Pizza delivery, part XVII

Back pressed against the the silvery barrier, I couldn't look away from the wraith. Smoky beat against the barrier, his claws cutting grooves in the magic that closed almost immediately after he made them.

I knew the barrier was tough, and seeing a creature made of smoke cut through it was frightening.

Especially since there was barely a foot of space between us.

There was no way Mistress Orla would let me out now. Not while Smoky was raging.

Heart pounding, I shifted a trembling hand to the hilt of my knife.

Smoky froze, a forelimb still raised.

"It won't work." That reedy voice filled my mind as Smoky's head turned toward me. My hand tightened around the hilt, and the wraith's featureless eyes darkened.

"We're both stuck in here." Slowly, I unsheathed the blade. Stretching out my arm, I let go of the knife. It clattered against the stone floor separating us. My quarterstaff was too large to be of any use, but I leaned it against the silvery barrier.

Smoky's dragon shape twisted toward me, and I held out my right hand. "Wait! You can't get out without me." It might not be true, but the wraith paused.

"Oh?" Smoky's laughter rang in my thoughts. Smiling was difficult, but I forced the expression to remain as the wraith glided closer.

"Mistress Orla is terrified of what you could do." I said, the words coming quickly. "And with good reason. Wraiths don't mingle with people very much, do they?"

"We feed." Smoky replied, and my right hand became numb.

"Exactly." I fought the urge to jerk my hand away as Smoky neared it. "You feed on remnants. But remnants of what?"

Circling my outstretched hand, Smoky bared his fangs. "With you? Sensations, memories. Such flavors." His wing brushed my thumb, and pain flared.

"Wait, memories?" More pain filled my hand as the wraith landed and coiled around it. His laughter almost drowned out my frantic thoughts. Smoky was eating my memories? Which ones? Could I remember memories a wraith fed on?

"So unusual. Strange realm with no magic.” Smoky's voice was odd, almost... wistful. “Answer this: who is Hannah?"

At the name, an ache filled my chest. I gasped at the intensity of the feeling, how it made my legs weak and pulse race.

"Hannah is– she is–" I couldn't form the words. I knew the name. I knew it. Yet when I tried to remember her, there was nothing.

Nothing but this ache, and the sense that Hannah was important. Somehow.

"Remnants. Not what we consume, but what we leave."