Spell after Spell [Short Stories]

CW -- blood, swearing

There's a wide world out there for those willing to brave the darkness. A wide world and deep pockets, yet no one ever chooses to become a shadow culler. The profession chooses us.

I think Jake is still in denial, as he'd refused to be introduced as my apprentice to the client. But now, with the dusk fading into night and the streetlights coming on one by one, I can feel him tensing, ready to fight.

On the other side of the road, where the darkness is densest, the shades are gathering. They're watching us hungrily, waiting for their bodies to solidify enough to give them a fighting chance.

"Have you seen him?" Jake asks, angling his body to cover my back.

"Not yet."

We were paid to get rid of one particular shade, someone who had resented the client in life and had decided to hang out after death to exact his revenge. I have some pictures from when he was alive, but it's little to go off of.

The shades are all made of darkness, nearly two-dimensional to the untrained eye. Their bodies take treacherous, unreliable shapes. But it doesn't matter, as we'll get rid of them all. What you don't cull today will come back tomorrow to bite you in the ass.

We stay close in the pale yellow circle of the streetlight. The shades are nearer now, skirting the edge of the pool of light.

I study them, trying to separate one form from another. They're all old, translucent, and tattered at the edges. Left to their own devices, they would unravel by themselves in another year or two. They're not of interest to me; I'm looking for a fresh one.

"Shit," Jake startles behind me.

I follow his line of sight, and there it is - a deeper darkness, like a crisp hole cut out of the night view. Solid black, and seething with rage.

"Now-now, Jake. Let's keep things classy." I can't help but grin in anticipation. "Three seconds. Get ready."

I rip the freshest scab on my arm and wet my knives with blood. No need to give myself new wounds when the old ones bleed just the same. The magic catches in a heartbeat, lighting up the runes along the blades. Brutal, blinding sunlight shines off of them.

I'm ready.

But Jake is not.

He fumbles with his blade, too afraid to draw blood. The shade is upon him in a moment, dragging him into the darkness.

"Help!" he screams, clutching at a curbstone.

"We've talked about this," I chide.

He knows I wouldn't go out of my way for someone who's not even my apprentice.

"Masterrr," he pleads.

"See? That wasn't so hard."

And then I strike.