November 13, 2024. Racing across Gloamstead. It’s all fun and games until a story won’t let go, until death do you part…

I nearly blacked out as the fiend slammed me against the car. Its hand latched onto my throat like a vice and squeezed, ink-stained nails scratching my skin. Air trickled away, leaving me with nothing. I thrashed like a madman, beating on its arms, kicking, anything.

Somewhere I heard Cassidy scream in rage, then the fiend’s dead-pale hand yanked away. It swatted at something in the night as I kicked for its knees. I missed my target, but still hit a leg. The fiend turned on me like an angry cat, hissing all to hell.

I backed away, but not far enough. It grabbed me again, shoving me against the car hard enough to rock it sideways. I wheezed as Cassidy raked her claws down its side. The fiend shrieked, jerking sideways in pain.

That’s when I saw a glimpse under the creature’s hat in the moonlight. It was a woman. Her gaunt face was smooth as polished marble. I knew that face.

“Amanda Price?” I wheezed. “From that photograph…”

Struggling to my feet, I staggered back. Amanda snarled; sharp black eyes glowed like burning coals as she caught me before I got out of reach. She missed my throat, but caught my collar, hammering me against the car again. As the stars cleared from my eyes, she pinned me in place while pulling a Mason jar from her coat. It glowed with a sickly sepia light. Amanda grinned as her hand suddenly felt warm against me, and rancid steam curled around my head as my vision narrowed. Sharp pains stabbed my throat.

“Daniel!” Cassidy shrieked, shredding Amanda’s back and coat.

Hissing, Amanda arched in pain, as my muddled mind remembered the attic, then the professor’s office. I grabbed Amanda’s arms, knocking the Mason jar out of her hand. She jerked as if slapped, dropping me to the ground as she spun for the jar.

“The jar!” I rasped. “Cassie! Get the jar!”

Cassidy scooped it up and ran as the front door to the Adelyne’s house yanked open. Sheriff Branham charged outside, already reaching for his sidearm.

“You! In the coat! Freeze!”

Amanda bared her teeth at the sheriff, then raced for the nearest stand of shadowy trees. I tried to trip her and missed. Branham grabbed his radio, calling it in as he chased after her. Cassidy ran the other way, still clutching the glowing Mason jar.

“Price!” I rasped, gulping air. The sharp scent of wet, rotten leaves flooded my nose, kicking my brain back into gear. Using the car, I pulled myself off the ground, gravel crunching under me. “It’s Amanda Price!”

The front door banged against the house.

“What?” Naomi said, alarmed, grabbing the porch railing. “That can’t be. Amanda Price died years back in a car accident.”

I was on my feet by the time Cassidy returned. Half-shifted with her bat ears sticking out through her hair, her face was a messy mask of worry and anger.

“Anything?” I asked, then grunted as she grabbed me in a full-body hug.

“No. Nothing. She vanished,” Cassidy hissed, jaw clenched. For a second she just held me, then pulled back enough to search my eyes. “But are you all right? Please tell me you’re all right.”

“I’m all right. Banged around, but all right,” I said with a tight smile. “Probably will have one hell of a bruise tomorrow.”

“You need a doctor, young man,” Naomi said curtly from the porch. She reached into her pocket for a phone, but I waved her off.

“I know this is stupid, but there’s no time.” I lightly rubbed Cassidy’s arms. “We don’t know how long Amanda was out here. She could have heard that call with Dorian.” I dug out my phone and tried to reach him. “He’s not answering!”

Cassidy quickly kissed me. “Get in, I’ll drive. Love? Promise me you’ll see a doctor?”

“Promise.” I dropped into the passenger seat.

The night was a greasy blur of shadows and worry as we tore down the road. I stared into the middle distance outside before looking at the Mason jar that Cassidy had tossed onto the floorboards.

“It’s one of ours,” I said, furrowing my brow. “But I don’t remember seeing Amanda Price come by the shop, alive or dead.”

My stomach twisted as I remembered our break-in. It had been her in the security footage. Maybe she took more than just the pen.

Cassidy turned the wheel hard to the left, pulling us onto Main Street. Her claws ticked nervously against the wheel, even though she kept the rest of her human appearance intact. She shook her head, letting out a hot sigh.

“I can’t believe we’re using ‘visiting our shop’ and ‘alive or dead’ in the same sentence.”

It wasn’t funny, but a bitter laugh bubbled out of me anyway. “I know, right? What even is our life? Cursed pens. Creepy basement with an even worse bestiary book? Some sort of what… paranormal mystery team running around making sure the county didn’t implode? I can’t get over that all this is what my uncle actually wanted us to inherit.”

Cassidy pursed her lips, trying hard to shift the last of her human appearance on. “I keep thinking about what we haven’t found yet.”

A worried look was all the answer I could give, but it said enough.

We found Dorian outside the shop, peering in through the front bay window. Next to him stood a tall, thin man with dusky skin and short hair, wearing a low-key business casual outfit and clutching a blue notebook. Dorian looked concerned; his associate looked wary.

“Dorian!” I shouted as we quickly walked over, keeping the glowing Mason jar stuffed under a coat.

The bloodleech’s usual demeanor of an amused predator dressed like a romance cover model fractured. It careened through alarm and suspicion, before landing on sharp concern. In contrast, the tall man with him was simply walking exhaustion with haunted eyes.

“Daniel? Cassidy? What happened?” Dorian asked, staring at the fresh choke marks on my neck. “If you were mugged, tell me who did it. I’ll make sure my garden has fresh mulch by morning. Got a new chipper-shredder I’ve been dying to try out.” He gestured to his companion. “This is my accountant, Kyle Wilson. He’d be glad to help hold the catch bucket.”

Kyle gave us a weak smile mixed with an uneasy look at my neck. Cassidy rubbed her face as I shook my head, fumbling the keys from my pocket.

“Um… no.” I quickly unlocked the front door, hands trembling as I studied the nearby shadows. “Everyone inside. We’ve a lot to talk about.”

“Is Gloamstead always this… dangerous?” Kyle asked nervously.

I locked the front door behind us while Cassidy led the way to the shop office. “No. Not normally,” she replied. “These past two weeks have just been a lot.”

Inside the office, I flicked on the overhead light. The single bulb winked on, spilling a warm island of brightness against the dusty shadows. I paused at the doorway and inhaled as the others filed inside. Trace scents of coffee, old paper, and wood polish were a warm hug of safety to my mind.

Before I crossed to the desk, Cassidy stopped me to inspect my neck; the anxious look in her eyes screamed volumes. She rubbed my arm. “You explain. I’ll get some water.”

I slumped into the chair behind the desk while Dorian and Kyle each took a seat. Dorian started to say something, but I shook my head.

“Way too much to explain,” I said in a thin voice. “Short version? It was the woman who tried to kill me in your attic. She tried it again.”

He sat upright, eyes bleeding into dark orbs of anger. I held up a hand at Dorian’s reaction.

“Wait. Not right now.” I rubbed my temples, fending off a headache. “So you’re Dorian’s accountant?” I asked Kyle. When he nodded, I continued. “Do you have the fountain pen he gave you?”

Kyle nodded, pulling a wadded handkerchief out of his pants pocket. “I do, yes. Please take the thing.” He carefully set it on the desk as if it would crawl out and bite him. I noticed there were ink stains around his fingernails. “No offense to Mr. Callix, but I want it gone.” He let out a long sigh. “I want to sleep again.”

I stared at the handkerchief, then looked around the office. Finally, I snatched an empty cigar box off a shelf, dropping the pen inside without touching it. The handkerchief I handed back to Kyle. I stared at the pen as the office light reflected off the chrome. A complicated pattern of enameled black plant roots wound around the pen’s tortoiseshell casing. I snapped the lid shut.

“Almost feels like I need to wrap this in a chain with three locks,” I told them wearily.

Dorian shifted to look at his accountant. “Best tell them what you told me. It might help to put all this to rest.”

Kyle Wilson folded his hands in his lap and studied them for a moment. A portrait of a man gathering his ragged thoughts. His chewed fingernails and dark circles under his eyes already spoke volumes. Cassidy walked back in with a bottle of water and a first-aid kit. I drank while she checked my neck for scratches. Dorian’s mouth pulled into a thin line as he studied my wounds.

“Things turned sour a day after Mr. Callix gave me the pen,” Kyle explained, fidgeting in the chair. “Terrible dreams that first night of being locked in a room, filled with old paper. I started hearing voices the next day, maybe the day after that.” I noticed his hands slightly tremble against the notebook in his lap. “Things escalated fast. I’d have panic attacks if the pen were out of my sight.”

“How about now?” I asked, lightly tapping where I’d stashed the pen.

Kyle nodded, mouth tight. “A little. It’s not as bad now, but I couldn’t tell you why. The worst was when I’d wake up at my desk to find I’d been writing in a notebook for half the night.”

Cassidy looked up from my bruises, brow furrowed. “Is that the notebook? Would it be all right if we saw it?”

Kyle handed it over. “Please. Feel free. None of it makes any sense.”

She set it on the desk, flipping through the contents. Two pages in, I saw her expression go dark. I stood and looked over her shoulder as she tapped the notebook.

“It’s more of that story. Airships and all that.” She tapped the margin, nodding as I sighed.

“So, ‘please let me stop?’” I asked Kyle.

Kyle practically withered in his seat. “I really don’t know. When the pen grabs you, at first you don’t realize it. Then you do, and it's like being a prisoner in your own body. There would be small moments when you get a few seconds back. Writing that phrase makes the obsession fade away.”

I frowned at the neat handwriting on the page, then back to Kyle. “But only for a little while?”

He nodded. “It always came back stronger than ever.”

Cassidy closed the notebook. “Kyle? Would you mind if we borrowed this?”

He raised his hands wearily as if warding something away. “You can keep it. I never want to see that again.”

I winced, bruises making themselves known. “You look tired, and it’s late. Mind if we talk tomorrow? Later? Dorian mentioned that you’ve tracked down some of Valeria Moffet’s property deeds.”

Kyle drew a long breath, then let it go as his shoulders sagged. “No problem. Just… after some sleep first. Heavy sleep.”

“He’ll be at my house,” Dorian added casually. “I’ve plenty of room.”

I exchanged a quick, silent look with Cassidy, who gave me a tiny nod. “How about the day after tomorrow?” I offered, reaching into my pocket for my phone. “That’ll give you time to get some rest, and us, too.”

“Daniel? Cassidy? I’d still like to hear that story about who attacked you,” Dorian said with a guarded, predatory tone. “Might be something I could help you, as they say, lay to rest.”

I huffed a soft laugh despite myself, feeling a small shudder.

“Maybe tomorrow, Dorian, we…”

My blood turned cold, adrenaline spiking through my skin, when I discovered a folded piece of paper next to my phone. I slowly pulled them free.

It was a piece of loose-leaf notebook paper, folded neatly into quarters. Trembling, I unfolded it. The paper was covered in handwritten prose. Neat. Legible.

“Ah…” I shuddered as Cassidy clenched my arm in a death grip. “I… don’t remember this.”

Everything on the page was in my handwriting.

It was another piece of the story.