A Welcome Distraction

If Kyle was completely, one-hundred-percent honest with himself, then it wasn’t really the worst night of his life.

Of course, it didn’t feel like that at the time. His improv class had been canceled at the last minute, and apparently Kyle was the only one who didn’t check his email. While he was reading said email in the hallway outside a locked rental studio, someone had taken advantage of his distraction and made off with the handlebars of his bike – of course he’d chained up the frame and the wheels, but why bother with the handlebars?

And then, he realized that something as simple as checking an email is perfectly capable of eating that last sliver of your phone battery.

And then, after a three-block slog through the misty chill of darkness with a just-useless-enough bicycle in tow, he found that the very last bus of the evening had left not five minutes earlier.

So Kyle trudged along, alone in the dark, with ninety percent of a bike and zero percent of a working phone. His footsteps echoed grayly off the surrounding buildings and through the empty alleyways. The midnight fog bit through his jacket and made him shiver. Although he could hear a distant stream of traffic, hissing like waves on sand, his own little pocket of the world seemed completely lifeless. There were no lights in the windows overhead – any tenants were either asleep, or else comfortably living someplace else.

Everything in eye-line and earshot was dark and cold and empty....

It really wasn’t the worst night of his life, but it had to be in the top five.

Kyle didn’t believe in swearing – it just never sounded natural coming from him. Instead he said things like “crud” or “rats”. Or “rassin-frassin”, if the mood struck him. And as he shuffled along the grubby sidewalk, he maintained an embarrassingly tame tirade to no one in particular:

“Stupid rat-basters... take my mother-crudding thing... what the son-of-a-bench... rassin-frassin....”

Kyle froze. He thought he’d heard something. It wasn’t footsteps or an approaching car. What was...?

There it was again. A flat booming noise, like the beat of a very large muffled drum.

Was it an earthquake? No, it only lasted for a second, and the ground beneath Kyle’s feet was steady as concrete. Kyle was rational, and knew for an absolute fact that the sound was definitely not – unequivocally not – the thunderous footsteps of a giant lizard of any kind. It was ridiculous... right?

The thud thudded again as a nearby building shook off a layer of dust, like the first trickle of snow before an avalanche.

Kyle considered running. Or rather, his brain considered running. His feet elected to stay put.

Now there was movement. In a third-floor window of the vibrating building, Kyle could barely make out shadows. Only a faint wisp of streetlight tiptoed through the window, leaving the shadows to dance in near-darkness. The drumbeat echoed again, and the window rattled in response.

Was it a fight? Should he call the police, or–?

The window exploded. Kyle ducked as glass hailed over him. But it wasn’t just glass. A chunk of shadow burst forth and plummeted to the street. It hit the asphalt with a sickening crunch, and there was silence.

It felt like forever. Kyle stood frozen, staring at the crumpled shape splayed out on the street. He pulled out his phone to call... anyone, but the battery was still dead.

And then the shape moved. It untangled, rolled over, and sat up. And then looked at the third-floor window.

And said, “Ow.”

The man popped to his feet nimbly and dusted himself off. As he shook loose a cluster of glass shards from his black hair, he happened to glance in Kyle’s direction.

“Oh! Uh... hi there!” The man waved. And waved. And kept waving. He was staring at one of his arms, shaking it as if he’d never seen it before. Then he poked a hand through a ragged hole in the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“Aw c’mon! Really? Every time?”

He threw up his hands in disgust.

“Is it me?” he said to Kyle. “Is there something about me? Why must I be victim of so much shoddy craftsmanship?”

The man paused, seemingly noticing Kyle’s expression of gaping shock.

“It’s the jackets, I mean,” he explained as he strode nearer. “I go through so many–”

“Are you okay?!” Kyle said, louder than he intended.

“Well... I’ve been better,” the man said, picking at his ventilated jacket.

“You just fell out a three-story window!”

“Oh. Yeah, how ‘bout that?”

The man peered up at the glass-less opening, then whipped his grey eyes back to Kyle.

“Okay, here’s the deal: my name’s Michael Alastair Reeve. I’m a wizard, I just fell out a very high window, and you’re going to have to run.”

Kyle blinked. “I... what?”

“Run!”

Kyle was shoved aside as another shape sprang from the window. It was large and spindly, coated with rough black fur, and even the dim glow of the street lamps glittered over too many angry teeth.

“You’re not running!” Michael shouted as he slid between Kyle and the slavering beast. The creature turned its eerie yellow eyes towards them. Kyle felt his blood turn to ice under its stare. Even from this distance, he could feel its breath – freezing, like an Arctic winter. Freezing, but still stinking of rotting meat.

“What the feck is that?!” Kyle yelped.

“Wechugay!” Michael called over his shoulder.

“What?”

“A Wechugay!” Michael repeated. “Person possessed by an animal spirit. A very hungry animal spirit, I should say, hence my previous recommendation of much running!”

The Wechugay crouched down, hissing through lipless jaws and pawing anxiously at the pavement.

“W-why doesn’t it attack?”

“He knows I’m up to something.”

“Y-you... you can kill it?”

Michael shook his head. “He’s too fast... can’t pin him down...”

The Wechugay screamed – Kyle wasn’t ready for the Wechugay’s scream. It lashed through the air and burrowed deep into his skull, digging into his brain with a thousand icy talons. He fell to the ground and clamped his hands over his ears. Surely his head would split open.

“Oy! Knock it off!”

Michael spun around and twirled his hands. A storm-drain grate rattled loose from the curb and launched at the Wechugay. The black beast pivoted backwards, easily avoiding the projectile. It did, however, stop shrieking.

“Last chance to run!” the wizard shouted as he darted forward. His fists seemed to glow blue in the night air. A pair of trash can lids spiraled out of an alleyway, but these too were dodged by the creature.

Kyle staggered to his feet, clutching his bike for support.

You should run, his brain groaned. You should run and not look back.

Across the street, the Wechugay raked its claws.

“Hey, watch the leather!”

He’ll be fine. He can’t kill it, but it clearly can’t kill him either. Get away, now, while it’s distracted.

“Fine! Just take the damn thing! I need a new one anyway!”

Kyle stood numbly, watching a genuine wizard flail a bifurcated leather coat at a horrendous demon-beast, waiting for his brain to make up its mind.

Just run! You can’t help! Just–

No. He couldn’t just leave. Michael had said the creature was too fast to be killed, but what if it was distracted? He could shout. Or throw something. But what...?

Ninety percent. Just useful enough.

And so Kyle watched in slow motion as his ultra-lightweight reasonably-new bicycle – minus the handlebars – flew lazily through the air and collided with the back of the monster’s head.

The Wechugay rounded on Kyle, its yellow eyes so cold they burned white. It inhaled for another shattering scream...

... and erupted in a blaze of azure fire. The Wechugay howled like a broken window pane in a full gale. It writhed and quaked, it twisted and shriveled, until finally it was no more than a crackling heap of charred bones.

When Kyle’s heart decided it wouldn’t explode after all, he lifted his gaze from the sizzling remains.

Michael Reeve stood panting, his hands still steaming in the chilled midnight air. He nudged the smoldering embers with his boot and the whole pile collapsed into ash and dust.

The wizard stared at the late Wechugay for a long moment, then said:

“What happened to your handlebars?”

---

“... did you say it was a person?”

“Used to be. Wechugays are basically corruption. They’re beings of pure, animalistic hunger and rage that attack a host like infection in a wound. If the wound is bad enough, black enough, then the Wechugay takes over completely. There’s no coming back from that.”

Kyle frowned. As recompense for his aid – and the fiery demise of one collateral bike – Michael had given Kyle a ride home. And since all conversation was overruled by the din of a motorcycle, Kyle had managed to save up quite a few questions for the wizard.

“And why didn’t you just do that fancy blue fire thing from the beginning?”

Michael shrugged. “Fire’s no good against a glare that cold. As long as it was watching me, I couldn’t kill it. Turns out I couldn’t’ve beat it without you! How does that make you feel?”

“Weird.”

Kyle shifted on the stoop. How could life ever be the same again? How does a low-level gig at a small tech company compare to a world full of monsters and magic?

Michael slapped his knee and hopped to his feet. “Welp, it’s been fun!” he said. “But I should really mosey along.”

“Oh... okay.” Kyle stood and accepted the wizard’s handshake. “Thanks for – I don’t know – things,” Kyle said.

“No sweat. Things are my specialty!”

Michael turned to leave, but then kept on turning.

“Oh, wait! Here, this might come in handy!”

Kyle had barely enough time to throw up a hand and catch the small shard of glinting metal flying his way. It was a silver coin, a bit bigger than a bottle cap, and polished by years of neglect in some pocket or other. An eagle soared majestically on one face, while the other was occupied by a shield-bearing woman seated over the date–

“Wait, 1836? Is this... this is... uh, what is this?”

“It’s a Gobrecht dollar, minted right after Vice President Van Buren got his big promotion.”

“And you’re just... giving it away?”

Michael smiled. “Sure, consider it a souvenir. It’s an odd little coin, that one. It’s the kind of thing you can’t quite lose, but can’t quite remember you have. And who knows?” he added with a wink. “That might just make it lucky!”

Kyle eyed the coin carefully, then slipped it into his pocket. Lucky or not, magical or not, surely it was something valuable.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Oh, and one last thing...” said Michael.

“What?”

“Say goodnight, Gracie.”

And he flicked Kyle on the forehead.

Kyle blinked. He looked down at the key in his hand. He glanced back at the door to his apartment building behind him. He frowned and turned back to the street.

How did I get home?

There was something... missing. A substantial part of his evening was gone. He remembered going to improv class, but then... something happened to his bike? Did he take the bus? Was he drunk? No, he wasn’t drunk. He kinda felt like maybe it had been a good evening somehow. Possibly. But seriously, what the puck?

He climbed the stoop and lifted the key to the door when a sudden growl hit the night air. It was just some guy across the road starting a motorcycle, but it was still loud enough to startle Kyle into dropping his keys.

And look! He’s not even wearing a helmet!

Seriously, Kyle thought as he knelt for the keys, that’s a good way to get yourself ki– oh, hey! A penny! Well that’s lucky....

And like that, the night was empty again.

End


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For more Michael Reeve, see also:

FOLDER

Michael Reeve: The Lorelei Chronicles  (E) Meet Michael Reeve: professional wizard, wise detective, and eternal smart-aleck. #2024897 by BD Mitchell