Marci could not believe what she was hearing—tales of animal kings and ancient magic whispered in the dim cabin light.
This is crazy. I need air. I need space.
Bai and William sat just a few feet away, the same two gentle old men who had always seemed so ordinary.
Now she saw them for what they were—something other.
For the first time, William looked truly tired.
Bai stretched, joints popping, and when his arms came down his clothes shimmered. The brown jacket melted into dark purple silk; his worn slacks deepened into clean black.
"So much better," Bai said with quiet satisfaction.
With a wave of his hand, a laundry bag thudded onto the floor. He reached in, drew out a folded pile of clothes, and passed them to William.
William mouthed thank you.
Then Bai turned to Marci, eyes glinting as he sized her up. A chuckle. Another reach into the pale bag.
He produced a stack of clothes—blue polo, black pants soft as smoke—and handed them over.
"These have been… upgraded," he said.
"Upgraded?" Marci echoed, holding them like they might bite.
"Nothing extreme," Bai said. "Fireproof. Cut-proof. They'll never stain, and if you focus, they'll shift into armor when you need protection."
The cloth felt finer than silk, impossibly light. The shirt was at least three sizes too large.
"These are huge."
"They'll size themselves," William said, smiling like a father indulging a child. "And they replace what you're wearing."
"Of course they do."
Marci pulled the polo over her shirt—and before she could even feel the fabric, it shrank to fit her perfectly. Her old, burnt top appeared folded at her feet.
"Okay, that was cool." She laughed, almost giddy, and slipped into the pants. The denim look remained, but the texture was softer, fluid. Her old jeans folded themselves neatly beside the shirt.
"Makes you wonder how you lived without magic, doesn't it?" Bai said, pleased.
William's chuckle warmed the air.
"Word of warning," Bai added, voice suddenly serious. "Their power isn't endless. Once they've absorbed enough force, they die. There's no recharging."
"So… still try not to get hit," Marci said, half-smiling.
"Exactly. Against a Shadow Demon, maybe one, two uses before they burn out."
Marci touched the charm at her throat. "And this? Also magic?"
William nodded. "One of the strongest charms Bai can craft. One-time use. It can stop a fatal blow or banish any evil from sight for twenty-four hours—but it costs a year of your natural life. It triggers automatically if you suffer a fatal wound, or you can command it: I banish you."
"A year of my life?" She stared at them, disbelief flooding in. "You gave me this without telling me?"
"One year versus certain death is a fair trade," William said gently. Bai looked stricken but silent.
Marci's voice cracked. "Do either of you have any magic to help Gwen?"
William sighed, conjuring a small knife that spun lazily on his fingertip. "Not all Blessed share the same gifts. I move between places, create small illusions, simple things—food, drink. And I'm handy with a blade. My people were called Red Caps."
"And I," Bai said, "am more complicated." His tone softened when he added, "I guard the last Dragon Spirits. Before the Veil divided the realms, mortals called my kind demons."
Pain crossed his face. William patted his back. "Wasn't just mortals, old friend. But we know better now."
Color rose faintly in Bai's cheeks before it vanished again.
"To answer your question, we can't wake your sister. But I know someone who might."
He bowed his head. "Tiamat, I request your presence."
A shimmer, a breath of heat—and the Dragon Spirit appeared.
No larger than a soda can, her scales shone the deep green of jade. Golden whiskers drifted like smoke.
"Master Bai," she said in a voice as delicate as windchimes.
"I need your help. Heal our friend, if you can."
Tiamat glided to Gwen's still form, circling once, twice, humming softly.
"Most interesting," she murmured. "Her body I can mend—but her mind… I cannot fix what is not there."
The words froze the room.
No one noticed that Gwen's bruises faded, her scars vanished, her chest rose easier.
"What do you mean, not there?" Marci's voice trembled.
"I mean her body is perfect. Her mind simply… absent. Empty. She could rise and dance if she wished, but no one is home."
With a shrug, the tiny dragon vanished at Bai's thanks.
"How can her mind just be gone?" Marci demanded. "And why wait to call your tiny friend?"
"Mortals aren't supposed to know of magic," William said quietly. "We're bound by laws older than empires. The cost for breaking them is steep."
"Laws? You have your own police?"
"One man," Bai said, his tone darkening. "Detective Stone. He enforces every rule in this city. Older, stronger than all of us. Some say he was the first Blessed—the head of Mother and Father's army. He has slain, imprisoned, and stripped more Blessed than any record can count."
"Now, Bai," said a calm voice behind them, "it isn't polite to gossip."
Marci spun.
Stone stood in the far corner like he'd always been there. No door had opened, no light shifted. Jacob was still asleep on the porch, yet Stone was here, cold and uninvited.
"Ms. Marci," he said evenly, "Bai speaks the truth. Had he used his powers in public, I would have punished him."
"Even to save a life?" she shot back.
"Rules exist to keep our kind in check," Stone replied. "After the Divide, the Blessed turned on each other—murder, soul-theft, plagues. Some tore through the Veil to torture mortals. A heavy hand was needed."
He paused. "Mine."
No emotion touched his voice. Only authority.
"Right now, the press believes you all perished in the hospital fire. Stay dead. Stay out of sight. I'll find who targeted your sister. Until then, William—can you acquire a homestead stone?"
"Aye, maybe," William said warily. "But not cheap or easy. And I might have to bend a few of your rules."
Stone's eyes narrowed. "Hear me, dwarf. You may use your gifts in defense of life—yours or theirs. But if you harm a mortal, or expose us, I will kill Bai and strip you of your power. You'll live out your days as an ordinary man."
Bai gasped; William flinched.
Stone looked to Gwen, then back at Marci. "Trust them to keep you safe. You couldn't ask for better—unless it were me."
And he was gone. No shimmer. No sound. Just gone.
"I think that's the nicest thing he's ever said about us," William muttered. It did nothing to ease the tension.
"What's a homestead stone?" Marci asked.
"A shelter," William said. "Think of it like an invisible caravan. Once I find one, the four of us can live within it while Jacob carries it in his pocket. Hidden from nearly everyone."
Marci stared at him.
"Marci, dear, you need rest."
With a wave, the wood stove vanished and the loveseat stretched into a couch. Bai conjured pillows and a blanket soft as clouds. Marci was too exhausted to argue.
William glanced to his friend. "Will you be all right, old man?"
"Of course," Bai said, smiling faintly. "I'll rest too—but I'll have the spirits watch over us."
William blinked out of the cabin, and silence settled.
Marci lay down, eyelids heavy. Just before sleep claimed her, she thought she saw something impossible—a flicker of worry on Bai's face.
---
Gwen
In the deep dark, Gwen knelt and sobbed. She missed her sister. She missed William's warmth and Bai's laughter.
I can't give up. I need to get back to them.
She wiped her eyes—and caught light glinting in the tear on her finger. Like a mirror, it shimmered.
Puzzled, she turned in a circle, watching the reflection strengthen in one direction and die in another, like a compass of light.
Then it dried into her skin.
"Am I going mad?" she whispered. She blew a spit bubble just to prove she still could. It landed in her palm, empty, useless.
Maybe just my tears work.
She bit her cheek until blood filled her mouth. Tears welled hot. In her hand, the small puddle of tears gleamed—and in it, she saw a faint outline of a door.
"A door? I am mad."
But what did she have to lose?
She followed the light trail until it stopped before invisible air. No door stood before her, but the image in her tears insisted it was there.
The puddle began to shrink.
"Fine," she muttered. "If I'm crazy, so be it."
She closed her eyes and reached. Her fingers brushed something cool and smooth—a polished wooden knob. When she opened her eyes, it was gone.
"I felt that," she said through clenched teeth.
She tried again, eyes closed. The knob met her palm. She turned it, pushed—and the world vanished.
Weightless, she fell. Wind screamed past. Her stomach lurched like the drop of a roller coaster.
Oh my God, I'm dead. It's over. Forgive me, Marci.
Then came the impact. Hard, blinding. The pain was incandescent. She choked on blood and thought nothing more.
---
End Chapter 18