really should have. Would that make a difference?

“Do something!” Akshainie hissed, slithering in a wide arc past me at a much higher speed than I realized she could move. I cleared my throat, turned to look in the direction she was going now that I was certain her back was to me, and threw a fireball at the man. He tried to bat it away, and mostly succeeded, but the bit of fire that clung and the distraction was enough of an opening for Akshainie to drive a sword through him. I could learn a thing about focus and combat from that woman. Maybe I underestimated the value of her lessons when we were at Yggdrasil. I turned back to the console, rolled up the map, and tucked it under my arm as the screaming and fighting began to die down. I searched the sea of controls again, found something that looked important, and debated whether or not to press it. I saw the shadow of Akshainie approaching, and paused.

“I don’t know how to free them,” I confessed when I felt her presence close to me. She sighed, then rested her hand on my shoulder.

“Do the best you can.”

“What if I’m wrong?”

“Then you’ll still be a good man who did his best.” I took a deep breath, offered a quick prayer, and just as I went to reach for the button the ground shook. I turned to look at Akshainie only to realize that on her tail her bust was right about the level of my face, and I quickly turned back. I pulled off my outer shirt and offered it to her. “What’s this for?” she asked.

“Modesty.” She groaned and snatched the shirt out of my hand. The ground shook again and I looked at her, hoping she had an answer for the shaking. But she was looking away, back to the body of the man, which was now beginning to sink into the floor as it cracked around him. She turned back to me.

“If you have any ideas, now’s the time!” I turned back and pressed the button. The system shuddered, the dials all dropped to their lowest readings, and the pods above us began to move. We both turned to watch them, but then the ground cracked under us. We jumped away and tried to make our way toward the door, when I saw the cracks continue up the walls.

​“No,” I pleaded softly, “no, please!” The ceiling began to break apart, and I screamed as a couple pods broke free and fell, crashing into the ground. I went to run forward, to try and help someone, anyone, but before I could move I felt Akshainie’s arms around me and then we were gone, flying up the slope, the tunnel cracking and collapsing behind us. We burst out into the early morning sunlight and she held me back as I cried out, watching the building sink into a growing crater.