“Do you live here?” the child asked.
“I do not,” he replied in a careful, even tone cultivated by a decade of customer service. Harzl didn’t stop what he was doing; he had two boxes of snacks to restock and only fifteen minutes until the train arrived with the new station inspector. He wasn’t supposed to know about the surprise inspection, but the trains were sentient and they liked Harzl, so they kept him updated on the gossip.
The Eastern Line train had told the Chicago Line, and the Chicago Line had relayed the information to the Northern Line, which had let him know ten minutes ago when it had dropped off its passengers. Harzl had gotten busy, stashing his mini-TV—which he wasn’t supposed to have—sweeping the platform, and restocking the vending machines.
Normally, when humans or snobby wizards were on the platform, he would stay in the shadows of his service counter by the bulletin boards to avoid these annoying encounters. But he needed to make sure everything was perfect before the “surprise” inspection so he could have this temporary posting made permanent and be one step closer to becoming a station manager. Then he and his pet barghest, Snori, could move out of his cramped subway-level apartment and into a place that actually allowed a beast as large as him on the premises. Snori wasn’t even the largest of his kind, he was no bigger than a St. Bernard, and didn’t drool as much.
The vending machines wouldn’t have been a big deal, but Harzl had a keen craving for chocolate, especially the Cheshire Chocolate Chews. He allowed himself one per day, but sometimes, when the stress of dealing with the public got to be too much, he had twoor three, and then he owed money from his check to cover the difference. He’d been written up in the past for complaints about a lack of vending items in this section of the Liminal Subway, and the last inspector knew Harzl had a sweet tooth. He needed to make a good impression on the new one.
Snori, whom he also wasn’t supposed to have at the station while on duty, loved the Carnivore Jerky Treats. It was hard bringing enough food down to keep his pup full and happy, harder still to afford the kind of food a beast like him deserved. Most barghests would hunt rats, rabbits, and the like, but Snori had already eaten all the vermin in the station.
Harzl hadn’t planned on having a pet, but Snori had been left behind in a cage on one of the trains about six months ago. He’d been half the size he was now, with scratches and bites all over him. The poor thing was in sore need of a friend, so the trains had taken pity on him and brought the barghest to Harzl. A high honor considering the trains weren’t just sentient, they were a sacred form of elemental shifter that his clans took care of in exchange for knowledge and cooperation.
“When does the Chicago Line come in?” the woman asked as she came up behind him.
Harzl finished the candy machine, locked it, and saw that the child was staring into the darkness of a seldom-used side tunnel where Snori was hiding. Kids always seemed to know where the dogs were.
The woman was young, with short, choppy dark hair, but she had the look of someone who might complain if he just told her to look at the posted schedule right next to the information desk.
“It should be about ten minutes, ma’am,” he answered with a pleasant smile.
“And where are the bathrooms, please?”
Harzl pointed beyond the vending machines. “Over there, ma’am, right under the bathroom signs.”
“Thank you. I wouldn’t ask, but my glasses were broken yesterday. I can only see about five feet in front of me.”
Harzl felt a tiny pang of guilt, and was glad he had been pleasant. “Sorry to hear that, ma’am, do you need me to walk you over? The platform is uneven in places.”
“No, no, Alex will help me.”
The little boy earnestly took the woman’s hand, and Harzl noticed she had bruises on her neck. The child had a cut on his forehead peeking out from a bomber hat, the kind with ear flaps, but wasn’t wearing a warm enough coat. Instead, he had on an oversized flannel shirt with a T-shirt underneath, and jeans with ripped knees. The thin woman wasn’t any better dressed in a long skirt and a jean jacket. They didn’t look related, but they were familiar.
Harzl inwardly cursed himself for not noticing earlier. They looked like a pair he’d gotten a notice about in the morning updates. Something about a missing child and his nanny.
With a whine, Snori crept out of the tunnel. He was dark gray with big green eyes and a crooked smile with one bottom fang that stuck out a bit. He was a well-muscled beast, but he was also a big baby and didn’t like to be left alone, which was why Harzl brought him to work every day. If he left him at home, Snori just whined and scratched until the neighbors complained. And his neighbors were a witch on one side and a writer on the other—not people to disturb lightly.
“What’s the matter, buddy?”
The barghest snuffed and huffed and shook his butt. He really did look like an oversized bulldog crossed with an undersized bear.
“I can’t play right now, and you need to stay out of sight.”
Snori whined even more at that.
“You have your blanket and teddy. Stay out of sight, Snori,” Harzl said firmly.
The barghest whined a protest one last time, turned around, put his head down, and padded back to the tunnel.
The station was mostly safe, and looked like some of the older subway stations, with the smooth tile and clean architecture of the ’50s. A large tunnel that could accommodate two trains going in opposite directions was off to the east side.
The old tunnel on the west side, where Snori was hiding in an unused alcove, was from the early 1900s. It was in use about a dozen times per month by the old trolleys that serviced some of the more rural stations. The trolleys were also sentient, but they were older and kept to themselves.
In between the tunnels, southward, was the service counter and bulletin boards. Northward was the vending machines and bathrooms. The two sides were divided by four long benches for waiting passengers. If someone missed a train they could catch the next one, but they couldn’t stay the night. This station didn’t have a night guard, and there were things deep in the tunnels that would kill a person if they weren’t careful.
Harzl usually put the errant traveler on the last train before he closed up, and the train would take them to the nearest approved subway motel if they were humanoid, his apartment if they were a troll or aligned with the trolls. He didn’t like it, but that was what was expected in his clan. Trolls helped trolls, and woe be the trollkin that was a poor guest or bad host.
Even though the city of Milwaukee above was busy, the station below was not. The schedule had a mere three stops per day per each of the four main trains, so Harzl saw less than fifty people onan average day. Many were regulars who commuted to work and back. A few were on vacation, or students. Occasionally you’d get the odd runaway or criminal either seeking or running away from crime.
