by Zoe Chant
“We’re pretty close to being ready,” Heather said, looking around nostalgically. It wasn’t that she really liked the apartment, or her neighborhood, but it had been a big part of her life and she was stepping out into the unknown. “We’re almost off to figure out how to save the world.”
A buyer was planning to come tomorrow to take the couch, and Heather planned to wash one last load of clothes before she donated them to charity. She’d follow up with Beth’s friend, maybe pass off the keys…and then she’d be off on an adventure she’d never even imagined.
Rez, sensing her mood, came to wrap his arms around her. “You are brave and selfless,” he told her. “I am in awe of your strength.”
“It’s my own world I’m fighting for,” Heather reminded him.
“It would be easier to ignore it,” Rez said sorrowfully. “I sometimes feel that is the way of most failures, simply to hope that it becomes someone else’s problem, that someone else will solve it, until it is too large and impossible to discount.”
It certainly would have been easier to pretend this was all a crazy hallucination. But Heather could not have thrown Rez out of her apartment, and kept to her ordinary life. He’d brought magic, with all of its possibilities, and…she shook herself before she could finish the thought.
Rez was gorgeous, and she liked him, maybe even more than liked him, but she wasn’t going to call this love when she still wasn’t sure what the rules of magic were.
“Could I...could I see your unicorn again?” she asked yearningly.
Rez looked conflicted as he put down the basket of yarn.
He’d been embarrassed by the size of his other half, but Heather had only seen the beauty and bravery of it. “You’re the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen, in either form,” she told him, turning to fill Vesta’s water bowl because she didn’t want to pressure him too much. She could tell he had trouble resisting her requests, and she didn’t like to take advantage of that.
When she turned back, he had shifted and Heather’s breath left her in an exhale of wonder.
He was no longer the size of Vesta, and Heather remembered Daniella’s words: the closer they got, the more power that Rez would have. She shivered. Was she holding him back because she was afraid of how much she was starting to care for him?
He was still nowhere near the size that she’d seen in her vision, but he was waist-high now, and so graceful and perfect that Heather hardly dared to breathe.
Vesta capered forward to weave between his legs and butt her head into him demandingly. Rez lowered his head to blow at her, and she fell over on her side with her tail wagging furiously. He gently scratched her belly with his gleaming golden horn and she whined in pleasure and rolled onto her back.
Heather knelt, and Rez stepped carefully over the greyhound to walk to her.
Vesta flashed to her feet and dashed between them, scrambling into Heather’s lap for attention. But Heather’s focus was solely on Rez. He moved like music, his silky white mane and tail a whispering curtain as he arched his neck and danced within her reach.
She touched his horn, the side of his nose, stroked the smooth, velvety hide on his neck. “I was completely unicorn-crazy when I was a little girl,” she said softly. “I used to daydream about a unicorn coming to carry me away whenever I was sad or angry. It would rescue me from my horrible life—every pre-teen girl thinks their life is horrible—and I’d finally be whole.”
Rez’s nose was the softest thing she’d ever felt in her life, and his breath was warm in her hand. Vesta jumped to lick him and he gave a huff like a chuckle and bumped the side of his head against the little dog fondly.
“You are so beautiful,” Heather said in awe. “And you’ve brought magic to my life.”
It was hard to explain how he shifted. First he glowed faintly blue, then all of his edges seemed to smudge and change, then Rez was kneeling before her, bending to kiss her as he murmured, “You are the magic in my life.”
Chapter 27
Heather led Rez down into the basement of the apartment building. She was carrying a basket of laundry and he was hefting two full bags. Vesta was doing her best poor-abandoned-dog impression back in the apartment, although Rez had offered to carry her up and down the four stories of stairs.
“You spoil her!” Heather laughed. “Have you seen how fat she’s getting?”
The svelte little dog was indeed starting to show a belly, but Rez could not resist it when she set her big eyes on whatever he was eating. He frequently shared scraps under the table when Heather wasn’t looking.
It was terribly hot and brutally humid, and they were both sweating by the time they arrived in the cool, concrete tomb full of looming machines. Rez thought that the room encompassed the entire bottom of the apartment building, and there were pipes everywhere and storage lockers and giant tanks at the far end.
“Welcome to the laundry room,” Heather said, heaving her basket onto a tired-looking table under a flickering bank of lights.
The big square machines had heavy lids, and they lifted to reveal gaping tubs that Heather stuffed with clothing. Sweet-smelling powder was sprinkled on top, and knobs were turned and buttons pushed as Heather explained what each one did, complete with words of power: “Permanent press, tap cold, extra rinse.”
She put coins into a tray and pushed them in.
There was a hiss of water, and the machine began to churn and shake. Rez was beginning to believe that this world created things specifically to mimic terrifying monsters, lacking their own. He still sometimes reached for a sword he still didn’t have.
They filled another two of the dozen or so machines. “Wait, how much powder did you put in there?” Heather asked in alarm, when Rez tried to help. “Oh, who cares. Extra rinse it is.”
“Now what?” Rez asked, once three of the machines were rumbling through their duties.
“We come back later and move clean clothes to the dryers.” Heather’s phone gave a buzz. “Oh good, the guys from Craigslist are coming for the couch. They might need your help getting it down the stairs.”
They hiked back up the stairs. Rez insisted on walking behind Heather, in part because it was a protective stance, should danger approach from behind, and in part because it gave him such a lovely view of her enchanting posterior.
She caught him grinning as they finally got to the top of the stairs. “It is so unfair how you don’t get sweaty in this heat,” she said, panting and pulling at the neck of her shirt.
“I would be in poor shape to sweat after just four flights of stairs,” Rez scoffed, not entirely truthfully. He was not winded, but he would have to admit that he was a little damp.
“Well, I know how to make you sweaty,” Heather teased him as she opened the apartment door. “If only we weren’t selling the couch in a few moments.”
“We could probably make one last use of the couch before it goes,” Rez suggested. “I have found that your Craigslist merchants are frequently tardy.”
Vesta was racing around the room in high form, ricocheting off the remaining furniture and yipping her mixed outrage at having been left behind and joy at seeing them again.
Rez was quite disappointed in the speed at which the couch buyers showed up.
“Heather?” one of them said skeptically when Rez opened the door. The other checked their phone.
“$50 takes it,” Heather said from inside the apartment. She had scooped Vesta into her arms to forestall escape and Vesta was wriggling furiously.
They were two athletic-looking men who attempted at first to each take an end of the couch, then sheepishly let Rez take one side while both of them together lifted the other.
They maneuvered it awkwardly out into the hall, nearly knocking down the last hanging art, and from there made it to the stairwell with a great deal of swearing and sweating on their part.
It took considerable time to navigate the three stories; the couch appeared to be heavy to the buyers, even in tandem, so they
took several breaks. More than that, however, it was long and awkward to maneuver the tight turns in the stairs. Heather squeezed past them on the last stairwell to change the laundry from washer to dryer.
“Vesta needs to go out when you’re done here,” she reminded Rez. She had given him the spare key to her rooms, and knew that he enjoyed accompanying the hound on her rounds.
When Rez returned from helping to heave the couch into the back of a vehicle that looked incapable of transporting it more than a block, he passed the unpleasant owner of the apartment building coming down the first stairwell.
Rez drew up in concern and looked after him. Where before the man, Marcus, had felt distasteful in nature and crudely mannered, now he seemed to trail darkness. Rez didn’t trust his senses in this world, but something felt subtly wrong.
For a moment, he hesitated, and the man was gone around the corner, walking towards the back of the building.
Rez was divided. Follow him, attempt to find out more, or do as he’d sworn and take Vesta out?
Duty won; he had promised to walk Vesta. He was not certain in his worry, and there was no reason to think that Heather would be in danger; Marcus had not been headed down the final flight of stairs. And Rez would swear that the man wasn’t dour-ridden; he knew the flavor of that kind of possession.
Reluctantly, he mounted the stairs to fetch Vesta, and took her downstairs and impatiently waited while she sniffed at every available place for her leavings and found them all lacking.
Rez found himself growling and pacing and when he finally scooped up Vesta’s tiny offering in the plastic bag, he actually ran for the trash can with the hound under his arm. He made the three floors in record time, nearly bowling over one of Heather’s elderly neighbors in his haste.
Vesta pinned her ears back in alarm, and gave her signature tremble.
The deadbolt clicked back ominously; wouldn’t Heather have left it unlocked for his return if she had finished in the basement. And shouldn’t she be done? The task had sounded simple.
Sure enough, the apartment was empty and Heather didn’t answer his bellow of her name.
Without remembering to put Vesta down or lock the door again, Rez was bolting down the hallway, cursing and wishing he wasn’t the only one of his shieldmates without wings.
Chapter 28
Heather heaved the last of the laundry into the dryer and fiddled with the settings. The basement was quiet without Rez’s company, and it felt more than a little creepy.
It was disturbing how wrong everything felt when Rez wasn’t with her.
Part of her resented it.
She was supposed to be brave and independent. She didn’t need some guy with her to feel safe in the basement laundry where she’d been a hundred times.
And part of her loved it.
She loved how she didn’t have to be constantly on the alert when he was around, confident that she was safe. Rez would do anything to protect her, and her life was better with him near.
She was more comfortable than she’d ever been in her life, tinkering around her apartment in her sleeping shirt while Rez pretended not to watch her. She loved making meals, introducing him to strange foods and new sights. It was amazing, seeing the world so fresh and new through his eyes.
And most of her was terrified of her dependence and afraid of how badly she yearned for him in ways that defied logic.
The basement felt outright creepy without him.
One of the fluorescents was flickering more ominously than usual, and it looked like another had burnt out entirely. Good luck getting Marcus to fix those before it was completely pitch black in the laundry room and people were threatening lawsuits, Heather thought to herself.
Then her heart lifted as she remembered that Marcus wasn’t going to be her problem anymore.
It plummeted again as she remembered the scope of why she was moving, and all the magical baggage of suddenly being someone who could save the world.
That, and the fact that she had no idea how she’d done what she did, or how to do it on command.
What if she failed Rez? What if she never could learn to control the power? What if she doomed them all to—
One of the lights flickered off.
“Heather.”
Heather gave a little squeak of terror and spun, backing up to the dryer in fright.
“You scared me,” she told Marcus furiously, her heart racing and her throat dry.
“The key…”
“I’ve lined up a subletter,” Heather said defensively, willing her breath back to normal. “I’ll give them the key.”
Was Marcus going to insist on doing a background check? Did he want to refuse the new renter? It probably wasn’t worth going after her in small claims for two months of rent if she just skipped out. Wouldn’t he prefer the income?
“You’re not so special,” Marcus hissed. “And you’re not the only key.”
“The only key?” Heather finally tamped down her flight instinct and could think again. Marcus knew she was Rez’s key? But then...
She took a closer look at Marcus. He didn’t look drunk, or even hungover, which were his two most common states. He looked almost blissful, like he’d found religion, or some really good prescription pills.
“I’m going to be a hero,” Marcus said. “I’m going to be a ruler in the new world. They’ll all do anything I want, because it was me, I’m the one who gave them their power here.”
“Who are you going to give this power to?” Heather asked in sudden dread.
“It doesn’t have a name,” Marcus said dreamily. “It doesn’t need a name. It doesn’t want a name. It is the darkness, it is the directive. I am the power. I am the one who will win the battle.”
High as a kite, Heather thought. Then she remembered Trey puzzling over the question of how the bleaks could have power when Robin didn’t.
The bleak had a key.
Marcus was the bleak’s key.
Did that mean Robin had a key?
Marcus shuddered and jerked forward like he was a puppet on strings.
Heather couldn’t back up any further, the edge of the dryer pressing into her back. Marcus was blocking her only route to freedom. She’d always wondered if the laundry room met any kind of fire code at all. “I’m just doing my laundry,” she said as calmly as she could. “Then I’ll go.”
“You can’t go,” Marcus said, suddenly sharp and focused.
He pulled a gun from his pants, something small and deadly-looking. Heather didn’t know anything about guns, but her gut knew what it could do to her and terror closed her throat.
“You don’t want to kill me,” she stammered fearfully. Take a breath, calm him down. “I’ll make sure you get your rent on time.” She could bankrupt herself for her life, she figured...but deep inside, she was also sure that Marcus wasn’t here for the money.
Marcus faltered, looking at the gun for a moment like he couldn’t figure out how it was there. “Don’t...want...to...kill...you…” he echoed.
“But you do…” said a new voice and all the cold and dark and creepiness of the laundry room seemed to gather into one of the steel-fenced corners by the propane tanks.
“You do want to hurt her,” the darkness said. “She rejected you, she’s too independent, too threatening.”
Marcus slowly lifted the gun, then lowered it again. “Hurt her, humiliate her, not kill her.”
“If you don’t kill her, there is no reward,” the darkness whispered.
The bleak, Heather reminded herself. This was a bleak, and as she looked fearfully past Marcus to the dark corner, she watched a dark, misty figure walk through the fence and solidify into...almost a person.
The tall bleak had swiftly shifting features, hidden in a billowing cloak. It held a sword that seemed to reflect no light.
Heather considered herself something of an expert in cloaks, and this one seemed spun of shadows, moving like not even the finest silk could in currents that didn�
��t even exist in the airless room.
She cowered before them, trying to make sense of the odd dynamic she was seeing; why didn’t the bleak kill her itself?
And why did Marcus look like he was fighting with himself as he slowly raised the gun to aim at her, setting his jaw to do the deed.
Then, at last, there was a crashing at the laundry room door and relief flooded through Heather as Marcus spun to meet this new threat.
“Meet me in battle, coward!” Rez roared, charging in. “I will show you the meaning of honor and you will learn the bitter taste of defeat!”
He was holding out Vesta, who was wriggling and wagging her tail merrily.
Chapter 29
Rez could taste the evil in the air, the closer he got to the laundry room, and when he opened the door at last, the foul stench of the bleak was unmistakable.
He charged forward out of habit with the only thing he had at hand, swiftly realizing that the small dog he was holding was neither appropriate for fighting, nor safe on their battleground. He put her down on one of the still machines.
Her nails clattered on the metal boxes and Rez was chagrined that he’d been so careless as to bring her here before he focused again on the tableau before him.
Marcus may not be dour-ridden, Rez realized, he was being controlled by the bleak in some other fashion, and the man had Heather crowded back against a dryer in terror and surrender, though Rez could not identify a weapon.
The relief in Heather’s eyes vanished as Marcus swiveled the harmless blunt object in his hands to point a small dark cylinder at Rez.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” she cried, clearly fearing the thing Marcus was holding.
Confused, Marcus swiveled back to her and she put up her hands in defeat. “Don’t shoot! You don’t have to do it!”
It must be a projectile weapon of some power, Rez decided.
Laughter filled the room and threatened to suffocate them all.
