Author: Wildbow

Let Slip – 20.3 | Pale

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“And the ice thingy disappeared and they’re waiting for it to come back and they’re too intimidated by the flickering thingy, they don’t know how to interact with it, so… yeah.  Probably this sort of thing is going to be a decades project, not a short term project,” Verona explained.

“I see,” Avery’s dad replied.  “I think.  I’m not sure.”

Verona picked off a chunk of her lemon-cranberry muffin, then popped it into her mouth, before pushing papers around in front of her.  She had a little cup of coffee, her container of water, and she’d eaten most of a breakfast sandwich- an English muffin with sausage and egg.  The muffin was dessert.

She read a bit off her notes.  “Okay, so, question-”

“Wait, wait, wait.  You didn’t answer my question,” Connor said.

“Didn’t I?”

“What are they?  What’s Avery wrapped up in now?”

“I mean, we don’t know?  It might be months, years, decades or more before we know?  But we can make educated guesses.  It says a lot that the frozen thingy bailed when we approached.”

“Does it say anything good?”

“I dunno!  I think it’s neutral?  Like, imagine if you had incontrovertible truth- is incontrovertible a word?  Did I just make that up?”

“It’s a word.”

“Did I use it right?”

“Yep.”

“Heck yeah, reading.  Anyway, imagine you had proof the Sasquatch was real.  But he was shy and didn’t want to approach.  Pretty cool, but also like, who knows how long that’s going to take, am I right?”

“That wasn’t a Sasquatch.  That was a building-sized piece of architecture, a bunch of them, actually, and the moment they showed up, an army of… corporate… wizards?”

“Sure.  Corporate wizards.  Works.”

“They changed their attitude.”

“Well, you read Hundred Years Lost, right?”

“Yeah.  Early on.  I didn’t have the grounding- I need to go back to it.”

“Sure.  Well… I guess we know what it isn’t.  First guesses were that it was celestial… getting into angel type crap.  Cherubim, thrones- not to be confused with stuff like the Carmine throne, powers, blah blah blah… doesn’t fit.  Too big, too static, too plain, not enough fractal eyes and pants-shitting terror.”

“…Rrrright,” Connor replied.

“Lucy fought an angelic type thing once.  One of Musser’s guys called it in.  It put up a wall near Half Street that’s still there.  Ummm, oh, the Tearaway Kid can give you a show, if you want to see what an angel type thing is like.  You met him, right?”

“Yes, but I’m okay, I think.  I’d rather skip the pants issue.”

“You’d rather leave your pants unshat?  Unshitted-in?  Do you do English tutoring, Connor?”

“I- I can teach it, but let’s loop around back to that.  I’m reminded of trying to teach Declan.  It’s great we’re learning and discussing, but let’s refocus back to the original question.”

“Sure!  Yeah.  So what are they?  Let me think…”

“Right.  Good.”

“If you go by a Hundred Years Lost, they’re important.  And they may only be accessible if you’ve earned the access, but being able to answer the question of what they are and how they tie into the Paths might be a big piece of how you earn that access, and being able to just observe from a distance is huge.”

“Right.”

“And they’ve kind of been mentioned in reference to the levers and pulleys of the universe.”

“I read about that but there wasn’t much- there was the chapter of notes exploring the idea, but I don’t think I understand.  I don’t think the experts understood.”

“That’s science, though, right?  Or practice-science?  It’s important to recognize what you don’t know, what you know, to build theories, test the theories…”

“But-”

“But yeah.  Mysterious.  I think, if I were to try to explain it, I’d think of this guy at the Blue Heron, Ulysse?  He found a hidden deity type thing, became its champion.  You know how Prometheus brought the fire of the god to the people?”

“No?” Connor asked, leaning back in his chair.  He grabbed for his coffee, frowning, but didn’t actually drink from it.  Just held his hands around the steaming cup.  “Was that actually a thing that happened?”

“Maybe?  Maybe spiritually or abstractly or something?  I’ll get back to that.  But the deal here is that Ulysse’s deity, he was a competitor of Prometheus and if he’d brought fire to humanity instead of Prometheus, then maybe it would be metal and not wood that’s flammable, things would change.  Right?”

Connor frowned at Verona through the steam of his coffee cup.

“Okay, and so the way I line everything up in my head is that the levers and pulleys of the universe, they change things like that.  And if they changed something like that, then mythology like the gods and what gods are doing, that changes.  Said I’d get back to that.  And cosmology changes, and spirit, I guess, and the normally intractable, inflexible forces like Death and Nature and whatever, they’d go from intractable to tractable at least for a bit, changing their routes and I dunno.  So metal can burn, or-”

“That’s-”

“-so, I dunno, living things hurt less on their way from dying to being dead,” Verona told him, shrugging.  “I figure the levers can change that.”

“How does that even work?  Innocence is a thing.”

“Innocence finds a way.  Like, pulling from my credentials as a member of the doomed generation, but like, we’re overdue for a solar flare to really fuck us up, right?  Or earth’s magnetic field could spontaneously shift?  We find out metal can carry way more electrons if the wavelength is right, revise our entire understanding of science, I’m totally bullshitting, but long story short… we find some excuse for why metal can burn.  Or whatever.”

“I’d worry that… I dunno.  Maybe I misunderstand, but with how science works, if you moved that lever a millimeter…?  Wouldn’t that just make a lot of things stop working, burn down…?”

“Yeah.  Oh yeah for sure, hypothetically though.”

“And ecosystems are delicate and if you nudged something like the dying thing, I dunno, that- that could have ramifications?”

Verona nodded with emphasis.

“Right,” Connor said.  He frowned.

“And that’s not the thing you’re asking about, but I think it’s close to the thing, or these things are the way to the lever and pulley thing.  And your daughter’s close to the thing that’s close to the thing, which is really cool.”

“When I was fourteen, I was convinced that if I could get a pair of nice jeans I could fix all my issues of getting awkward and oversharing with the girl I had a crush on.”

“Kelsey?”

“No.  Nah,” Connor said.  “My dad, Avery’s granddad, her Grumble, he made me work for him at his business to earn the jeans.  I changed my mind and spent the money on music.  Regretted that pretty hard.”

“Huh.”

“That’s fourteen year old decision making in my mind.  Then what you guys are doing…”

“Some of the Others say humans were expected to be way more mature for a lot of history, and exceptional people could step it up even more.  I think Avery’s exceptional.  Lucy too.”

“You too,” Connor told her.

“Thanks for saying that,” Verona said.  She shrugged.  “We rise to what’s expected of us.”

“But you’re talking about levers and pulleys and giant vanishing, reappearing constructions and you’re referring to gods and moving forces that aren’t meant to be moved, like Death, or changing core laws of reality…”

“Sure.  It’s cool, right?”

“It’s scary.  And as much as I think Avery is exceptional and you are and Lucy is… holy shit?”

“Yeah,” Verona said.  She popped another bit of muffin into her mouth.  “If you want another analogy… it might be kind of like if your daughter had a talent for science and she played a part in helping figure out, I dunno, fusion power?  And like, holy crap, but it’d still be a few years or decades off-”

“Always, with fusion power.”

“And she’s working with people and they can be butts about some stuff but they’re level headed and adult about other stuff, I wouldn’t be okay with her working with them if they weren’t.  So you can figure… few years before this becomes anything.  Lots to explore and tentatively figure out.  Lots to negotiate.  Wunderkand may be negotiating for limited access, maybe, that could be a payday, hard to say…”

Connor was nodding.

“…and that takes time, she’ll keep growing up in that time.  She’s got people watching out for her from multiple corners in the meantime, I don’t think anyone’s dumb enough to pull the trigger, and the universe tends to have reasons why people haven’t gone and fiddled with stuff like those levers and pulleys in the past.  Right?”

“Yeah,” Connor said.  He sighed, then drank his coffee.

“Food for thought?” Verona asked.

“Yes.”

“Cool.  Now, on to the more important subject matter… question twenty-seven.”

“Right.  We were tutoring you.”

“We were having a back and forth, because I think you agreed to help me out in exchange for info and so you ask one question, I ask one.  You just asked a doozy, so…”

“Yeah.  What’s question twenty-seven?”

“Canada as a post-war middle power.  One shitty thing about this online class is it’s so focused on the world wars and the aftermath.  There’s more history than that, right?”

“Hmmm.  Is that the issue?  Do you want to try to communicate something to the school?”

“I mean, my issue is like, okay, sure, Canada, middle power, economy good, military okay, good, Canada as a moral leader, okay, whatever… maybe?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Sorry, reading aloud, trying to find the stuff that was throwing me.  Them talking about Canada as moral leaders was like… okay weird, but that’s only part of it, give me a second…”

“Sure.”

“So Canada and the Suez Canal, Canada in the Korean War, Canada takes the lead in peacekeeping, Suez Canal war averted, quote, largely because of the role Canada played as uninterested peacekeepers.”

“Sure.  I’d say… less invested peacekeepers, more than uninterested ones.”

“How do you know it’s legit?  And not like, masturb- uh, pro-Canada propaganda?”

“Hmm.  Well, that’s an interesting conundrum.  I have an answer, but you might not like it.”

“Shoot.”

“When you run up against something like that?  Sounds too good to be true?  Research it.  Hit up the library, check out some books, read online.  See if it lines up.  Maybe look for controversy.  Does the school let you submit extra material?  Maybe you could get extra marks for following up.”

“Doesn’t really, but I could use their built-in ‘ask a teacher’ chat thing, and submit it that way, I think.”

“Might be worth doing, or trying.”

“I know I could’ve reached out to them to ask, but like, on the one hand… you hear about textbook manufacturers being weirdly political down south, pushing agendas, maybe the people I’d be asking would be too?  And also like… cool to talk to you, I guess.  If that’s okay?  I hope I’m not being a pain.”

“No, you’re not.  I was a homeschool teacher for a while.  I did it because I liked it.  Nice to dip my toes back into the waters, especially when my kids don’t ask anymore, and when I’m on Christmas vacation.”

They’d been here for a bit, going back and forth.  The conversation had opened up a bit more since the people at the next table had left.  A lot of people who were up at this hour were out at the ski hills already.

Verona flipped through her books, looking for any sneaky sticky notes she’d put in to mark questions she’d wanted to ask.  “Thanks though.  I kinda want to avoid falling into the traps I see practitioners fall into.  Sure would feel dumb if I bought into that sort of thing after moaning and groaning as much as I have about practitioners buying into their own bullcrap.”

“It’s important to interrogate the facts.  Especially if it feels one-sided.  Usually it’s complicated on some level.”

“Usually complicated.  Cross checking that against everything to do with politics, power, all that that I’ve been doing, adds up.”

“Good.  My question?” he asked.

“Sure, with standard rules.”

“Holidays coming up.  Lot going on.  I know Lucy’s been distracted, getting ready for Booker.”

“Getting back to center with her mom.”

“Jasmine asked me to check in.  I was thinking about it, I know Avery’s coming over tomorrow… I don’t know how much she’s in touch, but between the Garricks, the aftermath of Musser and the people she was in touch with, and Nora, travel…”

“Yeah yeah yeah, no, she’s- she hasn’t said much, but I don’t mind.”

“You been okay?” he asked.

“Okay, so, here’s the deal, it’s still very, very much a work in progress,” Verona warned, as she led the way to the House on Half Street.  “Go easy.”

“Understood.”

“I grant you access to my Demesne.  Be welcome and comfortable.  May your spirit be strong.  May your Wi-fi signal be consistent.”

She motioned, and the door opened.  Cold air swirled on either side of the door, without entering the ground floor.  Luna Hare was inside, and led Shoe out of view, stepping around behind a bookshelf to remove her mask and peer between the books.

“Hello!?” Luna called out, wary.  She pushed at Shoe, who was coming around to her side of the shelf, and pushed at his hat.

The pigeon and squirrel were around, helping to tidy, working together to fold cardboard boxes and tie them with twine.  Peckersnot was upstairs in the kitchen area, awake and in among the tubes, brass pipes and other alchemy things, which was curious-

Oh.  There was a very pretty white cat in the little high window in the stairwell, where the railing kind of intersected and blocked part of the window.  Peckersnot liked to move down to that spot in the mornings, when the sun shone in through the window and he could sleep in sun, out of sight for the most part, but aware of any comings and goings on the ground or shop floor.

The cat stirred, looking up, while the pigeon and squirrel slipped out of view, pulling the stacked and mostly tied cardboard down with them so they could finish knotting it, moving it aside.

“…Practitioner?” Blankshanks asked, after studying Zed for a moment.

“What the hell!?” Zed exclaimed.  He grabbed Verona by the shoulders, hiding behind her.  “That cat talked!”

“Ha ha,” Blankshanks said, putting his head down.  “Practitioner.”

“What were you actually going to do if the answer was no?” Verona asked.

“People fool themselves.  They wonder, did that cat talk, or did they hear something else?”

“I hope you’re not pushing that too far.  Especially in Kennet, where the boundaries for Innocence are weaker.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Blankshanks replied, twisting around to stretch in a bendy way and maximize stretch-age in a space that was probably only good for a half-body stretch if Blankshanks were stretching out straight.

Verona pulled off her coat and set her bag aside.  “Luna, you and Shoe can mask up.  No need to hide.  Is Wormface around?”

“Busy in Kennet below,” Luna said, pulling the mask on.  She faced the newcomers.  “Hello.  Luna Hare.  This is my friend Shoe.”

“They help out,” Verona supplied.  “Wormface too.  He’s a foundling, but he spends time in Kennet below.”

“Shoe does the lifting, I do the organization,” Luna said.  “Wormface keeps it fun, kind of.”

“Sounds good,” Zed said.  “Whimsical collection of locals here.  So you got a cat?”

“No.  I guess he dropped by and… someone I trust let him in?”

“That was me,” Luna said.  “He looked so cold out there in the snow.”

Verona gave Blankshanks a look.  He smiled in a way cats shouldn’t be able to.

Zed and Nina explored the space.  Zed stepped back as the pigeon flapped its way up to the counter, hopping over to the serving tray.  Verona bent down and got saucers.  Decorated one for herself for tea… “Tea?  Coffee?”

“Coffee would be great,” Zed told her.  “Nina?”

Nina, midway through perusing the shelves, made a wounded sound, turned around, and forced a smile.  “Yes?”

“Tea?”

“Oh, yes, thank you.”

Verona put another fancy saucer and a plain white saucer on the tray.  “Luna, Shoe?”

“Is hot chocolate okay?” Luna asked.

“If the pigeon doesn’t mind making three different drinks?”

“And soda for Shoe?” Luna asked.

The pigeon cooed.

“If you’re okay with it.”  She added two coasters- one with a chocolate bar brand name on it, and one with the soda brand.

The pigeon cooed at her, ruffling.

“I know you don’t need it.  But I like to keep track and stay organized, it helps me.  So.  Squirrel, want to go get snacks?  Just whatever?  Help yourselves.”

Squirrel and pigeon hopped onto the tray.  Verona gave the rope a light tug and the zipline-like arrangement began retracting, pulling the serving tray up by way of cords that went to the four corners.  Pigeon, squirrel, saucers and coasters went upstairs to the kitchen.

“And check on Peckersnot?  Send him on down?” she asked, while they were still on their way up.

The squirrel chittered something, glancing at Blankshanks.

The cat was smiling.

“Blankshanks.  Have you been tormenting my goblin friend and sometimes-lodger?”

“I’m innocent for once,” Blankshanks told her.  “If he’s tormented, it’s his own fault.”

“Is it now?”

“He and his friends came after us, they learned their lesson.  If he’s scared now, it only means the lesson was well taught.  He brought it on himself.”

“Be good.  There’s meant to be a truce.  We have enough enemies, we don’t need infighting.  And he’s earned his spot.”

“I’m working too,” Blankshanks said.

“What?  Being pretty?”

“That too,” Blankshanks said, twisting and stretching again, rubbing against three sides of the little window that was barely bigger than a mailbox, sun shining through and illuminating glossy white fur.  “But I’m getting rid of a little bit of goblin stink.”

“He has the right of way here.  That’s a spot he likes, so vacate.”

Blankshanks smiled wider, head upside-down now.  He groaned out the words, “In a moment.”

“I’ve given you a warning.  Take that for what it’s worth.”  Verona turned her attention to her guests.  “Sorry.”

“Hm?  Oh no, work in progress, you did say, I’m sure it’s fine,” Nina said, her eyes on the shelf.

“Nina,” Zed said.

She turned, eyes wide, hands pressed over her heart.

“She was talking about the issues with the guest.  Or being distracted-”

“I get distracted easy,” Verona told him.

“Me too,” Nina said, not changing her pose or expression.  She glanced at the shelves.  “I like your stock.  Interesting books.”

“Yeah, getting there.  This is all preliminary,” Verona said, stepping onto the footrest of a stool on her way to sitting on the counter, hands in her lap, facing them.  “I’m glad you like it, I’ll be bringing some other stuff in.  Bulk of it’s probably going to be along these lines.  I don’t know if the book supply gets better or more intense when Kennet found gets bigger and stronger, but I can do some peddling stuff to draw in books.”

Zed looked between Nina and Verona before turning to Nina.  “Hey.”

“Hi Zed,” Nina said, glancing over the shelves.

“Be nice.”

“Wow,” Verona remarked, leaning back a bit before remembering she was sitting on the counter and there was nothing behind her.  “That feels a bit like, I dunno, I’m a kid at daycare and a mom tells her kid ‘I know she has a really punchable face, but don’t punch it, okay?'”

“Sorry,” Zed replied.  “This is a thing where Nina is particular, not a you thing.  Your shop’s cool.  I like it.”

“Is it the aesthetic of the shop?  The stock?”

“The aesthetic is wonderful.  You’re still building and adding shelves, I see, and tables?”

“Tables yes.  Shelves yes.”

“The stock is curious and fun.  I was telling the truth before.”

“The sorting system?” Verona asked.

Nina glanced at Zed.  “I love it as a window into a specific slate of tastes and interests.  Like a tactile, explorable ReadgoodR booklist.”

“Do you want to sort out my bookstore?”

“Yes, please,” Nina replied, pushing her sleeves up.  “Tell me your requirements and limits.”

“Luna?  If you’re up for it, I’ll pay you to help Nina here.  Keep track of what she’s doing.”

“Yes!” Luna replied, chipper, perking up.

“Nina?  Fill me in after.  You’ve got to explain what you’re doing to Luna and to me so we can keep doing it after you’re gone.  So be careful about any weird PSBN sorting system, or… I don’t know what kind of coding Lost books have.  I don’t think they have any.”

Nina was already moving, scanning shelves.

“You don’t have to,” Zed commented, moving around so he could lean on the counter and watch.

“No, I mean, stings a bit, but if I wanted to be a boxer and I met a Pugilist animus, and he told me I was throwing a punch wrong, I’d listen, right?  I should?”

“I mean… yeah,” Zed said, like he was ruminating on the answer as he said it.  “But there’s also the reality where he could train you to throw that punch, but he’ll always be a bit unhappy with how it’s not perfect.”

“Right.  Hm.”

“You were mentioning stuff you needed.  To start you off…”

He put his bag down, then opened it.  “Do you actually have a modem?  Router?”

Verona shook her head.

“You’re just… Demesne-connecting things up?”

“Basically.  But the internet comes and goes with the whims of the spirits, severity of a situation.  Things calmed down a bit, they kinda got spotty on me.”

“Two options,” he said.  He pulled off his winter leather jacket, draping it over a stool.  Wearing a black t-shirt, he pulled on gloves, then lifted a device up.

The serving tray zipline was shaking.  The pigeon, squirrel, and Peckersnot were on their way down, with a lid covering the steaming pots and things.

The device Zed had was a modem, it looked like, but it looked like someone had taken a lighter to the outside, and scratched a password into the top.

“This one is pretty solid, but it has a mean streak.  That’s going to take any power you put into it.  Give you free, one hundred percent uptime internet, no bill.  I’ve gotten up to two gigs a second, if you put more power into it, you could get a bit faster with more power to spare, Demesne efficiency, you know.  Not sure what you’d be doing with something that fast, except maybe trying to download the entire Atheneum Arrangement, but I thought it might sound nice to someone in a small town.”

“Huh.  I don’t have a good measuring stick for this stuff.”

“It’s fast.  It’s free.  It’s- not consistent, I couldn’t say that, exactly, but it’ll be reliable.”

“What’s the difference?” Verona asked, poking at the burned plastic.

“Well, there’s the catch.”

“The mean streak.”

“The mean streak,” Zed confirmed.  “You get all that, but once every thirty to three hundred minutes, it’ll mess with you.  Jumpscares when loading a webpage, pull up the wrong video, pull up the right video but corrupt one part of it, to be different.  Some shock stuff.  You can’t ever entirely let your guard down.”

“Shock stuff, like…?”

“There’ll be the occasional rude video with geriatrics and bodily fluids that look like very pulpy orange juice, sometimes a beheading-”

“Zed!” Nina admonished him from across the bookstore.  “You’re not giving that to her, are you?”

“It’s Verona!” Zed protested.  “It works on a lot of levels, it’s powerful, it’s fast, it’s cheap to run, and she seems like she has tolerances.”

Verona stared at the modem.

“You could curb its tendencies over time, with the Demesne.  Start out by pushing it so it’s closer to three hundred minutes, instead of thirty.  Extend that time, diminish how long the images or videos are on screen…”

Verona lifted the lid off the serving tray, then took tea, hot chocolate, and soda over to Nina, Luna, and Shoe.  “What’s the alternative?”

He lifted a tiny cooler out, unlocked it, and adjusted the handle which acted as another lock.

The cooler was filled with blood.  He moved drinks off the serving tray, laid down napkins, and lifted the device out of the blood and onto the tray to drain.

“Goblin?” Verona asked.  “Abyssal?”

“Technomancy.”

“That, sir, seems like a cop-out.”

“It is.  I dunno what it is.  It’s a modem, it bleeds.  It bleeds more if you use it more.  Like… regular machine getting hot with use, except it’s blood, thick hair, and gristle, not heat.  At its worst, it’ll be buckets at a time, so I wouldn’t go binging the entirety of any multi-season shows in 4K definition, unless you have good drainage.  Speed’s alright.”

“Blood can power stuff.”

“It’s bad blood.  No.  It’s the sewer water of blood.  You wouldn’t use it to practice any more than you’d use sewer water to cook food.”

“But… you can use sewer water for some stuff,” Verona protested.

“The entire point is it’s inconvenient.  If you turn it into a convenience then it’s not a price, right?”

Verona groaned.

“If you’re getting some internet signal through your Demesne reality hacking, then it’s supplementary.  It’s up to you.  You want either of them?”

“I want the first one, just for the speed and convenience, but… I should take the second, I think.  Peckersnot, you okay doing blood cleanup?  And letting me know if it’s too much for one little goblin, if I’m not tapped into my Demesne?”

Peckersnot peeped.  He was keeping his eye on Blankshanks.

“Blankshanks, second warning.  Vacate.”

He hopped down from window to railing and then railing to stairs, with an aura of pure smugness.

“Gotta be careful.  It’ll clog most drains eventually,” Zed pointed out.

“Hm?  Right.  Okay.  How much?”

“Hmmm.  How much do you have?”

“What do you say we both write down what it’s worth, and then compare?”

“Sure.  Kind of curious where you’re at.”

Verona got some paper, pens, went to hand one of each to Zed, but he had his flip phone out.

“Right,” she said.  She glanced at it.  Then she wrote down a number.

For Zed, it was $500.  For Verona, it was $400.

“Close.”

“I read your other notes on stuff.  I figured you’d get close to that.  I thought the drawbacks would take it down a notch,” Verona replied, leaning over the counter, sipping tea.

“It’s still basically free internet.  Figure that’s fifty dollars a month, you’d need the modem, discount time factor in cleanup, hassle, setup… five hundred feels right.”

“I’ve got three hundred.  I’d have more, but things were hectic.  I had to bribe someone, too.”

“I’m kind of surprised you had that much.  I didn’t at your age.  Avery help?”

“Nah.  It’s my cut from the local market, with a bit of an advance because Christmas.  I can write up an IOU, two hundred dollars in value to be spent in the market here, then whoever ends up with that can ask me for the money later.”

“Round it up to, let’s say two-fifty?  Because it’s limited to the market, I’d have to go shop?”

Verona nodded.

He put the modem back in the cooler, then slid it toward her.  She used the extra paper to write the IOU, got the money out of her register, and passed it to Zed.

“Pleasure doing business.”

“Thanks for helping me get set up.”

“I’ll dig around, see what looks interesting.  There’s a bunch of stuff over at the Blue Heron, I’m not sure what’s up there.  If the school shuts down for good, I’m probably inheriting a storeroom’s worth of stuff, as my share from Ray.  Less, if some of his other apprentices get off their asses and come over here.  Which I don’t think they will.”

“Good deal.”

“You get wild practitioner power from your town of Others, random gifts for shallow but broad assortment of practice stuff and resources, and some info that misses a lot of crucial bases.  With my mentor, I get the crucial info, some gifts and inheritances, and focused but narrow teaching from an expert.”

“Hmm.  Sure.  Makes sense.”

“Good coffee,” Zed remarked.  “And good cookies.”

“Thank you.”

“Cookies with coffee is a bit weird to me, though.”

“Noted for the future.”

Blankshanks hopped up onto a stool, spooking Peckersnot.  Peckersnot mooned him.

“Blankshanks,” Verona said, leaning over the counter.

“Yes?”

“I told you Peckersnot has right of way.”

“I’ve done nothing except join the conversation,” he said, in a very insincere way.

“You’re bugging my goblin friend.  Scoot?”

“Scoot, tsk.  And here I thought you were a cat person.”

“I am.  But you, you’re not a cat.  You’ve got the aesthetic, you’re very pretty, but if that was all it took to make me do something dumb, I’d be salivating over Guilherme.”

Zed snorted.

Blankshanks scoffed, then hopped down, moving over toward where Luna, Shoe, and Nina were organizing shelves.

“What is he?” Zed asked, quiet.

“Strangeling.”

“Ahhhhh.”

“Not your field of expertise?”

“Read about them at the Blue Heron, but no.”

Strangelings were like a lower-case-f fairy or a capital-F Fae’s changelings, where they swapped out actual babies for fairy or Fae babies, except they replaced household pets.  Scoundrels.  Rogues.  Mercenaries.  Fae and fairies couldn’t really get into or at households, so a strangeling sometimes handled opening the doors.  Or if a Fae lost something and a human picked it up and took it into their house, sometimes the strangeling would handle tracking the object down, infiltrating the house, getting the item.

Which was a very nice resource to have on tap.  But also a mondo pain in the ass.

“Peckersnot,” she told her buddy.  She put a finger on Peckersnot’s head and moved his scalp-skin around.  “This is your turf.”

He peeped.

“Here’s some tape,” she told him.  She handed him a roll of tape meant for gift wrapping.  “Tear off some pieces.  Varying lengths.  The more you dislike that guy, the more pieces you tear off.  And if he messes with you or overstays his hospitality, we’ll use it to mess with him.”

Peckersnot nodded.

“Put ’em down with just the edges stuck to the edge of the counter or something.”

He peeped.

Arms folded over the counter, Verona watched Peckersnot get to work, aggressively reeling out and tearing off squares of gift tape to lay down.

“And you’re cleaning it up if we don’t end up using it.”

Peckersnot chirped in a determined way.

Without shifting position, still sort of draped over the counter, Verona grabbed a biscuit and ate it, before chasing it with tea.

“Thanks for bringing Nina by.  Felt like I was probably doing something wrong with the setup.  This helps.  Magic modem too.”

“For sure,” Zed said.

“Didn’t bring Brie with?  I mean, given how she got the bristly end of the broomstick the last few times she came, Hungry Choir, kidnapped by goblins, tattoos ripped out of her skin…”

“Nah,” Zed interrupted.  “Not that.  She’s with her family.  Holiday stuff.  I’ll join her later.  Said I had work to do, I’m not lying, right?”

He tapped the money and IOU she’d given him.

“But why do you have to make excuses?”

“Because you know… don’t want to complain…”

“Complain.”

“Family stuff bums me out.”

“Ah.  Yeah.”

“I can take it.  In controlled doses.  Even Brie’s family.  They’re sweet.  But like… fuck.”

Zed had drawn his shoulders together a bit,leaning over the end of the counter, changing the way he’d talked.

Verona remained silent, leaving it up to Zed to carry on or stop.  She watched Peckersnot getting through the entire roll of gift tape, determined.  Nina, Luna, and Shoe bustled around.  Blankshanks had found an empty shelf with some sunlight to lounge across- at least for now.

“Brie’s family let her down, you know?  Back when she was sick, with eating metal, eating stuff and barely realizing it, burning a hole in her intestine from a little battery, mercury, lead, fuck, like… they’re not bad parents, they’re dopey, they’re sweet, maybe they haven’t dealt with enough crap in life to know what to do when the shit hits the fan, right?”

“Right.”

“And shit hit the fan for Brie, they lied to themselves to say everything’s alright.  They’re good parents, but they were only good when she needed great.”

Verona nodded.

“My parents let me down,” Zed said, voice quiet, eyes on the modem that was oozing blood out the vent at the top.  “I let myself down.  I was a mess.  But they didn’t help.  They made it worse.  And the more I figured shit out, the worse they got.  In the end, I came out as trans, they cut contact and took my sister away from me.  Forbade all contact.  She’s young enough she says what they say and think what they think and… yeah.”

“Fuck,” Verona whispered.

“Give it a few years, maybe she’ll turn around, think her own thoughts, say her own words.  I’ll probably try then.  But in the meantime, if I’m over at Brie’s, and things are good?  I resent it.  Little bit at first, then it builds.  If they’re bad?  I’m reminded they let her down like my parents let me down, and I get pissed on her behalf.  Probably more pissed than she’s ever been.  And I know that’s me with my family shit to get over.”

“But you’re keeping visits short?”

“Trying to look and sound busy enough to convince them.  Don’t want them thinking I hate ’em.  Because I don’t.”

“Yeah.”

“I put a lot of importance on the people I gather around me.  You know?”

“Yeah.  Same,” Verona said, indicating Peckersnot, the pigeon, and the squirrel.

“Yeah.  I know.  I figure you get it in ways Lucy and Avery don’t.  Even Brie’s parents, for how complicated it feels sometimes, they count.”

“Cool, that’s good, I think.”

“You count.  You three.”

“You had me braced for being angry and frustrated at parents, not that.”

“Want me to warn you next time?”

Verona put an arm out, to punch Zed lightly in the bicep.  Zed blocked, wrist bumping her wrist.

She moved over, unsure what move to use, not sure what was appropriate or right in the moment.  She ended up leaning her head against his shoulder, watching Nina sort out her bookstore.

Peckersnot peeped.

He’d used up an entire roll of gift tape, laying out the strands at the counter’s edge, turning it into a kind of centipede.

He threw down the plastic case of the empty roll, then put out a hand.

“Little guy’s got a real hate-on for that cat, huh?”

“Not a cat, but yeah, seems so.  I think that’s all I got for you for now, Peckersnot.  Unless you want to get your own?”

Peckersnot reached for the papers she’d pulled out for the IOU.  She pushed it closer to him.  He began tearing them up.

“I’m worried about you guys,” Zed said.

“Well gosh,” Verona replied.  “If that’s a thing now, I’m concerned it’s going to be a condition that persists for years and years without break.”

“Sounds like you gotta find a way to un-persist it, huh?” Zed asked.

“Would be nice.  Kind of feels like we’re getting there, but, you know.  We’re on the shitlist of a higher power in the region, we gave the Wild Hunt an excuse to go after his buddy, and in a week and two days, that’s it.  He’ll react.”

“Yeah,” Zed replied.  “I wanted to check in.  Partially for the reasons I said, getting away, staying busy.  Partially for that, because that sounds big and if you need anything…”

“You’ll make me pay five hundred dollars for it?”

“Wait, wait-”

“I’m joking.”

“You did say-”

“I know, I know.  It’s important that if we’re a market, we do market stuff.  Yeah.  I’m happy to pay you.  Especially if it means you can buy Brie something nice.”

Zed nodded.  “I mean it.  Wanting to help.  You guys saved the life of the girl I ended up falling in love with.  Pretty solid starting point.”

“Thanks.  And you started out being a metaphorical burning pain in our urethras, invading our town.  But you turned out okay.”

“Speaking of being a pain, I have to admit, part of the reason I dropped in is because I’m really curious about that thing Avery just did.”

Verona laughed, pulling away from Zed’s shoulder.  “Everyone freaking is.”

“People that I know who know I know you guys are asking.  Some aren’t even in Canada.”

“Huh.”

“It’d be nice to know.”

“Avery’s not in Kennet, and she’d be the best one to explain.”

“Damn.”

“Sorry.”

“Well.  I want to stick around, see the nightmare market.  Maybe I’ll snowboard some this afternoon, after checking in at places.  See if anything’s at the other markets.  Head out to Brie tomorrow morning.”

“You might get Ave, might not.”

“Okay,” Zed replied, nodding.

“I wanted to say, you know, I’ve written letters to key people.”

“You’ve brought that up before.  You and Lucy asked if Nicolette and I would walk your important people through key stuff.”

“Yeah.”

“Gods and spirits,” Zed murmured.  “Don’t fucking do this to me, bringing this up like you’re really thinking you could die.”

“Or something.  I don’t know what would’ve happened to Avery if she got tossed off the Paths, or Lucy if she lost a major fight when someone like Musser could’ve taken everything she is, whatever that means.  But… if you’re doing us those sorts of post-Verona or post-Lucy type favors anyway, do you think you and Nina could put my bookstore on the list?  It’d be too sad if the books don’t get sold.”

“No,” Zed told her.

“But-”

“No, the answer’s no.  So your only option is to fight a little bit harder, okay?  Or do whatever you’re doing.”

Verona sighed, reached for her tea, and watched as Peckersnot stacked up torn strips of paper with snot on one side of each.

The tea had gone room temperature.  She guzzled the remainder.

“You have things you want to hold onto?  Fight to hold onto those things,” Zed told her.  “You’ve got people you’ve found, whether they’re like family or they’re just fun odd sorts that you’ve gathered in your periphery?  Fight to keep ’em.  But fight.”

“When I tried getting in touch earlier, couldn’t get ahold of you.”

“Technomancer work, sorry.”

“I tried Brie.  I worried.  She mentioned, uh-”

“The move,” Zed replied.

“So are you moving?”

Zed shrugged.  “Depending.  Musser’s gone.  I don’t know what happens with the Blue Heron.  It was a second home to me, it’s shut down, I don’t see how it starts up again with the situation being what it is.  Ray backed off, he’s got too much going on with international politics to be knee deep in this mud.  Durocher’s Durocher.  Who else is there?  Because of the other practitioners in the region, out of anyone who could or would, they aren’t as strong as Musser, and Musser couldn’t pull it off.”

“So you’re maybe moving.”

“Gotta earn a living, gotta be safe.  Technomancy work here’s drying up while the situation is what it is.  If I’m living here, picking up job offers from anywhere else in the world, there’s competition from every other technomancer in the world.  I’m Ray’s apprentice, that helps, but…”

“Yeah,” Verona replied, very quiet.

“I don’t want to live under the Carmine Exile.  I don’t want to constantly worry that I’ll be gainsaid, or that this greater power with a history of some pretty deranged shit will decide I’m his next enemy, as an apprentice of one of the people who supported Alexander.”

“So you’re maybe moving,” she repeated.

Zed met her eyes and held that gaze.  “Yeah.  Maybe.  Inching in that direction.  A little more likely every day or so, as I weigh the options.”

“After saying all that about holding onto people?”

“After saying what I said about you needing to survive.  Can’t hold onto anyone if you’re gone.”

Verona sat on that for a moment.  She watched as Peckersnot finished with the papers, then sat down hard, looking up at her.

She gave his head another rub.

“Okay,” she said.  “Then what?”

“I mean, it’s not a very organized mantra.  They’re just things I go back to.  Survive.  Number one.  Hold your best people close.  Keep your treasures, anything else you’ve built.”

“Then what?” she asked.

“Study practice?”

“Studying ten different practices at different rates, finding the ones I like.  I’m not too worried about that part.  And it’s not the most efficient thing to work on when I’ve got other crap to do.”

“Right.”

“Sorry, shooting down good suggestions.  Practice is a good suggestion.”

“What about, uh, getting sorted?”

“Cleaning?” Verona asked, looking around the bookstore in progress, the sawdust in corners, the piles of unsorted books, the books that were currently being re-sorted.

“No.  Getting you sorted, your head.  Your heart.  Your body.  Double check you’re equipped, you’re in the right mindset.  At the end of it, you know, they take your stuff, they take what you’ve built, they take away your people.  You’ll have one thing.  You.”

Verona thought about her recent experience.  The life without a Kennet council.  Without Avery, without Lucy.  Dying to Kevin, as the easiest, most vulnerable target.

Which made her think-

“Did Avery mention the challenge with Musser?  What we did?”

“Yeah,” Zed replied, smiling a bit.  “Been thinking about that.”

“I can tell.”

“I wasn’t subtle enough,” he said.  “Thought I’d try to slide that one in, sound insightful.”

“You don’t need to impress.  But yeah.  I guess not kicking sufficient ass at that challenge is a sign of what I need to work on, huh?”

“Maybe.  I want to say magic words that help you guys, give you that crucial piece of insight.  To have the right tool for you.  Something.”

“I think you doing what you’ve been doing is great.  And if you happened to want to help a little bit more?  Sticking around for just a little while after New Years might be it.”

“You thinking you might need to call on me?”

“I’m thinking we might need to call on a lot of people.”

Zed nodded.

Verona reached out through her Demesne sense, to get a sense of what Nina and Luna were doing with her book organization.  In the process, she felt Blankshanks at the shelf-

A vaguely cat-smeared smudge of light against the ceiling and wall, cat hair, and fairy glamour.

She turned to Zed, took a step to the left, and saw Blankshanks padding around, acting like an ordinary cat.

“Really?” she asked.  “Ballsy.”

“Who, me?” Blankshanks asked.  “What do you mean?”

“You asked the most naive person possible to get an invite here, knowing I’m starting a business, knowing I love cats and you could probably pull some real bullshit.  And inside a Demesne, you start pulling something?  Trying to trick me while I’m distracted?  Again, in my Demesne?”

“What did I pull, what did I do?”

“Let’s find out-” Verona said, reaching.

“No touchy!” Blankshanks replied, scampering back.

Verona reached out.

The wind stirred, blowing through vents and through the room.  An adjustment made the connection between tape and counter break, and the tape blew through the air, landing slick side down, sticky side up.

Blankshanks avoided the worst of it, stepped onto one, had it stick to the pads of his feet, and immediately began freaking out, trying to remove the tape only to get it stuck on other limbs.  He didn’t seem to know how to function when something like tape was messing up his ability to feel the ground he was walking on.

“I’m a cat person, and you may not be a cat, but you’re enough like one for your weaknesses to be the same.”

“Okay!” Blankshanks raised his voice, kicking his feet in the air, rolling on the ground.  Bits were stuck to his side and the whiskers on one side of his face, making his head twitch.  “Okay!  Mercy!”

She reached.  He swiped claws at her hand.

She tried again, using the hand that had the brace on it.  A bit of armor.  She got hold of the ruff of Blankshanks’ neck, and lifted him up.

“What do you even think I’ve done?” he asked.

She used her Sight, while marching him over to where a sunbeam would shine through his long white fur.

She could see the meaty silhouette wrapped in gauze that was more loose thread than weave.  A ghost cat with a polished, lithe nugget in the center, like a soapstone sculpture in crimson.  And smudges of shadow in the light.

She reached in, working around the swiping paws, and dug into the ruff of his neck, where the fur was so thick she could touch a fingertip to the solid part of his throat and the fur at the longest part extended to the heel of her hand.

She dug out the three hundred dollars and the IOU she’d given Zed, two nice pens, the nice eyeshadow she’d gotten from Lucy, and her super-old MP3 player that was like, from the late 1900s that she kept in her bag for when her phone died.

“I have a sickness,” Blankshanks told her.  “Have you heard of kleptomania?  Do you think I want to do this?  To be this?”

“Is your sickness kleptomania?” she asked.  “Can you really not help yourself?”

“Even among the Strangelings and fairies, compulsive stealing is-”

“Answer the question, dude,” she told the cat.

She let the draft within her Demesne blow Peckersnot’s home-made bits of adhesive paper across the floor, surrounding Blankshanks.

Peckersnot sauntered over to the edge of the counter and loomed there, trying to look imperious and dangerous, while Blankshanks shrank back from the very gross trap around him.  Paper loaded with sticky goblin snot.

“Let’s try another question.  When you say you have a sickness, do you mean you’re sick?  Or that you have like, a minor plague in a jar, somewhere in your possession?”

With each question, Blankshanks tensed some more.  He shifted his stance, going bipedal, legs spaced apart, head ducked down, forelimbs out to either side.

The tape on one foot stuck briefly to the ground, and he broke stance, falling, fighting for his life against that one piece of tape, trying to attack it and get it clear of his foot.

“Blankshanks, dude, you might actually be as bad at decision making as Tatty’s group.”

Peckersnot peeped.  Blankshanks narrowed his eyes.

“Take that back,” the fairy cat told her.

“Robbing a nascent sorceress in her Demesne?  Big respect if you succeed, but you were never going to succeed.  That puts you solidly in Tatty tier, guy.”

“You can stick me with tape, you can even use that goblin mess, but you can’t-”

“Okay,” Verona interrupted.

She let the Peckersnot tape get picked up by the draft.  Blankshanks shrieked, leaping through the air, in a kind acrobatic, bullet-dodging move that avoided nine out of ten of the first volley.

Verona moved her head.  The floor went slick.  He landed, found no traction, and crashed into a bookshelf.

The papers caught up with him as he shrieked in a voice that took the combined qualities of a human’s cry of horror and a yowling cat, and chased it with sheer terror.

He began thrashing.

“I think you had that coming.  Peckersnot, thank you for your assistance.”

Peckersnot peeped.

“Zed, your money back.”

“He slipped a glamoured replacement in my pocket,” Zed noted.

“The absolute nerve,” Verona said, smiling.  She gestured, the wind shifted, and the papers lifted up and away.

The bell on the door chimed.  All heads present turned.

“First warning.  Innocent or close approximate approacheth,” Verona noted, for the benefit of everyone present.  “Bell chime is approach from Kennet above, jangle-jangle is from Kennet below, and musical sound is from Kennet found.”

“That’s a system,” Zed remarked.

“Hey Blankshanks?” Verona asked.  “Two ways this can go.”

Blankshanks was on his back, surrounded by goblin snot papers that fluttered like they were going to drift to the ground, but weren’t actually losing any altitude as they swayed in the air.

The bell on the door chimed twice.

“You can endure this until we’re done with the customer, or you can agree to make it up to me and Zed with a bit of work.  If you don’t agree, it’ll be option one.  You don’t have long.”

Blankshanks’s expression twisted to anger this time.  And worry.  He looked at the door-

The bell chimed once.

“Yes!”

And Verona discarded the papers.

Peckersnot disappeared.  Luna pulled her mask off, as did Shoe, the two of them disappearing into different corners to fuss pointlessly at books, backs turned and bare faces hidden, to preserve their modesty.

The door opened.

Mrs. Schaff came in.

She took stock.  “So this is the little bookstore you mentioned.”

“It is.  Tea?  Coffee?” Verona offered.

“Coffee.  Is that Blankshanks?”

Blankshanks meowed mournfully.  He’d been played.  If he’d done nothing, Mrs. Schaff was sure to rescue him.  Now he was on the hook for labor or repayment of some kind.

“That is Blankshanks.  He was out in the cold-”

“He keeps slipping out and regretting it.”

“-Luna there let him in.  Now he’s miserable because he stuck his nose where he shouldn’t.  Warned him.”

“Well, let him learn his lesson.  You said you had a book?”

“I do,” Verona replied.  “Thanks for coming in.  Are you familiar with this one?  Veterinarian’s guide to cats.  Bit old, but-”

“I have it,” Mrs. Schaff told her.  “I have the full set of those volumes.”

Verona nodded, glancing down at the book, feeling a pang of loss.

“But do you have this one?” she asked.  She reached under the counter and pulled another book out.

The first one was the one she’d shown Jeremy, when Jeremy had brought Sir to her room.  She’d dug it out, just for reference.  A veterinarian text with charts, nutrition, details on how to deal with various maladies, and so on.  Other volumes in the same series covered breeds, breeding, surgery, etc.

The one she brought out now was something she’d asked around about.  She just hadn’t expected it to line up with something she was already familiar with.  When she’d come across it, she’d known it was for Mrs. Schaff.  Maybe when Miss had created Kennet found, she’d known in the back of her head about the Aware and she’d let her unconscious mind design something.  Who knew?

Verona had gone asking around for any Kennet found books on cats.  She’d found this.  A secret volume for the same set she’d shown Jeremy, except this volume didn’t exist in reality.  A book on unusual cats.  The Miscellaneous stuff.  The appendix that went beyond where other appendixes for the set went.  It wouldn’t cover all the bases for the sorts of cats that ended up at the Aware cat lady’s house, and it was vague in places, but it would cover some, while equipping her for others.

Verona served tea, and let Mrs. Schaff sit, paging through the book, drinking some tea.  Nina covered most of the reorganizing, Zed and Verona made light conversation, Luna and Shoe were bashful but Luna helped Nina on request, Peckersnot remained hidden, while Blankshanks beat a retreat.  He’d back later, to honor the deal.

Mrs. Schaff finished her tea, stood, and nodded.  “How much?”

“Twenty.”

She was breaking even.

But, she wrote on carbon paper for the receipt, tore it off, then handed Mrs. Schaff the one half.

As Mrs. Schaff departed, the little bell tolled, signaling the coast was clear, and Verona saw the receipt become a card.  The three of apples.

It had been a massive amount of work, going digging, convincing the foundling to part with it, bringing it over, and the card wasn’t anything especially special.  She broke even financially.

But it was progress.  A win.

She felt like she needed that win, if Zed was working on convincing himself to leave, if Avery was scoring the Promenade and Lucy was going to war against Musser and convincing Durocher to challenge him.

She pulled off her brace and rubbed at her palm.

She’d been working on her angle for her problem, her way of dealing with Charles and the Judges, and it wasn’t coming together.  She needed momentum.  A small bit of momentum.

“You’re good though?” Connor asked.

She shrugged.  “I got good people around me.  Good projects I’m working on.  Pursuits, interests.  I’ve got you helping me get squared away with this- less about the homework issues on this last bit, just the… the moral.  Wondering what I’m going to do with some of the tougher questions, if they come up.”

Connor nodded.

“You good?” she asked.

“For now, yeah.  Sunny morning, the family coming in.”

Verona nodded.

“But Verona, look, I agreed to do a check-in, I know you’ve been avoiding home, you’re in your Demesne a lot.  I hear that’s dangerous.”

She shrugged.  “I balance it out.  I think it’s dangerous if you isolate yourself in it.  I’m not isolated.”

“You’re eating?  Sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“Your needs are met?”

“A contract?”

“Been doing a lot of contracts recently.  What’s one more?” she asked.  “Curious?”

“Yeah, you know what?  I actually am.”

Mal was staying over, and there was a group of people in the living room space of the House on Half street, eating snacks, talking, while music played.  She was about ready to send some home, so of course Mal had sensed it and started talking about more interesting things, so conversations would get underway and it’d be harder to get rid of everyone.

And that would probably lead to Mal arguing people should stay overnight, blah blah blah…

Whatever.  No big.

A bit of company in the lead-up to Christmas.

The guy who followed her into the dining room was a bit dour.  His eyebrows were perpetually curled into a look of worry or concern, his upper lip was very ‘m’ shaped, his lower lip pulled in a bit like he was regularly biting it, and he had a long head, long straight nose, and long-ish brown hair.  Long.  Like, not tall, but proportioned out like someone tall and narrow, then adjusted down to another height.

“It’s ridiculous, right?” Mal asked.

Verona gave Mal the finger.

“You’re supposed to say it isn’t, you goober!”

“Who’s the goober?  I haven’t read any of it yet.  How could I, when it was just mentioned?”

Verona opened the file, then let him peruse it, watching over his shoulder.  Or from beside his shoulder, more like.

She’d cobbled it together from various sites.  Broken it down into a before, during, and after.

“It’s not done, but I could get it done if I had to,” she said.

“Okay.”

“Formalizing the casual relationship,” she noted.

He studied the ‘contract’, while she stood off to the side, studying him.  She liked his mouth.  The way he hunched forward while reading.  His darker hair made a kind of faint whorl of hair at the back of his neck, peeking up out of the back of his turtleneck sweater.  A whorl made up of those little hairs on the neck that would stand up.  When he straightened more, his longer hair covered it.

He’d hung out with them, he’d been cool.  Helped check some boxes.

“I like it.  Huh.”

“If you want to do this, I’ll need referrals.”

“For a formalized casual relationship?  From what?  Other girls?”

“Or your friends.  Or teachers, I dunno.  Just give me some clue.”

“Can I get a copy?  To read on my own?” he asked.

“If you tell me you won’t share it and I believe you, maybe.”

“I’d be interested,” he said, scrolling.  “If you’d be interested?”

He had a look in his eyes, that worry hinting at vulnerability.

Like, gosh.

“I might be.  Depending on how it’s filled out, references, that sort of thing.  Really, this isn’t something I was super serious about.  Like, just organizing thoughts, thinking about what I’d want and need, and like, who I’d be when I’m thirty, or fifty, or sixty.  I could see myself being some lady that’s all, like, I like sucking on dicks, turns my crank, I like this, I like that, not this, these are the rules.  Bam.  Needs met.”

He scrolled through some.  “What if someone breaks the rules?”

“Set ’em on fire with magic?” she suggested.

He glanced at her.

“Joking.”

“Oh, gotcha.”

The fact he’d reacted like that, without alarm, or whatever?  Just one teeny tiny notch in the ‘he’s okay’ column.

This entire thing was so tricky now, compared to just being able to meet up with a guy she’d kinda known and paid attention to since kindergarten.  Jeremy.

“Probably not going to follow through with this anytime soon, especially while there’s other stuff going on,” she told him.

“Put my name into the ring?” he asked.  “Check my sources, I’ll fill out whatever.  If you’re busy, that’s okay.”

“Maybe,” she replied.  She gestured, and the House on Half Street reacted, stirring awake.  The shitty printer upstairs whined and groaned, but it started printing out the pertinent stuff.  “But let’s talk about that another time.  It’s late, I’m tired, I’ve got guests to get rid of.”

“Need help?”

She nodded.  “And uh… since it didn’t come up earlier?”

“What’s that?”

“Your name.”

“Anselm.”

“Okay.  Verona.”

“I know,” he said.  And he gave her a brief flash of humor and a ‘you’re ridiculous’ look before turning away, which made her lower abdomen go woooo.

Yeah.  Woo.

Anselm dragged some of the guys out, the guys leaving meant some of Mal’s friends from school left.

Then it was just three of them.  Mal lingered, lounging, trying to buy time because she’d rather sleep over than walk home.  And Verona’s fetch was lying on the couch, eyes open.

“You good?” Verona asked.

Her fetch nodded.

Verona sat down at the midpoint of the couch, poking her fetch in the belly until she retreated, back to the couch’s seat-back, making room for Verona to scoot back.

“What’s the catch?” Verona asked Mal.

“Huh?  Catch?”

“Anselm?”

“He’s sixteen.  But you’re mature.  Sort of?  Uhh, he’s quiet.”

“He’s from the Undercity.”

“He is.  So am I.  So are a bunch of us.  Who cares?” Mal asked.

“It just feels like the moody, dark, good looking guy from the Undercity might have more going on.”

“He writes angsty poetry.”

“How angsty does it have to be that he’s native to the Undercity?”

“Pretty angsty, I guess?”

“Useless,” Verona’s Fetch said.

“So not helping, Mal,” Verona added.

“No no no no, no ganging up on me.  I did good, didn’t I?”

“On purpose or by accident?” Verona asked.

“On purpose!  After the Appaloosa disaster, I went looking!” Mal replied.  “I asked about shit you like and he seemed sorta right, so I invited him to party tonight.”

“Being a pretty good friend,” Verona’s Fetch remarked.

“Yeah.  I guess.”

“Above and beyond,” the Fetch added.

They carried on, discussing the contract some, and boys some, and things that would’ve been out of bounds with Lucy.

In the back of her head, though, Verona was dwelling on other things.

Connor, wondering about big questions, and interfering with forces that should be left alone.

Zed, recommending turning attention inward, toward the Self, toward Self-care, and toward improving whatever it was she did.

Connor talking about needs.

This was that.

Not the boy thing.  That was a want.  Sometimes a lot of want.

Verona stretched back on the couch.  Her Fetch’s body was behind her, and she squeeze-crushed her counterpart, who rough-housed back a little bit.

“Hey, other me?” Verona asked.

“Yeah?”

“Seriously, I’ve asked before, but the timing was bad.  Seriously.  You good?  You okay?”

The Fetch shrugged.

This wasn’t what Zed had been talking about, or Connor, or any of that.  But she had never been especially inclined to follow the standard procedures.  So, if it came down to studying Self and working out the best pattern she could, why not just deal with the Fetch as a symbolic way of dealing with her own Self?

If she could create a compromise or get the Fetch working on her behalf, that would count for something, right?

“Because I want to talk options.”

“Options?”

“Compromise.”

“And there we are.”

She twisted in her seat.

Her mom was outside, trying to navigate the bustling crowd.  She’d taken so long to find a parking spot, it seemed, that Verona had started to wonder if she was going to show at all.

“I know you’re having good discussions with your mom.  But I also know she can’t know everything about practice and things.”

“Right.”

“And so if you ever need something from an adult that’s more in the know about practice and things?  You have my information.”

“Thank you,” she told him.  “Can we keep doing this tutoring, maybe?  Like we did this morning?”

“Sure.  Yeah.  Work schedule allowing?”

“I hear you.  I mean, like, my schedule’s super open, but also, there can be major stuff that gets in the way.”

“Yeah.”

Her mother entered the cafe, which was starting to exit the slower part of the morning and get into the very busy lunch, and navigated tables, chairs, the lines, and the idlers.

Verona hugged her mom fiercely.

“Happy holidays,” her mom said.

“Happy holidays.”

Her mom greeted Connor, they had a few words- they’d only really ever talked over the phone, and at Yeast Inception.

They started to get underway, talking again, and Verona had the sense she’d have to wait until a gap opened up.

But they were both very conscious of her this time around, and there weren’t any big distractions.

“So what’s going on with you?” her mom asked.

“Since our very recent phone call?” Verona asked.

“Since the last time we talked online.”

Self care.  Holding onto key people.  Holding onto plans.

“Compromise?” her Fetch asked, “Like, nobody’s happy in the end?”

“Actually no.”  Verona turned, looking at her Fetch-self draped on the couch.  “Compromise as in you get so much of what you’ve dreamed about, basically all, I handle reality, and then we split the difference.”

The Fetch went from lying down to sitting up.

“You can handle what we need you to handle, in my life as Verona, but otherwise?  Mainly, anyway?  You’d get to be-”

“A cat.  I’m thinking of getting a cat,” she told her mom.

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