Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
Winter
As we made our way back through the swamp, I couldn't help noticing how differently Horrace behaved compared to our arrival.
Gone was the cautious, lurking presence.
Now he hummed softly against my neck, occasionally pointing out interesting features with a tentacle—a particularly luminous patch of moss, a rare night-blooming swamp flower that opened as we passed. He seemed almost... happy.
"How long do you think he's been alone out here?" I asked Milo quietly.
"Based on the collars? Months, probably. Time moves differently for interdimensional beings though." Milo hopped over a gap in the walkway, then offered me his hand to help me across. "What must have felt like an eternity to him might be just weeks in our timeline."
The thought made my heart ache. I reached up automatically to stroke Horrace's fur-like covering, earning a pleased musical trill. "Poor thing. No wonder he's so eager for connection."
"You're good for him," Milo observed with unusual seriousness. "Your prophetic energy is probably stabilizing his molecular structure. See how his form isn't shifting as much now?"
He was right. When we'd first spotted Horrace, his body had been in constant flux, colors and shapes refusing to settle into anything fixed.
Now, while still undeniably alien, his form had stabilized into something more coherent—still bizarre and reality-defying, but no longer constantly fluctuating.
"The prophecy knew," I realized. "It knew he needed help before he could go home."
Horrace made a sound of agreement, several of his eyes blinking in sequence. One tentacle reached up to touch my cheek in a gesture that felt unmistakably like gratitude.
"I think you're right," Milo nodded. "Manticores are adaptable, but even they can't survive indefinitely outside their native dimension without some kind of anchor. You're providing that for him."
As we reached the edge of the Swampy Quarter, emerging from the perpetual twilight into normal afternoon sunlight, Horrace tensed slightly. His form shivered against my shoulders, and several tentacles wrapped more securely around me.
"It's okay," I reassured him, reaching up to stroke his side. "We're going to find Emma. You'll be home soon."
But through our connection, I sensed his uncertainty, his fear of being torn away again, of losing another anchor in a world that made no sense to his interdimensional perception. And beneath that, a growing attachment to me specifically—to my energy, my touch, my voice.
"He's imprinted on you pretty strongly," Milo observed, watching as Horrace nestled closer against my neck, two tentacles now wrapped around my arm where the prophetic markings glowed. "This might be complicated."
I sighed, unconsciously stroking one of Horrace's tentacles in a comforting gesture. "When is anything about this prophecy simple?"
Horrace made a soft musical sound that somehow managed to express perfect agreement.
Against my will, I found myself smiling.
For all his otherworldly strangeness, there was something undeniably endearing about this lost creature who had spent months alone in an alien world, collecting cat collars in a desperate attempt to find his way home.
"Don't worry," I told him quietly. "We'll figure this out. Together."
All twelve of his eyes blinked at me in perfect unison, and through our connection, I felt a surge of something that could only be described as trust. Whatever happened next, whatever the prophecy had in store for us, Horrace had decided I was his safe harbor in this strange, frightening world.
And honestly, in a life suddenly filled with cultists, prophecies, and reality distortions, having a loyal manticore horror with jazz hands didn't seem like the worst development.
We made our way back through the swamp, Horrace humming show tunes softly in what might have been my ear (it was hard to tell with manticore anatomy). The creature seemed much happier now, its form more stable, though still shifting in ways that made my eyes water if I looked too directly at it.
"So," Milo broke the comfortable silence as we reached the edge of the Swampy Quarter, "what's it like having both Rook and Zane interested in you?"
I nearly stumbled off the walkway. "What?"
"Oh, come on," he grinned. "Rook looks at you like you're the moon, and Zane has that whole 'I'm too cool to care but actually I really care' vibe going on. It's super obvious."
"It is not," I felt my cheeks heating up. "They're just doing their jobs."
"Sure, sure," Milo nodded, his expression far too knowing. "That's why Rook growls whenever Zane stands too close to you, and why Zane keeps finding excuses to touch your arm."
"They do not…” I started, then stopped, because now that he mentioned it, there had been a lot of arm-touching and growling lately.
"It's okay," Milo assured me. "If I had time for relationships, I'd probably have a crush on you too. You're pretty awesome."
"Thanks, Milo," I said, genuinely touched. "You're pretty awesome yourself."
He beamed at the compliment, then his expression turned more serious. "Can I tell you something?"
"Of course."
"I know how it feels," he said quietly. "Being afraid of your own power. Feeling like even the people who are supposed to protect you are actually afraid of you."
I slowed my pace, surprised by his insight. "How did you know?"
"The way you look sometimes, when you think no one's watching. Like you're carrying something too heavy." His usually animated face was solemn. "I felt that way too, growing up. Necromancy isn't exactly the most popular magical specialty. People thought I was creepy."
"You're not creepy," I immediately reacted. "You're kind and thoughtful and your skeletons are, well, they're a little creepy, but in a good way."
He laughed, the sound brightening the gloomy swamp. "That's the thing, I learned to lean into it. Make it funny, make it helpful. Everyone was afraid of me until I got really good at being hilarious."
"But that doesn't mean I don't still feel it sometimes," Milo continued as we walked. "That fear that I'm just one bad day away from being the villain in someone else's story."
I reached out and squeezed his hand. "I get that. Every time these markings glow, I wonder if I'm going to lose control again. If I'm going to hurt someone."
"But you won't," his tone held surprising conviction. "Because you care too much. That's the difference between people like us and actual monsters, we worry about it."
Horrace made a soft trilling sound, as if agreeing.
"See? Even Horrace knows," Milo grinned, then reached into his pocket. "Here, I made something for you."
He pulled out a small charm made of bone, intricately carved with symbols that matched the ones on my arm. It hung from a simple leather cord.
"It's a focus charm," he explained. "It won't stop your power, but it might help you channel it better. And," he added with a shy smile, "it's to remind you that your weirdness isn't scary. It's just not everyone's flavor."
I took the charm, deeply touched by the gesture. It was the third gift he'd given me, after the revived rose that I'd kept in a vase by my bed. I slipped the cord over my head, feeling the bone charm settle against my chest.
"Thank you, Milo," I touched it. "This means a lot."
He blushed, looking pleased. "Just doing my job as your friendly neighborhood necromancer."
"This meeting spot feels weird," I muttered as we approached the pre-arranged pickup location just on the outskirts of the city. Milo had contacted the Bureau to let them know the mission was complete, and a transport was on its way.
"Define weird," Milo peered at the empty street corner.
"Like someone's watching us," my fingers instinctively moved to stroke Horrace, who was still draped comfortably around my shoulders like the world's strangest scarf.
Horrace made a soft trilling sound, his tentacles tightening slightly around me in what felt like protective concern. Through our connection, I sensed his alertness, his perception extending far beyond human senses. One of his twelve eyes swiveled backward, scanning the area behind us.
"Do you feel something, buddy?" I whispered.
In response, Horrace's form rippled, and he made a low, discordant note that sent chills down my spine.
"I don't like this," Milo's usual cheerfulness dimmed as he scanned the quiet street. "The Bureau transport should've been here by now."
My prophetic markings began to tingle, a warning sensation I was learning to recognize. "Milo, I think we should…"
A familiar black SUV rounded the corner, Bureau insignia gleaming on its side. Relief washed through me, followed immediately by uncertainty when I noticed who was driving.
Fenric.
He pulled up alongside us, his face a mask of barely restrained bureaucratic fury. Before he could speak, the passenger door flew open, and Rook emerged like a storm cloud, nostrils flaring as he scanned for threats.
"Get in," he growled. "Now."
"Well hello to you too," I muttered, but the genuine concern in his amber eyes stopped me from further sarcasm.
Milo bounded forward cheerfully. "Mission accomplished! We found the monster and…"
"WHAT IS THAT?" Fenric's voice reached a pitch I hadn't thought possible for him as he finally noticed Horrace wrapped around my neck.
Horrace, startled by the shouting, instinctively fluffed out, his colors shifting rapidly as several tentacles waved in agitation. One formed a perfect jazz hand in what might have been a greeting or a defense mechanism.
Rook's reaction was immediate and visceral. He lunged forward, placing himself between me and Fenric, claws partially extending as he stared at Horrace with undisguised alarm.
"Winter," his voice was dangerously controlled, "step away from the inter-dimensional abomination."
"First of all, rude," I subconsciously cradled Horrace closer. "Second, this is Horrace. He's the monster we were sent to bring home."
"You were supposed to LOCATE the entity, not ADOPT it!" Fenric's eye was twitching so rapidly it looked like he was sending Morse code. "Bureau protocol explicitly prohibits unauthorized inter-dimensional entity transport!"
"He's not an 'it,'" I corrected, feeling Horrace tremble slightly against me. Through our connection, I sensed his anxiety, his fear of rejection. "And he's part of the prophecy trial."
Rook approached cautiously, his amber eyes never leaving Horrace. "That thing is dangerous, Winter. Its molecular structure isn't compatible with our reality."
"He," I emphasized, "has been living in our reality for years. And he likes Broadway musicals."
As if on cue, Horrace hummed a few bars of "Memory" from Cats.
Rook actually took a step back. "It sings?"
"Among other talents," Milo chimed in helpfully. "You should see his jazz hands!"
Fenric was rapidly typing something into his tablet, his fingers practically blurring with speed. "This is unprecedented. We need a Level 5 containment unit, specialized inter-dimensional stabilizers, a reality anchor..."
"We don't need any of that," I interrupted, stroking Horrace soothingly as I felt his distress growing. "He's stable. My prophetic energy is helping him maintain form. That's why the prophecy wanted me to find him."
"The prophecy wanted you to bring it home," Rook corrected. "Not adopt it as a pet."
Horrace made a sound that could only be described as indignant, several tentacles crossing in a huff.
"We're still working on the home part," I admitted. "Horrace got lost years ago. He belongs with a little girl named Emma. We need to find her."
"This keeps getting better," Fenric muttered, still typing. "Now we need to locate a human who may or may not still exist, who may or may not want her inter-dimensional pet back."
"At least get in the vehicle," Rook insisted, glancing around the empty street with obvious wariness. "We're exposed here."
I couldn't argue with that logic and moved toward the SUV, Horrace vibrating nervously against my neck. "It's okay," I whispered to him. "They're just startled. They'll warm up to you."
Through our connection, I felt his doubt, but also his trust in me. One tentacle curled around my wrist, right over my prophetic markings, drawing comfort from their glow.
As we drove back toward my apartment, the atmosphere in the SUV was tense enough to crack glass.
Fenric drove with military precision, occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror to stare at Horrace with undisguised horror.
Rook sat rigidly in the passenger seat, his posture screaming alert as he frequently turned to check on us, or more specifically, on Horrace.