Valiant: The Covenant Chronicles

[Covenant #6: The Eve Of Hallows]

Log Date: 10/29/12763

Data Sources: Jayta Jaskolka, Raikaron Syntaritov

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

The House of Regret: Raikaron’s Study

8:50am SGT

“I must admit, she has exceeded my expectations.”

I run a finger along one of the shelves in my study, frowning at the thin layer of dust that I find there. “You don’t say.” I reply, turning around. “A surprising admission, coming from you, Danya.”

“I say that only because the bar was set low in the first place.” Danya answers flatly from where she’s sorting through the mail, laying certain deliveries on my desk. “When she first arrived, she was a weak, sniveling, spoiled brat. Since then she’s graduated to being a mopey, teary-eyed murderess. Progress is being made, if in agonizingly small increments.”

“Such evolutions take time, Danya. You have to give the girl time to grow.” I say, brushing off the dust on my finger. “When was the last time we had the imps clean the study? I’m starting to see dust on the shelves.”

“Three months, my Lord.” Danya replies, squinting at a piece of mail.

“Three months? Why so long?”

Danya looks up from the mail, raising an eyebrow at me. “Because you cast the last set of house imps into the magma pits after you caught them trying to filch some of your tomes and relics. Since imps are usually low-level offenders, burning to death in a pool of liquid magma was enough punishment to fulfill their sentences and release their souls from Sjelefengsel’s grasp.”

“Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten about that.” I say, scrunching up my face at the memory. “Do you know when we’re getting in our next shipment of imps? I thought the House had been a little quiet recently, but I hadn’t realized why until you brought that up.”

“Should be some time before the end of the year. Until then, I would respectfully ask that you refrain from casting any more of the resident staff into the magma pits whenever they attempt something mutinous. It’s a quick way to lose staff for good, and it usually means more chores for whoever’s left.” Danya says, finishing sorting through the mail. “We stray from the topic at hand, though. Your pet project has made marked improvement since her arrival. Though I do still believe you are coddling her; you have given her nothing but assignments from the angel’s share over the past month.”

“Walk before you run and all that.” I reply, making my way back over to my desk. “Besides, she’s demonstrated a reluctant aptitude for the more grisly aspects of the job. I don’t think it’ll be too long before we can start sending her on official business for the House.”

“She has exhibited an unusual genius for violence.” Danya agrees, holding the remainder of the mail in a loose hug. “She’s quite the little brute, despite her waifish build. Did you know she would move in that direction if you gave her freedom to act on her own?”

“Danya, please.” I say, sitting down and sorting through the mail she’s brought me. “I knew nothing of what she would become when I turned her loose. That’s what makes it exciting.”

“Your idea of ‘entertainment’ is one I may never fully understand.” she says, shaking her head. “At any rate, Hallow’s Eve is upon us. Are we allowing the staff a visit to the mortal realm?”

“I see no reason not to.” I say, idly opening letters and skimming through them. “It’s the one day of the year we can roam around in the mortal realm in our demon forms and not get caught. The same rules apply, as usual.”

“Did you have a specific world in mind?”

“We’ve done metropolitan worlds for the last few years.” I say, scanning through a letter before flicking it across the study and into the fireplace. “Let’s do somewhere small this year. Can I trust you to find a nice, quiet world? Out of the way, a sleepy little somewhere.”

Danya’s expression shows that she’s thoroughly unamused. “That is mightily vague of you, but yes, I will see what I can dredge up in terms of options. I assume you will be remaining here, as you always do?”

“You assume correctly.” I say, flicking another couple of envelopes into the fireplace. “A quiet evening is a rare luxury for me. I would like to enjoy it.”

“You do not want to accompany your pet project on her first Hallow’s Eve outing as a demon?” Danya asks expectantly.

I raise my eyes from the pile of mail on my desk. “Is there a reason I should?”

She shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s a formative experience. I figured you would want to be present for it, given your interest in her development.”

“Tempting as that logic is, it misses the importance of giving her the space to grow on her own. She cannot expand into her full potential if I’m always there, watching over her shoulder.” I explain. “This is the same reason I’ve given her latitude on her assignments to date; I don’t want her following my orders mindlessly. I want her thinking for herself, coming to her own conclusions, with little nudges here and there to make sure she stays on the right track. She should likewise have a chance to enjoy the holiday outside of my shadow.”

“I wonder about you sometimes, my Lord.” Danya says, shaking her head. “Very well. I will go inform the rest of the House’s staff that they will have the opportunity to visit the mortal realm in their demon forms tomorrow evening. If you should require anything further, please let me know.”

“Naturally. You are dismissed.” I say. As she leaves the study, closing the door behind her, I leaf through some more mail, then swivel in my chair to stare through the window at the distant skyline of Hautaholvi. Ruminating on Danya’s remarks about how far our newest little demon had come.

Projects like Jayta Jaskolka required a gentle touch indeed.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: Third Parlor Room

3:54pm SGT

Does it snow in hell?

I couldn’t help but wonder. It had gotten colder over the past month, and though it wasn’t quite frigid, I couldn’t go outside without a jacket anymore. Staring through the window across the barren hills and mountains of Sjelefengsel, I thought about the question, and what would be needed for snow in hell. Water, obviously, would be a key part of it, but I realized I hadn’t seen any bodies of water since I’d been here. It made me wonder where the water in the House came from — there always seemed to be plenty of it, flowing freely from sinks and for my showers.

“Well, look at that. Seems like you finally caught a break.” someone says behind me.

I turn from where I’m sitting on the sill of one of the windows in one of the House’s second-floor parlor rooms. Standing there is the man with the brown hair, the battered duster, and the massive sword slung across his back. Harry or something — I can’t remember what his name is, because I haven’t seen him around the House that much.

“Oh, it’s you.” I say flatly. “Weren’t you supposed to stay away from me?”

He tucks his hands in the pockets of his duster, all lazy-like. “I am staying away from you. Ten feet away. You want me to stand a little further back?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Danya said Lord Syntaritov would throw you in a magma pit if you tried anything with me.”

That prompts a smirk from him. “He really is interested in keeping you all to himself, is he now? Starting off early on turning you against me so you’ll only listen to him and Danya. Just the way he wants it, probably. Another pretty little sycophant to add to his collection.”

“I’m not his property.” I snap at him. “I do what I do because it’s my job, not because I’m loyal to him.”

“Oh, you’re not?” he says, moving forward and coming to lean against the other side of the windowsill I’m sitting on. “That’s interesting, since he seems to have a soft spot for you. Reserving all the jobs from the angel’s share just for his newest little demon.”

“That’s not favoritism.” I growl. “I’ve had to do terrible things for those jobs.”

“Honey, if you think doing Kolob’s dirty work qualifies as ‘terrible things’, you’re in for a surprise when you actually have to start doing the type of work demons normally do.” he says, folding his arms. “Beating up bullies and putting the fear of hell into the guilty? That’s a cakewalk. Nobody has to think twice about that, and nobody ever feels bad about it. No, sweetie, when you have to start running errands for your Lord and not for Kolob, then you’ll know what it’s really like to be a demon.”

“Call me sweetie again, and I’ll take that smug face of yours and ram it up your own ass.” I warn him. “And I suppose you would know, since you’re supposed to be Raikaron’s best hound, Harry?”

He squints at me. “Harro. There’s an O at the end, not a Y. And yes, I would know. That strawberry-haired bastard gets me to do his dirty work all the time while he loafs around in his big fancy hell-house, sipping on hot cocoa and reading old books.”

“Cry me a river. I know you’re not under contract, like I am.” I scoff. “You’re a damned soul, like Mek. You’re here because you did bad things while you were alive, so this is your punishment.”

His yellow eyes fix on me. “Smart little thing, aren’t you.” The tone isn’t as condescending as before; it’s more careful and apprising now. “Yeah, I made a mistake or two while I was alive. I’m no saint, but neither is Syntaritov. He gets the rest of us to do his dirty work because he’s too arrogant to do it himself, and one day you’ll be getting your hands dirty along with the rest of us. In the end, even if he’s got a soft spot for you, you’re still just another tool to him. Just another minion that he expects to do what they’re told, when they’re told to do it.”

I glare at him. “He’s given me freedom to do what I want on the assignments I’ve been given so far.”

“There’s the favoritism.” Harro says, flicking a finger at me. “You can’t have it both ways, little demon. You can’t tell me you’re not his favorite, and then tell me he’s given you freedom to handle assignments as you see fit. That’s a privilege that many of us don’t have. If the job isn’t done the way he wants it done, we are often punished for it. But you, you can get away with that.”

“Maybe he lets me do that just because I’m not a damned soul, like you are.” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Brings up an interesting point. How did a sweet little thing like you end up down here with the rest of us?” he asks, reaching in his duster and digging around. “You’re not dead, so it had to be a contract. What did the redhead offer you to convince you to give up your soul then and there? Must’ve been something good.”

I feel nauseous even thinking about it, but I grit my teeth and try to mask the reaction by throwing the question back on him. “I’ll tell you if you tell me what got you damned.”

He pauses in pulling a flask out of his battered duster, and I can see the flicker of distaste that crosses his face. “Sorry, but that’s not something I tell to just anybody, and I don’t know you well enough for that.”

“I could say the same thing.” I say, sliding off the windowsill. “Think I’ll be going now. I’d say it was nice getting to chat with you, but really… it wasn’t.”

“Wait, wait.” he says as I start to walk off. “Alright, I’m sorry. Look, we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry about asking you about that; it was stepping over the line.”

I stop, looking over my shoulder at him. “Seems like a bit more than that.”

“I’ll admit it. I didn’t really like you when you got here.” he says, lowering the flask. “It kinda got on my nerves that the new kid on the block was getting special treatment. See, a lot of us have to work our way up to the perks and privileges you have. But you get them just because the skinny strawberry likes you. You see how that might piss off the rest of us, right?”

“You’re being serious?” I ask doubtfully, turning a little. “You think he treats me better than he does everyone else?” Because this is something that Danya and Mek have raised as well, though I chose not to believe them. I didn’t believe that I was getting preferential treatment, because it didn’t feel like it to me — if manipulating me into signing away my soul and turning me into a demon under his command was considered favoritism, I couldn’t imagine how he treated the rest of his staff.

“ ‘Course I am, and yeah, he treats you better than everyone else.” Harro says, screwing the lid off his flask. “You got one of the best rooms in the House, you get all the easy jobs, he lets you handle them however you want within the confines of what’s allowed by the angel’s share, and you don’t have any chores here in the House, like the other demons do. You can just roam around, frittering your day away, and you won’t get a slap on the wrist for it. I mean, everything about the way he treats you screams favoritism.”

I don’t say anything to that right away. I don’t want to admit that I’m in a position of privilege, because this doesn’t fit my definition of it. I am a prisoner here, a prisoner of the contract Raikaron cornered me into signing. I don’t feel like I should be manipulated into thinking that the way I get treated here is ‘good’ treatment.

“Maybe it seems like favoritism to you because you, and a lot of other people here, are being punished.” I say after a moment. “This is hell, after all. The damned get punished. But people like me, who signed a contract to get here, are treated…” I pause, thinking about it. I don’t want to say normal, because I don’t want to normalize the way Raikaron treats me, like I’m some toy or pet that belongs to him. “…are treated… differently.”

“So you’re telling me you deserve to have the perks you’ve got.” he says, sipping from his flask. “And the rest of us don’t.”

“Yeah, basically.” I say, folding my arms. “Maybe he does treat me better than the rest of you. But it’s not my fault the rest of you did terrible things and got damned for it. You brought that on yourself; you shouldn’t get angry at me for the things that you’ve done. That’s not favoritism on Raikaron’s part. That’s having to live with the consequences of your actions.”

He makes a face. “See, I don’t like that. Because then I have to pretend like I deserve to be here.”

“You don’t like that because it’s true.”

Danya’s clipped, irritated tone cuts into our conversation like acid; I turn my head to see her stepping into the parlor, her sharply-defined brows drawn together like a gathering storm. Her hair, pulled back in a tight bun, only accentuates the austere look that her black-and-red pinstripe suit lends to her narrow frame. “I see that your sense of self-preservation has once again failed its attendance call, Harro. I’ll be informing Lord Syntaritov of this breach.”

“Oh what, you’re gonna tattle on me?” Harro says, rolling his eyes as he pushes off the window frame. “Dunno why I’m surprised, it’s about par for the course for the resident snitch. Besides, it’s not like I was trying anything. I was just trying to figure out why the skinny strawberry treats her so much better than the rest of us. You can’t tell me you haven’t been wondering the same thing, Danya.”

“Even if I was wondering that, I would have the requisite sense to keep my nose out of the affairs of our Lord.” Danya says stiffly, her heels thumping ominously across the carpeted floor. “It is not your place to pry the affairs of Lord Syntaritov. If you find yourself forgetting your place, I will mention it to Lord Syntaritov so that he may remind you of it.”

“Oh, I’m quaking in my blood-stained boots.” Harro says in a mocking falsetto as he caps his flask and screws the lid back on. “What is he gonna do, throw me in the magma pits again? Because he hasn’t done that before, no sirree.”

“No, I think you warrant something a little more creative.” Danya says as she comes to a stop between me and Harro, folding her arms. “Perhaps you get to stay here and guard the House while the rest of us get to visit the mortal realm for Hallow’s Eve.”

Harro’s eyes widen. “Alright, you win.” he says, putting his hands up before tucking his flask back into his duster. “I’m scrammin’. You never saw me here.” He starts for the other door leading out of the parlor, walking backwards as he goes. “For what it’s worth, though, I’ve deduced that the reason he’s treating her better than the rest of us isn’t because she’s sleeping with him… at least not yet.”

“As if I’d ever…!” I hiss, curling my hands into fists as he winks and slips through the door. Fuming at his parting shot, I growl and fold my arms, fighting the temptation to grab something and smash it. Violence was starting to come easier to me after the jobs I’d done for the angel’s share over the past month.

Danya is silent in watching him go, but after a moment she looks towards me. I can tell, from the slant of her eyebrows, that there’s some silent judgement there.

“What’s that look for?” I demand. “He’s the one that came to me!”

“That may be so, but that doesn’t mean you need to humor his mischief.” Danya says, unfolding her arms as she reaches out to straighten my collar and brush some lint off my House uniform. “He is not worth your time. If he comes to you, tell him to go away, or leave and find somewhere else to be. If he doesn’t leave you alone, then tell me. I will see to it that Lord Syntaritov puts Harro in his place.”

“He doesn’t seem that bad, he’s just vaguely annoying.” I grumble, fighting the urge to swat Danya’s hands away. Even as prissy and uptight as she is, I get the very faint feeling that she’s looking out for me, a caring side hidden somewhere underneath all those layers of disapproval and judgement.

“He is more than just annoying; he is trouble.” Danya says as she finishes tidying me up. “If you continue interacting with him, it will only bring you regret, though that should come as no surprise, given that we are in the employ of the Lord of Regret. Consider yourself warned.” With that, she straightens up, folding her arms behind her back. “Now. I don’t suppose anybody’s told you about our Hallow’s Eve tradition here in the House of Regret?”

I give her a cautious look. “Does it involve a twisted version of trick-or-treat?”

“No, it does not. Though I believe the House of Spite does do something along those lines.” Danya says, treading past and motioning for me to follow. “Here in the House of Regret, and in many other Houses, the Lords of Sjelefengsel often allow their staff to visit the mortal plane on Hallow’s Eve, since it is one of the few times of the year when demons can tread the mortal plane in their demon forms without drawing the attention of mortals. And since you are one of the servants of the Lord of Regret, it is your privilege to come with the rest of the House staff on this little excursion.”

“Okay, uhm…” I say as I follow her out of the parlor and out into the hall. “That’s tomorrow, right? Should I prepare? What does he want us to do while we’re there?”

Danya stops and looks back at me, arching an eyebrow. “Nothing. It’s a holiday; a leisure outing, not a work trip. The whole point is to go and enjoy ourselves. Get some fresh, mortal air, as it were.”

I stare at her. “You have holidays in hell.”

“Well of course.” she shrugs, starting to walk again. “It’s true that Sjelefengsel is a very busy place, but you have to get a break in every now and then, or you’ll get burned out. Very easy to do, especially for those of us that actively labor in the punishment industry; I’m sure that you can speak to the emotional toll of the job, even with your fledging experience. Hallow’s Eve is the primary holiday celebrated by all of Sjelefengsel, with other, smaller holidays observed depending on the culture you come from.”

“Yeah, but what do we do during Hallow’s Eve?” I ask, trying to keep up with her, constantly at risk of falling behind with her long stride. “Like, is there a party, or something?”

“It is, as the mortals sometimes put it, a night out on the town.” Danya answers, turning a corner and heading down one of the many flights of stairs in the House. “Typically a world is selected, a city chosen, a portal opened, and the staff of the House are set loose to do as they like, within reason. Partying is common, mischief is frequent, one-night stands are standard, but murder is off-limits, barring extenuating circumstance. For some demons, it is a chance to sightsee the mortal world, partake in their offerings and traditions. Other demons use it as an opportunity to visit the mortal world and collect the souls of mortals fool enough to play their games. And some demons visit simply because they want a breath of fresh air, and to go on walkabout outside of Sjelefengsel.”

“So we can… literally do whatever we want?” I ask hesitantly as we hit the first floor.

Danya’s dark blue eyes slide aside to me. “Within reason, yes. But you must be back before the dawn’s light breaks the horizon on whatever world you’re on.”

“Why’s that?” I ask as we stop by the kitchen, Danya picking up a tray with a mug of hot cocoa on it, and a slice of strawberry pie with a little curlicue of whipped cream atop it.

“Because any demons still out and about after dawn are free game for Kolob’s angels.” Danya answers, handing the tray to me. “The day after Hallow’s Eve is always the most dangerous for demons. The portals close once morning’s light breaks the horizon, and any demons still on that planet are trapped there until the following night. Kolob knows this, and often has angels on standby, just waiting for the sun to crest the horizon. It is a chance for them to get back at Sjelefengsel for a night of carnal mischief.”

I take the tray, careful to balance it so the plate and mug don’t slide around. “…is there a reason they have to wait for the next morning? Why don’t they just stop us on Hallow’s Eve? Or is that some weird rule, that angels can’t roam around at night?”

“Oh, it’s merely an unspoken formality.” Danya says, turning me around and guiding me back to the stairs. “Kolob doesn’t mess with us on Hallow’s Eve, but they give us grief on the morning after. We do the same thing with Krysmis and the day after; we let their feathery little gremlins run loose on Krysmis Eve and Krysmis, working miracles, and then we come out of the woodworks once the sun sets on Krysmis day, and tear apart any of them that are stupid enough to stay on the mortal plane past dark. It’s a time-honored tradition.”

I stand there, giving her an aghast look. “You mean both heaven and hell just agree to have a couple days out of the year where it’s open season on demons and angels that are out at the wrong time?”

“Don’t think about it too hard.” Danya says, placing a hand on my back and walking me to the flight of stairs when I don’t move. “No, it doesn’t make sense, but yes, we still do it. It’s part of the dance between heaven and hell, and one that is ingrained deep into who and what we are as demons.”

“I almost want to argue with you, but you’ve already admitted it doesn’t make sense.” I mutter, taking the stairs slowly and carefully. “So… tomorrow night I get to go with you all to the mortal realm? And we can just do whatever we want?”

“Yes, although there is a degree of planning present. For the sake of ensuring the excursion has options for all.” Danya says, moving ahead of me on the stairs, and leaving me to follow once more. “We will be going to the world Charisto, and in particular, the city Synon. We will start at the Synon convention center, which hosts a vast array of Hallow’s Eve activities and events for the public; Lord Syntaritov’s servants will have the option to stay at the convention center, or branch out from there into the rest of the city, and its array of bars and underground raves or whatever it is that happens to tickle one’s fancy. As we are all adults, the senior demons will be enjoying themselves, rather than playing babysitter for the junior demons, so if you get in trouble, you will have to sort it out yourself. Everyone is expected back at the portal by four thirty in the morning, and the portal will be closing the moment the sun breaks the horizon. If you’re not through the portal by then, you’ll have to fend for yourself for the next twelve hours and hope that the angels don’t kill you.”

She stops at the landing, looking down at me while she waits. I’m still a flight of stairs below her, since I’m trying to go as fast as I can without sloshing the mug of hot cocoa on the tray. “So if everybody’s going, who’s going to take care of the House?” I ask, trying to distract from how bad I am at this.

“Lord Syntaritov will remain here for Hallow’s Eve. He appreciates the value of a quiet evening and a good book, and he intends to enjoy both while his staff are away from the House.” Danya answers with a certain sort of muted exasperation that probably stems from how long I’m taking. I can’t be sure, though, since my eyes are fixed on the mug and my feet, making sure I don’t trip or move too fast. “Do you need help, Jayta?”

“I don’t know why they filled this mug so full!” I protest. “I was a waitress, so I’m used to carrying drinks, but you don’t fill it all the way up to the brim — you’re supposed to leave an empty inch at the top so it can slosh without spilling over!”

“You lack confidence, as evinced from carrying the tray from both sides, and you lack the proper posture.” she critiques as I near the landing. “Your body is rigid, and translates the motion of your legs into the objects you carry. You must loosen up, and allow your limbs to move independent of the rest of you.”

“Easy for you to say.” I mutter as I finally reach the landing. “You’re not the one that’s carrying the tray.”

Danya arches an eyebrow. “Let’s change that, then, and I shall demonstrate.” She reaches down, planting her fingers on the underside of the tray, and lifting it out of my hands without further ado. Folding her free hand behind her back, she turns and starts marching up the next flight of stairs. “After today, you will be tasked with bringing Lord Syntaritov his evening treat until you are able to carry the tray with a single hand, and without spilling any of the beverage thereon. The only way you will master this is by practice, so I recommend that you use your spare time practicing with a tray from the kitchen and a glass of water. Once you can manage this task with ease and speed, you will no longer have to perform it.”

“You hate me, don’t you?” I accuse as I follow her up the stairs. “You enjoy making my life miserable.”

“I do not hate you, although your continued refusal to conform to the conduct expected of your position irks me something fierce.” Danya says, treading down the hall leading to Raikaron’s study. “The day that you finally start acting like an avenger of the Sixth Circle, and not some sulky teenager, will be the day that I open one of my vintage wines and breathe a sigh of relief.” Pausing at the door to Raikaron’s study, she turns and lowers the tray, holding it out to me.

I give her a look. “What, you want me to take it in there to him?”

“I carried it for you just this once. From here forward, you will be the one bringing it to him. Besides, he enjoys your company.”

I don’t take the tray quite yet, working through those words. “He’s not grooming me, is he?” I ask after a moment, lifting my gaze from the tray to Danya.

Her stern brows come together. “Grooming you? How do you mean?”

I shift uncomfortably on the spot. “Well, what Harro said before he left, about the reason I’m being treated well…”

Those stern brows remain drawn together. “About you sleeping with our Lord? Harro is, ask the youths would put it, ‘full of shit’. He sows seeds of doubt among the staff to turn them against our Lord because he wishes to make Lord Syntaritov’s life harder, and because he finds it amusing. And sometimes, on the rare occasion, he does it because he actually believes what he’s sowing.”

“Yeah, but… I mean, I guess he does treat me better than the rest of the staff, and I was wondering if that was because…” I say, my fingers curling into the cuffs of my uniform a little.

“Let me disabuse you of this notion right now.” Danya says sharply. “Lord Syntaritov treats you well because he likes you. And Lord Syntaritov being who and what he is, he may not even yet realize why he likes you. For all his many clairvoyant capabilities and insight into the minds and motives of mortals, he is nominally oblivious when it comes to recognizing and accepting his own subconscious motivations. He enjoys spending time with you, watching you develop and evolve, and it will not cross his mind to ask you for sexual favors because he considers himself a more sophisticated creature than the vast majority of Sjelefengsel’s population.” At this point, Danya pauses for a moment in brow-furrowed thought. “Additionally, I believe he has only theoretical experience in those things, and not actual experience, but that is besides the point.” She returns her driving, dark blue gaze to me. “When I say that Lord Syntaritov enjoys your company, I mean that in the very literal sense that he enjoys simply being around you. You are not expected to render him any carnal comforts in exchange for your elevated status within the House. On the contrary, it would probably… break him.” Another pause as she looks aside, as if imagining such a scenario. “And as amusing as I would find that, we do need our Lord functional and unflustered.”

“Oh. Alright.” I say, feeling relieved by that but also a little confused by it. “Well, uh. That’s good to know.”

“Indeed.” Danya agrees, offering out the tray again. “Now if you don’t mind, my fingers are getting tired.”

“Oh! Right.” I say, reaching out and taking the tray by the sides. “So, tomorrow night, dress in whatever I want?…”

“Indeed. We will be departing at six thirty in the evening, when the sun is about to set on Synon. Ensure you are there on time.” Danya says, placing a hand on the doorknob of the study. “Ready?”

I nod, and Danya twists the knob, pushing open the door for me. I step in to the familiar warmth of the firelit study, doing my best to adopt a respectable posture. Raikaron is sitting in his swivel chair behind the desk, turned halfway to face the wide window that looks out over Hautaholvi and the valley it sits in. As the door closes behind me, he looks up from the letter he’s reading, staring over the top of his thin-rimmed glasses.

“Hallo, my Lord. I’ve brought your dinner…”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: Lesser Common Room

10/30/12763 6:22pm SGT

When I step into the lesser common room, it’s a lot more crammed than I’ve ever seen it before.

There’s a lot of demons in here that I’ve never met, or that I’ve only met once or twice. Some of them I remember seeing in the kitchen or cleaning the House; others I think I’ve seen outside, tending the grounds, trimming the yellow grass or the trees. It’s possible I don’t recognize many of them because nobody’s wearing their black-and-gold-trimmed House uniforms; some have put on costumes, while others have dressed to kill, leaving little to the imagination with regards to their intentions for tonight. I feel a little conspicuous and out of place; I’d settled on one of my side-cut skirts and a white blouse, but then I’d thrown my leather duster and my boots on after I’d heard it was supposed to be a little chilly in Synon.

Moving further into the room, I settle near one of the couches, looking around at the other servants of the House and soaking in the comfortable bubbling of conversations around me. Many of them are broken into groups that seem familiar with each other, probably because they work together. As I look around, I catch a trio of girls in short skirts and tank tops, probably from the kitchens, giving me looks and eyeing my clothes. They exchange smirks and indistinct murmurs; I can’t make out much of what they’re saying, but it’s definitely not compliments. Tucking my hands in my duster pockets, I hunch my shoulders and look around.

“Alright, calm down and move away from the portal!” Danya’s voice comes from one end of the room as she steps into the lesser common room, dressed in a long, flowing black dress, with Harro at her shoulder, carrying something that looks like a tripod. “Nobody’s going anywhere until we get the yearly Hallow’s Eve holorama. You all the know the drill: line up behind the couches and let’s see those demon forms. Tall demons in the back, short demons in the front.”

There’s scattered groans as the groups start breaking up, and people begin shuffling to get behind the couches. There’s little hisses and small rushes of flame as people start gritting their teeth and morphing midshuffle; I can’t help but stare as most of the staff start popping little nib horns, developing shaded skin in hues of red and violet, or mottled complexions. Scales, for some of them; more than a few have spaded tails or digitigrade legs, while others develop claws or leathery, vestigial wings. Without thinking about it, I start backing away from many of them on reflex, maneuvering to find a space well away from the others, off to the side of the room.

“Do we really have to?” whines one of the demons that hasn’t morphed yet. “I just did my nails and my horns are gonna mess with my hair!”

“You knew quite well that this is our Hallow’s Eve tradition.”

The sound of Raikaron’s quiet voice immediately silences much of the moaning and groaning that the staff are putting up. He steps in through the door that Danya and Harro arrived through, dressed sharply as usual; a scarlet tie, silky black vest and slacks, and a dark red, collared button-down. His shoes sink to a stop in the carpet; the whining demon seems to wilt beneath his calm, bright green gaze. After a moment she grits her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut, short little horns shunting from her head at her hairline as a faint, mauve-ish shade of red ripples across her previously tan skin.

“Thank you.” Raikaron says with that unnerving softness, returning his gaze to the rest of the staff. There’s just something that makes him feel more terrifying the softer he speaks; it’s like a blade wrapped in silk, gentle and dangerous at the same time. “You all know what the rules for tonight are; you know the expectations and your time limit. Enjoy yourselves, but don’t get carried away. I do not want to get any letters from Kolob in a week or two. Are we understood?”

There’s many a murmured acknowledgement from the staff; in the meantime, Harro is finishing setting up the tripod. A little glass ball hovers into the air over top of it, and Harro steps away, gritting his teeth; without warning, he hulks out into what looks like a towering wolf-man, six and a half feet tall, shoulders hunched and even broader than they were before. His clothes stretch and expand to fit his enlarged, muscled frame, which is probably a good thing, otherwise he probably would’ve ripped right through them. Rolling a shoulder, he bares his teeth at me in what I hope is a sidelong grin, and moves to join the others standing behind the couch.

“Jayta, your Lord has given an order. Are you going to heed him?”

I turn at Danya’s voice, expecting to see her in her black dress, but what I see instead is something far more terrifying. I can only assume it’s Danya, since it’s the direction that her voice came from; but she seems to have elongated into a towering eight-foot specter, her skin having turned paler than usual and possessing a gaunt austerity, the bones in her face all sharply defined. A mantle of black drapes from her shoulders, shrouding her down to her feet, where a dark fog twists and curls, seeming to seep from beneath the hem of the mantle. A rack of black antlers spreads away from her head, their points wickedly sharp.

Danya’s scary enough when she’s giving disapproving looks. In her demon form, she’s downright terrifying.

“Oh, uhm. I…” I stutter. “You want me to change?”

She arches one severe eyebrow. “That is what our Lord asked us to do.”

I take a deep breath. I’ve never done this before, and nobody’s taught me how to do it. Everybody else seems to know how to do it on command, so it doesn’t seem to be too hard. Squeezing my eyes shut and gritting my teeth, I curl my hands into fists and tense my shoulders.

Nothing happens.

I crack an eye open. Nothing’s changed about me, not that I even know what I’m supposed to look like in my demon form. But I can feel everyone staring at me, waiting; I’m the center of attention, and not in a good way. I can feel my face start to heat up as the embarrassment kicks in; desperate to avoid looking like an idiot that can’t do something everyone else can do, I squinch my eyes shut and clench my fists again, giving a little grunt as I try to force out something that’s supposed to be hiding inside me. I just don’t know what it is, or how I’m supposed to get it to come out.

Still, nothing happens.

The awkward silence in the room is torturous, but it gets worse when it’s broken by the murmurs of some of the other staff. I pretend not to hear them, even though I can hear them perfectly well: some asking each other if I don’t know how to morph, some of the girls sneering that I look like I'm constipated, others wondering if this is really supposed to be the Lord of Regret’s new avenger. I can feel my ears burn up, the mortification starting to turn into tears; I don’t want to open my eyes, at risk of letting them loose.

This is awful, and I hate it.

“Jayta, come here.”

Raikaron’s voice silences the low murmuring in the room. I open my eyes to find him looking at me, calm and even; he raises a hand and motions me to come to him with his fingers, as if his words weren’t enough. Forcing my legs into motion, I slowly cross the room towards him, dreading what’s about to happen, what he’ll say; I stop short by about five feet, unable to meet his gaze.

He surprises me by closing the rest of the distance, lifting a hand to my face; I wince away on reflex, though a single sharp look from him prompts me to hold still. I close my eyes as he reaches up, but instead of a touch on the cheek like I was expecting, I feel his fingers lifting away my hair, touching the back of his hand to my forehead. After letting it rest there a moment, he takes it away, then lowers his hand, and I feel two of his fingers touch to my throat for another long moment.

“It’s as I thought.” he says as he pulls his fingers away. I open my eyes to see he’s looking past me, towards Danya. “She’s running a fever, and her pulse is weak. I think she may be sick, Danya; I’m going to keep her here and see if we can get her sorted out before I send her along with the rest of you.”

“Understood, my Lord.” Danya says, turning and gliding on her rolling bed of fog to join the rest of the staff. My mind is numb, and I try to process what just happened.

Raikaron’s covering for me.

“Alright, straighten up now.” Raikaron says, moving over to stand behind the tripod. “Let’s see those scary faces. Jayta, come here and stand beside me; we can’t have you in the picture as your regular self, so we’ll just leave you out this year. There’s always next year.”

I flinch at the words, and even though my face feels like it’s burning up from embarrassment, I also feel relieved that some of the focus is coming off me. I hurry over to Raikaron’s side, sidling behind him to hide from the attention of the staff and unable to look any of them in the eye. I use the cuff of my duster to dab at my eyes, trying to chase away the moisture there.

“Alright, that should do it.” Raikaron says a moment later, picking up the tripod and setting it to the side. “You may now revert to your normal forms, for those of you that intend to spend Hallow’s Eve that way.” He turns about, and nearly runs into me; I scramble to get out of his way, and the ghost of a smile flickers to his face briefly, almost like a thanks. Straightening up, he faces the door in the wall, folding his arms behind his back. “Charisto, Synon, Synon Convention Center, Fifth Floor, Maintenance Hall Three.”

There’s a low thrum as molten energy travels along the grooves throughout the wall, flowing towards the door and seeping into it. Yellow light flares briefly in the gap between the door and its frame; once it fades, Raikaron reaches forward, pulling the door open. Beyond is a dim grey hallway, deadending to the right and leading further away to the left.

“There you are.” Raikaron says, stepping out of the way and motioning to the open door. “Let the fun commence. Remember to be back before dawn breaks.”

There’s a sense of pent-up anticipation breaking loose; the House staff surge towards the door, chattering to each other as they filter through, many of them talking about what they’re going to do first, or where they’re going to go. I feel better now that I’m no longer the center of attention, but part of me is disappointed I can’t go with them. I’d been looking forward to visiting the mortal plane; I missed it, and I found myself relishing the chance to go, even when it meant that my visits always involved punishing mortals with violence or intimidation.

As the last of the demons filter through the door, Harro, who reverted back to his human form, gives me a wink before stepping through. It leaves just me, Raikaron, and Danya in the lesser common room; Danya moves to glide through, still in her demon from, but Raikaron holds up a hand. “Danya, wait.” He turns and looks towards me. “Do you not know how to access your demon form, Jayta?”

“No.” I say, looking away as I feel traces of embarrassment return. “No one taught me how to do that.”

Raikaron turns his attention to Danya. “Is there a reason we have not arranged for someone to teach her this, Danya?”

A faint shadow of irritation crosses Danya’s expression. “I was under the impression that this was not something that needed to be taught. It should come on instinct to demons.”

“Perhaps for some. It does not appear Jayta is one of those, though.” Raikaron says, looking back to me. “I will see about arranging to have someone teach you that, Jayta. That will be later, though; time is wasting, and based on how you dressed, it seems like you were looking forward to visiting Charisto tonight.”

I can’t bring myself to look at him. I hate him so much. For manipulating me, for trapping me in this contract, for all the control he has over me. But I also hate him because he has the gall to do this — to be kind to me, to cover for me, to stand up for me, to support me. I don’t want to feel like I owe him anything, or that he could be my friend. I don’t want to admit that underneath that crimson veneer, there could be something good in the devil. I want to believe he’s rotten and cruel all the way to the core.

“Jayta. Your Lord is speaking to you.” Danya says.

I turn my head towards both of them without looking either one in the eye, nodding reluctantly. “I was looking forward to visiting the mortal plane.” I admit quietly.

“Let’s have you on your way, then.” he says, motioning both Danya and myself towards the door. “Time is ticking away. I’ll be spending the evening by the fire with a book, but both of you have a direct line to me, should you need me.”

“We will mind it.” Danya says, looking to me and gesturing me to the door. I move through it without another word, and Danya follows after me, carefully maneuvering her rack of antlers through the doorway before closing it behind her. She begins gliding down the dim hall, and tucking my hands in my pockets, I follow after her.

We don’t speak as we go, walking in silence as we leave the hall and make our way to the escalators leading to the lower floors. As we stand on them, the floors slowly passing us by, Danya’s ebony mantle bends and warps, a piece of it splitting off to form a gaseous black limb that rests a hand on my shoulder. I look at it, then up at her, to find her gazing down at me. Though her facial structure is gaunt and severe, I can see an echo of regret there.

“I am sorry I assumed that you would know how to shift into your demon form. I did not mean to embarrass you in front of the rest of the House.” she apologizes. “I know you were looking forward to this night. I hope it has not ruined it for you.”

I don’t know what to say to that. After a moment, I nod. “It’s okay.” I say, looking back down the escalator. It looks like most of the activities are on the bottom two floors, based on the glow of lights and the murmur of voices that’s getting closer.

The gaseous limb retreats back into Danya’s mantle as she turns her attention forward once more. “Most of the trick-or-treating is taking place inside the convention center itself. However, there are a great many booths outside it, featuring local flavor and small businesses. I think you may be interested in those.” As we pass the second floor and reach the first, I step off the stairs while Danya glides off. “I believe this is where we part ways. Remember to be back at the portal by four in the morning; you are welcome to return earlier, if you like. You are not required to stay out the entire night, and the others rarely do. Most start to return once midnight passes.”

“Alright. Thanks, Danya.” I say as she starts to glide away, doing a good job of parting the sea of children and parents roaming the halls of the convention center. Squaring my shoulders, I look around, checking the signs hanging on the walls, pointing this way and that way for bathrooms, exits, exhibits, and trick-or-treating routes.

After a moment to soak it in, I start walking, fading into the crowd of costumes.

Event Log: Rewind: 20 years ago

New Aurescura: Falcon’s Crossing

10/30/12743 5:22pm SGT

“You can’t be a witch! I’m already a witch!”

“But I want to be a witch!”

The argument is just one of the many that the Jaskolka household has seen. This most recent one originates in the kitchen, where an eight-year-old Jazel and a five-year-old Jayta are going at it as only young siblings can. The tenor and volume of the argument have turned into an instance of auditory brinkmanship, each retort given at successively louder pitches. Katya Jaskolka, hearing her children’s shouting from her room, rolls her eyes while still fiddling with an earring and leaves the mirror, navigating the halls of the small house like a homing missile that tracks ongoing confrontations.

“Hey! Hey, what’s going on here?” she demands as she finds her children in the kitchen. “Why are we shouting? What have I told you about our inside voices?”

“She’s trying to copy me!” Jazel immediately complains, pointing at Jayta. “I’m already dressed up as a witch! She can’t be a witch too!”

“I wanna be a witch!” Jayta wails, starting to cry.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough. Let’s bring it down a notch.” Katya says, kneeling down to pick Jayta up. “We’re all witches. There’s going to be plenty of other people dressed in witch costumes out there, even if they aren’t part of the coven. Jayta, let’s go get you into your costume.”

With that, Katya stands and leaves the kitchen with Jayta, leaving a disgruntled Jazel to contend with his struggle for individuality. After getting Jayta into her costume and leaving her to tie her shoes, she returns a few minutes later, only to find that Jazel is yanking his costume off in a fit of frustration.

“Jazel! What are you doing?” Katya demands as her oldest struggles with trying to get his witch cloak off. “I just got Jayta into her costume! We’re never going leave the house at this rate.”

“I don’t want to be a witch if she gets to be a witch!” he seethes, fumbling to get the cloak up over his head, but only getting tangled in it. “I was a witch first! She just copied me!”

Katya sighs, kneeling down to start untangling her son. “Stop it. This is silly. There is no reason why both of you can’t be witches.”

“I picked it first!” he protests. “It’s my costume, my thing! Why can’t she pick her own thing?”

Katya finishes pulling the cloak back down over Jazel’s head, his agitated face coming back into view. Setting her arm on her knee, Katya tilts up the brim of her own witch’s hat so she can look her son in the eye. “Jazel, do you know why your sister wants to dress like a witch?”

“No.” he says sulkily.

“It is because she looks up to you.” Katya says gently, reaching up to smooth out some of the creases in Jazel’s cloak. “She looks up to you, and wants to be like you. She wants to be a witch because she admires you. It’s not because she is trying to copy you — she thinks you’re cool, so whenever you do something, she wants to do it too, because she looks up to you.”

Jazel’s little shoulders slump. “But she always does that. She does everything I do! Why can’t she do her own thing for once?”

“Because she’s only five. She doesn’t know how to yet.” Katya replies, reaching up to pull the witch’s hat off the table and set it on her son’s head. “But she’s not doing it because she wants to take things away from you. She’s doing it because she looks up to you. So instead of getting angry at her for wanting to be like you, I need you to be a good example for her. I need you to show her how to be a good witch, because she wants to be like you — and if you are a good witch, she will want to be a good witch too.”

Jazel puffs out a weary, longsuffering sigh — an advanced technique that most people only learn once they become parents, but that most eldest children have mastered by the time they turn seven. “Okay.” he says grudgingly. “But she has to listen to me when I tell her not to do stuff.”

“That’s fine, so long as it’s keeping her out of trouble.” Katya says, straightening her son’s hat and standing up. “Now grab your bucket, we’re running out of time to go trick-or-treating! If we don’t hurry up, the whole neighborhood’s gonna be cleaned out by the time we hit the streets.” Turning about, she starts back through the house, calling as she goes. “Jayta, come on! Do you have your shoes tied yet?”

“I need heeeeeelp!”

“Maugrimm have mercy, child, I told you tie your shoes, not tie your shoes together. How did you even get the laces confused? C’mere, let’s get this sorted out…”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Charisto: Synon Convention Center

7:34pm SGT

It feels good just to roam.

I haven’t done much of anything since I got here, aside from doing just that. Roaming the booths set up outside the convention center, breathing the crisp fall air, enjoying the scents that hang on the air — sweets and fried foods and pumpkin pie. It was a refreshing escape from the stale, dull air of the House. Instead of being surrounded by antique architecture and aristocratic trappings, I was surrounded instead by a haphazard maze of hastily-erected booths, lights overhead that are strung up on wires crisscrossing said booths, and plenty of people enjoying themselves and chatting with each other.

It’s a lot different than the quiet halls of the House of Regret.

It’s stuff like this that I missed. In Sjelefengsel, I hadn’t really gone beyond the grounds of the House, even if the hell-city of Hautaholvi was only a short drive away. I didn’t have access to any of the vehicles in the House’s underground garage, and even if I did, I’m not sure I’d want to visit Hautaholvi — after my experience getting registered, and how long that took, I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out what the rest of a hell-city was like. But here in Synon — getting to visit a real city once more, where people were normal and the economy didn’t revolve around torturing people — it was refreshing, and comforting. I could remember what normalcy felt like.

“This must be your third circuit around the building. You just gonna keep walking circles around the convention center all night?”

I look aside at the voice to see Harro leaning against one of the booths, a paper basket with a funnelcake in hand. “Thought a hound like you would be out chasing tail on a night like this. There’s plenty of it to go around, with all these skimpy costumes I’m seeing.” I say, tucking my hands into the pockets of my duster.

He shrugs. “Maybe I already am.” he says, breaking off a piece of funnelcake and popping it in his mouth, giving me a meaningful look.

“If you think you’re gonna get any sugar out of me, you’ve got another thing coming.” I say, shifting my arms to close up my duster a little more. “I know you’re trouble.”

“ ‘Course I am. So are you, and everyone else that comes from Sjelefengsel.” he says, pushing off the booth and making his way over to me. “We’re demons. Trouble is our middle name. And our last and first names too.”

“Whatever.” I say, starting to move on. “I’m surprised you’re not out at some party or the bar, getting sozzled.”

“Well, it was certainly tempting.” Harro says, keeping step with me. “Figured I’d stick around in case you needed someone to show you around.”

“And what makes you think I’d be interested in letting you show me around?” I ask, studying the booths as I walk. “I can get along just fine on my own, thank you.”

“I believe that.” he says past a mouthful of funnelcake. “But I figure it’s more fun to do it with someone else instead of alone, y’know?” With that, he offers the basket of funnelcake towards me.

I look at it. I know I shouldn’t accept, because it’d be a tacit acceptance of his advances. It’d be sending a signal, and that signal would be that I was interested in him. Danya had warned me multiple times about him, and she didn’t seem like the type to give warnings idly.

But he hasn’t exactly been predatory, and though he’s been irritating at times, he’s always tried to be friendly whenever I’ve seen him. It couldn’t hurt to get to know him a little better, and besides, there was a rugged sort of charm that came with the battered duster and the bloodstained boots.

“You usually try to butter up girls after they get trapped in contracts?” I ask, reaching over and breaking off a piece of funnelcake.

He shrugs. “Nah. I noticed that the skinny strawberry had taken a special interest in you, so that caught my attention. Figured I’d take a closer look and see what the big deal was.”

“Do you ever call him that to his face?” I ask, popping the chunk of funnelcake in my mouth. The taste brings back memories of past fall fairs and events.

“Thought about it a couple times, but he’d probably skin me alive for it.” Harro says, dipping a chunk of funnelcake into the powdered sugar at the bottom of the paper basket. “The red bastard doesn’t take kindly to sass, at least not from me.”

“How long have you worked for him?” I ask, starting to realize that Harro might be a valuable source of information. Danya and Mek are deferential to Raikaron, and they don’t speak ill of him, but Harro doesn’t seem to have that same respect. He’s more willing to talk about the things that Danya and Mek might not speak of.

“Eh. I’ve lost track. It’s been a decade, at least?” Harro says, giving a distasteful shrug. “I was assigned to the Lord of Guilt before that, but she couldn’t handle me, so she traded me off to the Lord of Regret. I’m sure he got something in return for it, probably a favor, or maybe he traded away a demon he didn’t like dealing with.”

I try to process that. “Lords can trade their demons? What are we, collectible cards?”

“Sometimes. They can trade damned souls, but demons under contract usually don’t get traded as often.” he says, stuffing the rest of the funnelcake in his mouth. “And even if the redhead could trade you, I don’t think he would. Mortals that are contracted as avengers are usually keepers. Favorites of the Lords that command them.”

My fingers curl into fists into my pockets. “It’s not right that we’re treated like things. Objects to be collected.”

“I mean, that’s what you signed up for.” Harro says, dumping his funnelcake basket in one of the trashcans. “Sjelefengsel is one of the hells. It’s an entire plane of existence built around the purpose of punishing people for their crimes. You should just be glad that you’re not one of the damned — nobody’s punishing you for things you did in a past life. Just for the mistakes you make while you’re serving your Lord.”

“What, and I’m supposed to feel sorry for you because of that?” I say. “You’re in Sjelefengsel because you did something to end up there. Whatever happens to you while you’re there, you deserve it.”

He snorts at that, rolling his eyes and looking away. I figured it might prod him into revealing what it did that got him there, but he doesn’t say anything, so I guess he doesn’t want to tell me what he did, because it’d prove me right. It effectively ends the conversation for now, and I don’t feel like starting it up again, so we walk in silence for a bit. My attention goes back to the booths around us and the people walking by, and I idly listen to snatches of conversation as I go. Most of it’s just static and chatter, until…

“Witches don’t wear skirts like that.”

“Says you and what coven?”

“Says the coven I grew up in! I’m an actual witchling from an actual coven of Aurescuran witches, I would know!”

I immediately draw to a halt, stopping dead in the middle of the path. It’d been years since I’d heard those words. Witchling, coven, Aurescura — all words I’d not heard since I left my homeworld to go to college. Turning in place, I search the crowd for the voices that I just heard; it’s possible that they’re not anyone I know. There’s hundreds of covens on New Aurescura, and hundreds of witchlings to go with them.

“The Falcon’s Crossing coven was old-fashioned anyway. I heard the Goldenbirch coven had pop witches.”

I feel my heart jump in my chest. The Falcon’s Crossing coven was the coven that my family had been a part of. And each coven could only have one witchling, so if the witchling from Falcon’s Crossing was here…

“Hey, something wrong?” Harro asks, noticing I’ve stopped and turned around.

“Shush!” I say without looking at him. I start moving back the way I came, not caring whether Harro follows or not, searching through the costumes and masked faces in the loose, straggly crowd. This was probably the worst way to go about this; it’s not like I would recognize anyone on sight during Hallow’s Eve. I could only hope they kept talking, and find them that way.

“Oh, you’re all dressed as witches! Can I dress as a witch too?”

“Now look what you’ve done!”

“Oh, chill out, Jazel. She wants to dress as a witch because witches are cute. You should take it as a compliment.”

It feels like something lances through my heart, hearing that name again after so long. Twisting through the crowd and slipping between people, I stop short when the crowd parts for a moment, and I can finally see the source of the voices.

Standing in the path between the booths is my older brother, in a witch’s mantle and a brilliant red scarf, along with three other women — one’s Lysanne, another one’s a redhead, and the other one is some dark-haired fox hybrid with more silver tails than I can count.

In that moment, I don’t know what to do or how to react. Jazel and I weren’t on good terms the last time we saw each other, and I didn’t take a break from school when he got his first commission as a Preserver. It’s been years since we saw each other, and I hadn’t thought about him until now — even though we hadn’t been on good terms, seeing him, one of the only members of my family, made me so relieved. And for a moment, I don’t even hesitate, starting to move forward to cross the distance to him.

But before I can take the first step, I realize that I’m supposed to be on Coreolis, not Charisto. And if he sees me here, he’ll ask why I’m here. And even if I lie, he may mention to Mom that he saw me here, which might prompt her to try to call me, and when she can’t reach me, she’ll look up my friends on Coreolis, and then she’d find out what I’d done…

If she didn’t know already. Because if the police had done their legwork, they would’ve contacted my mother to ask my whereabouts if they were still searching for me. So she might already know.

Would she have told Jazel?

In the space of seconds, my excitement has soured into anxiety and fear. I’d been so excited to see my brother a moment ago, only to have that relief snatched from me at the possibility that he might reject me if he knew what I’d done, the brutal murder I’d committed in cold blood. Instead of wanting to go greet him, I now wanted to hide, to stay out of sight until I was sure he wouldn’t push me away when I showed my face.

Drawing back a little, I maneuver to the side to walk along the booths, and turn up the folded collar of my duster so my face isn’t as easily visible. Staying near the booths, I try to get as close as I can without drawing attention, and find a good place to settle where I can watch without being conspicuous. Digging in my jacket, I pull out my phone, so I have it on hand as an excuse to look at something, and appear busy.

“Did you find a good place to park the van?”

“Well, we found a place to park it. Wasn’t a good place, because this place is crammed.”

I watch out of the corner of my eye as all four of them start walking again, and I wait until they’ve made it some distance before I start following. I keep my phone out the entire time so I have something to look at every now and then, but my real focus is on Jazel and the women with him. I’ve got so many questions — I want to know who the foxtailed girl is, and why she hangs closer to Jazel than Lysanne and the redhead do. And the redhead — I’d never seen her before, so she must be a new acquaintance. And the lines on Jazel’s face — they glow a faint blue, something he didn’t have last time I saw him. I thought they were a part of his costume, but the more I look at them, the more they look like scar tissue, as if someone deliberately took a straight-edge razor to his face.

So many questions, all with no answers.

And it’s not just questions about Jazel and his friends. I have questions for myself, like how I’d inject myself into this scenario. How I’d greet my brother after giving him the cold shoulder so many years ago. Should I open with an apology? Would he give me one of those irritated looks he always gave me when I wanted to tag along with him? Would he forgive me for all the petty things we did to each other when we were kids?

I’m feeling so many things right now, I don’t know what to feel.

I keep following at a distance as they make their way through the booths as a group. I don’t know why I was expecting otherwise, but they seem so… normal. They chatter with each other, their conversation ranging and jumping from topic to topic, going from masks to costumes to body paint to funnelcake. The fox woman seems especially animated, curious about everything around her, as if she’d never gone to a fair or event like this before. It’s when she pivots to the funnelcake booth that the group finally comes to a stop, lingering there; from what I can overhear, the fox lady wants one and Jazel offers to buy it for her.

That’s not like the brother I knew. Jazel was thrifty, and didn’t much spend money on himself, much less somebody else. Was he interested in her? Did he pick up a girlfriend?

I don’t get much time to mull it over, because it seems like Jazel can’t find his phone. After a short exchange with the others, he gets a set of keys from Lysanne, and breaks from the group, heading back the way they came, towards the parking lot. Seeing my chance, I turn and follow at a distance — if Jazel already knows about what I did on Coreolis, this will be easier handle when he’s alone, instead of around his friends. That wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have around other people, and though a parking lot wasn’t ideal, it was probably the best option available right now.

I follow Jazel at a distance, thinking about what I’m going to say when I get the chance to get him alone. As soon as I think of one thing to say, another one comes up, crowding out the last thing. By the time I cross over into the vast parking lot outside the convention center, I still haven’t settled on something, and I’m starting to feel anxious because I don’t know how I’m going to approach this. It would only take a short sprint to catch up to him, but that distance seems like a yawning chasm between him and I.

It’s as I’m sizing up that distance that I notice a couple other things.

We’re not the only ones to leave the convention center; people are slowly trickling out into the parking lot as the night gets later, in little spurts of ones and twos. One such group is ahead of me, a couple of cloaked elves following along behind Jazel at a distance; as I watch, one of them motions a hand off to the right, and the other one breaks off to head down the adjacent parking row, but maintaining a speed that allows him to stay level with Jazel. The first one stays on the row that Jazel’s heading down, and picks up the pace slightly.

Something about this doesn’t seem quite right.

I change directions, slowing a little to follow the elf that’s broken off to head down the row to the right of Jazel. I don’t know what it is that’s ringing alarm bells in my head; if I had to narrow it down to one thing, it’s the purpose in their stride, the way they walk. Most people attending an event like this move at a stroll; they take a leisurely pace, and they don’t have anywhere to be in a hurry. But the elf I’m now following, and the one on the same row as Jazel, both of them are walking with purpose — their steps are stiff, tense, carefully paced, as if measuring their stride and distance from Jazel, ready to adjust it at a moment’s notice.

And I’m not the only one that’s noticed. Judging by the way Jazel looks over his shoulder, and starts to pick up the pace, it looks like he notices he’s being followed as well. The elves also start to speed up, and right when it seems like he’s going to break into a sprint, an older, well-dressed man with a cane steps out from between a pair of vans, blocking Jazel’s path as he reaches in his jacket and pulls out a phone.

“Hallo again, Mr. Jaskolka. Looking for this?”

Jazel’s forced to come to a halt, while the cloaked elves keep closing on him. The one I’m following behind keeps moving, then slips into the row of parked vehicles separating us from Jazel. I pick up the pace as I lose sight of Jazel and the man with the cane behind a couple of larger vehicles, though I can still hear them talking. Something about how they’d met before this.

I duck between cars and keep moving forward, staying low and looking for that elf. I catch sight of him a little ways from me, creeping up onto the hood of the van that Jazel’s voice is coming from behind; he scales the windshield onto the roof of the vehicle, staying low and sneaky. Keeping as quiet as I can, I follow the route he’s taken, pulling my hands out of my pockets as I reach the front of the van. Planting them on the hood, I hook my boot on the bumper and slowly leverage myself up onto the hood, trying to avoid rocking the van as I do so. For once, I’m grateful that I’m small and that it allows me to sneak around better than a larger person could.

“Do us a favor, boy, and tell us where we can find the morphox. We’ll be taking both of you back with us.”

“She’s too busy eating funnelcake to be interested in going anywhere.”

Slinking my way up the hood of the van, I reach the windshield and start scaling it as carefully as possible, watching where I place my feet. The conversation that Jazel’s having with the man with the cane doesn’t sound like a friendly one; there are undertones of aggression in Jazel’s voice, and implied threats in the other man’s voice. As I crest the top of the van, I see that the elf I was following has stood up, with something that looks like a tentacle sliding out of his sleeve. A moment later, he whips it downwards, and I can hear Jazel let out a cry of alarm as the elf yanks it tight.

These people definitely aren’t friendly.

Working my way into a crouch on the top of the van, I stand up, staying quiet as I do so. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I can’t just let them attack my brother like this. He’s outnumbered, and even if I help him out, it wouldn’t even the odds — it’d still be four against two. Reaching into my sleeve, I rub the manacle marks on my wrist; I’m not sure if I’m allowed to use my chainlink powers for something like this. After all, I’m not officially here on business from Sjelefengsel.

“Oh you little shit— don’t just stand there, teach him a lesson or two!”

I hear those words, then see the elf on the van yank his tentacle tether to one side, and feel the van rock slightly as someone’s slammed back against it. Someone’s wheezing for breath, and I’m pretty sure it’s not the elves.

“They don’t make humans like they used to. This one could barely throw a punch.”

“Just because he folds like wet paper doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous. Bag him and get him in the van. We’ll use him to bait the morphox and catch her too.”

That decides it for me.

I straighten up as the elf on the roof finishes reeling the tentacle back into the sleeve of his cloak. The marks on my wrists flare to life, my orange manacles projected around my forearms, and I march forward as the first chainlink hanging from them starts to glow. Heat begins to build in one of my hands, and by the time the elf realizes someone’s on the roof with him, I’ve thrown an arm around his waist to hold him still. As he starts to struggle against me, I swing my hand up, clamping it over his face as his skin starts to sizzle beneath my fingers.

His protests turn into screams, and he flails forward in a bid to get away from me. I let go of him, because I don’t want to fall off the van with him, and he topples to the ground. The other two elves scatter away from my brother, who’s curled up on the ground. As the burned elf crawls away, I jump down, my boots slamming to the asphalt as I step between them and Jazel.

“You chose a bad night to pick on my big brother.” I say, curling my fingers as I size up the other two elves and the man in the suit and greatcoat. “You touch him again, I’m going to burn the rest of you.”

The man with the cane sizes me up, then reaches out, prodding over the elf that I burned so he can get a better look at the damage. “Some hot hands you got there.” he remarks, taking his cane away as he sizes up my manacles. “You’re bound to a power higher than yourself. Let me guess, you’re in the service of hell?”

“I’m gonna give you hell if you don’t scram.” I warn him. “I’ve been on a killing spree this month, and it’s not midnight yet. I could put another few notches on my board to impress my Lord.”

“You might scare others with that talk, but I also happen to be acquainted with a few heretics of my own.” the man with the cane says, nodding to the other two elves. “I am well aware that there are limits on what your kind can do, and dealing with the supernatural is well within our repertoire.”

The other two elves reach under their cloaks, one pulling out a set of long knives and the other bringing out a sickle blade. I feel sick to my stomach at seeing those — up until now, on all the tasks I’d been assigned, the people I’d gone after hadn’t had anything more than pocketknives, and I could usually take them by surprise. I hadn’t actually gone after anyone that was armed and trained for combat, and it looked like these two were.

I look behind myself. Jazel is still curled up on the ground, and he’s not in great shape. It looks like he’s empty retching and trying to gasp for breath at the same time — whatever they did to him, they hit him pretty hard. He won’t be able to defend himself.

Turning back around, I reach up to my bracelet and yank the charm off it, feeling it grow into my spaceball bat, wrapped in barbed wire and studded with nails. Tapping it on the ground, I bring it up to grip it with both hands. “You want my brother, you’ll have to pay for him in blood.”

The elf with the long knives rears back a bit as I bring up the spaceball bat. “Oh, boss, I don’t like that.”

“Don’t like what?” the man with the cane says, giving Knife Elf a look. “It’s two on one, you can take her. What’s gotten into you?”

“That’s a small crazy blonde that’s got a bat wrapped in barbed wire.” Knife Elf says, pointing one of his knives towards me. “Nobody in their right mind would get within ten feet of that. Shit’s scary, dude.”

“Get in there!” Cane Man says, taking his cane and using it to smack Knife Elf’s butt. “We didn’t come all this way just to get chased off by some demon runt. You’ll be fine so long as you stay on the offense, and like I said, it’s two to one.”

“I think you should count again, geezer.”

The voice startles me, and I look to the side to see Harro sauntering out from between a couple cars, a few parking spaces down from us. He puffs a lock of brown hair out of his eyes as he stops and turns to the elves and the Cane Man. “She was right, you know. Hallow’s Eve is a bad night to pick on demons, ‘cause this is the one night of the year we’ve got a free pass to go on walkabout and do whatever the hell we want.”

“Oh great, there’s another one.” Cane Man says, rolling his eyes.

“There’s actually a lot more than that.” Harro says, holding up a finger. “There’s… I’d say thirty? Thirty sounds like a good number, I wasn’t actually counting how many of us came through. There’s at least thirty of us scattered around here. You can start the fight if you want, but we’ll be finishing it.”

“Not if we finish it first.” Cane Man says, flicking a hand towards his elves. “Take care of him. I’ll handle the girl.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Harro says, pulling his massive, five-foot sword off his back as the elves pivot to start approaching him from the sides. “Hope your insurance covers the coffin. I hear they’re expensive nowadays.”

I tighten my grip on the spaceball bat as Cane Man starts towards me, his cane clicking over the asphalt. “Now dear, I’m only going to ask once: step away from the boy.”

“You come any closer, I’m going to decorate the parking lot with your brains.” I growl, splitting my attention between him and Harro, who’s going ham on the elves, keeping them back with wide, wild swings of his massive sword.

“Very well, then.” Cane Man says, coming to halt. I see him flick his hand, a blossom of red energy slung my way. I don’t have time to dodge away from it, and it slams into me, throwing me back against the van hard enough to break the window and dent the rear door. I don’t fall forward like I expected to — wisps of crimson light are twining around me, holding me in place against the back to the van. “You can’t say I didn’t try to be nice.”

I cough and wheeze, trying to catch my breath back from where it’s been knocked out of me. Though I’ve managed to keep a hold on my bat, I can’t move my arm enough to bring it to bear; I’m stuck, pinned in place as Cane Man continues forward, kicking Jazel over and planting one of his shined shoes on Jazel’s left wrist, keeping his grimoire hand pinned to the ground. “You think I didn’t see you trying something while you sister kept me busy? I knew you weren’t just lying there feeling sorry for yourself.” Cane Man says, planting the end of his cane on Jazel’s shoulder so he can’t reach over with his right hand. “Now if she’s anything like you, I think it’ll be a good idea to take the both of you. Twice the bounty for only one visit, don’t you agree?”

“Harro!” I shout. “I could use some help over here!”

“I’m a little busy at the moment!” he shouts back as he whirls around, taking a wild swing at one of the elves, who disappears in a twist of shadow, reappearing behind him and taking a slash at his back. “These cheating, pointy-eared edgelords are fond of their shadow magic, and all these cheap shots are really starting to piss me off!”

“As I told you before, dealing with the supernatural is well within our repertoire.” Cane Man says, digging the butt of his cane into Jazel’s shoulder. “I’ll knock your brother out first, and then you will be next. I don’t think we’ll get the morphox tonight, but I’m fine with going two for three.”

His aloof demeanor is getting on my nerves, but I still can’t move most of my body with the red light that’s winding around me. As he shifts his grip on the cane into one he can swing with, I test the range of movement I’ve got with the end of my arm, and when I find I can rotate my wrist, I lob my bat in Cane Man’s direction. I can’t really aim, so I’m just hoping it manages to hit him.

Which it does, right in the face.

Most of the damage doesn’t come from the impact of the bat, but from the barbed wire dragging across his skin as the bat falls. He staggers a few steps, clapping hand to his face as blood starts to seep from the gashes there, and I can feel the cage of light around me weakening. It doesn’t let up all the way, but it’s enough to give me wriggle room, and I start squirming, trying to get loose.

At least until I see the fury in his eyes as he looks at me.

He steps over Jazel on his way to me, but Jazel rolls on the ground and grabs his ankle, trying to trip or hold him back. Cane Man shakes Jazel’s hand loose, and turning around, winds up and delivers a ruthless, no-holds-barred kick to Jazel’s midsection. I swear I can hear a rib crack as it slams into him, shunting him across the ground a foot or so, and Jazel immediately curls up, clutching his ribs and gasping for breath. Then Cane Man whirls back on me, grabbing the top of his cane and pulling it apart in the same motion to reveal that it’s really a short, elegant sword concealed within the cane.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, wounding me like that.” he snarls, drawing the cane sword back. “And I’m going to relish using your soul to repair the damage.”

With that, he drives it forward, and I tense and curl up as much as the cage of red light will allow me. I feel the blade stab into me, cold and painful — yet not sharp. Looking down, I see the blade’s turned transparent where it’s passed through me, and there’s a tugging sensation within, as if something inside me is being pulled into the blade.

Dread fills me as I realize that whatever this is, it’s got a hold on my soul, and if he pulls that sword out, my soul’s going to come with it.

“There’s the fear.” Cane Man mutters as he twists the blade, prompting a gasp from me as I feel my soul get wrapped around the blade like a spaghetti noodle around a fork. “I’m glad you’ll realize the mistake you made before you die.”

With that, he starts to yank the blade out.

The pain is immediate; I can feel it rip through me like fire. Your soul is one of those things that’s never meant to leave your body until you’re dead, and when it leaves your body before then, it quickly becomes apparent just how unhealthy it is. Mostly on account of the pain that usually results from it.

And in that moment, as my soul starts to peel away from my body, someone else can feel it as well.

I don’t know how I can sense it in that split second, but I can. Far away, across worlds and systems and stars, in some black hole lightyears from here, I can feel a book slip out of Raikaron’s fingers as his head jerks upwards, eyes snapping wide.

In the milliseconds afterwards, the black vine-collar mark on my neck twists and writhes to life. There’s a sensation like cold, dry water racing away from it, rushing over my skin beneath my clothes, and without warning, ghostly black tendrils explode out of me from where the blade has gone into me. They lash and twist, several of them wrapping around the blade itself, others snapping tight around Cane Man’s hand, and still others punching through the cage of red light that holds me, eating through it from the inside out.

Cane Man’s reaction is instant. He lets go of the hilt of the sword, jerking his hand back out of the grasping vines and leaving behind only the glove he was wearing. As he backs up a couple of steps, looking thoroughly unsettled, the vines curl and constrict around the glove, the threads peeling, fraying as it turns itself inside out, and falls apart. “Oooh, now that’s some creepy eldritch wizard shit, that right there.” he mutters, clutching his cane sheath.

I can’t respond, and even if I could, I’m not sure I would. It feels like someone flipped a switch and took control of my body; the cold sensation has spread from my neck up to my jaw, little tendrils of it curling over my cheeks in elegant little spirals. My body twists and convulses like a marionette on strings, held in place even after the cage of red light collapses; it feels like I’ve become a conduit for a power much older than myself, and I can feel it spilling through me, darkening the air around me. I eventually drop to the ground, and straighten up, though not of my own accord; my hands lift up, as if they were being examined by someone watching through my eyes. Then my gaze shifts to the Cane Man.

“You have some nerve, trying to steal from the Lord of Regret.”

Even though the words are spoken with my voice, and they come out of my mouth, I’m not the one speaking them. There’s a layered effect to them, where most of it is my voice, but at the very back, you can hear an echo of Raikaron’s voice. Harro can hear it too, because I see him pause in his fight with the elves and look at me with a certain reactive disdain. Cane Man, sensing something is different, curls the fingers of his free hand, red light flickering around them.

“You have interrupted what is, for me, one of the few nights of the year that I get to enjoy some modicum of peace and quiet.” I say, my voice still layered and being used by Raikaron as my hands reach down to grip the hilt of the sword still buried in me. The black vines wrap around the blade as my hands slowly start to pull it out; I can feel it tugging at my soul, but the vines have formed a seal that keeps it in while the sword comes out. Once it’s been fully extracted, it’s tossed at the feet of Cane Man, while my hands go back to straightening my duster and brushing down my clothes. “I do not appreciate such disruptions.”

“I take it I am speaking with the Lord of Regret, then.” Cane Man says, cautiously reaching down to retrieve his cane sword and sheathe it. “Apologies if I overstepped my boundaries, but your minion here interrupted some business of ours.”

“I do not care what she interrupted.” I find myself answering in that layered voice again. My hands clasp behind my back as my legs start to move me forward; I can feel the darkness start to coalesce behind me into a towering, indistinct presence, like I’m casting a shadow in the shape of Raikaron. “This demon’s soul belongs to me, a contract writ in the ancient language of the universe and bound in her very skin. Your attempted theft has put me in a mood most foul, as I do value this particular soul rather highly.”

“Unfortunate.” Cane Man says tersely, his attention split between me and the looming presence behind me. “My apologies for the misunderstanding. I’ll let you retain this one, then; we will take what we came here for and be on our way.” At that, he motions to the elves to go collect Jazel, who’s still curled up and struggling to breathe.

“No, you will not.” Raikaron says through me as he brings me to a stop in front of Cane Man. “You have quite ruined my night, and one ill turn deserves another. You will leave without the boy, and you will be grateful I have allowed you to depart with your lives.” I can feel my chin tilting up, eyebrows raised slightly in an expression I’ve seen all too many times on Raikaron. “Though if asking for gratitude is too much, I will abandon my attempt at mercy and deprive you of the lives I have so graciously spared.”

I can tell the Cane Man is burning up inside. The condescending tone Raikaron is using would do that to anyone, but the cold, factual confidence he exudes right now is the kind that comes from knowing he is in control, and can deliver on any threats he makes. After a moment of tense silence, and a glance aside at Jazel, the Cane Man takes a step back, letting his free hand drop, and the red light around it peters out.

“Very well.” he says, tucking his hand in his pocket. “Perhaps this was a poor night to pursue this particular battle. We will save this project for another, more circumspect date, with the expectation that we will not be inconveniencing you by doing so.”

“Pursue whatever you like.” I can hear myself say, even though I want to tell him to leave my brother alone. “So long as your petty projects do not involve stealing souls which are owed to me, I have little care for what you do.”

“Fair enough.” Cane Man says, backing away and motioning to his elves. “Let’s go. We’re taking a rain check on this one.”

The elves back off at that, holstering their weapons and reaching up to pull their hoods back up over their head. Cane Man turns and starts heading for another part of the parking lot, with his elves following behind, and it’s only once they’ve disappeared a couple rows over that Harro relaxes. He swings his sword up and over, sheathing it across his back again. “That wasn’t the clown crew.” he says. “Those elves were giving me a hell of a time, voidstepping everywhere like they were. They know how to fight and don’t have problems fighting dirty.”

“They are not our concern.” Raikaron’s words come through me even as I’m piloted back around, walking over to Jazel and kneeling beside him. One of my hands is held out, and a ring of black vines rises up around Jazel, arching over him to form a see-through dome. “This will persist until his friends find him, or the sun rises. Harro, you will escort Jayta to Danya, and Danya will escort her back to the portal. After that, you will find this man’s friends, and make sure that they find their way to him. Is that understood?”

“Yeah, got it.” Harro mutters, coming over to stand beside me.

“Good. I am releasing Jayta now. I expect to see her back at the House within half an hour.” Once those words are out of my mouth, I can feel the curls of darkness start to unwind from where they’re spiraled on my cheeks, withdrawing back down my jaw. The cold sensation recedes across my body, retreating back to the thorny collar mark around my neck, and I can feel Raikaron’s presence withdraw, returning control of my body to me. I hunch forward, gasping and clutching at my throat as the vines of my collar mark finally go still and stop moving.

“You okay?” Harro asks, reaching out and putting a hand on my back. “Getting possessed by the skinny strawberry is always a rough ride. Dude’s got a lot of dark stuff flowing through him, and it’s always a kicker when it suddenly starts flowing through you.”

“I’m fine.” I wheeze, even though I’m anything but. Now that we’re no longer in danger, I’m furious that he just took over me like that. Even if it did save my life, it didn’t feel like he did it for the right reasons. I was still being treated like a thing, like an object he didn’t want stolen from him.

“Jayta?”

The whispered name gets my attention, and I raise my head to see Jazel looking over his shoulder at me, through the gaps in the black vines. My whole world stops for a moment as I see that my brother recognizes me, even though his eyes are hazy with pain. He’s still curled up, hugging his midsection, but he sees me and knows who I am.

I want to stay, and hang on to this one connection I have to my old life.

“Jayta, we’ve gotta go.” Harro says quietly, moving his hand to my shoulder. “If we don’t have you back at the House in thirty minutes…”

I shake my head a little. I don’t want to let this slip through my fingers.

Harro looks at Jazel, then back at me. “I’ll make sure that his friends find him, I promise. But we’ve gotta go now. We don’t have a choice.”

He stands up with that, and holds a hand out to me. Even though I don’t want to, I reach up and take it, allowing him to pull me to my feet. He starts back the way I came once I’m standing, and after a moment, I begin walking as well. But I glance over my shoulder as I go, finding that Jazel’s watching me as I walk away.

You don’t realize how much you miss your family until you have to leave them.