“So,” Martin began as he dug through the paper bag. “When you called,” he pulled a glass bottle of coke out. “In the middle of the motherfuckin’ night by the way,” he said as he flicked his fingers, so his keys circled his pinky finger. He popped off the cap with an attached bottle opener and caught it, tucking both into his own jacket pocket. “And asked for both my bike, and camera! I assumed we would be honoring your grandfather by letting me finally ramp off that huge old oak trunk in his lot.”

Martin Tennor was Mackenzie’s oldest friend. Not her best, they had known each other since the maternity ward, but hadn’t always seen eye to eye. It took getting into a fight with an older group of kids, that left both Martin and Mackenzie losing some baby teeth, to solidify their friendship.

He was slightly taller than Mackenzie, but only by an inch or two. Lean like his father and older brothers, Martin had a runner’s physique. He had dexterous fingers covered in small scars and bandages from his constant work with electronics. A tattoo of a radiation danger symbol peaked from under his jacket’s left sleeve, hard to make out against his dark skin.

His hair was put up in short dreads and shaved at the back and sides. He wore overly large tennis shoes with the laces replaced with some wire he had pulled from some random junction box or piece of garbage. He wore baggy and ratty cargo shorts barely held up by a belt almost double wrapped around.

Martin turned to look at Mackenzie, who was sitting on her knees, peering over the garden wall he was sitting against. Her eyes were locked on the intersection she had heard Macaroon mention. He took the bottle and poked her cheek with it.

“Stop it,” she grunted waving him away.

He sighed and shook his head, setting it by her knee, “Instead. We’re sitting in some old Jewish lady’s shrubs hoping she doesn’t shotgun us away,” he mused as he found a hot dog.

He pursed his lips and took a deep whiff, “No hot dog made before midnight is good enough,” he sighed as he pulled the foil wrapping open and took a bite. “Better than sex.”

“Like you would know,” Mackenzie scoffed, “Your broke ass loses girls before the check comes,” she spat. “And keep it down. Mrs. Pereira is only worried about squirrels getting to her fruit trees. It’s a varmint rifle, not a shot gun.”

“Duran has a missing chunk of his ass to argue otherwise,” Martin countered.

At the mention of his older brother Mackenzie sneered and rolled her eyes, “Needs to keep his damn hands to himself then,” she growled.

“So, instead of said cool video memorializing my great riding skills,” he pantomimed using the hotdog as his bike’s handlebars, “We’re sitting in the danger zone. Waiting on a cat, you say can talk.”

Mackenzie eyed him, “you got something to say?” she hissed.

“Naw, hell no. But. Girl, your grief hallucinations are hilarious,” he said with a grin.

“What stage of grief causes hallucinations that vivid?” she asked, finally taking a drink from her soda.

“Uh. All of them? Especially for a traumatic loss? Duh. Remember when Clarice’s mom had to be dragged outta the school cause her baby didn’t get to be the lead in the kindergarten play?” he asked as he pulled a hand sized chocolate chip cookie from the bag and broke it in two.

“Mrs. Dougherty is just dramatic. It’s not her fault the one thing Clarice is bad at is acting.” Mackenzie said as she took her half and then a bite, “Oh shit this is fresh!”

“Yeah, Mr. Salazar’s wife brings down these right before she goes to sleep after he starts his shift,” Martin explain as he pulled a particularly warm chip from his and slurped it off his fingers.

“How often do you go out this. Wait! Get down!” Mackenzie put her hand on his head and forced him to slide to his back. Martin grunted and glared at her before she motioned to his backpack. She mimed putting the camera to her face.

He rolled his eyes again and did as she ordered. He heard the sound of someone muttering and raised an eyebrow.

“Who keeps a Doberman outside? They’re guard dogs not garden watchers. Jesus wept,” the voice moaned from down the street, coming from Mackenzie’s house.

“Is that?” Martin mouthed. Mackenzie nodded and pointed to a broken part of the garden wall. Martin rolled onto his stomach and shimmied to it, turning his camcorder on, and placing it at the hole.

“What the fuck?” he asked as he looked at the screen.

Mackenzie climbed on top of him, and he growled trying to shrug her off. She grabbed his head and planted it into the grass. Grumbling, but accepting it he hit the record button. On the small screen Mackenzie clearly saw Macaroon, pacing by the sign for Winston Road.

On his hind legs.

The cat was rubbing his chin and clearly muttering to himself. She angled the microphone on the top of the camera toward him and put in a headphone Martin offered.

“Where the hell is he?” Macaroon growled as he tapped his paw. He leaned against the pole and made a resigned grunt as he began to rub his back against it.

A soft repeated suction cup noise alerted Mackenzie to something approaching from the far left. She tried to turn the camera, but the angle was wrong. She replaced it to look at Macaroon. Almost a minute later, with the cat standing impatiently, something came into view.

A large saint Bernard riding what looked like a scooter entered the view.

“Hold up,” Mackenzie said.

Martin wiggled his head from under her arms and looked at it. He blinked as well.

“Yo,” he said pointing, “That scooter has feet.”

The dog was standing, as if it was a normal day, on a contraption that looked like a scooter. It was an oval board shape, bright yellow with a raised blue area in the center, with a steering pole attached to the front. The main wheel was instead of plastic or rubber, a gear with tiny human feet on each of the cog’s teeth. It had two back wheels that were slightly larger.

“Macaroon, how’s your evening?” the dog asked with a rough cough.

“Shit and piss, Bandit. This a good one? The feet have callouses?” Macaroon said as he stepped up to it.

Bandit stepped off and leaned the steering wheel to him. Macaroon swelled to his same size as he climbed on and tested it. Mackenzie and Martin froze as they watched. Bandit tapped at his collar and tugged on it.

“If you wait about an hour, maybe two I can have some four-star boys from Philly here,” he said.

“Don’t lie to me bandit. Freddie might have been retired but we still watch the reports. New York’s been needing constant help for weeks now.”

Bandit sighed and shook his head, “You’re right. But how long has it been since you did anything alone? There’s a ton of new kids in the one-star leagues. Let me gather a few up and-”

“I can’t wait, Bandit. Someone made a hit on a five-star guard post. I can’t trust Freddie’s body to some no bodies who probably just slipped Grace Franklin two bagels,” Macaroon grunted as he kicked the scooter, so it was facing down the other lane. “I’ll check it out and set up a barrier. I’ll be there all night if I have to.”

“I know Frederick’s body is a big concern, but we have procedures for-”

“If something gets his corpse, they can make a familiar or up jump an Urshan five stars. At least. He’s being cremated for a reason, Bandit. If you want to help, get me a dopple doll. I’m gonna do right by my witch.”

“Macaroon, it’ll take more than a few hours for a-”

Before Bandit could finish Macaroon took off. The suction cup sound echoing down the road as the scooter sped up considerably. Bandit watched him go for a few seconds before sighing and dropping to all fours. Sniffing and then coughing he gave a bark and started trotting away.

The old dog was barely half a block when he thought he heard the sound of a motorbike start up and scream away. When he turned to look, all he saw was some discarded trash and a spilled bottle of soda.

“Strange,” he said, “I didn’t scry anyone awake.”

<><><>

“Your cat can fucking talk!” Martin screamed over the sound of his engine as he and Mackenzie sped down the road.

They could barely keep eyes on Macaroon and the strange scooter.

“He can fucking transform!” Mackenzie screamed back. She was holding on to Martin with one arm while holding up the camera with max zoom. “Dad said Powell and Sons is by the suburbs! That means we gotta take fifty-sixth east!”

“No way!” Martin said back, “It may be late, but there’s always bad traffic from the ferry. We’ll slip around Red Dock, go through the new bank construction lot and be out of the city in less than half an hour. If Macaroon takes fifty-sixth east, he’ll have to go into the brush to avoid traffic. We’ll beat him there.”

“Shit, for all we know that scooter can fly! Okay I’ll trust you on this Martin. You heard him say witch, right?” she asked lowering the camera.

“Yeah. I mean, your granddad was the weirdest old white dude I’ve ever met. He never checked my pockets when I left his house. Not gonna lie I almost swiped some of those old coins just to see if he,” Mackenzie slapped the back of his head, “Ow! What!?”

“What could want his body?” she asked.

“Demons? Other witches? Fuck, I don’t know Mackenzie. Your dad is the one who loves that horror shit. Maybe we should try and call Stephen King or Clive Barker,” he said as he saw Macaroon take a turn, “See? The fifty-sixth. We go straight. Hold on!”

Martin leaned into his bike and Mackenzie did the same. He revved his engine and it whined out a growing rumble before shooting past the turn Macaroon took. They had to take a hard turn a few blocks down putting them in the Red Dock area of Harrison City.

Named for the large, abandoned brick warehouses and offices that used to be the heart of the cities economics before the turn of the new millennium. Homeless and late-night dock workers watched them with mild curiosity as they zipped by heading into the newer shipping district. Large cranes towered overhead, building skyscrapers and ‘lake view’ condominiums dozens of stories tall.

Mackenzie looked up at them and frowned. Her grandfather always said he hated tall buildings. They made good skylines but rarely if ever felt nice to be in.

“If I’m ever going to be in a jungle, Mackenzie,” he once told her, “I’d rather it be where the animals are more dangerous than the people.”

“How you holding up?” Martin asked.

“What?”

“I know this is exciting and all. A tall dark young man with swagger like mine, riding with you into the night, off on an adventure, but how you really doing Mack?”

“Swagger like what?” she answered with a faint smile. “I. I don’t want to think about anything but Macaroon,” she tightened her grip on his jacket, “I want him to be okay.”

Martin was silent and gave her a brief nod. He pointed ahead to where they would leave the city and enter the stretch of old carriage roads and into the suburbs. They passed the first of the five gates that led to the Franklin Townsend military base. It was the halfway mark between Harrison City and its commuter habitats.

“Powell and Sons!” Mackenzie said pointing at a billboard with a smiling older man. Rotund with grey hair his sons looked like exact copies of him with less age. “Did he just copy himself?” she asked.

“White people,” Martin muttered as he looked for and took the turn. “Alright, it said two miles down this road and…”

Slowly Martin trailed off and brought his bike to a stop. Mackenzie tried to say something but saw he was pointing. She followed his arm and stared at the road. She swallowed.

Piles of animals parts littered both lanes. She could see deer legs, squirrel tails. She saw dogs and cats. All of them either bitten in half or with massive chunks taken out. A tree had been knocked over; dozens of bloody prints covered its trunk.

“I am no fucking park ranger,” Martin whispered, “But I don’t know any animal that can do that.”

“They weren’t eaten for food,” Mackenzie answered him, “They were just chewed on. Look, anything kills a deer it goes for the guts, right?”

“We’re going home. We. Are. Going. Home. We are going home, this is fucked,” Martin said as he began to turn the bike around, “This is some especially white people shit. We are going-“

“Macaroon is going towards that thing! He needs help!” Mackenzie urged. She jumped off and grabbed the front of the bike, “He needs us!”

“Listen,” Martin held up his hands, “I know that you’re conflicted. Half of you wants to just run through that shit like you singin’ with hills and shit, but there’s gotta be some sense in the other half,” he said.

Mackenzie frowned and crossed her arms under her breasts. She tapped her foot and sniffed.

“Mackenzie!” Martin cried out, “Macaroon ain’t even a cat, bitch! He’s some magic thing! I bet he eats shit like this every day!” Martin argued gesturing toward the direction of the creature’s path.

“He eats fancy feast! He’s a fucking cat when he’s with me! He’s my Papa’s cat and friend! I am not going to leave him! So, you gonna help me, with all the swagger? Then man up,” she said poking him hard in the chest.

Martin stared at her. He pulled his goggles back over his helmet and put his face in his hands, “Mama said you was gonna get me killed,” he lamented.

“She only knows how to talk shit. Now get this thing going!” Mackenzie said as she climbed back on the bike.

“God damn,” Martin grunted as he revved the engine back. “God damn. God damn. God. DAMN!” he screamed as he raced through the scene, dodging bones and gore as quickly as he could.

<><><>

The creatures after Frederick Nichols’ body circled the funeral home. They were the size of large iguanas. The biggest was three feet long and stood on limbs made of blades. The smallest skittered around, avoiding anything larger than them.

Their eyes were pure colors. Reds and greens. Blues and purples. Some had mouths filled with sharp boney teeth. Others had a sucker that hung from somewhere near their head.

Lines crisscrossed their pale sickly colored bodies. Some interconnected into triangles or pentagons.

They stared at the building.

In a language not unlike the chittering of insects during a mating season they whispered to each other.

The final voice caused the gathered horde to suddenly look around and skitter fearfully. They clicked and chopped at the grass and neatly trimmed shrubs of the home’s lawn. From the north, the area with the least people, a thing like a deer stalked.

It had a man like shape, human in vague terms. It walked on two massive gorilla like arms and two spindly foal like legs. Its head, a pimplish growth from its body, came from its back. Its eyes were bright yellow, and it had no mouth there. Instead, a seam appeared on the top of the torso, from shoulder to shoulder it opened to reveal large blocky teeth and a massive writhing tongue.

On its left arm was a distinct, but abstractly sized, five-pointed star.

One of the iguana sized creatures scuttled forward,

The greater angled its torso down, the tongue fell out and slapped the ground. The smaller one bounced away showing fear and disgust.

it said, the face on the pimple head grinning with no mouth.

A pulse rocked them, and the small creatures shook. They fell over laying limp on their sides. With a slurping noise the tongue wrapped itself around the one who approached the one-star and pulled it in.

The creature screamed in its intelligible language begging for mercy and freedom from the pain. Its voice was soon lost amidst the crunching and gnawing of the dominant one-star and the screams of the other creatures.

It took almost an hour to eat them all. The creature looked gleefully down at its functional articulated hands. it touched its pimple head and felt the second mouth that had formed giving it a more human-like face. Cackling it tested its new voice.

“Hen-lo. I. I. Am person,” it attempted several times. It looked at its left arm and saw a second star. Next to both were the beginnings of pentagons. “App. App. Appetizer.”

It turned its body toward the home and stood on two thick tree trunk like legs. it had once been the size of a person, now it was the size of a large SUV. It approached the building and extending a finger, crushed the entry intercom.

Sparks and warbled noises answered it as it grinned wider, “Here. Here for the main course!”

The sound of suction cups alerted it to something behind, causing it to turn. The scooter slammed into its face, but caused no reaction from the monster. Macaroon sat in the middle of the parking lot on his haunches. His tail tick-tocking back and forth.

“Familiar,” the creature said.

“I am. My name is Macaroon. If you want to see even a glimpse of Nsotrodos you will leave now,” he said.

“Better chance with three stars,” the creature flexed its arms. Macaroon glowered, “Or better yet four! Even five! Just a taste! You can have the rest. Stop being a pet!” It extended its hand almost in comradery.

Macaroon turned his head and spat, “Two stars and full sentences. I couldn’t let you leave even if I wanted to. You’re dying here, freak.”

The creature snarled and opened its larger mouth. Bladed tongues slipped out and began to whirl and clash in front of its body. Macaroon sighed and stood on his hind paws. He spread them and held his forelegs out.

“Draw,” he hissed as his body began top twist and contort expanding, and growing. The white line on his chest began to glow before his black fur opened like a vest. Macaroon snarled in his new hulking form and reached into the folds of his fur.

<><><>

“That’s seventeen deer. Deers? Deer. That’s like the fiftieth cat. Twenty dogs. Ooh and they look fancy too,” Martin kept counting under his breath. Mackenzie huffed and slapped his helmet. “If I think about anything other than counting, I am gonna lose my shit, woman. Let me count.”

“Do it in your head, Mr. Adventurer,” she said as she craned her neck.

The carnage they were following led them down the road to an open and sparse strip mall. Beyond it they saw a few high hills with noticeable grave sites. Mackenzie pointed and Martin slowed so they could get a better idea of the location.

“The billboard said two miles down the road, we’ve been three. Where is this thing?” he asked.

“They could have moved. This whole place looks new. This mall only has like five stores in it. Come on let’s head down this road here and-”

A gunshot rattled them. Martin and Mackenzie whirled to a road that led past the strip mall.

“Chances someone decided to go hunting? White people do that all the time, right?”

A crash and a second gunshot made both of them start. Martin readied to take off. Mackenzie leapt off of the bike and ran down the road.

“Mackenzie! Bitch, those are gun-SHOTS!” he cursed and sped after her, slowing so she could hop back on. “If I get shot, I owe Nicky one hundred bucks. If I get shot cause of you, I owe Telly two hundred. So, we ain’t getting that close!”

“Why because of me? Clarice is the one that makes you guard her on her ‘shopping trips’ through the hood,” Mackenzie snapped.

“Well in two years of those trips this is the first time I’ve gone toward gunshots, so you’re odds-on favorite, Mackenzie!” he spat back as they turned the corner.

Martin and Mackenzie screamed as a concrete parking bumper crashed into the road in front of them. Martin took a hard turn to avoid, and the bike almost skidded out from under him. He and Mackenzie quickly hopped to one side and skated on their shoes, grinding into the asphalt but maintaining their stride.

They hopped back and Mackenzie looked ahead. She screamed and slapped Martin’s left arm. He followed and quickly followed her command barely dodging part of a house’s wooden frame.

“Home! Mackenzie let’s go!” Martin cried. He looked back and saw Mackenzie staring straight ahead. Her face was calm, and her mouth was in a tight line.

“Is that Macaroon?” she asked, barely loud enough for him to hear.

They crested the hill that led to the funeral home. They saw the creature, its hands full of random debris it had pulled from the front of the building. In front of it, bouncing left and right was something else.

She got off of the bike and ran forward, tripping. She winced as she caught herself with her hands. She checked her scraped hands, nothing bad just a bit of bleeding. She looked back and absently rubbed her hands on her clothes. As much as she wanted to run, she could not tear herself away from the insane scene below her.

About seven feet tall with two cat like legs and long arms ending in massive paws. It wore a brown and red duster with an aviator’s hat and goggles on its head. Hanging off of its back was several rifles and a shotgun dangled from its left shoulder.

The creature grabbed the shotgun and braced itself. It fired two quick shots. The first tore through the wall of blades made by the thing’s tongues and peppered its face and front with shot. The second destroyed a bundle of wall in its left hand and the hand that held it.

The creature roared and swept its injured arm. The flesh and bones regrew in seconds. It bellowed a terrible sound and raced toward Macaroon. Answering it with a scream of his own the cat dropped the shotgun and drew a baretta looking pistol. It fired as it ran, but none of the shots broke through the flurry.

They met. Macaroon threw out his free paw and a field of black and white energy formed. The creature slapped its hands against it and pushed, but only succeeded in digging troughs with its pillar feet. The blades bounced harmlessly off, scratching their owner’s front. It ignored the reflection and pressed.

Putting more into the barrier, Macaroon took hold of the shotgun again. He checked it and then pressed it against the back of the barrier. It crackled and sparked as the barrel pushed through and met the creature’s crotch.

“Boom!” he said as he fired a series of shots.

Blood and viscera splattered the ground behind the creature, and it cried out, falling flat and limp on the ground. Macaroon panted and lowered his arm, the barrier of energy fading. He looked at the gun, covered in dozens of small scratches and hissing as if covered in acid. With a disgusted sigh he threw it away.

It hit the ground, bounced, and disappeared in a cloud of screaming cat faces.

“God this is a mess. Bandit better find some cleaners as well as-” his words died in his throat as he looked up the hill. “Mackenzie?” he said. His large green eyes dilated as he saw her almost to black.

“Macaroon! Behind you!”

Becoming blades against the green, Macaroon turned his head to look over his shoulder. Reacting to what he saw, he leapt to the left as the creature spat a ball of blade tongues. One of them nicked his duster and he cursed as he rolled, pulling the damaged fabric to him. Acidic hissing came from it. He snipped it off with two extended claws, furling them when it was gone.

“Two lives, eh? How many cats you eat?” Macaroon joked.

The creature snarled and pushed itself up, its crotch regenerating. Its legs were pulled up and back to its body as it righted itself. Macaroon cursed and spread his legs. It reached down and grabbed the repaired flesh and tugged grunting as it tested the resilience of its own body.

“No witch, no bite, familiar!” it grunted, dancing slightly.

“I hate to say something as goofy looking as you is right,” Macaroon thought. “But the big problem is Mackenzie. What is she doing here? How did she follow me?”

He was brought back to reality by a sudden and immediate sniffing sound from the monster. Macaroon whirled toward Mackenzie. He scanned her and saw the stains on her leggings.

“Run, Mackenzie!” he cried. Macaroon leapt at the creature and tackled it.

It grunted, unsteady on its feet from the distraction, and went to the ground. Macaroon flipped into the sky and drew a harpoon gun from his back. He aimed and fired five quick shots. The harpoons shot rope from their ends as they bit into the ground. Each rope found purchase on another harpoon and tightened before drilling back into the ground.

“I can’t hold him for long! Get out of here!” he roared.

Mackenzie was frozen. Her entire body shook. Her right hand was on fire.

“Macaroon. I can’t. You’re in-”

“Mackenzie! This isn’t what Freddie-” he was stopped as a chunk of asphalt collided with his head sending him sprawling to the ground.

The creature ripped a second harpoon free and slithered from under the binding. It squeezed the stone around the harpoon head and crushed it, revealing the serrated tip.

“Oh shit, it can use tools,” Macaroon spat.

He pushed himself up. The creature threw the harpoon and sliced cleanly through his knee. Macaroon screamed and fell to his left.

He clutched at the ruined limb and yowled. “Shit. FUCK!” As his brilliant green blood dribbled through his paws he watched the creature approach, its original tongue lolling from its mouth.

“Another appetizer,” it hissed as it reached down to grab Macaroon.

“I hope you grow an asshole, so you learn what it means to shit yourself,” Macaroon snarled.

The thing laughed as it wrapped its right hand around Macaroon’s head, tucking him toward its mouth. It opened its mouth fully revealing dozens of slimy bladed insect like creatures inside. They clicked and clacked against each other as he was forced inside.

“At least,” Macaroon thought, “The family’s barriers will be finished. Sorry I didn’t do as you asked, Freddie.” Macaroon closed his eyes.

Beneath his cap he heard the revving of an engine and someone screaming. His eyes snapped open, and he looked at the hill. He saw Mackenzie standing on a bike, holding onto a hunk of support frame, balanced across it like a ram.

“What the fuck?” Macaroon asked. The creature finally realized something was going on and looked, dumbly staring. Macaroon’s eyes widened when he realized who was screaming, “You brought Martin, too!”

“Let him go!” Mackenzie screeched as Martin slammed the bike full speed forward. The shard of housing caught the creature in the side, right above its newly healed hips. It released Macaroon and cried out as it was sent forward. Mackenzie dropped the wood and leapt off, followed by Martin.

They both rolled clear, tucking to avoid the worst of the fall, as the force sent the beast into the front of the funeral home, destroying the entire right side.

Macaroon stared and blinked. He cursed and drew a red syringe from a pouch at his waist. Slamming it into his neck his leg made a popping sound as the missing part regrew. He stood and tested its strength. Hissing and spitting he approached the two children and pulled them up by the scruff of their necks.

“What are you two idiots doing here? Didn’t you hear the gun shots?!” he roared.

Martin slapped Mackenzie’s arm and she slapped him back. They began to swing arms and legs and Macaroon shook them, “Stop! We have to get you out of here! Now!” he said turning from them.

“Macaroon. Wait, please,” Mackenzie said as she grabbed his duster. He looked at her and she could finally see his transformed face.

He was hunched over, more from the arsenal on his back than from bad posture. The cat’s head had expanded forward growing to reveal tusks from his lower jaw. His whiskers had extended into a series of tendrils that went back over his shoulders. The black coloration on his face was replaced with white, as was the rest of his body.

But his green eyes dilated to black when he looked at her.

“I’m sorry. But I needed to make sure you’re okay. You’re all I have left of papa,” she said as her eyes grew moist.

“Mackenzie,” he said as he cupped her face in his huge paw. She cuddled against it. Tensing, he scooped her to his chest and kicked Martin back as a blade flew between them. “Damn,” Macaroon said as he held Mackenzie in one arm to his chest.

“What is it? What are you fighting? Why does it want papa’s body?” she asked.

Macaroon spat, “It’s an Urshan. A demonic creature. Conjured by concentrated human emotion interacting with wild magic. They grow stronger by eating each other, magic, humans, and especially witches. The more powerful the witch, the stronger they get.”

The Urshan roiled as it pulled itself free. Its body had been mangled by the wood. Martin retched as it pulled the makeshift ram free. Tendrils of bloody meat and stringy guts came with it. It sounded like pulling a spoon from ground beef and sauce.

“I’ve nicknamed this one Silver Tongue,” Macaroon said. He calmly moved toward Martin, so he was between the boy and the creature. “Do you have any change, Mackenzie?”

“Martin does, he went to the bodega,” she answered quickly.

Macaroon turned to Martin and set her down, motioning for a coin. Martin found a quarter and placed it in Macaroon’s paw pad. The cat closed its digits over it and mumbled. There was a small flash of green light, and the coin was changed to an octagonal one with a grinning cat’s face on it.

“Find a payphone, there are some on the left side of the funeral home, put that coin in and dial any number. When someone answers tell them you have a two-star Urshan close to eating a witch corpse,” he explained turning around. “I’ll get you as much time as possible. Once you make the call, run away.”

He stepped forward and cried out as he felt someone grab one of his rifles, pulling him back. He hissed and snaked his head around to see Mackenzie trying to pull it free.

“I’m not letting you fight it alone!” she urged. She pulled on the rifle again, despite the fact the weapon was far too large for her.

Macaroon slapped her hand away, his face becoming vicious and cat like, “You have no idea what you’re saying. Freddie wanted you to be safe! You‘re spitting on his grave by even being here! If you want to help, human!” his emphasis on that struck her, “Make the call, and run away! I’ll not watch another Nichols die.”

Pulling away from her caused Mackenzie to hiccup. Macaroon drew a long-barreled revolver from inside his duster and spun the drum.

“Thank you for thinking about me Mackenzie. You’re too good a kid to get involved in this,” he said softly before crouching down and launching himself at Silver Tongue.

The creature roared and caught him from the air. As he squeezed Macaroon’s middle the cat fired five shots into Tongue’s human sized face. It screech ed as the bullets tore through the gooey center of its brain.

Mackenzie watched, barely feeling Martin’s grip on her jacket pulling her toward the payphones. She swallowed and held her right hand to her chest, her palm burning.

<><><><><>