Author: Wildbow

Let Slip – 20.4 | Pale

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“…The mud was so thick you could pull it off you and it’d pull your chest hairs out.”

“I don’t have chest hairs,” Lucy remarked.

Horseman clapped a hand on her shoulder.  “Eat more of Doe’s cooking.  That’ll do it.”

Doe threw a snowball at him.  It ‘paffed’ off the back of his shoulder.

Most of the Dog Tags were gathered around the clearing.  Lucy had done her shrine visits with some in tow, they’d grouped up with some others, and it had become an impromptu hangout.

Targets had been placed up in the distance: pieces of green, blue, and white paper tacked to trees and hanging from branches.

Grandfather sat nearby, while Horseman adjusted her shooting posture, while she held a bent stick like a gun.

Grandfather went on like there had been no interruption.  “We figured if we stayed put, didn’t move-”

“Didn’t breathe,” Horseman said.  He adjusted Lucy’s posture.  Lucy cooperated, moving her feet further apart.

“Didn’t breathe, hunkered down, spring rain pouring, pushing the thickest muck right into us, we were gathered up together, near the side of a building, and it just piled up around us.  There was no way they’d come at us if it meant wading through that.  Reached our waists, then our pits, then our necks.”

“Stiles and me lifted Songbird up, but there wasn’t much point,” Horseman remarked.  “Relax?  Go regular.”

Lucy relaxed.

“And back to the shooting position.”

Lucy changed back.  Horseman tweaked her posture again.

“Yeah,” Grandfather said, voice softer.  “Not much point.  We were buried.  We did move, up the slope, faces sticking up and out, but it was bad.  I’d rather be set on fire than get stuck in something like that again.”

“Can be arranged,” Ribs said, from the sidelines.

“We let them go, let Doe lose ’em.  They didn’t think there’d be the full complement of us coming from behind them that night.”

“Mud men,” Horseman said.  “And mud girl.”

“Anyway, I’ll spare you the details.  Morning comes around, we draw straws, John’s the one dealing with Yalda’s hair.  Almost as thick as yours, there was fine vegetation in there.  Tiny roots, mud, and all sorts of other muck.”

“Blood, bits of some War Mage’s skull.  Two teeth stuck together, even, landed in that bird’s nest.”

“I said we’d spare her details.”

“I’m not that fussy,” Lucy told him.  Horseman adjusted her posture, having her aim off to the side, instead of forward.

“I am.  Anyway, probably a two man job, we left it to the one man.  Took a while.  Two of them by this river that wasn’t all that clean, after the flooding.  Stiles was a patient guy, but that really tested him, ’cause you couldn’t tug too hard on that girl’s hair or your stomach would twist into a pretzel and you’d be retching.  Hurt you worse than it hurt her.  And what does Fubar do?”

“Took Stiles’ clothes,” Horseman said.

“Oh no!”

“Kicking the dog while he’s down,” Grandfather said.

“You let him.  We all let him,” Horseman pointed out.

“At least he’s prettier in his man-panties than some of us,” Ribs remarked, stretching.  He had his improvised flamethrower resting against his leg, flame near his hands, which he warmed.  In the snowy forest clearing, his face was illuminated by the flame.

“He didn’t even have those.  Fubar waltzes down by the river, John’s finished with Yalda, sent her back to the rest of us to warm up, and goes for a bath to rinse off.”

“De-stress, cool off,” Horseman said.  “I think he was pissed and trying not to let it show.”

“He waits until John dips his head under, swipes his boxer briefs off the shore, and shoots it like he thinks he’s a basketball player, right into the middle of the biggest, prickliest bush that’s still there, after the flood.”

“He had nothing?” Lucy asked.

“Nah, because that’s only funny for a minute.  Fubar dropped something else down.  Similar set.  Stiles comes out- river’s still running brown with dirt, by the way, but he’s as clean as he can hope to get.  Starts to pull stuff on, gets confused.  Fubar’s taken some similar undies off a dead teenager.  John’s hiking them up, pauses, they’re a size smaller than his old ones.  He turns our way, we’re all playing it dead cool.  Anyone who’d slip up doesn’t know yet.”

“He could still wear ’em,” Horseman said.  “Jus’ wasn’t comfortable.”

Grandfather went on, “T-shirt?  He goes to put it on, he’s pulling it over his head, and you can see him pause.  Finally gets it.  End of the shirt stops at the bellybutton, he can’t even put his arms down flat by his sides without the armpits digging in.”

“Yalda notices right then,” Horseman said.

“Yeah.  And Stiles doesn’t know what to do with his arms, because he can’t lower them, so he puts his hand at his sides, elbows bent, and anyone who’s looking out the corner of their eye can see the moment it strikes him.  He poses.”

“Poses?” Lucy asked.

“Elbow cocked, hand at his side, other hand goes to his hair, head turned to the side, staring off into the distance.”

Grandfather did the pose, sitting down.

“Underwear model John Stiles,” Horseman said.

“Yalda cracked up, everyone who was busy doing something else noticed.  John asked if we thought he had the talent for modeling.  We all asked him to pose.  He’s barely got eyes, or a mouth- blurs.  But we have him on the task.  Pouty, kissy, dangerous.”

“That was the one.  I think it was Angel, asked him to do dangerous.  But he was too good at it, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Lucy agreed, smiling.

“Angel said to show a nipple while he did it, so he pulled his shirt up at one side, did the dangerous look.  Yalda keeled over laughing.”

“Most of us did,” Horseman added.

Grandfather was smiling, stopping here and there to let out little laughs.  “She laughed so hard her stomach hurt, and John starts feeling it.  He’s trying his damndest to keep up the act, but he’s feeling Yalda’s curse.”

“That happens?” Lucy asked, looking between the Dog Tags.

“Yeah, apparently,” Horseman said.

Grandfather continued, “Made her laugh harder, while she’s also apologizing.  She crawled over to him, patting and hugging him, while he’s writhing in pain, pausing here and there to make sexy faces and try to pose while he’s on the ground.  Eventually he can’t do it anymore.  Hurt too bad.”

“He started groaning, like, ‘I don’t deserve this!'” Angel said.

“Yalda agreed, and every time he groaned, she shouted it too, in Pashti, ‘You don’t!  You don’t!”

“And Fubar squirms in his seat, then holds his middle.  John recovered fast, looks surprised, then he sees Fubar barely able to stay sitting on the rock he’s taken.  I guess the spirits realize they picked the wrong target?” Grandfather asked.

“Or Famine and Pestilence did,” Horseman replied, more serious.  “Fubar keeled over, protesting.  John picks himself up, dusts himself off-”

“He was soaking wet before, he’s a mess now.  He starts walking over to Fubar, Yalda stops laughing to watch, and John’s all, no, no, keep going.  He poses for Yalda.”

“Good to keep her laughing so hard it hurts.  And by doing that, keeps Fubar down,” Horseman clarified.

“John drags off all of Fubar’s gear, except for his skivvies, pulls it on.”

“Justice,” Lucy replied.

“Then dragged and rolled a writhing Fubar into the nearest ditch full of mud.”

“Better justice.”

“Good day.  Good laugh.  Couldn’t have been anyone but John, I don’t think.”

“Ended up with the right eyes for it,” Horseman said, sitting down.  He reached to his waist and drew out a handgun, holding it by the barrel as he handed it to Lucy.  “Want to practice shooting?”

“Sure.  I could use my magic.”

“Could use that too.  More honest.  Magic seems to fudge things here and there.  I can imagine you using that ring to make a gun, and it helps you with your aim.  Let’s see how you do with something like that.”

“And you guys don’t fudge?” Lucy asked, raising her eyebrow.

“Probably do, now that you mention it.  Shoot.  Practice gun discipline, like we talked about.”

“Yeah.”

“Stance.”

She adopted shooting posture.

“She’s a natural,” Horseman remarked, to Grandfather.

Lucy retorted, “She’s been practicing stances and other bullcrap with a warrior Faerie.”

“Fair.”

“What am I shooting?”

“Fubar’s downrange.  He’ll signal a color.  Shoot the designated color, then finish with the target he sets.”

“So white, blue, or-”

She heard Fubar start to move.  Directly for her.

He ran out of the trees.  He was wearing a winter cap with a target stuck to the front of it.  Shit-eating grin, sunglasses, sides of his head shaved.  He had a combat knife.

“Seriously?” Lucy asked.

“Other targets first!” Horseman ordered.

She aimed and shot.  One target down, hitting a branch.

The gun had a kick and sound to it that might’ve actually been dulled for the guns and stuff she made with her weapon ring.  Or maybe he’d given her something more heavy duty.

Second target down.

“One more, then Fubar!”

Fubar was three paces from her.

She saw the target, nailed to a tree, aimed-

And Fubar lunged.  Putting himself in the way.

“Hey!”

She aimed, best she could, then pulled the trigger.

Hitting Fubar in the arm.  He dropped.

“Deal with it.  Target first, then him.”

“I’m supposed to shoot him in the head?”

“Doubt it’ll make him dumber.”

She took two steps to the side, aimed at the target-

Fubar lunged, reaching out with a hand to block.

“Stop trying to make me shoot you!” she said, not firing.  But that messed up her timing.  Her shot missed.

He lurched to his feet, grinning like a madman, then stomped toward her, wincing with every step.

She used what Guilherme taught her, fending off the reaching hand, sidestepping.  I can dodge cold drafts, I can dodge this.

But maintaining her stances and positions was one thing.  She had a two hundred pound soldier in her face, and he didn’t stop.  He didn’t slow down.  He didn’t give her a chance to aim where she needed to aim.

He stabbed his knife into the sheath, tore sheath from belt, and swung the sheathed knife at her.  Apparently she was supposed to treat it like it was real.

She hopped up, put a foot out, kicking him lightly in the middle, and cocked her leg.  He came forward, she pushed off him, and used the combined strength of her kick and his forward movement to thrust herself away.  She landed on her back with a grunt, and slid down a four-foot slope in the footpath, that had been tramped down with the Dog of War’s boots and maybe some other incidental passersby.

With a moment to compose herself, upside down, she aimed, then fired at the target.

She didn’t hit the bullseye, but she hit the corner of the paper, and the bullet destroyed the wood the paper was attached to.

“Good enough,” Horseman remarked.  “Now-”

Fubar, sunglasses ajar, grinning, leaped over that four foot slope, landing right over her, knife poised.  She brought her gun around to his cheek, laying it there, barrel pointed at sky.

“Let’s say I shot you.”

“I kind of wondered if you had it in you to pull the trigger.  I won’t die.”

“I’m not going to point the gun at someone I’m not willing to destroy, and I’m not willing to destroy you.  And if I’m not willing to point it at you, what’s the point in pulling the trigger?” she asked.

“Uh huh.  We’d feel better knowing you’ll go to lengths to protect yourself.”

“Nah.  I do okay,” she replied.  “What if there was an announcement from the front desk of the United States President, war over, lasting peace in the Middle East?  And we don’t know, and I shoot you, and you stay dead?”

“We’d know,” Fubar replied.

She turned her head, looking over toward Grandfather.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well… I don’t want pieces of your head all over my face and in my hair.”

“That’s fair,” Fubar said.  He pushed her hand aside.  “Barrel’s hot.  Burning my cheek.”

She pulled back.  He did have a long, straight burn across his cheek.  “Sorry.”

“It’ll heal.  Nice shot, lying there like that.  But I wouldn’t have counted it as a hit, Horseman,” Fubar said, getting to his feet.  He offered Lucy a hand.

“Close enough.”

“Use a gun, it’s more honest, it won’t fudge things like the spirits will,” Fubar complained.  “Missed the bullseye?  Oh, let’s fudge it.  Yeah.”

“Okay, Fubar.”

“Yeahhhh,” Fubar replied.  He lit up a cigarette.

“Take it elsewhere?” Grandfather asked, sticking out a thumb.

“The fuck?” Fubar asked.

Grandfather jerked the thumb toward Lucy.

“No, no, no.  Seriously, don’t let me cramp your style.  I already feel like I’m intruding.  I can get lost.”

“You’re good where you are,” Grandfather said, groaning the words as he stood and stretched.  He jerked his head, and Fubar walked off, almost but not quite rolling his eyes, lighting up his cigarette as he went.

“Thanks for telling me the story about John.  That’s a mental image that’s… it’s going to be weird, but it’s good.  I like that he laughed.”

“Yeah.  It was one of the… better days.  Not good, but better.  There wasn’t ever a day we were all together.  By the time some of the younger ones started popping up, the War Mages knew who and where we were.  Doe was gone by the time John showed.  But as days went?  If you held a gun to my head, said war’s over, this bullet counts, and I have to name a good day?  That one was pretty close.  Lot of us together, laughing.  Nobody hot on our trail.”

Lucy nodded.

“There’s shit you gotta do, you’re aware of that,” Grandfather said.  “You took on responsibilities.  Duties.  But there’s also shit you oughta do.  And that story?  Capturing a good moment and making it stick?  It’s an oughta.  You keep fighting the necessary, non-optional fights, nothing else?  A part of you will die.”

“I think I’ve- I don’t think I got all that close, but I walked on that road enough I maybe saw what it might look like if I did.”

He nodded.

End of summer.  Verona and my relationship hasn’t been quite the same since.  Me and Avery either I guess.  The Musser thing got pretty bad.

“Don’t apologize for coming around or being around.  If you’re getting something out of it, that’s good enough.”

“I mean- okay.  Yeah.”

“We feel useless sometimes.  Soldiers during times of peace.  During times of war, when the stakes get to be what they are?  Musser, invading practitioners, Wild Hunt?  We don’t compete.  So what’s the point of us, then?”

“You guys backed me and Ronnie up there.”

“We were hungry to do more.  So if we can teach you anything, impart anything… don’t hesitate.”

“Goes both ways, you know?  I- we want you guys to be happy and comfortable.”

“We miss John, we miss Yalda, we miss others who’ve fallen by the wayside-”

“We can work on that last one.  Tracking them down?  Avery got the Garricks to release Sootsleeves and some others.  Maybe we could deal.”

“No.  Relax.”

Lucy frowned at Grandfather.

“It’s not perfect, but it’s a hell of a lot better than what we had before.  John gave us that.  You and the others have helped ensure we keep it.  Just… don’t get so caught up in making sure we can have good days that you don’t have good ones of your own.”

Lucy thought forward to the imminent confrontation with the Carmine Exile.  She wasn’t sure what that would look like.  Verona was meant to be working on it, but…

She sighed.

“You good?”

“Stuff I should work on, probably.  My brother’s coming tonight, supposedly, but there’s a time window I could use.”

“Remember what I said.”

“I do.”

“It’s vital, resting, regrouping.”

“I know.  Yeah.  But like, I know Avery’s going to be in town, and my brother will stop in, and there’s so much else going on, I won’t have time to get more ready.  So if I do this, maybe there’s a chance I can, I dunno, rest better when I do rest, because I’ve done some prep-work?”

“Rarely works that way,” Grandfather told her.

“I- don’t really know if there’s another way to work it.  This has at least gotten me this far.”

“You going to go then?” Horseman asked.

“Think so,” she said.  She picked up her bag and dusted off some of the snow.  “Thanks for letting me hang.  And for the shooting lesson.”

She returned the gun.

“Want your Christmas present?  Not sure how we’re doing this,” Grandfather told her.

“I- we could do it on Christmas.  My brother’s supposed to be leaving early.  We could meet later tomorrow.”

“Angel?” Horseman asked.

Angel reached down to her side, picked up a bag, and unzipped it.  She threw a box covered in haphazard wrapping paper at Horseman, who caught it.  He held it out for Lucy, and she took it.  It was about two feet across on each side, and weighed- a few pounds.  She could imagine there being a blanket inside, from the scale to weight ratio.  Minimal movement inside when she shook.

“To protect the dignity and reputation of the individual in question, we will not be disclosing who wrapped that,” Grandfather said.

Horseman told her, “Open it later.  It’s awkward standing here while you do it.  If you like it enough to use it, use it.”

“I got you something too.  I’d feel bad opening this in front of you, when I haven’t handed over your gift yet.  I didn’t expect to run into you guys, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Horseman told her, hand going to her shoulder, lightly shaking her.  “And go.  Don’t let us keep you.”

I am sorry though, she thought, as she jogged off, gloved hand raised in a wave.

Maybe if she’d done better, or focused better, she could have stopped Charles from killing John.  Or abusing Yalda further.

She had no idea what to do with herself.  She’d taken on the job of dealing with Musser and clearing the way to dealing with Charles, and she’d- she’d done okay.

Now the way was clear and multiple people were telling her to relax, to take a break, and after weeks and months of mounting dread, deadlines, and escalating tensions, she wasn’t sure how anymore.

So she’d prep, maybe.  Prep so when there was a clear break, like time with Booker, she could do it without the shadow of feeling unprepared over her.

Her stomach growled.  Juggling the box, she got her phone out, texting Verona to see if she was around.

And by similar measure, she’d eat first, so she could do the practice prep stuff without the shadow of being hungry over her.

She jogged off in the direction of downtown.

“That wrapping,” Verona said, as she caught up with Lucy.  “Goblin?”

“Dog Tag.”

“Damn.  Which one?”

“They weren’t willing to say.”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure I’d be either.  You okay being out in public with that?  Someone might think you wrapped it.”

“Ha ha.”

“They doing okay?”

“They’re doing okay.”

“You got food?”

“Yeah.  While I waited.  I would’ve got you some, but I-”

“It’s cool.  I’d rather eat it hot.  My fault, I had to shower and get dressed.  You mind waiting?”

Lucy shook her head.

Verona reached into her coat, lifted out a small black cat, and placed it on top of the box.  “Watch her.”

“Are you telling the cat to watch me or telling me to watch the cat?” Lucy asked.

Verona, hurrying off to join the line, didn’t reply.

Lucy looked down at the cat, narrowing her eyes.

It meowed.

“Strangeling?  Grimalkin?  I don’t recognize you from Mrs. Schaff’s house.”

It meowed, and moved closer to her, slumping down to be draped over the top of the box, its back to her collarbone.

“Hey,” Lucy said.

It looked up at her.

Black, with white edges around the eyes and mouth.

“You look familiar.”

It settled back down.

Verona took a couple minutes.  The two of them took a detour around a building, through a gate, and back around, descending into Kennet below.

“Who’s the cat?” Lucy asked, when they were out of earshot.

“Who do you think?” Verona asked, checking her phone.

Lucy’s phone buzzed a moment later.  She would have checked, but her hands were full.

“You cat-ified your Fetch?”

The cat meowed.

“She got a raw deal.  Which intersection is this?”

“Pitch and Brand.  Lines up to Pine and Bangs back in Kennet above.”

“Oh right.  Sweet.”

“Why?”

“Avery’s asking.  Anyway, she got a raw deal.  I had her deal with my dad for a bit, but she at least had school.  Then I dropped out of regular school, so she had nothing.”

“Isn’t that mostly fine so long as you haven’t summoned her?  Has she developed full… I don’t know what the word is.  Personality?”

The cat meowed.

“She had a personality.”

“Programmed.”

“Still a personality.”

“But, like… wholeness?  Free will, beyond that programming?”

“Yeah.  I mean, I could’ve stopped sooner, and that might’ve been more ethical, but…”

“But?”

“But that felt like a half-answer, and a shitty one.  Like, is that the practitioner I want to be?  Who brings things to the cusp of being and then abandons them when they stop being useful?  That’s who Charles was.  Summoning.  And she backs me up, plus it’s handy, having a decoy, helper.  But I want to give her something too.  So… this is a test run.”

“Test run?”

A slamming door made Lucy turn.

The door that had slammed was painted a bright orange, a playing card spade painted on it in a slapdash way.  It opened, and Avery stepped out.

“Oh geez, that’s an adjustment,” Avery grunted, ducking her head down.  She hurried to get her winter clothing sorted.  Snowdrop, human, hopped onto her back, making Avery stumble a step, became an opossum, ran along Avery’s shoulder, and hopped down, now dressed in winter clothing.  She helped Avery get stuff on, holding the bag and moving the scarf.

“What the hell?” Lucy asked.

“Heya,” Avery greeted them.  She looked back at the door, and there was a door slamming sound as the wood planks that had formed the door receded in one clumsy motion, leaving an ordinary Kennet below door behind it.

As Avery jogged forward to catch up to them, doors on either side of the street changed, one blue with a sun, one radioactive green with a six sided die.  Some denizens of Kennet below were around, and glanced over.

“Sorry!” Avery called out.  She hurried to get a bracelet tied onto her wrist.

“Came out of nowhere, there,” Lucy greeted her.

“Yeah!  Yeah.  So that’s a thing,” Avery replied, still fiddling with the clasp.  “I got this bracelet because-”

Doors ‘slammed’ into existence on either side of them.  Two new ones.

She put her hand out to the side.  Snowdrop, hands full with backpack, bit the fingertips of a glove, and tugged her head back, pulling the glove off.  Avery used her now bare hand to do up the bracelet.

“There.  I think?”

Avery walked forward a few more steps, then sighed in relief as the old doors retreated but no new ones appeared.  “That works.”

“And those are doors to- Paths?”

Avery nodded.  “Makes getting around easier!  Just gotta figure out safe routes.  Hi!”

“Hi,” Lucy replied, bewildered.

“We’re having a quiet get-crap-done sort of Christmas.  The real Kelly Christmas is going to be in a couple days.  Nora’s with her family.  We’ll come over tomorrow afternoon.  I hope this is okay.”

“This is great,” Lucy said.

Verona nodded.

Avery took her bag back from Snowdrop, pulling it on, then fixed her coat and scarf.  She huffed, finally settled.

Verona handed the cat over to Snowdrop.  Avery narrowed her eyes, tracking the cat as it was passed over.

“Yeah,” Lucy said.  “We were just talking about that.”

“That’s not Sir.”

“Has the wrong anatomy to be a Sir,” Verona said.

“Looks too mundane to be one of Mrs. Schaff’s from our notes, I know that isn’t exact and some do look like ordinary cats-”

“She’s not Mrs. Schaff’s.”

“The face, it looks like Verona’s mask?”

“It is,” Verona replied.  “Test run.”

“For what, exactly?” Lucy asked.

“Compromise.  I wanted to become a cat long-term.  And I’ve agonized over it, I’ve talked it over with you guys, I thought about abandoning humanity, and I decided no.  So why not have alt-Verona become a cat by default, mix and match, share through the bond?”

“Uhhhh,” Avery replied.  “As the expert of us three on familiar stuff?”

“Yeah?” Verona asked, eyebrows raised.

“I… feel totally unequipped to give a response to something that loaded.”

“She deserves an actual life, she and I both feel, deep down, life as a cat would be pretty darn nice.  I get some benefits, she gets the good life, and I think it’d be a good fit for the practice I want to do.”

Avery glanced at Lucy.  “Isn’t it… like, doesn’t the familiar textbook-”

“Famulus,” Verona supplied.

“-doesn’t it gently discourage taking, uh, yourself, as a familiar?”

“Not quite me.  But I hear you,” Verona replied.  She sighed.  “I don’t think of it as being, like, narcissism.  I know narcissism.  I could walk home right now, go inside, talk to my dad, and I guarantee you, self-indulgent, whiny self-obsessed shittiness, pretty much right away.  As long as it’s just me.  This isn’t that.”

“Doing what I did for Snowdrop?” Avery asked.

“Kind of?”

Lucy shook her head.  “Except Avery brought Snowdrop into being and we weren’t equipped for Snowdrop to be so…”

“Horrible?” Snowdrop asked.

“No, I meant more-”

“Cute?  Sweet and quiet?  Unlikable despite everything?”

“-Whole?” Lucy suggested.  “But you were saying you had a deliberate moment where you knew that your fetch wasn’t whole, she wasn’t a person-”

“She liked school, she was already trending that way.  Who am I to say where the line is drawn?  She was living, breathing, eating, peeing, pooping, sleeping-”

The cat meowed.

“-making her own decisions.  Developing her own tastes.  Practicing hobbies.  How much of that was programming?  I dunno.  But there’s a lot more going into it than… a lot of stuff.  It’s not that simple.”

“But you made a deliberate choice to let her exist.”

“Yeah.”

“And now, as a part of that choice, you’re taking the steps necessary to give her a full life?” Lucy asked.

“Yeah.  But it goes back to what I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted.”

“Not exactly rud-” Lucy started, before Verona put a finger out, pressing it diagonally across Lucy’s lips.

“It’s not narcissism, or vanity or self-love, exactly.  It’s self care.  It’s me realizing how I function, how I operate, what I want to do and be, and… practice-wise, I want to get into some stuff that I can’t, because the barrier to entry is high.  The kind of stuff that gets out-there, that you’d want me to ask permission before doing, because it means doing funky things with my Self.  I can’t think of better backup to have there.”

Lucy reached over to scratch the cat behind the ears.  It widened its eyes, giving her a look.

“Oh, there’s definitely a lot of Verona in you,” Lucy remarked.  “That look.”

“Do me a favor?” Verona asked.

“Could do,” Lucy replied.

“Give me a shred of a benefit of a doubt?  I got here by dwelling on it for a little while.  I’ve been wrestling with a lot of the… not this exact problem, but a lot of problems together, that all get pretty neatly solved by going this way.  Sit on it, actually take the time to think about how it could work, before shooting it down?  I’m pretty sure any immediate reaction or worry you’re having, I’ve already considered at least a little.  And I’m not doing this right now.  She and I are hanging out, seeing if she’s comfortable with this shape.  Not that she couldn’t become me again.”

“Does she have a name?” Avery asked.

“We’re kind of going with Julette.  My middle name.”

“Okay.  Hi Julette.  I’ll try to think of good angles for how this might not work.”

“And how it might work?” Verona asked, poking Lucy.

“And how it might work.  Sure.”

“Ave?”

Avery nodded.

“Snowdrop?”

“She smells like goblin.”

“There’s some balance there,” Verona said.  “Because you smell like goblin.”

“Lies,” Snowdrop replied, drawing her eyebrows together.

“There’s some goblin affinity there,” Verona pointed out.  She scratched Julette under the chin.  “Scruffy girl.  You get on with Peckersnot, right?”

The cat craned her head around to get the angle for the scratches right, then settled down again in Snowdrop’s arms.

“So.  You showed up,” Lucy observed, turning to Avery.

“Yeah!  Just wanted to experiment, get away from family.  Plan.”

“Plan?” Verona asked.

“What’s our schedule looking like?  Help me with anxiety.  Can we keep Nora from being bored?”

“Uhhh,” Verona replied, looking at Lucy.

“Booker comes tonight, ideally early enough for dinner, then leaves at noon, is the plan.  Afternoon and evening is some combination of hanging with you guys, Wallace, and visiting or grouping with Kennet Others.”

“That’s going to be awkward to work around,” Avery groaned.

“My mom’s over, going to spend time with her.  Then token morning with Dad, then I escape.  Probably with a connection block.  He likes his routine where we bake Christmas Eve, pig out Christmas morning, and gets butthurt if I’m seeing my mom and disrupting any of it.  So that’ll be a thing.  Probably trying to cram baking and presents into the morning.”

Julette leaped from Snowdrop’s arms, then shucked off the glamour.  She became ‘Verona’, white and black stripes inverted, wearing a white coat instead of a black one, the cat mask on.  “Want me on that?”

“Do you mind?”

Julette straightened.  She pushed the cat mask to the top of her head, then looked around, wary.  “You’d owe me.”

“What are your terms?” Verona asked.

Again, that look, concentrating.  “Anselm.”

“What’s an Anselm?” Avery asked.

“Boy.  Uhhh… hanging out?” Verona asked.

“Yes.  I want to draw him shirtless.”

“Okay.  We can try bribing him,” Verona said.  “No guarantee, he’s got free will and all that jazz.  But I want to see that too.”

“And the gray sweater dress.  I want dibs, next time.”

“What sort of next time?”

“Next time we argue over it.”

Verona was the one who adopted that concentrating, wary look, this time around.

“I’m sparing your Christmas.”

“Maybe yeah.  Feels like a trap.  And weirdly territorial.  And I know you’re good and we’ve had this conversation a bunch, but-”

“I’m not going to take over your life.  I want shirtless boy, I want the dress.  And I want you to not bitch when I’m trying to get caught up on the damn shows you went ahead and got ahead of me on-”

“You fell asleep.  Because you were a cat with a weird sleep schedule.  You cannot give me flack-”

“You had to have noticed.  Let me see the episodes I missed, without spoilers, without getting cranky about who has what turn… you get Christmas.”

“Is this indefinite?  Am I getting one morning of low-stress in exchange for a binding, long-term agreement?”

Lucy looked at the bickering pair, then Avery, then Snowdrop.  “This is going to be a thing, huh?”

“Short term,” Julette said.  “Let me get caught up on everything I’ve missed to now.  Don’t go risking spoiling me.  Plus boy, plus sweater.”

“Why don’t you guys get a second laptop or something?” Avery asked.

“Blood,” Verona and Julette said, together.

“Blood?”

“If we use too much internet at once, we get overflowing blood, gristle, hair-” Verona started.

“Other gross stuff,” Julette said.

“I’m missing the connective tissue here,” Avery said.

“There’s connective tissue in there too.  Anything to jam the drains.  And it’s too much for Peckersnot if we go overboard.”

“Magic modem,” Lucy clarified.

“Maybe get a real modem?  And a real laptop?” Avery asked.  “So you’re not fighting?”

“I think we came to an agreement actually,” Verona said.  She put a hand out.

Julette shook it.

“See?  Doable.”

“I feel like if you have to work at it, it’s a problem,” Avery said.

Verona sighed.

“I wonder,” Lucy said.  “In the interest of being fair… considering how this could work…”

“Please,” Verona said.

“I can’t help but think of something Avery’s talked about.  About Olivia.  And about you and me, Ronnie.  How you can find a best friend super early, everything works, you know each other, grow up with each other…”

Avery was nodding.

“And then you go and try to make another friend and it’s like… hard?  And annoying?  And it doesn’t feel like a real friendship?  Because what you started with was so great?”

“It was why I had trouble connecting, after coming to high school,” Avery said.  “I had that, I lost it, and I dunno.  Maybe I came on too strong, once or twice, or someone else approached me and I expected that deeper connect.  I dunno.”

“Could be the same with you and Snowdrop.”

“We don’t get along at all, though,” Snowdrop said.

“Kind of an unfair metric to balance others against.  If I’d taken John as a familiar, if he hadn’t had the Carmine bullshit, there probably would’ve been parts that took work.  There’s usually going to be bits that take work.”

“We worked it out,” Verona said.  “Right?”

Julette put a fist out.  Verona bumped it.  Both made gun-shapes with their hands, winked at each other, and clicked their tongues.

“You’re going to be annoying about this, huh?” Lucy asked.

“Not that annoying.  Actually not looking to do the twin thing super much,” Verona replied.  “But we gotta have her human for now if we want to communicate, right?”

“Right,” Julette said.  “After, I’m happy being a cat most of the time.  I’d be human, I figure, five percent of the time?  Less than?”

“Like I’m a cat five percent or less of the time,” Verona pointed out.  “Balance.  And she could facilitate that.”

“Hm,” Lucy grunted.

“Um,” Avery said.  She was checking her phone.  “My mom wants me back soon.  Let me look for a door-”

She pulled the bracelet off.  Doors to her left and right began to slam into existence again.  “-that’s navy blue, with a white tower.  Or black, with a white tower.  Or red, with a star.”

Lucy kept an eye out.  To keep conversation going, she asked, “What are your plans?”

“I guess Nora and I are coming when Booker leaves, and when Verona finishes with her dad.  Or Julette does.  And we’ll have family stuff that evening.  At least up until dinner.  Then I’m imagining family getting a bit wild and us finding an excuse to get away.  Like when Lucy came and we left after dinner to go get ice cream sandwiches.  But then what do we do when we do get away?  Aaaaa.”

“Which is why you wanted to come check in?”

“I have so many things I’m having second thoughts about.  The sleeping situation-”

“What is the sleeping situation?” Verona asked.  Julette had become a cat again, and was at Verona’s shoulder.

“We’re both in the same room.  But I’m top bunk, Kerry’s bottom bunk, Nora’s in Sheridan’s bed.”

“Awkward,” Lucy said.

“Forced curfew, kind of?”

“Sounds to me like someone should be connection blocking her kid sister,” Verona said.

Avery’s eyes went wide.  “…No.”

“That took you a few seconds to decide.”

“It’d be weird for Nora, and I can’t imagine the conversation if my mom happened to ask and I happened to have to admit I used something.  And we’re not, like, doing much… aaaa!”

“Aaaa!” Snowdrop echoed, grabbing Avery’s arm and shaking it.  Avery hugged Snowdrop.

“You say all that, but it still took you a few seconds,” Verona accused.

“Help me,” Avery replied.  “Help.  Don’t be a pain.  Help.”

“Ave,” Lucy said.

“Help,” Avery said, turning to Lucy.

“You are, right this second, casually opening extradimensional doorways just by existing, because of a huge thing you just pulled off.”

“People keep calling,” Avery said, plaintive.  “And I keep having to navigate phone conversations with random Finder groups I’ve barely read about, and refer them to the Garricks, or decide if referring them to the Garricks will be a big deal.  They’re curious.  And I’m worried if I say the wrong thing or don’t say the right thing it could cause an issue.  It’s so distracting.”

“You kicked ass, you got cool magic.  You’ve got control over your cool magic.  You have people interested, you have power, you have respect, you have clout.  Tell them you’re not in a position to talk about it, take their information, call them back later.  After you’ve sorted things out with the Garricks and figured out what’s politically weird.”

Avery nodded.  “But Nora.  That’s tomorrow.  And she has her family thing and that’ll stress her out and she’ll be tired.  And then there’s a car trip, and then my whole family, and what if something screws this up and it ruins her Christmas?”

Lucy reached out, taking hold of the front of Avery’s coat, with its antler pattern on it.  She gripped the lapels, fixing them at the same time.  “You, Avery Kelly, kick ass.”

“I don’t feel like I’m kicking ass.”

“That girl, I’m pretty darn certain, is super into you.  You don’t have to worry about her being bored.  You could go for a walk around town, talk, and I bet that’d be one of her best Christmases ever.”

Verona threw an arm around Lucy’s shoulders, hanging off her a bit as she leaned in conspiratorially, “Plus, like, just going to say, being at your place, no PDA?  If that were me and a guy as good looking as you very objectively are?  I’d be metaphorically climbing up the walls waiting for a chance at even a quick stolen kiss.”

“But I want it to be special, not like… I mean, yeah I want to do that, but I invited her here and I want there to be a point to having invited her here-”

“Spending time with you,” Lucy said.

“-but you know what I mean, right?  Because why Kennet?  What can she tell her family about Kennet?  All the stuff I’d really want to show her is Other stuff, but that’s a whole other thing.”

“No real obligation,” Snowdrop added.

“There’s an obligation!” Avery exclaimed, spurred on by that comment.  “She came out to her dad, and before it was like, she has secrets and I have secrets, that’s just life, but she’s half out, so do I have to be half… open about practice?”

“You’re being half open.  She’s met Snowdrop, she’ll see Kennet.  We’ll show her a bit of the nightmare market,” Lucy told Avery.  “I will do my level best to make sure it’s properly sanitized for innocent visitors.  Cool market, late at night, cool things.  A taste.  Halfway there.”

“You- are you sure?” Avery asked.

“I’ve got your back.”

“We’ve got your back,” Verona said.  “You get your girl here, we’re here if you need us.  We’ll gladly help sort it out.”

“Again,” Lucy said.  She pointed at a door.  “Phenomenal inter-realm travel, you just came from Thunder Bay to here?  Keeping a girl happy, who is happy just to be around you?  That’s cake.”

“Please don’t mention cake-”

“It won’t make either of us hungry,” Snowdrop said.

“-bad associations,” Avery finished.

“Right.  My bad.  But you should get what I’m saying.  Now.  Navy blue door with white tower?” Lucy asked.  She steered Avery by the shoulders, until she was facing a door.

“Yes.  That’s a good one.”

“Go.  Enjoy your Christmas in Thunder Bay with your mom and older sibs.  Stay in touch with her, she’s probably anxious too.  I know I am before I see Wallace.  Trust us.”

“Thank you,” Avery said.

“I owe you.”

“Cool.  You don’t have to though.”

“I’m normally more on the ball.  I think I kinda burned myself out with the Promenade, and the attention after, and the Garricks, and I didn’t sleep.”

“It’s okay.  Maybe nap.  Borrow Snowdrop’s ability to sleep in the daytime.  Get a good night’s sleep,” Lucy soothed.

“Nap in the car with Nora tomorrow,” Verona suggested.

“Aaaa,” Avery replied, as Lucy guided her to the door.  Avery pushed it open.  It looked like the door opened into a hallway in a hotel that was in the middle of collapsing.

“Look after her,” Verona told Snowdrop.

“I’m kinda done with that whole deal.”

“Good,” Verona said.

Snowdrop shut the door behind herself and Avery.

It banged, and the red-painted wood turned at right angles, breaking up into two-dimensional panels that slid into the gap between door and frame.

“So she can do that now.”

“Guess so,” Verona replied.

“She wasn’t very clear about the door thing, but I guess she was frazzled by the messages?”

“Seems like it.  Cool.”

“Cool,” Lucy replied.  “I’ll pass word to Toadswallow and see about getting the Nightmare Market sorted?”

“Gotta go get ready to see my mom.  I can take the night shift tonight, check things over, see if anything stands out as weird?”

Lucy nodded.

“Want to borrow Julette?  Company?  Plus she can pass me messages.”

“I could text you too.  You two should bond.  See if you get along, if you start to rub each other the wrong way.”

“Cool.  Then I guess my mom and I will be by, we’ll see you tonight?”

Lucy nodded.

She saw Verona turn, getting her bearings.

“Ronnie?” Lucy asked.

“What’s up?”

“Are you good?” Lucy asked.

“Better in a lot of ways than I’ve been in a long time,” Verona replied.

“I mean-” Lucy started.

I mean Charles.  And the fact we’re going up against him soon.

She tried to communicate that on that wavelength they’d just talked about.  That came from a longstanding friendship.

“Yeah,” Verona replied, her expression changing in the smallest of ways.  More serious, now.

“With family?” Lucy asked.

“Could be better.  Could be worse.  I feel better after seeing Avery, maybe,” Verona replied.  Holding her face at a precise angle.  Being more careful with what she was saying than the topic required.

“Maybe?  How much better?”

“Some.  Maybe.”

“Is Julette going to help with that?” Lucy asked.  Not asking about family.

“Yeah, helps with the family stuff, mostly.  And the self-care.  Goes both ways.”

Lucy nodded.

She hoped she understood.  Julette wasn’t the magic bullet.  She was a Verona thing.  And a Verona thing that helped Verona would help, but… it wasn’t the fix to the Charles thing.

She’d already pushed it too far, talking in a roundabout way about Charles, without explicitly saying anything.

Was he paying close enough attention?  Would he read something into that exchange?

Or would he take it as a friend being concerned about another friend?

“Okay.  Just checking in.”

“Yep.”

“See you then.”

“Yep.”

It was Christmas eve, there was work to be done before they could rest.  They had the one week, and then… Charles would hold nothing back.  What would that even look like?  All three of them gainsaid out of the blue?  The St. Victor’s practitioners ambushing them like they’d planned to do to Musser?  The Lords being called in, massive powers custom-created by Charles, caving in on them?

A fight against an enemy who saw everything they did, who had access to massive reserves of power, had servants under him that Musser hadn’t been able to beat, and they’d only barely been able to beat Musser.  Had other servants, kids, with a whole setup there.

From the sounds of it, Verona had a bit of an idea.  One she wasn’t super happy with.  One that Avery’s new capability might help with.  Maybe.

There was work to do.

Was it a mistake?  Taking this time to reaffirm bonds?  To touch base with the Dog Tags?  To spend time cleaning the house for Booker?  Doing some Christmas baking?  Getting crap out of the way, so the evening and morning were clear?  Promising time to help Avery?

Tonight and tomorrow.  For the people she loved.  So she and those people could have as few regrets as possible.

Then a handful of days for everything else.

Lucy picked up the pace, hurrying home, her package under her arm.

Verona’s mother had Julette in her lap, the little adolescent cat fast asleep.

The hope had been that Booker would show up before dinner.  Verona and her mom had gone out, eating together at a restaurant downtown, for some one on one time.

Lucy and her mom had waited.  Then they’d eaten, food set aside, kept warm.

Then the dinner had been put away, baked goods left out.

What the hell.

Lucy’s mom bent over to kiss the top of Lucy’s head as she passed by the couch on her way to the kitchen.  Refilling two wine glasses.  Music played, the fireplace burned, the modest Christmas tree twinkled.

Lucy smiled half-heartedly, when the disappointment was tangible.  She kept visualizing herself at Wallace’s front door, facing his mom.  It felt like the same kind of hurt.

It was nearly ten o’clock and Booker was still making his way in.  He’d pledged Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, and barely that, and they’d be arriving late enough there was barely any Eve left.

She didn’t have a lot of time.  This was supposed to be a chance to do what Grandfather and Horseman had talked about.  To get past the necessary bullcrap, and to remind them all what they were working for.  She’d set aside limited and precious time for people and the people weren’t here.

She didn’t know if she should be outraged, disappointed, if she should let herself be the kid she felt like and cry a bit, or if she should try to be adult and focus on bigger things, making the most out of the time she did get.

Her mom wasn’t complaining about her picking the music, at least.  She wasn’t in the mood for Christmas music, but she’d chosen stuff with mellow vibes, she had her notebook in her lap, and she lay across the couch, her head over the headrest, her feet in Verona’s lap, getting jostled constantly as Verona drew.

Karmic proportions, restitution…

She checked charts.

Her sparring matches tended to give her ideas.  This was her first time trying to take one of those ideas and put it to paper.  By necessity, since she couldn’t exactly ditch Christmas Eve and go practice with glamour and goblin tricks.

She’d had encounters with Guilherme that had helped foster her ideas about the three foxes, and cheating the system there.  She’d had sparring sessions with Bubbleyum and training with Toadswallow about goblin glamour that had helped build her ideas about the goblin fox, loaded with tricks.  She knew it was playing with fire to dabble in that so soon after her deal with the Winter Court, but honestly, she was about seventy-five percent sure they wouldn’t push her that hard.

She just had to make sure Guilherme didn’t embarrass them, and she’d avoid directly associating the Winter stuff with goblins.  Hand in hand, discrete entities?  She’d kind of justified that.

That was a whole thing.  Now she worked, copying from texts about combat practices.  She’d had Verona sketch out figures, and now annotated them.

She had practices she’d improvised, learning from Faerie.  She’d had practices she’d improvised learning from goblins.  This was a Dog of War practice, building on the foundation of everything she’d made.  Dogs of War had proven they could get along fine with Faerie and Goblins both.  This did something similar, while touching on sentiments from her various sparring matches.  A match against John on the shore.  Against Fubar, back there in the woods this morning.

It touched on sentiments she was feeling now.  Like a rant was building inside her and if she got started she wouldn’t chill out until the point had been firmly made.

Creating a glamour fox or a goblin fox had similar principles.  Losing a glamour fox or goblin fox had similar principles.

When a glamour was disrupted, it tended to shatter or disintegrate.  A defeated fox would be scattered… but if she was in position, she could catch what had been scattered, salvaging some of it, and create another, lesser fox out of what had been dashed out there.  Goblin grit, tricks?  They could be reclaimed too.

A Dog Tag that was on the offense was hard to stop.  They’d take what you had to dish out, then bounce back.

So the question became… could she do that?  Could she find a way to take something fragile and make it relentless?  It meant being in the right position, but if she had a certain number of foxes, and the movement of certain foxes complemented others… like weaving a braid, each exposed movement framed by the complementary movements, could she recoup enough each time that she could replace what had been lost?  How far could she push it?  Could she get it efficient enough that her enemies would get too tired to keep fighting before she ran out of what she needed?

What helped?  She turned to Law.  To Karma, claim, coup.  By the books, as things were written, she could boost the suggested percentages by having Law on her side.  By being in her arena.  By having coup in some fashion.  Like stacking curses.  Every curse, a couple of percentage points of increased efficiency.

Anthem was still in Kennet found.  Maybe she’d take this to him to see his thoughts.  She only had three or four texts she’d dug into to compare, when drafting something like this.  He’d probably seen a hundred.  Probably written several.

Really, it needed some practical testing.  Several drafts.

It was a thought.  Picturing herself using this, not attacking as three foxes, but as a stream, each destroyed one reforming and coming back from another angle, all coordinated?  It made her think of being angry, nothing held back.  Just visualizing it was infectious, stirring feelings in her chest.

She put it down, closing her eyes.

“Can I see?” Verona asked.

“What are you working on?” Verona’s mom asked.

“Project.”

“You and Verona with your secret projects.  Any chance you’ll let me in on it?” Verona’s mom asked.

“Gets a bit awkward,” Verona said.  “But maybe?”

“Maybe,” Lucy said.

There was a noise at the door.  Lucy raised her head.

“I think that’s Booker,” her mom whispered.

It was ten oh two at night.

She wasn’t sure what to feel.  She put her things aside, book tucked away in her bag.

He came in like a storm, Alyssa right behind him.  “Heyy!  Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” her mom greeted him.  Big hug.

“Traffic was a bear.  I didn’t expect that.”

“It’s the holidays, and the weather’s poor.”

“I think there were accidents on the way.”

“But you were safe?” Lucy asked.

“Hey, baby sis,” he greeted her.  “Perfectly safe.”

He approached.

Lucy felt like she was exploding.  A dozen different versions of herself, compressed into place by all the pressure, all the worries about what she had to do about the Carmine Exile, breaking free.  Lucy with the fox mask, Lucy with the goat mask, Lucy the glamour fox, Lucy the goblin fox, Lucy the Dog Tag, Lucy the hat in the items-become-people place, or the mask, or the mantle.

She wanted to talk to him like she’d talked to Wallace’s mom.  To say she deserved better.  But how fucking petulant was that?

People kept letting her down.  Sometimes their fault.  Sometimes not.

All she could do was pull on what Dr. Mona had helped her learn, and on the various victories she’d picked up.  What she’d said to Avery.

She hugged her brother, bear-hug tight.

Letting it go.

“I’ve missed you.  Merry Christmas,” he said.

“Merry Christmas,” she told him.

She hugged Alyssa.  Verona hugged Booker.  Greetings all around.

Booker wasn’t taking his boots and coat off.  He hadn’t brought luggage in.

Lucy retreated to the door to the living room, fire to her right.  Verona sidled up next to her, leaning against Lucy’s side, cat in her arms.

“I’m- not sure how to bring this up,” he told them.  “Mom?  Can we talk?”

He led their mom over to the end of the front hall.

He still hadn’t taken off his boots yet.  Or ventured beyond the front hall.

“I was talking to a friend from high school on the way in-“

“Booker-“

Verona’s hand went to Lucy’s back, flat against the spine, maybe meant to be reassuring, but it also felt like a push that hadn’t gotten around to the ‘push’ part.  Waiting.

“It’s not like that.  I told friends I didn’t have time, this visit.  But Hugh- you remember Hugh?”

“I do.  He wasn’t doing very well, last I heard.”

Lucy knew Hugh too.  He’d been one of the only other non-white people at school.  Korean.  He’d been Booker’s friend for a brief while, then they’d gone separate ways after Hugh had dropped out.  Then the guy had kind of kept dropping after that.

“He heard I was coming in, from people.  I get the impression things aren’t so hot.  His girlfriend’s pregnant.”

“That’s a lot.  Have you even talked to him, outside of this?”

“Fuck.  It’s- no.  But he sounded sincere.  About wanting help.  But not knowing… it sounds like they need to go to the hospital, for the baby, but they don’t trust-“

“They’re still using?”

Lucy watched Booker from the doorway, saw him nod.

“I know this is the worst timing, I know we’re already late, we couldn’t get away from the event, I was talking with Alyssa, we thought we should do something, but…”

“Could you talk to them, Jasmine?”

Alyssa had stepped in to comment.

Lucy’s mom looked back at Lucy.

“It’s Christmas Eve.”

“I think- it sounded like he was at a low point.  Because it’s Christmas.  Realizing they have nobody, the way he talked about stuff.  I think that’s where he sounded really open to… I dunno.  Options.  Or just getting to a hospital.  If you could convince them they won’t get arrested five seconds after walking in the door.”

“I don’t think he has anyone else, Jasmine.  He called Booker, someone he barely knows.  I’m the furthest thing form an expert, but he sounded genuine about wanting actual help.  Didn’t want money, or handouts.  Just… guidance.”

“It’s complicated.  They won’t get arrested, unless there’s outstanding warrants.  We’d just want to get them sorted.  But if they’re actively using, that baby might get taken away as soon as it’s born.”

“Yeah.  I got the vibe that might be a relief.  If the eventual baby’s going somewhere safer.”

Lucy saw her mother sigh.

She looked back, making eye contact with Lucy.  Without breaking eye contact, she said,

“She’s eavesdropping.”

“No way she’s hearing this.”

“Don’t underestimate your sister.  Or her feelings.  She has been so good about the fact you’re barely going to be around for the holidays, she’s been dealing with so much.”

“What’s she dealing with?”

“Not for me to say.  But I know she wanted you around and you missed dinner tonight.”

“The event-“

“I know.  Believe me, I know how tricky some of those things can be.  Getting away.  Making the time.  But she made time too.  She was looking forward to seeing you.  She’s got the world on her shoulders, more than you know, she only really wanted us all together.  And now you’re leaving?  You want me to come with?”

“I already feel like the bad guy.”

“All I’m saying is… respect her feelings here.”

He turned, looking at her.

“Is it a ‘gotta’ or an ‘oughta’?” Lucy asked.

“What?  How much did you hear?”

She felt like if she started to cry she wouldn’t be able to stop, so she did her level best to not start.

“Is it a ‘gotta’ situation, or is it an ‘oughta’?” she repeated, stubborn.

“Gotta, I think.”

“Then you better get going now, huh?” she asked.  It hurt to say.  “And you ‘oughta’ make it up to me, right?”

“I don’t know how I could.  You sure?”

Don’t ask me that.  “You’d better get going.”

“I should drop Verona at her dad’s,” Verona’s mom said.  “So she can wake up there for Christmas morning.  I can watch Lucy during and after.”

“Actually,” Lucy said.  “I think I’ll go for a walk?  Can I take Verona with?”

“Where to?” Verona’s mom asked.

“The usual places,” Lucy said.  “Not that far.”

Relatively speaking.

“Okay,” her mom replied, looking worried.  “Be careful?”

Lucy nodded.

Her mom and Booker left.  Verona’s mom went to get sorted, and a connection block helped to streamline things, buying them time to get everything in order.

While there were no prying eyes except Verona and the cat’s, she opened a present.  Her gift from the Dog Tags.

A part of her had expected a big flag, from the weight and fullness of the package.  A big Kennet flag would be kind of cool, and she figured if she was going to get out there and rally people, it’d be nice to have.  Except it wasn’t a flag.

A winter coat, military style.  Like a lot of the Dog Tags wore.  Fit to her size.  One with fur at the collar, in that light orange-tan of fox fur.  The jacket’s material was red.

It reminded her of the coat John had worn to the Carmine contest.  Except his hadn’t been red.

The market wasn’t sanitized enough for innocents tonight for Verona’s mom to be visiting, so they went their separate ways.  Verona would meet up with her mom before noon on Christmas Day.  The Fetch would keep Verona’s dad happy enough.  As far as her dad was ever really ‘happy’, anyway.

Lucy paid off some vendors, buying favors.

She was on a mission now.

Stew Mullen was at an outdoor patio at the end of downtown.  A fire pit blazed.  The brutish, scarred man was surrounded by various women.  One even sat in his lap.

“Having a good holiday?” Verona asked.

He smiled an awkward smile that felt like it was trying to show teeth first and be a smile second.

“Who do I talk to if I want to hire someone from your end of town?” Lucy asked.

He stared at her, and she couldn’t tell if he understood and didn’t want to reply, or would’ve replied, but didn’t understand.

“I’ll pass on word if you tell me,” the woman in his lap said.  “Who are you hiring and for what?”

“Looking for Hellfire and the Arsonist,” Lucy replied.  “I heard they caused a disaster at the one factory, they got pushed out, Stew gave them a second chance.”

“Yeah,” the woman replied.  “For what?”

“That’s between us and them.  They should know who the first and third witches of Kennet are.”

If this was the way it was going to be, this was the way she’d handle it.

She sorted things out with a few more people, navigating the market of Kennet below before slipping into Kennet found for more work.

“What are you doing?” Toadswallow asked, stepping out of the shadows.

“Extension of the idea I talked to you about earlier,” Lucy told him.  “Prepping the market.”

“Hiring some pretty big guns.”

“It’s going to be a big market.”

“Fireworks, music, lights,” Toadswallow told her.

“Singing,” Lucy agreed.  “The Dog Tags were saying, it’s not enough to do what’s necessary.  We need to mark the moments.  Make this into something that’s memorable, something that reminds us why we’re doing all this.  It’s Christmas, Avery will have her girlfriend there, I- I’m going to try to keep my brother around.  Let’s take this to the next level.”

“Opening the floodgates,” Verona added.

“Uh huh?” Toadswallow asked.  “What do you need?”

“If we’re going to have fireworks from two of Kennet below’s best pyrotechnicians and explosive experts… you think you can get Doglick on the case, find the dogs that hate fireworks, so we can mute things?”

“Veterans too,” Verona said.

“Would the Dog Tags know?” Lucy asked.

“I’ll ask,” Toadswallow said.  “I think we’ll figure out a way.  Kennet found a part of this?”

“Kennet above, Kennet below, Kennet found.  All together, one big event.  Something… magical.  But not so magic it hurts Innocence.”

“I’ll get more people on it,” Toadswallow said.  “All out?”

“No holds barred,” Verona replied.

No holds barred.

There would be parts of this they’d have to wrangle.  If Nora and Avery were meant to get out here and enjoy this, so Lucy could fulfill her promise and help Avery show her favorite person what made Kennet great, while reminding everyone else, then they’d have to time things well, ensure they could slip away and visit.

Other parts would be harder.

Verona and Lucy walked down the street.  Lucy checked her phone, then walked down a driveway with a couple of inches of snow on it, and then down the walkway.  She glanced at Verona, then she reached out, knocking.

The door opened.  A middle aged man looked at Lucy.

“Mr. Maxfield?” Lucy asked.

“I am.  We don’t donate or tip-”

“I’m looking for your daughter.  Harri.”

He glanced her up and down, then he turned, partially closing the door to control the volume while shouting, “Harri!”

One of the St. Victor’s students.  Harri had been one of the first they’d identified, twelve or so.  They’d kidnapped her, then released her later, after realizing the stakes and what the St. Victor’s group was doing.  Lucy knew all the names, she’d kept some tabs on them, but they didn’t know she knew as much as she did.  They only knew she was aware of Harri and she’d seen Joshua.

The kid was in pyjama pants and a t-shirt, both in Christmas reds and greens.

“What the- what are you doing here?”

“Extending an invitation,” Lucy said.

“And why would I accept?” Harri asked.

“Doesn’t hurt anything.  Gives you a chance to gather information.  Gives us a chance to show what we’re about,” Lucy replied.  And because if someone’s going to step in and ruin this, I’d like to be able to see you face to face before you try any sabotage.

Harri frowned.

Lucy held out the letter with the place and date enclosed.  “If you want.”

Harri took it.  She paused, hiding it, as her dad approached, checking in.

“I’m not going to come,” the kid said, as soon as her dad was out of earshot.

“I don’t think we have to be enemies.  Can we at least have a holiday truce?”

“You bargained for one.  Enjoy it.  And stay out of our faces while you’re doing that enjoying?”

Lucy shook her head.

“I said I’m not going to come.  That’s that,” Harri said.

“Alright,” Lucy replied.  She studied the girl.  “Your call.  Figured I’d offer.”

She and Verona retreated down the driveway.

“You think we poked the bear?” Verona asked.

“I don’t know,” Lucy replied.  She checked the time.

Couldn’t stay out too much longer.  They had so little time, and so much to do.

“Would’ve been nice, mingling a little bit.  Getting to understand each other,” Verona said.

Lucy nodded, but she frowned.  It was usually more complicated than that.  People were complicated.

“Ideas?” Lucy asked.  “Want to try to dig them out?”

“I was thinking, instead… let’s take this next level.”

Verona outlined the plan.

They’d be back late.  But hopefully this would be worthwhile.

They’d visited nine tonight.  Two had been asleep at the time they’d visited.  Four had said no, Harri included.

But three were interested.  And maybe that interest was artificial, digging for info.

Maybe it wasn’t.

Stefan, Kira-Lynn, and Adrian would come tomorrow evening, when the market went all out.  They’d been invited, and they’d accepted.

Lucy wasn’t sure what that meant, but it felt important to do.  To extend the olive branch, to try to be human, when these wars between practitioners and against higher powers like the Carmine Exile could be so brutal.

Was it a good idea?  Guaranteed to work?  She was reminded of Booker’s situation.  How low the odds probably were for Hugh and his pregnant girlfriend to find help.

She walked toward home, Verona at her side, wearing the coat that seemed to convey the Dog Tags were welcoming her in, to some degree.

Lucy hoped this worked, and that it would be a way to contain this, and protect it.  Involving others was a kind of insulation against anything too reckless.

They were not alone as they looped around, approaching Lucy’s house from the north.  They’d done a circuit of Kennet, late night, connection blocked to keep things quiet.

Lucy, still stinging from the Booker situation, eyes red with Sight, met eyes that glowed like embers.  Another soul, feeling an absence like Lucy felt Booker’s, finding a time and place to reach out.  Way worse timing, Lucy figured.

Edith James had come back, responding to Verona’s prods.

The closest thing they’d have to an informant on the Carmine Exile, if they could play this right.

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