Chapter Text
April 4, 2020, sometime after midnight but before one AM. Mikaere is sleeping soundly – and then they’re not. Someone’s in the room with them, they can feel it even without opening their eyes. They sit bolt upright. “I know you’re there!” they say, praying they sound put-together enough to give the intruder pause.
A huge hand is immediately over their mouth, and a smell registers – old books. And, somehow, wet leaves and rotting bark? A soft “shhhh” echoes in the darkness.
Mikaere grabs the hand over their mouth, but they don’t make any sound or try to pull it away.
“It’s me,” murmurs the intruder, and if Mik hadn’t figured out it was Shane by now, that confirmed it. “You need to come with me, quietly, and now.”
Mikaere nods. This is… definitely one of the weirder stunts Shane’s pulled, but they trust him.
Shane takes his hand away, and offers it to help Mik up out of bed. “Grab clothes for two days. Mm, no, three. And anything you need to keep with you. Everything else will be taken care of.” The moonlight peeking through the slits of Mikaere’s blinds frames Shane in silhouette, and he somehow seems even taller than he usually does. Also, Mik doesn’t think they’ve ever heard Shane’s voice this serious before.
Mikaere shakes their head in disbelief, but they don’t hesitate to get up, gather some clothes from the floor and stuff them into a backpack along with their phone, a worn notebook with a pen hooked over the cover, and the book Shane had given them that morning. Slinging the backpack over their shoulder, they give a thumbs-up in the direction of the shadowy shape that is Shane.
Shane returns the thumbs-up, then leads Mik out of the house. As they exit, and Mik turns to lock the door, they’re surprised to see it lock by itself, in front of their eyes. Mikaere’s eyes bug out at this, but if Shane wants them to keep quiet, they’re going to keep quiet. At least until the second they’re allowed to speak. Shane leads them, in silence, to the bookstore, and Mik hears the back door click open as they approach the steps.
They walk in, and the door closes and – yes – locks itself behind them. Shane glances over his shoulder at Mik. “It’s safe to speak now.” He continues into the shop, winding his way through the maze of books to the break room – which is essentially a kitchenette made of books, like every other partition in this place.
Mikaere forces themself to keep their voice low. “What the fuck was that?! What – what – dude, who are you?! Was that telekinesis?! Oh, man, Ryan is gonna be so mad -” they run out of words and start to pace instead.
Shane sighs gently. “Yeah, well, this isn’t quite how I wanted this particular reveal to go, but desperate times call for desperate fucking measures, so.” He yanks open the cabinet and pulls out a pair of mugs, sets them on the counter, fills the electric kettle and turns it on. “No, it wasn’t telekinesis. Well, my door wasn’t.”
Mikaere sits down at the counter out of sheer habit, leaning forward on their elbows. “I – so – what was it then?!”
He adds teabags to each cup. “Security system.”
“Se – security system. Okay. Yeah, that’s fine, Shane, let’s keep pretending any of that was – was within the laws of physics, or whatever you’re always saying. Great. Jesus, you are such an asshole.” Mikaere’s only half-joking.
Shane leans against the counter, and starts to laugh – softly, and deep in his chest, like he’s just exhaling the laughter and he can’t quite get his vocal cords to work. The kettle boils, and he pours hot water into each cup, and as he turns Mik can see tears in the corner of his eyes – and now, in the light coming from the fluorescent tube under the cupboard, he looks exhausted.
“What’s going on? Are you safe?”
He grabs a spoon from a drawer, stirs the teabags a few times then pulls them out and flings them in the trash. He puts sugar in each cup and a bit of milk, then hands Mik a mug and motions for them to follow. “Am I safe? Yes. What’s going on? That’s a longer one.”
“Well, you told me to pack for three days, so. Shoot.”
He leads Mik further into the shop, into the section of books that almost no one ever buys from – the old stuff. The really old stuff. First editions from the 1800s type of old stuff. He stops in the middle of a little alcove made entirely of books, only about a foot taller than Shane himself – he waits for Mik to join him, and then closes his eyes and exhales something that Mik can’t quite catch – and the floor starts to ascend.
The books over their heads are awful close. Mikaere ducks their head instinctively, but somehow they know that’s not going to matter.
Everything goes dark for a moment as their heads approach the books, and then there’s — nothing? A couple seconds pass, and the darkness clears. Mik is standing in a little alcove at the end of a corridor which is completely white: it’s Greco-Roman in style, very open, sun streaming in through the open archways on the side. Shane begins walking down the corridor.
“Everything falls within the laws of physics,” Shane says as he walks, “if you know how physics actually works.” He sips his tea.
Mikaere follows on his heels, their head on a swivel. “Nope. Nope. That’s sunlight, and it’s the middle of the night, Shane, stop sipping your tea—” Mikaere can’t help it anymore: they burst out laughing. “This is a fever dream!”
The archways just seem to be full of light – there’s nothing outside of them.
“Drink your tea, Mik, you’ll need the caffeine. And no, you’re not dreaming.”
Mikaere sips their tea.
“As to the sun – it isn’t the middle of the night everywhere.”
“I refuse to believe that physics took us to Greece, Shane.”
Shane laughs, his eyes crinkling up the way they do when he’s truly joyed about something. “No, we’re not in Greece.”
They reach the end of the hallway, and at the end is a circular room, again surrounded by large archways filled with light. The centre is like an amphitheatre, with three rings leading down into the center: each level is covered in pillows.
“And I guess we’re not in Rome, either.” Mikaere nudges a cushion with their foot. It seems? Real? It’s solid. Well, as solid as you can call a pillow.
“No. We’re not really anywhere.” Shane takes a seat on the top level, putting one foot down on the next level and putting his other ankle on his knee. He huffs. “That’s a misnomer, though. Obviously we are somewhere. But not anywhere you’re familiar with, ‘nowhere’ in terms you’d understand.”
“Cool. That sounds physically possible.”
He holds his arms out. “You’re here, aren’t you? Sit down. We have a lot to talk about.”
Mikaere sighs, sitting down on a cushion. “Are you planning on getting less cryptic, now that I’m – here? Wherever this is?”
Shane’s face returns to being serious. “As un-cryptic as I can manage. Do you trust me, Mikaere?”
Mikaere drops their sardonicism immediately. “Yeah, Shane. Of course.”
The tall man sighs heavily, and stares into his tea. “I was really hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but like I said, desperate times.” He looks up at Mik. “You’re … you’re an incredibly smart person, Mik, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Surely you’ve been picking up on my hints the past few years.”
Mikaere half-smiles. “If this is you admitting to dropping them, then, yeah. Kind of.”
Shane returns the half-smile: it looks sad, somehow, on his face. “Guilty as charged. You know weird shit happens in Willow River, at the very least.”
“Yeah.” Mikaere leaves the rest unsaid: and I know you’re always first in line to tell everyone it’s nothing…
“Well,” he says, taking another gulp of his tea, “you’re not crazy. Consider this your official induction into the … fuck, what are we calling ourselves now … I don’t even remember. The people who know.” He drains the cup and puts it down. “The easiest way to do this is for you to ask questions about anything and everything, and I’ll tell you what I can. So. Shoot.”
Mikaere lets out a long breath. “The people who know. Jesus, okay. First question: who are they? Who else knows?”
Shane counts on his fingers. “Me, Ryan, Francesca and Holly, Steven, Adam, and Andrew, Domhnall and Rajwander, Banjo, Cecilia, and Keith. And Becky, too, but she’s not a hunter. Though I suppose neither is Keith, and nor are Domhnall or Raj, for that matter.”
Mikaere pinches the bridge of their nose. “Jesus Christ that’s half the town. And – and Ryan knows you know?! Were you two seriously just faking that whole -” they wave their hand, “- rivalry, infatuation, whatever it is between you two? God, maybe don’t answer that. Uhh, next question, actual question, what was really going on back in December?”
Shane grins. It’s got the tiniest hint of predatory glimmer in it. But then it’s gone, as Mik asks the next question. Mikaere immediately regrets not pushing for the goss, but there are more pressing matters at hand. “That … well, that one I can only half answer, I’m sorry to say.”
“Because you don’t know, or because there are more secrets?”
“Both, honestly.”
Mikaere sighs. “Makes sense.”
He grabs a pillow from beside him and puts it in his lap, toying with the tassel on the corner of it. “There’s people in the world who want to do bad shit with the weird shit. Willow River is a … a nexus. One of many, but it’s an important one. And it’s gotten more active as of late, and people are noticing.”
He stares off at an archway. “We thought… It doesn’t matter what we thought. In November we got new neighbours, so to speak.”
“Okay. So we live in a Hellmouth. Cool.” Mikaere had always assumed they’d be jubilant if they ever got confirmation of the supernatural. Instead they’re watching the look on Shane’s face and feeling something in them crumple. “Who are the neighbours? Aliens, or something… else.”
Shane huffs the tiniest of laughs. “The hellmouth isn’t— never mind. The analogy is valid.” He looks over at Mik. “We don’t think they’re aliens. We’re pretty sure they’re just nasty humans. But, well, stranger things have happened.”
“Okay. So… if they’re nasty. Does that mean that girl by the trailer park this morning…?”
“That they got her? No,” Shane shook his head, “not directly. But we’re pretty sure she got munched on by an archghoul, and we’re almost certain the archghoul is their fault.”
Mikaere’s jaw drops. “Archghoul. Oh, wow, okay. How – how could they have caused that? Did they let it loose? Create it?”
Shane presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “We were hoping to catch it and find out.”
“Jesus, good luck. Uh, do you know why they would have done that? Like, what do they want? Why are they here?”
“Well … it looks like that was precisely what they wanted us to do. Go and find it, that is.”
Mikaere’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s not good. Tell me you’re not planning to do what they want.”
He takes his hands off his eyes and smiles wanly at Mik. The utter exhaustion is back, again tinged with sadness. “We act fast around these parts. No archghoul is going to threaten Willow River under our watch. We went out to find it a few hours before I woke you up.”
“Yeah, okay, that’s… that’s good. But if they’re waiting for you… Shane, why did you bring me here? What happened?”
“Because it all went to hell when we did go out to find it, and now I need someone I can trust because no one’s left, at the moment.”
“Shit.” Mikaere feels their stomach drop. “No one – no one’s left? What do you mean? What happened?”
Shane closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again. They seem darker, deeper. “We split up. A team of us was going to go after the ghoul, and another team was going to their headquarters, in the mountains. We weren’t ready for a direct attack, but they’d attacked first and we couldn’t sit by. Andrew, Adam, and I went after the ghoul— and they came for us.”
“Oh, god.”
“Fuck,” he says suddenly, “that was only … three hours ago. Fuck me,” he breathes, “fuck.” His eyes refocus on Mik and he swallows. “Sorry. It feels like an eternity.”
Mikaere lays a hand on his shoulder, knowing it’s cold comfort but needing to offer him something.
He’s preternaturally warm. He smiles at Mik, weakly. “Thanks.”
Mikaere nods.
He rubs his hand over his face. “The lights came down and all of a sudden, faster even than the three of us which is saying something, they had Andrew and Adam. Adam grabbed Andrew and tried to get out but somehow they knew what he was doing and it didn’t work. But they miscalculated on me, I had an extra second, I ran.”
“Shit. Did you get a look at them? Are – do you think Andrew and Adam are – I’m sorry. I’ll stop interrupting.”
“They’re not dead, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Mikaere breathes a sigh of relief that comes close to a sob. “Oh, thank god.”
“I found Xiaolian in the woods on my way back, and took her home to safety. She’s got … she’s got something going on, and if they found out, they’d come after her too.” He closes his eyes tightly for a moment. “It’s bad enough knowing they have Andrew and Adam, and— well, everyone else, probably, if the look on Andrew’s face was anything to go by.”
“So they were captured? But – but you’re confident they’re alive?”
“Yes. Of all the people in Willow River they’re likely to kill— well, let’s just say Andrew and Adam are among the least likely to succumb.”
“O-okay. Okay, that’s… good. I think. God, Shane, this is a lot.” Mikaere rubs at their face with their hands. “We have to get them back. And I’m – I’m useless, I know, I don’t know anything, I’m not – anything, but. If you brought me here, if you let me in on all of this, then I know you’ve got a plan. And I don’t know what it is, but… I’m in.”
Shane doesn’t smile at all, this time. “I appreciate it, Mik, and yes, I have a plan. The plan is that you stay right here.”
Mikaere looks up. “And what are you gonna do? Rush in alone?”
The slight smile on his face is very, very cold.
Mik’s heart sinks. “If you get—” they cut themself off, change the word because the alternative is too much, “—hurt, I’m never going to forgive you. And neither is Ryan. Or Xiaolian.”
Shane just reaches out, palm up, offering them his hand. “How much more do you want to know tonight, Mik?”
Mikaere sighs. “Just – enough to be dangerous. Don’t waste time filling me in if it means the others are in more danger.” They smile. “You know I can figure the rest out on my own.”
He shakes his head slightly. “They’re in equal amounts of danger either way, honestly. But you want to know enough to be dangerous? I like the way you think. Then I am going to give you a few points of information, and I want you to work out the connections.” He looks away from Mik, across the room. “Point one: the nexus can be opened. Point two: they don’t know how to open the nexus. Point three: there is an unnatural concentration of unnatural people in Willow River. Point four: they’ve stolen a significant number of these unnatural people. Conclusion one?”
Mikaere chews their lip. “…They think they can get that information out of them. Or, worse, they’re going to try to use them to— Jesus, this is bad.”
“Bingo.” Shane looks back at Mik. “New conclusion. Point one: someone new moved to town recently, and began causing a stir. Point two: said someone showed up on their doorstep, and is almost certainly raising hell. Point three: said someone is known to know a lot of shit. Conclusion two?”
“Ryan’s in danger.”
“Bingo again.” Shane rubs his nose. “Next. Point one: I have brought you somewhere outside of normal space and time. Point two: I am older than you can possibly imagine. Point three: I’ve told you all of this. Conclusion three?”
“You’re what they’re here for.” Mikaere buries their head in their hands. “You’re going to sacrifice yourself. And I have to figure out how to get you back.”
He inhales in a hiss, the mm, not quite right kind. “Almost three for three, kid. I’m impressed, though: you didn’t even need the fourth set of points.”
Mikaere looks up at him. “What you’re asking me to say is that I’m going to stay put and keep your knowledge safe and just. Do nothing?”
“Well,” Shane says, a tiny glint in his eye – which seems to still be getting darker? – “not quite.”
Mikaere is choosing not to acknowledge their friend’s transformation. “Alright. Shoot.”
He reaches under the pillow in his lap and brings out a small chest, no bigger than his hand. He holds it out to Mikaere. “In this chest are a handful of very secret, very ancient artifacts. They are extremely important, and extremely powerful – in the hands of someone who knows how to use them.”
Mikaere can’t help but smile a little as they take the chest. “Someone who knows enough to be dangerous?”
Shane smiles. “Precisely.” He lays a hand on top of the chest: it nearly hides the whole thing. “Yes, I am going to hand myself over. There’s no sense in allowing seven innocent people to come to great harm when one person could take their place. Hopefully I can reach them, and convince them, before any lasting harm occurs. I’m already concerned that we’ll lose more of Andrew, especially if they’ve separated him from Adam.”
“More…? Jesus. Okay.” Mikaere takes a deep breath. “But you know we’re going to come after you, right? I’ll do what you need me to, I’ll honour that. But I’m not going to let you get yourself killed for the greater good.”
“They won’t be able to kill me.”
Mikaere sucks in air through their teeth. “Good. That means we’ll definitely get you back. Now, what do you need me to do?”
Shane sits back, taking his hand off the chest. “What I need you to do is stay here for thirty-six hours. No contact with the outside world at all. Keep your phone on, though. If I return, or send you an all-clear, you can come out.”
Mikaere huffs a laugh. “Good to know there’s cell reception on Mount Olympus. What then?”
Shane chuckles. “Hellmouth to Mount Olympus. Your analogies are fascinating. Is Cthulhu going to be in the lake, next?” He shakes his head. “If I’m not back, but you get the all clear, leave the chest here. You’ll have instructions to get back in, if you need to, but it will be safe for you to return to … to return home.”
“Nah, that’s a taniwha,” Mikaere shoots back. “Okay. So… I’m just here to safeguard it?”
He grins at Mik’s riposte, then turns serious again. “Yes. And afterwards, whether or not I’ve returned, you keep your knowledge of this chest an absolute secret. There is one other living soul in this town who knows about it, and I am not telling you who it is lest their – and your – safety be compromised.”
Mikaere nods, solemn again.
He pauses for a moment, then smiles very gently. Too gently. “You haven’t asked what happens if you don’t hear anything.”
Mikaere sighs. “You accounted for that too, huh. Okay… what then?”
“Of course I have,” he replies. “There’s always the chance they decide to keep all of us. It would be stupid of them, but…” He shrugs. “Humans are idiots. If you haven’t heard anything by the end of the thirty-six hours, I want you to send a text to Ryan. One word. The word ‘red’.” He reaches under the pillow again, and draws out two envelopes – one black, one white. “If he responds, open the white envelope: it has two more envelopes in it, depending on what he sends back. If he doesn’t respond within three hours, open the black envelope.”
Mikaere nods. They take the envelopes, trying not to let it show that their hands are shaking.
“I need you to know that if you have to open the black envelope, your entire world is going to change, even more than it just has. And…” He looks Mikaere straight in the eye. Mikaere can’t make out anything in them anymore but shadowy sclera. “And I’m sorry, Mikaere. I am deeply, deeply sorry if that turns out to be the case.”
Mikaere swallows hard. “Then you have to make sure that doesn’t happen, Shane. Make sure Ryan gets out. Make sure we can get you back.”
He half-smirks, an oddly familiar expression on a less-than-previously-familiar face. “Why, never felt like going to live in the mountains in Kazakhstan? I hear they’re nice this time of year.”
Mikaere rolls their eyes. “I’m from Aotearoa, dude. I’m not cut out for that climate.”
“Fair enough,” Shane says, “fair enough.” He rubs his hands together. “Is there anything else you want to ask me?”
Mikaere is quiet for a minute, thinking. “If I asked you what you were, would you actually answer me? And… do any of these envelopes tell me how to use what’s in this chest, if I need to?”
Shane has opened his mouth to respond— then at Mik’s second question, what feels like an electric shock runs through the room, and when Shane speaks, his voice is somehow deeper and darker, but unchanged: he is not angry, his gaze is still level, his actual demeanour has not changed, but it’s like there’s an extra layer of sound in it, something Mik can’t process. It reverberates in their chest, awakening something that feels ancient, beyond ancient. “Do not, ever, open that chest. Do not even unlatch it. Do not even consider unlatching it.”
Mikaere raises their hands, the envelopes in one and the chest in the other. “Understood.”
The electricity in the room fades, and Shane’s voice drops back to normal. “And I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you, to answer your first question.”
Mikaere takes a minute to compose themself, then looks up with a raised eyebrow. “After that display?”
The tall, lanky man shifts, facing away from Mik, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees and hang his hands between them, staring off at an archway. “There are a lot of reasons I don’t share what I am, Mik.” He still doesn’t sound angry, just … tired. “But if you want to know…” He looks at the floor briefly. “I am literally asking you to give up your life for me. For the continued existence of the universe, really, but— for me.”
“I. Yeah. It’s…” Mikaere sighs. “I trust you. If you’re willing to tell me, I’d be grateful to know what I’m dealing with, exactly. But if you’re not – for any reason – I won’t push you. I just want to help.”
He ponders this for a few moments, in silence, and then: “I’ll have to swear you to secrecy. Same reason as the box. But it’s a fair trade – I’m asking you to keep one ancient secret, so I can let you in on another.” He sits up, and holds out a hand to Mikaere.
Mikaere nods, takes his hand.
Everything disappears.
Mikaere’s eyes go wide against their will. “…Shane?”
They can still feel his hand in theirs, warm, too warm— and then just as suddenly, everything’s back, but it’s so much a different everything that Mikaere’s brain stutters, jolts, can’t quite fathom what they’re seeing—
Swirls of colour, bright flashes of light, raucous noises, something that feels like a deep and painful jab into their brain, and they cry out instinctively and close their eyes— and then there’s a warm body against them, something around them— arms? no— still so very warm, like fire, and it burns their skin and their thoughts and it hurts but their eyes open and they see— they see Shane, but— but not, their brain is just processing it as Shane, it’s a mess of noise and colour and sensation— and then everything’s black again, black and blissfully painless, and the too-warm body is still wrapped around them, but there’s a few seconds of reprieve before—
Mik’s feet hit solid ground. Their eyes are closed.
“You should be able to open your eyes now,” says a voice – it’s Shane, but with the old voice again, the ancient voice, the voice that rings deep into Mikaere’s soul. “Sorry for the bumpy ride.”
“That’s – ah, that’s okay, I guess I signed up for—” Mikaere opens their eyes.
Everything is bright, and it takes them a moment to adjust. As they do, they see Shane, standing right in front of them. He doesn’t look much different, but his eyes are starfields, and his hands are on Mik’s shoulders, which means something else is wrapped around his back.
Mikaere turns their head to look. As they turn their head, they see a wall of black, which seems to arc out from behind Shane to all the way around Mik. As their brain comes to terms with the wealth of knowledge being presented, they recognize it as … sort of like feathers. But that’s really just the best thing their brain can match it to, it’s … not quite right.
Unthinking, Mikaere reaches out a hand to touch. It feels like … well, at first it feels like nothing, because the sensation is so alien. But after a moment, and a couple of strokes, it feels like petals of glass, covered in a thin layer of aluminum foil. “…Wings,” they mutter. “Shane, you have wings.”
“In a manner of speaking,” agrees Shane.
Mikaere frowns, still trying to make sense of what they’re experiencing. All the severity of the conversation has been knocked out of them by the shock of… whatever this is. “I’m trying so hard to not say angel right now. Uh… okay, alien or – or demigod, which is it?”
“Ah… well… neither? Both? Semantics?” He smiles wryly, showing his teeth, all of which gleam and seem far sharper than they should be.
Mikaere raises an eyebrow. “Give it to me straight, Shane. I promise I’ll believe you.”
Shane steps back slightly, the petal-glass wings pulling back from around Mikaere and settling in behind him – they’re huge, each the size of Shane himself but even taller, arcing over his head a good two feet. They’re black, yes, but shot through with gold; as Shane draws back Mik can see that his hands – already impossibly long-fingered – are slightly longer, and the nails come to dark points.
Mik realizes they’re not standing on anything. It looks like they’re somewhere in space – there’s a nebula off to their left, but there’s … clouds below them? Nothing makes sense, their brain cries, nothing makes sense here.
“Throughout history,” Shane begins, his voice everywhere all at once and yet coming straight at Mik from the person in front of them, “we’ve been called many things. Aliens and demigods among them. Honestly… you were closer with your first guess.”
Mikaere huffs a laugh – they’re maybe going into hysterical shock. “Ah. Oh. That’s… wow.”
“Though if you want the real deal…” Shane chuckles softly, stepping in again, shielding Mik from some of the sights with his wings. The feathers chime slightly as he moves. “Then you’d have to ask… no, that’s not my story to tell. I’m not what you’d call an angel.”
Mikaere’s powers of speech have escaped them entirely. They focus on Shane’s face, wait for him to say something that makes sense.
Shane is silent for a moment, starfield eyes staring into Mik’s deep brown. Mik gets the feeling he’s almost … embarrassed? Scared? He’s very, very hesitant to say whatever it is out loud. Finally, he heaves a sigh. “Well I guess I can’t run from it forever, now can I. Though I’ve made a damn fine job of it so far. I’m a demon, Mikaere, a fallen angel, but even those aren’t the right words for what I am: a being created before the beginning of time, created to cause chaos and bring balance, created to destroy and to protect. There are no true words for my kind just as there is no way you can truly sense what I am. Do I have wings? Yes, sort of: I have parts which your brain can only interpret as wings. Nothing I tell you is ever truly going to be true. You ask how I can be a skeptic when I am this? Because – there is nothing unexplainable. I have been here since before the beginning of time: everything obeys the laws of physics, but you cannot fathom the true extent of creation’s glory—” He cuts himself off, snapping his mouth shut. “I’m what you would call a demon.”
Mikaere has to take a minute. “O-okay. Okay. I – no, hang on, fallen angel?”
He harrumphs. “That is one of the terms you use, yes.”
Mikaere thinks very carefully, but they can’t seem to pull the sentence together in their head. “But it has… demon, as well, has… connotations. That don’t make sense. With… you. You’re a good man, Shane. I’ve known you for years, I – and what you told me tonight – I don’t understand.”
Shane laughs. It’s dark, and pained. He steps back again, revealing the nebula, the clouds, the infinitude of existence – and he transforms further, his skin darkening to black, long curved horns sprouting from his hair, his teeth lengthening and sharpening even further – the black wings take on an extra sheen, Mik’s brain filling in sharp, dangerous, run – and a wicked-looking tail uncoils from behind him with a sharp point on the end. When he speaks, the undertones are raucous, razor blades on a chalkboard: “Is this more what you expected? Destruction and death? Would you like to hear about the eons in which I have wreaked havoc, torn asunder the fabric of reality, ripped lesser beings apart, created chaos, and laughed?”
Mikaere’s eyes widen, but they force down the instinct to run, stand their ground. “No. I won’t ask that from you. I just want to know if you’re … who you are. To us.”
A few more seconds, and another transformation: the tail is gone, as are the horns, his skin returns to its normal pallor and the teeth look normal, the nails short and blunt – the wings ripple, and are suddenly white and gold, and his eyes turn from starfields to suns: when he speaks, it’s like wind chimes and Aeolian harps. “Then how about this? Perfection, empathy, sweet comfort and blessed compassion? Would you like to hear about the eons in which I healed the broken, reknit spacetime, defended the universe from unknowable foes, and cried for the ones I couldn’t save?”
“…You’re right. No one’s all good or all bad.” Mikaere feels dazed, but they shake their head, as firmly as they can. “I kinda feel like you’re trying to… to upset me, or scare me, or freak me out, and I’m – I won’t lie, this all is… intense. But I’m not going to give you that. I just want to know that I can trust you to be Shane.”
“My goal is only to impress upon you the depth and complexity of existence,” he says, the windchimes fading from his voice, replaced with the deep rumble. He steps forward again, his form returning to the middle ground – starfield eyes, dark wings, slight claws, sharp teeth. “Greater ones than yourself have crumbled at it: I admire your strength of mind, Mikaere.” His voice on Mik’s name sounds different this time – like water on dry leaves. “You are well named. Who is like God, indeed?” He places his clawed hands on Mik’s shoulders and wraps them both in his wings, tightly this time. “I am who I have always been, and who I will always be. Complex and misunderstood, just like any being in creation. But I am, in truth, a little lesser than the angels. Are you ready to return to … your dimension?”
Mikaere nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” They look up, at the starfield eyes and sharp teeth and the face of their friend – and boss – underneath. “Thank you for trusting me with this, Shane.”
He rumbles then, a new sound, something not really heard so much as felt. “Keep it safe, please.”
“I will.”
“I don’t think it’s hard to imagine the terror in those … less understanding.”
Mikaere can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I can see this… not going over so well.”
He smiles. “Yeah. No. Not so much. Close your eyes and hang on tight.”
As Mikaere does, there is a feeling of sudden freefall— then, even behind their eyelids, bright lights, and they can hear ungodly noises— Shane’s touch is painful for several seconds— and then silence, silence, silence, solid ground. And pillows. And nothing touching their back.
When they open their eyes, the familiar face of Shane Madej – with normal eyes, now – is staring back at them, dressed in his trademark flannel and jeans, his sandy hair mussed, the bags under his eyes big enough he’d probably need to check them at the airport. They’re back in the white archway room.
Once they’ve caught their breath, Mikaere clears their throat. “Okay. So, that was. We should probably. Uh, what happens now?”
“Now,” he says, and his voice is missing something, somehow, without the rumble underneath, “now, I leave, and I walk into the devil’s door, and I get ready to lose a lot of blood and suffer more than a few broken bones.”
“Jesus.” Mikaere grimaces, all the giddiness they’d felt a moment before apparently sucked out into the vacuum of space. “Okay. I hate that I have to let you – not that I could really stop you – please be – oh, god, there’s absolutely nothing I can say right now that isn’t trite, so. Goodbye. And – see you soon.”
Shane reaches for Mik’s forearm, and leans in a little. “May I?”
Mikaere nods, grasping Shane’s forearm in turn.
Shane presses his nose to Mik’s, and Mik once again feels the deep and ancient warmth— and then Shane is just not there.