Chương 29: Act 1, Chapter 29: Person from the list

I was sitting on a bench at a bus stop across from a busy restaurant when he approached me. He didn't announce himself, didn't speak. He was a short man, maybe five-foot-four, Asian, dressed in worn jeans and a black blouse that hung loose on his lean frame. A jagged scar curved along the left side of his mouth, pulling it into a permanent half-smirk. It gave him a wolfish look, but aside from that, he was good-looking with sharp features, confident posture and eyes that didn't blink too often.

He didn't look at me. Just stood beside the bench, facing the same direction I was and lit a cigarette with steady hands.

"Take a seat," I said.

"The fuck I am," he snapped.

"I don't know you, lady. Sam said your boss wanted a thief like me, but I'm fuckin' bad at what I do, so this don't add up. Is this a setup?"

"Yet you came anyway. You might be right about being bad."

"The fuck's your problem?" He turned toward me, voice rising.

"I waited. Watched. Made sure you were alone before I came here. You get me, you fucking cunt?"

"I get you. Why so paranoid?"

"Why the fuck not? I ain't looking to get offed or spend another day behind concrete and bars."

"But you still want money."

"Fuck yes, I want money. So what the hell do you want from me?" I stood up. He twitched, stepping back quickly—too quickly. His reflexes were sharp like a blade drawn before you even see it. I caught a flicker of dark light pooling around his feet—grayish and shifting. Might've been a trick of the shadows, or maybe something else.

"We didn't come for your thieving skills," I said.

"We came for your magic."

"My fucking what?" He stared at me, backing away a few more steps—a safe distance I let him believe he'd created"You know what I mean. You've got something—light, shadow—whatever you want to call it, that lets you do things no one else can. Right?" His face hardened.

"You fucking bitch. How the hell would you know that? You work for that other cunt?"

"You mean Eveline?" He flinched at the name. His hands went into his deep pockets. I noted the tension.

"Yeah. Her."

"No. We're competitors."

"And why the fuck would I believe that?"

"What did Sam tell you?" I threw his earlier reference back at him. He squinted, then muttered, "Okay, okay, cunt. What's the job?"

"Before we get to that, I need to clear a few things first. How do you know Eveline?"

"I tried to rob that bitch," he spat.

"She tried to kill me." That didn't line up with what Penrose had described from the surveillance footage.

"She tried to kill you… because you robbed her?"

"Fuck no. I tried to rob her and she acted all sweet. Even gave me cash. Then, about a month later, she finds me again, asks if I've got magic now. And I fucking did. I had this dream, worst shit I've ever seen. Shadows that tore into me, chased me and screamed at me. But I fought them. Found this shining crystal in the dark and boom—I am the magic shadow-bender." He exhaled.

"I told her that. Figured she knew more. But then she pulls out this weird-ass necklace, says it'll give me more power. Tried to touch me with it. Didn't feel right. So I paralyzed her with my power and ran the fuck out. Her guys opened fire, but I'm good at running. So yeah, excuse me if I'm a little fucking careful now." Paralysis, shadows, a dream trial, and a crystal. Signs of a soul core awakening, following a pattern similar to the one that claimed Alexandra.

Eveline must have tracked him and waited for it to bloom. Then tried to—what? Harness it? Corrupt it?

"She's already killed a few people like us," I said.

"Us?" He blinked.

"You're fuckin' magical too?"

"Yes."

"What can you do, cunt?"

"I can make a painting believe it's real." He laughed.

"Fuck. That's the saddest fucking thing I've ever heard. I'd off myself if I got that."

"And what can you do?"

"I'm the fucking master of shadows, bitch."

"Meaning?"

"I can make my shadow, or any shadow I touch, do whatever the fuck I want. If my shadow moves fast, my body does too. If I freeze your shadow in place, you can't move. You get it now?"

"That's actually very useful. In the right hands."

"Yeah? Still think your painting's better?" he sneered.

"I never said that." I stepped aside, reached into my bag and pulled out a business card.

"This is our company. Penrose's Finest. If you call the number, someone will set up a meeting on your terms. Pay's solid. Boss is fair. Up to you." I laid the card on the bench. He approached cautiously, picked it up, turned it over in his fingers.

"I'll think about it," he muttered.

"That's all we ask right now." I turned to leave.

"I don't want to hide forever, you know?"

"I don't think anyone does," I said.

"Penrose is a good start. I don't hide as much anymore." I reached into my bag for Alexandra's Travel Grimoire.

"Goodbye, Mr. Yamashiro. Hope to see you again." I lied. Then I wished to return to Alexandra's room. As I reappeared in a familiar place I let my Authority slip away from where it coiled inside me and returned to my former self. This whole experience was the strangest thing I've done in these last few magic-soaked days and that was saying something. It wasn't like wearing a mask or playing a role anymore. It felt like my soul had split down the center.

I was both steering Gertrude and watching from the backseat, like riding shotgun in my own body. Creepy, cool, a little unnerving and totally effective. Something I'd definitely be using again. Still, I'd rather slide into Jess Hare's sleeve than Gertrude's any day. Gertrude was razor-sharp and hard-edged, but exhausting. Jess Hare, though was always breezy, clever, a little sarcastic and knew how to hide in plain sight. She was always a little more "me."

A bit on the nose, a bit of a smartass, but with enough misdirection to keep people guessing. And now that I had the Travel Grimoire on hand at all times, danger didn't carry the same weight it used to. If I ever had to disappear in a blink, I could. That changed the rules. Jess Hare might not be off the table anymore. I'd think about it. More importantly, I'd learned something useful today. Eveline was likely the one who wrote the list.

Her modus operandi became clearer now: meet people with potential to develop Domains, then circle back to them after some time. If they failed to manifest then nothing happened. But if they did, then they started dying or disappearing. That's probably why she didn't pay me another visit, she'd lost the necklace by then. Honey said it had been pulsing with Authority when she touched it and it was enough to scare her visibly.

And Shiroi was clearly set on scrubbing out any trace of involvement from himself and Robert de Marco. Which only made sense if they'd taken the necklace and wanted Eveline none the wiser. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. I pulled out my phone and called Mr. Penrose.

"That is indeed interesting," he said after I laid out everything I'd learned.

"Sir, maybe the best play would be to inform Eveline who hired us?" I suggested cautiously.

"Let them sort it out between themselves?" His voice didn't scoff, but it tightened slightly.

"That would be a good move, if we could be certain they'd destroy each other in the process. But if either one survives…"

"We're sitting ducks," I finished.

"You're right. Even if Eveline wins, she'll know we couldn't take down Robert ourselves. That'd mark us as weak. Disposable. It's a bad play," I concluded.

"I didn't say that," he replied and his tone shifted, thoughtful but not dismissive.

"I said it requires assurances of their mutual destruction. And that can be arranged, given time. I'll think on it." That caught me off guard. I'd expected a flat rejection, not strategic consideration.

"Understood, sir."

"Alexandra," he continued.

"I contacted the man I told you about before, the one I think might be useful to our situation. He's agreed to meet with me tonight and he wants to meet you tomorrow."

"Of course. I'll await the details."

"I'll send them when I have them. One last thing before I let you go. Have you checked what happened to Thomas's camper?"

"No, sir. I'll do that right away."

"Good." He ended the call with a curt nod that I imagined, but could practically hear. I was still dressed as Gertrude. The makeup, the wig, the clothes, everything still on me. Not ideal for stealth, but not bad for intimidation, either. I reached for the worn leather cover of my Travel Grimoire, the surface warm beneath my fingertips. I ducked under the bed and pulled out Noxy and without hesitation, I activated my anchor and vanished. I materialized inside the camper.

But instead of stillness, I was hit by a jolt. Momentum slammed into me as the vehicle rocked forward and I stumbled hard—my balance gone. My shoulder cracked into the nearest counter and I just managed to brace against the wall before hitting the floor.

"What the fuck?" the driver barked, glancing in the rearview mirror. His eyes widened in disbelief.

"How the fuck did you get inside?" He slammed on the brakes and the camper screeched as it jolted to a halt. I wasn't ready for that either. My body lurched forward and crashed straight into the table. A sharp sting ripped through my torso, dragging a hiss from my teeth. Through the haze of pain, I saw his hand move, toward the glovebox, maybe under the seat. Didn't matter. I knew what he was reaching for. I leveled Noxy at his head with both hands.

"Don't you fucking dare. I will bloody shoot you." His hands went still. I planted one foot forward and gripped the railing near the ceiling, bracing in case he decided to floor it again. I wasn't getting thrown around twice.

"What do you want?" he stammered.

"You want the car? Take it."

"Where were you taking it?" I asked coolly, scanning the windows. We were near the docks, parked crookedly on a sidewalk. A quiet part of the industrial district, perfect for shady handoffs.

"My boss wanted it sold," he said quickly, the panic seeping into every word.

"I'm just delivering it to the buyer. That's it. I don't want trouble. I don't want to die over this shit."

"Why not yesterday?"

"Huh?"

"The camper disappeared yesterday. Why wait until now to sell it?"

"I didn't have a buyer until this morning," he said, licking his lips.

"One day. Just one day. Who are you? Who sent you? How did you get inside?"

"Too many questions," I said flatly.

"Your boss, De Marco, is going to be pissed you lost the car?" I left it vague for a reason. That made him hesitate. His eyes darted, calculating.

"Yes. She's going to be pissed. But I'd rather have her pissed than be dead. So… you gonna let me go?" Interesting. That might mean Eveline was the boss of that house and Robert just a visitor.

"Hard life," I muttered.

"Now get out of the car and run. Run until I can't see you anymore. If you turn around once, I shoot. You got me?" I let my Authority rise. Gertrude surfaced through me. He saw it in my posture, in the way the gun didn't tremble. He shoved open the door and ran. Didn't look back. I watched until he vanished down the street, then exhaled and slid into the driver's seat. Shit. I didn't know how to drive a car. Of course I didn't. I had only learned how to ride a motorbike.

Gertrude seemed like the kind of person who would know the skill, but Authority didn't grant actual muscle memory or expertise. It changed posture, aura, and instincts, but not knowledge. A mask still needed a face to wear. I sighed and pulled out my phone. Dropped the Gertrude veil and dialed Thomas. He answered with a groggy "Yeah?"

"It's me," I said.

"Do you want your camper back?"

Later, I was home again. Thomas had come to the docks, collected his camper, asked few questions. I filled in Penrose during the wait, kept it brief. He seemed satisfied. But the whole situation left me thinking. I could portal into moving objects, clearly. That opened doors. But what about to objects? Could I portal to something, not somewhere? Back in my own skin, dressed in my usual clothes, I found myself standing in the bathroom holding a quick watercolor sketch of Noxy.

I'd painted it on a small scrap of paper. Noxy itself lay just a few feet away, resting against the wall in my bedroom. I focused. Take me there. But my Authority didn't respond.

"Anansi?" I asked. [The Soulmark of Connection allows you to touch a painting and use it as a spatial tether to a real, existing location. By rendering a faithful depiction of a place you know, you create a magical anchor tied to memory and representation. The painting must depict a real, specific location you have physically experienced or deeply internalized. The connection is anchored through memory and representation.] So it has to be a place, not an object? [That is correct.] I tilted my head.

But the camper worked. That's both a place and a thing. I was inside it. [Exactly. You portaled to a place within an object. The spatial anchor was valid.]"So…" I paused.

"Will I ever be able to portal to items? Or even people?" [I have no knowledge in relation to that question. Yet.] I grinned.

"Yet. That's a strong, definitive maybe. I'll take it." A future version of this mark that lets me teleport to a person I know, or to an object I've painted would change everything.

"What's my progress Anansi?" I asked. [You are at 6%. You need 94% more essence of Authority to initiate growth.]"Two percent points? That sucks." Still. Forward was forward. I'd take it. Later that evening, I shifted gears. Sat at my desk with my brushes, paints and a fresh sheet of paper. I painted my Domain again, capturing it from memory as best I could. It came to life under my hand. Once dry, I folded it neatly and slid it into a locket I used as reference for my metallurgy assignment.

I strung the chain around my neck and let the locket rest against my collarbone. It would be my escape plan, one I should've made long ago, if only I'd realized it was possible.

"Will this work, Anansi?" [Yes. As long as it touches you, you will be able to use it. However, the strain on your soul will be greater without a clear reference image.]"Like when I touch the Grimoire but choose a place in my mind instead of on the page," I said, nodding.

"Got it." There was one more thing I could do today before my next meeting with Shiroi.

The silver suit lay on the floor like a foundation waiting for architecture. I sat cross-legged in front of it, surrounded by a chaos of fabric swatches, vinyl scraps and metallic-textured textiles. I wanted each segment to look like actual alloy plating, something pulled from a sci-fi military film or a synthetic combat exosuit. And not just "metallic" in a Halloween costume sense. It had to feel engineered, more space-marine than medieval knight.

Cool silver, pale gunmetal, brushed steel, even slightly iridescent hues where the light caught the weave. Some fabrics I ruled out immediately: spandex with a foil finish cracked too easily when flexed. Lamé shimmered but had no depth. PVC looked right under harsh light but wrinkled under strain and I needed this armor to flex when I ran or leapt or crouched. The winner was a high-end vinyl-coated performance knit, smooth, tough and slightly rubbery on the underside for grip.

When topstitched, it could hold form and didn't pucker under tension. I could sew it directly onto the stretch base without too much compromise. Before I cut a single panel, I treated the fabric to make it look less like something from a gymnastics catalog. I mixed a thinned-down acrylic matte medium with a touch of dark grey pigment and lightly airbrushed it over the surface in gradient sweeps, dulling the too-shiny patches and adding artificial "wear" around what would become edges or impact points.

Then I carefully dry-brushed silver highlights back over the peaks and lines I wanted to catch the light, making it look slightly scuffed, slightly real. I wanted the suggestion of something weathered and functional, like this suit had seen action in some abstract war, or passed through time. Something powerful, but not ornamental. Even at this early stage, I was thinking about illusion: paint and fabric together creating the sense of substance. Style masquerading as mass.

Once the fabric was prepped, I flipped the stencil templates from earlier back over each patch, pinned them down onto the treated vinyl-knit and traced the shapes in tailor's chalk. It was tedious, cutting dozens of pieces that curved and bent in precise ways. Chest panels had to rise subtly around the collarbone. The thighs were more angular and rigid.

I had to think in layers and dimension, making sure the "plates" would overlap visually, without overlapping physically in a way that stiffened the suit or interfered with movement. I used a rotary cutter for clean, controlled cuts, angling the blade to create slight bevels when I could. Then I labeled every patch with a thin masking tape tag, marking orientation and placement, because it was far too easy to mix up mirrored shapes once cut.

By the end of the night, I had a growing stack of pseudo-armor: the artificial ribs, bicep shells, shin guards and sleek breastplates, all shaped and ready. They didn't weigh much at all, but under the lamplight, they looked like they might clink. That was enough progress for now. Next when I was ready, I'd start stitching them into place and then the suit would begin to come alive.