Library
Library
“Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?” the blurry figure that was their supervisor said from Simon’s computer, audio a little fuzzy on computer speakers. Simon had met her once; the International Affairs: Midgard department was small enough that the person in charge could spare visits to new transfers.
“I think? You know what they say about the Upper Peninsula; the signal’s spotty. We may need to make this fast.” Simon said. He played a muted YouTube video in the background. Hima and Lias had their phones out beside him, each playing different muted videos.
In truth, the Einherjar Corporation had its own signals and technology. Whatever had bewitched the Upper Peninsula into forever-buffering videos had nothing on the fuzz outside Kafli, Simon’s old workplace. The group probably couldn’t slow the signal down even if they tried. But by gods, they were going to try.
They were in the room furthest from the modem, a dingy study closet in the basement. The room was small enough the group was crammed elbow to elbow. Simon’s computer was propped on a white, foldaway table littered with old stickers. The walls were splattered blue; paint leftovers if anything. “If the video shuts down, we may never be able to hop back on.”
An actual check-in, a meeting with someone in Kafli offices, not through reports or a go-between. Why the sudden attention? Were the corporate overlords at Einherjar Company headquarters about to prod into his little corner of nowhere? Whose fault was it for making this place too exciting?
“That’s alright,” the manager – Yanna? Was her name? said. The corners of her smile twitched. “This shouldn’t take long. It’s so nice to meet all of you again. This should be brief. But first, how are you?”
Oh Yanna. She had given Simon a cupcake when he first came here and asked far too many questions on his department switch. She talked of all the many remote bases she oversaw thanks to department mergers. She treated him and the entire department was shoved onto a single floor like family, family that had to be pleasant all the time. Simon had to get her comfortable.
“Honestly? Terrible,” he deadpanned. “My package got lost again.” He hadn’t ordered anything since September. “There was a power outage.” The last outage was months ago. “The house people make me want to tear my skin off.”
Yanna laughed like they were friends. “Simon, your honesty is always refreshing.”
“I’m doing alright,” Lias cut in.
“That’s great! I’m so glad you’ve decided to work together. Really reduces the amount of paperwork on my end,” Yanna said. “And how are you, Hima?”
“Good,” Hima peeped. Despite being indoors, she hid in her parka. “People ask me to fix their bruises a lot.”
“Awesome! First things first, your reports look great, the highest quality I’ve seen in a while. They’re currently undergoing preliminary review, and I’m sure they’ll make a wonderful addition to the archives. I consider myself a skeptic about this ‘Yggdrasil seed’ business, but you guys have found a lot of promising stuff!” Yanna chattered.
“Great!” Simon smiled. Dear gods, she actually read the reports. “We can’t wait to send more in the future. There’s loads of leads here.” Simon wondered if he remembered to label his stuff in the fridge. He had to catch his soup thief.
“It’s great to see you so enthusiastic,” Yanna said, “by the way, I got your request for added time.”
“That’s good. Did I send it too early or…?” Simon asked. What did Lias say? That they’re always granted extensions, even if not requested? And that the request thing was something about the illusion of choice and that Midgard was where agents get reassigned to die? If so, why was he worried?
“With your rate of information retrieval, I’d normally gladly approve any requests made,” Yanna frowned, “but…” She sighed. Her energy dropped. “Things aren’t looking well for our department, and by extension, your mission.”
Simon’s blood chilled as Yanna continued. “I’m sorry, but during our yearly review, it was decided the costs couldn’t be justified with this rate of progress. Our budget’s been slashed. This department may get reshuffled, even absorbed. It’s likely everyone on Midgard will get recalled within the next few months, maybe half a year.”
Simon was going to have to go back. Back to his empty apartment, back to the restaurants he used to frequent with friends, back to the sniper’s nest.
Lias turned off their phone. “What? But we’re making real advances here!”
“I know,” Yanna looked genuinely distressed, “but my bosses don’t look at specific missions, just us as a whole.” She held her head in her grainy hands. “You’re lucky I’m giving you a head’s up. I shouldn’t say this, but you guys have the best case for an appeal. Keep sending reports. I’ll try to find something the budget people can’t dismiss.”
Silence. Simon wanted to dismiss the entire meeting as audio fuzz but couldn’t. They had to find the seed. Or a map to the seed. Or actual proof it exists beyond as an excuse to send people away. But where to start?
“If we get sent back,” Hima asked in that soft voice, “what will happen to us?” She turned off her phone.
Yanna readjusted her webcam. “I imagine you’ll get reassigned to different postings or departments.”
“And this mission, how will it be considered? A success? A failure?” Lias asked, hands tense on the table.
Yanna seemed confused. “Uh, inconclusive? I’m sure if you explain, people will understand.” Lias’s frown did not vanish.
Yanna blinked and forced a smile back on her face. “Don’t worry guys, even if you do get recalled, I’m sure you all have bright futures ahead. In fact, a lot of people in the medical department have been asking after you, Hima.”
Hima’s eyes went impossibly wide. Her pupils looked to some point in the distance, beyond the flat blue walls. Her phone fell to the floor. Her breaths grew all fast. She did not shrink away like she normally did. Rather, she stood as still as a statue. Despite her height, she seemed impossibly small. Simon bet she felt cold.
He made eye contact with Lias’s yellow ones. They were in complete agreement.
Yanna’s smile stayed constant. “Actually, I can call one of them over right now – “
Simon closed his laptop.
“Wow. A shame about the terrible connection,” Simon said, voice as flat as the plains. The group stood silent, leftovers in a room of leftovers. Except this time, these leftovers were about to get plucked out the trash and shoved into meal like stuffing in a corporate turkey. The light above flickered. Simon wondered if Hima would like a hand on her broad shoulder. Lias beat him to the punch.
“Yes, a shame,” Lias said. They put their phone into the inner pocket of their jacket, missing on the first few tries. “I can’t have another failure on my record.”
“I want my vacation,” Simon said. No one laughed. A smile did not peak from Hima’s face.
Simon and Lias made moves to get up and leave, but Hima refused to budge. Simon was considering pushing her out when she finally spoke. “I can’t go back,” she said.
“And we won’t let you,” Simon assured. He and Lias each took an arm and walked Hima out the closet and onto the first floor, where they met a disgruntled Cyrene.
“Were you online? I’m trying to facetime my cousin here,” Cyrene said, holding a buffering computer.
--
“What do we have? What did you find?” Simon said, perched against Lias’s conspiracy board. He was in his coworker’s room for the first time. Hima was there, which made sense. Enola less so.
The walls were an imitation Versailles, all gilded with gold embroidery and little scenes of rich people frolicking. On a swirly table and billboard pinned to the expensive wall, were documents, notes, connected with fancy pins and different-colored strings. The rest of the furniture had been shoved to the walls. So this was what it was like being the only one putting consistent effort into something formerly thought to be useless.
Lias slammed down a big, fancy binder. “Do you guys know how the seed rumor came about?”
“No,” Simon said. “I’m pretty sure it was a lie, some rumor blown out of proportion.”
“Well,” Lias nodded, “you’re mostly right. But I dug, and there’s actual proof here.”
Lias took a deep breath and tapped the picture of a portrait of some 1800s White guy. He was painted with translucent skin with imprints of skull peeking out. This was characteristic of most direct Einherjar descendants of Kalfi, those with records and records of family lines, proving they were descended from the finest ghost warriors and thus deserved to rule or whatever.
“This is Ivar Borgson,” Lias explained. “He was part of Kafli’s initial team searching for the seed, back when most people believed it existed. The team traveled far and wide, into distant lands and realms, including Midgard. Including the Upper Peninsula of America, of Midgard. He and a few collaborators were later executed for treason and falsifying data. The rumor regarding us, is that the seed existed, Ivar found it and stored it here. I mean, it makes sense. This place is big, old, and his team stayed here once.”
“Yeah, back when this was an inn. I know this already,” Simon asked. “Ivar’s team stayed in lots of places in Midgard.”
“I don’t,” Enola said. Her bees circled around her with concerning speed.
“Right, sorry,” Simon said. He shot a confused look at Lias, hoping to get across a why is Enola here? look.
“Bugs. Most numerous species on earth. They can get anywhere,” Enola said. “I can see everywhere.” Right. Bug witch.
“Yeah,” Lias said, “but here’s the new thing.” They followed a silver-blue string to a picture of a handwritten document. “Taya let me into the archives. Ivar may have had a closer relationship with the house staff than we initially thought. We have his stay in the house records, yes, but it appears he may have had an ongoing correspondence with the house owner, and independently visited under pseudonyms. Real ‘I can’t trust my own countrymen, but I can trust you’ stuff. To make sure, I sent samples to a handwriting analyst.”
“You did that? Where?” Simon raised an eyebrow. There were no specialists anywhere near Sutton. Lias would have to send their things to the lower peninsula at least.
All this in just two months. Impressive.
“I sent the documents to the Petrified Canyon, not anywhere here. It’s much more accurate,” Lias said, like they hadn’t done the equivalent of grabbing a coffee from Monte Carlo.
“You can do that,” Simon gaped.
“Yes, I can,” Lias said, tucking their hands into their suit pockets, “I’m a Fae Dragon. I can contact my home.”
That’s why you have so much fancy stuff!” Simon said. Delivery happened so slow here, Simon was still receiving packages of things he bought at the tail-end of summer. “I thought you had bewitched someone to deliver things on time.”
Lias rolled their eyes, “contrary to popular belief, I don’t have fae magic, but I do have my mind. And the handwriting matches up. Taya convinced me to leave it out of my report though,” they frowned.
“Alright, so Ivar had an affair with the owner. What now?” Simon asked.
Lias opened their binder. “These are the inventory records of every room available. No seed anywhere. It’s either not here, or no one recorded it.”
Hima seemed fine with it. So was Enola. Simon couldn’t be the only one who didn’t want to stay cooped up in the house. “We can visit the witch archives in town. Maybe they found something we missed,” he offered. He searched up the witch archives on his phone. The internet said it was open until evening, hours away.
“Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” Hima said. “If we go, we need to go soon, before it gets dark.”
--
Simon reminded himself to get Alex a gift basket for outfitting his car with winter tires. The roads were frosty, and the snow was falling. The snowflakes hit the windows with big splats. Simon heard the gruff man’s warning of turning back in case of blizzard, but they were almost halfway to Sutton. The heater huffed and puffed like a dying old man.
Lias had rigged the car radio to the local witching radio station. “The head of the Sutton Witch Archives has refused to recant his statements against Governor Adelaide Rugin. He has further elaborated that Gov. Rugin ‘is shortsighted, and her slashing funds for organizations she feels does not benefit the war that only exists in her head will harm us all. Her supporters may be a mob, but we at the Sutton Witch Archives refused to be cowed by her threats of violence,’” crackled out of the speakers, before falling to static.
“Sorry Lias, we can listen to my playlist if you’d like,” Simon said. Who didn’t want to listen to gothic rock, pop punk, and musicals while driving into an incoming blizzard?
Lias pondered the offer as if it could potentially change their life. “Sure, why not,” they said. The sounds of pop punk filled the car. It was a song Simon had heard too much of. He moved to skip to the next one but stopped when Lias bobbed their head. So did Hima and Enola.
The Witch archives were at the basement of the town library, as far as Simon knew. He hadn’t loitered in the town for quite a while. The townspeople were his enemy since the punching incident.
The song crooned on about love and lost opportunities. “I keep thinking about this question but forgetting to ask it. I’ll ask it now. Why were you sent here?” Enola asked. She crawled out of the backseat, having never worn her seatbelt.
“I believe we told you, to report and search for – “ Lias began.
“No. I meant why were you sent here as punishment? What came before?”
Lias gripped the shotgun seat. “If you must know, I, uh, you need a history lesson first.”
“We’ve got time,” Simon said. He was curious too. “Town’s half an hour or so away.”
“If it helps,” Hima interjected. “I can go first.”
Enola waved at Hima to go ahead. “I was part of a big traveling clan, the Ymirrians.” We had strange powers. I then went under control of the Einka medical division because I was sick and needed to get better. I was then taken under the care of an ambassador. We traveled around and I healed a lot of important people. After she died, I found that she transferred me there.” Hima spoke. “I used to wonder what I did wrong.”
Simon knew there were many blacked out portions of Hima’s story. Hima, Miss let-me-reattach-your-arm-no-biggie, sick? And did her family give her away? Tough.
“Oh,” Lias said, “you didn’t tell me that.”
“You never asked.”
“Einka?” Enola said.
“Short for the Einherjar Corporation of Kafli. Our bosses,” Simon said.
“I thought your bosses were Kafli.”
“Kafli’s a city. Our boss is not a city. Einka’s based there, though.” Hima said.
“Hima, I bet you didn’t do anything wrong,” Lias reassured. “Unlike me. Here’s the history lesson, Enola. I come from the Petrified Canyon, a place of overwhelming luxury and ridiculous restriction. In there, I studied anthropology and archeology but couldn’t properly learn while cocooned in the canyon. The Einherjar Company welcomed me with open arms. I got my own team doing fieldwork in a nation Einka was interested in. Faulty studies, lying locals, and my own poor judgement led to an Einka ambassador humiliating the company in front of delegates, causing an international incident. And then I was demoted. To count trees and find seeds.” Lias slouched against the windows, eyes on the distance despite the low visibility.
Lias had brought this on himself. A thrill shot up Simon’s spine at the realization. Simon wasn’t the only one who had floundered. “Wow, you must’ve fucked up real bad to go from there to here,” he chuckled.
“What about you, Simon? What’s your story?” Lias huffed.
“Hm? I was involved in an incident with my original department, found myself in a position where I could choose assignments, felt I needed to get away for a while, decided to go here,” Simon said. That was enough story for them to know.
“That doesn’t tell us anything,” Lias said.
“Okay, you’re all hiding something,” Enola stated.
“Look, we’re in town!” Simon said.
A mass of stupid signs came up in the distance, red sheets peaking up through the snowdrifts. LIBERALS BANNED. SECOND AMENDMENT TERRITORY. THIS IS WHITE LAND. Next were cars were similarly stupid bumper stickers. All reminders that these people would’ve hated Simon for his mere existence, even if he were Chinese Jesus Mother Theresa. He gripped the steering wheel.
“Look,” Enola pointed at a house with a Confederate flag. “Cyrene’s taking me egging once the snow gets less bad.”
“Lovely,” Simon said. He pulled into the first street parking spot he saw. After securing his coat and pulled up its furry hood, Simon opened the door and got blasted with cold wind. The snow was getting bad. At least the archives were a short trek away.
--
The cold and snow turned the short trek into a long trek. Lias took over leading the band of fabric bundles throughout the square buildings of downtown. For some reason, probably Fae-Dragon bullshit, the winds circled around Lias, and by extension, those right behind them. Simon and Enola got in a shoving match for that coveted position.
They piled into a snow and icicle-coated brick building that was slightly taller than its neighbors, scraping their boots on the worn mat. Heat blasted the group as they came in. Hardly any light came from the windows; the heavy snow clouds showed no signs of easing up.
Books on wooden shelves filled the rectangular room, with a small cubby for kid’s books and readings. Children’s drawings, paper yellowed, clung from tape on the walls. A middle-aged librarian in a sweater sat at a polished wooden desk. He looked up from his book, saw them, and looked back down.
Simon headed to the basement doors labeled ARCHIVES. Presumably, it stored the town archives, with the witch archives hidden somewhere. It was locked. “I sense a lot of silverfish down there,” Enola said.
As Simon contemplated causing a distraction and picking the lock, Lias went right up to the librarian. “Pardon me Mr. Aalto, my colleagues and I are doing a research project about the town in the 1870s. We’ll need to speak to your coworker. Is he here?”
“I’m sorry, but Jim had to leave early. Wanted to escape the storm,” Mr. Aalto said, placing a bookmark in his book. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”
Simon refreshed his phone. The internet still said the archives were open. What was the point of having an encrypted layer of the internet for the supernatural if it wasn’t going to be accurate?
Lias smiled. “No worries at all,” they dismissed, “is there any way we can see the archives by ourselves? You must be familiar with the place, I presume?”
Mr. Aalto set his book down. “As a matter of fact, yes. I have a spare key, I can show you around.” He got up and walked to the locked door.
“Hardly anyone goes to the basement here. I’m surprised you know of it,” Mr. Aalto said. He led the group down the creeky stairs and into a room with flickering lights and lots of file cabinets. “Which is a shame, because we’ve got newspapers dating to when the town was founded. You see those labels? Jim and I spent an entire evening making those.”
“You did?” Lias said. “Mr. Aalto, this is what I admire most about librarians. How dedicated they are to public learning. Where I’m from, there is a beautiful library, but you need applications and special permissions to get in. Here, information is so easily accessible.”
Simon repeated Lias’s speech in his head. Not a hint of irony or deceit, just a a Fae-Dragon disguised as a human connecting with a human. Was that life in the Petrified Canyon, where gold grew from trees?
An almost shy smile grew on their guide’s face. “You can call me Mark,” he said. “And dang, that must suck.”
Mark pulled out a shelf of files from the 1880s section. Simon traced his fingers against the wall for any secret switches for the actual witch archives. “Anyway, here’s what you’re looking for. I’ll be upstairs if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” Lias laid the gratitude on a bit thick in Simon’s professional opinion. “If you want more people to use the archives, you can always host an event about them. Do you have anyone who can help you with that?”
Mark paused mid-step on the stairs. Simon inwardly cursed at Lias. Mark was supposed to go and they could poke around to their heart’s content, not continue the small talk.
“It’s just me and Jim,” Mark said, “no one else.”
“Well, if you want, I’d be happy to help,” Lias said.
“That’s much appreciated. It’d be nice to have a volunteer again.” Mark made his way back up the stairs. He stopped again at the top step. “Hey Lias, mind telling me what exactly you’re researching about?”
“Oh,” Lias said, smile frozen. Simon could see the implications and the lies and the how-much-should-he-know go crunching in Lias’s brain. “I don’t think I should tell you. You may be put at risk,” they decided to say, in a stiffly pleasant tone.
Mark’s own smile slipped off his face at Lias’s haphazard packaging of the truth. An awkwardness rose in the room like steam during a hot shower.
Simon decided to throw Lias a boon. He laughed as if presented with an inside joke. Lias caught on and began to laugh too. Hima managed a smile. Simon nudged Enola, who gave a nod. “Oh Lias, always so serious,” Simon chuckled.
Mark accepted Simon’s offer to be in on the joke. He laughed awkwardly. “Alright, keep your secrets. Feel free to talk to me later Lias.” The librarian finally exited the room.
“Archivist’s assistant in the Limbo House, and archivist’s assistant here? You’re just looking for ways to be busy, aren’t you?”
Simon ran through his own schedule. He had plenty of time to sleep and have fun. “This better not interfere with session time.”
“And working on an associates in Anthropology at community college, don’t forget that,” Lias said as they flipped through the 1880s archives.
“I’m attending too,” Hima said, feeling around on the floor with a confused Enola, who shook her head. “It’s interesting.”
“There’s some promising stuff here, I don’t think we need to worry about the witch stuff right now.” Lias extracted a delicate newspaper in a plastic sheath with a gloved hand. “Check this out.”
May 25th, 1883. The Sutton Times. The headline on the yellowed paper showed FOREIGN GUESTS ARRIVE AT SUTTON TO GREAT WELCOME. Beneath was a picture of a bewildered Ivar holding a random townswoman’s baby. The next biggest news story was a horse trampling a pumpkin.
Lias read off the newspaper, “Ivar said he was from Sweden at first. He then said he was doing field research…yes, the town is very nice…he hasn’t gone skiing yet…then he said his family in Denmark is very proud of him…there’s something! We’ve got something!”
Even Enola turned her attention away from petting silverfish to at Lias’s enthusiasm.
“According to this paper, Ivar stayed at a ‘room with rolling hills in springtime, with a bundle of flowering apple trees in the corner,’ in the Limbo House. This is great, we can start there.” Lias took out his phone and began to take pictures.
SMASH. Glass shattered upstairs.
“Mark!” Lias yelled. They ran upstairs. Everyone followed.
​
--
--
A pile of snow, glass, and a brick. Mark, collapsed and bleeding.
Hima rushed to Mark. She pulled off her gloves and touched his skin. “He’s alive. Concussed.” She vanished his cuts with a finger. “Give me a minute.”
If Hima could reattach limbs with no problem, Simon trusted she could fix a concussion. A face full of wind stormed into the library. The blizzard was in full force; it was hard to believe this was downtown instead of an ice sheet.
A figure appeared right in the middle of the library in a puff of snow. He wore a puffy neon blue coat, and had annoyingly familiar features: chestnut hair, smug look on his face. “You folk affiliated with Jimmy?” he drawled. “Wait, you seem familiar. You’re the storage place’s new hires! My aunt told me about you!”
Another figure rushed in from the door. “Dale, why didn’t you take me!” said a blond woman, looking as if she sold pyramid-scheme products on the side. Ghostly hands manifested and took her coat for her. She had a giant, reinforced bag.
“Sorry Tammy,” Dale snorted, “I had other things on my mind. Wanted to see if we hit anyone. Turns out it’s this lump of lard.” He walked over and kicked at Mark’s body. Hima blocked the kick with her body.
Enola shoved at Dale, but he teleported out the way. “Jimmy!” Dale shouted, “where are you?”
“He’s left early. Archive’s closed. Should’ve done your research,” Simon said. He wished he had his sword with him. His hand crept toward a stapler on Mark’s desk.
Tammy shook the basement door. It was locked.
“What do you want with Jim?” Lias said. They knelt by Mark, mopping the blood with a handkerchief. Hima had put her gloves back on. Simon assumed she finished fixing him.
Tammy giggled. “To teach him a lesson. We were going to rough him up, but if he’s gone, we can always destroy this place! Serves him right for being rude to Miss Rugin.”
“When I first saw you guys, I thought about inviting you. But looks like you like these little humans. That means we’re enemies.” Dale stomped the snow off his boots over the wood floors. Simon was taken aback by the implication that he liked the townsfolk.
“Leave!” Enola lunged at Dale, who dodged again.
“You should stop sticking your nose in our business,” Tammy said. “Heard from a little bird you’re from Wisconsin.
​
Someone from there can’t possibly understand what’s here.” She plucked a wriggling ball of vines out her bag and stuck it onto Enola. The ball expanded into a bundle of terrible vines and wrapped around Enola. Enola flopped onto the floor, writhing.
Tammy and Dale turned their attention to Hima and Lias, who tried to drag Mark away from the window. Dale took out a handgun.
Simon tackled Dale to the floor from behind. He grabbed Dale’s wrist and twisted it away from the people. Simon pinned Addie Rugin’s idiot nephew to the ground and grabbed the gun from his hand, snapping the trigger finger with a crack.
Tammy screamed. Hima launched herself at her. They both fell to the ground.
Simon emptied the gun. The bullets fell with clinks on Dale’s head. He threw the gun into the great white outdoors, where nothing was visible.
Enola gave a muffled scream. Simon swung the stapler at Dale’s head. It made contact. Thrank! Ca-chink!
Dale stopped moving. He bled from an ear. His pulse thumped. Simon could go further, but Enola needed him.
“Get the bag!” Simon shouted at a petrified Lias. He dropped the stapler and rushed to Enola.
Enola thrashed and twisted. Simon got out a pocketknife. Enola was moving, the vines were moving, but Simon would try his best to cut her out.
Yet another cold wind blew from the window, hitting Simon and Enola, the closest to the outside. The vines closest to the cold froze.
Simon gathered the Enola lump into his arms. The remaining vines were like moving, thorny tinsel. Muscular thorny tinsel, with a core of steel rope, poking his sweater.
Arms stinging, Simon carried Enola toward the window, exposing the plants to the full force of the cold. The vines moved, then ambled, then dallied, then froze, frost forming along the black surface.
Cracks erupted along the vines. Enola twisted one more time and freed herself from the cocoon. Broken bits of plant fell to the ground. Enola was alright, with a few minor scrapes. “Cold!” she exclaimed.
Simon took Enola’s arm, and they rushed toward Tammy and company. Lias had somehow yanked the bag from Tammy. Hima continued to flounder in dragging Mark away.
Tammy had her physical and spectral hands balled in fists. No matter how many times she tried to punch Lias, every fist veered off-course. Simon smiled at her frustration. How did witch magic work again? In each witch a giant magical battery of specific impulses? Witchy mumbo jumbo was nothing against the greatest group of nepo babies Simon had ever known.
Enola reached into her pocket and extracted a handful of silverfish and a sleepy cockroach. She threw them at Tammy. “Eat her brains!”
The silverfish bounced off Tammy, but the cockroach took flight. It jammed its brown body into Tammy’s ear, its little back lags sticking out.
Tammy shrieked and clawed at her face. Simon winced.
Simon took over the Mark-carrying from Hima. Taking Mark’s legs, Simon dragged him into a storage closet and shut the door. A good pile of snow had already formed in the library.
“Get it out, get it out!” Tammy screamed, attacks forgotten. Her ghostly hands flew around, knocking books off shelves. Blood dripped off her face.
“Don’t worry!” Simon shouted. He took the stapler from the floor and threw it at Tammy’s head. Tammy went down like a sack of potatoes.
Simon felt Tammy’s pulse. “She alive,” he sighed. Enola came and plucked the cockroach from Tammy’s ear.
Hima’s bare hands, trembling from the cold, cradled Tammy’s head. “Extensive brain damage,” she grimaced, “so complicated.” She closed her eyes and concentrated.
“You realize they tried to kill us, right?” Simon said.
“Yes.” Hima said. Lias and Enola nodded.
“I’m guessing you won’t let me dump their bodies outside?”
“Simon, that’s cruel,” Hima stated. She removed her hand from Tammy. “She’ll live.”
“What should I do with this?” Lias held up Tammy’s bag.
Simon took the bag and threw it into the booming blizzard, imagining it was Dale and Tammy. Goodbye whatever death vines were in the bag too.
“We can put these two in the cubby. It can be a windbreak.” Enola said.
--
And thus, they dragged Tammy and Dale to the children’s cubby, next to the beanbag and the coloring shelf. Aside from the blood and Dale’s twitching, they could be simply asleep. Enola’s cockroach curled up in Dale’s earlobe. Hima and Lias stood watch over their attackers.
Simon and Enola finagled a window covering out of duct tape and carpets. “How are we going to explain this to the locals,” Simon wondered out loud. “With luck, they’ll bring out the torches and pitchforks.”
“Don’t worry,” Enola said, “we can escape to the woods. Wouldn’t be my first time hiding there.”
“In the winter?” Simon’s fingers cracked under his gloves.
“The trick is to not fall asleep at night. Even if you’re in a cabin.” Enola said with an air of a grizzled Yukon prospector.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Simon headed back with Enola.
Simon was halfway to the cubby when Dale’s eyes shot open, wild and bloodshot. He leapt to his feet like a baby deer, limbs swinging wildly. He punched at Lias. His fist missed.
“Again?” Simon sighed. He tackled Dale to the ground. Dale’s skin was feverish, sweating.
Hima brushed her thumbs over a shaking Dale’s forehead. “Calm down,” she told Dale. “We’re trying to help you. Simon, stop punching. Enola, get the cockroach out of his ear.”
Enola sighed and knelt by Dale. She tried to get the roach out, but it was deep into Dale’s ear. She braced a hand against Dale’s head as she pulled at the insect’s back legs. Simon almost felt pity for Dale, bug in his ear, this motley bunch crowded around his body.
Something changed in Dale’s manic expression, a cunning look Simon had seen on his aunt. But why? Did he have some magical trick up his sleeve?
It wasn’t until Dale’s fist unclenched, and his hand moved to Lias’s foot that Simon realized.
Simon was pinning him to the ground. Hima and Enola were touching his head. Lias was right next to his body. Dale was making contact with all of them.
Before Simon could jump off, Dale’s limp fingers brushed Lias’s pant leg, and the world erupted into the cold and dark.
--
Simon held on to Dale for the burst of darkness, and then the white and wind. The blizzard greeted them, no walls or broken windows as a shield, the hot flesh under his hands the only sign of Dale’s existence over the blinding elements. Simon’s knees got wet from the snow.
Dale cackled something, and his body disappeared into more snow that seeped through Simon’s gloves.
“Where are we?” Simon shouted over the stinging wind. He couldn’t see a thing. The wind forced his eyes shut.
“I don’t know!” came Hima’s voice. “A field? Not in town.”
It was as snow crept up Simon’s thighs and his hands cracked that he came to a realization. A realization that brought him up the ancestral ladder, back when his progenitors were cavemen were cowering from the snow. Humans were not meant to be here. They were meant to be in the tropics or the savannah, not the blizzard. The cold stripped years of education, experience, the comfort of living in modern times from Simon, until he was one of those very cavemen, wanting to get warm. Simon brushed his hands over his arms. That did nothing.
Another realization he came to, was that they were stranded in the middle of nowhere, and that they had all left their coats in the library.
Simon tried to get up. The wind blew him down. He broke his fall with his hands. Snow got into the gap between his gloves and his sleeves. His wrists froze, then numbness, then burning. He couldn’t bend his fingers. Wasn’t that one of the rules of frostbite? Extremities froze first?
Hands tucked in his armpits, Simon collapsed into a snowbank. He crawled and grabbed handfuls of snow. He had to dig a snow cave. For whatever reason, he wasn’t sure. As a windbreak?
More snow inundated his gloves. The wet fabric was all useless now. What little structure he had accumulated fell atop him as wet snow.
It hurt at first, but then he got all warm. Warm, in this weather. When he left the house this afternoon in his big puffy coat, he had thought he’d never feel warm again. Frost weighed down his eyelashes. Simon was tired. From the fight, from dragging bodies around, from how he had to find the seed, or else he’d get sent back. Mayhaps this caveman could sleep through this blizzard.
Bare hands on his forehead. “Simon, get up! You’re getting hypothermia!” he heard Hima say. Her long fingers, cracked from the cold, moved around his temples. Energy shot through Simon. That warm feeling faded. Pain returned. Simon’s eyes went wide open.
His eyes then closed, from the sharp snow in the air. “Hima? Put on your gloves! You’ll lose a finger!” he said. Simon and Hima wrapped their arms around each other and stumbled up.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve woken your adrenaline systems, got blood pumping extra fast, we need to get out of here,” Hima’s voice shook.
“Where’s Enola?” Simon said.
A hand clasped his shoulder and Simon jerked back. The body the arm belonged to toppled to the ground and screamed. It screamed Enola’s scream.
“Sorry!” Simon gasped. He and Hima felt around for Enola, uncaring of the wind and snow that whipped their extended hands.
“The snow, it hurts!” Enola said as she clung to Simon’s arms.
“Yes,” Hima said. She reached an arm over Simon’s face. “Enola, am I touching your face?”
“Yes!” Enola yelled. “Where are your gloves?”
“How else am I supposed to help you?” Hima said.
“There you are!” That voice was Lias’s. “I couldn’t find you!” Their voice also lacked the brittle, desperate quality Simon and the others had.
“You were right next to us!” Simon said. He then realized he had no idea where he was in this empty field, and the only reason he was with Hima and Enola was because they had clumped together like a multiheaded beast. If he had made the slightest misstep, he could had stumbled leagues away from sentient contact. “Nevermind! Complaint retracted! I have another question!”
“What is it?” Lias said. They joined the huddle. Simon bet the silky-smooth wrist that brushed against his was Lias’s. That Fae-Dragon package was something else.
“Are you cold right now? Do you feel the wind?” Simon asked.
“No,” Lias confirmed. “It’s chilly, but I’m not hurt. I think I’m protected from this too.”
“Of course you are,” Simon said. That familiar annoyance warmed him up in a pleasant surprise. Better to be annoyance and envy than ouch ouch ouch are we going to freeze to death.
It was not cold anymore. Instead, it was hot. His eyelids grew heavy. Simon wanted to throw his frozen sweater off his body. “Hima, what you did to me, how long does it last?”
Hima’s fingers found their way to Simon’s head again. “Not long enough,” she said, “Enola, don’t fall asleep!”
“I know!” Enola snapped.
Hima collapsed into everyone else’s arms. She shivered. Simon grabbed a brittle hand and blew whatever warmth he had left onto those fragile fingers. “I’m alright, running my blood around my body now,” Hima said in a weak voice.
Lias tightened their grip on the bunch. The wind veered, but not enough. “What do I do?” they said. Their untouched hands shook. “What do I do?”
“You have your eyes, use them!” Enola said. “Get us to a tree, a building! Shelter! Hima, Simon, turn away from the wind!”
“Right!” Lias said. “I’ll lead the way!”
The rest of the group half shuffled, half-carried Hima so their backs faced the blistering wind. Lias, hand on Hima or Enola’s arm, tugged them in a direction.
They walked. Snow got up Simon’s pant leg and slushed into the openings of his boots. One step, another, and another.
Sometimes he’d drag Hima and Enola, other times they’d drag him. Simon brushed off Hima’s fingers. “I’m fine.”
The snow in his socks burned. Simon thought of lake-effect snow, which he had heard of someplace, sometime ago. Water from that stupid cold, stupid deep lake rises. It forms big, dense, sludgy clouds in the winter, clouds that are more bucket of water than cloud. Those clouds shimmy over to nearby areas that don’t need any more water, and unleash blizzards, frozen roads, and winter tires onto the poor residents, who deal with frostbite and dry, cracked skin. Power outages from space heaters, familiar roads turning to distant lands.
A week ago, Simon saw a news report on people lighting charcoal grills inside to warm from the cold and dying from the gas. He thought the people were stupid and changed the channel during the ‘winter survival’ segment.
This was what happened to humans who lived where they were never meant to live. Simon built up his anger and tried to channel it throughout his body. Instead, all he got was cold. Better angry and cold than sleepy.
Left foot. Water between his toes. Right foot. His sock slipped. Forward. He couldn’t see a thing except how dark the day got. Simon bet the sunset was lovely.
Was Lias leading them out of nowhere, into another nowhere?
Simon had drawn all the warmth he could out his companions. He wished he was in the Limbo House, his old apartment, his student dorms, his childhood house. Anywhere with blankets and hot soup.
“I see a house! By the woods!” Lias said, shining a light into Simon’s frozen heart. He dared look up and squint, and yep, that was a bunch of dark silhouettes in the distance.
“Awesome!” Enola said. The group shuffled closer in a burst of energy, almost overtaking Lias. Simon could stand more steps with wet socks, if it meant crashing into an empty cabin somewhere. If it meant the privilege of lying down somewhere dry without getting battered by the wind.
“It looks occupied!” Lias said again, at the lights through the window curtains.
“Good!” said Hima.
“No!” said Simon and Enola. They halted, making Hima and Lias stumble.
“We can wait in the woods, the woods are fine,” Simon said. He was in no mood or condition for another fight.
“Simon, Hima is about to collapse,” Lias said. They tried to head closer, but Simon pulled them back.
“Trust me, if we knock, whoever’s in there will slam the door. Best not to waste energy.” Enola stated. “The people here have never liked us. You know that.”
“Have you read any of the signs they put up? They’ll ‘help’ by shooting us!” Simon said. He omitted the part about how he snapped a local’s nose the first week he was in Sutton. Still, the townsfolk were jerks. Simon could understand hating him, but he saw the way they looked at Hima, the Limbo House crew, anyone who didn’t fit their definition of normal.
Hima went limp in their arms. Simon shook her, but she didn’t wake up. She had a heartbeat, but how long would that last? “Never mind, we have to get her inside,” Enola said, wrapping her arms around Hima. The wind blew fat pellets of snow onto them.
Simon had left his sword in the house. His hands could barely wrap themselves in fists. With a life at stake, they had to have the upper hand in this cabin situation. “What if we pretend to have a bomb?” he said.
“Or a gun? Or a bear trap?” Enola suggested more threatening implements.
“Blood and gold!” Lias cried. “Who hurt you?” They barged up to the door and banged on it. “Hello? Hello? Help! My friends and I are stranded. One’s unconscious!”
Wresting Hima from Enola, Simon dragged her to the door with burning arms. He pressed an ear near the frosted wood. He gestured at Lias to do the same. Enola hung back, eyeing the trees.
Footsteps. The movement of heavy curtain fabric. Faint impressions of hushed conversation. A deep voice, and a higher one. Simon couldn’t make out much from the wind going through the trees, shaking chunks of snow to the ground.
People were close by, knew what was outside the cabin, and yet none of them opened the door.
Lias’s eyebrows knitted so close they were almost one. They pounded on the door. “Please, help us!”
Hima was still unconscious, still cold. “You’re lucky,” Simon spat at Lias, non-shivering, warm Lias. “You can’t be hurt. These people can only dream of touching you.”
Lias opened their mouth, but did not respond. Instead, they continued to bang against the door. “Please, if not us, then my friend, she needs help!”
Simon sighed. He didn’t feel like faking a bomb threat. He joined Lias in pummeling the door.
A commotion inside. Simon motioned for Lias to stop knocking. An argument, getting louder. Finally, a loud “what the fuck, Dad?”
A blonde teenager door swung open. Simon used the last of his strength to swing Hima into the warm insides. He used the last of his potential energy to collapse onto the floor. Painful heat blasted at his face. The place smelled of wood and gunpowder.
“I’ll run the blankets,” said the blonde teen. “Dad, you get the rest inside.”
Simon peeked opened his eyes now that ice wasn’t trying to freeze the delicate organs. He was tired. The last thing Simon saw before the forces of sleep and safety knocked him out was the teen’s dad, the man Simon had attacked back when he first came to Sutton.
--
“They what?!” Io said. Simon propped the Bynes’s ancient landline on his shoulder as he adjusted a patchwork quilt. He propped his elbows on the chipped dining table shoved to the far corner of the cabin. Chicken noodle soup wafted from the kitchen.
“Yeah.” He said. “We’re okay now. Going to wait out the night here.”
“Yeah, I’ll send Alex to pick you up next morning. The attacks, the leaving for dead…are you sure everyone’s okay?”
“Yeah, no one’s lost a finger. Hima’s asleep but safe, Enola’s watching TV with Olivia, Lias is untouched as always, they’re just napping because it’s past their bedtime. And I’m alright, nothing a lot of rest can’t fix. Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Addie’s crew, they’ve crosses a line. I’d even say they’ve declared war on us. I need confirmation, will anything happen to Mark and Tammy?”
“Simon, Addie’s gang of pretend conquerors declared war on people like us the moment she got elected. Best case scenario, we get ignored. Worst case, we get sued.” Io’s news didn’t surprise Simon.
“Good thing we were off work hours when we went to the library. Io, are you worried? Do you think more attacks will happen? What’s the likelihood a mob will burn the Limbo House down?”
“The house is one of the oldest parts of witch cultural history, and lots of Addie’s supporters store their things here. Plenty of witch pride in this building. Addie wants to seize it, maybe, but not destroy it. You know what? I am worried. About the house, but for everyone caught in the crossfire of these attacks. It’s a shame. Once things had finally calmed down around here, Addie pops up, spewing her hatred.”
“Addie and company better watch out, because they’ve stranded the wrong people in a snowstorm,” Simon said. Olivia, Bill’s daughter, walked past him and he quieted himself. “Someone needs to teach them their actions have consequences.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Simon. I’m not sure what she’s planning, but I feel we’ll find out very soon.”
Simon said his goodbyes and hung up the landline. Bill, blonde and bearded and not carrying a shotgun, walked past him, carrying two bowls of chicken noodle soup, smelling of salt and herbs. He set them down before Olivia and Enola.
Bill walked past and his cold eyes contacted Simon’s. Bill’s face didn’t go into a glare, but his eyebrows did lower. Bill’s bare hands were rough and touch. Simon saw him handle a pot of boiling water without towels or flinching. Bill’s nose was slightly crooked from the time Simon broke it.
Simon blew his nose with a tissue from the box Olivia had placed near him. He bet he looked horrible, all bleary eyed and thawed out. “Sorry about hitting you with your own gun,” Simon managed. “Nice soup. Could smell it all the way from here.”
Bill made a grunt that could’ve meant anything. He went back to the kitchen and came back with another bowl of soup and a spoon. He set it down in front of Simon. “Thanks,” Simon said.
Another grunt, and Bill left the room. He was calmer when he wasn’t drunk and jumping to conclusions. His soup was nice and warm, with smooth egg noodles, green herbs, soft carrots, and tender chicken. Simon’s sinuses cleared from the steam. He forwent the spoon and gulped everything down.
As the TV buzzed from whatever program was on, Simon took out the knife he hid in the quilt and returned it to the kitchen. No need to sleep with an eye open tonight.
​