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Chapter 3 - The Psychic Wardens

I’ve done this drive too many times.

Marianne, still not clueing us into whatever she thought the Shadow entity was exactly, recommended in a brief call that we should give Chicago a wide berth. It was important that we didn't close the gap between the Shadow’s master and ourselves. Apparently, the thing couldn’t teleport; it could just move really fast, and that was the extent to the information that the furless feline would give us. and greater threats lurked in the city, a patient spider. Part of me thought that Marianne was punishing me by adding three extra hours to our journey. I assumed she didn’t know that we visited the Mulgywai. I at least hoped as much.

And so, in my plucky little Ford Escort, we veered westward at Green Bay, heading down through Appleton, then Madison, and then further on towards Dubuque. I assumed that Florence hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep over the past few days, so when she nodded off within the first ten minutes of the drive, I left her to her slumber. Envy stirred in my core. I wish I could sleep in a car that easily.

I never really drive through this side of Wisconsin. I knew that the bottom half of the state was dominated by fields of corn and soybeans, and it’s easy to find yourself hypnotized by the monotonous hills and fields. Driving through Chicago is a hell unto itself, but taking the roads through the heart of the Midwest drives home Dante’s point about Hell having varied layers. Despite the odd pocket of autumnal ambience painting pieces of the landscape, the dull color of harvested grains was a far more dominant hue. Even though some might consider it tacky, if not a bit gratuitous considering my pagan nature, I wore my deep purple witch’s hat, glad for the wide brim that kept the sun out far better than a sun visor. Truckers gawked often.

The late-afternoon sun had nearly pulled itself halfway to the horizon by the time the other fox woke up. Florence stifled a polite, little yawn before smacking her muzzle a bit, speaking through another yawn, “Oh, damn, how long was I out for?”

I took a peek at the clock, “I think four hours?”

“Oh, terribly sorry. You’re probably bored out of your mind. You can listen to a podcast or something, if you want.”

“S’all good, I didn’t wanna wake you up.”

“Honestly, I sometimes listen to podcasts to help me sleep.”

I blinked in confusion. “That wouldn’t- I could never.”

“What’s up? You look like I just confessed to a murder.”

“Do I?”

“You look disgusted in me.”

Not really being able to look at my own muzzle, I took the arctic fox at her word. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

She laughed a little, “It’s fine, I’m being sarcastic. I think- I mean, not lately, considering the, you know, nature of me learning about the deep, dark horrible secrets of the world. But I can fall asleep easily.”

“I was just about to say, I could never sleep in a car, it’s crazy to me that you could do that with the sun out and everything.”

“It’s not without its downsides. I fall asleep in class all the time- or, I guess I used to fall asleep in class, um-”

“Sorry about that.” I peeled my gaze from the dizzying highway, and the brief glance allowed me to clock that Florence was now staring out the window somberly.

“Oh, you’re fine, I’m the one that brought it up.” Florence then proceeded to elicit an annoyed groan, “Gods, I think at this point I’m going to fail out of all classes. I think I used up all of my absences, even before all of this.” She laughed a hollow little laugh, “Faking my death actually kind of sounds like the best option, I know for a fact I buried my scholarships.”

“Oh, fuck, that’s horrible.” I stammered. I had no advice to offer, that sort of thing just completely sucks.

But the vixen laughed again, “I apologize, I did not mean to kill your vibe.”

“I was about to ask, ‘What were you studying?’ but that also seems like a vibe killer.”

“Oh, I was just studying, well, Information Technology, but I wasn’t really committed to it anyway.”

“Oh, like, IT?”

“Yeah, IT stands for Information Technology.” Florence chuckled lightly again, “I guess, yeah, but- it’s weird, everytime I use the acronym, friends just tell me I could have saved money by learning IT anywhere else. But I had the scholarships.”

As I endeavored to follow up with: “I was looking at Northwestern’s theater-” the arctic fox interrupted. “I know this is also a way to tear the mood down further- Oh, sorry, I interrupted-”

“Oh, you’re good. I was just getting nostalgic for the theater, which I resent. You were saying?”

I took my eyes off of the road once more and caught a look of awkward shyness hanging from the fox’s muzzle. “I was thinking about, you know-” Florence squeaked out, “The thing I’m not supposed to think about.”

My heart leapt up in my throat. “How long have you been thinking about it?”

“Forsy, I can’t not think about- Well, not thinking about things. I’m not used to this.”

I knew it wasn’t a reasonable thing to ask her to do, but I couldn’t mask the panic in my voice, “Psychic stuff can really fuck you up. You really have to practice guarding your thoughts-” I sighed, “Sorry, I don’t want to come across as an asshole-”

“And if I know any details about this unknowable thing, that makes things more dangerous?”

“Oh, yes. Immediately.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the white-furred vulpine nod affirmingly. “I understand- OK, completely different question: the plan you had in mind, about keeping me from the… Mulgywai, right?”

‘Completely different question’ was a bit of a stretch, but I didn’t imagine that we weren’t already getting pursued by horrifying psychic entities at this point. You’ve seen the chapter title. “Yep, ‘Mulgywai’ is right.”

“OK, so… at first, you called Marianne for information, and then she asked you to drive me down, so you went to ask Mulgywai about it, which I imagined wasn’t your first impulse. Is this whole round-robin plan only because you didn’t want to make the drive? I have the feeling there’s something more.”

I kept my eyes focused on the lines of the highway, and even though I knew Florence was looking at me, I couldn’t wipe the look of dread from my muzzle. “It’s- at first, yeah, I thought Marianne could tell me what it was, but I should have known, nothing’s ever… that simple with her. So then I actually went to Lavitia about it, I was trying to avoid the Mulgywai, but I guess I’ve got bad luck.” Another sigh escaped my lips. “It’s- I wanted to see if we couldn’t figure out how to deal with this Shadow thing as soon as possible, so you could avoid Awngaimene stuff altogether and go back to- I don’t know, normalcy?”

“You don’t have to worry about that for me, Forsy. This whole thing is really exciting-”

“I know, it’s- You know, it’s that sorta YA-plot hook type shit. But genuinely, it is not the sort of thing anyone should be thrust into without a choice. Because if we go through all of the, like, necessary channels, you don’t get that choice anymore.”

Florence was quiet for a few seconds, then spoke in almost a mumble, “I think- I’ve been thinking about this sort of thing for my entire life. I’ve been- I’ve been desperate for my mother to open up and expose me to this world. I almost feel like I’ve been phoning it in, in regards to my life, just so I could jump into the… the world of magic when I’m finally allowed to.” Florence spoke in a manner similar to actors reciting a monologue for the fiftieth time in a row. The next sentence was difficult to say.

“Florence, I think that’s why your mother never told you. She wanted to keep you away from this.”

A pause, then the fox’s somber demeanor returned, “I know. I just- I wish she didn’t.”

I turned to see the fox tearing up slightly “Oh gosh, are you OK?”

The vixen rubbed a furred arm on her nose, wiping away the snot. “Yeah, sorry- I just-”

“Oh, don’t apologize on my behalf! I cry all the time!”

Florence half-laughed, half-sobbed, “Oh yeah, I just didn’t mean to get emotional all of the sudden. I just- I really have thought about this a lot, Forsy. I want to be a part of this.”

I nodded absent-mindedly, “OK, I can dig it! Far be it from me to be all like ‘You deserve to have the choice,’ and then force you into the inverse, choice-less scenario.”

“I appreciate the thought, though, Forseti.”

I hazarded a bit of humor, “Honestly, you handled watching me get my tail-and-arm ripped off far better than any normie could have, so I’ll give you that.”

“Forseti, you cut your own arm off.”

“Well, you know-”

“And I’m pretty sure there were at least a dozen other things you could have done to get to shore before you cut your arm off.”

“But we lived, though, which is important.”

Florence giggled a little, with a sense of recuperated mirth. “I’m just glad this whole going-to-Marianne thing was an actual thought-out plan. For a moment, I was afraid that you were just horrible in emergency situations.”

“Well, don’t stop thinking that just yet.”

We were at a Denny’s in Davenport, after having made a bit of headway through Iowa. Even though Florence offered to drive the next stretch, I didn’t want to fall asleep when wicked, evil entities were hot on our trail, so throughout the course of our meal, I put an entire coffee pot’s worth of coffee into my stomach. But perhaps even more horrifying were the sheer number of pancakes I slammed down my gobless gullet. Florence was appalled. I even got the Denny’s waitress to raise an eyebrow. But the fungal entity churning under my skin demanded to be fed after exhausting itself to stitch my appendages back on. I was forced to heed its call.

Earlier, Florence ended up taking another nap in the car; the scenery of Iowa not really apt at offering enrichment. But by the time she woke up again, a noticeable growl formed in her stomach. We decided to stop at the only Denny’s we could see on Google Maps. The liminal yellow-and-brown earth tones of the restaurant somehow brought a sense of comfort; we weren’t from this town, but the Denny’s was familiar nonetheless. The dinner conversation wasn’t too exciting. The sleepy fox was still trying to work through the grogginess stemming from her burgeoning irregular sleep schedule, but talk of Awngaimene matters wouldn’t make for casual dinner conversation while in public anyway. At one point, while we were waiting for our food to come, I stepped out to call Marianne about our progress, but she didn’t pick up.

I definitely felt as though I was getting along with Florence, but there’s a certain awkwardness that comes with spending a significant amount of time with someone you’ve just met. A fungal entity is perpetually consuming my life force and I still felt compelled to talk about the weather. It didn’t help that the arctic fox was looking too exhausted to skew the conversation into something more interesting. However, I did notice that she almost had a shot at drinking me under the table, in terms of black coffee.

Eventually, nature called. We were mostly finished with dinner, having a chat about how Florence’s omelette tasted when I stood up to go towards the restroom.

“Hey, I gotta take a piss. Do you mind if I leave you by yourself again?”

“Oh yeah, go for it. I’m actually an adult.” it was already there.

I nodded, fishing through my pockets for my wallet. I pulled out a few twenties and handed them to the other fox. “I can cover dinner. I think this should cover it, if the coyote comes back-” Our waitress- “If not, don’t use your card or anything- Actually-” I placed my wallet on the table. “I trust you. Make sure to tip well!”

Florence nodded, “Thanks, Forsy! Though I can pay for myself if-”

“Nah, Florence, you’re driving the night shift. I’m buying good karma.”

“Jokes on you, I drive better at night-”

“Well obviously, we’re nocturnal.” My bladder wasn’t appreciating the amount of witty comments I was attempting to make. I wrapped up our conversation with a genial chuckle and waltzed over to the men’s restroom.

And then, I proceeded to use the bathroom. It was not interesting. Though I guess I should give the Davenport Denny’s off of I-80 props for keeping it pretty clean.

It was when I returned from the bathroom that the stakes were raised. As soon as I took my seat, I noticed a ghastly look on Florence’s face, almost as if she’d seen another ghost.

The other vulpine spoke first. “Forsy, we have to go. I just saw a cat I know.”

That was a good reason to be stressed. I spoke matter-of-factly. “Gotcha. Leave, like, fifty on the table, and let’s get out of here.” I wanted to overestimate rather than wait for the bill; there was no way our order would come near that amount, even with tip included. But we were in no position for Florence to talk at length with people she knew. My bad luck had struck once more.

Surgically and methodically, we left our booth and headed straight for the car. “Did she see you?” I asked as soon as we hit the cool open air.

“Yes, and she came over too. She asked where I’ve been, I told her that my mom was ill and that you were my cousin, and we were going to see family.” It must have happened right away with how little time it took me to use the restroom. I briefly scanned the dining room, but didn’t look hard enough to see where Florence’s friend could have been seated.

“Good alibi. Did she ask anything else?” Florence simply shook her head as she climbed into the driver’s seat. I passed the keys over. “Alright, you handled that well, but let’s get out of here.”

“Is she in danger?”

“Oh no, she’s good. It’s us that would have been fucked.”

We were on I-55, carving our way through Illinois.

“Wait, you have a ghost story podcast?” blurted the arctic fox dubiously.

“Yeah,” I conceded, a little sheepishly, “Let’s please not listen to it though.”

“But wait; that doesn’t make any sense. Aren’t you supposed to keep these sorts of stories secret?”

“Well, I usually really only pick, like, the more well-known topics. And I never get really into it if it turns out that the topic is actually about something magical.”

Florence paused for a moment, trying really hard to figure out how to word her next question. “But… why?”

“Because if I do really niche topics, and there aren’t any articles online-”

“No, I mean why even make the podcast in the first place?”

I rubbed the fur on my neck. This was a bit embarrassing. “Well, so, I came up with this idea of doing a creative project and getting a Patreon going for Foxxo Esoterica, so I have taxable income in addition to, like, rideshare stuff, in case I get asked by the government- Not that it’s happened.”

“And you picked ghost stories as a theme?”

“Well, you know; write what you know.” I didn’t have the confidence to tell her that this little project began before I discovered the Awngaimene society.

“Didn’t you study the performing arts?”

“I thought that there’d be a bigger market for ghost stories than a theater podcast-”

“No, I mean, like, you could have done something else creative.”

I was desperate to change the subject. “There are no theaters in Marquette. And I don’t think, like, live stream theater has been a thing until, like, COVID was big- I guess I stream sometimes, but still; just ghost story stuff. If I sang, that’d be weird.”

Florence chuckled a little to herself. “Well, it certainly isn’t the most foolish plan I’ve seen you come up with. I don’t think anything’s going to beat you cutting off your own arm-”

“You’re never going to let that go, aren’t you?”

“I honestly think it’s almost hilarious at this point.”

The drive continued.

“Wait,” interrupted Florence, “So you’re married?”

“Yep,” I answered, my tail practically wagging, “Zuma’s all the way out in Boston for a sec’, though, so I don’t imagine we’ll bump into him on this adventure.”

“That’s a shame, you’ve been lovely to chat with, I imagine he would be as well.”

“He’s my little poomie-woomie, puma-wuma.” I have no shame.

It wouldn’t be long until we’d hit St. Louis, The nighttime stars pierced the inky blackness of space like sparkles on a diamond. We were almost finished with an episode of my podcast, and I was very eager to listen to anything else.

“OK, favorite song: go! Let’s listen to some music.”

“Oh, goodness.” Florence was completely taken aback. “Oh, you’re going to have to give me a moment.”

“You’re good, I can start- Honestly, I think about this sort of thing way more than I should, I almost hate ranking music. But I posed the question, so I have to choose. And if I had to choose… The Bighorn Sheep.”

“Hmmhmm,” hummed the vixen, who was seemingly stifling a yawn. “I don’t know who they are.”

“Indie rock-slash-folk band? They did ‘Not a Single Child?’”

“Are the band members all sheep or something?”

I knew for a fact that the lead singer wasn’t. “You know what? No, actually.”

“Naming a band after a species sounds kind of strange- Not to disparage your band. I’m sure they’re good.” Then, suddenly, Florence stammered out; “So I know my favorite song is ‘Andrea Doma Lullaby’ by Pontificus Stu.” That prompted me to excitedly chime in; “Oh, ich liebe Pontificus Stu! I’m a big hippie bitch!” I had a soft spot for sixties folk singers.

Shyly, the vixen admitted, “I actually only know that song from him.”

“I would recommend listening to more- If you’re a fan of hippie music.”

The other fox continued undeterred, “But as for bands, it’s in between The Balm and Liouxsy Lacroix and the Strigoix.”

“Yeah that makes sense, if you’ve got T-Shirts from those bands. I think I need to actually listen to a full album, though. I only know the singles.”

“You haven’t listened to any of their full albums?”

“I guess that’s something I should fix right now. Go ahead and pick one!” I was very eager to stop listening to my podcast.

The drive continued.

“I mean, I don’t know if it’s a route you want to pursue, per se, but it is possible to do, like, genital transformation magic. Some spells are pretty lowkey, and others are- I guess ‘morbid’ is the right word, but Marianne knows how to do the latter one.” I offered.

Florence looked completely stunned for a moment. “Wow, for sure, that’s- Yeah, it’s good to know.”

We traveled down the dimly-lit stretch of I-55 that cut through Missouri. Though the road ran right up against the great Mississippi River, we weren’t nearly close enough to see it. Not that driving in the daytime would have helped. Art-pop queen Jane Shrub’s The Dogs of Passion played softly from the speakers. It was a suitable combination of iconic-for-the-gays pop and off-beat-for-the-goths baroque that both of us appreciated.

“So, are werewolves real?” asked the arctic fox. The title track had just played.

“Yo; easily the most common cursey-lurseys, I think.” My word choice had started to skew a bit loopy.

“And do they only transform on a full moon? Change into a wolf-like appearance? Et cetera?”

“Nah, I’d say Loup-garou rules; always at night, never under your control, unless you have, like, a werewolf strap or something. And I’m talking belt; not a strap-on. And yeah, non-canines get canine features.”

“What about us?”

“Oh, foxes? We wouldn’t change that much, but we would basically get larger and go feral and stuff. And, like, you’d get a wider muzzle and gray fur and you’d, like, awoo more.”

“Makes sense enough,” mused Florence. She was too loopy to question my sleep deprived vocabulary. “And what about vampires?”

I squinted my eyes incredulously, despite Florence keeping her eyes forward. “Is this a Twilight thing, or…”

“Oh! Not really, it’s just the next thing I thought of.”

“No, yeah, that makes sense. But- so, like, vampires exist in a loose sense, but it’s closer to, like- So there are Frote Foulgydan that can prolongate their life span, turn into a feelings-less walking corpse, raise the dead, et cetera, and I think there are some cases where they eat people, but you’re not gonna, like, wooden-stake them in the heart or use garlic or anything. The rules are completely different for that kind of undead, and there are at least a half-dozen cursey-lurseys that are vampire-adjacent.”

“I imagine it’d be best if I avoided Foulgydan like that.”

“Oh yeah, they still got that whole lack-of-regard-for-animal-life thing going on.”

“I feel like I need to get a notebook or something, to keep track of this.”

I laughed a little, “For sure. There will be a test.”

Florence laughed a little in return. “I imagine you don’t mass produce books on the subject.”

“Actually, there are a bunch of Awngaimene-only publishers.I actually know a coyote who knows a hare that actually wants to branch out and find more people to publish. But no, yeah, you can get pretty much all recorded Mracksion- Mracksiogne-” It’s always tricky actually pronouncing that word, “Sorry, that word sucks; Mracksiogne knowledge at the Library up in Marquette.”

“I don’t dislike the idea of going.” There was a momentary pang of apprehension in my chest. I wasn’t going to bring it up again, but I couldn’t stop feeling a bit of nervousness in regards to how eager Florence was to join the society. She kept up her questioning before I could respond. “OK, so mermaids?”

“Nope, never heard of a mermaid before.”

“Sea creatures in general?”

“Like, the giant squid is real-”

“I mean magical sea creatures. What with the ocean being so unexplored and what have you.”

“Oh yeah, I guess- The ocean has a lot of stuff…”

I’ve done this drive too many times.

Despite the many, many grams of caffeine coursing through my veins, the velvety embrace of sleep kept attempting to coax my tired brain to submission. We were only maybe an hour or two past the halfway point, and usually, I would have considered getting a hotel in the middle of Missouri. The psionic walls in my brain crumbled ever so slightly, and the Record kept threatening to creep in just as much as sleep itself. But I knew that the stakes were too high for me to submit to it. Yesterday, up in Michigan, the stakes seemed so much smaller, but the more that sleep exhaustion reared its ugly head, the more a particular, strange feeling started to worm its way into my consciousness. the feeling that this whole situation was far more dangerous than a mere Shadow entity. The feeling’s fervor waxed the more I felt my grasp on my mental fortitude begin to slip.

But I never got the feeling that Florence herself was dangerous, only that she was the catalyst for something else. something twisted and powerful. and if it caught up to the fox, terrible tragedies would occur. and she would suffer the most from it.

But there I go, I thought, Tapping into the Record again. It was more accurate that the Record was tapping into me. It’s a dangerous ability that I often underestimate. And though most animals assume that I’d gleefully use it for the most dire of circumstances, I hate accessing the Record the more anxious and afraid I feel towards the thing I’d be predicting. I like predicting the weather, and strongly dislike predicting the date of my death. There are certain principles regarding the Record that should always be adhered to.

But the more that the Record dwelt in my mind, the more likely I was to be overwhelmed by it. You’re thinking about this too much. I thought to myself as Florence’s de facto goth playlist played, keeping our conversation on the backburner for a moment. keep driving. Though I hadn’t seen an exit in a while, I decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea for me to keep my eyes peeled for a gas station or a McDonald’s; some place to get more coffee into me. And the less chatty Florence became, the more I could tell that she’d probably appreciate letting me take over behind the wheel. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to pee again.

And as if by the grace of the Gods, I saw it illuminated by my headlights; a road sign indicating that a rest stop was only a mile away. Though the vending machine coffee would taste like spent firework residue, and the cleanliness of the facilities would be a total toss of the dice, I was beyond excited about the concept of giving the highway a break.

“Oh hey, Florence, would you mind stopping at that rest stop? I gotta pee, but then maybe we could switch.”

“You read my mind, I was just about to ask if we could switch soon.”

Florence merged onto the exit and pulled into the dimly lit rest stop. I had a tricky time imagining that anything menacing lay in the shadows beyond more trees and fields. My fox eyes would pick up movement if we were being followed. The hot, balmy air contrasted with the nippy chill up north that I’d felt earlier in the day. The rest stop constituted of a single brick building with a large, pale green roof, though there were playground structures and a few gazebos in the vicinity. I didn’t really take the time to drink in the sights, though; I had to piss. Florence decided to stay by the car, though she at least stepped out to get a few stretches in.

And then, I proceeded to use the bathroom. It was not interesting. The quality of the restroom was very mediocre.

I washed my paws and fished for a bit of cash from my wallet, apprehensively approaching a coffee machine that seemed to have last received a maintenance check in the nineties. I wasn’t going to risk relying on soda alone, though, no amount of pop had ever really affected me. While the coffee machine automatically filled up the little paper cup, I decided to also purchase a few plastic-wrapped cheese danishes from a vending machine. I ended up getting three; I knew I’d need two for myself, but I didn’t want to leave Florence without a snack. The potent, almost cloying scent of black vending machine coffee hit my delicate nostrils as the device finished up, taking way longer than I would have assumed it needed. With my arms full of pre-packaged pastries, I awkwardly popped a lid onto the cup, and started to make my way back outside; slowly, so as not to spill on myself. The lid didn’t really form a perfect seal.

As soon as I pushed the door open with my hindpaws, though, the vixen had already dashed towards the glass doors with a look of terror on her face. Even though her facefur was already white, I could tell she was already twice as pale.

“Forsy, my friend- the cat, she’s here too.”

And then it hit me, that we had not escaped the gaze of the Psychic Wardens after all.

Almost immediately, I barked out. “Stop! They have cameras here!” And soon as I did, the veil dropped. I could see two figures, one only a meter behind Florence, brandishing what looked like a strange black dagger. They froze in place.

Though one of the figures may have looked like an orange-colored tabby cat at first glance, closer inspection would reveal stranger details. The two figures didn’t move normally. With each motion, it looked like they were caught in a camera’s shutter, changing their positions ever-so-slightly every half-second. There were no specific details on either of the entities’ faces. Each looked like a smudged acrylic painting, flowing and blending and changing the pattern of the brushstrokes with each change of the camera’s shutter. Focusing on any specific point was an impossible task; I couldn’t even make out the second figure’s species. I could only see the blurry brown fur.

I raised my left paw aloft violently; a misdirection as I fished in my pocket for my cell phone. I expected the two figures to dissolve as soon as I spoke, but the fact that they remained made me concerned. “You can’t be here, they have cameras.”

The oil-painting feline spoke, but not with a voice. I heard it in my mind, wispy and ethereal. The lens is obscured.

Without responding, I flung my camera out and started recording immediately, but not before I felt something sharp plunge into my back, sending a searing, noisy pain throughout my upper torso. I cried out with a teeth-gritting, pained voice, but I wasn’t about to let these entities know that they missed my vital organs as I slumped to the floor, dropping the coffee and pastries onto the concrete. Black, oily coffee spilled from the cup and pooled on the sidewalk, working its way towards the cracks. “I’m on a Discord livestream!” I half-lied, switching the apps over until it was true. “You can’t delete the footage there!” Another claim I wasn’t entirely certain on.

These were the Psychic Wardens. The entities that we tried to avoid at all costs.

They seemed to spring into the existence with the death of High Archwitch Farbauti Helm?gr, three-thousand years ago. No one knows where these beings came from, let alone what their goals are. What we do know, though, is that they will stop at nothing to keep all magical knowledge a secret. They have a single-minded fanaticism about their goal, and stop at nothing to make sure their quarry stays silent. Though the Wardens only manifest to those that they’re actively hunting, they still fail to stick out in any way. They look vague, indiscernible, like background characters. Until you notice the shifting vagueness, and the complete lack of details, it’s too late. They’ve already killed you.

And if they do catch up to you, they will kill you. Sometimes, if the corpse is clean, they can make a person’s death appear mundane and earthly, but more often than not, they’ll seamlessly hide the body through magic, never to be discovered again. No one knows how many there are, or how they move about, but if you’re thinking about spilling the beans on Awngaimene society, and they happen to be prowling in your area, you’ll pull them in like a magnet.

And they can read your mind, both conscious and unconscious. The more you think about telling some Tystwole about magic, the more likely it is that you’ll draw a Warden towards you. The more you even think about the Wardens themselves, the stronger you draw them towards you. If you so much as dream about telling the world about magic, you’ll draw the Wardens towards you.

You can’t kill them, and if you’ve thought about them enough, you can’t even hide from them. They’ll stick to you, and manifest well before you tell the secret. However, they can be tricked, and they can be bargained with. And every Awngaimene knows that they’ll flee in the presence of a camera. It’s terrifying to think about how one faced a Warden in the days before that piece of technology was invented.

As soon as I pressed my pawpad to the recording button, the Psychic Wardens vanished from existence immediately. Thankfully, the hidden third Warden behind me thought that it finished the job when it stabbed me, or so I thought, when a second wound failed to land. But I couldn’t take any chances. “Florence, start recording me immediately!”

The arctic fox fumbled in her pockets for her phone and started to catch me on video, but not before I felt another painful stab wound enter my back after all, closer to my spine this time. Inside of my own head, I could hear a viscous, violent scream that would have brought me to my knees, were I not already there. Florence could hear it too, from what I could gather as the other vulpine stumbled as well.

But the finishing blow didn’t come. Florence seemed to start recording in time. A voice then spoke in my head, now bassy and gravelly.

We will kill you. Give up.

I presented a counter-argument to the open air, “Why are you after us?

The girl would tell the secret. As would you, with your camera.

“You shouldn’t even be after the girl.” Who could she have told?

We will kill her. She knows of the secret.

Florence kept quiet. She could easily tell what was going on, as well as hear the same voice in her own head, at least from what I could read on her expression. I kept the livestream focused on the other fox. Thankfully, it was with a small server of my Patreon subscribers, and they would assume I was doing an ARG or something, if any of them were even awake in the first place. No one was really active on the server.

I spoke out again, through pain and gritted teeth, “On what grounds are you going after her? She doesn’t know about you, and she wouldn’t tell anyone about any secret if she did.”

She knows of the concept of a psychic threat. And she would tell a friend at the eating establishment.

Before I could respond, words poured from Florence’s muzzle, soaked in guilt and honesty. “Forsy, it’s true. I told that cat- my friend that I’d tell her about everything once it was over. I’m sorry. She’s a close pagan friend, but- That wasn’t really her, was it?”

It then clicked that something was off, “Wait,” I challenged, flashing Florence the “OK” gesture, “You’ve never impersonated someone real before.”

That is not important. The girl would tell the secret. As would you, with your camera.

But if the lack of a third stab wound meant anything, they wouldn’t do anything as long as they thought Florence was recording.

“You didn’t answer my question. You went after the girl without her knowing what you are. Even before she met me. Why?”

You were stabbed and aren’t dead yet. Why? Even though the Psychic Wardens were incapable of sarcasm, the question still sounded sarcastic.

“I’m cursed. Answer my question.”

The girl was told the secret, and now must keep it safe. But she would instead tell a friend. We will now kill her.

But they were already after Florence before she came to Marquette, if my suspicions surrounding our brief encounter with The Lady Juxtaposed were true. No, they were referring to the note left at Florence’s mother’s place. And with that, I had a new tactic in mind. “The magical person-” I was avoiding using Awngaimene words or real names, “-who left the note and told the girl about the magical world didn’t tell her about you all. And actually- whoever sent that Shadow thing, that’s trying to kidnap her? They probably told the secret in the first place. Why don’t you go after them before us?”

We will kill you, and then we will kill her.

“But the girl didn’t know. She shouldn’t die. And she would never tell a single soul the secret now that she knows you exist.”

“I promise?” declared Florence tentatively, trying to help.

Turn off the camera.

Finally, I was getting somewhere. “You shouldn’t have gone after her, she didn’t know. The person who sent the Shadow knew about you, and you let them live. Even after they shared the secret. And even worse, you actively tricked someone who didn’t know about your existence, and who didn’t think about you enough to draw you towards her in the first place. She’s practically a Tystwole herself. You messed up. Now leave us alone.”

I fought hard to keep myself from collapsing out of pain. Aside from the chirping of crickets, and the errant automobile on the nearby highway, a heavy silence hung in the air. Until:

Turn off the camera.

“Will you let us live? We did no wrong.”

You use a camera. You share the secret. We will kill you, the girl will live.

We were on the home stretch. “No one has seen the footage yet. And once I turn it off, I can delete it-” I don’t actually know how Discord works. “But only I know the password to-”

We can read your mind.

Fucking psychics. “But can you even use a phone in the first place? Once I lock it? If anyone sees the footage, I can convince them it’s a game. But only if I’m alive. If I die, it’s online forever.”

We know the. What is. The word “password” means nothing. Why do you think of it?

Another pause.

We do not like being tricked.

“I promise. I would never share the secret, ever. You’ve already been tricked, by the person who sent the Shadow. I promise, I’m- we’re on your side.”

We do not like being tricked. But we will not kill you, or the girl.

I released my breath like a bodybuilder dropping hundred-pound dumbbells. I closed the stream and quickly moved to make sure any notifications regarding it were deleted, keeping as true to my word as possible, before bringing my other paw towards the new, fresh wounds on my back. Though there was no blood, the cuts still hurt like hell, and my warm paw offered little to assuage the pain. But I could breath easily; we had successfully bargained with the Psychic Wardens, and successfully made that deal with our lives intact.

And where I thought that the Psychic Wardens had vanished, neither with pomp nor circumstance, the voice said one final ominous sentence before completely disappearing.

The witch Mary; the mother of the girl. Let her trick you no longer. She is the one who. She knows our nature. And of fear. And she is the one who sent the Shadow.