“Phoenix alarm! Mount up!” Tanōka shouted over the shrieking bells. He shouldered on his perpetually-moist uniform and jumped into the driver’s seat of the fire engine, then leaned out and jabbed a finger at the new kid. “You stay here.”
The kid scowled but had the good grace to keep his mouth shut. He shoved his hands into his pockets and took several steps back, out of the way of the earth elemental streaming into a pipe on the truck like sand up an hourglass.
Forsberg hopped into the passenger seat next to Tanōka. She gave him a squint, then leaned past him to shout “Nemec, get in behind me, with Shail. There’s room – Evelynn rides outside.”
Tanōka dropped his hand from the key and scowled at Forsberg. “He’s not trained and we’ve barely seen him control a candle flame.”
Forsberg crossed her arms and frowned with hairless brows. “You’re in charge once we’re in the field, but I’m in charge at the station. Where are we?”
Tanōka felt his face sour.
Forsberg snapped her fingers. “No time to argue,” she said, pointing at the flashing third light of the five on the station’s threat display.
Refusing to look at the kid, Tanōka pointed at the back seat. “You will remain in the truck silently and take no action but observe,” he growled. He didn’t wait for the kid to nod.
Tanōka turned the key and slapped the console. The fire engine roared to life and screamed its alert. Tanōka kicked the pedal to the floor and peeled out of the station, over the curb at such speed he could feel the engine nearly tip. His reward was the sharp suck of air as Forsberg and the kid gasped. Next to the kid, Shail remained typically calm, while Evelynn banged on the roof shouted from the top of the truck.
Weaving through traffic was not a concern. Drivers and riders pulled aside and made way across narrow wooden canal bridges. Tanōka was free to watch the horizon for the pillar of smoke lurking behind sandstone-block apartments.
“Tanōka, why don’t you tell Nemec about the rating system?” Forsberg asked. Her knuckles squeezed white against the grip handles, her face pale with nausea, yet still she smirked.
Shail nodded assent. Technically Shail was the division chief. He rarely weighed in on decisions, mostly delegating to Tanōka in the field and Forsberg at the station. But a nod from Shail was effectively an order.
Through downturned lips, with eyes on the road, Tanōka explained. “Fire alarms are rated on a scale of one to five. Category one, Firefly, is minor, like trash fires on train tracks. Our division doesn’t get those calls.” He careened the truck around a corner. He should be able to see smoke by now. “Most fires in the city are Salamander, category two – potential for loss of life and property damage on a small scale.”
He glanced at the rearview mirror, but the kid merely nodded. Kept his mouth shut.
The engine crested a small rise and finally Tanōka could see it: a thick, rolling pillar of smoke, laden with particulate and chemicals, perhaps a dozen blocks away near an old canal branch. “That is a category three Phoenix fire. Already severe, possible hazmats, potential for extensive loss of life and property damage. Phoenix is our division specialty – we get the call first.”
Tanōka could not decide whether he was irritated or impressed by the kid’s silence. He barrelled the fire engine down older, narrower streets lined with wood buildings. When he saw the shining silver lines of rail tracks, he kicked the brake and slid the truck up alongside the burning building.
“Shail?” he asked.
The chief opened his all-black eyes. Younger than Tanōka, less burn-scarred, Shail was –
“He’s cursed with truesight,” Forsberg whispered to the new kid. “He won’t explain exactly how it works, but Shail only sees what’s really there.”
While he waited for Shail’s analysis, Tanōka pulled his filter mask and checked the truck’s surroundings. Clear, open pavement, no obstructions, nearby water access via the canal. Lots of wooden buildings nearby, but the fire was isolated, in the middle of a railyard without active trains. Forsberg was debarking her bound water and earth elementals, their formless bodies spewing forth from truck valves to form thickly proportioned, vaguely humanoid shapes three times Tanōka’s size.
The burning building had the look of an old warehouse, long and low and heavy – but made of metal, iron and tin, not as old as the wood construction nearby. Mirror-lines of rails surrounded and penetrated the warehouse. Off-colour smoke rolled and clung, blackening high square windows.
“A warehouse can be a shitshow,” he heard his voice declare to the kid. “This is a railyard, so the fire can’t spread easily, but anything could be inside. Chemicals, alchemicals, enchanted objects, spell cards…”
Shail opened his eyes. “Warehouse is full of wood crates packed with straw and glass bottles, contents unknown,” he whispered in a cracked voice. “One human inside, sitting near the fire.”
Tanōka swore and kicked open the door. “Plenty of fuel means a race against roof collapse, but we can’t afford to be hasty with unknown inventory. Forsberg, Evelynn, contain and suppress. Shail, on me, we’re going in to assess contents.”
Forsberg tapped her bracelets and directed her elementals. They dropped formless to the ground, enmeshed and encircled the warehouse in a low cyclone of slurry. Evelynn wrenched open a fire hydrant with her metal, crowbar-shaped staff and directed the flow of water into cubes, which she froze to ice.
“I can help,” came a voice from behind.
Tanōka swivelled and leaned on the back of his seat. He stared at the kid, having forgotten he was there, despite his subconscious impulse to explain aloud. “Remain in the truck, observe, and keep out of our way.”
He leapt out of the truck and landed heavy, shedding water. The firefighting uniform was light, only canvas and fire-eater down, but the enchantment that kept it moist added water weight. Tanōka never required those safety measures, but it was easier to hand his jacket and pants to a rescue than to petition for more rings of fire absorption.
He shivered from the damp of the coat. “Evelynn. Magical or mundane fire?”
She whispered a spell and cast a geometric spiral with her etched, dented metal staff. “Magic at the core, the rest mundane.”
“Gods protect me that I may protect others,” Tanōka whispered in prayer. The air around him shimmered faintly golden. “Gods protect Shail that he may see clearly.” The chief flickered golden also. Together they waded through the wall of slurry, elementals making way.
Tanōka kicked the nearest warehouse door until the metal bent in enough for him to squeeze through. Smoke billowed, soot clinging to rusty metal, but not to him – it roiled over and off his faintly golden shield-skin. Tanōka climbed into the roiling black.
He tested one cautious breath. The shimmering membrane filtered smoke, yet the taste of the air he breathed was acrid, bitter, and chemical. Filtering out toxins would cost Tanōka more energy, shorten the life of his shields. Instead he pulled down his face mask and motioned for Shail to do the same.
Shail placed his hand on Tanōka’s back. What his cursed gaze saw and penetrated, Shail would not tell, but he would certainly be able to read labels of shipping crates through choked atmosphere.
Tanōka stepped slow but sure, trusting in Shail’s hand which pressed on his shoulder blades to indicate turns. Together they strode through crates, oft turning and doubling back. Poorly organized, Tanōka thought – difficult for lifting equipment or spells to navigate.
Like a dragon lurking behind the ash it spawned, Tanōka began to see the ember-red glow of flames amid smoke. Shail tapped the signal to stop.
“It’s a distribution center stocked with potions,” Shail grunted. His voice transmitted through a small sending stone built into the filter masks – more expensive than radios, but smaller and more resilient.
Tanōka cursed without blaspheming. “What about the human?”
“Surrounded by flame but still unharmed.” Tanōka cocked his head, and Shail elaborated: “Something odd about the fire. Spreading as normal but most intense near the person, where there’s no fuel. Large open space.”
Tanōka flexed damp fingers into fists. He considered, wasting precious moments, then reached over his shoulder and tapped Shail’s wrist. “No telling what might happen once those potions break and mix and vapourize. We keep moving, get the victim out first.”
Tanōka pressed forward. He was twice Shail’s age, yet still the younger chief hastened to keep up. He wished he could see what Shail saw – silently, as Shail frequently chastised that wish. All Tanōka could see was billowing smoke, the glow of embers, and occasional low shadow. He shuddered at the soft clinking of glass under the high-pressure roar of flame and rushing wind.
Shail’s hand dropped away. “Ritual circle,” he grunted.
Tanōka stepped back, found Shail’s palm. “Our human?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Fire still spreading?”
“Yes, and strangely shaped.”
He hissed. All signs pointed to either a powerful spell gone wrong or arson. There was a possibility the Phoenix designation was incorrect.
“Fall back,” Tanōka growled.
Retreat was faster than entry. Tanōka jogged, trusting Shail’s touch, and short minutes later they were outside. Tanōka dropped his shield. The pillar of smoke had grown. Portions of corrugated tin roof had begun to bulge and glow. Two trucks from another division arrived, began debarking and connecting hoses.
“Change of plans,” Tanōka roared to his crew through rumble of flame and riot of lights. Forsberg and Evelynn rushed to him; Evelynn had discarded her uniform jacket, but there was no time to chastise. “Shail saw a ritual circle – lone victim may be arsonist. We’ll take a risk and attack hard, kill the fire before potion bottles break. Evelynn, push ice blocks in to bring down the temperature and flood. Forsberg, have elementals form a dome – contain steam from ice and possible explosion debris. Shail, stay outside and direct me on comms. I’m going back in.” The crew all nodded, trusting Tanōka as usual.
“I can help,” he heard behind him, a desperate whine.
Tanōka swivelled on his heel to find the kid hanging half out of the back seat of the fire truck, wearing a uniform jacket. Tanōka scowled at Evelynn, though she was too busy to respond. Tanōka put one foot up on the truck’s step to block the kid’s descent.
He tapped his commstone so the others would not hear. “I will say this once.” He tapped the polished obsidian band on his thumb. “I don’t have any spare fire absorption rings for you -“
“I don’t need one,” Nemec insisted.
“- and I can’t have my focus split while I’m running around in a burning building where I can barely see and breathe,” Tanōka continued, growling. “You’re here because the magistrate assigned community service rather than prison. I believe in the justice system and second chances, but you’re not trained, and until you are, you’re a liability. Tanōka shoved the kid back inside, slammed the door, and snarled “Stay put.”
As Tanōka turned away, the kid shouted “I can help from here.”
Tanōka stopped and closed his eyes. Perhaps he was better off allowing something minimal to prevent something stupid. He tapped his commstone. “Okay, kid. Nemec. Suppression only, and you do not leave the truck.”
He stepped out of the puddle his uniform had generated and clomped into a run. Tanōka was getting old and slow, but once he was moving, nothing could stop him. He charged through the warehouse door, shouldering it out of the way with his golden body shield.
“Hard right,” Shail called into the commstone. “Imminent pillar collapse.”
Tanōka pivoted and stomped right. Oily black smoke billowed with alarmingly-coloured sparks: the potions beginning to ignite and vapourize. He could not afford to waste energy hedging his shield against generalities; Tanōka would rely on his reflexes and team.
Smoke was somewhat less thick than before, despite the spreading flames. Young pyromancer Nemec seemed to be helping after all, suppressing the blaze at a distance.
Shail guided Tanōka through collapsing rows of crates, a different route than the first time. Twice he nearly stepped into glowing, sparking puddles of razor glass and boiling muddled liquids. He dismissed silhouettes and sounds in the smoke as the chaos of potions not meant to combine.
He did not dismiss the sharp crack clear over the roar of the inferno. “Nemec, focus on me,” Tanōka called, but too late. A flaming ember-red iron support pillar collapsed, dragging tin roof and frame, smoke billowing aside from air pressure. Tanōka sprinted and dove ahead.
Half the pillar, no longer burning, crushed a stack of potion crates to the squeal of wrenching nails and shattering of a hundred glass bottles. Jets of boiling pink-green fluid blurted across broken wood, concrete floor, and Tanōka’s clothes. Crystalline, toothed flowers sprouted from the contact points. Tanōka ripped his tear-away uniform pants before jagged roots could burrow into his legs.
“Shail, watch for another way out,” Tanōka shouted to Shail.
“Yes. Nearly there.”
The pressure wave of the crash dispersed, smoke rolled back in. “Turn around,” called Shail, “Ten paces forward, left turn, twenty paces, right, then straight and clear.”
He followed Shail’s instructions. As he spotted a light section in the smoke – an open space? – his commstone crackled.
“Elemental!” Forsberg screamed. “Elemental, there’s an elemental inside, get out!”
Tanōka very nearly swore. He paused, looked for cover, saw only blackened crates. “What kind?”
“I don’t know, it’s directing fire and molten metal against the dome. Vaguely humanoid shape, moving inside the -“
“Forsberg! What kind of elemental?”
A long pause. “Nemec says if it were a fire elemental, he could influence it. He says he can’t but I think it’s just too powerful.”
Something about her voice… “Forsberg. Contact? Are you sure?”
“Can’t connect, I can’t… No, no I’m not sure, but best guess is fire elemental.”
Tanōka focused, hardened his shield, prepared to run. “Nemec, maximum suppression. Evelynn, throw all the ice you have at the elemental. Forsberg, have your earth elemental support the roof, I don’t want the crates crushed. Shail, talk fast, I’m running for the human.”
He took off at as much of a sprint as he could muster under damp layers of canvas and down, following Shail’s directions almost faster than they could be spoken.
The air in the open space was suddenly clearer, as though something prevented the smoke from spreading this way. He saw the person, a young man wearing stained coveralls, on hands and knees in the center of a glowing flame-red ritual circle imprinted and burning on the concrete floor of the warehouse.
Within the pillar of smoke and ash, a darkly bright shape lumbered, a vaguely humanoid torso and arms atop a pillar, its skin cracked black stone with light flickering through the gaps.
Not a fire elemental.
Tanōka heard the walls shatter, rammed through by Evelynn’s ice blocks. No time to think or pray. On instinct he dove, tackled the man in the circle, extended his shield and hardened it to maximum strength.
Three enormous blocks of ice impacted the lava elemental, smashed through the black crust and into the underlying magma, and exploded.
Later, Evelynn would tell Tanōka that the shock wave blew the roof off the warehouse in a mushroom cloud of potion-induced chaos magic, vapourized Forsberg’s water elemental, and shotgunned burning wood, molten metal, half-cooled lava rock, broken glass and potion gunk across the entire railyard.
In the moment, Tanōka was aware of nothing outside his shield. He felt only the panicked kick of the man in his arms and the screams of his crew through the commstone in his ear, then the impact as he crashed into one remaining back wall of the warehouse.
The roof fell on them in a rattle of tin and rending iron.
He waited for the debris to settle and for the man to get a grip. He dared not wait long – with his shield at maximum, suffering this much damage, he could pass out at any moment. Tanōka saw no potion liquid or colourful gas, so he stopped blocking magic. He saw no flame and dropped his fire protection.
Carefully, slowly, Tanōka released the physical component of his shield. The debris they were buried under groaned, but did not shift. Panting, with black spots dancing in his eyes, Tanōka coughed “Are you injured?”
“No,” croaked the man.
“I’m going to get us out. While I push, tell me your name and what you were doing here.”
Tanōka braced and lifted with his legs. The corrugated roof was thin and lightweight, but the remnants of iron beams were heavier. He grunted and strained, unable to amplify his strength after so much shield expenditure.
“I’m Pawl. I summoned an elemental to help hatch this dragon egg.” The stooped, hunched older man winced as his blackened hands revealed a charcoal-grey lava rock, studded with tiny maroon and olive-green crystals, not much bigger than his two fists.
Tanōka had neither the time nor the will to explain to Pawl the depths of his stupidity. Particularly not when Tanōka’s own decision was the cause of the explosion. “Follow me. And tell me how to stop the elemental.”
“You can’t,” gasped Pawl. “Not without the ritual circle.”
With a mighty push from screaming muscles, Tanōka barely edged aside the fragment of warehouse roof. Rays of light shone through dust and smoke, enough to see that the man appeared unharmed save for charred, cracked, blistered hands cradling the “egg”.
After the magnitude of the explosion there was little hope that the ritual circle remained intact. Tanōka scanned, futilely, through smoke and dust and motes of chaotic magic. The circle should be near, but all he found were half-broken empty potion bottles, labelled for healing and elemental protection.
He tapped his commstone. “Division One, Division One, do you read? Sound off.”
He waited, far too long, lungs and throat raw not from smoke but from plain exertion. He hoped he would not need his shield. He was getting old.
“Evelynn blocked the worst of it with a water wall,” came Nemec’s voice over the comm. The connection was weak. “Something hit Shail. Evelynn says he’s concussed but should be safe. Forsberg is… She says she’s fine, but her binding bracelet for the water elemental shattered, her wrist is full of broken quartz, she’s bleeding bad, and her earth elemental is half-melted. The other divisions that came for backup…”
Nemec’s voice trailed off. Tanōka closed his eyes and whispered a prayer to the Four for the other crews. His team’s injuries weren’t good, but they could certainly have been worse. At least the explosion had also destroyed the lava elemental.
The ground shivered and cracked. Smoke billowed and belched from the epicenter of the blast. Furnace heat rolled over Tanōka and singed the hair from his brow, eyelids, and upper lip before he fumbled up his protection spell.
In the shimmering void under dispersed dust and smoke, the lava elemental reared up, arms spread, glass shards of healing and elemental protection potions running molten down its split-rock approximation of human form. The beast roared with a voice like a volcanic eruption, showering sparks across the flattened crater of the warehouse.
“How in the names of Order and Magic did you summon so powerful a thing?” Tanōka whispered.
“I only cast the ritual the way it was given to me,” Pawl whined.
Given to him? Tanōka flagged that for later investigation. He licked cracked lips with dry tongue. “Division One, upgrade threat level to category four, Sorcerer,” Tanōka called grimly. “Prepare for battle.”
“Not much left in the tank, boss,” Forsberg joked. Her voice was thick with pain and scratchy from smoke inhalation.
“What’s left?” Tanōka asked.
“How much longer can you…” Evelynn started, then cut herself off. Typically when she began the question, she rarely got further than two or three words. She’d never come this close to asking Tanōka how much longer he could manage his shield. “I have two spells left,” Evelynn continued. “One water control, one magic amplification.”
Pawl watched anxious as Tanōka nodded. “We can work with that. Forsberg, can you read or influence the lava elemental? It’s standing in place, but it’s up to something.”
The air shimmered with heat, blurring the form of the elemental. The ground trembled again, and the creature seemed to grow: cracks between its solid outer shell expanded, revealing molten stone and flame. Steam hissed from gaps in the concrete.
“Negative,” Forsberg struggled to say. “If you can get me a piece of it to make a new bracelet, I’ll do what I can.”
Forsberg needed the raw essence of the elemental to create a binding bracelet. Tanōka closed his eyes and inhaled air that smelled of burning dust. She was asking Tanōka to wrap her wrist in molten rock. He did not argue. If Forsberg suggested it, she intended it, with or without his help. Better with.
He spun the obsidian ring around his thumb, fidgeting himself back to task. “Nemec. Can you influence a lava elemental?”
The pause lasted only two seconds but felt like minutes. “No, boss. I can’t. The fire is too deep inside.”
“Tanōka.” Shail’s voice. Muddy, disoriented.
“Rest, Shail.”
“Tanōka, the elemental is pulling a magma plume up from the mantle. If it breaches -“
“It could become a category five Dragon-level event threatening the entire city,” Tanōka breathed.
He closed his eyes and spun his obsidian ring furiously round his thumb. His crew was injured and low on resources, and though he would never tell them so, Tanōka was nearly out of steam himself. “Shail, can we wait for more backup? MacReady’s soldiers or the Arcane Eye?”
“One minute to breach,” Shail whispered.
Tanōka’s knees buckled. Pawl tried to catch him, but he cried out at the pain in his burnt hands and dropped his counterfeit dragon egg.
Tanōka shrugged out of his uniform coat and draped it over Pawl.”Take this,” he said. “Terrible to wear, but it will keep you safe. Put your hands in the pockets.” Pawl did, grimacing, but some relief smoothed his face. “Move toward the sirens.”
Stumbling with his hands in his pockets, Pawl managed to shuffle through debris and over cracked tracks toward the second wave of approaching ambulances beyond the railyard’s perimeter.
Tanōka fumbled with his obsidian ring, then froze. His fire absorption ring.
He tapped his commstone. “Shail, Forsberg, stay where you are. Evelynn, wrap the truck in a water bubble. Nemec, drive to the elemental. I’ll meet you.”
Nemec began to object, but Forsberg, bless her, screamed to drive. From across rail lines and air cleared by intense, rippling waves of heat, the truck’s lights and siren blazed to life.
Tanōka threw away his mask and forced himself to breathe steady. With each shaky step he took toward the towering, angry pillar of lava, Tanōka felt the air burn his throat and lungs. He applied the least amount of heat shield, slowing but not ceasing the burn.
Another growth pulse cracked the elemental’s shell. The screaming siren of the fire engine distracted it from Tanōka’s approach. The creature reared back and hammered one now-colossal arm toward the truck –
Which vanished behind a swirling sphere of water. The pillar of lava collided with rushing whitewater and solidified amid a burst of steam. The elemental roared and pulled back, sliding toward Tanōka.
Two more steps and he was there. Tanōka took sharp, quick breaths, deliberately hyperventilating. His right arm shone gold and he plunged his hand into the gap between black rock plates, directly into the slow-bubbling red-orange magma inside the elemental.
He ripped a strand of lava from the creature, half-solidifying as it contacted cooler air. Tanōka broke off a ropelike piece. He breathed sharp and fast, feeling the heat through his shield.
Nemec pulled the truck pulled up alongside. Forsberg threw open the rear crew door and held out her arm. Tanōka stared at her, questioning silent. Forsberg braced and nodded.
Tanōka slapped the strand of lava onto Forsberg’s mangled, shredded wrist. Flash-cooked flesh whistled half as loud as the shriek of agony ripped from Forsberg’s throat. On instinct she reached to hold it, but resisted just long enough for Evelynn to redirect a part of the quickly-evaporting water shell to quench the burn.
The elemental roared, solid stone cracking and dropping from its arm to reveal fresh magma. “Reverse!” Tanōka ordered.
“But -” Nemec began.
Tanōka kicked the fire truck’s bumper. It did not move, but Nemec took his meaning. Melting tires squealed and smoked, and the vehicle moved back, leaving a sticky black trail.
“Forsberg, no time for control – crack its shell. On my mark, Evelynn cast your amp spell on my fire absorption ring, and Nemec push all the elemental fire intto the ring.”
The elemental’s black plates split apart and lava bubbled and flowed out. The creature roared, deafening.
Tanōka pulled the obsidian ring of fire absorption from his thumb, closed it inside his fist, wrapped his right arm in the last of his gold, and plunged it into the elemental’s body. “Mark!” Tanōka screamed through burning lips.
He felt his arm roasting through the weak shield he fought to maintain. Tanōka’s vision faded to red and he burned to his core. The ground rumbled and cracked and shifted as the elemental quaked in rage.
The slightest wisp of cool air brushed the back of Tanōka’s neck. No, not truly – cool by comparison, likely still past boiling, as he feared of his blood.
The lava elemental contorted and compressed in three stages that cracked like redwoods in a hurricane. Its light went out and in an instant its body froze to solid, shining obsidian.
Tanōka collapsed, hanging from his arm trapped shoulder-deep inside volcanic glass. It was cool comfort as he faded, unable to tell whether the sound in his ears was ringing or siren, unable to tell whose voice on the commstone said the magma plume was cold and the city was safe.
He was shaking. Someone was shaking him? Tanōka could scarcely see, but he thought it was Nemec. “Good work, kid,” Tanōka mumbled. “You’re part of the crew now.”
“I meant what I said,” Tanōka declared from his cold bath.
Tanōka was the last of the team to heal up. Taking his time in his old age. He barely kept his lips above the sickly-fresh water, thick with dissolved ointments and balms and potions. The burn specialist told him that not only could he breathe the water, he should, to accelerate healing of his throat and lungs.
It was awful and made him feel like drowning. Worse than being arm-deep in a living volcano.
Nemec sat on a stool, hunched over, studying the recovered stone “egg” sitting on the faded enamel of the tiled fire station bath room. “I didn’t do much,” Nemec said.
“Have you seen my scars?” Tanōka asked. He pulled himself up out of the mint-green water with a grimace. He tapped his chin, neck, shoulder, and upper chest, puckered like frozen bubbles of flesh.
Nemec looked briefly, then shivered and turned away. “You’re going to tell me it could have been a lot worse.”
“These are not from the elemental.”
The kid looked back, suspicious but curious.
“These are from an oil fire in my kitchen. I was working too much. Barely sleeping Spending too much energy charging into fires, doing it all myself, shields always at full. Fell asleep on my feet while cooking. Wife told me… Ex-wife told me I wasn’t safe for the kids. Took them to her parents and never came back.”
He tried to keep his voice steady. He could not, but hoped Nemec would hear the pain of his throat, not his soul. He settled back into the balmy water.
“I used to be too stubborn to accept help. Well. No one changes overnight. Sometimes I still am. I used your arson conviction and the magistrate’s order as an excuse not to accept your help. But the crew survived because we worked together, sharing the load. All five of us.”
Tanōka held one slimy, dripping arm out of the healing bath. Nemec contorted his lips and nose, but shook Tanōka’s hand.
“Thanks, boss,” Nemec said. “To be fair, you kind of did mostly do it yourself today, but I’ll prove I deserve your trust.”
Tanōka snorted. A bit of green bath goo came out his nose. “You might get your chance sooner than I’d like.”
Nemec frowned. “Boss?”
“Investigators haven’t yet found who gave that chump the summoning ritual. Not our job. But if they act again…”
“We’ll be a team.”
“Meant to say we’ll be ready. But sure, kid.”
Notes:
I don’t really like the epilogue. The story feels like a part one or chapter one of something bigger. If that’s the case, the epilogue is too much. But if this is a standalone short story, it’s some closure, rather than a semi-cliffhanger ending. I am tempted to expand this, the characters need more personality, but I ran out of time for the monthly schedule so I’ll have to think about it.
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