EMRYS

ASH FLITTED ACROSS THE SKY in a dazzling dance amongst smoke and starlight.

Emrys basked in the fire's glow, warming himself while the crackle of kindling sang in harmony with the cicadas. Damp ground wasn't the most comfortable, nor was nippy wind the most welcoming, but his flames were excellent company.

The bonfire surged hungrily as Emrys tossed a burlap sack into its core, matted with a sickening black substance. Orange light illuminated the cozy clearing; his flames stretched higher to caress the stars.

Burning Lard's body hadn't been easy. No matter how grotesque the damn thing was, it had once been an ordinary dog. Emrys took pleasure in cremating creatures that deserved it, but the incineration of something so innocent weighed his heart with guilt.

Fortunately, the campgrounds miles from Havenwood had been abandoned since the air welcomed its first chill. No trespassers meant less risk of exposure, which meant he could let his controlled burn spiral into the night as long as he wished.

Its heat was welcome. The storm had ceased for over an hour, and Emrys' clothes had dried quickly at the fire's edge, but his sniffles were incessant. As he wiped his nose along the sleeve of his hoodie, he mumbled a silent prayer to the gods that he hadn't caught the Traveler's Plague—or, as humans called it, the common cold.

If only the Darkness wasn't so finicky. Even though he was far from town, a simple burial would never suffice. Cremation by hellfire was the only sure way to keep the creature's gunk from Corrupting the land itself. It would leave no evidence left behind when the humans began something called "hunting season."

Despite his annoyance at spending another few hours in the damp woods, he was thankful to have the warmth from Lard's corpse without the need for excess magic.

As much as Emrys despised the thought, his companion had been right: he needed to conserve power. Even resting on the ground, with no strenuous activity as he watched embers flutter in the midnight breeze, nothing could distract him from the weariness plaguing his bones. He had yet to grow accustomed to it in his months on Earth. It haunted him with the cruel reminder that his once limitless power wasn't invincible after all.

How long would it be before it ran dry?

Emrys shook the thought away.

Once the creature's body had been reduced to ash, he extended a hand toward the hungry blaze. The flames drew back to him, finding solace in his pores and filling him with warmth that lingered long after the final ember vanished into his palm.

The world plunged into darkness. For an ordinary human, it would have been a suffocating change, leaving them to stumble blindly until their eyes adjusted enough to make out foggy shapes in the night. For him, it was the flip of a switch; a world once washed in color became one of crisp, gray monotone.

Emrys tried to ignore the dampness of his pants when he stood from the mucky ground. Making his way back to the campground's main path, he shoved his hands into the pouch of his hoodie. A dull scrape stung his left hand as it brushed the fleece lining. He slipped his hand from the pocket and held it up to inspect what remained of his battle wounds.

Tiny scars marred the surface of his skin, so light and thin that they wouldn't have been visible to anyone but himself. After Lard shoved him through the front window of Ambrosia's Brew, shattering the glass into microscopic bits, his injury had been far uglier—but while the marks weren't as pronounced as they had been an hour before, their fading sight frustrated him.

They should have been long gone.

Emrys brushed it off and trudged down the path, but the weakness in his legs worsened with each step. Even his wings ached beneath his skin, longing to be stretched once again. It was hard to resist unfurling them, but while flying would get him to his bed much faster, it would only worsen his sorry state.

Soon, a cabin's silhouette emerged from a nearby clearing. Emrys' eyes lingered on the darkened windows, knowing the promise of a bed resided within its walls, and there wasn't a soul around to chase him away from their summer retreat.

Distant rumbling thunder solidified his idea. Dry shelter seemed like a much more viable option than sulking back to his apartment in sopping wet clothes.

As he approached, he took notice of the owner's wood-burned sign hung just above the door. Embellished with an ivy leaf border, a twenty-sided die rested in the center. However, it was the familiar name engraved at the bottom that made him hesitate.

Bobbi Michelin.

There was something incredibly wrong about breaking into the cabin of the woman whose coffee shop had just been bathed in his—and Lard's—blood.

Another crack of thunder turned his attention to the sky. Lightning flickered overhead, followed by a surge of angry clouds that washed away the stars.

Emrys grimaced and cast an unsure glance at the cabin door. What choice did he have?

When he gripped the knob, the flames writhed deep within his chest. They coursed through his veins, desperate to escape their confines as they reached his palm. A red-hot glow washed over the knob's surface, but not without an ache spreading to his bones from the use of magic.

The short-lived pain was for a good reward, however, and a sly smile crossed his lips once the first drip of molten brass fell to the ground.

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