Most people who rode the Liminal system knew the trains were sentient enough to communicate with the station managers, but they didn’t seem to realize that the trains had a mind of their own. Only paranormal beings with proper authorization could use the subway stations, and even then they could only go as far as the trains allowed. The trains knew how far each person could go, and weren’t shy about stopping someone trying to cross the dimensions into the outer protected realms. They didn’t say much, they just dropped interlopers off at the major stations and informed the being on duty that the passenger was in violation.
All of the station managers were trolls, but the busiest stations were manned by witches and half humans who worked for the station manager. Harzl’s oldest sister was in charge of the Denver station; his youngest brother was assistant to the one in Portland. His other two brothers were rangers that patrolled the rural stations on this side of the realms. It was their job to check in with the old trolleys, oversee repairs, and handle numerous problems that could come up when paranormal dimensional travel goes wonky.
His father, an elder of the Hellirverja clan, was a ranger on the other side of the realm and made sure no one crossed that was not allowed. His word was law, and he was disappointed that Harzl had yet to become a station manager or a ranger, and was considering calling him back home to work with him. Harzl didn’t want to go back where he would be expected to get married, have children, and someday become an elder. He hadn’t even gone home for the last few holidays. He just wanted to stay on this side,unburdened by family responsibility, watching television shows, eating junk food, and hanging out with his barghest.
Harzl took the refill box to his counter, put his mini-TV inside, and locked it in the cupboard. He hoped the inspector would just think it was extra vending products and make this a quick inspection. He was going to miss the next episode ofBritish Bakeryas it was.
Next, he took off his extra thick black hoodie and put on the itchy station master coat he was supposed to wear every day. It was the coat from the previous station master and too small across the shoulders, but he couldn’t afford a new one and didn’t like wearing it anyway. It was just too uncomfortable.
Then he went to the old fax machine and looked at the BOLO or “be on the lookout” list. Yes, there it was, a flyer of the pair, except she had long hair and the boy was more odd-looking without his hat. He had angles to his face that human children didn’t normally have. He looked like... a gargoyle? As in, one of the lost clan gargoyles? Why would the flyer state they were human when they were not?
As Harzl stared at the flyer, the boy in question walked up to the counter without the young woman. Yes, he had a slight forehead ridge, his ears were a bit high, his cap covering most of the telltale signs. But the child had the pale skin of one of the French gargoyles, and his eyes were a startling blue from the side but looked normal straight on. The boy—if he was a boy, many gargoyles were sexless until puberty—was a child aligned with the trolls. Worse, he was probably being trafficked for the extra stone of his as-yet-undeveloped wings. They had magical properties prized by wizards who made dark artifacts. The oversized flannel was trying to cover that particular asset. Harzl folded the paper and stuck it in his back pocket.
“Nan... I mean, Mom fainted in the bathroom,” the boy said with urgency.
“Arriving track one, Chicago Line,” the Chicago train projected into Harzl’s head. Which was his cue to announce it over the speakers and clear the tracks. “The station inspector is on board with three other beings; two are wizards, and the other a shifter. I don’t like them. One has the odor of vampire.”
Chicago Line, along with most of the other trains, despised vampires. They wouldn’t say why, which was in keeping with the habits of the gossipy yet personally private trains.
The child ran to the bathroom as the sound of the approaching train filled the station. Could he hear the thoughts of the train? Trolls and gargoyles were of the same magick.
Snori peeked around the corner at Harzl from the other tunnel. This could cost him his job, but he had to dosomething. Harzl grabbed the “Bathroom Closed” sign from his counter and crossed to them while calling out, “Snori to me!”
Snori came running out with a grin. Harzl opened the women’s room and saw the child over the woman. She was out on the ground. The child bent over her, trying to shake her awake.
“Kid, don’t be scared. I’m Harzl Hellirverja, of the Cavern Clan. This is my... dog, Snori, he won’t hurt you.”
Snori stayed next to Harzl until the child looked reassured. Then he snuffled over and butted his head on the boy’s leg. The kid tentatively petted Snori’s head.
Harzl quickly walked to the woman and bent down. She was breathing, but pale and shivering. The bruise on her neck appeared to be more serious, like a vampire bite.
“Who’s after you?” Harzl asked the boy as he took off his station master coat and placed it over the woman.
“Our master,” he stated meekly, like one who was used tobeing meek. Then he straightened and said more defiantly, “We won’t go back.”
“What is the name of your master?”
“I won’t say it, the spell might call him to us,” the boy stated.
Harzl was proud of the child. Gargoyles had been enslaved for centuries. Most had gone into hiding until paranormal laws had been changed. It was now forbidden for one being to own another, but vampires and wizards were still under the impression they could do what they wanted to whomever they wanted.
“Can I know your names without harm?” Harzl asked in a fashion common among the Fae.
“You can call me Alex, she’s Nancy.”
Harzl was sure the names were fake, but it didn’t matter. “Call me Harzl. Snori will watch over you until everyone is gone. I’m locking this door for your protection. I’m going to call for help. Stay quiet and keep her from panicking if she wakes up.”
Harzl patted Snori on the head and walked out of the bathroom, locking the door from the outside with a master key and posting the closed sign on the door.
The Chicago Line train was parked and waiting for Harzl to give the “all clear” order. Three beings waited on the platform, and two of them, a man and a woman, looked his way. The man had the haughty look of a wizard. Overdressed, an imperious look on the face, eyes set in a manner that made regular beings feel like they were being judged. Rude.
The woman looked away. She was smaller, with curly brown hair, and wore a trench coat, dark pants, and loafers. It seemed she didn’t want to be looked at directly. Probably the shifter. But what kind? Harzl guessed she was wolfen. They had to strip to shift, and often wore loose clothing.
The third person appeared to be the other wizard, a youngerone, but she didn’t seem to be with the two. She was dressed in tight jeans and a puffy purple coat. She was using a glamour spell to hide who she really was; Harzl could tell by the slight blurring around her. Why? And where was the station inspector?
Harzl smiled his practiced smile and considered his next move. Pretend he was a passenger waiting for the next train, or reveal himself as the acting station manager? Which ploy would help him control the situation better?
“You there,” called the male wizard, “have you seen the station manager?”
