Avery

It was good to get away from the tension.  Good to move.

Turning the real world into an obstacle course was a kind of practice for any future visits to the Paths.  Movement and confidence of movement was so important, and learning how to navigate strange places was something she could use, in the same way she’d pulled on instincts drawn from running on the painted grass of a soccer field, or minding her enemies while she skated.

Her cape flapped around her and her hat sat low on her brow as she ran along the peak of a rooftop.  A van was trundling down the street, too slow to really intersect with her path, so she slid down the roof at an angle, controlling her descent, threw herself away from it as she reached the gutter, and skipped forward with the rope.

Two steps on the van’s roof, the second step almost a misstep that saw her fall over the back, then another skip forward using the rope, onto a grassy slope.  The momentum from the roof and her forward jumps let her slide down the slope.  It wasn’t perfect or even that fast, because of the tiny slate-like rocks on the slope that broke up the slide, but she was able to skid down the hill at a diagonal, rope her way back up to the top of the slope, a little further along, and slide down again.

Eventually the little rocks and the traction of the grass made the sliding ineffectual.  She jogged to a stop from the bottom of the slope, onto the dark, rocky shore that consisted of flat flakes of slate lying on stone that had been washed into gentle rises and falls by the passage of water.  Her feet twisted on the toes and balls of her feet each time she set them down, to find the traction past sliding bits of rock.

John’s house… she didn’t recognize it from this angle, but she recognized some of the houses from near it.

Rope in hand, she skipped-

And tripped.  Her shin banged against rock, little corners of slate digging in.  She made a face, looked around, and saw some people by the water.  She flipped up the bit of scarf in front of her chin, and checked the diagram.

Faded to the point of almost being gone.

That had burned out fast.  She pulled it free, leaving the hat on, and pulled out a chalk marker-pen.  She started at one end and traced along the already-drawn lines as she went, ascending the hill and keeping to the shelter of the trees.

It took a few minutes.  Her eyes scanned the gaps in the trees to make sure nobody was springing up.  Especially John.  Or John’s friends, like the goblins.  The four local goblins seemed to like hanging out in the dead bushes, trees, and ditches around the edges of civilization.

The faint chemicals of the chalk pen was thick in the air as she replaced the scarf.  She checked her leg, which had only a bit of blood running down from a scuff, and then resumed moving, skipping across the street to John’s neighbor’s house.

The house backing up on John’s backyard was unoccupied too, and she found her perch on the upstairs patio, which used the ten or so feet of garage that overlapped the house as a platform for an extended balcony.  Dead leaves and plants littered the corners, where the short fence and railing at the edge kept them from blowing away.

It gave her a view of John’s place; she could look through and see the guitar on the back porch, the beer bottles, and the interior, which hadn’t been cleaned up in a while.  Some windows had newspaper or boards put up, to keep the light out.

John’s movement through the bottom floor of the house was so abrupt she jumped a little.  Moving with purpose, from the one corner of the house to the other, disappearing from view because the one corner didn’t have a lot of visibility.

Then going the other way.

She had the impression he was getting ready for something, but his hands were empty when he walked by the big window.

It wasn’t until the fourth crossing that it dawned on her that he was pacing.

He has two modes.  Hurry up and wait, and shooting.  They’d been told that early on.  She’d seen another side of him that was tense and hinted at being dangerous, but casual.  Playing his guitar and smiling over a gift of video games.

‘Hurry up and wait’ hadn’t felt this ominous before.  Like there was a latent energy or frustration behind the hurrying and waiting both.

“What’s going on, John?” she murmured.  “What did you do?  What part did you play in all of this?”

This was the observation the others had wanted.  John had heard or been told about the nine years ago thing, and now he was acting different.  Could that be explained away as the threat of outside practitioners?  He was one of the Others who protected the perimeter of Kennet, kept the monsters out.  This agitation could stem from that, right?

He stopped, mid-pace, by the largest window.

The smell of chalk and the marker’s chemical filled her nostrils.  She pulled the cape away so she could check it, and she saw the chalk coming away in curls of smoke.

She bolted, jumping from the ledge, using the rope to carry herself away.  The nearest good landing point was the fence where three yards met, and she landed there, the diagram smoking.

She looked over her shoulder before her next skip ahead, and saw John at the window, looking at her with that thousand-yard stare she’d seen a few times.

Avery carried on, heading to the street, using the rope to gauge that the way was clear, then skipping over to the trees.  She hunkered down, put the rope away, and checked her scarf.

That had burned through fast.  Was she weaker?  Maybe she’d lied and hadn’t realized it?

She still had to head back to the others.  She set to work fixing up the cape, sitting on a fallen tree in the middle of the glade and moving the cape across her lap so she had a flat-ish surface to work with for each portion.

“Is there anything I need to worry about?”  His voice was deep.

She grabbed the rope from her pocket and lurched to her feet, flicking it as she slipped past the tree, her other hand holding the cape.

Ten feet away, her back to a tree, she peeked.

John Stiles stood at the edge of the glade, holding a rifle.  It was off to the side, butt end on the ground, barrel pointed up and away.

“That’s a tough question to answer,” she told him.  “We have no plans to do anything to you that’s really worth worrying about… uhh, unless you have something to hide.”

“Don’t we all?” he asked.  Then, after a moment’s consideration, he added, “I didn’t think I needed to hide that much.”

“I was just checking in.  I didn’t want to bother you so I used a connection blocker.  It burned out fast, there.”

“I wouldn’t be very effective at what I do if it was that easy to blind me to you.”

“I’m not a confrontational person,” Avery said.  “I’m not angry, I’m not after you.  We were just wondering how you were doing.”

“But you ran.  You hid yourself.  Your first instinct was to flinch, dash away, and hide,” he said.  She couldn’t really see much of him past branches and tree trunks, but his voice was clear.

“I’m a little easily spooked right now.  Last weekend was a lot,” Avery ventured.

John was silent.  She had to check he was still there.

The silence felt judgmental.  Her heart pounded.

“You’re a bit scary right now.  More intense than I’ve seen, except for our first meeting at your place.”

“I don’t mean to be scary.”

“You’re kinda standing there with a big gun.”

“I always have a gun, Avery.”

“See, that?  That’s a scary thing to say.”

“I’m going to go walk the perimeter and look out for trouble,” he said.

“Is it okay out there?” she asked, trying to sound a little more friendly.

“It’s harder.  We’ve recruited general spirits to plague those who get too close.  They apparently haven’t realized there’s a perimeter yet, and once they do, they’ll test it.  It makes for very tough judgment calls in the moment.  What warrants a bullet, for example?”

“I hope nobody’s getting shot,” Avery said.

“We’re clear for now.”

“Good.  That’s good.”

“I’m going.  I’ll be available tonight if you want to visit.  Please don’t make any surprise visits like your most recent.  For your sake and mine.”

She formed a few half-thoughts, of things she could almost say, but couldn’t articulate.  She settled on, “Bye.”

She heard him walking away.

Maybe she wouldn’t send Snowdrop over.

She peeked, and saw John walking through the woods at a quick march, ducking under a branch, and using the length of the rifle to push another aside.  He was strong enough to maintain a good foot pace despite the barriers the branches provided, and no wood or twigs broke.  He left no trail.

She used her Sight to watch him.  Fog rolled out, handprints and paw prints traced some of the trees, and ribbons trailed from branches.  She saw the thread of connection between him and… at her left hand, she wore the charm bracelet, with a wristband over it to keep it in place and hide the specific charms.  The dog tag was held over her pulse.

“Sorry,” she said, as he slipped out of sight.

She was, wasn’t she?  She had to be careful about lying.  Which left her digesting the word.

The reality was that she was sorry.  Even if he was the mastermind, even if he was responsible for Gabe dying, and Reagan, and those hundreds of others over the years.  Nine years of a ritual most phases of the moon, except for some of the early days.

If he was the source of all that pain and hurt, she was still sorry she had to take on this role in opposition to him.  That he had to take on that role.  That the pain and hurt had to happen.

She reached out for a tattered ribbon that dangled from a tree, then laid her hand against one of the crimson handprints.

She finished scribing the rest of the connection blocker, then started the run back to the others.

“Hurt yourself?” Matthew asked, as he stepped through the back door.  He wore a t-shirt and jeans, with a nice leather belt and matching chukka boots.  He didn’t look like a container for something horrible, like a life-ending Doom.

Avery was putting a bandage over the spot of her shin that was bleeding.  Making use of that small first aid kit she’d stowed in her bag, finally.

“I went out, got some practice with the rope.  It has drawbacks.”

“You okay?” Matthew asked.

Avery nodded.  “I get worse scuffs during soccer and hockey practice.”

Edith followed.  She looked perpetually tired, with hair and clothes that sorta followed that line of thought, like nothing she wore was her first choice of thing to wear, but was something she’d grabbed from the back of the closet.  Those clothes you wore when your good clothes were in the laundry because frigging Sheridan was supposed to do laundry as her chore for the day and only washed her own clothes.

In this case, a strappy red top with stretched out straps, and mom jeans that made it clear that she had a slightly disproportionate amount of hip and butt for her height and other dimensions.

The trends Avery had observed back at the campsite were back in force.  Edith followed behind Matthew, sat after he did, and even though she was at home, she really didn’t look like she was one hundred percent comfortable here.  In her own backyard, in her house, in her clothes, in her skin.  It made her seem diminished, in that way that Avery had initially mistook as her being less because of Matthew.

He had bags with him, and laid them out on the table.  “You staying, by the way?”

All three of them confirmed.

“About your rope, the practice can be contradictory at times,” Matthew said, as he turned on the gas, then stepped away from the barbecue to get the meat from the bags.  Edith motioned her hand toward the barbecue, and the gas ignited.  “They might tell you to keep a winning streak going, use that rope and don’t make any mistakes.  Patterns become expectations become rules.”

“What’s the contradiction?” Verona asked.

“If you break the rules, you get in trouble,” Matthew told them.  Behind him, Edith began chopping vegetables on the patio table.

“So by doing well on a consistent basis, we’re setting ourselves up to fail?” Lucy asked.

“Can be, can’t it?” Matthew asked.  “There’s a power in being the one to set expectation and make the rules.  You get bigger, more important in the grand scheme of things, but then you have a steeper fall, should you mess up and abuse those expectations.”

“Is this about us?” Lucy asked.  “Us three as Kennet’s practitioners?”

“It- no, I didn’t intend it to be that,” Matthew said.  “It’s kind of me talking to Edith about her family, and really, we’re the ones who set the expectations on you three, not the other way around.”

“Bad visit?” Verona asked Edith, as Lucy opened her mouth to say something.  Lucy didn’t say whatever it was.

“They want me to be someone else,” Edith said.  “Someone further along in life than she is.”

“If it’s not too personal…” Lucy ventured, a little cautiously, “…Where are you, and where do they want you to be?”

“I’m thirty-four, I work intermittently.  I got a high school education and went no further.  Edith James’ family is… passionate.  Her father found law and he started his own practice.  Her mother found teaching, and could talk to you for seventy-two straight hours about it, she loves it and her students so much.”

“Anyone we know?” Avery asked.

“She was the vice principal and sometimes teacher at St. Victor’s, but she retired two years ago.  I doubt it.”

“Got it,” Avery said.

“Edith James’ sister found music.  I…” Edith settled into a patio chair.  “…I started off behind everyone.  My way forward was harder.”

It was Matthew who answered, “I think if you looked to the upper echelons of the social ladder, at celebrities, at the moguls, at prime ministers and other leaders… you wouldn’t find many Others.  Or practitioners for that matter, though there are more of them than Others.  You’d think you would.  After all, Others have power that humans don’t, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Verona said, her eyes wider.

“That isn’t our world.  It doesn’t embrace us.  It’s… not quite karma, but it’s not a clear way forward, either,” he said.

“The cogs of bureaucracy turn slower when they push the paperwork or finances of someone like Matthew or me through,” Edith said.  “People won’t even realize they’re doing it, but they’ll leave us behind, or miss our names.  The higher we climb, the less room there is for something or someone with an oddly shaped configuration like Matthew or myself.”

“Or us?” Avery asked.

“You have a lot more control over your place in the big picture,” Matthew said.  “Practitioners can keep their ordinary lives distinct from their practitioner lives, and fit their ordinary lives into some place in the big picture.  Or they can find themselves in positions and configurations like mine or Edith’s.”

“I guess that’s what we’d want to ask you,” Lucy said, twisting around.  “Where you came from, your position now, where you’re going.  If you don’t mind, Edith?”

“We’ve told you three where I came from.  I am the spirit that occupies the otherwise invalid body of Edith James.”

“But other stuff past just that.  Your parents don’t live here, so why here?”

“The Doom that chased me would settle down, seeking traction where it could find it.  It would occupy places, things, people.”

“Hallows?” Verona asked.

“Shallow and incidental ones, yes.  There weren’t many prepared ones I was aware of.  It would be a voice in the radio static of a television left on overnight, the words shouted by a person left insensate after a car accident.  As it gained more strength, it would take on forms in reality.  Sleek figures without a face or any features.  Slow to move at first, then faster, bigger, stronger.  Either it would draw the attention of practitioners and forces in the area, like hostile Bogeymen or Goblins, hoping they would end me, or I would have to fight back, to diminish that Doom, or stave off the attacks… and that would draw the attention of practitioners.  Then I would leave, going to the next small town, the next place out in the middle of nowhere that was willing to give food and shelter to a girl with twenty dollars in her pocket.”

“The Doom would come back stronger each time.  Incarnations and things stemming from them, like omens and the doom, they lean heavily into the inevitable, or the illusion of the inevitable,” Matthew said.  “It’s in their makeup.”

“And here was safe?” Avery asked.

“Safer.  Practitioners didn’t come this way.  Now they’re trying.”

“There were three who were nosing around, who Miss kept at bay.  One ended up being Chase of the Belangers,” Matthew said.  “She turned him away, but Nicolette took interest, possibly wanted to snatch the prize out from under Chase’s nose, and sent her collector in to take eyeballs and give her the ability to send in seeing eyes.  Two more are out there.  You’ll meet them if and when you go to the summer school.”

“Who started this?  The whole thing?” Lucy asked.

Matthew shrugged, casual, before lifting up the lid to check on the food.  “I think it was a place without any practitioners.  That helped it become more of a place without any practitioners.  Then Miss arrived and capitalized on that, encouraged it…”

“Setting up a metaphorical garden in a nice spot with good soil?” Lucy asked.

“Sure.  Yeah,” Matthew said.

“And now the danger is you’ve got a good streak going, and if we fall, it’s a long way down?” Lucy asked.

Matthew shrugged.  “I really hope not.  Because we’re already… not falling, but you could say we’re slipping.  We’re on an apparent ledge.”

“So where are we now?” Avery asked.

“Trying to do what Miss was doing.  There are five of us on the task that took one of her to do, and we’re not doing it as well.”

“Is there another way?” Verona asked.  “Another tactic that does suit you?”

“There is,” Matthew said.  Even without Avery’s sight being turned on, his eyes suddenly looked a lot darker.  “But practitioners tend to have tight networks and sprawling families.  Ending one with doom, fire, bullet, or goblin can bring two more to our doorstep; one to investigate the disappearance, and one to continue their work.”

They’ve pledged not to attack us, Avery reminded herself.

Edith stood, bearing vegetables chopped, drizzled in oil and herbs, and wrapped in foil.  She set them on the barbecue.

“We have the Faerie, don’t we?” Avery asked.  “Can’t they help?”

“The Faerie have the Faerie,” Edith said.  “Each time we call on them to help, we’re rolling dice.  Will they fix it?  Will they give us a monkey’s paw of a fix, with a hidden trap?  Will they turn the tables on us and reveal a greater ploy?”

“If they get bored, they get dangerous,” Matthew added.  “Repetitive assignments to quash practitioners bore them.”

“Best to stay away from them,” Edith said.  “Maricica in particular.”

“Both, I’d say,” Matthew told her.

“Her in particular.  Trust me on this,” Edith said, looking at the girls.  “You’ve interviewed her, you got your gifts.  Leave it at that.”

“Is this because she’s got the moth thing and you’re a candle?” Verona asked.

“She has a moth motif, and I’m a complex spirit with some candle-related imagery associated with it.  I’m not ‘a candle’.”

“Sorry,” Verona said.

“And no,” Edith said.  She reached out a hand and got a grip on Matthew’s back pocket, tugging him closer to her.  “He’s the Moss drawn to my candleflame.”

“I am,” Matthew said, smiling.

“I don’t have a deeper connection with Maricica,” Edith said.  “We know each other, we’ve interacted.  We’ve worked briefly together on projects for mutual benefit and for Kennet.  I know enough now to be wary of her and what she might say or do.”

“On that note, what do you do?” Lucy asked.  “For or in Kennet?”

“I help with abstract threats.  Rogue spirits, echoes, omens…”

“Can you give us examples?” Lucy asked.

“Of some of these jobs?”

“A boy drowned in a dip in the river, when the water level was high enough the flow was pronounced.  There was a drop in the water flow, and it formed a tube that trapped him inside, flipping end over end.  Enough of a violent and remarkable end to create an echo.  Enough left unresolved around him that it encouraged spirits.  He became a petitioner spirit, plaguing people by the water with whispered questions.”

“Like a ghost by the side of the road who asks for a ride,” Verona said.

Verona sounded so casual, in the midst of this.  Like she didn’t care about where they stood.  Avery was unsure if she was a good actor or so focused in on the practice that she’d lost sight of the danger.

“Yes.  But he wasn’t mature or coherent enough to ask good questions.  If such a spirit learns to ask questions with a design, or to attach a pattern of action to the questioning, the actions can gain strength.  Your roadside spirit could gain enough strength to punish the wrong or unwanted answers with a push, putting the victim in the way of incoming traffic.  He wasn’t that strong.  He whispered nonsense about being caught in the wash.  Left to his own devices, he could have become a wraith, a spectre, a malign spirit, or connected to a thing of the Abyss, or enough collective sentiment to become a spot for an incarnation to emerge.  I burned him, ending him.”

“Is this common?” Avery asked.

“Those spirits?  They weren’t, but they’re appearing more while the Beast’s seat remains vacant.  I’ll burn ghosts and I’ve learned to spot forces like Death, Desire, and Filth getting a foothold in the world, from my time evading my Omen.  I burn them too.”

“Desire?” Avery asked.  “Don’t we sorta need that?”

“Not if it’s taking a malignant form.  Incarnations and incarnate things aren’t even a single clear concept when they emerge, and absorb a lot from their surroundings in early days.  If a Desire isn’t healthy, she can reflect something stunted, something frustrated, or something loveless.”

“That’s so sad,” Avery said.

“Not as long as she’s burned away before she gets too large.”

“Do you confer with Alpeana on this?” Verona asked.

“Sometimes.  We keep different hours, but I’ll mention when I’m considering dealing with something.  It’s rare she says she needs it badly.  She’s most likely to throw some nonsense swears at me if I’m overzealous.”

“And your family?” Avery asked.

“We keep limited contact.”

“They want you to elevate yourself, and you can’t?” Lucy asked.

“I can, but it’s hard, Lucy,” Edith said.  “My efforts are better placed elsewhere.  I may not have a passion as explicit as my mother’s love for teaching, but I love Matthew.  I’m building a life here.”

“Where’s that life going?” Avery asked.  “What’s the long-term plan?  Kids?  Starting up a business?  Or-”

She saw Matthew and Edith exchange a look.

“No kids,” Matthew said.  “Unfortunately.”

“I’m sorry,” Avery said.  It was hard to shake the feeling that the next wrong statement would be the thing that made the Other couple blow up.  This felt like she was bringing them closer to that.

“I think we’ve made our peace with it,” he said.  He reached over and gave Edith’s shoulder a squeeze.  She gave him a half-smile.  “I talked about Hallows, before.  A child that is yet to be born has no defenses and forms a vessel that… many things could inhabit, let’s say.  The body of a mother protects the child within, but it doesn’t readily protect the child from what’s already within the mother, or that which is part of the child.”

“I don’t understand that last bit,” Avery said, “but it’s okay if you don’t want to get into it.”

Lucy elbowed her, like saying that was unnecessary, but it was necessary to avoid being a total asshole.

“If the child is of me, in the same way it’s half Edith, the mother’s body won’t protect it from my influence.  The Doom could and would slide into the child without resistance.  With the way the hallow would be far better at holding something like the Doom than my own body is… it would be like water flowing downhill.  No resistance, and it would go around most barriers.”

Edith spoke, eyes on the barbecue and the fire that licked the meat.  Her eyes glowed.  “If I as the Girl by Candlelight didn’t find myself drawn into the child and trapped there until it was born and grown, then the Doom would enter the child and he or she would kill Edith James before Matthew or I realized what had happened.”

“What would happen?  Again, don’t have to get into it,” Avery said.

“Aneurysm.  Blood clot.  Blood poisoning.  If the child was large enough, it could claw its way to something vital,” Matthew said.

“Could it?” Lucy asked.  “Babies aren’t that strong.”

“Given time, and the fact that an influence on an unborn baby would shape its growth… possibly to something less human, it’s a risk,” Matthew said.

“I would rather avoid that scenario,” Edith said, burning eyes looking down at her hands and belly.  “So…”

“…We had to make our peace with it,” he finished.

“One of many things my parents love to nag me about,” Edith said.  “Beer, honey?”

“Please,” he said.  He looked at Avery and her friends.  “If you don’t mind.  Do you want anything?”

They shook their heads.  They still had their drinks from the convenience store.

“End of a workday,” he told them.  “Start of my other two jobs.  Edith and doing my part for Kennet.”

“Is that how you think of me, sweetie?” Edith asked from inside, her voice arch and laced with something.  Her eyes were bright as she stepped back onto the patio, carrying two beer bottles.

“All good relationships are work and it would be a shame if it was easy,” he said, giving her a one-armed hug, the other arm holding a spatula.  “You’re warm.”

“I’m a little heated, yes.  Still not loving that ‘job’ comment.”

“I love two of my jobs.  You in particular.”

“You don’t love looking after Kennet?” Avery asked.

Beside her, Lucy and Verona shifted position.  She realized too late that she’d gone straight to the ‘in charge’ thing, and they hadn’t explicitly been told about that.

Matthew didn’t seem to notice.  “I don’t love my part in this.  I respect it.  I know we need everyone on deck in their individual ways.  I used to be on the other side of the fence.  If I had made different decisions, my dad might never have been caught, and I might be someone like one of those boys that served under Alexander Belanger.  Someone with money, power, influence, and knowledge.  Amoral, possibly, from the vibe I got from them.”

He wasn’t announcing it.  He wasn’t saying that they’d had a meeting yesterday, that the Others had allowed him and Edith to take over as leaders.

“We don’t want to become that,” Lucy said.

“Good,” Matthew said.  “I’m glad I didn’t become that.  Someone who would use the Girl by Candlelight and then dispose of her.  Who would carve out the eyes of every echo in the area and then when the balance was disrupted and more dangerous Others emerged as a counterbalance… enslave those too, until things were a disaster to be left for the next practitioner good enough to turn it to their advantage.”

“How does this end?” Avery asked.  “With the practitioners, and the locals?  Do people leave?  Come?  Is it possible to negotiate a lasting truce?”

“I don’t know,” Matthew said.  “I worry that makes me sound incompetent.”

“Being able to say you don’t know makes you wiser than someone who refuses to say it,” Edith said.

Matthew plated the burgers, and unwrapped the foil with the vegetables, before portioning them out.

The wind blew through Kennet.  Droplets of rain fell.  Avery made herself close her eyes and turned her face up toward the sky, letting the droplets fall where they wanted to.

“Do you want to come to the table?”  Matthew asked.  “I can put up the umbrella, though I can’t promise it’ll do much good.”

“We could draw something,” Verona said.  “Bit of a diagram?”

Avery felt off-balance, as she stood.

There was an Avery she wanted to be, and the Avery she was, and both wanted to stand in different ways, wanted to handle this conversation and this meal in different ways.

Wanted to react to Verona being so casual in different ways.

Lucy put a hand on her shoulder, on her way up to the part of the patio with the table.

It helped.  Because both Averies wanted the same thing.

“Can we ask about the night the Carmine Beast disappeared?” Avery asked.

“Did you wait until we were breaking bread before asking that?” Edith asked.

“I didn’t know that was a thing,” Avery admitted.

The light in Edith’s eyes dimmed.  She picked up her burger, held it in front of her mouth, and seemed to consider for a moment, before saying, “Okay.”

“It’s a thing,” Matthew said.  “Old customs and hospitality.  You can ask.  It’s fine, I don’t think we have anything to hide.”

“Standard questions?” Avery asked Lucy.  Reaching out, trying to collaborate.

“So… question to the both of you.  Did you have any history with the Carmine Beast?”

“Not especially,” Edith said.  “But I made pilgrimages to the Alabaster, and to the Sable, and the Aurum came to me, at different points.”

“That’s a lot.  Why?” Lucy asked.

“I think because I’m naturally fragile and unstable.  This body stabilizes me.  But I needed some answers that other Others couldn’t provide.  The Alabaster for questions on innocents, and bringing a child into the world.  The Sable to talk about death, and Matthew and my exits from the world.  The Aurum came to audit.”

“Audit what?” Verona asked.

“I don’t know.  But the centipede is said to be a spirit with ties to civilization.  Primarily in the East, but… Canada absorbs cultures from all over.  It’s not unusual that we drew that in.”

“Did you get the answers you were looking for?” Lucy asked.

Avery ate the grilled vegetables.  She kind of wished she had grown her nails out like some of the girls in class, so she could pick up the food with the nails without touching them with her fingers, but she’d kept them short for the sake of playing sports.

“You already heard the answer we got about bearing children,” Edith said.  “We got answers about our endings.  We can lead long and full lives together, if we can keep this body healthy and Matthew’s doom restrained.  When we pass, we’ll have to figure out what to do.  The audit… the Aurum cautioned us to avoid collecting too many odds and ends.”

“Enchanted things, cursed things,” Matthew said.

“Charles had a lot,” Matthew said.  “We took them so they couldn’t be stolen.  We drained some of power, put some in storage, and traded a good few others away.  A shame.  If we’d kept them, we could have given them to you.”

“Edith sort of gave her answer,” Lucy said.  “Did you interact with the Carmine Beast?  And Edith?  Specifically?”

“You’re so much better at the practitioner speak than I was at your age.  Or than I was at eighteen,” Matthew said.  “I did not.  I was there for the meeting with the Alabaster Doe and the Sable Prince.  The Carmine and I had no reason to interact.  The Aurum never approached me directly.”

“I never approached the Carmine,” Edith said.  “If I’d continued on the path I was on without finding Kennet, she might have found me.”

“Any hard feelings?  Upset?  Even if you never met her?” Avery asked, trying to be a little more firm now.

“No,” Matthew said.  “If I hadn’t been told I would have barely known she existed.”

“If you wanted to, could you have hurt it?” Lucy asked.

“I don’t think so,” Matthew said.  “Not in a way that would take it out like that.  Disappeared or dead.  I- maybe with the right tools, the right practices, but I’d run the risk of the Doom inside me slipping free of its confines.  Anything I channel through my body or spirit is a possible escape route.”

“Could the Doom have hurt it?” Verona asked.  She was talking the least and making the most progress through her burger.

Avery looked down.  She hadn’t touched her burger, and thinking about it made her tense.  She ate more vegetables.

“Possibly, but not killed it.  It’s not that strong, and I’m not strong enough to keep something capable of killing the Carmine Beast inside me.”

“No, I’m not that strong.  And my fire isn’t… as much as I describe burning up spirits and immaterial things, it’s not a fire meant to harm.  It can change a place or the meaning of a place, or that place’s potential, like its potential to burn in the right circumstance, and it can bring about disaster by way of inferno, given the right situation, it can do little, useful things, but it’s… not a flamethrower.  It’s not a weapon that could kill something like that, even if I was that strong.”

“Can you practice?” Verona asked.  “Matthew mentioned it.  It’s been sort of vague.”

“I can’t Awaken because Awakening presumes some measure of innocence, and I am far from that.  I’m Other.  The full omnibus of spirits don’t answer me, new practices would rebuke me or fail to respond, gods don’t draw particular power from my worship so much as they would create things like me in exchange for the worship of people.  At best, I can use practice-like behavior to do things I can already do, better.  Burning, fire, light, smoke, and things related to that.”

“There’s no indication the Carmine Beast was burned, right?” Lucy asked.

Avery finished her vegetables.  She grabbed her burger, and… didn’t pick it up off the plate.

“Everything okay?” Matthew asked.

“I had a similar reaction at breakfast, I thought it was a one-time thing.  I don’t mean to be rude, really.  I would have mentioned it if I thought it’d be a problem.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Just… complicated feelings, after the Forest Ribbon Trail.”

“Do you want more veg?” he asked.  “Slide that over to me?  I’ll have a second burger.”

“More veg would be great,” she said, feeling weirdly grateful he wasn’t making a big thing of it.

Verona gave her a squeeze on the arm, and a bit of a smile.

“Matthew already told us where he was the night of.  The goblin verified.  Edith…?”

“I was at home,” Edith said, before taking a bite.  She turned.  “Can you grab me another beer while you’re up?”

“I can,” Matthew said.

Verona and Lucy glanced at each other.  At Avery.  They weren’t getting full answers about everything.  Maybe even a lot of things.  About the leadership, about the night of.  About the Kennet Others’ plans for them.

But asking, in this context, when the couple was being kind…

Was that by their intent?  How were they supposed to challenge that or ask something?

I don’t want to be a wuss. 

“The whole night?” Avery made herself ask.

Matthew paused, midway through portioning out the grilled vegetables.  He turned.

Edith chewed.  The wind blew across the table, from Edith to them, and the air was hot and smokey, and it wasn’t from the barbecue, at the other corner of the patio.  Where droplets passed the umbrella and fell on Edith’s bare shoulder, they dried up in a similar way to how they did on the barbecue’s surface.

Avery could feel her heartbeat in her throat.

“No,” Edith said.  “Not the whole night.  I went to the Arena with Matthew when I heard from Gashwad.”

“Where were you before that?” Avery asked.  “Can you walk us through your night?”

“Are you accusing me of something?” Edith asked.

The air was hotter.  Matthew didn’t go to get that beer, and he didn’t bring the vegetables to Avery.

“We’re treating each Other we interview as a potential suspect, and we’re trying to be fair,” Lucy said.  She patted at her bag, which sat beside her chair.  “More or less equal consideration to all.  Even with the Others we’re big fans of and friendly with.”

She looked at Avery as she said that, and Avery thought of John in that little wooded glade with the rifle.  Then Avery realized that Lucy probably meant Alpy.

“Sorry.  Can you answer?” Avery asked.

“Matthew went out, to shop at the department store, buy some groceries, and swing by to talk to a friend,” Edith said.  The rain came down in another smattering, and the drops cleared off Edith’s skin almost as fast as they arrived.  Her clothes were resisting any damp.  “I’ve struggled in the past with being alone.  I harbor constant worries that Matthew will get in a car accident, and the Doom will be loosed, and I’ll only know he’s dead or hurting when it comes for me.  Or that something else might happen, weakening his resolve or protections, or filling that hallow with the Doom inside and displacing it so it can roam free.  I’ve struggled with it, and I loathe that I’m having to spell it out now.”

“I don’t want you to know how worried I still get,” Edith said, with some heat.  “You shouldn’t have to.  I deal with it.  I-”

She turned to face Avery and her friends.

“I was dealing with it.  I went for a walk.  I slipped into the spirit world at one point, I needed to stretch out.  I put the body aside.”

“Could something have taken it?  Slipped in or borrowed it?” Verona asked.

“No,” Edith said, with more anger, more upset, like Verona had hit a nerve.  But how could they have known that nerve existed.  She turned to look at Matthew.  “No.  I was careful.  Okay?  With myself.  With Edith’s body.”

“Okay,” Matthew said.  “I trust you.”

“Did you notice anything?” Lucy asked.  “Disturbances in the spirit world?  Flows?”

“No,” Edith said.  She rose from her seat.  “I was focused on me at that point.  Staying whole, remembering the shapes I take.  And before you ask, no, I don’t have an alibi, but you can take me at my word in that.”

“Then-” Avery started.

“No,” Edith said.  “I’m sorry.”

Avery stopped, looking up at Edith.

“Tonight wasn’t a good night for this,” Edith said.

“I asked if they’d be willing to reschedule.  I’m sorry.”

Edith nodded.  “I’m cutting this short.  I just dealt with my family for the better part of the afternoon, and it’s not easy, on many levels.  I did not kill or harm the Carmine Beast.  I had not seen it for months, and the most I saw of it that night was the bloodstain it left behind.”

An awkward minute passed.  Matthew sorted out the vegetables and brought Avery a plate, went inside for two long minutes, then emerged with a beer.

“She’s a good person,” he said.  “And her spirit is… it’s beautiful.  Every facet of it.  But dealing with family like she did today, it challenges her very Self.  They’re so glad to have a living Edith James with them, most of the time, but sometimes they get suspicious, or feel like something’s off, and that cuts to the core of her being.  It weakens her, threatens that fragile, unbalanced complex spirit within her.  Today was apparently a lot.  And this investigation…”

“Same dealio?” Avery asked, feeling bad.

“Matthew, gotta ask, did you have any involvement with the Carmine Beast?” Lucy asked.

“No.  Not before, not the night of.  Only saw the bloodstain and went from there, as you know.”

Avery pulled out her phone, created a conversation, and began typing.

Do we ask him about the leadership?

The other girls checked their phones.

Lucy sighed.  “Matthew.  Why didn’t you bring up that you and Edith were elected leaders of the Kennet Others?”

“Because it shouldn’t matter,” he said.

“Shouldn’t it?” Lucy asked.

“It’s between the Kennet Others.  It’s not your responsibility, and it shouldn’t affect how you handle this.”

“Shouldn’t we know what’s going on?”

“Should you?  I know you’ve been told that knowledge is dangerous in practitioner hands.”

“How is that knowledge dangerous?” Verona asked.

“There’s any number of reasons.  Knowing we’re in charge could mean you could bind us and lay claim to everyone subordinate.”

“Why would we do that?” Avery asked, and this time it was her turn to sound upset.  “What indication have we given that we might?”

“Not today, not tomorrow, but in the future?  In the summer?  In the fall?  Five years from now, when Alexander might get involved?  You have to understand, a lot of the local Others are… they may be around when your great-grandchildren, if you have any, are graduating from school.  The mistakes we make today are mistakes they have to live with later.”

“I don’t like not being given the benefit of a doubt,” Lucy said.

“And I don’t like not giving it to you,” Matthew said, with more intensity, and more darkness in his eyes.  “But I have to be responsible.  What happened with Avery and the Forest Ribbon Trail?  The investigations?  Those weren’t things that happened over the last ten years.  And if this all goes south, then it’s going to be a regular sort of thing.  Shitty people dicking one another over and using us, you included as pawns in their games.  We took a giant leap toward that future this past weekend.”

“Is it responsible to condone something like the Hungry Choir?” Avery asked.  “Letting people get picked off every few days?  Stuck for… who knows how long, as hungry children who maybe get to eat if they can grab a scrap of meat during the ritual nights?”

“It’s irresponsible to tamper with that sort of thing when we don’t have a surefire way to handle it.  Making a mistake only adds to the casualty count.”

“What-” Avery started.

Lucy reached out, holding her wrist, and squeezing it.

Avery met Lucy’s eyes, then looked past Lucy to Verona.

They didn’t speak.  They didn’t text one another.

There was a lot to consider, and a lot to communicate without words.  She was pretty sure they were all on the same page.

“What if…” Avery started, glancing at the others to make sure she hadn’t misread.  “What if we know a way?”

And knowing a way made enemies, if anyone local was involved.  Maybe not John directly, but… it entangled John.  There had to be others.

They didn’t know enough.

They could only trust that Matthew didn’t know and wasn’t involved.

“If we had a plan,” Lucy said, “would you help us?  And would you get the other locals to help us?”

“We could discuss it,” Matthew said.  “That’s a big move to be making, and I’ll be frank, some of the locals aren’t one hundred percent confident we can trust you three right now.”

“We haven’t done anything to violate your trust,” Lucy said.

“It’s not about us,” Verona said.  She pushed her plate away so she could lean over the table, lounging forward a bit.  “It’s about them.  They want us under their control.  That’s not me saying you’re bad or evil or anything.  It makes sense.  And now we have people to talk to and get power from that they don’t know about.  And they can’t compare notes and make sure they aren’t giving us enough to destroy any or all of them, because some of the notes are Alexander’s.  Or whoever’s.”

“I wouldn’t have phrased it quite that way,” Matthew said.

“But yes.  Something like that.”

“Can we pledge to share our notes about what we’re learning, and to keep complete notes?” Avery asked.  “Would that make you less nervous?”

“It might help for some,” Matthew said.  He looked up and back, toward the upper floor of the house.  “Edith’s one of the more nervous ones.  So is John.  They might not be so happy with the idea, as fair as it sounds to me.”

“We’d need help with this,” Lucy said.  “Power, backup, tools.  And I know this is touchy, but… maybe a means of binding.”

“I’ll have to have a long conversation with the others about that one,” Matthew said.  He stood from his seat.  “It’s better if we teach you than have Alexander teach you, but… it would be good if you left.”

They stood.  Avery picked up the paper plate with the veggies, holding it like a taco, picked up her bag and shrugged it over one shoulder, then got her drink.

“I agree with you in principle,” Matthew said.  “Stopping the Choir.  But the timing of this couldn’t be worse.”

“We couldn’t leave it alone,” Avery said.

“I know.  I and we don’t mean you any ill will.  But at the same time…”

“Kind of the same deal?” Verona asked.

“Thanks for dinner,” Lucy said.

They left out the side gate, heading out onto the driveway.  Because of where Matthew and Edith’s house was, there really wasn’t a long way to go before they had to split up to go their separate ways.  Avery to her house.  Lucy and Verona over the bridge to their houses.

“Did I do that wrong?” Avery asked, as they stood, delaying the split.

“No.  It was good, I think,” Lucy said.  “We needed to act.  Now we’ve got to think about the Hungry Choir, and I really don’t want to do this like we did the Forest Ribbon Trail.”

“Please no,” Avery said, without affect.  Inside her chest, there were vague feelings entirely disconnected from the statement, even though they were rooted in the same ideas.

Verona held the straps of her bag, her bag at her side, and swung it a bit.  “More backup, and… I guess we’re going straight for the heart of it?”

“If Matthew goes asking about stuff, the people responsible might get antsy,” Lucy said.

“Which might make it easier to find the ‘heart’,” Verona said.

“Man,” Avery said.  She tried to think of something to say.  “Mannnnn.”

“I gotta go.  Curfew.  Send texts when you’re home safe?  And then a bunch more?  You especially, Ave.”

“Because you disappeared and we freaked out?” Verona asked.  “I flipped on my dad and I wouldn’t have done that if I wasn’t worried about you.”

“Just like Edith worries about Matthew, we worry about you, you ditz,” Lucy said.

“I’m not that big of a ditz.”

“No,” Lucy said.  She gave Avery a light punch on the shoulder.  “You’re getting better.”

They separated.  Avery didn’t use the rope to go home, but she held onto it to feel the ebb and flow of people’s attention, she used her Sight to watch for movement and see connections, and she navigated the streets that way, without hat or scarf.

She got home, saw her bike had been moved from its spot between their garage and the neighbor’s, and went to push it back in.  Declan had a scooter he kept further back in the same aisle, that spiders used more than he did, for webs and stuff.  He must have gotten it out.

“Bluh,” a voice said, as she pushed the bike in.

She withdrew the bike, then bent down.  With the overcast sky and the setting sun, the figure was barely visible in the gloom.  Snowdrop, wearing jeans, no shoes, a jacket, and a shirt reading ‘Aesthetically Off’.

She helped Snowdrop extricate herself, pushed the bike in, and then settled into a seating position, her back to the corner of the garage, bike to her left.

Snowdrop plopped herself down in front of Avery, leaning back.

“Well, the afternoon wasn’t so restful for me,” Avery said.  She opened her bag and got out the thermos, filled with milk from the trip to the convenience store, and handed it over.  “Want a recap?”

“No,” Snowdrop said, accepting the thermos.  “I bet it was stupid and boring.”

Avery began outlining the events, best as she could.

Off to the side, she could hear the dull clamor of voices and people talking over one another within.  As the streets were plunged into darker blues and blacks, the light of the house glowed orange, and Avery put off going inside for as long as she could, hugging her companion from behind, while the girl periodically took gulps of the milk, and squirmed to look or say stuff.

Her eyes scanned the darkness.  It felt like they were close to the answer, a working strategy.

Beating the Hungry Choir.

Every time they’d gotten closer or more involved, before now, the Choir had responded.  Sent waifs their way.  Trying to catch her with the change in the website.  Grabbing Lucy.

Was the complete absence of waifs now a sign that the Choir was scared, or was this all a terrible mistake?