“What’s your name?” asked the woman.
“Malcolm,” he said. “What’s yours?”
She reached over and poked him in the shoulder. Malcolm felt a sudden surge of power. He looked down at himself and saw that he was now dressed in a full suit of armor, though he couldn’t feel the weight of it.
“Fantasy,” said the woman. “Do you want to save the princess tonight, Malcolm?”
His shock must have been fully evident on his face. Fantasy grinned back at him, and the bartender let out a few chuckles from where she stood nearby.
“She’s an illusion spryte,” said the bartender. “And she’s used that line before, many times.”
“Scribe!” snapped Fantasy. “He’s pretty cute. Let me work my magic.”
Fantasy set her arm on Malcolm’s shoulder again, and suddenly there was a dragon behind her, snarling and snorting tufts of smoke out of its noise. Conveniently, it was small enough to fit within the bar, and coordinated enough to not bump against the roof or into any of the patrons.
“Oh, no!” cried Fantasy. “It’s the dragon that hungers for my blood! Please, Malcolm! You’re the only one who can save me!”
Malcolm felt a little uncomfortable, despite knowing that it wasn’t real. It was hard to completely ignore an apparent threat through logic and reason when every other instinct in him recognized it as a danger.
“That’s… quite a show,” he said. “Can we just talk normally, though?”
“Oh… that’s no fun.” Fantasy rolled her eyes and waved her hand. The dragon and the suit of armor disappeared.
“The dress is real?” Malcolm reached out and poked it with his finger.
“The dress…” Fantasy took his hand and shifted it to her breast. “And these…”
“Okay, hold up,” said Malcolm, pulling his hand back. “Look, I’m here with somebody. We just came to ask around for some information.”
“I think the ‘somebody’ that you were here with is now with somebody else,” said Fantasy. “So why not be with me?”
Malcolm scowled and looked over at Rose. Not much had changed since he’d left the table, but Bicep had slid his chair around next to hers. He was telling her something, animating whatever it was with arm gestures that showed off his muscles.
“Bicep is a rogue,” said Fantasy. “He calls himself a strength demon, but he’s really more of a testosterone demon. Fun for a night or two, but… everyone needs variety.”
She slid to the edge of her stool, pushing her leg against Malcolm’s. He took a sip of his beer, hoping that the alcohol would help him focus, but knowing it would probably do the opposite.
“I’m looking for somebody,” said Malcolm.
“So am I.”
“Not… like that,” he said. “Have any new monsters come through here lately?”
Fantasy glared at him.
“Monsters?” she said. “What are you, a fucking champion?”
Malcolm almost nodded before catching himself.
“Sorry, slip of the tongue,” he said.
“You can slip your tongue anywhere you want.” Fantasy slid her hand up his thigh, and it took a force of will on Malcolm’s part to push her hand away.
“I’m looking for a demon,” he said. “One with fire, or explosion powers. Seen anyone like that?”
Fantasy shrugged.
“Maybe,” she said. “Why don’t we talk about it in the morning?”
Malcolm ran a hand through his hair. He looked over at Rose to see if she was having any better luck. His heart caught in his throat when he saw that Bicep had a meaty arm around her. She was listening to what he was saying intently.
“He’s going to have his way with her,” said Fantasy. “So why don’t you have your way… with me?”
“No,” said Malcolm. “I trust her.”
No sooner had he spoken the words did Bicep make his move. He groped at one of Rose’s breasts and leaned in whisper something in her ear. The bar was dim, and tendrils of darkness shot out from the nearest corner to their table, firmly disentangling the muscular demon from Rose. She stood up, pointed a finger at him, and then walked over to Malcolm.
The look on Rose’s face when she saw how close Fantasy was sitting to him was an echo of Malcolm’s own recent feelings. She folded her arms and looked at the other woman squarely.
“Malcolm,” she said. “Have you made friends with a new spryte?”
“Uh… Rose, this is Fantasy. Fantasy… Rose.”
“A pleasure,” said Fantasy, seeming undisturbed. “You know, I have a big bed back at my place. Perhaps the three of us…?”
“Enough, Fantasy,” said the bartender. “You’re as bad as Bicep. These two aren’t here to play games. Why don’t you give them some space and let me talk to them for a bit?”
“Scribe!” said Fantasy.
“If they’re at all interested, they still will be after. Don’t be clingy.”
Fantasy sighed, lifted her skirt, and then headed off to another corner of the tavern. Rose took the stool she’d been sitting in, smiling first at Malcolm, and then the bartender.
“Thank you,” said Rose. “And we’d be very interested in having a chat with you, miss…?”
“You don’t recognize me, do you?” said the bartender.
Rose looked surprised. The bartender grinned and set a mug of beer down in front of her.
“I’m Scribe,” said the bartender. “We’ve met before.”
CHAPTER 28
Malcolm watched as Rose slowly shook her head, her expression shifting into confusion.
“Do you mean… before I became a spryte?” she asked. “You knew who I was?”
“No,” said Scribe. “You come in between each of your episodes.”
“Each of my… episodes?” asked Rose.
Scribe laughed, and Malcolm felt a little angry at the chubby woman for being so flippant.
“The last one must have done a number on you, huh?” said Scribe. “Yeah, between each of your episodes. Most demons and sprytes have a couple per year. You know, when you lose yourself completely. Start destroying things, killing people. Getting wild.”
“And that’s… happened to me before?” asked Rose. “I mean, I knew something happened to my memory, but…”
“Each time it happens, you start over from square one, maybe with a few scraps of memory, maybe not.” Scribe shrugged. “It’s happened to everyone in here. It’s happened to me, even. Sucks to lose business at the tavern when it does.”
“Wait, how do you know all of this, then?” asked Rose.
Scribe nodded, smiling as though she’d been dying for Rose to ask the question.
“I’m a language spryte,” she said. “I keep a journal, and always remember about it after each episode.”
“Keeping a journal…” said Rose. “That’s genius.”
“Yeah, you’ve told me that before,” said Scribe. “You’ve even tried it yourself, before. A bunch of the others in here have, too. It’s all in my notes. Unless you’re particularly persistent about keeping it and making it a part of your life, you just forget about it during the episode.”
“Can I read these notes?” asked Rose. “At least… the ones about me.”
Scribe’s frowned, furrowing her brow and giving a small shake of her head.
“I don’t think you’d want to,” she said. “And I have a policy against it. For my own safety.”
Rose closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Malcolm reached over and set a hand on her shoulder.
“You okay?” he asked.
“There has to be more to it than that,” said Rose. “These… episodes of chaos. They must be linked to something. To sprytes and demons overusing their powers, or…?”
“That’s what made you a spryte in the first place,” said Scribe. “Now that you are one, it’s kind of like being unhinged. Like a kid that takes too much LSD and ends up seeing delusions for the rest of his life. There’s no going back.”