Author: Wildbow

Crossed with Silver – 19.12 | Pale

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The hull of the boat scraped across the ice, then grated against the rocks of the shore.  Tashlit swam and pulled it up the rest of the way.  Soaking wet, her clothes and bits of her flesh took on a frosty glaze that built up as more moisture oozed out over it.

When things were steady, Verona stood, groaning.  Even with blankets folded beneath her, it was a long time to spend mostly sitting down, with the dinghy’s curved bottom making it hard to even put her feet down flat.

She’d made herself a nest in the bow to sleep last night, and unpacked it, sorting things out.  Tashlit reached over, putting a hand on Verona’s shoulder, and Verona looked over.

Tashlit gestured between herself and the blanket-nest, then pushed at her stiff face-skin and freezing hair before reaching out a hand.

“You sure?  You don’t want to come with?”

Tashlit indicated Verona, then made a grasping gesture that closed into a fist she thumped against her heart.

“I… no.  I wouldn’t mind company, but it’s not obligatory.  If you’re more comfortable hanging out here, or heading into town, that’s cool.”

Tashlit shruged, then gestured some more.

“Stand back, hold off, fist… uhhh…” Verona interpreted.  “I don’t need a bodyguard.  I don’t know that there’s a ton you can do if this goes bad.  It’s okay.  It’s been nice talking, though.  Kind of a surprise camping trip sleepover?”

Tashlit nodded, then mimed carrying.

“Umm, sure.  Just let me get sorted?  Like, a lot sorted.  I need to clear my head.”

Tashlit nodded, and began folding blankets.

Verona made a brief stop in the trees, used snow elsewhere to wet her hands and wipe her face clean, running fingers through hair, then jogged back to warm her hands on a thermos that still had some alchemical heat in it.  She got something to drink, gulping down the rest of the water in a thermos, grabbed her bag, and made sure she had everything together.

Tashlit gestured, one arm extended, the other hand moving- drawing a bow.

“That is a concern.  Uhhh, come with, at least to start?”

Tashlit nodded, then got her own stuff.  She took the thermos of alchemical heat and tucked it in the front of her coat to help defrost herself, steam rising lightly off her face and hair as the open container blew up and out.

As they moved away from shore, Verona could see a large, rangy rabbit or hare bent over the neck of a dead coyote.  Its face was crimson, incisors digging in, tearing, pulling out strings of gore it did its best to gulp down.  It was thin enough there wasn’t any padding, and muscles stood out just beneath the rusty fur, which was shot through with salt and pepper bits of white and black.

Further down, on the other side of the path, a group of small birds were, to varying amounts, either eating or perching atop a dead bear.  It looked like its eyes had been ruined- clawed or pecked out.

“There’s supposed to be a sign, if I remember right.  This works,” Verona said, giving a the carnivorous rabbit and flock of bloody songbirds a good bit of space, by traveling an ‘S’ down the path.

There were side routes visible now that hadn’t been there when they’d walked down to the boat yesterday.  Verona took one, hands in her pockets, earmuffs on, scarf around her lower face.  Tashlit walked beside her.

The snowy wooded path cut back through to the south end of Kennet, and its most dilapidated buildings.  Old red paint survived on the parts of the roof’s raised edge where snow didn’t survive, and more painted the way forward into a fractured image of Kennet.  To Verona, even without Sight, it looked like a window had broken, blood caught in the cracks, and she walked through and past the cracks that turned out to exist in three dimensions.  She saw a Kennet that had been put together post-breaking, reconfigured in such a way that she could cross on rooftops and fencetops to travel a straight line to a place in the middle of Kennet- an island that didn’t exist otherwise.

Something Abyssal rose up out of the snow as she crossed one rooftop.  A man, maybe, with a black sack cloth tied over his head, a black winter coat and sweater, and black pants and boots.  He had almost no distinguishing features, except for a mark painted on the mask in blood, dried to a dark brown that was only really visible when the light caught it.  Which it did, because most of the environment around them was white snow.  A series of indistinct smudges, a diagonal line with a horizontal line through the upper part, then a blot.

Maybe a representation of his weapon – where he had almost no distinguishing features, he carried a mangled torso on a mangled twist of metal and that had more than enough character.  The bottom end of the spear-like weapon was essentially a long spike of twisted metal, and the upper half was stabbed into the bottom end of a torso that had been ripped free of the lower body, intestines left to hang out and become a scabby, bloody ruin.  She still wore a shirt she’d worn when she was intact, with writing on it, reading just ‘Be’, and she was thin to the point she could be a feral ghoul.  Hair hung in her face, sticking to the bloody mess there, and her lipless mouth left teeth bared, gnashing and opening to show a tongueless mouth.  Arms grasped out blindly, reaching for him, to claw ineffectually at his winter coat, before reaching forward.

He moved the weapon, and the woman that was the ‘head’ of the weapon reacted, becoming more animated- snapping at the air, making hoarse sounds, and lashing out with long, damaged fingernails in a flurry of blind strikes.

Tashlit stepped between Verona and the bogeyman.

He reached under the cloth that covered his head, which had no eyeholes or mouth-holes, and pulled out a tube.  After some tugging to get it free, he pushed it through the tangled, blood-clotted mane of hair of the woman at the end of his weapon.

The voice was deep, strained, and it was pushed through a surgical tube.  “Do yo-sss-”

The word was cut off as the woman snapped her teeth, closing her mouth.  He gave the weapon a jostle, shaking her until it looked like she might get concussed.  She went more limp.

“Magic items?” he asked.

“I’ve got some,” Verona said.

He pointed at a blank, snowy patch of roof.

“I get them back after, right?”

He didn’t move or respond.

“I’d better get them back after.”

She moved things over into a plastic bag she’d kept in her bag for keeping things more dry, in case the boat tipped.  Sanguine stone, tattoo, wet tug rope, rasp, some goblin knick-knacks from the market, the pet morsel of flesh that had ended up being like a real-life Hatchawachi toy, a comb from the Abyss that spread Abyssal taint that she hadn’t found a use for, a whole load of alchemy stuff, and various components, which included misfires and failed efforts from her experiments in alchemy and dollmaking.

She paused, wondering if he’d notice if she left something behind, saw him blocking the way, and then finally removed some of the alchemy containers.  When she had, he moved aside, sitting down beside the spot where she’d put the items.  Maybe guarding it.

They had to navigate a bridge that was little more than a snow-crusted plank, cross a roof, and move down a snowbank that had piled up to slope from ground to the edge of the single-story house.

Through some woods, and then to the shore of the river, which was wider here.  Giving space for a small island with a cabin on it.  The water beneath the ice was a crimson-black, and the ice itself inherited a faint red tint.  Where the ice was cracked, it oozed like blood.  There was a band of uncracked ice, though, Verona noted.

No people, she realized.  She glanced over Kennet.  It was day, but the ski hills were unoccupied.  As if they were on a separate layer of reality.

They crossed the band of uncracked ice, which had more traction than she’d expected, and stepped onto the island, passing through some trees.

Two fires burned- one a campfire, the other a bonfire.  The snow around them that had melted had melted to a congealed blood texture, staining the earth.  Charles sat in a throne, partially turned to gaze into the fire with red eyes, hair and beard red and scruffy in a way Verona had to admit was pretty on point.

“Yo, Chuck.”

“Verona.  Would you rather do this inside or outside?”

“Tashlit’s here too.  Just in case you didn’t notice.”

“I’m omniscient in all matters relating to my duties,” he said, turning to look at her.  “I noticed.  You’ve played at being Carmine, in the Alcazar ritual.  You know.”

“For all I know, you’re a crummy Carmine?” Verona asked, shrugging.  “Stuff comes easy to me, I don’t know if you have the same experience as Carmine as I did.”

“The reason I didn’t mention her is because she didn’t come with seeing me in mind.  You wanted my audience?”

“Yeah.”

“Inside or outside?”

Tashlit touched Verona’s arm, then mimed.

“Translate?” Charles asked, sounding weary already.

“Man, Chuck, you really need to up your game here.  You can’t even communicate with your constituents?”

He gave her a very unimpressed look.

“Am I going to be safe after?  Should she stay to guard me from the Wild Hunt as I go from here to home?”

“The way out is protected.  It’s part of the arrangement.”

“I get home, I’m clear?”

He nodded.

Verona turned to Tashlit.  “Want to head out, tell the others I got here okay?  I’ll be a little bit, I think.”

Tashlit nodded.

“Here, let me grab some of my necessary stuff.”

She took some of the stuff Tashlit was carrying.  A small cooler, a canvas bag, and the tools she needed to put back in her dad’s basement.

“Actually, let me unload that…”

Tashlit nodded.  Verona opened the cooler, pulled out two things of beer, and set them aside.  Tashlit put some things inside for ease of carrying, and tucked it under one arm.

“Okay?”

Tashlit nodded.

“See ya.”

Tashlit nodded again.

“Inside?” Verona asked Charles.

He got up from his throne, put a hand on the backrest, and tossed it casually toward the cabin.  Partway through the mid-air arc, it folded into itself and then folded into itself again.  From three dimensional to two dimensional to one.  He led the way up the broad cabin steps, under the tin overhang that was propped up with full de-barked logs, and around to the door.

It vaguely resembled the cabin he’d been living in, that they’d raided while trying to get info on him.  And ones in that area.

“I noticed the beer.  Is it your intention to challenge me to a drinking contest?”

“You know, Chuck, you get pissy about me not realizing you’re omniscient, then you go and show you’re really not paying attention.  How do you not know I don’t drink beer?”

He opened the door.

“It’s a gift, Chuck,” she said, looking up at him.

“A bribe?”

“For it to be a bribe, don’t I have to be asking for something?”

“Aren’t you?” he asked.

She stepped inside.

Again, similar aesthetics to that cabin he’d holed up in, just outside Kennet, but extended out and up.  Durability over looks, but aesthetic sort of came together because of the simplicity of it all.  Wickerwork furniture with crimson canvas-ish material and cushions lashed to it.

Antlers were mounted over one door, and a diagram from one of the old Summoning texts Verona had perused was on the wall- she judged from that that it was a classic and recurring bit of imagery for anyone studying summons.  Among the pictures on the wall were some pictures of lakes and maps, and in each, the water was crimson.  An assortment of seven masks were arranged on one wall, hanging on hooks that made them ‘float’ a bit away from the wall’s surface.

In the main room, most of the furniture was arranged like furniture in a house’s living room would be, but it centered around a brickwork edifice in the middle, more open than a fireplace would be- accessible from most sides.  Maybe it was a forge.  Some seats were right next to it, and others were next to a long coffee table with a map of the region inlaid into it.

She put the two sixpacks of beer onto the coffee table.  “Kennet special here.  Six craft beers, two from Kennet above, they’re apparently pretty okay.  Two from Kennet below, they’re pretty much hard alcohol.  Brace yourself.  And two from Kennet found.  I have no idea if they’re good, I just grabbed whatever.”

He put his hand out, and the throne he’d flung finished being flung- unfolding the way it had folded to stop mid-air, his hand catching it at the backrest.  He set it down facing sideways, between the coffee table and the fire in the brickwork stove.

“And six of this one craft beer Matthew said you liked.”

“He got it for me as part of most of the shopping runs he did for me, after I said I liked it,” Charles said, with a weary burr in his voice.  He put his hand out so the flames from the fireplace licked his fingertips.  “I didn’t have the heart to tell him that most of the time, it would be retroactively spoiled.  Mold or fungus, or a bad batch.  I couldn’t enjoy it the times it was fine, either because I had to brace myself with every gulp, or there would be something else.  I’d be sick, or hurt.”

“You just let him keep spending that money?”

Charles heaved out a sigh.

“It wasn’t about the beer.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“It was about the kindness, the gesture.  It was one of the few things I had that the Forswearance couldn’t easily take from me.”

“I dunno if the prices have jumped since then and now, but maybe you could’ve told him and just assumed he was going to continue being a stand-up guy?  This was like, thirty bucks.”

“What are you here for, Verona?”

“Right this very moment?  To tell you that was a dick move, not letting him know his money was going down the drain.  And, you know, murdering or almost-murdering people I care about?  Fucking things up.  That too.”

“If that’s all, and you intend to annoy and insult me…”

“I brought you gifts.  Obviously that’s not all.”

“Sit?” he offered, gesturing.

She pulled her bag off and put more things down, but she didn’t sit.  “Stiff from the boat ride, still.  Long, cold weather, metal surfaces with no padding unless I padded them myself, awkward positions.”

“Bread and something to drink?  If you request hospitality, I’ll give it to you.”

“I don’t have to break bread with you for this to work, right?  I took the necessary steps to secure an audience, I get one, right?”

“Yes.  The hospitality too.  I tried to make it sound genuine, because it was, but even if it wasn’t genuine, if you asked for it, I’d have to give it to you as I hear you out.  An added layer of formality.”

She nodded.

Then she leaned over the back of the couch, forearms on the backrest, looking at him.  He still wasn’t wearing a shirt, still had a wild edge to him he hadn’t as a human.  The fire closer to him was redder.

“Was your plan to come here to expect your gainsaying to end just after you arrived?”

“No.  Felt like it would last longer.  Winter Court and all.”

“And you’d be right in that,” he said.  “I was ready to bring it up if you didn’t.  Are you here to challenge it?  I didn’t think there was anything that pressing.”

She shook her head.

“Alright then,” he said.  “That was my guess.”

When she didn’t fill the silence, he looked at the fire and mused aloud, “The moment Miss brought you to the Awakening ritual, I worried we’d end up enemies.  That I’d have to destroy you, or you’d have to destroy me.  Here we are.”

“Are you going to destroy me, Chuck?”

“Not today, I don’t think.  It depends on what you want.  Why are you here?”

“You don’t know?”

He gave her that unimpressed look again.

She meandered around the outer edge of the room a bit, mostly to stretch out the parts of her that were sore.  “Humans suck at being alone.”

“Don’t I know, hm?  I was forsworn.  Few things lonelier.”

“You had a friend bringing you beer you didn’t even drink, you murderous butthole.”

“Again with the insults.  Are you planning to assault my mind by giving me repeated whiplash?”

“I’ll get to that.  Look, being alone screws people up, yes?”

“Yeah,” Charles said.

“Turns their heads around.  We kind of need other people for perspective in a screwed up world.  Or we have to keep our worlds very simple.  It’s when someone’s got only their own imperfect thoughts to reference, it’s hard to get a reality check.  Thoughts and memories become imperfect copies based on imperfect copies and so on.  Magnifies the bad, leaves things out, puts certain stuff on loop.”

He reached for one of the craft beers, removing a bottlecap with a flick of his thumbnail.  “Are you lonely, Verona?”

“No.  You.  I know the Carmine throne is a lonely one,” Verona said.  “Loneliness killed the last Carmine.  Kept her from being effective.  The other judges entertained her now and then, but mostly, she got to watch the world keep turning.”

Charles nodded.

“I don’t want to be your friend, Chuckie.  Honestly, that’d be suspicious as fuck, and you’ve been enough of a butthole, I don’t think you should want to be friends with anyone who’d want to be friends with you.”

“Uh huh?” he asked, with a note of faint humor in the utterance, a very skeptical expression on his face.

“But I figured you might need a reality check.  A reality check from someone willing and able to call you a bloody butthole when you’ve been a bloody butthole.  I figure Maricica’s probably not super great for that, and Edith probably hates you, and Lis always felt a bit more like a pawn.”

“I think I’m fine, Verona.  If that’s all-”

“It’s not.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t think you’re fine.  I mean, besides the fact you’re a bloody butthole, just like, really an asshole of the next level-”

“Your feelings on that have been hammered in enough already.”

“-You’re a monster.  You didn’t just kill John, a friend who, as far as I know, did nothing to you, and you didn’t just murder and mutilate his adopted kid, you killed and mutilated a victim.  A, like, confluence of victims.  Geez, man.”

He raised his eyebrows, twisting in his seat, and propped one boot up on the corner of the coffee table.  The look he shot her was a big ‘are you done?’ one.

She meandered some more, in a less intense sort of pacing, glancing here and there at books on shelves that were inset into the walls, and placed on surfaces, and at art.  “But I also think you’re losing your way.”

“Is that your expert opinion?” he asked.  “You’ve found a kernel of direction, started forging toward a future you have in mind, and now you’re the expert in these things?  You are fourteen.”

“Wow, Chuck,” Verona said, stopping.  “I spent just about twenty-four hours on a dinghy in the middle of winter to bring you beer, I’m here to be company, and you’re being snide?  Asshole.”

He sniffed his amusement.

“While we’re on the subject, since you just suggested you are paying enough attention to me to know what’s going on, you’re not like, spying on me when I’m taking a leak in the woods or changing or anything, right?”

“When you had a glimpse of being Carmine, did you spy on five year old little boys, Verona?”

“Nope.”

“Trust me, it’s essentially the same here.  No interest.”

“See, that’s suspicious,” she told him, turning.  “You didn’t just say no, you said no interest.  Which means you’d do it if it was a woman you were interested in?”

“It’s not one of my responsibilities, so-”

But she was having fun now.  “No TV, I notice, something’s got to keep you entertained.  Chuckie, Chuck, Charles… do you have a suite of women you’re spying on with your omniscience?”

“You really see me as a degenerate, huh?” he asked.

“Murder ritual that killed a few hundred people-”

“That was corrupted from its original intent.”

“The original intent which was to kill dozens of people?  Including the occasional uninvolved apprentice or friend of these people?  The Red Heron Inveiglement?  Before it became the Hungry Choir?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re quibbling over degrees, Chuckie, and I think, you know, the label sticks.  If you fuck a pumpkin a little you’re still a pumpkin fucker.”

Charles sighed, but he seemed like he was in a weirdly better mood than before.

“I mean, like, come on, dude.  You’ve been at this for a decade, your best sources for reality checks and guidance were a Faerie and poison-my-husband Edith James, right?  And they wouldn’t want to that much spend time with you, you were forsworn.  Gross, right?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out the word.

“And if these half-assed justifications you’ve been giving me here, the stuff you were telling our parents back when they were freshly aware, all that jazz, if that’s where you’re really at, like, come on.  Come on.”

She plunked herself down on the couch, putting her foot up on the edge of the coffee table as well.  “Come on.”

“If I agree to reflect on the points you’ve raised, will you go away?” he asked.

She stretched herself across the couch, turned over to face him, then said, “You know, out of Lucy, Avery, and me, I’m the one who’s most willing to go along with things?  If I was dropped into a different situation, with Alexander running the Blue Heron, Bristow, maybe even Musser, I’d probably go along with a lot of the status quo?”

Charles nodded slowly.

“Maybe I would’ve hit a bump in the road and been like… oh, this isn’t necessarily the best fit for me?  Like I did with school.  I might’ve realized hey, I’m damn good at communicating with some Others, like Tashlit, and Peckersnot, but I’m not a thousand percent sure that I would’ve clicked like, oh yeah, binding and enslaving Others is bad.”

“We’re the product of our environments.”

She twisted around and stared up at the ceiling.  “Maybe I’d realize only because I knew Lucy, but I’m not sure I’d know her as this hypothetical me who grew up in another hypothetical environment, and how much credit can I take, personally, if it’s like, I know this person so I know better.  At what point can I say, hey, I’m a decent person who’d realize?  Or a very average person who wouldn’t?”

“Do you want me to expend power and try to search through realms of possibilities?  This question of moral weights would be more in the Alabaster’s purview.”

“Nah,” she said.  “I’m musing out loud.  And I guess what I want to say is… um, cuts in other directions?  I, Verona Hayward, am someone who gets stuff others don’t.  I’m okay with stuff others wouldn’t be.  Undercity?  I like it.  I think there’s dumb shit, shit you missed, stuff, but you talk about a world where you’ve set up more undercities?  I can live in that world, camped out on the fringes of it.  The same way I can live in Alexander’s conniving-ass practitioner world, on the fringes, finding the cool parts I can get into.”

Charles nodded at that, his eyes falling on the fire.

“I’m pretty good at figuring out systems.  If you’re in this for the long haul, and me and my friends and Kennet all need to learn to live with you as a Judge… okay.  Help me figure this out, so I can go back to them and start making adjustments.”

“And what will you tell them when you go back?”

“Well, I’d hope you’d tolerate me being around enough to let me run some stuff by you.  Legit stuff, about the current situation.”

“What stuff?”

“If I tell you then you can give me a quick answer and then be like, did your job, fuck off, and kick me out, right?”

“Not quite but yes.”

“I want to make you tolerate my company and see if like… I dunno.  Maybe you’re so weak-willed the Carmine role is overtaking you, and that’s why you’re so shitty.  You were forsworn for a long time, right?  Leaves you in pretty rough shape, mentally.”

“I’m strong enough.”

Verona sat up, “Okay, but like, seriously.  It’s not just that I want to be in a position to look things over and give you a reality check… Louise was saying there were rules for supervillains, and you really need a five year old on staff to be like, hey, that’s a dumb idea.  Sometimes we miss stuff.  I know I miss stuff.  Right?  But also, I think it’s really important that we do a reality check for us.”

“Like, all of us need to stop and go, okay, we’re dealing with confusing, messed up stuff.  But if there’s an opportunity to hit pause and stop, take stock, and make sure the reality we’re dealing with is like, actual reality?”

“Like with your school.  Making sure you’re hyperfocused in the right directions.”

“So you have been looking over my shoulder,” Verona said.  “Creepy.  But okay.  Yeah.  Like with my school.”

“And now you’re gainsaid, you want to use this as a big pause button, so to speak, get in position to take stock…” Charles trailed off.

Verona nodded, but she didn’t give an answer.

Charles continued, “…of me, and you talk to Lucy and Avery about various major threats.  Students at St. Victors, Musser, the Wild Hunt.”

“I mean, that’s part of why I’m… doing a temperature check.  Checking the reality check, if you want to put it that way.  Seeing if you’re capable of getting a reality check, like, from me, from anyone.”

“Hmmm.”

“I don’t know if the others are one hundred percent on the same page as me, but depending on how this goes, it might be me going back and nudging them to put off the Chuckie-the-big-red-asshole question until another day.”

“Or it might be me saying hey, that’s a dude who was broken by the forswearing, the Carmine furs have influence over his thoughts, and the closest thing to someone steering him back to reality is an ex-Faerie who talks to him once a month, that needs dealing with.”

“The furs don’t have that influence over me, my will wasn’t broken, and I confer regularly with other Judges, Maricica, and Lis more than once a month.”

“Twice a month?  Five times a month?  Every day?”

“When I need to make adjustments.  Sometimes that’s five times in a day, with the Judges, to count more responsibilities under my umbrella, with Maricica and Lis, to handle other things.  Sometimes it’s a few weeks before I talk to any of them.”

“But how often are they like, hey, man in the red fur coat, you’re going too far, chill out, stop?”

“How often do you think?  I have responsibilities, and being ‘chill’ is not one of them.”

Verona clucked her tongue once.  “Right.”

“Anything else?” he asked, with an air of restrained tolerance.

Okay, she didn’t want to push too far…

“How often are they like… Hey, man in the red fur coat.  Are you okay?”

Charles arched an eyebrow, then tipped his beer back, drinking.

“They aren’t, huh?”

“I don’t need that.”

“The part of the Carmine Beast that went into making her her had a yearning for certain feral things, certain spiritual things.  And even she really needed someone to check in to see if she was okay.  You were human once.  The part of you that went into being Carmine Exile was human.  Humans are social creatures.”

“Some are.”

“And some aren’t?” Verona asked.  “I used to think I wasn’t.  That if I could get my dad to chill out, I could hole up on my own for a while, and I’d be fine.  I don’t think that was right.”

“I’m older, I know myself better.  It’s fine.  Really.”

“Because you were forsworn?  Because you had to be okay being on your own?  I don’t think that’s the same thing.”

“Maybe,” he said.  He stood from his seat.  “This is getting a bit old, Verona.  Maybe we should move on?  Talk about the forces arrayed against you, in Kennet?”

“When’s the last time someone asked if you’re okay, Chuck?” Verona asked.

He stood there, framed by the fire, the movement of heat and cold making hairs on his head and coat stir a bit.  He played with the mostly empty beer bottle in his hand.

Verona fished for her bag, keeping one eye on him, got out some mostly-finished lemonade, and drank.

Charles sighed.

“Are you thinking, using that sorta-omniscience?  Are you-”

“Thinking,” he interrupted.  “If I ignore the check-ins, to see if I was in okay shape to carry out my part of the plan?  Could’ve been Edith.  Might’ve been Avery, around the time Lawrence’s Aware came to Kennet, interrupting your stay at the school.  Might’ve been when you came to interrogate me in the nightmare.”

“You can’t use your powers, go digging?”

“Hmm.  That’d be like, six months, though.”

“Perhaps.”

“Only memory to go by, and memory’s one of those things that loneliness can really warp and screw with.  Are you okay, Chuck?”

“Do you really care?”

She shrugged.  “Maybe a bit.  I’ve been Carmine, even if it was a taste, all pretend, while using the Alcazar, so I sorta get it where I’m not sure even Maricica or the other Judges could.  And there’s a part of it where, you know, if you’re not okay, I care about that because you have a lot of power and you could really wreck shit if you ended up unhinged.  Wreck it more, anyway.”

“I know you’re plotting to stop me,” Charles said, voice low.

Verona adjusted her position in her seat, one foot propped up on the coffee table, wrist on her knee.  She met his eyes.

“Undermining me, undoing what I’m doing…” he said, walking slowly in front of the forge-style fireplace.  “Coming here, trying to get information.”

“Sounds like paranoia.  Should I head back and report you’re not okay, then?”

“Verona.  I know.  You’re a clever, capable girl, you remind me a lot of Alexander-”

“Not the first time someone’s said that.”

“-with a key point worth keeping in mind.  Alexander tended to respect the intelligence of those around them, and raised himself up to match and exceed them.  Take a lesson from that.  Don’t assume that because you’re clever, the people around you are idiots.”

Verona sipped her lemonade.

He got another beer.  Then he sighed.  “I wish I could get drunk.  I don’t sleep, it would be nice to have the ability to stop my brain.”

“Which one are you drinking?” Verona asked.

“My old usual.  I’ll save the others.  I have to avoid mentally flinching as I smell it.  Too many times I tipped one back, and got a mouthful of fermented mold with a mucus consistency.”

“Yep.  That’d get to you.”

“Thank you, by the way.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not mad, so you know.  But I want respect.  I went too long without any at all.”

“I mean I’m here.  You’re my enemy, but I brought you something.  Avery met Mr. Samaniego over food at a diner.  She wanted to know what he had to say.  Same deal here.”

Charles nodded.

“I think there’s a kind of bond that springs up from that sort of thing.  Avery said Mr. Samaniego drew comparisons between himself and her.  And Bristow, and Clem.”

“He did.”

“You dealt with criminals, before, right?  You did summoning work for them, you worked with a gang, you worked with sketchy people, helping to steal stuff.”

“I did.”

“And they were cutthroat too?  You had to watch yourself?”

“Less than you’d think, watching some shows and movies, but… some.”

Verona nodded.

She’d crafted a bit of her approach here with those shows and her time in Kennet below as her only real context for how criminals behaved, to try to connect to Charles here.  The approach of being hostile and annoying at the start and easing off, that was part of it, while also being her best plan for getting him to let his guard down.

“The right enemy can be a reality check too,” she said.  “I wasn’t joking when I said I thought it was important you have that.  Outside perspective.  Someone to bounce off of.”

“You implied earlier you think I’m making mistakes.”

“The Dropped Call- I don’t know what you call it, it’s the name we gave it-”

“Works.”

“It’s gathering power, playing politics, extending influence.  It wanted the Beorgmann.”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you okay with that?  Just asking.  You apparently cared enough to not want kids awakened back at our awakening ritual, you made some jabs at the Blue Heron students, gainsaying them.  But you’re okay cooperating with an Other that’s kidnapped hundreds of kids?”

“Give me time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Things will make sense in time.”

“Okay, but… what if you don’t have that time?  What if you let the Dropped Call arrange for the Beorgmann to go free, to add the Beorgmann’s power to the network and, I don’t know, Cherrypop ends up the next Carmine, and doesn’t bother to change the situation.  Beorgmann goes on a rampage, and it’s kind of on you.”

“Cherrypop?”

“You’re focusing on the wrong part of what I said.”

“It hasn’t come to that.  Milly Legendre was freed, she found the Beorgmann, she sealed it again.  The Beorgmann’s ruse didn’t come full circle.”

“But if it had?  What about all the other pieces in play that are on shaky ground?”

“Name some?”

“I can’t really name any, Charles.  I can’t even really leave Kennet without going by water, or I run the risk of dealing with your Lords.  Information’s screwy.  But you know you’re playing fast and loose, right?  You’ve created a mess that the next Carmine’s going to have a hell of a time cleaning up.”

“I’m hoping I’ve set up something bigger and more important than ‘a mess’.”

“Yeah, well.”

Verona took a drink of her lemonade, throwing the bottle back to make sure she got the last of it, then capped it and dropped it into her bag.

She leaned forward a bit, looking at the coffee table with the map.

“I guess now’s the point where I ask for what I came for.  Keep the conversation moving.  To start with… can you bring John Stiles back?”

Charles frowned.  “No.  It’s key to the contest for the Carmine Throne.”

“Or Yalda?  She wasn’t a contestant.  It’d make the Dog Tags happy, which would make Lucy happy.”

“If you could do anything like that?  Even pulling some Summoner shizzle..?” Verona asked, indicating the masks on one wall and the decorative summoner diagram on another.  “Draw together some echoes of John or Yalda, animus bullcrap, key elements?  It’d do a lot to… I dunno.  Smooth things over.  Maybe we’d still be enemies, in terms of ideas, the risks we’re willing to take, all that, but maybe we wouldn’t be bitter enemies.”

“It would be a half-formed mockery, not the real John Stiles.”

“What if you thought about it for more than five seconds?”

“If you asked an electrical engineer if you can generate power by plugging an extension cord into itself, you’ll get a fast answer.  I was a decent summoner.  Now I’m a great one.  I don’t need to deliberate.  I know what’s possible.”

Verona shook her head.

“What else?” Charles asked.

“Figured I should ask.  Then, second part… my gainsaying?  Again, figure I should ask.”

“Will be over by the time you wake up tomorrow.  Then for a day after, you’ll notice your practice is weaker.  It’s not worth the trouble to try to undo the gainsaying.  I would have to call in the gainsayer, who did not name himself, and even if you argued your way past it, you’d only gain hours of more effective practice-”

“Take away his power.  Whatever he gets from being Aware.”

“You would.  But he would go away, others would step into his place, they’d seek to hurt or gainsay you immediately, to keep up their assault.  It’s not worth the trouble.”

Verona sighed.  “So they keep coming at us, cripple us, disrupt us, gainsay us, terrorize us, even, and then Musser comes and cleans up?  Convenient.”

“It’s his tendency to send in forces in advance to weaken the opposition.  He’ll send some shortly, he may even make an appearance himself.  He’s on good terms with Estrella Vanderwerf, who works with the Winter Court, I don’t imagine they’ll bother him.  He’ll find you weak and probably have someone make a Lordship for him to claim himself on his actual, scheduled visit.”

“Sure seems like that’s the situation.”

“Musser has lost too much,” Charles said.  He approached the coffee table with the map, and moved his hand.  The table shifted, wood-cut images sliding, growing, spreading.  Stain spread across wood.  “Practice is said to be rooted in power, pattern, connections, and establishment.  Establishment comes from the patterns so ingrained they become fact.  Musser’s establishment has been broken at its foundation.  He has homes he’s traveled to, only to find them raided, or occupied, his family is fractured and not in easy communication.  His connections to outside parties are frayed.  They trust him less.  Key pieces like Anthem are off the table.  Well done, by the way.”

“I dropped a bridge, but it was really Lucy doing most of that bit.”

“He was working off a pattern.  Claiming territories, using the momentum he gained to claim more.  It’s how he got Toronto.  Had he finished taking the final territories before I made my move, he could have put the feather in the cap of his established power base.”

“Yeah.”

“That leaves power.  He’s strong.  Some few patterns, some connections, some establishment remain.  He’ll lean heavily on those.  Every major family has archives they don’t dig into, storerooms with magic items from decades ago, and favors owed that have calcified.  Favors that are almost forgotten, or treated as a formality, recognized but never called in.  Until the chips are down and everything is on the line.”

“I thought you were supposed to be unbiased.  You’re giving me this information?”

“I’ve named him an enemy of the Seal.  His family has mastered and leveraged key elements of the Seal and then strained them to a near-breaking point.  When he lost as much as he did…?”

“Coup.”

“And I can be justified in saying that what was strained has broken.  He owes the Seal a small debt, in effect, and until it is repaid or he has regained what was formerly established, I can call him the Seal’s adversary and act against him.  Telling you particulars, for example.”

“Hm.  Cool.”

“It is cool,” Charles said, smiling a bit, looking down at the table.  “A lot of what I’m doing is arranged against him.  To him, it must feel as if he’s spent immense amounts of his resources to move mountains, only for another mountain to slide into the removed mountain’s place.  He needs a win, for himself, for pattern, to unfray connections, and to regain what he once had so firmly established.”

“And Kennet’s a choice target.  No annoyingly complicated or powerful Lord that’s in league with you.”

“There could be.  If you asked for it, allowed it, there could be.”

Verona shook her head.

“It would protect Kennet from Musser.”

“And screw up so many things.  Defeats the point of Kennet, leaves us vulnerable against seal based stuff, no.”

“If he makes his attempt, and you’re not in a position to win, I will have to spring a trap on him, my Lord will wrest the attempt at the Lordship from him, so he can’t get ahold of the territory beneath and around this throne.”

Charles indicated the seat he’d taken earlier.  The Carmine throne.

“Then we have to not let things get that far.”

“Is that a fair compromise?  One enemy to another, striking a deal to frame our fight against a mutual enemy, over beer and lemonade?”

Verona nodded.

“Look,” Charles said.  He indicated the map.  Verona watched as borders marked out the Lordships.  Seats taken by Musser, then taken by Charles’ Others and Other-like effects.

“Yep.  Looks accurate.”

“There is a group in position to take the lordship from the Multifaceted Pig.  When that happens, the Lord from this adjacent Lordship will move, taking that Lordship back, another will move into their place…”

Verona watched as shadows moved across the table, each stopping when they got to the center of a territory.  Leaving one territory not that far from Kennet, blank and unshadowed.

“With one left empty.  I have time to create an Other.  It may be the last proper Lord I create before Musser makes his initial move on Kennet, to soften it up further, and set up a Lord.  He’s probably going to pass through this territory on his way.”

“Hmmm.  Could.  If he doesn’t take the water, or come from the west somehow.”

“What would you make?” Charles asked, taking his seat again, and scooting it closer to the table, so he sat across from Verona, the flames of the open fire in the forge behind him.

“That’s a fun question.”

“I thought it would be.”

“Does Maricica normally do this?  Helping you to theorize what you need to make to throw uniquely effective obstacles into the other side’s way?”

“I often muse aloud about what I’m thinking, and she guides me here and there.”

“You as the idea person, her as the strategist?” Verona asked.

“Don’t think I miss the implication,” Charles said, his voice a bit more growly than usual.  “I know what you said to Tatty Bo Jangles.  I should be glad I’ve moved up in your estimation from Cherrypop tier to Tatty tier, but… I think you can give me a little more credit than that.”

Remaining silent, Verona looked down at the map.

“Speak out loud,” Charles said.  “Share your thoughts.”

“Uhhh… it seems like I should be giving an answer that’s properly Kennet.  Creating a dilemma that forces them to recognize Others are people.  That seems to be a pretty consistent flaw across our worst enemies.”

“Unfortunately, it’s difficult to force that result on a challenger.  They brute force it, work around it.  Bind, enslave, one way or another.”

“I’ve thought about it.  I think I even thought about it after observing your practice and activities, as you did shrine patrols and started doing favors for the locals.  But I haven’t found a good way.”

“The most annoying thing that keeps cropping up, I think, is that establishment crap.  When they’re like, we have all this precedent, we’re a family of winners, so we get to claim we win, basically.”

“Yes.”

“I was reading a few weeks back about how you can have a Chosen, like Ulysse Miraz, back at the Blue Heron, someone given gifts by a god, but they’re challenged, tested.  And one example test, they had to fight themselves.  They’d asked for all this strength, but in the challenge, they had to prove they were a fair opponent, and that they were greater than the gifts they’d been given,” Verona mused.

Charles stroked his beard, then he gestured.

The light from the windows went out.  Light shone in through the summoner diagram on the one wall, casting lights into the middle of the room, an indistinct extension of that image, an outline of a person and a series of corresponding marks within that outline.  As the source of the light on the far side moved and changed shape, the beams of light moved.  Spaces shuddered with their passing, smoke rising where the shafts of light crossed the air.

Those shafts of light that traced the outline narrowed to concentrate on one spot, until they focused on the table, which no longer had a map in it, but a three dimensional outline of a shape, faceless, but humanoid, trembling air and trembling crimson light framing it, smoke rolling off of it where light met air.  It moved an arm or leg here or there, or arched its back, and light flared, air trembled more, or more smoke rose up when it did, until it found alignment again.  The marks pulsed.

“Source?” Charles asked.

“The root of this thing’s power, where it comes from?”

“The very same.  You’ve read the texts.  Some of which you took from my old home.”

Verona nodded.  “Law?  Or something inevitable, maybe, like one of the pillars.  More specific than Death or Fate.  Parity?”

“No Parity exists in easy reach of this region, I could create it, but it’s easier to use Law.  The Seal itself is a power source I’m closely acquainted with.”

“Kinda noticing you’re using that a lot, when you don’t like the Seal.  Against Musser.  Then here.”

In the dark room, lit only by this living diagram and the now flame-less embers of the fireplace behind Charles, light peeked through the ceiling as if there was a light upstairs and it was shining through the floorboards.  It wasn’t floorboards though.

The Seal.  The star of Solomon, with all the surrounding marks and framing.  It narrowed, focusing in like the beam of a magnifying glass.  Branding the work in progress at the root.

The flames and flickers around the image became an intense white, the smoke cleaner, the shudder more intense.

“The power base?”

“Different from the source?”

Charles nodded.

“Divine?  To go big?”

He put out a hand, closing it into a fist, then squeezing it until veins stood out and his hand trembled.

“Surprised you aren’t asking Maricica,” Verona observed.

“A different sort of power than what we’re looking for here, and she’s preoccupied.”

The clenching of his fist continued until something broke.  Blood flowed out, crimson, a trickle, directly into the belly of that Other.  Filling it out.  It writhed.

“Lore?  Its knowledge base.  It’ll use that knowledge to build its scenario.”

“Recent events?  Do echoes work?”

“Incarnations.  For the inevitability you asked for.  Nature follows desires, War tracks the conflicts, Death punctuates the endings, Fate weaves her tapestry, and Time moves back and forth across it.

The same way light had come in to brand the seal, darkness intensified and pushed its way in.  The space within that glowing framework darkened.

“And the specifics?”

“That the contender has to trade places with someone they defeated recently, and win.  Exchanging practice, magic items, allies, tools, body, situation,” Verona said.  “A kind of imagined or dreamed scenario, but true to life.”

Charles corrected, “A human they defeated recently.  It wouldn’t be fitting if Musser were to trade places with one of the Lords he’s been up against recently.  Defeats the intent.”

“True.”

“There’s a chance you may find yourself facing this Lord.  Is it fair?”

“The consequences don’t have to be that bad, do they?”

“It’s better if they aren’t.  Inevitable, lawful, and divine forces… they have a weight.  Maricica taught you three about how to challenge an unfair contest.  If someone challenged something this weighty, there wouldn’t be much flexibility.”

“What consequence to those who challenge this and lose?”

Verona thought about what Lucy had said.

“Time?”

“Go on.”

“My first thought is they rewind back to that last fight… redo it as themselves again.  Except that doesn’t cost Musser time.”

“It can be arranged to.  Go on with your idea for now.”

“I was thinking they lose something critical this time around.  The tool or practice they used to win it last time.”

“He’d loathe the idea.  There would need to be mechanisms to retrieve what is confiscated, but that costs him that critical amount of time, when he’s stretched thin.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s easier to manipulate time on the small scale.  The debt he accrues in a step back will have to be made up.  If he’s sent back three weeks, he can’t truly alter the past while he’s there.  Usually someone will get sick after, or delayed, or injured.  Some excuse to put them out of the way until the rewound pocket of time can re-align with the current one.  And then some.  A bit of a rebound.”

Verona nodded.  “Sure.  Sounds perfect.”

Charles smiled.  “And you’re okay if this is you facing the challenge?”

“Can I avoid it for the time being?  Or forever?”

“You can avoid it for as long as you want.  This kind of Lord warrants being kept in the back pocket for Musser and his ilk.”

“You won’t sic it on us?”

“I won’t.  You’d have to go find it and try to defeat it yourself in a Lordship contest.”

“And it won’t be in Avery’s way?  When she comes?”

“It’s for Musser.  No, it won’t be in her way.”

“Lucy and Avery are like… they’re excellent and talented.  That’s why Miss picked them.  I think they could do pretty well with someone else’s setup and kit.  As for me, I’m versatile enough I could manage with someone else’s abilities, or I could repeat a contest without one tool or whatever.  We’ll try to avoid challenging this Lord just after facing the Wild Hunt, for example.”

“Wise.”

“That does lead me to think there’s a loophole.  If they set up a fake contest beforehand?”

“It can be made a victory that mattered, no artificial ones.”

“Then that works.”

“I hope, very much, that Musser gets a lesson in fairness,” Charles said, as the light intensified and the figure swelled.  It began to take shape.  A woman.  Buxom.

“Can you make him a skinny dude?” she asked.  “Or maybe more gender neutral, for the ‘balance’ aesthetic?”

“I don’t know what goes into that,” Charles grumbled.

“You’re nigh-omniscient within your domain. Look, doofus.”

“First of all, that’s not in my domain.”

“Try harder.”

“Second of all, I’m creating a being from fundamental forces of this universe, from centuries-old powers and precedent, and giving it the ability to manipulate time, fate, war, all to enforce a Law of Parity.  And you want to quibble over aesthetic?”

“Heck yeah, aesthetic.  Step it up, Chuck.  Make them badass, while you’re at it.”

“I’ll give you a skinny man, and I’ll research it later, how’s that?”

“Fine,” she said, folding her arms.  “But I’m not happy about it.”

Charles rolled his eyes a little, but the figure began to take shape in a slightly different way.  Drawn out.  More masculine.

The light became glowing strands, and glowing strands became substance.  Darkness intensified until it was solid, like onyx.

The figure extended one long leg down to the floor, toes finding hard surface, and the floorboards of the cabin creaked beneath his gravity.

Onyx at his core, but his flesh was a light brown.  He was bald, skinny, and dressed in a kind of gender neutral draping toga with chains running from the armpit-ish area to the ground.  That was the only real non-masculine thing about him.

He raised a hand, and a spinning top appeared in it- the sort that looked like a UFO with spindles extending out the top and bottom.  Spinning like it was trying to drill through his hand.  Mirror sheen, vibrating with the top’s intensity-

Verona looked into it and saw the man from the Wild Hunt from yesterday, past him to the students at St. Victor’s, then her dad, then an echo she’d seen on patrol a few nights ago.

“Not here, not now,” Charles murmured.

The man with the top clenched his fist.  The top was bigger than his hand- bigger than his head, even, but he closed his hand around it with ease.

And following that, for a moment, Verona could see the reaching diagram work that had been spilling out from the top, like a net closing around her.

“On your way.  You know where to go, what to do,” Charles said.  “A Lordship will be handed to you.”

“But the primary principle of administration will belong to the Judges,” the man replied, voice soft.

Charles nodded.

Then the man was gone, chased after by the diagram work, like an afterimage on Verona’s vision, after bright glowing lines, circles, and symbols- except she hadn’t seen those symbols, lines, or shapes beforehand.

“I look forward to seeing if he trips Musser up,” Charles said.  “If either of us break Musser, even if it means one of us crushes the other, I’ll see that as a win.  But it would be satisfying if it was a joint effort.”

“Hmmm.”

“The last of the worst of the Blue Heron Institute,” he mused.  Light was returning to the room, and he looked at the fire.  “Core staff, anyway.”

“Pretty wild, anyway.  You were pretty quick in putting that together.”

“Mm hmm.  It’s a small gift to you.  I thought you’d enjoy it, and it balances the scales after you brought me a gift.  With that, I think we can call this visit concluded.”

“I was going to ask about other things.”

“I know.  But I’m not in a position to arbitrate the Wild Hunt.  They answer other powers.”

She knew it was dangerous to ask, but she didn’t want to not ask, either.  “And St. Victor’s?”

The tone of his voice changed slightly.  Almost admonishing her.  “As you said, I must be unbiased.  They’ve done nothing to breach the Seal.”

“Uh huh?”

He changed the subject.  “You’ve come, gained answers about your gainsaying.”

“Partially recovered tomorrow morning, better twenty four hours after that?”

“Roughly, depending on your conduct.  You’ve asked about Musser, I’ve given you an answer, and because he’s an enemy of the Seal at this moment, I am justified in balancing things with the creation of a new force.  A creation you had a small hand in.  Consider it symbolic of this bond between enemies.”

“Okay.”

“You’re safe until you return home.  But don’t dally for long.”

“Can I stop in to check on people?  Guilherme?”

“Keep it under a minute or two.”

Verona nodded.

“And Verona?” Charles asked.

“Yeah?”

“Tread carefully.  We can be tenuous enemies.  But if you cross a certain point, interfere with me, my allies, my work…”

The way he inflected that last bit.  It matched the admonishing tone he’d had a moment ago.  Like a teacher telling her off for lying, back when she was little.  Yeah.  She’d known she shouldn’t bring up St. Victor’s students.

She pushed it, though.  “You’re not leaving us many options for the Wild Hunt.”

“I know.”

“And if we were to take the obvious option… one I think they’re trying to pressure us into?  They might want us to go after Maricica, to be the jagged rocks she falls on, like they want Musser to be the jagged rocks we fall on, while they’re forcing our hands, weakening us, and all that.”

“Very likely.”

Verona shrugged.  “You realize that’s a shitty situation you’re putting us in?  The Wild Hunt comes for us, they want us to help turn over Maricica.  But if we do, we get them off our backs, but we-”

“We stop being enemies in name only.  I will act.”

Verona nodded.

And that lined up with what Lucy had overheard.  The message intended for them.

Confirming it for sure.  That Charles was behind the St. Victors stuff.

She collected her things, got her coat on, slinging her bag over her shoulder.  She didn’t have to take the beer on her way out, which left her hands free.

“I’m okay, by the way,” Charles said.  “To answer your question earlier.  I’m doing very well, as a matter of fact.  Thank you for asking, and thank you for the company.”

“Noted,” Verona said, before shutting the door.

She paused, standing outside the door, then leaned into the cold wind, hands in her pocket, her one hand twinging painfully.

It was easier to go than it had been to come, and it had been easy to get in, once she’d met the prerequisite of traveling for a day to get there.  She collected her items on the way out, stowing them in her bag, before quickening her pace to get away from the bogeyman.

She walked until she reached the shore, paused briefly to take in the view and the quiet, and then turned around, heading back North.

That was one more mark against Musser.  One more delay, one more interference in his time, his logistics.  If power was the thing Musser still had in abundance, then they’d make him take the place of one of the people he’d crushed underfoot and make him confront that same power.  If he couldn’t, he’d lose things.

Maybe he’d find a way past.  Probably.  But until then, it would hopefully cost him or his allies.

There were a whole lot of other things she’d found out, too.  About how Charles operated.  He’d been free with information, and she strongly suspected it was because he felt guilty.  He’d called her out, on wanting to stop him, he’d known.  Okay.  But she’d been right enough about him being lonely that he’d given those answers, he’d let her participate in making a major Other, and he’d endured her company.

She had a better sense of Charles’ particular connection to his awareness of his realm and responsibilities.  The things he dug into, the things he didn’t know.  She’d had a taste of it, in the Alcazar, but Charles had been expanding his scope.  He’d probably been careful with what he told her, but any information was a good thing.

The second most important tidbit, though, was about schedule.  He worked with other Judges and with Maricica or Lis in bursts.  Probably tied to certain projects.  If they could figure out the timing of those bursts, they could possibly strike out at key targets.

Verona had a few targets in mind.  Alabaster, Sable, and Aurum.  White, black, and gold.  They’d abdicated their responsibilities, and they were just handing Charles power.

Okay.  If she and her friends could find an opening, they’d engage with the other Judges first, to raise the subject, clear the air, challenge them.

If the Judges didn’t cooperate, then they’d take other measures.  Change the broken system.  Verona had ideas.  Then if they could start taking back what they’d lent to Charles…

That would be a way forward.  Maybe, depending on how strict they could get the Judges to be on the backswing, they could neuter Charles.

As far as Verona was considered, destroying Charles wasn’t the only option.  At least in the annihilation sense.  Would it be the worst thing if they limited the scope of his duties to things that were very strictly Carmine, restrained what he could do even then, and let him wallow in lonely misery?  A prison of his own making, instead of death and oblivion?

He’d made Lucy cry.  He’d killed a lot of people, too.

She trudged through snow.

The Faerie cave was on her way up the shore, and she traveled a route that looked like the number ‘4’, going past the arch of trees, doubling back to move through them, and taking a hard turn east toward the cave.

“Guilherme?” she asked.

“I’m here.  But I don’t know for how much longer,” he said.

“I can’t stay for long.  I’ve got a free pass to leave unobstructed, but that falls apart if I delay too much.”

“I assumed as much.”

“You’re okay?”

“The Wild Hunt stalks me, I think they are preparing to remove me to the Court interior.”

“Well, we don’t want to let that happen.”

“No we don’t,” he replied, from the shadows.

“Is there time?”

“Days.”

“Okay.  I’ll let Lucy know.”

Verona sighed.  She really wanted to do more with this, but… no time.  “Alpeana?  You awake?”

“Aye, I am noo.”

“Sorry.  Having nice dreams?”

“Ah dinnae dream, lassie.”

“Okay.  Any requests for candy, favors, treats, anything?  I’m hitting the shrines south of here first thing tomorrow morning.  Probably with a pretty large contingent of bodyguards, for what it’s worth.”

“It won’t matter,” Guilherme murmured, from the shadows.

“Dinnae worry yer wee head about it,” Alpeana replied.  She made a yawning sound.  “Be safe.”

“Sleep well, then.”

“Aye,” she said, yawning out the word.

Freezing rain was hitting the area with a fury.  It came down heavy, and it painted trees in ice, giving snow a hard crust that she slid on as often as her boots punched through.

With hood up, scarf around her lower face, and multiple layers, she was still getting damp, pushing her way through.

She saw a figure in the snow.

“Hello!” she hollered.  The sound of rain, wind, and frozen-over branches blowing in the wind nearly drowned her out.

He turned.

She motioned, because going to him and then the way she wanted to go was too much effort.

She felt a thrill when he got close enough for her to confirm who it was.

Verona led him down the path, a bit away from town, and around a bend.  There was a one room cabin, barely more than a shack, very similar to the one that Avery had done the Forest Ribbon Trail ritual in.

A rest stop and storage place for rangers.  Verona had to work to get the door open, with snow and ice crusting between the bottom of the door and the ground.  She kicked with her boot heel.

Kyle Kelly joined her, hand at the door above her head, heel kicking and scraping, to try to make enough room for the door to get open.

“Fancy seeing you here!” he hollered.  “If that is you?  Avery’s friend?  Verona?  Can’t see much past the hood!”

“That’s me!  In town for the holidays?”

“Yeah!”

They managed to get the door open almost a foot.  She pulled her bag off, then squeezed through as best she could.  Kyle followed her, and they had almost as laborious a process of getting the door closed as they’d had getting it open.

“Whoo!” Kyle gasped, stepping away from the door.  “You saved me!”

She huffed for breath, nodding.  “Glad to.  You’re Avery’s family.”

He took a seat on the ancient looking cot in the corner.  Rusty springs squeaked.  The only light that came in was through a window that had a thick layer of ice on it.

“Didn’t think it would be that bad,” he said.

“Sneaks up on you,” she said.  She found a lamp and lit it.  Then she lit others.  Filling the cabin with warmth.

There was a little stove too.  She put some wood in and lit it.

Then, that done, room lit and heat on its way, she leaned back, her back to the door, and huffed out a breath.

She wasn’t sure what to say, and he didn’t volunteer anything, at least until a good minute had passed and he said, “We might get snowed in.  Or frozen in.”

Wouldn’t be the worst thing.  Stuck somewhere with Avery’s cute cousin.  “Yeah.  Could break a window if we had to.”

“Oh yeah.  That’s true.”

Rain drummed hard on the tin roof.  The heater was working its magic, though.

He was shivering pretty badly.

“You okay?”

“Not so much.”

“Get warm.  There, get the wet stuff off.  Lie down.  Blankets.”

He nodded, and it was a shaky nod.  He did some of it, but when she started to help, he let her, settling down on the cot, springs squeaking and squealing a metal-on-metal squeal.

“Heater and layers of blankets should do you okay.  But keep me up to date?  And don’t fall asleep?” she told him.

He nodded, head on the dusty old pillow.  She reached into her bag, got a spare top, and had him lift his head up while she put the t-shirt on over the pillow as a pillowcase.  She toyed with the arm that flopped at the corner.

“I wonder what we would’ve done without that heater,” Kyle said.

“Shared body heat?” she joked.

He got a goofy look on his face.  Flushed red or not, it was pretty.

“Wouldn’t complain,” he said, quiet.

She snorted.  “Too bad you’re my friend’s cousin.  I wouldn’t want to upset her.”

“I asked her.  About you,” Kyle said.

She smiled, wry.  “Oh yeah?  That must’ve been an awkward conversation.  Oh well.  I’m not looking for a relationship, as sorely tempted as I am…”

“I’m not either.  Not long distance.”

“You’re really streamlining this whole thing, huh?” she asked  “Making this that easy?”

“It’s weirder you’re complicating it.  Just get under the covers,” he said.

She took off her boots, then did, snuggling in closer.

“I was looking for you,” he said, mouth near her ear.

“Oh yeah?”

“Looking for this.”

“Woo.”

“Come on,” he said.

She leaned in closer.  “Edith James.  Get a message to her?  Get her to come see us?  Ideally during a time the Carmine is distracted.”

“That it?” he asked.

“Yeah.  Pass it on to he who created you?” she murmured, quiet.  “So he can handle it?”

The dream-Kyle didn’t even respond.  She woke up.

Leaving her lying in bed in the very empty House on Half Street.

You didn’t have to go right away, you could’ve finished delivering on the good dream, she thought, frustrated.

With Alpeana, they’d worked out some code phrases while in one of their first nightmares- Lucy’s idea, in case any of them was compromised or if something happened.  One was the one she’d recently invoked, asking Alpeana if she’d had good dreams.

A message to covertly reach out to one of her peers, an agent of racy dreams, so they could act in Alpeana’s stead.  Charles was watching dreams, but Verona had good reason to believe he wouldn’t peek in on a potentially lewd dream of a teenage girl.  He was watching Alpeana, mostly.

A trick they’d have to use in very, very limited quantities, or else they’d risk tipping Charles off.  This would probably be it.  One move to convey one message.

They had to operate in blind spots.  They had to make any moves on the other Judges in the times Charles wasn’t communicating with them, they’d do the same with Edith, because Edith was a blind spot.  She’d been absent from his comments throughout Verona’s meeting with him.  Lis, Maricica, they had roles.  But Edith had played hers.

Everything she’d said to Charles was valid for Edith.  She was an asshole, she was dangerous, but she had to be desperately lonely right now.  Charles had everything going his way, his enemies crumbling.  Edith was the opposite.  She had to be frustrated, resentful.

Making this the right time to make a play.

Next Chapter