Chapter 24 – Mandatory Vacation and the Bloody Counselor

The envelope felt wrong.

I sat at my kitchen table staring at the embossed seal. The paper was cold, heavy, damp like something dredged from the bottom of a frozen lake. Outside the morning birds chirped, completely unaware the guy inside this peeling gray bungalow had just survived a dimension war over breakfast rights.

This has to be a joke.

I flipped the letter over, half-expecting it to explode or transform into bats. It didn’t. Just sat there radiating unnatural chill that made my coffee go cold in seconds. The words stared back at me, sharp and aggressive like they’d been carved with an icicle.

Administrative Leave. Effective immediately. Seven days. Mandatory.

I leaned back in my chair. The wood creaked under my exhaustion.

Seven whole days. A week without alarms, without psychic screams, without Thalia trying to kidnap me to pocket dimensions or Loki turning floors into infinite sky just for vibes. It sounded like paradise, like the dream I’d been chasing since I took this cursed job.

So why did my stomach feel like it was eating itself?

I rubbed my face, grit from sleep deprivation scratching my eyes. Esdeath wrote this herself, I could tell. Her penmanship looked violent, each stroke deliberate. She probably blushed the entire time, convincing herself this was punishment for disrupting facility equilibrium instead of what it actually was—a desperate attempt to keep me from dying of exhaustion.

Or maybe she just wanted to keep me away from Thalia for a week.

The silence pressed against my ears like water pressure. Usually by now my phone would’ve buzzed three times minimum. Miller panicking about containment breaches in Sector Four. The God-Phone vibrating with prayers from Elizabeth’s cult.

Nothing.

Just the hum of the refrigerator and distant car sounds from the main road.

I stood and walked to the sink, dumping lukewarm coffee down the drain. My hands felt light, unburdened. It was lowkey a phantom limb sensation, the absence of crushing responsibility that had defined my life for three years. The facility was an ecosystem, a delicate web of egos and obsessions that relied on me being the constant, unshakeable center.

They’ll be fine.

I didn’t believe myself. Not even a little.

I left the kitchen, headed down the hall toward the bathroom. Floorboards groaned under my feet, familiar and comforting. Right now I wasn’t the High Priest of the Silent Void or the Warden of the Damned. I was just Kai. Just some guy who needed to brush his teeth and maybe sleep for fourteen hours straight.

I pushed the bathroom door open and flicked on the light.

The bulb flickered, casting long twitching shadows against peeling wallpaper. I stepped to the sink, turned on the tap, splashed cold water on my face. It felt good, real, grounding.

I reached for a towel, drying my skin as I looked up.

My reflection wasn’t there.

Instead of my tired face and messy hair, the glass rippled like vertical red liquid, swirling and churning with unseen current. Steam rose from the surface, fogging the edges.

“You look terrible, darling.”

A hand pressed against the glass from inside—pale, elegant, nails painted the color of fresh arterial spray.

“Good morning to you too, Mary.”

Bloody Mary stepped forward through crimson ripples, her form clarifying. She looked like she’d literally just stepped out of a blood bath. Dark red hair plastered wet to her neck and shoulders in heavy dripping strands. She wore a white bathrobe soaked through in patches, slipping off one shoulder to reveal pale translucent skin and the sharp line of her collarbone.

“Only morning? Feels like afternoon for me.”

She leaned against the mirror’s surface, crimson eyes sparkling with amusement. The glass didn’t stop her. She pressed against it like thin plastic, her breath fogging the barrier between our worlds.

“I slept in. Sue me.”

I grabbed my toothbrush, ignoring how she tracked my movement with predatory interest. This was routine. Most people had inner demons. I had a bathroom ghost who treated my life like a soap opera she binge-watched for entertainment.

“I felt the shockwaves all the way in the plumbing, you know.”

She traced a finger down the glass, leaving a streak of condensation shaped suspiciously like a heart.

“Two Goddesses fighting over little old you? Scandalous. The pipes were singing about it all night. The water heater was literally vibrating with gossip.”

“It wasn’t a fight. Just a disagreement about scheduling.”

“Oh please. Thalia froze an entire sector because Loki tried turning your office into a bouncy castle. That’s not scheduling conflict, Kai. That’s a custody battle.”

I squeezed toothpaste onto my brush, refusing eye contact with the stunning, terrifying woman in my mirror.

“It’s handled. Esdeath suspended me.”

Mary laughed, a sound like silver coins falling into deep water. She adjusted her robe, letting it slip lower. Calculated, pure teasing. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Suspended? You? The glue holding the apocalypse together?”

“Mandatory leave. One week.”

“Ooh, a vacation.”

She pressed closer, her face filling the frame. I could see individual droplets of red water clinging to her eyelashes.

“Think of the possibilities, Kai. Seven days of uninterrupted rest. No alarms, no world-ending crises. Just you, me, and whatever you do when you’re not babysitting the cosmos.”

I started brushing my teeth. Minty foam filled my mouth. I caught her gaze in the reflection—or rather, through it.

I’m worried about Sarah.

Mary’s playful expression faltered for a second. She tilted her head, wet hair sliding over her shoulder.

“The Fear-Eater? Why? She’s a big girl. In a manner of speaking.”

I spat into the sink, rinsed, wiped my lips with the back of my hand.

“She’s fragile, Mary. You know that. She’s not like Thalia or Loki. They’re ancient, they have egos the size of galaxies. They’ll be annoyed I’m gone, maybe break some walls, but they’ll survive.”

I leaned against the sink, staring at the floor.

“Sarah’s starving herself. Stopped eating fear because I asked her to. She’s trying so hard to be good for me. If I vanish for a week without saying goodbye? She might think I abandoned her. She might relapse hard.”

Mary stared at me. Steam swirled around her, obscuring her body before clearing again. Her expression softened, shifted from teasing to something sharper, almost pitying.

“You really are hopeless, aren’t you?”

She exhaled slowly, breath fogging the glass. Drew a sad face in the condensation with her finger.

“Your kindness is poison, Kai. You know that, right?”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“No. You’re doing way more than your job. That’s the problem.”

She leaned forward until her forehead rested against the glass, eyes locking onto mine.

“By worrying about them, you make it real. You give their obsession weight. You feed them, Kai. Not with fear or worship, but with care. And that’s so much more addictive than anything else.”

She licked her lips, slow and deliberate, equal parts hunger and mockery.

“Tell you what. I could drain you dry right now. Just a little nip. Take all that stress away. You wouldn’t have to worry about work ever again. Could just stay here with me. Forever.”

“Tempting. But I have bills to pay.”

“Boring.”

She pulled back. The robe slipped up to cover her shoulder again. The moment of intensity passed, replaced by her usual playful indolence.

“Go relax, Warden. Take a nap. If the world ends while you’re sleeping, at least you’ll be well-rested for the afterlife.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Anytime, darling. I’m always here. Literally. Can’t leave.”

I turned off the bathroom light, leaving her glowing faintly in the dark mirror.

“Bye, Mary.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Kai!”

I closed the door, shutting out the red glow.

The hallway stretched dark and quiet before me. I walked back to my bedroom, flopped onto the mattress face-first. Springs creaked in protest.

My phone sat on the nightstand. I stared at it.

One text. Just one text to let Sarah know I wasn’t dead or abandoning her.

I reached for it. My thumb hovered over the screen.

Esdeath’s warning flashed through my mind like a neon sign. Complete communication blackout. Breach of suspension terms will result in immediate termination.

She wasn’t bluffing. If I contacted the facility, she’d fire me no cap. And if she fired me, I couldn’t protect any of them. Sarah would be alone with the shadows again.

I dropped my hand.

Can’t do it.

I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling fan. Click-whoosh. Click-whoosh. The bent blade made its rhythmic sound, hypnotic and steady.

I pictured Block Twelve. The darkness, the shadows that moved when you weren’t looking. Sarah sitting in the corner of her cell clutching her knees, waiting for footsteps that wouldn’t come.

She’d probably make a gift. She always made gifts when anxiety hit. Little sculptures from solidified shadow. A flower, a dog, a perfect replica of my watch.

She’d wait. And wait.

And the shadows would start whispering to her again, telling her she was a monster, telling her I’d finally realized the truth and left her behind like everyone else.

I closed my eyes, pressed the heels of my hands into my sockets until I saw stars.

Please.

The word barely formed in my mind, half prayer to whatever cosmic forces might be listening.

Just let them be normal for one week. Especially Sarah.

The fan spun on, indifferent to my desperate wish.

Don’t let the darkness eat her while I’m gone.