of the car and walked around to the back, opening the rusted petrol cap to peer within. He was pretty sure it was empty. It made sense. The house had been locked up tight, but there was nothing to stop someone from coming by and syphoning all the petrol away. It had been so long, it might have just dried up anyway.
He spent several minutes searching the house and grounds for a can of petrol, but came up with nothing. Of course, that would have been far too easy. He thought of calling someone, but the only person whose phone number he had was Myrna's, and he was pretty sure she had better things to do than personally deliver him petrol. There was nothing else for it, he decided, hands on his hips and glaring at the useless vehicle. He'd just have to go into town and buy some petrol. He tried to remember how long of a drive it had been into town yesterday morning. Ten minutes, maybe? It couldn't take that much longer to walk.
The gloom had mercifully cleared up overnight, and the sun was shining warm overhead. Cohen had shrugged his coat off in his search for the non-existent petrol can, but he was forced to put it back on when he re-entered the house, the cold stone walls retaining their chill. He thought briefly about bringing his coat with him on his walk, but there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and it wasn't past noon yet. He'd probably just end up carrying it all the way. He trotted up the stairs and traded it for a hoodie instead.
With a bit of effort, he managed to push the bedroom window open, and stood, letting some of the fresh air and warmth in. A light breeze kicked up, stirring the strings of dried plants around. Cohen glared at them critically. Niall probably wouldn't want him walking to town himself, but the memory of Niall's strange claims and the depression of yesterday was fading quickly, and it was hard to feel too unhappy or frightened on such a beautiful day.
He grabbed his phone and wallet and took the stairs back down two at a time, whistling as he went. The walk would be a good time to think about the plot of his next book, he decided. He'd start writing it tonight. Or possibly tomorrow morning. But definitely one or the other.
Unfortunately, he didn't end up thinking about his fantasy world on the walk at all, but rather the very strange and potentially more real fantasy world he seemed to have ended up in instead. Niall had definitely made those beans explode last night. Cohen had scraped the last of the evidence off the floor this morning. Could it really be possible that magic was real? The thought made his head spin.
It was also incredibly frightening. If—and he was only allowing the consideration hypothetically—if magic really did exist, and there were people who could use it, that meant he was very, very unsafe. The police would be basically useless against someone who could change their appearance at will, open locks with magic, even control other people. He supposed that was where, according to Niall, the Guild came in. But if Niall was telling the truth, and the Guild had done such horrible things to him and Jacky... Cohen couldn't fathom the idea of such an unfair reality existing. He didn't want to think that the entire world might be under the control of an organisation that could do such terrible things.
But, he thought, kicking at the dirt on the side of the road as he walked, he didn't want to shy away from it either. He could easily pass it off as nonsense. It would be much easier to pretend that he'd never heard about any of it. But what good would that do? Wouldn't that be an act of compliance? Wouldn't that make him just as bad as them?
He shook his head violently. He had to stop thinking like this. He didn't know anything for sure, and the feeling of powerlessness the whole concept gave him was sickening. But what could he do? If Niall was telling the truth, and Jacky had killed people, didn't he have a responsibility to turn Jacky in to the Guild? What was the right
He spent several minutes searching the house and grounds for a can of petrol, but came up with nothing. Of course, that would have been far too easy. He thought of calling someone, but the only person whose phone number he had was Myrna's, and he was pretty sure she had better things to do than personally deliver him petrol. There was nothing else for it, he decided, hands on his hips and glaring at the useless vehicle. He'd just have to go into town and buy some petrol. He tried to remember how long of a drive it had been into town yesterday morning. Ten minutes, maybe? It couldn't take that much longer to walk.
The gloom had mercifully cleared up overnight, and the sun was shining warm overhead. Cohen had shrugged his coat off in his search for the non-existent petrol can, but he was forced to put it back on when he re-entered the house, the cold stone walls retaining their chill. He thought briefly about bringing his coat with him on his walk, but there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and it wasn't past noon yet. He'd probably just end up carrying it all the way. He trotted up the stairs and traded it for a hoodie instead.
With a bit of effort, he managed to push the bedroom window open, and stood, letting some of the fresh air and warmth in. A light breeze kicked up, stirring the strings of dried plants around. Cohen glared at them critically. Niall probably wouldn't want him walking to town himself, but the memory of Niall's strange claims and the depression of yesterday was fading quickly, and it was hard to feel too unhappy or frightened on such a beautiful day.
He grabbed his phone and wallet and took the stairs back down two at a time, whistling as he went. The walk would be a good time to think about the plot of his next book, he decided. He'd start writing it tonight. Or possibly tomorrow morning. But definitely one or the other.
Unfortunately, he didn't end up thinking about his fantasy world on the walk at all, but rather the very strange and potentially more real fantasy world he seemed to have ended up in instead. Niall had definitely made those beans explode last night. Cohen had scraped the last of the evidence off the floor this morning. Could it really be possible that magic was real? The thought made his head spin.
It was also incredibly frightening. If—and he was only allowing the consideration hypothetically—if magic really did exist, and there were people who could use it, that meant he was very, very unsafe. The police would be basically useless against someone who could change their appearance at will, open locks with magic, even control other people. He supposed that was where, according to Niall, the Guild came in. But if Niall was telling the truth, and the Guild had done such horrible things to him and Jacky... Cohen couldn't fathom the idea of such an unfair reality existing. He didn't want to think that the entire world might be under the control of an organisation that could do such terrible things.
But, he thought, kicking at the dirt on the side of the road as he walked, he didn't want to shy away from it either. He could easily pass it off as nonsense. It would be much easier to pretend that he'd never heard about any of it. But what good would that do? Wouldn't that be an act of compliance? Wouldn't that make him just as bad as them?
He shook his head violently. He had to stop thinking like this. He didn't know anything for sure, and the feeling of powerlessness the whole concept gave him was sickening. But what could he do? If Niall was telling the truth, and Jacky had killed people, didn't he have a responsibility to turn Jacky in to the Guild? What was the right
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