He had been around books and bookish people for too long now. And what were adventures if not stories?Ĭalcifer fluffs up his feathers, shaking himself out of reverie. Calcifer had left his murder behind because, while perfectly nurturing and comfortable, he wanted more out of his life than to sleep and eat and mess around with his many relatives. But it was that last thing the man said that made the crow reflect. Specifically, considering our persuasion, you seek out stories.”Ī confusing, cryptic clutter. “It’s wordplay, more than anything,” the man had said. As caretaker, I keep my companions safe.” “By which I mean they are neither rigid nor rigorous rigid. “Roles in the Ritual are often nebulous, mercurial things,” Osseous had said. Between Osseous talking in their esoteric, poetic style and the man just prattling on about how everything is a story and they were all just characters with roles to play, it turned out to be a rather vague and muddy affair. They form a lazy triangle: Osseous on the armchair, holding a cup to their skull the man on the carpeted floor, resting against a bookcase, paging through a book Calcifer on the windowsill, looking at the chaos outside.Ĭalcifer is thinking of the conversation they had earlier in the night. The librarian, the man, and the crow are in the study. Inside the house, in the eye of this peculiar storm, there is relative calm. The darkness remains, for the moment, without. In furious desperation, Unspeakable Things try to get in and quickly find that they cannot.

A vortex of vexations engulfs it, utterly. Outside the house that should not be there, there is pandemonium.

Horseman by Christina Henry