The only thing worse than waiting for the starting gun to go off is waiting for the starting gun to go off knowing it could fire when you’re not in position to run.
So much to do. She finished stuffing a spare sweater into her bag, opened her door, and passed her dad, who was ranting at her, still, while standing in the hallway.
“Verona,” he said.
She held up a finger, then closed the bathroom door, locking it.
“I expect more of you,” he said, through the door.
“Just give me a moment, geez!” she shouted back at him. “Give a girl some privacy.”
She leaned over the counter, sweating slightly. It was that annoying sort of temperature out where if she wore a sweater and jacket out, she’d sweat with the slightest activity, but if she wore only the sweater, and if she wasn’t active, she’d be chilly.
She had to get ready. She wet her hands and sorted out her hair, pausing to watch a plastic tube work its way across the counter like an earthworm with a broken spine, its back half paralyzed. Lifting up its body, reaching out, landing, then dragging itself an inch forward.
It twisted to look at her and grinned with a lot of uneven white teeth. It spoke in a grating voice, “I know how to kill people.”
“That’s great, little plastic tube, but can you tell me if you’re toothpaste?” She reached for it and pulled her hand back as it snapped. “Not real not real not real.”
She made herself grab it, ignoring the gnashing. She turned it over a couple of times, examining the exterior, then squished it a bit, testing the feel. Uncapping it, she gave it a sniff.
“Chemical murder and merriment,” it whispered.
Probably toothpaste.
“Sure,” she muttered. She put it aside, then went for other things. Her cat toothbrush, trembling case of deodorant, and… toothpaste? The tube of toothpaste burbled at her.
“Put me on your skin,” the toothpaste told her, and it sounded very reasonable to her.
She looked down at the bitey tube. She was starting to see how easy it could be to substitute the wrong thing in ‘everyday’ chemistry and chemical use. She’d almost bagged it, and might’ve if it had been the last thing.
She stowed her toiletries in her now very full bag, putting them atop a spare sweater and changes of clothes.
She stepped out into the hallway.
Her dad picked up right where he’d left off. “I need you to do something in the way of laundry. Not just your own laundry, either. You’re a member of this household.”
“Later, maybe.”
Her dad followed her down the stairs. “I know you think you have the golden ticket, the child service workers wrapped around your finger. I don’t know what you told them-”
“The truth,” Verona said. She got some crackers, cheese, and a can of cranberry juice.
“Boil me down into syrup and mix me with a cup of kerosene and the insulation sheeting I heard was stacked downstairs,” the cranberry juice told Verona. “Until it stops dissolving, then add blood-”
Verona dropped it into her bag. Her dad had been talking, but the voices had overlapped. She turned to him and asked, “Huh?”
“You told child service workers the same kind of ‘truth’ you told your teachers in fifth and sixth grade?”
“That makes no sense.”
“Dishes, Verona. The sink is full. You walked right past it without a glance.”
The soap hissed like an angry cat, the shape of it deforming as if it was trying to wriggle its way closer to her. It bared fangs at her.
“Maybe later,” she replied. “I just got out of school, I’m going to go do some other stuff. I think I’ll get my own dinner.”
He stepped into the doorway between the kitchen and the hallway, filling the doorway. “The leaves need to be raked and bagged up, and unlike you, I actually don’t have the time to do ‘other stuff’. You have to do something.”
“Are you seriously blocking me from leaving?” Verona asked.
“I’m trying to get you to stand still for a few minutes so I can talk to you and be a parent.”
The ground floor was divided into quarters, with front hall, living room, dining room and kitchen, respectively, going clockwise, and because each room connected to the two adjoining rooms, Verona could circle around to the dining room, then the living room, toward the hallway her dad was otherwise blocking.
Her dad moved to the doorway, blocking the way between living room and the front hall, instead. Whichever door she went to, he’d block. “Please, Verona. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. Things need doing, the house is getting dirtier, laundry and dishes are piling up, and if we don’t get the leaves done they’ll rot and kill the grass by spring. I do not have the time. It’s crunch week at work right now. I should be there now, but I needed to check in with you. I don’t know what I’m meant to do.”
“Do something different?” she asked, shrugging, backing up a step. “Because this sounds- it’s just how things always are. How big a priority is this? The leaves, the dishes…?”
“It’s getting close to a ten out of ten priority, Verona.”
“Because-” she shook her head, a little agitated now. “Because no, that’s exactly it. You treat it like an eight out of ten or a nine or a ten out of ten so often, and you get mad or sad at me and it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters, it’s a reality that these are things that we’ll always have to do. Cleaning up, taking care of a place. It’s a cycle. You put things off until they’re bad and then it feels overwhelming- to both of us.”
“No. It’s- you treat it like an emergency, but if I do it, it doesn’t matter to you, you just ask me to do more-”
“Because that’s what life is!” he raised his voice, but it wasn’t shout-y. There was a waver to it. His expression crumpled, his eyes taking on some moisture. “Why does this always have to be a struggle? Why can’t you just help out? I can’t- I’m so, so alone in all of this, Verona. At work, at home.”
She fell silent. Maybe the back door?
Ugh. She’d have to hop the fence.
“I have no help, I have nobody. I thought I at least had you, a bright, beautiful daughter with so much unrealized potential. But you’ve given up, and that terrifies me.”
“I haven’t given up. I just don’t care about this.”
“Why!?” he asked. A shout this time. Then he shifted over to a more mournful tone, voice breaking, “It’s moments like this where I miss having someone. Someone to hold me, hug me, shoulder some of this. This is too hard. It’s so hard.”
The lighting in the front hallway changed. Verona looked over, and saw the silhouette.
“Give me something, Verona. I feel like I’m breaking. I know I’m not perfect, I know I failed you, but I’m struggling. I have nothing going for me in my life right now, I can’t even come home and relax, it always has to be a struggle.”
He started crying, standing there in the doorway. Afternoon sun came in through the big living room window, making the wet tracks glow.
Verona didn’t reply, didn’t budge. She just felt awkward.
Behind him, Lucy peered past, a concerned look on her face.
“Ready to go?” Verona asked.
“Yeah, I guess,” Lucy replied.
Her dad looked up, half turned, then looked away quickly, wiping at his eyes and face to clear them of the tracks of tears.
“Excuse me,” Verona said.
Her dad put a had on her shoulder. “Wait.”
The hand was heavy. Verona resisted the urge to shrug it off.
“Where’s my wallet?” her dad asked. “I’ll give you money for dinner.”
“I’ve got some.”
“Let me,” he said.
He went into the kitchen, and unzipped his bag, where he kept his wallet. Verona half-followed. For every two steps he took, she took one, wary.
“Here. Try to eat something healthy. I guess I’ll go in to work and eat there.” He was forcing himself to sound normal.
“Okay,” she said. She took the twenty-five dollars.
He leaned in a bit. “Tell me the next time your friends are coming by, so they don’t see me like that.”
It was such a weird moment, holding the money in her hand, him saying that.
So she didn’t respond at all. She stuck the money in a pocket.
“Dishes later? Leaves too, please? Maybe?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she replied.
“Have fun.”
She grabbed her bag, joined Lucy, looked back at her dad, frowning, and momentarily turned on her Sight to make sure everything was normal. It was. Well, ‘normal’.
Her dad started doing the dishes. It felt like he was doing it to make her feel sorry for him, but how screwed up was that feeling?
She drew her eyebrows together and kept them together as she hurried down the stairs to where Lucy waited.
“Everything okay?” Lucy asked.
“I guess. Got my stuff. Few changes of clothes, just in case, some snacks, some batteries. That cursed brass heart is sorta fucking with me, though.”
“How bad?”
“Not all that bad. But I might need someone to help me watch things so I don’t brush my teeth with my dad’s ANUSolution cream.”
“Uhhh. What the hell, Ronnie?”
“He says it’s to get rid of the bags under his eyes, but I don’t believe him. Anyway, it’s hard to read labels and stuff and some of these things sound really compelling. Gets even more intense if I start mixing ’em or whatever.”
“I’ll help watch out but I’ve got stuff to do. Be careful?”
“Yeah.”
“Was everything really okay back there?”
“Few items whispering at me and telling me how to do dangerous alchemy with household items, but that’ll pass.”
Lucy hadn’t been asking about the brass heart stuff. Verona knew that. But when it came to other stuff, she wasn’t sure what answer to give. Something in her felt offended that her dad had acted like that once he’d known there was someone listening and watching.
They walked for a bit. That weird moment with her dad lingered behind them.
“We have an assignment due in a few days,” Lucy said.
“Yeah?”
“It’s pretty major. Mrs. Morehouse has brought it up five times but I’m not sure you were in class any of those times.”
“I think I was once. I was like, what? What is this?”
“Your fetch got the handout but I’m not sure if that got lost in the shuffle.”
“How big a deal is this? Most of these can be done the night before, right?”
“We’re getting pretty close to the night before.”
“Hmm.”
“I can lend you the sheet with the assignment instructions. It’s something to do when you’re not busy with everything else.”
“Ugggghh. How big a percentage of our grade is it?”
“Uhhh, something like fifteen percent, if I remember right? You could bomb the assignment but I don’t think you could bomb it and keep skipping class like you have been.”
“Want to make twenty-five bucks?” Verona asked, smiling to let Lucy know she was joking.
“Ha ha.”
“Wouldn’t it be funny if Peckersnot was a genius in social studies?”
“I don’t think so, Ronnie.”
“I’m buying you dinner, by the way. I owe you for yesterday.”
“Cool. Shawarma?”
“Mmm, with garlic sauce.”
The water level was low enough they could take a shortcut across the river, navigating across the rocks that jutted up and over the water, which was only a few feet across in places, as it dipped into a crevice and gushed out below. They passed some kids who were throwing a ball for their very large dog, tossing it onto the slope and letting it bounce down. The dog ran up, failed to get to the ball before it bounced, then ran down.
It veered hard toward Verona and Lucy. Verona went still, backing up a bit, while Lucy gave it pets and told it how great a dog it was.
Verona let Lucy have the moment, scratching the dog behind the ears, and stepped on the ball to keep it from rolling down into the water.
When the dog came for her, she kicked the ball away, giving it something to chase. The kids called it back.
“I thought you liked dogs okay.”
“I like small dogs, and medium dogs. Not huge dogs.”
“Ahhh.”
They cut past the trees and reached the House on Half Street. Verona picked some wards off the trees as she went, to conserve power and leave the way clear for anyone to drop by.
Not that it was necessary. Mallory was standing by the front door, hands in her pockets, looking like there was a snake crawling up her back or something. Verona’s tattoo artist friend from the Undercity seemed to be supremely uncomfortable and restless. She’d worn a jacket, which left only the tattoo at the side of her neck and one that was visible through the hole in the knee of her jeans. The one on her knee looked like it could have been a tiger taking a dump, or the head of a woman with hair in her face.
“You’re here already,” Verona noted.
“It’s not like I’m doing anything. We had classes but it’s all very optional.”
“Why are you freaking out?” Verona asked.
“Dunno. Something about this place.”
“Did you lose the paper I gave you? The permission slip?”
Mallory glanced to one side. “Maybe.”
“Okay well… that’s why. I warded off innocents, aimed for a ‘I shouldn’t be here’ sort of feeling, and I guess you count enough for that.”
“Turn it off?”
“I can give you permission,” Verona said. “Just need a good surface to write on. Let’s go inside. I’ll have to change the wards in case one of my enemies got the slip, you know.”
“Sorrrrry,” Mallory replied, not sounding very sorry.
“Find your way okay?” Lucy asked.
“Yeah. Bit weird being over here. Old lady thought it was a regular pen drawing on my neck here, got all flustered at me about how a young lady needs to mind how she presents herself and not scribble all over herself. Is that a thing here?”
Verona fished for her key.
“Happens, I guess,” Lucy said.
“That’s so annoying. You live in a hell world filled with sanctimonious assholes and regular assholes.”
“I don’t think I disagree all that much,” Lucy replied.
Verona unlocked the door.
“I told her to go huff a cunt, and she looked like she was going to have a heart attack.”
“Try not to give old ladies heart attacks, okay?” Verona asked. “There are rules, I can’t give you a pass because you’re a friend.”
“Sure, whatever.”
A week ago Mallory might have argued on the ‘friend’ part. Felt good.
“It’s so wild that you got a house. Even if it’s run down,” Lucy commented.
“Run down?” Mallory asked, hugging her arms around her body, still looking as if bugs were crawling on her. “I’d kill to have a place like this. Just point me at the person, I’ll do a little murder. I’m currently living with my stepmom and it’s like, give me my own space, right?”
“How does that even work?” Lucy asked. “You just materialized into existence and you have a stepmom? Why not a regular mom?”
“Because my mom is dead, jerk,” Mallory told Lucy.
“Uh,” Lucy stumbled a bit, glancing at Verona.
“I’m kidding, she’s dead but I don’t care, you’re fine,” Mallory said. She rubbed vigorously at her arms. “But my stepmom is a massive pain. Runs a daycare and a kennel. She does this thing she calls brown milk and feeds the babies and dogs from this big trough of milk mixed with dog food twice a day. If the constant crying and barking wasn’t bad enough, mannn, you would not believe the farts the brown milk gives the dogs, or what baby shit is like when they’re drinking milk with dog food dissolved in it.”
Verona cackled. She set her bag down, shucked off her jacket, and got some paper out, scribbling out the inversion of the anti-innocent ward. She put it in a diamond and drew lines from the diamond’s points to the four sides of the notecard. She gave it to Mallory, and Mallory immediately relaxed.
Mallory went on, “I can’t work on my art while I’m home. It sucks. A place all of your own? You’ve got it good.”
“It’s nice,” Verona said. She turned to Lucy. “Matthew paid for some. I might be doing the ritual, but I do want it to be your space too. Even after you carve out a demesne of your own, if you do.”
“Thanks,” Lucy said. “I’m still a bit intimidated at the notion of what this is going to end up looking like.”
“I’ve got a lot to do to get this place prepped. Mal, did you maybe have a chance to go…?”
“To this spot, on the undercity side of things? It’s occupied.”
“Okay. Occupied like this is easy, scare ’em off? Occupied like I gotta negotiate with them? Or occupied like-”
“Stuck-arounds.”
“-I gotta fight them.”
“Yeah.”
“We could get some of the goblins on it,” Lucy suggested. “We’ve got a bunch who’re in town now. Toadswallow’s crew. I think they’re bored, which is a bad combination.”
“I should do it myself. I think that’s important. Maybe I’ll bring help.”
“‘Kay.”
Verona got the makeshift tattoo gun she’d rigged up for Mallory, and handed it over.
“Thankee,” Mal replied.
“Up for sticking around, doing some labor? I’m not sure where my usual assistant is, I’m guessing he slept in.”
“Peck?” Lucy asked.
Verona nodded. “I’ll buy food to feed you too, Mal.”
“I’m in,” Mal said. “Gets me away from my stepmom. Now that you mention it, that whole materialized into existence thing, she’s really only as old as I am, huh? I wonder if I could use that.”
“That materialization thing is a question that leads to questions that make my head spin,” Lucy said.
“Actually!” Verona told her, as she got her books off the bookshelf she’d adjusted on one of her first days here. “I was reading up on some of these weird intersections we get with certain kinds of Other. Part of the summoning stuff we got from Chuck’s stash, as it happens. Thought maybe it relates to Mal and the rest.”
“The undercity denizens aren’t quite Other though.”
“But they’re not quite normal human either,” Verona pointed out.
“Maybe we’re what humans used to be and you’re the ones who got weird,” Mal countered.
Verona considered for a moment. “Interesting hypothesis.”
“You’re talking in a way that makes me want to punch you again.”
“I’m in my lab! If I can’t talk fancy here, when can I? Anyway, okay, so what I was reading suggests there are all these fun intersections of echo, animus, spirit, and so on…”
Mallory made a snoring sound.
“…You’ve got your animus, like the Dog Tags, or Zed’s Librarian friend. They’re this role that the universe likes to default to. Dog Tags act in service of War, Nina is a book lover, collector and sharer of information. Right? Echoes are imprints we leave behind after moments of high emotion. Ghosts, basically, but don’t think they have to come from dying. And vestiges?”
Lucy picked up the prompt, “People or things that are incomplete.”
“Yep. Usually the product of a practice that eats away at spirit, Self, soul, or a bad and unfinished construction of a person. Common on the Paths, which Avery is familiar with, common effect of curses, which you’re more familiar with, or Hyde alchemy, halflight practices, hosting like Matthew does, or trying to bring someone back from the dead and getting them alive but not whole…”
“Incomplete people,” Lucy repeated. “Or objects, places.”
“If you want to be reductive. With us so far?” Verona asked Mallory.
“Don’t bother trying to explain to me,” Mallory said. “You lost me from the word hypothesis.”
“That was a whole different line of conversation,” Lucy told Mallory.
“And yet here I am. Lost.”
“Anyway!” Verona interrupted. “Heroic entities are kind of a mix of all three. They make a mark on history, leave a whole big beautiful picture of emotions around them, that’s the echo part. They get recorded by history and in the public memory as this big role they played. The conqueror, the betrayer, the genius. That’s the Animus part. But obviously the picture is incomplete, which gives us the…”
“Vestige part,” Lucy finished.
“And because power has to go somewhere, it bleeds out into family lines, which gets into patterns, seventh son of a seventh son being like mini-heroes…”
“Which is pretty icky when it becomes a justification for superior bloodlines or whatever,” Lucy said. “Lots of debate on that. Feels like something the Musser family would be into.”
“Yep, but, here’s the thing, if you think of people calling on some old Cardinal who tried to kill the pope or something, sure, it’s basically a whole lot of history and old emotion filling in this role. Like pouring molten metal into a sword-shaped hole. And the we’ve got these guys…”
Verona indicated Mallory, hand out.
“Am I getting paid for sitting here for this?” Mallory asked.
“You’re getting a shawarma in an hour or two,” Verona said, hand still out.
“Okay, I guess.”
Verona dropped her hand.
“What’s this about?” Lucy asked. “Heroes and Mallory?”
“I am a legend waiting to be told,” Mallory said.
Verona explained, “I was thinking maybe the average undercity manifestations are a different mix of vestige, echo, hero. Maybe not emotion from the past so much as… unresolved stuff in the present. And there’s a whole lot of sword shaped holes to pour this molten metal into.”
“Is this a sex thing?” Mallory asked. “Swords and holes?”
“Kinda?” Verona replied. “Talking about where you came from. That’s a bit of a swords and holes, birds and bees thing, I guess? I gotta tell you, those old magic textbooks and stuff? They love comparing swords and dicks.”
“I guess even wizards get horny.”
Verona cackled.
“I’d think you’d be more interested in the subject, considering,” Lucy said. “Origins.”
Mallory shrugged. She turned on the tattoo gun and grinned. “It works. Feels powerful, grrrrrr.”
“Of course it works. Anyway, there’s less animus in there. Less defined, super clear roles, you know? Like, maybe with the V.P., Family Man, Foreman, Bitter Street Witch, some of the gray sheep, you get more of a predetermined role that gets exaggerated?”
“I could see it,” Lucy replied. “With the roles distorted a bit because the mold is warped?”
Verona nodded.
“I’m wondering who you could talk to to sound out your ideas.”
“Bristow studied this junk.”
“Yeah, but Bristow isn’t really around, is he? Tymon?”
“Zed?” Verona asked. “It’s just a thought.”
“People pay for good thoughts in this world,” Lucy replied.
Verona went to fill a glass of water from the tap, flipping the metal tab.
“Uh, Ronnie?”
Lucy reached out to stop Verona from drinking.
“But you’re so thirsty,” the glass of ‘water’ hissed at her. “Drink.”
I am thirsty.
Verona looked back at the water tap and the little dispenser of sink cleaner right next to it.
“Mallory, was it?” Lucy asked.
“Yeah. Mal.”
“Additional job for you,” Lucy said. “You double check everything Verona eats, drinks, or uses to clean herself.”
“Additional job, additional pay?” Mallory asked.
“I’ll give you a minor curse to put on someone. With restrictions that they have to be a real asshole who deserves it.”
“Badass.”
“It’ll fade soon,” Verona told Lucy. To Mallory, she explained, “I’m a little bit cursed.”
“That’s cool,” Mallory said.
“How did you even get through today?” Lucy asked.
“It was interesting. But let’s not dwell on that-”
“Can’t we?”
“What I was saying before, about having a hole that we’re pouring the forging material into? Well, that’s basically what we’re looking to do with summoning, like Charles’ old practice. Forging a temporary existence by deciding what shape we want it to take and then providing the contents. Let me show you.”
Verona took the other two around to the living room. She made a point of not using the part of the floor where the Carmine Furs had been deposited for so long, and had Mallory lie down.
She drew a chalk outline around Mallory’s body, then gave Mallory a hand in standing.
The effort required both hands, and her hand twinged badly in the aftermath of it. She rubbed at it. “Bit still has to be done before we can use this as a mold to pour things into. But a general human outline is a starting point.”
They stood there, looking down at the outline. Verona bent down a few times, and made notations at set points. The crown of the head, the brow, the throat, and so on. Tossing a meter-long ruler down onto the ground, she quickly drew out some lines and framing. When she straightened, she, Lucy, Mallory, and Peckersnot were looking down, looking varying amounts of confused and satisfied.
Peckersnot, hands on his hips, was nodding, looking more satisfied than any of them. He was controlling his breathing.
Verona lightly poked him in the butt with the toe of her boot, making him stumble a few steps. “You, little guy, are acting like you were here all along, but you only just arrived, didn’t you?”
He tried to look innocent, but when he opened his mouth to make a sound of protest, he let out a heavy breath, and resumed panting.
“Yeah, thought so.”
“Hello again, little rat thing,” Mallory said.
Lucy put her bag down, and got out her books. She passed Verona a sheet. “I need that back.”
It was the instructions for the assignment, due Friday.
Title page and everything else should be in the MLA format. Everything besides the title page and hand-out should be in twelve point font, Times New Roman, single spaced, one-inch margins. Your name, the title of the paper, and page number should appear in headers.
Use the knowledge organizer on the hand-out to make notes on each of the categories of Self-Government discussed in class. Keep to one or two bullet points for each category. This should be no less than one page and no longer than two pages in length and should demonstrate a thorough understanding of the topics. This will be included in the packet you will hand in, just after the title page.
Use the textbook resources and website links to read through the ninety-four Calls to Action from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s report. Identify five that you feel are essential to the principle of Self-Government. In no less than six pages and no more than seven pages, write an essay explaining your reasoning. Cite sources to support your arguments and list those sources in a bibliography as the last page of the packet.
This is worth 15% of your final grade. A full grade is assumed to begin with and at least 1 out of that 15 will be deducted for each formatting error, insufficiently supported or cited arguments, incorrectly formatted entries in the bibliography, or instructions not followed on this sheet. Ask if you have any questions, but excuses and questions should be extended at least twenty-four hours before the due date.
Verona gave Lucy a disgusted look.
“Lemme see?” Mallory asked.
Verona showed her. Mallory read it.
“You live in a hell world.”
Lucy frowned. “People literally get murdered in the street where you live. Your stepmom feeds babies dog food.”
“But we’re mostly free until we die,” Mallory said, arms spread wide, before dropping back onto the love seat by the window. Dust plumed up around her.
Lucy shook her head and got her stuff sorted out, zipping up her bag.
“You look like you’re getting ready to leave,” Verona observed.
“Yeah. Going to see Rook, Bracken and Guilherme, then I’ll swing by on my way back. I’ll do the project tonight. Maybe here?”
“I was thinking I’d have Jeremy over again.”
Lucy’s eyebrows went up.
“Woo,” Mal commented, quietly.
“There’s a lot to do and I think it’s important to do- making the time for Jeremy in the midst of that.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Maybe I’ll get him to work on the project with me.”
“That’s a good plan, if you actually do any work. So you’ll be here late, then?”
“Yeah, uh, actually, while you’re here…” Verona got out a card. “Little tweaks to the fetch. I’ll stay here overnight. I’ll get more done.”
“Okay.”
Verona scribbled down the notations from memory, with some adjustments so the fetch would do the nighttime routine.
Thinking about her dad at the sink, she added some chores onto the to-do list. It was dangerous, when having the fetch act too against the grain for her usual self could erode it.
It wouldn’t fall apart right in front of her dad, but it wasn’t impossible that it could collapse into a pile of sticks with some clothing strewn around, while he was just around the corner.
“Got it,” Lucy said, taking the paper. “I’ll deploy it late. Let me know where Jeremy’s at, so he doesn’t cross paths with fetch-Verona on his way to meet you here.”
“Good call.”
“Keep me up to date on what you’re doing. Maybe save the cool summoning stuff for when I come by for dinner.”
“Alright.”
Lucy left.
“Peckersnot, meet Mallory. She does tattoos, I know that’s your jam. Mallory, this little guy likes drawing, and he’s amazing. Become friends.”
“You can’t just tell us to-”
“Be friends.”
Mallory sighed, and looked down at Peckersnot, who waved.
Verona was sweating. The sheer amount she had to do, the lack of time- it transcended that tricky balance of jackets being too warm for activity and sweaters being too cold for inactivity. She shucked off the sweater, now wearing only a tee, and pushed hair away from her face, looking down. “Mallory, do me a favor, get me some water? And double check what I’m doing, in case the cursed heart thing acts up?”
“Sure,” Mallory said. She got up, and sighed again as Peckersnot grabbed onto her pants leg, going along for the ride as she walked.
“There are a few key components for the summoning. If we assume there might not be enough material, what we might need is a hardener, something that will let it act a bit like a vestige does.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Thinking out loud. Basically, if you go through the steps of making a vestige, intentionally or otherwise, take enough out of a person, they can crumble, or you can end up with a person that’s only twenty-five percent there, hollowed out, whatever. Which usually happens because power. Now, I’ve got power, but there are other routes to take. Like providing raw material, or providing something shaped like a human, that helps guide the energies to where they need to be, so it counts where it needs to count.”
“Uh huh.” Mallory shook her leg a bit to try to get Peckersnot off. He hung on. “Do you want me to pretend to listen or do you want that water?”
“Walk with me. Ideally, we’d go with both the raw material and human shape. And we put this in the diagram, on the crown, brow, throat, heart, upper and lower stomach, or the woohoo. It doesn’t give much, except for the guidelines it provides. Bit of a sacrifice to one major area, but we’re doing this in easy mode.”
Mallory got the water.
Verona took it, drank greedily, then went to her alchemy setup. She undid a clasp and pulled out a glass container with a bulbous bottom and a wide top. In the bottom of the container was the remnants of yesterday evening’s work. The failed homunculus.
“Looks a bit like burned Burger Buddy, but it’s kind of humanoid, and it’s pretty much distilled material.”
Verona wasted no time. She knew that at any moment, Miss could arrive and tell her it was time. Whatever she could get done between now and then could make or break things. She finished the water, clapped it down on the dining room table as she passed it, and went back to the drawing on the floor.
“That eyeball girl with the name I can’t remember is here!” Mallory called up.
Verona had to clear her throat and concentrate, “Send Tashlit up!”
The old stairs creaked. The House on Half Street carried a vague sense that it was old enough it could collapse in a strong wind, and that feeling was more pronounced on the second floor.
Tashlit poked her head up over the top of the stairs, looking across the open-concept upstairs, where there was only the bathroom sectioned off.
“Heyy,” Verona greeted her friend. She sat against the wall, head down, left hand pressed hard between her knees. “Would’ve greeted you at the door, but-”
The pain felt like a car was backing slowly over her hand, catching her between pavement and tire. It made her entire arm jerk.
Tashlit approached, and put a hand on Verona’s head to steady herself as she dropped down to a kneel. She reached out.
“No. I think we might need what you’ve got for whatever comes next.”
Tashlit motioned, then gestured.
Verona relented. Her hand had all four fingertips and thumb touching, and shook like someone had taken her arm and was jiggling it. Tashlit pressed her hand between two of her own. Narrow fingers covered in dark eyeballs with yellow irises were cool to the touch, while the loose skin was spongy and warmer.
The irises of the eyes across Tashlit’s body began to glow.
Verona could feel those eyes looking inside her hand, looking with an intensity that cut through the pain.
“Doesn’t fix it,” Verona said.
Tashlit shook her head. Then she gestured.
“It does help, yeah,” Verona said. She smiled, and flexed her hand. It hurt, but the hurt was now only the pain of having squeezed and strained her hand. The twinges had subsided for now.
She stood. Tashlit helped. Verona’s shirt clung to her, and she shivered now.
“Set me behind. Stupid hand. You sticking around?”
Tashlit gestured. Tapping the watch spot of her wrist, then grasping each of her wrists with the other hand.
“Refugee shift?”
Tashlit nodded. Then she gestured again.
“No, not for anything major. You do that. You’ll back me up if things kick off, though?”
Tashlit nodded.
“Need some water.”
The two of them went downstairs.
“Hey,” Verona told Tashlit. “Just putting it out there, but if this entire thing goes according to plan-”
Tashlit picked up Verona’s sweater. Verona pulled it on again, still shivering. “-You think you might want to move in? Bit more spacious than the one-room cabin you’ve got.”
Tashlit shrugged.
“If this works out, anyway,” Verona said.
Tashlit went to get her water. Verona went back to the work she’d put on pause while her hand acted up. From the living room, she could see Mallory and Peckersnot at the table, drawing and talking.
She smiled a bit at that scene. Verona realized she’d been rubbing at her palm when Tashlit returned with the water and she had to stop.
“Hey!” Mallory called out.
“Yeah?”
“This rasp. What’s it for? I asked this little guy but he can’t talk.”
“You going through my stuff?” Verona asked.
“It was just lying there. I didn’t touch it.”
“You could call it a tattoo remover.”
“No shit?”
“It’d remove the tattoo by removing most of your skin.”
“Shit! That’s cool.”
“Don’t use it on Peckersnot. Little guy only just recently got over his injuries from the cat lady house.”
“Cat lady house?” Mallory asked, but she was asking Peckersnot. “What’s that about?”
Peckersnot peeped and chattered unintelligibly, drawing cats on the papers that were spread out over the dining room table.
Tashlit shivered visibly.
“Sorry,” Verona said.
She went through her stuff, sorting out the clothes she’d have for tomorrow and maybe the next day, setting aside the toiletries- the hallucinations from the brass heart were dying down now. Some wriggling, but nothing to suggest they had an intelligence.
She’d put the arrangements of twig and twine into a cardboard box meant for pencil crayons, and now she slid them out. Standing over the summoning diagram, she placed a couple down experimentally, to try to imagine what it might look like. “Local spirits could help out, wouldn’t cost them much, and they could go back to business as usual after.”
It was an impossible challenge. She had to make a claim, and that claim would be followed by anyone and everyone in the wider area getting a chance to interrupt that claim. She had to prepare for anything and everything, but she didn’t have that kind of time.
“Any word on Lucy?”
Tashlit gestured.
“Okay. Mal! Let’s go for a walk, so we have food when Lucy comes.”
It was a balancing act. She’d drawn out the outline, she’d reinforced it with power and diagrams, to provide structure. She had seven nodes to work with, by this summoning practice. There were other variants of the diagram for Others without form, like the Choir had been, and those could get intricate and elaborate.
She wasn’t going that far.
Seven nodes, and for each, she could decide on something like the visceral lump of charred homunculus, which would supply a benefit to the rest of the created Other. The lump boosted the structure of the entire thing, but it didn’t give it more, it just made what was there more stable. She could have picked six more things like that, that each offered a benefit to the whole, but whatever she created wouldn’t have any power or capabilities. It would fizzle out.
On the other hand-
She rubbed at her palm a bit, thinking.
-There was something like the shrine spirits. She could drop in Enginehead and then put another six spirits in, and they would mingle, each contributing something to a specific aspect of the summoning. The crown of the head would be the mediator between the created Other and the spiritual flows of things, which would be pretty important for using spiritual abilities. The heart node was about health and healing and would play a big part in how tough it was, and what that toughness looked like. An Enginehead spirit there would be way different from a Dish one. And so on. Some were more important for her needs than the others.
But if she put seven total spirits in, or power sources, or anything like that, then there wouldn’t necessarily be structure, or controlling factors. It was possible it would get really strong for a brief time and then burst like sausage meat from the casing.
Summoning practices could go in other directions. If she keyed in the right variables or gave the right signposting, it made it a lot easier to call Others in from afar. Even ones that couldn’t normally be summoned. Like Tashlit, maybe.
Crown, spiritual connection and attachment to the world. The shrine spirit Nyeh. A spirit that helped practice and exemplified stubbornness. It would keep that connection going and flowing, even in the face of a hostile practitioner. Hopefully.
Brow, for awareness and senses. The Fogged Watch, that slowed time a bit if water droplets touched it. The watch struck a balance between something structural and something that powered the Other. It offered some potential, but if conditions were met, it would see things and react much faster, compared to the flow of time.
Throat, for connections and communication. She was willing to sacrifice connections and communication for something else, putting the homunculus there. To give structure, to give it flesh.
Heart. Health and healing. Engine Head. Their biggest, toughest spirit.
Solar Plexus, absorption, wisdom. This was the mode for general intelligence, more or less, even if it wasn’t in the head. Another sacrifice. The rasp. If this creation was to have brains or know-how, she wanted that to be in the sense that it could dish out the hurt.
Sacrum or lower stomach? Wanting, need, fuel, power, and to some degree, personality. The hot lead. Raw energy, for a limited time. Without many structure-supporting elements, she didn’t expect this to be active for long anyway.
And the groin, legacy, roots, attachment to the world, and impact on the world. The complex spirit Lott. She didn’t want the wounds this thing delivered to be like Lucy had described with the training session. It had to last. And Lott was big on territory.
Which was what this was really about.
“Test run number one,” Verona reported. “Everyone ready?”
Lucy nodded, phone in hand. Mal had a fire extinguisher nearby, along with a table leg she was prepared to use as a weapon. Peckersnot perched on the dining room table, tense.
Verona nicked the back of her finger, then let blood drop onto the circle.
The white chalk lines turned red. The failed homunculus agitated, and everything in the circle and the human-shaped outline glowed with the heat of the hot lead.
It looked like what she saw with her Sight, except when she was in the Undercity she tended to see crimson exteriors with pale things beneath and above she saw translucent and light-colored exteriors with red wriggling things beneath. This was crimson on the outside and red on the inside, coming together in bands that wove and knit together, like muscle.
It stood up. Ugly as hell, like hamburger and bloody bandage, machinery set deep into flesh, like it was so hot it had boiled through until hitting bone, with fresh scar tissue sealing it in place. The face looked a bit like Lott’s.
“Scuff test…”
Verona scuffed the diagram. The red lines didn’t break.
The created Other looked down, then up at her.
“Step aside?” Verona asked.
The Other stepped out of the circle.
“Nod if you’d fight for me.”
The Other nodded.
“Then, if you’re bound to the Seal, unmake yourself. I may call on you or something like you soon.”
The red lines turned white. The Other smoked, and the smoke traveled a course that connected to spots on the diagram. The constituent parts of the Other returned to where they were. Bundles of twig and twine, magic items, and other resources.
Several of the extra lines were broken.
“If we do a second test run, we should test duration,” Lucy said.
“How were we for summoning time?”
“About twenty-two seconds,” Lucy said, showing Verona the timer on the phone.
“Okay, so not a pull the ripcord type thing. Takes a bit of time,” Verona noted.
“Yeah.”
Verona walked over to the table where she’d put some of her food aside for Peckersnot. She got some french fries and took a bite of her very garlicky shawarma.
“One more tool in the toolbox, huh?” Verona asked.
“Want to do the duration test run, while we’re set up?”
“Nah. I’d rather try other angles, see if there’s something broken we can’t fix. Looks like the diagram ruins itself, so we can’t can’t call on a summoning repeatedly.”
“Someone experienced like Charles probably could, from what I read.”
“Yeah,” Verona said. “Wonder what factors into that… I’m thinking Grabsy, Legs, Smoulder, and Long.”
“A completely different one?”
“For different purposes,” Verona replied. “I’ll need a way to get the components I need into the diagram fast enough. Command words and connections to tug on, I think. These creations are mindless, spirits don’t mind, so I could technically get stuck in a one-against-one fight and call on something like this, and because it doesn’t have a Self, it’s not violating the rules.”
“Maybe not the letter of the rules, but the spirit, yeah,” Lucy said.
“Sure. But that’s practice, right?”
“Hmm.”
“I’m thinking of this combo for a trickster, scoundrel type of helper. Then maybe a third one, a toolbox for solving problems…”
“We’ve got about forty minutes before I’m due home for curfew.”
Verona nodded, looking over her options.
A light knocking sound to the side made her turn her head, spooked that Miss had arrived to deliver the news.
Just Mallory putting more water down on a wobbly side table.
“Forty minutes is good, I think. Then there’s other stuff I gotta do.”
Jeremy’s laptop was a gaming laptop, and was apparently a powerhouse, because it blasted heat out the back panel to keep the rest of it ice cold. Verona’s laptop only got hot because it was old and kind of ass.
They sat together in the upstairs bedroom, one blanket under them, folded over their legs, while capturing the heat of the laptops, the other over their heads and folded around them. Their jackets were draped over their feet, but Verona’s had fallen halfway to the floor.
“Languages,” Verona muttered, as she typed. “Language and culture are tied together…”
“It’s really hard to not copy you when you’re right there and you’re making good points.”
“Same here,” she said. She continued typing as she talked. “But this helps. Having company, working through it like this, someone to double check.”
“Good,” Jeremy replied.
Jeremy’s sweatshirt was soft. She laid her head against his shoulder and typed out more sentences with her view of the screen at an awkward angle.
Jeremy went on, “I like this, for the record. Doing this, hanging out.”
“Yeah. How do you cite a website?”
“Here,” he said, showing her his bibliography. “Don’t use too many website citations. Remember Mrs. Morehouse saying she’d ding us if we did?”
No. “That’s not on the handout, though.”
“But she said it.”
“Ugh.”
“I gotta go…” he checked the time. “Fuck, I probably should have left fifteen minutes ago. I’ll have to run. Really don’t want to go.”
“Can I make a request?” she asked. “Stop by tomorrow morning? First thing?”
“You’re spending the night here?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d be worried about, like, kidnappers, or gang members.”
“Well, if those sorts of people come through, you can be the one to find my corpse in the morning, or whatever. But I’d like you to come.”
“Why?”
“You and me, a third time, in this house. Christening it.”
“You superstitious?” Jeremy asked.
“Depends how you define it. Are you asking questions because you don’t want to?”
“Uh, no. No, I want to. Might be awkward.”
“If you can’t, you can’t. But if you could, it’d mean a lot.”
“I’m still really weirded out that you’re spending the night.”
“Be weirded out then. But you should go, if you gotta go. And come if you’re going to come.”
He groaned, put his laptop aside, and moved out of the blankets, setting the laptop aside with ginger care before fixing the blanket arrangement over her legs and feet, to keep her warm. Even with jeans and a double-layer of socks on, it was a touch chilly. She’d probably end up sleeping in her clothes.
He got everything packed up, sliding his laptop into his bag. He pulled his jacket on. “Don’t get up. I’d rather you stay warm. Can I text you, to make sure you’re okay? If I happen to be awake?”
“Yeah. I really will be okay, though.”
“If it gets bad, you’ll go home? Or if you’re staying away from home-”
“Not like you’re picturing.”
“Go to Lucy’s?”
“Yeah. If I need to.”
“Okay,” he said. He looked worried. “Bye. See you first thing tomorrow? I’ll text before.”
“Yeah. Perfect.”
She did get up, despite his request, and watched him go from the window.
She set her alarm, to make sure she didn’t miss her time window, and then worked on the project until she fell asleep.
The jangling of the phone alarm did a lot to disturb her sleep, with emphasis on the disturbance, and then remembering why she’d set the alarm kept those nerves jangled and feelings disturbed.
She dressed for battle, cat mask, dyed black duffel jacket with hood, all the spell cards, items, cape worn as a scarf, hat hanging around her neck. The twig and twine shrine spirit tokens dangled from more twine at her side, while her bag was slung over her shoulder. Her spell cards were in the customary pockets, a habit and system she’d been sticking to for a while, and a knife was holstered in a simple sheath that hung off the side of her pocket.
The mask, hat, and cape had special properties as part of her intense claim to them. The awakening ritual had attached them to her Self in a way, and as she stepped outside and her breath fogged, it came out through the cat’s mouth of the mask, even though there were no holes there. Everything sat comfortably, the cape-as-scarf included.
She walked to the Arena in the dead of night, and there were very few people around Kennet. She was able to draw freely in the parking lot, without having to worry about putting herself near the usual cars parked in the far corner, where the employees seemed to be ordered to park, even on quiet days.
Verona finished the diagram, then stepped into the underside of Kennet.
A different sky, different shape to the mountains and hills.
Verona pulled a small set of spell cards out of the inside pocket of her jacket, and applied them. Silence. An interruption of light.
She made no noise, and she was next to impossible to see in the dark, without special senses.
Her key worked on the lock.
Much of it was the same. It was slightly better kept up, but it had also been used for parties. Bottles were everywhere, as was trash and the occasional random article of clothing. Writing was on the walls. That was a problem.
She wished she had the pen Miss had given her. To transfer words to other surfaces. That would be useful here.
Two people slept on one couch, a twenty-something woman with her arm draped over a guy who looked about the same age, who had both arms hanging off the side of the couch, knuckles touching floor. They’d piled blankets on top of themselves.
Another guy in the armchair.
In the dining room there was an old radiator that had apparently been looted from her version of the House on Half Street. Ironic it was still here, in the undercity, surrounded by people who were so often criminals.
Which they weren’t. Some of the Stuck Arounds were partiers but they didn’t have a mean bone in their body.
Which, like, okay, but these guys were dicks, because they had a couple chained to the radiator.
The guy was awake enough to see the shadow that was Verona.
“Shit, holy shit,” he whispered, barely audible. He squirmed, trying to get away.
She pushed the mask up, and set the silence and darkness runes aside.
“You’re a kid,” the woman said, with a faint lisp.
Verona shrugged. “Heard of me? Third witch of Kennet?”
“We’ve been stuck here for a while,” the man whispered. He looked like he’d been stuck here for a while. His wrist had old cuts and bruises from the cuff, and he looked drawn out, with scruff on his chin and bags under his eyes. “No.”
“Who are you with?” the woman asked.
“Nobody here. I’m against the assholes, I serve Kennet, serve the council.”
“If you’re against assholes… you’ll save us?”
“Depends. Let me ask questions. Are you from Kennet above or Kennet below?” she asked them.
She could see the guy glance at the girl, she could almost mind-read the mental calculus…
“Don’t lie,” she warned.
“Below,” the guy said. The girl looked like she’d wanted to lie anyway.
“Affiliation? Stuck-Arounds?”
“Fuck no. Woodcutters,” the guy whispered.
“Haven’t heard of them.”
“Old. Early days. We moved into the edges, by the woods. Cabins. Food ran out after a few days, then we realized we couldn’t get more food without getting into other territories. We tried, it didn’t work, one of our people got followed back to the cabin. They raided us.”
They were the people on the couch. And presumably upstairs.
“Captured us,” the woman said. She made a face as she talked, and Verona could see one of her front teeth was freshly broken. “Been a while.”
“Couple weeks,” the guy clarified.
“Why are they keeping you?”
The guy answered, “They think we had more stuff stowed. Or it’s like… they don’t seem to really believe it?”
“Huh?”
“It’s an excuse,” the woman said. “Or a-”
Someone on the couch moved. It creaked loudly.
The woman whispered, “-It’s the sort of thing where it feels like they think if they say it long enough and loud enough they can will it to happen. They kick us around, taunt us, play head games. Ask us to betray each other.”
The guy added, “They killed someone else. Not one of ours. An old guy from another group. He was providing shelter and sanctuary.”
“For money.”
“Some money,” the guy agreed. “But you gotta get something right? He was pretty fair and they were brutal.”
“Any of them worth sparing?” Verona asked.
The guy scoffed. “No. Fuck ’em- fuck. There’s one.”
“Who?”
“A kid. Feral.”
“But not evil?”
“Okay,” Verona said. “You’re not lying? I can curse you to punish a lie.”
“No lie,” the woman whispered.
“We-” the guy hesitated. “We got in a fight with them before they came after us. Mostly we needed food. They were hoarding it. We did what we had to in order to eat. They followed us after and that’s when they raided the cabin.”
“Okay,” Verona murmured. “They’re not playing by the rules, anyway, so I’m not inclined to be generous.”
She drew a circle around the couple, then marked it. The same thing she’d done for her mask.
Vacuum in a bottle. She let the bottle shatter.
Which woke up the two on the couch and the guy in the armchair. She had a few seconds before they realized they were out of air.
Spell card… a two-phase spell. First, an attraction to light and an aversion to paper-
The papers fluttered. One to each lightbulb and lantern that had been left on at ‘dim’. Well, the lightbulbs were on at full strength but they were so old and damaged they cast a dim light that the people in the room could sleep through.
The second part of each card created darkness.
The interior of the house was plunged into shadow.
Verona used her Sight to help see in the darkness and she used her mask to breathe. If she was sticking to usual methods, she would have hosted a spirit too, or taken the halflight admixture.
She couldn’t afford to be sore or sick, though, and she needed to be the one fighting.
They came tearing downstairs. A mob of people seven to fifteen years older than her, sputtering and choking. Their flashlights and lanterns lit the stairwell and entryway.
She let more papers free from her hand. They flew to the light sources and then darkened them. All the group had was a glimpse of her.
They came for where she’d been standing, pushing against one another as they charged their way into the living room. They found the guy that had been on the couch and the moment they had their hands on him, they attacked. Panic and confusion did its work.
Earlier in the day, before she’d gone home, Mallory had armed herself with a table leg. Verona found an identical one here. She picked it up and held it as a club.
She wanted to conserve her strength. She knew actually pounding someone into submission was a hell of a lot of work, and there were a lot of people here.
They were regaining their breath. She let them.
Each swing had to count. It had to catch them completely off guard, and it had to hit the most vulnerable areas.
One stumbled over another who was crouching, bending over. She caught him in the cheek and lower jaw with a swing, before moving back, readjusting her grip.
One to soft stomach. Another to the shin.
She picked her way through shrine spirits. She snapped the twigs.
“Keys,” she murmured.
They heard her. She backed off as they came charging in, and she turned and walked away from the mob, through a door and around the corner to the radiator. She let them push and shove in the darkness as she got the darkness rune and silence rune she’d put aside.
The moment the frenzy had died down, she swung again. She let herself go cold the way she’d felt herself do with her dad. Putting emotions aside in the face of pain. A pain that was almost self-inflicted, because they chose to live like this, they chose to reject the kind of peace and progress that the Bitter Street Witch and Vice Principal were embracing. They were thugs, they hurt others, they enjoyed hurting others.
A lot of the time, as she moved around the edges of the group or onto furniture, she could catch someone, producing that smacking sound and the pained grunts and shouts, and the people near the center, emboldened, would push through, coming right at her. Except in the process, they pushed ‘friends’ down and aside. Sometimes they stepped on them. Sometimes they did more damage to their friends than a two-handed swing with a dining room table leg did.
The darkness was fading. It took them a bit to spot her, but once the first guy did and shouted, the rest followed.
Another jar of vacuum.
There was a desperate edge to the response that followed. She swung, fending off reaching hands, and danced back. She moved through shadow and they seemed to have a lot of trouble tracking her, even though they could see a bit.
A flashlight shone in her face. She smacked the hand that held it- and an arm hit her in return. The hand grazed her mask, pushing it ajar, and the length of the forearm hit her across the mouth. It felt less like a club and more like getting hit with a blade.
She felt the pain and the oozing blood and she spat onto the floor.
No reason to hold back or go easy anymore. She killed the lights and set to swinging again.
“Light sources, Grabsy!” she called out, removing the silence rune just long enough. The group came after her, stumbling past furniture.
The spirit snatched up fallen flashlights and lanterns.
One guy seemed to be hanging back, shouting more. And she hadn’t hurt him yet. She identified him and then worked out a plan to get to him. Certain people had to be removed, or baited.
A lantern shone on her. The entire group came at her, fanning out now. She backed off, into the dining room, and let them follow.
The two people chained to the radiator blindly kicked at legs and provided enough distraction for Verona to duck off again.
Once she got the lantern, the only light was a scant light from the moon shining past clouds and through the window at the back of the dining room.
It wasn’t pitch darkness but it might as well have been.
She climbed onto the dining room table, swatted one guy across the lower face, then ducked into the gap that resulted.
Here it was most dangerous. A fumbling hand could touch her, realize how short she was, and conclude it was her. Hands could grab her.
Verona identified the leader, and with a thrust, one hand gripping the table leg at the middle, the other at the part that would attach to the table, she jammed the narrow part right into the belly button area.
She had to throw herself backwards and beneath the dining room table to get past the blind retaliation.
They were starting to begin to breathe again. She could hear the pants.
A human took maybe two minutes to suffocate. Her jars only lasted for about forty-five seconds. If she did better work, she could get that to a minute and thirty, but that took time, it took money spent on spices and extracts, oils and it took time to forage for the common plants.
“Go,” the leader grunted.
Verona could smell shit in the air.
Had she literally made him mess himself, jabbing him hard in the gut like that?
She hung back, and she let them go. She unsummoned Grabsy, and spare flashlights and keys fell to the floor.
Verona didn’t free the captive couple right away. She was careful to secure the people who had fallen unconscious or too injured to run. Then she let the couple go.
“Take two of the wounded with you,” she ordered. “Then come back, get another one of them. Go talk to the Bitter Street Witch or Vice Principal, tell them I sent you, do what they say. Tell them you need to know the rules.”
With those instructions, she let them go.
They didn’t end up coming back for more wounded.
With wards and blockers, Verona set about discouraging others from entering this spot. It was the same thing that had made Mallory so uncomfortable to be near the place.
The House on Half Street was secured, both above and below. She set up alarms to go with the wards. So she’d know if anyone came.
She drew a diagram on the floor, like the one she’d done outside the Arena.
Back to the other one.
Where she crashed face-first into bed, lip bleeding, hand twinging.
“See you at school?”
“Probably. I’ve got to get sorted,” she told him. “Shower, clothes…”
“I’ll let you do that,” he said.
He looked happy. Which, like, she hoped he was happy. Otherwise what had they been doing for the last twenty minutes?
It felt like he was edging closer to that question. That topic of conversation. When he’d ask why couldn’t they just try it?
She watched Jeremy go, and a part of her was impatient.
Another part of her wasn’t. She felt calmer and more herself around him. He fed her sacrum.
But Miss was in the trees, and Miss approached as soon as Jeremy was far enough away. She followed Verona inside.
Verona undid the wards and protections that kept Jeremy out of the kitchen, where the alchemy setup was. She pushed the shower curtain aside that blocked the view of the living room, and removed the ward there too.
“Musser is making a concerted effort to take territories near Toronto. We don’t know where some of his allies are, but this may be as good of a chance as you could hope for,” Miss said.
The starting gun had fired, essentially.
“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy,” Verona called out. “It’s time.”
“Can you round up everyone who’s helping?” she asked.
“I can.”
“Is Rook going to be okay with this?”
“She should.”
Verona nodded. She got her phone out. Lucy had texted an ‘omw’.
She texted Melissa. To let her know. It would be the Fetches today. For her and Lucy.
Then she texted Avery: Go.
Avery replied with a thumbs up emoji.
“I, Verona Julette Hayward, nascent sorceress, dabbler in shadow, half-light, and shape, enforcer of the Undercity of Kennet, third witch of Kennet as a whole, hereby make a statement,” she announced.
The air felt buzzy with energy.
“I thought you’d wait for them,” Miss murmured.
I trust them to get here, but I want to start this off on my own.
“Let this be my claim. I claim the House on Half Street, the property given to me by the city spirit Ken, by the city spirit Lis, and marked by me over these last few days. Here, I have shed sweat, I have shed tears, I have shed blood, all earned. I even threw in the fourth bit of Self if you want it. I claim this space in Kennet above, in Kennet below, and in a version of Kennet yet to be realized. I claim the connections in those three versions of this space and no others.”
She touched the wall.
Lucy arrived in bird form, landing.
“I put my primary claim on the undercity version of this house. My secondary claim on the Kennet that is yet to be, and lastly, if I must forfeit one claim, I’d rather it be the one I was born to.”
She saw Lucy’s expression of concern.
“But let’s go for all three,” Verona added, a little more informally. She paused for a second, and then she launched into the meat of the ritual. “I name this space my demesnes…”
Next Chapter