by Frank Hurt
The young Investigator was still fuming as she walked home. She paused on the sidewalk beneath a coffee shop’s pent roof to make a call to Alarik.
“Rik? I know we agreed to set up interviews with the others this coming week.” Ember chose her words cryptically. “By chance, might you get one or two in queue today?”
“Today? Well…yeah, I suppose I could.” He sighed into the phone.
“Brilliant. And…would you mind picking me up, please?”
Alarik chuckled. “I guess, sure. Why not? It’s only a 45-minute drive each way.”
Ember ignored the sarcasm. “That’ll give me time to shower and change—I’ll explain on the drive. I know it’s inconvenient, Rik. It is for me, too.” She looked back at the tall building housing the embassy offices. Her gaze floated up to the windows of the Parker’s seventh story. “Oh, and Rik? If anyone asks, you and I are officially dating.”
Alarik arranged for her to meet two disabled changelings at a residence in the town of Makoti. The drive from Minot through the steady rain had given Ember ample time to tell him about the morning’s unexpected meeting, and how she hypothesized that it was little more than an intimidation tactic.
The house where they met belonged to one of the subjects, Peggy Barth. Though she was just 52 years old—typically prime physical age for a changeling—Peggy’s hair was thin and completely grey. The skin around her eyes was dark from chronic fatigue, sagging as though the muscles beneath had atrophied. She placed a lit cigarette to her lips after Alarik made the introductions.
Seated next to Peggy at the weathered table in the cramped, poorly-lit kitchen was the other subject. Kenneth Newman looked no better off than Peggy. He looked twice his age at 40 years old. He was tall and thin to the point of emaciation. Ember studied their auras and found them to resemble Arnold Schmitt’s: knotted, twisted, coiled. There was no sign whatsoever of their animal subforms.
Both explained that they were unable to focus for extended periods of time, had difficulty sleeping, and suffered from a range of medical issues. All of it, they said, started in 2001.
“Take me back to 2001. What happened?” Ember crossed her legs and began scrawling on a yellow legal pad. “You were hired to explore the industrial accident south of Mandaree, yeah?”
“We were.” Peggy took a drag of her cigarette. Her voice had the deep, rough growl consistent with someone who suffered from emphysema. “Kenny and me, we were part o’ the second group to ‘splore the fog.”
“Second group? How many?” Ember drew a horizontal line in her notes. “Do you recall the names of those who were with you?”
“Sure. Let’s see it was Paul Barkley from Stanley, Marv Richter from the Velva area, Roy…hell, what was his last name?” Peggy looked at Kenneth.
“Turner. Roland Turner.” Kenneth fidgeted nervously in his seat. “Joseph Anyon, too. He’s the other one.”
“You betcha, Joe too.” Peggy sucked on the shrinking, white stick. “He’s a dog. Literally. Well, he was a dog I guess.”
“So was I.” Kenneth chewed on his fingernail, his eyes never looking up from the table. “Mine was a Blue Heeler. Joseph was a Black Lab though.”
“Anyway,” Peggy coughed loudly, twice. “The six of us were sent in after the first four didn’t come back. We were selected ‘cause we were all fast—our animal forms were, anyway. Mine was a pronghorn antelope, believe it or not.”
Kenneth counted off on his fingers, the tips which seeped carmine with blood from his gnawing. “Paul was a Whitetail, Marvin was a dog, too, and Roland was a big elk.”
“Roy had one hell of a set of antlers, he did.” Peggy smiled faintly as she remembered. Her few remaining teeth were mustard-colored. “He was a good lookin’ young man.”
“I’m sorry, you keep saying this in past tense.” Ember suspected the explanation from witnessing Arnold’s missing subform, but she needed to confirm. “Neither of you have been able to change into your animal form since the Mandaree Incident?”
“None of us. Right, Peg?” Kenneth resumed his nervous nibbling.
Peggy gave Kenneth’s shoulder a squeeze. The fingernails on her leathery hand were long and yellow. “Yup, that’s right. I know the first group—the four who went in before us—they’re dealin’ with the same shit. Ain’t that so, Rik?”
“It’s so.” Alarik agreed. He sounded morose. “I know all ten of you, and the story’s all the same.”
“Okay. Please continue.” Ember gestured with her right palm upward, ink pen tucked between her index and thumb. Her eyes began to sting and her nose tickled from the accumulating smoke in the small room.
The tip of the cigarette between Peggy’s lips turned cherry red as she drew oxygen through it. She blew a lungful of smoke out the corner of her mouth, away from the table. “They had a theory, thems that hired us. They said that every human who went into the fog never came back out again, but wildlife was seen to come and go like no big deal. They figured that if we went into it in animal form, we’d be able to go in and out as we please, same as them critters.”
“Do you know if the first four scouts went in, in their animal subform?” Ember resisted the urge to sneeze from the growing cloud of carcinogen. When both Peggy and Kenneth shrugged, she made a note to include that question when she interviewed the other changelings. “That’s alright. So, tell me what happened when you visited the industrial site. Whatever you can remember.”
Kenneth shifted his weight. He began nibbling on the fingernails of his left hand, though they were already pared back too far. “It’s not much, the memory.”
Peggy nodded. “We talked about it a lot over the years, tryin’ to make sense of it all. The cloud o’ gas looked like fog of any kind. We didn’t have masks or nothin’ but they told us that it didn’t matter much, as we wouldn’t be goin’ in far. We were supposed to just go in about a hundred yards, turn ‘round and come right back to report to them. We were gonna go deeper into the fog each time.”
“Didn’t get far.” Kenneth sniffled.
“Nah, we didn’t.” Peggy flicked ash into a chipped coffee mug. “So, we all walked in together, in our animal forms. It was cold as fuck—February, remember—and the fog was chilly, too. Frost everywhere. Snow, ice. We went in just far ‘nough that we couldn’t see the pickups parked on the section line. Next thing you know, we’re waking up in September.”
Ember leaned forward and spoke quickly. “What do you mean, you woke up in September? You don’t remember anything at all that happened in the eight months between? Nothing?”
“Nothing.” Kenneth sniffed. “And we were in our human forms when we woke up, too.”
“Right. All of us were.” Peggy hunched her shoulders as she sighed. She tapped another menthol out of a moss-colored pack of Kools and lit it using the butt of her previous cigarette. “Ain’t never been the same ever since.”
“Do you remember anything at all from your time in the fog?” Ember suspended her pen over a blank line on her notepad. “Any sounds, smells? Did you see any people, any clue as to what was going on?”
“I remember a sound,” Kenneth closed his eyes. “Like a…a buzzing, in my ears. And no smells, but my mouth tasted like copper. I have good hearing and taste buds. Or…at least I used to.” He opened his eyes and resumed chewing on his thumbnail.
“It’s like havin’ a part of you fuckin’ ripped away.” Peggy looked at the dingy, tar-yellowed curtains in her kitchen window, though her eyes didn’t seem to focus. “It’s like losin’ your identity. Like losin’—”
“Your soul,” Kenneth whispered.
Peggy nodded imperceptibly. “It fuckin’ sucks. I ain’t gonna lie; every couple’a months I think about endin’ it all. I even tasted the muzzle of my shotgun once—I got that close.” She held a finger a few inches away from her cigarette. “But these goddamn things are gonna do it for me.” The woman chuckled hoarsely. She brought the menthol back up to her lips, though she didn’t take a drag.
/> Silence followed. Ember looked at Alarik, sitting next to her as he watched Kenneth. She wondered if Arnold had told him a similar encounter. She was feeling deep sympathy for these people, and the thought of having to bear these experiences for nine excruciating years—with no cure in sight—had to wear on their mental health.
“Arnie’s subform was a coyote,” Alarik said quietly, as though he was almost hearing her unspoken question. “Same as mine. He always wanted to be like me when we were growing up—wanted to be like his big brother. I hated how he followed me around all the time, mimicking me. When he reached his Manifestation Day, I prayed that he wouldn’t be a coyote. I didn’t care what he was, just so he wouldn’t follow me in that, too.”
Alarik slid his chair back and stepped over to the refrigerator, facing away from the others. He leaned his elbow against the edge of the fridge. “He has nightmares now, where he sees his coyote, trapped in quicksand, surrounded by fog.” Alarik tipped his head forward to rest against his tanned forearm.
The lit cigarette stuck against Peggy’s lower lip, the ash accumulating though she had yet to draw from it. It vibrated as she spoke, sending particles of burnt tobacco floating. “Me, too. I see my antelope in mud. Up to its neck.”
Kenneth stopped chewing. He looked at Peggy and then at Alarik, who was looking over his shoulder now. “I can’t sleep unless I take pills because when I don’t, I see my Blue Heeler trapped in swampy mud. I wake myself up from the screaming.”
“Wait, so…” Ember looked at each of the changelings. “You two are having the same recurring nightmares as each other? And Arnie is, too?”
All three nodded, their eyes wide as they looked at one another. Alarik broke the silence. “What does that mean? Does it mean something?”
Ember ran her fingers through her blonde mane. “I don’t know. Maybe. It might just be coincidence. You’ve seen Healers though?”
They both nodded. Kenneth said, “Several. They couldn’t do anything for us. They told us to stop coming around because we were scaring off customers at the Magic City Spa.”
Ember frowned. She had more questions—such as who was denying them access to the spa, who they were hired by, and who their handlers were when they were driven to the fog. She felt compelled to do something else, first.
“I’m not a Healer, admittedly, but my Mum is one of the best in the world. I learned some from her, and I recently learned that I have some…abilities…that I didn’t know I had before.” Ember thought of her conversation with Barnaby, and how he had declared her to be his peer—a so-called Inquisitor possessing unheard of abilities. She was feeling confident. “I would like to try something if you don’t mind? Kenneth, let me see your hands.”
Kenneth looked uncertainly at Peggy and Alarik. When neither of them said anything, he reluctantly brought his hands down on the table, palms up. His skin was so pale it was nearly translucent.
Ember sat her notepad aside and took his hands in hers. She studied him, but he kept his gaze affixed at their hands. Before she closed her eyes, she noticed the set of raised track marks inside his elbows.
Her eyes closed, she focused her attention to the changeling’s twisted aura. She willed her own aura—vibrant and healthy—to slowly slide down from her arms, over and up his arms. Her energy shined, rich with mana only she could see. She imagined her energy coating his knotted, twisting aura, like thick paint pouring over rough wood.
She heard Kenneth sigh, and Ember’s lips twitched into a satisfied smile. She knew she was no Healer, but she had a gift beyond what any living Investigator had. I can help these people.
Then she felt it awaken within Kenneth. He whimpered and fidgeted even as Ember saw the sickly, dark green slime seep to the surface of his knotted aura. It acted like a sentient infection made aware that its existence was being threatened. It felt like oil, viscous and foreign.
The slimy, alien presence oozed over the blanket of Ember’s aura and began flowing up her arms. Ember tried to let go, tried to pull away, but she couldn’t. Someone touched her, and her eyes snapped open.
Alarik was saying something, but all she could hear was a swarm of bees. His face was panicked and he was shaking her, yelling as he stared into her eyes. In those dark pools, Ember saw the reflection of a familiar blonde woman, paralyzed with terror.
17
Spark of Justice
The roof of her mouth tasted metallic like she had been sucking on dirty pennies. The headache was severe, to the point where the act of opening her eyes took effort.
Ember willed herself to look, despite the pain. She was in a stranger’s bed, the overstuffed pillow cradling her head. A mason jar on the nightstand was half-filled with water and cut white and purple lilacs, greeting her with a strong floral aroma.
With effort, she swung herself out of the borrowed bed and shuffled along the carpeted floor. The door to the bedroom was unlocked. While the Investigator in her wanted to study the room, to search for clues to where she was, the only thought she would allow into her pounding skull was that of finding water. Anything to rinse the awful flavor from her taste buds.
One hand shielded her eyes from the bright morning light, the other felt along the plaster wall, as much for balance as a guide.
“Oh, thank god, you’re awake!” A man said. “I was trying to decide how much longer I dare wait to take you to the hospital.”
It took Ember a moment to associate a name with the voice. “Rik?”
“Yup. Here, sit down, sit down. Are you feeling okay?”
“Nothing’s broken,” she murmured. At least I hope not.
A padded, wooden chair slid up to her. A strong pair of hands gripped her shoulders and sat her down. She was given a glass of water, which she eagerly drank. The copper taste dissolved with each sip. Already, she was starting to feel better, the pressure on her sinuses decreasing. That’s when she noticed she was barefoot. Not only barefoot but pantsless.
“Rik, what the bloody hell?”
“What?” He sounded befuddled. “Something wrong? The water’s filtered, and I swear I washed the cup.”
“Not that. Where are my clothes?” Ember tugged the oversized shirt forward, seeing chipped screen print that she couldn’t read. “My pants! This isn’t my shirt.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. That’s one of my old t-shirts.” Alarik shrugged. “You can keep it if you like it. It looks better on you than me.”
“You…you stripped me down?” Ember blinked at the bright sunlight. It was still difficult to focus.
“Only down to your underwear. You really don’t remember?”
Ember frowned, then glared. “We…did we…I mean you—”
“What? You mean have sex? Oh god no! Jeez, of course not!” Alarik tilted his head back and released a laugh. He scratched his stubbled chin with his fingers and shook his head. “Are you kidding, I’d never do that!”
“Wow. Just keep piling insults on, why don’t you.” Ember continued glaring. She handed the drained water glass to Alarik. “My clothes, please. Where are they?”
“They’re in the dryer. I had to wash them—I wasn’t about to make you sleep in your own mess. You threw up all over yourself. A couple of times in my pickup, on the drive here from Makoti. You were speaking gibberish, murmuring. I tried to pay attention, but I couldn’t make out a word of what you were saying. You scared the shit out of me, woman.”
Ember looked down at the carpeted floor and began to remember thick cigarette smoke and murky slime. As the memory of the interview with the changelings came back to her, she closed her eyes and focused on her own aura. It was clean. Whatever that alien, oily energy was, she didn’t seem to be contaminated with it. She held her head in both hands and trembled. “Oh, bloody hell, what was I thinking? I’m so stupid!”
Alarik crouched in front of her and placed his hands around her shoulders. He spoke quietly. “You’re trying to help. You are helping.”
“And Kenny?” Ember’s fire-blue eye
s met Alarik’s dark pupils as she remembered her foolish attempt at healing the thin man. “Is he…is he fine?”
“He is. No change from before, but he’s fine. He was a little rattled, no denying that.” Alarik nodded. He released Ember from his partial embrace, though he stayed crouched at eye level with her. “Kenny and Peg were both more worried about you. They wanted to take you to Minot—to the spa for emergency treatment. That, or to Trinity—to the hospital. I decided to bring you here instead, to let you sleep it off. Whatever ‘it’ was.”
Ember leaned back in the chair and looked around. The wood creaked as her weight shifted. “That was probably a good choice. Where is ‘here,’ anyway?”
“It’s my place. North of Plaza, remember? It was nearby, and better than trying to unload and carry a passed-out blonde in downtown Minot at night.” He glanced at the scorched, leather-banded Casio he wore on his left wrist. “You’ve been asleep for about fourteen hours.”
Her thoughts were a jumble, but at least her head was feeling better. She said simply, “I’m hungry.”
Alarik’s face brightened into a grin. “I can help with that. You go ahead and take a shower and I’ll get your stuff from the dryer. I’ll take you out for brunch—the best place to eat in Mountrail County.”
Lucky excitedly ran up to Alarik’s pickup, collecting tribute in the form of pets from the driver before scrambling over to the passenger side for more.
Ember leaned down to pet the German Shepherd behind her ears. She looked uncertainly at Alarik. “Are you sure it’s okay to bring me to your family’s Sunday brunch? Won’t this be awkward?”
He reassured her that it wouldn’t be. But it was, at least initially.
Alarik introduced Ember to a pale man who she recognized as Arnie. She shook his hand only briefly; the prospect of risking contact with the alien energy made her wary. She hoped nobody confused her caution with rudeness.