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And then Grey was out in the hallway of the complex, half the windows boarded up with the other half blown out and cleared away. He jogged down the stairs, goosebumps running up and down his arms the further he traveled alongside the cool night air. The propped open door at the end of the candle-lit lobby gave way to car-cluttered streets. Each one positioned to be a rusted, moss-covered, makeshift barricade to deter any mischievous fair folk from the nearby forest. He made his way through to the huddled group of insomniacs posted at the edge of town, always on watch like guards.
“Grey?” one of them asked, a trail of smoke pouring from his lips as his cigarette wafted to his side. “Going somewhere?”
“Yeah,” he breathed, slowing at the rim of rubble and rebar.
A couple of them shared hesitant glances and frowns. “Where?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“Ah,” the first replied with a knowing smirk. “Enjoy the ride then. We’ll look forward to the party once you get back. Safe Calling.”
A clap on the back, then another with a call for good luck, and Grey weaved his way past the makeshift wall into the sea of charred houses. Straight into the undulating shadows within the untamed woods in the early hours of the morning.
2
GREY
A warm, orange hue spilled over the clearing before Grey, framing a decaying city basking in the last light of day before it was snuffed out by impending night. He gripped his bag strap as he stumbled closer to the iron-link fence on aching legs. The steel sheets reinforcing it barely held off the vines weaving through the diamonds.
His heart leapt into his throat when he glimpsed the two guards starting to push the gates shut. “Wait!” he called, waving his hand as he sprinted across the last stretch.
One paused and reached for something at his hip. “State your business.”
Grey stopped short, skidding against the mix of gravel and asphalt underfoot the second the guard’s weapon glinted—darkened steel and rounded muzzle. He threw up his hands and swallowed. “I-I’m just a traveler.”
The gun still dangled at the guard’s side while the other put his hand on the one at his own belt, quietly waiting for a signal to back up his partner. Guard number one frowned and jerked his chin toward him. “Mark or no entry.”
Grey hesitated, sweat breaking out along his spine, especially once he saw the unadorned triangle inked on his opponent’s uncovered forearm. He slowly reached for his sleeve, his heart racing as he pulled it up. His own reversed triangle with two lines—the upper bar just short of touching the edges while the lower struck cleanly through.
The halomancer guard scowled, but he beckoned for Grey to come forward. He slunk toward him, ducking his head before he was directed to stand just inside the gate. A resounding clang of the two bumping together and latching into place sent chills through Grey.
“Follow me,” the halomancer guard snapped, mid-stride on his way past.
Grey jogged behind and worried at the ends of his sleeves as he noted the additional ring of barrier between him and the inner wards. He peered past the vertical bars to the dilapidated cinderblock, brick, and corrugated, rusted metal all obscuring his view of anyone dwelling within. A heavy door squealed open, and he tensed up, jerking to a stop before the halomancer nodded for him to step inside.
“Bren will get you checked into the city,” he grumbled. “Don’t cause any trouble for him, or you can spend the night in a cell.”
Grey jumped as the door slammed shut behind him, the guard leaving him in a room where he could touch both walls with his fingertips if he stretched his arms out into a T. A single, dim, exposed lightbulb hung above a small square table and folding chairs with another door lingering behind it.
He shifted and readjusted his bag before wiping his palms on his pants. From the sweat starting to slide down the back of his neck, it had to be at least several degrees warmer in this box of a room, especially with the lack of wind he’d enjoyed outside. Grey jolted as the far door opened to a man in crisp, white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows—his black-inked sliced-through triangle mark on full display.
Austromancer.
The man—Bren, Grey supposed—nudged up his round wire glasses with a knuckle. “Please, have a seat.”
Grey absently nodded and pulled back the chair in time with Bren, settling into the ripped padding with a teeth-gritting squeak.
“So…” Bren began, unfolding a piece of paper and flattening it out against the table. “I’ll need your name, approximate age, and your reason for admittance.”
Grey’s fingers dug into his knees. “Um, my name is Grey—with an E.” He watched him quickly scribble it down. “I’m twenty.”
“And you’re a hemomancer?” Bren glanced up with a raised brow.
“Y-yes,” Grey whispered, noting the man’s pursed lips and subtle nod as he recreated his hemomancer mark. “I-is that a problem?”
Bren hesitated. “No, however, we do have the requirement that hemomancers wear gloves while in public. If you’re caught without them, that’s grounds for a night in the cells.”
“O-oh.” He swallowed. “I-I don’t have any gloves.” Grey reached for his bag with the bizarre hope that there would be a pair in there.
