Author: Wildbow

Let Slip – 20.7 | Pale

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“Hey Alpeana?” Verona asked.  Alpeana led her through darkness.

“Whit dae you need?”

“Is this you doing me a favor to try to curry fancy?  Working your way into my good graces for that cushy familiarship?”

“Och, aye, nah.”

“Ah wis terribly worn oot, didnae see anither way free.  Ah still am, mind, but thir’s ither ways noo, aren’t thar?”

Verona considered.  Alpeana had been worn out, didn’t see a way, she was still tired, but she had options.  “Yeah.  Does that mean you’re not interested?”

“If ye wanted tae, ah certainly wouldnae sae na.  But dinnae dae it on mah accoont.”

They navigated the Ruins.  Freezing rain blasted down around them.  Roads were ruined, building interiors just plain gone, exteriors broken down, crusted with jagged black ice.

Alpeana floated around Verona, moving from her left side to her right, hair expanding out, eyes narrowing.

“What-”

“Haud your wheesht.”

Verona shut up.  She floated, letting Alpeana lead her.

Hidden in the gloom of freezing rain, black-mottled white against slushy and frozen snow, were a row of about twenty figures, skin stretched tight around them, their eye sockets there but covered by stretched skin that sucked in like cling wrap.  All dressed in vague black clothing, that could have been robes, dresses, or overlapping layers.

A mouth formed in the midst of Alpeana’s mass of hair, right by Verona’s ear.

“Thay heard ye.  Be still an’ keep yer wheesht shut.”

Verona nodded.

One of the figures twitched, straining like it was trying to break its own back, before jerking, hurling head and shoulders to one side, in a move that should have seen it flip forward, smashing head into concrete hard enough to smash it like an overripe watermelon.  But it remained anchored in place.

Flesh strained, tore, hard parts cracked and flexible parts ripped.

A young woman emerged from it, like a butterfly crawling out of a cocoon, bound still by harder pieces and vein-like growths that seemed to be as hard as metal, partially blindfolded, she fought her way free, worming forward, dragging herself out.

“Please!” she shouted.

It reminded Verona of Brie.  Her first real magical encounter, fighting the Hungry Choir.  Brie there, helpless.

“I can’t see!  It’s so dark!” the woman shouted.  “Please!”

Verona looked at Alpeana, her eyebrows drawing together.

“Please!  I’m so tired!  It’s been so long!” the woman shouted.  She struggled forward, the parts attaching her to the ‘cocoon’ she’d escaped from still connecting to her like they were alive.  They surged, bulging, pumping fluids into her arms, shoulder, and neck, making more dark covering erupt.

She made it about fifteen feet, got too tired, and was dragged back ten.

She began to struggle forward again, more by desperation than by any strength she’d found in rest or recovery in the meantime.  The parts connecting her to the cocoon seemed to be slightly elastic, the tension and strength intensifying as she got further from the point she was anchored to.  That, or more strength was put into them as she got further away, to keep her from getting away.

Elasticity got to be too much, every inch was twice as hard as the last, she got too tired, and was dragged halfway back, sob-screaming and begging inarticulately.

Others along the line were starting to hatch too.

Verona looked at Alpeana.  At that same moment, a lock of gross hair slapped her across the face.

She screwed up her face and chose to interpret that as a ‘don’t move, be quiet’.

The lock of hair draped across her face manifested a mouth in the spaces between hairs.  “It’s a trap.  Let it go.”

Verona watched as more hatched.  They were varied.  Some screamed, some fought, some crumpled.  There were adults and children.  They looked more real than echo.

About a minute passed, and Verona ended up dropping her eyes to the ground, doing her best to tune it out.

The screaming and sounds terminated, all at once.  The people twitched, then moved like insects did, using free limbs to fast-crawl back, helped by the tautness of the connecting tendrils and strings of cocoon.

They aren’t real.  Never were.

Anglerfish lures.

Pulled back in, wrapped in cocoons-

The entire section of street lifted away.  A worm or something, a kilometer long, with catfish-like whiskers studded with the cocoons, various urban ruins studding its back, so it could nestle in somewhere and have some ruined, destroyed building jutting up, camouflaging it.

“Let’s gang,” Alpeana murmured.

Echoes and eyeless things steered clear, stumbling away- sometimes needing a reaching bit of Alpeana’s hair to get them moving.

“Smarter, wee’er ones know better than tae mess with me, bit some ur muckle ‘n dumb.”

“If I wanted to come back, is there a good route?  I know astral traveling is fast.”

“Oh aye, lassie, an’ while yer at it, why dinnae ye make yerself a daft pink lettle baby and get yerself to the Abyss?  Or heft yerself o’er tae tha fae and make sure yer good’n blootert foremoist.”

“Your accent gets so much thicker when you’re agitated.”

“Aye, lassie.”

“Blootert?”

“Drunk,” Alpeana said.

“Being drunk can apparently make you way better at dealing with Fae, according to Biscuit.”

“Ye’r missing tha point, Ronnie, an’ dinnae get me started on Biscuit, aye?  Her mischief keeps makin’ mah work complicated, fowk dazed ‘n dreaming…”

“Just to clarify, you’re saying I might as well be a vulnerable baby in the Abyss or a drunk in the Faerie courts?”

“Aye.  Or transform yerself intae a het ham, an’ huck yerself intae th’ warrens, aye?”

“Het ham?  Is that slang for-?”

Alpeana, floating around Verona, moved around to Verona’s front, face close to Verona’s, a mass of prehensile hair filling the space around Verona, and she snort-oinked in Verona’s face.

“Oh.  Actual hot ham in the warrens.  Got it.”

“Aye.  This way.”

Alpeana led Verona to the crevice where the angler-worm had been.  A chasm led down into darkness.

“Oh man, that’s vertigo-”

Alpeana grabbed Verona and plunged in the same moment.

Into darkness.  The light that came through from above was scant.  Buildings above were husks, some with no interior, no floor, just pits.  Like old Hollywood westerns, building outsides with no inside.  Verona could see things moving in that space, glistening black worms, spidery things, and packs of predators, some winged, some crawling.  Always or almost always visible only when the light caught an edge of their body, or when light fell on a surface that was clearly glistening when everything around it was dusty.

Here in the darkness, she could feel things.  Things that crackled like fire, but weren’t fire and had no audible crackle.  Things that vibrated, seemingly on a subspace level.

She used her Sight, and the surroundings illuminated.  It was still oppressively dark, but she could see the things- columns and shafts, coming in at diagonals.  Like she was inside a box meant for a titan, and spears had been stabbed in at random.  Freezing rain and snow came in from all directions, and there was other precipitation.  Or Other precipitation.  Eyeless others too weak to climb or fly dropped, falling until they hit one of the massive shafts.  Faded and fading echoes fell down like rain.  Other, slow moving typhlotic Others leaned away from shafts they were clinging to and snapped them out of the air.

Ater one or two slow rotations in the air as she fell, eyes wide, every muscle in her body taut, Verona lost all sense of up and down.

Alpeana caught one shaft, swung, and then changed the direction they were falling as she released.

They hit ground.  Alpeana absorbed most of the landing, but it still left Verona reeling.  Verona was released, found hard ground, and immediately relaxed, only to tense again when she realized the ground was sloped.

They were on one shaft, maybe three hundred feet across, and seemingly infinite in length, black, rough stone, slick with black ice and moisture.  It hummed without sound, on an imperceptible level that left Verona feeling like if she endured too much, her bones would crumble to dust, broken down on some subatomic level.  Verona lay back, still, catching her breath.

Her head turned, following Alpeana’s gaze.

Three different shafts of varying breadth met at one place, and a kind of birds nest of a building had been placed there.  An unsteady combination of pieces of ruined building, piled up against one another, attached to one another, heavy stone wall resting on simple floorboards with only partial substructure, some things lashed around the great shafts.  It looked like one piece could break or be removed and the entire thing would crumble away, falling into oblivion below.

Breathing hard, Verona looked up at Alpeana.  “Whassat?”

“Hive o’ nightmares.”

“Oh.  In the books they’re called nexuses, I think.  More mundane than I thought it’d be.”

“Aye.  Not so strong, Nightmare is.”

“Are you a regular here?”

“Och, nah.  Ne’er bin.  This’s as close as ah’ll get.”

“Right.  So…”

“Ah worry if I go in, ah’ll git assigned work or pat tae some job.  Or I’ll get et.”

“Could be you go in and they do something to make life easier?  Or nightmare friends?”

“Aye.”

“But you won’t go in, huh?”

“Best tae be safe.”

“So why are we here?”

“Tha universal confabulations an’ whatsit are good ‘ere.  Ah’m stronger.  An’ ye wanted tae do somethin’?”

“I did,” Verona replied.  She shifted how she lay across the shaft, and felt herself shift a bit more than she’d planned, sliding on slick black stone.

“Ah can guard ye like this, lassie.  An’ ye should ‘ave an easier time of it.”

Verona sat up.  Alpeana reached out with hair and snaked it around Verona’s ankle.  Which was nice.  Someone holding onto her.

Chalk.  She flipped over, and began drawing it out.  Book- the stone was slick enough in places that paper stuck, which helped.  She didn’t want to drop it here.

In the distance, light flickered.  A symbol etched itself against the sky, and the darkness became a dark mist, roiling, taking on shapes.  Verona could see another nexus beneath it.

Verona knew that distant figure to be an Incarnation of Pain, just by the feel of it, and the shape of that mist and symbol.  The symbol grew, the illumination reaching up through mist and cloud, and the distant figure went from being a young lady with bubblegum pink hair that was covered in piercings with torn clothes to a roiling cloud of symbols, all pertaining to pain: razors, barbed wire, broken glass, whips, reaching hands with broken fingers and broken nails, among many, many other things.

Like some great man o’ war with a rocket strapped under it, that pile of symbols thrust itself skyward, into the darkness.

The last and lowest pieces of that glowing symbol flickered out like lightning that had no idea where to go.

“Huh.”

“Best git it done, aye?” Alpeana said, quiet.

“Aye,” Verona replied.  “I think I glanced over a practice that might help me get down here, for repeat trips.  Golden thread something or other.  Minotaur, labyrinth, blah blah, forget the name.  Avery might know.  Or she could have a good emergency escape.  Like the rope thing.”

“Mebbe bring me along fur th’ neist few goes, aye?”

“Okay,” Verona said.

She drew out the diagram.  Which was an experience when it felt like a foot could slip on this gently sloping black surface, then have an easier time slipping on the next part of the slope, and so on, until she was falling over the edge.  White chalk on black was striking, though.

“Whit’s that?” Alpeana asked.

“Well, reason I asked you,” Verona said.  “Is I figured the whole idea is kind of similar to what you do and how you get sustenance from doing the whole nightmare deal.  You put the world in order, things in their place, keep certain universal gears turning.”

“Aye.  Stoatin confabulations.”

“Aye,” Verona absently echoed Alpeana, glancing from book to diagram.  She was using a fat piece of chalk and there was an art to making sure she was touching the right edge to the surface, when said edge would be worn away by the process of putting chalk down.  “This is like that.  Work’s done, I’ve done my share of putting things more in order.  But now what I want is to fine tune the rewards.”

“Really appreciate this, by the way.”

“In th’ future, gimme some warnin’, aye?  Sae many wur up late las’ nicht, gives me less time tae dae th’ wirk ah’m needin’ tae dae.”

“Got it.  When I asked, I actually didn’t mean for you to do it tonight.  Whenever’s convenient.  It’s like, if I’m sleeping, then I’m kind of available by definition, right?”

“Aye.”

“I’ll try to be fast, at least.  Timing’s already screwy, since I got distracted by Avery waking me up to get Raquel situated.  Let’s see…”

The annoying thing in the papers she’d gotten from the Atheneum Arrangement and printed was that there was a default diagram, and the rest of the pages for deviating from the default didn’t really illustrate what the reader was meant to do, but instead it mostly assumed that a reader would carefully swap out this for that in a table.

“Any side effects to worry about?  Being here?  Energies leaking in?” Verona asked.

“Ronnie, how would I know?  Dae yeh think I took some time aff while I wis at that heelster gowdie schuil of yers?”

Do you think I took some time off while I was at that something or other school of yours?

“Oh, what, the Blue Heron?  What’s heel-”

“Heelster gowdie.  Arse over teakettle.”

“Right.  Got it.  And… think I got this.”

Verona stepped back from the diagram, got her cat mask out, and then tucked it in the crook of her arm for stability while making a mark on the forehead.

She considered, then, keeping the possibility of adverse influences leaking in, she made a border around the diagram using some of the enchantment principles.  Fortified border.

Hat, cloak, then mask… she wore her outfit.  Then the receipts.  Three cards she’d gotten from peddling.  She spaced them around the inside of the diagram, then stepped over the border.

The diagram lit up before she was even fully centered.  Gravity pushed her up and away, and she floated in the air above the diagram.  The cards came up with her.  Alpeana pulled her hair back from Verona’s ankle.

Light flared at the brow of her mask, making Alpeana squint.  Floundering in the air, she managed to get oriented so the light shone down to the center of the diagram.

The diagram’s energy penetrated the brow of the mask and reached the inside of Verona’s head.

The Three of Wounds.  She saw the boy with the broken leg and crutch Melissa had directed her way.  She’d given him a book and he’d taken away part of it.

Using this ritual, it was theoretically possible to reach out to the goods she’d sold.  It was how a seller of cursed items could manage and control the curses and items.  Moving them, protecting them, or contriving to use the curse intelligently, in timing or whatever else.  Another function was to let them spy, and that wasn’t something she had any interest in.

And finally, there was the ability to manage the ongoing connection between the sold and resolved and herself, through these cards.  Her receipts of sale, more or less.

She saw him, in phantom flickers and echo-like images.  She saw the book, and all of its words.  Trapper’s Fall.  A wounded trapper stalking his quarry through an increasingly fantastical landscape with stoic determination and zero dialogue.

The theming of the Three of Wounds framed the image of the boy.  A card that represented the tie between a physical injury and associated mental anguish.

It wasn’t a strong connection.  There was someone out there who could be a much stronger ‘three of wounds’ for her, further down the road.  What came through to her was faint.  Pieces and fragments of knowledge- a small percentage of the things he’d learned from the work.

Foraging and natural herbs.

A card with a teenager, held against a wall by bindings.  On the other side of the wall were people with tongues sticking out, through the wall, looping around an arm, neck, part of the body, or leg, and back into the wall, with others pulling on the ends to draw them tight.  The seven of whispers.

The book had been Tarnished Tiara: a saga covering a line of princesses who’d been cursed or preyed on by their stepmothers or others.  They’d have their fairy tale, persevere, then at a certain point they’d get old, their husbands drifting away, or they’d become mentally infirm, or past mistakes would catch up to them, they’d get desperate, and they’d find themselves the evil matriarch preying on the next princess.

About breaking free and breaking cycles.

Escape artistry.

And the ten of bells.  A man with a beard was making a bell, hand over one ear, face anguished, other people running away as the other nine bells in the picture rang loudly.  The man had been a local.  Maybe from the same company as Avery’s dad.  He’d come by the stall, guided by Alpeana, and she’d given him the book for a dollar, despite the fact it had been bigger than a full-on phone book.

The book had been Projected Earnings, a book that read like her dad’s taxes had looked.  A man mired in the convoluted bureaucracy of a kind of businesspunk setting who was put in charge of the company’s computers, which could see the end result of every decision.  He took to exploring and looking at his own potential decisions in his career, and the book branched out correspondingly.  Go to page 393, section A, and also read page 200, section F, paragraph two…

Bureaucracy.

The light faded.  Verona dropped into a crouch that saw her fall to her side, and Alpeana was quick to snake hair around her ankle again.

“Ye alright, lassie?”

Verona nodded

“And?”

“And…” Verona thought back through.  It felt like she knew things now.  Bits and pieces, two steps removed from herself.  Like, she had things she’d learned to do, in art, by practice and practice.  She had things she’d read about or watched videos on, and she got those things, even though she knew it’d be more complicated in reality.  And then there was this, which was further removed.  The knowledge was in her head, but thin, like something she’d seen in a dream but knew to be fact.  Or bullet point notes on things she’d read about and completely forgotten, where the bullet points were still crystal clear.

Foraging and some limited herbalism, escape artistry, and navigating bureaucracy.

“Ronnie?  Lassie?  Dinnae be silent on me whin ye’ve juist had a beam o’ light shoot intae yer brain.”

“I’m okay, I think.  Maybe not as concrete as what I was gunning for, but… seems to be sticking.  Might be a good way to get a wide base of general knowledge.  So I can be a sexy sorceress owner of a wandering bookstore.”

“Aye, that thar brain isnae fried at all.”

Verona smiled.

“We’re done, then?”

Verona looked across the darkness with her Sight, and spotted one slice of shadow, cast where strong light from above shone against a pillar and cast a shadow against the mist.

She saw another spot, where light shining down from above drew a line.

From there, anchored by those two spots, she could see, after a quick scan and a look over her shoulder, a glittering shaft cutting across the dark.  Light and darkness playing together, made to dance with the patter of heavy precipitation from above.

And then… blood.  Visible clearest with her Sight.

“We’ll see, I guess,” she murmured.  “All considered, we left our last one on one meeting on fairly good terms.”

“They haf some mair jurisdection when thar’s nobody else tae lay claim.  Ye’ll see ’em around.  Ah didnae think there’d be any trauchle over et.”

“No issue, don’t think,” Verona replied.

The blood had weight.  Weight shifted things, and Verona felt her feet slide.  She made sure she had everything, bracing herself, crouching close to the side of the shaft she was on.

He emerged, and everything changed around that reference point.  Driving her deeper.  He set feet down, and she was forced down too, all the way to the base of the angled shaft, landing at its lowest point.

The snow and other precipitation became echo-blurry, its own thing entirely, filling the air with an ambiguity, halfway between cold semi-liquid and the emotional bits of echoes that generated feelings that made you go cold.

She shifted her footing in a sea of ash that might’ve also been other things.  Charles and other forces loomed tall around her, stretched high, their own shafts spearing reality.  The Judges were the closest by a long shot, and she felt like it’d still take twenty four hours to get from where she stood to where they were, but the way things worked, they were still tall in front of her, perspective and the shape they’d chosen making them narrow and imposing.  Other Incarnations speared the sky like carved statues, and the warped perspective generated by having something almost infinitely tall a few measures to one side made it seem like they were leaning badly.

All vibrating at that subspace frequency, crackling without fire.  Creaking like a building creaked as it adjusted to temperature changes, without making a creaking sound.

“Heya.”

“Are you acting against me?” the Carmine Exile asked.

“I am not.”

“I’m left to wonder if you’re communicating by signal, or using Alpeana as a middleman.”

“Oh aye, ah haf e’er so much free time, I do, radge rocket, judge sir,” Alpeana replied.  “Git on with yeh, aye?”

“Getting paranoid, Chuck?” Verona asked.

“You can end this,” he told her.  “I can’t speak to your safety starting when the New Year comes.  I know the forces arrayed against you, I won’t restrain them.  But I won’t personally ask for you to come to any special kind of harm, either.  If it happens, it happens-”

“Really owning your shit there, huh Chuck?” Verona asked.

“You can surrender any time.  I will step in, assuming certain oaths by default.  Then you must say the words, making those oaths.  To stand down and never act against me again.”

“If you can just accept that you tried to change things but also that an end result with me in my role isn’t the worst possibility, then you can have what you want.  Your bookstore, your status as a sorceress.  If your friends surrender as well, you can have a future with them at your side.  You can even hold a position of some power, as Ontario changes.”

“Is this you getting nervous?  Offering the plea bargain because you’re not sure you’ll win the case?” Verona asked.

“It’s me saying I don’t mind you, Verona.  You’re alright, compared to most.  So I’m offering you an out.”

“If I surrendered, it would only be if my friends accepted, pretty sure.”

“Alright.”

“And… for Avery to live somewhere this- your way of doing this is so unkind, Charles.  The Kennet below and other places like it you talked about is unkind.  That’d wound Avery deep down inside.  She cares, she’s gentle, she- it’d mess her up in the long run.”

“Maybe.”

“And Lucy?  Expecting her to live with injustice hanging over her head?  A screwed up, biased, and bloody system?”

“I don’t think what I’m doing is injustice.  I’d say it’s the opposite.  Justice, all the way back to its early, bloody roots.”

Verona clicked her tongue.  “That’s a lot to dig into, and Alpeana has somewhere to be.  I think I’ll just say that… Avery talked about how some Garrick was talking about possibilities.  And how you can give your everything for a slim chance, and how he didn’t want people to do that.”

“I don’t want you to give your everything either.  I’m the Carmine, I’m steeped in blood, violence, revenge, and other brutal forces, but I’m not a savage.  I’m not- if my success comes at the cost of stepping over the bodies of you three?  It would be a heavy weight to carry.”

Verona clicked her tongue.  “But that’s it, right?  I don’t think Avery can thrive in a place soaked in your influence, and I don’t think Lucy can thrive in a world where you’re right.  They’d leave, or do other things, or spend most of their time away.  If Avery can travel around the world.  Worlds.  Lucy, if she really truly had to give up here, she’d probably throw herself into another cause, trying to make up for it.  Like Rook.  And that’d leave me here.”

“With your wandering bookstore.  Some escape there.”

“But my roots… here.  The foundation of my bookstore, here.  In a place without my two special people.  Fucking nah, Chuck.  So if it comes down to it?  If it’s down to me walking away or standing on the brink, putting my everything on the line for a one percent chance?  I’ll put it on the line.”

Charles looked so disappointed, for an infinitely tall crackling pillar of bloody reality.

Alpeana hugged Verona from behind, chin hooked over Verona’s shoulder.  “Done?”

Verona nodded, “Gotta go back all the hecking way back up, huh?”

“Aye, ah can mebbe help yeh with tha’,” Alpeana said.  “Got whit ye need?”

“I- yeah.  Thanks, you know, for this whole deal,” Verona said, eyeing Chuck, who hadn’t replied.  “How intense is this way back going to be?”

“Oh, nae sae bad in some ways, but in ithers?”

“In others?”

Alpeana slapped her.

Verona woke up, blinking, cheek still feeling the aftereffects of the slap, without the pain.

Sitting up, she rubbed at her palm, getting her bearings.  She’d been moving here and there, staying at Lucy’s, or the House on Half Street.  It was weird, waking up at her dad’s.

She made sure the stuff from the books was still in the ol’ noggin.  Cool.

She could get more receipts from more book sales, translate that to fragments of knowledge, and later on, she could know a little something about a ton of different things, building on that with other reading and practical experience.

She wanted that more than she wanted or needed power.

Her stomach growled.  She hadn’t eaten since last night, but traveling in the dream and being as busy as she’d been around the celebration on the rooftop had burned a lot of energy, maybe.  She reluctantly crawled out from under warm covers- ten forty five in the morning, she saw, and got up, stretching.

She rinsed her face, used wet hands to push hair more or less into place, and wiped her hands on her pyjama pants.

Downstairs.  Food.  Then there was so much to do.  Her mom was leaving, Julette was with her, which was why Verona was here, and-

Two men stood in her kitchen.  Twenty-ish years old, one chubbier, coat off, one skinnier, with a tear in the armpit of his faded red winter coat and a beanie-style hat.  Both with coffees, fresh from the pot.

“Hello,” Beanie said.

She felt self-conscious.  There were clothes she had that were for wearing around family only, and the clothes she was wearing now were kind of that.  Flannel pyjama pants that were ratty and worn out at the waistline and heels, but were soft, super nice except for how the fabric caught at the stubble on her legs, and a tank top that had ink and watercolor staining on it, that had stretched out to a somewhat misshapen form from her pulling it over her knees and down around her legs while sitting at her desk doing homework and stuff.

She saw Beanie’s lingering look at the drooping collar, and pulled on the straps, raising the neckline to her collarbone, while retreating a step.

“Do-” the guy started, but Verona turned, raising her voice.  “Dad!”

“Upstairs!” her dad called down, voice distant.

“We’re renters,” the heavier guy said.  “Or potential renters.  Yet to sign.  We’re not home invaders.”

“We’ll probably be seeing a lot more of each other,” Beanie said.

She turned and walked away, leaving them there in the kitchen.

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard one of them, Beanie maybe.  “Cute.  How old do you think she is?”

“It’s so hard to tell sometimes.  Fucking twelve year olds who look twenty and twenty year olds who look twelve.  Young, I’d figure.”

“With a chest like that?”

“Decent size.”

“No bra.”

“Did notice that.”

“I figure… Petite and eighteen?”

“I don’t know, man.  I think you’re dreaming.”

Uncomfortable, right hand at her left shoulder, the ‘v’ of her bent arm across her front, she continued up the stairs- she found her dad in the guest room, which had long since turned into an office and hoarding space.  He was fiddling with the printer.

“What the fuck?” she asked, quiet.

“Good morning to you too.  Did you use up all the ink?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t be surprised.”  Printing out spellbook stuff and the notes of the other two, for her notebooks.

“I hope you had a nice sleep, after staying out late with your mom.”

“Friends too.  And neighbors.  There’s creepy guys downstairs.”

“I’m so glad I got my invitation,” he said, sarcastically.

“Again, we have sketchy strangers in the kitchen.”

“Renters.  Basement’s been done since early November, someone new answered the ad.”

“A lot of people answered the ad, but you had excuses, like the timing was bad, or you were tired, or you didn’t like the color of their car.”

“I said nothing about the color of car-” he replied.

“I didn’t say exactly that, I said ‘like’ that,” she told him.

“The car was filled with fast food wrappers and trash.  If they treat their car like that, are they going to treat our space downstairs any better?” he asked.  He tore out a new ink cartridge.

“You usually have more trash in your car.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“I at least keep it inside a plastic bag.”

“Overflowing.”

“What do you want, Verona?” he asked, exasperated.

“A veto.”

“What?” he asked, going from exasperated to dumbfounded.

“Don’t like ’em.  Bad vibes.”

“I think their vibes are fine.  They’re employed at the ski hill, they’re staying for a month, possibly until march break, and they’re paying by the week.”

“One of them looked at my tits.”

“Well…” he stopped what he was doing, shaking his head.  “Maybe it was accidental.”

“And they both commented on my tits.  When he thought I was out of earshot.  Seemed to think he had a shot with me.  All in the span of I dunno, a minute?”

“I- that’s not enough for a veto, even if you got a veto.  We need the money.”

“And I don’t like not knowing there are people in the house, by the way.”

“Then wake up earlier.  This god damn fidgety-”

He struggled to get the ink cartridge to click in.

“Here, let me,” Verona said.  She sat on the guest bed to get closer to the printer, and put a hand out.

He passed her the cartridge.

She jumped to her feet, stepped up onto the bed for the extra height, and then jumped down while spiking the ink cartridge into the floor.  The cap and bottom part came apart, half going under the bed.  She kicked the other half under the desk with the sewing machine and tax papers on it.

“Verona!” he wheeled on her.

“Veto,” she told him, pointing down at the spot the cartridge had landed.

“We need the money, they are in the basement, there is a lock between them and us if you feel uncomfortable.”

“Don’t they have use of the kitchen?”

“Meant to be for only special cases.”

“And our laundry room’s in the basement.  Ours.  That we need for clean laundry.”

That I need for clean laundry since the House on Half Street doesn’t have one.  A big reason I even come home.

He shook his head slightly as he said, “We have access when and if we require it, by the terms of the lease I’m currently trying to print out.”

“Yeah, uh, except to get through to the laundry room, I gotta go through their space?”

“Yes.  That’s just reality.”

The way the basement was, the stairs ended in a short hallway that, left to right,  had the long, narrow storage room with the downstairs freezer and a door leading to the furnace room, a door leading to the main basement room that encompassed about seventy-five percent of the basement, and then a small bathroom with a toilet and shower.  The laundry room was on the other side of the bathroom, and getting to it required going from stair to short hallway to big room -the renter’s room- around the jutting bathroom, then to the laundry room.

“Are you taking over doing the laundry?”

“No.  It’s a household chore, you can do it while they’re gone.  We’ll have to be more efficient and quick about doing and sorting our laundry and leaving the space clear for them if they want to do theirs.  Which I’ve been trying to get you to do for years now.  No leaving stuff in the washer long enough that it smells like mold.”

He started trying to put the last ink cartridge in the printer.

“Dad.”

He ignored her, fiddling.

“Dad?  Hey dad.”

“What?”

“You’re being gross.  You need to man up.”

“I’m trying to man up by getting this household a hundred and fifty dollars a week we weren’t getting otherwise.  You’re clearly trying to be obstructionist, I’m not even sure there’s anything wrong with them.”

“I could call David from child services.”

He ignored her, fiddling with the ink cartridge, trying to get it lined up right.

She looked, spotted the power bar that connected the printer to an outlet in the wall, and hit the glowing orange switch, turning it off.

The printer turned off, using residual power to move things back into place, the slot for the ink cartridge jerking left and right.  Her dad pulled his hands away like he’d been bitten.

She’d meant to turn out the lights her dad was relying on, inside and outside the printer.  She hadn’t meant for that internal movement part to happen, if it hurt him.  It might’ve just surprised him.

He turned to face her, incensed, looking like he was going to start shouting.

“What are you going to do?” Verona asked him.  “Throw another man-baby tantrum?  Break my stuff?  They’ll hear.  I’ve moved a lot of the stuff I care about to somewhere safe, so you can’t break it.  You get your tantrum, but that’s it.  And I’ll get them gone, maybe.”

He breathed hard, chest rising and falling, stomach expanding and deflating.

Then he stepped forward.  She stepped back and out of the way, and he went into the hallway.

“Where you going?” she asked.  “Telling them no?”

“I’m going to go tell them the printer isn’t working and I’ll email them the lease for them to sign and return to me,” he said.  “A few comments and a glance aren’t worth the fuss you’re making.”

“Veto,” she repeated.

“You can’t shout veto and expect it to happen,” he said.  “That’s not how it works.  Isn’t that a movie or TV quote?”

He smiled like he was expecting her to smile back at the reference.

When she didn’t react, he said, “I’ve tried to get other renters…”

“Barely.  Finding excuses not to.”

“I’ve tried when you were gone.  Which has been often lately.  I’m trying to give you your freedom, but I’ve got household bills to pay, we’re in debt, we’ve got two lines of credit out on the house.  There was one nurse and one nursing student who was staying to get her qualifications, and they backed out.  These are the first people willing to sign.”

“Maybe the nurses got a bad vibe from you like I’m getting from the guy or guys downstairs.”

“Maybe.  I’m a sad sack fatass piece of shit who apparently can’t raise a daughter or keep a house running.  I’ve got nothing going for me.  Women run screaming.  Fine.”

“Let me veto these guys, and when the next nursing student comes, situation allowing, I can sit down beside you and help sell the happy family, diffuse the bad vibes.”

“That’s a maybe for the future.  For now, this is happening.  You don’t get to act like you’re not a member of this household for months, shirk your chores for as long as you have, and then turn around and expect unilateral say on who or who can’t rent our basement room.”

She shook her head, then went into her room, grabbing her phone.

“Speaking of chores, if you could shovel the walkway…”

She gave him the finger.

“Thought so.”

She dialed David from Child Services then sat in her desk chair.

Fidgeting, she listened as the offering to leave a voice mail came up.

She decided not to, waiting a bit and then trying again.  She had unanswered messages and other stuff but she didn’t want to dig into that.  A mess of texts-

Her head pounded.  She rubbed at her temples.

So much to sort through.  She put her focus on dealing with this situation first.

On the third try, maybe three or four minutes in, she got through.

“Verona Hayward,” he greeted her.  “Kennet, if I remember right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m here.  David.  Everything alright?”

“What’s the problem?”

“Renters.  My dad brought in renters, he’s not giving me a say.  They were creepy.”

“Creepy how?”

“Creepy leering at me, talked about my breasts when they didn’t seem to think I heard, they seemed to think or want to think I was older, but I don’t know if they’d back off… I just really get bad vibes.  My dad’s being problematic about it.  Not giving me a say.”

“Okay, uh, damn, okay.  Have they signed anything?”

“No, but they will soon, according to my dad.”

“I’m in the middle of something right now, but I’m going to see if I can find a colleague.”

“You’ve got like, minutes to an hour or two, I figure.”

“Okay, let me call your dad real quick.  And I will see if I can find a colleague to take this over as a bigger thing.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to hang up so I can call him.”

“Okay.  I’m heading out, I think, I don’t want to be here.”

“Okay.  I can get you on your cell?”

“Yep.”

“Will try, then.”

She heard the call disconnect.

She rubbed at her palm, her head pounded.  She rubbed at her temples- a twinge in her hand.

Restless, frustrated, she changed out of sleepwear and into clothes, pausing to pull a ring of drain-hair from around her ankle and set it in a glass jar.

She headed downstairs, stepping into her boots.

Her dad glared at her, phone at his ear.  “…you can investigate later if you want.  But the way I see it, my daughter’s using you all as a tool to get her way.”

She got her coat on.

“Uh huh.  Yeah.”

She wanted to slam the door, but she worried it’d hurt her case with David.

She was halfway to the House on Half Street when David called her back.

“Hey, this has to be a quick call.  I really am in the middle of something.”

“Sure.”

“Your dad says they signed already.”

“They didn’t, ninety percent sure.”

“Okay, well-” there was a pause.  It sounded like he was talking to someone with the phone mouthpiece covered.  “-this gets into complicated territory.  If they’ve signed a lease that’s a contractual obligation, they have-”

“They haven’t signed yet, I stopped him from printing out the lease, he said he’d email it to them.”

“Yeah.  Okay, yeah, I hear what you’re saying, but that’s hard for me to ascertain or intervene in, I’m not currently in or near Kennet, I can’t exactly stop in.  I’ve- I’m going to get a colleague on this.  I think we can schedule a stop-in and a deeper, longer conversation about what’s happening or happened.  Your dad says you haven’t been home much?”

“Staying at Lucy’s or elsewhere.”

She could hear him sigh or exhale heavily through his nose, over the phone.

“Where are you right now?”

“Going out.  Stopping in at one of those elsewheres, then later I’m seeing people I know.”

“Okay.  I’m going to see what we can schedule.  You said it was looks-”

“Ogling.”

“And comments?”

“I’ve been in their vicinity for like, forty-five seconds, maybe a minute, maybe not even, and they were gross for most of that.”

“And the basement locks and is separate from the rest of the house?”

“I think the deal is they get to borrow our kitchen though, so… doesn’t really matter, unless my dad wants to break the lease.  It’s basically just a microwave down there.  And the main kitchen doesn’t separate from the rest of the house.”

“Right.  Making a note… sorry, look, I’ve really truly got to go.  I’ll get someone on this.”

“Okay.  Thanks Dave.”

He hung up.

She held it in her hand, feeling dejected.

Her head pounded.  She walked the rest of the way to the House on Half Street.

Was she making a big deal over nothing?  Were her instincts really worth shit?  Were the comments that big a deal?  Maybe it was a guy being a guy and two guys talking and being dumb and wrong about her age?

They were twenty.  Was that a huge deal when she liked Anselm, who was a bit older than her?  Why did it skeeve her out so much when Anselm didn’t?

Were adults from CAS and her dad and anyone else who was called going to get together, have a big talk and talk about how she had her head up her ass on this one?

Fuck, she did not need this with the new year coming.

She was in a bad mood as she popped the door open for the House on Half Street.  It swung open, hit the wall, and bounced closed behind her.

“Please,” she told the Pigeon and Squirrel, who were in her kitchen, “No hot water for tea or coffee going, huh?”

“Coo.”

“Damn it,” she swore.  “Do you mind getting that underway?  I’m not in the best mood.”

“Coo.”

“Thanks.  I’m going to pop through the shower.  Did you guys have a good time at Sootsleeves’ party?”

The squirrel squeaked.

“Cool.”

Raquel was upstairs in her room, watching a show or something.  She could sense it through the Demesne connection.  Having a relative stranger in her house didn’t exactly feel that great when she was still getting over the arrival of the two potential renters.

She almost wanted to fuck with Raquel, using her connection to the space to make cold drafts and encourage Raquel to be on her way.  But that would be mega bitchy and petty and undeserved.  But she wanted to.

It didn’t feel the same way as it had with McCauleigh.  Especially because McCauleigh had been her invite.

She felt a pang of worry for McCauleigh, who had been radio silent.  Worsening her mood, making her head pound, headache burning at the back of her head now.

“You good?” she asked, as part of her fight against her instinct to be shitty.

“Yeah.  Thanks for giving me a spot to stay.”

“For sure,” Verona said.  “I’m just passing through, I think.”

“Okay.”

“Ave will probably drop by later.  I’m seeing her for lunch.  So maybe after that.”

“Okay.  It sounded like a lot was going on.”

“I’ve had a lot going on too, I-”

Fuck, she sounded like her dad, turning the subject back.  Fuck.

Verona sighed.  “-Yeah.  Make yourself comfortable.  Pigeon and Squirrel are usually happy to run errands, people may pass through.  If you need something, let me know.  I’m going to shower.”

“Thanks again.  I’ll just be watching my show.”

“Okay.  Just know that if you use too much internet, it’ll be your job to clean up the blood.”

“Rrright.  Am I okay to binge watch?”

“Yeah, I think.  Just don’t download anything big like four seasons all at once while you’re also binging, I guess.”

“Got it.”

“Cool,” Verona replied.

She stepped into the bathroom, shucked off her clothes, got into the shower, and tried to let the spray massage her head and maybe ease the headache.

Fuck, she probably should have checked her messages before.  Now it would be ten minutes.  Fuck, should she have done something with practice, just to clear the way, get rid of those guys?  Some connection block shenanigans?  She’d drawn a hard line against that so far…

Fuck, why was this eating at her, when she had bigger fish to fry?  Fuck this, fuck it all.  Every time she went home, it felt like.  There was something.  Like her dad had time between her visits back to figure out new iterations of asshole.  Easier overall but her mood always seemed to worsen between when she walked in the door and walked out.  Fuck.

She screamed, face turned into the shower spray, eyes screwed shut.

Spooked a couple people in the house.

But she felt an iota better.

Her hand twinged.  She pressed it hard against the tile until the shower was done, keeping to one hand, combing out her hair under the spray, brushed her teeth under the spray, then shut off the water, climbed out, and pressed her hand against the counter to keep it from folding up and lighten the possibility for cramping.

Had to refocus.  There were other priorities.  Right.

She got out.  Deodorant, hair clay for volume and intentional mess, fingers to manage said damp hair into controlled scruffiness, then into her room for clean clothes.  Outfitted and feeling more whole, she went to get her tea.

“What was that scream?” Raquel asked.

“Just felt like screaming.”

“I’ve been there.”

Verona nodded.

“Usually can’t actually scream when I want to though.”

“Benefit of a Demesne.  My house, my rules.”

“True.  You mind company?  Or…?”

“Sure.  Come on with.  Getting tea.  You may partake.  It might not be up to your standards.”

“Don’t care.”

It was so hard to not reject this intruder in her space.  Even if she wanted to help out, she believed in what Avery was doing, pulling her away, even if she didn’t, like, mind Raquel, it still felt like a rock in her shoe.

“Need anything?” Verona asked.  “I’ll be heading downtown, if you have any snacks you usually have as go-tos, or, I dunno, batteries for something or other, or-”

“I’m good.”

“I can adjust the temperature, I dunno, mattress softness or firmness, or…”

“Really, I’m okay.”

“Questions, or concerns?  Let me help you.  I- I don’t want to get into why, but… give me something.”

“Um.  Some questions?”

“Sure.”

“Let me- I’ll come back down.”

Verona walked into the kitchen alone.  The tea was poured and steeping, sitting beside a little glass with slices of lemon mounted on the rim.  A note sat beside it.  Asking if she wanted tea waiting when she came.  The pigeon could do surveilance, tracking her movement, then fly in and have stuff set up and started as she got in-

“No.  That’s over the top,” she told them.  “But thanks.  Sentiment’s appreciated.”

She squeezed lemon into the black tea, removed the teabag, and reached out to the pigeon, hand stopping a bit before making contact.  “Want a pat?”

The pigeon hopped leftward into Verona’s reaching hand, and she gave him a head-to-tailfeather stroke, then another, fingers working through the plumage.

“Thanks for setting up the tea.”

The squirrel preferred scratches, so she gave him some.

“Miss my damn cat already,” she muttered.  “But you guys are pretty terrific too.”

Raquel returned, holding something bright blue.  “Did you know you have goblins?  Or a goblin?”

“It’s my demesne.  It’d be weird if I didn’t.”

“Right.  I just- I saw one drawing on the wall.”

“Oh yeah, where?”

Raquel pointed to the front hall.

Verona looked.

Down near the floor, in a corner of the wall where baseboard met doorframe, there was some scribbling in what might’ve been chalk, drawing out a ‘puffy’ fart speech balloon with the point extending to the butt of a nearby figure in the mural.  The word ‘poot’ was written in it.

“He’s having fun.  He’s a resident here, sleeps in the downstairs window around this time of day,” she told Raquel.  “I dunno if you missed, but Snowdrop’s a goblin sage in training, we like goblins here.”

“I wasn’t sure if you knew or… I thought I’d make sure.  Goblins get everywhere, even into a Demesne sometimes.”

Verona smiled, a bit tight, that rock-in-her-shoe feeling coming back.  “They’re cool.  We’re cool.  What’s that?”

She pointed at the blue cloth.

“Oh.  I- I figured as long as I was asking questions and making sure about stuff… what even is this?”

It was a hood with sleeves attached, but no body.

“A hooded shrug.  You wear it with dance outfits, I guess, or in some other cases, stay warm while still showing off your sequin studded whatever else.”

“Huh.  You dance?”

“It’s McCauleigh’s.  She left it behind.”

“McCauleigh Hennigar?”

“The same.  Not sure it’s that common a name, especially for a girl.”

“The same girl who cut off Corbin’s thumbs?”

“Yep.”

“And who screamed at Natasha Scobie, making her think she’d just done her rage scream and was going to go to murder-town on her?  But was just fucking with her?”

“Yeah,” Verona said, smiling.

“Meat cleaver duel with Liberty Tedd when they were supposed to be learning alchemical cooking with Mr. Sutton?”

“Sounds right.”

“Stabbed Mrs. Durocher?”

“Wha?  No.  I would’ve heard.”

“Nah, was just messing with you.”

Verona smiled.

“Wears a cute dance thing,” Raquel said.

“Hopefully she’ll get to wear more.  I don’t suppose you have any word on how she’s doing?”

“Sorry.”

“Fuck.  Okay.  Thought I’d ask.  Tea?”

“Please.”

“Cook- wait, you call them biscuits, don’t you?”

“We’re not British.  I’m Canadian born.”

“You seem British.  No accent but you have that kind of… I dunno.  Like you’d call cookies biscuits.”

Raquel sighed.

“Too close to home?”

“No, I mean, yes, but not- yeah.  We call them biscuits.”

“Wouldst thou liketh some biscuits, milady?”

“That’s atrocious in many ways.”

“Wouldest thou!?” Verona raised her voice, emoting.

“Please.”

“Go to town,” Verona said, pulling the cookies down from a cabinet and tossing them to Raquel.  “Or someone will break in and do it sooner or later.  I don’t like sweet things that much.”

“Oh.  The goblin?”

“The friend.  Mallory.  Tattoos.  If she comes in, don’t freak out.”

“Huh.  Okay.”

She watched as Raquel pulled out some ‘biscuits’ and got a saucer out of the drying rack, putting cup on saucer and surrounding it with a quarter-circle of four biscuits.

It was so fancy, and Raquel was-

A horse girl, she thought.  Right.  That might’ve been a factor in why she felt like a rock in Verona’s shoe.

She made a mental note to be more forgiving.

“Did your ritual this morning go okay?” Raquel asked.

“I think so.  Went off into the deep ruins with a nightmare bodyguard.  It’s pretty general.  Some general knowledge, like trivia-level depth.  Skills.  Foraging, bureaucracy, escaping restraints and stuff.”

“Hmm?” Verona made a quizzical sound.

“I don’t want to sound judgey.  Obviously you guys have been on the ball.  But are you guys okay?” Raquel asked.  “I mean… I only caught some stuff, I’m only aware of some other stuff, you know, peripherally.  But it sounded like it’s not all over.  Can you afford to be doing this?  Christmas, and side rituals?  The market?”

“If I told you the answer, I’d be telling the Carmine Exile.  And he was popping into my nightmare ritual trip thing this morning to check on me, because I think he’s a little puzzled about what I’m doing.”

“I think a lot of us are.  There are eyes on you, you know.  People thinking you’re in league with him.”

“Feel like that’s been disproven.”

“And maybe re-proven in the eyes of some, because you were both working against Musser.  Graubard walked away from that with thoughts.”

“And, what, you’re doing a ritual for trivia-level knowledge?”

“I’m… what can I do, when any action I take or any person I talk to, I’ll have him watching?  He’ll read over my shoulder if I read something, listen in if I talk to someone.  And I’m sure the others have their own strategy, but this is mine.  It’s an extension of mine.  I read a lot.  I read spellbooks for fun before bed.  I read books as I get my store set up.  I read on the toilet, I read while waiting, I read.”

“Sure.”

“He can’t see into my head until I give him an excuse to.  So I’m going to read.  And some of that’s my way of relaxing, unwinding.  Some of it’s me gathering ammo.  Some of it’s… pieces of a bigger plan, components of things I study.  And I’ll do a ritual for general knowledge, because maybe a piece of that broad knowledge I get is something key, like the spellbooks, but more practical.”

“You’re hiding what you’re doing in the midst of all that?”

“If he wants to figure it out, he’ll need to put his own brainpower to work, connecting dots, thinking about and memorizing what I’ve got stored in my head.  And it’s not just the spellbook stuff or practical knowledge.  I’ve got a couple cards, better than the three I used, and I didn’t want to use them for the ritual in case it ruined them, but… that’ll be something.  Maybe I’ll get something crucial.  And some of it’s just to shore up my Self or motivate myself, or a red herring.”

“That last bit’s a little easier for him to interpret, if I understand you right.  Learning things through those cards?”

“Basically.  But the trick is, if he wants to figure out what I’m doing?  He’s gotta connect dots.  There’s no real dot he can dredge up or figure out that’s going to help him on its own.  Whether a card or a practice or a person I’m making contact with.  That’s my strategy.  I figure the other two have their own approaches to this.”

“So you are preparing.  Okay.  That makes me feel better.”

Verona didn’t reply, because if she did, then maybe the Carmine could peek in, to judge the veracity of those words.  If she said she was really truly confident, he could sense a lie in there, dig, and find the reasons for the lie.

But, by the same measure, if she said she wasn’t preparing at all, that’d be a lie too.  One nicer for Charles.  But still a lie.

“I gotta go to lunch,” she told Raquel.  She went to the hallway, getting her stuff on.  “Be good, be safe, be nice to my resident goblin if you see him.”

She checked her phone.

Fuck.  Messages from Avery.

Avery:
aaaaaaaaaaaa
aaaaaaaaaaaa
aaaaaaaaaaa

She dialed.

“There you are!” was the response.  “I was trying to get in touch.”

“I- I crashed after settling Raquel, went to my dad’s, did a thing.  What’s going on?  Is this a happy aaaa or a worried aaaa.”

“An emergency aaaaa.  I- I’m not able to get into it.  It’s okay, I guess.  We’ll talk after lunch.”

“An emergency?”

“After lunch.  Love you.  Bye.”

Leaving Verona with nothing except a twinge in her hand and a pounding headache.

It was kind of wild that they had to reserve a table at the Yeast Inception, but the ski season was still in full swing in Kennet, and a table in a bakery where you could watch the food being prepped and made was as coveted as Verona imagined a table at a five star restaurant in the big city.

She sat with Lucy and Jasmine.   Booker and Alyssa had gone on to Alyssa’s parents.  She watched as her mom came in.

“Oh god and spirits, what is she carrying?” Lucy asked, quiet.

It was tan, and, Verona had to look carefully.  Yeah.  Textured plastic, hard shell, wire mesh door.  A little plastic kity carrier with a handle on top.  With Julette inside.

“What is that?  Why do you have that?” Verona asked.  “Was she bad?”

“She was great,” her mom said.  She leaned in, and Verona reached up, hugging her.  “But I got to thinking the restaurant wouldn’t appreciate a roaming animal, I wasn’t sure if Julette would sit still- you can keep that.”

“Julette, hey,” Verona said, leaning down.  Her mom angled the carrier slightly to give Verona a better view.

Julette sat within, looking like she had been fed up with this situation aeons ago.  Eyes half-lidded.  “Mreh.”

“Mreh,” Verona replied.  She looked up at her mom.  “How did you even get her in there?”

“I waited until she was asleep, eased her inside.  She caused such a ruckus.”

“I can imagine,” Verona said.  She popped the door open.

“I don’t- I’m not sure-” her mother looked uneasy.

“It’s fine.  Right?” Verona asked Julette.

Julette gave their mom a betrayed look, and, with the subtle pressure of Verona’s hand, collapsed against Verona’s front, liquid-cat form.

She zipped up her coat, securing Julette in place, enough space for one eye to peer through the ‘v’ of where the zipper separated.

“I talked to the mayor a little bit ago,” Verona’s mom said, taking a seat.

“You what?” Verona asked.

“I thought I’d do some shopping for myself, see what’s changed and changing, give the Ellingsons some space.  Get the carrier.  I saw him, struck up a conversation.”

“A romantic conversation?” Lucy asked.

“Hah.  No.  Not my type, not my politics.  But, you know, he’s a man that can see reason.”

Speaking of reason.  The Kellys came in, a chaotic group, having two conversations at once.

“Did they bring everyone?” Lucy asked, craning her head.

“No. I’m not seeing the little ones,” Jasmine said.

It was six of them in total though.  Avery and Nora, Sheridan and Rowan, and Avery’s mom and dad.  The table they’d already sat at had eight spots, which- okay.  Bit chaotic, yeah.

Greetings were made.  Chairs were surreptitiously borrowed from nearby tables, people crowding in together.

And, as Sheridan circled around the table, her eye fell on Julette’s eye and ear peeking up from the ‘v’ of Verona’s coat collar.  She gave a long, penetrating look to that.  Suspicious…

Segueing very naturally to studying Verona, then looking at Avery.  Like there was a whole story there being told, and Verona could only guess at it.

That look had been suspicious, but it was a special kind of suspicious, rooted in…

Awareness?

Verona’s eyes widened.  She grabbed Lucy’s arm, leaning in.  “Wait, are they-?”

“You didn’t know?”

“You did?”

“I didn’t sleep through half the morning.”

“What’s this about?” Verona’s mom asked.

“I apparently missed stuff, distracted by- recovering from last night, and dad being crummy.”

“Crummy how?”

“I called the CAS guy, he’s apparently putting someone on the job, I don’t know.  It’s a whole thing I’m- I don’t want to bring the mood down.”

“CAS?” Kelsey asked, as she got settled.  “Is this- are you okay?”

“It- it’s… a whole thing I don’t want to get into right now.”

I want to get into how Sheridan is now Aware.

“You were saying?  Rendezvous with the mayor?” Verona asked her mom.

Her mom looked momentarily worried, like her concern for Verona would see her scoop Verona up, take her out of earshot of everything and get the rundown.

“What rendezvous?” Sheridan asked.

“When you say it like that, it sounds like something it’s not,” Verona’s mom said.

“That’s on purpose.  Because you’ve given very few details and my mind goes to certain places when filling in blanks,” Verona said.

“We talked.  About last night.  About the festival.  He’s pleased and frustrated and baffled you don’t want to formalize it into something regular.  And he’s not frustrated, but still baffled and pleased because things went really well.  People who were involved went the extra mile to clean up, there were no real incidents like they’ve seen around other regular holidays Kennet has.”

“There was a whole thing about Canada Day celebrations going absolutely bananas last summer,” Lucy said.  “But last summer was weird.  A lot going on.”

“A lot going on,” Sheridan echoed, rubbing her chin.

“Don’t be annoying,” Avery said.

“Big ask.”

“What kind of bananas?” Nora asked.

Lucy shruged, “Days of partying, fireworks going off-”

“Lots of people in the emergency room,” Jasmine said.  “I wasn’t there though.”

“But the point is, they expected worse this time, but it went really well.  Self-moderated, healthy, happy.  People left with good impressions,” Verona’s mom said.

“Awesome,” Avery said.  She flashed a smile.  “Nice work, Lucy, Ronnie.”

“More Lucy than me,” Verona said.

“More the community pulling together.  Getting people who wouldn’t normally be involved to mingle and do their own things,” Lucy said, leaning into the table.

“Whatever it is, he’s very interested in figuring out how that worked and how it could be replicated.”

“So am I,” Lucy said.  “I think the fact it’s as random as it is, it helps.”

“Criminals and shady types like routine,” Verona said.  Lucy nodded.

They were probably both thinking of similar things.  Kennet below.  They’d been involved, they’d seen a caricaturized version of Kennet’s underbelly.  They’d seen how things worked, what made it all tick.

“They like chaos, don’t they?” Connor asked.

“They- chaos weakens systems and gives them chances.  But a guy who robs houses wants to keep robbing houses because that’s what he knows.  And when he does it, he wants to do it the same way every time, knowing that that’s the way that works.  People are away during the day, he scopes things out, prepares, acts, gets in and out, rinse, repeat.”

“If you mix things up, it breaks up that predictability,” Lucy said.  “Canada day celebration, same types of booths, same people involved?  If you’re a pickpocket, or someone stealing money from a stall, get away with it one year, you can do it the next.  But if things change, or you’re not totally sure what’s going on?  If different people are involved and the crowd’s different?”

“Gets harder,” Verona agreed.

“I wish Booker was here.  He’d probably know some term for how this works,” Lucy said.

“He stayed extra time just for you,” Jasmine said.

“The mayor was thrilled either way.  The police didn’t have to get involved.”

“The police showing up like they needed to enforce order when nobody was asking for that almost made things worse,” Lucy said.

“And the man he was with- they’re friends, I think.  Mr-”

“Black.”

“There was mention of businesses possibly banding together.  Business association.  There used to be one-”

“Fell apart,” Kelsey said.  “Required money, there might’ve been embezzlement.  Nobody was eager to try again.”

“They want to have meetings and they want you involved,” Verona’s mom said, looking at Verona and Lucy.

“Wow, that’s kind of cool,” Nora said.

“I feel like if we did that, they’d start throwing their weight around, ignore us when it was convenient, take credit…”

“Maybe.”

“There’s a guy I know who owes me a favor,” Avery said.  “Expert at wrangling that sort of thing.  Politics, upper society.”

“Pesch?” Lucy asked.

“Yeah.”

“That sounds good,” Verona’s mom replied.  “Someone in your corner?”

“He might be sort of shady though,” Avery said.  “Like, really shady.”

“That sounds less good,” Connor chimed in.

“Shady how?” Rowan asked.

“Shady like… kidnapped people and was never arrested for it, as far as I know?” Avery asked.

“Uh what?” Nora asked.

“Excuse me,” Sheridan said.  She started to say something, then shook her head.  “Avery.”

“I- I- it’s just a thing.”

“Rich people thing?” Verona asked.

“Yeah,” Avery said.

“I’ve only seen and heard the allegations, I’m not sure how much further it goes, or if it went too far, as written on the page,” Verona said.  I only saw and heard from Avery’s notes and Avery herself.  “But it seems like creepy weird rich people stuff.”

Creepy weird bodysnatching and dopplegangering of rich people stuff.

“Maybe don’t work with him?” Verona’s mom asked.

“I kind of wondered if you’d met him at any point,” Verona said.

“He’s in Thunder Bay?”

“Was,” Avery said.  “He got chased out of town.”

Sheridan frowned.  “You say that, and I’m now imagining a big mean monster from the before times chasing him.”

“Sheridan,” Kelsey said.  A rebuke.

“Oh my god, enough about the before times monsters,” Avery groaned.

“That’s quite an imagination,” Verona’s mom said.

“Cascus wilds stuff?” Verona asked, whisper-quiet, as the conversation raged on.  “What the heck was your family into this morning and why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

“I don’t even know,” Nora said.  “I thought it was Sheridan’s TV show.”

“I’m into something new now,” Sheridan said.

“Don’t go quitting your podcast or anything,” Verona said.  “I know a girl who’d be heartbroken if you did.”

“You?” Nora asked.

“Oh, no.  I haven’t really watched.”

“Because you, my best friend, have taste?” Lucy asked, throwing an arm around Verona’s shoulders, squeezing.

“You want to go?” Sheridan asked.  “You me, we throw down our mittens, fisticuffs in the back alley behind the bread place?”

“I would so win, you have no idea.”

“I watched some,” Verona cut in, before there could be any blood drawn.  “I thought the school groundskeeper’s son was cute.  I drew a sketch.  I’ll watch more.”

“Oh yeah.  I forgot about him,” Sheridan said.

“So he leaves?  Or dies?  If you forgot about him that means he’s not important.”

“Spoiler,” Lucy said.  “You can’t do that with your podcast.”

The conversation devolved or dissolved from there, back and forth, people talking over one another.

It was the sort of thing that should have left her head pounding from the chaos and the processing required.  But it, more than any spray of the shower or caffeine or whatever else, did away with the headache.

She hugged her mom.

“I’ll talk to David?” her mom asked.  “Or whoever is taking over.”

“I’m not sure if I’m overreacting, or… it might be less about the guys.  More about not having the say.”

“Trust your instincts,” Lucy said, from the sidelines.

“My instincts are you’re an eavesdropper.”

Lucy hummed to herself, sidling away.

Verona sighed.

“It was good to see you.”

“Appreciate you coming all this way, sticking around.”

“Of course.  You’re my family.”

Verona smiled a bit.

“Final present, cat carrier, if you ever need it.”

“Can probably find a use for it.”

“Mreh,” Julette made her thoughts on that known from within Verona’s coat.

“I know your dad will be cranky about having her around.  If it ever gets to be too much, or if the renters are a problem, you can come to me.  Especially now that you’re doing self-study, you do have that flexibility.”

“I’ll probably want to stick around here.  But thanks.”

Avery was close enough to do her own eavesdropping, and looked over.

She wasn’t sure how to read that look.  It felt important.

She couldn’t devote much focus to it.  Her mom was talking.  “Thank you for letting me borrow her last night, even if it was to get yourself set up, I liked having a piece of you around.  If you did come, I’d love having her around too.  I hope you bring her for visits.”

“Okay, for sure.”

They hugged again.  Carefully, with Julette at risk of being squished between them.

“Love you,” her mom said.

“Love you too.”

Her mom get in her car to go.

Kelsey was fielding Nora, having a conversation way off to the side.  The Kellys approached.  So did Jasmine and Lucy.

“What happened?” Verona asked.

“Sheridan had surveillance video of our apartment.  I kind of kept presents back home so we didn’t have an end of the school year incident again.”

“Ugh.”

“Why do you guys base so many of your incidents around holidays?” Sheridan asked.  “End of school, Canada day, apparently, end of summer-”

“Not a holiday,” Lucy interjected.

“-Thanksgiving.  What the fuck is your Halloween like?”

“Actually pretty chill,” Avery said, quiet.

“And pre-Christmas is this Miller guy-”

“Musser.”

“And some wild hunter of these before-times beasts?”

“I’m starting to think you’re doing that on purpose,” Avery said.

“I’m really not.  So why the holiday hate?”

“We don’t.  Circumstance does,” Avery protested.  “And like, those transitional periods and stuff is- people are doing things, moving around, I dunno.  And if some jackass is going to set a deadline for something to happen, it’s easier to just say it’s when the new year starts, than to say January seventh or some random date.”

“And technically, the Thanksgiving thing was late.  You had a late Thanksgiving,” Lucy said.

“Yes, right.”

“Either way,” Sheridan said.  She looked at Rowan.  “Why are you so quiet?”

He shrugged.  “Thinking.”

Sheridan looked at Verona.  “For Rowan, that means he’s basically standing there, thumb wedged up his butthole, humming yankee doodle dandy in his head.”

“Fuck off,” Rowan said.  “It’s ‘she’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes’.”

“Hah.”

“Seriously, I’m worrying about my sister.”

“Mind the lies when you’re joking,” Connor said.

“So what’s the plan?” Verona asked.  “Blackguards?”

“Family practice.”

“No shit?”

“You decided?” Lucy asked.

“We decided before I talked to you.  Just… figuring out plans.  We’ll get someone to show Sheridan and Rowan around Kennet below and Kennet found, then maybe get the Garricks to do some light tutoring.”

“Oh that’ll be fun,” Lucy said.  “I’m not even being sarcastic.  Dispel any illusions they have about you, huh?”

“I feel like I already did that.”

“What illusions?” Rowan asked.  “What’s the deal there?”

“She’s famous, kind of,” Lucy said.

Avery made noises of protest.

“Niche famous,” Verona supplied.

“Weird,” Rowan said.

“That’s the thing that gets you to react?” Avery asked.  “That’s the thing that gets a more vocal comment from you?”

“It’s weird!  Finding out your middle sister-”

“Stop calling me that.  It’s annoying.  It’s an annoying label to have,” Avery said.

“She’s cranky,” Lucy whispered to Verona.

“I’m- yeah, I’m cranky!  And I’ve got-” she reached for her phone.  “-a fucking phone call.  Fuck.  Ugh.”

“We don’t have that long that your mom can fend off Nora and let you guys collaborate,” Connor pointed out.

Avery put her phone to her ear, plugging the other one.

“It’s Nicolette,” Lucy murmured.

“Nicolette?” Sheridan asked.

“She’s great,” Verona said.  “But she can be great and you can still sort of worry when she calls out of nowhere.”

“Why?” Sheridan asked.

“She can see the future.  And see things at a distance.  And more.  She’s a seeing-things magic user,” Verona said.

“And an information gatherer and seller, and other stuff,” Lucy said.  “Calls with warnings.  Or bad news.”

“Which is it?” Verona asked.

“The latter.”

Avery didn’t hang up the phone, but walked over, phone held up and slightly away from her ear.  “The Whitts.  They got attacked.  House burned.  Nobody dead, but a few people are pretty messed up.  Madness, serious injury.  The Saint Victors kids.”

“No kidding?” Verona asked.

“And… it gets more complicated.  Nico says Seth was part of it.”

They exchanged looks.

“Fernanda wasn’t there.  But her family’s pretty devastated.  Emotionally, and in other ways.  Fernanda and Chase’s branch, they were the weak leg of the family, before.  Didn’t have the sketchy indentured servants or other stuff.  And then Chase hit it big.  But now they’ve lost most of everything, they’re out in the cold, and with the Lord situation…”

“The cold is very cold?” Lucy asked.

“Chase is mad.  He was brought into the family and the kid of the family just screwed up a lot of things.  And he shouldn’t be- he was forsworn.”

Verona nodded.

“Nicolette’s read is they’re going to hit others.  Our allies,” Avery said.

Verona thought of McCauleigh.

“This is why we can be fond of you but dread your phone calls, Nicolette,” Lucy said, voice pitched to be heard.

“You caught that?” Avery asked.  “Yeah.”

Verona thought for a moment.  Spurred in part by what she’d talked to Charles about.

The big question mark.

If all three of us are planning around the Carmine situation and thinking about the new year and subtly planning for what’s coming, how bad is this for you two?  Verona thought.

She had a loose game plan of her own.  She’d done the reading, mixed in with other stuff.  She could conform it to most things the others were doing, but…

She tried to read their faces.

Then she decided to just ask.

“Nico?”

“I’ll put her on speaker,” Avery said.  She held out her phone.  “Nicolette?”

“What is it?” Nicolette asked.

“Something from Verona.”

“First, stay safe,” Verona said.

“Will try.  Already had a couple scares.  The bogeymen coming through the computer.  And a reminder that the person who taught you the nettlewisp charm is still technically out there.  Peering in too closely around certain corners of things gets a traumatic surprise.”

“Second… I was wondering if you could do a read.”

“After the new year.”

“Just general or-?”

“About us three.  How we fit together.  What we’re doing.”

“I’ll lay out some cards.”

Avery’s mom glanced over.  Avery held up a finger, then dropped it before Nora could see.

“Off-perfect alignment,” Nicolette said.  “Sun, moon, and stars… askew.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s alignment.  You don’t fit together perfectly, there’s wrinkles to smooth over.  But you’re in the same place and on the same page.”

With everything mounting, the accruing stresses, that, at least, was a balm for Verona’s Self and soul.

In the same place and on the same page.

“We need to help people.  The Whitts, and- everyone.  If they go after Zed, or Nico… but-”

Avery looked at Nora.

“We can do this part of this,” Verona said.  “You were doing a lot of the pre-everything prep.  Markets and running around.  Take your time now.”

“But-”

“You made and maintained these connections.  We can handle enforcement and problem solving,” Lucy said.

Verona nodded.

“You were doing other stuff though.  Dealing with the Wild Hunt, while I avoided the worst of that.  Setting up the market and situation here.”

“Ave,” Lucy said.  “Really truly.  This is where I’m super happy to… balance the load.  Share it out.”

“You guys had my back when I went away with my mom and Tashlit,” Verona pointed out.

“That wasn’t a happy escape, was it?”

“I’d be happy, and guilty.  And more guilty because I was happy.”

“Then be guilty happy,” Verona told her.  “Enjoy people you enjoy.  Start out on-”

Fuck, stung her out of the blue, that she had so little in terms of family and practice interacting together, and Avery was getting set to launch a family practice.

“-the Kelly family practice, or whatever.  But show Nora a good time.  We’ll apparently be in the same place, on the same page, after.  I think that’s pretty terrific.”

And, Verona thought, thinking back to Charles appearing in the Ruins.  Maybe a bit threatening to a certain Judge.

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