Skyglass: Chapter 7

Waif and Wolf

MOSS

The music burbling from Myriad’s exear speakers wasn’t right (bubble punk that smelled of strawberry piss, instead of Marko’s unscented doom metal), and even the lighting was all wrong–pink and sunshine instead of darkness. I could actually see my feet.

A strange woman was at the counter, and in the corner, an elf was meditating, feeding a row of flowering topiary along the wall. The woman eyed me kindly as I approached.

“Sorry,” she said. “We aren’t open yet. It’ll probably be a couple days more.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What happened to Myriad? Where’s Marko?” Even as I asked the question, I hoped she didn’t have an answer. Guilt had brought me here, on my day off, because I knew I needed to apologize, no matter how much the thought of doing so made me want to vomit.

“Oh, that gross old place? We bought it–we’re replacing it with something a little more…current. As for Marko, I don’t know. Haven’t seen him since we sealed the deal and transferred security access. Why–you know him?”

I turned and headed for the door before the question was halfway out of her mouth. I swallowed down the bile and fear pushing up my throat and headed to his apartment.

When I arrived, I stood in front of the door for a minute or two, bludgeoning my brain with BattleReady, the head-ramming piss Mark sometimes listened to before unsheathing his sword and stepping into a fight. But rather than steeling my nerves, it synced up with my rushing pulse, spiking my anxiety. I shoved off my headphones, balled up a fist, and knocked a solid three times.

The door swung open into darkness.

For a moment, I froze, acid memory catching me off guard. This scene felt familiar and awful: the silence, the pall of emptiness. I didn’t want to go any farther. I didn’t want to find another body, another red bed–but dread pushed me on. I lit up my com and shone it inside.

Nothing. My skin tingled: relief, but only the faintest trace of it. Everything in the apartment was gone. I still didn’t know where Marko was. I caught a faint whiff of dark beer and baked goods, and for just a second I thought I heard the rumble of his music, but it passed. Marko had left, and he hadn’t said a thing.

I fumbled with my com and sent a two-word message to Phoenix, the only person I’d told about this stupid mission.

He’s gone, I told her.

My com rang, and for once, I answered.

“You’re a pisshead, Moss,” was the first thing out of her mouth.

“Thanks,” I said weakly.

“No–I mean it,” she insisted. “You’re really stupid. You have a com–obviously–so why don’t you use the rotting thing to call Marko?”

She unsynced, leaving me with an earful of silence. I dropped my hand and stood for a moment in the hollow murk of Marko’s room, barely breathing.

I’d had the guts to come here, but could I call him? I definitely couldn’t text him–quiet words would be too cold. Disembodied voices weren’t much better; they’d always felt too intimate, too much like music, but what other choice did I have?

He picked up halfway through the second ring. “Moss? Moss?” His voice was dampened, like he was in a fox burrow. But a tiny bit of relief settled in me; he’d picked up, at least. He sounded confused, but he was talking to me.

“Yeah,” I said. “Moss.” I hated how dead I sounded, but I wasn’t sure how else to sound to him right then.

“Oh, bloody piss. I’m about to go into battle, I–” He let out a shuddering breath. “Were you calling to talk…about things?”

You have to say something, I told myself, so I forced out a “Yes.”

“I… Okay. Hey, this is my last bout, so…meet me here?”

I wasn’t sure what to think about the hitch breaking his voice, how tired and maybe drunk he sounded. I wanted to ask him if he really thought bright-battle was a good idea right now, but couldn’t get the words out. Instead, I told him, “Yes.”

A pause. Then, “Wish me luck?”

“Luck?” I murmured.

“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

Proceed to Chapter 7, page 3–>