The Nerf From Hell

“Fraysser went to put Esther to rest,” Gordon said.

Priscilla swore.

“And the first key?” she asked.

“He took it with him as, and I quote, ‘insurance.’”

Priscilla swore again, this time even louder.

“I’m going to kill that idiot!” she said, almost crying. “What was he thinking?”

Priscilla looked like she was going to snap the stair railing with her hands, but she took a deep breath and released it instead. There were large indents on the metal where her hands had been. She noticed the damage and immediately hid her hands behind her back.

“Get my servant dressed,” she said quickly. “We’re going back to the observatory.”

Gordon’s eyes widened.

“It’s been over thirteen days since we last ventured there,” the cat said. “The monsters have likely stitched themselves back together by now.”

“Then we’ll just kill them again,” Priscilla shouted. “It's not a big deal! Now get that boy a proper coat!”

“As you wish,” Gordon sighed.

Gordon examined me for a moment as if measuring my dimensions with his bare eyes. After a moment, he nodded.

“Yes, I may have an enchanted coat that will fit you,” he said. I could hear a tinge of nervousness in his voice.

Gordon leaped into the air and vanished in the blink of an eye. Priscilla sat down at the bottom of the staircase and buried her face in her hands. I carefully walked over to her side.

“First key?” I asked.

“The key we need to get to the city,” she said in a flat voice. “The key we spent seven freaking years dungeon diving and fighting ungodly hordes of monsters to gather. We’re not getting into the city without it.”

“I’m surprised you let him hold on to something so valuable.”

She slowly raised her head and pulled her hair back with her hands as if she was trying to tear them out by the roots. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, though there were no tears in her eyes now.

“It was the only way the others would trust me,” she said miserably. “Even in a made-up world, no one wants to trust a Seraph, even a crippled one like me.”

To be considered a true Seraph, one needed a minimum of two unblemished wings. Because Priscilla only had one, she was technically only a Chimera. But to call someone a Chimera to their face was to insult them in the worst way possible since that name was only ever used to as an insult. I always called my friend a Seraph because I wanted to let her know I held her in the highest regard.

Priscilla looked up at me uneasily. I noticed she looked away when I tried to make eye contact with her.

“I trust you, my lord. Always have, always will."

Her face brightened just a bit.

“You sure you’re not my lover?” she said.

“You made it very clear in the outside world."

She looked at me longingly, perhaps hoping I would say otherwise, but when I remained silent, she rolled her eyes and scoffer, clearly disappointed with her situation.

“Then I'll just have trust I made the right decision then,” she said.

She stood up from the stairs and made her way toward the front door. As she passed me, she stopped and grabbed my right wrist. She examined it if checking for broken bones. I gently placed my hand over hers.

“It’s fine,” I said. “You did a great job patching me up, as usual.”

“Good, because you’re going to have to do most of the fighting for us since I used most of my magic fixing your broken bones.”

My heart sank. A Seraph, well-rested, could heal a thousand people before she could truly say she was out of magic. To hear that Priscilla was out of magic after healing a few broken bones was like hearing that she was tired from climbing down the stairs.

“You’re joking,” I said.

“Nope,” she replied as she released my wrist and pulled out a white card from inside of her crimson duster.

“Does everyone have one of these?”

“Yes,” she replied. “You won’t believe what Hilda wrote on mine.”

Her card read:

A monster masquerading as an angel should not pretend she is one.

Curse: Level One

“She didn’t-”

“-oh, she did,” Priscilla said, anger rife in her voice. “But thanks to her, I’m a lot weaker in this dream than I want to be."

I swallowed.

“How much weaker?” I asked.

“Mother let me keep my wing and most of my physical strength, but my magic is nowhere near where I want it to be. Maybe at about five percent."

"Five?" I gasped. "Thank goodness you're a Seraph. You wouldn't be able to use magic at all otherwise."

"Tell me about it," she said, raising her eyebrows. "The worst part is that I don't seem to be getting stronger no matter what I do. No amount of rest, elixir baths, or training seems to affect the curse. I don't want to say it, but I may be stuck at five percent so long as I'm in this nightmare.”

I gulped. Priscilla looked utterly defeated. When she saw the terrified look on my face, she smiled humorlessly and wearily raised the lightning sleeve on her right hand for me to see.

“That’s why I've been using this stupid thing for the past seven years,” she said, waving the back of her hand around like a pamphlet she didn't care about. “I can kill and heal with it, just not like before. Not even close. It's a miracle any of us are alive at all because I'm telling you, there have been way too many close calls. That’s why I said I needed you earlier. A fresh Densus Knight should certainly tip things in our favor.”

To hear Priscilla say she needed my help was deeply unsettling. She never asked for help, even when she did need it. Something must have changed during her time down here in the nightmare.

I looked down at my hands, which were fractured less than a few hours ago. She could have kept the magic for herself, but she chose to heal me anyway. That meant that she trusted me to do my job.

“I'll do the best I can,” I promised. "Thanks for staying alive."

"It was about time you showed up," she said, shaking her head.

She walked over to the front door and opened it. A blast of freezing air rushed in, robbing me of the warmth I had painstakingly gathered from the room over the past half hour. When Priscilla saw me shivering, she quickly closed the front door. She looked like she was about to have a panic attack.

“Where’s that cat?” she demanded. “We have to go!”

Gordon reappeared in front of me like a ghost apparating from another dimension. I stifled a scream because he made no noise when he appeared.

“Right here!” the cat said excitedly. "And one enchanted coat, as promised."

There was a beautiful blue coat and a pair of long, sturdy boots laying on the ground in front of him. I was excited to see the new gear, but when I noticed the symbol of a white owl taking flight sewn onto the back of the coat, I nearly threw the coat out into the rain.

The owl was the symbol of the Night Hunters, the ones responsible for torturing Eleanor and me back on Nivandor.

“I can’t wear this,” I said, holding out the coat back to Gordon.

“Why?” Priscilla asked.

“Because the Night Hunters were the ones who killed Eleanor!” I said. “You know that.”

Gordon's fur stood on edge as if a rocking chair had crushed his tail. He scampered over to Priscilla and hid behind her legs. Priscilla, seeing that her cat was frightened, picked him up from the ground and cradled him in her arms.

"You scared him," she chided.

Priscilla looked at me intently, as if she was trying to figure me. She looked genuinely confused at what I had just said.

"Please don't tell me you forgot," I whispered.

Priscilla shook her head.

“Who’s Eleanor?” she said.