The demon doesn’t appear fazed by the threat of being pelted with ammunition. “One of the people who’s been helping evacuate this city so as few civilians as possible get hurt? Yes. What kind of ‘them’ were you expecting?”
A soldier farther along their swarm points to a being who’s just poked his spike-dappled head from a tent to see what’s going on. “There’s another one! Everyone, get away from it.”
As she levels her gun, Rollick holds out his hands. “There’s no reason to be afraid of Spur. I can’t say he smells the best, but he’s a very amiable conversationalist. No offense, Spur.”
“None taken, boss!” the shadowkind calls out as he ducks out of view again, preferring to remain bullet-free.
Mutters pass between the soldiers, and several more rifles swerve toward Rollick. “Stay right there,” one orders. “No sudden movements.”
Rollick rolls his eyes. “I don’t suppose anyone here is really in charge?”
The back ramp of the huge helicopter has just swung open with the stilling of its blades. “That would be me. Everyone, hold your fire—for now.”
Not one but two men clamber down from the body of the helicopter. If they were illustrations in a book of opposites, they couldn’t look more perfect.
The man who strides forward first—the one who spoke—is built like one of the tanks he apparently commands: tall and wide and with lots of blocky edges. He’s even got a long, pointed nose that could stand in for one of their jutting guns. His skin is almost the same color, a dull brown. Bits of sandy brown hair poke from beneath his official cap. The crest on the hat shines very prettily—I’ll give him that.
Hustling behind him comes a figure at least a foot both shorter and slimmer, whose close-cropped black hair gleams in place of a cap and whose pale features look sanded smooth. He comes to a stop at the bigger man’s flank, snapping to strict attention while his companion flexes his broad shoulders.
I wonder what you’d get if you could mush them together. The most perfectly average specimen of all humanity?
Unfortunately, at that moment a shadowkind creature like some kind of slimy elephant comes charging toward the helicopter with a blare of its two trunks. The big brown man spins and swings his arm toward it.
Booms of gunfire reverberate through the air. The creature gives a bugling sound that manages to sound consternated and simply barrels onward, looking even more unsettling with several streaks of smoky essence trailing behind it like party streamers.
“That’s not how you deal with them!” Hail snaps, but his voice is lost in another deluge of gunfire. His stance tensing, he whips his hand forward.
The slime-ephant jerks to a stop with frost lacing its four legs. Letting out a trumpet that’s more startled than anything else, it tips over on its side, crushing the hood of one of the trucks.
But none of the soldiers. We should get points for no loss of life.
The military folks look like they don’t want to declare anyone except themselves winners. The guns flick toward Hail next.
With a disgusted curl of his lip, the fae man steps into the shadows before anyone can attempt to shoot him. I wince inwardly.
He already resented humans enough for killing his mentor. They’re hardly setting the stage for a brand-new friendship.
The soldiers press closer to the refugee camp, their guns twitching left and right as if they think the weapons can detect who’s shadowkind and who’s human. The humans who are among us might look even more bewildered than they did before, which is an impressive feat.
“Where’s the freak who threw around his weird powers?” the tank-like man demands. “Harboring criminals is a crime too, you know.”
Rollick claps his hands. The firm sound radiates through the camp like a thunderclap. It holds enough supernatural power to set the hairs on the back of my neck on end.
If it comes down to demon vs. tanks and machine guns, I’d like the chance to step aside before I’m caught in the crossfire.
“Enough!” our leader says. “Wearen’t your problem. My icy colleague just saved at least a few of your lives when none of you managed to do it. The actual problem is over there.”
He jabs his hand toward the city in its cloak of darkness that not even the brightening sunlight can penetrate. “Do you want to help us deal with that, or are you here to add to our problems instead of fixing them?”
Mr. Tank does his best to loom, although he looks like he might tilt right over. “Listen up. I’m Colonel Hueber of the U.S. Army, and I’m in charge of this situation from here on. Who—and what—the hell are you?”
I get the impression he’s trying to shoot Rollick with his eyes. Thankfully the colonel doesn’t appear to possess any supernatural powers of his own.
Rollick smiles mildly. “We’ll be glad to have your assistance, Colonel Hueber. I think it’d be best if we worked together. It’s clear your associates don’t have any experience dealing with the sort of threat this catastrophe poses.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“You can call me Rollick. I’m a resident of this country as much as you are. Some of us here may be something other than what you think of as human—I won’t deny that. But we’re looking to help, not to harm, and as soon as this mess is cleaned up, we’ll disappear and you can pretend you never knew we existed.”
