Chapter 1
CARLSTON TOWN -ANAMAYA
This is forbidden. What shouldn’t have happened has come to pass. My fault entirely. I should have walked away. I could have saved her…
UNNAMED JOURNAL (VAULT ARCHIVES)
The tram rocked gently on a rickety track in desperate need of repairs. Everything about Carlston Town needed fixing. The houses, the businesses, the enforcement, and the people. But it was home.
The trap on the seat beside me shuffled forward, and I slammed my hand on it, drawing it back.
A low growl emanated from inside. “Let me out. Let me go.”
“Shut up.”
“Excuse me?” The woman sitting on the bench opposite glared at me, mouth pinched like she’d just sucked on a lemon.
“I wasn’t speaking to you.”
“Oh, really, then who were you speaking to?”
I tapped the trap. “The critter in here.”
Her eyes went round. “What?” She slid along her seat. “Conductor! Conductor!”
Oh, for the love of all things dark and gory. “Shut up. And this time, I am speaking to you.”
“Heh, heh, heh.” The critter chuckled.
“What seems to be the problem here?” the conductor asked lemon lips.
“She’s traveling with a critter,” citrus eater said, pointing a neatly manicured finger my way. “It’s against the law to bring one of those things onto public transport.”
The conductor glanced at my trap which chose that moment to shuffle forward again. I scooped it into my lap and held it tightly.
“I smell your blood.”
It was that time of the month, but ick.
The conductor’s pencil mustache twitched. “Miss, is there a critter in the trap?”
“No.”
“Liar, you said there was a critter in there,” the woman said.
I smiled sweetly at her. “And I bet your hairstylist told you that bangs suited you.”
“Why, you insolent little—”
“I can show you if you’d like?” I reached for the latch on the trap.
“No!” the conductor and woman cried in unison.
I bit back a smile. “In that case, I’d like to enjoy the rest of my journey in peace.”
The conductor and the woman exchanged glances. “There are seats further up in the tram,” he said. “I’ll escort you.”
The woman slid off her bench with an agitated huff, giving me a wide berth. She threw a wary glance at my trap before following the conductor down the aisle.
“I’m hungry.”
I didn’t bother responding.
“I have a nest. Children. They’re waiting for me to bring back food.”
This was not my problem.
“I never hurt a human. Only rodents and pests.”
It didn’t matter how innocent this critter was—I needed what the sale would bring me.
Needing a distraction from its pleading, I pulled my notepad and pencil out of my pocket and set to work sketching the Obsidian Venenum I’d spotted by chance earlier.
A fleeting glimpse on the way to pick up my trap, but enough to capture it in graphite.
I’d ink it in later. The elusive critters, commonly known as jet stingers, were highly sought after for the paralytic effects of the venom they secreted.
I’d only ever come across an abandoned nest before, the eggs dull because the larvae inside were dead.
Killed by another jet stinger’s venom. They were a strange species, hellbent on wiping each other out…
Wait, come to think of it, wasn’t that exactly what humans did?
I added shading to the segmented body. The creature was a cross between a millipede and a scorpion.
It’s hard shell a gleaming black, with two pinpricks of red for eyes.
The perfect addition to my cryptozoology codex, a leather-bound collection of sketches and information on all the critters I’d come across so far.
One day I might even get it professionally printed at one of the presses in Hartwood City, or better yet, published. Maybe.
“What will happen to me? Will it hurt?”
The quiver in the critter’s voice made my stomach twist. I rubbed the bandage on my hand. The psybond toxin the thing had injected into me would wear off soon enough, and it would no longer be able to speak to me. Until then, I’d ignore it.
“Please…please, I don’t want to die.”
It began to sob softly, and I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes. I couldn’t afford to feel sorry for it.
Critters was the collective name given to all the mutated creatures that lived beneath the cities and towns of Nova Terra. The history of critter origins was somewhat murky, but the consensus was that they’d begun to evolve after The Overshadowing nearly three hundred years ago.
Some critters were dangerous, exterminated by the critter control company I worked for to cull the population, but most were harmless.
Sourced and trapped so their body parts could be used in medicines, tinctures, and potions.
Like the Floramus Arachmus I’d picked up today.
They were difficult to catch, due to their nests being in the hardest to reach spots of the sewer system.
Like their name suggested, they looked like a cross between a flower and a spider—eight legs and petal-like appendages sticking up from their backs, which picked up sound waves so they could see in the dark, much like bats. Fascinating little creature.
I’d gotten lucky with this one. It had been hunting for its nest.
A mother trying to feed her children.
No. I couldn’t allow sentimentality to color the big picture. There was a reason for what I did. A valid, vital reason, and that was all that mattered.
* * *
Pennyriff Market was one of the shadiest parts of Carlston Town, and one of my regular haunts ever since I’d taken on freelancing as a side gig six months ago.
Center for Critter Control didn’t pay enough for what I needed, and there was nothing in my contract stating that freelancing was prohibited.
Still, I’d kept it quiet. Dabbling in critter capture for interested parties was much more lucrative, but it was also competitive.
My job at the CCC provided the stability of a regular wage to cover the dry periods in freelancing.
Today, the wind had blown smog from the textile factories directly over the market.
It hung low in a thick, gray cloud, the acrid stench mingling with the smell of roasting meat, ruining the usually enticing aroma.
My stomach still managed a grumble, reminding me that it had been several hours since breakfast.
I wove through the crowd, trap held close to my chest, past smudged faces that looked inward.
Probably lost in thoughts of their own problems. Threadbare coats, tattered scarves, fingerless gloves, and worn shoes were the dress code here.
I’d done my best to emulate it, to fit in, but even then, my coat was a little too well-kept, gloves too clean, and shoes not worn enough.
I caught a few curious glances but was quickly dismissed—after all, why would anyone who didn’t need to be in this part of town be here?
With no functioning telecom or radio towers, this part of town was off the grid. They’d tried to repair the towers a few times, but the fix hadn’t taken. Magic was too weak here and so the magi-generators couldn’t activate to power the towers.
The Overshadowing had altered Nova Terra in many ways, but the main impact lay in how technology functioned.
Before The Overshadowing, magic and technology had co-existed, but afterward, the balance was disrupted.
Now magic acted as a crutch for technology.
Certain regions had higher magic potency than others, and it was only in those regions that magitech could function continuously.
The rest of the world made do with controlled, timed surges of electricity.
Pennyriff was a low-surge area that ran on manual labor and hope. It was a place of necessity. The cheapest food and wares you’d find anywhere in Carlston, along with the kind of hole-in-the-wall places reserved for nefarious trades and deals.
I passed stalls selling fabric, bruised fruit and vegetables, knick-knacks, and old appliances in need of repair. Meat of dubious origin sizzled on a skillet to my left, and damn it smelled good.
I might grab a bite on the way back to the tram station.
The crowd thinned as I approached the edge of the market, where a row of three-story residences leaned together like conspirators, forming a barrier into what the locals called the rat run—a network of streets and alleys housing the unfortunate populace of this section of town.
It was dark in the run, claustrophobic in the narrow streets that twisted and turned, cutting slender paths between homes that were huddled together, connected by makeshift bridges made of wood and rope.
Laundry hung from dark windows, and the hum of life hidden behind doors covered in peeling paint made the journey a little less creepy.
I walked faster, vigilant, because although the run was generally safe for residents, outsiders were fair game for local gangs.
My destination wasn’t far now. I took a left at one of the few lampposts that illuminated the run and hurried down the alley that was one arm of a crossroads, connecting me to where I needed to be.
My scalp pricked in warning a moment before two figures stepped out of the shadows, blocking my path. The anemic lamplight illuminated them—one tall and broad, the other short and stocky. Both dressed in the gray and black overalls of the CCC.
I gripped the trap tighter. “Trent. Harry. Fancy meeting you here, in this dark alley in the middle of the afternoon, miles away from where you guys were supposed to be today.” I smiled thinly. “Did you decide to take a long detour?”
Trent matched my smile with a cold one of his own, and a chill slid up my spine to hug my nape. “Cut the bullshit, Anamaya. We’ve been watching you.”
“Well, that’s not creepy at all. I’m going to have to speak to HR. I’m sure you understand.”