I looked down at the flask in my paw and growled slightly. It was silver, plain, and small. Too small. I lifted up the flask to my snout and took a quick sniff. That only confirmed my fears. Nothing more than a few drops left in the bottom. At times like this, I get introspective. It occurred to me then that life and liquor have a lot in common. They’re bitter, they’re maddening, and they both run out too damn fast. Also, I need both to keep me out of a grave.

My name’s Donagut, and I’m a Detector. Or at least, that’s what I call myself. What you call me is none of my business, unless you call on me, and make it my business. I’d been on the plane of Nuwar for about six of their months. It was a rotten plane, and the Great City was as rotten as it got. It also showed how imaginative these people were. But I’ve always found that the unimaginative and the rotten tend to make pretty good business for a mutt like me.

I’d been working for the Enforcers on and off for five months. It was a good racket. They had the resources, but not the know-how. I had the know-how, but tended to drink my resources away. The Enforcers only cared about the Ordinances when they had to, and paid me well to help them get things back in line. And unlike their equivalents on most planes, they had a sense of fair play. When they thought something was too tough, they paid me double. I’d gotten good at making things look tougher than they were.

But that day, I wasn’t going to have to play it up. It was a couple hours after sun-up and I was scrounging around my small, rented room for something I could use to refill my flask. The knock at the door would have surprised me, if my canine ears hadn’t heard his footsteps coming from down the hall. Heavy footfalls, stepping gingerly on the left heel because of a persistent blister. He may as well have screamed his name as he came up the stairs. Captain Nallry.

“S’open,” I slurred as I opened my only cupboard for the third time. As Nallry opened the door and I caught his scent, I grimaced. The cupboard was still empty.

“We need you, Donagut,” Nallry said with his usual candor.

“Good timing, Nall,” I said, turning back to him. “I’m low on provisions again.”

I still remember Nallry’s expression. He wanted to laugh, maybe just for my benefit, but his eyes were downcast. I’d never seen Nall like that before. This time, something was really wrong.

“Tell me the truth, Donagut,” Nall said, forcing himself to meet my eyes. “Are you already drunk? And don’t fairy-tale it. I need to know.”

I stared at him. Then I glanced at my flask. It was going to be a long day.

“I’m sober,” I grumbled. “No-good flask’s slackin’ on the job again.” Nall only nodded. I sighed. “What’s wrong?”

Nallry hesitated, and for far too long. My mouth was getting dry. “We’ve had a murder, Donagut.”

I almost laughed. “It’s the Great City, Nall! Your murders are like my fleas!”

“Are your fleas going to eat you alive and spit out your carcass?” Nallry asked, his human face more expressive than I’ve ever seen it.

For a long time, I didn’t say anything. In five months, Nall had never snapped at me like that. I didn’t like it, but more than that, I didn’t like what it meant. “Who was it?” I finally asked.

“That might be the question,” Nallry said, “and then again, the question might be ‘who were they?’ Donagut, we’ve had three Cyclops turn up dead in the last fortnight. At first, we didn’t think anything of it. It’s just the City. But late last night, that changed.”

“Why?”

“Because last night, the vic was a delegate from the Outrigger Isles. A diplomat.”

My shoulders slumped, and without thinking, I tried to take a swig from my empty flask, which made me slump more. I hate politics. “So now the Echelon is breathing down your neck, huh?”

“Breathing fire, more like,” Nallry sighed. “All three ‘clops were killed in the same way. Gruesome, bloody. They were left naked, cut open…and missing their eye.”

I grimaced. “Serial killer?”

Nallry shrugged. “I hate to say it, but I hope so. And that’s what I told the Echelon. But the Outrigger Isles aren’t our allies yet, and the Echelon needs to know this wasn’t political. And that’s why we need you, Donagut. I need you to find the killer. I need you to prove this has nothing to do with the negotiations. If you don’t, it’ll mean my job at the least.” He paused here, I think trying to make sure he had my attention. He did. “At worst, it’ll mean war.”

I nodded. “It’s going to be tough, Nallry.”

He nodded. “Extremely.” He waited for a long time, then smirked. “Don’t worry. We’ll pay triple for this one.”

My tail was wagging even before I could smile. “Then let’s get started.”

As I looked around the murder scene, I was absently scratching behind my right ear. I do that sometimes. I always have to remind myself to stop. This time, though, I didn’t bother. I had never seen anything like this before. There was blood everywhere, and the smell was something terrible. I’d smelt dead bodies before, of course, and it was always pretty much the same. But something in that room smelled somehow more foul. More than anything, I wanted some fresh air and a good, stiff drink.

The room was small. Confined. It had once been a brothel room above a tiny tavern that was tucked in the back of a men’s clothing store as a cover. But even so, it hadn’t been used in years, as far as the Enforcers knew. But what this Cyclops diplomat had been doing here wasn’t too hard to guess. His body, or what was left of it, was sprawled on the bed, his wrists tied to the bedposts. His clothes were in a disheveled pile in the corner.

Cyclops on Nuwar were smaller than on most other planes I’d been to, not much taller than the humans or me. This was a curious thing that I continually had to fight to comment on. One of the big problems of being a planeswalker. However, being a planeswalker certainly had its benefits. For example, I was able to notice something the Enforcers working with me hadn’t. The ‘clops had been tied to the bedpost with a length of dark magenta cloth. That, in and of itself, meant nothing. But at the end of one of these strips of fabric was a tiny insignia of a sword with three blades. That would mean nothing to the people of Nuwar, or to most other people. But anyone who had travelled to the plane of Forculan might recognize it as the symbol of the kingdom of Cyristaile.

I shook my head when I looked at the insignia. It wasn’t even midday yet. I growled. The last thing I needed on this case was to deal with another planeswalker. I looked over at the dead Cyclops, especially at the large, gapping, bloody hole where his eye had once been. This day just kept getting longer.

The boy surprised me. A lot. He was a young man, maybe seventeen years old. He’d lived almost his whole life on the streets, having to scrounge up a living however he could. He had, undoubtedly, been a thief or worse throughout his life. And yet, as I spoke with him, he was pleasant, polite, and most shockingly, honest.

The Kid’s name was Blyd. I remember that because he told me a story about how growing up, all the other kids called him Blind, on account of his missing eye. He had lost one of his eyes in childbirth, along with his mother. His father had lost them both, and apparently on purpose, long before that. If I’d have been Blyd, I’d have been bitter. Of course, if he’d have been me, he’d have wished his father would have run off, but that’s neither here nor there.

The Enforcers and I had tracked down Blyd after a shopkeep had told us she’d seen him in the area where the ‘clops was found. It wasn’t a good lead, and I hadn’t been happy about it. But it was all we had, so I went along with it. The kid was cooperating, and it was that certain kind of cooperation I liked. He wasn’t so friendly that he clearly had something to hide, and he was just scared enough of what we’d do to him that he was telling me the truth. That was all I could ask for. Well, that and a drink, but this kid was dry.

I’d been questioning the kid for about fifteen minutes. I’d asked him what he was doing in the neighborhood, and his story was as logical as you can get. He was there to see his girl. Makes sense. He got a big, dumb smile on his face when he talked about her. Apparently, they hadn’t been together long, nor had Blyd been with any girl before. I can’t say I blame him for being happy about it.

After questioning him, I was satisfied, and decided to let him go. I thanked him and sent him on his way, warning him that there was a killer in the area and that he should be careful. He thanked me, shook my paw and went on his way. The weather was just starting to turn cold, and I noticed him pull his dark magenta scarf tighter to his neck as he left. I smiled as he walked away, and casually told the Enforcers to follow him.

I was dreaming.

I even knew it. That never happens. Usually I just dream about running. Or drinking. I dream about drinking a lot, too. But not this time. Just like the rest of the day, there wasn’t a damn drop in sight. A long day was bad enough. But when it becomes a long night on top of it, that’s where I draw the line. Or I would, if I had any control over it.

In the dream, I was standing against a rough stone wall. It was dark. I was watching a form walking through an ill-lit room. It was a dream, and so it took me a while to realize who it was. It was the kid, Blyd. He was walking slowly and whistling some odd tune, which was actually the weirdest part. Usually, whistling drives me to the brink of insanity. But this tune was oddly soothing. It was like it was making me tired, even in the dream. Then, the dream shifted. You know how dreams are. The kid wasn’t walking anymore, he was lying down on a bed. While still whistling his strange tune, he took off his magenta scarf and, somehow or another, tied himself to the bedpost.

Then another shape appeared. It melted into my view from the darkness beyond the bed. At first, I couldn’t make out the shape. I was too distracted by the wafting of shadows and blood that seemed to come from it. Still, Blyd kept whistling, and I just kept watching. The form moved closer, and I suddenly realized it was a young woman, no more than a year or two older than Blyd. She moved her head first one direction and then another as she looked down at him. Then, with an awkward motion, she moved to straddle him.

Then the dream shifted again, and Blyd was gone. Instead, I was the one on the bed, my wrists tied securely to the bedpost. The woman was grinning at me. She continued to exude clouds of blood and darkness as she leaned down closer and closer to me. I remember her eyes. They were alive and vibrant, but they wouldn’t look at me. She always seemed to look off to one side. The whistling was gone, and I remember being far beyond concerned. The woman leaned in close, her smooth, human skin rubbing against my coarse fur. Then she lifted up one of my ears and whispered, her voice low and frightening.

“I’ve got my eye on you.”

I awoke immediately, sweat seeping through my fur. Instinct, combined with a lifetime of waking up to people trying to kill me, focused my attention on the window to my right, where I saw a horrifying creature. It appeared to be nothing but an eye, crafted onto which was a casing that resembled an eyelid and a pair of wings like those of a bat. I fought back my initial wave of revulsion and instead acted. Moving as fast as I could, I ran to the window. By the time I had opened it, the flying eye had seemed to panic, and flew off.

But I wasn’t about to let it get away. My window opened up onto a low roof, which was connected to several other roofs of the substandard housing in the Great City. The eye was flying low, and this was my only chance at a real lead. So, without really thinking it through, I scrambled onto the roof and took off running. Now, for all I talk about drinking, I’m actually in decent physical shape. I get a lot of exercise while running after or from all those people who want to kill me. Pretty soon, I was catching up.

Then, I sort of ran out of roof. And while this is not the wisest decision I’ve ever made, I jumped. To my great surprise and relief, I was close enough, and I landed hard on the eye’s back. It was larger than I had first imagined, a bit shorter but a bit wider than my torso. But its wings couldn’t support our combined weight, and we plummeted to the ground, which was mercifully only three stories down, a fall that the eye’s frantic flapping was able to break. The thing fought like a caged animal, but finally, I pinned back its wings and nearly had it subdued. Just then, though, another one swooped in, this one much smaller, and struck me across the face. The surprise made me let go of the bigger one, and immediately they both flew off.

I scrambled to my feet almost immediately, but it was too late. I was breathing heavily. The short run had been one thing, but wrestling with that strange creature was something I just hadn’t properly prepared for. Also, I hadn’t had time to grab my shirt before rushing out of my room, and it was getting cold. My breath fogged in the air as I panted and watched them fly off, in the same direction Blyd had walked off to earlier. It was still going to be a long night.

I threw all my weight into it, and the door to Blyd’s run-down, single-room shack flew open with a crash. There, on the disheveled bed, I saw her, the young woman from my dream. She was sitting atop Blyd, who was tied to the bed just like in my dream. She had a thin, needle-like dagger in one hand. Its tip was dangling just an inch or two from Blyd’s one eye. When I broke in, the woman screeched in rage and pointed at me with her free hand. Several of the flying eye homunculi rushed at me, so I dropped to the ground. The eyes flew past me, seeing the Enforcers behind me and moving to attack them. I, on the other paw, immediately moved to attack the woman.

She was quick. Even before I could reach her, she was off of Blyd and squaring up to engage me. It was then I realized that I had no weapon. This was not entirely surprising, as I rarely carried weapons, but when compared to her long if delicate dagger, my paws seems sort of lacking. Luckily, I had had a lifetime of getting into fights under my belt. The woman, on the other paw, apparently preferred to deceive her victims. It became apparent that she was highly unskilled at hand to paw combat, which I was quite thankful for. Two quick dodges and a right hook across the jaw was enough to send her reeling into the wall.

And I do mean into the wall. She may not have been a talented combatant, but she was clever. The moment she struck the wall, she seemed to evaporate in a spray of darkness and blood. I tensed, wondering when she was going to reappear, only to realize that she had planeswalked. I growled. I had really hoped she wouldn’t be that quick. It meant that I was going to have to start tracking. But that could wait for a day or two. My job with the Enforcers was what mattered right now. Nallry had his answer for the Echelon, and the negotiations with the ‘clops of the Outrigger Isles could continue. And I’d get my pay. And, finally, a drink.

I walked over and untied Blyd. He was understandably shaken. Fortunately, he still had his one good eye, and the woman had yet to give him anything but a few superficial cuts. I think he tried to ask me what the whole thing was about, but he had a hard time forming words. I laid a paw on his shoulder and nodded as sympathetically as I could manage sober.

“Don’t worry, Kid. She won’t be back. Not here, anyway.” I thought for a long moment, realizing just how long this day was going to become. “But she won’t stop killing. She can’t. Not until someone stops her for her.”

Blyd seemed like he was struggling with something, and I waited patiently until he managed a single word. “You?”

I shrugged and scratched behind my right ear. “I don’t know,” I said, thinking about my empty silver flask back home. “But I’m sure going to keep an eye out for her.”

Blink was my attempt to make a planeswalker serial killer. I have a student writing on the topic for a paper, and I found it interesting, so I looked into common traits of serial killers, and some of the most prevalent are an isolated childhood, a victim of violence at a young age, and ritualistic animal torture. Thus, the fate of the poor Singlox.

I would be lying if I said that I hadn't thought of Beryl as a potential target for Blink somewhere FAR down the line, but I would be equally lying if I said I had even a vague plan for anything like that. Honestly, I was mostly just looking for a specific trigger that a serial killer could target that would fit a fantasy setting and at least one of our characters. If they never interact, that's probably for the best, but Blink's out there if you ever need her.

I tend to categorize the things I write, and this one falls into two categories. One is the "experimental" story, where I try something new that I really haven't tried to do before. The other category this fits is what I like to call the "set-up." This story, in potentia, sets up a lot of things. Some of those, like Donagut, I have specific plans for in the future, likely after I finish WotW. Others, like Blink, I just think is interesting to have floating about on the back burner. The planes also have some degree of potential, I feel.