64. Wooden Puppets (Patreon)

In the next moment, Oz leaped to life. As the bartender’s arm fell, Oz threw the ruby under his hand. The bartender’s hand smashed down, and the ruby shattered. Black and red light wisped out, swirling around his hand for a moment, then dissipated.

Maisel screamed. “What did you do? What did you—”

Her voice cut off. Her eyes flickered out. The flames surged up, swallowing her wooden body. In a few moments, the hearty logs that made up her form crumbled to ash, and the fire blinked out.

For a brief moment, Oz caught a glimpse of a pale version of Maisel, an aimless, blank expression on her face, floating amid the smoke. She faded away, leaving no trace.

Oz took a deep breath. “One down.”

He turned toward the bartender, who stepped toward him, arm raised again. “One to go.”

Mindlessly, the bartender charged him. Used to the attack by now, Oz dodged easily. The ruby on the puppet’s shoulder burned bright as the bartender passed him by. He whirled, striking as the puppet passed, but the blow glanced off the tough wood. Oz landed on the ground and spun around, facing the bartender from behind.

We used his strength to crush Maisel’s ruby. Why don’t we use it to crush his, too?

The bartender lurched to a halt. Before it could turn, Oz sprinted toward it, closing the distance in a blink of the eye. He leaped up and grabbed onto the bartender’s shoulder, clinging on for dear life. He hacked at the ruby with his dagger. “Ha! You can’t stop me. I’m going to tear this out of you!”

The bartender grumbled. He threw his shoulder, with Oz on it, toward the wall.

Oz! What are you doing?

Let me cook!

In my body?

Cooking!

At the last second, Oz vaulted off the bartender’s shoulder, using the light-body technique to flip over his head and land on his other shoulder.

CRUNCH. Shards of ruby rained down on the floor. The same red and black smoke issued from the bartender’s shoulder. The bartender burst into flame.

Just like with Maisel, a pale version of the bartender lifted off of the wood body. He turned and locked eyes with Oz.

Oz grinned. “Sorry…?”

“Thank you,” the shade whispered, and then it faded away.

Oz took a deep breath. He lowered his dagger. “Phew. That was insane.”

Oz! The fire!

Jolting, Oz turned. The fire consumed the curtains and threatened to set the wall alight. “Right!”

He whirled, sprinting for the kitchen. Hopping the bar, he rushed into the back.

A pair of skeletons laid on the floor, dressed in Maisel and the bartender’s clothes. Ominous black chains that oozed cold bound their bodies, though even as he entered the room, the chains began to decay.

Dark magic! Fflyn hissed, drawing back.

“Yeah. It must have been some kind of curse, right?” Oz asked. He grabbed a big jug of beer and hopped back over the bar, tossing it at the curtains. Beer splashed over the curtains. The fire spluttered out.

Almost certainly. Blood magic, even, Fflyn murmured.

“Blood magic on mortals, that’s an offense punishable by death, right?” Oz murmured, walking back to the bar. He slid over, entering the kitchen once more.

Yes, Fflyn confirmed.

“But we don’t know who did this.” Oz twisted his lips, troubled. He sighed, then knelt. Carefully, he inspected the chains.

I don’t see anything.

“Me either.”

At the very end of the chain, a link hung loose, only half hooked on the next link. He wiggled it, and it dropped into his palm. Wrapping it in a cloth, he put it in an exterior pocket.

Standing, he lowered his head for a few moments. I know very little about you, but please pass on in peace.

With that, he left the kitchen again and returned to the dining room. Both the wooden puppets had burned to ash, but the shards of ruby remained. He gathered a few shards into a cloth, twisted it into a bundle, and put it in a separate exterior pocket.

“Anything else we should gather for evidence?” he murmured, half to himself.

Nothing I can think of, Fflyn replied.

Oz sighed. He turned.

Heavy blows slammed into the tavern from outside. Through the window, he could faintly make out strange, ghostly figures, but the darkness swallowed up any details. “What do we do about those?”

Wait for morning, then report back to more powerful mages when we return, Fflyn said firmly.

“I just wish there was more we could do,” Oz sighed, sitting. He looked out the window. “They can’t get in here, can they?”

Doesn’t seem like it.

Oz let out a relieved breath. He ran a hand through his hair, then turned to the stairs. “Let’s go check on the family. If she gave them more than a sleeping potion…”

With curses going around? Be on guard. Anything could happen.

“Understood.” Oz raised the dagger and approached the stairs.

Remnants of the gloom the puppets had summoned swirled around Oz’s ankles, cold and dreary. Summiting the stairs, he crept down the hallway, delicately darting down the wood, light body technique still active so the wood wouldn’t creak beneath his feet. He reached the door and gripped the handle.

The door jumped in his grasp. Something heavy thumped into it from the other side, rattling the door in its hinges.

Oz backed away. “At least one of them is a puppet.”

Right.

“But there were three of them. If one of them is still alive, trapped in there…” He grasped the door handle once more.

Are you nuts? We can’t take three of them!

“Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

Is it a good one?

“I never said that.”

The thing struck the door again. The second it fell back, Oz yanked the door open.

The boy stood at the door, his body wooden, his mouth twisted in an eternal smile. Looking up at Oz, he gave a vacant giggle. No gem glowed on his body. Blood stained his feet and legs. Behind him, his parents laid on the floor, their heads smashed in.

Oz kicked the puppet boy back into the room and slammed the door shut. Looking around, he found an unsmashed wardrobe at the end of the hall. He grabbed it and dragged it over, barricading the door.

That’s your plan? Kick the puppet at the door back?

“I didn’t say it was a good plan. But it worked, didn’t it?” Oz muttered. He grunted with exertion and gave one last shove. The wardrobe slid in front of the door, blocking it off.

It did work, I guess.

Oz backed away. No rush to solve that problem now. I’m—we’re exhausted. Let’s rest instead. I’ll deal with it in the morning.

His back hit the wall opposite, and he let out his breath in a huff, sliding down it. “What the fuck is happening out here? Is this normal?”

No. The wooden puppets are… I don’t remember anything like that.

“And outside. Do you think they’re all puppets, too?” Oz wondered aloud.

I hope not.

The boy struck the door again and again, then went quiet. An eerie cry, not unlike the ones that had chased them down the mountain, emanated from the boy’s room.

A shiver ran down Oz’s spine. Jeeeez. What is happening in the mortal world?

No wonder Sachiari told me to investigate it. This is more than a scandal. If this is orchestrated by someone in the Mages’ Quarter… this is no short of a massacre.

Oz ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “The hell, man. What the hell.”