The pronouncement hit me like a drunk driver in a school zone. How could he confuse me for Daivon? We didn’t look alike. A nameless dread slowly bubbled beneath the surface of my thoughts as pieces of the puzzle slammed into place. A body disintegrating in blue-green flames. The invisible fire burning me from the inside out. My lack of motor control. The magic circle I was lying in.

  I wanted to scream and vomit at the same time. This body wasn’t mine. This was a transporter accident. Whatever their spell was meant to do, the cultists had turned me into an involuntary body snatcher. When I made it home, my own parents wouldn’t recognize me. That thought gave me pause. If I had Daivon’s body, where was mine? Was it a cloud of blue-green smoke? Lying abandoned in those black tunnels? Or would the cemetery security guard have a heart attack when he found it propped up against grandpa’s grave?

  The black-clad soldiers continued to move and chatter while I worked on mashing this realization into a tiny nugget of PTSD that I could throw into the basement and never look at again. My mental death spiral was interrupted when one of the soldiers popped open the manacles around my wrists. I didn’t see how he did it, but I was glad to be free. I had lost track of which soldier was which, but the leader—the High Inquisitor, he’d been called—was still next to me. I tried to sit up, but only managed an awkward flop.

  “Mr. Khan. The Inquisition has questions for you. A Healer will see you first, but then you will come with us. Do you understand?” the High Inquisitor said.

  “Yuhs,” I managed. He seemed satisfied with that and nodded.

  “Good. Your cooperation is appreciated,” he said.

  He left my side to go examine the cultists’ bodies. That grim sight and the coppery smell filling the air made my bile rise. I averted my eyes and focused on taking shallow breaths. This “Inquisition” had saved me, but they had also brutally executed five people right in front of me. That didn’t inspire confidence in their moral virtue.

  I was like an enormous newborn baby and needed to learn how to move all the bits of my borrowed body. The next few minutes were spent testing and pushing my limits. My coordination gradually improved and I was able to sit up. It took an exhausting effort and I gulped down air. The two Inquisition soldiers near me watched silently, so I gave them a quick up-nod and half a wave.

  When I tried talking to them, it was nearly impossible to form the right sounds. I had to go slowly and focus on each word. Eventually, I slapped enough syllables together to ask a question.

  “Where... is... healer?” I asked. I deserved a trophy for that last word. One of the soldiers shrugged.

  “Should be here any minute,” he said. It was Number Two from before.

  “Where... are... we?” I asked. There was a pause.

  “Outside Haylomsha, just over a mile beyond the barrier,” he said. Daivon had said he was from Haylomsha, but I didn’t know anything about it. I was certain I wasn’t on Earth anymore, at least not the one I knew. What was this barrier he mentioned? Should I ask? The soldiers were gathering the bodies in a line to the side of the room. What would the Inquisition do if they found out I was an alien from another world that had stolen the body of someone they knew?

  I did not want to find out. Pretending that nothing was wrong would not work; I didn’t know Daivon at all and there was no chance that I could pick up his life without anyone noticing. They were going to question me later and that ruse would fall apart. My best bet was to play dumb. Fortunately, I didn’t have to fake much to pull that one off.

  As I finished cobbling together my plan, a woman wearing a long burgundy dress entered the room warily. She wavered for a moment when she took in the blood on the stones and the bodies against the wall. When her sight landed on me, her stance firmed and she marched over with a determined look. She was short with curly brown hair and carried a canvas bag over one shoulder.

  “Daivon, can you tell me what happened? Where are you hurt?” she asked. I pointed to my head.

  “Can’t... move... right. Talking... hard,” I said.

  She nodded, slung the bag off of her shoulder, and pulled out a glossy black tube. It unrolled into a sheet of something that looked like thin film or plastic. The Healer attached bronze clips to each corner and held a small metal disk in the palm of her hand. She waved the disk around my head and looked down at the sheet. Nothing happened. She frowned.

  “Your system isn’t responding. Do you still have access to it?” she asked. I didn’t know what she was talking about. System? Like a computer? I shrugged and shook my head.

  “What... system?” I asked. Her eyes widened before the forced neutrality of professionalism crashed over her. She nodded politely and retrieved a brass cone from her bag. It had a clear glass or crystal spike on its tip and clicked into place on her hand-disk. She raised the device to within an inch of my head and the tip began faintly glowing with the same blue-green color I had seen several times now. I reflexively jerked away from it.

  “Daivon, I need you to stay still. This won’t hurt and it will let me see what’s happening with your system,” the not-annoyed Healer said. I calmed myself and nodded to her, watching nervously as she repeated the procedure. She slowly moved the device around my skull in smooth even lines. She lowered it and it stopped glowing.

  The black film came to life. Dots and lines covered the bottom half. Most were white, but some were pink. The top half of the sheet remained blank. She paled the longer she stared at it before biting her lip and glancing at me. There was a surge of sympathy in her eyes as she turned to me and took a deep breath.

  “Bad?” I asked. She looked directly in my eyes.

  “Yes. Your system has been destroyed, scrubbed clean away. There’s nothing left,” she said as if she was telling me I had cancer. I tried to look worried.

  “My... brain?” I asked. She brightened and gave me a small smile.

  “Just some minor damage, likely from whatever they did to remove your system. Your weave is still intact and fully human. I’ll give you some restorative and that fogginess should clear right up,” she said.

  Oh, good. Only minor brain damage. What was I ever worried about?

  There was a clinking of glass as she removed a stoppered vial from her bag. It was filled with a thick red liquid, more like cough syrup than blood. Tiny specks of glowing copper swirled through the liquid almost playfully. She removed the cork and carefully offered the vial to me.

  “Drink all of it. You’ll start feeling better immediately,” she said.

  I took it from her and stared at it. It smelled sweet and spicy. It was a magic potion. She gave me a magic potion to fix brain damage, and she was just carrying it with her. What else could they fix with this? Would I need to pay for it? I quit hesitating and downed it before she had the chance to change her mind and take it back.

  It tasted like honey and chili powder mixed with cough syrup. I’d had worse, so I forced it down and waited. It felt cool and relaxing going down, leaving a hint of mint as an aftertaste. Warmth spread from my belly. It traveled up my spine, inciting a flash of panic as I was reminded of recent events, but this heat wasn’t painful. I relaxed again.

  Then it hit my brain. Immediate stabs of pain and nausea ripped through me and I tumbled off the altar while grabbing my head and screaming. I tasted blood pouring out of my eyes and nose. The Healer was on me in a second, her voice frantic and terrified, but it was just noise to me. Crackling and popping sounds came from everywhere and nowhere, and flashes of light and color invaded my vision.

  After a few decades of agony, it suddenly stopped. With a final pop, my vision cleared and the pain was gone. I was on the ground with the Healer woman kneeling beside me with a strange mechanical device strapped to her hand. I blew the blood out of my nose and then gave her a reproachful look.

  “You could have warned me,” I said. Then I blinked. Speaking had been easy. In fact, the world around me was far clearer than before, and the fog I hadn’t noticed stifling my mind was gone.

  “I didn’t know!” she said, “The injury must have been many times worse than it looked, but you were moving and speaking. It should have been fine!”

  I sighed. It wasn’t really her fault. I was joyriding a stolen body in another world and drank the first sparkly fluid placed in front of me without asking any questions. Brain damage made for a convenient excuse.

  “So, what happens now?” I asked her.

  “They’ll want to ask you questions, find out what you know,” she said. She gave the soldiers nearby a furtive glance. They had backed off to give her room during my episode. She leaned in and whispered to me.

  “Dai, this is serious. How did you get mixed up with these... Urallites?” she said, placing venom on the last word. I shook my head.

  “I don’t remember,” I said. She frowned.

  “What do you mean, ‘you don’t remember’?” she asked.

  “I don’t remember, anything. Not how I got here, not any of these people, not what a ‘system’ is, not even my own name. They called me Daivon Khan, and so did you. That’s all I know,” I said. She blinked hard and swallowed, a flicker of—was that sorrow?—crossing her face. She wanted to say something else, but the authoritative voice of the High Inquisitor called out from across the room.

  “Are you finished, Miss Batai?” he asked.

  She started, then pulled away and looked at the man. He was leaning casually against the far wall, watching us. She straightened her dress for a moment and then stood.

  “Yes, High Inquisitor. He is stable and will make a full recovery,” she said. She hesitated, looking back at me. She opened her mouth to speak, but the man interrupted again.

  “Good. Mr. Khan, we will be leaving for Ravenspoint shortly. Take a moment to clean yourself up,” he said.

  Ms. Batai handed me a clean cloth and a canteen filled with water, which I used to wash my face and hands. I took the opportunity to look myself over. I was wearing a simple coarse linen shirt with long sleeves over pants made from the same material, both an off-white color. They were made from some coarse fiber, not the cotton and polyester I was accustomed to. I had nothing else, not even shoes. I was much thinner and paler than my old self, and slightly taller too.

  At some point, the Inquisition soldiers had brought in thin metal mesh boxes and were sorting guns, paperwork, and even the bodies into them. It seemed like an odd choice of material for them, but I wasn’t about to tell people called “the Inquisition” how to do their jobs. The High Inquisitor saw me snooping and he motioned to the two soldiers that were guarding me. The three of us made our way over and followed him out towards an uncertain future.

  The Inquisition led the way through dilapidated hallways made from rough stone bricks and rotting wood scraps. The rooms we passed were all missing their doors, and the interiors were just as ruined. We went up a spiral staircase with no railing and arrived in a huge open space with several vehicles parked inside. One of the walls had collapsed from the outside and stone rubble was strewn across the room. My breath escaped as short white puffs in the frigid air.

  The vehicles looked like a cross between a horse-drawn carriage and an armored truck. They had the same color scheme as the soldiers, and each had a halo of blue-green light coming from underneath. Eight more soldiers were stationed throughout the room, looking bored. Another three cultists were being boxed up and loaded into the carriages.

  The High Inquisitor went to speak with a pair of soldiers overseeing the loading detail, leaving me alone with Ms. Batai and our two guards. It was darker here without the candlelight from below, but a pair of blue-green orbs mounted on metal tripods were casting a harsh white light that filled the area with hard shadows. The Healer was giving me a complicated look, so I turned to her quizzically.

  “Daivon, do you... remember me?” she asked. I winced as I answered. Who was she seeing when she looked at me? I had exactly one lead.

  “I don’t remember anyone. Are you... Layla?” I asked tentatively. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

  “No. I’m Ester. Who’s ‘Layla’?” she asked waspishly. Oops. I sized up the soldiers around us. Unarmed versus ten men with guns and armor, plus the High Inquisitor. My odds seemed better against them than against Ester. I gulped.

  “I don’t know. Someone said that name to me recently,” I said. She wasn’t completely buying it, but didn’t call me out.

  “The Inquisition will want to hear about it, then,” she huffed.

  “Aren’t you with them?” I asked. She shook her head.

  “They don’t need Healers very often,” she said, glancing at the bodies, “This was a special ‘request’. They told me to come prepared to treat weave injuries.”

  “What’s a weave?” I asked. She leaned back and both eyebrows shot up.

  “Your memory loss is really that bad? I’ll tell them you need a Memeticist right away,” she said. She moved to walk towards the High Inquisitor. I reached out and put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

  “Wait, can you just—” I started. The moment I touched her, Ester flinched and her gaze snapped to where I made contact, eyes wide. Both of the guards took a step away from me, their grips tightening on their rifles and the barrels swiveling towards me. I leaned back and raised my hands.

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  “Whoa, I didn’t mean anything,” I said. Ester shook herself and flapped her hands at the soldiers.

  “No, no, it’s fine! I... I have to touch my patients all the time. For my role,” she said, her voice higher and louder than normal. Her face was turning pink and she muttered something under her breath.

  Touching was bad, got it. I remembered burning sensations crawling up my arms and shivered. They had a compelling point. The guards lowered their guns again but didn’t step closer. I wondered just how close I had come to becoming another body they needed to box up. Lack of information was going to get me killed.

  “They didn’t bring a Memeticist here, right?” I asked, gambling. Ester nodded slowly.

  “So... can that wait? I’m lost and could use a friendly face right about now,” I said, trying to put on a charming smile. She fidgeted and rubbed her shoulder absently before answering.

  “I... can do that,” she said, “You asked what a weave is?” I nodded.

  “Your natural aether weave,” she clarified, unhelpfully. At my confused look, she continued.

  “It’s the pattern of aether inside you, mostly in your brain. It’s what makes you, you,” she said. I had many questions.

  “So what causes weave injuries?” I asked. She shook her head.

  “What causes head injuries?” she countered, “Many things. Aether overuse, brain trauma, spirit attacks... No one can list them all.”

  Her posture straightened and she clasped her hands in front of her.

  “The symptoms are just as varied. Loss of function, confusion, aggression... personality changes, loss of memory,” she said, emphasizing the last two as she looked directly at me. She was about to continue when the soldiers from below started filtering in with their boxes. The High Inquisitor called over to us.

  “Mr. Khan, Ms. Batai. You are in the last carriage,” he said, pointing to one of the vehicles. Our guards acknowledged his words and the four of us moved over to board the transport. The vehicle’s side rolled up into the roof like a store’s security gate and a wave of warmth flowed out and over us. At least we weren’t going to freeze. We settled in with the guards sitting across from us. Some of the door slats had glass-covered slits in them, letting us see outside as if through a jail cell.

  The Inquisition finished loading their cargo and piled into the other transports. The undercarriage lights brightened and our convoy carefully exited the room through the smashed wall. Outside, crumbling stone structures stood all around us underneath a moonless night. Ours were the only lights in a sea of black.

  We rolled down a cobbled street. The vehicles were silent, but the wheels clacked a fast staccato as they rolled over the uneven stones. The soldiers didn’t turn on any headlights, so I had no idea how they could see to drive.

  We passed more and more buildings, all tightly packed together and crowding the street. Blankets of bone-white mushrooms covered the ground in some places and we made several detours around collapsed structures. There were no signs of occupation in sight.

  The carriages inched along—slow enough that I could have outpaced them on foot, barely. As we neared a four-story building to our left, we slowed down to a crawl. Our guards gripped their rifles and peered out of the windows. I didn’t see anything. The glow from the carriages dimmed. We crept forward.

  A piercing screech split the air, followed by another, and then a dozen. Our guards hunched and brought their rifle butts to their shoulders. There was a loud crash and a bright flash rocked our transport to the side. A hexagonal grid of light burst into life and covered our carriage in translucent panels. I jerked and looked out the other window and saw what had hit us.

  It was a large robotic spider about half as tall as I was. Brass pipes and plates formed its body and legs, with copper fittings glinting in the magical light. The front half of its legs had short steel blades poking out of the ends and clicked against the stones like the Grim Reaper’s scythe. It let out another high-pitched animalistic screech and slammed the blades into us. Ester jumped back and screamed as the hex grid flashed and threw the spider back when it hit us. The undercarriage lights blazed in intensity and the whole convoy lurched and sped up.

  I checked the other transports. We weren’t the only ones that had been hit. There were nearly a dozen of these robots stalking the convoy. Each of the four vehicles had spiders around it and a glowing hex grid shield keeping them away. As I watched, a spider jumped from a hole in a building and landed with blades on all eight legs extended. It bounced off of the top of the lead carriage and crashed into the ground with two of its legs badly bent. The shield tiles it hit faded and cracked.

  Our spider took another charge at us as the guard on the left stuck his rifle through a small port in the side. The machine bounced off us again and the soldier pulled the trigger. The blast was momentarily deafening and my ears rang. A blue-green bolt flew out and slammed into the spider’s belly, blowing out a chunk of it and sending a spray of glowing fluid on the ground. The robot stumbled away from us and crashed to the ground with its legs spasming.

  The other carriages opened fire as well and the street became a battlefield. The thunder of guns mixed with the eerily organic shrieks of the spiders. Streaks of brilliant light lanced out in all directions, hitting spiders and stone. The machines chased after us until less than half of them remained. The others were sprawled on the cobbles behind us, twitching and covered in rivulets of glowing fluid.

  We pulled away at top speed as the machines’ wails echoed after us. I leaned toward Ester and whispered urgently.

  “What were those things?” I asked. She was hugging herself and trembling.

  “Stalkers,” she said, her voice small. At my probing look, she added, “They feed on aether.”

  “Will they follow us?” I asked. She nodded frantically.

  “Yes,” she said.

  She was right. More gunshots rang out from the carriages as we pushed the convoy forward. The bolts flew through buildings and towards rooftops all around and ahead of us. More and more machines appeared along the street and smashed into cracking hex shields. A shield panel in front of the window flashed and disappeared. The spider legs slammed into the door and dug in.

  The soldier on that side was kneeling and struggling to maneuver his gun to hit it. I pulled my legs up to my chest and gave him just enough room to line it up. The gun blast tore through the spider’s leg joint and the rest of the machine slid off the transport and crumpled against the ground behind us.

  The last of the spiders was thrown off the carriages and we took a hard turn to the right. We emerged onto a wide avenue. The cobbles were smooth and even. Black metal lattices arched over the street with unlit lanterns hanging from their apexes. A few spiders peeked at us from around the corner, but retreated when a shot flew towards them. I checked on Ester. She was breathing heavily and had her seat in a death-grip. She met my eyes and calmed as I held her gaze.

  “Are you alright?” I asked. She nodded quickly.

  “Yes. I’ve... seen Stalker victims before. What was left of them. Those things...” she said, her voice trailing off. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know. She shook her head.

  “I never want to see one again,” she finished. Her gaze carried a weight heavier than all of the spiders combined. I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the spiders, or their victims. Maybe both. I gave her a sympathetic smile and we drifted into tense silence.

  After a few minutes spent on edge and trying to keep an eye on every building at once, the soldiers pulled their weapons away from the walls and sat back in their seats. The cobbles clicked away under us and the convoy finally slowed down. The lights dimmed and our barriers faded into nothingness. I craned my neck and saw the tip of a spider leg still wedged into the door. How long would it have taken them to get through?

  I sat back and only then noticed my own hands were shaking. They were far too pale and thin. A faint pressure built up in my mind and I forced myself to look away. I clenched my fists, trying to settle my breathing. Ester glanced over, but I shook my head and stared out the window. She smoothed the sleeves of her dress and watched me out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t help me with this one.

  We rode on in silence. The convoy made a wide right turn and my breath caught. Ahead of us down the avenue, a towering wall of faint blue-green light illuminated the space around it. It rose at least three stories into the air before fading off. We were headed towards a large tan structure at the base of the wall. I waved for Ester’s attention and gestured towards the light.

  “What is that?” I asked. She looked and her shoulders sagged with relief.

  “The barrier for Haylomsha,” she said, “We’re home.”

  The gateway was an enormous arch of stone and metal. It loomed over us like an artificial mountain as we approached. Arrays of brass pipes and copper wires clung to the walls and arch, hanging down like metallic ivy. Small cannons rested atop steep embankments and were manned by a dozen guards wearing thick dark blue uniforms. They waved us forward from their upper level and the light-barrier blocking the tunnel vanished. We rolled forward as the gate guards eyed our carriages with suspicion.

  As the last vehicle entered the short tunnel, the shield raised behind us and the convoy came to a stop. Two of the blue guards climbed down to the road level and extended long telescoping poles with mirrors attached to the far end. They went to each vehicle and scrutinized every part while four more of their comrades watched from above.

  When they reached my door, the one on the left pointed to the mechanical blade still lodged in the metal. The other one waved a device resembling a microphone from the 1920’s at the spider leg. They had a short argument while gesturing at the door until one stepped over and gave the leg a tug. After a few attempts, he yanked it loose with a screech of metal and held it triumphantly as he showed his friend. The other man rolled his eyes and stepped around the front of the carriage.

  After nearly fifteen minutes, their inspection was complete and we began moving again. Four more barriers blinked away and popped back up as we passed them. The spiders were a real threat, but was all this security really for just them? What were they worried might slip through?

  When the last shield dropped, tan stone gave way to open sky and I saw Haylomsha for the first time. Mismatched buildings clawed towards the sky and bullied each other for space. Some were solid—built from stone or clay bricks. Others threatened to topple onto the streets in an avalanche of sheet metal and fire code violations. Every direction had a chaotic mishmash of improvised walls and roofs next to masonry masterworks.

  Lights shone out from windows and streetlamps, bathing the night in splotches of blue, green, and white. People scurried along the sidewalks in pairs or small groups while hunched in their heavy coats. Little signs of life blossomed in the hidden places between stones. I let some of my tension bleed away and basked in the sights and sounds of something almost normal.

  Far ahead of us, a round tower rose higher than any other building and shone like a lighthouse. A blue-green mist emanated from the tower’s top levels and drifted out over the rest of the city. Between balconies and twinkling lights, I counted twenty-three stories in total. Wasn’t that too tall for a stone structure that thin?

  The convoy took a sharp left turn and the majestic structure disappeared from view. The narrow side streets wove through city blocks and our transports glided through with thin margins. Soon, we arrived at a large compound that made prisons look welcoming. Thick iron-barred fences menaced outwards and surrounded a squat brutalist bastion.

  We turned in past a guardhouse where two Inquisition soldiers sat watching the streets. The lead vehicle pulled to a stop in front of a metal door and the rest of the convoy formed a line beside it. The soldiers poured out of the other carriages, but our guards waited a few minutes before rolling up the door and hopping out. They motioned for us to exit. I caught Ester’s eye and whispered urgently.

  “What do I do?” I asked. She paused, shrugging.

  “Tell them everything you can remember. They’re the Inquisition. Innocent people have nothing to fear from the truth,” she said. She stepped out into the cold air and I cursed under my breath before following. It was the kind of advice I would get from a child—or a zealot. Who was Ester Batai?

  The guards led us into the building. Inside was warm and smelled like citrus and copper. There were more people here wearing black uniforms without the armor or helmets. Most of the convoy’s soldiers left down a long hallway, leaving me with Ester, the High Inquisitor, and our two guards.

  “Mr. Khan, Lancer Witmer will take you to a room where we can speak. I will join you shortly,” the High Inquisitor said. The soldier on my right stepped away and motioned for me to follow. Ester gave me a parting wave and I followed the black-clad man down a wide corridor.

  We passed a handful of doors all made from dull sheet metal. Witmer opened one in the middle of the hall and pointed inside. I swallowed my trepidation and stepped over the threshold.

  The room was cramped and nearly barren, covered from floor to ceiling in black tiles. The center of the space was crowded with a metal table and two chairs while a large fluffy mushroom snuggled its clay pot in the far corner, giving the place a soft earthy smell. A humming fixture overhead filled the room with a sterile almost-blue light.

  I couldn’t decide if I would rather have the door or the mushroom behind me, so I turned one of the chairs and sat with my back against the wall. Witmer closed the door and I finally had a moment to myself.

  The stress and exhaustion caught up with me and I buried my face in my hands. I had lost track of how many times I had nearly—or actually—died today. Was it three? Five? More? It wasn’t over yet, either. Maybe it never would be.

  I moaned in frustration and worry before giving myself a couple light slaps on the cheeks. I couldn’t afford to fall apart—not yet. Thinking about everything that had happened and what Ester had told me, I cobbled together the outline of a story. It was mostly true, and easy to remember.

  The door clicked open and the High Inquisitor strode in, closing it deliberately behind him. He saw how I was sitting and pushed the other chair to sit across from me.

  “Ms. Batai gave me some troubling news, Mr. Khan. Your friends’ spell annihilated your system completely. Even your connection links are gone,” he said calmly. I shook my head.

  “They weren’t my friends,” I said.

  “Is that so? Then who were they, Mr. Khan?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I answered, “I can’t remember.”

  “If you can’t remember, then how do you know they weren’t your friends?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. I scrambled for an answer.

  “They... they were going to kill me! Their leader—they called him ‘Amos’—he had a knife and wanted to cut my throat,” I said. He gazed at me intensely for several agonizing seconds before giving a slow nod.

  “So they were. Your family reported you missing a number of days ago. Where were you in that time?” he asked. I steadied myself. Time for a gamble.

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember anything about my life here before waking up on that altar,” I said. Technically not a lie. The Inquisitor waved dismissively.

  “Ms. Batai told me about your memory loss. What is the first thing you do remember?” he asked.

  “I remember caves of black obsidian,” I said. His gazed sharpened and he leaned forward intently.

  “There were caverns and tunnels. I followed a passageway and found a monster—a floating mass of eyes and tentacles. I fought and killed it with a lance. It disintegrated into purple smoke. There was a burning feeling, all up my arms and spine—and then I woke up in the circle,” I said. The Inquisitor’s face was stony.

  “Describe the monster,” he commanded with an edge to his voice. Something was off—his reaction was harsher than expected. I needed to tread lightly. I told him everything I remembered about its body and shape, but left out how many times I shot it. None of the guns I’d seen here could match my Earth pistol’s rate of fire.

  When I finished, he was motionless for several moments before removing a flat device from his pocket and placing it on the table. A large glass lens was set in a gold casing that was covered in precisely etched circles and glyphs.

  “Place your hand on the device and hold it there,” he said. His tone left no room for negotiation. I nervously touched the glass and felt a subtle chill. There were eyes peering at me from all around, just outside my view. I glanced around, but they vanished and reappeared somewhere else every time. Whispers tickled the edges of my mind and I nearly fell out of the chair.

  I pulled my hand away from the lens and it all stopped. The lens glowed a solid blue-green color—the same as every other sorcerous manifestation I’d seen today. The Inquisitor watched without blinking as the light faded and the device returned to dormancy. The muscles in his neck loosened and he leaned back in his chair.

  “Good,” he said, “you carry no corruption.”

  He collected the magic lens and steepled his fingers before continuing.

  “The creature you described is an aether demon. Its size and number of limbs means it was either very old or well fed. You are lucky to be alive, and sane, Mr. Khan,” he said. The implication landed home.

  “They were feeding me to a demon?!” I asked, aghast. The Inquisitor shook his head.

  “No, Mr. Khan, I suspect they fed other people to a demon. You were to be its host in our realm, where it could spread its malign influence to your fellow citizens,” he said coolly. I rubbed my temples with the heels of my hands.

  “Demon worshipers. Of course. Why not,” I muttered to myself. The Inquisitor waved impatiently.

  “It is in your best interests to be forthright with me, Mr. Khan. Tell me everything you know about that cell,” he said.

  I sang like a canary. A drowning canary with a speech impediment, but it was the best I could muster. I told him everything that had happened after landing in the circle with the cultists. He asked for all the details—names, positions, even the smells—and I gave him what I had.

  The interrogation seemed to last for hours. There was no way to tell time—not even a window to the outside. When he ran out of questions, the Inquisitor knocked twice on the table and stood.

  “We will hold you here for now, Mr. Khan. Your family will be informed of your condition and you will be released in the morning. The Lancer will show you to a room where you can wait,” he said. He opened the door and traded quiet words with Lancer Witmer.

  I was led up two flights of stairs and to another unlabeled room. This one housed a bed on an iron frame and a set of drawers made from brass and copper. The bed had a set of sheets, a thin blanket, and a single pillow. I checked the mattress and discovered, to my surprise and delight, that it was made with springs. No sacks of hay for me—or leaves.

  I fell into the bed and threw the blanket over myself. I was drained, exhausted, and dodging an emotional collapse like I owed it money. The Inquisition was probably watching me in here. Due process didn’t seem to exist here, and I doubted the privacy laws were any better. It didn’t matter. I wanted to be unconscious. Let my sleeping mind deal with this mess. I needed a vacation.