MirrorWorld

“What?” He’s instantly annoyed. Fidgeting.

“My favorite act is the knife throwing.” This is all made up. I have no memory of going to a magic show. But I know the tricks and need to communicate cryptically. The Dread understand English, but might not be able to decipher a message cloaked by human context. “I know some are fake. The knife pops out of the backboard. But some are real.”

“You better be going somewhere with this. We’re on a schedule.”

I turn back quickly, like I’m looking over the roof, but I’m actually confirming that there is a mothman hovering behind me as well, vibrating fear toward me but not into me. That I haven’t been attacked outright means they don’t know who I am. They might know about me, but they don’t recognize me as the guy that can see them — yet. To keep that from happening, I shiver, doing my best to act mildly afraid, which is a stretch, like pretending to be a shark. But the Dread haven’t pounced, so that’s encouraging. Good thing they can’t see my eyes, though. The razor-sharp focus would broadcast my intentions.

“Know what the secret to that act is? Not moving.” I see Katzman’s eyes widen, just a twitch. He gets it. I turn to Allenby. “Not a muscle.” To the Alpha men. “You hear what I’m saying? Understand it?” They nod.

“Good.” With my left hand I draw my sound-suppressed P229, casual and slow. With my right, I lift the machete from the sheath on my back. While I would love to use the Desert Eagle strapped to my chest, the hand cannon would be heard for miles. To do this right, we need to stay quiet. If the people down below catch wind, it could be like dropping a match in a gas can.

“Care for a demonstration?” I ask Katzman.

A hint of a smile erases some of the fear gripping him. “Please.”

I swing hard with the machete.

From Katzman’s perspective, it probably looks like I’m going to lop off his head. But that’s kind of the point. I need it to look like he’s the target, not the Dread. To his credit, despite being fear-fueled by the mothman, Katzman holds his ground. The heavy, straight blade slips just over his neatly trimmed hair and bites into flesh that only I can see. When the swing completes its arc, a headless mothman falls to the rooftop, landing on the oscillium surface. I spin around, swinging at the monster behind me. The blade draws a line across its chest and I turn away before it hits the rooftop.

I open fire with the sound-suppressed handgun, coughing bullets into the back of a third mothman, until it falls dead, which also happens to be the same time the magazine runs out of rounds.

The last two Dread take to the sky, their whispers coming closer to being shouts. Beating their wings hard, the pair splits, heading in opposite directions.

I drop the machete and handgun, pick up the bow and quickly nock an arrow. I draw the compound line back, take aim, and —

One of the Dread Squad crew shouts in surprise.

Allenby chimes in with, “Look out!” She’s talking to me, but looking over my shoulder.

Shit.

I leap to the side, keeping the arrow nocked, visualizing my roll and counterattack, but nothing goes as planned. I’m struck in the side and land awkwardly. The arrow springs from my fingers and launches into the distant woods. Before I can even think about getting up, something wraps around my ankle, cinches tight, and pulls. I’m dragged across the rooftop and then lifted up. I see the ugly mothman upside down, the digits on its torso wriggling madly. The thing has fully entered our world, perhaps knowing it’s going to die from the gushing wound on its chest, perhaps just willing to sacrifice itself for its brethren now flying away. Either way, it’s making a mess of my plans and continues on this track by tossing me over its shoulder and the side of the roof.

As I sail over the small wall at the side of the roof, I reach out for it. My fingers slide over the surface and find a small amount of friction. The tug swings my body around and then down. I land hard on the angled glass, which holds my weight. Not falling through the window is a good thing, but it also means that all of the impact’s force is absorbed by my body. Coughing for air and trying to ignore the pain, I splay my arms and legs wide, clinging to the window. Despite my efforts, I start to slide. No, I think, not yet!

I hear the cough of silenced weapons above, and then a shadow falls over me. The mothman leans into view, its long arm slapping my body. For a moment, I think it’s attacking, but a slick of bright-red blood starts flowing over the glass, just inches from my face. I grasp the Dread’s arm and roll across the glass, avoiding the blood that will turn the side of Neuro into a gore-covered playground slide.