Author: Wildbow

Wild Abandon – 18.4 | Pale

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“I’m apparently supposed to give you a very important message, before anything,” the boy told her, with a voice that sounded like it was coming from far away.  He had little play-bricks made of skin interconnecting one another, creating a loose helmet around his head, with a single hole for his plastic eye to peer out.

“Well, if it’s very important…” Verona replied, “Run it by me?”

“I’m supposed to say it exactly?  It’s an Oh Me Oh My.”

“Got it,” Verona said.  “I wonder if she had to go to America for that one.”

“The evil goblin lady?” the boy asked.

“No, actual America.  Nevermind.  You did a good job.  Got a memo I can fill out?”

The boy approached, wary, and passed her a paper.  Verona filled in the form.  There was a little box at the bottom to check, marked ‘special circumstance?’

This counted.

She handed it back.

“And I’m supposed to bring something back?”

“Yeah, after.  Let me think on how to approach it.  Hi Boy Suspicious.”

“Hi,” Boy Suspicious said.  He looked at the art on the wall of Verona’s Demesne, periodically moving his skin-helmet around to better peer through the hole.

“Are you suspicious in personality, or do other people find you suspicious?”

“Depends on the day.  People start treating you a certain way, you start acting a certain way back.”

“Very true,” Verona replied.  “Can I get you anything?  Tea?  Snacks?  I’ve got only a limited few things, I don’t have a great idea of how long you were out there.”

“Not long.  I’m alright.  You’re a witch, right?”

“I am.  Need anything?”

“Do you make love potions?” he asked.

“I don’t.  Could I?  Maybe.  Would I?  Probably not.  You’d need a really valid, non-sketchy reason, like maybe a little booster shot before a honeymoon, or an arranged marriage where you’re both tossing one back to help make the rest of it go down easy.”

“Got it.”

“Do you have a really valid, non-sketch reason, buddy?” Verona asked.

“I might and I might not.  I’m going to play that one close to the vest,” he said.  “I don’t know you all that well.”

“Uh huh.  Well, I guess that’s why you’re introducing yourself?”

“Yeah.  I like your wall art.  And ceiling art.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t know how this works.”

“You know, the tattooed girl sitting outside is supposed to explain that, to expedite.  It’s literally why I’m bribing her to hang out there.  She seems to have forgotten.”

“She does.”

“Well, if you think I shouldn’t have this house with its influence over a little bit of Kennet found property, let me know, and we’ll have a challenge.  It’ll be reasonably fair.  If you win, that doesn’t necessarily mean I lose my claim, but it’ll hurt, and it’ll impact all the claims to come.”

“Sounds like you’re alright.  ‘Course, I don’t really know you.”

“Well, why don’t we each ask each other questions.  Like, I could ask you… what do you do?  Special Lost abilities, perks?”

“I can do this,” he said.  He stuck two fingers inside the helmet, then pulled out his eye, along with the accompanying block with eyelid and stuff.  He brought it down to his foot, where his boot had a metal cap on the end, and clicked it into place.  Then he stuck his toe out.  “For looking under stuff.  And if I do this…”

He pulled it off, then pulled out a tiny spray paint can, along with a bunch of polaroid photos.  He hurried to step on the photos before Verona could see, and he sprayed the eye with metallic paint.  It squinted shut while he worked.

He clicked it back onto his toe.

“…you can barely see it,” he finished.  “I can get pictures and video with it.”

“I can barely see it.  You need to look at the undersides of things much, B.S.?”

He shrugged.  “How much do you need to know that?”

He crouched down to pull the eye off, and while he was crouched, collected the fallen photographs, being careful not to let her see them, keeping his hand between her and the pictures.

“I guess I don’t.  How open are you to outside work?  If I wanted to hire you for a job?”

“I’m open.  Do you have a criminal record?”

“I don’t, unless they track truancy or something, but I probably really should.  Okay, on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your ability to navigate Kennet above?” she asked.  “If ten is high and you’d have zero problems?”

“…Three.”

“Three.  Okay.”

“Do you take the same routes home every time you finish with school or… this?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

“Are you asking because you want to know if I’m being safe, assessing my character, or because you’re going to do something horrible if you can find the chance?”

“Let’s say the first one.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding.  She made a note.  “And if I wanted to get in touch and couldn’t find you, I’m aware there’s some difficulty there.  Do you have a way?  Any friends?  Family?”

“I’m usually around the neighborhood.  I can be hard to spot, though.”

“Okay.”

“My dad’s Douglas Did It.”

“What did Douglas Did It do?”

“If you asked, he’d say he built a lot of important buildings.  He’d say he did that.”

“Right.”

“But he didn’t.  Because obviously this place didn’t exist all that long ago.”

“Obviously.  So Douglas didn’t do it?”

“Well, he’s Douglas Did It, so he… did it, if you know what I mean.  Did a lot of things.  You just shouldn’t really ask too many questions about them.  Or it gets awkward.”

“Because of the weird interplay of having a role and identity in a found place that ties into things that didn’t really happen, or because he did something that wasn’t building?”

“He did a lot of things that weren’t building.  Because he’s Douglas Did It.”

“Right.”

“But it’s awkward to ask.”

“Right.  Okay.  So you’ve got your dad.  I can maybe ask him, but I shouldn’t ask too much about what he did…”

“Could get, uh, complicated.”

“Got it.”

“Got a sister too.  Uma On the Run.”

“Uma,” she replied.  “I think I can see the gimmick coming.”

“She’s hard to get in touch with though.  But if you really needed me, I guess you could try?”

“Got it.  And I suppose I’m meant to not ask too many questions about whether she’s out for a jog or marathon training, or if it’s because she committed a crime?”

“Technically you’re innocent until proven guilty.  My family believes very strongly in that.  I wouldn’t say she’s on the run because she committed a crime.”

“Right, right.  I’m talking more about the dynamic around her.  Whether she did it or didn’t do it-”

“My dad’s the one who did it,” Boy Suspicious said.  “He did a lot of things.  Things we don’t talk about.”

“Uh huh.”

“It’s tough being his kid.  With what he did.”

“Sounds like.”

“And, uh, to answer the original question, I don’t have many friends.  This is the longest, coolest non-family conversation I’ve had.”

“Cool.  Neat.  Let me know if you come to a decision, by the way.  If you want to contest my claim.”

“I think I’d rather you were around.”

“Cool.  So then you’d say no contest, you carry on, and I go back to answering the various claims.”

“Oh, uh, no contest?”

“Cool.  Cool.  That’s that, I guess.  Do you want to be dropped off in Kennet found?”

“Uhh, I was thinking Kennet below.  I hear things about Kennet below.  Interesting things, contacts I could make.”

“I can do that.”

“But I need to get prepped first.  Drop me back off where I came from.”

“Can do.  Can you do me a favor?  Run a message back to the girl with the tattoos?”

“Yeah.  Oh wait, she said, before you asked me to pass her anything, I’m supposed to say something else.”

“Run it by me.”

“She said if you give her another response that ends with S, she’s going to do something horrible to you the next chance she gets.”

“Must be getting to her.  Okay.  Tell her Yum Bums.”

“Yum Bums?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

“And tell her she really needs to start explaining the rules and expediting this a little.”

“Okay.”

“Alright.  Thanks for stopping in, Boy Suspicious.”

“Had to,” he replied.  “For reasons.”

“I’ve got you in my notes.”

He put his eye back and then left.

Verona got up and stretched, getting some lemonade from the other room.  She was halfway to her chair in the living room when the door opened.

“Enter the next contender,” Verona said.

The next contender was a pigeon the size of a pigeon, wearing a rat mask.

It bird-walked its way in, crossing the room at a relatively slow pace, because it was a bird, with bird legs.  It stuck its head and mask under one wing, then pulled out a slip of paper.  It flapped up onto the arm of the chair, and laid the paper down there.

Verona took it.

“Snap paps.  Oh man, I forgot about those.  They got mass-recalled, I wonder if they’re still for sale in the Undercity.  They’re these little sticks, you gotta pap them up, then you stick them in this little pocket of rocks that fizzle and pop on your tongue.”

The pigeon tilted its head.

“Thanks for delivering that message.”

It bobbed its head, then stuck its head back under the wing, pulling out a business card.  It laid it on the arm of the chair.

Verona picked it up.  It had a watermark of a squirrel and pigeon on the front, with ‘Squiring & Servantry Squared Away’ on the front.  On the back was a resume in fine print.

“Hmmm.  Hmmm!  Interesting.  Two hundred and thirty-nine years of experience as general servant and helpful citizen.  Weren’t you all servants or citizens?”

The pigeon cooed.

“Yeah, well, it reads like padding, and if you have to pad a resume on a business card, size five font or no… let’s see.  Tasks included cleaning, patrols, three years of secondary duties when Falling Oak Avenue needed more birds.  What’s that commute like?  Did you go back and forth?”

The pigeon tilted its head, then nodded.

“Three years spent watching through window of a seamstress place in Sootsleeves’ kingdom.  Periodic visits to the Promenade, Hang Out, the Skeined Alive, plus two, to observe experts at work.  What’s the plus two?”

The pigeon tilted its head.

“Avery might be interested in anything to do with the Paths.  Even names of these other two places.”

The pigeon shook its head.

“Should I interpret that as she’s not interested?”

The pigeon shook its head.

“Oh, so she might still be interested, but no because… names of the other places?”

The pigeon nodded once, then shook its head.

“Right.  You can’t name them, or they’re unnamed?”

The pigeon nodded.

“Got it.  Paths that haven’t been labeled.  That must get confusing.”

“Pretty good, though.  Avid interest.  So I guess when you were wandering or on vacation from Sootsleeves’ realm, you’d visit places, watch tailors at work?”

The pigeon tilted its head.

“And other things at work?”

“Cool.  I admire that.  Hmm.  Six instances of evasive target fulfillment?  What’s that?”

The pigeon stuck its masked face under one wing, then rooted around for a minute.  It checked its other wing.

“Forget where you put it?”

The pigeon nuzzled through chest feathers, then belly feathers.  It pulled out a piece of paper, folded into quarters.  Verona unfolded it.

“Ahhh.  So if someone tried to use tricks to avoid being assigned more errands, while running around Sootsleeves’ kingdom, you were able to get the errands to them anyway?”

The pigeon cooed.

“Okay.  You know, Kennet found could just use more eyes, looking for those dodging writs.”

The pigeon took flight, startling Verona.  It caught the business card in its beak, and tugged, and she could have held on, but she let it take it.

It returned to the armchair, put the card down, and tapped it with the beak.

“You want to do that.  Got it.  Well, I hate to break it to you-”

The pigeon tilted its head.

“-but I’ve already got someone handling the cleaning.  She’s got dibs.  Now, I’m not saying no, but what you’re going to have to do is go to Chloe, she lives at the factory, she’s mostly awake at night.  She may be out and around, depending, so you might have to hunt, or leave a message.  Work it out with her.  Division of duties, anything like that.  She’s a ghoul, so you know, be mindful, if she’s in a bad state don’t go flying into claw’s reach or anything.  Don’t be pushy, respect her space.  Then once you’ve negotiated something, get back to me.  How’s that?”

The pigeon cooed.

“You’re not going to get on my case to change up my outfits or anything?  Because I like the clothes I like.”

The pigeon shook its head, then took flight abruptly, startling Verona again.

She watched as it did a circuit of the room, coming to roost in the back of the chair,  It examined her sleeve, then hop-walked up her arm to her shoulder, nudging the back of her top.

“Oh, you want to see the tag?” she asked.  She reached back and pulled out the tags, holding them up and apart.  Upside down.

She could feel a little beak tugging at the tags.

It took off again, right by her ear, startling her again.

“Gah!  We need to work out a system so that’s a little less nerve-wracking,” she told it.

She watched as it flew out to the far end of the couch, to a space Verona couldn’t see.

Verona walked over, and looked down.  The pigeon jumped a little as her shadow passed over it.  It had a tiny fountain pen in its beak, mask pushed up, and paper on the ground.

“Oh, go ahead,” Verona said.

It finished writing, flicked its head forward to get the mask to flip down back into place, then tucked the pen under one wing, and picked up the paper.  It flapped up to the armrest of the couch, then put the paper down.

Verona was careful with how she picked the paper up, because the ink was still wet.

Garage sale, 1 wknd, dark gray off-shoulder sweater, thick cable knit.  Long in body.  Elegance & class.  Highly recommend.  $15.  Req. quick clean cold wash & fine brush, we can handle before delivery.  +2 more.

Thrift store.  Sorted but not on sale.  G.mother hand knit, high neck.  Rainbow stripe.

“You’re right on the money about the stripes but I’m not sure about the rainbow.”

The pigeon craned its beak upward.  Verona brought the paper down.

It quickly struck out the first and second entry, then drew a little arrow from the ‘+2 more’ to a series of horizontal lines.

“There’s another sweater with stripes you think I might like?”

It flipped the paper over.

“But it’s a size or two too big for me?  I kinda like big.  Good for the right circumstances.  Count me as interested.  If the colors are right.”

Tan & black.

“Cool.  Neat.  I can roll with that.  And you didn’t have to scratch out the first one.  I love stripes but if you think that’s really classy and elegant…”

The pigeon tilted its head, then winked at Verona.

“…which you seem to do, I could be into that.  A sweater I could wear to a party or to the Faerie courts, maybe?”

“For eighteen bucks?  Okay.  Sure.  I’ll go get that, maybe.”

The pigeon shook its head.  Then it flew over to the business card, tapping it.

“That’s your job.  Right.  Do I give you money and you go get that handled?  Can you handle it?  Seems awkward for a bird to go buy something on my behalf.  That’s in Kennet above, right?”

Coo.  Nod.

“What are we thinking?  Eighteen for the elegant sweater?”  Verona got her wallet out, then gave the bird money.  “At this point it’s almost worth being ripped off, if you fly away and don’t return the money or deliver the product.”

She held out a twenty.

The pigeon, in the process of taking the money, dropped it.  It landed on the business card.  The pigeon looked up at her, beak open.

“Did I offend?” Verona asked.  “Sorry.  Didn’t mean to imply.”

The pigeon took the money and tucked it under one wing, moving so as to keep one constant eye on Verona.

At this point if you conned me this well, acted this offended, and fly off with the money, it’s still worth it.

“Lucy’s looking to change out her wardrobe to more ethically sourced products,” Verona said.  “So you could try her.  See what she thinks.”

The pigeon nodded.

“Well, this is cool.  Even if some of your job conflicts with Chloe, there’s other things.  But maybe you can work it out with her.  What are your rates?”

The pigeon shook its head.

“Free?  No, that’s sketchy.  I’d want to pay you.”

The bird flew over to the fireplace, and settled down there.

“What, you want to live in my Demesne?  A live-in servant and squire?”

Nod.  Then one wing lifted.

“I don’t know what that means.”

The pigeon pushed its head into the wing-feathers, until two were sticking up.

“Two?  Two… live in servants and squires?”

The pigeon put its wing down, nodded, then fixed the feathers it had ruffled.

“We’ll talk.  I think I’d insist on paying you at least something modest, and I don’t have a ton of money.”

The pigeon flew over, then extended one wing forward.

Verona tentatively reached out, then shook it, like she was shaking the bird’s hand.

“Any strong feelings on my Demesne claim?  Contest?  No contest?”

The bird shook its head.

“No contest?”

“Okay.  Thanks.  Can I give you a message?” Verona asked.  “Pass it to the girl with tattoos on your way out?  I’m assuming you either want to go to Kennet found or you can get between the worlds okay?”

The pigeon nodded.

“Thanks,” Verona said.  She wrote down Sennalax, then handed the paper over.

She remembered seeing the ads.  The old woman groaning and moaning in discomfort, then the delicate, sun-shining, slow-motion bite of the chocolate, and the sigh of relief when she left the bathroom.

“It’s technically a candy, because it’s coated in chocolate.  We’ll see how much she whines about it.”

The bird tucked the paper away.

“Thanks.  We’ll talk again, barring extraordinary circumstance, death, disaster, yadda yadda.”

The pigeon nodded, and then hop-walked its way out of the house.

This really wasn’t super exciting, but it was nice to have an excuse to meet Others she wouldn’t have run into otherwise.  Like Boy Suspicious.

Having pigeon and squirrel servants around would be weird.  She kind of wanted it to be her space, when it wasn’t essentially a sleepover with her friends.

Her Demesne technically extended from the property to the point the woods started.  Would the pigeon and squirrel be okay with a living space outside?  A little building adjunct?

Or would asking a pigeon and squirrel to live outside be racist, operating on too many assumptions?

The door opened.  Verona fixed her mask, pulling it into place.

He entered, looking around.  Buzzed head, scar at the eyebrow, big jacket that made her think of a cat with its fur on end or a dog with its hackles up, puffing up to look scarier, gauntlet, jeans.

“Easton, hi,” she said.  “I, third witch of Kennet, nascent sorceress, dabbler in Halflight, in shadow, she who hatched the moon and conceptualized Kennet found, receive you to this claim.”

“That’s tacky as shit,” he said.  “What’s that nascent sorceress bull?”

“Stating my goals.”

“Yeah?  You’ve got a long way to go.”

“Thus the ‘nascent’.  You’re not too bright, are you?”

“What’d you do with Sutton?”

“Oh, Myles?  We had a chat, played a game, then I booted him out.  Which I’m reserving the right to do to you, when we’re done.”

“I gotta bring him back.  They’re having a big meeting, we’re working out options.  I owe him one.”

“Big meeting, huh?  You weren’t invited?”

“You weren’t either.”

“I forgive them.  If you want, I can put you where I put Myles when we’re done.  Contest or no contest?”

“Contest, of course.”

“I’ve got the claim, dude.  My town, two thirds already claimed, this is more or less a formality, I had a key role in founding the third third of Kennet that I’m wanting my Demesne to connect to, I’ve already got alliances, already have-”

She checked her notes.

“Shouldn’t matter.”

“Forty Foundlings saying they’re cool with this, no contest.  Three victories, one loss to you chumps.”

“You can lose again.”

“Maybe, but it’s pretty stacked in my favor.  I get to choose the contest.”

“No.  By old laws, there’s a right to challenge by combat.  I can twist the-”

“You’re really pulling this?”

“-I can twist the contest in intent, to make it a martial one.”

“You’re copying Anthem?”

“It’s pretty standard.  I would understand if someone who hasn’t been educated on the various intricacies-”

“I’ve educated myself, thank you,” she answered.  “And if we do a trial by combat, I still get to set terms.  The claim is so overwhelming, I can pull fun stunts like ruling out you using practice, making you fight with a hand tied behind your back…  You really want to go this route?”

“And I can gainsay you.  You said you got to choose the contest, but you don’t.  You-”

“Rule of rich omission, blah blah blah, there’s a natural fill in the blank at the end of my statement, it’s not a statement that makes sense if you consider all the options.  I studied that bullcrap too, by the way.  I hate being gainsaid.”

“Pretty big stretch of that rule.”

“Want to call a judge to mediate it?”

“Ah ha, and there it is.  You know the game’s rigged.”

“Weren’t you just crowing about how you get to rig the game and make it a trial by combat?  Well, anyway, you can make the gainsaying claim if you want.  Do you want to?”

He snorted.

“Fine.  Then on the other thing we were debating… I’ll let you make the call.  Combat or something of my choice.  Just know, I’ve got claim like fuck so this is my game, my rules.”

“What contest would you want?” he asked.

“Hmmm.  I’m in the mood to draw.  Art contest.  Which is objectively better?  If it’s too close to call, we call it a truce.”

“Art?” he asked.  “Okay.  Conditions, then.”

He said that very easily.

“I win, you get dumped in Kennet found, and you have to give me something.  Full and complete practice I don’t already know, non-consumable magic item, or power enough to fuel a non-consumable magic item.”

“And I get the same?”

“No. Fuck no.  Why would you ever get the same?  I have the claim to this space, dude.  You get… maybe you get to keep the picture I drew, and I’ll even sign your art or my art and say you won, and you can show people and be all proud and shit.”

“Bull, that kind of disparity?”

“Hey, you’re the one who barged in here.  My claim, my rules.  You want to ask the spirits?  You want to take it to a judge?”

He snorted.

“Dude, Easton, have you guys been steamrolling other Lordship claims and Demesne stuff by pulling that crap?  With people who don’t know the rules or think you’re way more impressive than you are?”

“I’m impressive enough.”

“You didn’t look impressive when I dumped you into Kennet below and you had to deal with the Vice Principal’s group, did you?  Oh, is that coup?  I think it’s coup,” Verona said.  “Oh, that counts for a bit more claim here, doesn’t it?  That I beat you once already?”

“Maybe a bit.  Let’s do your contest, you can try gloating after.  But for my prize?  I get to hit you.  Once.”

“Fist only,” she said.  “No gauntlet.”

“Gauntlet’s part of me.  Implement.  I gotta insist.”

“Fine, but when I dump you out of here, I won’t be nice about it.”

“Whatever.  We’ll see if we get that far.  Shall we?”

“Let’s.”  She walked over to the other room, motioning.  Easton followed her, and they each went to separate ends of the table.

“Supplies are here,” she said, moving them from a lower shelf to the edge of the table closest to the wall.  “I don’t want to cheat, and I know this table has weird grooves, so…”

She banged on the table.  The slats aligned to be perfectly flat, and the little holes for pegs and measuring tools to go in all filled in.

“How’d you do that?  Special table?”

“It’s technically my Demesne.  I completed it already, but for two different parts of Kennet.  I’m not using it to cheat, but it’s a nice convenience, still.”

“Double Demesne?”

“Two thirds of one, like I said.  I’m rounding it out with this last claim.”

“People were wondering,” Easton said.

He sounded less intense than he had at the start.  Too calm.

“Well, when you get back to those people, you can tell them if you want.”

“I will.  What are we drawing?”

“Each other?” she offered.  “Any style, any pose.  No nude figure drawing, though.  That’s reserved for friends only.”

“I don’t really care that much about seeing you naked, so that’s good.”

“Well…” she paused.  “Well fuck you too, then, dude.  You’re not my type either.”

“Good.”

Annoyed now, she set about drawing, fine-point art pen, emulating a style she’d seen done for tattoos, where each plane of the body was given its own shading and hatching.  Different textures too.

“Art class at private institutions,” Easton said.  “Our teachers were respected artists, not just whatever whacko got a teaching degree and couldn’t teach math.”

“Ours is okay, here.  Definitely more in that whacko direction than the respected artist, but she’s a good teacher,” Verona said.

“I didn’t ask, don’t care.”

She wanted to reply, but she shut her mouth.  Wasn’t worth it, and she had the feeling he was counting coup some by being an ass.  The annoyance felt like it was affecting her drawing more than it usually would.  She put her energy into the drawing instead, putting him out of mind.

Which was nice.  Bit of a break, bit of a recharge.

“Hold your hand up?” she asked.  “The gauntlet?  Maybe make a cool fist?”

He raised his hand, giving her the finger.

“That works.”

He put it down.

“Sure would be nice if the Blue Heron was up and running,” she said.

“Didn’t you get expelled?”

“I mean, kinda, but in an ideal world, it starts up again, we can tweak things, make nice…”

“I think nice is a long fucking away off,” Easton said.  “Are you going to talk the entire time?”

“My house, my call.  I’d want to go back, given a choice.  Cut away the bullshit, put someone cool in charge.”

“If you don’t think Musser is cool, there’s something wrong with you.”

“He’s a tool.”

“He’s objectively cool.  He’s handsome, fit, snappy, expensive fashion, he’s unflappable, he’s a man with a plan, with the ability to carry stuff out.  He can handle himself in a fight, he could talk to a billionaire without flinching, he might even be a billionaire, I don’t know.  If he wasn’t already married – to an actual babe, I’ll point out, he’d have women throwing themselves at him.  Probably does anyway.”

“Barf.”

“Barf?  We’re talking about Abraham Musser?”

“One and the same.  Barf barf barf.”

“You would be so lucky as to have a guy like him.  A guy half his caliber.”

“Barf.”

“You not recognizing how much he has to offer says more about you than it does about him, you realize that?”

“Dude, I’m not sure I can accurately convey how little interest I have in him or anyone like him.  He’s gross, he treats his niece like shit, he threw away his own son, he treats his familiars like slaves-”

“Why am I surprised you see having powerful familiars under firm control as a negative?”

“-and I’m supposed to think he’d treat a woman nice?  He’ll raise good kids?  I don’t even want to marry or have kids-”

“And the future of the world seems a little brighter.”

“Fuck you, and fuck off.  Part of the reason I’m so disinterested is the world’s already getting pretty full and there’s people like him in it.  He’s sleaze, he picks on the weak.”

“It’s hard not to be seen as picking on the weak when you’re one of the strongest.”

“He’s a bully, he’s a shitty leader, he’s shitty enough to bail and leave all of you behind to fend for yourselves while the Carmine Exile is pulling this bullshit, so yeah, no, I don’t even want to have kids or marry in the first place, but if it came to having his kids?  Or anyone like him?  I’d chew off my ring finger before he could put something on it.  I’d rather reach up inside myself and perform an auto-hysterectomy first.”

“Big word, I’m sure you feel very smart.  You’re defective and you’re a sore loser, that’s all this is.  Musser is the man guys want to be, and the man non-defective girls want.”

“Barf.  Barf barf barf on top of a tacky line.  But you do you, Easton.”

“I will do me, actually.  You’re a wrinkle in the carpet others are walking down and when they pass you’ll be stomped out, with barely a second thought.  And the fact you’d do it while being so blind to passing greatness is really fucking pitiful.”

“Passing greatness?  Have you had your fill of sucking on his dick, yet?  You’re really on board the Musser train, aren’t you?”

“If I could drink a potion, become a woman, and be Abraham Musser’s next wife, or someone equivalent, a little less old, I would suck that dick with fanatical zeal, for all the perks, fortune, standing, and everything else I could get by doing it.”

Verona stopped drawing and looked over at Easton.

“And you’re a moron for not feeling the same way,” Easton said.

“Dude, Easton, man, that’s a lot to unpack, but hey, you do you, chase your dreams.”

“You’ve clearly demonstrated your inability to understand a lot of things, if you can’t ‘unpack’ anything, I’m not surprised,” Easton said, drawing away.

“If you’re this oblivious, I really do think you just self-couped.  I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Ha ha.  As if.”

“And I’m done,” she said.  She slapped her paper down face-down onto the table.  “First one finished.”

“Doesn’t matter.  It’s a question of how good it is.”

“It’s good.  But we’ll see.  I call on house, Demesne, spirits, any Judges who have a moment free and want to do something fun and deliver a bias-free verdict on an art contest.  I call on you.  When Easton is done, let the scales be weighed.  Shall I get my prize, or shall he get to take a swing at me before fucking thoroughly off?”

“I’ll be a few minutes,” he said.  “Art takes time.”

“Go for it,” she told him.

“I will.”

“Have fun.”

“Watching you lose?” he asked.  “I will.”

“You seem so sure.”

“I knew from the moment I got to this sad-ass town you’re trying so hard to protect.  You’re going to lose, wrinkle in the carpet, and your backwards-ass ways of thinking and handling all this are going to be forgotten before you know it, wild practitioner.  It’s going to be satisfying to see.”

“Someone’s grumpy about falling for a stupid trap from a supposed backwards-ass wild practitioner.  Gosh, was that embarrassing?  How was the walk back?  How did your buddies there take it?”

“They took it fine.  Do you guys fall into disarray every time one of you fucks up?  Because I wouldn’t be surprised, just disappointed.”

It took him another five minutes to finish his drawing.  He pushed it across the table, and it stopped at the halfway point.  Verona turned hers over and did the same.

“Mine’s better,” he said, smirking.

“Nah. You sure did draw me at a healthy size.”

“Unhealthy size.  Don’t pretend you’re anything but.”

“Because I’m not anorexic?  Yeah, that’s still not right.  That looks more like my mom with my haircut than me.  Gosh, do you need glasses?  That would explain a lot.”

“It’s right.”

“Spirits, house, judges, and any other forces that want to weigh in?” Verona asked.

Lines lifted away from the pictures.  They animated, becoming as tall as their respective subjects.  The images walked over until they overlapped.  Easton’s image over Verona, lines standing out in three dimensions, Verona’s image of Easton over him.

The lines shook and broke at the sides of Verona’s stomach and hips, then at her hands.

“Bull,” Easton said.

“Aw, didn’t learn how to draw hands?  Or scale them to the size of my actual hands?  I can sympathize,” Verona said.  “I’ve been practicing though.”

“Bullshit,” he said, moving his hands around.  Some of her lines broke, but it was one twentieth, not the whole thing.

It broke around her eyes too.  Easton had a few around his face break, but it was less.

“Didn’t learn to draw eyes properly?” she asked.

“I drew them fine, in my style.”

“The arbiters of the universe don’t think so.  Guess that private school art class doesn’t count for much, compared to actually putting in the effort over months and years, huh?”

The house creaked.  Then it tilted.  Verona remained upright, and felt the weight of the lines like they were steel rebar and not something ethereal.  Easton, with more of the lines hanging off him, sagged.

He slid about five feet toward the living room.  Verona slid about one or two.

“Do you ever think, in moments like these, that maybe you’re wrong?  That your private school education doesn’t count for as much as you think it’s worth, that Musser isn’t as fellatio-worthy as you seem to think he is?  That you’re on the wrong side?”

“No,” Easton said.  “I really don’t.”

“And you don’t even realize how much of a self-coup that is.”

“That’s not a thing.  Self-coups aren’t a thing that exists.  The very idea of coup implies two parties.”

“It might not be a thing but you sure seem to be trying to make it a thing.”

He slid further.

“Pay up,” she said.

He reached into a pocket, and then seemed to reconsider.  He went for the inside of his jacket, and pulled out a little book with a metal cover.  There was something etched on the front – a red sword.

He flipped through the booklet, then tore pages out from near the back.  He tossed them out so they’d land on the floor.  “Practice.  Good luck figuring that one out.  Didn’t say it had to be at your skill level.”

She walked around through the kitchen and into the front hall.  He slid into the hallway as she got there, grabbing at the doorframe and finding no grip.  “House on Half Street?  Kennet found.”

The lighting filtering in through the fogged-up windows changed, darkening.

Easton quickly pulled a visor out- like the sort that would go on a knight’s helmet, flipping up and down, and put it on.  It stayed there.  “Masked.”

“But no permission slip.  What a shame.  Guess you’re still a repeat offender.  Now, because you wanted to hurt me, punch me with a steel gauntlet?  That comes full circle with the weight of claim behind me, I reserve the right to do this… mind your head.  I don’t want you to die.”

“What?”

She kicked him.  And the lines broke explosively, helping to propel him, and the door opened.

Easton went down the front stairs, arms around his head.

In Kennet found, the front steps extended down a full floor, because the House on Half Street was on stilts, raised up like every building was.

“Ow, fuck!  My elbow, fuck, fuck!”

The voice faded, caught by the mist.

A squirrel squeezed its way in just before the door closed.  It held out a piece of paper with a paper clip holding the Squiring and Servantry business card.

Xanthan Yum, no contest.

“Damn it.  Is she cheating?  Did she find a list or something?”

The squirrel shrugged dramatically.

“At least you’re making it easy on me, huh?  Appreciated.  You’re the pigeon’s partner?”

The squirrel nodded.

She extended a finger for it to shake.  “Thanks.  Talk to you another time.  Go see Chloe.”

The squirrel nodded.

“Oh, and… hmmm.  Do you want dropped off back in Kennet found?”

The squirrel shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter?”

The squirrel gestured wildly, ran over to the stairs to bound up two steps, then gestured more, indicating the window, then pressing his ears down.

“They’ve got another way?”

He nodded.

“Good stuff.  That’s nice.  Luna mentioned that, I think.  One of the first ones to swing by did.  Means I’m not the ferry service.  Can you pass on a message?”

“Give me a second.  M.  M, m, m.  Maahes bars.  And point out that the trademark goes after Maahes, so the last letter is an S, not an R.  Pass that on to the tattooed girl outside, if it’s no trouble.  Also, she needs to tell me if the Snap Paps are sold in Kennet below.”

The squirrel nodded.  Verona opened the door for it, and briefly wondered how the pigeon had gotten in and out.

She had more water, washed her face, fixed her hair, and stretched some, working out the kinks from being hunched over the table, drawing.  Her thumb rolled its way around her palm as she mused.

She was really glad she’d beat Easton.  She would have been simmering in annoyance if she hadn’t, not to mention how much being gauntlet-punched would’ve sucked.

“Verona Hayward.”

The voice surprised her.  She hadn’t heard the door.

And the sound of that voice- rough edged, almost a growl.

“I interrupt your Demesne claim.  You lose nothing by this interruption.  It is simply the most convenient way for us to convene.”

“Us?” she asked.

The door opened.

Lucy and Avery came through.  Then their parents.

“Oh wow.  Very artistic,” Kelsey said, in a tone of voice that made it sound like she was trying to be nice.

“Uhhhh, hey,” Verona said, bewildered.  “This wasn’t intended as a place for parents.  Sorry for any nakedness on the walls or if you find any contraband lying around.  If you do, it was probably someone not-me.”

“Given the choice between not including you, not including them, or including both, we went with the last one,” Lucy said.  “Sorry, we weren’t really in a position to ask you.  Doing the claim thing kind of means communication is hard.”

“We would’ve sent someone to no-contest your claim and pass on a message, but Charles wasn’t up for waiting,” Avery said.

“Well you’re all jerks, then,” Verona said, before amending, “except Jasmine and Connor and Kelsey because I guess you guys care and junk.”

“We do,” Jasmine said.  “How long have you been here?  Are you doing okay?”

Verona eyed Charles warily.  “It’s a three day ritual and I have no freaking idea how long it’s been going on, but there’s been a procession of Foundlings, so it’s felt a lot like a day, day and a half in real-time.”

“About right,” Avery said.  “That’s good, though, right?  Getting that much validation, that much claim?”

“It is,” Charles said, as he walked across the living room.

“But you’re eating okay?  You’re safe?”

“It’s my house.  It’s weird time-wise, there are special rules.  I don’t really have to eat so much, here.”

“That’s not a yes on either of those things.”

“She’s getting better at this,” Lucy murmured, as she entered the living room.

He came to a stop at the same spot the Carmine furs had sat, standing beside the chair Verona had placed near there.  The red brick of the fireplace stretched up behind him.

“We had a plan to get the invaders out.  We were going to get the less violent types out, at least,” Avery said.  “Brought the Garricks in.  Business deal for the Garricks, invaders get out, everyone’s more or less satisfied.”

“Until Charles,” Lucy said.  She sat down in an armchair.  Verona sat down on the armrest, and slumped over, so her head could rest on Lucy’s shoulder.

Company was nice, if nothing else.  Even if some of that company was Charles.

Avery stood by the same chair, back to the wall, one foot propped up and wedged between the padded, removable seat and chair.  Snowdrop remained small.

The parents took the couch.  Jasmine sat furthest back, closest to the chair where Verona, Lucy, and Avery sat.

“It’s very you,” Jasmine said.  “I hope that’s okay to say.”

“It’s me.  It’s mine.  I’m tied to it like Avery’s tied to Snowdrop.”

“I love that there’s something artistic about it,” Jasmine told her.  “I was so disappointed when you stopped getting into art.  When you gave me that one picture, it wasn’t just that it was beautiful, it was that you were drawing again.  I love that.”

Verona smiled a bit.

“I’ll let you get back to your Demesne claim and your drawings later,” Charles said.  “As I told the others, I thought we were overdue a conversation.  I hope we can talk things out and find some middle ground.”

“Did you forget you all have tried to murder us in the past?” Lucy asked.

Jasmine’s hands clenched in her lap.

“I didn’t want you to be part of this.  When it all began, I thought a child shouldn’t be in this role, it would be disastrous.  Several of my very first words in your presence were emphatic on that point.  But I was forsworn, and it didn’t matter.  If anything, I hurt my case by trying to argue it.”

Lucy shook her head.  “You killed John.  You used Yalda.  You created the Hungry Choir that killed hundreds.  You helped set up a situation that soaked Kennet in the blood of the Carmine before you.  That made people aggressive, that got people killed, that made the emergency room busier in one summer than it was in the last five years combined.  Crime was so bad they had to bring in outside cops.  You brought in a man that dated my mom with the intention of getting close to her and he was meant to threaten to murder or murder her.  To distract me.”

Verona looked at Jasmine, who seemed startled by that.  By Charles’ presence, by proxy.

“For a certain meaning of ‘you’.  I was part of the group that did that,” Charles said.

“That’s not even all of it.”

“No,” Charles said.  “Do you want to use our time here to put me on trial?  What do you think that would accomplish?”

“Mostly I want the parents to know who and what you are before you start spewing bullshit,” Lucy said.

“I never had any special animosity towards you.  I think I’ve gone easy on each of you since taking my position.  You clearly remain opposed to me, I don’t fault you.”

“We sure as shit fault you, Chuck,” Verona said.

“And what the fuck?” Lucy asked.  “If you trying to kill us and murder my freaking mom isn’t any special kind of animosity then I’m left wondering what the heck is.”

“You’re seeing it turned against Musser.  But I don’t want to argue.  I don’t want to make excuses, either, but in the interest of giving context?  Making sure all present know what we’re talking about?  Tell me, have the parents been informed of what forswearing is?”

“Don’t you know?” Lucy asked.  “Haven’t you been listening in?”

“Less than you’d think.  Again, I have no particular grudge against you three,” Charles growled the words, the quality of his voice making it sound like he might.  “I aim to leave you alone as long as you’ll do the same.  I’m hoping our talk here means we know how much to leave alone and how much we might actually agree.  Have they been informed?”

“Louise mentioned it in passing,” Jasmine said.  “I’m not sure Connor and Kelsey were there for it.  Some kind of big punishment for breaking contracts.”

“Or oaths,” Charles said.  His hands gripped the back of the chair.  The red hair on the backs of his hands was really red.  “Make a serious oath or promise and break it, and the penalty is bankruptcy.  Not of wealth, specifically, but of power.  Of personal power, of social power, position, the ability to make the differences you want to make.  It’s a bankruptcy of financial power, yes, but also of all ability to practice.  It’s a loss of everything.  It leaves a man broken, lost, alone, and helpless.  Or a thirteen or fourteen year old girl.  It does not discriminate.  It is usually irrevocable, and it follows an individual to their grave.”

“Charles was forsworn,” Verona pointed out, mostly to break Charles’ stride.

“I was forsworn and my every intent was poisoned.  I tried to make a trap for my enemies and it became a storm of hunger and bloodthirst that ate several hundred individuals.  The Hungry Choir.  Most lie down and give up well before that point.  But I want to ask you.  All seven of you- three girls, three adults, one opossum.  Do you really want to live in a world where the weak and downtrodden are meant to lie down and die?  Even if they’re as young as thirteen and fourteen?  Or as young as ten?  You’ve all seen Dom Driscoll among the invaders.  He could just as easily be caught in a broken promise as I, and have everything ripped from him.”

“You’re really glossing over the immensely shitty things your side did,” Lucy said.

“I’ll answer that, but I’d like an answer to my question first.  Do you want to live in that world?  Or would you want there to be an answer and an opportunity to fight back?”

“No,” Kelsey said.  “I’d want there to be a chance.”

“We’ve never liked forswearing,” Avery said.  “Partially because we were empathetic to you, Charles.”

He bowed his head briefly in a nod.

“Doesn’t condone what you did,” Lucy said.

“No.  I’m not looking for condonation.  But I have to paint my perspective for you.  I was not only helpless, but my every action threatened to be undone and turned against me, turned into something counter to my aims.  That is what it is to be forsworn.  So I stepped down and I stepped back.  Others had their own goals.  Maricica, Edith, Lis joined late.  Others helped unwittingly, or in tertiary roles.  Bluntmunch, Cig.”

“They’re in the notes,” Lucy told her mom.

“You showed her the notes?” Verona asked, vaguely offended.  “The notes are a lot.”

Charles went on as soon as there was a break in the conversation.  “I knew that if I took the metaphorical reins, the horse would likely kill.  I knew that standing by and standing down would only continue to foster a world where the downtrodden and weak must bow to the strong.  So yes.  I let others make the decisions.  And Edith poisoned Matthew, and Maricica schemed, and people did die, others were threatened.  Jasmine Ellingson?  For what it’s worth, I don’t think the intent was ever for you to die.  But the fear had to be there for you to slow down.  For there to be a chance.”

“For you to kill John,” Lucy said.

“For many things to come together.  Killing him included.”

“Asshole,” Lucy said, very quiet.

“Won’t deny that,” he said, voice lower than before, eyes dropping.  His face still had those deep lines, like a frown had etched itself permanent in there, and he was smiling past the frown always.

“So you had to do it, you think?” Avery asked.

“Desperation drove me every step of the way.  Yes.  More or less, I had to.  I know your parents are new to this.  A lot of it may not have the right impact, whether too much or too little.  I would like for you to imagine that we live somewhere where the law has truly and thoroughly failed us all.  Where the rich and strong use their power to get richer and stronger, where they use far too little power to protect the people at the bottom.  The forces meant to save us are used against us more than they’re used to our benefit.  Children get introduced to things they have no business being a part of, out of desperation, or because the people in power want to use them.  I don’t think it’s hard to imagine.”

“No,” Jasmine agreed.

“Imagine, then, that an election is coming up.  That there’s a chance to run.  That nobody seems to wish to change the status quo except for one individual at the very bottom.  I’m not talking someone weak, or strong, or poor.  I’m talking about someone with nothing.  But to rise, he must hitch his fortunes to organized crime.  He must stand by and let them do as they will.  Only then can he take measures and affect change.”

“It sounds like your measures are awfully bloody,” Connor said.

“They are.”

“You’re still doing what you were doing before, aren’t you?” Lucy asked.  “Because now you’re in power, you’ve made your first actual obvious moves, people are running scared, right?  Correct me if I’m wrong?”

“You’re correct.”

“And it’s… positioning Others to murder innocents.”

“We’ll talk about that.”

“And in that analogy, you promote the boss of the organized crime ring when you’re done?” Verona asked.

Charles turned very red eyes toward her.  “She promoted herself, I simply removed the usual obstacles.”

“Semantics,” Lucy said.

“That is the world we live in.  Semantics matter.  Oh, and one more thing?”

“What’s that?” Lucy asked.

“I’m not close to being done,” he growled.

“Okay,” Avery said.  “So that’s ominous and all, and I hope the parents sorta understand where we’re at, but I’m not sure how we get from that to- to compromise?”

“We can compromise.  It would be nice.  But the reason I want to talk is to make things clear, clear away misconceptions, and see if there’s common ground we can work toward.  We made the agreement to leave each other alone while you claimed Kennet found.  And then Miss made her claim Carmine-exempt, I noticed.”

“Funny how that works,” Verona said.  “That she wouldn’t want your fingers in her p- th- business?  I can’t think of an ending to that sentence that can’t be interpreted as rude.”

“If we carry on like we’re doing, there’s a chance we’ll find ourselves at odds again.  I have certain plans, you have your own, but as you bring the Garricks in, you’re getting in my way, and I’m forced to get in yours.  So let’s talk.  Let’s make sure we can each face down what I think we agree is our common enemy.”

“You’re our enemy too, Charles,” Lucy said.  “But you’re an enemy we can’t do much about.”

Right now.

We talked about this in the nightmares, Verona thought.  During those planning meetings.  That we have to create the illusion we’re feeling hopeless against Charles.

“Let me ask you,” Charles said.  “What do you think I’m even doing?”

“You mean besides creating a bunch of monsters and putting innocents at risk?” Lucy asked.

“In general.  My plan.  My ultimate goal.  What is it I hope to accomplish?  Your accuracy or any lack of accuracy will help me know where to start.”

Avery looked over at Verona.

“If even they don’t get it, then haven’t you done a really bad job of things?” Connor asked.

“Please.  If you’d try,” Charles said.

“Why do we owe you anything?” Lucy asked.

“You don’t.  But if you want the Garricks to escort those people away, that puts me in a position where I’m conceding a lot.  Until we understand each other, can you really argue for me to give you that?  I’m offering to tell you things.”

“Maricica said…” Verona trailed off.  “…or she apparently said, to paraphrase, it’s turning the tables.  Musser was on top.  It puts him on the bottom, or close to. Takes the dangerous Others, puts them on top.  Now he has to live in his own dynamic, but on the other end.  They all do.  That wasn’t just about the then and there, was it?  It’s all of this.  You’re taking their power base away for good.”

“That’s why you gainsaid the children until parents got antsy, pulled them out of the Blue Heron?” Avery asked.  “Taking away that power base?”

“Whether I hold this position for thirty days and then get extinguished, or hold it for three thousand years, I do think I will remain in awe at Miss’s ability to find the exceptional,” Charles said.  He leaned into the top of the chair, arms folded, rocking it forward on its two front legs.  “To the point it nearly cut past ten years of planning, past the schemes of a faerie, past deceit, and past a long series of obstacles.”

“Obstacles sure is a polite way of talking about how you guys tried to kill us a bunch,” Lucy said.  “And how you did kill good people.  Ken didn’t really do anything wrong and you extinguished him.  And you used Yalda.  You took John’s worst fears about a child John used to love, and you didn’t just-”

She stopped, shaking her head a little.  She reached into her top and pulled out the chain necklace.  The dog tag on the end, and the ring.  She leaned forward, elbows on knees, and held it out.

There was enough emotion in her eyes Verona found herself looking away.  She did catch Lucy looking at her mom, then looking away an instant later, fixating on Charles.

“-He killed Yalda to keep her from hurting anyone.  And she let him.  And he loved her.  He’d devoted his life to her.  But he didn’t want her to become a monster.  And then you brought her back, and- I don’t care it was a mistake.  You still used her.”

“Even if you’d used her for your original plan, by your notes, you would’ve been using her to kill.  Directly against what John wanted,” Verona said.

“Thank you,” Lucy said, as if Verona had supplied something she was trying to say, or something she’d imperfectly remembered.  “That.  John was never anything but good to you, to us, really, a few freak-outs aside.  And you made his worst nightmare come true, and then you used it to murder him, and now you’re standing there acting like you’re compassionate or you admire us?  Fuck you.”

Tears were welling up in Lucy’s eyes.  Verona reached over, and Jasmine started to rise to her feet, but Avery beat them both to it in giving Lucy a big hug.

“John would’ve- he said if it wasn’t for everything else, basically, he would’ve been my familiar.  Like Snowdrop is to Avery.  Except he would’ve been a dog, and he would’ve been a- a protector.  Someone to learn guitar with.  Someone- he gave everything for Yalda and I really do think- I wouldn’t want to replace her, but he would’ve done it for me.”

“The loyalest of companions and the staunchest of protectors until the day you die,” Verona said, quiet.  She looked at Jasmine.  “Would be kind of cool, you know?  Super smart dog to protect your kid and love her, and she’d never have to say goodbye to it too early.”

Lucy nodded, pushing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

“I would’ve loved that for you,” Jasmine said.

Lucy nodded again, then, hands still at her eyes, she said, “Stop fucking around, Charles.  Don’t play nice.  don’t admire us, don’t- just stop.  Tell us.”

“Alright,” Charles said.  He stood taller.  “Fine.  Verona’s right.  If they want tradition, we’ll give them the old ways.  Monsters in the darkness, monsters ruling the wilderness, monsters ruling the supernatural sides of any city.  Innocents will die or worse, but in a few years or decades, it will calm down.  They will break.  The practitioner establishment must cease to be, and I will uproot every family, every position of power, and deny it to them.  Where need be, I will slaughter them, gainsay them, forswear them, or I will use other means to take enough from them that they will feel as if they were forsworn when they were not.  By leaving, pulling away, and giving up on Kennet, they have bought themselves time, but it will not matter.  And the rest of the practitioner world is going to let this happen.”

“Why?” Avery asked.  “You don’t think he’ll call reinforcements?”

“Oh, he will.  But those will be quashed.  The Carmine Beast was a monster, a fierce beast in shadow, slaughtering and laying waste to early Western civilization.  Raised up to the role of Carmine, she became something greater, even more fearsome, with more resources.  I was a summoner.  I too have been raised up, given vast resources.  I have made exceptional Others, using my skills and knowledge.  As summoner and as Forsworn, I did a great deal with very little, and now I’ve done so, so much more with vast resources at my disposal.  Many haven’t even been revealed, and won’t, until certain conditions are met.”

“But the rest of the world won’t notice and stop you?  You’re threatening everything that they are,” Avery said.

“They’ll let it happen and stand by as soon as they realize that they can stand back, point the finger at this wider region and say, take notice, that is what happens if you overreach.  That is what happens if you grow complacent.  That is what happens if you don’t give the Forsworn their respect and due.”

“That,” Lucy said, pulling her hands down, glaring at Charles with eyes that were red because she’d cried and rubbed them, not because of Sight, “is what happens when you remove us, they’ll say.  All the other Mussers in the world, all the other real monsters.  And the strong and established get stronger and more established, and the weak become too scared to risk it.”

Little hairs on Verona’s neck stood up.  She rubbed at her hand.

“We’ll see,” Charles said.  “There’s still plenty of time remaining to shape the lessons that this greater exercise will teach.  They haven’t made the moves necessary to remove me.”

“What if we don’t want to see?” Verona asked.

“Then close your eyes.  Stand down.  From the very beginning, I said you shouldn’t be involved.  Not because you’re weak or incapable – it’s clear you aren’t either of those things.”

“Fuck off,” Lucy told him.

“It’s not a world meant for children.  The young shouldn’t be awakened or put at the risk of being forsworn.”

“We’re teenagers,” Lucy told him.

“You’d agree, don’t you?” he asked the parents on the couch.

Jasmine frowned, looking down at her hands.  “I don’t agree with a lot of the danger they were in, but my daughter could have had a forever dog that can play guitar, however that’s meant to work?  A protector?  And you took that away from her?  You made her cry?  Broke her heart?  Fuck you.”

“Plus all the murder and deaths,” Lucy said, eyes moist.  “We’re pissed off at that too.  And the shit you saw in the hospital.”

“I’m not forgetting that either,” Jasmine said.  “I’m not.”

Charles looked at Connor and Kelsey.

Connor shook his head a little.

“Too bad,” Charles murmured.

Verona looked at the empty space on the couch, then looked away.

“What’s underway is underway,” Charles said.  “The only way to break the back of a system this entrenched is to gut it.  I know you’ve encountered one of my snares-”

“We have?” Verona asked.

“While you’ve been here.  The thirty bogeymen respond to threats by attacking pre-emptively,” Lucy said, quiet.

“I didn’t even know there were thirty bogeymen.”

“Many other such snares remain,” Charles said, talking past the interruption.  “I’d rather the practitioners who are trapped and scattered remain trapped and scattered.  Enabling the Garrick family to drop them off and pick them up would interfere with what I’m trying to do.”

“If they stay, they may start fixating on how to get at you.  Or they may start banding together against the common enemy,” Verona pointed out.  “Especially now that- did he show himself?”

“He did,” Lucy said.

“Let them,” Charles said.

“Wouldn’t they be more scattered if you let them go?” Verona asked.  “Wouldn’t the lesson you’re trying to teach be more effective if you left them clinging to what they prize most, whatever they’ve built, whatever business they’ve got, their libraries, and then took those things away?”

“Far more difficult,” Charles said.  “And this is already difficult enough, trying to teach the right lessons while overcoming an organization of the strongest practitioners in the region.”

“You have ridiculous power at your fingertips, you’re a super summoner, and you know these jackasses, you’ve got an ex-fae naked blood goddess to advise you, and you can’t figure out a way to drive them apart or punish them?” Verona asked.  “Come on!”

“It sounds like you agree with him,” Lucy said, accusatory.

“I don’t-” Verona paused, hesitating.  She changed what she was going to say.  “I think it’s dumb as balls if Chuck is pissed off enough to do what he’s done over the last ten years, keep the secrets, get people killed, pull the shit he pulled with us, kill John, and then whine oh, it’s too hard.”

“I know you’re trying to bait me to get your way.”

“You also know- and I know because I got to basically be Carmine for a little while-”

“What?” Jasmine asked.  “That wasn’t in the notes.”

“-Chuck!” Verona raised her voice, so she wouldn’t lose her stride.  “You know I hate whining.  You know why.  You know I love this power, this- I love practice.  You know that.  You can see me, back to front, start to now.”

“I do,” Charles replied.  “I can.”

“Can you see how those things add up to me feeling-” she tried to sum up the feeling welling in her chest.  “This total gross contempt for you whining and trying to take it easy now?  Fucking us over like you did as long as you did, fucking over our town and our families, our friends, and then the moment you start winning, you shit all over all of that and stop trying?  Wah wah, too hard?”

“That’s bait,” Charles said.  “I can see that too.”

Verona rubbed at her hand, sitting back.  She stared at him.  He didn’t take his eyes off her.

“This isn’t me rising to the bait.  It is an attempt at compromise.  I’ll allow Peter Garrick to argue away the gainsaying if he can.  I won’t fight him too hard on it.  I won’t gainsay the others.  They can take the practitioners away.  Anyone willing to go.  They may make multiple trips if they need to, but after tonight, it must end.  They can take people out of Kennet, and no further.  On any further attempt to move people around, I will interfere and gainsay, or put threats in their way.  Let them know that.”

Avery sighed in obvious relief.

“Were they at risk of being forsworn?” Verona asked.

“No.  The oaths they swore were mostly about how they’d handle stuff when the job was done, and securing payment.  They’re not that dumb,” Avery said.  “But it sure would’ve screwed up my ability to do business with them if they all got gainsaid and stranded here.”

Verona nodded.

“Verona.  You’ve already done three days of Demesne claim.  This is extraneous.  We’ll intensify the claim.  You can face down whoever is willing to show up in that short period, you’ll retain your precedent and firmly established claim.  If that’s alright?  It’ll give you the opportunity to wrap up tonight and be at school tomorrow.”

“Not my priority, kind of weird it’s yours,” Verona said.

“It should be a priority, Verona,” Jasmine said.

“It will also give you the ability to prepare, in case Abraham Musser decides to come back to strike at Kennet,” Charles said.  “If you can stall or stop him from a subsequent Lordship attempt, that serves everyone.  Even Abraham Musser.  If he knew the forces arrayed against him should he take Kennet, even he would balk.”

Verona nodded.

“I know I have been the furthest thing from a friend, but I don’t want to be your enemy,” Charles said.  “If you spent even a day forsworn, you’d know that this all has to change.”

“Even if it means killing?” Avery asked.

“The total number of deaths will be far lower after I’m done.  Don’t underestimate what some of these practitioners do behind the scenes.  When the fighting has stopped, my bloody Lords will go dormant until challenged or provoked.  They’ve ceded leadership duties to the Judges, and if there’s nothing for them to fight, there’ll be no reason for them to be active.  When Kennet is awash in Carmine influence, it will be safer, quieter, and better.”

“And suicide-bomber curse people?” Avery asked.

“Franky and her goat?” Charles asked.  He smiled a little.  “If Florin Pesch had taken the Lordship and ceded it to Musser, that seed would have blossomed and seeded fruit.”

“What.”

“You got in the way of that, stopping Florin like you did.  But it remains a trap that’s primed.  One liable to go off soon, if the families of that area keep organizing like they’re doing.  Perhaps you could look into that when you return.  If you return.  It doesn’t matter either way to me.  My attention will lie elsewhere.  Taking Verona’s challenge.”

“So I did bait you?” Verona asked.

“No.  No, for other reasons.”

Verona did know what those other reasons were.

Because Charles, at the end of the day, was still Charles.  If he’d taken the bait and been provoked into taking action, well, that’d be Charles too.  Alexander had taken advantage of that and gotten Charles forsworn.

Charles was also someone who’d fallen into another trap, though.  The friends he’d made.  The mistakes he’d made when those friends were involved.

He might have Maricica as a pawn, but that didn’t soothe an ongoing wound.

He was alone.  He was lonely.  He was here and he was appealing to them, trying to reach out.  He wanted the parents to agree with him.  He wanted help.  He wanted someone to talk to and bounce off of.

And he didn’t have that.  Not like he wanted.

Verona knew too well what that was like.  She knew that sort of loneliness, even while next to her friends.  It was there in the empty space on the couch, and it was here, in her second big Demesne claim, much of it spent without any company as she faced down enemy after enemy without any friends.  Without Jeremy.  Without Tashlit.

Other things, sure, but she felt like she got it.

Charles wasn’t taking the bait that had come with her ‘come on!’ and everything else, her calling him out on giving up.

He’d taken the bait that started with Lucy saying Verona sounded like she was agreeing with Charles.  And maybe to some degree she was.  Maybe to some degree she was more okay with his plan than the others were.  And that was a big thing to unpack.

Not nearly as big as Easton’s thing, but still, she’d unpack it later.

He thought Verona might agree with him.  Like it was possible.  That was bait he was prepared to take.

“Acceptable to start?” Charles asked.

Verona maintained eye contact as she rubbed at her hand, nodding a little.

“Let’s talk about other pressing matters,” he said.

Next Chapter