The Anthousai woman nods at René as he comes closer, still tailing the girls. Her purple blossoms bowing along with her head. He’d motioned to her with his thumb across his throat before she could say much to the girls, and she’d gone along with the long-distance shushing, to Fable and Jinx’s relief. “Greetings on this fine Samhain, dear,” she says as he returns her nod.

“As to you, Madame.”

“Are the girls in trouble? Can’t say I recognize them,” she asks.

“Not yet!” he grins.

Her shoulders shake, sending her vines tumbling. “I’ll leave you to it then,” she chuckles and raises her basket of treats. He pockets a sweet and offers a bow with his thanks causing Fable to lift off and hover momentarily until his shoulder perch steadied. Jinx’s tong and tail grip had left her unbothered by his movement.

They follow the girls, looking very much just like the town’s beloved baker on a stroll by himself, occasionally having a thought out loud. Nothing unusual to any witness, obvious or obscure. Ramble Avenue’s houses thin as the distance between the streetlights grows. The girls pick up the pace between the cones of yellow light creating patches of visibility on the sidewalks, now pocked with cracks and featuring frequent detritus of the commercial rows that replaced the residences.

They slow as they approach the coffee shop that’d opened recently. It was lit, and the neon Open sign was a bright red in the big window under the intensely cool-toned illuminated Brew Loose sign. A few kids come out holding cookies, and the girls share a glance.

“Wanna hit it up?” Michelle asks, deelie boppers bopping.

Eleanor squints at the window, taking in the gray and white of the mostly formica and metal interior. A lone teen leans on his elbow at the counter, chin in hand. She watches him whoof his hair out of his eye before taking a swipe at it with the hand that had been holding him up, pushing it behind his ear for it to fall forward again as he dropped face-first into his arms flung out across the counter in boredom.

“Nah. The place has bad vibes,” she says, bobbing her boppers back and forth. “Plus, we can’t lose them.” The older kids they were following were no more than small red glows from the ends of their cigarettes in the darkness beyond the last patch of streetlight. “We should de-bug ourselves so we aren’t shiny.”

Michelle nods, and they both tuck their headbands into their packs and pull up their hoods. The teens are loud and easy to follow in the darkness, which seems much darker than the town’s light. As they near the woods, their eyes adjust, and the moonlight gently lights the path.

The path turns into more of a game trail; there are more branches blocking the moonlight, and the shadows seem odd to Michelle. She pauses to look at a particularly strange one that doesn’t make sense. If she’d drawn it, she would be erasing it and chiding herself for not paying attention to her light sources. This shadow—and that one over there—they are wrong. Eleanor takes her hand, whispering, “Since we can’t really talk now.” Michelle does not mind at all as she is pulled away from the confusing darkness, even though she knows they’re headed deeper into the woods, down into the combe.

The trees rustle, bending and creaking despite the unsettling lack of wind. Something thumps from above down into the leaves to their left. Michelle squeezes Eleanor’s hand as they step closer to each other. “Probably an acorn,” Eleanor whispers.

“Sure,” Michelle breathes out almost silently. Something bright in her peripheral catches her attention, and she gasps, turning toward it. A single eye bigger than a basketball glinting in the moonlight disappears with a blink and just as quickly returns, settling its gaze on them.

Fable tsks as waves of fear begin to roll off of Michelle, and the shadows begin to harbor more interested residents. Jinx leans up and tugs on René’s earlobe. “I know they’re small-fry, but are we going to make it to the combe before they are frightened to death?”

René hmms and lets his glamour fade partially, allowing his horns and eyes to show. The guides and anyone sufficiently powerful enough would still see his tail, claws, and legs. It was easier to walk through the tangle of roots getting thicker as they made their way to the dropoff, and it made his presence known to the surrounding Obscure. The teenagers ahead stop and look upward, sniffing.

“Devil,” one says.

“Cool,” one answers.

The girls can’t make out what they’re saying, and the teens are too caught up in the overwhelming presence of the nearby devil to notice them. The shadows fidget and linger, unsure why one so old would need such easy prey—he could walk among the Obvious and take whatever he wanted easily. Couldn’t they share? They would watch and wait.

René passes a large gloom, its eye looking down at him, lid lowering in polite greeting blinks. He leans toward it, resting a clawed hand on its mantle. “Hrm. Yes, getting to be that time. It’s been a long day. No wonder you are tired.”

Its lid fluttered and drooped as a small spark of desire for sleep was fanned by the devil’s words. In no time, it was out like a light, nestled at the base of a juniper; pseudopod curled protectively over the large eye at the other end.

He moved behind the girls again, focusing on their desire not to see anything creepy, which did nicely to subconsciously make them ignore anything out of the ordinary around them. Freer now, he lessened the distance between them.

Fable, having shifted to one of his six horns since they infringed on his shoulder perch, taps at one of the others with his beak for attention. “You know, Mythos and I can probably make anything that they see tonight a dream.”

Jinx shakes her head, “That will only work until they compare notes on their weird dreams. Too risky.”

“Michelle doesn’t need any illusions. She’s already having a very different experience than your little oddling,” René says, nodding to the girls. Eleanor walks steadily, focused on the teens, leading a confused Michelle, who cannot fathom how the threatening aura has lessened this far into the forest. The glowing, almost cartoon-like eyes she’d been seeing watching them were gone, as far as she could tell.

A squealing clamor of a soundcheck crackles in the distance, sending Michelle clutching onto Eleanor, gasping and releasing a stream of babble. “El! Nor! No, Eleano. No.” 

Eleanor giggles softly. “What?”

“Eleanoooo,” she whines into the arm of Eleanor’s hoodie. “Eleanono. Ellie,” she tries again, unsure if she’s still freaked out by the loud noise or flustered by their closeness.

Eleanor gives her a hug with her free arm. “We’re getting closer. That was the PA system, yeah? We’re fine.” Leaning closer, she whispers into Michelle’s ear, “I kinda dig Ellanonoelli. It’s cool; you can call me whatever you like.”

“It’s too long,” Michelle mumbles back, still talking to the black cotton knit that smells like coconut and laundry soap.

“Well, think about it,” Eleanor says, hoping it will give her something else to think about than the scariness of their surroundings.

“I want one too.”

“Hrm?”

“If you get a nickname from me, I want one from you, Noni,” she says, looking up.

“Yeah, yeah! Let me think about it.”