## Leslie POV The week before Halloween, Egelon tasked me with decorating the diner for the season. I suppose I should have expected it, seeing as I’d recently taken it upon myself to spruce up our decor — an effort to win back Egelon’s favor after *someone* opted to badmouth me in their one-on-one — but I’d been so preoccupied the past month that it didn’t occur to me to prepare for such a request. Luckily, though, I was able to pull something together: based on the decor sported by other shops in our area, I covered the walls in creepy miscellany and set up a large motion-activated animatronic skeleton to loom over the bar as a centerpiece. Customers have so far seemed to enjoy the atmosphere, so I’d consider it a job well done\! Egelon also informed us that we could adjust our hours to accommodate Halloween festivities if needed, so there were some scheduling decisions to be made before the day came. After much back and forth, we settled on a plan: rather than work overtime, we would shift the diner’s usual hours to open at 3 PM and close at 3 AM. Aurelian would man the diner, and Emil the truck at the festival, and the rest of us would swap between the two locations in shifts, with Isha and myself as the additional festival setup crew. Given how many of us wanted to attend the festival, and how little logistical justification I personally had to be there, I’d been begrudgingly resigned to stay behind in the diner the whole evening; by contrast, this plan sounded perfectly fine to me. When the day finally came, I waffled over what to wear. I knew, generally, that the definition of “Halloween costume” covered a broad range of wildly disparate options, but I still wasn’t quite sure what sort of costume was meant to go with what context. For lack of direction, I settled on a nice black bunny suit I’d worn for a gala event back in Vegas; it was flattering, and had been well-received by our human clientele at the time, and I’d seen a similar one in a costume shop in town, so it seemed a safe enough bet. Though Jonny’s eager approval on our way out the door did give me pause. After all, the last fashion advice Jonny gave me was either terribly misguided or openly malicious — I am still unsure which, to be honest — and the stark contrast between my own costume and his, a cheap fake beard, shapeless purple mass of a wizard’s robe, and cartoonishly large pointed hat atop his head, did little to improve my confidence. But my concern was eased somewhat when I arrived at the diner to see that Aurelian had chosen to wear a bunny suit as well… the exact same one, in fact. (A story for another day.) Of course, I don’t have a *terrible* amount of faith that Aurelian’s understanding of human norms is much better than mine — but I felt assured then that, at the very least, I wouldn’t be making a *uniquely* bad impression. (Solomon also complimented my outfit, in a pointed sort of way that I could only assume was meant to rub in the fact that it was he who’d bought it for me. Be that as it may, at least I’d *worn* a costume. I didn’t bother to ask what he was meant to be.) The diner’s late opening went smoothly, so as the festival’s 5 PM start time approached, Emil and Isha and I headed out to set up the food truck. When planning the day’s schedule, it had arisen as a point of contention whether or not Isha should take a shift at the festival. We were unsure if Egelon would approve of her leaving the building, but Isha managed to strong-arm Aurelian into allowing it. Her shift would be brief, he decided, and Emil and I promised to look after her… but I was made to regret that promise nearly as soon as we arrived. We had barely begun setting up before Isha attempted to make a break for it, leaping out the back door of the truck with — apparently — no idea what would happen when she did. She instantly burst into flame. It took both Emil and me to wrestle her back into the truck, and some creativity with a banner to do it without catching flame ourselves. When we finally managed to drag her inside, Isha just curled up on the floor and stayed that way for the rest of her shift. We finished the setup without her. As it came time for her to swap out with Cherry, it dawned on us that the established plan of having Isha walk back to the diner would not be an option. Still listless on the floor, Isha suggested I just carry her there on my back… and I honestly considered it, but it seemed unlikely that the magic confining her to the truck would be thwarted by simply keeping her feet off the ground. The most obvious solution, then, was to call Aurelian and tell them what had happened so we could adjust our plans — but Isha insisted furiously against it. For some reason, I felt compelled to grant her that much. She seemed deeply shaken by the failure of her escape attempt; perhaps I pitied her. But the problem remained that the diner would be shortstaffed without someone to take Cherry’s place. So for lack of another option, I volunteered to return in Isha’s stead. I would really have liked to stay my whole shift and see more of the festival, but I could only hope that my visible efforts to be a team player would eventually be rewarded. In hindsight, I’m not sure what I could have done differently. Perhaps I should have been colder and called Aurelian after all, or perhaps I should have called Cherry directly and told her not to come — invented some other explanation as to why. Perhaps, on some inexplicable premonition, I could have called Solomon and made myself angry at the sound of his voice, just to make the choice to betray him a blissfully easy one. But in any case, I wish I had not set out to return to the diner on my own. The walk back from the park is approximately 15 minutes along the commercial strip where the Deviled Egg resides. It’s usually something of a thoroughfare, but with the festival already occupying (intentionally, so I’ve been told) those people who might otherwise have been wandering the evening streets, I found myself alone. And then, as I walked, I became aware that someone was watching me. I tried to ignore them and stay the course. Then they were not only watching but following in lock-step. The shadows suddenly seemed taller than they should have been. Egelon told me, during our one-on-one, that someone was looking for me. I played my cards poorly and squandered the opportunity to ask him for more, so I don’t know whom to expect, or where, or when, or what they might do when… *if* they find me. But I know that I have something to fear. I heard laughter behind me, and the shadows began to close in. I could think of nothing to do but run. The thing pursued, and when the shadows blocked my path, I ducked into a nearby hardware store with very little plan. Perhaps I could lose them in the aisles, or the presence of others would deter them, or— I hid among the shelves, but I could see too late that the layout of the store would not permit an easy exit. They entered behind me, and I was trapped. I like to imagine myself an independent devil; it’s easy to imagine something that present reality is unequipped to challenge. But in that moment, peering between stacks of plywood at the approaching figure of my pursuer — a threat I couldn’t imagine how to fight, and it was quickly seeming I could not evade — I couldn’t help but remember that I’ve never been quite *alone* enough to prove it. Only once in my life have I truly been my own keeper, and at the first sign of danger, I ran to the first cage that would take me. I found myself running down the list of people I knew in Marlowe, swallowing my humiliation at that tacit admission. If I did manage to leave this store intact, where could I go? Who could help me, and who *would?* I searched for an answer, and felt a growing pit in my stomach as I came up empty. But I had to try; what point was there to any of this if I didn’t try? So I made a break for the exit, half-hoping I might at least be able to block it behind me and buy some time to run. No luck. The door was roped shut. The stranger caught me, and all I could do was face him. He was a demon: a shambling figure of burlap and straw and living shadow, tall enough to loom well over me in the narrow space. Up close like this, I suddenly realized that I recognized him. Thatch, I believed his name was — I’d encountered him once or twice on a smuggling job, but he was… different now. Bigger. I hadn’t been afraid of him then; I was now. Then Thatch spoke. I smelled like him, he said, but I wasn’t him. Where could he find a man named *Malphus?* And I was… not quite relieved, but the fear I’d felt shifted. I told him, with my most agreeably apologetic smile, that I did know a Malphus, yes. But I didn’t know where he was presently. I can rationalize, now, the choice that I made to lie. Simple caution is one explanation: it would be patently reckless to reveal information that might bring such an apparent danger back to the diner without even knowing his intentions. Another explanation stings a bit to admit, but holds true nonetheless: right now, I need allies, not enemies. I know I am being hunted — perhaps not by Thatch, but by *someone* — so it would be… unwise to throw my colleagues on the pyre too eagerly. It may invite them to do the same to me, and that I cannot afford. Either reason would have been perfectly fine, and I wish now that I could claim one. But in truth, it was another thought that overtook me in that moment. Thatch did not seem like a demon with an ordinary business dispute; he was hunting. And without knowing what he wanted with Solomon, I couldn’t help but assume the worst, whatever that may be. As much as I may enjoy seeing Solomon cut to size, I do not know whether I want *the worst* for him. So I did as I’ve always done when faced with a question I am simply unwilling to answer: stall and evade. I fear it may have been the wrong move.