The Edifice

12. Slurpees and Spellwork

I need to get out of here.

The intensity of their gaze practically burns at my skin, looking down I can see the reflection of those horrifying eyes gleaming off the buttons of my dress. The questionably elfin creatures from before, the gigantic centaurs of the hospital have nothing, nothing on whatever the hell this is supposed to be.

True to its name, the comforting warmth of my turtleneck envelopes my chin as I tuck my head as low as I can, practically sprinting into the safety of the 7-Eleven. My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I duck behind the shelves of tampons and travel essentials, putting as much overpriced junk between myself and the occupant of the limo as I can.

The sheer terror of the encounter finally catches up to me, the bare bile of my stomach threatening to make a second appearance as I hug my chest frantically. The (blessedly human) attendant at the store counter eyes me warily, but I can't even bring myself to pull it together in front of him. If I'm going to have an immobilizing panic attack, it's indescribably preferable to have it in here rather than out there, in front of-

"You're not from here, are you?"

The soft, sly words slip out from behind me like the hissing of a snake. I don't need to turn to know who it is. The whole aisle is suddenly bathed in an icy blue glow.

Eyes jammed shut to keep that awful silhouette away, I can almost trick myself into believing praying hard enough will take me back, undo whatever sickening trick brought me here in the first place. Almost.

Unfortunately, the comforting smell of incense and lavender is far, far away in Hersely. All I have to distract me here is the churning of the Slurpee machine and a new, berry-sweet scent in the air.

"You can look at me, you know. I won't hurt you," the creature tries again, voice quavering experimentally as though tuning a guitar before finally settling into a more familiar, human mask. "Do you need help?"

Don't engage. Don't engage.

Reluctantly, I risk a glance to my right beneath my lashes. Up close, they're blessedly more corporeal. In keeping with the humanization of their unworldly voice, I could almost mistake the presence next to me for an honest to goodness person. Once again, almost being the operative word.

A young man, or at least what appears as a man, tilts his head at me curiously from where he leans against the steel shelving. It's hard to be sure, his features set upon a strange mix of sharp-angled bone structure and soft feminine skin. His complexion is that of an almost periwinkle blue, the icy color shifting like TV static across his face. But at least he has some definition now. Snow-white hair is brushed back from his forehead, splitting at the tips into thin streams of light and gleaming with a corona of pale flames.

Only the eyes remain the same. His unyielding silver gaze burns to meet.

"Earth, right? Is it your first time here?" He asks again, almost insistently, taking another step closer. His outline blurs with the movement. I take a step back to maintain the distance between us.

"I don't know where here is," I admit hesitantly, uncomfortable under the intensity of those piercing eyes. I can't stop trying to focus on the shifting silhouette of his body.

This mirage of a man uses the opportunity to shift even closer. A not-hand reaches forward to squeeze my shoulder. The touch lights up my skin from neck to elbow, though the contact of those five, human fingers is all I can see.

Is this the remnants of my parent's Christianity finally solidifying the reason for their faith? He screams old-testament angel, reminiscent of those scrawled beings of light and fire. When he smiles, he reveals a set of pearly white fangs set against an abyssal maw.