Page 20 of An Invocation of Monsters

The last thing I wanted, while I was already off-balance from the dream-like insanity of last night, was to have either of the Society’s two leaders catch me off-guard.

Instead I found myself meandering past the lake, retracing the steps I’d taken last night. A fifteen-minute walk brought me into the deep woods, and my breath rushed out in a laugh when I saw the first dilapidated house overgrown with ivy.

I had strongly suspected I’d dreamed the whole thing, but the ghost town was here. I pulled out my camera, circling the first ruin and snapping photos of every angle. Birds chirped overhead, the sun held back by the thick canopy overhead and increasing the chill of the air.

I’d moved on through nearly half the ghost town when I realized the birds had gone silent.

As I came upon the ruins of the church, stone walls half-crumbled, glass buried in the dirt, something shifted within its dark interior.

I walked around the church, finding the chalk circle. Deep imprints indicated where the monster had stood, the soil black where his blood had soaked into it.

“You never told me how the Hunter managed to trap you in this,” I said lightly, snapping a few pictures.

The shadow in the church rustled. “They used bait. I was… hungry.”

“Wool? Silk?” I joked.

The monster’s tone was dry. “Blood.”

“Ah. And here I thought they might’ve left you organic Supima cotton.” My hands shook a little as I lowered the camera.

“Hilarious.”

“I joke when I feel threatened. It’s my defense mechanism.”

The monster rustled again, this time in what sounded oddly like outrage. It was strange that every sound he made, I somehow felt what he was conveying with it, when I usually had to be staring at a person to read their intent.

“You feel threatened by me?” he asked, his deep voice offended. “When I swore an oath to give you your life?”

“Well, you have to understand,” I said quietly, “That I’ve never met your kind before.”

I was a little afraid, yes. I almost believed his oath.

But it also seemed akin to a gazelle trusting a lion.

He made a hmm noise, and I felt him studying me from within the shadows.

“Do you have a name?” I finally asked, when the silence grew too long to bear.

The monster said nothing. There were no sounds. If I couldn’t see his dark form from the corner of my eye, I wouldn’t have known he was there.

The silence went on long enough again that I raised my camera and began taking more pictures, surreptitiously angling some towards the church where he hid. It was too cold to stay out much longer; the involuntary shivers that had seemed tolerable at first were growing more frequent.

“Toth,” he finally answered.

I was glad my back was to him when he spoke. I flattened my lips before I burst out with the first thing to pop into my mind, which he was definitely sure to find distinctly unhilarious.

Toth the Moth, I said to myself quietly, just to be sure I wouldn’t laugh. When I had myself under control, I checked my camera and found the SD card nearly full.

“Thank you,” I said. “How did the Hunter ruin your wings? And why?”

In the same way I didn’t understand the point of big game hunters—why kill something because it’s beautiful?—I couldn’t fathom why someone would destroy Toth’s wings.

It was just destruction for the sake of destruction.

Toth was quiet for a full minute before he deigned to reply. I thought he was mulling over his words, deciding how much to trust me.

I hoped he would trust me enough. I would never sell him out to any hunter.

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