Tim Jim's Sandbox

Cedar Bardot

Cedar Bardot and The Tomb of The Reincarnated One

+ Chapter 1

Through The Abandoned Wing

The shelves that would usually stretch upward like literary redwoods were creaking and splintering if they were not outright collapsed. And the books that would typically line them lay ruined in piles on the ground. This is a place that the librarians ignored, a place that wanderers rarely ventured into: The abandoned wing. That is, except for a wanderer with a flat cap on their head, a flight jacket on their shoulders, and a machete dangling from their hip.

Cedar Bardot squeezed their body through the only space that was left after a shelf fell onto its neighbor. They shoved their pack further through the gap ahead of them before shimming after it. Another push and they were finally out the other side. Cedar looked around at their new environment as they put their backpack on. Here, the stories made sense. Scorch marks painted the floor and shelves with a thick layer of ash and soot. Cedar picked up a somewhat intact book lying next to their foot only for it to fall apart. They sighed and dusted off their hands. The grunts coming from the gap they had just pushed themselves through suddenly reminded them that they were making this trip with a companion. They reached an arm back into the gap to help him.

Professor McElroy emerged from the hole. If it weren’t for Cedar's grip on his arm, he’d have fallen onto the floor. He looked at the former inferno around him, “My god, what happened here?”

Tossing the remnants of books aside and checking the backs of the shelves, Cedar answered, “There’s a lot of conflicting reports. I’ve heard everything from some ancient war to the GOC taking their nickname a little too literally.”

Cedar had met the professor only three days prior. He introduced himself as a professor of some obscure Ivy league school that even the Deer College graduate Cedar had never heard of. He said that he had a job for Cedar, all they had to do was help him find a particularly rare book. McElroy was rather cagey. He refused to disclose why he wanted the book, in fact, the whole job seemed sketchy. But, Cedar was short on cash and the last person to pass up an adventure for ancient knowledge. So they accepted with little hesitation.

Cedar pushed against the back of another shelf, it cracked easily. They punched the spot, putting a nice fist-sized hole in the shelf. Looking through the hole, Cedar could see the significantly less burned parallel aisle. A smile crept across their face. The professor sifted through a pile of burnt books as Cedar began pulling, punching, and kicking through the shelf.

“This does not bode well for our mission,” The professor said, adjusting his circular glasses.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Cedar replied as they pulled out another piece of wood, finally making the hole in the shelf wide enough for a person, “After you.”

This aisle was pristine compared to the one they had just come from. Much of the wood was rotted, and there were still some scorch marks, but it seemed more intact than the other one. Cedar retrieved a map from their backpack. Trying to make sense of the rather archaic document, Cedar squinted at the map. Which winding corridor were they meant to travel next? Cedar traced a finger across the map before taking off their cap to run a hand through their Aubrey-colored hair that was only a few shades off from the wood of the shelves.

The professor, who had been looking over Cedar's shoulder in an attempt to understand the map himself scratched his head, "So, which way do we go now?"

"Up."

The two wanderers gazed up at the gigantic bookshelves. They would be easy to climb, but from the floor, their height seemed near infinite. This would be a test of endurance more than anything else.

“Alright, I don’t have any climbing gear, so try not to look down,” Cedar said before climbing up the shelves that creaked and groaned with each ascension. Professor McElroy hesitated a moment before following them. Ignoring Cedar's instructions, he looked down. They had only been climbing for a couple of minutes, but it seemed that they were already seventy feet up.

“How do you know it’s still intact?” The professor asked, trying to hide his fear.

“The book?” Cedar answered, “I don’t really. But word around the Library is that it’s still legible. Most of it anyway.”

The professor was shocked, “You mean to say that we’ve come all this way based on rumors? The damn thing might not even exist!”

Cedar laughed, “Welcome to the job.”

The two continued up the shelves, the only other interruption to their climb being a shelf collapsed under Cedar’s weight, an obstacle they quickly recovered from. It took them nearly an hour to reach the top. After pulling the professor onto the shelf, Cedar looked out at the Libary around them. It seemed to go on forever, an endless expanse of books and knowledge in winding corridors and impossible geometry. Cedar wished they had a camera. They came to the library for its literary contents, yes, but it was impossible to ignore the sheer beauty of the thing, even here in the abandoned wing. Every day Cedar got to live in these shelves, and every day they were grateful. It would be easy for one to muse on the fact that the layout of the shelves looked similar to the folds of a human brain, but other matters were at hand for Cedar Bardot and Professor McElroy. They both started walking down the length of the shelf.

The floor beneath the shelves dropped off into an inky back abyss that almost seemed to breathe. Something was shifting around at the bottom of it. Occasionally, something, or a part of something, would come up just far enough to break out of the darkness. Maybe it was just the mind playing tricks, but Professor McElroy thought he saw scales.

“How far down does it go?” McElroy asked.

“Forever, probably. I’ve heard some say that it leads to the tunnels. For all our sakes, I hope not.” Cedar answered, “In any case, it’s not in our best interest to find out.”

The walkway that was the top of the shelves became narrow as the two traveled down it. McElroy was so focussed on staying on the walkway as to not discover what was at the bottom of the pit, that he almost didn't notice the storm of books was before them. Hardcovers swirled around the walkway, caught in an eternal tornado. The winds sounded like screams of agony. It went infinitely up and infinitely down. The professor wondered if the thing in the pit was causing it. Cedar continued forward, holding up their arm to block incoming books, “We’re almost there! Try not to get hit!”

A book hit Professor McElroy in the shoulder blades. He grunted and followed Cedar. The eye of the storm was near silent, other than the sounds of the roaring winds it was surrounded by. It was peaceful, and the air was oddly clean. McElroy took a deep breath, partly to enjoy the air but mostly to calm himself. Cedar started counting their steps. Thirty… Forty… Fifty. They stopped and looked down the side of the shelf, “Here.”

It was hard to tell if the shelves were floating above the pit or emerging from it. The professor feared that the item of their quest could be deep in the abyss, “How far down is it?”

“Thirty, maybe forty, feet.”

The professor stared down into the void beneath them, “Do you have some kind of harness?”

“Nope,” Cedar replied, already descending the shelves as if the thought of falling was something they hadn't even considered. Carefully, they put their foot on the shelf beneath them and tested its strength before putting their full weight on it. At thirty-two feet, they started scanning the shelves. The first one didn’t have it, and neither did the second, nor the third. Shoving books aside and tossing them down into the void, Cedar rapidly searched through each shelf.

Professor McElroy watched anxiously, the image of Cedar losing their grip and falling into the bottomless pit repeating in his mind. At the fifth shelf, Cedar grabbed the spine of a book, only for it to sprout legs and teeth. Both Cedar and the book screamed before they threw it over their shoulder. Cedar didn’t realize it immediately, but the book's scream wasn’t one of surprise, but a cry for backup.

Cedar continued to comb through the books when they heard the professor yell, “Cedar!”

“Yeah, yeah, I should find it soon,” Cedar replied dismissively.

“Cedar, look!”

Cedar finally looked up at the professor, and then at what the professor was pointing at: A pack of around a dozen book mimics coming to their right. Cedar checked their left flank to see another dozen. Retrieving their machete, Cedar swung at the closet two, sending both into the pit. They dropped down another shelf and prepared to take a swing at the next mimic, only for it to catch their eye. Lying unceremoniously on the shelf was a red book, the only identifying feature being the word ‘A chronicle of the Daevas’ printed on its cover.

Cedar shoved their machete back on their hip and tucked the book under their arm. With the mimics in pursuit, Cedar scrambled back up the shelves as fast as their rather limited strength would let them, “Professor! I got it!”

A mimic jumped into Cedar’s path above them. Cedar used the book to smack it out of the way without a moment's hesitation. They hoisted themself up a shelf when another mimic jumped and latched onto Cedar’s left calf, sinking its jaws deep into it. Cedar kicked at the arachnidian book but its jaws only seemed to get a tighter hold. Cedar kicked again, hard and the mimic went flying, taking a good chunk of Cedar’s leg with it. Adrenaline numbing them to the pain, Cedar began to pull themself to the next shelf, only for the shelf they had their foot on to break. Mimics swiftly approaching and the void calling to them, Cedar dangled within arm's reach of McElroy.

“Professor!” Cedar shouted, “Pull me up!”

“Throw up the book first! I’ll be able to grab both of your hands then!” McElroy replied urgently. Cedar looked at the book and then at the professor. The mimics were getting closer by the second, Cedar was out of better options. They tossed the book up to the professor, who caught it and hugged it to his chest. He started flipping through the book and smiled, “I’m sorry, Cedar. But I can only trust myself with knowledge of the Daevas. Thank you for the help.”

Without so much as a glance at Cedar, Professor McElroy ran back through the storm with the book tucked tightly in his arms. Cedar wanted to curse him, but they didn’t have the time. The shelf that they were dangling from gave way.

Thud, thud, thud, thud

They went plummeting through shelf after shelf. Down closer and closer to the beckoning abyss. Their arm shot to their hip. Their fingers barely wrapped themselves around the handle of their machete before Cedar ripped it from its sheath and thrust it into the shelf wall. The sudden drop nearly took the wind out of them. They were far from the mimics now, but that barely solved their problems.

With all of their weight on it, Cedar’s machete began to bend and crack the wood it was jammed into, it wouldn’t hold for long. Cedar spread out their limbs and pushed against the sides of the shelves to hold themself up. They yanked the machete out of the wall and shoved it back into its sheath. Taking a moment to breathe, Cedar searched for any possible escape. The storm had closed in a little, it was no more than a few yards out from them. Looking up again, Cedar saw the descending pack of mimics snapping their jaws in excitement. Perhaps there was a safer way out of this situation, but Cedar couldn’t think of one. They took a deep breath.

“One… Two… Now!” Using the sides as leverage, Cedar launched themself from the shelves and into the storm, praying to any deity in earshot that the winds were strong enough to carry them. Luckily for Cedar, a few must have been listening.

The storm caught Cedar and dragged them through its current. A few of the mimics tried and failed to jump after them. Relief was short-lived, however, as Cedar held onto their flat cap and braced for impact. They were slammed back into the shelves, though now much closer to the top. From what they could tell the storm had brought them back the way they had come. The shelves shook from the impact, much more than Cedar expected them to. All seemed calm for a moment, until…

CRACK

With the sound of a lightning strike, the wood of the shelves splintered and shifted. The entire section was coming down.

Cedar pulled themself on top of the shelves and sprinted, trying to ignore the growing pain in their leg. The shelves toppled and fell into the void behind them. The wood under Cedar’s feet seemed to become more unstable with every step. The cracking wood grew louder. They ran so hard they were sure their soles would be bruised. Another shelf collapsed. Finally, Cedar could see where the pit ended and the Library’s floor began. The walkway beneath Cedar started shaking. It was going down. Just as the shelves beneath them collapsed Cedar leaped.

Their jump wouldn’t land them on the floor, but it would get them close enough. Cedar caught the edge of the floor and dangled there for a moment as the rest of the section fell into the abyss. They struggled to climb onto the floor. Cedar lay on their back, out of breath.

Their first thought was to kick themself for not bringing a gun to this job, they could have shot Professor McElroy right through his stupid circle-rimmed glasses the moment he betrayed them. Their second thought was of the long trek back through the abandoned wing they still had before them. Cedar wanted to cry, but they’d need the water. They stood up and took a first aid kit from the back. The rubbing alcohol made them wince as they applied it to their wound. Their long day just got a lot longer.

+ Chapter 2

The Calling of The Serpent

Cedar’s apartment was one of the few examples of permanent housing in the Library. It was small and cramped and if Cedar stood in the bathroom and spread their arms, they’d touch the opposite sides of it. Calling it an apartment was an overstatement. It was a nook.
But they were just glad to have indoor plumbing, and that they didn’t have to share it with anyone. They’d heard horror stories of four people living in apartments smaller than this one.

Maybe it had been days, maybe it had been weeks. All Cedar knew is that time seemed to slow down between jobs, especially after the last one was such a failure. It’s one thing to have your client leave you for dead, it’s another to cause an entire section to collapse into the void. Half of Cedar expected a visit from the Librarians to discuss mandatory employment, but the other half-remembered that it was an abandoned section. But laying in bed all day wouldn’t do anything to improve Cedar’s mood. They were starving and their back was getting sore.

Every joint in Cedar’s body seemed to pop as they rose from the bed. They stretched and turned to the entrance of the apartment. Cedar used to have to pat down every part of the wall before they found the spot where their hand passed through, but now it was practically second nature. They simply angled their body with the geometry and walked straight through it.

A scruffy-looking Cedar slipped out of (or into depending on how you look at it) a corner in the common area. The crowd was just beginning to set in at this time of day. People were sitting down with their books or grouping up to gossip and discuss current academic ventures. Cedar caught a couple of people glancing at them. News in the Library traveled fast. Just how many people knew about the botched job?

Lowering their hat to avoid eye contact with anyone, Cedar hastily made their way to the food court. Cafe R’lyeh was Cedar’s favorite joint in the Library. It was far from the most popular, however. Many were put off by the slimy, non-Euclidian decor of the place, but they could cook a mean steak and eggs, and Cedar found the wait staff lovely. They walked into the Cafe and took their usual seat at a booth that was somehow both indoor and outdoor seating. Soon after, the waitress came over, Susie, or at least, that was the closest thing to her real name the Cedar’s human tongue could pronounce. She had the head of an octopus and the body of a humanoid. Her deep purple skin almost glowed.

“Hey, Cedar,” Susie said cheerfully, “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, I’ve had a rough couple of days,” Cedar replied, forcing a smile.

Susie giggled, “So I heard. Is the leg doing ok?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. It was nothing some rubbing alcohol and a bandage couldn't fix.”

“Good,” Susie nodded, “Glad to hear it. The usual?”

“No, not this time,” Cedar said, rubbing their hand against the table, “Gimme a big plate of pancakes. And a coffee.”

“Cream and sugar?”

“I don’t want to taste the coffee.”

“You got it,” Susie gave a thumbs up as she walked away. Cedar’s gaze lingered on her as she left. They’d never admit it, mostly because they knew they weren’t her type, but they had developed something of a crush on the girl.

The rest of the Cafe was filled with its other regulars. A few waved at Cedar politely, while the ones that weren’t as fond of humans silently grimaced. Cedar took off their hat and ran a hand through their hair. It was greasy and dampened with sweat. It suddenly occurred to Cedar that they had not showered before leaving their apartment. It seemed that their need for food trumped their need for hygiene. Cedar stared at their sweat-covered hand in disgust for a moment before wiping it on their black tank top and putting their hat back on.

Cedar’s mood quickly turned around, however, as Susie came back and set the pancakes and coffee on the table, "There you go, Cedar. Enjoy."

Cedar smiled, "I always do."

Chef Ogtor’s pancakes could make a monk reach Nirvana. Cedar happily chewed on a piece of pancake before taking a long sip of coffee. It was less than great, but it did its job. A fuller stomach put Cedar’s mind at ease. It wasn’t like they were the first to screw up a job and there was always the next one.

Cedar was about to take another steaming bite of pancake when two men appeared next to their booth. One wore a brown cloak with a hood covering most of his face. Cedar could see a barely kempt white beard poking out from underneath it. Underneath the cloak, the man had a green tunic with a familiar symbol of a snake with five tails painted on it. The second man was dressed much less like a wizard, he had short, red hair and was wearing a brown suit and pants. He had the same symbol pinned to his lapel.

The one in the cloak spoke, “Mx. Bardot?”

“Nope,” Cedar said swiftly and harshly before shoveling another slice of pancake into their mouth.

“You sure look like them,” The redhead said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Cedar replied with food still in their mouth.

The cloaked man began sitting down across from Cedar, “There’s no need to be rude, we simply want to-”

“Talk, yeah, I’m sure,” Cedar interrupted, “The problem is you’re Serpent’s Hand, so I don’t want any part of it.”

The redhead leaned against the table with both hands, “I really think you should hear us out.”

“And I think you should take grandpa over there back to whatever Renaissance fair he crawled out of.”

The redhead’s face began to match his hair as he sneered at Cedar. He looked like he was about to yell, but his older companion started talking first, “So, you don’t like us. May I ask why?”

Cedar leaned back in the booth and stared at the man for a moment. Was the reason not obvious?

“You’ve pledged your lives to protect something that doesn’t need protecting,” Cedar explained, “Look around! This Library’s been here longer than the recorded history of any universe, and I reckon it’ll be here long after the last one has fizzled out. And you have the fucking gall to think it needs some knights in shining armor to stand and defend it? You walk around here like you’re a bunch of selfless heroes, but you’re just a gaggle of self-righteous douchbags with egos the size of Everest!”

The redhead was about to launch a retort when the cloaked man chuckled, “Colorful! Your reputation precedes you quite well, Mx. Bardot.”

Cedar glared at the two men as they slowly accepted that their breakfast would not be as peaceful as they had hoped. The cloaked man straightened himself and regained his professional demeanor, “Born and raised in Three Portlands, you were homeschooled by your parents before going to Deer College. There, you earned a master's degree in parahistory and was the Salutatorian of your class. Soon after, you were hired by Prometheus Labs, where you worked as a researcher of anomalous artifacts and parahistory until its closure. After that, you somehow found a Way into the Wanderer’s Library where you have remained ever since.”

“Wow, you found an encyclopedia article about me. Impressive,” Cedar said with thick sarcasm, “Look, would you just tell me what you want so I can tell you to fuck off and go back to enjoying my meal?”

“My name is Kane von Pike,” The cloaked man said before gesturing to the other man, “And this is Ben Keeley. We’d like to hire you.”

“To do what?”

“To find Marw,” Kane answered.

“Marw?” Cedar was getting confused, “The Library Cat that argues with me about my reading recommendations? She’s probably taking a nap in the commons right now.”

“No, jackass,” Ben said. He hadn’t talked in so long that Cedar almost forgot he was there, “Marw, The Original.”

“The Original’s gotta be worm food by now,” Cedar said dismissively, “What would you want with it?”

“First off, we have reason to believe that the Daevite experiments performed on it have stopped The Original’s corpse from decomposing,” Kane explained, “And second, we don’t want it. The problem is that the Bookburners do.”

“The Bookburners, huh? Now what would they want from-” Cedar stopped, suddenly knowing the answer to their own question, “You think they could reverse engineer the magic somehow?”

“Precisely,” Kane confirmed, “And regardless of your opinion of us, the Bookburners with Daevite magic would be dangerous for everyone. The Library may survive, yes, but there’s no denying that it’d be in a much worse state.”

Cedar tapped their finger on the table in contemplation. If the Global Occult Coalition could figure out how to use the magic of the Daeva, how far would they be from opening Ways without knocks, or just creating their own Ways altogether? They were agreeing wholeheartedly with the Hand. Something wasn’t adding up, “Why me?”

“Why you? Mx. Bardot, please don’t sell yourself short,” Kane started, “Salutatorian is not an easy thing to achieve. And if you’re academic prowess wasn’t enough, you’ve been shown to have exceptional quick thinking skills, that’s not to mention your lack of fear in the face of danger-”

“And I have a lead, right?” Cedar realized, “The chronicle, you must have heard about it, most everyone on this side of the Library has.”

Kane smiled, “Yes, and there is that. Still, we are asking you for help. You will be rewarded. Money, rare books, at the very least we could get you some very nice living quarters.”

Cedar thought of their small apartment, and how boring lying in bed had been for the past few days. Go searching around the Earth in a race against a bunch of U.N.-funded fascists for a magical dead cat, or wait for the next job, which would likely be helping some obsessed academic research a very niche piece of parahistory? The correct choice quickly became clear, “Fine, I’ll help.”

“Glad to hear it,” Kane said as he stood up, “You’ll be working with Ben.”

“What, I need a babysitter?” Cedar asked, irritated.

“It’s more like we’re babysitting each other,” Ben said as he took Kane’s seat, sharing Cedar’s annoyance for once.

“Call it whatever you like, but this will go much easier with two of you rather than one,” Kane exasperatedly explained before pulling four universal tokens from his cloak and tossing them on the table, “Enjoy your breakfast, Cedar.”

Kane walked behind a pillar and disappeared into the geometry of the cafe, leaving Ben and Cedar alone.

“Alright, where’s the chronicle?” Ben said impatiently.

“Shhhhh,” Cedar poured more syrup onto their stack of pancakes, “Eat first. Work later.”

+ Chapter 3

Into The Mundane

The encyclopedia wing was one of the nicer parts of the Library when it came to the decor. This is partly because only one Librarian was in charge of it, so little compromise was had. The lights, which were either lanterns or candles, were dim, so as to not hurt the eyes, but bright enough to make it easy to read. The dark green walls and arched entryways, along with the soft disembodied melodies, created a pleasant environment that wasn’t too distracting. The chairs were big and comfortable, lined with a dark red fabric that served the same purpose as the walls. This was the only wing that allowed drink, specifically tea. Indeed, this wing was handcrafted for academics to research and discuss the findings of various fields. And it was crafted perfectly, judging by the books and scrolls spread out over the tables and the scholars that leered over them. Cedar might have considered them their peers, long ago.

Ben shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the Page as it searched for the requested book. He turned to Cedar, who was leaning against a table, “Are you even sure he gave you his real name?”

Cedar shrugged. Based on the slight New Yorker accent the professor had had and Cedar vaguely remembering the university’s name beginning with a ‘C’, the two were gambling on a Professor McElroy at Columbia University. But it seemed slim at best to Ben.

“Great,” He sighed, “You didn’t even think to do some kind of background check or something? How have you made it this far?”

“What can I say? I try to see the best in people,” Cedar said sarcastically. The humor seemed to be lost on Ben, however, as he returned a cold glare. “Look, I’m pretty good at reading people. The guy might have had a genius-level IQ, but he wasn’t street-smart. He wouldn’t have thought to lie about something like that,” Cedar explained.

Ben’s stare didn’t change in the slightest, “And yet you didn’t ‘read’ that he was going to betray you.”

The was a long moment of silence as the two stared at each other with contempt. Their attempts to kill each other with their minds were interrupted when the Page finally returned with an encyclopedia, “Here you are, this the only book that had anything about Columbia University. It seems that it only exists in one universe.”

“That’s to be expected,” Ben explained as he grabbed the book, “It’s a mundane school.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

“Thanks, Cato. We’ll call for you if we need anything else,” Cedar said to the Page, whom they had become familiar with.

“Of course, Cedar. Happy to help,” Cato said cheerfully as it used its six arms to crawl back up the bookshelf. Ben put the book on the table and began flipping through it until he found a list of the many professors of Columbia University. The list contained every professor that had ever taught at the school, but as Ben traced his finger over each name, one, in particular, was missing.

“Well, it looks like you’re not as good at reading people as you thought. He’s not in he-” Ben stopped himself as a name caught his eye, “He can’t be that stupid.”

At the bottom of the list was the title of one Professor Henry Elroy. Cedar laughed through their nose, “People can surprise you. Does it say anything else about him?”

Ben flipped through a couple of the pages for a while, “No, dammit. It only says he started teaching there last year. Guess the Library hasn’t had enough time to collect more information.”

“Well,” Cedar pushed themself away from the table and stumbled a bit, “Ah. Well, I guess we’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.” Ben looked at them with a confused expression. “We go to the university and ask them where he is.”

“You sure that’s not a little too direct?” Ben asked.

“Maybe, but it’s not like we have time to kill,” Cedar said before limping towards the exit of the encyclopedia wing.

---

The two walked down a long aisle of the Library as Cedar tried their best to hide the fact that they were favoring a leg. They glanced at the map of Ways they had gotten from the help desk. They looked up at the books, carefully reading each spine until they got to, ‘A Brief History of New York’s Occult Origins.’ Cedar kissed their fingers and pressed them against the spine of the book. Within seconds, the bookshelf shifted open, revealing the library of Columbia University. Cedar and Ben walked through.

Even though the library was relatively small, especially when compared to the one they had just come from, no one in it seemed to notice the two figures emerging from the bookshelf. They swiftly exited the library before anyone could take note of their presence. Cedar’s limp came and went. At one point they nearly fell because of it. Ben finally got tired of ignoring it, “Why the hell are you walking like that?”

“Like what?” Cedar asked, feigning ignorance.

“Don’t be funny, you’re limping.”

“I’m fine,” Cedar said, “Just- Just have a cramp in my leg is all.”

Wandering through the halls, they eventually found the administration office. Cedar walked up to the desk where a kind-looking secretary sat while Ben stayed by the door. Cedar put on their most charming face, “Hello, miss.”

The girl looked up from the computer, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you. How may I help?”

Cedar leaned against the desk, “I’m looking for Professor Henry Elroy. Does he work here?”

“One moment,” The secretary began to tap away on her keyboard. After a few seconds, she read the monitor and turned back to Cedar, “Uhm, Yes, he works here, but it doesn’t look like he came in today. Would you like to leave a message for him?”

Cedar shook their head, “No, no. Would you be able to give me his address, maybe?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” She said as politely as possible, “We’re not allowed to give out that kind of information about faculty.”

“Well, thank you anyway,” Cedar backed away from the desk and left the office, Ben followed behind them.

They both stood in the hall. Cedar looked down the corridors, there were only a handful of people in them.

“So, what’s your plan now?” Ben asked.

Cedar turned back to him, “You’re gonna cause a distraction.”

“A distraction? How?” Ben was quickly becoming frustrated.

“I don’t know, pull the fire alarm for all I care. We just need to get her away from that desk.”

Ben sighed. He looked down the hall before walking in the opposite direction of the office. Cedar leaned against the wall next to the office door and waited. Almost five minutes passed, and Cedar began to wonder if they should go and find him.

BOOM

The sound of a small explosion echoed down the hall. The secretary came out of the office and peered down the hall for a moment before jogging down it. As soon as she left, Cedar sprung into action. They walked back into the office and vaulted over the desk, then they almost screamed when they landed on their injured leg wrong. Barely keeping their composure, they went to the computer and found Elroy’s file.

“Two-thirty-four, East eighty-ninth street, apartment seven,” They repeated to themself. Suddenly, they felt eyes on their back. Cedar turned around to see a man dressed in a golf shirt and khakis looking down at them. A lanyard dangled from his neck.

“Excuse me, what do you think you think you’re doing?” He said with the confidence that only someone with a mild amount of authority could have. Cedar slowly rose to their feet.

“Hey, I know this looks bad, but it’s alright. Johnny gave me permission,” Cedar came up with the lie as it left their mouth.

The man crossed his arms, “Johnny who?”

“Johnny Bravo,” Cedar shot a sucker punch directly into his eye. He was out cold. Cedar quickly made their exit, “Don’t cross your arms next time.”

Ben was walking back down the hall as Cedar came out of the office. He wiped a glob of white foam off of his chest, “Great, that’s gonna stain my suit.”

“What happened?” Cedar asked, stifling a chuckle.

“I’ll explain later. Did you get an address?”

“Yeah. We should probably go before the guy I knocked out wakes up,” Cedar rushed to the exit, leaving no time for Ben to question what they just said. The two of them weaved through students as they ran through the campus. Even with their limp, Cedar managed to keep up a good speed. They ran out into the street and narrowly dodged a cab. Another one was hurtling towards Cedar with its brakes screaming when Ben gripped their collar and yanked them back onto the sidewalk. Cedar put their hands on their knees and caught their breath, “Fuck, I forgot they made mundane cities for cars. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ben replied dryly, “The address.”

Cedar gave Ben the address. Lacking any US currency for a taxi, the two made their way on foot. Cedar's leg was getting worse. They started using lampposts and newspaper boxes to support themselves whenever they could.

“So, what’d you blow up?” Cedar asked as they walked, hoping it'd distract Ben from their degenerating stride.

“A fire extinguisher,” Ben answered.

“You wanna tell me how exactly?”

Ben looked around to make sure no one was in earshot, “I have a gift. Ballistic telekinesis,” Ben explained, “It only works on metal, and it tends to weaken me when I use it. I’m a little light-headed right now, in fact.”

“Huh, I remember a project that Prometheus was working on. They wanted to make some kind of microchip that would give people something similar to your ability,” Cedar stopped when they noticed Ben glaring at them. They tilted their head as pieces started to fit together in it, “Were you a test subject for it?”

“No,” Ben answered honestly, turning his head back in the direction he was walking as he did.

Cedar stared at Ben. It was clear they had gotten off on the wrong foot. Something Cedar didn’t find surprising, but Ben’s vitriol towards them was still odd, like he already hated them before their meeting in Cafe R’lyeh. Other than him being a lab rat for Cedar’s former employer, they had no clue why. And with that hypothesis proven false, something else became clear. Ben was almost overly cautious. He looked over his shoulder constantly, to the point that it started drawing attention to himself and he had a nervousness about him combined with a flavor of self-righteous altruism that was unusual even for the Hand. Cedar looked him up and down again, “You’re green, aren’t you?”

A hint of red appeared on Ben’s cheeks, “What?”

“You are!” Cedar said as they started to smile.

“No, I-” Ben hung his head and took a breath, accepting that he’d been discovered, “I’ve been in the field before, just not without Kane.”

“Oh,” Cedar said, nodding, “So, is this some kind of test for you?”

“Something like that.”

“Hmm, they must care a lot about this dead cat then,” Cedar said sarcastically.

“It’s not like that,” Ben started to explain.

Cedar stopped him, “I’m sure it is.”

An hour passed and the two were at the doorstep of 234 East 89th Street. They ascended the small staircase. Ben tried to open the door. It was locked. They both looked at the buzzer, remembering how apartment buildings in New York City functioned. Cedar started pressing each buzzer.

“What are you doing?” Ben asked.

“Someone has to be expecting someone,” Cedar said just before a click came from the door. Someone was expecting someone. Cedar held the door open and gestured for Ben to go before them. Ben reached apartment seven's door before Cedar, who was still pulling themself up the stairs. The two of them found themselves in front of yet another locked door.

“Hold on,” Ben said, “I’ll take this one.”

He focussed hard on the lock.

PINK

The door’s lock exploded, leaving a hole where it once was. Ben grabbed his head in pain, “Shit, migraine.”

Cedar made sure no one was coming to investigate the sound before pushing the door open. They both walked inside. The first thing that hit them was the smell. It was hard to miss, second only to the body of Professor Henry Elroy that was hung by the neck with a belt from the ceiling fan. The professor stared at the two figures with a bulbous expression, looking almost surprised to see them. The rest of the apartment was just as filthy as the body. The floor was littered with trash and clothes, there was a single futon that looked like it was found on the street, and the coffee table in front of it had an open pizza box on it with a cold pizza inside. The T.V. was tuned to static. Truly, this was the dwelling of an academic. Ben was still holding his head, “Great.”

While Ben walked into the kitchen area to get a glass of water, Cedar stepped closer to the late professor. It looked like he had been dead for two or three days. His hands caught their eye. His knuckles were bruised and his fingernails were chipped. Cedar looked at his neck. Bits of leather on the belt were torn off. He was clawing at it, “He died fighting.”

Ben stopped chugging water over the kitchen sink, “I don’t suppose his killers politely laid out the chronicle?”

“Yeah, they even highlighted the part that tells us where to find The Original,” Cedar answered Ben’s question with an equal amount of sarcasm. They couldn’t help but notice Ben’s snigger as he went back to drinking. There was a small writing desk in the corner of the room that Cedar had started using as a crutch. They looked over it. Other than a few papers strewn about, it was clean, which stood in stark contrast to the rest of the apartment. They slid one of its drawers open, it was empty. The professor didn’t seem the type to keep his desk tidy while the rest of his place looked like a rave just ended. The desk had to have been cleaned out.

Ben rubbed the bridge of his nose as he stepped out of the kitchen, “Alright, my head’s feeling better. Time to start looking for where this asshole put the book.”

“Don’t bother,” Cedar said, pushing the drawer closed. They tried to move away from the desk and stand on their own, “They already took it. Along with any notes he took on it.”

Cedar could feel their leg wobble beneath them. Ben sighed, “Well, there goes our lead. Thanks for nothing. I’ll report back to Kane and tell him this was a dead-end-” Before he could get the last word out of his mouth, Cedar collapsed. They had finally exhausted their wounded leg’s support. Ben rushed over to them as they grabbed their leg, “Jesus! What the hell’s the matter?”

“My- Shit. My goddamn leg,” Cedar stammered out as they rolled up their pant leg. The gash in their leg was barely dressed, with a thin layer of gaze they clearly hadn't been changed in days wrapped around it rather than any actual bandage. Ben looked at the wound and then at Cedar.

“Some cramp. That’s gonna get infected. Don’t move, maybe this guy has a first aid kit,” Ben said before walking into the bathroom.

“I put rubbing alcohol on it,” Cedar said, lightly touching the wound.

“Rubbing alcohol alone is great for small cuts, that’s a gash,” Ben shouted from the other room.

Cedar looked up at the professor’s body. They had almost forgotten that they had traveled through the Library with the man for days. Cedar had little sympathy for him, but it was still a little sad. A death that looked just enough like a suicide so the cops wouldn’t look further into it. Who killed him? It didn’t look like any normal burglary, and the GOC wouldn’t just off civilians so carelessly. Ben came back with a Tupperware container of medical supplies. He kneeled next to Cedar and started unwrapping the medical tape.

“I have to ask,” Cedar started, “Do you hate me for any tangible reason, or is it just principle?”

Ben finished taking the tape off, “I won’t deny that I’m not very fond of you, but hate seems like a strong word.”

“Call it whatever you like,” Cedar said, waving their hand dismissively.

“You worked for a company that built weapons that ended countless lives. Your research likely led to those deaths,” Ben doused a cotton swab in rubbing alcohol, “Maybe they’re not your fault directly, but you still had a hand in them. I’d say that’s tangible enough.”

Ben dabbed the wound with the swab, causing Cedar to let out a pained groan, “Ow. Fair, but that doesn’t seem dogmatic to you?”

“No,” Ben said pulling a thread and needle from the container, “Try not to move.”

Cedar had cultivated a healthy pain threshold throughout the years, but the constant feeling of the needle puncturing their skin became quite an uncomfortable annoyance. Wanting a distraction from the feeling, they turned their head to look under the futon. There was an open envelope lying under the futon. It was just within arm’s reach. Cedar could see a letter partially sticking out of it. Even if it was just a tax return, it’d be something to hopefully take Cedar’s mind off of the gash. Cedar pulled the letter out of the envelope and started reading. It wasn’t a tax return. With each sentence that they read, Cedar’s eyes grew wider.

Ben finished sewing Cedar’s wound, “Alright, that’s pretty good. Might want to get your hands on some painkillers. And some antibiotics,” Ben threw the medical supplies back into the container and stood up, “Let’s go find a Way.”

“Let’s not,” Cedar said, climbing to their feet. They handed Ben the letter, “My luck hasn’t run out just yet.”

Ben examined the letter in his hand. A purple logo with the letters MC&D was printed at the top of the page.

Professor Henry Elroy,

We are glad you received our last letter, and that your interest in the Daevas is as great as we thought it was. We know of a book that contains most of the Daevas’ history. While we do not have it in our possession, we would happily give you its location, provided that you agree to share your findings with us.

The book's location is one that we are sure will be extremely alien to you, so we would like to arrange a meeting at your earliest possible convenience to discuss the intricacies of your journey to the book and our agreement.

Marshall, Carter and Dark Ltd.

“They have a headquarters here in New York, right?” Cedar asked, rolling down their pant leg.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure where to find it,” Ben replied as he put the letter in his jacket.

Cedar reached back under the couch and grabbed the envelope. They read the return address and turned it to Ben. Printed in the top left corner were the words Manhattan Shipping Co.

“Must be a front,” Cedar said.

Ben took the envelope and squinted at the address, “It’s a start.”

+ Chapter 4

Battle For The Chronicle

An ice-cold wind blew off the Hudson and stabbed into Cedar’s heart. They pulled their flight jacket closed and tried their best to ignore the sensation of their ears going numb. They and Ben had been crouched behind a stack of crates on the docks for nearly two hours. The Manhattan Shipping Company warehouse stood silent and still. No one had entered, and no one had left. It was getting close to midnight. Ben was silent, but Cedar could feel the contempt emanating from him. Cedar was searching for words to break the silence when a convoy of five black SUVs parked outside of the warehouse. Cedar and Ben watched as people in fine clothes exited the cars and convened for idle chat. Two men dressed in black suits and dark purple ties, the now iconic Marshall, Carter & Dark color scheme, got out of each car, one from the driver's seat and one from the passenger’s seat. None of them talked to the people in expensive clothes, or even to each other, they just stood next to the cars or to the warehouse entrance with their hands crossed in front of them.

“Must be bodyguards,” Cedar murmured. Ben hummed in the affirmative. The two watched the crowd, picking up only bits and pieces of conversation as the peoples’ voices just barely carried down the dock.

“Oh, how would I know anything about the Hoboken art scene?” Cedar heard a low voice say snidely.

“I hope not, my living room is its own spatial anomaly at this point,” Another one complained. One of the guards approached the dock. Cedar feared that he had spotted them for a moment, but their heart started again as he walked past Cedar and Bens’ crates and all the way to the end of the dock. The sound of a zipper was followed by piss hitting the surface of the water as the man relived himself into the Hudson River. Ben was starting to look for a new hiding place, but Cedar was already jumping into action.

Slowly, Cedar crept up behind the man. Each creak from the dock wood sounded like an orchestra to Cedar, but the guard was too preoccupied to notice. Reaching up, they grabbed the back of the man’s collar and put all of their strength into a blow to the back of his head.

He was out like a light. Cedar pulled him back from falling into the water and carefully laid him down on the dock. Cedar was by no means tall. If they’d ever fix their posture they’d stand at about five feet and five inches, and being that Cedar had no intention to do so, they were stuck at the towering height of five feet and four inches, which was great for sneaking around, but not so great for when you have to disguise yourself as a guy who’s at least six foot. Luckily for Cedar, they’d just acquired a ginger that was about six feet tall. Cedar waved Ben over, who hesitantly followed, making sure that no one by the warehouse could see him.

“Alright, genius, what’s the plan now?” Ben asked aggressively.

“You’re gonna wear this guy’s clothes and pose as a guard,” Cedar said, searching for the guard’s gun.
“Don’t you think his buddies will notice that he’s not him?”

“With MC&D? Nah, I bet these guys only met an hour or two ago,” Cedar said confidently as they pulled out the gun and handed it to Ben.

Ben took the gun without thinking. “And what about the people who hired him?”

“You know, if you didn't fight me on everything we probably would have found this cat by now. My methods have worked out so far. Now, put on the suit and try to act confident for once in your life. I’m going to try and find another way in.” Cedar went off up the dock, leaving Ben to undress the man.

Cedar cast a wide berth around the crowd and SUVs until they were at the side of the warehouse. They peeked around the corner at the group of people one last time.

“Personally, I think AWCY has become rather dull. You can only make a time loop piece so many times before it gets tiresome,” Cedar heard a man in a fur coat say as he polished his fingernails with his shirt.

“Oh, this is only my second auction. I do hope it’s not my last though. Last time I got a stone with a soul trapped inside it. It makes a wonderful conversation piece,” said a woman that was wearing a dress that Cedar was sure could be traded for a hundred acres of land. Silently, Cedar fell back into the shadows and walked down the length of the warehouse. There was a ladder on the side of the building. After checking to make sure there wasn’t a guard at the top, Cedar climbed the ladder and hopped onto the roof.

The roof was surprisingly dark, with no light directly illuminating it. It took Cedar’s eyes a few moments to adjust and find a skylight they could look through. The warehouse floor was empty, apart from a semi-truck that was directly under the skylight. There were two more guards standing next to the door and another man who leisurely paced around. This man in particular caught Cedar’s eye. They couldn’t quite tell who he was meant to be, smoke from a cigarette dangling from his mouth swirled around his face, blocking Cedar's view of it. He wasn’t dressed like any of the guards, wearing a grey fedora and matching overcoat instead of the black suit and purple tie outfit. He looked like a cliche noir character. After a few laps of pacing, he checked his watch and nodded to the guards at the door, who promptly opened it, letting the crowd of yuppies inside.

Cedar did a head count of the guards as they walked inside. After the eighth guard, Ben finally walked in looking somewhat uncomfortable in the suit, but he wore it well enough and wasn’t calling attention to himself. The man in the fedora walked over to the wall and pressed a button. A few seconds later, the middle of the floor slid open, revealing a hidden staircase beneath it. The man led the crowd down the stairs. The guards, along with Ben, followed after them. The floor slid closed behind them, leaving one guard on the warehouse floor.

Cedar took a deep breath. They grabbed a crank on the skylight and twisted it until the glass slid open just enough for them to squeeze their body through. A thud echoed through the warehouse as Cedar landed on top of the semi-truck. Not wasting a second, they jumped down onto the warehouse floor and dove under the truck before the guard could start investigating the noise. They watched his shoes as he walked around the truck, black leather dress shoes. They looked expensive and like they weren’t the most comfortable thing to stand in for long hours. That, along with the equally expensive-looking and movement-restricting suit seemed like a tactical error to Cedar, who was struggling not to rustle around too much as they reached into their jacket to draw their gun. The guard finally reached the other side of the truck and Cedar slithered out behind him like a serpent. After carefully raising to their feet, Cedar pressed the cold steel of their Colt 1911 to the back of the guard's head as he reached inside his suit jacket.

“Don’t try it,” Cedar stopped him. “I can squeeze my finger a lot faster than you can draw and turn around. And I doubt they’re paying you enough to get your brains blown out.”

He hesitated for a moment, but the guard realized he couldn’t get paid if he was dead and raised his hands. Cedar could smell his cologne, it was cheap compared to the rest of his outfit, showing which parts of the MC&D brand were essential to them. They heard him gulp softly, that was the only thing that betrayed his anxiety, “Who are you?”

“You’re not in a position to ask questions,” Cedar said before pushing him forward with the gun. “Now I want you to open up that door in the ground.”

The two marched to the wall on the opposite side of the warehouse. The guard lifted a hidden panel in the wall and pressed the button underneath it. Cedar heard the sound of grinding gears from the floor behind them. The guard was about to say something, maybe a warning, or a threat. Cedar didn’t care.

WHACK

A pistol whip into the back of the head and the guard slumped onto the floor. Cedar took the pistol from his coat and tore its slide from its rail before throwing them in opposite directions across the warehouse. Shoving their own pistol back into its holster, Cedar descended the stairs into the darkness. And it was dark. It became even darker when the floor slid shut behind them. For a moment, they stood in the void, eyes scanning for any spec of light, ears humming as they searched for a sound from any direction. They were about to reach out and feel around for a wall when they blinked and suddenly everything changed. They were now in the lobby of a nice auction house, with small statues and abstract paintings decorating the space. Cedar approached a booth that was inside the wall next to a large door with black upholstery. Inside it, a chubby bald man with a thick mustache, dressed in a tuxedo with purple gloves was flipping through a magazine. Cedar startled him as they approached, “Ah, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware we had any more guests this evening.”

“Yeah, forgot my checkbook in the car,” Cedar said pointing a thumb over their shoulder. “Can I still get in?”

“Er, of course!” The man exclaimed as he started searching around the booth for something. “And I know it’s not my place to judge, but don’t you feel a little underdressed for this evening?”

Cedar looked down at their black tank top whose sleevlessness was being covered by a flight jacket. They looked at their brown slacks that lead down to a pair of black sneakers. Indeed, they did not look like they’d fit in this scene. “Oh, this?” they said, grabbing their tank top. “This entire outfit is Brunello Cucinelli. I was going for a stealth wealth look.”

“Oh, I see,” the man said as he handed Cedar a placard with the number twenty-six on it. “Well, you’ve pulled it off quite well. Enjoy the auction.”

Cedar took the placard and smiled, proud of their ability to lie faster than they could think. They pulled open the upholstered door and were struck by the sour-sweet smell of shampooed velvet carpet. The room before them was a dark auditorium. The dark blue velvet carpet felt awkward to walk on, somehow being softer and firmer than expected. Cedar scanned the room as they entered. The stage was on the other end of the room, there was a small table and a podium on it, the guards stood against the walls at the edges of the room, keeping their stoic expressions and rigid posture. Cedar spotted Ben standing next to the stage, he met their gaze and gave them the slightest nod. Then, at the very back of the stage, just barely peaking out from the wings, Cedar saw that man again. The one in the fedora and trench coat. He was lighting a new cigarette with the remnants of the last one. He was still hard to make out from this distance, but Cedar could see the sharpness of the bottom of his face and the raven-black hair that he revealed when he pushed his hat up.

Cedar took a seat that was about halfway to the stage. “I forgot to ask, your fishing business, the one off the coast of Alaska, how’s that going?” the woman in front of Cedar asked the older lady next to her. The old woman sighed.

“It was going well for a while, but between the local protests and my fishers unionizing, I’m not sure how profitable it will be for much longer.”

“Oh, don’t be such a defeatest,” said the younger woman. “You just need to do some union busting. And the locals will give up eventually. They always do.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” the old woman replied, “I still prefer investing in real estate, though. Much more stable.”

Cedar felt a knot of disgust forming in their stomach when the auctioneer appeared behind the podium.

“Good evening, good evening,” the crowd became silent as the man on stage spoke. “We hope that the ride here was comfortable. We have some very rare items up for auction tonight. So let’s bring out our first piece.”

Three women came out on stage, one carrying an easel, the other two carrying a large painting. It was as if the painting itself was alive. Its colors swirled and changed, sometimes forming the shape of something. Cedar saw faces, screaming and tortured, straight out of a Francis Bacon painting, they saw vast and detailed landscapes with the craftsmanship of Albert Bierstadt. Each appeared only for a moment before fading back into the swirl of color. The first woman placed the easel on the small table, then the other two placed the painting on it.

“That Which I Am. Artist unknown,” the auctioneer said as the women disappeared back into the wings. “It is believed that the maker of this piece wanted to craft a painting that could encapsulate any and every emotion. It was found in an abandoned Berlin hotel room in 1937 and became part of Hitler’s personal collection. It is even said to occasionally depict future events, but we don’t wish to spread rumors here. We’ll start the bidding at two-hundred and fifty-thousand dollars.”

And so the bidding war started. Placards shot up into the air and the price of the painting grew higher and higher and stopped just a little below a million dollars. Cedar stared at the painting as it was carried away. The paints formed into some dark figure in a doorway, their arms were stretched out forward, and something evil shot from their hands.

These bastards, Cedar thought as the women brought out a CRTV monitor that received a broadcast from a drone in a parallel universe. These bastards are given marvels of art and science and history and magic and they seek only to divide it between themselves like they do everything else. This is what killed the soul of the mundane world. Cedar sat quietly and stared through the monitor on stage as the things that surrounded them started fighting over it. This is what will kill- is killing the soul of the Library.

A mask that allowed the wearer to change their face, a movie that stared the watcher(s), a compass that led its holder to their soulmate. Item after item was brought out and sold. Ben started to look worried. Cedar could tell from his face he thought they were wasting time. But then it was brought out: a hardback with red binding.

“Our final item this evening is quite an illustrious one,” the auctioneer announced. “A Chronicle of The Daevas. This is quite a difficult volume to acquire. It contains the history of an ancient anomalous society. It is debated if this society really existed, however, it is said that there is archeological evidence of the Daeviets originating in Siberia and spreading as far as the Indian peninsula. We’ll start the bidding at fifty-thousand dollars.”

Cedar raised their placard. Their plan was simple, keep bidding no matter how high the price gets, give them a fake address to send the check to, and take the chronicle back to the Library. Cedar was almost disappointed with how boringly this adventure would end. However, the life of a Wanderer was never boring.

The doors at the back of the auditorium blew open. Sending the audience ducking under their seats just as canisters of tear gas were launched into them. Cedar’s sight began to blur and their lungs started to sting as they heard demands for everyone to lay down and put their hands behind their head. Through the gas, they could barely make out eight, or ten, or maybe twelve figures adorned in tactical gear, wielding rifles and shotguns. Even through their blurred vision, they could see shades of blue with the letters G.O.C. written on them. Cedar was covering their nose and mouth with their jacket and searching for a pocket of air to breathe in without setting their respiratory system ablaze when the first gunshot was fired.

They couldn’t tell if it came from one of the guards or one of the intruders. Either way, the auction house was lit up in an instant. Bullets sailed over Cedar’s head as they crawled under the chairs to the stage, pushing past the screaming yuppies and swearing at them through their teeth. They saw the man in the fur coat clutching a wound in his side where a stray bullet hit him. Reaching the front row, Cedar looked up at the stage. The auctioneer was cowering behind the podium, his knees were pinned to his chest and he was covering his ears. Ben was at the other side of the stage, taking cover in the wings and occasionally firing into the gas with his stolen pistol. And then there was the chronicle, sitting alone on the table next to the podium, protected by nothing except for the storm of lead surrounding it. Cedar caught Ben’s line of sight and mouthed to him, ‘Cover me.’

Ben nodded, and proceed to unload his pistol into the gas. Wasting no time, Cedar sprinted onto the stage and, hurtling past the auctioneer, scooped the chronicle into their arms. They could hear bullets hit the floors and walls around them, they heard them cut through atoms as they whizzed passed their head. Putting all of their strength into their legs, Cedar dove into the wings and landed next to Ben.

“You hit?” Ben asked as he ducked back into cover.

“What?”

“Are you hit?” Cedar could just barely hear him over the cacophony of gunfire.

“No,” Cedar answered as they sat themself up, coughing and rubbing the blurriness out of their eyes. “You?”

“No. Out of ammo though,” Ben said as he put the gun back in his jacket. Cedar reached into their own jacket and grabbed the 1911. It was then Cedar realized just how effective tear gas was. The gun looked like little more than a silver smear, and they could only really identify Ben by his general shape and the sound of his voice.

“Dammit, I can hardly see. Here,” Cedar handed the gun to Ben, who checked to make sure there was a round in the chamber.

“Alright,” Ben said, helping Cedar up. “There’s gotta be some kind of back entrance. Let’s go.” Ben guided Cedar further backstage, making sure to stay deep in the wings. The backstage was dark, but Ben could see light coming from behind a door. He moved forward and kicked it open. Scanning the room with the gun, he found a large storage room filled with various artifacts and items, things that were supposed to be sold later in the night. It was clear. He pulled Cedar in and shut the door.

“We in a storage room?” Cedar asked.

“Looks like it,” Ben answered as they started walking deeper into the room. He looked around at all of the artifacts and technology. Kane had taught him to never be too idealistic in the field. He understood that stopping to comment on every sin that you see would only slow you down. But it was hard not to when it stared you in the face like this. “What a bunch of assholes. Hoarding all of this for themselves.”

Cedar chuckled, “I had a similar thought earlier.”

The two of them made it a few more feet before they heard a thick French accent come from behind them, “Assholes or not, there’s no denying their profit margin.”

A cigarette butt still hung from his mouth, either he ran out or hadn’t had time to light a new one. Cedar rubbed their eyes with a free hand. Yes, it was him, fedora, overcoat, and all. This time, along with the black hair, Cedar saw a pair of emerald green eyes shining through the shadow cast by his hat. The most striking thing about his appearance, however, was the fact that he had a gun aimed right at the two of them. It looked like it had a silencer on it.

“I must admit, this is unexpected.” The man spoke with genuine surprise. “But, you’ve yet to do something that cannot be repaired. So, if you’d be so kind as to hand over that book, I doubt my employers would seek retribution.”

Ben was already aiming the 1911 back at him, “Do you not hear what’s happening out there? I really feel like this shouldn’t be your main concern right now.”

“Ah, you’re trying to negotiate without seeing the whole picture. Please, just hand over the book and I’ll let you go free. There’s an entrance to a service hallway that leads to the subway line behind you. Hand it over now and you can probably get out before they get here.”

Cedar hated this. Not the danger, no, the helplessness. They were half-blind and entrusted their only weapon to a newbie that they weren't even sure knew how to use it. Sure, he used one on the stage, but it’s not like firing into a cloud of gas takes practice. He handled a gun with all the knowledge of its components and their functions, but something seemed off, that nervousness returned to him as he faced off with this man. That's when a thought came to Cedar: Yes, Kane had taught him quite well. He made Ben disassemble and reassemble all kinds of different firearms ad nauseam. He tested Ben on each piece and each gun and when they were made and what kinds of combat situations they were most effective in. He made Ben fire countless rounds into a piece of paper with a man printed on it until he could shoot through the hole that the last bullet had made. But in all of that training, the guns were never pointed back at Ben.

Cedar was forcing themself to think of something, anything. But they were interrupted. The storage room door was breached, and the GOC came rushing in. There was a pause for a moment, a hesitation. Then, the man in the fedora ducked and Ben tackled Cedar into cover as the soldiers started firing.

Crouching behind a stack of crates, Cedar and Ben were silent. The gunfire stopped and everything became deathly still. Cedar kept blinking as hard as they could, their vision only became a little clearer. Ben had the gun at the ready, he was visibly sweating.

“Come out with your hands up, right now!” an authoritative voice yelled. Cedar got the feeling that they didn’t plan on taking prisoners.

“The guns,” they whispered to Ben. “Can’t you make the guns explode?”

“I’d have to have a direct line of sight on them. And making that many explode would probably make me pass out.”

Cedar looked around. Do something. Do something. The stack of crates they were hiding behind was pretty high, at least high enough to block the soldiers long enough for them to escape.

“You have until the count of three, or this won’t end peacefully,” the soldier yelled again. Cedar put their hands on a crate.

“One!”

They centered themself and made sure that they wouldn’t be thrown off balance. Ben quickly understood the plan and got ready to book it.

“Two!”

Cedar started building strength in their arms. The crates won’t be enough, Ben realized. It’ll need something more. What’s in those crates?

“Three!”

Cedar shoved the crates over and sent the stack toppling toward the soldiers. They knocked down the one furthest into the room and broke open on the concrete floor. Most of them were still standing, though. Still standing and taking aim at their targets. Ben saw something metallic fall out of the broken crate. A skull tumbled out next to it. It stared at Ben with hardly contained excitement, encouraging him to do it. Something bright and red swirled deep within its socket. He focussed on the metal, feeling an energy leave him and go towards it. It started glowing, becoming hotter. And then, there was a flash of white.

Cedar opened their eyes. It didn’t matter that their vision was still blurred, a blind man could have realized what was going on. The storage room was an inferno. They felt their sneakers melting first. Their flight jacket protected them from most of the blast and they used their split second of reaction time to cover their face, but they could feel that their hair and eyebrows were singed. Flames enveloped the walls and climbed to the ceiling. The ceiling…

What was that on the ceiling? Smoke? Well, yes, smoke was everywhere, but this wasn’t smoke. This was solid and red and moving. Moving quickly. What can only be described as a demon leaped from the ceiling and landed on a pile of burning crates. It had six eyes and thick horns that dwarfed its already huge head that was connected to a body that could only be compared in size to a silverback gorilla. It snarled with a set of jagged teeth before the GOC agents shot at it. It lunged at them in retaliation and took to tearing through their armored plating.

Ben grabbed Cedar, “C’mon, time to move!”

“What the hell did you blow up?”

“Dunno, ask that guy!” Ben nodded at the demon before pulling Cedar along.

They bolted for the service hallway, narrowly escaping the flames. They and down the hallway until the sounds of screams and gunfire faded into the echo of their shoes slapping against the floor. Cedar kept the chronicle hugged tightly to their chest until the two of them reached the end of the hallway and came out onto a subway track. It was dark and wet, a stark contrast to the room they just ran from. They continued down the track until they reached a platform.

“Alright,” Ben said after pulling Cedar up onto the platform. “Even if the Bookburners have enough firepower to kill that thing, I’d bet that they have a helicopter or two monitoring the area. We should lay low.”

“You kidding me?” Cedar said as they walked over to a vending machine full of drinks at the end of the platform. “Whether or not they’ve killed the demon, they’ve called for back-up by now. You’re probably right about the choppers, but that’s all the more reason to get the hell out of Dodge.” Cedar kicked in the vending machine’s glass, grabbed a bottle of water, and poured it into their eyes. “Ah, finally.”

Cedar looked down at their shoes and saw the full extent of the damage. They were little more than bits of fabric barely being held together by what was left of the glue. Cedar frowned. They really liked that pair.

“Alright then,” Ben said, trying to think of some sort of compromise, “How about we take the subway out of here?”

“That’s a lot of waiting around. And from what I hear, they don’t exactly have the habit of running on time. We’re still too close for comfort.”

The echo of a gunshot came down the tunnel. Catching their attention. Ben spoke hesitantly, “Fine, your plan.”

They went up the platform’s stairs and onto the street. It was around four in the morning, meaning there were only a few people left wandering the city and they were mainly drunks and hobos. They heard the distant beat of a propellor followed by a helicopter shining a searchlight into alleys a few blocks down. Cedar hid the chronicle in their jacket as best they could before heading through an alley in the opposite direction. Ben was looking over his shoulder when Cedar stopped him from walking out of the alley. They watched as an unmarked, black van cruised past.

“Shit, I told you we should have stayed low,” Ben whispered.

“Don’t be stupid,” Cedar hissed back. “They’re gonna be searching the subway any minute.” They checked to make sure the van had turned the corner and that there wasn’t another one coming. “C’mon.”

They rushed across the road into another alley. The helicopter was getting closer. They sat low and waited for it to pass.

“You know where the nearest Way is?” Cedar asked.

“No, if I did, I’d be taking us there,” Ben answered with a hint of annoyance. As soon as the last word left his mouth, they saw a GOC strike squad through the alley they had just left. Half of them went down into the subway while the other half searched the surface area along with the drunks and hobos. Cedar gave Ben an I-told-you-so look be for getting up.

“We should keep moving.”

They hung a right and went into a wider part of the alley. Blocked off from most streetlamps, the only thing that illuminated the backstreet was the ambient lights of the city and the moon. They heard a low groaning come from beneath them, a rumble that softly vibrated the pavement. Cedar and Ben looked at each other, sharing an expression of mild confusion. Their expression quickly turned to horror, however, as they slowly realized what the rumbling was. They turned their heads to the manhole cover in the alley as it shifted and was pushed to the side.

Even in the dim light of the alley, the red of the thing’s muscled back shined like diamond. It was wet with a layer of some liquid. Cedar thought it was sweat for a moment. No, demons don’t sweat. It was blood.

The two of them began to back away slowly as if they were in an enclosure with a lion and not an alley with a beast from Hell. It sniffed the air that must have been rich with their sent and turned to them. Its lips curled up and exposed its teeth. If it was just an animal, one might think that this was a simple threat, a predator baring its fangs before a fight. And it was that, partially. But as Cedar looked into the three pairs of yellow-red eyes that stared at them, they realized that it was also a genuine smile. A show that it was aware of the fear it instilled and took a great deal of pleasure in it.

Ben yanked Cedar’s pistol from his pocket.

BANG BANG BANG

Three shots to the chest of the thing and it still stood, its horrible smile only growing wider.

“Goddamn it!” Cedar shouted as they grabbed the gun, “Gimme that!”

Between their sweating palms and shaking body, even Cedar began to doubt that they could make their shot, one of those evil, yellow-red orbs that made their skin crawl. So they did what they found to be most reliable in situations like this, they didn’t think about it. Squeezing the gun tight in their fist, Cedar held out their arm and pulled the trigger.

BANG

Any thoughts of running out of luck quickly vanished from Cedar’s mind as the demon let out a blood-curdling screech that could be heard for miles around. It clutched its wounded eye and stumbled. Cedar knew they only had a moment before it pounced. In a reversal from the storage room, they took Ben by the wrist and booked it out of the alley.

They heard the helicopter come back and saw three or four black vans speed toward the alley as they ran through another street. A deep, guttural roar of pure rage echoed through the city. The GOC must have been closing off roads and isolating the area by now, coming up with some lie about a shooter or terrorists or an escaped zoo lion.

Boxed in with a death squad and a demon, Ceadar thought. They were going to end the thought with grumbling sarcasm, but their true feelings occurred to them. God, I feel so fucking alive.

+ Chapter 5

The Escape From Hell’s Kitchen

A fire burned inside their chests. It was the only thing keeping them warm, as their sweat-slicked bodies and cool night air chilled their arms and faces. The dark and narrow streets of Hell’s Kitchen had twisted into some inescapable maze. The beat of metallic wings loomed far above their heads. Cedar and Ben dove into a cheap hole-in-the-wall bar, just barely avoiding five GOC foot soldiers.

The bar was empty besides one lone bartender that was glued to a live broadcast of what the news anchors believed was an active terrorist attack happening in Hell’s Kitchen. He didn't notice Cedar and Ben walk in. Clutching the chronicle under their jacket, Cedar sat down in a booth at the far corner of the room. Ben watched the broadcast for a moment, "Shit, should we evacuate?"

The bartender jumped, "Christ! Ya spooked me. I dunno. I'm just lying low until shit starts to hit the fan around here."

"Yeah," Ben replied. "Us too. You don't mind?"

"Huh? No. Not all. Just let me know if you need anything." He turned back to the TV and Ben sat in the booth with Cedar.

“The patrol’s probably passed by now.”

“No,” Cedar said, staring out the window. “There’ll be another one. Just gotta wait a minute. Besides, I need to catch my breath.”

Ben nodded and leaned back in the booth. He ran a hand through his ginger hair. They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the ambient music of the bar and the worried tones of the news anchors. Ben thought about this person in front of them. It didn’t entirely make sense to him, why did Kane need them? He and Kane likely could have found The Original on their own. Even if this was just to prove that he could operate on his own, why have them tag along? They had worked for an enemy before. Perhaps they were not an enemy themself, but still, why? Why work for such an institution? Why take such gifts from the world and turn them into profit? And a profit from death at that.

“Why Prometheus?” Ben asked, letting his thoughts escape.

Cedar was shocked by the sudden question, “You sure now is the time for that?”

“There’s a good chance we’ll both die tonight,” Ben explained. “Might as well ask what’s been on my mind since I met you.”

Cedar rested their chin in their palm and looked down at the table as they thought of how best to explain themself, “I won’t lie and tell you that I didn’t know what I was doing. I knew my research would be used to make weapons to be sold to these private wars. My folks are both really smart kinda people. They got me interested in parahistory and archeology.”

“Your parents are still alive?” Ben interrupted.

“Yeah, why? Did you think every Wanderer was an orphan or something?” Cedar gave a smile before going back to their story. “But I was obsessed with that kinda stuff all my life. So, when I found a way to make a career out of it, hell, I would have executed a family of three for that chance. I do regret it, but hey, better Prometheus than The Foundation, right?”

Ben just looked at them. He wasn’t sure if he agreed. Cedar continued.

“My parents were real disappointed with me. You’d like them. ‘Child, you could have used your talents for anything, and you used them to help killers.’” Cedar was more melancholic now. There was a distant sadness in their eyes. “I’m glad I found the Library. Now I can research all the history I want without arming private militaries.” Cedar took a deep breath and shook a memory out of their head. “What about you? Why the Hand?”

“Because they’re correct, morally,” Ben answered bluntly.

“Ah, we should all be so lucky to get it right on the first try. C’mon, how’d you find them?”

Ben debated indulging Cedar for a moment before deciding that it was only fair, “They found me. I got a little too careless with my gift and the Jailors found me. They had me imprisoned for about five years. It wasn’t too bad at first, other than having my freedom taken away. Then they started making me blow up things so big that the after-effect put me into a coma. God, I really felt like my head was going to explode sometimes,” Ben rubbed his temples as if the memory alone carried the migraine. “Then there were the surgeries, trying to figure out what in my brain could do that.” He twisted his neck and pulled back some hair, showing Cedar a long scar on the side of his head.

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Hand busted me out in a raid. Showed me the magic that the Jailors and Bookburners kept from the world. I wanted to help.”

“Honorable,” Cedar said, nodding. “Hand gets their talons in quick, huh?”

Ben shot up, “What?”

“Look, I ain’t saying that you’re on the wrong side of the fight or anything, but it sort of sounds like you joined a cult. You were in a bad situation and left vulnerable to your saviors. You call your ability a ‘gift’ and say shit like ‘Jailors’ and ‘Bookburners.’ That’s dogma, my friend,” Cedar was about to lean back, satisfied with their assessment when another thought came to their mind. “Hell, I’m not sure you can make your own decisions. Really, no offense, but think about it: You’re only here because Kane told you to be.”

“I’m on a mission,” Ben interrupted sharply.

“Sure, but you’re on it with me, and you hate me. Maybe not as much as you did, but how hard did you fight him on that?”

“Kane has his reasons,” Ben’s faith was waning.

“Sure, doesn’t mean you have to do what he says. By the Hand’s own omission, they don’t have leaders. So why is Kane bossing you around?”

“He’s my mentor. Leaders or not we still need to be trained. After I’ve proven myself Kane and I will be equals,” He was a little more confident now, remembering what he had been told.

“And how does the Hand function after that, once you’re all equals?”

“We work together to achieve our common goals.”

Cedar smiled, “I like that. Vague. Only works if you’ve all bought into ideology hard enough.”

Ben was beginning to grow annoyed, “Is there a point you’re trying to make?”

“Other than that you’re in a cult?” Cedar thought for a moment. ”Yeah: You’re in a cult that won’t last long. It’s a pyramid scheme that doesn’t know it’s a pyramid scheme and all it’ll take is someone figuring out how to use it for their own benefit for it to come crashing down.”

“Are you done?”

“Sure,” Cedar looked through the window and saw a black van park outside of the bar. “Looks like I don’t have a choice anyway.”

Ben followed their eye line in time to see a GOC squad get out of the van and prepare to enter the bar, “Shit, my gun’s still empty.”

“Take one of theirs, then,” Cedar said, getting up from the booth. “Stay here, I’m going to the other side of the bar. When the shooting starts they’ll be disoriented long enough for you to grab one of their weapons.”

“Wait,” Ben grabbed Cedar by the wrist before they could walk away. “What about the bartender?”

“Well, I didn’t plan on shooting at him. We’ll have to hope he's smart enough to duck,” Cedar broke from Ben’s grip and walked to the opposite end of the bar. There was a good chance the bartender would catch a stray, but Cedar couldn’t think about that. It was an addition to the equation that would only lead to them hesitating and getting both themself and Ben shot. They took a seat at the far end of the room and waited.

There were four of them. Four who entered the bar, at least. Cedar never saw anyone get out from the driver’s side, so one must’ve been waiting.

“Everyone hands up!” One of the soldiers shouted. “Be ready to show your ID.”

A soldier shoved the bartender against the wall and started patting him down. Another spotted Cedar and started approaching them. They could feel their gun under their jacket. It was as if it was pulsating, writhing. Like the gun itself knew it was time. Time again. Time to kill.

“ID,” the soldier commanded.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cedar murmured while unzipping their jacket. They had taken on the role of a drunk and moved with exaggerated clumsiness. “What the- hic what the hell’s goin’ on ou’ ‘ere?” Not giving him time to answer, Cedar drew their gun and shot the soldier point blank in the thigh.

It happened in less than three seconds. The sound of the gunshot bounced off all four walls of the room, causing no one to be sure exactly where it came from. The bartender dove behind the bar. The GOC troops whirled their sights around the room, struggling to coordinate. Ben leaped from his seat, booked it to the nearest soldier facing away from him, and went for their holstered sidearm. Cedar put the screaming soldier into a chokehold and turned him to his comrades, he’d be an effective shield. Ben yanked the pistol from its holster then shoved it under the soldier’s visor and squeezed the trigger, painting the inside of his helmet red.

There were two left in the fight now. Nice and even odds. Spinning around the room, one of them spotted Ben and raised their rifle. The other soldier set their sights on Cedar and pulled their trigger.

A volley of bullets went into the chest plate of Cedar’s human shield. When it ended, Cedar shoved the shield into the shooter. Ben kicked over a table and dove behind it just in time to avoid catching a bullet. Cedar unloaded their pistol into the soldier. One shot hit him in the neck and sent him sputtering to the ground. Ben whipped his gun around the table and fired into the last soldier’s shin. He hit the ground and Ben saw the whites of his eyes fill with terror before he shot him twice through the visor.

The room was deathly silent for a moment before Cedar pulled the wounded soldier to his feet and shoved him towards the door. He stumbled on his injured leg.

“Be cool! Be cool! Everyone be cool!” Cedar shouted as they tore the soldier’s helmet off.

“You fuckers,” The soldier grunted. “You’re gonna die for this!”

“Shut the hell up!” Cedar pushed their gun into the back of his head, smooshing it against the door.

Ben picked up a rifle lying next to a body. He looked back at the cowering bartender, “Hey, you hit?”

“C’mon, man. The driver had to have heard that. We gotta move,” Cedar yelled back at Ben.

“One second. Are you hit, man?” The bartender didn't answer, he only peeked out from the bar and scanned the room in shock.

“He thinks we’re terrorists, now let’s fucking go!”

Ben looked at the bartender for another moment before joining Cedar at the door and reading his rifle.

“Ok, we’re taking the van,” Cedar explained. “You keep the rifle on it and Johnny Reb here will be our bargaining chip.”

Ben nodded before Cedar pulled the door open and shoved the soldier outside, keeping the gun pressed against the back of his head. Ben followed closely behind, keeping his gun trained on the driver’s side. Cedar made their demands, “Driver! Step out of the van and put your hands behind your head, or else your friend here will lose his!”

The street was silent. No movement came from the van. Cedar continued, “I hope you realize that I’m not doing this out of desperation, I’m just a little tired of killing tonight. But we’ll gladly kill the both of you if we have to.”

“Don’t do it, Tom! Get the hell out of here!” The soldier yelled.

Cedar responded quickly, “Woah, Tommy! Got a real disciple of the cause out here! You’ve probably called for backup by now, so I reckon that we’ve got about five seconds for you to make up your mind! Five… Four… Three…”

The van’s driver’s side door opened and a short, stocky soldier stepped out of it with his hands raised, “Alright, alright, don’t kill him!”

“Goddamnit, Tom!” The soldier screamed.

“Good call, Tom. Now get over here,” Cedar told him. Tom followed orders and walked towards Cedar and Ben. As he did, Cedar took a pair of flex cuffs from their hostage's belt and restrained his hands behind his back. When Tom came closer, Ben took a pair of flex cuffs from his belt and did the same. They shoved both soldiers to the ground and ran to the van.

The inside of the van had been reinforced, leaving the exterior unassuming. The back of it had been outfitted with a bench on either side for the troops. Cedar climbed into the driver’s seat and hit the ignition. Just as Ben shut the passenger door behind him, two more black vans pulled into the street in front of them. Cedar pulled the gear shift into reverse and looked over their shoulder only to see three black vans driving up their rear. Ben scanned the dark corners of the street.

There’s always a way out, Kane’s voice echoed in his mind. Hope is our one resource that cannot be depleted. It does not matter how deeply you are cornered. Have hope, and the way will reveal itself.

The vans screeched to a halt. Their doors burst open and more troops poored out of them. The first ones to exit the vans got on one knee and leveled their rifles at the lone van, while the second ones to get out stood behind them and did the same.

Ben’s eyes landed on a narrow gap between two buildings. It could barely be considered an alley, but by his judgment, it was just wide enough for the van to fit through.

“There!” he pointed.

The van clunked into first gear and Cedar flattened the gas against the floor. The tires screamed as Cedar whipped the wheel into a razor-sharp left. The GOC opened fire, putting nothing more than little dents into the sides of their armored van. Cedar and Ben felt the van’s weight shift as it turned and nearly tipped over. It leveled out though, leaving the gap right in front of them. Despite its size, the van gained velocity at a surprising rate, Cedar wondered if they suped-up the engine too. They threaded the needle and drove the van through the gap, tearing off the side mirrors on the walls of the alley

The sides of the van scraped against the alley walls, an awful metallic screeching that continued until it crashed through a chainlink fence and into the next street. The van didn’t stop. It flew across the street until it drove through the window of a bodega.

CRAAASH

“What the hell? You could have braked!” Ben yelled after nearly hitting his head on the dashboard.

“I grew up in Three Ports, man! Cars aren’t exactly common there!” Cedar defensively yelled back.

“Then why did you drive?” Ben’s astoundment grew.

“I don’t know!” Cedar grabbed the rifle from Ben and climbed into the back of the van. “You do it!”

Ben jumped into the driver’s seat, put the van in reverse, and started backing out of the bodega. The GOC was starting to poor out of the alley. Cedar threw one of the van’s rear doors open and fired the rifle wildly into them, forcing them back into the alley. Cedar didn’t give them a chance to return fire. Their eyes caught something under one of the benches, a crate. They knocked the lock of it off with the butt of the rifle and lifted the top. Grenades. Perfect.

They grabbed one of the grenades and pulled the pin out with their teeth. Cedar never liked baseball, but they thanked their dad for insisting that they played catch before hurling the grenade into the alley.

BOOM

It broke armor and skin and bone and scattered what was left of the GOC forces long enough for Ben to get the van out of the bodega and turn down the street, “All of New York probably heard that.”

“We are well past discretion,” Cedar replied. “Let’s just get out of this neighborhood and find somewhere to lie low.” They looked down at their burnt shoes that were falling apart with each step, “And get me a new pair of shoes.”

“Easier said than done. The roads are probably still blocked off,” Ben said, taking a right turn.

“Right,” Cedar walked to the front of the van, took the chronicle out of their jacket, and handed it to Ben. “Here. Find somewhere to hide the van. I’ll scout ahead, see if I can find a way out.”

“Alone? You sure?” Ben asked.

“It’s less likely I get caught if I’m alone. Besides, it’ll give you time to see if you can find anything in the chronicle,” Cedar answered as they climbed into the passenger’s seat.

Ben found a small, dark, parking lot and pulled the van into it, “That kind of thing isn’t really my area of expertise.”

“You can read, can’t you?” Cedar got out of the can and put the rifle’s strap around their shoulder before walking off.

Cedar couldn’t remember the last time they experienced natural night. It was easy to lose time in The Library. Cedar often found themselves staying awake for days on end, enamored with the beauty and vastness of the shelves. But they had forgotten the beauty that mundane nights had in their own right. It was one of those warm nights that you could practically drink as you sucked in its air, even with the thick pulse of anxiety that beat through it. A breeze cooled Cedar’s skin as they walked through darkened streets.

They heard something in the distance. Voices, an idle engine. They ducked behind a building. There was a fire escape above them. Cedar found a dumpster and pushed it under the escape’s ladder. After double-checking to make sure no one was turning the corner, Cedar climbed on top of the dumpster and jumped for the ladder. They missed.

KLANG

The sound echoed off of the building. Cedar winced. They stayed silent, waiting for someone to come and investigate the sound, but the voices in the distance continued. Cedar got back on their feet and took another jump, swinging their arms back to gain more momentum before doing so. Their hands clapped onto the bottom rung of the ladder and they pulled themself onto the fire escape.

The building wasn’t terribly tall, but its roof gave a good view of a few blocks. Cedar lay flat on their stomach and looked in the direction of the voices. Just as they thought, a GOC roadblock. There was a van and four or five men outside of it. They’d have to find another way.

Cedar started to push themself back to the fire escape before stopping. What was that? Something creaking and shifting. It was coming from the fire escape, something was on the fire escape, what the hell was on the-

Cedar knew the answer. The growing ball of fear in their chest told them the answer. They put the sights of the rifle onto the top of the fire escape and held their breath, Here it comes.

The horns of the thing came up first, then the six yellow eyes, well, five eyes now. Cedar felt of tinge of pride at seeing the damage they had done. It was short-lived though. This time was different, there was no smugness in the demon’s eyes, only white-hot hatred. It recognized Cedar.

Cedar pulled the trigger and sent lead flying toward the demon’s face, but it didn’t forget their strategy. The demon covered its eyes with its huge forearm and launched itself into the air. Cedar saw its silhouette against the moon and had only a split second to roll out of the way before it came crashing down onto the roof, and not just onto it, but through it.

CRUSH

The hole left behind was only inches away from Cedar’s face. They peered into it, the demon had fallen through the next floor and the one after that. Suddenly, the voices in the distance stopped and the engine roared to life. They were coming. Cedar raced to the fire escape and jumped entire flights of stairs as they flew down it. They hit the fourth story down and the demon came hurtling through the window right next to them. The demon hit with so much force that it ripped the entire fire escape off the side of the building as it collided with Cedar.

They didn’t remember the fall, only the landing. The fire escape broke most of Cedar’s fall, they could feel bruises forming, but nothing felt broken. Their arms were pinned to their sides and they could just barely move their legs. Above them, the broken fire escape had formed some kind of cage between them and the demon. It stuck its arms through the gaps in the metal in a desperate attempt to reach Cedar, but they remained just out of arm’s reach.

The rifle. Where’s the rifle? Cedar tried their best to be as still as possible, an inch closer and it could hook a claw into them. They saw the rifle, it was about four feet above the demon in the pile of metal they were both trapped in. Fuck.

Cedar shifted their eyes to a gap in the pile, it was wide enough for them to squeeze through, but getting to it would mean risking putting themself within reach of the demon. Fuck it.

Cedar found a foothold and pushed hard, giving them just enough room to shimmy their shoulders. The demon snarled and beat against the metal. Cedar could feel the entire pile shake, but they ignored it. They wrapped their hand around a steel bar and gave another hard push. Their head was only a foot or two from the gap now. One more shove and they’d be home free. They could taste the night air pouring in, Almost there. Almost-

A huge arm shot through the metal and grabbed Cedar by the collar. It pulled them against the metal, scraping their cheek against a jagged edge. They could feel the demon’s hot breath through the scrap. Their arms were still pinned and they couldn’t find anything for their feet to kick off of. The demon slammed them against the metal again, then it pushed itself as close to the metal as possible and stuck its long tongue through a gap. Cedar felt its grotesque lizard-like tongue lick the blood off of their cheek. It sent a shiver of horror through them. They wanted to scream, but it was caught in their throat. They started kicking as hard as they could and twisting their shoulders, praying that they could wiggle out of the thing’s grip.

The sound of tires screeching against the pavement pierced Cedar’s eardrums, followed by doors slamming and guns cocking. The demon whirled its head around and let out an earth-shaking roar before the GOC lit it up. The pile shook again as the demon released Cedar and tore itself out of the rusted debris. Cedar wasted no time and kicked again. Their arm was free now. They heard the soldiers scream as the demon seized one of them by the leg and slammed them into the alley wall so hard that his head burst.

Almost there. Almost there, Cedar shoved their arm through the gap and pulled themself out of the hole. The demon and the GOC were on the other side of the alley. The road’s open now, just need to get back to Ben.

Cedar sprinted down the backstreet, putting gunfire and screams behind them, Which way did I come from again? It was a left, then a straight, then… Dead end. No, it was the other way, right, then left, then past the shop, then… then… Where the hell am I?

Cedar ran through Hell’s Kitchen until they were out of breath. They doubled over in the middle of the street. A cathedral towered over them, its size only made them feel more cornered. A feeling that only worsened when Cedar heard an all too familiar growl come from behind them. They reached into their jacket for the 1911 but it was too late, the demon was on top of them. Its knees were digging into their back, its rear claws scratched their calves, and its massive hand was on the back of their head, pushing it into the pavement.

It moved in close to Cedar and took a deep breath in. It was smelling them. This wouldn’t be like the soldiers, it was going to be slow, drawn out, and personal. Cedar tried desperately to fish their gun out from under them, but it was to no avail. The demon raised its free arm. Where would it start? The ear.

Cedar screamed as the beast on top of them brought down its claw and sliced off part of their ear. They writhed under the thing but it was of no use. It made a sound akin to laughing and brought the claw back up. It remembered a human saying, ‘An eye for an eye.’

It put its claw close to Cedar’s eye long enough for them to realize what was about to happen. They swore as they tried to twist their body. The demon pushed the claw closer to the eye until the tip of it was on the lid. Just an ounce more pressure and the claw would pierce into Cedar’s pupil. The demon smiled.

A blaring horn stopped the monster. It looked up and was met by blinding high beams. It covered its eyes and stumbled, letting Cedar escape. They saw Ben’s ginger curls whiz by them as the van collided with the demon.

It screamed as it clung to the hood of the van. The demon threw its arm back, winding up a blow to shatter the windshield. It swung but never got anywhere near its target. Ben slammed on the brakes with both feet and launched the demon off of the hood. It flew threw the air, its bright red skin shining in the streetlights. It spun in midair from the force of its swing and went crashing through the large mahogany doors of the cathedral.

There was an awful, inhuman screaming from inside the church. It sounded like some cross between a strangled cat and a broken furnace. Suddenly, the screaming stopped and a plum of smoke blew out of the church’s doors.

Cedar silently walked to the van and climbed into the passenger’s seat. They touched their bleeding ear and tried not to sound like they just thought they were going to die, “Thanks.”

Ben didn’t notice them for a moment. He was hyperventilating as his adrenaline rush ended, “Y-yeah. Yeah. Don’t mention it. Find a way out?”

“Yeah, road’s clear. Just go past that shop and take a right.”

---

Cedar shoved the shoe box from their brand-new sneakers into a backpack they found in a dumpster. It took them two hours to panhandle enough cash to buy the pair of running shoes. They were certainly more comfortable than Cedar’s previous pair, but not exactly what they would consider stylish.

“You’re keeping the shoe box?” Ben asked as they walked. They’d abandoned the van, fearing that it’d make them too obvious.

“Yeah, I always keep the shoe boxes,” Cedar answered. “They make for good storage.”

It was early in the morning and the city was just coming to life. The two slipped into a crowded cafe and ordered coffee to keep them running. They found a lone table in the corner of the cafe and laid out the chronicle. Cedar bit down on a thumbnail and stared at the closed book in front of them, “Did you read any of it?”

“No,” Ben gulped down coffee and fought off sleep. “I was about to, but then I heard all of the fun you were having.”

Cedar slowly flipped the cover of the book open. The spine cracked, threatening to snap if they weren’t careful. They flipped through a couple more pages, hoping to find some kind of table of contents. They didn’t.

“Can you find it?” Ben asked, in a tone more impatient than he had intended it to be.

“The Daeva weren’t great at keeping physical records,” Cedar answered tonelessly as they were completely focused on the chronicle. “And this is a second-hand account. The best I’m hoping for is that it lists a location where they did a lot of animal experimentation, but even then, I doubt it’ll say exactly where it is. I’m looking for a needle in a haystack the size of the ocean.”

“So you’re saying there’s a chance this has all been for nothing,” Ben grimaced.

“There’s a chance everything’s for nothing. And we at least kept this out of the Bookburner’s hands, so you’ve bought what the Hand always buys: time.”

“Fuck you,” Ben said, too tired to argue.

“Fuck you too,” Cedar replied quickly. “Couldn’t have made it this far without you.”

Cedar thumbed through the pages and stopped suddenly, realizing they had landed on a biography section. It detailed a handful of important figures in Daevite society. They frantically skimmed through paragraphs, Slaver… Ruler… Alchemist! They found the article on the life of Omotana. They read aloud, “‘In 7452 Omotana was appointed as the royal alchemist of the Daevite Empire. Her studies were revolutionary Daeva military practices and it is believed that if it were not for her potions of endurance, the empire would have never claimed the Emtopom.’”

“Emtopom?” Ben interrupted.

“Basically what the Daeva called Nepal. But in most texts, it refers to the Himalayas. It depends on when the text was written. Emtopom was just the mountain range at first but became both the mountains and the surrounding territory much later.”

“So what is it here?”

Cedar answered by continuing to read, “‘Omotana considered the conquer of the Emtopom her greatest achievement and would later build her laboratory in its mountains.’”

“You think our cat’s in this lab?” Ben asked.

“I think it’s very likely,” Cedar explained. “We know The Original died a little after the Daeva took Nepal. And with the kinds of experiments done on it, it makes sense for it to have been Omotana’s guinea pig. Brutal shit. Kind of stuff I’d expect from a royal alchemist.”

“Ok, so we’re looking in the Himalayas. Does it narrow it down from there?”

“The base of its eye,” The voice came from behind them. Familiar. French. They turned around and saw him, trenchcoat draped across the back of the chair he was sitting in, fedora laying on the table. Bright green eyes peered over a cup of coffee as he took a sip from it. Cedar’s hand crept into their jacket. “Are you sure that is wise?”

They removed their hand and gripped their thigh, “Who are you?”

“My name, if you must know, is Beau,” the man answered. “And, assuming that your next question is ‘what do you want,’ I think you can take a guess.” He nodded at the chronicle.

“Alright,” Cedar said, tensing. “You don’t want a fight. So, how are you gonna take it?”

Beau took another sip of coffee and rubbed his hands together, “We have two options here: One, I buy it off of you. Name your price. Marshal, Carter, & Dark would be more than happy to oblige.” Cedar shook their head. Even if the currency was of any use to them, they’d come too far to have this adventure end here. “Really? Hm. Well, the second option is we work together. Temporarily. We help each other discover the location of The Original, which I’m guessing you believe is in this laboratory, and then it doesn’t matter who has the chronicle.”

“Why would we do either of those?” Ben interrogated.

“There is a third option,” Beau explained. “But it involves a GOC hit squad coming in here and executing you. I don’t believe any of us want that.”

Cedar looked around at the crowded cafe, “Here?”

“They’re getting desperate, but my employers wish to avoid spilling blood, especially after what happened last night.”

“Wait,” Cedar interrupted. “Sounds like the GOC and MD&C are working together. So why did they just raid an auction?”

Beau put his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. He thought for a moment, “To put it simply, half of MD&C is working with the GOC.”

Cedar was silent as the true complexity of their situation dawned on them. If they tried to escape, the best-case scenario is another chase through the city, “The Daevites thought the eye was the spiritual center of the body.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Ben stopped them.

“Getting out of here alive. At least this way the odds will be even,” Cedar answered without breaking eye contact with Beau.

“They have an army.”

“Then we’ll get there first,” Cedar said confidently, so much so that they surprised themself. “The eyes are one of the first things you notice about someone, and they’re what allows you to witness the world. So if I had to guess, the eye of the Emtopem would be-”

“Everest,” Beau finished for them. Cedar nodded. He smiled and stood up from his table, tossing a few dollars on it, “Thank you. Now, in my professional opinion, you both should go home. But you two seem much too determined for that. See you there, then.” Beau tossed his coat over his shoulder and put his hat on. He pulled a phone out of his pocket as he walked out of the cafe.

Cedar slammed the chronicle shut, tucked it under their arm, and stomped out of the cafe. Ben followed quickly behind, “Why the hell would you do that?”

“Might be an unpopular opinion today, but I rather like living,” Cedar answered.

“We’ve escaped the Bookbuners before, we could do it again.”

“Yeah, I get the feeling we’d risk our luck running out though,” Cedar said with a bit of disingenuousness in their voice.

“I don’t think you believe that,” Ben accused. “You’ve taken nothing but risks since we met. What’s so different about this?”

“Maybe I’m learning my lesson.”

Ben grabbed Cedar by the jacket and spun them around, “Don’t you fucking bullshit me. This is something else. This is…” Ben looked into Cedar’s eyes and saw the answer. There was some kind of manic look in them. “You enjoy this, don’t you? The danger.”

Cedar broke out of Ben’s grip and turned away, “We should get to the airport.”

+ Chapter 6

In The Eye of The World

To their credit, Cedar thought. The Hand is better connected than I thought.

It was a silent admission they made to themself while lying in the bed of a private jet. It only took Ben four quarters and two phone calls to get one to fly them to Nepal. It was owned by some celebrity who was secretly a member of The Hand. Cedar guessed that the pilots were Hand too, or they weren’t paid enough to question why their boss was having them fly two nobodies to Everest. Cedar could feel the previous night catching up to them and they drifted into sleep.

Their dreamless slumber was ended by Ben shaking them awake, “Get up, we’re landing in a few hours.”

It was dark outside of the jet and Cedar could see stars shining over a desert that they assumed was Pakistan.

“How long was I out?” Cedar asked as they got up and followed Ben out of the bedroom.

“Little under sixteen hours,” Ben answered. “Not that I blame you.”

Ben sat in one of the leather seats and peered out the plane window. Cedar went to the minifridge in the cabin and pulled a bottle of water out of it. Their throat was dry as hell and there was a horrible taste in their mouth. They gulped nearly half of the bottle down and took a deep breath, “You get any sleep?”

“A little. These chairs aren’t all that comfortable. I’m rested enough, though.”

“Sorry, call dibs first next time,” Cedar joked as they sat down in the seat in front of him. “Or cuddle up next to me.”

Ben rolled his eyes, “Do you know how to find the lab once we’re there?”

“Knowing the Daeva, it’s hidden by magic. You’d probably know more about that than me,” Cedar answered before taking another swig of water.

“Kane’s taught me a few minor spells, nothing impressive. Certainly, nothing that could do anything against Daevite magic.”

“It’s probably in a cave or something, somewhere away from the public. The chronicle said it was at the base of the mountain, so I don’t think we’re gonna have to worry about climbing it.”

Ben perked up, remembering the book, “The chronicle’s in the bedroom, right?”

“Yeah, in the backpack,” Cedar answered, “Why?”

“I think we should burn it. If we don’t succeed, I don’t want it to fall into the Bookburners’ hands.”

Cedar laughed a bit, “First off, I hope you see the irony in that statement. Second, horrible idea. Remember, that book is still Library property. And you know what happens to people who damage the books.”

“Right,” Ben collected himself. His face looked paler than usual. “I just-”

“You're scared, I get it. Your first mission alone and you’re traveling across the world with the shadow government at your heels.” Cedar spoke too casually for Ben’s taste.

“And you aren’t scared?” Ben asked.

“Nah. Little confused, but not scared.”

Ben tilted his head, “Confused?”

“Yeah, I keep rolling it around in my head, and I can’t figure out why The Hand would send us on this,” Cedar started. “And I’m not trying to get into an argument about the ethics of The Hand again here, but if The Original is as important to you as Kane made it out to be, why is he sending a rookie and an above-average academic?”

Ben answered like he was reading from a textbook, “Kane said that your academic prowess and bravery were perfectly suited for this mission and that he was confident in my training.”

“Tell me you’re not that naive.”

“I’m not, but it’s a little too late to start having second thoughts.”

Cedar could respect the sentiment. Compartmentalization would get Ben far in a life like this. But the thought clawed at the back of their mind. The Hand was arrogant, but not stupid. This couldn’t have just been Cedar having a lead on the chronicle, they wouldn’t have needed them for this long if that was the case. And bravery? Their mother always said there was a thin line between brave and stupid. Maybe that was it, Cedar was a stupid adrenaline junkie that’d be perfect for doing dirty work. Suddenly, there was beeping from the cockpit.

“Something’s on our radar,” One of the pilots said. Before Cedar could process that information, a volley of bullets ripped through the plane, taking out one of its engines. They saw the engine burst into flames before the plane started losing altitude. Cedar sprang from their seat and started towards the cockpit, only for the plane to lurch back up, putting Cedar on their ass. The plane’s door was ripped open and a man in all black tactical gear pulled himself inside and unhooked the wire attached to him. Just as soon as Cedar saw him, they felt the butt of his rifle as he whipped it into their face.

The next few moments were a whirl as Cedar came in and out of consciousness. They saw more figures in black fly through the door, they heard cries from the cockpit, “We’re just pilots, we’re just-”

BANG BANG

And the cries ended. Then there was more shouting as they felt their body being turned over and their hands restrained. It was Ben shouting. What was he shouting? A name? My name?

BANG

---

When they came to, the hot smell of sweat was in the air. They forced their eyes open and saw a man with short white hair and sideburns looking down at them, “So you’re the one causing all this trouble.”

They were in the back of a small cargo plane and one look at the blue emblem on the man’s armor told them exactly whose plane it was. There were ten soldiers in there, and most of them were seated on the bench opposite Cedar. They felt a weight on their right shoulder. It was Ben. He was leaning against Cedar as a GOC medic bandaged his bleeding abdomen. He was barely conscious.

“Captain,” a familiar French accent came from behind the man. “I still don’t understand the point of capturing these two.”

The white-haired man turned, revealing Beau. He wasn’t dressed in the suit Cedar had started to associate him with. Now, he had donned a black turtle neck and cargo pants.

“No loose ends, Mr. Francois,” said the white-haired captain.

“Very well,” Beau sighed. “Then execute them now and be done with it.”

Beau’s casualness offended Cedar. They were about to swear at him when the captain spoke, “No. They might have useful information. The council will decide what to do with them.”

The statement left a dissatisfied look on Beau’s face.

“Sir,” another soldier said as he walked up to the captain with the chronicle in hand. “It was in the backpack.

The captain took the book and quickly handed it to Beau, who got to work digging into the spine, “Anything else?”

“Just a shoebox, sir.”

Beau pulled out a small device with a blinking red light from the chronicle’s spine. The captain caught Cedar’s confused expression and smiled, “MC&D tracks all of their acquisitions.” He leaned over Cedar again, “Neither of you look like you’re Hand. What’s your name?”

Cedar huffed, “Johnny Bravo.”

The captain laughed, “I hope you’re nicer to the council, 'cause Lord knows they ain’t gonna be as nice as me.”

Cedar became acutely aware of the flex cuffs restraining their wrists. They looked over to Ben and saw that his were restrained too. The medic had finished bandaging him just as he started to wake up.

“Cedar?” Ben murmured as he looked around the plane. He turned to Cedar, eyes wide as the situation became clear to him.

“Working on it,” Cedar whispered to him as they scanned the cargo hold for solutions.

“Five minutes ‘til drop, sir!” One of the pilots shouted. Cedar could see into the cockpit.

“Copy,” the captain shouted back. “On your feet, ladies!”

The soldiers jumped off of the bench and formed a line. Beau crossed his legs as they did.

“Johnson!” The captain called.

“Yes, sir?” A soldier at the back of the line answered. He was perfectly robotic, they all were.

“You stay back and watch the prisoners.”

“Understood.” Johnson sat back down on the bench.

Four minutes passed with the only sound being the roar of the plane’s engines. Then, the rear door began to lower, and the icy wind rushed into the hold. Cedar saw Everest below them, illuminated by a Nepalese sky. The eye of the Emtopem, the soul of the world.

“We get this done in under an hour and the first round’s on me,” the captain said as he moved to the side of the hull. He checked his watch, “Dropping in five… four… three… two… one… Go! Go! Go!”

The nine soldiers rushed down the hold and leaped from the plane, the captain jumping with the last of them. The door slowly closed, leaving them alone in the hold with the low hum of the engines. Johnson got up from the bench and walked up and down the hold before going into the cockpit. Once they heard him chatting with the pilots, Beau leaned forward to Cedar and whispered, “I have another proposal.”

“What?” Cedar responded not fully registering what he said.

“Marshal, Carter & Dark would prefer that the GOC doesn’t know too much. So, I’d like to help you escape,” Beau looked back toward the cockpit as he finished the sentence.

“Didn’t you just say he should execute us?” Cedar hissed at him.

“Yes, because you can’t be interrogated by the council if you’re dead, or if you’re free.”

“Alright, we go free. What do you get?” Cedar asked.

“It’s simple, really. You go free, stop them from taking The Original, should you wish to, and I keep the chronicle,” he explained as if he were pitching a business idea. Cedar turned to Ben. He was looking down at the floor, considering the deal. Then, he looked back at Cedar.

“I don’t like it,” he said to them, “but our mission is to retrieve The Original, not the chronicle.”

Johnson came back into the hold. Beau leaned back on the bench, folding his hands behind his head and crossing his legs again. Johnson walked down the length of the hold, making sure to slow down for just a little too long as he passed Cedar and Ben. When he reached the end of the aisle, he sat down on a bench and began cleaning his rifle. Cedar looked out the window and saw the roaring propellor on the plane’s wing. They could feel its vibrations as they reverberated throughout the hull. A marvel of human engineering, hard steel, pure metal. Cedar nudged Ben with their shoulder and tilted their head toward the engine.

“W-what?” Ben stammered.

A look of urgency grew on Cedar’s face. “The engine.”

“The eng…” Ben looked out the window and saw it. Putting together Cedar’s plan, he looked down at his wound. “No. No, I can’t. Too weak.”

“You have to,” Cedar whispered. “We have to get to that cat before them.”

“We can find a way to do it without crashing a goddamn plane.”

“When you figure out how, let me know,” Cedar said sternly. “Look, I know I give you shit, but you know what’s at stake here, maybe more than I do. Sure, I love the Library with all my heart, but at the end of the day, I’m a pariah and a nomad at heart. If something should happen to the Library, I could leave it. I’d be heartbroken, but I’d survive. But you? You’re Hand. You live and breathe it. You’re sworn to protect it. You do have a gift, Ben. So use it.”

Ben was silent. He knew that Cedar could have just been saying all that, but the words rang true to him. He stared at the engine as he remembered his vowel to protect the Wanderers’ Library from all threats. He focused all of his energy into the engine. A blood vessel burst in his eye but he ignored it, not moving his eyes from the engine until he felt the pulse.

BOOOOM

The explosion was so loud that it cracked the windows, fire and black smoke erupting from the engine. Ben passed out and slumped onto the bench. Beau’s eyes grew wide in shock as Johnson jumped from the bench and started running towards the cockpit. Cedar stuck their leg out and kicked Johnson in the shins, sending them to the floor. Beau caught on and kicked Johnson in the back of the head. The plane was losing altitude already. Cedar heard the pilots swear as they struggled to keep the plane level.

“Get his knife,” Cedar said to Beau as they turned around so he could see the cuffs. Beau quickly grabbed the combat knife from Johnson’s belt and cut off the plexicuffs. Cedar turned around and took the knife from Beau. They got over the half-conscious Johnson and raised the knife over their head. They picked out a spot on the back of his neck to stab the blade into. They were about to bring the knife down when the plane fell into a tailspin.

They were all thrown around the hold like ragdolls. Cedar’s back hit the ceiling hard enough to take the wind out of them. Beau managed to latch onto the bench before it hit him in the teeth. Johnson came to his senses and managed to find a grip on the ceiling. Cedar watched Ben hit the wall and swiftly launched themself from the ceiling, caught him, and used their body to lessen the impact as they hit the floor again. He was still out like a light. They wrapped an arm around Ben’s waist and used their free hand to hold on to the other bench. Johnson struggled to wrap his fingers around the handle of his pistol, death stare held on Cedar.

The plane spun wildly through the night air, black smoke spiraling behind it. Those preparing for sleep in the mountain’s sixth camp heard the roar of its failing engines overhead. The wing with a good engine smashed into the summit, tearing it off. The plane completed one more full rotation before its underside landed and it started sliding down the side of the mountain like a metal avalanche.

Everyone in the hold hit the floor at once. As they were all struggling to their feet, Ben began to stir. Cedar put their fingers to the side of his neck and checked his pulse. He’s steady, at least for now.

Johnson forced himself to his feet, struggling to keep his balance against the massive steel sled he was now in. Keeping his eye on Cedar, he reached for his gun only to find the holster empty. He quickly glanced around the hold and saw it at the very back of the plane, with Cedar blocking his path. Before he could even think about making a run for it, Cedar uppercutted him so hard he bit through his tongue.

“Ah! You thon of a bith!” Johnson screamed, clutching his jaw as blood spilled from his mouth. Cedar only responded by kicking him in the chest, putting him on his back. Cedar saw their backpack lying on the floor next to the cockpit entrance and was suddenly reminded of the 1911 within it. They tried to jump over Johnson, be he caught them by the ankles, and Cedar cracked their forehead off the floor as they hit it face first. Johnson managed to punch them in the shins a few times before Cedar pulled a leg free and crushed his nose with their heel.

“Jackass,” Cedar spat before getting up and booking it down the hold. Johnson took the chance to go for his pistol. Jumping to his feet, he shoved Beau to the side and ran to his gun at the end of the hold. Cedar dove for the backpack and practically tore it open. They reached past the empty shoebox in it and grabbed their Colt from the bottom. Yanking it from the backpack, they pointed it down the hold and found the iron sights level with Beau’s chest. Johnson had him in a chokehold with the gun pressed to his temple. Beau looked mildly inconvenienced more than anything else.

One of the pilots realized that there was a drop-off dead ahead. The plane was hurtling towards a cliff and fast. He hit a release switch and a massive parachute shot out of the back of the plane, slowing its descent.

Johnson fell forward onto Beau, Cedar fell backward into the cockpit. Before they could regain their bearings, they caught eyes with the co-pilot who had noticed them on the floor. Cedar raised their pistol, only for the pilot to dive on them and lock them both in a struggle for the weapon. The pilot gripped the barrel of the gun and made sure it was pointed away from him. Cedar tried to knee him in the ribs, but they couldn’t get enough leverage. Johnson slowly rose to his feet, seeing the struggle in the cockpit. He started to carefully make his way down the aisle, being sure to kick Beau in the back of the head as he stepped over him, who only cursed in French and rubbed the sore spot. Johnson held his pistol at the ready as he walked, waiting for the moment he could get a clear shot on Cedar. Beau wrapped his arm around Ben’s and held on to the bench again.

The cliff's edge was still quickly approaching. The lone pilot realized there was no way of halting the plane and crossed himself. On the floor, Cedar and the co-pilot’s struggle over the gun had become a war of attrition. Cedar finally sacrificed what little control over the pistol they had and beat him in the face until he finally let go. Immediately, Cedar and Johnson aimed their guns at each other and fired. Then, the plane went over the cliff.

The inside of the plane lost all sense of gravity as everyone inside was tossed around again. Beau kept himself and Ben in place as best he could. The plane fell thirty feet before the parachute wrapped around a rock protruding from the cliff side. Cedar and the co-pilot landed on top of the pilot, who was already pressed against the windshield. Just as they felt it starting to give beneath their weight, Johnson landed on top of them. Cedar felt the glass cracking. It was going to shatter at any second. They could still feel their gun in their hand. Gripping it tightly, they shoved Johnson off of them, jumped up, and grabbed ahold of the restraints on the empty pilot seat. From this angle, they could see that their shot took off Johnson’s ear and, more pressingly, they could see that Johnson’s shot hit them in the thigh. They couldn’t feel it yet. They decided they’d worry when they could. They aimed their pistol at the windshield. Johnson screamed and reached out for the gun, but it was too late. Cedar fired a round into the windshield and watched as it shattered under the weight of Johnson and the pilots.

CRAAASH

They fell into the dark abyss below them. Cedar held onto the restraints tightly as they hung above it, watching the men disappear into the darkness. Their screams continued until Cedar heard a sickening thud. Looking through the shattered windshield, Cedar realized three things. First, this wasn’t just a cliff, moonlight should’ve been shining on the bottom of it, but there wasn’t, just pitch black. This was a cavern, a giant fucking hole in the side of the mountain that had somehow never been discovered. Perhaps it could only be found if you needed it. Second, judging by how long it took Johnson and his companions to hit the bottom, it was about a thousand feet deep. Lastly, there was no rush of cold air coming in through the windshield, quite the opposite, it was warm.

“Are you still alive, Bardot?” Cedar heard Beau’s voice call from above them.

“Yeah,” Cedar answered while putting the pistol in their jacket. “How’s Ben?”

“I… I’m fine. Jus… Just need to rest… a bit,” stammered Ben.

Cedar pulled themself past the pilot seat and climbed out of the cockpit. They sat on a wall next to the cockpit’s doorway, letting their legs dangle into the cockpit itself, as Beau lowered himself and Ben onto the opposite wall.

“Well, you’ve successfully crashed this plane,” Beau said pulling a pocket knife from his cargo pants and cutting Ben’s cuffs. “What now?”

“You had that the whole time?” Cedar asked, nodding at the knife.

“I wasn’t exactly given the chance to use it, with you yelling at me to grab the guard's and all. I must say, Mx. Bardot, you have quite the flare for the dramatic. I had a much more subtle escape plan in mind.”

Cedar ignored his snide comment and returned to his original question, “We have to go further down.”

“Further down?” Beau questioned.

Cedar twisted around and pushed aside their backpack to grab a first aid kit that was on the wall. They began digging through it, “Yeah, further down. We’re in a cavern right in the middle of Everest right now. Either of you ever heard of that?” Ben murmured out a negative and Beau shook his head. Cedar pulled a bandage and rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit. “That’s what I thought. Which probably means we’re not meant to know about it.”

“So you think it leads to the lab,” Beau finished Cedar’s thought.

Cedar undid their belt and shoved their jeans down to their knees. Beau politely looked away while Ben only waited to hear the next part of the plan. Cedar winced as they poured the rubbing alcohol over their wound. Tossing the bottle to the side, they began wrapping the bandage around their thigh, “Ok, good, I think it missed the bone.” They pulled up their jeans and stood up on the wall. “There were three of them left, so I’m assuming…”

They spotted three parachutes, one lying under the control panel in the cockpit and two lying at Beau’s feet next to Ben. Cedar picked up their backpack and strapped it to the front of their chest, “Gonna parachute down.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Ben stopped them before they could jump back down into the cockpit, “How- Ouch. How do you know that warmth isn’t… Isn’t uh, magma?”

“I doubt it,” Cedar said as they carefully climbed down. “If it was magma we’d be able to see a glow from here. And no one’s ever described Everest as a volcano. I’ll yell back up once I’m sure it’s safe.” They lowered themself into the cockpit until they could reach under the control panel. Quickly, they fastened the parachute to their back, tightening the straps under the backpack and around their torso. They looked back up at Ben and Beau one last time. Beau turned away and began putting on one of the parachutes. Cedar gave Ben a thumbs up. He gave one back. Looking back into the pit, Cedar took a deep breath and jumped.

Warm air rushed through their hair as they fell. Nearly fully encompassed by darkness, they yanked the cord and was jerked up by the sudden deceleration. Their descent was slow and nearly peaceful, but as they got closer to the bottom of the cavern, they noticed a shift in the air. There was a strange, faint smell of chemicals in the air, mixed with another smell that can only be described as old.

It was pitch black as they landed at the bottom of the cavern. The parachute coming down on top of them forced Cedar to the ground. A new smell hit their nose, coppery. It didn’t take Cedar long to realize they were kneeling in the blood of the former flight crew. Feeling around the dirt and rock, they found one of the bodies, a pilot. They pulled his knife from his belt and sliced a long hole in the parachute above them. It wasn’t as dark as they had thought. Distantly in the cave, there was a light flickering. It was faint, just barely perceptible, a dim spec of light in the darkness.

“I made it!” Cedar called. “I see some light deeper in. I’m going to keep moving.”

“Understood, Bardot,” Beau yelled back. “We’re right behind you.”

Cedar threw off the parachute and switched their backpack around. The cave closed in on them as they moved toward the spec. Before they knew it, they were crawling on their hands and knees, and then they couldn’t fit with the backpack on. Shoving it in front of them, Cedar continued on their stomach. Their back pressed against the ceiling and they were finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. They could feel their heart beating against the cave floor. The light loomed in front of them, somehow closer and further away. The chemical smell was more pervasive than ever. They had to turn their head to keep going forward. Their cheek scraping the jagged rock, they felt the demon on top of them for a moment, its hot breath gagging them. They shoved the backpack forward again and off the edge. Cedar craned their neck to look in front of them. The light was there, right in from of them, shining through a hole that they could barely fit their shoulders through. Pulling themself through the hole, Cedar found themself in a tunnel dug into a mountain. It stretched either way endlessly with the occasional torch mounted on the wall. Cedar examined the flickering flame of the torch, Who else is here?

They picked up their backpack and pulled the Colt from it. Throwing the backpack on, they identified which direction the chemical smell was coming from. They decided it was the best lead they had, picked up a rock, and scraped an arrow on the wall pointing toward the smell. Cedar held their gun at the ready as they carefully walked through the tunnel, keeping their footsteps as quiet as they could.

Cedar’s jaw dropped as the tunnel opened up into a room the size of a church. Bookshelves and wooden tables were covered with dusty pages, equipment, and dissected animals. Cedar picked up a sheet of paper and blew a cloud of dust off of it. The torches in the room were just barely bright enough to make out anything on the sheet. Letters from some ancient language were scribbled onto it. Daevite. Cedar had to stop themself from trying to translate it. There was no time, the GOC couldn’t be far behind. Scanning the dead animals and searching through boxes, Cedar hurriedly searched for any remnants of a magical cat. They were close, they knew it. Where would an alchemist keep a dead cat?

A large, stone, ornate door suddenly caught Cedar’s eye. The torchlight caused its carvings to cast intricate and strange shadows onto itself. Cedar placed their hand on the door, traced the grooves, and admired the masterful craftsmanship of it. With all their might they pushed against the door. It didn’t budge. They scratched their chin and looked down at their feet, noticing shadows stretching out from under the door. Placing their ear against the door, they listened closely and heard a voice, “Charge planted. Breaching.”

Cedar’s eyes widened and they dove under a table.

BOOOM

A breaching charge blew the door open, destroying most of it. Debris rained down around Cedar as the captain came into the room with his shotgun raised. Cedar crawled deeper into the shadows as the GOC squad started clearing the room. The captain was the last to enter. Holding his shotgun in a relaxed position, he seemed to think that the danger was behind him.

“Clear!” One of the soldiers shouted.

“Alright,” the captain replied as he pulled a tin of chewing tobacco out of a vest pouch. He twisted off the cap and packed a clump of the stuff behind his lip. “Fan out and find this damn cat.”

The soldiers all moved through the room, carelessly tossing aside artifacts in a rushed search for The Original. Cedar cringed from the shadows as they watched one shatter a vase in his combing of a table. Running out of time, Cedar thought. These maniacs could find Marw any minute. Cupping their hands around their mouth, Cedar spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, “Hey.”

The soldier whipped around and tried to look into the darkness. Putting his hand on his sidearm, he took a step closer, and then another, and then another. Cedar could smell his sweat, sour and salty. Not wasting another second, Cedar lurched forward, wrapped their arm around the man’s throat, and forced him into a chokehold. He didn’t have time to get a word out, airways blocked off. He tried to go for his pistol again, but Cedar pulled back and put more pressure on his esophagus. Cedar prayed that none of the soldiers would notice the quiet struggle happening in the dark. The low grunts seemed like the loudest thing in the world to them, but after a minute, the man in their arms had fallen limp and they only heard the rest of the men sweeping through shelves. Cedar hooked their arms under his armpits and pulled him deeper into the shadows. They stashed their backpack and jacket there, then they pulled off the soldier’s helmet, vest, and shirt. The shirt was far too big for Cedar, but the vest hid that somewhat. They put the helmet on, tightened the chin strap, and pulled the visor down. They looked nothing like a GOC soldier, their jeans didn’t match the uniform at all. Cedar was putting their faith into the rooms low-light. All the soldiers needed to see was a shape similar to them moving around. Finally, Cedar strapped on the man’s thigh-holster and shoved their 1911 into it. Ok. Gotta move.

Stepping out of the darkness, Cedar quickly got to work searching through the tables and shelves, much more careful than the soldiers, though. They heard one swiftly approaching them. Cedar held their breath.

“I already searched that shelf,” the man said as he passed Cedar. They only nodded and moved to another one. The chamber was growing hot. A bead of sweat was forming on Cedar’s forehead, but they weren’t sure if it was because of the heat or their nerves. They watched a soldier pick up of piece of parchment and barely scan it before crumbling it up and tossing it on the floor. Cedar picked up the piece of parchment and tried their best to flatten it out. It took them a moment to realize that it was a diagram, specifically one of some plant they didn’t recognize. The table it had been dropped from was all plants, in fact. There was a dead flower in a jar and dozens of sketches of plants with scribbled notations next to them. This room wasn’t some disorganized storage unit, it was an archive. There was a method to its madness. Suddenly it had become so familiar to Cedar. Like they were standing in a miniature version of the Library. They moved quickly. From the plants, it was easy to find the reptile section. Assuming that animals were all sorted into one general part, Cedar kept moving past the lizards until they started seeing fur. They glanced at pieces of parchment lying next to specimens, recalling the rough translations of the animal kingdoms, Rodents… Canines… Felines.

Cedar grabbed a wicker basket and threw the lid off, only to find the paw of a cougar inside. Not it. They cracked a jar open, it was lion’s rotting fetus. No. C’mon… c’mon. They snatched another wicker case off of a shelf and peeked in. It was grotesque, limbs protruded from its back, it had far too many eyes, its fur seemed to be shifting around somehow, and it was the only specimen that wasn’t rotting. Much like the book that had started this entire journey, The Original was lying unceremoniously on a dusty shelf. There was a multitude of things that came to Cedar’s mind, the incredible magic that the thing's body must have been filled with, the unimaginable torture the poor creature must have gone through, and how excited they were to tell The Library Cat how ugly her ancestor is.

“Soldier!” Cedar heard the captain yell as footsteps quickly approached them. They shoved the lid back onto the basket and turned around. The captain was swiftly marching up to them. He spat out a glob of tobacco-stained saliva before speaking. “You find anything?”

Cedar kept as rigidly still as possible, “No, captain.”

“Hmm,” The captain grunted, looking Cedar up and down. “Where’s your rifle, private?”

“I put it down so it’d be easier to search the room, captain,” Cedar answered quickly.

“Well go fuckin’ get it, private!” The captain yelled. “Fuck do you think you’re doing? We’re still in hostile territory you-”

The captain stopped chewing them out as his eyes met Cedar’s jeans and sneakers. His gaze slowly rose to the dark visor as he realized he wasn’t talking to one of his men. Realizing they’d been found out, Cedar swiftly kicked the captain in the groin and bolted deeper into the chamber.

“Fuck!” The captain screamed as he doubled over. “Contact! Contact! One of them beat us here! They’re disguised!”

Sprinting through the aisles, Cedar barreled through a soldier as he struggled to turn the safety on his rifle off. They turned a corner and met three more. Cedar dove under a table, narrowly dodging a shot from one of them. Hugging the wicker box to their chest, Cedar disappeared into the darkness, searching for their stash.

“Watch the fire!” A soldier yelled. “We want them alive, don’t we, captain!”

“I don’t care if they’re alive or dead!” The captain called back. “Just get that damned cat!”

Cedar was ducked behind a shelf, waiting for a group of them to pass. Hearing their footsteps grow more distant, Cedar took off the helmet and threw it as far as they could before sneaking off in the opposite direction. The soldiers hurried off the sound of the impact while Cedar tried their best to remember their way around the place. Each aisle looked less familiar than the last and the lighting certainly didn’t help. Cedar found themself squinting down corridors and mistaking shadows cast by torches for soldiers. They reached out to feel around, only to knock a pile of scrolls off of a table.

“Over there!” One shouted. A storm of bullets flew over Cedar as they hit the floor. The wooden shelves and tables above them exploded into a thousand splinters, pots, scrolls, jars, and anything else in the line of fire was torn to shreds. Cedar feverishly scampered across the floor. The guns suddenly stopped, and Cedar heard the dry sound of a shotgun cocking, followed by swift footsteps and then a sudden shot, blowing a hole through a shelf. The shotgun cocked again.

“Determined little fucker, aren’t you?” The captain’s voice echoed. It was distant, but not distant enough. “I don’t know who you are, or how you got off that plane, but you’re clearly a problem.” The captain kicked over a shelf, causing a domino effect with a few others. He climbed onto the pile and looked over the chamber. “You can still surrender, you know. We treat our prisoners pretty well. Certainly better than the Foundation.”

Cedar could see the top of his head, white hair shining in the firelight. Slowly, they reached for their pistol. Their breathing sounded like a bull and sweat started stinging their eyes. Squinting through the iron sights, they aimed for the white tuft of hair peeking out from the top of the shelves. Suddenly, the captain turned and started firing wildly into the shelves.

“Get out here you little shit!”

BOOM

“Testing my goddamn-”

BOOM

“Paitence!”

BOOM BOOM BOOM

Cedar rushed under another table as the captain climbed on top of a taller shelf and fired into the air, screaming.

“Do you have any idea what you’re interrupting!”

BOOM

“How hard I worked to get here!”

BOOM

The captain stopped to frantically shove shells into his gun as Cedar turned a corner and finally saw their stash tucked into the corner. They put the box next to their backpack and started feeling around for the rifle. They heard soldiers running around them in the dark. They weren’t sure how they were gonna deal with them yet, but they just needed a rifle, if they could just find that rifle, they’d have a chance. Cedar heard a footstep behind them. They spun around with the 1911 at the ready, only for it to be forcefully kicked out of their hand. A soldier stood in front of them, barrel pointed right at Cedar’s head. “Hands up.”

BOOM

Another shot echoed through the chamber. “Get out here!” the captain screamed.

“Captain!” The soldier in front of Cedar called out.

BOOM

“Captain, I-”

BOOM

“Cap-”

BOOM

The sound of a shotgun clattering to the ground was heard by all in the room. They all looked up to see some nine-foot-tall, horned figure lifting the captain by the arm.

“Warriors,” the voice was soft, yet filled with disgust. It seemed to come from everywhere. “Warriors are banned from entering my laboratory.”

The captain wasn’t given a chance to scream as the figure seized his other arm and tore him in half in the blink of an eye. The rest of the soldiers turned and opened fire on the being, but bullets had no effect on it. The thing raised its arms, and something evil shot from its hands. Cedar covered their face and ducked. Huddled in the dark, the smell of ozone pierced their nostrils and the screams of soldiers filled their ears. Then everything went deadly quiet. Cedar waited to get hit by whatever hit the soldiers, but they were unharmed. They took control of their breathing and started to get up.

It was a woman, or it was from what Cedar could tell, at least. Tall and horned, she was dressed in long, red robes typical of a Daevite priestess. She stood above them, tilting her head, “Are you a warrior?”

Cedar swallowed hard, hoping that she didn’t realize that was a dumb question, considering what she’d just done. They got down on a knee and bowed their head, “I-I’m a scholar.”

She was silent for a long time. Cedar wondered if their next breath would be their last. “You are neither.” Her soft voice spoke with no inflection. “Closer to a thief, perhaps. But what thief steals a long-dead experiment?"

Cedar didn’t answer, they only stared at the furry toes poking out from beneath the robe.

“Ah, yes,” Cedar could hear the smile in her voice and they thought she giggled. “A hired thief. Quit bowing, thief. You do not hold the honor to bow, nor do I hold the honor to be bowed to. Yes, there you are, on your feet. Tell me, why this one specifically?”

Cedar couldn’t believe how tall she was. They were used to looking up at people, but they had to crane their neck just to see her face, what little of it they could in the torchlight. “My… The man who hired me didn’t want the men you killed to have Marw.”

“Marw? Oh, Marw! I see.” She looked down at the wicker casket of The Original. “I had forgotten that I named it. Hmm. Take it. We’ve long since left this world, our magik should live on, at the very least. There’s a portal at the end of the passage you came in through, it’ll take you anywhere you must go.” She turned and began to walk into the shelves.

“Omotana?” Cedar stopped her. “That is your name, isn’t it? Royal Alchemist?”

She didn’t turn back to face Cedar, “Well done, little thief. Maybe you will be a scholar one day.” Silently, she disappeared into the shelves. They never heard a footstep. Cedar picked up their backpack and went to put the wicker box in it when the shoebox fell out of it. They looked at the shoebox and then back at the wicker one, a paranoid sense scratching at them.

---

They were sweating and out of breath as they walked back through the tunnel. Cedar felt like they could sleep for a week. But it was over now, they had The Original in their backpack and the way home in front of them. All they needed now was, “Ben?”

The redhead shuffled towards them, out from the darkness of the tunnel. His clothes were all torn up and his face was dirty and he was holding the wall for support, but he was upright, “D-do you have it?”

“Yeah,” Cedar answered. “You missed the fun part.”

“Good.” Beau emerged behind Ben. “Now, how are we to get out of here?”

Cedar pointed behind them. “She said there was a portal down that way.”

“She?” Ben tilted his head.

“Omotana.”

Beau laughed. “Of course. Well, looks like our mission is complete, we just have one more deal to make.”

Beau swiftly put Ben in a headlock as he pulled a knife from his pocket. Ben was too weak to fight him, and before he could understand what was happening, Beau had the knife to his throat. “The cat, please.”

Cedar stood still, not giving Beau any insight into their thoughts. “I thought the deal was you take the book we keep the cat.”

“I’ll get paid enough for the chronicle,” Beau smiled. “But I’ll get paid more for Marw.”

“Don’t give it to-” Ben desperately stammered out. Cedar was calm, after everything that happened, this didn’t seem all that surprising. They wondered if they had a clear shot on Beau, then decided they didn’t.

“Think of it this way, it will still be out of GOC’s hands,” said Beau.

“Unless they buy it from you,” Cedar retorted. Beau laughed again.

“Oh, trust me, they won’t be able to afford it. Now, hand it over.”

Cedar looked at Ben, who feverishly shook his head, and then slowly took a backpack strap off of their shoulder.

“No! No! Don-” Beau pulled his arm tighter around Ben’s throat.

“Shut up!”

Cedar put the backpack on the ground and unzipped it. Ben thrashed against Beau but quickly wore himself out. Cedar pulled the wicker box out of the pack and tossed it to Beau’s feet. It hit the ground with a soft thud that bounced off the walls of the tunnel. Cedar put their hand on their holster and waited for Beau’s next move. Keeping his hold on Ben, Beau dropped his knife back into his pocket, forced Ben to kneel down with him, and picked up the box. He looked at Cedar’s gun, then back at Cedar, a wicked smile coming across his face. He stood himself and Ben up and started walking backward into the tunnel. He and Cedar never broke eye contact, not until he was nearly twenty feet away.

“Au revoir, Mx. Bardot!” Beau yelled before kicking Ben in the back and sprinting down the tunnel. Cedar drew their pistol and fired down the tunnel, but the shots didn’t hit. They weren’t meant to. Cedar picked up the backpack and walked over to Ben, who was coughing as he struggled to get up.

“Goddammit! You stupid fuck- cough fucking asshole!” Ben yelled. “Why did- why would you-”

“Relax,” Cedar told him as they helped him up.

“Relax? Relax after you just threw away the thing we went an entire fucking journey to get?” Cedar could tell he wanted to hit them. They reached into the backpack and pulled out the shoebox.

“Relax because we just won, asshole.” Cedar handed Ben the box. He opened it and saw the writhing corpse of Marw resting inside. “All he’s carrying is rocks and a few other dead guinea pigs I found.”

Ben paused for a few moments, “How’d you know?”

“I know better than to trust a capitalist. Or a Frenchman,” Cedar took the box from Ben, put it in the backpack, they hoisted it over their shoulder. “You ready to get the hell out of here?”

Ben nodded and put his arm around Cedar for support. They both started walking down the tunnel.

“You know Cedar, for as much as you don’t like us, you’d make a great Hand.”

Cedar smiled, “I doubt it, I’m not nearly brave enough.”

Ben smiled back and they kept walking.

+ Chapter 7

When A Hand Becomes A Fist

Kane kept his word. Cedar stood in the entrance of their new living quarters holding two suitcases of effects from their old, cramped apartment. This new one was certainly more spacious, but far more empty as well. It could best be compared to a bachelor pad, with a high ceiling, a bedroom that overlooked the main living area, and a large window with a view of whichever part of the Library Cedar wanted. To enter this place, they had to find a book on architecture, open it to the seventy-forth page, and read the ninth sentence backward.

Cedar set their luggage down and paced the length of the apartment, running their hand along the smooth, ethereal, wooden walls. They went up the spiral staircase to the bedroom and then entered the bathroom connected to it. Standing in the center of the bathroom, they stretched both of their arms out perpendicular to their body and, to their surprise, found that both of their palms were flat against the walls. They smiled, recalling an old saying of their mother’s: ‘The more things change, the more they stay the same.’

Cedar heard someone enter the apartment downstairs. A throat cleared, “Hello? Mx. Bardot?”

It was Kane. Cedar yelled back down, “One moment.”

He was standing in the middle of the apartment as Cedar descended the stairs. His hands folded behind his back, the hood of his robe down, and greasy, neck-length hair. He had a much more casual demeanor compared to the first time Cedar had met him. It was the first time they could really see his eyes. They were cold, almost grey, in color. Cedar thought he might be blind for a moment, but noticed that he was actively looking around the room. He noticed them as they stepped off of the bottom step.

“I was just coming to see how you were settling into your new quarters,” Kane said, smiling.

“I just got in,” Cedar said, taking off their hat and putting it on their luggage. “I like it though. I’ll have to get some furniture for it. Maybe convince a Librarian to put a shifting bookshelf in here.”

There was a moment of silence before Cedar decided to change the subject, “How’s Ben doing? I’m sure he’s told you all about the mission.”

“Oh, he’s doing quite well,” Kane answered. “Very excited to finally be out of my apprenticeship. He spoke very highly of you in his report. I believe his exact words were, ‘brave, if overly impulsive and brash.’”

Cedar nodded, “Sounds like he put it nicely. So, he’s a full-fledged member now? A real defender of the Library, right?”

“You could put it like that, yes. He is free to act as he wishes within the Hand.”

“Well, that's good. Really. Tell him I said ‘congratulations,’” said Cedar.

Kane smiled again, “I will. Best of luck to you, Mx. Bardot.”

He started for the exit, putting his hood back up as he passed Cedar, but they stopped him before he could reach the wall. “Hey, wait, before you go. I have a question. Something that’s been bothering me since New York. You don’t mind?”

Kane turned back to them, wearing the same wise smile. Cedar was starting to think he was forcing it. “Of course not, Mx. Bardot. Questions are the base of knowledge.”

“Right,” Cedar said quickly. “So, here’s my issue. By your own account, this was a pretty important mission, right? I mean, The Coalition having access to Daevite magic doesn’t sound good for anyone.”

Kane was still smiling and nodding along, “Yes, it was an important mission. And the Hand thanks you for your help.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not done,” Cedar waved away Kane’s interruption as they started to pace back and forth, subconsciously imitating Columbo. “Now, you got this real important mission, with the GOC and MC&D, granted, you didn’t know of the latter’s involvement when you hired me, but you’re a smart guy, I’m sure you knew that the guy who hired me to find the chronicle didn’t get his information out of nowhere. Anyway, this real important mission, and you send a rookie and an academic who isn’t even part of your organization?”

Kane’s smile faded, “What are you implying, Bardot?”

Cedar smiled, seeing the thread they were pulling, “The Hand, let’s face it, isn’t very strong. You’ve barely managed to raid The Foundation a couple of times, but this is the GOC. Similar if you squint, sure, but the coalition is far more militant than The Foundation. You can’t stand up to them. So, you send two people, the less connection to you the better, on a suicide mission to try and throw them off. If they make it, well that’s great! Mission accomplished! High-fives all around. But if they don’t? Oh well, it’s not like they were known members of the Hand. It can’t be traced back to you.”

Kane’s face was cold now. Stiff and unmoving. “The Hand takes risks every day. We’re fighting against people far more powerful and far more cruel than us. Sometimes, a Hail Mary is our best bet. The GOC would have used The Orginal as a weapon, Cedar.”

“And what will you use it for?”

Kane didn’t answer the question. They both knew it was rhetorical. "What is this, Cedar? Blackmail? Are you going to tell Ben? I can guarantee you he'd understand. In a few years, he'll probably make a similar call."

Cedar shrugged. "Maybe I'll tell him. You're right though, it won't do much. He's bought into your dogma. I think I just want you to know that you're not all that different from the people you fight against."

Kane turned away from Cedar and started walking to the exit. "Goodbye, Cedar. Enjoy your new quarters."

And he disappeared into the wall, not sparing a glance back. Cedar stood in the center of the empty room and put their hands on their hips. They felt like they just won some great confrontation. That they’d found some moral high ground in a world of deceit, thievery, and grave robbing. Their mind traveled far back in time. All the way back to the first artifact they ever acquired, two packs of Pokemon cards from a Three Ports bodega. It was a meticulously planned heist, they waited for the only other customer in the store to ask the shopkeeper for a pack of cigarettes before shoving the card packs into their pocket. Then, to avoid all suspicion, they bought a pack of gum and left the bodega, satisfied with their successful expedition.

Closer to a thief.

Another memory was selected from the vault. One a little later in life, not long after their parents started giving them a high school level education. They and their mother hacked their way through the Amazon, in search of a rumored para-archeological site. It took them four days to find it. A ten-foot pillar suspended in the air by nothing. The ground around it was flattened by years of tribes, ancient and modern. Many had come here, some to worship, some to defy the stone, and some to destroy it. But it stood, soundlessly floating in an environment where it seemed both alien and completely natural. It had been here far longer than any human civilization, but it did not belong here. Cedar’s mother sat down at the edge of the matted ground and began scribbling in her journal. She alternated between a sketch of the pillar and her notes.

“What is it?” Cedar asked.

Their mother looked up from her journal to the pillar, then at Cedar. “No one knows for sure. The current hypothesis is that it came from outer space, but many of the tribes have a different story. It means something different to different people.”

“Does it do anything?”

“How do you mean, Cedar?” their mother asked.

“I mean,” Cedar started. “All those people worshipped it, people killed because of it, tried to destroy it. Did it do anything? Did a voice come from it? Did it glow? Or did it just float there?”

Mother looked at them silently for a moment, waiting to see if they’d find the answer to their own question. They took their gaze away from the pillar when they realized Mom hadn’t spoken in a while. “It’s just a rock.”

Mom smiled, “Maybe to you. Why don’t you go and touch it, maybe that’ll give you some insight.”

Cedar squinted. “You sure?”

“Thousands touched it before you, your hand won’t hurt it. Or are you scared it’ll hurt you?” she teased. Cedar rolled their eyes and stepped forward. They reached out and placed their palm against the pillar. The white stone was slightly softer than they expected it to be. They let their fingers trace the cracks and faults in the pillar. They saw spots of dried blood on it, where some had cut their hand open and bled onto the rock in the hope of blessings. For a brief moment, an image came into Cedar’s mind. It was a picture of themself but much older. They were holding a cat. The image left just as soon as it came, and Cedar pulled their hand away from the pillar.

“Just a rock, just an old rock.”

In the present, Cedar balled their hand into a fist, clenching the fabric of their pants.

Just a cat, just a dead cat.

For I Wished of A World Without Wanting

His head is nestled comfortably in his pillow. His breath is shallow and his heart rate is slow. His eyes roll and twitch underneath their lids as he begins to hallucinate. He’s in Times Square. The neon lights of the electronic billboards beat down on him. He’s holding a gun that changes every time he has the dream, tonight it is an AK-47. The crowd of people is already screaming and running away, believing that they are the potential victims of today’s mass shooter, but they have nothing to fear. In a strange line of reasoning in his mind, he’s on their side. He cocks the gun and takes aim. Upwards. Upwards at those damned billboards that disguise their exploitation as remedies and lifestyles. Those disgusting ads take advantage of man’s need for sex and kinship to make him buy things that take those away.

The billboards go out and rain down shards of glass like a meteor shower. He knows that this will only hurt those who share his opinion. It’ll give news anchors an excuse to call them political extremists and domestic terrorists. But god, does it feel good to destroy these things that ask you to starve.

The dream always ends the same way. He’s above himself. He can see himself lying on the pavement, bleeding from the gut. For once, the cops acted fast. He always thinks the same thing as his incorporeal self floats higher and higher.

What a sin it is to be human. To exist in these bodies that are hypnotized by bright colors, loud sounds, and smooth skin. What a sin- What a tragedy it is to want.

And then, horrifyingly, he wakes up.

Hub Test

Archeologist, Wanderer, Adventurer

Few wander the shelves without a story to tell, and Cedar Bardot is no exception. Born and raised in Three Ports by two brilliant historians, Cedar’s love of parahistory was ingrained in them at a young age. They graduated at the top of their class at Deer College and quickly found a job at Prometheus Labs, where they worked until its closure.

Having found a Way into the Library, Cedar has made a name for themself as a brash, foul-mouthed, adventurer for hire. And a competent one at that, if you’re looking for anything to do with history, you want to talk to Cedar.

Writing Guide

At its core, a Cedar Bardot story should be a cheesy pulp adventure ripped from old matinee serials or action movies like Indiana Jones and The Adventures of Tin Tin. Having a deeper analysis of Cedar as a character is fine, but above all, the story should be fun. Action scenes should be bombastic and creative, Cedar should be a rude but loveable smart-ass, and there’s usually a fabled MacGuffin they’re chasing after.

Entries

Cedar Bardot and The Tomb of The Reincarnated One

Chapter 1: Through The Abandoned Wing
Chapter 2: The Calling of The Serpent
Chapter 3; Into The Mundane
Chapter 4: Battle For The Chronicle
Chapter 5: The Escape From Hell's Kitchen