Illusions

It was a cloudless, moonless, starless night, and Eston had just finished dragging two bodies through the forest. It had taken him more than two hours, and he knew his job was only going to get harder from there. He stood outside a small, broken down cabin that had vines crawling up the wooden walls and candlelight peering through smudged windows. His hands were raw from rope burn, and his nice leather boots had bloodstains on the laces.

He took in a deep breath, and walked inside. The cabin was one room, which was cut in half by a rotting wooden counter. One side of the room–the side Eston had stepped into–was barren, aside from the mountains of dust that had built up in the corners. The other side of the room was covered in trinkets, which ranged from magazines to kids toys to shovels that were duller than circles. An old man sat in the middle of the chaos, his back to Eston. He was hammering away at something. The candlelight gleaned against his bald spot, which took up half of his head.

“You want something?” The old man grumbled. “And if you do, you better have money. I’m not doing the whole charity charade again.”

“I’m an Illusionist,” Eston said. There was no point in hiding it–his white hair and short stature would give him away the moment the old man turned around. “I need to buy a new shovel.” He paused for a minute, trying to remember the code phrase. “It’s for digging holes in the sky.”

The old man didn’t move. “I don’t sell those kinds of shovels anymore. Too damn expensive to make.”

“I really need your help-”

The old man spun around, the gun he had apparently been hammering pointed straight at Eston’s forehead. “Illusionist, was it? I’d shoot you, but I don’t have enough Purity to hide the body. Now get out before I decide I don’t give a damn about going to prison.”

Eston took a few steps back, but stopped near the door. He reached for his pocket, and the old man cocked his gun. “It’s not a weapon.”

“Take it out with your thumb and pinky finger,” the old man commanded. “And slowly.”

Eston did as he asked, slowly revealing a small, glass vial, filled to the brim with a glowing blue liquid. The old man’s eyes widened, and he slowly lowered his gun. Eston wrapped his hand around the vial. “Can we talk now?”

The old man holstered his gun and walked up to the counter. Eston handed him the vial, and he inspected it, licking his crusty lips. “When did you kill them?”

“I didn’t-”

“Don’t bite me, boy. When did it happen?”

Eston put his hands in his pockets. “About 5 hours ago.”

The old man snorted, laying the vial on the counter and rolling it back to Eston. “You think I can Erase 5 hours of you wandering through a forest with this? What am I, magical?”

Eston glared at him. “I’ve heard what you can do. Someone told me you could Erase 10 hours back with half of what I just gave you. And besides, that vial is worth a fortune nowadays-”

“A fortune in Purity is worth nothing once you use it,” the old man said. “Now piss off. I gotta…” he paused, looked around, and scratched his head. “Hell, I forgot what I was gonna do. Doesn’t matter, I suppose. Anything’s better than this conversation.”

The old man waited for a moment, but Eston didn’t budge. He raised his brow, and gestured towards the door with his gun. “Leave.”

Eston ignored him, and instead pulled out a second vial of Purity. He placed it on the table, and suppressed a grin as the old man stared at it for a while. The two vials alone would be worth a kingdom’s supply of gold.

“Three vials, and you have a deal.”

Eston held back the urge to punch the man’s stupid smirk off his stupid face. “You’re joking.”

“I don’t tell jokes,” the old man said, tapping his fingers on the hollow wood counter. “Tonight is no exception. Two vials for the job, one for the payment.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s business, son.” The old man grinned a yellow, holey grin. “If you don’t like it, well, you can find someone else to cover up your murder for you.”

Eston winced. “I don’t have three vials.”

“Well, like I said-”

“I can get them for you.” Eston paused. “Later. Give me a couple weeks. These can be an advance.”

The old man scratched his beard, considering.

“You have yourself a deal.”