Before entering Avery’s house, Casey walked around to the back. Fifty feet from the rear entrance, a metal door covered a staircase leading down into the ground. “Old root cellar, we think it’s even older than the house,” Casey commented, heading down the steps into a dim room with a single light bulb on the wall.

  After a second, he returned, a colorful and heavy paper bag in hand. “Avery texted me to say there probably wasn’t any cat food in his pantry, but he had more in the cellar.”

  Simon nodded. The words made sense. The context behind them was strange. Cats in his world lived off scraps and rodents; did they get their own special food here? The bag featured a colorful picture of a kitten.

  Inside Avery’s home, several cats immediately converged on them. Casey led the way through the house to a kitchen similar to the one in his apartment, where he poured a generous amount of dry, crumbly bits out of the package into a large glass bowl. It had not been entirely empty of food, but cats mobbed it anyway, except for one fluffy tortoiseshell kitten who began scaling Simon's trousers.

  Simon reached down and detached the kitten from his leg. She rewarded him with a loud purr as soon as he tucked her in the crook of his elbow. It seemed she preferred attention over food.

  "Mark isn't very bright, is he?" Simon asked while petting the kitten. Mark had also taken Casey’s pointed rebukes with less protest than he would have expected, and it had become clear to Simon that they knew each other well.

  Casey glanced out the window, obviously checking on his truck and the man sitting in it. "He’s not stupid, Simon. In some ways, I suspect he’s a lot smarter than I am — I know for a fact his IQ’s higher because he used to brag about his, and it’s nearly genius level. Mine is not...” Casey trailed off and didn’t finish the sentence. What, Simon wondered, was an IQ? “But his brother shoved him out of a tree in second grade, and he was in the hospital for weeks. He didn’t come back to school for the rest of the year. When he returned in third grade, he was different. Angry, impulsive, rude to absolutely everyone. He had a head injury, but we didn’t understand that as kids. We just knew our friend had suddenly become a colossal jerk.”

  Simon nodded slowly. He’d known a man who’d been kicked by a horse and who had survived with similar problems.

  Casey continued, frowning as he watched Mark through the window, “He has no filter, whatsoever, and he’ll do crazy things for shits and giggles. They had to put him in the special ed classroom by fourth grade. He was super disruptive whenever they tried to mainstream him — one time, Avery said he threw a chair at the teacher because she wouldn’t let him sit next to Tara Bright, and Tara him. Then, in high school, they tried to include him in art class without an aide, and Avery said the only thing he drew for the entire semester was dicks, because he said art was for fags. Some of the dicks he drew were on other people’s art. Anyway... I won't let him be an asshole to my friends or steal from me, but I don’t think his behavior is his fault.”

  "He seems to respect you. Somewhat."

  “Oh, that. I’ve always called him out on his shit, but I try to be fair. The way to deal with him is to choose your battles, but never back down once you draw a line, and be consistent. To be clear, I don't trust him, and I don’t enjoy his company. My people shouldn't have to put up with him at the store. I just don't him.

  "His brother was a different story... Todd is a waste of air. had no excuse for his behavior, plus he'd put Mark up to shit and then let him take the fall and laugh about it.”

  Casey leaned against the counter and watched the cats eat. His brown eyes were unfocused, and he seemed momentarily lost in thought.

  The little kitten in Simon's arms purred. It had been a long time since Simon had held a cat, much less a kitten who appeared to be a scant week or two past the age of weaning. He stroked her back rhythmically. She pressed into his touch, and a little of the tension in Simon’s soul eased, just for a moment.

  Then, Casey suddenly shook his head, "Todd was the most misogynistic asshat I ever met. He was crazy mad when I took Chloe Arbor to prom. That’s a big dance and social event for teenagers. Todd had been asking her out for years, and she’d been telling him to fuck off for just as long, so why he thought she’d want to go to prom with him, I don’t even know. She even refused to partner with him on a class project in biology when the teacher put them together."

  Casey glanced sideways at Simon. "By then, everyone knew I liked guys. I was going to go with another boy, but his dad found out and grounded him for being gay. Around the same time, Chloe broke up with her boyfriend, so we decided we’d make it a date and just have fun.

  “Todd picked a fight with me the week before the dance, when I was walking Chloe home after school... I punched him in the mouth in the field behind the Walmart, and he ran crying home to Mommy. Honestly, I was disappointed that he didn't have more fight in him. I'd been wanting to beat the shit out of him for years, and all I got to do was fatten his lip."

  Casey added, after another second, "Todd seemed to think I was a helpless pansy who'd shriek and run if he made a fist at me. But Avery's dad was so worried we'd get hurt by people like Todd that he paid for both of us to take martial arts lessons. Avery’s a lot better than I am, but I can hold my own against your average idiot.”

  Simon glanced up at Casey, measuring his words. The man was slightly overweight in a way that suggested a life of moderate exercise and physical labor, along with a diet of ample food, with solid muscles under a little bit of padding. More to the point, he did not move like a warrior. Casey’s assessment of his fighting prowess, or lack thereof, felt truthful. It was a point in his favor, Simon thought, that the man didn’t exaggerate his abilities.

  Avery had been coordinated, athletic, assertive in his attack, and had towered above Simon by what had felt like at least a foot and a half. He’d meant business with that chair. Simon did not doubt that if he hadn’t speared Avery, Avery would have killed him.

  “When Avery told him what happened, Frank — that was Avery's dad — took both of us out for a steak dinner at the best place in town."

  Simon frowned. "I know Todd's type. They don't see women as people, just property. God forbid a woman they like prefer another man, especially one they consider lesser.”

  Casey nodded. "I hate to think that Todd had access to that book. If he could put a geas on a woman...”

  "And,” Simon said, "There are worse things than a geas. Spells that twist a woman’s form to the dark fantasies of men, for example. Casey, I am very glad the book is in your possession. In the hands of a man without honor, it could be devastating.”

  Simon trailed off and scratched the kitten between the ears. She was warm, relaxed in his arms, and purring so loudly he could have heard her across the room. Then he realized she might be missing out on her breakfast, so, with reluctance, he set her down between a chubby tabby and a long, lean calico. After favoring him with a distinctly disappointed stare, she joined the others at the bowl of food. Her purr did not diminish as she ate.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Casey said, “Let’s go before Mark decides to do something completely moronic to my truck.”

  Mark was sitting on the tailgate, swinging his legs, when they stepped outside. The truck seemed unharmed, though Simon had an inkling that would not have been true had more time passed.

  Once underway again, Mark said suddenly, “Hey. You guys clean out hoarder houses, right?”

  Casey didn’t seem surprised by the question. “Sometimes. Tyler showed Avery what was in your mom’s house last fall. We can’t offer you any money for it, but we told him we’d be willing to clear it out for free.”

  “Tyler told me about that. He said he wanted ten grand for the house contents and wouldn’t listen when I said I just wanted it all gone!” Mark stared out the window. “It’s all just man. I her shit. All the crap needs to go to the dump. Or light it on fire. I don’t care. I’ll bring the sm’ores. Tyler says he’s got a responsibility to get as much as possible for the estate, but he hasn’t managed to sell anything at all in a couple of years, and I’m getting kicked out by my roommates. I’ll be living out of my truck.”

  “So, Tyler’s not wrong that there might be value,” Casey replied, after biting his lower lip for a moment and giving Mark a long, sideways look. “Avery said he saw some things we might be able to sell. However, we’d need a dozen or more roll-off dumpsters for the trash and four or five people to help with the job. Avery estimated, and I agree, that it would cost us around thirty grand, between the labor and the trash disposal, to clear it out. There’s a definite risk that we could lose money, even if we got everything for free.”

  Somewhat to Simon’s surprise, Mark seemed to be listening. He said, in a resigned tone, “Tyler’s the executor of Mom’s estate, but the heir. I’m so sick of him making everything so difficult.”

  “Well, if he changes his mind, let me know.”

  “Tyler keeps saying we need to fix up the house before selling it, but contractors are so stupidly expensive, and I ain’t got the money. The guy today just quoted me $400,000 to rewire the whole house, so it’ll pass inspection an’ we can get the power back on. It can’t possibly cost that much. I offered him a fair amount, payable when the place sells!”

  Casey snorted. “There’s an extra zero in that number. He was telling you to fuck off and being rude about it.”

  “the contractors we’ve talked to have been impossible. I can’t pay up front, and none of them want to wait for the sale. The realtor said they need the shit cleaned out, the wiring fixed, new floors, paint, a furnace, kitchen counters, a well, a new septic system, new siding... It’d be worth a lot more if it were all cleaned up and remodeled, but we sure ain’t got the money to do it and everyone keeps trying to rip me off.”

  Casey glanced at Mark again. “Hmm. Let me talk to Avery and his mom. Maybe we can make a deal.”

  “To buy the whole house, you mean? I just want to be done with it. I hate that place. I really do. It’s even behind on the taxes. I can’t afford to pay them.”

  “I’m not guaranteeing anything, Mark, but... maybe we’d be interested, if you can get Tyler to agree to a lower purchase price.”

  “Tyler better agree to it. I’m renting a room in a house with four other people, and they me. One threatened to call the cops on me last night, and all I did was throw out a bunch of leftover Chinese food in the fridge that's been there two whole days. That’s how you get food poisoning, man! I’d give anything to get out of there.”

  Casey glanced sideways several times, eyes suddenly sharp. He said, “Yes. I to discuss this with Avery and Annette. Mark, I’ll reach out to you and Tyler soon.”

  ~~*~~

  Casey’s mojo was normally unhappy in hospitals, with a low-grade buzz insisting there were things to do and people to meet. If he reacted every time it tried to send him on a side quest, he’d have looked like a squirrel with the zoomies.

  The Gift was annoying like that. It often alerted him to opportunities or threats that he could do nothing about. He’d learned to ignore it except when it became overpoweringly strong, or he was actively trying to use it.

  When Mark had spoken of selling the house to them, Casey’s gift had gone on full alert. Avery had assessed the building earlier and had described a four-thousand-square-foot three-story mansion full from the basement to the attic rafters with bags and boxes of complete crap. He’d said it was both the biggest and the most jam-packed hoarder house he had ever seen, and he had advised against tackling the cleanout, except for free.

  Fixing or demolishing the home might cost a lot more than building a new house on raw land but Avery had talked about opening a bed and breakfast and filling it with fine antiques and vintage collectibles for sale. It was a good location and it had good bones — it was a neat old building. Casey’s Gift liked the idea and had never led them wrong yet. He’d just have to be careful not to mess with any more magical books he might find amid the rubbish.

  Avery was propped up in bed when Casey entered his room.

  "Look at you," Casey said with relief. "I thought you were a goner, man!"

  Avery grimaced. In a hoarse, whispery voice, he said, "I feel like I've died and gone to Hell."

  "Look it, too," Casey said and was rewarded when Avery saluted him with a single finger.

  It was good to see he had the energy to react. Avery’s face was pale, with dark circles under his eyes. His purple hair extensions were down, tumbling over his shoulders rather than carefully styled or, if Avery expected to get sweaty, put up in a protective braid.

  Tubes snaked under the blanket from assorted pieces of equipment, and an IV bag dripped steadily. The dragonfly necklace glittered amid the folds of his hospital gown.

  Avery rubbed at his face with his hand. "Did I hallucinate the man?"

  "The elf? No." Casey put Avery’s cell phone down on the bedside table. "His name's Simon."

  "His name." Avery's words were slurred and slow. He was, Casey abruptly realized, still very heavily medicated.

  "Yeah. He’s sorry he stabbed you, but you were swinging at him with a chair. He was afraid for his life.”

  “He meant to kill .”

  Casey shrugged. “But he wasn’t after . He had good reason to attack me. He thought I was the one who opened the portal and brought him here.”

  "Where is he now?"

  "In my apartment. He was trying to sleep when I left." Casey was a little worried about Simon. He’d mentioned being on the run for a very long time, always afraid for his life. Now, the elf said sleep was not easy for him. When Casey had left, Simon had been lying in his bed and staring at the ceiling.

  "Damnit, Casey! You left him in the shop with everyone?"

  "Simon was terrified, Avery. He’s not going to hurt anyone now."

  "You have to get rid of him!" Avery's voice hit a panicked note that Casey had never heard before.

  "Avery, calm down!"

  He clutched at his chest, "Ow!"

  His brother’s yelling had drawn a nurse, who hurried in. She said, "Hey, what’s going on?"

  "There's an elf in the store, and he's going to kill us all!" Avery shouted.

  Casey said, “Uh, I think he’s imagining things.”

  "Hoo boy." The nurse shook her head. "He's on morphine. It does that."

  "You've got to listen to me," Avery begged both of them. "The elf! You've got to get rid of the elf!"

  “He will," the nurse said, soothingly. "But you can't get excited."

  "My chest hurts," Avery complained, clutching at it.

  "You've got quite a few broken ribs from the CPR and a hole clean through you." The nurse patted Avery's hand.

  Then, quietly, to Casey, she added, "He's been ranting about a man with pointy ears all night, off and on. It's the good drugs. At one point last night, he was also petting his pillow because he thought it was a kitten. He was very concerned it wasn’t purring and asked me to take it to the vet."

  “Did I? I mean, if Little Fuzzy weren’t purring, she’d be sick,” Avery said, having overheard. “But the elf is real!”

  Casey mentally winced. Avery wasn't hallucinating now. However, the excessive emotional reaction was the painkillers. Avery didn't even handle alcohol well, and the only time he’d tried pot, as an experiment for his anxiety, he’d ended up giggling in a corner for hours, then puking.

  He tried to catch Avery's eye, meaning to mouth an apology, but Avery continued to rant about the elf with increasingly creative paranoia. Apparently, the elf, along with an assortment of Hollywood villains, was planning on unleashing the hordes of Hell on the world and opening a portal to the nether realms. It was clear he wasn't entirely lucid.

  Casey sat beside him and uttered quiet platitudes until the doctor showed up. The doctor peered at Avery, muttered something about sedating him, and started to leave.

  "He's going to be okay, right?" Casey asked.

  The doctor gave Casey a frowning look. "He damn near died last night."

  Casey let out a ragged sigh. "Yeah, but he'll be okay eventually, right?"

  The doctor nodded. "Lucky man. I still don't understand how he survived.”