by VK Fox
“So your full name is Michael Dahl, and you got to pick Dahl? Michael is a pretty common name. Did you have another last name before?”
Dahl clenched his jaw and stuck the wallet in his pocket, the stiff and immobile posture of his left arm matching the growing tension in the rest of his stance.
Jane slowed a little. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” He locked down a smile. “You heard Ian call me that, so I can see why you would assume. Michael was my name before I was adopted. He said it to remind me to be kinder to you, as you are going through a time of change and loss.” Dahl trudged in silence for a few paces, treading on soggy, fallen leaves. “Sometimes the way his mind works is exasperating. How he can never remember protocols or how he chooses to ignore them. How he can’t take a hint in conversation. How much he struggles socially. It’s tempting to think of him as simple, and then he pulls shit like that—one word to shut me down and teach me a lesson, neatly placed at the perfect moment.” Jane kept pace, turning the information over in her mind. “My name is August, which is stupid and I loathe, so I use my surname. The officer in charge of new recruits is an elderly man named Ira. He’s been naming the adopted members for decades, and he indulges his ego by beginning all our names with vowels. We have an ongoing pool on how long it will take him to run out.”
Jane couldn’t help but groan. “He’s got to be close. August is bad enough, but it seems worse because your birthday is in May.”
Dahl shook his head a little. “No, I just turned nineteen last month. On the thirtieth.”
“But you said—” At the airport he’d said he was a May Day baby.
Dahl cut her off, “Why would I lie about my birthday?”
They reached the house at the end of the street in frustrated silence. Dahl skirted along where the woods met the backyards. All of the houses appeared empty. The mushroom festival takedown was a whole town effort. They passed the harassed-looking yard of Eileen Kendle’s next door neighbor and strolled behind the Kendles’ home.
“There is a Mr. Kendle, but he’s in the hospital with a spider infestation,” Dahl remarked offhandedly. The back of the house had several large windows made of pebbly privacy glass. The only normal windows were on the second story.
“Who puts privacy glass all over the back of their home?” Jane scowled.
“Someone who is worried about things from the woods peering in.” Dahl grinned at her wolfishly and unsnapped a pocket on his cargo pants. He extracted a black zipper pouch and, after fingering the contents for a few seconds, produced a ketchup-sized packet and a square of clear, thin, rigid plastic.
“It would be best if she didn’t realize we stopped by, so let’s not break anything.” Dahl tore open the packet, which turned out to be honey, and spread it on the plastic. He stuck the plastic to the pebbly surface of the privacy glass, creating a square peephole they could see through perfectly. Jane resolved to take fewer things for granted, such as privacy glass resulting in actual privacy.
Six copies of the same book were stacked on the coffee table. Jane turned to Dahl. He was also eyeing the stack.
“Well, it might be easy to find.” Dahl inspected the lock on the back door and swore softly.
“No way to bump this brand with what I have. Check the basement, and I’ll try to turn up a spare.” Jane went to the side of the house and confirmed the basement door was also unyielding while Dahl checked under the mat and a few flowerpots. When Jane returned, shaking her head, he removed his shirt, wincing as he peeled the snug fabric from his deformed shoulder and muscular torso. He kicked off his boots and shoved his balled-up socks into them. Jane was still staring at him with one eyebrow raised as he unbuckled his belt. “Jane? Maybe turn around. We established I have a girlfriend.”
Jane went red to the tips of her ears and abruptly turned one hundred and eighty degrees. Why are you stripping? seemed like the obvious thing to ask, but Dahl generally responded to obvious questions with biting replies, so she instead racked her brain for possibilities. What Arthurian power would require him to get naked? Jane was tracking a vulture across the clear blue sky when it suddenly clicked.
“Oh! You can shape-shift! You’re going to turn into an ant or a bird or something, right?” Jane almost swung back around, because a large part of her was dying to see, but she checked herself.
“Correct.” She could hear approval in his voice. “If you don’t mind waiting here for a minute, I’ll go in, change back, get the book, and come out the back door. I’ll let you know when I’m clothed again. Are you good to drive? I’ll be spent after this.”
“Sure, no problem.” Was there a way to peek just a little? Her eyes locked on an answer: a polished silver dome mounted on a pole halfway to the tree line. The mirror was positioned so someone from the house could look out the bedroom window and see the driveway, but right now it gave her a reasonable view of the naked man standing behind her. Maybe it made her a creeper, but her curiosity overwhelmed her reservations as his body shimmered in an aurora of darkness and collapsed in on itself.
She wished for a better view, but the change was over by the count of five. Whatever he turned into was tiny, an insect of some kind. Jane almost went to peek in the honey glass, but that would be rude. Maybe when they knew each other better, she could ask if she could watch for academic reasons. Jane huffed. Being polite never came easily, and now a whole bunch of new factors made her second-guess herself even more.
The sound of crunching gravel snapped her back to the present. Jane whipped around to the half-dome mirror. A car was in the driveway. They were screwed.
Jane tapped at the window. Dahl had regained human form inside. She was guessing Eileen would not love finding a naked man in her living room, however toned he happened to be. Jane shook her head, closed her eyes for a second, blushing. Focus. She tapped at the window again and Dahl’s face appeared at the peephole.
Jane mouthed, “Car home.”
Dahl nodded once. He grabbed the stack of books off the table and pointed at the window peephole. What did he want her to do? Jane stared at the plastic square for a few seconds before realizing she needed to remove it. She peeled it off and collected Dahl’s shoes, pants, and shirt, figuring he wouldn’t have time to gather his belongings.
The back door opened and Dahl scooted out, his naked form covered by the small stack of books, a bicep tattoo, and freckles. He took an agonizing ten seconds to shut the door silently before shout-whispering, “Woods!” and taking off at a dead run. Jane sprinted after, praying no one was gawking through the back windows. On the plus side, the privacy glass worked both ways. They would be blurry shapes disappearing into the forest.
Chapter Nineteen
Their mission concluded with a book burning by a rustic stream while her naked, bleeding mentor belittled Jane’s fire-starting skills. As soon as their escape dash was over, Dahl had dug out a packet of white, granular powder and dumped it into his wounds, clamping gauze over the most severe lacerations. Jane offered to help, trying not to think too much about the nakedness aspect of the situation, and Dahl gave her powder and gauze for a deep gash on his back. When she said she meant with her magic, he told her to save it, although they did a test to see if she could close a small phantom cut. She couldn’t.
Once Dahl wasn’t actively gushing blood anymore, Jane proudly produced airport matches from her backpack for the next item on their to-do list and sat down with the offending volume.
After a half dozen matches flared and piddled out, Dahl started offering commentary. “It’s made of paper, Saint Jane. A technological marvel of flammability. How is it taking this long?”
Jane struck another match, cupping her hand as shelter for the tiny flame. It licked the edge of the pages. “Oh, shut up. I thought you were against book burnings.”
“I’m making an exception. No one should be linked to Bastian Balthazar Bux. That’s madness.” Dahl had managed to get his pants on, but Jane could tell he was hurti
ng. His body was slick with blood and gloopy blood jelly where the powder mixed with liquid. He kept saying it looked like more than it was, but he also kept putting his head in his hands and practicing deep breathing so he wouldn’t pass out, so Jane figured he might be understating things.
She hoped Ian and Mary would arrive soon. Upon reaching the stream, she’d radioed their location and confirmed recovering the linked copy of The Neverending Story. Jane asked how Dahl could tell which of the six copies was linked, and he’d shrugged and said it “felt right.” He tried to show her what he meant, but she couldn’t tell the difference, and he started getting fidgety and wanting to destroy the dangerous text. Jane opened her mouth to ask what would happen to Eileen when they located her, but she closed it again, remembering she should only ask questions if she could cope with a worst-case-scenario answer.
“What’s so bad about being linked to Bastian?” Jane fanned the pages out, encouraging the fragile flame.
“You’ve read the book, yes?”
“I saw the movie.” It was literary blasphemy, and Jane knew it. She snuck a quick glance at Dahl. His glare could set something on fire. Maybe he should take over.
“Both movies?” He managed through gritted teeth.
“There’s more than one?”
Dahl heaved a melodramatic sigh. “Yes. The two movies are both parts of the same book. In the second movie and the second half of the book, Bastian is in Fantasia and realizes he can have adventures by wishing adversaries into existence: essentially making his dreams come true. It’s at the cost of his memory. He wishes over and over until he forgets almost everything about his past. Given he’s linked to a paranoid, middle-aged woman who is wishing for urban legends to manifest, I am sure you can see this is an extremely dangerous situation. Her mind is probably Swiss cheese at this point, but it’s not like the consequences you and I have, which would tip people off that something was drastically wrong. It could go unnoticed or be explained away.” Dahl paused for a moment, thoughtfully. “I have to agree with Sister Mary. Thank God she isn’t a conspiracy theorist.”
The book had finally flared into a cheery blaze, and Jane dropped it on a flat rock, blowing gently to help the flame spread.
“Will she recover? Will her mind heal after a little while like your injuries or my blindness?”
“This is an uninformed guess, but based on the number of things she’s manifested, probably not. Mental side effects are dangerous in a different way. Liv’s always worried she’ll push too hard and lose something forever. Actually, I’m sure she has, but I wouldn’t mention that idea to her.” Dahl sipped from a bottle of Gatorade, resting his head back against the wide tree he was propped up on.
“Wow, you took a beating.” Jane’s stomach twisted as she forced herself to survey his various cuts and gashes. She was going to have to get used to things like this. At least phantom wounds couldn’t get infected, didn’t scar, and disappeared within a few hours. Dahl told her he’d be better after a good nap.
“Insects are difficult. The size difference makes them hard. I can do something like a chimp or a deer fairly easily: warm-blooded and close enough in mass and shape, but insects are small and alien. Still, you can’t beat them for getting into houses. Ian better have some magic left if we need to do anything else tonight. I’m done for the day.”
Imagining running through the forest as a deer or swinging through the trees as an ape filled Jane with a sense of longing. What a cool power. Jane bet he could turn into a bird and go flying with his girlfriend. Maybe that’s why she liked him.
“Can you do people?” It would be on the creepy side, but useful.
“No.”
“Have you tried?”
“I can’t. It’s too individual, and people are extremely observant about human faces. I end up looking like an abomination. Maybe someday, with more practice.”
Dahl took another sip from his bottle, and Jane caught sight of his wrists without the bandages. Peeling, angry scabs stretched from his wrists almost to his elbow with shiny, pink skin starting to show around the edges. Underneath the recent cuts, a network of old pink, purple, and white scars crosshatched the vertical injuries.
“Oh my God.” Jane hadn’t meant to say anything, but the words fell out.
Dahl twisted his arm slightly to obscure her view, almost spilling his drink. The wind rustled the sunlit leaves and washed her in damp, earthy smells mingled with the smoke of the smoldering book. Jane sat speechless, and Dahl didn’t meet her eyes until Ian and Mary arrived five minutes later. When their rustling footsteps broke the silence, he pulled on his long-sleeved shirt.
Disturbances in the woods brought out a high level of excitement in both Ian and Sister Mary. When Ian spoke of the tracks, broken branches, clawed trees, and churned river mud, a sparkle in his eye revealed the king of the Wild Things ready to run through his domain. When Sister Mary spoke of the same trail signs, a glint in her eye said her tattooed trigger finger itched.
They decided to split into pairs again and follow a couple of the largest trails while the light was still good. Sister Mary was sure there were at least two large cryptids, with the possibility of more. Ian explained that removing the manifested monsters from reality was important for maintaining the barrier, and Sister Mary added that if they were allied with Eileen then dividing and conquering would increase their chances of mission success. Taking them down before they racked up a body count seemed like a good idea to Jane, and she found herself nodding along at the plan of traipsing about the woods in search of large, magical predators. Maybe she was getting the hang of the whole super hero thing after all.
Sister Mary asked Jane a few questions about her marksmanship and presented her with a can of bear mace as her cryptid hunting gear. Dahl tried to push on and nearly passed out. Once he could stand unsupported again, he mentioned it might be tactical for one of them—maybe him, if no one else wanted the honor—to stay in sight of Eileen’s house and radio when she got home.
Ian volunteered to get him situated and assured them he’d be fine solo in the forest. The idea of Ian being alone was deeply unsettling , but he said he was up to it. With fourteen years of experience under his belt, he probably had a better estimation of his skills than Jane did. Probably.
Jane and Sister Mary treaded carefully along the sun-dappled ground. The stillness in the forest evoked memories of early mornings spent freezing her ass off behind scrubby cover with a pair of cold binoculars in her hands and her dad by her side, having the time of her life. Jane scrunched her nose a few times to work out the cold-air sting and focused on the trail. A five-year-old could pick it up: cloven prints like a deer but ten inches from tip to heel, intermixed with large, four-fingered hand marks ending in deep claw punctures.
After about thirty minutes of silent, cautious tracking, they came to a stretch of mud where the prints grew wide and deep before disappearing.
Sister Mary sighed. “I’m guessing it can fly.”
Jane nodded in agreement. They scanned the trees for a few minutes before taking five. Sister Mary pulled a granola bar from her pocket and offered half to Jane.
“Oh, no thanks. Dahl and I got lunch at the canceled festival.”
“Good, I’m glad you found something. So how long have you been doing this kind of work?”
Jane brushed a few leaves off her shoulder. Shit, what was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to not say? Ian said the sisters would see her as a person instead of a problem, but there had to be a limit. What would they have done if they’d found her at her apartment? What did they already know about her? Jane couldn’t afford to sound clueless. Focusing on what she knew and being ambiguous about the rest was the best she could do.
“Not long. I’m still learning on the job.”
Sister Mary laughed. “I’m decades in and still learning. Never a dull moment.”
Jane grinned. “I’m getting that impression. So you’re old friends with Ian?”
&nb
sp; “Yeah, I am. I’m a washout. Trained for the Van Helsing link and didn’t get it. Never even got to try. When it could have been my time, the link was engaged by an agent, so I aged out of the program. That’s the story of most of Sana Baba’s children, but life goes on. I knew Ian when he was a kid, and we’ve kept in touch.”
“You knew him before he was linked?” Jane leaned slightly forward.
“Sure did. You’re making me wish I could pull out baby pictures and embarrass him.”
“Baby stories? Do you have those?”
Sister Mary stuck out her lower lip and nodded. “I have a few. He was always a sweet, sensitive boy. Loved to climb trees and read out loud. He used to sing, but he was so far off-key, I think he got ridiculed into silence. Everyone was surprised when he linked. The general thought was he’d age out, find some sweet young thing, and have a bunch of fat babies. That life would have looked good on him, too. I’d already begun my training with The Sisters of Perpetual Help when he linked, but we’ve reconnected a few times over the years. Same old Ian.”
“So you didn’t know Dahl when you were there?”
“Nah, he came in after my time. Ian has wanted to have kids since he was old enough to want things, though, so I wasn’t surprised when he adopted. Actually, I’m shocked he only did so once, but being a single father and traveling six months a year must be a tough gig.”
Jane fiddled with her bracelets, watching the leaves dance, a question building inside of her until she blurted out, “It’s great he adopted and all, but is there a reason he didn’t want to father children? Did he not meet the right person?”
Sister Mary shifted, tucking away her granola bar wrapper. “Jane, I wouldn’t talk about his business, but what do you know about people who hold links?”
Crap. This was trouble. This sounded like something she should know but didn’t. Sister Mary was going to figure it out if she kept piling on clues. Why couldn’t she keep her big mouth shut? “It seems like you might know something I don’t.”
