Knights of the Grey City

Chapter 30 - ADAPT

I healed up as Huang stood guard. After that was done, I shrunk back into human form and we met up with Katie in the front hallway. When we opened the door to step outside, we found ourselves exiting into a nondescript Toronto alleyway. When I glanced back, the door behind us had disappeared, leaving only a graffitied brick wall.

"W-we're back," Katie stammered, then turned and looked at us. "And... you're here too."

"Told you we lived here," I said, wishing I had some kind of olive branch to offer. If Katie was terrified of us, that was probably my fault.

"Are we close to where you were taken?" Huang asked. "Do you need any help getting back?"

"I can take the subway," she snapped. She backed up a few feet and then darted away down the nearest street.

We weren't far from University Ave, closest to Huang's apartment. I sighed and gave him a shrug.

"She'll probably come around," Huang said. "It's a weird situation."

He didn't need to tell me that twice. As we set off for our respective homes, I grumbled at the annoyance of being suddenly transferred way the heck downtown. I wished I could demand for the Grey City to cover transit costs.

I took the Subway, too, but I didn't see Katie. Wouldn't know what to say if I did see her, to be honest. She'd seen something terrible in me, so she had every right to steer clear. I wished she could steer clear, forever, that the Grey City would change its mind and let her go.

But the statue of that Viking woman, stern and unfazed with Katie's face, was burned into my mind. I already knew the Grey City wouldn't let go of us that easily. You didn't build statues of people you wanted to forget.

The Subway train car rattled; I was standing with a hand on the rails, the seats all full. The crowds of seated people looked at their phones, read their books, and stared tiredly into space. I looked like one of them, I realized.

I gripped the rail tighter, suddenly feeling trapped in my own body. The more time I spent in the Grey City, the less like these people I became. Maybe some of them had a belief in the supernatural. Some had to be religious; some believed in ghosts; maybe a select few had even encountered something that defied material explanation.

But no one here was what I was.

My stop came up, and I forced myself to let go of the railing. I exited the subway car with the small stream of other commuters. Late afternoon. Dark underground, dreary aboveground. I was barely thinking, focusing instead on the wholly unnatural shape of my senses, tracing the cracks and bumps of the pavement in a ten-foot radius around me. Whatever I am, now.

I walked into the nearest convenience store, rooting around my pockets for change. It was so natural I almost didn't have to stop and confront what I was doing.

I hadn't had a cigarette in years. Quitting hadn't come easy. Hadn't even really been necessary, if I'm honest: I knew plenty of people from work who smoke and sure, it's an unhealthy habit, but we've all got a few of those.

I'd picked it up as a social thing as a teenager. As my depression gained ground, I started to lean on it more often for a sense of routine. After all that crap went down and I cut off my old ties, the routine stuck with me.

At some point, the habit became a pain. It was no longer social or a way to enjoy some sunlight. It was just me, going all the way down the stairs in our stupid, cold apartment, then standing in the parking garage in the dark, alone. Smoke as fast as possible, toss the butt away, and climb back up.

I quit years ago because Eli had insisted. I was pretty pissed at Eli when he first brought it up—it had seemed like he was judging me for a stupid habit, one he knew I wasn't proud of anyway.