Author: Wildbow

Left in the Dust – 16.4 | Pale

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Lucy stepped into the doorway, arms folded, raising a hand slightly to wave at Chloe, who was snuggled with Nibble, watching something, and ignoring the noise in the background.

On the other end of the ground floor, Pipes, the giant of a soldier, watched Marlen, smiling, while the little goblins talked at her.

Cherrypop’s expression was bright.  “…did I say there would be trash?”

“Yes.”

“And that it’s going to have an exit to the Warrens?”

“Yes,” Marlen replied, tired.

“Do you want a drink!?” Biscuit asked, dragging over a bottle about twice her size, approaching a line that had been drawn on the floor.  Pipes sat up a bit as Biscuit drew close to the line, then relaxed as she stopped.  She hugged the bottle to get it to an upright position.  “It’s made of-”

“I was talking to her,” Cherrypop interrupted.

“Yeah but you’re boring.  You know what’s not boring?  Gogglegrog.  It’s made of eye icky-rous and diabetic urine, fermented.  It’s my first try.”

“Vitreous,” Marlen told Biscuit.

“Yeah!  That too!”

“I’m not drinking that.”

Biscuit gave her puppy dog eyes.  “But-!”

“I was talking, shitbiscuit,” Cherrypop interrupted.

“It’s a special beer goggles effect.  It’ll get you so drunk, and it’ll make everyone pretty.  Even Cherrypop!”

“So if you’ve got a buddy or a barney and they’re in a situation, wanting to get their mojo on to get out of a pickle, or get on a pickle, if you know what I mean, I can be all, I gotcha babe.”

“That,” Lucy said, keeping her voice down to not bother Nibble and Chloe any, “seems wildly problematic.”

“Yeah!  Want any?”

Lucy shook her head.

“I’ve also got this one, it’s called Skull.  Gotta drink it quick, it’ll make you want to die, and you’ll be such a mess erryone will think you’re dead.  Then bam!  You get up!  Not dead!  They can pull you outta the river where you’ve been floating face down for the last hour and you’ll be alive!  Aw, look at this poor bloke, he was too drunk to get out of a burning building, properly charred-”

“Why are you British now, Biscuit?”

“Toadswallow’s fault- but he’ll be alive!  Charred but not dead!  Want some Skull?”

“No, and I’m underage anyway,” Lucy explained.

Biscuit looked around, at Nibble and Chloe, Marlen, Pipes, and Cherrypop.  She left the bottle behind and crossed the floor, hurrying over to Lucy, before motioning.

Lucy stooped down.

“I don’t care,” Biscuit whispered.

“Still don’t want any.”

“Hair of the dog for some fightin’ fury?” Biscuit asked.  “Never made it but I could.  Time Travel Juice?  Even our ol’ goblin gangboss Shitface couldn’t make that one, but I could try!”

“Time travel juice?” Lucy asked.  “Is that really a thing?”

“It is!  Only for traveling forward-”

“Oh, right, nevermind.”  Lucy walked over toward Marlen, and Biscuit scrambled to keep up, bumping up against her lower calf and ankle, grabbing her.

“But it’s so good!  It’s great!  You can’t do it whenever, you gotta get things escalated, gotta get realllly souped up, like a combo in a video game!  Build it up, get things ready, then when all seems lost, when you’ve got cops and gangs and some angry jerkass upset your guy had gogglegrog and tried to impregnate the topiary at his daughter’s wedding and punched the best man who tried to stop him?  Take a swig.  They all kick in the doors, come tearin’ in, and where’s your guy?  Gone!  They fight, they argue, they agree nah, let’s join forces and get this drunk.  They tear the entire place up, no stone unturned, but he’s gone!”

“Because he time travelled?”

“Basically!  They all leave, and a while later, drywall cracks, and your guy falls out of the wall or something, like the best hiding place ever!”

“This is a lot of detail on stuff I can’t imagine ever using.”

“That’s jus’ a failure of imagination,” the little goblin said.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Okay, I’m done,” Biscuit told Cherrypop.  “These people are lame.  You can say your thing.”

“I forget now,” Cherrypop replied.

“Thank you, spirits and gods,” Marlen murmured, lying back on the bed they’d prepped for her.

“I’ll start over!  So my opossum friend and I are planning to make a Path…”

Marlen sighed.

“It’s going to be trashy and badass!”

“I’ve told you that you can’t make a Path,” Marlen said.  “Paths form on their own.”

“We’re going to try!  Or we’ll make something close!”

“You don’t want to talk about a Path or run a Path too much or it’ll stop being a Path.  With some exceptions.”

“I don’t care about that.  We’re going to have a slide, and all the rocks can be cool rocks, and you’ll have to answer dumb riddles.  I’ve got some rocks here.”

“Don’t give Marlen any rocks,” Lucy told Cherrypop.

“Already on it,” Pipes added.

“She used a chunk of drywall to write down runes, let’s not give her a rock she can use to scratch diagrams down with.”

“Can’t practice anyway,” Marlen said, showing Lucy the water-repellent, anti-practice diagram work on papers that were stuck to her cuffs.

Cherrypop sat back, rubbing her chin, doing a very bad job of looking like she wasn’t considering giving Marlen a rock.

“Cherrypop, no,” Lucy said.

“But-!”

Lucy felt a waft of cooler air as the side door to the empty factory opened.  Verona let herself in.  She closed the door as gently and quietly as she’d opened it.  She scurried across the floor to the couch, setting a bag down within arm’s reach of Chloe.

“Snowdrop’s going to be the final boss.  I thought she should do something tricky, but she can become giant and terrifying, super strong.”

“I don’t believe you,” Marlen said.

“Oh, and we’re going to have a slide!”

Verona joined Lucy, shoulder bumping Lucy’s upper arm.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Marlen told Cherrypop.  “I’ll tell you a way you can make a little Lost realm, but you need to leave me alone forever.”

“Snowdrop’s got that figured out, nah.  So, the next part-”

“What way?” Verona asked.  “Hold on, Cherrypop.”

“I was talking!  Now I’m going to have to start over!”

“Don’t do that,” Marlen told Cherrypop.

“Here,” Verona said.  She reached into a pocket and pulled out a rock.  She’d painted on it- an opossum, curled up and biting its own tail.

Cherry reached for it.  Verona teased her with it.

Lucy put her bag down, reached inside, and dug into her stash of non-perishable snacks.  Cheese sticks and pepperoni sticks.  She bit off the end of a pepperoni stick, then, as Cherry reached for the rock, Lucy put the pepperoni stick close.  Cherrypop ended up reaching for both at the same time, head craning backward, back arching, and fell over.  Lucy popped the chunk of pepperoni into Cherry’s mouth, and Verona laid the rock down so it rested against Cherry’s side.

Biscuit inched closer, and Cherry reacted defensively, like a chihuahua trying to get three toys into its mouth when there was room for only one, with a curious larger dog edging closer.

She somehow managed to stack the rocks she’d been showing Marlen onto the bigger, flatter opossum-painted rock, held the meat in a mouth that looked like it was straining to open wide enough to bite into it, teeth in the upper jaw and lower jaw almost pointing in the same direction.  She made it about halfway across the room to her hiding place, spilled everything, gathered everything, and took it to the hiding place again.

“Does she know one of those rocks is cursed?” Marlen asked.

“We tell her, she forgets,” Lucy said.  “She manages, but she gets tired easily.”

Biscuit tugged on the bottom of Lucy’s pants leg, and gave Lucy her best puppy dog eyes.  She bent the pepperoni stick until it snapped, because it had that slightly dried consistency.  She gave Biscuit a third.

Biscuit dragged the bottle she’d brought out to show Marlen after her, making a lot of noise as the bottom corner of the bottle dragged against the uneven, hard floor.  She settled under a chair that had one of Chloe’s sweaters draped over it, a partially curtained enclosure, and ate her pepperoni.

“What were you going to say?” Verona asked.  “About the Lost realm?”

“Some Lost exit the Paths and create impact zones.  Ones they decorate and empower with Lost things.”

“Oh right, the Neverland type places?  Our friend read up on those.”

Marlen shrugged.  “I thought it’d get her attention.  Maybe I could tell her she had to find enough Lost things and give her a reason not to sit here and prattle at me.”

Lucy opened the package of pepperoni wider and extended out another stick, offering it to Pipes.  He took it with a grin, snapping off a bit with his teeth.  Lucy offered some to Marlen, but the woman shook her head.

“Are we any closer to you figuring out a way to swear oaths that keep Kennet safe and keep you from following through with helping Musser?” Lucy asked.

“I’m a professional, and I don’t sign contracts that can be skipped out on or skirted that easily.”

“Okay.  Then sit tight.”

“You realize you’re embroiled in this?  They’ll come looking for me.  Even if I did what you wanted and swore oaths or became forsworn, they’re not stupid people.  Some of the people I work with are among the most capable practitioners in Canada.”

“I don’t want you forsworn,” Lucy told Marlen.

“You’re not acting like it,” the woman replied.  “I’d rather die.  Being caught like this is bad enough.  I’m not talking about the goblins either.  Being grounded, my rituals inactive, dehumanized, bound?  Eating’s a chore, sleeping is uncomfortable, I have to use the washroom, and for most of that I’m being watched, watched, watched.”

“Wait, you don’t have to go to the bathrom or eat, normally?” Verona asked.

“Very little,” Marlen replied, glaring at Verona.

“That’s pretty cool.”

“It is!” Marlen snarled the last word, jerking the cuffs and making the cable squeak where it was knotted around the beam above her.  Nibble rose from his position, poised over the back of the couch like he was ready to hurry over.  Marlen made herself relax.  “It is cool.  Since I was ten, it’s all been easier.  Now I’m sweating, sitting in this dense, stinking meat, I’m chafing, I feel the prickle of the air.  I feel random twinges and pains I’d forgotten humans experience.  I want to be free of this again.  I want to ride my bike.”

She leaned forward, and with her posture, her hands wouldn’t lower any further.  Instead of burying her face into her hands, she lowered her face into her upper arms, forearms around the top of her head.

Her voice had changed toward the end of that little rant.  Like she wanted to cry.

Lucy and Verona paused, with Marlen sitting like that for a little bit.  They exchanged glances, and Lucy saw Verona’s expression was that fixed neutral.  The sort of poker face she reserved for dealing with her dad, and for dealing with the big shit.

Only the firm mechanical rubbing of her one bent hand betrayed anything out of the ordinary.

Lucy turned to Marlen.  “You’ve hurt people.  Brought drugs into communities.  Weapons.  You were going to traffic in people.  People who wouldn’t be free, safe, or comfortable.  I’d say it’s karma that you’ve ended up here.”

“Karma isn’t about right and wrong!”  Marlen lunged to her feet.  She rushed toward Lucy, and jerked to a stop, hands over her head.  Pipes had gotten up just a second behind her, and walked over.  Marlen stood with arms over her head, hands up and behind her, so she could lean forward against the cable, bringing her face closer to Lucy and Verona.  Her eyes had that raw red, wet look that suggested she’d been crying after all.

Marlen went on, voice not raised anymore, “It’s about whether you bow to the system!  Keep the peace, keep innocents out of practice, maintain the structures, keep your word, maintain your oaths.  The more the world has to bend to fit you in, the less it’ll help you.  It might even try to destroy you, so things are smoother.  I fit to the system, I do all of that.  Karma’s on my side.”

“And look where you ended up,” Lucy told her.

“Think about where you’ll end up.  I have friends who’ll look for me.  When they do, Karma will favor us more than it favors you.”

“Well, might be a while,” Lucy told Marlen.  “Musser was informed that you were seen-”

“Which you were,” Verona added.  “Briefly, before.”

“-that you ran into a situation along the road and had to swear oaths and that you’re stuck with other priorities as a consequence.  That they didn’t know much more than that.  Musser wasn’t happy.”

Marlen yanked on the cuffs again.  She turned her back to Lucy and Verona.

When she wheeled around, she broke into a short run.  She let herself swing, legs kicking out at the two of them.  Lucy raised a hand to fend off the kick, but Pipes beat her to it, catching Marlen out of the air.  He carried her in his arms over to the bed, then dumped her onto the mattress.

“But he bought it,” Verona said.

“He won’t press for a forswearance on the work contract,” Lucy told Marlen.  “But he can’t stop the contract from going into effect when it’s supposed to.  We talked it over-”

“Us and the local head honchos,” Verona clarified.

Marlen sat up, but didn’t look at them.

“Really comes down to a question.  Is Musser the type to let you be forsworn, and let that be the end of things in his books?  You screwed up, couldn’t fulfill your contracts, so you’re forsworn and forgotten?”

“Never to be thought of again, unless it’s to think about how you had such promise?” Verona added.

“Or will he look?  If he does look, how long does it take before he really notices?  Days?  A week?  Months?”

Marlen held the cable over her head, and she hung there.  Her upper body remained bent at a near-right angle, swinging slightly on the cable, while she sat on the raised ‘bed’ of lashed together, rune-protected lumber that held the mattress in place, diagonal boards at the corner to keep her from lifting it up or using it for anything.  When her eyes were in a position to see Lucy, she glared.

“I’d personally guess forsworn and forgotten,” Verona noted.

“We really don’t want that,” Lucy told Marlen.

Marlen continued to swing slightly, glaring.  “Kill me, if it comes to that.”

“Think of oaths you could swear.  Meet us halfway,” Lucy said.  “Information you could provide, that would give us leverage over you, a reason for you to keep quiet, even if you can’t swear an oath?”

Marlen didn’t respond.

“You’re showing him more loyalty than I think he’d show you.”

“Contracts.  I’m loyal to the work.”

“It’s scummy work.”

Marlen didn’t respond, swinging, staring Lucy and Verona down.

Verona nudged Lucy, then tilted her head.  They walked away from Marlen.

“So?” Verona asked.

“So.  We need backup,” Lucy said.  “For talking to Lis.”

“Tashlit, Grandfather, maybe someone else from the council?”

“I was thinking Guilherme.  Just in case.”

Verona’s eyes widened.  “You think?”

“Need to check on him anyway.  Can it hurt to ask, see where things stand?”

“Could.  He got scary with me, a bit ago.  Didn’t seem to remember it when I went last time, to get glamour.”

Lucy sighed.  “I’ve got to pee.”

“And I want to take notes.  Give me a sec.  Had a bit of an idea.”

“What sort?” Lucy asked.  She kept an eye on both Verona and Marlen as she headed toward Marlen’s little bathroom.  Pipes looked at her, and she jerked a thumb at the bathroom.  Pipes took a deliberate step over to the side, blocking Marlen from approaching the bathroom or Lucy.

“I’ll tell you if I work it out,” Verona said, while searching her bag.

Lucy used the washroom, washed her hands, and then did a search of the little space, to be sure.  With her Sight, she kept an eye out for any stains.

Marlen wasn’t one to sit still.

Her Sight revealed a ‘blade’ in the toilet, caught beneath the inner rim, wedged into one of the holes that the water poured out of.  Lucy got toilet paper to make it so she wasn’t touching whatever it was, and worked it free.  A nail as long as Lucy’s pointer finger, mostly a dull gray, but with a shiny portion at the end where it had been gently filed against something until it was sharp, making it more of a blade at the end.

She washed off her hands quickly, got a spell card out of her pocket, circle pre-drawn, and added the annotations.  Dyspraxis.  The backstabber’s blade turned back.  Moíra.  Wound the hand that would wound.  Pónos.  Disarm she who would bear arms.

She added the decorative elements, scrawly marks at key points around the circle, marking it for a 1:1 ratio.  She would only hurt herself as badly as she tried to harm another.  She added minor diacritic marks to the outside of the circle to make it phantom pain too.  No actual wound would be created.  At least this way she wouldn’t kill herself by trying to stab Pipes.  Lucy drew a diamond inside the circle, then placed the nail within.  She put her hand over it, concentrating, with the same kind of focus she used for the weapon ring.  She stopped when she saw the very edges of the paper starting to black and turn.

She carefully put it back in the toilet, and pocketed the paper.  The hole had been stopped up with something, probably toilet paper, so she had to press it in until the toilet paper held it firm.

Where had Marlen even got the nail?  They’d made the bed, but it was warded to keep it from being pulled apart and used for weapons.  Had it been during the construction process?  Had someone dropped it?

Bad form, if that was the case.

Could just be that Marlen was that type.

While washing her hands a third time, she noticed a glint in the drain.  She wasn’t sure if it was water catching the light from above, so she ran the water and let it drain again.  With a spell card, she created a concentrated light.

It took almost a minute for her to work out what Marlen had done.  The sink had no stopper, but it did have three tabs of metal that turned inward, over the drain, keeping the stopper from falling in or blocking objects from falling within.  Carefully, Lucy picked at a coarse length of hair that had been caught on one of the three tabs, near the base.

Or tied to it.

Another nail.  But this one was slightly further along.  The goal wasn’t a blade, but maybe a lockpick or key.  The thread that tied it to the tab was hair, probably from Marlen’s head, twisted into a narrow cord with a loop at one end, to go over the tab, the other end tied to the key a few inches down.

She had to look the material up on her phone.  Rather than log into the Atheneum Arrangement, she did a search for translations.  Most of the curses she had were from one text, which was translated from Greek, so mostly she had to remember the words and meanings and then used the internet to search for the precise parts and spelling.

It’d probably be easier to read another text, but whatever.

She worked it out and penned it down, much as she had for the nail.  Her focus was on the little cord this time, because it looked harder to do than the nail.

She improvised this one some.  She wrote out the concepts she wanted on the back of a spell card.

Maddening frustration.  Let the scheme near the course.  A stumble at the finish line, a fumble before the goal.  Loosen your grip, let slip…

And settled on a structure like the nail.

Frustrate.  Loosen the last-minute grip.  Fumble.  Victory’s grasp let slip.  Fool.  The threads of the plan snipped.

She empowered the cord with the curse, put the nail back through the one end, then hitched it back over the tab that stuck out of the inside of the drain.

Let Marlen occupy herself.  With luck, she’d get close to done with the nail key or nail lockpick, then find it lost down the drain.  With more luck she’d reuse the cord, only for it to happen again.

She washed her hands a fourth time, dried them, paused, and then wrote down a note.  Verona: ignore the sink drain and the weapon in the toilet.

She placed it on the toilet lid, then pulled the shower curtain aside and stepped back outside.

“Ronnie?”

“Hm?”  Verona was sketching.

“Do you need to use the bathroom?”

Verona looked up.  Lucy flashed on her Sight, her back to Marlen, glancing back toward the bathroom.

“Sure.  Then we go?”

Lucy nodded.

Verona balled up the work she was doing, pitching it into the trash, then headed for the bathroom.

“Can I look at what you were drawing?”

“Go for it.”

She let Verona go into the bathroom, pulling the curtain closed behind her, and poked at the ball of paper to unfold it.  It was three rings of sixteen circles, starting at Engine Head and ending at Miscount, each with a loose blob shape in the center.  Arrows arced between the first two, marked ‘Lucy’, the first and last, marked ‘Avery’, and the last two, marked ‘Verona’.

“What are you up to there?” Lucy mused.

Verona took longer than was necessary to use the facilities, then emerged, holding a packet of food wrapped in napkins.  “Peanut butter sandwich and cheese, stowed away?”

Lucy looked at Marlen.

Marlen only glared blankly back at her.

“Little cord made of hair?  Looks like a lasso.”

Marlen didn’t move or react.

Lucy pulled out her spell cards, sighing, then thumbed through her phone where she had images saved.  She wrote down a curse, annotated it, then proclaimed, “Let dog, cat, mouse, bird and invertebrate bite the hand that feeds, not the feed.”

She motioned for Pipes, who took hold of Marlen’s cuffs, lifting them up, his leg hooking around Marlen’s to keep her from kicking.  Lucy had to hop up onto the side of the bed to stick the paper to the cuffs.  “And let them bite the hand, not the paper you’ve gotten covered in cheesy, peanut butter smells.’

“We should put something on the shackles themselves,” Verona said.

“Good call.  Something for the near future?” Lucy asked.  “We’ll talk about it outside.  If you could keep an extra careful eye out, Pipes?”

“Got it,” he said.

“We could give her a bucket,” Verona said.  “No more bathroom?”

“Let’s… try to treat her as human?” Lucy asked.  “It’s her right to try to escape, I think.  It’s ours to prevent it and foil the attempts.  Ideally without poisoning her, Biscuit?”  Lucy pitched her voice.

“Druggin’,” Biscuit said, sitting under the chair.

“That too.  Let’s just be careful?” Lucy asked Pipes.

He nodded.

“We’re going to go.  I think Grandfather is coming for the overnight shift in a little while, he’ll be helping us out for a short bit before that,” Lucy asked, as she turned toward the door.  She jumped when she found Chloe standing about three feet behind her.

“Grandfather gets wood chips all over my floor, whittling,” Chloe said.

“Does he clean up?” Verona asked, while Lucy tried to relax, letting her heart rate come back under control.

“Mostly.  It’s mostly okay.  But it pets my peeves when I look over.”

Lucy swallowed before asking, “Nag him to tone it down, then?”

Chloe nodded.  “I thought about playing a board game with her.”

Lucy frowned.  “Mmmmaybe.  Depends on the game, and make absolutely sure that any pieces that are put in her reach are… you ever watch a prison show, and they have every tool placed in outlines?”

“Can do,” Chloe said.  “We’ll probably ask her to say what she wants to do.  We can have a system.”

“I’m not playing your game,” Marlen called out.

Chloe huffed.  “But there’s one with small animals!  And one where you play spirits fighting off invaders!  It’s topical!”

Marlen shook her head, lying down on the bed and turning her back to Chloe.

“Well, sorry for trying,” Chloe told her.  She turned to Lucy with a suddenness that made Lucy jump.

She could remember Chloe attacking her not all that far from here, feral and savage.

“She wouldn’t eat the food I made last night.  The Dog Tags are great but they don’t have much to compare to.  Can I try food on you?”

“Uh,” Lucy paused.  Verona had brought a gift, and she did want to be nice.  “Yeah.  Sure.”

Chloe went to the fridge, bustling, leaving Lucy to stand there awkwardly.  Nibble shot her a reassuring smile while Chloe got a tupperware container out of the fridge, a bowl, and a fork.

“Just a little,” Lucy called out.

“Got it!” Chloe replied.

She came back with a bowl held awkwardly in fingers that were as much claw as they were flesh, the end of the fork sliding around the rim.  Lucy was careful as she pinched the edges of the bowl to lift it up.

She tried it.  It was a bit overpowering, and she squinted one eye.  “Vinegary.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It’s not great.”

“I liked the smell of the red wine vinegar.  But that’s good, right?  That it’s fixable?”

“On a future batch, yeah.  I think I made worse mistakes than that on my early cooking attempts.  If I was at a family gathering at my Barbie and Ran’s place, and this was served, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Lucy finished the bowl, because it wasn’t really wasn’t all that awful, once she got past the surprise of it.

“Stick closer to the recipes?” Nibble asked, still on the couch, hands and head on the back of it.

“Learn the rules before you break them,” Verona said.

“Cool,” Chloe said.  “Thank you.”

“Okay,” Lucy said.  She let Chloe take the bowl, trying not to think too much about the claws and almost dying, now that the thought had sprung into her mind.  “Hope that helps.”

Verona opened the door, holding it for Lucy.

“I can smell your fear,” Chloe said.

Lucy paused.

“Thank you for being kind despite being scared,” Chloe murmured.

“Thanks for being cool, and for putting up with the intrusions,” Lucy said.

Chloe shot her a fang-riddled smile in the moment before the door closed.

The outside was cold, and a slight mist hung over things, despite the fact it was early evening.  Leaves were dying and most of the color had gone.  Lucy couldn’t say for sure, but it felt like Kennet had less lights on.  The sky felt like it had more stars.  Her breath fogged as she exhaled.

Lucy shrugged inside her jacket to get it to sit better with her bag pulling at the front, then buttoned it up.

Verona wore one of Lucy’s old coats, which she’d dyed black.  Or glamoured black.  “I couldn’t find the knife.”

“The knife?  Oh.  Under the rim.”

“Ew.  My sight gets too much noise from the toilet grossness.”

“Mm.  You found the sink one?”

Verona nodded.  “I liked that.”

“Where was the food?”

“Hole in the corner.  I saw a wriggly thing.”

They walked down the slope to the shore, then walked along the rocks, which were hard to make out in the gloom.  Black slate in darkness.

“What was the diagram?  Three sets of shrines?”

“I’ve still got to work it out.  You know that thing where I hang back, and I pull something big?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m thinking way bigger.”

“The shrines?  Doing one set for our side, the knotted side, and then another realm?”

Verona nodded.

“There are a couple of snarls with that.  Like not knowing what realm to tap.”

“I know.  So I figure… why not throw all those snarls out the window, right?”

“And insert some new ones.  Some of which we have to deal with Lis to figure out.”

Lucy frowned.  “Run it by me first?”

“It involves you, so naturally I’m going to.”

“Okay.  I wondered if that was the case.  Thanks.”

“I don’t need to be babysat.”

“It’s not that.  Really.  It’s- I need to know, because I’m anxious.  I’m worried about where we’re at.  What we’re building, what we’re doing.  You’d be babysitting me, I guess.”

Verona sighed.

“I know you don’t want that either.”

“It’s fine.”

They walked through the tree-arch, then turned toward the cave.  It came into view as they walked.  Verona went from holding her breath to exhaling.  It took a few seconds for Lucy to realize Verona was trying to make her breath come out as fog for as long as possible.  Drawing it out over maybe a minute.

“You would be so annoying if you smoked.”

Verona snickered.  “Frig.  You made me laugh.  I was doing so well.”

Lucy smiled.

Leaves crunched as they walked past the trees framing the cave.

“Ah, the girls.”

The voice her earring picked up was feminine.

Miss.  She sat in the cave, the silvery light reflecting off the swords glinting around her, obscuring her face.  She wore a long dark blue winter coat, and sat on a rock that was lower to the ground than a chair would have been, her legs folded to one side.

Guilherme sat in his corner, where it felt like he hadn’t moved from since the start of September.  Verona had reported him moving, though.

“Have you come for glamour?” Guilherme asked.  “The supplies of High Summer run thin.  I’ll be glad to be rid of the last of them.  I feel so foolish to have clung to it like I did.”

“No.  Wanted to check in with you,” Lucy told him.  “Hi Miss.”

“Lucy.  Verona.  How is your hand, Verona?”

Verona rubbed at it, and shrugged.  “Could do without the pain that kicks in here and there, makes it hard to do anything else.”

“You were planning to see Lis.”

“It’s something we’d have to do before we can get around to a lot of things.”

“Tonight?” Miss asked.

Lucy nodded.

“Be safe.”

“That’s the plan.  I was thinking about asking Guilherme to come.”

“I could be a greater danger to you than I am to your enemies,” Guilherme answered.  His breath formed mist that caught the light that reflected into the cave.

“Would you?” Lucy asked.

“No.  But I could, nonetheless.”

“I’d like you to come.”

“I would like to come, but-”

“Guilherme,” Miss said, quiet.

Guilherme stopped.  “Do you presume to influence me?”

“No.  I know that’s no longer possible in the way it once was.  You can respond more than one way while holding the same conviction.  Don’t sound it out aloud, with the children as your means of doing so.”

“I’ll attend,” Guilherme told Lucy.

“Thank you,” Lucy murmured.

“What were you up to?” Verona asked.

“I’m paying a visit to Guilherme for counsel,” Miss said.  “I won’t keep secrets.  Most who would have any problem with what I’ve been thinking and doing already know.  Rook is a friend and a support, but there’s some limit to her counsel, because the realities of defeat she’d teach me about have calcified in her mind.  The Dog Tags are too young, many of them remembering their first and most recent true loss as the binding that, to their perceptions, happened roughly a month ago.”

Lucy nodded, then she paused and touched her necklace.  “Unless you count John as a true loss too.”

“A loss of a cherished companion, certainly, but not a loss in the sense of a lost war, with its many casualties and other, broader consequences.”

“Yeah,” Lucy murmured, quiet.

We lost both.

The deep sadness over John felt all the deeper here, standing in this cave.  Maybe because she felt a different sort of sad over Guilherme.

Miss went on, “Toadswallow is still yet too clever to have seen the fruit of his mistakes.  Guilherme, I thought, could at least give me counsel and wisdom.”

“This, at least, I can do with little cost,” Guilherme replied.

No air fogged around Miss’s face.  Lucy kept her own hands in her pockets.

Miss told them, “I’ve wondered if I should perhaps follow Avery’s lead.  Whole days pass where I don’t know what I might accomplish, who I could talk to.  I can deflect, gather information, and push things into motion, but I can’t face problems head on.”

“If Miss were to leave, she would either not come back at all, and her heart would be broken, or she would come back to find someone else’s vision realized, and her heart would be broken,” Guilherme declared.  “Leaving is hazardous, for reasons having little to do with direct danger.”

“I could do more elsewhere.  I could work against Musser.  I’ve left Kennet to render other assistance in recent weeks.”

“But you haven’t left, Lost soul,” Guilherme told her, leaning forward.  He creaked like he was more wood than flesh as he did so.  “You’re talking about true departure.”

“Don’t go,” Verona said.

Lucy, hands in her coat pockets, drew her shoulders in more, a frown etched on her brow.  She didn’t say anything out of fear that she’d say something wrong, when Miss didn’t yet sound certain.

“More and more, I find myself framing things in terms of what I cannot do.  I cannot fight directly, I cannot stop our worst enemies, I cannot rebuild the wish I want to rebuild.  You’re impatient and you’re right to be.  We don’t have the time.  I could give you some.”

“At the cost of making this the final chapter of the last great story you could tell,” Guilherme murmured, his voice echoing through the cave as if it were much louder.

Lucy shivered.

“There’s a reason I came here, to speak these thoughts aloud.  I don’t think I could do this again, as Crooked Rook can, knowing the possible conclusion.  I’m too prone to falling into patterns, and letting patterns catch on me.”

“Walking away is its own pattern,” Guilherme said.  “You walked away from the Yellow Flower Spiral.  You would walk away from here.”

“Two points makes a line, Guilherme, but it does not make a pattern.”

“But the fear of forging a pattern and too many lines waiting for the opportunity to take shape becomes its own binding.  Ask yourself how long it would be before you have no actions left to you.  Then accept my answer: far less time than you think.”

“Can we at least ask that you not make a decision too fast?” Lucy asked, despite herself.

“You may.  Ask.”

“Can you not make a decision too fast?  And let us know before you do make the call?” Lucy asked.

“If you wish.  But you should know that if I must state it, then I’ll be more certain to go after, than if I were left to my own devices.”

“It sounds like you’re already planning to go,” Verona told her.  “Like it’s pretty certain.”

“I’ll continue to render my assistance if I leave, even if I’m away.  More than I’m doing now.”

Lucy sighed.  She looked at Verona.

“I don’t know what to say,” Lucy admitted.  “You should talk to Snowdrop.  And to Avery.”

“I will.  Before I make any official departure, I’ll find them to say something to them.  It may mean the briefest of steps into the Paths.”

“Huh.  But you’re not making a decision now?” Verona asked.

“I’m in the process of making the decision, but I’ve not yet decided to the point that I’ll have to tell you and then see it through.”

“Rrright,” Verona replied.  She looked at Lucy.  “Getting late.”

They’d met after dinner.  It would be getting late.  Their continued efforts to talk to Marlen and slow down her escape routes had eaten up a chunk of time.

“You’ll want to stop by the house with the refugees from the Family Man’s realm,” Miss told them.  “There’s no need to do it today, but wraiths, echoes, and spirits are drawing closer to that building.”

“We need to get them home,” Lucy replied.  “But for that we need the Family Man dealt with.  He’s still there, just weak, besieged.  People have less faith in him.”

“Yes,” Miss remarked.  “Still here, weak, besieged.  I hope what you’re building with the market and councils come to fruition.”

“What we’re building here,” Lucy replied.

“As Verona said, it’s getting to be late.  You should go,” Miss told them.

Guilherme rose to his feet.  His pants were strapped to his legs at the ankle, more straps around his waist, with a partial kilt wrapped around his buttocks and upper thigh.  Whatever natural edges or patterns might have emerged from the fabric, fur, or strapping was stripped away or covered over by the thin layer of dust, changed to a texture that was more like stone that had formed natural crystals, or frost gathering into lattice.  His hair was white and stiff, his skin approaching that same color, his eyes silver.

“I’ll stay for a time, if you don’t mind, Guilherme,” Miss told him.

“It matters not at all,” he answered.  “Where are we going?”

“We were going to grab Grandfather.  If Miss didn’t want to come, then perhaps Toadswallow or Matthew?  And Tashlit,” Lucy replied.

Guilherme strode toward the center of the room, picking a sword that was embedded into the stone out of the earth.  It gleamed with a stark sort of silver light that bleached out color and avoided shadow.  He slowly turned it in the air, and the distorted image of the shoreside from beyond the cave entrance reflected on the wall.

A slight adjustment, and the pieces and faint colors of that image shifted.  Some colors became more intense as they combined with other points, multiple bits of light gathering on the same point of the wall.

The scene differed.  It was blurry, but it was trees, like the ones on the far side of the river, and hill, like the one in the distance.

Guilherme, holding the sword motionless, reached out to the blurry image on the wall.

Cave, Miss, swords, decorations, cave entrance, and everything beyond it shattered.  Lucy heard a click.

There was only the blurry image on the wall, and the blurry images that connected to it- what naturally appeared to the left, to the right, above and below it.

Lucy blinked, and realized her eyes were blurry and dry with dust.  That same dust cleared up easily as she blinked a few times in rapid succession.

They were a short distance from the house with the refugees.  Grandfather sat in the copse of trees, watching both the house and the area south of it.  He had his weapon aimed and ready to fire, pointed at Guilherme.

“If you could have used that, the time to do so would have been when we first appeared, not an eyeblink later,” Guilherme told Grandfather.

“That’s not reassuring,” Grandfather whispered.  His gun didn’t waver or tremble in the silghtest.  He wasn’t breathing, his eyes weren’t moving.

“It’s us,” Lucy told him.

“Who is ‘us’?” Grandfather asked, without the slightest of flinches.

“Lucy, Verona, and Guilherme.”

“Right.  Heya.  Was expecting you, but not like this.  And hi.  We haven’t talked much, Guilherme.”

“No.  We haven’t.”

“I came to pass on my condolences.  I know you and John were friends.”

Being reminded John was dead really didn’t suck any less for being the five thousandth time she’d been reminded or otherwise had the thought cross her mind, since.  Or whatever the number was.

“We were.”

“You sure as fuck appeared out of nowhere.”

“Was that teleportation?” Lucy asked.

“No.  Glamour,” Guilherme replied.

“What the heck kind of glamour is that?” Verona asked, looking around.

“The sort of glamour where you will want to convince yourself that you were walking to this location with me and your friend all the while, merely being deceived into thinking you were standing still.”

“We’ll want to?” Lucy asked him.

“It’s easier than the truth.”

“Rrrrrright,” Grandfather cut in.  “Everything alright?”

“We wanted backup, going to see Lis.”

“Not sure what that entails.”

“We’re not sure either,” Lucy told him.  “We don’t know what’s going to happen or how she’ll respond.  But we want a Dog Tag with us, Doe is too difficult, Pipes too brash.”

Grandfather nodded.

“Do you want me to deal with the wraiths and spirits Miss mentioned?” Guilherme asked, looking toward the house.

“Could you?”

“Yes, but my methods wouldn’t be kind.  There would be consequences.”

“Um,” Lucy responded, glancing at Verona, who shrugged.  “What sort?”

“Don’t um at me, Lucille Ellingson.  As my student, you represent my endeavors.  If you represent me poorly, that will require response.”

“What does that even mean?” Lucy asked.

His tone of voice changed.  Sadder.  “I ask you not to make me demonstrate.  I was and am glad, I was able to mentor you as summer’s end approached.  It became my role in the final stages of the mystery, and I wanted to do more, but I couldn’t.  I come today because I want to redeem myself, even a little.  I was outmaneuvered in the moments I stepped between courts, put off to the side by a callow young Fae.  But every moment I’m out in the world, certain dangers gather.”

“The Hunt?” Lucy asked.

“Yes.  The fact you were once my student matters little on the face of it.  You were the student of a High Summer Fae.  But if you’re in my company now, you’re in the company of a Fae of the Winter Court, you stand to learn, and the fact you have not learned enough now reflects poorly on me.  It matters.”

“I’m expected to be perfect?”

“I believe you called it, when referring to your clothing, as being bulletproof.  Best if you hold to that in all things.”

“High standards,” Verona said.

Lucy looked up at Guilherme.  Her heart pounded, as if she was in danger, but every moment she was here, she also had that feeling like she’d forgotten to do her homework and the teacher was going to call on her any moment.

“Bracken wanted to learn from you.  A boy from the undercity.  I should tell him no.  He won’t like it,” she told him.

“If you would bring a student before me, I’d insist on a certain price,” Guilherme told Lucy.

“Which?”

“You’d learn at the same time.”

She frowned.

“You are still my student, as I noted moments ago.  Whether you’re in my company and learning passively or if you’re receiving hard instruction.  I wouldn’t let go of that.  I’d ask you to sever the tie between us yourself.”

Lucy thought about that for a second.

“I don’t think I’m the sort of person who could.”

“No.  I’ve set my stipulation.  I’ll teach him, but you should learn too.”

Lucy frowned.

“The house?” she asked.  “Tashlit’s there?”

“She is,” Grandfather said.

“How’s she doing?” Verona asked.

“I don’t know.  She seems fine.  The people in the house have adapted to her.”

“Cool.”

They entered the house, Lucy using her key.  John’s tag rattled at the end of the chain as she turned it in the lock.  She dropped it back inside her shirt.

Frig.  It’s a bit easier if I forget about him for a while, so the thoughts don’t nag at me, but then I feel guilty for disrespecting him.

Verona high-fived Tashlit as Tashlit came downstairs.

“How’s the house?” Verona asked.

Tashlit made a gesture, a downward motion near the ear.

“Quiet,” Verona translated.

“What about the wraiths and spirits?” Lucy asked.

Tashlit made a gesture Lucy recognized as ‘small’.

“Very little.”

“I gathered.”

“Yeah.”

“We wanted to ask a question,” Lucy told Tashlit.  “Can you gather the older, more capable boys and girls?”

Tashlit nodded, then went into the living room.  Here and there, she touched shoulders and heads.  She did a circuit around the ground floor, then went upstairs, finding only one girl.

“If you want it, and if you have the skills, there’s room for employment in the shared territory of the Witch and the School,” Lucy told them.  “You don’t have to fly their colors.  You won’t have to fight.  All they ask is that you can make things.  Any engineering ability is a big plus.  Any tailoring is nice, I think a good few of you have that.  You’d work at the Cinema.  They have game machines and events.  You’d be event staff.  Three hots, a cot, a shelter, decent pay, and she said you’d get five hundred tickets and three spins each.  To merch yourself, or count as a bonus.  I have no idea what that means.  You can leave anytime, but if you bail before the month is out, you have to return the merch.”

“Sounded like a good thing,” Verona added.

“So if you’re sick of this,” Lucy told them.  She motioned around the house.  “It’s something.  If you’d rather stay on this side, we’ll have to ask for your patience.  We’re still working things out.  There’s a lot going on in the background.”

“Who’s interested?” Verona asked.

Five girls out of eleven gathered girls and two boys stepped forward.

“Get yourselves to the Cinema tomorrow at noon.  They’ll have lunch for you,” Lucy said.  “Take tonight and tomorrow morning to get organized.”

The girls nodded.

“Be careful.  The Family Man is still out there.  Ask and we can send an escort.  We should be able to,” Lucy said.

“I’ll talk to the V.P.,” Verona added, glancing over.  “She’ll want to protect you too.”

“Skipping school again?” Lucy murmured.

Verona shrugged.

Lucy wasn’t sure what to say to that.

They finished sorting things out, Tashlit woke Reggie up and had him take over supervision duties, and then she followed them out.

Grandfather led them to Matthew, who was standing on the slope just by the bridge, watching the Family Man’s territory.  Lucy looked too.  In the gloom, it was hard to tell, but outdoor fires here and there shed light.  There was no power, many buildings had taken a beating, and numbers had badly dwindled.

She could even see that some people were sitting out on the slopes facing the Family Man’s territory, not far from where she’d played the guitar.  It was subtle, a matter of fifty feet and a shallow river that could be waded through in points, but they sat on this side now.  Not his side.

Lucy looked away from all of that.  She wanted to think it meant something, and she was worried that if she kept looking, she’d see something that ruined that.  For similar reasons, she didn’t want to dwell too hard on the fact Verona was pulling away from school, or that Guilherme was here and he scared her now.

“We’re going to reach out to Lis,” Lucy told Matthew.  “We’d appreciate the backup.”

“But we understand if you don’t want to,” Verona added.  “She won’t be alone.  She wouldn’t want to be vulnerable like that.  We don’t know what that means, but…”

“I do,” Matthew replied.  “I walked by the house.  Edith wasn’t there.”

Lucy frowned.

“I think they’re expecting you.”

“Damn,” Lucy whispered.

Matthew’s voice was low and quiet.  “I’ll come.  We may be approaching the Doom’s last days as an overwhelming presence.  In the coming days or weeks, it might not win every fight like it has been.  Even if my heart isn’t ready, I don’t think we’ll be as able to defend ourselves as we are right now.”

“What’s a quiet spot?” Lucy asked.

Verona extended a hand, winced, and then rubbed at her hand.

They walked down the length of the shore, until they reached a point where there were less good spots to sit on.  Lucy accidentally kicked her way past a campfire that had been put together on the rocks, scattering blackened bits of wood.

They passed a spot where the trees got close to the water, then reached another, more secluded spot of shore.

“Jeremy and I hang out here, in the other Kennet,” Verona told Lucy.  “Don’t steal my spot.”

“Wallace would have to have responded to my messages at least once this last week for me to bring him here… and I don’t think we would, if we could.”

“Hmm,” Verona made a sound, glancing at Tashlit.

They sorted themselves out.  Bags down, things arranged.  Tashlit’s eyes glowed in the gloom, and Lucy knew that Verona had her own message that she’d sent out that hadn’t got a response in a week.  She’d asked Tashlit to be her familiar.

Guilherme stood tall and unflinching, and depending on the angle Lucy looked at him in, he was terrifying and sharp in reality, broken and staring off into the distance with the weight of the past on him, or he was a hollowed out version of the mentor she remembered.  If she fuzzed her vision enough, taking parts from each angle she might look at him at, the old Guilherme was still there.

Matthew was different.  It wasn’t about angles, or his expression being unchanging but meaning way different things with slight shifts in light or context.  He looked confident and strong and maybe even more like himself than he’d been in the beginning, when the relationship had looked healthy.  Then a look would cross his face and the cracks would show.  Shortly after, he’d stand tall again.

And there was Grandfather.  Only a few years older than Matthew, apparently, but with gray shot through his temples, lines in his forehead and around his eyes telling a story that had never actually been written out in past events.  She’d been unfair to Grandfather.

“Lis,” Lucy called out.

“Lis,” Verona replied.

“Lis,” Matthew raised his voice.

The water of the river made a faint, steady sound.  Wind stirred the trees, knocking branch against branch, or making them rub together.  In the gloom, with so little light around, the dense woods were pitch black, as was the shore.

The Carmine Exile stepped out of the woods opposite them.  He hadn’t changed his outfit since the end of summer.  He was better, compared to the ailing health, thinning hair, and the relentless exhaustion of being forsworn, but unhappiness was still etched deep on his face.

“You’re not who we called,” Verona told him.

“Verona Julette Hayward,” he told her.  “I gainsay you for twenty-four hours time, for a falsehood this very evening.  You told your father you would get the laundry done later, with no intention of doing so.”

“That’s really weak, Chuck.”

“Lucille Ellingson.  I gainsay you for twenty-four hours time, for a falsehood yesterday evening.  You told Avery Kelly that you would deal with your boyfriend troubles.  But you’re not dealing with much at all, are you?”

“I reserve the right to argue my case,” Verona told him.

“You do.  You shouldn’t.”

“Rule of discourse, ‘done’ hasn’t meant actually ‘done’ in my house for a long, long time.”

“You are right.  I withdraw the gainsaying.  Then, Verona Julette Hayward, I gainsay you-”

“Hold on.  Don’t I get good karma for arguing my case successfully?”

“No.  That’s under my jurisdiction, and I grant you no such benefit.  I gainsay you for a statement made yesterday, for a duration of twenty-four hours.”

“I’m probably going to argue this one too, Chuck.”

“Ronnie,” Lucy said.  “Stop.”

“On that day, scouting the neighborhood, you declared that you were pretty sure the area was empty.  It was not and you recognized that.”

“Rule of rich omission, under rule of discourse.  The statement makes little sense unless you fill in the blank with what all listeners and I understood.  The statement was that the area was empty but the intention, given and understood, was to communicate how there were no people in the intersection and gathering point.”

“Indeed,” Charles said.  “Earlier that day…”

“I can fight you on this.”

“Verona,” Lucy urged, reaching for Verona’s arm.  She grabbed Verona’s coat sleeve and held it.  “He’ll keep going.  I remember.  The Carmine has access to… basically records.”

“I do,” Charles told them.  “I’m making it one day.  I won’t press further if you don’t.  But if you fight, and if you avoid this stipulation, Lis will not meet you.”

“Will this happen every time?” Matthew asked.

“If you wish to interact with Lis?  Yes.  I’ll protect the others, as required, if they ask.”

“What on earth do the Sable, Alabaster, and Aurum think of this?” Lucy asked.  “You’re so blatantly fucking around with fundamental things like karma and gainsaying.”

“The system is broken and crumbling.  Musser’s spread of territory makes that clear.  The fact I took the throne like I did makes it clear.  I asked them if they would let me make an attempt.  They said yes.  Had I asked on the second or the hundredth day on the Carmine Throne, they would have said no, but I made it clear this is what I am and what I represent.”

“You’re making it worse,” Lucy told him.

“We’ll see.”

“Gainsaying children?  For what?”

“My taking this throne was roughly a decade in the doing, while I was shackled with forswearance.  I saw it through.  Do you really think I have no plan?”

Lucy scowled.

“Now… will you submit, Verona Hayward?  Or will you walk away and give up on attempting to meet with the City Spirit of Kennet?”

Verona shook her head.  “Asshole.”

“I gainsay you, Verona Julette Hayward, for stating you could fight me.  By the many meanings of the word fight, you imply you have a chance at doing something, of beating me, of making a statement.  You don’t, you can’t, you won’t.  Any more than you can truly claim to fight a wall or fight a thunderstorm.  For this, I propose gainsaying-”

“Twelve hours,” Verona said.

“-you for twenty-four hours.  I won’t negotiate, and I won’t let you win that fight either.  Twenty four hours.  I limit this gainsaying to you and yourselves.  I won’t spoil your bindings or preparations.  I won’t foil you or your greater plans until you give me cause to.”

Verona looked off to the side.

“You’ve surrounded yourself with allies.  One who would be destroyed by gainsaying,” Charles said, looking at Grandfather.  He turned to Matthew.  “One who would let things loose that would destroy others.”

“Maybe you?” Matthew asked.

“No.  It’s weaker than me, Matthew.  You have another ally who would be brought to ruin, censured by his court, were I successful.”

“You have no guarantee you would be,” Guilherme told Charles.  “Unlike Verona, I would fight.”

“And you have one who cannot speak and thus cannot lie.  I won’t gainsay any of the four.  Instead, I lay a warning at the feet of you four Others of Kennet.  Abuse this grace I grant, and the two children suffer for it.”

“Is this really what you’ve become?” Matthew asked.  “I remember when you were kind.”

“These girls could die.  For twenty-four hours, they lack protections.  They are hostage to your good behavior.  I aim to spare many more children.  Things need to change, Matthew.  Your father did such cruelty to you when you were small.  You remember.  There are others who do worse and I am witness to it, I can remember it going back to dates I did not live to experience.  It must change.”

Matthew growled, “I thought there was something noble in you while you bore the weight of a fate every sane practitioner fears.  I was wrong.  You did such evil.  And now, having succeeded off the back of that evil, I can confidently say you’re a maggot of a man, Charles Abrams.”

“And I can hear you and know it to be a truth to you,” Charles answered.  “Knowing the contempt to the extent I do, it cuts deep.  You could keep going, keep cutting, but it won’t matter any.  So save your breath.  I have work to do, and you had business with Lis.”

“John and Ken deserved better.”

“Perhaps when I’m done, the other Johns and Kens of the world will get what they deserve.  Lis knows, she’s coming.  She won’t be alone.  They’ll take time to arrive.”

Then, like a candle that had been snuffed out, he was gone.  Faint shades of red that had bounced off his coat, beard, and hair to touch nearby trees and ground lingered, like he’d fucking stained the fucking clearing.

The fucker.

She tried to See, to look for context, clues, anything, and she couldn’t.

Lucy heaved out a hard breath, then sat down, her back to a tree.

She looked over at Verona, who was getting out her booklets.  Scooting over, Lucy sat by her friend.  After a bit, she reached over to help steady the sketchpad, and leaned a head on Verona’s shoulder.

When was the last time they’d been like this?  No magic?  No other stuff?  When was the last time she’d hung out with Verona, just to have each other’s company, with nothing hanging over them, or nothing dangerous waiting in the wings?  Where she’d hang out with Verona and watch Verona draw, and talk about random things?

It felt like it had been much, much longer ago than last May.

She watched as Verona sketched the fuller version of what she’d started on earlier.

Sixteen shrines, extending between three realms.  Their Kennet, as it had always been.  A knotted Kennet, reflecting dark desires and inherent danger.  And another Kennet, founded.  A Lost Kennet, that would draw in Lost things, and Others, and strays.  More than they had been.  The likes of Montague, and Tashlit.

“I thought maybe at first, we could have Avery try it.  She told me about the Jounce.  But that would be too slow,” Verona murmured.

Lucy, head still on Verona’s shoulder, nodded.

“Do you think Miss would be willing to sacrifice something else, to get back a shot at doing what she really wants?” Verona asked.

“Making Kennet into something else?”

“Yeah.”

“She’d have to become something, I think.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe, then.”

“And here,” Verona said.

“I remember that from the last drawing.  I set something up to be a bridge between Kennet above and the Undercity.  A demesne?”

“Or something.  A declared role.  Something symbolic we each manage.  Avery eventually covers Kennet above and Lost Kennet.  And I cover the Undercity and Lost Kennet,” Verona whispered.  Her pen flew over the page, sketching things out.  Decorations at the edge of the image, faint lines tying elements to the shrines.

“That’s a pretty big thing to pull off.”

“That’s what I said.”

Verona kept working.  Her pen didn’t go still, until it was pretty clear that it was nervous energy at work.

“Easy,” Lucy urged her, quiet.  She wasn’t sure why she was being so quiet.  It wasn’t like she had much to hide from the bodyguards they’d brought.

Verona’s pen stopped moving.

“I don’t want to go home without practice.”

“Are you using it?” Lucy asked.  “Connection blocks?  Something to bind your dad, or-?”

“No.  Sometimes, but no, not like you’re thinking.”

“Okay,” Lucy said, head still at Verona’s shoulder.  She sighed.  “I thought he was a bit better.”

“He is.  It still helps to know I could if I needed to.”

“Okay.  Do you want to stay over?”

“Please.”

“You got it.”

Verona’s pen stabbed the paper a few times.  She turned the page, then turned back to the filled sketch page, with its three circles filled in, ringed by the shrines and the shorthand marks for each spirit, like the bundles of twigs and twine they sometimes used to carry them around, like tiny shrines.

“Should we ask?  It’s all for nothing if she says no.”

Lucy nodded, then, thinking about Avery, leaned to one side, away from Verona, to get access to her phone.  She took a picture and texted Avery, then filled in with an update of what had happened so far.

“Miss,” Verona called out.  “Miss.  Miss.”

The words went out into darkness.

“Your words don’t mean anything right now, not in a way Others or practice will take note of,” Matthew said.

“Thought I’d try.”

The message came back from Avery.

Avery:
interested. keep me updated.

“Miss,’ Matthew called out.  “Miss.  Miss.”

She stepped out of the trees behind Lucy.  “You’re gainsaid?”

“He made it a condition of seeing Lis,” Matthew replied, sounding unhappy.

“How long?”

“A day,” Lucy replied.

Verona tore the page out and handed it up to Miss.  Lucy didn’t see the hand that took the paper.

“You’d become a founder.  Bringing enough Lost things to one place that it starts to become Lost.  We know it’s asking a lot,” Lucy told Miss, looking up.  “You’d be becoming part of something.  I know that always scared you.  But you could get something too.  Another shot, maybe?  With a bonus that right now, just about everyone who matters is either distracted by Musser… or is Musser.”

“A step removed from everything, playing into the knotting, still able to benefit from humanity, or benefit humanity.  To be a sanctuary.  To be a step… or two steps removed, depending on how we work in access, from the big systems.”

“With the cost that I’d be tying myself to a ship that may well be sinking,” Miss observed.

“And,” a voice said.  “Certain permissions are required.”

It was Lis.

She looked more like Lis than she had before.  If ‘Lis’ had looked like anything.  Less like Ken.  She looked like Nettie, a bit more grown up.  Tired.  Maybe an ex-addict, trying to get her life together.  She was dressed like she was going to a job interview, but hadn’t ever really gotten used to dressing like she was, and so she looked deeply uncomfortable in the black sweater with the white collar poking out of it, the black skirt, and the dark pantyhose.  But the shadow she cast was something else entirely.  Dangerous, moving independently of her.

Edith was right behind her.  Her eyes went to Matthew, then looked away.  She looked pissed.

And then there was Maricica.  She didn’t fly in, but walked instead, wing wrapped around her in a more ornate way than Lucy had seen before.

Charles had had lines in his face and the women here didn’t look much different.  Each tired in their own way.

Miss returned the paper to Verona.

“What would you want?” Miss asked.

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