With a whimper, Verona hit the lever for the sink, knocking it over to hot water with enough force that it banged, and metal squeaked. Her right hand shook as she put the stopper in the sink, quickly, before the water turned too hot.
Leaning over the bathroom sink, hand pressed down hard against the bottom of the sink, she used her right hand to make adjustments to the temperature, to keep it from burning her.
“Verona!”
“Fuck off!” she shouted, through the bathroom door.
He knocked on the door.
“Fuck all the way off!”
The temperature was okay. She pressed down on the back of her hand with the heel of her right hand. Her left hand and arms trembled, cramps shooting through her hand and sending jolts of pain up her arm. Moisture squeezed out of her eyes.
“With the ski season kicking off, I was thinking we should be extra ready to have short-term rentals. Can you shovel the driveway before you leave to do anything?”
“Nobody wants to rent when we’re a five minute drive from the ski hill!”
“Can you shovel anyway?”
“Fuck you, no I can’t!”
“You have all the free time in the world-”
“Same amount, dad! It’s just my choice how I space out the time!”
“I’m asking you to allocate some time to the driveway. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
She wanted to crumple over, but there wasn’t a great place to rest her head, unless she wanted to press it down on the lever of the tap, which didn’t work. She shifted her footing, slumped forward, forehead on her elbow.
“Verona? Please respond when I’m talking to you. Allocate some time to the driveway?”
“Can’t?”
“And what is it you’re doing with your time that’s so much more important than being a member of this household?”
“Fuck,” she swore. She got up, fixed her towel, and then stretched over to pop the lock on the door, hating she was relieving the pressure. Her left hand shook, fingers curling, pain shooting through, until she was able to reapply the pressure. “Come in.” Asshole.
Her dad opened it, and looked at her. She was fresh from her shower, not even dried off, towel wrapped around her, hand in the sink, applying pressure, glaring at him with the sum of all the pain and all the hate she could bring to bear.
“Okay?” she asked. She shivered, whole-body. “Now close the door, air from the hallway is cold.”
“Are you faking?”
“Do I fucking look like I’m faking? Fuck you.”
“Do you need to see a doctor?”
“It’s the regular old,” she grunted out the words, lowering her head again.
He shut the door, but he stepped into the bathroom as he did it. “Where’s your splint?”
“Cabinet, bottom shelf.”
He sat on the toilet to get that low, and pulled out two, “The one with the hard part at the palm or the glove?”
She hated the first one. But this hurt.
“Hard part.”
He put it on the edge of the counter, then got out a big towel. He put it over her head, shoulders, and arms, then started to dry her hair.
“Don’t fucking- don’t,” she told him, terse. I don’t like you enough for you to do that.
He stopped, stepping away.
“Thank you for the extra towel though.”
“What else do you need?” he asked. “Meds?”
“I can get some later.”
“I can get it now. It’ll start working sooner. You’ve got the full bottle of what the doctor gave you.”
“If you limited it to the big attacks like this-”
“No,” she stressed. “I’d probably get addicted. I’d say flush them, but maybe they’ll be useful if someone gets maimed and we have to do field surgery in the living room.”
“Uh huh. I’ll get the over-the-counter stuff, then,” he said.
The towel he’d draped over her meant she didn’t shiver as much as he opened the door to step out.
After about a minute, he came back up, cracking the door open to put a glass of lemonade and a plastic lid with two pills in it on the edge of the counter.
“Thanks.”
“Were you drinking?”
“What?”
“Just asking.”
“Caffeine? Getting enough rest?”
Pulled an all-nighter for the market. “Dad, will you seriously fuck off?”
“I’m trying to think what we could do to prevent this.”
“It feels like blame. What did I do wrong, right?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Leave me alone? Thanks for the towel, thanks for the lemonade and meds. It usually eases up in a few minutes. Nothing to do except wait.”
“I’ll do the driveway. If you’re up for it, can you do a load of laundry?”
“Later?” she asked. “Like, tonight, maybe? Kinda need both hands, and I’ll want to go easy on this one.”
“Okay. Feel better. Let me know if you need anything.”
He closed the door.
The water in the sink eventually got cold, so she refilled it with hot water, which necessitated getting the temperature right. The second time it got cold, she just pulled out the stopper, gently dried her hand and wrist, and put the brace on, before drying the rest of herself, brushing her teeth, and fixing her hair.
Partway through getting dressed in her room, it got bad again, only for a minute, leaving her sitting on the end of her bed, hurting and annoyed at everything. The thing that stung, that really made this suck, was it had been pointless. They hadn’t known how much time they had before the contest ended, they hoped to find a hail mary, she’d gambled, pushing the Faerie glass further than it should go… and there’d been no point. She’d hurt herself for nothing.
She got dressed, got her things, and checked her phone for her list of notes to herself, for everything she’d wanted to bring over to the House on Half Street.
Boots on, coat on, one glove on because she didn’t want to take the brace off, her hand cramping and hurting like it might hurt for the rest of her life, she headed out. The brace and her hand were wedged into one pocket so her fingers wouldn’t get cold.
Her dad was shoveling the end of the driveway by the garage.
The basement was remodeled, but if they ended up with any real renters, she was willing to be gainsaid. Her dad had kind of settled into an attitude that felt like he wasn’t going to put any real effort in, but if someone really wanted to rent, if the stars aligned with timing and everything, if nobody happened to point out they didn’t have a second egress window in case of fire, as the law required, and if there wasn’t a plausible excuse not to, he’d accept it. Mostly it was a cudgel to swing around to demand more chores be done.
But the fact he’d been caring and considerate and had shown some recognition of boundaries left her… unsettled. Yeah, that was the word. He’d listened, he’d negotiated chores, he’d pushed and nagged only lightly. it felt a lot like a father-daughter relationship on the lower, slightly uncomfortable bound of normal. She appreciated it, and she was totally unsure if she appreciated it because her calibration for ‘normal’ was all screwed up. Like, maybe this was still bad, but because she was so used to ‘fucked up’, it felt halfway good?
Unsettling, too, because she felt like she could imagine a situation where the cards fell down different. What if she was more hurt? What if she’d never been awakened to the practice? If she consciously or unconsciously realized the only way she could have a semi-normal father-daughter relationship was by hurting and being hurt, was there a reality where she succumbed to that? Being a victim? Sucking? Seeking out that semi-normal by outdoing him on the whining and victimhood?
She wasn’t one hundred percent sure she could say that reality didn’t exist, and she loathed that nebulous, hypothetical Verona in a way she’d never even hated her dad.
Unsettling.
Oh yeah. While she was thinking about parents, she texted Jasmine. Running late.
So was Jasmine, apparently.
Jasmine was driving over, and as it happened, she saw Verona and pulled over. Verona crossed the street and opened the passenger door.
“I’m only like, two minutes walk away.”
“It’s fine.”
She climbed in.
“Your hair is still damp, honey. You shouldn’t be out in freezing weather with wet hair.”
“It’s fine. I’m cultivating a feral, scruffy look, and slightly damaged hair fits.”
“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” Jasmine said, as she double checked the coast was clear and pulled back onto the road. “Is your hand okay?”
Verona shook her head, then added, “No. Acting up.”
“The thought crossed my mind a few weeks ago, and there wasn’t a good moment to ask, but did that happen as a result of magic?”
“Yeah. Pushed a magic item too far in a desperate moment. Trying to save John.”
“I was wondering why you hadn’t had it healed,” Jasmine said. She looked like she wanted to say something else. “Do I pull up here? I’m never sure about parking, especially when the trees move.”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Any weirdness here is a result of me, and I don’t have any reason to crush your car with a tree or anything. Not that I could, I don’t think. It’d take time.”
“Okay.”
They got out of the car, and Verona made the adjustment, to make the ground floor the store floor before opening the door with a gesture, and then she turned the lights on with a gesture.
She heard the trunk of the car slam, and saw Jasmine with a box.
“Oh, is that more books?”
“I’m not really doing much with these. If you have a use for them, you should take them,” Jasmine said. “Where do I put them?”
“Uh, by the door. Not interested, huh?”
She knew McCauleigh was in Kennet found, and the animals were away, but the Page-on would be back in the late afternoon. Part of the routine she’d gotten into with school. Lucy was in regular classes- University was already out, but the people at their high school only had a couple weeks and that started in a few days.
She was using her alchemy setup to make tea most of the time, so she’d moved her old kettle for boiling the water for alchemy down here. She put it on. “It’s a bit messy, but I’m a bit messy.”
“You’ve been around for enough sleepovers and stays, I definitely know that for a fact.”
Jasmine was taking everything in.
This would be visit number four or five. The first of those visits had been when Charles had been over. Then two or three check-ins, one visit when they’d lost track of time and she’d come to pick Lucy up, and one visit to check on an Undercity kid who didn’t like hospitals.
“I’ve got homework at the counter, but later that’ll be for accounting and cash. I’m actually ahead in my homework. I’m pretty hyped.”
“Your mom mentioned that.”
“Microphone stand here’s going to be a thing for the Page-on. I’m going to make a cloth standard to hang off the long part, so he can hang, people know he belongs in here, and it works double duty as a pun. Page as in page of a book, right?”
“I see. You’re eating okay?”
“Yeah. I mean, you know me. I have a slow metabolism, I eat three half-meals and a snack a day. You can vet my kitchen, if you want to do the child services thing and check my situation. You can vet anything. No used condoms, no empty bottles, no serious blood, no barf, no dead bodies, just, um, my home away from home.”
Jasmine approached the mostly built cash counter. The kettle burbled. She leaned over the counter, while Verona was behind it. “I don’t want to do the child services thing.”
“Sorry.”
“No. I’m sorry. You know you’re family, right? I hope you know that.”
Verona nodded. “Thank you.”
“I want good things for you, and I dread the idea of getting any of this wrong. This would be hard enough without magic as part of it, but with the magic, I feel like one hand is tied behind my back and half the things being said are being said in a language I don’t speak.”
Verona nodded. Her thumb went to her palm to rub it and thumped against the hard plastic of the brace that her palm was strapped flat against.
“It’s easier with Lucy. She seems to have found a good balance.”
“I think I’m finding a good balance. Thing is, it’s a balance between cool magic stuff and cool people.”
“There’s more to life than the cool people.”
“Is there? Because, like, this seems pretty good to me. I’m going to tackle this stuff, I get to do good for the world, I’m supporting this community from the shadows, I’m teaching myself a trade-” Verona indicated the shop. “I’m going to do my best to be there with Lucy and help her handle the sketchier side of it.”
“I just wish there wasn’t-”
“But there’s going to be,” Verona said, firm. “And all we can do is do our best. That’s the magic world, it’s not all that different from the real world. And in the real world, I’m going to pick and choose what I engage with. I did my time with the shittier side, I am actively choosing- executively choosing to only involve myself with the cool parts. I am making the executive decision over the domain of Verona, I’m going to try to function in a place away from the naff parts of life.”
Jasmine sighed. “Naff?”
“It was in a show I watched. Feels like the best, easy way to refer to the crap parts of life.”
Jasmine shook her head, and turned around, lower back resting against the counter as she faced the rest of the shop, and the loosely organized books and construction materials. She looked over her shoulders. “‘Cool people’ makes me think of your mother.”
“There’s worse comparisons you could make.” The electric kettle stopped burbling. Verona got it out, and put two cups down. “Tea or coffee?”
“Coffee.”
Verona got the french press out, put her hand against the cabinet, and closed her eyes, blurring her and the house’s awareness of where the coffee had last been stowed, then resolving it.
She opened the cabinet, getting the coffee grinder and beans, and set about grinding the beans, while the water cooled down. She poured the water in, awkwardly, with the hand brace making the required two-hand grip on the kettle’s handle awkward, stirred, and put the lid on.
“In the future, I might have wine. I could offer that in addition.”
“At ten in the morning?”
Verona shrugged. “Maybe. One of the things I don’t think you have to get super worried about is me getting drunk. Drinking and drugs, I’m pretty wary. Getting addicted to something’s pretty firmly in the naff category. So it’d be a glass in the right company, like you with Lucy’s aunt Heather.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. Does that include the alchemy? Potions and whatever?”
“Mmm, those are different. Side effects are pretty unfun.”
“They are for drugs and alcohol too, but that doesn’t stop people.”
“True!” Verona went about pouring her tea.
“I’m trying to think, I have reservations, but I’m not quite sure how to phrase them.”
“No pressure,” Verona replied.
“Oh, I feel pressure.”
“If you could avoid contradicting me? Kind of a thing, almost good manners in practitioner circles, unless you’re talking to an enemy? Like, ‘I feel pressure but I get what you mean, no pressure from you’, that sort of thing. I don’t want to be gainsaid.”
“I feel pressure, but not from you.”
“Thanks,” Verona said, quiet. She stirred the teacup, metal spoon clinking as the teabag swirled.
“My worry is, I think, being in a small town especially, people fall into a trap.”
“A lot of traps.”
“Yeah. But I’m thinking of one, where people limit their worldview. They don’t meet other cultures, they don’t interact with other viewpoints. And Booker, he’s out there, he’s meeting tons of different viewpoints. Some good, some bad, some ugly. But he’s a richer person, internally, because of that. And all I can do is hope I’ve equipped him and his education’s equipped him to take away the best parts of those views.”
Verona nodded. “I feel like I can see where this is going, but I don’t think it’s entirely right? I’ve met more different viewpoints in the last six months than I feel like I met in my entire life before.”
“Ghouls and goblins?”
“And rich people and dumb people and gosh, things people have said that could make me blush to say it,” Verona said, clapping her right hand to her upper chest. “And I don’t blush easy.”
“But what if all of that takes you further away from- I’m thinking of neighbors, coworkers. The ordinary.”
“The ordinary is a bit naff, you know?”
“But it’s essential, isn’t it?”
“Like, my plan is to make this a wandering bookstore with my apartment above it. It’s already in a weird place, sitting astride three realms. And-”
“But that’s not-”
“But it is! If I have it so it appears in random cities and random places, I get ordinary customers, and we chat, and each of them has something going on, something missing, something they need, and it’s this intense, distilled injection of that ordinary. The interesting part of ordinary, and I engage with it and I find them a book.”
“Isn’t that a contradiction?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I hear that and again, some of this, I don’t know it, it sounds like another language at times, I might be putting my foot in it, tell me if I’m in the wrong ballpark.”
“Can do.”
“But it makes me think of being a nurse. A lot of the people I run into during work, they’re staff with too many patients to a nurse, or they’re patients who are ordinary, but not in their usual state.”
“Fair. No, that makes sense. Right ballpark.” Verona poured the cup of coffee.
“Stressed, hurting, it brings out the best in good people and the worst in bad people, but if I imagine doing all that, but without the parts where I’m having a casual conversation with a doctor-”
Verona waggled her eyebrows.
“Nothing romantic. Or if I’m in the break room, listening to nurses? I might get a distorted view of people. What people deal with, what they go through. Political opinions, good, bad, and ugly.”
“Hm. Do you take cream? Sugar? I can get sugar from the cabinet, but I’m not quite at the place where any cabinet I open can be immediate access to the fridge.”
“I normally drink with half-and-half, but I can drink it black. I’d rather talk.”
“I’ll get that cream. I want to do this right, and I bought it, it’ll go to waste if I don’t use it.”
Jasmine stepped out of the way as Verona rounded the counter and jogged up the stairs. She got stuff from the fridge, grabbed some snacks, and headed back down. She slid snacks across the counter, managing the counter’s friction with a thought, then put the half-and-half down.
“Do you understand what I mean, though?”
“I get it but I don’t know how much I get it, yet. Might be one of those life experience things.”
“Might be.”
“I can think on it.”
“If you’re not dating, you’re not going to school, you haven’t worked with a boss-”
“My dad, kind of.”
“Worked a regular job with a boss. If you haven’t talked to people about home ownership or car ownership… I don’t know what else you might be subtracting from your experience. You’re in a position to be someone who doesn’t engage with ordinary humanity in the same way some people in this town won’t ever engage with cultures beyond Kennet’s.”
“TV and movies only, huh?”
“And not even always then.”
Verona nodded.
“And I don’t know what that looks like.”
Verona thought of some of the practitioners she’d met. Ray. Easton. Even McCauleigh. Stunted. “I might.”
Jasmine sipped her coffee. “Well done. Far better than what I get at work.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
“I’d like to see you pick up a job. Not right now, but eventually.”
“In Kennet?”
“If you can.”
“I’ve kind of got plans for this shop. And I’m not starting big, but by the time I’m eighteen, I really want to be underway. If it’s possible. If nothing happens in the meantime.”
“Let’s pray it doesn’t. I think it’s very important to be a grunt worker before you’re a boss in charge of workers, and before you’re an adult customer, with workers serving you. I think it’s important to join clubs. Engage with a variety of your peers.”
“A variety of my peers are knobs. That’s another word-”
“From the show. I figured.”
“Not sure what options there are. I feel like if there’s ever an art class, Jeremy’s going to be in it.”
“Maybe that’s good. Not fun, but it’s an experience that will help you mature.”
“Why is it whenever people talk about me maturing, it sounds so utterly ass?”
“Because it’s part of growing up.”
“It’d be nice to opt out.”
“Are there any clubs that interest? It doesn’t have to be art. Talents you could nurture?”
“I’m reminded of Melissa trying to get me to join the Dancers. Just try it, you were so good in that one gym class.”
“Why not? Even the bad experiences are still experience. And, I’m going to say this with a footnote- I know I may be treading on sensitive ground, I know I may be putting my foot in it, I thought about what I’d say in this conversation, and I really debated this one.”
Verona’s thumb hit the brace again, as she unconsciously went to rub her hand and hit the brace instead. “I’m worried about what this is going to be but also you can’t not say it at this point.”
“If you’re ever going to try out the idea of dating, or something close to dating, now would be the age to do it-”
Verona draped her head, shoulders, arms, and hands over the end of the counter and let out the most weary, disgusted sound she could.
“Even to show yourself your initial instincts were right, or to discover that five or ten percent of you that wants something.”
Verona drew the sound out until she had to force the last reserves of air out of her lungs to prolong it. She writhed.
“Everything’s on a spectrum, right? Better to find out now than when you’re older and dating is harder.”
Verona stopped, drawing in a breath, before sighing heavily, flopping over onto her back, foot braced against the wall behind the counter, so she wouldn’t slip down too far, looking at Jasmine upside-down.
“Sorry,” Jasmine said. “Forgive me.”
“I’ll forgive you because I like you.”
“If your goal is to run a traveling bookstore-”
“Wandering, but yes.”
“If that’s the goal, and you’re working with customers who need something or want something, isn’t it better if you have the life experience to empathize? Seems to me it would make you better at finding the right book.”
Verona turned back over, returning to a standing position, perking up. Talking about this conceptually was easier and better. “Or I could use magic, and be aloof, removed from it all, this weird, mysterious, slightly disconnected, compelling bookseller.”
“You could. And that’s up to you. But I think… hmm. I imagine how things are in five or ten years, and I’d like to imagine you coming over for Christmas. Your mom too, because you should definitely be with your mom on Christmases.”
“I notice we’re skipping the subject of my dad.”
“I’m not going to say anything that could come back to bite me. I support you, but in case I’m ever talking to CAS again-”
“Sure.”
“Playing it safe. I imagine you coming for Christmas- I want you to. And I think- I love you, you’re a part of this family, I don’t see that changing in any way. But I sure would rather have the company of an empathetic Verona with a rich lived experience instead of one that’s mysterious and disconnected.”
“I didn’t mean that to be an ow.”
“Ow, though.”
“Besides, wouldn’t it hurt your reputation if you had someone in the store, needing a book about taxes, and you said something that made it obvious you’d never filed a tax return?”
“Not really how the bookstore would work, and I think it could be framed in a way that makes me seem even more eerie and interesting, but I get what you’re saying.”
“Good.”
“You kind of already had me at the part where I had to admit like, there’s a lot of practitioners I’ve met with no clue. And I don’t want to be that.”
“That’s good.”
“I just don’t know what to do about it.”
“You don’t have to do anything about it just yet. But if an opportunity comes up to test and grow yourself, maybe say yes.”
“A friend’s been encouraging me to hang out with a boy, mostly so she can get with this guy she likes. Low stakes. Casual.”
“Sounds like a good way to put your toe in the water and verify that your tolerances in reality are the same as they are in your heart and mind.”
“Yeah. Plus, like, this guy Mallory from the Undercity wants me to meet? Friend of Coma Boy? He’s also from the Undercity, and the boys there are like, super low inhibition. If I’m going to get life experience, make mistakes, I can make so many mistakes with these guys. They are like, the boys to make mistakes with. Walking mistakes.”
“I know you’re teasing me, but go easy. My heart can’t take that.”
Verona smiled.
“Coma Boy? Tell me he’s not actually in a coma?”
“Just sleeps a lot. Mal’s- well, I was going to say she’s not depraved, but she is. She’s not that depraved.”
“Good.”
Verona’s thumb unconsciously went to her hand, hit the plastic part of her brace, and she felt a flare of annoyance and frustration that made her want to tear the brace off, fling it into a corner of her Demesne, and let the house literally eat it. Digest it in the walls or some garbage like that.
“Are you okay?” Jasmine asked.
“Better than I’ve been in a long time. But not perfect. Still a lot of stuff that’s… a lot.”
Jasmine nodded. “I’m available if you need to talk. It’s my job, as an adult, to help, shelter, counsel.”
Verona circled the counter, and she gave Jasmine a hug. “Thanks for caring.”
“Of course.”
“I wasn’t lying about the boys, though. I can’t lie. You should be careful what you wish for. Some of these dudes can practically get you teen pregnant by looking at you. I’m imagining them making you a teen mom when you’re not even a teenager.”
Jasmine squeezed Verona terminally tight. “You’re punishing me for bringing up the boy stuff, huh?”
“One night with some of these lads and you could be a teen mom-”
“Stop.”
“-and have a fun new STD, and try a new, heretofore undiscovered drug, all in a matter of hours.”
“What do I have to do to get you to stop? Bribe?”
“I haven’t eaten breakfast. I could do with lunch. Want to go get something? After we’re done tea?”
“It’ll be busy.”
“I can wait.”
“At least there’s a limit to what we can talk about in public, right?”
“See, bringing it up like that gets me thinking about how to get around it. I have that type of brain.”
“Come on. We’ll talk about your mom visiting, and how we handle that.”
Verona had shifted to the really tight, fingerless glove that worked as another kind of brace, limiting the movement of her hand while leaving her free to actually use it, and to rub at her palm.
She put the box down, then arranged the books on the stall counter. A choice few, and a few more in the boxes that were beneath the counter. She’d picked out a few based on the pillars- a book relating to Death, one to Fortune, one to Nature, and so on, then one book for each of the big branches of curse, like Lucy liked to cite, and with that, she had enough that the front of the stall was pretty full.
She’d drawn a magic circle on the floor of the stall, which was barely more than a booth, with a cloth draping that the snow kept piling up on, then sliding off in chunks that would spook her. The magic circle helped to keep her warm, but not in a way that defied realism and expectation. It would be weird if her breath didn’t fog, for example.
The Nightmare Market was going to run for three nights, now. Verona was only committing for two hours, the first cycle of REM sleep, where Alpeana would bring the first wave of people in.
Fatigue did make her hand worse. She didn’t want to push it.
But Alpy had wanted to do it, and they were sort of hoping that by making this a thing that was less of an event and more of a new thing the town was doing, they could root out the strange practitioners.
Besides, she’d been on surveillance duty. Now she wanted to see things a bit more from the other side. So she had a preliminary stall set up.
She’d read the books, she’d done her research.
She’d even made her preliminary setup. A bit ambitious, but this was going to be a lifelong thing. There were collectors who drew up a big diagram, and every spot on that diagram had certain prescribed goals. Items that fit somewhere, powerwise, on a scale of one to ten, with spots one through ten marked out on that diagram. A goal to have two items for each of the six pillars, one opposed, one for. And the items fit a theme.
Bristow had been doing something like that with people. Thea Knight had a rig just like that in her vault, with magic items tied to places. Not anywhere near a full collection, which could be fifteen to thirty magic items fitting specific criteria, but… she’d been doing that. Channeling the power, and sharing strength between items.
The Peddler of cursed items operated differently. The goal wasn’t to have things or people or whatever in their possession, but to let things go. They could achieve a power and a reach over a community, with the classic successful Peddler bringing entire towns to their knees, reaping great power.
She’d even read about one in one of the big textbooks she’d read at the Blue Heron. Forged Hearts. An Other, but same deal, it sounded like.
Every item sent out would maintain a connection, that connection was power, and when and if that item brought things to a dark conclusion, because the core idea was that the items would be cursed, then there’d be a big payoff.
Someone who won a magic duel could claim something, usually an item. And a successful cursewright, including the creators of cursed items, they could claim something too. If the curse came to a head, they could take a trophy, and that trophy could be something immaterial and insubstantial. A shadowy token of that victory, a piece of the cursed.
And the organized setup recommended in the book was similar to something Verona had read in a business text. That to make the most of a growing business, she had to re-invest.
Send out a cursed item, get a token back. Sometimes, usually, the cursed item would return, though it was best not to reuse it in the same places.
The book had various methods. The tokens that came back could be buttons, cards, figurines. The means of finding customers were varied too. Verona had taken the approach of detailing a deck of cards that would work on both fronts. Seventy-eight cards, down as mostly blank for now, though she planned to add art.
Ten suits, each suit with a one, three, five, seven, and a twelve. Each suit also had a beast and a beauty. It was important to have crown jewels, big successes, and milestones. Then six for the pillars- Death, War, Fate, Nature, Time, and Fortune. And finally, two jokers for the polarities and to absorb weirdness. If she used the deck to do a search and hit a wall, a joker in black that could turn up a ‘I dunno, something negative?’ could keep the deck from being injured.
Already, one of the cards was special. All of the cards were black, with gel pen markings in different colors for the card suits and borders, except for the jokers and the one card. The three of wounds. It was a light purple watercolor-ish background, with faded, inconsistent black ink, and a trace of power in it, and an image in her drawing style was marked on the front. A boy with a shattered arm, shin, and foot sat with his back to a tree, looking like he was dazed, or he didn’t care. Sometimes when she looked away and looked back, the image was slightly different.
She’d put her receipt for the book she’d given the boy into the card. Then, sometime after last night’s market, it had changed. He’d finished the book and it had mattered on some level.
She was setting the bar high, at seventy-eight cards. That was just the meaningful sales. How many years would that take? Not every customer would return a card. A goblin buying a bear poop book wouldn’t, though she could use other means to guide the goblin to the right spot, and maybe even reap abstract rewards. And after the seventy-eight, how many more, to get cards with all their backgrounds in deeper color, and ink consistent. Because what she’d given the guy was a B-minus as far as matching book to owner. Or something. It could be an A+, if she got her stock up to a certain bar of quality, found the perfect book.
But if she could get it done, or mostly done, then that would put her in a good place. Not a Ray Sunshine place, but a guest-teach-at-the-Blue-Heron type place? Possibly, probably. If she’d set her goals low, then it wouldn’t matter for nearly as much.
She wasn’t setting her goals low. The cards weren’t even a big part of it.
Just about anyone could learn a broad variety of practices. That made that person a dabbler, but getting done or nearly done with a whole category or various practices? That made a person a Sorcerer, and that was the big end goal. Peddling could be part of it. So could Alchemy. So could summoning.
She heard the woman’s child before she saw the woman. A tired looking woman swaddled in winter clothes, carrying an infant that was so bundled up in a puffy snowsuit, it looked like it could be dropped out a plane and survive the landing.
The infant was screaming, and it sure looked like the woman wanted to punt the child out a plane, whether it would survive or no. Or jump out of the plane and leave the kid behind.
Sight on, Verona sorted through the cards, watching the woman. Three of Crows, One of Whispers, Five of Apples, Five of Towers.
Each card, if she let the spots that formed in her vision from straining gather, had a pattern that tended to form. And if she looked at the woman and child, looking hard enough past the woman’s silhouette to see the shadow of the meat-thing, she could draw parallels between the shape of the gauze and the meat-thing and what was on the card.
Three of Apples. Beast of Flies. One of Shadows. Joker, a dancing black cat with a knife in one hand, eyes wide, jester’s cap pulled on.
She made herself stop, checking the coast was clear. Same deal as interrupting her schoolwork. The Joker appearing could be a good ‘stop and pay more attention’ check.
Twelve of Shears, One of Skulls, Shadow’s Beauty, Beast of Wounds.
One of the suits isn’t turning up. Which means they might come together, and…
Twelve of bells. Beast of Bells.
One of Bells.
A bell like a schoolbell. Or the ringing bell on a factory floor. Or a boxing ring, brutal, hard, sweaty. The bell, to Verona, fit work. Labor. One of Labors.
She knew instinctively she didn’t have a book that fit that. She still looked. And as the woman turned toward her, the shadow on the card Verona was avoiding looking at changed to match. They were in alignment.
She waved at the woman to come over, knowing this was unlikely to work.
“I’m not planning to buy anything,” the woman said. “I’m trying to get her to calm down.”
“The book I’d want to sell you isn’t here. I even remember the title.” The Milkmouth Reconciliations, letters from a baby to a mother.
“Tell me the name and I’ll look it up.”
“It’s not the kind of book sold in stores. If you come to my store tomorrow, I’ll give you the book for free, with conditions. The first is that if it matters and has any meaning for you, you pay me for it. Your choice how much.”
“I’m probably not going to bother, sorry.”
“Pretty major. Life changing.”
“I’m tired, honey,” the woman said, bouncing the screaming infant in her arms. “My life’s changed enough recently.”
“Tell me where you’re staying, I’ll drop it off or have someone drop it off.”
“I would feel uneasy doing that. And my husband likes to sleep in. He’d be cranky if he was woken up.”
“How nice that he gets to sleep in,” Verona noted.
“Yeah,” the woman replied, the tone of her voice betraying weeks or months of resentment. “How nice for him.”
“Help me help you. Let me give you a book- I can even send someone to run by the store to pick it up. You take it, free, agree to convince yourself it was a wedding gift you forgot about.”
“I’m pretty sure this is a dream, honey,” the woman said. “So it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“It matters,” Verona insisted.
But the woman was already walking off, bouncing the child.
“No, don’t do this to me,” Verona said. She looked around, and she saw Bracken, lugging around a case that looked fairly heavy. “Bracken! Brackenbrackenbracken!”
“What?” he asked, as he approached, way, way too slow.
“Can you run an errand for me? I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I’m paid security, and there’s nothing you can give me that’s worth me bailing on my job and upsetting the Oldbodies.”
“Do you know anyone that can move faster than a hobble? Anyone I could trust to not rob me?”
“I don’t know anyone that can even move at a hobble, really. Melissa’s not here tonight.”
“Help me, Bracken! If you’re security, can you be security enough to guard my stall and let me run back? And keep an eye on that woman?”
“On the stall and on the woman that’s walking out of sight of your stall?”
“Yes!”
“Fuck! Bracken! Please, Bracken!”
“Saying my name a lot doesn’t make me capable of doing the impossible.”
“Have you seen Luna Hare? Or any of the Kennet Others?”
“No, and not really.”
“What shitty kind of security are you?” she asked, plaintive.
“Good question. I should be doing more security stuff instead of entertaining me.”
“Entertaining? You’re practically torturing me by not helping!” she pleaded, reaching across the stall to grab his coat sleeve. “Help!”
He pulled away.
“Alpeana, Alpeana, Alpeana.”
The Nightmare took a moment to turn up. She appeared in the shadows behind Verona’s booth, perched on an empty box that would’ve collapsed under the weight of a large cat.
“Any chance you can guard my stall while I run back to the House on Half Street?”
“No, lassie. Ah’ve work ta do.”
“The woman with the screaming baby, can she-”
“Sent her back.”
“What!?”
“Aye, she wasnae goin’ tae buy anythin’. Ah’ve better uses o’ my time.”
“Fuck, no, do you at least know where she was sleeping? Cabin number? Motel room?”
“Ye’re imaginin’ me a lot more canny than ah am, Verona.”
“Seriously, are you getting your nightmare jollies, tormenting me right now?”
“Isnae the worst thin’, what ye’re givin’ af, but nae, no.”
Isn’t the worst thing, eating my misery right now, but you’re not? Fine.
“I’m trying to decide if leaving my stall unattended and risking losing all these good books is worth a guaranteed sale and progress for my peddler setup.”
“Riskin’? Lassie, this is Kennet below, aye?”
“Argh! But if I go to the motel, I can hear the baby, right?”
“She’s plum knackered. Tired herself out. Thar’s nothin’ to hear.”
Verona banged her forehead against the counter.
“Ah’ve got work tae do. Ah’ll let ye be. Kind thanks fer the wakin’ nightmare.”
“Glad something got something out of this.”
Verona made some notes, to see if she could maybe track the woman down in the morning. Dim hopes, but… progress was progress.
After about twenty minutes of no sales, Mal came by. There was a guy with her, arm draped over her shoulder, eyes half-lidded, like he was halfway to passing out and leaning on her for support, and halfway just being a guy with an arm around the girl.
And there was a skinny guy with them, his hair was a bit of a mop, and he had a smile that made Verona think he was either very snarky or very confident.
But like… okay. If Mal wanted to pitch a guy at her, she’d picked the right type. Looks-wise, at least, Mal had hit the mark.
“Any sales?”
“Not tonight.”
“Coma Boy, this is Verona, third witch of Kennet, and my friend, I guess. She’s alright.”
“Damned with faint praise?”
“Verona, third witch of Kennet, this is Coma Boy, and this is Coma Boy’s friend, Appaloosa.”
“Nickname?”
“Name my parents gave me.”
“Huh, sure, cool, I guess. I dunno if Mal’s given you the rundown on what I’m about.”
“Says you like skinny guys.”
“Not what I was talking about, but wow, came right out with that.”
“Want to know the best thing about skinny guys?” Appaloosa asked.
“Sure.”
“For skinny guys, our junk looks disproportionately big.”
“Uh huh?” Verona asked, glancing at Mal, who shrugged. “Good for you, I guess?”
“And I’m already blessed. When I was born, my parents looked at me and they went, ‘gotta name this baby after a breed of horse because holy fuck.'”
“Yeah? Wow,” Verona said, looking at Mal again. “Wow.”
“Wow,” Mal said, in a tone like she was heavily trying to hint something. “Might be worth giving a shot? Friend of mine?”
Verona put her elbow on the counter, resting her cheek on her hand.
“I am telling you, witch girl, I pull this monster out of you, I’m pulling your uterus out with it. That opens up whole new avenues for what we can do.”
Verona gave Mal a very pointed look.
“Okay,” Mal said, sighing. “Yep, okay, I get it. Sorry.”
“You should be,” Verona said.
“I thought you said this was a sure thing,” Coma Boy said, pulling his arm away from Mal’s shoulder.
“You have no idea what you’re missing out on,” Appaloosa said.
“Pretty sure I got the gist of it.”
“He was supposed to dial it back,” Mal told Coma Boy.
“He is dialing it back,” Coma Boy said, in a tone like Mal was saying something profoundly stupid.
“This is Coma Boy’s cool friend?” Verona asked.
“The coolest,” Coma Boy said, while Appaloosa nodded, looking like he had a spark of hope Verona would agree to a date.
“Just go out with Mal, Coma Boy,” Verona said. “She’s cool, you’re missing out if you don’t.”
“I gotta back my boys,” Coma Boy said. “I’m not venturing if they’re not coming with.”
“And I come a lot,” Appaloosa said. “With and-”
“Okay. Bye, unless you’re buying a book. Gods and spirits and Jesus Christ, okay.”
She talked over them for another few seconds, until they gave up. When Mal tried to go with, she got rebuffed.
Verona and Mal exchanged looks.
“You could take a potion,” Mal said.
“To deal with that personality? Have you heard ten words come out of his mouth that aren’t about the supposed gifts he was born with?”
Mal thought for a second. “Can I count three words here, two words there?”
Verona shook her head.
Mal sighed. “But Coma Boy’s so pretty.”
“Better luck next time. I tried. But seriously.”
Mal groaned, and walked off.
Verona sat back, and then perked up as someone came to browse.
A bit of triple-checking with Sight, looking between the visiting Innocent and the books and she was able to find a book they’d find interesting.
Nothing notable. Nothing that’d return a card. Just thirty bucks in her pocket for the time being.
That one lost customer was probably going to nag at her for a while.
But she’d try in the morning.
She spent idle time getting organized, thinking about how to set up next time, and watching the market.
She sent Avery a text, pretty confident Avery would check in the morning.
Verona:
how open are you to visiting any markets and things in the region? theres gotta be a few.
Avery’s response came back pretty quick.
Avery:
there’s a lot!!
why??
Verona:
You’re up at 2am?
Avery:
using nocturnal opossum energy
getting stuff done
you? market?
Verona:
yeah. selling. remind me to tell you about the guy mal tried to set me up with. I wanted to ask if maybe we could get some other groups into kennet as temp stalls.
Avery
one market got totaled when Mari led a primeval through it
I could try getting them to visit
more places to go
people to talk to
ok
id need more information
Verona:
we’ll talk about it later. cool.
good luck getting stuff done.
Avery replied with a thumbs up, which was a good indicator the conversation was done.
Verona sat back and watched the market at work, from the perspective of someone in the market. Any culprits? Anyone that could be the St. Victors practitioners?
No, only adults, really.
Which fit. They’d asked Alpeana to filter whoever came in, limit it to people outside the appropriate ages for St. Victors. So any teenagers or kids who showed up would stand out.
But they weren’t showing up.
Verona spotted Bracken again. Lugging that case. “Bracken!”
He stood there, about thirty feet away, looking like he wasn’t sure he even wanted to acknowledge her.
“Come on. Come talk to me.”
He glowered at her, his mouth set in a line.
“Come on. Come, please, do me a favor. Buddy.”
He walked over. “Is it security related?”
“Could be. I’m going to pack up soon. I’ll do a loop after, then get some shut-eye. I wanted to ask, in case a situation comes up… what’s in the case?”
Bracken reached inside his jacket, and pulled out a gas mask. He fitted it around his head, cinching the straps tight to ensure a seal.
“Do I, uh, need to wear one of those?”
“Don’t think so,” Bracken replied, his voice very muffled. He pulled the case around, residual snow on the path clogging up the little wheels. He undid the clasps, then popped it open.
A hollow, eyeless eyesocket looked up through the crack. “Jabba! Lecta atme!”
Bracken closed it up again, sealing Jabber inside.
“Huh.”
“If things get hairy, it means I can protect the innocents and innocence. When I finish my shift, someone else we trust will take him with.”
Verona nodded. “Hm.”
That was an interesting line of thought.
“My mom’s going to be ticked if she finds out I cut class,” Lucy said.
“I mean, I can handle it alone, if you want to run back. There’s a difference between being ten minutes late and missing afternoon classes altogether.”
“I don’t want you to handle it alone. We know there’s a few of them.”
Verona and Lucy walked, with Matthew, Grandfather, Angel, and Horseman accompanying them.
Verona had tried and failed to find her possible customer from last night, and then she’d set about visiting everyone who mattered, who was capable of keeping things under wraps. No big council meeting, no chance that the plan would leak out. The closest they’d come to these guys had been when they were reacting or when it was spontaneous.
They hadn’t even told Rook. Things had relaxed a little bit in recent months, but Rook was in a sketchy middle territory where she was willing to work and deal with Charles’ group. And when they had no idea what was going on or who was involved, they were going to play it safe.
Zed’s search of who had been absent hadn’t turned anything up. Another mark against normal.
“It’s a bit inconvenient that the only time our problem kids here are in one place is when they’re at school, and that timing overlaps with yours.”
“For the next few days only,” Lucy said. “Then we’re out for Winter break.”
“Yeah. Frig.”
The case bounced a bit as the snow gathering between the wheel and the case got to be too much and it locked up. A muffled “Agaha! Ba!” could be heard from within.
“Bringing out the big guns,” Matthew said, as they approached the front door of the school. He lifted the case up off the ground as he carried it up the stairs, then set it down again, cracking the case open. Jabber peeked out.
They entered.
Jabber’s influence, gaseous, seeped out.
They passed the younger grade classrooms. Students sitting, smiling, laughing without sound, bodies jerking.
Wouldn’t be them. Way too young.
St. Victor’s was small enough a lot of the grades were folded in together. Like the last year at high school, with the nines and tens together, but even more compressed- it looked like three different grades in the same classroom. All students in sweaters and button-up shirts, boys with black slacks, girls with blue and white plaid skirts. The uniforms weren’t very comfortable looking. Like all the material was as cheap as it got. Even the kids who went to the private school came from families that didn’t have a lot of money.
They passed the auditoriums, that doubled as movie theaters. Empty. The Sight showed nothing.
Past offices, past the tiny gym that doubled as a cafeteria.
And they entered the back portion of the school.
Higher grades.
It wasn’t a big school. From grades six to twelve, there were three classrooms. One was a computer lab. One was a science lab that looked better set up than the one at the other high school.
Students looked at nothing in particular and giggled, choked, and laughed.
Verona entered the classroom that had had the Undead-in-progress in it.
“Sorry to interrupt your lesson,” Verona told the class of students, who stared at nothing, twitching, jerking, choking out laughs with barely any sound. “But there’s a real and present danger, and I gave the culprits a chance to talk.”
She searched with her Sight, looking for any connections. Any sign anyone was listening.
This would be easier with Avery here.
Verona paced, leaning in here and there, to look at the different kids.
“Wish Avery was here,” Lucy murmured.
“Was just thinking that.”
Lucy jerked her head. Verona nodded.
The Dog Tags accompanied them, pacing behind.
Grandfather picked up a textbook off a desk, browsing it. Verona watched from the hallway as Lucy went into the computer lab.
“Careful. They were doing technomancy, remember?”
“I remember.”
Grandfather, having walked to the back of the class, dropped the textbook.
It banged as it hit the floor, loud enough Lucy jumped and came running.
Nobody in the class had reacted.
“The way I see it,” Verona addressed them, standing where two classes could definitely hear her, and a third had a shot at it. “This can’t be fun, is it? You against us, us against you? We lose sleep, you have to deal with us investigating.”
“I’d like to think we’re pretty fair,” Lucy said. “Talk to us?”
“We’re not dangerous, really,” Verona said. “But if I was in this situation, my asshole would be so clenched right now.”
Horseman snorted, smirking.
Oh gods and spirits, oh fuck. Appaloosa might have ruined the name horseman for her. Seeing Horseman smirk, after the cocksure expression on Appaloosa’s face? Damn.
Damn it, Mal.
Verona went with Lucy to the computer lab. Grandfather left that first classroom as well.
Lucy stopped in her tracks.
“What?” Verona asked, leaning in, her mouth not really producing sound. Instead, she formed the shape of the sound and used the air already in her mouth to whisper.
Lucy tapped her earring.
“What’d they do or say?”
“Boy said he nearly shit himself. A person, I think it was a girl, shushed him.”
Verona nodded.
“Back half of the classroom.”
“Were they sitting near one another?”
“Probably. They weren’t far.”
Verona retraced her steps, walking back into that first classroom.
That reduced the possibilities.
Verona got her phone out, then took a picture, flash on, right in the face of the first boy that had a girl in an adjacent seat. She did the same, taking pictures of the students, one by one. “For notoriety. And looking you up, later.”
“You guys realize that, probably you only have a few days of this?” Verona asked. “At most? There’s a chance one of you screws up again, and the dominoes fall.”
She took a picture, then leaned forward, looking at the girl. Straight blonde hair, mid-length, tucked behind the ears, hairband. Her face was a bit colorless, like if it wasn’t for the hair, she could be albino. Twelve or thirteen, by Verona’s guess.
Verona moved a notebook, reading a name at the top of a handout. Maybe homework.
“A girl named Harri,” Verona said. “Harri Maxfield.”
“With a Y or an I?” Lucy asked. “On the Harri?”
“I with an x instead of a dot. That’s cute. Peculiar,” Verona said. She sat on the desk. “I think your eyes dilated, Harri. You can drop the act, I think.”
Grandfather, Lucy, and Verona crowded in, each of them standing on one side of the desk.
Verona took another picture, flash right by Harri’s eyes.
“Yeah. Dilated. You can play at laughing, copy the others in the room, and you might even be able to predict a loud noise, but-”
Grandfather moved a hand near the girl’s face, not really punching, but it came in at an angle she couldn’t see from. She flinched.
Her hand moved, and Lucy grabbed her wrist.
Verona watched carefully, looking at her eyes. Who did she look at? And who was looking at what was happening?
She didn’t see any glances.
Harri breathed hard, like she was starting to hyperventilate, tugging once with her arm, though Lucy held on.
Got one, Verona thought, victorious.
“It’s okay, but you need to talk to us,” Lucy said.
A shout from Angel. Running footsteps in the hall.
Horseman gave the order, sending Angel after.
“Watch her, be careful?” Verona asked, as she dodged around tables and chairs, struggling to navigate, because she was watching other students, to see. A boy, at least. “One of the boys, at least, is one of them.”
“Right,” Grandfather said. He held Harri’s wrist, having taken over for Lucy.
Verona and Lucy ran down the hall. Up the stairs- the building had an upstairs area, but it was only partial, not covering the entirety of the roof.
Cold air blasted down as the doors were opened. Up onto the rooftop.
A boy, older than Harri had been, older than Verona and Lucy, brown hair gelled into a part.
He crossed the roof.
Verona took a picture of him.
“Damn it,” the boy swore. “Damn.”
“Lost your nerve, bolted?” Lucy asked.
The boy nodded.
“Younger kids did better. Harri and her friend,” Verona noted.
“Walk away,” the boy said.
“Why?” Lucy asked. “I’m not going to be dumb and cocky and think it’s impossible that we walk away. But… explain. Tell us why we should.”
The boy shook his head. “It’s better. For everyone.”
“You awakened?” Verona asked.
He bobbed his head in a singular nod.
Lucy nodded. “I’ll definitely take that under advisement, then, knowing you can’t lie, but… leaving you guys alone seems like a problem too.”
“He wasn’t supposed to let that Father Gobek Other loose.”
“Okay. That’s positive. That means you might not be the destructive force you seemed to be at first. Accidents happen.”
Lucy stepped forward.
He shook his head, then stepped back. “Don’t come closer.”
“Why?” Verona asked him.
“Because I rigged up practices that activate when any of you three get close. I don’t want them going off.”
“Why?” Verona asked, again.
“Because- a lot of reasons. I don’t like this practice. I drew the short straw.”
“Lots of scary stuff,” Lucy said. “I imagine the short straw could be really unpleasant.”
“There can be ways to make the bad stuff better,” Verona said. “Or find the good in a bad practice? I’m trying to do that.”
He scoffed, despite himself, and despite the tension he was clearly feeling.
“No?” Verona asked.
“Some of them don’t have any good.”
“Okay,” Verona said.
“Not demons?” Lucy asked. “Tell me it’s not demons.”
“It’s not demons,” he replied.
Which gives us more information. They know enough to know what demons are, and even the Blue Heron was pretty skimpy on that info.
“Sounds pretty unpleasant,” Lucy said.
“Yeah. Tell me about it.” He shook his head, stopping himself. “I’m not supposed to give you any information.”
And there we go, Verona thought. They’d tried to string it out, but she’d anticipated something like that popping up as a wall.
“There’s no way to turn things off, recant the practice, choose a new specialty?” Lucy asked.
“I’m not supposed to say anything. I’ve already said too much.”
“Because if you’re dangerous… we gotta find a better way. For your sake, for Kennet’s, right?” Verona told him. “We’ve dealt with so many practitioner families, heads up their asses, patterns set in stone, seemingly, no flex. And it’s so hard to get them to come around. But you- I guess you’re new? There’s a chance? There’s room to fix things?”
“I’m supposed to suck it up. The others, they’ve got cool stuff they can do. And I’m losing sleep. I’m scared.”
“What happens?” Verona asked, quiet. “If I walk across the roof right now-?”
“I jump off the roof. Because the alternative is worse.”
“It’s like, what, fifteen feet to the ground? I’m not even positive you’d break anything.”
“And there’s snow,” Lucy added.
He shrugged.
“Sounds lonely,” Verona said. “Some scary practice you don’t even want to use, others aren’t listening…”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?”
“Manipulating me. Saying the right things.”
“I’m pretty sure that I’m just trying to recognize your feelings and situation. If that’s manipulation…”
He shook his head, backing up another step.
Verona strode over a few steps, to the side of the building, holding up a hand for him to stay. She looked down.
Just making sure there weren’t any spiked railings or anything below that he could throw himself onto.
He went from looking at her to looking at a spot behind her. Not Angel- slightly taller.
Verona turned.
The school building’s second floor was two or three rooms and the top of the stairwell, a rise in the roof. A ladder led up there, but Verona was pretty sure the people up there hadn’t climbed up the ladder.
A woman in a robe that looked like chainmail, but it was silver, so polished it was blue. The inside of the robe’s hood included a metal mask, an intricate weave of silver that uncovered one eye. White hair leaked out the bottom of the hood. She looked like a Valkyrie, as tall as Guilherme, but slender, and instead of feathered wings, she had wings like an insect’s, scintillating and partially hidden behind her.
A man in silver armor, a white fur pelt draped over one shoulder and arm. He looked beautiful, but he had criss-crossing scars on one side of his face. His skin was nearly white, and the scars were the sort of white-blue that came with suffocation.
And a third, smaller, slender, almost regular human size, standing at the far back corner, barely visible. Verona barely made them out beyond the flurry of snowflakes that were falling and being kicked up by the wind. Which made her realize there was snow falling in the first place, and wind, and snow blowing elsewhere. Which she was pretty sure hadn’t been the case a minute ago.
Which was a thought that led her eye back to that figure in the back, that was almost a silhouette, blurred by what was going on. And she startled, seeing they’d turned around. And with that realization, and how hard it was to make out the features, she was pretty sure the weather was worse and this was a loop, and she turned her eyes away.
All three seemed to get more intense as the weather worsened. Silver-white eyes cut through the gloom and blowing snow- a constant when the rest seemed to dissolve to snowy chaos.
Verona bowed. Lucy did the same. After some hesitation, Angel bowed too.
“There’s no need for formality. If you are not our quarry, a lack of bowing and scraping won’t make you our target. If you are our quarry, you should run, not bow, though it will not matter,” the valkyrie Faerie said. “And when we have you, niceties won’t change the outcome.”
“Lucy Ellingson, first witch of Kennet,” Lucy introduced herself.
“Verona Hayward, third witch of Kennet,” Verona added.
“Introductions don’t matter. We won’t give our names. That would imply there’s a force you can deal with or a subject that can be known. You won’t see many of us twice during our hunt, for similar reason.”
“You may ignore us,” the man with the scars on one side of his face said.
“Ignore you?” Lucy asked.
“As he said, yes,” the valkyrie Fae said. “We’ll investigate, and if standards have been defied, we’ll act. If need be, we’ll blow the horns and call the Hunt in, in many times the number.”
“Standards?” Verona asked.
“If the Winter Court is represented by anything but perfect excellence, if Winter’s glamour has been abused, or if the Winter Court has been slandered in any way, then we will act.”
“Carry on,” the man with the face scars said.
“Beg pardon, but we’re meant to ignore the fact there’s three very intimidating Fae present?” Lucy asked.
“It would behoove you to pay attention to the boy.”
Verona turned.
And she saw he was inching back.
Angel started sprinting about a tenth of a second after he started running. Verona joined in.
“Arena!” Lucy called out, pressing hands together.
The bubble of the Arena stretched out.
To cut him off from whatever it was he was doing.
But he didn’t have far to fall as he left the roof- he didn’t even leap, just running. Angel got to him a moment too late, reaching for his shirt and getting only the front of his sweater.
He put his hands up over his head, letting her have the sweater, as he dropped down.
Verona got to the roof’s edge late. Just enough time to see a black crack in the snow closing up, snow falling into the gap after the guy before there was nothing more than a jagged seam.
Lucy banished the arena with a gesture.
She was holding herself differently, Verona realized.
Aware she’s being tested. We’re all being tested, but… her more than me, and me probably more than, say, Matthew.
Verona turned toward the Fae, thinking about what to say, but they were gone.
There was just blowing snow.
She looked, trying to see where they might have gone, and she saw a man on horseback.
She saw a hunched-over Fae on horseback. The horse draped in similar chainmail, which disguised draping wings that dragged on the ground.
That one hadn’t been on the roof.
And Lucy touched her arm, pointing.
Verona looked. Her hand went to her palm, rubbing.
Three more by the water, dressed in similar ways, carrying spears.
A fifth by the trees, further down the river, closer to the cave.
Another, way opposite direction, east of St. Victor’s, by the trees, sitting, watching. He was barely a humanoid smudge, but when Verona looked at him, she felt like he was looking back, and it made her stomach tighten and feel cold.
She counted four more before stopping, because it felt like she was looking at the one Fae who’d brought the weather with him, cloaking himself in it, forming a loop of attention and worsening weather.
It felt like if she kept looking, she’d keep seeing new ones.
And she didn’t even want to dare suggest that the numbers they were fielding could be a glamour, because that might be criticism of the court, which would mean trouble.
“Did they blow the horn?” she asked. “Make wind noises instead of an instrument sound, maybe?”
Lucy shook her head.
“So these are the numbers they’re fielding before the horn gets blown and the actual Hunt gets called?”
Lucy nodded.
“What do we do, then?”
“For now? We’ve got at least one of them downstairs, and some vague idea what’s happening. They said to ignore them? Let’s ignore them.”
As they stepped through the doorway, followed by Angel, Lucy met Verona’s eyes. Communicating something.
They couldn’t afford to ignore them.
Next Chapter