The Gaffney Outlet Marketplace sprawled under the Carolina sun, a kingdom of concrete, glass, and sale signs. The morning crowd was thin, but every single person in it seemed to have their attention snagged by the same focal point: Dáinn. Eris had managed to convince him to leave his cloak and sword with Skógr, but the dark, woven tunic, high leather boots, and—most notably—the elegantly tapered points of his ears remained on full display. He moved through the parking lot with the unconscious grace of a predator in a petting zoo.
He leaned slightly toward Eris, his voice a low murmur. "Do I truly stand out that much?"
Eris bit her lip to suppress a giggle. "Well, the ears are pretty noticeable. But everyone's used to cosplay around here, so that's odd but not exactly stare-worthy. I think it's the… whole ensemble. The tunic, the boots. It's a very specific vibe."
Dáinn paused, truly looking at the people milling around them for the first time. He saw a sea of faded blue denim, soft-looking cotton shirts with cryptic logos, and footwear that appeared designed solely for comfort. There was, he had to admit, a significant difference. The fabrics were simpler, the colors more muted, the overall construction devoid of any ceremonial or protective purpose.
Eris nodded toward a storefront. "That's okay. We're about to fix that." She pushed open the glass door of a clothing boutique, a bell jingling overhead. "If you can do something about the ears, then you won't stand out at all."
Dáinn gave a single, sharp nod. "A minor glamour. It can be done."
The inside of the store was a riot of folded colors and overwhelming cleanliness. The air smelled of synthetic florals and new cloth. Two staff members behind the counter stopped their conversation mid-sentence, their eyes widening as they took in the broad-shouldered, ear-tipped man who seemed to have stepped out of a fantasy epic and into their Tuesday morning.
Eris, deploying a charm that was both genuine and strategic, bounced up to a young male associate. "Hey there! Think you can help us out? We're looking for something simple." She gestured back at Dáinn. "My friend's luggage got lost while he was traveling, and all he has left is this… cosplay costume."
The associate, visibly relieved by this perfectly reasonable explanation in a town used to Valdis University's eccentricities, broke into a smile. "Of course! Right this way.
What followed was an education for the ages. Dáinn was handed stiff, blue trousers called "jeans" that felt like canvas. He was presented with soft, gray "sweatpants" that he deemed acceptable for sleeping in a marsh. The concept of a "t-shirt" was explained, and he examined the thin, short-sleeved garment with deep suspicion. Eris and the associate played a game of "modern man dress-up," holding up various combinations of sweatshirts and button-up shirts against his frame
After modeling several outfits in the changing room—a process he endured with the long-suffering patience of a statue being decorated—they settled on a few essential items. The associate handed them a large bag containing their selections.
A few minutes later, Dáinn emerged from the store's dressing room, having applied the subtle glamour that softened the points of his ears into a human roundness. He now wore a simple, dark grey t-shirt that stretched tight across his chest and shoulders, and a pair of dark blue jeans that clung to his legs before ending at a pair of sturdy, but decidedly modern, boots they had found on clearance.
The transformation was staggering. The ancient, otherworldly aura hadn't vanished, but it had been channeled into something the modern world understood instantly: raw, magnetic attraction. Where before people had stared with curiosity and confusion, they now stared with outright admiration. A woman carrying shopping bags nearly walked into a pillar, her head swiveling to follow his path. A group of teenagers fell silent, their eyes wide.
Dáinn, noticing the renewed attention, frowned. "I thought the objective was to blend in."
Eris grinned, looping her arm through his and steering him away. "Oh, you're blending. Just… at a much higher resolution than most guys. Don't worry about it. Now, let's go find your dogs."
Eris kept her arm linked with his, steering him through the sprawling parking lot with the practiced ease of a local. "So," she continued, her tone shifting to businesslike, "what's the best way to find spectral hounds? Do they leave, like, ghostly paw prints? A trail of cold spots? Do they answer to whistles only dogs can hear?"
Dáinn's expression was grim. "If I knew the answer to that, I would have found them already. Their nature is to be elusive, moving through the echoes of this world, not the solid parts of it."
Eris nodded, her brow furrowed in thought. "Well, no one ever figured out how to solve a cosmic problem on an empty stomach. Let's strategize over lunch."
Dáinn cocked his head, the unfamiliar word hanging in the air. "Lunch?"
"Yeah, you know, the meal in the middle of the day? There's this great sports bar nearby. We can get something quick and make a plan." As she spoke, she pulled the small, glowing rectangle from her pocket.
"You are sending for another horseless carriage?" Dáinn asked, watching her thumbs dance across the glass.
Eris chuckled, not looking up. "Yeah, the Uber should be here in about five minutes."
Dáinn's brow furrowed. "The carriage is called an 'Uber'?"
"No, silly," she said, finally pocketing the device and turning to face him as they waited on the sun-warmed curb. "The vehicle is called a car. The… the conjuring that summons it is called an app, and this one is named Uber."
Dáinn shook his head slowly, the movement conveying a sense of profound, ancient bewilderment. "These mortal conjurings are… unique."
Eris laughed, the sound bright and easy. "You are so funny. We don't keep magical horses in our shadows. That is way more unique than using an app to get a ride."
Just then, a soft, muffled nicker emanated from the pool of shadow at Dáinn's feet, as if Skógr were voicing his agreement from his dimensional stable.
Dáinn's lips pressed together in a thin line. "You may have a point," he conceded grudgingly. "That is not something a typical human would be able to do."
Eris shrugged, giving his arm a friendly squeeze. "Not yet, anyway. Maybe some scientist will figure it out one day. But until then," she said, nodding as a modest silver car pulled up to the curb exactly on time, "we'll just use an app to call an Uber." She opened the door, ushering the millennia-old Huntsman of the Wild Court into the mundane magic of modern transportation.
The Lucky Rune was a cavern of dark wood and glowing screens, the air thick with the sizzle of a grill and the low murmur of midday conversation. Eris slid into a cracked vinyl booth, Dáinn settling opposite her with the cautious posture of someone entering a dragon's den. Televisions lined the walls, flashing silent captions over footage of traffic and weather maps.
"So," Eris began, leaning forward. "How do you track spectral hounds? How did you figure out they're here and not in, I don't know, some other reality or whatever?"
Dáinn took a slow sip of water from a condensation-beaded glass. "A cat told me," he stated, his tone utterly matter-of-fact. "He said he saw them cross through the gate the night it opened."
Eris's eyes widened. She let out an awkward, "Oh." A memory flickered—a black cat watching them with knowing eyes from a gravestone. "That's what that was, huh."
Dáinn placed his glass down with a soft click. "So. You saw them too."
She nodded. "Yeah. Big, ghostly, kinda… glowy. I can see why they'd be hard to track. They don't, like, come when you call them? Or with a special whistle or a horn or something?"
"They do, when they are on the Hunt," Dáinn explained, a shadow of his duty crossing his features.
"But they're not hunting right now," Eris finished for him.
He shook his head, a flicker of frustration in his blue eyes. "No. They are… lost."
Their waitperson arrived, balancing plates. Eris had ordered for both: a towering hamburger with a generous pile of golden fries for Dáinn, and a neatly wrapped chicken salad wrap for herself. The server's eyes lingered on Dáinn, traveling from his glamour-smoothed ears down to the way his simple t-shirt strained across his shoulders. "Can I get you two anything else?" they asked, voice a little breathy.
"Nope, we're great, thanks!" Eris said with a bright, dismissive smile. The server nodded slowly, tearing their gaze away with visible effort.
Dáinn stared at the construction of meat, cheese, and bread before him as if it were a complex siege engine. He looked at Eris. "What, exactly, am I supposed to do with this?"
"Oh! You use your hands. Like this." She demonstrated, picking up her wrap.
Dáinn raised a deeply skeptical brow.
"Trust me," Eris insisted, grinning. "You will love it. You look like a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy."
His confused expression only deepened at the idiom. With a sigh of resignation, he awkwardly maneuvered his long fingers around the bun, lifted the hamburger, and took a tentative bite.
He froze. His eyes, which usually held the stillness of a frozen lake, widened slightly. A complex cascade of sensations—the savory char of the beef, the sharp tang of cheese, the sweet and acidic notes of the sauce, the soft give of the bread—overwhelmed his ancient palate.
Eris watched his face, her own expression one of triumphant expectation. "Right? Amazing, isn't it?"
Dáinn swallowed, the motion slow, as if committing the experience to memory. He looked from the hamburger to Eris and back again. "This," he declared with grave sincerity, "is worth having the gate be opened."
Eris burst out laughing. "Wait until you try the fries." She then launched into a tutorial on dipping sauces, explaining ketchup with the fervor of a high priestess explaining sacred rites. The concept of transforming a potato into a crisp, salty vehicle for sweet, tangy tomato paste seemed to blow his mind more than the existence of the gate itself.
When the plates were cleared, Dáinn sat back, sipping his water with a new-found reverence. "That was a truly magnificent experience."
Eris chuckled. "I guess they don't have hamburgers where you're from."
Dáinn shook his head. "Or cell phones. Or Uber. Or… 'apps'."
Eris smirked. "Wow. You have been missing out."
A faint, genuine smile touched Dáinn's lips. "I believe that statement is more accurate than you realize."
Just then, the sound from one of the televisions cut through the ambient noise. "—the widespread milk recall continues as reports of soured product being delivered to stores piles up…"
Both Eris and Dáinn turned their attention to the screen. A flannel-clad dairy farmer was speaking into a microphone, his face creased with bewilderment. "It's the darndest thing. Nothing's changed with our process or timing, but from the time it leaves the processing station to when it arrives at the store, the milk just… turns."
The reporter reappeared. "We will keep you posted on this conundrum as we learn more. In other news, doctors continue to be baffled by the sleeping sickness in Hilda-Burge. The situation appears contained for now, but concerns are growing about this mysterious illness spreading…"
Eris's playful mood evaporated. She looked from the screen to Dáinn, her expression tightening with dawning unease. The fun was over. The world was starting to show cracks, and they were sitting at the epicenter of it all with a half-eaten basket of fries between them.
The last fry in the basket suddenly seemed like a relic from a simpler, vanished time. Eris pushed the red-checkered basket away, her gaze fixed on Dáinn. The noise of the sports bar faded into a dull roar in her ears.
"Is that…" she began, her voice lower now. "Is that because of the gate?"
Dáinn's eyes, which had moments ago been wide with the wonder of ketchup, were now sharp and assessing. He followed her gaze to the television, where a map of the affected area was now displayed. He gave a single, slow shake of his head. "No. The gate is a wound. This… this feels like a sickness. A specific malaise." He turned his head, his gaze seeming to look through the walls of the bar, toward the troubled town. "But it could be because of the hounds. The Cŵn Annwn are not mere beasts. Their presence alone can… affect things. They are creatures of omen. Where they linger, the natural order warps. Food spoils prematurely. The line between waking and sleeping grows thin."
Eris's face lit up, not with joy, but with the fierce spark of a hunter catching a scent. "Oh! So they could be in Hilda-Burge! That's our lead!"
Dáinn cocked his head, studying her renewed energy with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. In his long experience, most mortals met such omens with fear, not this determined resolve.
"Great!" Eris declared, already pulling her phone from her pocket. "I'll get us an Uber there and we can check it out." Her thumbs were a blur on the screen.
Dáinn watched the ritual, the faint, familiar crease of bewilderment returning to his brow. "We are summoning another metallic chamber to convey us to the epicenter of a supernatural blight?"
"Yep!" Eris said, not looking up. "It's way faster than your shadow-horse, no offense to Skógr. And probably less conspicuous for a town full of people who are suddenly too tired to wake up."
"None taken," Dáinn murmured, though a soft, indignant snort seemed to whisper up from the floor beneath his feet. He looked from the glowing rectangle in Eris's hands to the grim news on the screen, marveling at the strange, brave chaos of this human girl who faced impending doom with a ride-sharing app and a leftover French-fry.