Kate, but it was more of a leer than anything. I swear I saw him thinking about how to go about smiling. "Hi, Kate, you look very pretty today." Sweat glistened on his upper lip, making him look more creepy than ever.
"Hi, Dancer. You look, er, well?"
"Oh, I am, thank you. Well, I was. Did you guys miss it? I guess you did." Dancer turned to me. "Hey, Spark. And no, Hard-Head was not exaggerating, as if it could. They took the Boss. They took Mage Rikka, right from under our noses. Can you believe it?"
I took a step back. I'd forgotten just how much Dancer reeks of death. A week away and it was like I'd never been close to him before. Being a necromancer means he smells of damp soil, bleach from hospital raids, and other things even more unsavory. It's a part of him now, like he uses the stench of corpses and places of death as deodorant. "Come on, let's get away from all this. You need to tell me what's been happening."
"Sure. This lot were useless anyway." Dancer spoke loudly, and got a lot of angry looks for his words, but nobody objected as such. They were clearly all feeling a little upset about the fact he was right.
We moved away from the group and sat on a grassy rise that looked down on the fitness center. The Hidden continued arguing and shouting at each other by the massive troll hole in the wall, casting blame and generally being ineffective.
We settled ourselves on the wilting grass and watched the humans and non-humans as they shimmered in the heat haze, still so uncharacteristic for a Welsh summer's day I felt like I was in a dream, displaced and my mind not quite where it should be.
I watched as a pair of teenagers walked around the back of the building, looking for a little privacy. The whole group morphed as the Regulars came close enough to catch sight of them.
One minute there was a group of Hidden as I see them, and the next there was a slight shift and for a moment I watched, mesmerized as always, as the magic in all of our kind kicked in and everyone transformed into how people in the normal world see them. Or don't, like me.
Gone were the dwarves, here were a group of swarthy men with bushy beards and hipster haircuts wearing torn jeans—that people apparently do on purpose!—and carrying leather satchels rather than the usual chunky bags for rocks, hammers, and gold.
Trolls were replaced with fat men and very curvy women in dodgy tracksuits and ill-fitting leisure wear. Those just looking like humans stayed as they were, but became entirely unmemorable, impossible to describe or ever recall.
The ghosts were gone entirely, and the goblins turned into what looked like a group of slender marathon runners, all limbs and six packs, looking even more odd than they do in their proper forms with their gym equipment on—they really like to dress for the occasion.
A few imps, who Intus must have been with, turned into anything from weird-ass looking cats, to a dog that looked mangier than a Yeti that forgot its grooming kit and had wandered through the woods for a few years. You'd think, with eternity to practice, that imps would have the hang of it by now.
Needless to say, the kids turned back around quick smart and decided to go smooch somewhere else.
"Okay," I sighed, "what happened?"
"Well, I was talking to Rikka at his desk, everyone else was working out, and he was ranting a little about Grandma going missing and that it was the vampires and he was going to go medieval on their asses and—"
"Really?" I raised an eyebrow at that remark.
"Well, maybe not in those exact words. You know he doesn't like bad language, but he was ranty at any rate. And then out of nowhere, and I mean out of nowhere, a bunch of goblin ninjas floating in the air and wearing those cool soft sock shoe things and with swords and everything, um... well, they just nabbed Rikka. Lifted him up and whoosh, they were gone."
"Haha, come on, seriously? That's what Hard-head said. Floating goblin ninjas? Seriously? And
"Hi, Dancer. You look, er, well?"
"Oh, I am, thank you. Well, I was. Did you guys miss it? I guess you did." Dancer turned to me. "Hey, Spark. And no, Hard-Head was not exaggerating, as if it could. They took the Boss. They took Mage Rikka, right from under our noses. Can you believe it?"
I took a step back. I'd forgotten just how much Dancer reeks of death. A week away and it was like I'd never been close to him before. Being a necromancer means he smells of damp soil, bleach from hospital raids, and other things even more unsavory. It's a part of him now, like he uses the stench of corpses and places of death as deodorant. "Come on, let's get away from all this. You need to tell me what's been happening."
"Sure. This lot were useless anyway." Dancer spoke loudly, and got a lot of angry looks for his words, but nobody objected as such. They were clearly all feeling a little upset about the fact he was right.
We moved away from the group and sat on a grassy rise that looked down on the fitness center. The Hidden continued arguing and shouting at each other by the massive troll hole in the wall, casting blame and generally being ineffective.
We settled ourselves on the wilting grass and watched the humans and non-humans as they shimmered in the heat haze, still so uncharacteristic for a Welsh summer's day I felt like I was in a dream, displaced and my mind not quite where it should be.
I watched as a pair of teenagers walked around the back of the building, looking for a little privacy. The whole group morphed as the Regulars came close enough to catch sight of them.
One minute there was a group of Hidden as I see them, and the next there was a slight shift and for a moment I watched, mesmerized as always, as the magic in all of our kind kicked in and everyone transformed into how people in the normal world see them. Or don't, like me.
Gone were the dwarves, here were a group of swarthy men with bushy beards and hipster haircuts wearing torn jeans—that people apparently do on purpose!—and carrying leather satchels rather than the usual chunky bags for rocks, hammers, and gold.
Trolls were replaced with fat men and very curvy women in dodgy tracksuits and ill-fitting leisure wear. Those just looking like humans stayed as they were, but became entirely unmemorable, impossible to describe or ever recall.
The ghosts were gone entirely, and the goblins turned into what looked like a group of slender marathon runners, all limbs and six packs, looking even more odd than they do in their proper forms with their gym equipment on—they really like to dress for the occasion.
A few imps, who Intus must have been with, turned into anything from weird-ass looking cats, to a dog that looked mangier than a Yeti that forgot its grooming kit and had wandered through the woods for a few years. You'd think, with eternity to practice, that imps would have the hang of it by now.
Needless to say, the kids turned back around quick smart and decided to go smooch somewhere else.
"Okay," I sighed, "what happened?"
"Well, I was talking to Rikka at his desk, everyone else was working out, and he was ranting a little about Grandma going missing and that it was the vampires and he was going to go medieval on their asses and—"
"Really?" I raised an eyebrow at that remark.
"Well, maybe not in those exact words. You know he doesn't like bad language, but he was ranty at any rate. And then out of nowhere, and I mean out of nowhere, a bunch of goblin ninjas floating in the air and wearing those cool soft sock shoe things and with swords and everything, um... well, they just nabbed Rikka. Lifted him up and whoosh, they were gone."
"Haha, come on, seriously? That's what Hard-head said. Floating goblin ninjas? Seriously? And
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