Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jevil had to admit the taste of battery acid was growing on him. He sat at a table by himself, sipping the green liquid from a glass and taking bites out of a CD Burger. (This was a disk sandwiched between two halves of a burger bun; Jevil liked the crunch). After finishing his performance at the Card Castle court for the day, he had decided to take a trip to Cyber City for a change of scenery, stopping for a snack at his favourite haunt once he got there. This had become a habit as of late. Card Kingdom had almost no nightlife to speak of, and Jevil preferred a little more excitement.

The Maushole was a hole-in-the-wall bar nestled in behind a shoe shop. Although it wasn’t the fanciest place to drink, its cheap food and cozy atmosphere drew in a steady crowd of regulars. Minimalistic pendant lamps hung from the ceiling and cast a dim blue glow over the interior. The soft electronic beeps and clatters of cyber food being prepared travelled in from the kitchen. From where Jevil sat, he could see a colourful assortment of city dwellers engaged in lively conversation. Two Plugboys were getting in a heated discussion about politics; an Ambyu-Lance was doubled over laughing at a Maus’ joke.

Although Jevil visited the Maushole enough that the Swatchling bartender now knew him by name, he still watched everyone from a distance. The other patrons seemed wary of him. Jevil was used to this reaction: not only was he a foreigner here, he was also painfully aware of his demonic appearance. In an attempt to make himself less threatening, he had concealed his claws under a pair of gloves and his horns underneath a jester’s hat. But his eyes were two diamond-shaped holes in his face, and his sharp yellow teeth still showed whenever he smiled.

The door opened to let in another customer, and the atmosphere in the bar immediately shifted. Jevil saw the Ambyu-Lance and the Maus exchange awestruck whispers. The bartender quickly smoothed back his hair and adjusted his tie.

“Spamton! How are ya, buddy?” one of the Plugboys called out.

Jevil leaned forward to figure out who this Spamton was, but he didn’t have to search for long. Standing there at the entrance was the most strikingly handsome Addison Jevil had ever seen. Or was he an Addison? He had the same long, pointed nose and eyes that winked shut when he smiled, but the soft neon glow he emitted was unusually colourless. Moreover, instead of the typical Addison uniform of a black top and green pants, he was dressed in a sharp black tuxedo and a red bowtie. His shiny black mullet and rosy cheeks stood out against his bright white features. Jevil found himself unable to look away.

“HI THERE! LONG TIME NO SEE!” Spamton boomed, flashing a smile in the Plugboy’s direction. He spoke with the well-practiced inflection of a salesman, loud and packed with charisma. Jevil watched him interact with the clamouring crowd in silent amazement. He passed so effortlessly from table to table, smiling and joking with an easygoing charm that Jevil had never been able to fully accomplish himself.

I have to talk to him, Jevil heard himself thinking. His heart was cartwheeling in his chest; how could this man have such a sway over him already? He finished the last few bites of his food, slipped his gloves back on, and took a deep breath. He could do this. Making witty remarks was his job.

As Jevil approached, he realized that despite his larger-than-life personality, Spamton was only a head taller than he was. “SO YOU’RE A SALESMAN, IS THAT RIGHT?” he began.

Spamton’s eyes blinked open, revealing a pair of beady black dots that met Jevil’s eyes in turn. Jevil saw fear flicker across his face, but this was quickly replaced with the courteous smile that every Addison knew by heart. So he was afraid of clowns. No matter, Jevil could still win him over.

“YOU GOT IT!” Spamton chirped—Jevil could still detect the slightest hint of anxiety in his voice. “AND A PRETTY BIG ONE AT THAT!” he continued, more loudly this time. Jevil found this shameless ego-stroking oddly adorable. He reminded himself not to get distracted.

“WELL, YOU LOOK PLENTY SMALL TO ME,” Jevil quipped, and he saw Spamton’s smile falter for a split second. “I COULD FIT YOU IN MY LIFE QUITE EASILY.”

Spamton stared at him blankly for a moment, and Jevil suppressed the urge to panic. Every jest involved an element of risk, and in this situation the stakes seemed unusually high. Then he burst out laughing, a rapid staccato noise that Jevil could tell was genuine. It was exactly the reaction he had hoped for.

“YOU’VE GOT A WAY WITH WORDS! I LIKE IT!” Spamton declared, holding out his hand towards Jevil. “I BET YOU ALREADY KNOW MY NAME. WHAT’S YOURS?”

“JEVIL. BUT A NAME IS MERELY THE SURFACE, YOU COULD GET TO KNOW ME MUCH BETTER THAN THAT.” Jevil shook Spamton’s hand and winked.

Spamton laughed again. “CAN’T ARGUE WITH THAT! CAN I BUY YOU A DRINK?”

The two were inseparable for the rest of the night. Spamton took Jevil on a tour of all his favourite spots, and despite Jevil’s offers, he paid for everything. They danced next to each other at a nightclub, sampled cocktails at a speakeasy, and launched into an enthusiastic duet at a karaoke bar. The entire time, the two of them talked and laughed with an ease that Jevil had not anticipated. Jevil learned a number of things about Spamton: his favourite foods, the products he used to style his hair, the songs he liked to listen to in his car. Jevil learned some other things, too: Spamton’s gesturing grew wider the more excited he got about a topic, he had a habit of smoothing his hair back when he was deep in thought, and he had an easy laugh that belied a surprisingly guarded demeanour. When Jevil tried to discuss anything beyond surface-level topics, he could sense there was something holding Spamton back. But this only made him more determined to see beyond the charming facade, to understand who this fascinating man really was.

In the wee hours of the morning, Jevil and Spamton stumbled out of a cab at Spamton’s address. Jevil prided himself in being able to drink anyone in Card Castle under the table, so despite the volume of battery acid he had consumed he was still relatively sure on his feet (although he couldn’t seem to stop giggling). Spamton, however, was clearly feeling the effects of their night of partying; he had to lean on Jevil for support as they made their way to the entrance.

Jevil took in the elegant glass doors and the clean, modern lines of the apartment building. It was a luxury different than what he knew at his castle home, but he could still tell that the place was expensive. “PRETTY—PRETTY IMPRESSIVE. ISN’T IT?” Spamton slurred. He gestured at the building and the force almost made him slip, prompting a wheeze of laughter from Jevil. “ONLY REAL BIG SHOTS LIVE HERE! HAHA!”

“ALRIGHT, MR. BIG SHOT.” Jevil moved to stand facing Spamton, hands placed firmly on the salesman’s shoulders. “ARE YOU ABLE TO LET YOURSELF INSIDE?”

“OF COURSE! DON’T YOU WORRY YOUR BEAUTIFUL HEAD!” Spamton cracked another smile, a bit more lopsided than usual. His face was flushed from the battery acid, and Jevil could see a few stray hairs poking out above his forehead. Jevil’s heart was racing like a spinning top gone out of control. It was probably just a turn of phrase, but nobody had ever called him beautiful before.

“I HAD SUCH FUN TONIGHT,” Jevil told him, and he meant it. He was looking into Spamton’s eyes, and he couldn’t see anything else, and then they were kissing, right there underneath the city lights. Jevil could feel Spamton’s face gently sparking, but he didn’t care; the feeling was so electric that he could swear he might start glowing too.

Something pushed against Jevil’s shoulders, and his eyes snapped open. Spamton was standing apart from him now, wringing his hands; his face had gone completely red. “I’m—I’m—I’m [Apologize for the inconvenience] I don’t know [Y] I just—I shouldn’t have—” Jevil had never heard a stutter like this before—it was as if sound clips were being spliced into his sentences. “I’m sorry!” Spamton cried out at last, and he made an ungraceful dash into the apartment building and out of sight.

“WAIT!” Jevil shouted, to no avail. He stood in bewildered silence for a moment, hand still outstretched, then thought better of it. The Kings expected him in the court tomorrow. It was time to go home.

* * *

Spamton was hard at work. He tapped his fingers absentmindedly on the surface of his desk, the receiver of an old rotary telephone pressed to his ear. Every so often, he picked up a stylus and scribbled notes onto a small screen. Through the glass panels on the opposite wall, Spamton could see Cyber City sprawling out before him, glittering in shades of cyan, magenta, and yellow. It was a stark contrast to the alleyway he used to look out onto every day, back when the only “office” he could afford was his dingy apartment. Thanks to the success of his business Big Shot Autos, he was now renting out his own space in a brand-new office tower in the heart of downtown. Sometimes, the view made him wonder if he was still dreaming.

“ALRIGHT, SO ONE MORE BILLBOARD ABOVE THE BOULEVARD…OH…YOU SURE ABOUT THAT, BUDDY?…RIGHT, SHOULDN’T HAVE DOUBTED YOU! MY APOLOGIES, HAHA…” Spamton chattered into the phone, tapping the stylus against his teeth as he listened. He had never learned the name or face of his advisor on the other end; he only knew them by their voice, a soft drone against a background of hissing static. The advisor had first contacted him months before on the most desperate night of his life, offering to guide him towards success beyond his wildest dreams. Spamton had been skeptical at first. He had tried everything to make his products sell, and what the advisor offered sounded too good to be true. But he was out of ideas and out of money, so he had decided to take the risk.

Incredibly, the risk had paid off. Every day, Spamton let the advisor tell him what steps he should take to grow his business, and the advisor had never been wrong. Lightners were finally clicking on his ads, and more and more Darkners were driving his cars along the Cyber City streets. His business just kept getting bigger and bigger with no sign of stopping. Soon he knew he would land a TV deal; maybe he would even earn a spot in Queen’s Mansion. For now he would do whatever the advisor told him.

He heard a signal beep over the advisor’s words: someone else was trying to contact him. “SORRY, HAVE TO TAKE THIS. I’LL CALL YOU BACK,” he told them, and he switched to the other line.

A familiar voice came through the receiver. It had a nasally lilt to it, with a subtle lisp indicative of an impressive set of pointed teeth. “HELLO, MR. BIG SHOT! GUESS WHO?”

Spamton’s beady eyes went wide. The events of the previous night flashed through his mind, and he felt his face begin to burn. “J-Jevil?! How—How the [Fifty-Percent Off] did you get my number?!” he hissed, his tic showing itself again.

“IT’S PLAINLY WRITTEN ON YOUR ADVERTISEMENT,” Jevil reminded him.

“Oh. Right.” Spamton’s face burned even hotter.

This drew an amused chuckle from Jevil, a distinctive uee-hee! that was irritating but…kind of cute? “SAY, ARE YOU BUSY TONIGHT? I THOUGHT WE COULD PAY ANOTHER VISIT TO THAT KARAOKE BAR YOU SHOWED ME. DOESN’T THAT SOUND LIKE MUSIC TO YOUR EARS? NU-HA!”

Spamton held back a groan; he was not in the mood for jokes. “I—I can’t tonight, Jevil. Or maybe ever. Got too much on my plate lately with the business, you know how it is—”

“YOU SOUND DISTRESSED,” Jevil interrupted. “IS THIS ABOUT LAST NIGHT?”

“No!” Spamton half-shouted, then backtracked. “I mean, maybe. Look, I’m already seeing someone right now.”

“IS THAT SO?” Spamton could hear disappointment creep into Jevil’s voice. “WELL, IN THAT CASE, WE CAN SIMPLY GO AS FRIENDS, CAN WE NOT?” he added brightly.

Spamton almost grabbed a fistful of hair in frustration, but stopped himself before he could ruin his hairdo. “Like I said, Jevil, I’m way too busy right now…”

“REALLY?” Jevil inquired, and Spamton could tell that he didn’t believe him. He began to panic.

“Gotta go, bye!” Spamton blurted out hastily, and he slammed the receiver down on the handle. He cradled his head in his hands and sighed. How could he have let this happen? His drinking habit was starting to catch up to him. Two months into a relationship with Queen, exactly where he should be, and last night he might have ruined it by kissing the godforsaken court jester, who was a man, and worse than that, he actually liked it…

Spamton was jolted out of his misery by the sound of his phone ringing. He scrambled to pick it up. A static hiss greeted his ear—the advisor! He had completely forgotten to call them back.

“SORRY ABOUT THAT, DROPPED MY RECEIVER ONTO THE HANDLE FOR SOME REASON, HAHA.” Spamton grimaced as he spoke, praying that the advisor would fall for it. “SO, AS YOU WERE SAYING?”

Chapter Text

Spamton did land the TV deal a few days later, just as his advisor had predicted. When he met the Addisons at The First Byte, the usual cyber grill, it was nearly all he could talk about. “CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? YOUR OLD PAL SPAMTON, ON TV FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER!” he exclaimed, sweeping an arm out and narrowly missing his glass of battery acid. He directed a hopeful smile at his four colleagues seated around the table. “YOU’LL TUNE IN TOMORROW TO SEE MY AD, WON’T YOU?”

“You bet, Spamton!” Payton, the yellow Addison, was the first to speak. “This is huge news for you! Our little guy’s finally making it big!” She playfully slapped a hand on his shoulder, nearly knocking the salesman out of his seat.

“You’ve worked so hard for this, Spamton. I’ll be watching for sure,” agreed Linkoln, the blue Addison.

“I’ll tune in too!” Quizabelle, the orange Addison, chimed in.

Clickolas, the pink Addison, gave an amused snort. “Spamton on TV! Now, that’s something I never saw coming! There’s no way I would miss it.”

Spamton beamed, and his glow shone a little brighter. “I KNEW I COULD COUNT ON YOU GUYS.”

The Addisons continued to chat and commiserate about their working lives: sales figures, the state of Cyber World e-commerce, annoying customers, occasionally even check-ins from Queen herself (which were often baffling). Spamton made sure to steer the conversation towards his accomplishments whenever possible. His constant refrain that someday, I’m gonna be a big shot! was finally becoming a reality, and he was determined to show it off.

Compared to his fellow advertisers, Spamton had always been at a disadvantage. For one thing, he was shorter; even in the platform-heeled oxfords he wore every day, he couldn’t hope to reach the average five-foot-nine stature of an Addison. At his diminutive height, customers could literally overlook him. Furthermore, the Addisons could create exact copies of themselves, allowing them to sell at multiple shops at once. Without this ability, Spamton couldn’t make nearly as much money. All he had was his “peepers”: blue egg-like things that hatched into numerous tiny versions of himself. These little clones weren’t particularly intelligent, and could only peep simple phrases, so they mainly assisted him with chores and delivering short messages (when they decided to behave). Spamton had to work twice as hard to make his products catch on, and still none of them seemed to stick. At least, not until his advisor first spoke to him.

The Addisons had always regarded Spamton with barely concealed pity, and Spamton resented it. His newfound fame and riches were just what he needed to finally earn their respect. Now, instead of sitting in ashamed silence while the Addisons boasted about big deals and big purchases, he could brag alongside them as equals—his achievements were even beginning to surpass theirs. The old Spamton was gone; he had triumphed over his past, and it would be nothing but a symbol of how far he’d come. Showing any further weakness was something he could not afford.

The group was getting into a well-worn debate about the merits of banner ads versus pop-ups when Spamton’s cell phone rang in his pocket. He had been getting more calls than ever lately, and he was loath to miss any; what if his next big business deal was waiting for him at the other end? “I BETTER TAKE THIS ONE, I’LL BE RIGHT BACK,” he announced, waving briskly in the Addisons’ direction. He exited the restaurant, turned a corner into a quiet alleyway, and picked up the call.

“Why Hello There My Tasty Little Big Shot” cooed a noble yet casual voice, a paradox that was uniquely Queen. Spamton instinctively fixed his hair and adjusted his bowtie, even though she wasn’t there to see it.

“HOW’S IT GOING, QUEEN OF MY HEART?” Spamton drawled in the suavest voice he possessed.

“Oh I’m Literally Just Sitting Here On My Throne And I’m Sooooooo Bored” Queen complained. “I Just Wanted To Hear Your Cute (Very Loud) Voice Tbh / Tell Me I’m Pretty Or Something I’m Not Picky”

“OF COURSE! ANYTHING FOR YOU, DOLL!” Spamton’s mind raced to come up with a compliment. “YOU HAVE A BEAUTIFUL SCREEN!”

Regal laughter filled his ear. “Of Course I Do / Now Tell Me What You Think Of My High Heeled Boots”

“THEY…THEY’RE VERY CAMP, HONEY PIE,” Spamton offered. (Quizabelle had taught him this word when describing her new fashion line; surely it applied here?)

This earned him another laugh from Queen. “Oh Spamton You’re So Funny I’m So Glad I Made You My Boyfriend / Now Can You Say ‘I’m A Goofy Goober Yeah’?”

Well, this was something he hadn’t heard before. He did what she asked anyway.

Queen’s laughter sounded over the phone again, but this time it morphed into a hideous cackle that Spamton recognized at once. Ice-cold horror sliced through him—he had been speaking to an imposter the entire time.

“Jevil?! How did you—how could you—” Spamton stammered, his face contorted with anguish.

“AND SO THE FOOL HAS FOOLED YOU!” Jevil crowed. “LITTLE DID YOU KNOW MY MIMICRY SKILLS ARE UNMATCHED!”

Spamton listened to Jevil’s laughter with his head in his hand. It was maddeningly infectious; he felt a smile tugging at his lips, but bit it down. “Listen, bozo, I don’t have time for this!” he snapped. “Want me to hang up on you?!”

“NO, PLEASE, NOT YET!” Jevil gasped, struggling to regain his composure. “I REALLY DID HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU. I JUST COULDN’T RESIST PLAYING WITH YOU FIRST.” He sighed. “OH, THAT WAS MAGNIFICENT. I HAVEN’T LAUGHED THIS HARD IN DAYS…”

“Yeah, yeah, get to the point,” Spamton huffed.

“RIGHT, YES. IN THE LOBBY OF YOUR APARTMENT BUILDING, A PACKAGE AWAITS YOU. BE SURE YOU DO NOT MISS IT.”

“That’s really all you had to say? Jevil, you’ve gotta be kidding me—”

“YES, THAT WILL BE ALL! BYE-BYE!” And with that, Jevil hung up.

With a heavy sigh, Spamton slumped against the wall and lit a cigarette. For a Card Kingdom native, Jevil was surprisingly up to date on Cyber World celebrity gossip: Queen and Spamton hadn’t even gone public with their relationship yet. This clown was proving to be a handful.

* * *

Sure enough, when Spamton returned home that night, the package was there. Really, it was impossible to miss; it was garishly coloured like a child’s birthday present, and it clashed with the stylish simplicity of the lobby’s décor as if to mock it. Spamton eyed it with suspicion—it was probably another one of Jevil’s pranks. But his curiosity got the better of him, and he brought it up to his room anyway.

He set the package down on the polished black countertop in his kitchen and studied it for a while, hands on his hips. The wrapping paper was striped in brilliant yellow and green, and dotted with multicoloured symbols representing the four royal suites of Card Castle. A thick purple ribbon was tied around it, fashioned into a fanciful bow on the top. A tag was poking out from the bow; a message was written on it in looping calligraphy that Spamton had to squint to make out: “TO: SPAMTON G. SPAMTON, ESQ. FROM: YOUR CLOWN AROUND TOWN.” Spamton’s heart leapt with recognition. So it was from Jevil.

Eventually, Spamton couldn’t resist any longer. He untied the ribbon and peeled away the wrapping to reveal an unassuming white box. Slowly, he lifted the lid.

Confetti exploded out of the box into Spamton’s face.

He brushed it out of his eyes and spat flakes of it out of his mouth, cursing the entire time. Oh God, it was everywhere. His gaze travelled downwards and he could see that the colourful dots had stuck to his suit and sprinkled all over the counter and onto the floor. Spamton let out a loud groan. Jevil had fooled him for the second time that day, and he had let it happen.

Sighing in exasperation, Spamton dusted the confetti off his hands. He would get the remaining confetti out of his suit later; he was going to a party later that night, and he had come back to his apartment to change into something more suitable anyway. The Peepers could handle the mess in the kitchen. He turned in the direction of his walk-in closet, but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something else waiting in the box. He couldn’t just leave it there without checking: for all he knew, Jevil could have sent him a second delayed-action confetti bomb, and he didn’t want to clean up another mess. He turned towards the box again and cautiously peeked inside.

Two small gifts were nestled in a bed of violet tissue paper. On the left, three macarons were stacked in an organza bag, tied with a bow. The carefully selected hues of each macaron were instantly recognizable: they must have come from the Color Café. Spamton was stunned—it was his favourite food. Jevil had remembered.

On the right rested an ornate glass bottle. A translucent lavender-coloured liquid was sealed inside with a cork. Another note was wrapped around the bottle’s stem: it read “DRINK ME” in the same flowery lettering.

Spamton mulled over his options, then resolved to take the risk and drink the mystery liquid. If it was poison, then he could just get an Ambyu-Lance to fix him up, couldn’t he? Besides, if he didn’t try it now, he knew he would be wondering all night.

He uncorked the bottle, took a tentative sip, and nearly spit out the liquid in surprise—the flavour was indescribable. It was the best thing he had ever tasted.

* * *

A week later marked Queen and Spamton’s three-month anniversary. To celebrate, Spamton had decided to sweep Queen away to Submenu, the most exclusive restaurant in Cyber City. He was dressed in an extravagant outfit for the occasion: a deep blue double-breasted pinstripe suit with a bright blue polka-dotted shirt and a navy tie. Queen was sure to approve of his choice of colour.

But right now, Queen didn’t seem approving at all. Even seated across the table, she towered over Spamton, as elegant and imposing as one of the statues in the halls of her mansion. The lights in the restaurant were dim, casting flickering shadows on her face. Her lips were pursed in thought, and her processors were softly whirring. Spamton was wearing his usual smile, but he fiddled with his cufflinks and gulped.

“Listen Spammykins / I Decided To Make You My Royally Sanctioned Boyfriend Because I Thought You Were Cute And Funny” she eventually confessed. “Like In A Comic Relief Sidekick Kind Of Way”

“AW SHUCKS, YOU FLATTER ME.” Spamton chuckled, hoping it concealed the apprehension in his voice. What was this about?

“It Was Fun Seeing You Dress Up In Your Little Suits And Go On About Being A Big Shot Or Whatever / But Recently You Haven’t Been As Entertaining / Something’s Off About You Spamton” she went on, pointing a fork at his face.

Spamton strained to keep his grin in place. “NOT SURE WHAT YOU MEAN, SWEETHEART.”

“Okay I’ll Enumerate This List For You: You’re Distant / You Keep Spacing Out During Conversations / You Don’t Yell As Loudly / You Aren’t Waving Your Hands Around As Much / Your Kisses Are Even More Boring Than Usual” Spamton flinched at every accusation as if he were being pelted with bullets. “Return Statement: There Is At Least A 90.909091 Percent Chance That You’re Not Into This Anymore”

“I—WELL—Y’KNOW—” Spamton spluttered uselessly. The deep black of her screen bored into him, and he was reminded of two diamond-shaped eyes—he hurriedly cast the thought from his mind.

“I Think We Should Terminate This Relationship”

“…WHAT?” Spamton gawked at Queen in blank disbelief. He couldn’t lose this position, he needed this—

“I’ve Run A Number Of Calculations And I Think It Would Be The Best Scenario For Both Of Us” Queen concluded. “Think Of It This Way: I’m Setting You Free, Spamton / You Don’t Have To Fawn Over Me Romantically Anymore / Now You Can Just Do It As My Loyal Peon” She was smiling. How could she be smiling? “Do You Agree?”

Spamton said nothing. He knew that this time there were no words he could use, no deals he could make to get her to change her mind. This was Queen, after all.

“Good” said Queen, obviously satisfied with herself. She placed her fork down with an air of finality, then waved at a waiter passing by their table. “Yoohoo! Bring Us The Bill, Would You?”

* * *

Spamton wandered aimlessly along the Cyber City backstreets, lost in thought. It was getting more difficult lately to walk along the main thoroughfares without drawing attention from fans, and he felt unable to face anyone.

How had it all gone so wrong? He had said all the right lines, made all the classic romantic gestures to win her over. Even so, she had discarded him so nonchalantly, like a toy that had lost its appeal. This had to be the biggest insult of his entire career. So why, then, did he also find himself relating to her indifference? He was supposed to be heartbroken, wasn’t he?

It struck him now how strange he had felt during their months together. Queen was famously beautiful, and she knew it: no wonder she plastered pictures of her face all over Cyber World. But that beautiful face would kiss him, and he would feel flattered by her attention, but nothing else, only a profound unease that he couldn’t shake. Queen must have noticed that he was always grasping for a feeling that wasn’t there. She must have known that there was somebody he couldn’t keep out of his mind.

Presently, Spamton found himself standing at the entrance to the Maushole. His face was reflected in the glass door, illuminated by the pink neon sign above it—God, he looked exhausted. He hadn’t planned to end up here, but really, where else was he supposed to go? The First Byte was out of the question; Spamton had bragged to the Addisons about the romantic evening he and Queen had arranged, and he couldn’t allow them to know it had ended this early. This place was more humble than the upscale nightclubs he had been frequenting lately, so there would be nobody he needed to impress. And he could really use a drink right now.

Inside, the bar was as lively as ever. Spamton recognized some familiar faces, who called out greetings to him; he mustered a halfhearted wave and a smile in return. His gaze drifted to the counter, and he noticed that the Swatchling bartender was talking to someone he knew: a short, round imp in a jester’s costume.

Jevil. Of course it was him, this was his favourite spot. Spamton should have expected this. Spamton did expect this, and he came here anyway. A bizarre sensation was coming over him—was this a heart attack? Was he going to be sick?

The bartender subtly pointed a feather in Spamton’s direction, and Jevil’s tail stood up, his ears pricking. His head swivelled towards Spamton, diamond-shaped eyes wide and searching. Then a toothy grin spread across his face; his tail was wagging so fast that Spamton could hear it thumping against the barstool. “SPAMTON! WHAT A DELIGHTFUL SURPRISE!”

The peculiar feeling in Spamton’s chest worsened—it was taking every ounce of his strength to keep himself together. Emotions tangled into an incomprehensible knot, he locked eyes with Jevil and his face morphed into surely the most terrifying grimace he had shown to anyone in his entire life. Jevil didn’t even flinch.

“FOR SUCH A SUCCESSFUL MAN, YOU LOOK AWFULLY DOWN ON YOUR LUCK TONIGHT. IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT?” Jevil questioned, cocking his head to one side.

“NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT, JEVIL!” Spamton tacked a presentable smile onto his face with great effort. “EVERYTHING’S JUST SWELL!”

“COME CLOSER, I CAN’T POSSIBLY HEAR YOU WHEN YOU WHISPER SO,” Jevil teased, and Spamton’s smile twitched. This buffoon was an expert at getting under his skin, and he’d be damned if he was going to let it show. Begrudgingly, he walked closer and leaned against the counter.

“SO WHAT DO YOU WANT?” he asked, annoyance tinging his voice.

“OH, I ONLY WISH TO MAKE A DEAL WITH YOU, SPAMTON,” Jevil replied cheerily. “YOU LIKE THOSE, DON’T YOU?”

Spamton would not dignify that with a response.

“HERE’S WHAT I PROPOSE: I TAKE YOU ON A LITTLE OUTING TONIGHT. AN ESCAPADE. WHERE WE END UP WILL REMAIN A SURPRISE, BUT I PROMISE TO SHOW YOU A WONDERFUL TIME. SO WHAT DO YOU SAY, MR. BIG SHOT?” Jevil leaned in until his face was about to collide with the tip of Spamton’s nose. “DO YOU ACCEPT?”

Spamton could see every groove and imperfection in Jevil’s teeth, and the yellow pinpricks of the jester’s pupils could pierce right through him. He couldn’t think at all. His heart was pounding at a ridiculous pace, and his instincts were telling him to run, or to punch the clown in the face, or to kiss him right on the lips—

“YES!” Spamton blurted out.

What?

Jevil drew back and clasped his gloved hands together in delight. “UEE HEE HEE! THEN A DEAL’S A DEAL!”

Spamton couldn’t believe it. Backing out of a deal at the last minute would be a massive blow to his pride. He knew he should be avoiding Jevil, but in his moment of weakness he had fallen right into his trap. Unable to move or speak, he watched Jevil grab his hand like the two were sealing an unbreakable pact. “SHALL WE BE OFF, THEN?”

Jevil didn’t wait for an answer. He hopped off the barstool and skipped gleefully out the door, dragging Spamton behind him.

* * *

Spamton examined the teacup ride, lip curled in disgust. Out of all the carnivalesque modes of public transportation in the city, this was by far his least favourite. He should have known that a clown would take him here.

“WELL?” Jevil prompted him after a long silence.

“You think this is funny or something?” Spamton retorted.

Jevil’s yellow pupils twinkled with amusement. “WHY SO TROUBLED? AFRAID OF A SIMPLE TEACUP RIDE?”

Spamton bristled at Jevil’s taunt, knowing he was cornered. Gritting his teeth, he climbed inside the teacup and plopped down with his arms crossed. Without a word of warning, Jevil hopped in right across from him.

Spamton had no time to protest before the teacup ride was set in motion. It whirled them around at a dizzying speed, and Spamton gripped the edge of the teacup with all his strength, hollering despite himself. Jevil, on the other hand, was shrieking with laughter, his cape billowing in the wind.

His smile was exuberant. Its authenticity felt foreign to Spamton; he couldn’t recall the last time he had smiled like that himself. Mesmerized, the salesman didn’t notice that his hand was slipping off the edge of the teacup until it was too late. He slammed into Jevil’s chest, and the jester’s laughter was cut short by a loud oof.

The impact was soft, like colliding with a pillow. The side of Spamton’s face was pressed in right above Jevil’s heart, and he could hear it beating wildly. He felt his face turning a telltale shade of red just as the ride finally slowed to a stop.

Spamton jerked apart from Jevil, back slamming into the wall of the teacup. “Y’know, there are two other cups!” he emphasized, still a bit breathless from the spinning. “Why’d you have to go for mine?”

“IT’S MUCH MORE FUN TO SPIN TOGETHER,” said Jevil matter-of-factly. He bounced out of the teacup and made a perfect landing on his feet. “ARE YOU ABLE TO STAND ON YOUR OWN?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Spamton insisted, although his head was still reeling. He pushed against the rim of the teacup with both his hands, lifted a trembling leg over the edge, and painstakingly placed his foot on the ground. Then he teetered forward and fell flat on his face.

The sight of this sent Jevil into hysterics. Spamton peeled himself off the ground, and as he stood up he could see the jester doubled over a short distance away from him. His purple tongue was sticking out of his mouth, and his shoulders were convulsing enough to make the bells on his hat jingle. Spamton gave him a withering look, but this only made Jevil guffaw so loudly that he lost his balance and fell onto his side.

Spamton was suddenly struck by how ridiculous Jevil looked. Whatever resistance he had left vanished, and staccato laughter bubbled up inside him. The two of them were incapacitated for a while, laughing until their sides hurt.

“YOUR NOSE SQUISHED RIGHT UP AGAINST YOUR FACE!” Jevil wheezed after both had managed to collect themselves.

“Oh, shut up,” Spamton grumbled, but he was still smiling as he dusted himself off. “So, where to next, clown around town?”

“IT’S A SURPRISE, AS BEFORE.”

Spamton snorted. “I shoulda guessed.”

* * *

“SUCH A DASHING ENSEMBLE YOU’RE WEARING,” Jevil commented as the two strolled along the Cyber City streets. “WHAT’S THE OCCASION?”

“Well, Queen and I just celebrated three months together! So I thought I would dress up for our big night.” Spamton hoped he sounded proud enough.

“OH.” Jevil went quiet for a moment. “BUT WHEN I FIRST SAW YOU TONIGHT, THERE WASN’T A TRACE OF JOY ON YOUR FACE. I DON’T MEAN TO PRY, BUT DID SOMETHING GO WRONG?”

Spamton opened his mouth to speak, but caught himself. Should he pretend that everything was fine? No, Jevil was far too perceptive, he had learned that by now. “Yeah, she broke up with me,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the circuit-blue road. “Really threw me off. I mean, I thought things were going great! I take her out to Submenu, I pay for her food, it costs me a damn fortune, and she dumps me like [Dirt Cheap] [Junk]!” Something had uncorked inside him, and his words were tumbling out all at once. “I invested so much [Time is running out!] and hard-earned [$$$] into this relationship, and this is what I have to [Show it off] for it?!”

He was losing his grip. He ran a hand over his face and took a shaky breath. “It’s fine. Just another obstacle on the road to success. I’ll get over it.”

“WHAT A TERRIBLE SHAME. TO BE TREATED AS MERE ENTERTAINMENT, AND CAST ASIDE ONCE THE SHOW IS OVER.” There was something wistful lurking in Jevil’s eyes; it caught Spamton off guard. “YOU’RE WORTH SO MUCH MORE.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I am.” When it comes to money, at least, Spamton mused wryly to himself. He gazed up at the bright green digital grid stretching across the dark sky. “You know what? She wasn’t the one for me anyway.”

Oh. Those words had implications. Spamton hoped that Jevil wouldn’t think about it too hard.

“WELL, I SUSPECTED YOU COULD USE AN EVENING TO DISTRACT YOURSELF,” Jevil remarked. “A LITTLE CHANGE OF SCENERY. SPEAKING OF WHICH: HERE IT IS! MY SECOND SURPRISE!”

A Ferris wheel loomed over them. It was the typical model installed around Cyber City: the wheel was striped in shades of pastel pink, and yellow heart-shaped cabins were dotted around its circumference. These wheels ferried the city’s population from point to point, moving on a large track as they spun. Their practicality was dubious, and their design was cloying. Spamton much preferred his car.

Jevil dipped into an exaggerated bow. “AFTER YOU.”

Spamton gave him a doubtful look.

“OH, COME NOW, IT WILL BE FUN!”

The jester looked so eager that Spamton bit back a laugh. Ah, what the hell, he thought to himself. Whatever keeps him satisfied. He stepped into the cabin and sat down, Jevil following closely behind.

The Ferris wheel began its leisurely journey along its tracks. Outside the heart-shaped window that formed the side of the cabin, the ground was slowly drawing further away. Spamton felt a sudden pang of giddiness.

Jevil was sitting next to him, at a respectful distance but still close enough that Spamton could easily reach out and jingle the little bells on his hat, if he wanted to. (God, what was he thinking?) The jester was absorbed in the twinkling city lights, his head turned toward the window. After a short while, he spoke. “HOW ARE YOU WITH HEIGHTS?”

“Well, you don’t get the same view on the ground.” True, heights still made him a little nervous, but he wouldn’t mention that. He compensated by launching into a boast. “If you ask me, the view from my office can’t be beat. I can see the whole city from there. Makes you feel like you’re flying.”

Jevil was studying him with a playful smile on his face. “HOW VERY APT, FOR A BIG SHOT SUCH AS YOURSELF. ‘SHOOTING FOR THE SKY,’ AS IT WERE.”

Spamton clapped his hands together. “You got it!”

Jevil chuckled, then his eyes grew thoughtful. “YOU HAVEN’T BEEN USING YOUR SALESMAN’S VOICE WHEN WE’RE ALONE TOGETHER. I LIKE IT.”

Spamton was dumbstruck. After his little mishap the night they had first met, he thought there was no use keeping up the façade. Jevil had already seen him at his worst. Mentioning it again would only draw attention to it.

To break the silence, Jevil jumped in with another question. “THAT PACKAGE I CALLED YOU ABOUT. DID YOU OPEN IT?”

“...Yeah. The one you put all the confetti in,” Spamton grouched.

Jevil burst into another giggle. “WONDERFUL, WONDERFUL. AND WHAT WAS INSIDE?”

“Uh…macarons. And a drink. What the hell was it, by the way? Tasted damn good. I’d buy it by the gallon.”

It was a genuine question, but Jevil’s reaction was peculiar—instead of swiftly chiming in with an answer like he usually did, he stared at Spamton for a moment in silent wonderment, his mouth falling open. “OH. I…I HADN’T THOUGHT IT WOULD TASTE THAT GOOD TO YOU.”

Spamton found this reaction unsettling. “What do you mean?”

“I PURCHASED THE DRINK FROM THE TEA SHOP, WHERE THE PINK ONE SELLS HIS WARES. THAT WAS JEVIL TEA.”

Oh no.

Spamton felt panic rising in his throat. He knew Click’s products, he knew exactly the effect that the Addison’s personalized teas had. He couldn’t deny his feelings any longer, there was no way Jevil would believe him now. To make matters worse, his face was heating up so fast that it must have been a dead giveaway.

“I’M SORRY FOR TRICKING YOU AGAIN.” Jevil was fidgeting with his gloves, and a soft shade of violet was dusting his cheeks. “BUT YOU CONTRADICT YOURSELF. YOU WERE AVOIDANT AND SHARP, BUT PLAINLY UNHAPPY. BOUND BY YOUR OWN MASK. I WANTED TO FREE YOU.”

Spamton’s emotions were swirling around inside him; he felt dizzy. His heart was crashing in his ears. “Jevil, you didn’t have to…”

“SPAMTON, YOU REMEMBER WHAT FUN WE HAD, ON OUR FIRST MEETING. I WANT YOU TO LAUGH LIKE THAT AGAIN.”

Jevil’s eyes were serious, unwavering, as dark as the sky. They held all of Spamton in their depths. Spamton wished he could be so unafraid. Maybe he could try.

He leaned forward and pulled Jevil into a kiss, there at the top of the world.

Chapter Text

Jevil practically floated all the way home.

As he travelled through the scarlet forest that led to Card Castle, he spotted a familiar pointed hat in the distance. A fluffy Darkner in richly embroidered robes was crouched beneath a tree, gathering fallen leaves in their paw and placing them in a small cloth bag. An unusual pursuit, but typical for a court mage; the leaves were for a potion, Jevil presumed. His tail began to wag.

“SEAM!” Jevil called out as he hurried closer.

Seam turned toward Jevil’s voice, and under the wide brim of their hat, a warm, catlike smile spread across their face. “Hello, Jevil. Don’t you look excited. How was your adventure?”

“OH, IS MY JOY THAT OBVIOUS?” Jevil cracked a sheepish grin.

“This is the most obvious you’ve ever been, Jevil. No need for me to do any scrying this time,” Seam chuckled.

“HEE HEE, I SUPPOSE YOU’RE RIGHT!” Jevil rocked back and forth on his feet, his hat jingling. “I’VE MET SOMEONE, YOU SEE.”

“You have?” Seam questioned. They shook their head and laughed softly, the holes in their button eyes twirling. “Well, I’ll be darned…You’ll have to tell me what they’re like.”

“HE’S A SALESMAN. A REAL BIG SHOT, AS THEY CALL IT. CHARMING AND POSSESSING AN INDOMITABLE SPIRIT, NOT TO MENTION TERRIFICALLY HANDSOME…” Jevil was blushing purple just thinking about Spamton. He held back the rest of the description, knowing that otherwise he might end up gushing for hours.

“Sounds like a real catch.” Seam’s ear flicked in a lighthearted gesture; they were clearly amused to see Jevil so lovestruck. “Perhaps sometime, you could bring your sweetheart here for a visit. He could join us for afternoon tea.”

“OH, I COULD INVITE HIM, BUT…HE’S A VERY BUSY MAN.” This was not a lie, but Jevil had other, private reasons for his hesitation. Spamton lived in a world that was dazzlingly modern, full of noise and neon glow. By contrast, Jevil’s home was quiet and antiquated, far too dull for such a luminous personality. Spamton loved to surround himself with people, but who could Jevil introduce him to? His only real companion was Seam.

And that posed another problem. There were times that Jevil sensed something unspoken between him and Seam, a distant longing to tip the balance of their delicate dance and pull each other closer. Somehow, Jevil felt that if Seam and Spamton met, it might tear a hole in Seam’s heart that could not be mended. It was one of the few risks Jevil would not take.

“Fair enough,” replied Seam lightly. “Well, I suppose I’d better get back to my leaves. If the mood strikes you for another one of our games, you know where to find me.”

“OF COURSE! SEE YOU AROUND, THEN.” Jevil bobbed a comically exaggerated curtsy in Seam’s direction, and he was on his way.

As Jevil advanced down the grassy crimson path, a clearing opened up to his left. In the distance, he could see the castle now, all dark brick draped in pennants emblazoned with card suits, its spires piercing into the pitch-black sky.

The skin on Jevil’s back crawled. His ears pricked and his tail stiffened. Why did he feel like he was being watched?

He looked to his right. There grew a tree like any other in the forest, thick with scarlet foliage. Underneath it, Jevil could see nothing but fallen leaves scattered on the ground, but…

There is a man here. Jevil trusted his sharp senses more than anything.

He inched toward the tree’s gnarled black trunk, curling his claws under his gloves. Devilsknife was already twisting and scraping inside his chest, eager for a fight, but he urged it to stand down.

Slowly, Jevil peered behind the trunk, and his body seized up. He had been right. A dark figure stood there, head obscured by the leaves. Jevil strained to make out his features, but his vision only seemed to blur the closer he looked. His head grew dizzy—it was like trying to piece together an optical illusion, something both there and not-there.

“WHO’S THERE? SHOW YOURSELF,” Jevil demanded.

The man confessed that unfortunately this was not possible.

Jevil’s tail lashed. “WHAT SORT OF ANSWER IS THAT?”

The man said it was the only one he was able to give. He asked Jevil to trust him. There was something that Jevil might want to see.

Something very, very interesting.

* * *

In Cyber World, Spamton’s business was booming. The more Dark Dollars he raked in, the more ads he took out; it was the natural thing to do. Now his smiling face and booming voice were popping up all over the city, on billboards and TV screens and on the radio, urging Darkners to call his number now! If they stopped by Big Shot Autos, they too could have their chance to be a big shot, just like him!

Spamton knew his rags-to-riches story was part of his appeal; he even had an e-book deal in the works, a guide that promised to reveal his secrets to success. Of course, it would be full of lies. Not everybody was fortunate enough to have a guardian angel on the phone, one that seemed to speak fame and riches into existence. Addisons were well-versed in the subtle deceptions of advertising, but Spamton was more of a fraud than all of them. On his most difficult days, he wondered if that might be his downfall. But why should he worry? If he ever slipped up, his advisor would know just how to smooth things over, right?

That afternoon, Spamton was reclining in his desk chair, taking a long drag from a cigarette and waiting for his telephone to ring. Customers had been bombarding his office with calls lately, and he needed to take moments to himself where he could. In the back of his mind, though, he knew there was one caller in particular that he was hoping for.

Talking to Jevil was always a highlight of Spamton’s day. The two would launch into conversations so animated that Spamton was always at risk of knocking something off his desk. They would trade jokes and flirt until Spamton’s phone inevitably rang again and he had to drop the call. Even when the pressures of Spamton’s workday became overwhelming, Jevil would still find a way to make him laugh, and the clown’s riotous cackle would only make Spamton laugh harder. It was admittedly excellent stress relief. He could really use something like that right now.

Spamton tapped his cigarette on the ashtray on his desk, discarded it, and gazed out at the city lights, smoothing his polygonal hair back absently. Jevil never called at the same time every day—there was nothing he loved more than the element of surprise. Maybe this time, Spamton could surprise him. Get the upper hand on the prankster for a change.

He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, searched through his contacts for Jevil’s number, and dialed it in.

* * *

Jevil stood on a balcony overlooking the castle grounds, producing bullets from his open palm. He watched them drift lazily upward and fade into the air like tiny fireworks. A heart, then a spade, a club, a diamond, back to a heart again. Jevil was aligned to all suits and none; it was as isolating as it was freeing.

The man never appeared beneath the tree again. But strangely, Jevil had no trouble finding him elsewhere. It would never be when he expected: he’d be wandering around, as he often did, and then a crackling hiss would emerge at the edge of his hearing. He would follow the source of the noise and find it emanating from some inconspicuous place, like the darkness at the edge of a path or a crack in a wall; he’d wait with ears pricked until the man’s voice was loud enough to hear. So it had gone every day for the past week. Something about their conversations felt dangerous, but Jevil had always been too curious, too hungry for knowledge. And the man had such knowledge to give.

He told Jevil of patterns and structures that shaped his world, both intricate and imperfect. It was all a bit difficult for Jevil to grasp, and the man was protective of what he knew, providing information in tiny fragments that only left Jevil with more questions. But he could still feel the man’s words digging into his brain long after they spoke. In rare, fleeting moments, he would notice sequences in the way the trees moved, or the way the guards spoke to him, and the cold terror of recognition would set his tail on end.

So far, there was only one thing Jevil was sure of: the patterns were what the “magic” of his world was built upon. Seam would spend long nights studying the mystic arts in the castle library, and even they had no inkling of this truth. Jevil could try to explain to them what he had learned, but he knew how outlandish it all was. Seam might stare at him in bewildered disbelief, or worse, brush it off as another one of his pranks. It was a lonely feeling, but Jevil was used to being alone, wasn’t he? Perhaps this was why the man had chosen to share these secrets with him.

He set forth another spade-shaped bullet, allowing it to ascend higher this time, until he had to crane his head to watch it fizzle out into the dark expanse of sky above him. Maybe he could use this unique understanding to his advantage. He could bend the rules of his own magic, make his performances more impressive. Win even more favour from his audience…

Jevil’s reverie was cut short by the sound of his telephone ringing behind him. His heart jumped; he had never received a call before. It couldn’t be Seam—the old fluff stubbornly refused to use newfangled Cyber World technology, instead opting to communicate by crystal ball. And there was only one other Darkner who he would give his number to.

Jevil spun on his heel and ran through the doorway into his bedroom. He skidded sideways up to the small table where the telephone sat; it was a funny thing from Cyber World with a long, spiraling cord, its transparent casing revealing a colourful array of wires and metal shapes that were unlike anything Jevil knew from Card Kingdom. Heart pounding, he yanked the handset off the base and pressed it to his ear. “HELLO?”

“Hey, Jevil!” A bright, natural voice, a tad softer and less polished than its made-for-TV version, but that only made it sound sweeter. Jevil could hear his smile over the telephone.

“SALUTATIONS, MY DEAR SPAMTON,” Jevil grinned back. “HOW CURIOUS, A CALL FROM BIG SHOT AUTOS! WHEN IT’S USUALLY ME DOING THE PESTERING. WHAT’S YOUR BUSINESS?”

“Well, I just had to call you about this exclusive offer, available this evening for a limited time only!” Spamton announced, taking on a facetious imitation of his own ad-speak.

Jevil was twirling the telephone cord around his glove. “OOH, TELL ME MORE!”

“Here’s the deal: Show up in front of my apartment building at 7 p.m. on the dot, and I’ll take you for a ride around town in my special Cungadero!” This was the most high-end model available at Spamton’s business, one he was tremendously proud to sell. “We might stop by a couple of stores, depends on where the night takes us. How’s that sound?”

“YOU HAVE ME CONVINCED! I’LL BE THERE.”

“Fantastic! I’ll see you then. Catch ya later!”

“BYE-BYE!”

Jevil hung up the phone. Then, he pulled off his hat by the tails, pressed his face into it, and let out a muffled screech of excitement. Another night with Spamton G. Spamton! His cheeks felt hot enough to burn through the velvet. What a fool he was for this man.

* * *

Jevil had arrived early. He waited next to the entrance of Spamton’s apartment building, shifting on his feet, his tail flicking back and forth. Standing under the rectangular lights on either side of the entrance would draw attention to him, but standing in a shadowed spot would only make him look more frightening, so he had decided on somewhere in the middle.

The doors slid open, as they had in intervals for ten long minutes, and Jevil’s heart somersaulted as he finally glimpsed a pointed noise and glossy black hair. On this particular evening, Spamton was dressed in a black suit with red trim on the pockets and lapels, accented with a red tie. It brought out the colour on his cheeks very nicely. Jevil could feel colour rushing to his own cheeks already.

Spamton glanced around him, and his beady eyes landed on Jevil, who was leaning out from the wall with his tail wagging. A more crooked smile lit up his face, one that Jevil knew was real. “Jevil! So glad you could make it!”

Jevil drew up to Spamton and took his hand. He planted a gentle kiss on the salesman’s knuckles. “IT’S MY PLEASURE,” he murmured.

A literal shockwave travelled from Spamton’s hand to all over his neon body. Jevil leapt backward with a startled nu-ha!, his own hand stinging from the electricity. Spamton must have been unaccustomed to the chivalrous rituals of Jevil’s homeland; his face had turned an eye-searing bright red.

“OH, I’M SORRY, SPAMTON, IT WAS NOT MY INTENTION TO OFFEND—”

“D—Don’t—[Don’t miss out!]—” Spamton interrupted himself with a loud cough. “Don’t worry about it, Jevil. I’m not offended. Just…took me by surprise, is all.” He coughed again and adjusted his hair. “So. Are you ready to go?”

Jevil nodded. They only had to walk a short distance down the street before Spamton stopped in front of a red convertible with a thick yellow lightning bolt painted on the side. The 1997 Cungadero—Jevil could see the pride of ownership from the pristine brown leather seats to the lustrous exterior.

“Isn’t she a beauty?” exclaimed Spamton.

Jevil was inspecting his own reflection in the car windows. “CERTAINLY, BUT SHE’S A WRECK COMPARED TO YOU.”

Spamton snorted, his grin widening. “You’re a real card, Jevil, you know that?”

Jevil held his head high in mock pride. “THAT I AM! IN MORE THAN ONE SENSE OF THE WORD.”

It took a moment for Jevil’s pun to dawn on him, and then Spamton visibly winced. “Just get in the damn car,” he groaned, but he was laughing, too—Jevil counted that as a win.

Jevil sat down in the passenger’s seat as Spamton sat behind the wheel. The salesman pressed a button and Jevil watched in fascination as the top of the car split into sections and folded itself into the trunk.

“Ever seen a retractable hardtop before?” Spamton’s eyes shone with enthusiasm. “Self-storing, too! I’m telling you, Jevil, this car’s a feat of engineering!” He slapped the dashboard to punctuate his words. “Well, sure, it’s nothing new, coupé convertibles have been around since the turn of the century, but they’ve only been getting better since then…”

Listening to Spamton gush about cars always made Jevil’s heart melt. “THIS VEHICLE REALLY KNOWS THE ART OF THE SPECTACLE. I FEAR SHE MIGHT SURPASS ME,” he joked.

“Well, you better start working hard!” Spamton laughed. “Next year’s model is supposed to be revolutionary.” He turned his key in the ignition and the motor sputtered to life. Music began to blast from the speakers, the tinny sound of 99.7 Wavetable FM (Cyber City’s #1 hit MIDI station).

“Alright! Let’s take this baby for a spin.”

Spamton slammed his foot on the gas pedal and swerved out from the curb, the engine roaring and the tires screeching. Jevil shrieked with astonished laughter and grabbed onto his hat before the wind could sweep it away.

Then they jerked to a stop behind a long line of unmoving cars.

Spamton sighed. “Yeah, the traffic in this city is terrible. I knew I shouldn’t have taken this route. Hold on.”

He backed up, made a U-turn, and drifted around a corner.

“WOW, I WOULDN’T HAVE GUESSED THE SALESMAN WAS A STUNTMAN AS WELL!” Jevil effused as they sped down a boulevard.

“Oh, in the city, this is normal,” explained Spamton, spinning the steering wheel with one hand. “I swear, the [$!$!] I have to pull just to get to work on time every morning—there goes my profanity filter again, I don’t know when that started—” A two-legged car knocked into the driver’s side of the Cungadero and bounced off with a waow!

“Hey, watch it, pal!” Spamton hollered at the offending car. “This paint job is custom!” The vehicle had resumed its brisk walk, and someone was now making a rude gesture out of the passenger window. Spamton hissed with annoyance and slammed the gas pedal until his enemy was out of sight.

Jevil suppressed a giggle. The city was never boring, and Spamton certainly wasn’t either.

The wind was whipping through Jevil’s cape and hissing past the tips of his ears; the feeling was exhilarating. Cars of all shapes and sizes hurtled past, on wheels and on legs, headlights blinking cheerfully. The cityscape rose around them, bright and colourful and magnificent. It seemed infinite in its expanse. The buildings stretched endlessly into the distance, block after block.

The same block. The same sequence of buildings, lined up again and again in an endless loop. Repeating over and over and over…

Jevil felt something touch his shoulder. He flinched, bursting into a ragged gasp.

Spamton’s face came into focus; he was resting a hand on Jevil’s shoulder, and his eyes were troubled. “You okay, Jevil? You look all shaken up.”

Jevil’s head was still whirling with the pattern he had seen. He exhaled sharply and gave a quick shake of his head. “I’M FINE, FINE…”

Why had he said it twice?

Jevil spent the rest of the drive with his eyes fixed on the cars in front of him, not daring to look at his surroundings. At last, Spamton turned a corner onto a street in the shopping district, and he felt the car slow to a stop. Finally feeling safe enough to turn his head, he looked to his right and saw that Spamton had pulled up in front of a brightly lit clothing store. Elegantly tailored suits in various colours were displayed on mannequins in the windows. “The Thread Pool Quality Menswear,” read the neon sign above the door in graceful sans-serif font.

Spamton pushed a button and the top of the car reassembled itself.

“Thought we could use some new duds. What do you think?”

“OH, THAT’S A WONDERFUL IDEA, TO BE SURE, BUT…” Jevil frowned, contemplating the lavish fabrics that the mannequins were wearing. “I DON’T THINK I’D BE ABLE TO AFFORD IT.”

“C’mon, Jevil, I’m paying for it, of course!” Spamton replied airily. “You tell me the Joker has no suit, so I thought I should get you one.”

Jevil gawked at Spamton, then erupted into laughter. “WHAT A CLEVER TURN OF PHRASE! YOU’RE REALLY KEEPING UP!”

“I can’t let you have all the snappy slogans, y’know. I’m a salesman, after all,” Spamton pointed out with a wink.

Oh, he was too adorable.

When they both entered the store, Jevil was impressed to see that the inside was as stylish as the exterior had promised. The walls were dark blue, with small alcoves in lighter blue hosting hooks, shelves, and racks of formal wear. Glass tables and mannequins presented more clothing on the shop’s floor. Cubical ceiling lamps illuminated each room so that the details in every garment were visible, while strips of light in cyan, magenta, and yellow cast blending gradients on the walls.

Now that he was within earshot of other shoppers, Spamton switched into his public voice. “LET’S FIND SOMETHING FOR YOU FIRST. ANY OF THESE SUITS CATCH YOUR EYE?” His eyes held that excited gleam again.

Jevil’s gaze fell on a suit in deep periwinkle modelled by a nearby mannequin. The fabric of the suit had a faint iridescence to it, and gleaming black buttons adorned its front. A shirt checkered with black and white diamonds was fitted underneath.

“I MUST SAY, THIS ONE IS QUITE NICE,” Jevil remarked. “THE SHIRT, TOO…”

“OH, EXCELLENT CHOICE!” Spamton clapped his hands together. “YOU ALREADY LOOK GREAT IN THAT COLOUR.”

Jevil’s cheeks warmed at the compliment.

Spamton wasted no time in getting the attention of a sharply dressed Werewire salesclerk. “HEY, GRAB THIS OUTFIT FOR MY FRIEND HERE, WOULD YA?” he directed. “AND GET A DRESSING ROOM FOR HIM, TOO.”

“Certainly, Mr. Spamton. I’ll have it ready right away,” replied the Werewire, and they disappeared into the back of the store.

Friend. That was an odd choice of word.

But Spamton was still smiling, as if nothing unusual had been said. “HEY, HOW ABOUT ONE OF THESE BOWTIES TO GO WITH YOUR LOOK?” He held one up as if promoting it to a studio audience. “THIS SHADE OF YELLOW WOULD REALLY BRING OUT YOUR EYES!”

Jevil settled on the yellow bowtie, simple white socks, and a pair of shiny black tassel loafers large enough for his feet. In the dressing room, he removed his hat and placed it on a peg, freeing grey curls that tumbled to just past his shoulders. He pulled off his gloves and slippers, the sharp black claws on his hands and feet glinting under the overhead light. As he slipped off the rest of his jester’s costume, he noted the scars marking his body: long, thin slices from hours spent taming Devilsknife, and the two lines underneath his pectoral muscles.

He examined himself in the mirror. His horns were now exposed, short points in dusky blue-grey sticking up from his forehead around his widow’s peak. It felt unnerving to have them out in the open like this, too vulnerable. But he remembered how thrilled Spamton had looked moments earlier, and the thought of letting him down seemed much worse. Wearing a jester’s hat with a suit would look absurd, anyway.

Jevil put on his new ensemble and was pleased to see that it was a perfect fit—the salesclerk had guessed his letter size with flawless accuracy. The help was definitely needed, because Jevil had no idea what his size was. His jester’s uniform, like nearly all clothing in Card Kingdom, was a unique garment custom-made to match his proportions, and he rarely wore anything else. Seeing himself outside of this uniform was jarring, as if by discarding it, he had discarded his own identity. This was not Jevil, jester to the Card Castle court, this was just Jevil…and who was he without that role?

“EVERYTHING OKAY IN THERE, JEVIL?” Spamton’s voice carried from the hallway outside. He had offered to stand by if Jevil needed any help, but Jevil knew Spamton was really there to see how the suit looked on him.

“YES, I’M ALRIGHT,” Jevil called out. He slipped on his gloves and took a deep breath, just as he had on the day they first met, and opened the dressing room door.

He stepped out, loafers clicking against the white tile floor, and looked up: Spamton was right there, standing across from him against the opposite wall. Jevil averted his gaze and scratched behind his ear. “SO…WHAT DO YOU THINK?”

Silence stretched out between them for several seconds. Confused, Jevil glanced upward again to see Spamton’s eyes focusing on him, taking him in. His mouth had fallen open, and his cheeks were blooming into a brilliant stoplight-red. Jevil was taken aback; was his appearance really having that much of an effect?

Spamton took a deliberate step forward, as if possessed, and gently held Jevil’s hand in his. He leaned closer, and Jevil braced himself for a kiss—but then he saw Spamton’s eyes dart toward the Werewire salesclerk hovering nearby. He let go of Jevil’s hand and drew back.

“LOOKS…SENSATIONAL!” Spamton exclaimed in a strained tone. “REALLY CLASSY! JUST NEED A MINUTE, I’LL BE RIGHT BACK…”

He broke into a hasty walk, hurrying down the hall and turning a corner into the rest of the store, leaving Jevil standing alone.

After a brief wait, Jevil concluded that he might as well change back into his usual attire. Once he stepped out of the dressing room for a second time, Spamton was right there waiting for him, his habitual smile back on his face as if nothing had happened. Jevil accompanied Spamton as he tried on a new suit of his own: a satiny red one with rhinestones dotting the shoulders and lapels, paired with a tie in vivid yellow (this, of course, looked fantastic on him). Spamton paid for both their outfits, and they returned to the Cungadero and placed the purchases in the trunk.

As soon as they sat back down in the car, Spamton took Jevil’s face in his hands and met him with a look so startling in its intensity that Jevil stifled a gasp. He smoothed the jester’s cheek with his thumb as if inspecting a rare and precious artifact.

“Jevil. Do you have any idea how breathtaking you are?”

The words pierced straight through Jevil’s core.

Spamton didn’t give him the opportunity to form a response. He pulled Jevil into him and they kissed more urgently than they ever had before. Jevil could feel the electricity dancing on Spamton’s lips, and up close the salesman’s cologne was overpowering. His head was spinning, but not like it had when he had seen the buildings repeating into infinity: this was a wonderful, thrilling kind of spin, like being swept away on a carousel ride.

But something was drawing him out of the dizziness, a question that stuck in his mind like a shard of glass. He pulled back from Spamton, feeling the vertigo fall away.

“What’s wrong? Jevil, did—did I do something—”

“WHY DID YOU HESITATE?”

Jevil locked eyes with Spamton, pinning him with his stare.

“I—What do you mean?” Spamton stammered weakly.

“I KNEW THAT LOOK IN YOUR EYES. THAT MOMENT WHEN I DRESSED UP FOR YOU, YOU HAD WANTED TO KISS ME, DIDN’T YOU? BUT YOU HESITATED, AND YOU LEFT TO COLLECT YOURSELF. AND BEFORE THAT, YOU CALLED ME YOUR FRIEND, NOT YOUR LOVER…ARE YOU STILL AFRAID?”

“Look, I…You caught me, okay?” Spamton admitted. “I’m just…I’m a public figure now, and I’m scared that someone will see me with…” He trailed off, avoiding Jevil’s gaze.

“WITH A CLOWN?” Jevil murmured. “A…MALE CLOWN?” A small smile curled his lips; it was easy to see the humour in the situation.

“Yeah.” Spamton sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Jevil, I swear you’re the most beautiful man and the most beautiful damned clown I’ve ever seen, and I don’t want you to take this personally, y’know?” His voice had softened, and he took Jevil’s hand and gave it an apologetic squeeze, an action that threatened to tear Jevil’s heart to pieces.

“EVEN SO, WHY FRET SO MUCH?” Jevil asked nevertheless, refusing to back down just yet. “SUCH FRIVOLOUS GOSSIP SHOULDN’T MATTER.”

“But it does matter!” Spamton burst out. “My reputation is my career, Jevil. Nobody but you has seen me like this. Nobody knows how much of a [Counterfeit goods] I am. If I slip up even [One-Time Offer], I’ll lose [Everything must go!]” He sighed explosively, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers—his garbled speech was only worsening his agitation.

“YOU FORGET THAT I’VE SEEN ALL OF YOU, AND YET I STILL LIKE YOU, SPAMTON.” Jevil gave Spamton’s chest an affectionate poke. The salesman only scoffed, but the edges of his lips were pulling upward. “TO BE TRUTHFUL, IT ONLY MAKES ME LIKE YOU MORE.”

Spamton huffed out a small, exasperated laugh. “I don’t understand you.”

He kissed Jevil again, more gently this time, and Jevil spun away on the carousel once more.

* * *

“Hey, Spamton! Over here! You might want to see this.”

Spamton stopped in his tracks and glanced to his right: Quizabelle was beckoning at him from her usual advertising spot in front of her boutique. She had caught him in the middle of striding back from the Chatroom Café after picking up his morning cup of java. What could she possibly want this early in the day? Couldn’t she see he was busy?

“SURE, WHAT’S UP?” he responded anyway in the cheeriest voice he could manage, and he walked up to the Addison’s side.

Quizabelle was projecting a translucent browser window from her palm in midair. Spamton took a sip from his thermos and leaned in for a closer look. The window showed an article from The Buzz, one of Cyber City’s most notorious celebrity gossip websites. In thick, aggressive lettering, the title read: “Spamton ‘Gay’ Spamton? Rising Star Salesman Seen Clowning Around With Man In Jester Costume.” Mercifully, no photos were attached.

Spamton spit out his java; it spurted straight through the holographic window and onto the sidewalk. “HAHA, THEY’LL JUST WRITE ANYTHING ABOUT ME THESE DAYS!” he forced out through the terror clawing its way up his throat. He searched Quizabelle’s face for any sign of doubt in his words, but it was as unreadably cheerful as always.

“Yeah, your face is all over the tabloids lately, but I’ve never seen a headline like this,” Quizabelle mused, her expression quizzical. “If it’s true, though, I accept you for who you are, Spamton,” she proclaimed, dot eyes shimmering with altruistic fervour. “It’s okay to be gay! Love is love—”

“THANKS, QUIZ, BUT YOU’VE GOT THE WRONG IDEA,” Spamton interrupted. “THE BUZZ ISN’T WHAT I’D CALL A TRUSTWORTHY SOURCE! BESIDES, YOU’VE SEEN HOW CRAZY I AM FOR QUEEN.” He completed his explanation with a desperate grin. Once again, he declined to mention his breakup—he had never told the Addisons about it, and he intended to keep it that way.

“Oh, no, so you’re still not over her? Click told me you guys split up a week ago! Rumour has it she’s with Tasque Manager now. Quick turnaround, huh? That must hurt! I feel bad for you.” Quizabelle suddenly clapped a neon-orange hand over her mouth. “Oh, shoot, did you know that already? Ugh, my stupid motormouth! Sorry if you had to find out this way. I was surprised too, I mean, I had no idea Queen was into women. I support it, even though I can’t really relate myself, I’m not a lesbian or anything—”

Quizabelle chattered on, but Spamton wasn’t listening. Of course Click had figured it out, the gossiping bastard! And Queen finding a new date in less than a week was just another slap in the face after an already humiliating split.

Well, at least he didn’t have to pretend they were together anymore. One less lie he had to keep track of. There was a sort of freedom in that.

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME, QUIZ,” Spamton assured the Addison before she could say anything else. “I’LL BE JUST FINE.”

He smiled, thinking of Jevil’s face.

Chapter Text

Spamton called Jevil about their tabloid appearance as soon as he got back to his office. Jevil found the headline uproariously funny, but he could hear the distress in Spamton’s voice, and so he agreed to keep their relationship under wraps. It would be their little secret.

Whenever Spamton’s schedule allowed, they would sneak out together to a quiet café, a secluded rooftop patio, a room in a little-known hotel, or anywhere Spamton felt safe from paparazzi. Visiting Spamton undetected required a level of cunning that Jevil delighted in. Nevertheless, he wished he could make grander, more public displays of his adoration.

Jevil instead used this wish as inspiration for his performances. Each one was more elaborate than the last, and more of the bullets he used in his visuals were coming out heart-shaped. The knowledge the man had given him helped as well. Seam noticed the impossibility of Jevil’s new tricks almost immediately, and they lightly entreated him for his secrets more than once. Jevil explained that he had been making breakthroughs, though he veiled the details in cryptic language.

In Cyber City, Spamton was making breakthroughs of his own. Though there was occasional speculation over why such an eligible bachelor was turning down advances, his public opinion was continuing to skyrocket. His schedule now included talk show appearances, product endorsement deals, and photoshoots for fashion magazines.

The most exciting development of all was that he had finally secured a room for himself in Queen’s Mansion. There could no longer be any doubt that Spamton had made it big.

Spamton made sure to tell the Addisons all about it when they met at the First Byte that night. “WELL, MY CURRENT APARTMENT’S DAMN NICE AS IT IS, BUT QUEEN’S MANSION HAS PERKS THAT YOU JUST CAN’T GET ANYWHERE ELSE!” he went on after a lengthy description of the Cyber City elite that he would soon be living with. “EXCLUSIVE ACCESS TO THE BANQUET HALL, FOR STARTERS! AND THE IN-HOUSE BUTLER SERVICE, OF COURSE. WHEN YOU’RE A BIG SHOT LIKE ME, YOUR SCHEDULE GETS PRETTY PACKED—WELL, THE DEALS DON’T MAKE THEMSELVES, HAHA! REALLY FREES UP TIME WHEN YOU HAVE SWATCHLINGS TO CLEAN UP AFTER YOU—”

“Spamton, can you quit kissing your own ass?”

Spamton’s face fell. Every Addison’s head turned toward Clickolas, who sat at the opposite end of the circular table with a hard look in his beady eyes.

“Look, we all knew you were different. I’m not sure what you call yourself, the e-mail guy or something, but you sure aren’t an Addison,” Clickolas persisted, his voice edged with frustration. “And we took you in anyway! We treated you like one of our own and we tried to show you the ropes, even though you couldn’t make a sale to save your life. But ever since you got good at your job, you’ve turned into this arrogant asshole who never, ever shuts up. You’re making us regret ever giving you a chance in the first place.”

Spamton broke into an uneasy laugh. “WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? I THOUGHT YOU’D BE HAPPY FOR ME.”

Clickolas’ laugh was shorter, more bitter. “Sure, Spamton. But we’re getting pretty sick of having you around.”

Spamton felt sick himself. After years of struggling to catch up, he could finally call the Addisons his peers, and now they hated him for it?

Linkoln placed a hand on Clickolas’ shoulder from where they sat next to him. “Click, I think you should calm down,” they whispered. “Maybe we can sort this out somewhere else in private…”

“What?! I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking!” Clickolas snapped, shoving Linkoln’s hand away. “Somebody has to, or else we’re stuck being the audience for his ego-stroking until he gets bored of us. And suddenly I’m the bad guy?”

“HEY…YOU GUYS DON’T REALLY THINK THAT, RIGHT?” Spamton shot a pleading look at the other Addisons.

They said nothing, their faces revealing that old, familiar sentiment that had always made him wince: pity tinged with disdain.

Payton steepled their fingers and inhaled before breaking the silence. “We really are proud of you, Spamton, that won’t change, but you have to understand that—”

Spamton couldn’t stand to hear any more. “Alright, fine, I [C] how it is!” he spat, pushing himself up from his seat, his body flickering and sparking with rage. “If that’s what you all [!$!$]ing want, I’ll leave! Go back to your [Critical Failure] [Online Storefront Site] and keep making your [Bottom dollar], I sure won’t miss any of you [Suckers] where I’m going!”

He stormed out of the cyber grill before any of them could say a word.

Spamton focused on steadying his breathing as he returned to his car, his fists clenching and unclenching. He turned the key in the ignition and drove over the speed limit with no destination in mind. Screw them. I don’t need them, he repeated in his head like a prayer.

At once he knew exactly how to ease his mind. Tonight he’d take advantage of everything the Cyber City nightlife had to offer. He’d do whatever the Addisons couldn’t dream of. Cutting the backstabbers out of his life was a reason to celebrate, wasn’t it?

Spamton took a flask out of a compartment in his armrest and downed it in one swift motion. He pressed on the gas pedal until the engine was all he could hear.

* * *

Jevil awoke with a start at his writing desk. He sensed the outline of his quill in his hand—he had fallen asleep in the middle of writing. Piles of paper were scattered in front of him, words and diagrams scrawled onto every inch. There was a large dent where his head had pressed into them. He placed the quill in its inkwell and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the dizziness from his dream.

In the dark and quiet of his room at Card Castle, Jevil had been free to turn his theories over in his head. He knew now that the patterns were more pervasive than he had thought. Yesterday, the man had described blocks that constructed everything around him, arranged in neat rows and columns. Blocks were the ground he walked on, the trees and buildings. Blocks were the air, and he had seen them in his dream: transparent cubes stacked in every direction that shifted around him when he moved. Their edges could only be seen and felt by those who knew they existed.

As he recalled this, an epiphany struck him: if he could traverse the blocks on the ground, perhaps he could move through the air in the same way.

He had to test his hypothesis.

Jevil walked into the center of the room and gave the air above him a cautious nudge with his head. For the first time, he felt the barely perceptible edge of something—or was he hallucinating? Despite the chill creeping up his spine, he pushed at the edge further until he was standing on his tiptoes.

The section of air at the top of his head gave way and reappeared beneath the soles of his slippers, lifting him upward, until he was hovering an inch above the ground.

Jevil’s stomach lurched, his eyes frozen on the gap between his feet and the floor. It couldn’t be possible, and yet he had accomplished it so easily, and his head whirled faster and faster until the world seemed to collapse in on itself, blocks within blocks in endless recursion—

The telephone rang. It ripped Jevil out of his trance, sending him crashing onto his feet. He shook his head to regain his bearings and rushed to picked up the handset.

“HELLO, HELLO?” Jevil heard the greeting slip out twice and nearly bit his tongue in frustration.

The sound on the other end was indistinct—Jevil thought he could hear Spamton’s breathing, but it was coming in clipped, erratic bursts like an untuned radio.

“SPAMTON, ARE YOU THERE? IS THERE SOMETHING AMISS WITH THE CONNECTION…?”

A strained, high-pitched noise came through the receiver, and suddenly Jevil understood what he was hearing.

Spamton was crying.

“Jevil…” His speech was sluggish and unsteady. “It’s so good to hear your voice…”

“WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT’S WRONG?” Jevil pressed him as calmly as he could manage.

“My apartment…alone. I’m all alone, Jevil…” Spamton took a shuddering breath. “I need you.”

Jevil’s chest ached.

“I’LL BE RIGHT THERE,” he promised. “JUST WAIT FOR ME.”

* * *

When Jevil arrived at Spamton’s apartment, he found him sitting at his kitchen counter, trying to light a cigarette with a trembling hand and staring at nothing. His glow was dim, and his face was red and blotchy, unruly chunks of hair drooping over his forehead. The same red, rhinestoned suit he had bought that night with Jevil was now stained, the yellow tie coming loose.

At the sound of Jevil’s arrival, Spamton dropped the lighter and still-unlit cigarette onto the counter, pushed himself off the kitchen stool, and stumbled toward him. He reeked of cologne and battery acid. “Jevil,” he slurred, almost breathless. “Jevil, I’m so glad you showed up…”

“OF COURSE, SPAMTON!” Jevil rushed to assure him. “I’LL ALWAYS—” He stopped mid-sentence as he noticed Spamton’s face crumple.

Jevil caught Spamton as he teetered into him. The salesman rested his head on Jevil’s shoulder and collapsed into helpless, wrenching sobs. Jevil held him tightly for a while, rubbing a gloved hand on his back in slow circles. He had little experience with comforting others, but his tentative actions seemed to have an effect, because Spamton did not let go.

“WHAT MAKES YOU SO SORROWFUL, MY SWEET?” Jevil asked softly. “IT PAINS ME TO SEE YOU LIKE THIS…”

“They…left me,” Spamton choked out through his tears. “The Addisons…they betrayed me. You’re all I have, Jevil…you know that? I—I have nobody else. Not even the person on the phone knows me like you do…”

“THE PERSON…ON THE PHONE? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”

“And…and the strings…I can feel them pulling me.” Spamton pulled back, gripping Jevil’s shoulders, and his eyes were wide and fearful. “I can…feel them [Constricting] my [Limbs]. When I [Drink] I don;t [Noticed] them as much…but they>’r e [Remote Control] My m0vements, Jev1l , every [Precious moment] I’ m awake, and they won:t come off , [No Matter What] i do”—he was clawing at his own neck now—“they jUst Won’t com3 [Off]—”

His speech was garbled, marred with static, and his tremors had worsened into unnatural, jerking movements that reminded Jevil of a marionette. There was no pattern to it at all. Something was very wrong.

Jevil was afraid to ask what he meant. He knew the consequences of knowing too much.

“WE CAN WORRY ABOUT SUCH THINGS IN THE MORNING, ALRIGHT?” he interrupted, gently bringing Spamton’s hands down from his neck and holding them in his. “FOR NOW YOU’RE SAFE WITH ME.”

Although Jevil was unsure of how true this was, Spamton seemed to believe him: he swallowed thickly and nodded, eyes scrunching shut, his convulsions softening into weak shivers.

“LET’S GET YOU TO BED. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO CARRY YOU?”

Spamton nodded again.

Jevil lifted him and placed him over his shoulders. He had built a sturdy physique from years of wielding the heavy Devilsknife, so he handled Spamton’s slight frame with ease. Normally, Spamton might have laughed at the idea of being toted around in a fireman’s carry, but right now he seemed too exhausted to care.

Jevil surveyed the apartment as he navigated towards Spamton’s bedroom. Everything looked glamorously modern: a sleek kitchen with gleaming appliances, abstract art pieces, avant-garde light fixtures and furniture, an enormous CRT television in front of a cushy sectional. The white walls accentuated the pops of colour in the decor, and dark blue brick was exposed on the far end of the living room. Tall glass panels on one wall opened out to a balcony with a sweeping view of the Cyber City skyline.

Still, it was obvious why Spamton had never invited him over before: the place was a mess. Takeout containers and empty glasses were accumulating in the kitchen, and the rest of the apartment was littered with receipts and purchases that had yet to be unboxed. Jevil had to step over them as he walked. How long had Spamton been living in this state?

The sliding door to the bedroom had been left open. When Jevil entered, he faced a roomy bed on a minimalistic bedframe, the headboard placed against a red accent wall. On the bedside table sat a digital alarm clock and a cubical lamp that provided a soft glow. There was a white duvet patterned with a black grid on top of the bed; it was rumpled, and red and black throw pillows were tossed haphazardly onto it. Another television flickered from a wide table across from the bed, turned to a low volume. To Jevil’s left, black vertical blinds were half-closed, revealing thin glimpses of the sky.

Jevil helped Spamton into a pair of red-and-white-striped satin pajamas (his sleepwear collection was impressive) and tucked him into the right side of the bed, facing the window.

“SHALL I TURN OFF THE TELEVISION?” he asked.

“No…no, leave it on,” Spamton mumbled without lifting the side of his head from his pillow.

“ALRIGHT. WELL, I SUPPOSE I SHOULD LEAVE YOU TO SLEEP.” Jevil turned toward the bedroom door. “I’LL CALL YOU AS SOON AS MORNING ARRIVES—”

Before Jevil could move any further, he felt Spamton grab his hand. He looked behind him.

The raw desperation in Spamton’s eyes cut into him like a knife.

“Don’t go. Please…”

The salesman’s hand was gripping Jevil’s with surprising strength. Jevil placed his other hand over it, sealing it between his gloved palms.

“RIGHT. I’LL STAY,” Jevil managed through the lump in his throat. “I’LL STAY AS LONG AS YOU WISH.”

He climbed onto the other side of the bed. Kneeling next to Spamton’s head, he stroked his hair, smoothing its pieces back into place and loosening tangles until his eyelids drooped shut.

“Thank…you,” Spamton whispered.

It was strange to hear him thank someone, let alone speak so quietly. Jevil pushed a stray polygon of hair out of his face, and he was opening his mouth to respond when Spamton whispered something else.

“I love you…”

Jevil froze.

Right now, Spamton was an emotional wreck, and he was drugged out of his mind. There was no way of knowing if he meant what he said. But the words echoed in Jevil’s head, louder and louder until he could barely breathe.

He couldn’t let himself believe it. Not yet.

Pushing the thought from his mind, he pressed a soft kiss to Spamton’s forehead. “YOU SHOULD GET SOME REST.”

Spamton did not reply; he was already asleep.

Jevil watched him for a moment. He had never seen Spamton so peaceful before. His glow had dimmed completely, and under the covers his entire body was still.

How much had he been sleeping lately? Jevil recalled how haggard he had looked, his eyes wild and glossy as if it took considerable effort to keep them open. No wonder he had fallen apart.

Jevil’s ears pricked at the sound of Spamton’s voice. He lifted his head: a Big Shot Autos commercial was playing on the television.

“SO DON’T WAIT! DON’T DELAY!” boomed the grinning Spamton on the screen. “PICK UP THE PHONE AND DIAL 1-900-BIG-SHOT TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THIS INCREDIBLE DEAL!” He wore the same red suit and yellow tie he had been wearing moments earlier, and its colours perfectly matched the shiny Cungadero next to him—the outfit appeared to be his new signature.

Jevil glanced at the disheveled Spamton sleeping next to him, then back at the Spamton on the television. The difference was jarring. He wondered if it ever hurt Spamton’s face to smile like that.

The commercial ended and was followed by the remainder of a sitcom episode. Jevil stopped paying attention.

Spamton’s relentless passion and drive was one of the first things Jevil had loved about him, but it was destroying the salesman from the inside out. It was difficult to watch him strive for superficial success in a fabricated system, within a world that was even more inauthentic.

If only he knew the truth. If only it were easier to tell him.

Perhaps he was too far gone.

Jevil curled up facing Spamton and watched over him until he could no longer keep his eyes open.

* * *

The next morning, after Spamton had gotten ready for the day, Jevil tried asking him about the strings. Spamton only laughed, insisting that he had been on more substances than he could count and must have been hallucinating.

Jevil decided not to press the matter. He left for Card Castle with a knot in his stomach and questions weighing on his mind.

As the months passed, Spamton became more elusive. When Jevil would call him, he would rarely be able to talk for more than a couple of minutes, mentioning that he was in high demand. Spamton had reached superstar status; his advertisements were everywhere, and it had become impossible to visit Cyber City without seeing his face.

The facsimile Spamtons would smile at Jevil from countless screens, and at times he would close his eyes against them, trying to picture the real Spamton’s grin. It was slipping away from him, becoming lost in the endless reproductions. His head was spinning more than ever lately.

Their visits continued, although they were growing more sparse. Jevil would sneak into Queen’s Mansion to meet Spamton in his room, only for Spamton to leave early due to a sudden phone call. The more this occurred, the more frustrated Jevil grew, until he took to cheering himself up with a bit of mischief.

Knocking over vases or defacing paintings were both excellent outlets. Jevil could tell that Spamton was still bitter about how Queen had treated him, and destroying her likeness gave him a vindictive thrill that he was sure Spamton shared. (He couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Spamton to be living in his ex’s house, especially now that she too was sneaking around with her new sweetheart.)

Playing with the Tasques was his favourite; their lively tails and digital meows were endearing, and he could easily get them to misbehave. This got him in trouble with the ever-vigilant Tasque Manager a few times, but he always managed to escape before any other Mansion staff had seen him.

As his time spent with Spamton dwindled, an all-too-familiar loneliness crept back into Jevil’s life. With little else to do, he fell further under the sway of the man’s words. There was less to distract him from his experiments, from his fervent theorizing about how to bend the structures of his world to his will. Even his sentences were twisting into new shapes; their syntax was just another pattern that he would never see the same way again.

His performances were more awe-inspiring than ever. But Jevil was increasingly reckless with his stunts, placing showmanship above his own safety. Once, in a performance with Seam, he had even come close to injuring them in a risky throw of Devilsknife. The show went on, but Jevil could tell their trust in him was shaken.

In fact, Seam had already been growing distant. Instead of meeting Jevil’s jokes with their dry wit, confusion would flicker in their button eyes, or they would fall into a contemplative silence.

They would withdraw into the castle library, and Jevil would see little of them for a few days. During their games, Seam’s movements were guarded, their incantations urgent.

They were afraid of him. The thought stung.

* * *

One evening, as Jevil was practicing the lute under a scarlet tree alone, the man came to him first. The static mixed with the mournful melody Jevil was playing; startled, he placed his lute down and listened.

The man praised Jevil’s progression over the past months. He believed Jevil was ready to see the truth of the world, if he wished.

He acknowledged, however, that the sight might be difficult to bear. Would Jevil accept?

Jevil pondered for a moment, his heartbeat quickening. He was afraid; what he had already seen had frightened him enough. But he knew he could not stand to live in ignorance, knowing there were answers to his questions just out of reach.

“I ACCEPT, ACCEPT.”

Truly excellent, the man said.

Jevil became suddenly aware of a smooth shape resting in the palm of his glove. It was a small crystal, so clear that he could only see it by its fluid, rippling shadow. The man must have placed it there through some clever trick that not even Jevil could explain.

As he turned the crystal in his hand, he thought he glimpsed a flash of colour in its depths, the outline of something. It was nothing like the forest, or the castle he could see in the distance. What was he looking at?

The man encouraged him to see for himself.

He held the crystal up to his eye.

Chapter Text

Jevil darted through the city alleyways, bouncing and whirling over piles of trash and passing Maice, his hat jingling as he went. Here he could move fastest, unencumbered by the passersby that clogged the main streets.

As he travelled, he thought of Spamton, and the images he had seen in the crystal the night before. After what the man had shown him, he finally understood how the patterns fit together. Now he could see every tiny element of the world around him with dizzying clarity, how they fit together into an orderly whole, how easily all of it could topple into chaos. His heart raced with the giddy terror of possibility.

He couldn’t keep his knowledge from Spamton any longer. To watch him live in ignorance would be too much to bear. The truth would be difficult to take at first, but—

A shout behind him made him stop in his tracks.

“Hey, clown!”

Jevil turned his head and recognized the electric glow of an Addison at the end of the alleyway.

Clickolas. The pink one, the most successful and the worst of the bunch. After Spamton recounted the betrayal that Clickolas had instigated, Jevil had made him the main target of his stealthy pranks on the Addisons, reserving the most devastating ones for him. Perhaps he had found out who the culprit was?

“WHAT DO YOU NEED OF ME?” Jevil questioned, spinning gracefully on his heel to face the Addison.

“I want answers,” replied Clickolas with gritted teeth. “And I think you have them.”

“ANSWERS, ANSWERS?” echoed Jevil, tilting his head to one side. “THEY ARE PLENTIFUL IN THIS HEAD, BUT TOO MUCH TO TWIST, TWIST YOUR OWN FEEBLE HEAD AROUND.”

“Don’t play games with me,” Clickolas snapped.

At this Jevil guffawed, the sound richocheting off the dark blue brick of the alleyway.

“NOT SO SIMPLE, ADDISON! ALL THE WORLD’S A GAME, A GAME. WE HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO PLAY IT—”

“Will you shut up?” Clickolas interjected. “God, you talk as much as he does!” He exhaled sharply, then he gathered himself, and he began to speak.

“Listen. Something weird’s been happening with Spamton lately. He got too rich and too famous too quickly. And when I tell you he couldn’t sell, I mean it. Like there was something in his programming that kept him from succeeding.

“And since he hit it big, I’ve heard things about how he acts behind the scenes. He’s paranoid, he’s prone to tremors, his drinking has gotten worse. He’s crashed a few cars and gotten in trouble with the law a few times. He’s turned into a real prick, too, so he doesn’t make it easy for me to admit this, but…” Clickolas laughed, short and rueful. “I’m kind of worried about the guy. Maybe we were wrong to think he didn’t need us anymore.

“Normally, I’d just chalk up his behaviour to the stress of being a celebrity, but I have a few sources in Queen’s Mansion, and they told me he’s always on the phone with someone. I have a feeling whoever is calling him is helping him out.” The Addison’s beady eyes narrowed. “And I have to wonder if whatever they’re telling him to do is making him more unstable.

And there’s another piece to this. Ever since this started happening, you’ve been around.” He jabbed a finger at Jevil. “Sneaking around with him all the time, like you’ve got something to hide. You’ve been pretty good at covering your tracks, I’ll give you that.

“So if you’re involved in this,” he concluded, stepping closer to Jevil until his nose was nearly touching the jester’s face, “can you tell me what the hell is going on?”

True, Jevil had seen sides of Spamton that he refused to show to anyone else. He had heard Spamton mention the “person on the phone” firsthand, and he had seen the salesman’s hallucinations and self-destructive tendencies at their worst. Jevil would never breach Spamton’s trust like that, especially to an Addison.

Beyond that, Jevil was just as ignorant as Clickolas was. Whatever mysterious force Spamton was reckoning with, he insisted on keeping Jevil uninvolved. All Jevil could provide were the little hints Spamton had accidentally revealed when he was at his most vulnerable, and those weren’t answers at all.

“HOW SURPRISED I AM!” Jevil singsonged, subtly backing away from the Addison. “YOU’RE BRIGHTER THAN I DID EXPECT. BUT STILL NOT BRIGHT ENOUGH. YOU MISS AND MISSHAPE TOO MUCH.” His tone grew cold. “ADDISONS SHOULDN’T STICK LONG NOSES WHERE THEY DON’T BELONG.”

Jevil turned to leave, but an enormous pop-up window materialized in front of him, blocking his way. He looked down: the sharp tip of a mouse icon was pointed at his throat.

He heard Clickolas’ voice behind him.

“I’m not letting you leave until you answer me.”

“YOU DRIVE A HARD BARGAIN!” chuckled Jevil without moving his head. “SO, THEN. HOW ABOUT A GAME OF MY OWN? IF YOU WIN, I GIVE YOU MY SECRETS. IF I WIN, I KEEP THEM.”

“And what kind of game is this?”

“OH, IT’S JUST A SIMPLE NUMBERS GAME.”

Jevil’s smile was sharp as a knife.

“WHEN YOUR HP DROPS TO 0, YOU LOSE!”

“Oh, so you’re the dangerous type.” Clickolas’ lips curled into a smirk as the mouse at Jevil’s throat vanished. “Alright, circus freak. Bring it on.”

* * *

Jevil wasn’t picking up.

Spamton placed the receiver down on the handle and sighed.

Smiling took more effort than ever lately, and he wondered if others could see it. The cocktail of substances in his system wasn’t doing nearly enough. He could still feel the thin green strings digging into his wrists whenever he moved.

The nightmares were getting worse; crowds of people with unblinking stares, shadowy hands pulling on his strings, tugging his face into a smile as he danced for their entertainment.

At least his schedule provided a distraction, stressful as it was. Everything else would have to wait.

Jevil would have to wait.

He hadn’t realized that three weeks without seeing Jevil would take such a toll on him.

Today Spamton had been poring over financial documents at his desk, but the words would swim in front of his eyes, and his thoughts kept drifting back to Jevil. He couldn’t work in this state.

Maybe Jevil was out? Spamton knew the clown didn’t have a cell phone; it was possible he didn’t even know how to use one. So, where was he?

The Maushole. Spamton would have to check there first. If he was lucky, Jevil would be there waiting for him again.

He left the documents on his desk and walked out of his office. There were more important matters to attend to.

* * *

The game between Jevil and Clickolas was in full swing. The Addison proved to be an exciting challenge, firing pointed mouse icons from the tips of his fingers, running on the two-dimensional surfaces of pop-up windows in midair. But Jevil was fast, fast, clever, clever. He could see the uniform ways the icons moved and dodged each of them with a triumphant laugh. He circled Clickolas like a carousel, shifting into Devilsknife and back again, whichever form made his next move more interesting.

At last, he noticed a fault in Clickolas’ movements. His HP had dwindled. Jevil, on the other hand, still had plenty of energy left. This was his chance.

He swept Clickolas’ leg out from under him, and the Addison slammed onto his back with a gasp. Numbers flashed above his head as he landed.

Jevil reached into his chest, his hand passing through it like a pool of water. He drew out the long handle of Devilsknife, then its glinting blade, and lifted it above his head.

“I WIN.”

Clickolas shrieked as Jevil brought the scythe down in a swift arc towards his neck.

“Jevil!”

The blade stopped inches from Clickolas’ throat. The Addison flinched, his eyes still squeezed shut.

Jevil slowly turned his head to look behind him. He knew that voice.

Spamton was rushing towards him.

“Jevil, there you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere—” He glanced at Devilsknife, then Clickolas sprawled out underneath it, and he stepped backward, his lips parting in shock.

“What is this?”

“OH, MY DEAR, DEAR SPAMTON!” Jevil grinned. “WE WERE HAVING SUCH FUN, FUN! A SHAME YOU MISSED OUT—”

“F—[Fun for the ]? But [Y] are you…[Why] is he…” Spamton took another step back, swallowing hard. His hands were shaking. “I…I don’t understand…”

At once Jevil forgot what he was doing. His grip on his scythe weakened. He only noticed Clickolas had wriggled free by the time it was too late.

Panic flashed in Spamton’s eyes as the Addison started to run.

Before Clickolas could move any further, Spamton grabbed him by the pink collar of his shirt and yanked the Addison towards him until they were looking straight into each others’ eyes.

“If a word of this gets out to anyone,” he hissed, keeping his speech steady with great effort, “I will know it was your fault, and I will use every inch of power I have in this city to ruin your life. Do you understand?”

Clickolas responded with a frantic nod, his face an ashen shade of pink.

Spamton released his grip on Clickolas and watched him stumble into a wild dash out of the alleyway.

“Jevil,” he said slowly, turning to face him, “you were trying to kill him, weren’t you?”

Jevil rested the handle of Devilsknife over his shoulders, his grin widening.

“NOT EXACTLY! YOU SEE, NONE CAN TRULY DIE IN THIS WORLD.” He approached Spamton, watching the salesman’s body stiffen. “THE GAME ENDS, THEN BEGINS AGAIN. AND SO DO WE.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I HAVE SEEN INCREDIBLE SIGHTS, SPAMTON. YOUR WORLD OF RANKS AND MONEY IS A LIE WITHIN A LIE. YOU STRIVE AND CLAW AND PRAY, BUT IT IS A FANCIFUL CHARADE WITHOUT MEANING, AMOUNTING TO ZERO.”

“That’s not true!” Spamton protested. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the words died in his throat as he watched Jevil’s feet lift off the ground.

“How—how are you doing that?!”

“BUT ZERO CIRCLES ROUND TO INFINITY.” Jevil was hovering horizontally above the ground, his face pressing in close to Spamton’s, his pupils gleaming yellow in the half-light. “THE NATURE OF NOTHING IS THAT IT CANNOT BIND YOU. YOU CAN BUILD AND TEAR APART WHATEVER YOU DESIRE. YOU CAN DO ANYTHING.”

“What’s happening to you, Jevil?” Spamton shuddered. “Have you lost your mind?”

Jevil lifted a hand from the handle of his scythe and placed it on Spamton’s cheek.

“SPAMTON, I LOVE YOU. I NEED YOU TO SEE WHAT I SEE.” His speech was quick and feverish, the black pits of his eyes enormous. “YOU DON’T HAVE TO SUFFER ANYMORE. YOU CAN BE FREE.”

His eyes bored into Spamton’s, searching them for any sign of understanding, but all he could find was the same emotion they had held when they first met.

Fear.

“I…I can’t, Jevil.” Spamton’s voice was uncharacteristically faint. “Please, just let me go.”

Slowly, Jevil withdrew his hand and descended to the ground.

“YOUR WILL IS YOUR OWN, SPAMTON,” he murmured.

As Spamton turned his back to him, he spoke again, voice wavering, so quietly that even Jevil could barely hear it:

“I really loved you, too.”

A tear slid down Jevil’s cheek.

He watched Spamton walk away until the blinking city lights swallowed him up completely.

* * *

It was the most spectacular performance of Seam and Jevil’s lives.

Spells and bullets flew between them, surrounding them in a whirlwind of colour. They danced around each other, weaving in and out with lightning speed, scythe clashing against seam ripper in practiced parries and thrusts.

As sparring partners, the two had built up a familiar rhythm, but now Jevil’s fighting style was barely recognizable. He was too quick, impossibly so; it was as if the laws of physics no longer applied to him. Perhaps it was the exhaustion making them dizzy, but at times Seam swore they could see multiple of him at once.

Their movements were slowing now, their colourful clothing torn and stained. Seam had lost an eye; cotton leaked out of a slice in their fur where a button had once been. Jevil was panting with effort as he leapt and spun, sweat beading on his forehead.

Using the last of their reserves of magic, Seam cast Pacify.

Jevil took one wobbling step towards Seam, his pitch-black eyes glazing over.

“SEAM…” he wheezed with a weak laugh, “YOU ALWAYS WERE THE ONLY ONE WHO COULD MATCH ME…”

He collapsed to the ground.

Seam lifted Jevil in their arms, placing his head on their shoulder. Across the courtyard they walked, past the motionless bodies of castle guards strewn across the dark cobblestone, past the kings slumped on their thrones. Lifeless, but as Jevil had insisted, not quite. They passed through a doorway into the castle, entered the elevator, pressed a button to a floor labeled only with a string of six question marks.

The doors of the elevator slid open. A long staircase stretched into the shadows below, dimly lit by torch lamps, their blue flames casting a flickering glow on the stone.

Seam willed their legs to move. The only sound was the slow, soft pads of their feet, echoing into the endless darkness that surrounded them.

Jevil’s limp form pressed against Seam, in a sleep so profound it mimicked death. This close to them, he felt more real than anything else.

At the bottom of the stairs, a prison cell waited for him, tall metal bars carved into a gaping void.

Seam fingered the key in the pocket of their robe and took an unsteady breath.

They couldn’t turn back. The kings had decreed it.

They focused on recalling the sealing charm, chanting it under their breath as they descended, hoping it would distract them from the tears gathering at the edges of their eyes.

* * *

Spamton awoke with a gasp.

He glanced wildly around him. He must have fallen asleep in his shop. How unprofessional. There were the crumbling brick walls, a mural of Heaven crudely painted on them by his own hand. Here was the cardboard box, a sorry excuse for a table, his arms still crossed on its surface from when he had nodded off.

It was dark in the shop, too dark. The lights had burned out again as he slept.

He shivered, drawing his arms into himself.

Another nightmare about the night he was torn apart and rebuilt into something new. A month had since passed, but the memories were still as fresh as an unhealed wound. During a desperate attempt to find a way back to the angel in the basement, he had fallen from somewhere high above ground, and he had died; this he was sure of. The rest was indistinct—all he could remember was the piercing feeling that he couldn’t die without reaching Heaven, he needed another chance. Then he had woken up again, and he had seen his ball-jointed fingers and his mannequin body and his awful, plastic grin for the first time, and somehow, though it came out crushed and distorted, he had still been able to scream.

Nausea welled up inside him. His plastic teeth chattered. The emptiness of the room was pressing in.

He couldn’t stand to be alone here. Not while the strings were growing tighter.

The old rotary phone sat on the stool next to him, within arm’s reach. In an automatic motion, he grabbed the receiver, finger hovering over the dial.

A list of contacts flashed through his mind.

The Addisons. Queen. Swatch. More and more names, growing innumerable, their faces blurring together.

It was no use calling them. Everyone he knew was either not on speaking terms with him or thought him dead, or both.

Delirious with terror, he dialed the number of the last contact he knew, the only one who might answer.

Jevil.

Spamton pressed the receiver to his ear. As he listened to the phone ring, he heard himself laugh, a high, desperate sound. It had been years since they had spoken, but Jevil would still remember him, right? No matter how hideous he looked, how garbled his voice sounded. Jevil would rush to Cyber World like he had so many times before, and he would hold Spamton in his arms, and Spamton wouldn’t be afraid anymore.

Finally he heard something answer, but it was nothing like the vibrant, nasally voice he expected. It was the polite, affected tone of a prerecorded message.

We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is not in service at this time.

Spamton collapsed to his knees with a guttural wail, dragging the receiver down with him. Tears fell from his beady plastic eyes—this wasn’t right, he was a puppet, how could he still cry?

He curled up on the dirt floor and held himself until the shaking stopped and exhaustion finally gave way to sleep.

* * *

In his cell Jevil waited, toying with the structure of his mind, inspecting and arranging and categorizing his memories until he could almost forget he was alone.

* * *

Spamton sank into pocketspace. Small objects floated around him, sandwiches and candies and CDs adrift in the black.

This time the darkness felt welcoming. It was Kris who had brought him here, after all. The armor-clad Lightner who had shown him the most kindness he had known in twenty years. Offering his assistance as Dealmaker was the least he could do for his favourite customer.

All hope had been lost for him, but there was something calming in that. No more striving for something that was never meant to happen. No more groveling at the feet of a God who wouldn’t listen. But there was still hope for the three who had come to save him. They were something he could truly believe in.

Maybe he could get used to this.

In the pocket, all he could hear was Kris’ muffled footsteps and the faint sounds of the world outside. Compared to the overwhelming rush of sound and colour that was becoming NEO, this was quiet, peaceful. He was the only one here, wasn’t he?

In the distance he heard a familiar sound, one he thought he would never hear again.

A soft jingle of bells.

“SPAMTON?”