Chương 20: Scintillation

Shrike nervously turns the corner, sword in hand, badly wounded from a trap on a crumbling staircase. Two different undead meet her approach, wearing ancient armor around their hollowed bodies. Immediately, one fires a crossbow, piercing her head, killing her instantly.

"This is ridiculous! What masochistic wretch would enjoy slogging through such drudgery?" Shrike returns the controller to Martin.

"Me. I enjoy it. Maybe you're just too used to relying on your fancy magic light."

"Said 'fancy magic light' has done naught but rescue your entire body, ass included, on countless occasions. Perhaps you should not besmirch it offhandedly."

"You're just mad you can't beat the tutorial."

"This is the tutorial?" Martin's phone rings, startling Shrike into jumping slightly on the couch. Martin teasingly smirks as he answers his phone.

"You've got Martin." He frowns, scrambling for a pen and paper, before fighting with the pen to get it to work as he scribbles something down. He hangs up soon after, not getting a single word out.

"Trouble in the Wasatch, Shrike. Urgent. Get dressed, we leave in five." She looks down at the black and grey outfit she's already wearing.

"I shall put on my boots, then." - Martin speeds up the road into the Wasatch Mountains, the massive stretch of rocky slopes slowly ceasing to be a fixture of the horizon, and steadily become a vast ocean of peaks and valleys. A series of traffic cones and a flashing sign warn him to stop, and after a brief explanation with a police officer, they are allowed through. The second checkpoint, though, is less easily passed.

Yellow anti-tank barriers block the way, repurposed as supports for a yellow and black striped metal bar. A pair of military transport trucks, parked a few yards from each other, border the road. Four soldiers monitor the checkpoint: three holding standard issue rifles, and a fourth with only a spellbook. A Counter-Magic magician. A familiar one, too. Martin slowly creeps to a stop, stepping outside the Jeep with Shrike. With a diligent stride, the magician approaches them as Martin retrieves his hunting license.

The magician, upon seeing the pair more clearly, immediately backs up a few steps, saying something over the radio as the other soldiers move up with drawn weapons.

"Hands up. Don't be stupid." The magician orders. Martin and Shrike raise their hands.

"This is the second time this week we've been held at gunpoint over Shrike." Martin says, with a half-laugh.

"Quiet. You, magical beast." The magician stabs his finger at Shrike.

"You're coming with us."

"... I would prefer not to. My partner and I are currently responding to an urgent distress call."

"We know. Just come quietly." Martin starts to lower his hands slightly, more confused than alarmed.

"Yeah, we can go."

"Not you, hunter. You stay here. We just need the kynde." Martin grimaces, his upper lip curling minutely as he speaks.

"Look, we're partners. Where one goes, we both go." A military Humvee pulls up the road behind the soldiers. The magician glances back at it.

"Our ride is here. Martin, you're needed elsewhere. Don't make this difficult." Shrike smiles wearily, dropping her hands to her sides.

"As ordered, I will accompany them. I am safe, Martin. Do not be worried." Martin's last look is fleeting, but capped by a short nod. Shrike is shuffled off to the Humvee, sitting alone in the back as the magician takes the passenger seat.

"Shrike," he interrogates, tone harsh and biting, "do you remember me?"

"No."

"Second lieutenant Andre Norwood, 12th Counter-Magic Group." He takes a moment to look back at Shrike, raising an eyebrow at her lack of reaction.

"We specialize in dealing with supernormal threats. Like yourself."

"Okay." Right, the one in command when she first returned to the military base after the large centipede. Omokodo? Okumano? She abandons the thought, and looks out the window at the mountains. They make her a bit sleepy to watch, memories of hibernation soothing her mind.

"Good choice, coming quietly. You want to explain yourself?" Shrike thinks for a moment.

"I am a kynde, a-""Not what I meant. Explain your actions. On the mountain."

"Can you specify further?"

"Gladly. I have a validated report of a kynde causing a large rockslide that killed three hikers yesterday. Despite the variance between kynde, you all have a very specific magical footprint. You're the only kynde in the state." He looks smug, Shrike notices. Not ideal. She briefly considers mentioning Cain, but that serves no purpose. It's not like he could have done this.

"Okay."

"That's it?

'Okay'?" Should she argue? No, its expected regardless of innocence, so a waste of time. Escape? Easily done, but puts Martin and herself in bad position. Solution: wait for Martin.

"Whatever I add will not further the conversation in a positive manner. I will simply wait for Martin to validate my location yesterday."

"He's being taken to a separate facility. We believe you two are working together." Shrike continues to watch the mountains go by. Cars have become much enjoyable after her adaptation, the passing landscapes are pleasing to observe, like a painting that slowly ambles along from one scene to the next.

"Partners typically work together. Unless you mean in an illicit sense, in which case I suggest you use your signal towers to track where my phone's whereabouts are when I was sending messages. Or any number of alternative methods."

"Don't waste our time, kynde. It's cut and dry." They're still allied with her, seeking information. Would they be searching her home? The risk of damaging valued objects is high, but may be reduced to near nothing if explained?

"If I may make a request, when searching our house, please be extremely careful with the objects on the mantle, the art on the walls of the bedroom, and the plush pelican. You will find they have no magical trace, but they are emotionally significant to Martin and I. Use them as leverage against me if required."

"You're not serious." Shrike turns to face his reflection, deeply frowning.

"I am deathly serious. They are precious items to me. I tell you of their significance as a show of trust, in both directions. Please."

"You kill three people, and you're worried about junk."

"I have only killed a single human I know of within the past hundred years, through an accident. I have aided and assisted since I awoke from my hibernation. I have faced deadly creatures. I have helped clean gutters and plow roads, even. I am not a wanton murderer. I am making a simple request in return for my cooperation." Stay calm. Think of alternatives. Who could she ask to help? The magician shakes his head.

"We're here. Get out." Shrike obediently follows the instruction, while taking out her phone and sending a quick message to the group chat. SC: anyone near 293 Hoopsnake Lane please help and take the following items from there: on the mantle a piece of flint, a carved bone and string, a llama shaped jar, a stone glyph, a shard of volcanic glass, and a coin. In the bedroom, a plush pelican, and a painting of forest animals by a stream. need to hide them for a while IR: wtf happened DE: Did you do something bad?

CZ: a favor repaid The magician rolls his eyes.

"Seriously? We're monitoring your messages."

"That is fine. You may take this now." Shrike offers the phone to the magician. He cautiously approaches, hesitantly snatching it before backing up, and points to a large rock face.

"Time to move. Into the bunker." Shrike looks to where the man is pointing. A metal door, attached to concrete and buried in the mountainside. She hatefully glares at Norwood, mind instantly switching to a combative logic, expecting a fight.

"This is beyond what I agreed to. I do not wish to be confined against my will deep underground again."

"Don't care. Go in, or I make you go in." He has no idea, she thinks, how dangerous it is for him to antagonize her. Maybe if she explained that she could kill him, he would relent a bit, and they could speak on easier terms. That's how she would respond, given their roles were switched.

"I am not frightened by you. I could easily kill you. As such, I am not willing to enter, because I am not responsible for the deaths you claim are mine." She folds her arms. The only solution remains as waiting for Martin. How can she stall them in the meantime?

"I will remain here. Not underground. This is as far as I will go without force."

"Yeah? Let's test that." Norwood unclasps the leather strap that holds his spellbook in place, and starts casually flipping through pages.

"I remain as I stated."

"Froman, please escort the kynde." The driver nods, and leaves the Humvee.

"Move it." He draws a sidearm, keeping it trained on her with one hand. Shrike summons a barrier of light, blocking his free hand as he goes to push her. The magician shakes his head.

"Projections? Please." He opens his spellbook, a blue glow emanating from the page he's turned to, and holds his hand out in the direction of Shrike's barrier. The barrier remains impassive to whatever he's trying to do, without her so much as reacting to it. Still, with an agitated grunt, she dismisses it. Maybe lowering her guard now could put them on more equal footing? Humans are incredibly difficult to understand, especially under pressure, but that seems like the logical next step.

It's how Martin would approach the situation: find common ground, determine needs, and proceed from there.

"You are being foolish. My projections are not typical spellcasting. Now that you have ascertained that, I-" Shrike is whipped in the back of the head with Froman's pistol. Martin taps his foot impatiently in the interrogation room, leering at the sharply dressed wannabe detective in front of him.

"Are we done here?"

"You are, at least. Obviously, you were just a victim of her's."

"What? Do you mean Shrike? What the hell are you accusing her of?"

"I know this is going to be hard to hear, but... some beasts can alter memory."

"Oh god..." He made a serious error in judgement. He assumed that Counter-Magic would have done the slightest amount of research or planning. A comedically stupid assumption, that may have led to Shrike being hurt, or worse. He jogs out of the small outpost and to his Jeep. He needs to get home and coordinate a plan, and needs help to do it. This could go very badly, very quickly. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The black van parked outside confirms the address, it thinks, while holding a shovel. It has done so many sweeping missions exactly like this that they have become routine. It shifts into a man in a black suit, selecting ideal fake credentials. It has two dozen on standby. Perfect, it thinks, an MBR ID card stolen some time ago. It takes the shovel it brought, and loosens a section of soil on the lawn before dropping the shovel, and steps forward confidently, knocking on the door to the house.

The door cracks open, and Caribou shows its badge.

"Hank Dean, MBR."

"What? We're already here. Did you get dispatched too?"

"Yeah," Caribou replies.

"I'm here to collect specific items of interest belonging to a Shrike C and a Martin C... a bird toy, a few trinkets, and a painting?"

"We already got orders to take them, they're already in the van. Just doing a last sweep of the area." Caribou takes off its glasses, crimson eyes drilling into the agent. He's entranced as the eye contact continues, though only for a moment, as Caribou closes the door in his face. It rifles through the agents' car, passively swinging the keys it swiped around a finger. Caribou finds two plastic tubs and a black zippered bag in the rough shape of a canvas.

The ijiraq delicately removes them, leaving its glasses off. It takes the objects away, shifting into a woman wearing paint-splattered overalls. No one ever bothers a house painter. By the time the agents leave the house, the objects are already gone, with no one in sight. Only a suspicious hole in the ground that wasn't there before... Martin pulls into the driveway, where a group of MBR and Counter-Magic are digging in his front lawn, with a sniffing dog standing at attention near the hole.

He steps out, looking at the agents in furious bewilderment.

"What the fuck are you all doing?" CZ: the mission was successful, handoff to CA for perfect concealment complete CA: Hell yeah! I feel like such a badass. IR: tbh that is kind of badass DE: Kind of bad-a for sure! - Martin, Ferret, Moth, and Possum are huddled around the large workbench in Martin's basement. Sticky notes with hastily scrawled half-thoughts litter the edges, while the center of the table is dominated by Martin's laptop, a few snacks, and a rainbow of spiral-bound notebooks.

The laptop's screen shows the same thing it has for the last hour: a report on the rockfall incident. It's undeniable that a kynde did it, according to both magic traces specialists they consulted. What's more, the site where the rocks broke away are left with a perfectly smooth mark, like someone took a scoop of ice cream from a fresh tub.

"Can't you just tell them that Shrike was with you?" Moth asks for the third time. Martin's frustration is getting harder to work past, but he's in no position to blow up on the people trying to help. With significant effort, he lets out a long sigh.

"No. They seem to think Shrike could have hypnotized me somehow."

"Wait, Shrike can hypnotize people?" Moth queries.

"No, but since she's hidden abilities before, MBR is assuming she can do pretty much anything. We can't prove she doesn't have an ability. All we have right now is cell tower data, showing Shrike's phone was at home, with no outgoing messages. That's hardly evidence of anything, though, since they could just say she left her phone at home." Ferret continues to scroll through the report again, looking for any small incongruity that would prove Shrike's innocence.

"Wait, hang on, coroner's report?" Moth hands it to him, as he scribbles down a few time ranges. Ferret, with growing enthusiasm, starts checking sunset and sunrise times.

"Check this out. Coroner gave an hour window for how old the corpses were, and sunset was at the start of it. Wouldn't Shrike's giant flashes of light be pretty damn obvious in the dim lighting?" He scratches his stubbly beard, walking away from the table and starting to pace the room.

"Yeah, it would be. I don't know if MBR will buy that, though they might try to say Shrike has abilities unrelated to light. God damn it..."

"What I don't understand," Ferret continues, "is why the kynde bothered with triggering a rockfall in the first place. Why make it look like an accident, when any novice caster could detect the traces of mana? Actually, why leave the bodies at all? Nothing seems to have been stolen, either. This was either a crime of opportunity, or was done to keep something secret." Possum taps her fingers on the table a few times.

"I can vouch for Shrike, and even check her mind if they want me to. Shame there's no other sorcerers that can attune to beasts in the area to back me up, though."

"This is brutal," Moth gripes.

"All the sigils I bothered to learn are designed to be used on a gun, a knife, or on a target directly." Martin stops his pacing.

"What kind of sigils would you have time to use on a target directly?"

"Stuff magical beasts would let me do willingly. Constant, Soothe, Affix, Beacon, Vestige, you get the point."

"Anything that makes them tell the truth?"

"Well, yeah, but I doubt they'll find it particularly compelling. There are a dozen ways to get around a Truth sigil. Damn it, I wish they would just believe you. Wouldn't there be a trace of your memories getting altered?" Ferret snaps his fingers, smiling.

"Maybe we're overcomplicating this. Shrike's phone. Isn't she always using it? It'd have to ping against cell towers if she was doing anything on it. What if something was affecting other people's memories?"

"Holy shit," Martin says with a start.

"The group message. She's constantly messaging in that. The problem is that it actually is protected from human observation via another magical beast named... I want to say Cain. Some kind of actual memory altering magic. That's why MBR never found any records of messages sent: they did find them, and just forgot." Possum nods.

"Leave that to me and Opie. I can use his eyes to read it, but more importantly, I can briefly connect another person to my mind, which is connected to Opie's. It won't be long, but long enough to read a few sentences." Martin slumps against the wall in relief.

"God, I hope Shrike was actually messaging someone around then." - The worst part of the job, Norwood thinks, is how attached people get to their pets. It doesn't matter if your dog is usually a sweetheart if it mauls a child. Same rules apply here. Still, he entertains the circus act in front of him, if only to give them some closure. MBR is a joke of an organization, but the people in it are sometimes useful. Sometimes.

The second lieutenant watches as the hoar hound looks down at the cell phone's screen, carefully touching it in accordance with Possum's commands.

"Got it," Possum says with a nod.

"Yep, we have messages!" Norwood shakes his head.

"This is pointless. Martin could have sent them, right?"

"Nope. No way he could get around the memory-altering curse for long enough to write a three sentence long message and send it."

"Maybe Shrike has some kind of teleportation ability?" Martin grimly chuckles.

"If she did, she wouldn't still be in your dungeon." Norwood begrudgingly accepts the point, absently cracking his fingers as he thinks.

"Yeah, okay. I even tried a thought-shielding spell that's strong enough to work against an ijiraq, but it didn't do shit to help me read the messages. What is going on with magical beasts lately? That's two in as many days who I couldn't affect the magic of." Possum glances at Norwood.

"I'm going to prepare. You need to think about Opie, and nothing else. Concentrate entirely on Opie's existence." Norwood follows the instruction, as Possum puts on a sleep mask, swallows a couple migraine pills, puts in foam earplugs, and gets comfortable on a chair in the Magimax visitor's center. He thinks of Opie. Hoar hound. Strange bastards, they seem to work on an entirely different plane of existence than the rest of the world.

Different from other magical beasts in- Suddenly his eyes are looking at a cell phone screen, in colors he had never seen before. Yep, Shrike sent a message right around sunset. His connection is broken, and he hears only Possum swearing under her breath. It was barely five seconds, but the connection already gave her a horrible migraine. It's cute that she would go so far out of her way for a beastie, but then again, she is a sorcerer. Basically half beastie herself, in his opinion.

"Fine, whatever. I expect you to figure out what actually happened though, Martin. Someone's gotta take the blame for this..." He guides Martin down to Shrike's containment room, ignoring the warden's complaints and warnings. As if he would ever listen to a dipshit like Stolatz, especially after the newer warden was canned as the local MBR director for causing some kind of explosion. Norwood types in a short code, letting the heavy iron door slide open.

He watches as Shrike and Martin tightly embrace, Martin starting to cry. It's like a dog, he thinks. A dog doesn't give you kisses because they like you, they do it because you taste good. What a farce, he thinks, as he plods out of the building. So much paperwork for the sake of one beastie. -"I am pleased you carried it with you." Shrike looks at the heated clothing Martin brought, as they stand in the small bathroom together.

"Of course. I-" He watches Shrike start to undress, until he nervously turns away.

"Shrike, seriously? Didn't we talk about modesty?"

"We did." Shrike takes in the feeling of her heated clothing again. She had almost forgotten what the warmth was like, even though it's only been two days.

"Then what the hell was that?"

"Calculated immodesty." She laughs under her breath. Her eyes sink to the floor, smile fading along with her laugh.

"I want to be home now."" Now now, or can it wait for a few minutes while I clear up some paperwork?" Martin asks, his eyes fixed on the door in front of him.

"Postpone the paperwork, please." Her voice cracks." Now now, got it. Come on. Let's go home." He gently takes her hand, and walks her to the Jeep parked outside. Caribou is waiting just outside while leaned against their car, typing into its phone with a mischievous glee. CZ: can confirm target has been released. in exchange for my heroic efforts, i will accept praise in the form of sacrificial offerings in my name, or alternatively, something sweet tasting at our next meetup.

Caribou looks up, its demeanor changing immediately. Martin shakes his head at Caribou, who huffs in return before speaking.

"I will be brief. I partially lied in regards to your items. I kept one close at hand. It seemed less fragile and more recent." It holds out the pelican plush, which Shrike takes wordlessly before crawling into the back seat of the Jeep and hiding beneath the blankets, though her eyes peer through the layers and out at the quickly falling sun.

"How did you get here?"

"No one notices a fly in the car," it sharply says.

"Creepy. You can just ask to come next time... and I owe you one for keeping Shrike's stuff safe." Martin hesitantly offers a handshake, which it takes. As disturbing as Caribou's actions are, Martin thinks, it doesn't seem to be an active threat to either him or Shrike. If its going out of its way for Shrike, he can at least be cordial.

"She is fragile now. She will learn to tolerate humanity's injustices," the ijiraq notes. He glances at the breathing blanket pile in his car.

"I'm not sure I want her to."

"Reality supersedes desire. She will be treated this way by humans, always. Remember that." Caribou shifts into a raven, snatching its glasses and phone from the air and taking off into the sky with a squawk. Martin takes his place in the driver's seat, and starts the Jeep. He steals a single look at the still mound of blankets in the back seat before driving downward, car sinking in line with the sunset as it trails the road back home. Martin stops the car, hesitantly turning around to face Shrike.

"Hey... we're home, love." Shrike's blanket mound shifts, and she throws them off with a stretch.

"Please tell me food was prepared beforehand. The feed there was barely adequate for a compost bin, let alone my consumption." Martin curses under his breath, putting the car in reverse.

"Mexican?"

"Indeed, but I will not fall victim to your deceitful substitution of 'Taco Bell' again."

"It was one time!"

"Yet the scars still linger." She smiles softly, as Martin puts the Jeep in reverse.

"Additionally, why is there a half-refilled pit centrally located in the lawn?"

"Long story." Martin begins the drive back the way he came, silent for a few moments.

"Shrike, are you okay?"

"Yes. I simply had to collect myself, become warm, and regather light. Though if someone from the military would attempt to confine me again, I am unsure how I would react. I have deemed the thought process that allowed my capture as insufficient due to getting me captured, and from the narrowness of my escape. My future reactions may be violent." Martin watches her talk about potentially killing people while holding a plush pelican between her shoulder and cheek.

"I would go on the run with you. Might be fun."

"Two feral hunters, tracking down even beastlier foes for coin." Shrike amuses herself with the idea. Another time, another place... - Caribou flies through the window of the crappy apartment, shifting back into its normal form before touching the ground.

"Bang!" it shouts, staring at the back of his partner cleaning the kitchen counter. Elk jumps, dropping the sponge and instinctively reaching for a gun that isn't on his hip.

"God damn it, Caribou! We've talked about this! You get to do that once a week!"

"Your fear is so easy to elicit. It nurtures my soul."

"I'm closing the window next time and setting up a camera to see if you flatten against it. More importantly, I hear you committed a felony and hid evidence of an active investigation?" Elk hopes to God it isn't true, but he knows better by now. It's only been a couple weeks, but he's gotten a pretty strong grasp of Caribou's behavior.

"Yes."

"Explain."

"No." Elk wipes his hands with the dish towel.

"I'm a new hunter, but I'm not going to let our partnership get too unbalanced. I'm owed an explanation."

"You are owed little." Caribou pushes past him to reach the fridge, and starts searching through it.

"So what's the plan here? You get a shitty partner, and in turn you become the shitty partner? Impressive, didn't realize your shapeshifting extended to your mentality." Caribou slams the fridge door shut, looming over its shorter partner.

"You wish to know, then? A friend of mine, another magical beast, was taken in against her will for a crime she did not commit. She requested only one thing to MBR in exchange for cooperation: that certain sentimental items in her home not be damaged. Obviously, they were being collected by the MBR to be thoroughly researched and likely torn apart.

I falsified being an MBR agent, wiped the agent on site of his memories of me, stole the keys to one of their vehicles, recovered the objects that were being taken, and left on foot. The objects are still in possession of a trusted ally until my friend requests them back." Caribou huffs, a hand on its glasses.

"I will not stand for injustice where I can intervene. This extends to all, including our own employer. Including to you, should it come to it." Elk looks up at Caribou. Even behind the glasses, he knows his partner's eyes must be burning. His partner is kind of badass.

"God, was that so hard?" he nonchalantly replies before nodding at the beat up oven.

"I just put a pizza in, by the way." Caribou's hand loosens from his mirrored glasses, exposed teeth grinding against each other.

"I am a dangerous magical beast threatening you. You should be more frightened."

"I've seen your routine three times now. Besides, you did the right thing. Should have asked for a getaway driver, though, since I used to dirt race. I'm getting a kick out of how far you must have walked carrying all that stuff." Caribou flicks its head from side to side like a frustrated horse.

"Ridiculous. You are a disgrace to hunters everywhere."

"Nah, you're just pissy that I agree with you." Elks pats it on the arm before checking on the pizza.

"Does this look done to you?" Caribou pokes its head in the oven.

"If you enjoy food poisoning, it looks perfect." - They observed him, and he should not be observed. He is an absence. A shadow cast by the tallest tree. The dark side of the moon. The flash of a camera, an accident to have captured his likeness. He had little recourse but to trigger a small rockfall. He took the camera from the crushed child's hands, curiously flicking through the captured images. Scenery, scenery, a bird, scenery. The most recent was taken as the sun was setting: trees and stone.

Near the corner, a shapeless fog. This would have been written off as a camera defect, he thinks. He lets the camera fall into himself, tumbling into the endless night contained within. The incident is sad, in its own way, but not real harm done. They were only humans. It's not like they were people.