“I don’t understand,” I said. “You’re going to have to explain a little better than that.”

Brookie let out an annoyed grunt. “This is a dangerous conversation to have,” he said. “And technically illegal. If I say anymore, it will probably come for me tonight.”

“What about me? Will it come for me, too?”

“It might look for you, but as long as you don’t know its name, it shouldn’t be able to track you. It would be best if you leave Oxenraith by sundown. Are you sure you want to have this conversation?”

“I can’t even describe to you how fed up I am with not getting any answers about what this thing is, so if you’ll tell me, I’ll do whatever you say. Leave Oxenraith? Sure. I’m supposed to be getting a travel voucher for the Porter’s anyway. That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Very well, but this will still not be a conversation without risk. Just know that if you see people screaming and running in a stampede tonight, you should make sure you run in the same direction as fast as you possibly can.” Brookie let me absorb that warning while he walked past me to the room’s door. He poked his head out into the hall and looked both ways before coming back in and pushing the desk against the wall. It looked heavy to me, but his meaty arms manipulated it like it was made of hollow balsa wood. “Okay,” he said. “That should keep us safe from anyone barging in, but we should still be brief. I had to shake a tail to find you and they might still be looking for me.”

“They who?” I asked. “The Skinners?”

“Who else?”

“So the Skinners are some secret organization? How is it that you’re the only one that knows about them?” I had heard some crazy conspiracy theories before, so I was ready to dismiss this one. Most mentally stable people didn’t pretend to be someone entirely different in their public and private lives. Back home, my friend Caleb was a little too into conspiracies: UFOs, bigfoot, chemtrails, you name it. I’d had to learn what topics to avoid around him, so as not to wind him up.

“They have been trying to kill me for years,” Brookie replied. While he talked, he unbuttoned the front of his vest. “The only reason I know about them is because I am exceedingly difficult to kill. When the first several assassins failed, they sent the you-know-what after me.” He pulled open his vest to reveal a straight line scar that ran from his bellybutton up to his sternum. It almost looked like a surgery scar. “Does that meet your evidentiary standard?”

“Which one of them did that? The assassins or—”

“It,” Brookie said. “That was the first time it came for me. I wasn’t ready.”

“And that was the, uh, unnamed, apparently omniscient monster?” I asked.

Brookie nodded. “Yes, that one.”

I gaped. I’d meant the comment as an incendiary exaggeration, but the way he confirmed it so easily made me second-guess if he was really telling the truth. Certainly, he at least believed he was. “It’s not… really omniscient, is it? I mean, you talk about it like it’s the God of Death or something.”

“I am no philosopher,” Brookie replied. “But there are some that have said as much. If it is a god, it doesn’t wish to be worshipped. After this talk, it might come for me again tonight. I will be ready. I may be the only one in this world capable of escaping it with my life.”

“Oh? Is that supposed to impress me?” I asked. “Because you literally just told me about the thing, and already I know a guy that can survive it. Just makes it seem like less of a big deal, to be honest.”

Brookie’s thick brow furrowed, casting a shadow over the rest of his forehead from the lamplight. “I am not trying to impress you. I am trying to warn you.”

“Well, you’re kind of pushing two different messages here. I don’t know what to think. Either this thing—whatever it is—is super dangerous and can kill anything, or it’s not. If it’s failed to kill you so many times, I sort of think it’s over-hyped.”

“We are Outworlders,” Brookie explained, “so we did not grow up with stories of this thing. Its powers seem to hold less sway over us. It was the same for my previous assistants.”

“If that’s true, why are you able to survive it, but not your assistants?”

“Homeward Bound,” Brookie said. “It is my Skill; they only had Brands. I worked with the Skill Scholars for years to unlock its full potential.”

“That the Brand that takes you home?” I asked. “They were selling that at the Broker’s Guild. I think the guy there even said it was a best seller.”

“It is,” Brookie confirmed. “And every time a copy is sold, 25% of that money goes directly to me.”

“Wow, really? You must be loaded! They said it was really expensive. I didn’t know the Broker’s leased Brands.”

“They do not. Not unless you have a competing offer from another guild, which I did. But we are losing the thread of this conversation. We did not come in here to discuss my financial resources.”

“Sure,” I agreed. “What about the Skinners? Are they safe to talk about?”

“They are,” Brookie confirmed.

“How much do you know about them? Have you captured and questioned any of the assassins they’ve sent after you?”

“I have. Always agents of the Shadow. They never know who hired them or why.”

“And if I work for you, this Shadow is going to send agents after me, too?”

Brookie closed his eyes and nodded, letting out a resigned breath as he did. “Yes. Yes, they certainly will. When they failed to kill me, they started going after everyone that worked with me.”

“That can’t actually be your pitch to get me to help you, can it?” I asked. I widened my throat to better mimic Brookie’s deep voice. “Help me try to get out of here. Oh, and by the way, if you agree a shadowy organization is going to send assassins after you, and if those fail, they’ll send some unspeakable monster to finish you off. But, wait! There’s more. The other seven guys I asked to help me have already been—”

“I know what it sounds like,” Brookie interrupted me. “But when you hear the full story, you will understand.”

I took a contemplative breath. “Okay, then explain. Tell me the whole story.”

“Let me start from the beginning,” Brookie said. “When I was first summoned into this world by Ferrith—”

“Whoa, whoa, we don’t need to go that far back,” I told him.

“We do,” Brookie insisted. “The one called Ferrith. Surely you caught him torturing ogres? I think he might be one of them. One of the Skinners.”

“I, uh, might have seen some evidence,” I admitted. “But he was nice to me. Are you saying these Skinners literally skin people?”

“Yes.”

“Okay… that… explains the name choice. Go on.”

“After I settled into my life in this world, the first thing I worked towards was finding a way home. I’m sure you understand why. These people are quite primitive.”

“I noticed,” I said. “The things they expect you to endure to use a bathroom in this world… Yeah, it’s not pleasant. Does that mean your world had technology, too?”

“When I left, there was a big fuss about someone that had just invented a means of mechanical flight,” Brookie said. “I wonder what they’ve done with it while I’ve been gone. We had electricity and running water in our homes. Are you familiar with such conveniences?”

“That and more,” I assured him. “I’ll bet that flying contraption you heard about has come a long way since you left. Trust me on that.”

Brookie shook his massive head. “I don’t miss the technology,” he said. “I miss my family. I had a wife. And children. I would like to see them again before I die. Everything I do is to get back to them.”

“I had friends on Earth, too,” I said. “And my mom was pretty messed up. I’m worried about what my sudden disappearance is doing to her.”