Wolf for Hire

Chapter Forty One:

We reached the southwestern edge of the mill grounds, where the utility building squatted at the edge of the wastewater treatment arm of the mill. The gravel gave way to cracked pavement stained by runoff, and the air turned sharp and humid with the scent of bleach and wet rot. A chlorine tang bit the back of my throat.

Eugene gagged audibly. "Good god."

Coy let out a whimper and sneezed twice before ducking his head back into the pocket space.

Boden, not making the same connection as Coy, whined and tried to escape the fumes by burying his face into my mane.

I gave him a reassuring pat. The poor fool.

I tried not to wrinkle my nose. "Honestly, it's not that bad. You should've smelled it when the mill was still fully up and running. This place reeked of sulfur back then. Now it's just... like a pool with too much chlorine."

And filled with a metric ton of compost.

Even the wolf seemed to detest the odor. She preferred the aroma of natural decay. Not this chemical rot.

I didn't add that it was making my eyes water and my nose itch. Earlier, when I was last here, a seaward breeze had kept the worst of it away. Not anymore.

And then, beneath the chemical sting, I caught it—a thread of something subtler, fouler. Metallic and familiar.

I stopped short and threw out an arm, halting Eugene. "Wait. I smell something."

He coughed again. "How can you smell anything through this?"

"Magic," I said, narrowing my eyes—god, he was already rubbing off on me. "I think it's another thrall."

I reached into the jacket and pulled out Eugene's staff, tossing it to him while I drew his gun.

He cleared his throat. "Where?"

I gestured at the building. "Inside, I think."

It was a squat, L-shaped warehouse with faded blue sheet metal walls and a dingy white roof that glared dully under the sodium lights. At the crook of the L sat a wide garage door—big enough for the larger work trucks—flanked by a smaller office door tucked into the perpendicular wall. I already knew the place was unlocked, and that inside, it was mostly open workshop space that had been adjoined to an existing office building.

I crept forward, every nerve on edge. In my head, the wolf stood at attention. I let her help me parse the swirling sensory information, sounds and smells, while I kept my eyes and weapon fixed ahead.

I pressed my ear to the door.

Nothing.

Cracking the door open, I peered into the gloom.

Empty.

Had I been imagining things?

I swept around the outside perimeter, sniffing, scanning. Boden whining all the while.

"Okay, something was here," I muttered. "Recently."

Eugene approached. "Something? Not a dog?"

I shook my head. "No. Doesn't smell like a dog. Same magic stench, but... I don't know. It's different… riper."

The scent of foul magic had more weight to it now—less like sun-dried blood, more like something left to simmer in a sealed pan. Or perhaps left to age and fester.

"Something is different about this thrall." I concluded.

Eugene frowned, wearing that pensive look again—his right hand reaching to rub his chin before the pain reminded him it was still injured. I expected another magical theory tangent. Instead, he glanced my way—quiet, thoughtful—and simply asked, "How long ago was it here?"

"Hard to say. Everything in the air is throwing me off. But it couldn't have been more than a half hour. Maybe less."

"Can you tell where it went?"

I squinted into the dark toward the mill's rear entrance. "I think... yeah. It followed the same trail I took earlier. Toward the depot. We probably just missed it."

"So it's hunting. Not recruiting."

"This your expert opinion?" I asked.

"If it's not just another dog, but a more valuable asset, then yes. Any idea what it might be?"

I wiped my nose with a tissue from Eugene's jacket. "Maybe. It smells like a horse."

He stared. "You sure about that?"

"Nope," I said, blowing my nose. "Signal's fuzzy. But it wasn't a dog. I'm sure of that."

That, and I was sure this thrall wasn't like the others. The magic smelled mostly the same—but the underlying nature had shifted, just enough to make my hackles rise.

He gave a tight nod. "Alright. Stay sharp. Ears, eyes... and that nose if possible. If it's tracking us, it'll circle back eventually."

"And then what?"

His expression flattened, tone brisk. "Then we neutralize it."

"What do you expect me to do? Shoot the thing?"

"Yes, that's why I gave you the gun."

Well, alrighty then.

We stepped into the utility building, the stench of chemicals clinging to every surface. My bare paws scuffed against the gritty floor, claws clicking on the concrete.

"Nevermore, take a perch up top," I said, gesturing up towards the various structures that towered over the building. "Keep watch."

Nevermore ruffled his feathers above the doorway. "Lovely. You two get to rummage around inside while I marinate in industrial fumes. Let me know if anything explodes."

"Glad to see we are on the same page," I said and closed the door.

I stood by the doorway and pressed my ear to the opening, tension threading through my spine. Even the wolf was on high alert.

The chemical soup in the air was too strong for my nose to filter out anything useful. But a creature that big wouldn't stay quiet for long.

I'd hear it coming.

Eugene stepped up beside me and handed me his staff.

Boden, eager to be reunited with the magic stick, took it from Eugene instead. I didn't make a move to take the staff from Boden, but I did send him a thought: that if he wanted to hold the staff, he had to keep it still.

No whacking me in the face this time.

"Really," said Eugene.

I gave him a shrug. "Keeps my hands free."

He just sighed, unwilling to push the issue any further.

He was learning to pick his battles.

With his one good hand free, Eugene summoned a brass compass—the same one I'd found while rifling through his jacket earlier—and made his way toward the rear of the garage.

"Where did you say the trail ended?" he asked.

"Far wall," I said, pointing. "By that supply closet."

Eugene moved closer, compass held out, and I was reminded of Jack Sparrow and his magic compass. This was probably the 'ley compass' Nevermore had mentioned earlier. Eugene, limited to one hand, fumbled with the compass while nudging the closet door open and shut, watching the needle.

Afterwards, he stepped inside the closet and lit another strip of his thaumic assay paper. The flame jumped to life, pulsing violet-blue before settling. I had no clue what the color meant, but Eugene seemed satisfied. The smoke that rose from the paper and wafted over to me smelled faintly of singed lavender and something sharp. Like ozone or the scent of shorted wires.

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"Well, alright." Eugene said finally.

I raised a brow. "What'd you find?"

"It's definitely a Slip. And based on the signature, one of Kirkland's."

"So this is, what, a launch point for thralls?"

"A reasonable conclusion. They're probably being stored somewhere nearby, then routed through the Abandon into places like this."

I thought for a second. "Okay. So, what exactly is the Abandon? I get that it's a place of some sort. Nevermore described it like the water under a frozen lake. But where is that, exactly?"

"I wouldn't necessarily call it a where. More of a when really. It's a non-objective reality tied to our world—sometimes called Sonder. Like two sides of a coin. A subjective space, more like a dream. Think of the mirror dimensions in Doctor Strange, or the dreamscapes in Inception."

Eugene looked over at me, "you seen either of those?"

"I've seen Inception."

"Good. We'll go with that."

I watched as he began tracing symbols around the door's frame, the Slip, with two of the crayons I'd given him earlier: green and black. "What are you doing now?"

"Stabilizing the Slip. Keeps it from collapsing and prevents Kirkland or any of his associates from sealing it on their end."

I frowned. "You planning to go into the Abandon?"

He shook his head. "No. Not without backup from the DOA at least. Kirkland may be a mediocre mage in the real world, but in the Abandon? He's a different beast."

"How so?"

"He's like a lucid dreamer," Eugene said, still working. "He can warp the environment of the Abandon—its geometry, gravity—just like in Inception."

"Neat. I take it you'd rather face him in the real world if possible."

"If possible." Eugene agreed.

Eugene paused, finishing the last mark. His eyes traced the door frame, examining his handiwork. I gathered this door was somehow the anchor for the Slip—a door for a door.

"Question."

"Shoot." reply Eugene.

"Why not keep everything in the Abandon? The cache, the thralls, the whole operation? Seems like Kirkland would be better off."

"Because the Abandon isn't stable. Subjective realities lack things like object permanence. Forgetting about something can cause it to change or vanish. It becomes abandoned to the Abandon."

This made me shiver. "Can that happen to us? If we go in?"

"Only if you go deep enough. The closer to the surface, the more it reflects reality. Both in terms of its geography, and its physics. But in the depths, mind will reshape matter. Like how spirits take forms shaped by identity, not biology."

"Is it permanent?"

"Sometimes. Depends on how long and how deep you go down."

"You make it sound like scuba diving."

"Ah, now there's a good analogy. Yeah, it's just like scuba diving. If you are down for too long or too deep, the changes you experience can make returning to the surface lethal. But, thankfully, that's why many creatures that live in the depths can't easily enter into our world."

Ah, yes, just what I'm looking for: Horrors beyond my understanding. I was going to sleep well after this was all over.

"Then why keep the Slip open? Wouldn't sealing it be safer?"

Eugene finished the last symbol and stood. "No. I want it open."

"And the reason for that is...?"

"In the Abandon, Kirkland can manipulate the properties of the space he creates—gravity, weather, even time. He can slow things down or speed them up. What feels like ten minutes here could be hours for him in there. It gives him time to plan, react, do whatever he needs to when shit hits the fan."

He crouched to continue marking symbols, more Chinese characters, along the bottom edge of the doorframe. Then he pocketed his crayons and, with a flick of the wrist, and rings of keys appeared in his hand.

"But there's a catch," he continued, fingers sifting through the keys. "That trick only works when the space is sealed off from the real world. Time syncs when the Slip is open, which means no temporal advantages for Kirkland."

"And he doesn't know about this vulnerability?" I prompted.

Eugene shook his head, "No. Either that or he fails to appreciate the impact the real world still has on his imaginary one."

"So why are you telling me this?"

"Because I'm not just teaching you about magic—I'm trying to get you to adopt a specific viewpoint. A particular schema. Remember, some magic only works when all of those involved believe in it. And the more who do, the stronger it becomes."

And like that, something clicked in my brain.

"Wait a minute! This is why you're so eager to monologue. With the coin, the analogies, the lectures. You've been trying to get me to believe in your magic."

"Yep, now you're starting to piece it together. See, even if you can't use magic yourself, having you understand and believe in mine is no less valuable. It's why it's great to have a partner who's still a little green."

"But doesn't knowing the truth weaken the effect?"

"Not at all. Knowing is just a stronger form of believing. I want you to understand. To know. And, hopefully, we can get you to pick up a few tricks as well."

"But if I understand how it works, I can also counter it."

Eugene pointed his bandage hand at me. "Which is why we formed a pact. In fact, most practitioners form a pact of one kind or another with each other for the same reason. To bolster each other's power without one of the members trying to stab them in the back. Alternatively, they could start a cult and shoot for quantity over quality. But that's sort of like herding cats."

I wasn't quite sure how to feel about this. On one hand, I'd suspected Eugene had a more pragmatic reason for wanting me to tag along that went beyond me carrying his stuff. And the idea him being so forthcoming with answers to my question out of sheer generosity had me skeptical.

Still, it kind of stung to think it had all been due to some practicality.

"So, what, I'm supposed to be the laugh track to your shitty comedy routine?"

"You say that like I'm the only one doing it," Eugene replied. "Tell me—this witch you work for... she's part of some larger social group, isn't she? One you just happen to belong to?"

Oh shit. The Sorority.

"Coven comes from the word covenant, you know?" Said Eugene over his shoulder. "But a pact by any other name is still a pact."

And just like that, my life felt like a lie.

How long had I been playing the gullible witness?

While I hadn't known my sorority sisters were witches, I'd been aware of their many talents. And while I believed those talents all had rational explanations, I'd still believed in them nonetheless.

Had I unknowingly strengthened their magic?

"A-ha," said Eugene, finding the key he was looking for.

"I've stabilized the Slip, so now I'm going to seal the physical portal. The door itself," he said. "I could invest the door with the concept of metal to create the seal. But it's easier to just use an actual key in this case. It's a piece of metal that already embodies the idea I'm looking for."

He slid the key into the lock. "They're all blanks, I just need it to fit in... ah, here we go."

With a small twist, I heard the lock click. But more than that, I felt it—a pulse of magic blooming outward from the frame like a ripple across water.

"See?" Eugene said with a wave of the hand. "Just like magic."

I crossed my arms. "You know, you'd make a good burglar."

"And what would I even want to steal?"

I reached into his coat and pulled out a handful of junk—a gold-star sticker, a zip tie, dozens of salt packets, and a bag of googly eyes. "I dunno. Souvenirs for your collection."

He shrugged. "Hmph, fair enough."

"Seriously though, why do you collect this crap?" I said, shoving said crap bag into its respective pockets.

Eugene gave a half-smile. "It's not just crap. I'm looking for things with strong emotional residue—items steeped in sentiment. They leave a psychic impression, something I can read using psychometry. The stronger that imprint, the easier it is to stick an enchantment to them."

I raised a brow. "So that's why everything you own looks like it came from a Goodwill. I thought you were just being cheap."

Another shrug. "Well, one does not exclude the other. I like to see it as a win-win."

Eugene pocketed the keys, and headed for the door.

I stepped out ahead of him.

I'd barely made it more than a few paces when Nevermore dropped onto my left shoulder with a weighty whuff of feathers.

"Ms. Virginia! I bring dark tidings! I've located our—Gaah"

Nevermore was cut off as Coy's head popped out from the jacket, likely drawn out by the sudden commotion, and punting Nevermore with his forehead.

I caught him in my hands.

Nevermore squawked indignantly. "Curse you, mangy mutt! First you abandon me in a bakery, now you shame me! I'll not be shepherded by you again! You hear me?

"You were saying?" I cut in.

Nevermore hopped to his feet, feathers puffed. "Right. The horse. I found it. It should be here any moment."

Eugene straightened. "Okay, good. Let's take this thing down. Gun out, Virginia. Boden—if you would."

Boden dropped the staff into Eugene's outstretched hand, leaving a tether of drool in its wake. Eugene wiped it off on his pant leg without ceremony.

I took a shooter's stance, gun raised, the wolf presence wrapping around me, calming my nerves, keeping my hands steady.

In the distance, I heard it; the clip-clop of hooves.

My head turned toward the neighboring warehouse, a building about as long as a football field. The sound was coming from just beyond it and struck me that it was louder than it should be.

"Wait," Nevermore added. "Ah. Small problem."

"Out with it," I demanded.

"It appears to be a draft horse. Belgian, if I had to guess." Nevermore paused, then muttered, "I suppose calling it small is a bit misleading."

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

The staccato of hoof-steps was getting faster and louder.

My stomach dropped and I lowered my gun. "Oh shit. Eugene?"

He blinked. "What?"

That was when it rounded the far corner of the warehouse.

It being a horse the size of a minivan, two tons of muscle packed into a frame bred for moving mountains, one boulder at a time.

And, let me tell you that the distance between us didn't diminish the effect. I could see that its head reached just below roof of the warehouse—almost 10 feet (or 30 hands in equestrian measurements).

Belgians were big, but not that big.

"Pretty sure this isn't a high enough caliber." I finished, gesturing at the gun. I'd have to nail the damn thing in the head with every shot if I hoped to put it down fast enough to prevent it from just bulldozering through us.

Nevermore chimed in, "especially since calling it a horse at this point is being generous."

"Generous?" My voice had crept up an octave.

I could feel my resolve beginning to crumble, piece by piece.

Eugene glanced at Nevermore. "Biomancy?"

"Indeed."

"What the hell is biomancy?" Now my voice crept up several octaves.

Great, more magical bullshit. What fresh hell is it this—

That was when the 'horse' let out a sound no horse should make—a deep, trilling bellow, like a cross between a screech owl and a grizzly bear. Something straight out of a Jurassic Park movie.

I felt it in my bones and every hair on my body stood on end.

And then I got a good look at its teeth.

Except that weren't horse's teeth. If anything, they resemble the jaws of a hyena.

My tail curled behind my legs and any thought of fighting drained out of me—not even the wolf wanted anything to do with this.

So this is what Eugene meant by biomancy.

He should have said Frankenstein's Cavalry.

Or, you know? A literal Nightmare.

Fucking biomancy was just a sugar-coat.

The creature snorted and, even in the muggy heat, steam rose from its nostrils.

It pawed the ground—Once. Twice.

And charged.

And for something so large, it moved fast.

Like, really fast.

"Inside!" Eugene shouted. "Now!"

I didn't need to be told twice.