“Holy shit!” Daring Do shouted, leaping away from the undead pony. A wide-eyed Phillip stepped back, one hoof going to the waddy; Zecora gasped, nearly dropping her staff.

The blue-white unicorn sat up abruptly, the movement bizarrely unnatural, like he was a marionette being tugged on strings. The tri-lobed eyes glowed faintly in the darkness as he glared about at the intruders. The blood that had coated the floor was now matted into his coat, nearly black in the darkness.

“Easy, mate,” Phillip said, warily approaching, his hoof never straying from his waddy as he slowly approached. “It’s okay, we’ll get you some help–”

The tri-lobed pupils fell upon him. Phillip and Daring’s flashlights both flickered, then went out, plunging the basement into darkness. The sudden shock was like being shoved into an ice bath; Daring’s heart leaped to her chest and every muscle painfully contracted. The only light was the faint glow of the narrowed, unnatural eyes.

“Heathens,” the dead pony snarled, their voice a burbling, echoing whisper on the wind. And then the shadow lunged at Phillip, slamming into him with a thunderous crash of bones and flesh. Phillip answered this attack with an angry shout, the sound of his waddy striking bones marking his riposte.

“Phil!” Daring cried, squinting into the darkness, unable to act. All she could see were twisting shadows, black on black, as they struggled. She slapped her flashlight in frustration, ordering the light to turn back on. Zecora hovered at the edge of the group, equally unable to act.

The sound of a knee being driven into somepony’s gut accompanied the “Uggh!” of breath whooshing from lungs. One of the battling figures threw the limp figure of the other against the wall, sending them crashing to the floor.

“Hold him down!” Phillip shouted, rushing towards his downed foe. Daring and Zecora joined the charge, lunging for their attacker before they could get up.

“Back!” the dead pony shouted, the unnatural eyes blazing with fury as it thrust a hoof out at them.

The air flexed around them, the basement wall twisting like a photograph being folded and crinkled; swooping nausea sent bile rushing to Daring’s throat and a chill ran down her spine, her muscles contracting and bringing her to a halt. Darkness gathered around the figure, shapes so black that they seemed to devour light, and they rushed at Daring like an oncoming train. She snapped out her wings, trying to brake, to turn, but it was too late–

And then something slammed into her, pushing her out of the way and sending her sprawling with a grunt.

Inky claws raked at Phillip, dragging down his body, and his scream echoed off the basement walls as he rolled out of danger, stumbling over one of the other corpses.

“Phil!” Zecora shouted, rushing over to help, fumbling blindly in her bag.

Daring rolled onto her back and opened fire at the glowing eyes. Every shot was a hammer blow against her ears in the close confines, each flash momentarily throwing the room into harsh light. In each brief flash, Daring caught glimpses of her target and wished that she didn’t.

The thing seemed to cling to the bloodied stallion like a twisted, living cloak of shadow, the darkness around him writhing like the tentacles of an octopus; watching the space itself squeeze and contract and churn made Daring’s head hurt. The face with the unnatural eyes was twisted in a snarl as the figure approached her at a slow pace, reaching out to seize her, unbothered by her bullets.

Her revolver clicked on empty. “Shit!” Daring gasped, rolling out of range, digging bullets out of her pocket with a wing as she tried to get back to her hooves. She tripped over one of the corpses and tumbled with another cry of “Fuck!” The bullets that she’d grabbed fell from her grasp, brass singing against the bloodstained concrete. She looked up to see the tri-lobed eyes glaring down at her, the churning darkness ready to crush her.

“Get back!” Zecora’s staff whipped through the air and the bloodied stallion snarled as one blow, then another smacked against his jaw. Daring snapped one wing out, making her target’s knee buckle with a crack, followed by a gust of wind from the other, her mane rustling as it blew past her. The bloodied stallion, knocked off-balance by the blows, was toppled like a tree by the wind and fell onto his back with a snarl of rage.

“Everyone out!” Zecora shouted, throwing something onto the floor. With a clap of thunder, the smoke bomb erupted and clouds of blue smoke quickly filled the room. Daring rose to her hooves, nearly choking on the heavy scent of sweetgrass.

Zecora’s foreleg seized Daring's and tugged her away. She nearly collided with Phillip, his sticky, warm blood staining her chest as she grabbed his foreleg and tugged him along with them. The trio fled up the stairs, rushing through the filthy living room, and crashing through the front door into the cool night air.

“We need to get out of here, it’ll be coming after us!” Zecora ordered. Phillip grimaced, sucking in air through his teeth; his green vest was turning dark red from the blood. In the dim light, Daring noticed that despite the injuries, his vest was undamaged.

Daring seized Phillip beneath the forelegs and heaved Zecora onto her back. Summoning all of her flight magic, she spread her wings and took off, grunting as the weight of two ponies pulled her down but refusing to slow.

“Bike’s…over there,” Phillip protested, realizing that they were heading north towards the bridge.

“You’re bleeding all over,” Daring replied through gritted teeth, banking east and heading for a tall building spire with a bright red H shining like a guiding star. “You need a doctor.”

Phillip started to protest, but a gasp of pain cut off his complaint and he relaxed in her grip. Daring realized that he was trembling.

As they approached the hospital, Daring lowered herself towards the ground, allowing Zecora to jump off. Freed of her weight, Daring shot off towards her goal, with Zecora sprinting down the street after them.

The Emergency Room entrance sign glowed vividly in the night, and Daring came in like a bomber plane on a target run. She crashed through the doors and landed in the middle of the waiting room, drawing the heads of the few patients and families sitting in chairs and the nurses at the counter.

“I need a doctor!” Daring shouted. Phillip was breathing heavily, his head lolling and body swaying. She unzipped his vest and started trying to pull it off him.

Nurses rushed up and supported the bleeding stallion, pulling him into a wheelchair. “What happened?” a white nurse with a pink bun asked urgently, looking over Daring herself, eyes wide as she took in the bloodstains on her chest and the sweat dripping from her mane.

“We were attacked,” Daring panted, collapsing into a chair. “An…”

The brief glimpses that she’d gotten of the thing played before her eyes like a twisted magic lantern show. Even the memory of the twisted, contracting, writhing claws of shadows made her sick.

“An animal,” she found herself speaking lamely.

The nurse, whose name tag identified her as Redheart, looked over at Phillip as he was being wheeled out, raising a skeptical eyebrow as she noted that his vest was undamaged. Zecora also entered, panting heavily and dripping blood herself, drawing more astonished stares and whispers.

Redheart, to her credit, was thrown for only a moment. “Come on, dears, let’s get you looked at,” she said, urging both mares into the emergency department.

Both Daring and Zecora were checked over for any injuries, but neither had anything worse than some bruises and dehydration. In between gulps of water, both mares gave a condensed version of their story, explaining that they were investigating a drug house for a private investigation and were attacked by an animal. Though the staff made their skepticism clear with raised eyebrows and thin lips, they didn’t press the questions.

“How’s Phil?” Daring asked once their examinations were complete.

“He should be okay,” the pale red thestral examining her explained. “He lost quite a lot of blood, but we’ve got the wounds sealed up and we’re giving him blood transfusions, saline, and some potions to help him replenish his blood supply faster.” He paused, checking his clipboard. “What…exactly attacked you?” he asked.

Daring swallowed down another rush of nausea. “I…don’t really know,” she admitted, truthfully. “It was too dark.”

“Mmm,” the doctor answered in a carefully neutral tone. “Regardless, we’ll have to keep him overnight for monitoring, and he’ll have to rest for at least a week or so.”

Daring let out a weak laugh. “Somehow, I don’t think that he’s gonna be open to that idea. Can I see him?”

“Yes, but he’s very weak and he’s on painkillers, so don’t push him too hard,” the doctor said, nodding for her to follow.

Phillip was lying in bed, his eyes shut. Most of his body was covered by the sheets, but Daring could see the gauze wrapped around his body. An IV dripped saline into one foreleg; the other was connected to a bag of blood (B-positive, Daring noted). His eyelids flickered as Daring, then Zecora entered. The steady beeping of an EKG marked his heartbeat, providing a background rhythm to their meeting.

“How you feeling?” Daring asked, sitting down next to him.

“Tired, mostly,” Phillip answered groggily. “Just need to rest a bit and we’ll be back on that wanker’s trail.”

“You are brave, my friend, but you need more than rest,” Zecora chided with a smile. “Listen to the doctors, they know what is best.”

“Wasting time, sitting here.” Phillip sat up in bed to stretch, the sheets falling to expose more of his chest. Daring could not suppress a gasp.

The gauze covered most of his upper body, but running across his exposed belly was an arc of pale red scars, jagged lines that marked where sharp, narrow teeth had once bitten him.

“What happened?” Daring asked before she could stop the words.

“Got bit by a gator when I was a kid,” Phillip grunted.

Daring frowned, studying the scars. “Phil, I spent more time in swamps and jungles than I did in school growing up,” she said. “I know what a gator bite looks like. That’s not a gator bite.”

Phillip glared at her. “Gator bite,” he said in a low growl, then turned away.

Daring started to protest but then saw his right hoof twitch. Her mouth hung open for a moment, then she discarded the argument.

“That…thing. In the house. What the hell was it?” she asked quietly.

“You know what it was,” Zecora said grimly. “The beast from the stones. The monster on the stela. Those five ponies who died…it was part of a ritual to let it out.”

Daring’s stomach clenched like an accordion being squeezed. “So it…it’s possessing him?” she asked, even as she tried to convince herself that she was being absurd, that monsters didn’t exist.

“Perhaps,” Zecora mused. “Some ndi mmuo require an anchor to exist in this world. A body, a set of stones, a charm. Those other bodies in the basement were arranged in a circle around this one. I believe that they were empowering it somehow…”

“That guy was dead, right, Phil?” Daring asked, suddenly remembering the fifth slab of the standing stones, bloodstained but unoccupied. “You checked his pulse, didn’t you?”

“Could’ve been faking it,” Phillip grunted quietly, his face turned away. After a moment, he added, “Good work with the smoke bomb, Zecora.”

“Blessed herbs and charcoal,” Zecora explained. “It blinds both mortals and spirits from beyond.”

“We’ll need more than smoke bombs to deal with that thing,” Daring said. “I emptied six rounds into it and it didn’t even flinch. How do we fight it?”

“There is only one thing that can be done,” Zecora intoned gravely. “I shall have to banish it back to the realm beyond…but there’s a catch.”

“Of course there is,” Daring mumbled.

“I shall have to learn the demon’s Name,” Zecora said.

Daring raised an eyebrow. “It has a name?”

“All living beings, including all arusi–lesser spirits that operate between mortals and the gods–have a Name,” Zecora explained. “By this, one can be summoned, influenced, and even controlled with the proper spells and rituals, if one is powerful enough. Speaking the demon’s Name should allow me to forge my magic to it and banish it from this world.”

Daring recalled Phillip using his bullroarer to call Gossamer Dance and she glanced over at the stallion. He was still looking away from them, but one ear was turned towards their conversation.

“Okay, so how do you learn its name?” she asked.

Zecora frowned. “That’s the rub. I’ll have to do some research myself. Perhaps I can ask for help from some other arusi.”

“Won’t matter if we can’t find him,” Phillip cut in, turning back towards the mares.

“And how do we do that?” Daring asked.

“Unicorn male. Blue-white coat, black hair with red highlights. Three-feet-two, about one-thirty-five pounds. Cutie mark of a red sun. Likely Shireish Mafia connections, likely spent time in a Fillydelphia prison: tattoo of K&A on right fetlock, prison tattoo of five dots on left. Shouldn’t be too hard to find. Other victims might be harder to find.”

Zecora and Daring both blinked. “Right,” Daring said. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Get me a phone. Call the RBI. Get them searching for him,” Phillip said, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

“No, I’ll call them. You get some sleep,” Daring chided him.

Phillip tried to glare at her but then sank into the bed with a quiet moan. “Fine. You win,” he said weakly.

As Daring stood, she spotted Phillip’s vest and holster hanging up on the hangar next to the door, noting the dark, rust-colored stain spread across the back. “Hey, how about I bring your vest home and wash it?” she asked.

“You don’t have to,” Phillip said.

“You almost died, Phil. It’s the least I can do after you pushed me out of the way,” Daring said, taking the vest off the rack. She ran a hoof over the fabric, noting the layer of hard material within. “Hey, you got armor in this or something?”

“Kirin-scale armor,” Phillip said. “Equivalent to a Level 2-A vest. Custom job from an armorer in Summerfield I did a favor for. If you wanted, could ask if he could add armor to your shirt.”

“I might take you up on that,” Daring smiled. “Thanks.”

Phillip weakly smiled back. The quiet stretched on for a few moments, punctuated only by the beeping of the EKG and the distant chatter of doctors and nurses.

Zecora coughed sharply and the moment shattered like glass. “Okay, uh, I’m gonna get a phone and call your friends,” Daring stuttered out, an unusual heat rushing to her cheeks.

“Ripper,” Phillip said, closing his eyes again.

Daring spotted a phone on the wall and made her way over, fumbling in her wallet for her collection of business cards. It took a few moments for her to find the one with the golden RBI badge that she’d gotten months ago and put it in the number. As the phone rang in her ear, she looked down at the bloody vest in her hoof.

Whatever that thing was, it reached in and drew blood, past a layer of armor, without damaging the vest itself. She looked back down at the drying bloodstains on her own vest, remembering how warm it had felt against her skin, the coppery stink in her nostrils.

“Anomalous Investigations Division,” Trace Evidence’s voice sounded in her ear.

“Agent Evidence? It’s Professor Do,” she said. “You’re gonna want to hear this.”

The warmth and light of the sun through the window shining on Daring Do’s face forced her to wake up, despite her body’s protestations. With a groan, she blearily opened her eyes, then immediately opened them with a flinch as the sunlight violently assaulted her. “Fuck you too, Celestia,” she grumbled, rubbing her face and blinking to recover.

She glanced at the clock on the table next to her and found that it was just past seven in the morning. Time enough to eat, clean herself up as much as possible, and head to the University for classes.

Her aching back popped as she stretched, looking around. Instead of her bed, she was sitting sprawled across one of the chairs of her sitting room, surrounded by books and stacks of notes. The titles of the books were illuminated in the morning glow: Legends of the Everfree Forest, Stone Circles Around the World, Lost Languages, Neighuatl Mythology, most of them stamped either Golden Oaks University or Ponyville Library. Reams of paper with notes, scrawled doodles, and partial chapters of the next Compass Rose story were littered over the coffee table and the desk.

As Daring stood up, the book that had been lying open in her lap fell to the floor. Her eyes fell on the title: On Demons, Volume II: Summoning and Banishing. The volume, one of three by the medieval scholar John Neigh and translated into modern Equish, had been tucked into the Mythology section of the Golden Oaks University library; she’d fallen asleep trying to get through the meandering prose, which consisted largely of alleged dialogue between the author and various spirits and angels that he’d summoned and complicated tables, diagrams, and seals used in the acts.

“Useless,” Daring scoffed, closing the book and tossing it aside. “Even if I could believe a single word he’s saying, I’m not gonna have time to incorporate all this.”

She paused, staring at the books, then sighed and rubbed her face. “Look at me,” she mumbled. “I’m doing serious research on demons and spirits. I must’ve gone nuts.”

Her gaze wandered over to a notepad and her eyes settled on a drawing that took up most of the pad; a recreation of a hieroglyph of a snarling dog-like beast with another paw on its tail.

Daring then looked up at the familiar photo of herself and Uncle Ad next to the door, her uncle forever beaming at her. “Or maybe I’m seeing clearly for the first time, Uncle Ad,” she admitted.

Her stomach growled. “Too early to be thinking about this,” Daring mumbled, heading for the percolator. As the coffee brewed, she rooted around in the icebox and settled on a lone bagel, some cheese, and a month-old carton with three eggs left.

Over coffee and her egg and cheese bagel, Daring’s gaze wandered over her other books. “Okay…somewhere in here there’s got to be some answers,” she mumbled in between sips of coffee. “Something that might translate the language on that stela…or tell me how to fight that thing…”

Her thoughts were interrupted by a rapping at the door. Daring swallowed her food and headed for the door, peering through the peephole.

A light gold hippogriff, her mane done up in a severe bun, was standing on the other side of the door, her face utterly impassive. The golden sphinx lapel secured to her impeccable blouse glimmered in the sunlight streaming through the window.

“Professor Do?” the hippogriff called. “I know you’re in there. I merely wish to bring a message.”

Daring scowled, mind racing. “What do you want?” she called.

“We know what you’re after,” the hippogriff answered. “We know about the monster. With the tri-lobed eyes from the stones.”

Daring’s stomach swooped, both from the memory of those horrible, dead eyes, and the impact of what her guest had said. “How do you know that?” she called. “Have you been spying on me?”

“That’s not important. What is important is that we want the same thing: that monster gone. And we can help you.”

“How?” Daring asked suspiciously.

“We have information that you might find of interest,” the hippogriff answered.

Daring felt like a trout being presented with a morsel on a hook. “What’s the catch?” she asked.

“No catch,” was the reply. “Just come with us, Professor. Your friend Doctor Caballeron has already joined us.”

Daring thought for a few moments, looking up at Uncle Ad’s photograph. I know I can’t trust them, Uncle Ad…and I do have classes today…but where else am I gonna learn what I need to know?

She sighed. Okay. Just watch what I say and read the fine print. I’ll be fine.

Sure.

“Okay, give me a minute to get dressed,” she called through the door.

“As you wish,” the hippogriff answered.

Daring wolfed down the last of her breakfast, then headed into the bedroom, discovering her vest and pith helmet resting on the unkempt bed. She swung her clothes on and glanced in the mirror, running a hoof through her mane in a token attempt to make herself presentable.

“Okay,” she said to her reflection. “Into the lion’s den.”

The two winged figures landed in front of the grand granite edifice that was the local lodge of the Sacred Order of the Golden Sphinx. Daring Do scowled at the seal engraved on the glass doors, her eyes running over the motto: Scientia Sit Potentia.

Knowledge is power.

“Never got your name, by the way,” she said to her companion as the hippogriff pushed open the doors.

“I am Riptide Glow,” the hippogriff answered. “Herald of the Lodge.”

“So what’s the pay in being a Herald like?” Daring asked as they proceeded through the grandiose lobby of the Lodge.

Riptide just gave her a sidelong look as they bypassed the front desk and headed for the stairs. “Your friends and the Lodge Mistress are waiting in the Revelation Chamber. I trust you remember where it is,” she stated.

“Do I need to do a puzzle again?” Daring asked.

“No. You’ve already proven yourself and Doctor Caballeron has already passed his trial,” Riptide answered as they headed up the stairs, winding up towards the third floor.

“How long did it take him?” Daring asked.

Riptide seemed to consider the question as they rounded the third-floor landing, then she half-smiled. “Three minutes, nineteen seconds,” she admitted. “Your record remains untarnished for now.”

“Ha! Good to know,” Daring grinned as she proceeded down the short hallway toward the unadorned oak door.

“I hope you find what you need, Professor,” Riptide Glow said as Daring opened the door.

The puzzle room inside was different than it had looked when Daring Do had been there the first time. The colored lampshades and the paintings were gone; instead, there was a small bookshelf with five brightly colored books on it and a desk with three different puzzle boxes, all of which were opened, and their contents–photographs and notesheets with codes and small puzzles–scattered about. The pedestal with the sphinx statue was the same, as was the sign reading Revelation Through Trial on the wall. The sphinx’s head was turned to the left and its right wing and left paw were both extended, as though hailing her entrance.

The hidden door on the wall opposite was open, revealing the true Revelation Chamber: a massive library, sitting room, and cabinet of curiosities, the size of the entire floor, wherein the Order housed their own research, tomes, and artifacts. The baroque chandelier was lit, casting strange shadows over the shelves of books behind their glass doors and the display cabinets with their idols, masks, ponyquins, and trinkets.

The scent of tobacco and a lilting laugh alerted her to the presence of the pink unicorn mare in the gold-trimmed robe sitting in one of the plush winged chairs, drawing in a breath from the cigarette on the long holder.

“Ah, bien, you’re here, Professor,” Scarlet Letter smiled in welcome. “We have been waiting for you. Your friend has been telling me the most amusing stories of your adventures!”

“Glad you’re here, mi amigo,” Caballeron nodded from one of the other chairs. He had a manila folder on the table in front of him, labeled Thicket.

“Okay,” Daring scowled at Scarlet, refusing to sit. “What do you know and why did you bring us here?”

Scarlet silently tapped some ashes into a crystal ashtray, then stood up and crossed over to one of the bookshelves, magically pulling a key from her belt and unlatching the glass door. This section, Daring knew, was filled with books and research about the Everfree Forest; just from glancing over the titles, she could see atlases, collections of photographs, stories of expeditions, and mounds of legends and ghost stories.

Still Scarlet said nothing. “I asked you a question!” Daring barked.

“Daring!” Caballeron chided.

“I am answering you,” Scarlet replied calmly, selecting a thick black book from one of the upper shelves. She brought it back to the table and laid it down in front of Caballeron.

Caballeron gasped, a greedy glint in his chartreuse eyes. “The Language and Customs of the Everfree Forest Deer! How did you–?”

“Of course we have a copy,” Scarlet smiled. “Anything about the Everfree Forest, that great undiscovered frontier right next door, is worth holding onto. We heard through the grapevine that you were looking for a copy and thought that you might be interested.”

Caballeron grabbed the book and started flipping through it, hungrily devouring every word. “Here, here!” he cried in delight, stopping at a page that displayed a chart of swirling hieroglyphs, like the ones that had been etched into the stela. “The language of Thicket!” Caballeron cried in delight, fumbling in his pocket and extracting a sketch of the stela. “Now we can understand it!” He carried his work over to a nearby reading table and seized a pad of paper, setting to work.

Daring looked at her colleague, then back at Scarlet, who was staring back at her. Daring had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being examined, like a bug on a slide. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“We’ve followed your excavation of the stone circle in the Everfree Forest with great interest,” Scarlet answered, her eyes gliding over to Caballeron. “The work of two brilliant archaeologists studying the Everfree Forest? How could we not be intrigued?”

Caballeron glanced up, a flush of pleasure passing over his cheeks. Daring felt heat rushing up her face.

“So you’ve been spying on us?” she asked pointedly.

“Not spying. Just following your progress,” Scarlet replied, selecting a portfolio from the shelf of the Everfree Forest and carrying it over to another table. Unable to resist her curiosity, Daring Do followed her, watching as Scarlet flipped the scrapbook open.

Glued to each page was a newspaper clipping. Each one was about Daring Do or Doctor Caballeron. From front-page exposes to sixth-page clippings, Daring watched their careers laid out; digs across Equestria, a clipping about her promotion to Professor at Golden Oaks University, the failed expeditions into the Badlands, their discovery of King Summer Stream’s crown, Caballeron’s theories on the Crystal Heart’s location in the Frozen North.

A turn of the page brought a familiar headline to Daring’s eye and her stomach turned over. Sunken Church Discovered! Secret Tombs Revealed by Archaeology Professor and Private Detective! screamed the bold type, displayed over a photograph of the Church of the Seven Pillars.

More followed: the excavation of the Whitetail Monastery, the shootout at the Queensport Docks, and finally, the stones in the Everfree Forest, sensationalist headlines crowing about the uncovered proof of civilizations within the mysterious woods.

“I particularly liked the quote you gave, Dorado–may I call you Dorado?” Scarlet batted her eyelids at the flushing Caballeron as she selected the last clipping. “‘There is no doubt that the Everfree hides much, and much more is buried beneath myth, but always the truth will come out. We need only be brave enough to dig for it.’ Most astute, Doctor.”

“Gracias, Señora Letter,” Caballeron bowed. He tried to refocus on his work, but his chartreuse eyes kept flicking back to Scarlet.

“You’re both brave enough, are you not?” Scarlet asked, turning to Daring. “What is it you seek, Professor? You can find it here. It’s yours for the taking. All you have to do is ask.”

Translation: will you walk into my parlor, said the spider to the fly, Daring thought, meeting Scarlet’s gaze with a steady glare of her own. There was a taunt in those chocolate orbits; something more than a smile and less than a smirk in her curled lips.

But this could be your one chance for answers. Anything you could ask, they might have an answer. And you need their help; where else are you doing to find answers?

And so, Daring Do closed her eyes and took a breath. In the pause before she answered, it occurred to her that she’d been wrong earlier. This wasn’t the lion’s den. This was the spider’s web.

“Okay,” she said, opening her eyes. She opened Caballeron’s folder and flipped through the notes within, ignoring Caballeron’s squawk of protest as she ruined his filing system, then seized a scan of the last page of the journal of the Verdant Sisterhood.

“You recognize this?” she asked Scarlet, displaying the tri-lobed eye to her.

Her answer was instantaneous: Scarlet’s own eyes widened and the color drained from her face. Silently, she stood up and walked over to one glass case at the back of the room. Said case contained only a single book: a massive incunabula with a cracked black cover displaying comets rushing over an arid landscape, the book held fast with a chain and padlock.

Daring felt her heart speed up as Scarlet unlatched the case and with great reverence, unlocked the padlock, pulled the chain away, and pulled the book out. Caballeron looked up and gasped as Scarlet placed the Unásecgendee Tācnu on the table before Daring and began to carefully flip through it.

“Here,” she said quietly, turning over a page and passing the book to Daring.

Daring’s heart rate sped up even more as she fought to keep her face neutral. An ink stamp illustration took up the upper half of one of the vellum pages, a crude illustration of a…thing with twisted limbs and crab-like claws, crouching over a bloodied corpse like a jackal snarling over carrion. The single, tri-lobed eye was focused upon the viewer; Daring had to suppress a chill, reminding herself that the thing couldn’t possibly see her through the book.

She turned her gaze to the writing beneath the illustration. The scratched words were written in Olde Ponish, but she mentally translated as she read.

The purpose of every door is to be opened. Every lock must have a key. As the Prophet, the Ahuizotl, crafted the door, so too did They craft a Key. You shall know the Key by their eye, shall call them by the name Tzacctlatl. Ehi! Ahuizotl! The Beast and the Prophet!

A great door requires an equally great key; great as the Prophet is, great is the door, and great must the Key be as well. The Key shall be sent from the womb of the Prophet's dreams and out into our world, to be fed upon the blood of believers. The Prophet shall guide those who hear Their voices to the Key, and they shall prostrate themselves before the Key in their awe and their terror and sate Its lust, for the blood carries the power, and the power shall be the carving of the Key.

Once the Key is fully sated, it shall return to the door. And great terror and great cheering shall there be, for the door shall be opened and the Prophet shall return. Ehi! Ahuizotl! The Beast and the Prophet! Praise the Ahuizotl! Praise the Tzacctlatl, the Servant and the Key!

A hoof slammed the book shut and Daring staggered back as though the sound of the book slamming was a gunshot, gasping for air.

“That’s enough,” Scarlet said plainly, taking the book back to the case and sealing it back up. “Je suis desole, mon ami; I thought that one small snippet wouldn’t be so harmful, but it seems I was wrong.”

Daring caught her reflection in the glass case and was shocked. Her face was pale and sweat ran down her gray mane, and her breath heaved with breath.

It’s just because I’m tired, she tried to reassure herself. That’s all that it is.

But her eyes kept traveling back to the Unásecgendee Tācnu as Scarlet latched it close and closed the case again. Fear twisted in her gut…but alongside it was a strange itching, an odd hunger, a whisper that one more page surely couldn’t hurt…

“Daring? ¿Amigo?”

Daring shook the temptation off and turned to Caballeron, meeting his gaze.

“Ay, you need to get more sleep, Daring,” he said before brightening. “But look! Beaten Trail was right! ¡Mira!”

He guided her over to his table, gesturing excitedly to his notes next to the rubbing of the stela. Daring’s eyes widened as her gaze traveled down the notes.

“‘Learn from this…story of monster with one eye…fed by blood…’”

Her fatigue and confusion suddenly forgotten, Daring Do dove into the task alongside her colleague, translating the crude hieroglyphs into language. The script, they discovered, was indeed a rough alphabet, though unlike any other language that either Daring or Caballeron knew of, with an alien set of consonants and vowels. Beaten Trail had included a long dictionary and notes on pronunciation, but the professors quickly discovered that the dictionary, while extensive, was not complete.

After about an hour of work, the two of them had translated as much of the stela as they could. Daring read through the translation, heart dancing in her chest.

Do not disturb these stones!

Long ago, when Thicket warred for dominance of the forest, a beast with a single eye came to us. They offered to be our weapon and guardian. Foolishly, we agreed, constructing an altar where our enemies could be sacrificed to satiate the monster’s hunger. We came to rule the forest, but the monster turned on us, demanding the blood of our people.

Our priests discovered salvation: a torch made from a blend of natural herbs, blessed by the spirits of the forest, served to deter the monster. We lured the beast to the altar, then, with the aid of the torches and our magic, bound the monster to these stones, but not without the loss of many of our bravest warriors and Spruce, our High Priest.

Let this tablet serve as a reminder of our foolishness, a warning to those arrogant enough to tamper with powers that they do not understand, and a prayer that we will never need these torches again.

Beneath was a recipe for the torch fuel, describing a detailed method for blending the herbs into a paste and oil.

“Holy shit, you were right!” Daring gasped.

“I was!” Caballeron shouted, beamed “This will bring my name to the annals of history!”

And more importantly: I know how to kill that thing.

“That’s great, Cabbie,” Daring said, quickly copying his notes. “I’m gonna bring this to Zecora. I want to try to recreate this torch.”

“¿Por que?” Caballeron asked. “There is still much to–Daring! Where are you going?”

But Daring Do was already speeding for the door, out of the spider’s web. She flew down the hall, back down the stairs, through the lobby, and out the door. Catching the warm zephyrs of the morning, she banked for the southwest and headed for the dark treetops of the Everfree Forest. With each beat of her wings, she ran the name through her head and repeatedly spoke it aloud, her tongue twisting around the unfamiliar syllables.

“Tzacctlatl. Tzacctlatl. Tzacctlatl.”

Author's Note

Coming up with the description for the Tzacctlatl (Nahuatl for "shadow") was tricky: I wanted to try to emphasize that this was something entirely unnatural forcing itself into our world and the struggle to comprehend something that the mind has no frame of reference for. This is the struggle of Lovecraftian horror: if you can't describe it, you can't put it into writing (not for lack of trying).

Names are an important aspect in a lot of systems of magic, including the Dresden Files, which is what I borrow a lot of the rules from. It's going to be more important down the line.