by Hannah Marae
Just a block down the street sat the mechanic’s garage. Every Nowhere had one, and they were always in the same place. Lazarus found it easy enough to insert himself into the role. Fixing cars was one of his few skills besides hunting, which, while fulfilling, left much to be desired monetarily. No one paid you to clean up a ghost, and if they tried, you’d be an asshole for accepting. It was like tipping a firefighter for pulling you from a burning building. It just didn’t happen.
After going through the garage’s back door, Lazarus entered the empty office. The receptionist, a bored-looking teenager with sandy hair and a black eye, looked up as he came in. “Who the hell are you?” the kid asked in a sour voice.
“I’m subbing for Lou,” Lazarus replied. He bent over the desk to look at the schedule. “And watch your language.”
The kid scoffed. “Whatever,” he said, slipping some kind of handheld game from his pocket.
Poring over the sheet, Lazarus found the correct date. July seventh. Usually, the slots were ordinary maintenance jobs for other Nowhere citizens. Completely unnecessary and yet always consistent. Like the patrons in the diner and the people on the streets, it was one way the Good Night mimicked reality. But today, the first thing on the schedule was an actual job on a car towed in last night.
There was someone else in Nowhere.
Lazarus frowned. It wasn’t unheard of for people to happen across Nowhere. He’d done it himself years ago. Ordinary folk might see nothing amiss about the place, finding a charming little town tucked into the middle of, well, nowhere. It was only when you knew it for what it was that you recognized something was strange.
With some apprehension—this was an actual person, after all—Lazarus strode through the office and peeked into the waiting room. There he spotted a young woman perched on one of the molded plastic chairs, her pink high-tops tapping impatiently. A curtain of honey brown hair obscured her features, but she looked young. Lazarus guessed she was in her early twenties, just a year or two younger than himself and about the same age as Zeke. She was alone in the room, staring down at the phone clutched in her blue-polished fingers.
She practically leaped to her feet as he entered, pushing back her hair to reveal a soft face with wide hazel eyes. Striding up to him, the woman crossed her tattooed arms over a bright yellow T-shirt. “Is it fixed?”
Lazarus shook his head, turning toward the door leading to the garage. “I just got in. I’ll go take a look if you want to wait—”
“I’m coming with you,” she announced, already moving to walk alongside him.
He could tell there’d be no arguing with her, so Lazarus led the woman through the shop and into the garage. There sat a sedan that looked like it was on its last legs. He stopped to take it in and then sighed.
“Will it take long?” she asked, more tentatively than before. Lazarus realized he was rude. He wasn’t used to real people, not in Nowhere. He would have to do a better job at masking his annoyance.
“I haven’t even looked at it yet.” He slipped off his coat and hung it on a peg near the door. “Do you know what’s wrong?”
“Isn’t that your job?”
He turned to glare, and she flushed. She held up her hands. “Sorry. Look, it’s important. I need to get out of town fast. It’s an emergency.”
“Okay,” he conceded, rolling up the sleeves of his faded gray flannel. “I’ll do what I can.”
Lazarus moved toward the car. He popped the hood to survey the mess that awaited him inside. But he paused when he sensed a shift in the room, turning to see the woman staring intently at him.
Realization seemed to light up her face, and she took a step back, glancing at the tattoos that ran up his arms, powerful sigils that few could decipher. When she met his gaze, her face was lit with an awestruck expression.
“You’re a hunter!”
Eden couldn’t believe her luck. A hunter, here in this nowhere town, fixing her broken-down car. The guiding sigil had taken her to precisely what, or rather who, she needed.
The mechanic stared down at her, his dark eyes narrowing in confusion. Eden nodded at the symbol tattooed on his forearm. The sleeve of his flannel button-down partially covered it, but she knew a protection sigil when she saw one. His was a shield with three vertical lines inside, an older variation probably drawn by an old-school mage. And by the looks of it, the tattoo was one of many sigils of power adorning the man’s arms. Illumination. Speed. Strength.
She was surprised he hadn’t noticed her own.
“I’m guessing you didn’t get that for kicks,” she offered with a smile.
He shrugged, not bothering to deny it. Turning back to the car, the hunter surveyed the engine. Eden took the opportunity to look him over. He was tall as hell with the lean, wiry build she imagined was common in hunters. His hair, as dark as his eyes, fell across his sharp face in loose waves. He swept it back with a hand that would dwarf her own. God, this man was huge; she bet he had a foot on her. At least.
Eden leaned in, catching a glimpse of an unknown mark inked into his palm.
That was strange. New to magic as she was, Eden still liked to think she was familiar with all classes of sigil magic, or at least most of them. It was hard to tell, but the symbol on the hunter’s palm looked like a series of circles, interlocking to form a loop. She couldn’t imagine the mark’s purpose, although it may not have been a sigil at all. Maybe this guy just liked weird tattoos.
“Can I help you?” The hunter gave her a pointed glance over his shoulder. Eden flushed and took a step back. He turned to the vehicle, loosely gesturing at the machinery beneath the hood. “It looks like your radiator is cracked,” he continued. “I can pull it out and order a new one, but it’ll take a few days—”
“Forget about the car,” Eden ordered. The hunter raised a dark brow and stepped back with his huge hands raised in a placating gesture.
If Mab were here, she’d be screaming for Eden to run. Trust no one. That had been their motto for almost four years, ever since Florence seemed to drop off the planet the same night Eden dropped onto it. And this man was a stranger. Not only a stranger but a hunter. For all she knew, it was a hunter who took Mab. Trusting this one could be a big mistake.
But the guiding sigil had brought Eden here for a reason.
What if he was it?
Eden pulled back her T-shirt to reveal the heart-shaped sigil tattooed over her collarbone right beneath the hollow of her neck. The mark glowed with a faint pink light.
Now the hunter leaned in, his posture almost predatory, brown eyes gliding over her collarbone. “I thought you were another hunter, but you’re not,” he observed, his gaze still locked on the sigil. Her heart skipped as he glanced up, looking her in the eye. “You’re a mage.”
Shit. Mab was right. This was a bad idea. Eden’s chest tightened, and she pulled up her shirt’s collar, hiding the glowing heart. Maybe the guiding sigil was wrong, or she’d misinterpreted the magic. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Just a sigil mage.” Eden took a careful step back, quickly focusing her power to ignite a tiny tattoo on her fingertip. All she had to do was press the symbol to the hunter’s temple, and he’d be out like a light. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.
“A sigil mage?” he echoed, straightening to his full, very intimidating, height. Eden took another step back, wondering if she should bolt for the door, but the hunter made no move to follow.
Though she felt some measure of relief, Eden maintained the connection to her sigil. Being cautious was what got her through these months since Mab left. “Spells through symbols, that sort of thing.” She motioned at his tattoos. “Y’know, like those.”
“I know what a sigil mage is. I—how is any of this relevant?” He looked back at the car like it was some vital piece to the puzzle. Then he shook his head, looking more exasperated than threatening. He pointed at the tattoo, still blazing on her fingertip. “Is that necessary?”
Eden crossed her
arms, keeping the sigil lit but hidden in the crook of her elbow. “You were looming.”
“Looming?” He raised a brow, either in disbelief or amusement.
Uncrossing her arms, Eden waved her hand. “You’re standing there, all menacingly tall. And scary. Can you blame me for being prepared?”
“Fine.” The hunter held up his hands and moved to the garage’s other side. “Feel better?”
Eden extinguished the tattoo, mostly because keeping it going for too long was taxing. Not that she wanted him to know that. “Slightly.”
“Okay. You want to tell me what’s going on?” He pulled up a banged-up stool and sat down. “Why don’t we start with your name?”
“Eden,” she answered. “What’s yours?”
“Lazarus.” He combed back his hair with long fingers. “Family name. Don’t ask.”
The hunter listened as Eden laid out the story, beginning with her car dying a few miles outside of town. When she relayed Mab’s phone call, he bristled, shaking his head as she got to the part where the glass shattered, and the line went dead.
“Someone took her, and I need to get her back,” Eden finished, her eyes pricking with tears she forced back. All night she had been plagued by this fear, this crushing sense of helplessness. Somehow, saying the words out loud made it worse. Mab was out there, in trouble, and Eden didn’t even know why. The only thing she knew was that she had to help her, no matter the cost. After all she’d done, Eden owed her that much.
“Look, the sigil is a connection. A matching set that binds us together.” The moment the line went dead, Eden felt the symbol flare to life. Years ago, they’d marked each other with a tattoo machine bought off the internet. Within each symbol, the other’s magic resided. A connection was forged. Now, the mark pulsed beneath her skin, the light ebbing and flowing in time to Mab’s own heart. Which meant she was alive for now. “It’s pulling me east. I can feel it. That’s where I’ll find her.”
The hunter crossed his arms over his chest. Eden couldn’t help but notice a sigil for peaceful sleep tucked in amongst the others.
“And you need my help, why?” he asked, his tone doubtful but open to negotiation.
“You mean aside from the fact that my car blew up?”
That got a chuckle, a low and warm sound that was far too brief. “Fair point.”
Eden shrugged. “A hunter would make things easier. Mab is a pretty good mage, a lot more experienced than I am. I’d stand no chance against whoever managed to grab her. And if it was hunters . . .”
“Having a hunter on your side might keep you safe,” he finished, rubbing his sharp cheekbone.
“Exactly. Look, I’ll pay you somehow. I’m not exactly swimming in cash, but I can give you what I’ve got. It doesn’t matter. Or I can do some work for you. Imbue objects, draw sigils, whatever.”
“I’m not taking your money,” the hunter said blandly.
“Okay.” Eden faltered. She kicked at the floor with her sneaker, unsure of what to do. If the hunter wouldn’t help her, then she’d have to get the car fixed. He knew she was a mage, so that crossed off spelling him into doing it for free. A new radiator would eat up half her savings if she were lucky, not to mention days she could spend searching for Mab. What if Eden didn’t find her in time?
An audible sigh from the hunter drew her gaze. He bit his cheek, tense shoulders going slack with defeat. “Come with me.”
Zeke looked up as the waitress set a large cup on the table in front of him.
“Thanks, ma’am.” He nodded his appreciation, making sure to look up from his computer screen.
She gave him a faint smile, one that didn’t touch her eyes, and walked away. Lazarus tended to be abrasive with the Nowhere people, especially when he was in a bad mood, but Zeke liked being friendly. It didn’t feel right to mistreat a person, even if they weren’t actually a person. Shades didn’t have feelings; they didn’t have sentience, just the ability to mimic the world around them. But Zeke believed practicing kindness did him good all the same.
It certainly helped with the job, both on the books and off of them. Even now, Zeke had his laptop open on the table, waiting for a client’s message about a software issue. Every day, he thanked his lucky stars he had the IT gig. Family legacy aside, his father hadn’t liked the hunting thing one bit. Zeke had barely known his cousin Lazarus and ghost-hunting Aunt Magdalene until he was a teenager. Hunting was the path his parents always fought to keep from him. Imagine their dismay when he ended up traveling it anyway.
Even so, they gave him the gig and a freelancer’s salary that got him by. Honestly, Zeke wondered if it was his father’s way of keeping him anchored, reminding him that a life was waiting for him. Lazarus found it annoying, but Zeke thought it was sweet. He never minded having a friendly force looking after him. He kind of enjoyed the feeling of being a regular guy with a regular job. It made all the ghosts and monsters and weird shit easier to bear.
He was just sending off the email when the diner’s door opened.
“You’re back early,” Zeke said over his shoulder. “Don’t tell me the garage is empty. Last time Nowhere went off-script, it freaked me the hell” . . . He looked up as Lazarus approached the booth with a woman trailing close behind . . . “out,” he managed to finish. Zeke glanced between the two of them. The woman’s wide eyes were wary but friendly. She gave him a hesitant smile, silently holding up a hand in an awkward greeting.
“Who is this?” Zeke asked.
Lazarus slid into the booth across from Zeke. The woman, who was most decidedly not a Nowhere person, tentatively sat down beside him.
“I found a job,” Laz said as if that explained anything.
Zeke pursed his lips, absentmindedly tapping his pen against the table. “A job.” This was weird. Sure, they often spent their time in Nowhere combing the surrounding towns for supernatural work and odd jobs but never had one fallen so directly into their laps.
“She’s a mage.”
“A sigil mage,” she quickly added, probably hoping to avoid Zeke forming the impression of her as a wielder of blood magic or something equally nasty. A sigil mage made sense, though; she had an energetic air about her with her bright eyes and rosy cheeks. All manner of colorful symbols adorned her pale arms, a few matching his own.
He smiled, dipping his head in a mock bow. “Ezekiel Morgan, at your service. Call me Zeke.”
After a fresh round of coffee, they laid it out for him. Eden did most of the talking, explaining her entry into town and the midnight call from her friend. Zeke watched Laz as she moved through the story. He was hesitant, eyes fixed on the Formica table, fingers clasped around his coffee mug. Zeke could see why. This job was far outside their realm of expertise, which mostly consisted of wandering around the country taking care of ghosts. Occasionally, they might put down a monster; as a rule, they rarely tangled with mages. Not without a lot of preparation and some good backup, at least.
“So let me get this straight,” Zeke said once Eden had finished. “You want us to take you to find your friend, and then what? I mean, you don’t even know who took her or if she’s still alive.”
“She’s alive,” Eden assured him, fingers going up to rest on the so-called connection sigil that faintly glowed beneath her T-shirt. “If that changes, the light will go out, and I’ll know. As to who took her, you’re right. I have no idea. But my guess is a hunter. Mab was always more liberal with her gifts.”
Lazarus crossed his arms and scowled. “If she’s been out there hurting people, then there’s nothing we can do.”
As much as Zeke hated looking this woman in the eye and telling her she was on her own, Laz was right. Even a sigil mage had the power to wreak havoc and rain destruction.
“No. Nothing like that.” Eden shook her head. “She just likes to give herself an edge. Mostly spelled credit cards, if we’re honest. Last night she said something about a deal. I’m worried she tried to screw someone over, maybe someone who knew hu
nters?”
Zeke chewed his lip, and Lazarus shrugged, unconvinced.
Sighing, she went on. “I know it’s a long shot. I can’t know what happened until I see her for myself. So let’s just call it an open contract. Except not actually a contract. And if it ends up being too much for you to handle or something you don’t want to do, we’ll just go our separate ways.”
Lazarus tapped his finger against his mug and kept stealing glances at the mage sitting beside him. But Zeke knew Laz would never have brought her here if some part of him didn’t want to take the job.
“Alright, we’ll do it,” Zeke decided, rapping his tattooed knuckles against the table like a gavel.
The mage’s eyes widened. “You will?” Stress seemed to melt from her shoulders, her relief palpable. “I promise to make it up to you. I was just telling your friend that I can do odd jobs for you. Coins, sigils, whatever you need.”
“We’re cousins,” Lazarus corrected, somewhat sullenly. He was always like this. He’d take himself to the grave to help someone, then fly off to the hills the moment they tried to say thank you.
Zeke rolled his eyes. “We’re friends sometimes too.” He glanced at his laptop. “I’ll just need an hour or so to finish up.”
“We can hit the road right after,” Lazarus offered.
“They won’t miss you at the garage?”
He shook his head. “They won’t notice I’m gone, trust me.”
“All right. I’ll go back to the motel and get my things,” Eden told them. She stood and walked through the diner to the door, calling back, “Thanks again!”
Once the door swung shut, Zeke turned back to Lazarus. “So, that was unexpected.”
“Yeah,” Laz said, staring out the window as the mage walked up the street to the motel. “I don’t think she knows about this place. It seems like she’s here by accident.”
“Or fate.”
Lazarus considered this and nodded. “Or that.”
Leaning in, Zeke lowered his voice. “What are you really thinking?” He hated how conspiratorial the conversation felt, but some things needed to be determined, and that needed to happen outside of the mage’s knowledge.
