Ever since I was little I’d made a bad habit out of waking up in a different place compared to where I fell asleep. In the past few days, I’d pretty much been relapsing, because I don’t remember falling asleep under a bus stop with an empty crow’s nest above me and the sun baking me halfway red. I can’t move. Not at first. Body hurts too much to think or stay awake, but I keep my eyes open, however squinted, and stare at the bullet holes in the bus stop canopy and the pale, cloudless blue sky above me. I rub my face and slowly sit upright, the metal bench underneath me squeaking. One leg on the ground, the other on the bench, I look around in a daze and try to figure out where…

  There’s meant to be a van somewhere around here, isn’t there? Right now it doesn’t seem that way, ‘cause all I can see is a long, long strip of tarmac with heat rippling above it and a blistering landscape of dried brush and old machinery left to rust under the glare of the sun. No they did not. I stand but don’t get further than the canopy, sticking to the shade as I look either direction. Nothing in sight for miles on end. None at all. They actually did.

  Those broads left me here in the middle of nowhere! Honestly, I’m so amazed they even had the gaul that I’ve really got nothing else to do. Too hungry and too thirsty to be angry, so I stand there, hands either side of me, under the bus stop and waiting for a bus that won’t ever come. I cup the back of my neck and sigh, because at least they left the AngelWeight and an extra magazine with me. Stripped me of my overalls and left me in the shorts I’d been wearing and the baggy t-shirt I’d borrowed from May before coming here. Chest holster, at least, too, so I guess it’s the small things in life, right? At least I’m not naked and dead in a ditch in the dunes. I trudge back to the bench and sit down, elbows resting on thighs as I stare at the dead and dry carcass of a lizard on the tarmac in front of me.

  “Last fuckin’ time I shoot someone in the foot,” I mutter. “Next time it’s in the head.”

  I kick away a rusted can of witch-a-cola, the old stuff they used to put the grinning green lady on before the Witchflame Guild vetoed against it. Something to do with it being a stereotype, but I’d kill for a drink right about now, and a ride, some food, and oh, right, the money I’m owed that I got scammed out of, too. Like, what the fuck, man? You go through all this hassle trying to get me away from some big time coastline gangster, and the next thing I know, you’re leaving me under some random bus stop with nothing except a gun, some ammo, and a bag?

  Wait a second, that wasn’t there when I woke up.

  I pause and stare at the backpack, similar to the one I usually carry around, and just like the one Judy had given me what should have been yesterday. I crouch and unzip it, ruffling through its contents. A manual called So You’re A Hero Now, What Next? is saddled together with, Monster Killing for Dummies, Volume 3. Some snack bars. A flashlight. A knife and a torn yellow parka, followed by a trucker’s cap, red and white, that I put on backward to at least keep my hair in check. Bandages. A syringe. Tiny vial of Nectar—score!—and a couple of potions labeled in a language I don’t understand. Not bad, if this is what comes with a Free Trial. You know what would be even better?

  My money, that’s what. Now I’m broke, thousands of kilometers away from home, and guess what?

  There’s a note they left for me in my back pocket, and all it says is, I’ll call you soon, V, followed by a phone number and a winking smiley face. On the back, it says, P.S. you hurt one of my girls, so I cut your pay in half, and then cut it in half again so you can pay for May’s van, since we risked our butts saving you. No hard feelings, you would’ve done the same. Still believe in you, kid! Stay groovy and keep your head up, bounty hunter.

  I then make a promise, my life’s work, to fuck Victoria over if it’s the last thing I do. I swear and crumple up the piece of paper and toss it over my shoulder. She played me like a fiddle. Fed me fat and ruffled my hair, spoke how I speak and told me everything I needed to hear. Not my first time getting the rug pulled from underneath my feet. You find Party scammers like that everywhere, promising massive hauls, and the second you get the job done, they vanish and leave you in debt and on a hit list you were never meant to be on. I blame myself for this one. Took a chance with a Spartan and figured hey, maybe this relic of war, a soldier who fought for this country, who probably killed Dread Titans before I was even born, wouldn’t fuck me over just so she can keep her pockets a little more full.

  But I guess everyone’s a little needy if you’re not rich enough to enjoy the sunlight.

  The rest of us poor people get burnt by it.

  “Might as well start walking,” I mumble, slinging the bag over my shoulder. I look both ways. One of these directions will either lead me to River City, or right back to San Fraccuros. No idea which is which, and at this rate, I’ll end up dead in the heat before I even get halfway, but I’ll die sitting here, anyway, so I might as well, you know?

  “Gods of the Six Realms it is hot,” a voice says, startling me. “I told those pencil pushing nerds to send me somewhere nice, and this is the thanks old Mortimer gets for his years of service? Last time I ever get any of ‘em any birthday presents.” I turn around and find a slender white cat on the bench I’d woken up on, bright blue eyes staring at me as his tail flicks with annoyance. “Hey, you, blonde kid with the gun. By any chance, you know where I am?”

  “Where the hell did you come from?” I ask. “Because I know I wasn’t sleeping on you.”

  “Magic,” he says, because right, of course, that makes perfect sense. “So, location?”

  “Bus stop,” I tell him, since he wants to be a smartass. “Sun’s out, too, by the way.”

  “Got a future in the tv business with that kind of forecasting.”

  A thought crosses my mind, the good old ‘there’s more than one way to skin a cat,’ and my stomach agrees almost instantly when it rumbles with hunger. The cat’s tail stops swaying and his ears stop flicking. We stare at one another. My hand rests on the butt of the AngelWeight, now strapped to my thigh instead of my chest. Easier and quicker draw. Faster flick of the safety and smoother trigger squeeze. He’s got a magical aura about him, swift and white like smoke, almost like Astrid’s, but a lot warmer, and a lot less violent to the skin and my senses. Bet I can hit him through the eyes with one bullet. Use the road to fry up some cat skewers. Might taste chewy but hey, beggars can’t be choosers, and I haven’t skinned dead cats before just to find my morals now. So it’s gonna be cat for lunch.

  “Eat me, kid, and you’re gonna have the worst time of your life shitting out your guts.”

  “Got a tough digestive track,” I say. “Grew up suckling on an Ogre’s tit.”

  His nose wrinkles. “Your ma’s an Ogre?”

  “Nah, just a messed up chick.”

  Then I shoot him, but the moment the bullet is near him, he’s a fine white mist. The bullet punches a hole right through the bus stop and pings off a stone on the other side. The sound carries for miles like the echo of a thunder clap. I narrow my eyes and search, breathing slowly, making my heartbeat become rhythmic and languid.

  Suddenly, there’s a cat-sized weight atop my head. “Ten bucks says you can’t hit me through your head.”

  I grab him by the ruff of his neck and hold him out in front of me. “Fun’s over, start talking.”

  “Not too snarky now, are you?” Suddenly, he’s back on the bench, licking his paw and grooming himself. He takes a while before he speaks again, almost like he wants to waste my time out here in this heat. He stops a few times, looks at me, considering, then goes back to licking his paws clean until he’s satisfied, and I’m left with this gnawing feeling of really wanting to shoot him. “Truth be told, I was sent here for one reason, and it’s kinda secret.”

  “What if I give you some kibble?” I ask. “Will you do it for some kiddle snacks, boy?”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “I find that offensive.”

  “I find being talked down to by a talking cat a waste of my time, but you don’t see me complaining.”

  He almost looks deeply hurt by that. “I’m more than just a ‘talking cat,’ thank you very much. I’m so old that it would make the Dread Titans and their horrible offspring look like toddlers. I am a manifestation of Arcane Magic. The magic that seeps from the World Tree’s sap and gives new life to this planet is what I was crafted with by the hands of gods slain and old and gone.” He stands, tail flicking again. “I am a Familiar, a war hero, and I want…” He pauses and frowns. “Hey, blonde kid. Are you even paying attention to anything I’m saying to you right now?”

  I finish cleaning out my ear and say, “Something, something, cat made out of magic soil.”

  “That’s hardly what I said!”

  “Yeah, so?” I ask him. “You’re too hard to catch for me to turn into food, and you’re too annoying for me to keep as a pet that I can sell later for some more food, so right now, kitty cat, you’re nothing but kinda useless.”

  “Useless?” he says, pouncing off the bench and prowling toward me. “I was once a protector of gods.”

  I snort. “What’s that got to do with me, dude?”

  He blinks, staring hard at me. The cat says something under his breath, something along the lines of: I can’t believe my luck, then sits down and tilts his head at me. “By any chance, did you sign a contract recently?”

  “Maybe,” I say, folding my arms. Can’t be too sure about giving information like that out. A lot of Monsters want a lot of magic, and a lot of humans want to make themselves powerful if they get their hands on a Blessing. Kitty cat over here might be a Para-Demon in disguise for all I know. “But I’ve signed a lot of things.”

  “Something tells me you’re not the popular kind,” he mutters. “This can’t be right, though.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means you’re not meant to…” He sighs, then says, “I guess a prophecy only really happens when things are only about to start getting bad, and you won’t be the first person in history that’s so screwed up, anyway.” I’m about to ask him what he means by that, too, when he talks over me. “Well, kid, looks like me ‘n’ you are friends.”

  I wave him off and turn my back to him. “Don’t need ‘em, thanks for asking.” Now, if only I can figure out a way to get back home from here. Fuck it. Both sides of the road look identical, and one way or another, I’ll hit a settlement eventually and get my bearings. Hopefully it’s not of the Monster variety, because human meat is in season, and I’m not looking forward to getting eaten. I’m allergic to seasoning, just a fun little fact for any Monsters reading this diary who figure that I’m worth the extra cash to get cooked properly. If you wanna eat me, then you’re gonna have to chew through the sword I’ll put through your mouth. Can’t blame a chick for not wanting that, right?

  Because that would just be one hell of a way to go, and a shitty one at that. Jane dying in a dumpster takes the cake, though, and I really don’t want to end up as a pile of Monster excrement in a ditch somewhere either.

  Besides, I think, rubbing the sparrow tattoo on my wrist. Can’t give up that easily.

  I’m about to take a step forward when the cat appears at my feet. Don’t get me wrong, though, I still take the step and move him out of my way, forcing him to quick-step after me. “Don’t you understand the importance?”

  “Of a talking cat?” I ask him, sweat already building on the back of my neck. “Sure. I can sell you to the circus and make enough money to have a roof over my head tonight. That reminds me, can you do flips, too?”

  He runs ahead then stops. We’re smack-bang in the middle of the cracked, hot as all hell asphalt. If a car comes tearing through the desert right now, they’ll see us and then hit us, since nobody’s risking their ride and going off the road just to save the two idiots standing in the middle of the road. “You’re a Blessing holder now!” I shrug. He guffaws, pacing a little because, I’m guessing, his paws are burning. “The Knight’s Blessing is one of the most sought after Blessings in all Six Realms. Gods have perished protecting it from Mages who seek to try and get its power for themselves. It’s said to have been the First Mage’s Blessing. Do you understand that? The magic inside you right now has belonged to just five people in all of history. Ten millennia and even more, and you’re the sixth.”

  “Do you come with an off button?”

  “Why are you not listening to me?!” he says, becoming ecstatic.

  “Because you’re yelling about how special I am, and that means fuck all if I’m stuck in the Barrens!” I snap. “I’ve got no food. I just got scammed. My body feels like shit, probably because they threw me onto that bench before they left, and oh, right, I’m broke! I’m poor! Magic is great and all if it means something, but right now, cat, I’ve got just enough rations in my backpack to last me a day or two before things start to get hard and you start looking tasty, and trust me, I’m crazy enough to spend the few bullets I’ve got left trying to put one through you.” I start walking again. “So if you wanna follow me, then be my guest. Just don’t bring it up again for now.”

  He pads alongside me, silent for just a few seconds before he opens his mouth again. “You’re a hero.”

  I make a buzzer sound. “Wrong, I’m a bounty hunter.”

  “Who wants to be a hero,” he says. “That’s why you were chosen.”

  I snort. “Some chick in armor told me she had a deal for me, and all I wanted to do was stay alive.”

  “Andrea, that crazy, crazy woman,” he mutters under his breath. “I swear, when I next see her…”

  “You know the chick?” I ask him. It’s lonely out here, and very, very quiet. The hum of heat on the tarmac and the quiet buzz of hot sand is the only thing surrounding us for miles. Broken windmills and stripped battery packs from a time when people thought the winds would help charge up their industrial batteries. The occasional shack and outhouse, all made of wood, all of them busted and ancient and empty. And they reek, too, tell you what.

  “Know her?” he asks. “She was the second person to wield the Phoenix Flame and the Stormforge Winds.”

  “Woah, really?!”

  He lifts his chin up, proud as he walks. “I know, I taught her how to wield them both myself.”

  “She must be really awesome if I knew what those were.”

  He looks at me like I’m illiterate. “Didn’t you learn what those are in history class? Last I checked, you humans made it mandatory in schools. I’m pretty sure the New Salem Library of the First Heralds has a section—”

  “Didn’t go to school,” I say. “Learnt how to read off the back of beer bottles and cigarette packs.”

  “I find that highly unlikely.”

  “And you’re a talking cat, so I guess we’re both in the marginal here.”

  “You’re very snarky.”

  “And you’re plump,” I say. “Heard that cat meat tastes sweeter dipped in magic.”

  That shuts him up, at least for a handful of minutes. He’s more focused on wincing and cursing, and since the sun is beating directly down on my head, neck and shoulders, he can’t follow after me in my shadow. Soon enough, he’s lagging behind, and I’ve got no other choice than to keep stopping, watching him pant his way back toward me, before I can continue. For a creature made out of pure magic, he sure is sensitive to the bad weather.

  And I guess he’s making a long trip even longer, so I choose to stop and say, “Come on already.”

  “Give me a break, kid,” he says, panting like a dog. “I’m not used to being in a body.”

  I sigh, then crouch. “If I carry you, will you tell me one thing and shut up after that?”

  His eyes light up. “Sure!” Then he jumps, and now I’ve got a cat on my shoulder.

  A very heavy, very dense cat on my shoulder that seems very happy up here.

  “I heard something about objectives,” I say to him. “And a prophecy?”

  “Oh, if you wanted to know that, you coulda just asked me,” he says. “Objectives are easy: you kill Monsters for more magic on a regular, that’s the easy part, but occasionally, you’ll find some that are Marked. You’ll know they’re Marked when you see ‘em. Won’t miss ‘em, take it from me. The more of them you do, the better of a chance you’ll get of negotiating your contract during the Twilight Summit, so in about a year or so’s time for that.”

  “Alright…” I mutter. “I guess that makes sense. Kill more, get a better contract. What about the prophecy?”

  “Oh, that?” he says. “Well, that’s even easier! All you need to do is stop the world from ending.”

  I stop walking and look up at him. “I never agreed to that.”

  “Of course you did,” he says. “It was right there, first line of your contract…you did read it, right?”

  I sigh, grumble, and keep walking down the desert road. “Of course I read it.”

  “Great!” Mortimer says. “Then this should be a piece of cake.”