Chapter 7: The False Mai
Mandy’s arms ached with the weight of Mai’s body. The artifact’s vial was a cold brand against her palm, its light casting jumping shadows on Felicity’s concerned face. “Her pulse is fast, but it’s steady,” Felicity whispered, her fingers on Mai’s throat. “The fever’s breaking, I think.”
Mandy let out a shaky breath, adjusting her grip. Mai’s head lolled against her shoulder, her dark hair sticky with sweat. Then, in the shifting green light, Mandy saw it.
The line of Mai’s jaw softened, blurred. The subtle arch of her eyebrow smoothed away into blank, porcelain skin. The transformation was silent and horrifyingly swift, like watching a statue melt and reform into something generic and empty. Within three heartbeats, the face nestled against Mandy’s jacket was no one’s face at all. It was a smooth, featureless oval.
“What the fuck?” Mandy breathed, frozen.
The thing that wasn’t Mai moved. Its hand, which had lain limp, snapped up with inhuman speed. It didn’t attack Mandy. Its smooth fingers closed around the artifact still clutched in Mandy’s hand.
A jolt of pure, predatory hunger shot up Mandy’s arm—a sensation entirely different from the artifact’s own resonant pain. This was a vacuum, a devouring intent. The artifact flared in protest, a screech of green light that made the air crackle.
“Let go!” Kay yelled. She was already in motion, but Felicity was closer.
Felicity didn’t hesitate. She brought the edge of her open hand down on the construct’s wrist with a sharp, cracking blow. The thing made no sound, but its grip loosened. Mandy wrenched the vial away, scrambling backward on the moss.
The faceless thing sat up. Its movements were fluid, all efficient, puppet-like angles. It didn’t look at them. It looked at the artifact in Mandy’s hand, its head cocked in a gesture of pure, acquisitive need.
Then it spoke. The voice was a distortion, a dozen overlapping whispers filtered through static. It came from where a mouth should have been. “The song… is mine. The Echo… must be complete.”
“It’s an Urger,” Kay said, her weapon aimed at the thing’s center mass. “Hollowed husk. Puppet. Don’t let it touch the artifact!”
The Urger stood. It wore Mai’s clothes, but its form seemed less substantial now, as if seeing its true nature made it harder to maintain the illusion. It took a step toward Mandy.
Felicity threw a rock. It passed through the thing’s shoulder, which rippled like water, then solidified. “Physical attacks are inconsistent!”
“Yeah, got that!” Mandy clutched the vial behind her back. The artifact was vibrating now, a high-frequency tremble that felt like a wasp trapped in her fist. It wasn’t just afraid. It was recognizing something. The Urger took another step, and the artifact’s light pulsed, sending a visible wave of green energy across the clearing. The wave hit the Urger and stuck to it, outlining its form in crackling verdant lines.
The Urger stopped. It looked down at its own glowing hands. The distorted voice sighed. “Ah. The beacon. You are calling them. All of them.”
Then it smiled. It didn’t have a mouth, but the air where its face was indented in a curve of dreadful amusement. “Good. Let them come. The Thief is listening.”
The outline of green energy around it brightened, then contracted violently. With a sound like a sucked-in breath, the Urger collapsed in on itself. Mai’s clothes fell in a heap to the forest floor. A wisp of platinum-blonde smoke, smelling of ozone and old roses, drifted up from the fabric and dissipated.
For a long moment, there was only the hum of the forest and the ragged sound of their breathing.
“An Urger,” Felicity repeated, kneeling to poke the empty clothes with a stick. “A construct of the Vigil of the Setting Sun. But it mentioned an Echo. And a Thief.”
“The Echo Thief,” Kay said, holstering her weapon. Her face was pale. “Legendary forger. Hates the Setting Sun. If she made an echo of the artifact…”
“...then the real one would act as a beacon for her,” Mandy finished, the pieces clicking into a horrifying puzzle. She held up the vial. The leaf inside was no longer just throbbing. It was vibrating, twisting on its stem, pointing like a compass needle toward the southeast. “It’s not just screaming in pain. It’s screaming for its other half. And every power-hungry freak within a five-state radius just got an invitation.”
As if on cue, the artifact pulsed again. This wave was different. It wasn’t light or sound. It was pure feeling, projected directly into the brainstem.
Mandy’s knees buckled. She saw:
A dark, humid room where old server racks hummed. A woman in a pristine white gown, her hair the color of bleached bone, plucked a single, silent string on a lute. She tilted her head, listening to a frequency only she could hear, and a smile touched her lips.
A crumbling limestone cavern in Kentucky, repurposed with sleek modern tech. A woman with sharp, elegant features and cold eyes rose from a throne of reclaimed driftwood. Behind her, two figures in ornate, emerald-green tactical armor shimmered into view. “The signal is clear, ma’am,” one said, his voice filtered. “The heart’s counterpart is active.” Evelyn Shaw did not smile. She simply nodded.
A Chicago brownstone basement, thick with the smell of incense and exhaustion. A figure in deep crimson robes, the reversed green moon sigil on their brow glowing faintly, opened eyes that held the dull red gleam of banked coals. They stretched out a withered hand, and the shadows in the room strained toward the southeast.
The vision vanished, leaving a metallic taste in Mandy’s mouth. Felicity was on the ground, gagging. Kay leaned against the boulder, her knuckles white where she gripped the stone.
“Did you all just…” Felicity started.
“See the guest list? Yeah,” Mandy groaned, pushing herself up. Her head was pounding. “Evelyn Shaw. The Echo Thief. The Setting Sun. They all know. They’re all coming.”
Kay pushed off the boulder, her professional mask slamming back into place. “Then we are not safe here. That pulse was a location beacon. We have minutes, maybe less, before the first scouts arrive.” She looked at the pile of clothes. “The real Mai is still out there. Probably with the Robinson who stayed behind. Caleb.”
“We can’t leave her,” Felicity said, her voice firm despite the tremble in her hands.
“We’re not,” Mandy said. She looked at the artifact, now straining so hard against the glass it looked ready to shatter. Its needle-point was unwavering. “It wants to go to its echo. That’s where the Thief is. But it’s also pulling everyone else there. It’s the world’s worst party planning.” She took a deep breath. “We use it. We follow its pull. We move faster than the others. We find the Thief, we find the echo, and we find out where Caleb took the real Mai. They’re all connected now.”
“That’s a catastrophic risk,” Kay stated. “We’d be walking into a convergence of at least three hostile factions.”
“You got a better GPS?” Mandy shot back, holding up the glowing vial. “This is it. This is the map. Staying here is waiting for a bomb to drop. Running blind gets us lost. This… this is running toward the bomb to defuse it. Slightly better.”
Felicity managed a weak laugh. “Your dad’s logic. Annoy the danger until it gives you what you want.”
“Something like that.” Mandy started shoving the artifact into her pack, but the second it was out of the open air, the glass began to frost over, the light dimming to a sulky murmur. It wanted to be seen. It wanted to lead. “Fine. You wanna be the flashlight? You’re the flashlight.” She pulled it back out and held it in front of her like a dowsing rod. The leaf pointed, insistent.
“We need the van,” Kay said, already moving back up the gulley toward the forest track. “It’s our only asset.”
They ran. The forest felt different now. The holographic fireflies seemed to cluster in their path, and the genetically modified pines creaked as if in a wind that didn’t blow. The artifact’s call was tuning the world around it.
They found the van exactly where they’d left it, tucked off the road. It looked absurdly normal, a boxy relic in the neon wilderness. Mandy fumbled with the keys, her hands shaking.
The engine turned over with a faithful rumble. Hank’s mechanical magic held. They piled in—Kay in the passenger seat, Felicity in the back, Mandy behind the wheel with the artifact held against the top of the steering wheel. The leaf pointed straight down the dark mountain road.
“Where’s it taking us?” Felicity asked, peering between the seats.
Mandy watched the leaf. As she turned the van onto the main road, the leaf adjusted, pointing southeast with the relentless pull of a magnet. “Down out of the mountains. Toward… Illinois? Indiana? It’s not a precise address.”
“It’s a direction of desire,” Kay said, staring out the window. “It will get more precise the closer we get to the source of the echo.”
They drove in tense silence for an hour, leaving the modified biosphere of the preserve for the older, darker woods of the national forest. The artifact’s light was their only illumination, painting the van’s interior in waves of underwater green.
Felicity finally spoke, her voice small in the dark. “That thing… the Urger. It was wearing Mai’s face. It knew things.” She paused. “When it touched the artifact… I felt what it felt. For a second. It was so empty. And so hungry. It didn’t want to destroy the artifact. It wanted to… complete it. Like it was missing a piece of itself.”
Mandy’s grip tightened on the wheel. “The Echo Thief makes copies. The Urger was probably created using an echo of… of a person. Maybe that’s why it wanted the real thing. To be real.”
“That’s horrifying,” Felicity whispered.
“Yeah,” Mandy agreed. Her mind raced, connecting fragments. The curse on her parents’ house, born from echo artifacts. The Setting Sun’s desire to drain. The Thief’s grudge. “This isn’t just about a battery anymore. This is about reflection and emptiness. And we’re holding the one thing everyone wants to fill their void.”
A sudden, piercing whistle sliced through the night, followed by the crash of splintering wood behind them. A flicker in the rearview mirror—a sleek, black motorcycle with no headlight, its rider a silhouette in green-tinted armor, weaving through the trees alongside the road.
“Company,” Kay said, her voice flat. “Golden Knight. Evelyn’s vanguard.”
The motorcycle accelerated, drawing alongside the van. The Knight’s helmet turned toward them. A voice, amplified and mechanical, boomed. “Signal the halt. Deliver the artifact. You will not be harmed.”
Mandy stepped on the gas. The van’s engine groaned but responded. “Yeah, I’ve seen that movie!” she yelled out her window.
The Knight raised a gauntleted hand. A pulse of emerald energy coalesced around it.
“Oh, shit,” Mandy breathed.
The energy bolt lanced forward—not at the van, but at the road twenty feet ahead. The asphalt erupted in a shower of molten tar and rock. Mandy swore, wrenching the wheel to the left. The van slewed onto the soft shoulder, tires churning dirt, threatening to roll. She fought for control, her heart hammering against her ribs.
As they careened, the artifact in her hand blazed with sudden, frantic light. The leaf didn’t point down the road anymore.
It pointed directly into the dark, dense woods to their right.
Toward a different kind of pull. A closer one. Not the distant Echo Thief.
Something primal, and deep, and waiting.
The van’s tires bit into soft earth, tearing through underbrush as Mandy fought the steering wheel. “It’s pulling off-road!” she shouted, the artifact now a searing green brand in her hand, demanding a new direction.
In the RV cruising down the interstate miles away, the tension was of a different flavor. Hank’s thrashing guitar solo ripped from the speakers at stadium volume. Fatima’s elegant fingers clenched on the armrest. “By the Prophet’s beard, Hank, it sounds like a mechanical ogre being sick! Turn it off!”
“It’s motivational!” Hank argued, gesturing with a beefy hand. “We’re on a rescue mission! This gets the blood pumping!”
Mike swiveled the driver’s seat around, his expression bland. “You two should take it to the back. There’s a private space. Settle the… debate.”
Hank grumbled but stood, jerking his head at Fatima. “Fine. C’mon. I’ll explain the tonal structure of classic metal versus neoclassical shredding.”
Fatima rose with regal irritation, following him toward the RV’s rear bedroom. Casey, from the co-pilot’s seat, began counting down. “Five. Four. Three. Two…”
A sharp slap echoed from the back, followed by Hank’s yelp. “Okay, okay! Your point about the bass line is—ungh—convincing!”
Then the sounds shifted entirely. The thump of a body against the thin door. Fatima’s sharp, Arabic curse. The rhythmic, driving creak of the RV’s suspension. Hank’s low, grunting roar. “God, Fati, yes, take it—”
“Do not tell me what to do, you lumbering ape!” Fatima’s voice was a guttural command, layered with the wet, slick sounds of frantic fucking.
In the main cabin, Rick stared fixedly at his comm screen, his ears flushed red. Calista studied the passing streetlights with elf-like intensity. Kim and Maryam, twins in shared suffering, clamped their hands over their ears. “I can’t unhear that!” Maryam moaned. “That’s my dad!”
Godfrey III, nestled on Rebecca’s lap, yawned, exposing tiny teeth, and went back to sleep.
Rebecca, ever the academic, leaned toward Casey. “The inter-familial dynamics are fascinating, but I’ve been compiling notes on the fundamental divergence between Green Moon and Golden Wand metaphysical theory. The Wand’s Subtle Glamour is a projected filter, a persuasive overlay, while the Green Moon’s Power of Exposure is a revelatory catalyst, you see? It doesn’t add anything. It strips away perception to reveal a… a profound suchness of the individual’s form.”
Casey nodded, the sounds from the back escalating to a frantic, crescendoing pace. “Uh huh. Suchness. Got it.”
A final, shuddering cry from Fatima, a sound of pure violent release, shook the door. Then silence, broken by heavy breathing.
A minute later, the door slid open. Hank emerged, hair mussed, t-shirt on backwards. Fatima followed, her short dark hair perfectly in place, a look of profound calm on her face. She walked directly to the passenger seat, tapped Hank’s shoulder, and pointed to the back.
Without a word, Hank shuffled past her. Fatima sat, smoothed her trousers, and began expertly navigating the RV’s entertainment console. Soothing, complex oud music filled the cabin. “I,” she stated, “will be picking the music from here.”
Back in the van, the Green Knight recalibrated, its arm cannon whining with a fresh charge. It aimed directly at the driver’s side window. Mandy saw the emerald glow illuminate the trees, a prelude to oblivion.
A torrent of living darkness struck the Knight from above.
It wasn’t an energy blast. It was a wave of solidified shadow, thick as tar and cold as a grave. It slammed the motorcycle off its path, sending it and its rider tumbling into a ditch. The shadows recoiled, flowing back up into the sky like a reverse waterfall.
Mandy glimpsed the source: Vivian, hovering on vast wings of churning night, her form clad in sleek, chitinous armor forged from the same darkness. Dale clung to her back, a harness of shadows securing him, a fierce grin on his scarred face as he raised a heavy pistol.
“Viv!” Mandy breathed, a surge of relief flooding her veins.
The relief was short-lived. The forest around Vivian and Dale erupted. Thick vines, not genetically modified but ancient and gnarled, lashed upward from the canopy like whips. Trees groaned, their branches twisting with unnatural speed to swat at the flying pair.
“The True Root!” Felicity cried out, pressing against the window. “You said three enemies, but with them, that’s four factions now!”
Mandy wrenched the van back onto the road, the artifact’s pull into the woods momentarily forgotten as survival took priority. She watched Vivian bank hard, Dale firing into the writhing mass of vegetation. “Can we get them all to fight each other?” Mandy shouted, the idea forming in a burst of desperate inspiration. “The Root, the Thief, Evelyn’s goons, the Setting Sun freaks—point them at each other instead of us!”
Kay, watching the Knight struggle to rise from the ditch, her weapon now drawn and aimed out the window, gave a tight, humorless smile. “We’ll work on that brilliant, suicidal plan if we can just survive the current ride through the forest.”
The van shot past the ditch. The Green Knight was already standing, one arm of its armor cracked and sparking, its helmet turned to track them. But the twisted trees were now also reaching for the van, thick roots erupting from the soil to claw at the tires.
Mandy swerved, the van becoming a pinball between hostile flora and a pursuing high-tech assassin. Vivian dove downward, a shadowy lance, slicing through a net of vines aimed for the windshield. “Go, Mandy! We’ll slow them down!” Her voice, amplified by her magic, held a timbre of both fear and fierce determination.
The artifact in Mandy’s hand was going wild. It wasn’t just pointing now. It was thrumming, reacting to the proximity of multiple powerful, conflicting magics—the Knight’s ordered energy, the Root’s primal life-force, the unique, hungry signature of Vivian’s succubus ancestry. The leaf inside spun, light strobing.
A new signal, chaotic and composite, blared from it. Not a beacon. A cacophony.
“It’s confused,” Felicity said, leaning forward. “Too many sources. It’s like a radio picking up every station at once.”
“Good!” Mandy spat, sliding around a fallen oak. “Let them all get a headache!” But her own head was pounding in sympathy, a discordant echo of the artifact’s distress.
She saw a break in the trees ahead—a county road. She aimed for it, the van bouncing violently onto the asphalt. In the rearview, the forest line seethed with movement, and a single emerald light from the ditch marked the Knight’s pursuit. Vivian and Dale were a swirling knot of shadow and gunfire above the canopy, holding the worst of the roots at bay.
For a moment, there was just the road. The artifact’s light settled into a pained, steady pulse. Its leaf pointed ahead, down the straightaway, but the direction felt less certain, diluted.
“They’ll follow,” Kay stated, checking her sidearm’s charge. “The artifact’s general broadcast is still active. We’ve just made our noise louder. We haven’t hidden.”
Mandy’s knuckles were white on the wheel. The after-image of the featureless Urger flashed in her mind. The emptiness in its stolen face. “Then we don’t hide,” she said, her voice low. “We find the loudest, emptiest thing on this frequency, and we shove this battery down its throat.” She glanced at the artifact. “You want to be complete? Fine. Let’s go find your ugly twin. And let’s bring the whole damned party with us.”
The van sped into the deeper Midwest night, a tiny spark of frantic green trailed by shadows, ancient hunger, and gleaming, armored spite. The convergence had begun.