Apocalypse: Fairy System Macronomicon (a book to read txt) 📖

Eight hundred miles to L.A., where Solmnath would have dropped into existence. Double that number for stitched-in wilderness, and you got about sixteen hundred miles, as the crow flies.

Of course, it would be a lot more, because Jeb wasn’t flying, and he didn’t trust himself to learn how to land a plane that had been left in disrepair for three months on the first try.

Jeb used the cartoon-dog ruler to estimate the total distance of the trip if he hit each of his POIs.

Twenty-seven hundred miles, give or take….

Let’s see, if we drive Mr. Jeep at about forty miles an hour off-road, ten hours a day… Just under a week to check all the places I want to check. I could check all my POIs and be to Solmnath two weeks ahead of these chumps.

Jeb tapped the map with his pen a couple times.

He would be a lot safer in the caravan, but he would also miss out on a—potential—boatload of sweet loot and lost time value.

As Jeb was weighing the pros and cons, Brav’s dad approached Jeb's lonely corner of the caravan, glancing down at Jeb’s map.

“Are you planning on heading east?” the caravan leader asked, tapping the map where Jeb had circled Vegas.

“Thinking ‘bout it,” Jeb said, nodding.

“Better be absolutely sure that’s what you want to do, because the Roil is roaming those parts right now. It’s a bit north of there, last I heard, but you can never be a hundred percent sure.”

Jeb frowned. “I’ve heard people swear using ‘Roil’. I just assumed it was the local equivalent of ‘Hell’. It’s a real thing?”

“Young man, I spent fifteen years chasing that storm as a youth. It’s as real as it gets, and twice as unpredictable.”

“So what is it?” Jeb asked, leaning against the Jeep.

“It’s a living storm that’s plagued Pharos since the first Stitching. Some people say it's a tiny mistake in the tremendous magics that stitch one world to another.”

“What’s it look like?” Jeb asked.

“It’s invisible, sort of,” the melas said, holding his hands apart. “It bends and refracts light.”

“Like the predator,” Jeb said, nodding.

“...Sure,” the melas said with a shrug. “If you see the most awe-inspiring rainbow of colors on the horizon, you better steer clear. If you hear something that sounds like a voice, you need to get the fuck out of there.”

The melas clapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck out there, Jeb, whatever you decide to do.” A moment later, the aged caravaneer headed off.

Well, that’s creepy, Jeb thought, his gaze returning to Vegas on the map. Choosing discretion as the better part of valor, Jeb crossed off Sin City.

Whatever lenses they had probably weren’t worth risking his life for.

What about my gas? Do I even have enough to travel all the way to L.A.?

Assuming a paltry fifteen miles to the gallon, because Jeb had no idea what Mr. Jeep’s actual numbers were, the gas was old, and they were off-roading, Jeb needed…

A hundred and eighty gallons….

Jeb glanced into the back of his car, where two fifteen-gallon plastic jugs full of unleaded rested. Plus, the car’s tank is full. That only accounts for about a third of the trip….

Thankfully, there was a lot of road between here and there. Jeb was fairly sure he could scrounge up the fuel as he went, as long as he didn’t try to cut a straight swath through the wilderness and stuck close to the I-5.

Jeb adjusted his trip plan to stay as close to the roads as possible.

“How do you feel about visiting the candy factory first?” Jeb asked.

“Eeehh, it’s fine, I guess,” Smartass said with a shrug.

“Fine? I thought you’d be losing your damn mind.”

“I do love candy, but the thing that makes your candy really taste good is the effort you put into acquiring it,” she said. “If you no longer need to spend any effort, I won’t get as much Impact out of it.”

“Ah.” Jeb put down his ruler. “Wanna renegotiate?”

“I don’t know, after you screwed me out of ten bulbs in the last Deal…”

“Hey, we weren’t actually in an agreement with Grenore when I claimed those bounties, so tough luck.”

Jeb took a breath. “How about we renegotiate the monthly candy payment to a two percent share of any Impact gained...”

“That sounds great!” Smartass said, leaping up in the air and zipping around in excitement for a moment.

“…with a few strings attached.”

“Aw….”

“General assistance and tutoring clause,” Jeb said. “Small tasks, basic information, teaching. Stuff that doesn’t cost you inordinate Impact or put you in danger.”

Smartass puffed her cheeks up and scowled at him.

“Come on, I know two percent is way higher than a pound of candy, especially if I find a sugar lens.”

Smartass scowled even more, her face wrinkling up comically.

“You’re gonna have to make a decision soon, because when I find that sugar lens, getting you your monthly payment will become effortless.” Jeb smiled, letting that last word hang in front of her.

“Gah, fine! Two percent of your Impact per month for a standard Familiar contract,” Smartass said with a huff.

“Hell no,” Jeb replied, shaking a finger at her. “Two percent of Impact gained, not two percent of my total per month, you sneaky fae.”

Smartass gave an irritated grunt.

“I don’t know, Jeb. This is a long-term investment, here. You can’t gain a lot of Impact right now, but if you regained your strength, your growth might make it worth my time. How do I know you’ll be able to go the distance? You might get killed by sand fleas tomorrow. I want five percent.”

“Please, I beat the Impossible Tutorial. You know I’m good for it. Two and a half percent.”

“Deal!”