June let out a laugh—loud, bright, and weirdly musical for someone who'd just watched us survive a ghost stampede. "Isso é divertido!" she shouted, like this was a joyride and not ghost-smacking madness.
To be fair, it was kind of fun. Just like whacking mailboxes from the backseat of a haunted muscle car. Surprisingly, the Gravemare was still driving like a dream, even without a driver. And I swear—at one point, I started to slide out the window during a sharp turn, and Vinyl chomped the back of my jacket just to keep me from falling out.
Rude. But effective.
Which was about the exact second the truck slammed through a swirling portal stitched into the air like melted light and disco smoke—and smelled like wet dog. Like, aggressively wet dog. I had just enough time to wrinkle my nose and wonder what the hell kind of portal magic came with that funk before everything went sideways.
The wind didn't just stop—it vanished like it had been yanked from the lungs of the world. The howling, the music, the chaos—it all collapsed into silence so heavy I could hear my heartbeat behind my teeth.
The ghosts didn't fade. They blinked out. Like someone hit mute on the afterlife.
Then the whole world tilted. Not a metaphor—tilted. Like being dunked in a cosmic spin cycle on something way worse than Molly. Worse than that Weed Draven mix—the one with LSD laced in ghost-pollen and necromantic citrus they call Soul Melt. Light bent sideways, color drained like bad dye, and I swear gravity pirouetted twice before remembering where down was supposed to be.
Then—stillness. Like the eye of a storm that had forgotten how to spin.
A moment passed.
Then June looked at me—really looked, eyes narrowed like she was measuring something I couldn't see. Her voice dropped, softer than usual. "You okay?"
I blinked at her, caught off guard. "Uh... yeah? Why?"
She leaned one elbow on the dash, tone a little too casual. "Closing a veil hits mortals in different ways. If you're not marked, trained, or built for it—it can feel like you're unraveling inside. Some folks say it's euphoric. Others say it's the worst thing they've ever survived."
"So," she said again. "What did you feel?"
I pulled back slightly, heat creeping up my neck. "I... felt high. Like floaty, dizzy, laughing-in-a-cloud kinda high."
June gave me a look—half suspicion, half something quieter. Then, shifting her weight, she reached into her hair and pulled out what looked like a delicate monocle lined in shimmer-thread and slime mold. She held it up and wiggled her fingers. "Hand. Let me check. Just making sure the veil didn't leave any poison trace. I'd hate for that man to kill a sweet woman like me."
I nodded, offering my hand out slow.
She peered through the monocle, her face close. That's when I saw it—just a hint, soft and real: the faint bulge of an Adam's apple beneath the gloss of her throat. Her features had that smooth femme curve, but they were working overtime to stay that way. A little ripple ran through her form, like her magic had to breathe under pressure.
She caught me looking and didn't say anything. Just shifted her face a bit more femme, like brushing a curl into place. Not to hide. Just... settling back into herself.
I didn't comment. Didn't flinch. Because I remembered what Mama told me about slimes. They're born fluid, most of 'em. Nonbinary by nature. Kids born with both traits are seen as blessed. Pride, not shame. But if a slime chose a gender—stuck to it—that was different. That could mark a family. Something whispered about in the dark.
There were male slimes. Female ones too. But to choose a binary path? That was something most wouldn't do without a reason. And it took effort. Energy. Daily magic just to keep your body aligned with your truth. Especially now. Especially in America, where folks still tried to pretend trans people were myths.
So no. I didn't say a word.
But I noticed. And I respected the hell out of her for it.
Though I started to wonder why June was like this—so carefully held together, so determined. Then she finally said I was fine, and the Gravemare pulled up into a clearing like nothing had happened. The silence broke like a record catching breath.
Kaito finally slowed down from all that fog-dancing, easing the bike to a lazy loop before parking it with one foot dragging the dirt like he was sketching love letters in the ground. I could tell he was catching his breath—smiling to himself, eyes bright, wild red hair catching the light like a warning flare.
Kaito always said he wanted a motorbike. Said it with that dreamy look some folks save for jukebox singers and front porch sunsets. But we never stayed anywhere long enough to keep one. No roots, no garage, no reason to collect more than we could carry. My folks, though—they had one. A fine old thing kept in the barn behind the chestnut orchard. I remember the first time he took me riding through there, engine growlin' low, wind licking our skin like a warm storm. He still smelled like peaches that day. He always did. Funny thing is—I think he might've been flirtin' with me, right then and there. And I didn't even clock it. Guess I was too caught up in the thrill, hangin' on tight, thinkin' it was just another wild afternoon. But now? Looking back? That boy was wooing me in third gear.
Sometimes I wonder—was I really seeing him? The way he always saw me? Maybe not. Maybe I was just dancing in my own little dream, thinking love would walk up in neon letters and knock. It didn't. It rode up on two wheels with music in its mouth and fire in its chest. That was Kaito. Always there. Always near. Never hiding, just... waitin' for me to look deeper.
I mean... how did I not notice?
He finally hopped off the bike, and that's when I saw it—a broad-shouldered biker with arms thick enough to shame tree trunks was giving my man the kind of look reserved for centerfolds and sin. Not on my watch.
I threw the Gravemare door open like I was making an entrance and strutted up like my hips had something to prove. Wrapped my arms around Kaito's waist and bit his neck—not hard, but firm. A claim, a kiss, a reminder.
Kaito let out a breathy laugh, one of those lazy little chuckles that said he was pleased with himself and me. He leaned into it, relaxed like we'd done this a thousand times.
I side-eyed the biker. He looked like he wanted to throw me across the woods. I flicked him the bird with enough energy to curse bloodlines.
"Folks really think we're that open," I muttered.
Kaito just grinned, brushing his knuckles down my side. "Let 'em. Ain't none of their business how we love."
And it's true. People always assumed the worst—or maybe the best, depending on their party habits. The way we dressed, the way we danced, the way Kaito looked at me like I was the moon he promised never to land on.
But folks? They always assumed. Thought we were the type to throw keys in bowls and set boundaries on fire. If they wanted a proper orgy ambassador, I could've pointed them to two Black women who passed through once—one was a snake-bodied enchantress into choking games and dramatic exits, the other had an elf lover so smitten he'd commit homicide for her smile. Characters, the both of 'em. I still wonder where they ended up.
As for us? I wasn't about to correct 'em. Not while I had Kaito wrapped up like a blues song in silk sheets—especially not with one of the bikers chiming in about the truck's cargo like it was casual dinner talk.
"Animal souls," the guy said, wiping something oily off his boot.
I blinked, confused. "Excuse me—what now?"
June slid up beside me, still calm from the ride, her eyes glinting with that 'let me teach you something' shine. "The 27s don't go after mortals anymore. Not usually. But animal souls? Easiest thing to snatch. Less protected, more abundant, and still pure enough to cause a ruckus."
She got a little closer, lowering her voice. "Problem is—they overhunt. Start messin' with the balance. Environment gets jacked up. You want a near-extinct spirit lion prowling your grandma's backyard? 'Cause that's how you get one."
She winked, then added with a sly smile, "There's a joke in the Sonter Corps about 27s: they'd be better environmentalists if they weren't so damn dramatic. Only Sonters who've been around long enough laugh at it."
I didn't laugh. Not right away. I was still thinking about those spirits, about the weight of a whole truck filled with innocent howls—and about how close those ghosts had come to getting what they wanted.
didn't laugh. Not right away. I just kept picturing those spirits—sharp-edged, sorrow-soaked, and hungry—clawing through the veil for a taste of something they weren't supposed to have. A whole truck, packed tight with innocent howls. The kind that never learned to beg, only to trust. And they almost got 'em. Ghost hands almost on ghost fur, and for a second, it felt like the world tilted the wrong way. Like maybe next time, they would win.
I turned to Kaito, about to ask what came next—if we were finally goin' home—when something soft and strange came skitterin' into the clearing.
A bunny.
No bigger than a loaf of cornbread, with a glittery clipboard, glowing eyes, and a voice that could echo clean through a honky-tonk jukebox at midnight. It tapped one fuzzy foot, muttered a spell under its breath, and boom—out popped an entire spread like it was conjurin' up a county fair prize tent.
A fresh line of chrome-polished RVs shimmered into being like magic trailers from a Vegas dream. Tables snapped open, buffet-style—fried catfish, honey-butter cornbread, piles of sugared yams, even a damn chocolate fountain bubbling in the middle of the woods. Gear racks loaded with new tools and glamour-grit armor rolled up like parade floats.
"Thank you, Sonters, for answering this call," it boomed like it had been rehearsing since birth. "The Sonsters find souls like these vital to realm balance. We've got more deliveries pending. If you're willing to stay on for the job, we'll provide upgraded vans, deluxe RV suites, charm-stamped gear, and hazard pay for every mile. This is your next-level package—grab it if you're stayin' in the game."
Kaito groaned. "Damn it. Sonsters."
Vinly growled low, eyeing the bunny like it was snack-sized. I held her close and locked the back of the Gravemare. No bunny blood today.
The rest of the group, though? All said yes without blinking.
I looked at Kaito sideways. "I thought Sonsters didn't like Sonters."
He shrugged, already walking toward the gear buffet. "A job's a job. And Sonster gigs? They pay like nobody else."
June patted my shoulder. "Plus, you got me now. We're a group, remember?"
I sighed. Loud and long. "One big happy fuckin' family. Huntin' the 27s."
Great.