By the time Evan made it back to Gooding Street, clutching his stomach, it was already seven thirty in the evening. His face was deathly pale.
Old Tom sat on a low stool with a woman's leather boot held between his knees, still working a needle and thread through it.
He looked up as Evan came around the corner. Behind his reading glasses, surprise flashed plainly in his eyes.
Judging by the way Zack had looked ready to tear someone apart, the kid should have come back missing an arm or a leg.
Instead, here he was, walking home in one piece.
His face was white as paper and he walked with a limp, but all four limbs were intact. He could still make it home on his own.
"You all right?" Old Tom asked tentatively.
Evan smiled, though it looked strained on his pale face.
"I'm fine. Just a misunderstanding. It's settled."
Old Tom didn't press him. He nodded and bent over his stitching again.
Evan turned into the stairwell and climbed, bracing himself against the wall.
The cramps in his stomach and the sharp pain from the bruises on his back hit him from both sides. He had to grit his teeth at every step, hissing through them as he went.
He pushed open his apartment door and saw Mary.
She stood in the hall with half her face swollen. The color had gone from red to purple, and her right arm hung in front of her chest in that filthy scarf.
She was stuffing things into a cloth bag. The moment she saw Evan come through the door, her hands froze.
"You damned sickly bastard! How are you back?"
Her voice was shrill and shaky, her eyes full of disbelief.
As far as she knew, anyone who dared offend Zack like that was as good as dead tonight.
Evan had just swallowed a Demon Hunter's Beyonder Characteristic. His stomach felt as though a fire were burning inside it, and he had no patience to waste words on her.
"Get out, you stinking bitch. Leave the keys."
His voice was cold and weary, like a piece of iron frozen solid.
"Go to the Gus Gang. Then you'll know."
He didn't have the gang's ability to kill people and still square things with the police.
But the Gus Gang would soon hear what had happened to Zack and his twenty-odd men tonight.
Then Mary would understand.
At those words, Mary's face went deathly white.
She didn't curse or shout again.
She took two keys from her pocket and set them on the shoe cabinet in the hall. Then she snatched up the half-filled cloth bag and rushed out without looking back.
Her footsteps hurried away down the stairs, like a wildcat with its tail stepped on.
Evan closed the door and locked it.
The apartment fell quiet.
No smell of smoke, no cheap perfume, no man's heavy breathing or the dull thud of a bedframe against the wall.
There was only his own breathing and the smoldering pain of the fire still burning in his stomach.
Grimacing, he made his way to the bedroom and dropped into a chair. He grabbed the bottle of Aspirin from the table, shook five or six white tablets into his palm, stuffed them all into his mouth, and washed them down with water.
Then he tipped two small gray-white Mercury Pills from their bottle and swallowed those too.
[You took Mercury Pills. Duration: 6 hours.] [Effect: Your Syphilis rash has receded slightly.] [You reversed the Side Effect.] [Your digestive ulcers have eased! 9% → 8%.] [Your cranial nerve damage has eased! 14% → 13%.] [Your mouth has been strengthened. Physique permanently +0.001.]
[You took a large dose of Aspirin. Duration: 6 hours.] [Effect: Your pneumonia is recovering, 9% → 6%. Your perception of pain is reduced for the duration.] [You reversed the Side Effect.] [Your digestive function has improved. Physique permanently +0.001.] [Your hearing has improved. Physique permanently +0.001.]
The Aspirin began working about ten minutes later.
The burning that spread from his stomach through his whole body seemed to be wrapped in a soft layer of cotton. It hadn't vanished, but he could bear it.
The bruises on his back stung less too. He went from "hurting so badly I want to die" to "hurting, but able to move."
"Painkillers really are a great invention."
Evan stood, changed into the denim overalls and canvas shirt his father had left behind, locked the door, and headed straight for the Dock District.
By seven in November, it was already pitch-dark.
The Bryce Transport Company warehouse blazed with light, and the workers were busy.
Evan went straight to the registration desk, collected his work badge, and pinned it to his overalls.
Parker stood at the warehouse entrance with a pipe in his mouth. He nodded when Evan arrived but said little.
Today, though, Evan made a new request.
"Uncle Parker, I don't want hourly pay anymore. I want to be paid by the load."
Parker took the pipe from his mouth and glanced at him.
Piecework meant he would be paid for what he carried. There was no guaranteed wage, but no upper limit either.
For the company, the more a worker hauled, the better.
For a worker, hourly pay was the safer bet unless he really could keep up the pace.
It was his own body on the line, after all.
Parker didn't object.
The company never ran out of goods to move. The more the men under him hauled, the bigger his cut as foreman.
Over the next four hours, Parker's pipe went out three times, each time because his mouth had fallen open too wide.
The young man was like a tireless machine.
Apart from a fifteen-minute break to eat, he didn't stop for a moment.
He hoisted four sacks onto his shoulders at once. Even with a hundred and eighty pounds weighing him down, his steps stayed steady.
He stacked them neatly too, openings turned inward and layers staggered, doing a tidier job than many veterans with ten years' experience.
When the four hours were up, Parker checked his work ledger three times before he believed the number.
The kid had done the work of two experienced laborers by himself.
"You little brat, what miracle drug did you take?" Parker asked around his extinguished pipe, astonishment all over his face.
Evan was drenched in sweat and panting, but he grinned.
"That's what being young gets you, Uncle Parker."
He wiped away his sweat and looked around the warehouse.
"Where's Supervisor Carey? I haven't seen him."
Parker's expression shifted, just slightly.
"He got sick. Then he was fired."
"Sick?"
Evan didn't ask more.
In this neighborhood, when "got sick" and "was fired" came together, there was usually more to it than the words suggested.
Parker counted a handful of coins from his pocket and passed them to Evan.
"Eighty cents, you little brat."
He tapped his palm with the stem of his pipe, genuine admiration in his voice.
"You've earned more from me than any other temporary worker this year."
Evan closed his fingers around the coins and banknotes.
The weight of the metal pressed into his palm, solid and reassuring.
A real smile broke across his exhausted face.
"Thanks, Uncle Parker!"
"May the Lord bless you, you hardworking lad." Parker waved and put his pipe back in his mouth.
On the way home, Evan checked the Panel as he walked.
The reversed effects of the Night Demon Potion had appeared long ago.
[You reversed the Side Effect of the Night Demon Potion.] [Your eyesight has been strengthened. Physique permanently +0.01.] [Your Perception has been strengthened. Spirit permanently +0.01.] [You like the sun more now. Spirit permanently +0.01.]
Evan understood as soon as he read the three lines.
So taking too much Night Demon Potion makes you hate the sun more and more. It also permanently damages your eyesight and Perception.
And according to Hill, every Magic Potion has Side Effects. The only difference is what they are and how severe they get.
He committed that rule to memory and kept walking home.
The streetlights on Gooding Street were dim late at night, and hardly anyone was outside.
There were only the last few drunks refusing to leave a distant tavern, and a wildcat yowling in some alley.
When Evan reached the foot of his building, he stopped.
Three people stood at the entrance to the stairs.
The one in front was a tall young man in a finely tailored dark suit and a deep red tie. His leather shoes were polished to a shine.
He stood in sharp contrast to the two followers behind him, who wore work jackets.
The oddest touch was the pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Their lenses caught the cold gleam of the streetlight, making him look more like a bank clerk than a gang member.
Evan knew him.
Nock. An important man in the Gus Gang.
Even Zack had to bow and scrape before him and address him respectfully as "Mr. Nock."
"Something you want?"
Evan tensed, his eyes wary.
Nock turned and studied the young man through his wire-rimmed glasses. Evan reeked of sweat after four hours of grueling work at the Harbor.
Nock's gaze traveled at an unhurried pace from Evan's face to his shoulders, down to the work boots covered in dust and smelling of fish, then back to his eyes.
Then he smiled.
It was a mild, restrained smile, the sort a respectable gentleman might offer a stranger at a social gathering.
"No."
His voice was steady and calm. He spoke slowly, enunciating every word.
"I only came to tell you that Mary will never bother you again."
"You needn't worry about Zack and the others either. We've taken care of it. The police won't come looking for you."
"And a word of advice: as long as you don't interfere with our business, we won't bother you."
He paused. His smile didn't change, but a thin edge entered his voice.
"I hope you know where the line is."
With that, he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and turned down the steps. His leather soles struck the stone at an easy pace, as though he were out for a stroll.
His two followers went after him without a word. Soon all three had vanished into the night on Gooding Street.
Evan stood at the foot of the stairs, watching the direction they had gone. He was silent for a few seconds.
Pulis had made his move.
Under pressure, the Gus Gang was flexing its muscles at him. It was a warning too.
But he had expected it.
He didn't want trouble. Not yet.
He went home and took a shower.
The cold water made the two bruises on his back ache again, though far less than before.
His Regeneration had begun to work. The effect was slight, but it was real.