Dispatch hadn’t waited long. I flipped the phone over and scanned the new information.

  New Fare Assigned!

  Target: Ashley Ryan

  Profession: Bartender

  Location: Charlestown, Massachusetts

  I kept reading, curious about the other details I found on the Active Fare screen:

  Requesting Entity: Nyx’andra, Shepherd of Souls

  Destination Realm: Khthon Vale

  A sunless expanse where the sky sweats stone and the endless echoes carry memories from the beginning of time.

  Well, that was horrifying. I closed the screen and handed the phone to Cam, choosing to focus on the world in front of me rather than the frightening one described by the app.

  Charlestown was just a few miles away, and I knew it well. I had spent several summers there before the Academy, tapping kegs and cleaning up at the Halligan Club, my uncle Tommy’s Gaelic club, a place that didn’t have a sign and wasn’t listed on Google Maps. There had been no bartender or bouncer—only a combination lock that gave members access. The two front windows of the building were covered. That’s the Charlestown I knew, one where people minded their own business and expected you to mind yours.

  That said, I was a little horrified to have to run someone over in Charlestown on a Friday night. This would be a whole lot different from what it had been like with Johnson. No sleepy suburb 50 miles from the city. No country back roads. This would be a full-blown hit-and-run in the middle of the city.

  The map to Ms. Ryan had me headed to the Warren Tavern, a joint that had been pouring drinks since sometime in the 1700s, making it one of the oldest bars in Massachusetts. My uncle told me that it was one of the first buildings rebuilt after the British burned Charlestown, and is named after a guy who died at Bunker Hill. He said that Paul Revere and George Washington supposedly drank there, which may or may not have been true. Either way, it was only about four or five blocks east of the Halligan Club, just down the hill from Bunker Hill, and a few blocks west of where old Ironsides, aka the USS Constitution herself, was docked.

  Another message popped up from Dispatch as I eased to a stop to let some pedestrians cross.

  fourth_wall: Are you alone, Somerville???

  I looked over at Cam and flipped the phone over, motioning for him to get out. We both cringed as the door creaked open and closed.

  Max: I’m alone. Accepting the fare now…

  I paused, thinking. Getting out of the car, I walked into the now-empty street, looking over the car carefully. It looked exactly like my old Honda. Headlights popped on behind me, the brights blinding me so that I couldn’t see who was inside. This very situation had happened the first night after our last weekend away. I stepped partially out of the road to give them room and waved them by. Nothing. They didn’t budge.

  I studied the car's shape. My first thought had been that it must be axel_roads coming to exact some revenge for being blamed for my most recent fare, but this looked more like a hybrid… possibly a Subaru with a hatchback. Shaking my head, I started to cross the street, only to see the car gunning it toward me.

  It’s funny what can go through your head in just a fraction of a second. For whatever reason, I had a sudden feeling that I was about to be run down and wake up in another realm. Before I could react, the car swerved around me, sped out onto Central St., and slipped away into the night. What an asshole!

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Back inside my Honda, I started the engine and officially accepted the fare. Paying attention this time, I could see the shape of the car shift beneath me until I found myself in a Ford Pinto. From the look of the hood, the Pinto was the same ambiguous rust color that the Chevelle had been. What I initially thought was a racing stripe turned out to be a single, wide strip of Duct tape that went from the front of the hood up onto the windshield and out of sight. Death seemed to provide only the best rides for his employees. But, sarcasm aside, I had a feeling that if I looked under the hood of the Pinto, it would also have a brand-new engine.

  The Pinto's stats were interesting. There were four categories of statistics for each vehicle I had driven so far: speed, durability, capacity, and stealth. The Pinto scored one point higher in the speed and stealth categories than the Chevelle, but each stat was still under five. I wondered when–or if–I would level up out of the piece-of-shit car category.

  It sounded like I would gain levels every time I completed a fare. If that was the case, how long would it take for me to get the cool rides with the extra features and upgrades? Thinking about that, I reached over and opened the glove box. The same Bowie knife came falling out, but this time, the handle had built-in brass knuckles that gleamed in the passing traffic lights. As if the knife wouldn’t do enough damage on its own?

  Pulling out onto Highland Avenue, I headed through East Somerville, under I-93, and through the Schrafft’s rotary into Charlestown. I planned to take Main Street past the Halligan Club, all the way over to where I could hopefully find parking to wait for Ashley Ryan to get off work. After circling a few blocks, I found a spot on the corner of Warren and Pleasant, where I could watch for my fare to exit the bar at closing time in an hour or two.

  I had a clear view of the front door of the Warren Tavern. I didn’t know it very well myself, having only been inside once. It had seemed like a typical Charlestown bar, with a decent group of regulars. But it had also had a bunch of tourists, unusual for Charlestown. This created a very strange experience for the people eating and drinking there. It had been pretty evident to me which patrons the staff preferred.

  Movement caught my attention. The front door of the Tavern opened onto its awkward stone stairs, and a blonde woman emerged and began walking up Pleasant Street toward me. I glanced down at my phone, startled to realize this must be my fare, Ashley, even though the clock told me typical bartenders shouldn’t be leaving work for another hour or two.

  I shook off my surprise and tried to prepare myself mentally. This wasn’t ideal. Plenty of drunk people were still out and about, many navigating tipsily back toward where Main Street split from Warren. A pirate Santa walked in front of the car while my foot hovered over the accelerator. Ashley called out to the pirate, who waved to her and rushed to meet her. The two started walking together down the narrow sidewalks.

  Shit! I needed to complete my fare when she was alone. I didn’t know who the pirate guy was, but I hoped he wasn’t planning to walk her all the way back to her car or apartment, wherever it might be. Between her unexpected company and the sidewalks that were guarded by unending cars, I feared this fare was going to be just as tricky as I had imagined. I drove slowly through the narrow streets, making sure to stay out of their sight.

  Finally, at Green Street, pirate Santa hugged Ashley, then turned to make his way over toward the large parking area, back toward Cambridge. Ashley waved goodbye, then crossed the street in front of me and began crossing the steep hill toward High Street. I almost gunned it right then, but she must have had a weird feeling, because she turned to look right at me when she hit the middle of the road. When her eyes met mine, I froze, my foot hovering over the gas.

  Honking snapped me out of my haze, and I turned right and drove slowly up the hill behind her. This road would eventually lead me more into the residential part of Charlestown. The houses there were close together, and the streets met in a maze of one-way intersections. I was going to lose her if I didn't act soon, and I’d already learned the hard way what missing a fare would mean for me.

  At the top of the hill, she crossed a vacant High Street. This time, I didn’t wait. I stepped hard on the gas and turned the car left to meet her on the road. She turned huge doe brown eyes to look right at me just before the Pinto plowed into her. BOOM… Her body went flying, sailing over a car to the side and out of sight.

  I continued down High Street, passing a Boys and Girls Club I used to play basketball at after a long day at the Halligan. On the next block, the Sheriff’s office loomed. Strangely, not a soul was to be seen.

  I started to relax, bit by bit, feeling my heartbeat ease as I drove slowly through Charlestown. In the near silence, I heard my phone vibrate, signalling the completion of the fare. I couldn’t help but smile with relief. I reminded myself that I hadn’t actually killed the woman, and instead, had sent her to the Khthon Vale. Thinking back to the description of that world, my smile faded. “A sunless expanse where the sky sweats stone and the endless echoes carry memories from the beginning of time.” Maybe death would have been kinder.

  The phone buzzed again. I frowned. No fare should’ve come through so soon.

  The windshield had fogged up with condensation, and for a moment, I thought I saw movement beyond the glass. Something shifted against the hood, slow and deliberate, then a shape pressed closer, and the metal groaned.

  - - -

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