Splintered gates, p.5
Splintered Gates, page 5
“About time,” he called. “I was beginning to think the Agency had decided to keep you.”
“They tried, but I escaped through the sewers,” I replied, climbing the steps to join him. “What are you doing here?”
He stood, gathering his things. “Figured whatever magical disaster pulled you away from our bike ride might be worth following up on.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Following up how, exactly?”
Marcus grinned, the expression making him look younger than his years. “Research, my friend. Sweet, sweet internet research.”
“Let me guess—you’ve been tracking unusual news reports and social media posts about Olban Pines?”
“Among other things.” He gestured toward the door. “Going to invite me in, or should I share my findings with the entire neighborhood?”
I sighed but fished out my keys. “Fine, but I can’t stay long. Alison’s picking me up at eight for some follow-up work.”
“Mysterious Agency business?”
“Something like that.”
We went inside and up to my apartment. As I moved to unlock the door, my foot nudged against something on the doorstep—a small object that hadn’t been there when I left that morning. I crouched down to examine it.
It was an origami bird, folded with extraordinary precision from paper that shimmered faintly with an iridescent quality no ordinary stationery possessed. The craftsmanship was remarkable, each fold crisp and deliberate, creating a bird that looked ready to take flight at any moment.
“What’s that?” Marcus asked, peering over my shoulder.
“I’m not sure,” I replied, carefully picking up the paper creation. As I turned it over, I noticed writing on one of the wings—delicate script in a language that looked ancient but strangely familiar.
“Is that... Sanskrit?” Marcus squinted at the lettering.
“Not exactly.” I studied the characters, recognition dawning. “It’s an old magical script—pre-modern, but not as ancient as it’s trying to appear. A practitioner’s shorthand that was popular about a hundred years ago.”
“Can you read it?”
I nodded slowly. “It says Beware the circles.”
Marcus whistled low. “Well, that’s not ominous at all. Any idea who left it?”
An image of violet eyes flashed through my mind. “Maybe. Let’s get inside.”
I unlocked the door, automatically checking the wards as we entered—the subtle magical protections I’d established around my apartment were intact, showing no signs of tampering. Yet someone had left an origami bird with a warning message directly on my doorstep, somehow avoiding both the building’s regular security and my personal magical alerts.
My apartment was small but functional—a combined living room and kitchen, a bedroom just large enough for a double bed, and a bathroom that required careful maneuvering to avoid elbow injuries. The walls were lined with bookshelves containing an eclectic mix of normal reading material and carefully disguised magical texts. A few framed photos—mostly of Marcus and me at various college events—provided the only personal touch.
Marcus made himself at home, as he always did, dropping onto the couch and reopening his laptop while I placed the origami bird carefully on the kitchen counter for later examination.
“So,” he began, pulling up several browser windows, “while you were off doing whatever classified thing you were doing, I’ve been tracking unusual incidents around the city. Unexplained phenomena, weird atmospheric conditions, strange animal behavior—the usual precursors to magical activity.” He turned his laptop so I could see the screen. “I’ve been mapping them.”
The display showed a map of the city and surrounding areas, with colored pins marking different locations. Olban Pines was highlighted in red. Blue pins marked electrical disturbances, green indicated unusual animal behaviors, and yellow showed social media reports of strange sensory experiences: odd sounds, visual distortions, unexplained temperature drops.
“There’s a concentration around Olban Pines,” I noted, leaning closer.
“Exactly. But look at these others.” Marcus traced his finger across the screen. “They form a rough pattern across the city, and they started appearing about three weeks ago, increasing in frequency until today. Four different paranormal investigation groups are doing live streams from locations on this map, and at least two cryptid-hunting podcasts have dedicated episodes to the so-called strange energy around the city.”
Marcus had always had a talent for pattern recognition and data analysis; it was what made him valuable as a friend to someone in my position, even without magical abilities of his own. I studied the map more carefully, comparing it mentally to the City Plaza damage assessments I’d reviewed. Several of his pins aligned disturbingly well with locations where we’d detected reality tears after the Unseelie incident.
“Marcus,” I said slowly, “do you have dates for when each of these incidents started?”
“Yeah; hold on.” He pulled up a spreadsheet. “The earliest reports go back about six months, but they were sporadic. The frequency really picked up about three weeks ago.”
Six months. Right around the time of the City Plaza incident.
I was about to respond when a faint tapping sound came from the living room window. We both turned to look, and I felt a smile spread across my face despite the day’s complications.
A tiny figure hovered outside the glass—no larger than a hummingbird, with translucent wings that caught the fading sunlight in rainbow patterns. Her skin was a pale blue that shifted to green along her arms and legs, and her hair looked like dandelion fluff.
“Thilly,” I said, crossing to the window and opening it. “Perfect timing.”
The sprite darted inside, moving in quick, erratic patterns around the room before settling on the bookshelf nearest to me. Her tiny features were scrunched with concern, her wings beating rapidly even at rest—a sign of agitation among her kind.
“Cal! Cal! Bad things, very bad!” Her voice was high and musical, like tiny bells. “Feel it, feel it everywhere!”
Sprites existed in a strange middle ground between worlds—not quite fae, not quite elemental, but sensitive to magical currents in ways that made them excellent early warning systems. Thilly had adopted me after I’d freed her from a binding spell about a year ago, occasionally bringing me interesting trinkets or bits of magical gossip in exchange for the sweet nectar I kept specially for her.
“Slow down, Thilly,” I said gently. “What bad things?”
She zipped from the bookshelf to hover directly in front of my face, her tiny hands gesturing emphatically. “Doorways! Opening doorways where no doorways should be! Dangerous! Very dangerous!”
Marcus watched with fascination. Despite having known about the magical world for years, his direct interactions with supernatural entities were limited. “Is she talking about portals? Gateways?”
Thilly spun to face him, nodding vigorously. “Yes, yes! Big magic making thin places. Hungry things waiting on other side!”
Her description aligned disturbingly well with what we’d encountered at Olban Pines—a gateway designed to allow something through from another realm. And her agitation suggested this wasn’t an isolated incident.
“Thilly,” I asked carefully, “are there more doorways? More than the one we found today?”
“Yes, yes!” She flew in a tight circle, leaving a faint trail of sparkles in her wake. “Many started, some finished, more coming. Bad pattern, very bad!”
I exchanged a glance with Marcus, who raised his eyebrows in an I told you so expression.
“Can you show us where, Thilly?” I asked. “Can you feel where the other doorways are?”
The sprite’s face scrunched in concentration, then fell. “Too scared. Too big. Sprites hiding, all hiding. Bad energy hurts small ones.”
That was concerning. Sprites were resilient magical creatures, not easily frightened by ordinary supernatural occurrences. If something was causing them to go into hiding en masse, it indicated a serious disturbance in the magical ecosystem.
“It’s okay,” I assured her. “You did right to come tell me. Do you want some nectar before you go?”
Her expression brightened immediately, previous distress temporarily forgotten at the promise of her favorite treat. I retrieved a small vial from a kitchen cabinet—a mixture of honey, flower essences, and a drop of enchanted spring water that sprites found irresistible.
As Thilly drank happily from the vial’s tiny opening, I turned back to Marcus. “Looks like your pattern might be more significant than even you thought.”
“Doorways,” he mused, looking back at his laptop. “Multiple locations. A coordinated effort?”
“Has to be,” I replied. “Gateway magic isn’t something amateurs can manage, especially not at the level we saw today. This would require resources, knowledge, and multiple skilled practitioners working together.”
The demonic energy inside me pulsed again, stronger this time, sending a wave of discomfort through my system. I winced, drawing a concerned look from Marcus.
“You okay? You look a little off.”
“Just tired,” I lied. “It’s been a long day.”
“Uh-huh.” He clearly didn’t believe me but knew better than to push. “So what’s the plan? Are you going to tell your Agency friends about the pattern I found? Or about Thilly’s warning?”
I considered the question. Mercer already knew about the City Plaza connection, but Marcus’s civilian data might reveal patterns the Agency had missed. And Thilly’s perspective as a sprite—someone who existed partially outside normal reality—could provide valuable intelligence about the gateway locations. “I’ll pass along the essential information,” I decided. “But first, I need to take care of something tonight. Something personal.”
Marcus studied me for a moment, then nodded. “The energy you absorbed at Olban Pines. Alison’s going with you to release it?”
Sometimes I forgot how perceptive he could be. “Yeah. Mercer insisted on backup, just in case the demonic contamination causes problems.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re not doing this alone.” He paused. “Can I ask you something? How much do they know? Mercer and Alison?”
“Everything,” I replied. “They know what I am, what I can do. Mercer recruited me specifically because I’m a morph, even if we don’t advertise it to the rest of the Agency.”
“And you trust them?”
“As much as I trust anyone in the Agency. Which is to say, I trust them to use me as long as I’m useful. But at least they’re honest about it.”
Thilly, finished with her nectar, zipped over to hover between us. “Cal full of wrong-magic! Cal needs clean, quick!” Her tiny nose wrinkled in disgust.
“I know, Thilly. I’m going to take care of it tonight.”
The sprite circled my head once more, trailing sparkles, then darted toward the window. “Thilly go hide now. Come back when safer. Cal be careful of doorways!”
With that final warning, she zipped out into the gathering dusk, a diminishing point of blue-green light that quickly disappeared among the shadows.
Marcus closed his laptop. “I should go too. Let you deal with your situation.” He stood, gathering his things. “But call me afterward, okay? Just so I know you haven’t accidentally opened a portal to Hell or something.”
“It’s not quite that dramatic,” I assured him. “But I will call.”
As I walked him to the door, my gaze fell on the origami bird still sitting on the counter. The warning—Beware the circles—seemed more significant now, in light of Thilly’s agitation about doorways and the pattern Marcus had identified.
Something was happening in the city, something coordinated and potentially catastrophic. Gateway magic on the scale Thilly described could threaten the boundary between worlds, allowing entities that had no business existing in our reality to pass through.
And somehow, I had a feeling the violet-eyed woman was connected to all of it—watching, waiting, leaving me cryptic warnings while remaining just out of reach.
As Marcus left, I turned the origami bird over in my hands one more time, admiring its craftsmanship while pondering its message. The demonic energy inside me surged again, a painful reminder of my immediate priorities.
My phone buzzed—a text from Alison. Confirmed for 8pm. Bring warm clothes, it’ll be cold by the quarries. And maybe some coffee.
I smiled despite everything. At least I wouldn’t be facing this alone.
First, I needed to deal with this corrupted power. Then I could focus on the larger mystery of the gateways, the pattern spreading across the city, and the woman with violet eyes who seemed to know more than she was telling.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, Mercer’s question lingered: Were these circles designed with knowledge of morph capabilities? Was I investigating a threat, or was I walking into a trap specifically designed for someone like me?
Whatever was coming, I had a feeling it would make the Unseelie incident look like a warmup exercise. But this time, at least I had partners who knew what I really was. That had to count for something.
CHAPTER 4
“The barrier between worlds isn’t a wall but a veil, thinner in some places than others. Find those thin spots, and you’ll discover why our ancestors feared the dark.”—From “Boundaries and Breaches,” author unknown (confiscated by the Shamrock Disposal Agency, 1978)
Releasing demonic energy is never pleasant. Unlike elemental power, which can be safely discharged into compatible environmental features—fire energy into a hearth, water energy into a lake—demonic energy rejects our world on a fundamental level. It fights being released the same way it fights being contained, leaving a morph with limited options, none of them comfortable.
I’d chosen an abandoned quarry ten miles outside the city, a place with natural stone formations that could absorb and nullify the corrupted power. The process had been painful—like pulling barbed wire through my veins—but necessary. By the time I finished, sweat-soaked and trembling under the cold light of the rising moon, I felt hollowed out but clean.
Which is why it made absolutely no sense that I was now heading back toward Olban Pines with Marcus, barely four hours later.
“This is a terrible idea,” I said for at least the third time as Marcus’s car bumped along a service road that would bring us to the state park’s western boundary. “If the Agency catches us poking around an active investigation site, I’ll lose my consultant status. You’ll probably end up with a memory wipe.”
“They only do that for civilians who accidentally witness major magical events,” Marcus replied, unfazed. “Not for known associates of consultants conducting legitimate follow-up investigations.”
“There’s nothing legitimate about sneaking into a closed crime scene at”—I checked my watch—”eleven thirty at night.”
“It was your sprite friend who insisted we come tonight.” Marcus slowed the car as we approached the park boundary, killing the headlights to reduce our visibility. “Something about the moon-dark making the hidden paths walkable. Very cryptic and magical.”
He wasn’t wrong. After I’d returned from the quarry, still shaky but free of the demonic energy, I’d found Thilly waiting at my window again, even more agitated than before. She’d insisted that something important could be found at Olban Pines, but only during the darkest hours of the night. When I’d hesitated, she’d become unusually stern, her tiny features set with determination as she declared it “necessary for stopping the doorways.”
That had been enough to convince me, despite my reservations. If multiple gateway points were being established around the city, understanding their connection was crucial—and the Agency, for all its resources, might be missing important clues about the larger pattern.
Marcus pulled the car off the road, concealing it behind a stand of trees. “According to the ley line map from City Plaza, there’s a convergence point within a quarter-mile of the circle. That can’t be coincidence.”
I raised an eyebrow. ”You brought the map?”
“I’ve been cross-referencing every incident location against it since Olban Pines. The patterns are too consistent to ignore.” He grinned, reaching into the back seat for his backpack. ”Plus, you were busy having your demonic energy detox.”
We exited the car, Marcus locking it with a soft chirp before we headed into the woods. The night was clear but moonless, the forest canopy blocking most of the starlight. I pulled out a small LED flashlight, keeping it pointed downward to minimize visibility.
“Thilly said she’d meet us near the trail entrance,” I said quietly, scanning the darkness for any sign of the sprite’s distinctive glow.
“Are sprites reliable? No offense, but she seemed pretty scattered earlier.”
“They’re reliable in their own way. They perceive reality differently than we do—more immediate, less linear. But Thilly’s never steered me wrong before.”
We moved carefully through the underbrush, following the faint beam of my flashlight until we reached the marked hiking trail. A standard park service sign listed trail information and safety warnings, along with a notice about the area being closed for maintenance—the Agency’s cover story for the crime scene.
As if summoned by our arrival, a small blue-green light emerged from behind the sign, darting around our heads in an excited circle before settling on a nearby branch. Thilly’s glow illuminated her tiny features, her expression a mixture of anxiety and determination.
“Cal came! Marcus came! Good, good, very good!” She bobbed up and down, wings a blur of motion. “Must hurry! Night-guards making circles, checking edges.”
“Night-guards?” Marcus whispered.
“Agency patrols,” I translated. “They’ve set up a perimeter around the site.”
