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The Curious Foxes

A book by Forseti Fox

Dedicated to: beat you to it, wolf!

Chapter 1 - Florence Arrives

the night, in autumn, and all things began, quick and panicked.

“...And at the end of the day, it’s still tricky to parse what exactly La Bête could have been. As I said, there were no more sightings after 1767, even before the French Revolution got into full swing-”

This was taking too long. I took a desperately needed swig of ice-cold water before my vocal chords completely disintegrated into sand. “And… and… finding my notes- Ok.” I took a long pause, to make the editing easier. “And historical stories like this are only limited by what survives of newspaper articles and other published stories at the time, so it isn’t as though La Bête was never spotted again, but the news circuit had effectively dropped the story. Gods-dammit!” Throughout the monologue, a fickle cough had wormed its way into the folds of my throat, and I couldn’t suppress it any longer. I paused the recording and started coughing for half of a minute, desperately guzzling more water from my green plastic bottle to no avail. I will never learn the lesson that drinking alcohol and talking non-stop for an hour will dry out my throat more effectively than actual dehydration. True; sitting alone in a little cabin in the middle of a secluded forest was recluse behavior, but such stigmas didn’t dissuade my propensity to enjoy a decent enough cabernet; getting a little buzzed was tradition for my humble, amateurish ghost story podcast.

Throughout the everpresent sounds of my throat spasming, I found where I left off in the script in the Google Document, and bolded the line of text to bookmark it. I decided a break was warranted. Grabbing my water bottle, I scrambled towards the kitchen, filling it up in the sink despite the fact that I had a nice, pre-chilled water filtering container in the fridge. Dirty dishes obstructed the basin, however, and I almost knocked over a half-full bottle of budget red wine trying to wedge my bottle into the sink. With my muzzle unhinged, not unlike a snake’s, I greedily devoured every last drop of soft mineral-filled Northern Michigan well water, desperate to kill my coughing. I was thankful. It had at that moment finally subsided.

I stared back at my room, the light of my laptop displaying a digital audio workspace. I had, indeed, recorded for a full hour, and I was way ahead of schedule, in terms of the release date for the episode. I could afford a bit of a break, at least from the podcast. Finally having a few dozen Patreon subscribers really helped me get better at keeping a good schedule, even with all of my odd jobs. And sure, I was only really pulling in about a hundred bucks a month from the podcast. It was barely enough for grocery money. But that wasn’t the point. The main goal was to make enough taxable income to keep under the IRS’s radar.

A few actual work-related tasks still needed doing. I wiped away the stray droplets that hung on the fur of my muzzle, and filled up my water bottle properly, with the water from the fridge. I also needed to clean the house a bit; dishes from the past four days overflowed on the small kitchen counter, and a healthy amount of paper trash accumulated on the tables and chairs; no food garbage, at least. I had been good about composting. Melodramatically, it was thirty minutes to midnight, and I had already drunk half a bottle of wine, all while alone in my home. Every task seemed daunting, and laziness had begun to fester within me like a virulent fever. the fox would find no such rest. Plus, I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten for at least three hours.

I succumbed to laziness, threw enough dishes into the overflowing sink to leave space for a single cutting board, and decided on making a big plate of pasta aglio e olio; a dish that wouldn’t take too long to cook that still made me feel as though I was cooking something culinarily interesting.

a while ago. she ran to her car, right after she saw It. in the corner of her eye. a Shadow. far larger than an animal’s. horned, antlered even. dusk obscured the details. her Mother wasn’t home. She didn’t answer the door. only a note, left on the floor in front of the front door. no answer, no noise, no signs of struggle. only a panicked phone call, pleading “Come here!” and a note. “Drive to Marquette.” And an address. and a name. “Forseti Fox.” was “Fox” a last name, or was the note simply telling her their species? what kind of name is “Forseti?” she only thought about these things later. on the road. up the 43. hours later.

her Mother wasn’t home, but her Mother’s home was neat. her home was not neat. her roommate was away. thankfully. furniture knocked over. front locks broken. quiet, dull fear turned into hot, white panic. she didn’t put gas in her car until it screamed that it was nearing empty. hours later. and the Shadow. the Shadow was in her home. her dorm. bigger than an animal’s. no one but her to see it. in the rearview window. up the stairs in her Mother’s home. in the 24-hour liquor store across the street. horned, antlered even. oozing? following her.

her Mother hadn’t answered her calls. her Mother hadn’t answered her texts. it’s not that she forgot to call the police, it was that she didn’t want to. yet. her roommate was safe. she was at the university library. “She had to go visit someone. Her mom left a note.” up the 43. highway turned to one-lane country roads. dusk turned to dark. she crossed two state lines. all a while ago.

Deign had wanted a poultice to alleviate his skin fungus, he didn’t even want anything magical. Touchstone had placed a more magical order; a Potion of Altered Blood, but that was the only interesting concoction anyone had asked me to make this week. Touchstone resorting to magic was fully baffling to me, he never relies too much on it. I was going to spend all evening working on the podcast, but having podcast work as my only goal for the day was lazy of me, especially considering it was an excuse to get tipsy. I didn’t even finish the recording.

Anti-fungal. I thought to myself, almost hazarding an audible whisper despite the fac that no one was within earshot. Of all the animals up here, he wants me to make the anti-fungal for him. I thought that it was common knowledge that I was very pro-fungus. Either way. I had all of the ingredients, but I knew that it was going to sting my paws horribly once I got them combined, even though my paws were pretty clear at that time, in regards to any aberrant growth or anything.

Alas, bullets had to be bitten. Cash had already been mailed, and I had to make the poultice before the post came in the morning to pick up the package. The water on the stove, lightly salted, had begun to bubble a bit, on the verge of coming to a boil, and I set aside half of the minced garlic for my work later. I felt my stomach struggle not to digest itself as I impatiently poured an entire packet of uncooked spaghetti into the bubbling pot, before getting started on mincing fresh parsley. The parsley plant in my greenhouse out back was very full and healthy, and didn’t mind me taking a sprig or two for my cooking. The smell of garlic worked its way into the pads of my paws, and was likely to remain for the next three days. I silently wished someone would come up with a spell to wipe the persistent aroma of minced garlic from one’s paws faster, but it didn’t seem to be the priority of any witch to figure that one out. I didn’t have the time or patience to look up any civilian solutions online.

The windows were open, but only a crack, seeing as autumn was in full swing. The northern nights cooled down far faster than in the summer months. A screen kept an unrelenting number of winged insects from infiltrating the cabin, at least as best as it could, but they couldn’t prevent the hypnotizing chorus of nightly crickets and feral frogs from breaking the siege. The wind rustled through the red-and-yellow leaves, though any color that one might find in the woods would be impossible to discern without an additional light source. Clouds obscured the moon and stars, for were it otherwise, the cosmic array of heavenly bodies would be at a very potent magnitude this far removed from civilization.

The city of Marquette, is located in the Upper Peninsula of the state of Michigan, and nestled cozily along the shores of the world’s largest freshwater body of water (by surface area): Lake Superior. It would be the closest city, but even that meager locale, with a population of only around 20,000 animals, could hardly be called a metropolitan hotspot. Back in the day, I would have loved to have a nice little apartment right in the heart of bustling Manhattan, or more realistically, something like Lincoln Park or Edgewater in Chicago, but these days, I wouldn’t dream of living somewhere that wasn’t completely out in the middle of nowhere. I find that I thrive quite nicely far removed from society. I don’t even live in Marquette, I probably live somewhere around twenty miles northwest of it, somewhere in Powell Township. The ethereal and ominous ambience of the woods at night make it hard to call the location “quiet,” per se, but it was certainly a comforting cacophony. I always took myself for an extrovert, but these moments were always welcome.

Cooking, then eating, then dishes, and then, I’d work on the medicinal mixture for Deign Dargnione. Deign’s a star-nosed mole, and like me, he has a penchant for alliteration regarding his chosen name, though I must admit to personal laziness. I just made my last name the same as my species. Taxonomically, I’m a red fox, though my coloration is very, very different from most foxes in the vulpes vulpes family, in as much as my base fur is more yellow than orange, and my arms, legs, and tips of my ear and tail are a dark brown. That’s not a magical alteration, mind you, that’s just the way the genetics in my family shook up. I bet there’s some vulpes velox in me somewhere.

Deign wasn’t born into the Awngaimene society, he fell into it after getting possessed by some formless malevolent entity. Catholics would cry “demon,” but our society isn’t really built on the notion that the Bible is correct on a lot of things, so using its supplementary texts is a bit iffy. After Deign effectively disappeared off of the face of the earth, he was successfully exorcized by a member of our community, Lavitia, who received a tip about someone needing help in Eau Claire. Some time later, the mole wound up living here with a changed name and a local part-time job. And now, he had a skin fungus of some sort, most likely ringworm; nothing magical.

I didn’t have a go-to recipe, so I had to consult my old mentor’s herbal grimoire, written advice from friends, and the internet. The first step involved combining chopped garlic and ginger in my cauldron, combined with apple cider vinegar in order to activate the ingredients. The second step would be to take my mortar and pestle and grind up a pinch of condorbane; an effective magical biocide. I’d then slide the ground-up herb into the brew, and add a few fronds of magical awngelia, dispersed like bay leaves. I knew that Deign knew how to perform the ritual required to activate the protective herb in order to prevent the condorbane from actually burning his skin. The third step involved pouring charcoal powder into the cauldron, followed by room temperature water, in order to create a paste for the poultice’s base. And lastly, parsley and green food coloring were added to make the mixture appear as though it were more than simply garlic, ginger, charcoal, and a few random leaves. I then slowly stirred the mixture without adding any heat. There are far less expensive and time consuming poultices to treat this sort of infection, but the mole did tip handsomely.

I carefully avoided touching the mixture in order to prevent my paws from stinging violently and painfully.

deeper into the evening. a long, dark, panicked drive. nothing but trees. a tired teenage turtle checking her into a hotel room in the middle of the night. she had no reservation. he thought it was weird. wasn’t it almost morning already? the thought was passing. strange animals and hotels go paw-in-paw.

far inland from the great lake. cheap. was Forseti asleep? could she even sleep? drawn blinds constantly moved aside to check the parking lot that the window faced. the ground floor provided little vantage. anxiety provided little urge for rest. the sun was rising. the “Do Not Disturb” sign hung gently. the blinds, still moving aside hours later. shadows remained still whenever she looked upon them, but almost seemed to dance out of the corner of her eye. wherever she wasn’t actively looking. she was tired. starving. she needed a shower. none of these things prompted action. she kept glancing out the window.

hours would skip. was she missing time or passing out? can panic attacks last a whole day? at some point, it became afternoon. at some point, her stomach growled violently enough to snap her out of her fear. to draw her from the hotel room. a simple meal; a veggie burger and fries. a fast food place not even out of the parking lot. mustard and ketchup stained her white paws. stained the white fur around her mouth. her stomach immediately started hurting. her anxieties waxed. she should visit Forseti. were they magical too? a witch? a magician? whatever her Mother was, in the past, before Florence was born? whatever friends her Mother kept tabs on before the young white fox came into her life. what would Forseti do? what would Forseti say? was the Shadow dangerous? or was this other fox an even worse threat? her Mother wouldn’t answer her calls.

the sun had set. her Mother still would give no further answer. no shadows appeared outside of the imagination. she checked in for two nights, but she had to leave now. or call the police? she didn’t much care for the police, but this wasn’t a noise complaint. a loud car driving by. her Mother had disappeared. no, Forseti would know. or Forseti would turn her into a frog. her Mother wouldn’t call. Florence had to go now, even though it was almost midnight. out of the corner of her eye, shadows lurked, to disappear when she cast her gaze upon them. her cell phone had no service, her GPS struggled worse than her fears. night, anxiety, mustard, questions, stomach aches, fear, Shadow. Florence drove into the deep, dark woods.

I kept casting glances out of my front window. Nothing moved in the deep shadows of the dark woods, at least nothing lacking stealth enough to catch any light. I wasn’t expecting anyone that evening, but the nagging thought of impending guests wormed its way in the back of my mind. Normal animals tend to ignore such thoughts, but I was skilled in magic pertaining to the Record. I knew better. Should I consult my augers? Or would it simply be enough to actually do the dishes, in case I had a guest? Either way, I had now made a mess in my apothecary lab, so cleaning up was inevitable. It’s never smart to leave herbal messes out overnight, especially considering the condorbane’s infamous dagger pollen.

I scooped the poultice into a mid-sized mason jar; enough of an herbal mixture for about three doses, just in case. I jammed the jar into a cardboard box, stuffed it with enough protective newspaper to prevent the glass from cracking, and printed the shipping label. I stepped out into the cold air of the night to slip the package into my mailbox; I half hoped that a postal worker would deliver it, but it’d be a reminder for me to bring it into town if that failed. And normally, the deep, dark night wouldn’t bother me at all, but something made the fur at the back of my neck stand up. Nothing I could see, anyway. I stepped back into the cabin.

I had just wolfed down a whole plateful of pasta, even though I was, indeed, a fox. The dish turned out nicely, despite the fact that I was multi-tasking while cooking, momentarily leaving the cabin with the stove on, and still dealing with a moderate buzz. I used a little too much olive oil, diminishing the flavor of the garlic. My hunger was satiated, though, as well as my curse, so I couldn’t complain.

The cast iron cauldron had to be treated carefully, and without soap, but getting my paws into the herbal residue would be a bad idea, so I squeezed my paws into a pair of surgical gloves. The fur on my paws and wrists caused a great deal of uncomfortable friction. The nagging insights subsided for a bit, but I still found myself casting my eyes out of my front window every other minute.

Objectively, this life found itself strictly on both sides of the dichotomy of peace and chaos. Days were either spent in the presence of horrible, eldritch entities, or completely quiet and alone. I used to have roommates. Someone was always watching a TV show in the living room, someone was independently cooking up a small dish in the kitchen, someone had to go to work and someone had to go to an audition. Days were spent seeing shows, bar-hopping, worrying about resumes and taxes and boycotts. Nowadays, time is spent worrying about money laundering, the Psychic Wardens, getting my German husband US residency, and lots and lots of reading. I had always longed for a life like this, but I also longed for the life I previously had when I was even younger. Most days, I find bliss in the quiet of the woodlands, but some days, I lament the friends I haven’t spoken to in half of a decade. I lament the constant little tasks that I always worried about. I longed to know the deep, dark pagan secrets of the world, and I even managed to uncover a few, but that stupid grass never stops seeming greener on the other side.

At the end of the day, I couldn’t imagine living life any other way than this, covered by the rich tapestry of vibrant constellations, and amidst a flourishing, eternal grove of swaying, colorful trees.

The chores were done. The kitchen and labs were clean. I even vacuumed a bit. I lit a few candles; pumpkin spice-scented, nothing ritualistic, and reclined on my beat-up, raggedy couch. I concentrated hard for a minute, trying to summon a more specific premonition as opposed to the vague inclination that a scared vixen was coming to my cabin, but nothing came up in my mind. I stared at the box of Tarot cards under my coffee table, but a second, larger box caught my eye; a kit of ephemera needed to smoke weed. It would be very un-hostlike, to get high while psychically expecting a guest, but I’d had a nominally busy day. I didn’t really leave the house or exert myself in any way, but I did just do a bunch of dishes. I brought both boxes to the top of the coffee table, and started deliberating.

A feral coyote called, not far off, and I found myself startled, knocking the table with my knees. It had dawned on me that I was a little more anxious than I thought I’d be. And why? Because I had a feeling someone was en route? Awngaimene animals showed up to my house randomly every week, so I shouldn’t have been on edge. But my heart was beating fast. It was an artificial fear, and more often than not, that sort of thing is more horrifying than the sort of fear that comes from a known entity. It’s the sort of thing that inspires a fox to start journaling, in case a dramatic plot was about to unfold. I had a wager regarding such things.

I’d knocked the box of Tarot cards off of the table, and thankfully, not the box with ground-up weed contained very loosely. A few cards had wriggled their way out of their wooden container, decorated with a simple pentagram. A single card was turned over.

Only the Ten of Wands deigned show itself. The Rider-Waite version of this card showcased a peasant-looking squirrel carrying all ten wands with heavy burden, but I was nowhere near memorized with the Lower Arcana deck, so the meaning of the card escaped me.

she pulled up. indeed, there was a house here. a cabin. even out in the middle of these woods. had she driven on actual dirt roads? or snowmobile routes? or maybe she didn’t even drive on paths meant for any vehicle? her GPS held out. her phone had no service. her heart was pounding. The constant thud of many bolts of lightning. her Mother flashed in her mind, and then, the Shadow.

I heard the sounds of an engine. A car had pulled up right to the edge of a clearing, about forty feet away. It’s hard to call it a “lawn” while it consisted mostly of unkempt weeds and natural, native growth. An early-two thousand sedan sat there, engine idling, shining its headlights into the front of my cabin. It was too dark to make out the color, even with my enhanced vulpine vision, and I didn’t have enough knowledge of cars to even hazard a guess at the make and model. But perhaps more importantly, the driver was obscured in shadow, and no detail revealed itself to me. I could only see enough to tell that, indeed, one animal sat in the driver’s seat. The car proceeded to idle for a full minute. Whoever the driver was, they didn’t seem too keen on getting out of the car.

The fear within me continued to churn. But I had enough control over my emotions. I beat down the urge to run away, an urge I couldn’t rationally come up with an explanation for. I tried not to lurk in the window, thinking that the animal in the car would either get freaked out or shoot me from an incredibly easy distance. Wait, shoot me? Where would that thought come from? I couldn’t think of a single reason why someone would want to put a hit on me, nor did I have any idea why I would be afraid of a gun in the first place. There is a small chance that I’m mildly bullet-proof.

The engine switched off, and the headlights went dim, but no driver emerged. It would be so easy to run out the backdoor, no one could chase you through these woods in a car. I banished the thought. it wouldn’t have mattered. I debated whether or not there were any protective spells or precautions I could make at that moment, and glanced back towards my lab, brainstorming ideas. I let the moments pass, though, simply standing there.

And then, finally, there was a knock at the door.

I almost bolted right then, but instead merely dealt with the sinking pit in my stomach and approached the front door. The screen door outside of the main door was left ajar. Slowly, I turned the knob and pulled inward, bringing in much more of the nocturnal ambience, and revealing…

Nobody. No entity, beast or otherwise, stood at the front door where one had just knocked. The panic in my chest tightened further. “Hello?” I called out, wrestling enough control over my emotions to keep my voice from trembling. The shadowy mass of a car still lay dormant at the edge of the property. “I know someone’s here, it’s OK!” I paused for a second, “Unless you’re planning on hurting me, in which case, it’s less OK!”

A figure emerged from the right-paw side of the cabin. It was still rather dark, but my nocturnal eyes granted me enough of a boon to make out the species. It was a fox; white-furred, a tad bit shorter than me, and a tad bit chubbier as well.

The woman’s voice, trembling, answered back

“S-sorry, I d-don’t know what’s the matter with me right now, I’m, um-” her voice trailed off, but I gave her a moment to pause instead of interrupting. “I’m sorry, I know it’s past midnight, I’m, um…” She exhaled a sharp “Guh!” then continued. “I’m not entirely sure how to start this introduction.”

The dull panic churned in my stomach. I continued to ignore it. “You’re all good, did you try driving out here at night? If you’re lost, I can totally help you get back to Marquette.”

The woman approached slowly, coming into the light spilling out of my front door. She was, indeed, an arctic fox, wearing a black, unzipped jacket, a faded Liouxsy Lacroix and the Strigoix concert T-shirt, and light-gray chino pants. A silver chain hung from one belt buckle to the next. Unkempt, snowy fur spilled out from her sleeves, and the disheveled mess atop her head hadn’t seen a brush in days. “I, uh- I don’t think I’m lost. Are you, um… Forseti Fox?”

She knew my name, but she said the name as though she were expecting it to be some silly superhero’s alter ego as opposed to a name that someone actually went by. She almost went to apologize for asking such a foolish question when I answered, “Yeah, but most people call me Forsy.” First thing’s first, though. I had to see if she was Awngaimene. “Dahbin io?” I casually mumbled, trying not to draw attention to the gibberish.

However, instead of glossing over my off-paw mumbling, as most Tystwoles are apt to do, a look of complete shock found itself on her face, as though I brought up some old, traumatizing memory.

“Oh, that’s, um- Awngaimene?” she spoke. The other fox looked dazzled, as though she were convinced that she got the response wrong. Each syllable was chewed over slowly, like she was trying to speak with peanut butter in her mouth. But, for whatever reason, this mysterious stranger was related to the Awngaimene. A few butterflies flittered their way out of my stomach, and my sense of panic waned a bit.

“Cool, cool! Though…” I struggled to come up with the words to ask the next question, “It looks like you have no idea what’s going on. Are you in danger right now?”

“I think so? I’m sorry, I just remember when I was really young, my mother would, um, say that phrase. I don’t think I know what it means, I am so sorry.”

“Oh, you don’t have to apologize!” I slid to the side of my front landing to make space. “I’m not gonna, like, throw a fireball or anything at you- I should specify, I can’t do that. But come on in and tell me what’s up, if you’re looking for, um, me specifically.”

The arctic fox hesitated a bit, “I’m, uh…” Once again, her voice trailed off, and she walked up towards the house. “I’m sorry, I’m really freaking out for some reason.”

“You’re all good, I am a stranger, and I assume something weird’s going on. I am down to help, though. I know you know my name, but do you mind if I ask yours?”

“Uhh, my name’s Florence.”

“Oh, like ‘-and the Device?’”

I immediately bewildered her accidentally. “Yeah, I guess?”

I nodded, “I fucking love Florence and the Device, I dig it.” I hesitated before asking, but decided to go for it anyway. “Or do you prefer ‘Flo?’”

“Not even a little bit,” she responded, without a hint of sarcasm.

“Noted.”

Florence came up to the door, and I followed her inside. I motioned a paw over towards my couch. “Um, sorry, it’s a little messy and not-organized in here, but do you want water, or, like, food or coffee or something? Before I, like, get into asking you what's up?”

“Just water’s alright, thank you!” I went to the kitchen to pour my new guest a glass of water from the filtered pitcher as she made herself comfortable on the least torn-up corner of my old, musty, hand-me-down couch. “So! What’s up?” I shouted from the other room.

The vixen brought her left paw to the side of her head. I could tell she was trying desperately to come up with a concise rendition of her dramatic saga that would make her sound as sane as possible. Whatever she had going on probably paled in comparison to some of the weirdness I’ve seen, but it’s hard to break someone out of the habit of wanting to appear normal.

“So. I’m going to start with my mother. She’s a, um, witch? I guess? She’s always used the word ‘Awngaimene,’ but I have no idea as to what that means.”

I interrupted briefly, “There are a lot of nonsense words that we use. Long story short, it avoids us landing in a Google search, but yeah, that word means, like, people who know that real magic exists.” Where some animals were more careful about this sort of thing, I assumed that this fox probably wasn’t going to be convinced that whatever her mother was doing was fake. After all, she passed the “Dahbin io.”

Florence nodded, “OK, I thought so. My mother had a lot of Awngaimene friends when I was young- Very young, but they showed up less and less the older I got, until I guess high school? It was mostly her and me, no dad or siblings, and we were in a suburb of Chicago-”

“Oh damn, which one? I used to live in Chicago.” I re-entered, bringing the fox her water. I must have earned some trust, because she decidedly failed to regard the glass as though there was the possibility of poison. “Also, so sorry I keep interrupting, I’m going to stop that now.” Florence nodded as she gulped down the drink in one sip.

“Um, Schaumburg, by O’Hare. Did you know a ‘Mary’?”

I gave a hundred-yard stare as my heart skipped a beat. “Marianne?”

Florence shook her head, and began to cross her arms as though she were uncomfortable, but not scared “No, she’s just Mary.” I relaxed a bit. Things were far simpler when that cat wasn’t involved.

“No, I don’t think I know many Chicago Awngaimene, and most people usually pick weirder names.”

But that answer bestowed upon Florence another confused look, though she didn’t immediately explain why. “OK, that’s weird then, but, um- OK, my story. So I always kind of knew that magical things were real, but my mother kept most of it a secret from me the older I got. I remember her casting some spells around the house when I was young, but it stopped around the time I started going to school. I ended up going to college and moving out a few years ago, but I only went up to Northwestern in Evanston.”

A flicker of jealousy flashed in my mind, as did the memories of acting school auditions, but I pushed the thought back. “Oh, congrats, I applied there, like, forever ago- Sorry, I’m interrupting again.”

The other fox put her paws up casually, “Oh, you’re OK. Gods, I’ve been trying to think of a way to start this conversation over for a while now, I cannot figure it out.” She took a deep breath, and I finally sat down after awkwardly standing for the whole conversation. the Shadow was approaching the cabin. “So, I’m a junior in college at this point, I have a dorm, and it’s not the furthest drive- I suppose you know the area. And my mother calls me. She says ‘Come home please, I need you for something, I’ll explain when you get here,’ which is fairly ominous, I know, but not enough to not get me to go home, at least immediately. We have a pretty good relationship, I should mention. So I tell my roommate I’m going to go home for the evening, but I’ll probably be back. She says she’s going to be in the library all night anyway. So I drive over, and when I show up, the front door’s open, which is very strange for, you know, any major city. And my mother isn’t home. I keep calling and checking rooms, and she’s not there. And that’s when I find this note.”

At this point, the mysterious fox pulled out a mysterious piece of lined notebook paper, visibly crumpled after being stuck in the vulpine’s shallow front pocket. As she unfolded the note, she read it out loud, “It just says ‘Drive to Marquette,’ and here’s your name and address.”

The panic that I once swallowed down had leapt back up my throat. I didn’t know this woman’s mother, and I didn’t like how she knew my address. Sure enough, the note read Florence’s words verbatim. In dark green Sharpie, of all things. I thought I was the only animal to use anything other than black.

“OK, I’m going to interrupt one more time, because I do not know your mother, Florence, and I have no idea why she’d have you go to me before anyone else.” A flicker of mistrust wormed its way in the back of my brain, and I found myself watching Florence’s muzzle intensely to gauge her reaction.

But she shook her head and kept the same confused, worried visage. “I don’t think I know any of my mom’s friends, so I can’t answer that question. I’m so sorry, I thought she knew you, that’s…” she shook her head once more, trying to find the words, “That’s got to be extremely uncomfortable, but the rest of the story isn’t going to help that much.”

I nodded, preparing myself for a more intense story now that I was somehow involved. “Duly noted.”

“So I look around and call her more, and even call her phone, but I get nothing. And I don’t call the police because…” she shrugged, “I don’t know, I just didn’t. But even before I give up, I see a- um, almost like a Shadow, but it took up space somehow? It wasn’t a see-through ghost or anything, it looked like… it looked like it just sucked up light in the space where a person might be? But it was tall. About eight-feet tall, and I think it had, um, antlers? It almost looked like it dripped a little, though there wasn't a mess somehow. And it started following me, fast. It could have easily caught up if I didn’t book it to my car.”

“I drive back to my dorm, calling my mother the whole time, which- I know, I shouldn’t while driving, but I can’t get an answer anyway. I make it back, and almost consider calling an authority or something for missing women, but then I find that my dorm is a complete mess. It looked like a break-in. My bed was smashed, both mine and my roommate’s closets were a mess, the closet door was off of its hinge, almost like- Almost like the intruder who broke in wasn’t looking to steal something, they were looking for an animal who was hiding. I call my roommate, Rowena; she’s a close friend of mine. She’s OK, and I call maintenance, or, um- My RA to tell her that we had a break-in, I tell her I’m going to stay with my mother, and not that my mother’s missing. But I wait around a while I guess, until I notice that the Shadow is right outside of my window, and I know if I don’t leave now- or, um, if I didn’t leave then, it’d catch up, so I got in my car, and I guess I panicked because I drove straight here.”

As Florence finished her story, I could tell that whatever happened to her had really messed her up. She was visibly shaking, and had even begun to claw into the fabric of the already beaten-up couch. I grabbed a synthetic fabric, standard-orange blanket that was pretty clean, despite resting on my floor, and handed it to her, putting a paw on the anxious vulpine’s shoulder. Whatever magical conspiracy was at play here, Florence definitely had no part in its machinations.

“Yeah, that’s totally, completely weird, especially if you don't really know any Awngaimene lore or anything. Do you want more water?”

The vixen wrapped herself tightly in her blanket, staring off into space, “Maybe in a moment, thanks..” I snuffed the pumpkin-spice candle on the bookshelf behind my seat in order to burn a lavender-sandalwood incense stick instead, in the hopes of using aromatherapy to ease any stress. The two fragrances clashed horribly.

“For sure. Now, um, from what details you’re telling me, I don’t really know what exactly this Shadow entity could be, but shadow-type entities do actually exist for real, so it could be one of maybe five things that I know about. I don’t think I could figure it out on my own, though, we’re going to have to see a Mulgywai-” I caught myself, “Which, I know is a weird fantasy word, but I’ll explain all of that in a sec’. Mulgywai are pretty much, like…” I struggled to come up with the word, “Bureaucrats? I guess? But they’re helpful. We could even go now- Or, I guess when you’re ready. Awngaimene animals are pretty nocturnal regardless of whether or not they’re actually biologically nocturnal, so we have time if you need a sec.’”

“Do you think any of the things that this Shadow might be… Do you think my mom’s OK?”

That was a hard question to answer. “I’m not a pessimist, it’s not like these sorts of things are hungry feral animals. They probably have an agenda or something, we’ll figure this out soon.” I fidgeted in my seat again, to get more comfortable. “I know your mom, or someone, sent you after me specifically, but I am so sorry that I can’t help, more than just to defer you to someone else.”

“Oh, you’ve been great, Forestry- or, I’m so sorry-”

“Oh, yeah, I’m Forseti, like, um, the Norse God of, uh, justice, though that God’s like a B-Tier- They don’t know a lot of lore about him, folklorists. It’s not important.” I only knew for certain that he had a cool name.

“I don’t think I know many minor Norse deities, I’m sorry.”

“You’d be forgiven for that,” I half-joked.

“Though yeah, Forseti. I can remember that. Do you use he/him?”

I always considered my gender to be anything but concrete, but caught up in the general weird vibes, I merely responded with, “Ehh, soft he/they.”

“That’s cool, I’m, um, she/her.”

I nodded. It's always good information to know. “Yeah, totally, thanks for asking. Did you want anything else at all?”

A look of contemplation crossed the arctic fox’s muzzle. When I meant to ask her if she wanted refreshments, despite the fact that I’d done so three or four times already, the other vulpine instead seized the moment to ask: “I guess, tell me about the magical secret world, if you even know where to begin with all-” She waved her arms around wildly, “This.”

I, in fact, did not know where to begin with that. Sure, a good number of beasts in this grand underground secret world accidentally stumble into it without any context, but up to this point, I personally had never needed to actually explain how the society works to anyone. I’d never met a fledgling Fangdyne Tystwole. I myself wasn’t even born into society, like many of my friends. I put my paws on my hips and looked nonplussed into the fox’s eyes in the vain hope of coming up with a satisfying answer to this new fox’s request.

the Shadow had arrived.

My fear returned, despite the fact that I hadn’t seen anything. “Did you say you drove straight here from Chicago?”

Florence looked a little nervous all of the sudden. “Um, yeah, why?”

“And you saw the Shadow walk on hindfoot, yeah?”

“I didn’t see it teleport or anything.”

Suddenly, the front door to my home violently broke inwards.

There was a tall figure standing there, entirely made out of what appeared to be an oozing, black Shadow, with a long, toothy muzzle, and deer’s antlers atop its head. What looked almost like sludge seemed to drip from its body, though it evaporated completely as soon as it hit the ground. The Shadow seemed to suck in each ray of light that dared to intersect with its body.

“Back door!”

I waved my paws towards the kitchen, which would lead to an ulterior exit to my home, and was thankful that my phone was in my pocket. I didn’t even bother to grab shoes, hoping my pawpads were calloused enough to brave the elements. The being was something I’d never seen before in my life, and it moved fast. It didn’t seem to break into a sprint, but its walking gait was easily five times as fast as a normal animal’s; maybe even faster, but it was impossible to gauge exactly. By the time I ran into the kitchen, then the back porch, it had already caught up and raked a rather painful cut into my right shoulder. Even if Florence hadn’t struggled to shove the mountain of cardboard boxes out of the way from the back door, it would have easily caught up.

But once we reached the openness of the cold, night air, I realized that my plans didn’t really extend any further. I had forgotten about a bewitched boline hanging up by the door, a potion with offensive capabilities, or any number of spells at my disposal. I simply looked towards the white fox with a face of wild panic, and blurted out a brief, “Car!” hoping that she’d run to her own car instead of mine. I wasn’t entirely sober.

That’s when the Shadow ripped my tail off.

It’s really painful, getting your tail ripped off. Imagine the sensation of a horribly broken leg, yet mildly worse, because your bones get snapped clean off. If I had to put a number to it, I’d say it’s one-point-five-times more painful. I was familiar with both sensations. I am not a careful fox. My eyes grew as wide as full moons, and my mind went completely blank as the Shadow merely pushed me aside to pursue the other fox. Florence, too, went into shock, and even though her fur was already snow white, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine that her complexion went completely pale as well.

This time, though, I was ready for contact. For the brief second in which the entity grabbed hold of my tail, I focused my personal magical ability in the attempts to poison the Shadow. The particular poison that I had in mind would have caused the Shadow to start tripping out as though the being had ingested psilocybin. This tactic worked surprisingly well as a means of buying time.

But my spores wouldn’t take.

My plan also took course over the span of a mere second, and as soon as I realized it wouldn’t work, hot, ardent pain once again seared through my furry rear-end. Florence was still stunned from witnessing my gory dismemberment. Perhaps bafflingly, yet without lying, I shouted, “This happens a lot! Go!”

Luckily, Florence could multitask, because she both stammered a rather alarmed “What?!” while turning tail, so to speak, and running towards her car. Realizing that I was not the fox that this malevolent being was chasing, I turned back towards the kitchen, scooped up my lost tail, and flew through my cabin to meet up with Florence in the front yard. The being, having lost sight of the fox, took the long way around the cabin.

Despite the detour, the Shadow was mere feet away from the arctic vulpine by the time she made it to the front door of her tan Honda from the mid-2000’s, and I was even further away.

That’s when my backup plan came to mind. Right next to the front door of my home was a rusty, metal mailbox, stuck to the wooden wall by even rustier screws. This container wasn’t for mere post office affairs, however. Within it lay a simple, white cotton pouch filled with half-a-dozen magical reagents. I clutched the sack tightly in my left paw and raised my other towards the Shadow, muttering in an ancient, esoteric language.

“Sschizcahnne schnizor liguiahmme!”

The cotton bag burned to ash in my paw. The dark being went to grab at the vixen, but completely lacked any force to pull her away. Florence easily wormed out of its clutches, climbed into the driver’s seat of her sedan, and slammed the door. The entity tried pulling the door open before the fox could lock it, but completely lacked the strength to make it so much as budge. With my tail in my paw, I ran to the passenger side while the Shadow was distracted, slammed the door, pushed a surprising amount of food wrappers onto the floor, and shouted “Drive!”

But before she could turn the engine on, Florence’s curiosity took precedence. “What did you do to it?”

“I got rid of all of its, like, inertia, but the spell’s only gonna last for seven seconds max, floor it!”

The key turned, the engine hummed, and Florence shifted into drive, doing a donut in my front yard before peeling down the dark dirt road. The antlered figure wasn’t about to give up. It was as though it didn’t even comprehend that I had put a magical obstacle in its way.

“Uh, heads up, I don’t have anything else up my sleeves. Also, I have never seen anything like that in my life.”

Florence nodded, shaking visibly in the subdued glow of the car’s interior lights, but not yet succumbing to madness. “Where should I drive?” The Shadow began to dissolve into the black darkness of the woods behind us. More clouds began to blot out the pitch-black sky, erasing all of the stars.

I muttered a simple, “Hmm,” to indicate the rich thought process currently manifesting in my brain. It could be an animated corpse or a constructed entity of some sort, it didn’t feel intelligent, and it isn’t affected by the Fungal Entity at all, so it’s not quite biological. Ouray’s Spell of the Moment worked on it, at least, so it’s not above standard magic. Also I’m going to have to come up with seven-hundred-fifty dollars to get more ingredients. It took less than a second for it to rip off my tail, so it’s strong as hell, and I don’t want to take it to Marquette. Also, that fucking hurt. I have a theory.

“OK, so I promise I’ll give you a magical crash course down the line. For now, though, you’re just gonna have to- take a left here.”

Tires squealing on a particularly slippery patch of dirt, Florence fought hard to prevent her little car from ramming into the trees off to the passenger side. Her vehicle was not meant for these roads, and her psyche was not meant for my horrible last-minute navigation tendencies. After a brief, equally high pitched squeal from the arctic fox, I continued. “I have an idea as to what this could be. It could be, like- OK, so not a Shadow Person, like the kind of thing you see in sleep paralysis; those aren’t real, but think along those lines. They’re called the G’hialgiange. I will not be spelling it. They hate water, though, and I think it’s going to rain, so I want to lure it to- Take a right here.” Another near-accident occurred. “Thank you. I want to lure it to Lake Superior, and catch it in the rain, which means we’re going to have to get into a boat.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” responded Florence, “What’s the plan in specific?”

Her response was strangely confident, and I stammered a little in bewilderment before instructing Florence to “Take a right here. I’m so sorry.” The other fox had learned to predict my rapid-fire directions.

“So we just drive out onto the lake and wait it out, and the thing will just… What will happen? And you just… you have a boat?”

“I’m actually stealing- I’m actually borrowing a boat. We’ll have to paddle out.”

Florence nodded. “What else does the Gee-olly-gan do? Is my mother safe?”

I began to stroke the fur on my chin. “If you’re comfortable, I think we’ll need to defeat this thing before checking out on your mother. I’m- I don’t think this is the sort of entity you can interrogate. I don’t think it’s… sentient like you and I are? Or alive?”

Florence nodded even deeper, visibly uncomfortable with the idea, but trusting me enough to know that continuing on as this Shadow’s quarry was a bad idea. I craned my neck to try and perceive the nocturnal sky, but I couldn’t make out what were the leaves of a tree and what was a cloud. I attempted to crack the window open a bit to hopefully catch the scent of rain, but was only met with a pitiful, mechanical whirr.

“That window’s broken, sorry.”

“That’s OK. I was just trying to see if I couldn’t get a scent of petrichor or something, though yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s going to rain.”

“And this thing dissolves in the rain like- We’re doing Wizard of Oz?”

I started rubbing my right cheek intently, as though I could distract myself from the burning pain on my backside. I found myself entirely unable to explain properly. “Ughh, it’s complicated.”

“It’s unsettling when you say things like that. You don’t have any other magical spells or something?”

“I can do weird mushroom stuff and slightly predict the future by intuition, everything else requires a ritual and some components.”

“What does the future say- Wait, do I want to know?”

the plan would not go as planned. “Shit, I just, um, consulted the Record,” I declared. “Just now, actually, and the plan might go poorly.”

Florence gulped audibly. “But you don’t have any other ideas?”

“Nope, not at the moment.” I laughed a nervous, not-at-all comforting little laugh. “Reading the Record- er, fortune telling is kinda wrong sometimes, though. I don’t think we’ll die- I’m not thinking about it. I’m not thinking about it. I am putting maximum intention into anything else and verbally manifesting anything other than thoughts of our impending- I don’t know what I’m talking about. I could be talking about anything.” Though it sounded like a comedic bit, talking to myself helped me snap out of any focus on my intuitive reading of the future. it would take only a fox alive.

We had arrived at Lake Superior ten minutes later. The dirt road opened up into a clearing that Florence took for a makeshift parking lot. Little lights dotted the coastline, only mere miles away. The shore of Lake Superior was by no means left to the wilderness, when lakeside real estate was so easy to sell, but large enough stretches existed to shield certain activities from the public eye.

In fact, the clearing led to a semi-derelict wooden boathouse with a small dock, jutting out a few hindpaws into the lake, or half as many meters, for those using metric. The clearing lacked any real beach, however, and the boathouse required a wooden staircase to be reached. The drop into the water from the ledge wouldn’t have been more than a few hindpaws high as well, but it was hardly the sort of cliff you’d like to throw a boat off of and hope for the best.

After a random hike through the wilderness a year ago, I discovered this abandoned shed. The section of the door where a doorknob would normally be found had rotted away, and much to my surprise, I discovered a little rowboat tucked away in the back corner. The vessel certainly smelled musty, though mold was something I was entirely used to. I worried for Florence’s delicate vulpine sense of smell. But despite the scent that it had picked up, I tested it a while ago to make sure that it was, indeed, still seaworthy, and even stashed a few emergency supplies in a tiny compartment in the rowboat’s stern. Over the course of the year, I was able to keep the boathouse secret and undisturbed, though a touch of a certain puma’s glamour magic certainly helped. Petrichor did, indeed, hit my canine nose. It would rain any second now. I left my severed tail in the car.

After flying down the staircase, I forced the door open, scrambled towards the rowboat, and instructed Florence to: “Grab the oars for a sec’ and jump in, I’m gonna push it in the water.”

“How likely is it that we die?”

“Definitely less than fifty percent- Actually, don’t let my subconscious try to actually predict that. I’m thinking about anything else right now.” My go-to joke gets less funny the more that actual consequences start to manifest.

Awkwardly clutching the oars, the arctic vulpine sat on the aft-most seat of the boat, keeping her legs to the side. Without a considerable amount of musculature, I groaned and strained as I pushed the arguably-lightweight craft across the floor and into the water, where it landed with an audible plop, and splashed the both of us in the process. The Great Lake Superior is already incredibly cold in Autumn, and we both unconsciously made fox-like chirping noises in surprise. “Oh yeah, don’t fall in, hypothermia and all that.”

“I understand,” answered Florence as I jumped in the boat, took the oars, and started paddling out to open water. It had begun to sprinkle a bit.

“So, um-” continued the white-furred fox, “It’s already raining a little. Are we… good then?”

The act of steering a rowboat was arduous work for a small-framed fox such as myself, and my answer came out as more of a grunt, “Digits-crossed. Either way, very little can cross water, unless you count Jesus.”

“Are… you’re not going to tell me Jesus was actually real, or-”

“Oh, no, not at- I mean- that’s a can of worms, but you know. I’m doing bits.” The sprinkling had turned into steady rain, cold on my fur. I instructed Florence, “If you get cold, I stuck an emergency blanket in the compartment there-”

But my words turned to ash in my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shape move in the clearing. And while normal animals would dismiss that as a trick of the eye, I knew better. “Wait, I think I saw it.” I strained my vision, attempting to focus my eyes towards where Florence parked her car. We were about a couple hundred hindpaws from shore.

The younger canine’s voice was colored with minor panic, “So it’s not dissolved?”

“There’s a small chance I fucked up, but it still shouldn’t be able to cross water.” The panic afflicted my voice as well as I continued to scan. “Shine a flashlight, if you have your phone. I left mine behind.”

Florence did as she was told, fishing in her pant pockets for her device before shining her cell phone’s light towards the shore.

The Shadow was running towards us with astonishing quickness, walking on water with ease. Even though the antlered figure was almost ethereal, it was corporeal enough to block out some of the light, leaving very little room for doubt that it was real. It even seemed to suck in the light from Florence’s phone.

Both of us screamed, and the other vulpine dropped her flashlight into the rowboat. She flung herself off of the seat to grab it, but within seconds, the Shadow grabbed the smaller fox by her torso and hoisted her screaming body into the air.

I grabbed Florence’s ankles and sent spores to course through her veins. Holding fast onto her shin, I let my mycelia form rhizomorphs in order to dig into her flesh to strengthen my grip, the only hope I had of competing with the Shadow’s sheer physical strength. I then kicked the oars into the lake, hoping they’d sink to the bottom.

I shouted. “If you understand English, I poisoned her! She’s going to die and there is no cure. She’ll die.”

The Shadow stopped pulling.

Florence, suddenly concerned, stammered, “What was that?!” but I ignored her. “I threw the oars into the lake also, so we’re stuck out here. It’s impossible for you to take this fox anywhere alive. She’s essentially dead now.”

The Shadow dropped the fox back into the boat, though it hesitated. I couldn’t figure out if it was trying to call my bluff, or if it could actually sense the spores that I planted into the vixen were authentic, but it waited nonetheless.

“I don’t know your agenda, so I’m asking you, unless you have a master. If you do, go to them, and tell them that there’s nothing you can do.”

The Shadow remained still.

“You have a master? Tell them that it’s over- This plan is…” I had to switch tactics. it needed a fox. “Tell them that I offer myself in this fox’s place.” a mistake for anybody else.

“Forseti, what’s your plan?” pleaded Florence with a nervous laugh. I had to keep a straight face and ignore her. The Shadow still wouldn’t move. “My stomach feels-”

I interrupted her. “You have a master, don’t you? You can’t bring a dead fox to them, so go and ask if another fox will do. I submit willingly. Neither of us can leave the boat now, and there’s no cure for her poison, and you can’t take me back without consulting them, so go!” My voice was stern and steadfast. The Shadow dropped Florence, and though I couldn’t see, it sounded as though her head hit the seat of the boat with a sickening thud. She didn’t move nor speak, seemingly having passed out. I almost winced, but I kept my muzzle straight.

I had no idea how accurate my assumption was, but the assault had subsided. The Shadow turned and walked back towards the shore, silently. The rain fell heavier.

I waited for a few minutes, keeping myself from shivering in the frigid percipitation, and forcibly keeping every thought in my head stoic. If this thing could read minds, read emotions, or even so much as sense that something was off, I couldn’t budge. Even if it were a few meters away, I wouldn’t be able to see the Shadow in the dark and the rain.

After counting to five minutes, I collapsed, almost immediately hyperventilating. I hugged my body, shaking in the cold rain. Of all the gambles that I had taken that evening, infesting the arctic fox with Amanita calyptroderma and calling it Amanita bisporigera seemed to have paid off, the former being a potently poisonous fungus, and the latter being the nominally tasty Coccoli. I was only glad that I was able to concentrate on the right fungal strain while keeping that specific thought as far away as possible from my mind. One must practice mental resilience when psychics exist.

I waited a few moments longer, breathing heavily and hugging myself. The Shadow never returned.

Florence remained unconscious. I worried that she’d have a concussion. I knew she had a pulse, but she was certainly knocked out cold, which was something I had never seen before from a head injury alone. After my moment of panic, I recovered my senses and wrapped the vixen up in the emergency blanket. Despite venturing the odd “Hey,” I couldn’t rouse the fox from her sleep. If she were actually concussed, I don’t think magic would help; she’d need to see an actual doctor. That was far from the only problem, though. I made a pact with a silent entity, and threw the oars into the water in a moment of panic. I was very much so without a plan, though at the very least, I had bought some time. The Shadow would need to walk to Chicago, and then walk back, or so I hoped. My missing tail hurt, and my body throbbed.

It is not rare that I find myself thrust into a complicated and dangerous situation like this. Being tailless, freezing, and with my soul held for ransom would be far from the most horrifying situation I’d deal with in my life. One rarely dives headfirst into their own curiosity without expecting to tread a bit of water. If the felines reading this would forgive me for using an old phrase, “Curiosity killed the cat.” Though it is often forgotten that the phrase has a follow-up. “Satisfaction brought it back.” Facing fear and pain is a quick way to learn, and wisdom is a helpful tool in getting out of danger.

Time wasn’t in infinite supply, and the chill of the north Michigan air burrowed itself into my fur. Despite everything, I would come up with a plan. After all, this is the first chapter of a whole-ass book. I feel like I’d get yelled at by the publisher if I gave up here.