AWAKEN, PLEASE. RECOVERY TIME EXPIRED. PLEASE EXIT IN FIVE MINUTES.

  Ben bolted upright as the tinny announcement echoed off the walls. Lights flickered overhead, bathing the small compartment in sickly green. He shoved a hand against his temples, teeth clenched. He wasn’t home. Somewhere—somewhere out there—he had a home. And he would find it.

  AWAKEN, PLEASE. RECOVERY TIME EXPIRED. PLEASE EXIT IN FIVE MINUTES.

  “What an asshole,” Ben muttered, glaring at the speaker grille.

  Before he could curse again, about five pounds of demon crashed onto his skull. “Hurry up, human,” Thorn rasped, “It appears we have visitors.”

  Ben peeled off his damp shirt which immediately caught and tangled Thorn inside. The little grimp let out a squeal and careened into a corner. Normally Ben would have laughed, but something in his head thrummed with urgency: Move It.

  He yanked a battered bag from the trunk and crammed in the few meager items he discovered earlier. He strapped the dagger to his belt, tested the hatch’s wheel latch—and to his relief the circular door clanged open. Finally.

  As the compartment began to ascend—a low hum vibrating the floor—Ben felt a shift on his shoulder. He turned his head to say something when, “What the—”

  “If you’re wondering why I’m invisible,” Thorn’s voice coming from seemingly nowhere, “I cast a basic concealment ward. We don’t know who’s come for you. I, at least, should stay unseen to be safe.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Fair enough. But why are you here? Last I checked, demons aren’t in the room-service business.”

  There was a shuffling sound as Thorn reappeared into view. Under harsh fluorescent bulbs, his dark eyes glowed with wary intelligence. He exhaled a small puff of smoke.

  “I…wasn’t meant for surface life,” Thorn began, voice quivering. “I failed the trials of my birthhouse, was cast away. I wandered, alone, until I found these lower levels…this…recovery chamber. And then I found you.”

  Ben paused. The demon rocked on delicate claws, every tremor betraying how hard it was to confess.

  “I seek asylum as your spirit guide,” Thorn continued, straightening his tail. “I know some lore of the Omniverse—enough to keep you alive, perhaps.”

  Ben laced his boots, listening. “Thorn, look, you're literally the only person I know. I’d like a guide who doesn’t try to kill me.” He shrugged, shouldering his bag. “Of course you can be my guide.”

  Thorn’s grin revealed two rows of needle-sharp teeth. “Then let us formalize.” He held one claw to his scaled chest, the other hovering over Ben’s brow. “I, Thorn of the Seventh Hollow, form an Accord with you, Benjamin Benard Barnaby. I will defend your interests, guide your spirit, and share all I know of realms beyond. In turn, you shall carry me beyond this world. Bound thus.”

  A cold pulse radiated from Thorn’s claw into Ben’s skull, followed by a gentle warmth that settled into his bones. He felt a faint electric hum as if new circuits flickered on inside his skull.

  We have formed an Accord. Now we may speak by thought alone.

  “Whoa,” Ben whispered, pressing a palm to his forehead. “This is…weird. How do I—”

  Simply think your words with the intent I receive them.

  Ben closed his eyes. Like this? Did you get it?

  I did indeed, Master. Quite clear.

  “Don’t call me master,” Ben grumbled, opening his eyes, “Seriously.”

  Before Thorn could reply, the elevator shuddered and ground to a halt. The metal wall split in two with a hiss of steam. Fluorescent light spilled in, illuminating stone floors and the shadowy silhouettes of armed figures beyond.

  “Here we go,” Ben said, shouldering his bag. Thorn flickered at his shoulder, invisible once more. Together, they stepped into the unknown.