In Absentia – 21.4
Author: Wildbow

In Absentia – 21.4 | Pale

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Lucy took her time with her hair, best as she could without the usual products.  The winter weather and the heating in the house was drying out her hair, she’d had to use a t-shirt to wrap it up while sleeping, and it bothered her a lot.  Avery and Verona came through the bathroom to do their own hair, teeth, and other basic stuff, while Lucy occupied the space in front of one of the two mirrors.

She didn’t feel like herself.  It was a bit scary, because it made all the questions and challenges ahead of her feel… worse.  If she was making moral judgments on a massive scale and if she was going to be facing down major figures, then she wanted to feel like her starting point was, well, herself.

Clothes that weren’t hers, hair that wasn’t quite how she liked it.  She used the same hair product that Liberty and America used for wild hairstyles to get the curls of hair at her hairline to stay down, and they wouldn’t stay, so she had to wipe them clean and turn to the next thing.

That a part of her kept wanting to look away from the mirror and call out to her mom about needing to go shopping for hair stuff, so her mom could remind her later, it wasn’t a surprise.  Standard.  Normal.  But a part of her wanted to walk out that door and be in her house and for Booker to be there, and it had been over a year since that had been a thing.

Like, there was having her mom around.  That was one thing.  Her mom was there for advice, support, for when she needed clothes or wanted specific food.  When she needed a hug.  But having Booker around was different.  Booker helped things make sense.  He was one of the very few people who looked at her and saw her.  Who’d lived her experience, growing up in Kennet, and he got it.  He understood.

She felt like such a kid, wanting her big brother.  Wanting her mom.

She took a deep breath.  Focus, Lucy.

Lawyers, then the Paths or Warrens to Ottawa, then meeting one of the most crucial figures they needed to handle before the next leg of their plan, and then the summoning and the plays against Charles and the Alabaster, plus or minus anything the lawyers brought up.

She realized she’d been standing in front of the mirror, meeting her own gaze, for what had to be five minutes.

She fixed her hairline, adjusted her ponytail, and cinched her towel tighter before going to the adjacent room.  Avery and Verona were sitting on the bed, papers and notebooks spread between them.

Avery shifted position, moving to the foot of the bed, next to Verona, her back to Lucy, as she examined more papers.  Lucy used the closet door for a bit more privacy, and looked through the clothes Liberty had supplied.  They still had tags on, and were unaltered, ready for whatever horrible and extreme modifications the Tedd sisters could’ve made to them.

She changed, sorted out her spell cards and things, and took some that Verona had done in her idle time, sorting them the way she liked to have them, putting finishing marks on them as she slid them into the banded packs of stuff.

Arms folded, she stared down at the papers.

Who had she been fooling?  They’d been away for two nights and this situation was already getting to her like this?  The big questions ahead of them?  The lines they’d have to cross?  The risks?  The idea of never getting home?

“What else do we need, so we can get going as soon as we need to, after we talk to Sebastian?” Avery asked.  “How are we for water?”

Lucy checked.

“I’ll refill us,” Avery said.

“Bit of lemon for me,” Verona said.  “No ice.”

“Got it.  Luce?”

“I really don’t care.  Water’s water.  Thanks for doing that.”

Verona snorted.

“No prob,” Avery said, taking the three containers for water to the kitchen.

Lucy drummed her fingers on her upper arm, looking over the papers on the bed.  The big summoning…

Verona, standing, sidled up to Lucy, and rested her cheek on Lucy’s shoulder.

“Hi,” Lucy said.

“Heya.”

They looked things over.

“What do you think the Garricks would say?” Verona asked.  “Sticks and bubble gum?”

“Maybe they’d say they don’t know enough city magic to really contribute anything,” Lucy said.  “Give yourself credit.  You know a good bit about a lot of stuff.”

Verona moved away to turn some papers around, then resumed the prior position.

“You’re clingier these days.  Missing your cat?”

“Sure.  Let’s say that’s what I’m doing.  Let’s say I’m doing this for my sake.”

“I’m so worried,” Lucy said.  Her eyes scanned the papers.  “What if the lawyers shoot our idea down?  Or if we get to Ottawa and it’s a solid no, fuck off, we don’t want your hassle?”

“We’ll figure something else out,” Verona replied.  “For right now, lawyers.  Then travel, should be fun, should be easy.  New city, new Others.  Lordship meeting won’t be for a bit.  Then more travel.  Us four hanging out.”

“Sucks,” Snowdrop said, draping herself over the head of the bed.  “I hate nature.”

“What’s this?” Avery asked, returning.  She set the bottles down on the dresser, beaded with moisture from the tap.

Lucy motioned, and Avery walked up.  Lucy put a hand at her shoulder.  “Taking in the day.  Lawyers, travel, Ottawa Lord, travel, travel, and more travel.”

“You like travel, right?” Verona asked.

“Yeah,” Avery said, while Snowdrop mouthed the word ‘no’.  “Good way to recharge the batteries, right?”

As she stepped through the doorway, Lucy was confronted by about a thousand dolls with exaggerated and high-fashion stylings of Japanese clothing, hair, and makeup, stopped in their tracks, staring at her with narrow eyes that were cut out of painted wood, darkness on the other side.

As she’d been told by Avery, she kept still.

“Come on, don’t stand around,” Avery said.  “Have to move fast on this one.  Wardrobe change, then we can move.”

“Wardrobe change?” Liberty asked, from the doorway, with the tone of a little kid who’d heard there was candy.

“Seriously, Libs!?” Avery called back.  “How long were we changing clothes back at your house?”

“Around twenty minutes,” Verona said.

“Can I come?” Liberty asked.  “I won’t take as long.”

“I can’t get you home,” Avery said, walking backwards through the crowd to face Liberty while talking.  “And we can’t really take any time!”

“I can get me home.”

“Okay, I guess, just- okay.”

Liberty whooped.  “See you later, ‘Meri, be nice to Ms. Poole!”

“Later!” America called out.

The door slammed almost in America’s face as Avery moved too far away from it.  Avery fixed her bracelet.

The dolls, filling the streets, turned their heads to look at them as they navigated the narrow spaces between wooden, well-dressed bodies.  Lucy saw Verona bump into a doll’s outstretched arm and bounce off as if it was stone.  The arm hadn’t wavered in the slightest  Dolls in the middle and back of the crowd whispered indistinctly, and the whispers didn’t clarify any as Lucy’s earring carried the sound to her ear.

The buildings around them were temples built like Tokyo skyscrapers, glowing and bearing signs that displayed advertisements for other Paths, fortunes, and showing some prominent Lost as models.  Lucy remembered the name Queen of Ends that was on display, and saw a woman visible from the waist up, posing, umbrella over one shoulder, wearing a tall and narrow crown.

Mid-run, partially blinded by flashing lights and distracted by the ad, Lucy almost got clotheslined by an umbrella carried by one doll.  It didn’t brush aside as she touched it.

“How do we get through the crowd?” Lucy asked.

“The outfit change lets us blend in,” Avery said.  “Turns this from a labyrinth into a labyrinth with constantly moving walls.”

“That sounds bad,” Lucy said.

“It’s good if it gets us through here faster.”

“Montage, montage, montage, montage,” Liberty chanted to herself.

“We already gave you around twenty minutes, Liberty,” Lucy said.

“Seriously, there is a time limit,” Avery said.

“Booo.”

“Before what?” Lucy asked.

“Pretty major Lost shows up.  For Cliff, it showed up a few minutes after being triggered.”

“Like… how major?” Verona asked.  “Ballerina major?”

“She can show up here too.  Keep an eye on the ads.”

“I saw the Queen of Endings or whatever she is,” Lucy said.

“Yep.  She might show later but so far the Garricks haven’t made it that far in.”

Avery stopped in her tracks.  Lucy, a few paces behind her, bumped into her, with Liberty and Verona catching up a second later.  Avery looked around.

“What is it?”

“Surveillance cameras.  I really think if there’s a way to navigate this place, it has to do with them.  The moment we’re caught on camera, the clock really starts ticking down.  Let’s go around this part.  There’s a camera up there.  Do not go opossum or cat and climb on or over the dolls, don’t fly.”

“Okay, you’re making me worried,” Lucy said.  She looked around at the frozen labyrinth of people.

Avery sighed, exasperated.  She stopped in her tracks to try to get a sense of where they could get around.  “The notes the Garricks gave me said you just had to stop at the clothing store, get to the other end of the street, there’s a way out.  They didn’t mention the street is some sixteen-lane wide Tokyo Times Square that’s packed like it’s a festival.”

“What is the danger?” Lucy asked, patience strained.

“The ads and signs preview the dangers.  Which we shouldn’t run into if we cross the street promptly.  The ballerina is one, but the scariest one shows up if we take too long after-”

A camera flash momentarily blinded Lucy.

Avery turned on the spot, looking.  Someone in the crowd had had a camera around their neck, and it had gone off unprompted, catching her and Snowdrop.

One by one, advertisements changed.  A picture of her, startled.  Other pictures of her, in various outfits, clips of interviews, all around the plaza.  Some had text in German.  Avery Kelly, Löser der Schachbrettpromenade.

“Hey,” Liberty joked.  “Loser?  That’s not like you.”

“It’s not me, it’s the threat I was talking about,” Avery hissed.  “This way, now.”

Into a clothing boutique.  Avery rushed into the changing booth, hard enough her hands had to stop her forward momentum against the far wall, arm swiping at the curtain.  She opened it nearly as quickly as she’d closed it, wearing black-and-gold-leaf makeup that drew antlers from her eyebrows to her hairline, her eyes rimmed in stylized black lines that streaked out to her temples, her hair in a high ponytail supported by a chunk of wood with carvings on it, wearing a… Lucy wasn’t even sure what to call it.  Ninja-kimono?  It was dark green with gold-leaf checkmarks, the design biased toward the right side of her body, full sleeve and almost turtleneck-y on one side, while leaving back, most of the shoulder, and one arm bare free to sport a gold-leaf deer.  The bottom end stopped at a height so high it was only barely a dress and not a shirt.  Tight, short-leg shorts beneath.  Sandals strapped to her feet and legs, with what looked like singular two-by-fours jutting from the foot to the ground.

Snowdrop was wearing something that combined a dark gray high-fashion top with a massive hood, a silver-print opossum on the back and sleeve, mirroring Avery’s deer, with a long skirt that went out at the ankle, that had a thick band at the knee to mid-calf, where the black fabric was interrupted by a tapestry-like display silver-etched trash cans, broken televisions, scattered, half-eaten food, and trash bags.

Liberty went to take a picture, but Avery was already moving toward her, grabbing her wrist.

“Get in!”

“Let me snap a few pictures!  One good one!  Please, gobs and spirits, please!”

Avery shoved Liberty in, with Liberty immediately fighting her way out, clothing changed.  Avery put a hand over the camera, wheeling on Lucy and Verona, intense.  Moving well with those crazy ankle-snapper stilt-sandals.

Lucy nodded, taking that cue.  Into the booth, drawing the curtain closed.  “Ave, what’s the threat, exactly?”

The darkness that closed in came with hands.  They moved at the speed of dark, seizing her and her things.

Avery’s response came from far away.

Lucy fought her way free of the hands, moving the curtain in the process.

Fresh new clothes swirled around her.  Half of the fabric was skintight- a top, tights, both in startling, vivid scarlet.  The rest floated around her, hyper-lightweight, textured like smoke.  A scarf swayed out in the air above and behind her head, connected to her shoulders fox-shaped pins that had the same styling as her earring.  A jacket that touched on the same kimono-style cut as what Avery was wearing was similarly cinched in at the waist with belts that had more fox buckles.

More clothes that weren’t her, weren’t hers.

She frowned, and became aware that they’d done something with the dog tags and weapon ring, turning it into draping jewelry.  The dog tags hung from one ear, piercing it in a series from tip to lobe.  Her earring was on the other.

“The fuck?”

“Me,” Avery said, misinterpreting the question.  “Nothing held back.”

“I heard you.  I’m just weirded out.”

Verona was out, wearing very heavy clothes in black and black and white stripes that reminded Lucy of Amine, back at the Blue Heron, the student of Durocher’s who’d looked like he was carrying a small library with him, with papers in his pockets.  Verona had a mess of trinkets and things instead of the papers, an onyx, cat-shaped hip holster with a garden in it, and a matching cat leg holster with a small, stylized alchemy workshop on it.  Or maybe a tea set.  It looked like the cats were climbing up her, sculpted to mold to the side of her body.

“We don’t have our stuff, so plan accordingly,” Avery said.  To Liberty, she said, “Stop and pay attention.”

“Stop moving so I can get one clear shot,” Liberty said.  Her outfit included wooden masks and whatever goblins she’d been carrying on her had become actual goblins, who helped hold up the exaggerated fabric.

“How do you even have that?” Avery asked, as she stalked her way toward the door, on wooden sandals.  “Thank you, storekeepers!”

She’d flipped a coin back.  One doll caught it.

“I was pulling it out when I went in.”

“Okay, well, that’s good to know.  That’s valuable-”

“Glad to help.”

“-But for right now, please, we need to focus because this can be a meat grinder.  You can’t push, pull, or resist, so if you get squeezed between two dolls here, you’ll get pulped.”

The crowd had started to move once they were all changed, it seemed.  Wooden dolls.  Lucy had seen Thunder Bay for a street festival and it hadn’t been this thick.  Kennet market with goblins teeming through it hadn’t had this many Others to bump into.

“Ave, seriously?” Lucy asked.

“I didn’t think it’d be this huge and we could barely see past the crowd when we were at the door.  Let’s just hurry this up.  I think me getting caught on camera is the same as me being on video.  Moment that happened, she entered the Path from the main temple…”

Avery pointed at the far end.

“…And we want to go that way.  Cliff clocked about five minutes before it navigated the crowd, and he was free and clear by then.”

“Ave?” Verona asked.  “Silly question, but you said we’re dealing with you?  Is this you turning evil or a doppleganger?”

“Doppleganger.”

“With your capabilities?”

“While I lose my gear and any practice or whatever that isn’t innate, yeah.”

“Meaning she’s as fast-”

A window behind a neon sign shattered.

Another Avery soared through the air, doing a slow front-flip before catching a cord that dangled from the neon sign, swinging herself over to land on a power pole.

The alternate Avery straightened, fingers running through her hair.  The wind caught her antler-print coat, and it flapped.  Her opossum, clinging to her shoulder, stuck her nose in the air.

“-as you are?” Verona finished.

“Not as cute as me,” Snowdrop said.

“Technically faster.  She knows the Paths she’s on inside and out, and the practices and tools she uses.”

“She can practice?” Verona asked.

“Go go go go,” Lucy urged.

They moved through the crowd, taking the biggest gaps.

“Going to be shameless,” Liberty said, huffing.  She pushed against a skinny woman, who didn’t budge with the shift.  “What are my odds with the Avery doppleganger?”

“It’s not a- it’s not a doppleganger, exactly.  It’s the Finder.”

“That’s some confusing terminology,” Verona remarked.

“She’s what some call an architect.  An institution of the Paths.  Either she helped make them what they are and took on this identity and role-”

“Your identity and role?”

“The strongest Finder on a-” Avery grunted as she bumped into someone in the crowd.  “-given Path.  She’s either the originator, or she- there’s enough mirror-doubles of people as puzzle elements that they all interconnected and became a singular identity with a bigger-”

Avery ducked low, stumbling, as the butt end of a metal pole jabbed for where her head had been, or where it had been about to go.

She got a kick in the arm, and already crouched over, was easily tipped over, falling.

The Finder weaved through the crowd like a dancer who’d spent her entire life on this dance floor, spinning her lacrosse stick in one hand, black rope wrapped around her other hand.

“What the fuck, Ave?” Lucy asked.

“Are you asking me or her?” their Avery asked.

“You!  Bringing us here!”

“That- after!”

The Finder pulled out spell cards.

Lucy was shoved almost two paces as one of the dolls of the crowd walked into her.  She saw the Finder throw cards into the air, then catch them with the cupped net at the end of the lacrosse stick.  She swung it through the air, experimental, did it again, flashing a wide smile as she did so, eyes flicking to one side.  Off-hand moving.

Someone passed between her and Lucy as she did so.  She disappeared.

Lucy moved as the realization hit her, sideways, grabbing someone for extra leverage to pull away.  The Finder had black-roped mid-swing, in the direction she’d been looking.

The lacrosse stick with three spell cards in the cup hit ground where Lucy had just been standing, and exploded violently, rolling flame washing through the gaps in the crowd.  Two passing dolls walking by one another scissored the lacrosse stick into two.  Lucy twisted in the air, hand out, reading the flame in a half-instant, moving the way she needed to move in the other half.

Her stance did part of the work.  Maybe a tenth of the work.  Using a doll for an inhuman shield did the rest.

The dolls didn’t even flinch or break their strides as the fire rolled past them.  Some had clothing actively burning now.

“Keep moving toward the place I talked about!” Avery called out.

The actual Avery.  The other Avery was wearing regular Avery clothes and kit.  Where was she?

“Can I hurt her!?” Lucy asked, mid-run, looking.

“You can try!  Just be careful, she’s immortal!”

Verona.  Lucy lunged, moving through the crowd as best as she could, as she saw Verona with the Finder a few paces behind her, holding the jagged, broken lacrosse pole.  Verona saw Lucy, saw Lucy’s expression, and turned to look.

Lucy had almost reached Verona by the time Verona was fully reacting.  Then a false Snowdrop tackled her.

Lucy grabbed her, adjusted her hold, then used Snowdrop’s momentum and one knee to propel her further on the journey the tackle had taken her.  Right toward where a bunch of the dolls were passing by one another.  Where the false Snowdrop could get ground into pieces by the press of bodies.

The Finder’s Snowdrop turned into an opossum, twisting in the air and kicking off one of the dolls’ bodies to adjust her course through the air.  She landed in a crouch in human form on the far side, grinning an uneven grin.

Liberty was helping Verona.  Lucy ducked through, pulling Verona back and pushing her more toward Avery and the direction they needed to go, almost without flinching, Avery pushed Verona toward the real Snowdrop, then approached.

Lucy fought barehanded against the Finder, who wielded the spike of the broken lacrosse stick.  The Finder ducked, weaving through the crowd, disappearing.  Lucy followed her line of sight, then reacted, anticipating a stab.

The Finder pulled a charm from her bracelet, and flung her winter coat at Lucy.  It unfolded in the air, and Lucy moved, adjusting her motion from a plan to grab the stick to a plan to catch the coat.  She grabbed it at shoulder and near the bottom, and turned it into a tool, twisting fabric and looping it around, cinching it tight.

She caught the stick that was being stabbed right into the coat while it had been unfurled and blocking Lucy’s vision.  Lucy had guessed the Finder would use it to pierce the coat’s fabric and stab her through it.

She stepped in past the point, so it stabbed up past her shoulder, and released the twist of cloth, hitching it up to catch the Finder’s hands along with the stick.  She cinched it tight, then moved her leg, using shin to block the Finder’s knee that was coming up toward her stomach.  Standing on one leg, she leaned her body weight into the Finder to knock her off balance.

Liberty was there, waiting, and bear-hugged the Finder from behind, while Lucy held the Finder’s wrists in the wound-up coat.  The Finder brought her head down, trying to push forward, pulling Liberty slightly off-balance, and then whipped her head back, trying to crack the back of her head into Liberty’s face.  Liberty avoided it.

“Seriously, Avery?” Lucy asked.  She had to yank hard on the Avery so the crowd wouldn’t bump into Liberty.  “You in murder mod-”

“Don’t relax!” Avery shouted.

“Watch out!” Verona called out.

Avery turned.

Finder-Snowdrop.  With goblin tricks she was flinging into the air.

“Hey!” Liberty shouted.

Lucy saw the Finder stomping her foot.  Once, twice-

Lucy slid her foot beneath the one that was coming down.  It hurt a bit, but she was wearing a boot, and she interrupted the Finder’s activation of the air-runes on her running shoes.

The goblin tricks exploded around them.  Smoke and stinkbomb.  Lucy held her breath and held her gaze, focusing on holding onto the Finder.

Avery would have to manage the Finder’s Snowdrop.

The stink burned at her nostrils, but the Finder had barely paused since trying to stomp the ground, and adjusted how she stood to put a leg out to the side.  Before Lucy could figure out what she was doing, the Finder was running up the side of a passing Doll, heels going over head.  Twisting her arms up more in the coat, landing in an awkward crouch, arms twisted almost to their limits-

But the doll changed, expression twisting, wood splintering.

The doll charged, attacking.  With the speed of a running person, but as hard to budge from her course as a freight train.

Can’t climb on them, Avery had said.  Apparently that little maneuver had counted, triggering the doll to attack.

Lucy had to pull away, letting go of the coat.

The passing woman turned on Lucy.  Lucy avoided her again.  The doll collided with another doll, and there was a literal shockwave at the impact.

Two unbreakable dolls smashing into one another at running speed apparently did that.

Liberty’s arms were empty.  The Finder had slipped the bear hug in the midst of smoke, stinkbomb, and shockwave.

Avery tackle-hugged Liberty, and Liberty almost punched her in reaction.  Avery guided Liberty through the crowd, using her trick for navigating traffic.  Foot traffic in this case.

Lucy backed away, keeping an eye out.  The smoke was thick and made her eyes water.  She listened.

The Finder had Garrick eyeliner, for seeing in this shit.  Part of Avery’s kit.

Liberty was signaling the goblins that had come out of the changing room closet with her, but they were as much liability as help.  One or two couldn’t navigate the crowd, and another was punted by the Finder into the crowd of dolls.

“Don’t grab!” Avery shouted at it.

Too late.  It grabbed onto fabric, climbing again.  Triggering the doll’s more hostile mode.  The goblin shrieked as it was taken for a ride.

Lucy spotted the Finder coming at them, weaving through the crowd, stepping onto something, then leaping up, feet tapping on shoulders as she ran on top of the crowd.

Provoking them into their charging freight train modes.  Right at their main group.

The shockwave and crush of bodies separated their group into two.  Verona, Snowdrop, and Avery closer to the exit, Lucy and Liberty on the wrong side of it.

“Lucy,” Liberty hissed.  “Weapon of choice.  Hammer, chain, or fans?”

In this environment?  “Fans.”

Liberty grabbed up a pair of female goblins and tossed them toward Lucy.  “Shithit the superfans!  Weapon bind!”

They changed.  Lucy caught them, stuck them in her armpits to hold them, and got a better grip on the handles.  She flicked them out to full fan breadth.  Each was about as along as her forearm to fingertip, forming a half circle that had a margarita-salt style crust at the ends, of broken glass.  Metal bars gave it some rigidity and strength.  The paper between the bars had pictures of America and Liberty.

Lucy rolled her eyes, then ran forward.

Avery and Verona were dealing with the Finder.  That freed her and Liberty to navigate.

“Guy to our right,” Liberty said.  “Was on an ad.”

Lucy looked.  She could hear a raspy sort of whirring.  A whipping sound.  She caught a glimpse of someone who stood out from the mass of dolls.

She flicked the fan closed and used the bar that was formed by its collapsed mass to block Liberty from going further.

A fishhook and silver fishing line was whipped out to the spot a foot in front of their eyes, pausing in mid-air with the process of the whip flick, before disappearing as fast as it had appeared.

They circled around the pile of crashed-together dolls that were sorting themselves out, with Lucy keeping the fan ready to deflect another one of the fishing hooks.  The goblin that had been punted caught up with them.

Verona was on the far side of the door, with Avery guarding it.  The Finder wove through the crowd, periodically disappearing, before hurling a spell card.  Avery moved through the crowd, taking cover behind walking dolls who were going about their business, unaware and uncaring about the fight or the blasts of water, wind, and broken stone.

Avery, though, was driven back, and it was only Snowdrop moving behind her to block her backward trajectory that kept her from being thrown back by a wave of water, into a space that was between two dolls that were closing in to embrace one another.

Lucy caught up, using the fans, which the Finder ducked beneath, dodged, and evaded, slipping behind one doll in the crowd to appear elsewhere.  Lucy heard the scuff of a shoe, turned, and saw Liberty whipping the chain out, catching the Finder around the neck.

“Through the door!” Avery called out.

Liberty looped the chain around a passing doll, pulling the Finder back while going forward.  The Finder moved out of sight, and the chain went limp, clattering to the ground.

“That rope is a real pain!” Lucy called out.

Liberty grunted.

Hands had grabbed her from behind.  Fingers laced behind her neck.

“Hello there,” Liberty said, grinning as the Finder held her in a headlock.

“Liberty!” Avery shouted.

Lucy stepped in, fan out, going for the part of the Finder’s arm that was hooked under Liberty’s arm.  The Finder let go and backed away to avoid letting their elbow and arm get shredded by glass-studded goblin fan, but not before tossing out another rope.

It wasn’t the black rope, but a regular one, looped around Liberty’s neck.  Too tight to the skin for Lucy to cut without getting past Liberty, and the crowd, the timing?

Liberty made a choking sound as it cinched around her neck.  She turned around, grabbing the rope in her hands, and pointed.

Goblins charged out, right for the Finder, as passing dolls walked into the taut rope, effectively reeling it in.

The Finder did her calculus, on how long she’d have to hold on to be effective and how long it would take the goblins to get her while she was a sitting duck, pulling the rope tight.  She stomped her foot.  The runes flared at her shoe.

“No!” Lucy shouted.

“Liberty, grab something!”

Stomp.  Air runes.

The Finder soared skyward, chased by a whirlwind of stirred dust and fliers, illuminated by the neon signs around them.  She held the rope, and jerked Liberty up after her.  Liberty had managed to get her arm positioned so she held the rope and it went around the back of her crooked arm before going to her neck, so it was her arm that was violently wrenched, not her spine.

The Finder turned lazily in the air, arms and legs out, shaping how she moved.  As they reached the apex of the jump, she tapped her heels together three times.

Air runes.

She was arcing in the direction of a signboard.  If she touched that, she’d rocket in any direction, hauling Liberty behind her.

Liberty snapped out a long tongue, wrapping it around the Finder, and snapped in closer, flying past the Finder to reach the sign first.

The Finder didn’t touch the sign with her shoes, instead catching onto one part, swinging, meeting a descending Liberty on the backswing.  Air-shoe kick, sending Liberty diagonally down, toward the crowd, from about a hundred feet up in the air.

“Chain goblin!” Lucy called out.

A goblin came running at her.  He’d been the chain Liberty had dropped.

“Please be able to do something special,” she said, as she caught him, swung him like she would a child she was playing with, holding hands and swinging with enough velocity that he went out horizontally.  “Chain!”

He whipped out, the velocity translating into enough velocity for the chain to go flying.  Same deal as her weapon ring, kind of.  She and he missed Liberty, instead spearing a wall of a nearby building.

One of her fans had turned back into a goblin.  The goblin superfan of Liberty with hair in a row of ponytails looked up from where Lucy had dropped her.  “He can’t.”

Can’t do anything special.  Except be a flexible chain that was good at grabbing onto stuff.

But they weren’t the only ones moving to the rescue.  Spell cards flew out, and wind exploded out in localized swirls and whirlwinds of air.

Lucy glanced back.

Avery and Verona were on the far side of the doorway, back in normal clothes.  Back with their regular gear, as long as they acted through the door.

Buoyed, Liberty was able to use the tongue trick, snapping it up and out to catch the chain that extended above her, and bounced, before reeling herself in, grabbing the chain.  She began to slide down it, using laced fingers that ran across the rough metal, ziplining down.

The Finder landed on the chain, and began a tightrope-run down the chain’s length toward them.

“When she’s close enough, can you let go of what you’re holding and catch Lib on the way back?”  Lucy asked.

The chain vibrated in what she hoped was a positive way.

“Yeah!” the one fan exclaimed.

“Thank you,” Lucy said, perfunctory, focusing.

The chain disconnected from the wall, and went back to becoming a goblin in a big retraction, hand-claw grabbing Liberty out of the air as her zipline disappeared.

Pulling her the last fifteen or so feet through the air to Lucy, who did her best to catch her and break her fall.  The two of them fell in a tumble.

“Maybe a little-” Lucy grunted.  “-closer to the ground.”

“Falls don’t hurt me as much,” Liberty said, brightly.  She helped Lucy stand.

The Finder had fallen amid the crowd, and walked on heads and shoulders, hopping casually from one doll to the next as she paced, watching their group from the middle of the street.  The other Snowdrop caught up with her, and the Finder grabbed her hand, letting her become opossum before moving her to a shoulder.

She wasn’t approaching.  Maybe she knew there was no point.

Lucy exhaled.

“Goblins, come on!” Liberty called out.  “Got three!”

One ran through.

“Four!  Unless you want to stay here, instead of hanging out!  Start weird, get weirder!”

“Good work,” Lucy told the chain, as she dropped it.  It became a skinny goblin with three trouser legs, two with feet sticking out the bottom.

Need to wash my hands.

“Hey, hey,” one of the fans called up, a tatty-sized goblin.  Where the other goblin had had a mohawk of ponytails, this one had them going the other way, from ear to ear.  She looked up at Lucy with large eyes, tugging on Lucy’s jeans.  “We almost got ‘er!  So good!”

“Yeah.  Thanks for the help.”

“Love to cut a bitch,” the fan said, as she walked away.

“Seven, eight, nine… ten.  We need two more,” Liberty said.

Lucy looked at the Finder, who stood there, hair and clothes billowing, eyes glowing with the Sight in a way Avery’s didn’t, with misty green light-trails, in the same way afterimages were left by bright lights followed by darkness.

“Creepy,” Lucy said.

“Sometimes she’s friendly,” Avery said.

“Seriously?”

“Depends on the time and place.  Mostly the place.”

“There’s eleven, where’s Rudelube?”

“He’s out there!” the mohawk-fan said.

Lucy leaned back through the doorway, looking, listening.  Her clothes changed back to what they’d been as she did so.  The dolls, being more uniform, technically lighter than people, even if they weren’t actually light for the purposes of being pushed around, had footsteps that were whispers of a sound compared to human steps.  So when she heard more rustling, her first thought was that it was the straggler among the goblins.

Too heavy.  Her earring caught the sound, that faint ‘paff’ scuff of a step that was turning into a run.

Hand cupping the side of Liberty’s neck, Lucy half-pushed, half-pulled Liberty out of the doorway, back toward the others.  Because that tied up her hand and the rest of her couldn’t move forward fast enough, she turned her body, turning her back to the Finder, so that a reaching, grasping hand would hit the fabric at her back instead of anything she could really get a hold of.  She fended off another grasp, and the finder grabbed the loose smokey scarf-banner that was suspended in the air behind and above Lucy’s head.

Lucy backed through the door, and her clothing changed back.  The fabric became real smoke, slipping through the Finder’s fingers.

The Finder backed off, unsuccessful, eyes glowing,

The other version of her was still on the car.

The Finder had the bracelet in hand.

What had been the plan?  Use glamour to get them to let their guard down, then haul one of them through, then use the bracelet to seal the door away?

“So damn creepy,” Lucy whispered, watching the Finder.

The last goblin came out from the midst of some dolls that were moving as an assembled group, moving on all fours to reach the doorway.  Liberty picked him up as he passed through the door.

“We’re all clear?” Avery asked.

“No,” Liberty said.

“Who are we missing?” Avery asked, concerned.

“I didn’t get a good photo of you in the costume swap.”

“Liberty…” Avery trailed off.

“Fashion and costumes are a passion.  This is a tragedy.”

“She’s so good at it!” one of the goblin fans exclaimed.

Lucy watched the Finder as the figure went to where the glamour was, and banished it, collecting most of the dust out of the air with sweeps of her hand.

She turned, walking over to a set of doors, the other Snowdrop running over to catch up with her.  As she got close, the doors slammed into existence, creating a doorway to another Path.  The Finder went through.

“Uhhh,” Avery said.

“Does that complicate things any?”

“I don’t know.  Does that mean she’s out there now?”

Lucy sighed, as heavy as she could, while shooting Avery a look.

She put on her bracelet, and the door slammed.

Lucy was finally able to take stock of their surroundings, without being wary of the murder-Avery.  They’d arrived in the city, in the downtown area, and snow coated everything.

“The Garricks put this one in the easy pile.  I should let them know it’s really not.”

“Might be different based on who is running it,” Verona said, craning her head to look through.  “Cliff’s some old guy.”

Liberty made sad puppy sounds.

Verona gave her a pat on the back.  “Maybe one day Avery can glamour up that outfit again.”

Liberty lit up, while Avery shot Verona a death glare.

“Or,” Verona grinned.  “Has she told you about the Promenade outfits?”

“There are Promenade outfits?” Liberty asked.

“Super cute.  Oh, and there’s the picture of her and her mom on the Bound to the Party-”

Avery began wrestling with Verona, muffling her mouth.

“-ambi’s mom’s got it going-”

Avery pushed her wrist between Verona’s teeth to gag her some.

“Bite me or keep going and I’ll get you back,” Avery warned.  “I have four siblings, you’d better believe I can bring my A-game to this battlefield if I have to.  Remember Jeremy’s shirtless pic?”

“Orph ehhahor, Ahhery?” Verona mumbled around Avery’s wrist.

“If it’s really bothering you, I can stop.  It’ll suck, but I can stop,” Liberty said, walking over to lean against a wall.  “I just think there’s so much untapped market for Other fashion.  Imagine a fashion show, goblins-”

Goblins milling around Liberty’s feet cheered.

“-faerie-”

The goblins booed.

“-Lost?”

They ran over toward Snowdrop.

“Oni?  Whatever?  Grunge from your undercity?  Old fashioned stuff from the ghost market?”

“It could be a thing we do in Kennet’s market,” Avery conceded.

“Yes!  Heck yeah.”

“If we can get through this.  But for right now?  There’s bigger stuff,” Lucy said.

Liberty nodded.  “Ahhh, I want to be a Goblin princess-”

Goblins cheered their encouragement.

“A freaking rock star of the Warrens- hell, expand out of there, spirit world, throw a bash in the Abyss?  How metal would that be?”

“Pretty metal,” Avery said.

“And I want my own fashion lines.  I want the inspiration.  You all looked great.”

Verona got her mouth free.  “There’s a Lost-ified postal worker uniform, and another one-”

Avery muffled her.

“But I don’t want to be a pest,” Liberty said.  She smiled.  “This was nice.  Wish I had you for the proper new year, but it’s great to see you all.  I should head back to America, before she thinks of some prank to pull on me.”

“Alright,” Avery said, sitting up, now with a hand at Verona’s lower face.  “Thanks for giving us a spot to stay.”

“Need anything?  You said you needed to get a message to the Garricks?”

“Just about the path,” Avery said.

“Can do.  What about your parents?”

“I’m worried that would trigger something,” Lucy replied.

“Um, okay.  Alright.  If they call?”

“Say you heard we were okay?” Verona asked, shrugging.  “Here, I’ll say it, this is the sentence, we were okay.”

Liberty nodded.

“Oh!” Snowdrop perked up.  “He’s listening in, right?”

“Possibly,” Lucy said.

“Our plan is to access the levers and pulleys of the universe through Avery’s Path stuff and erase the Carmine Exile while he can’t do anything about it,” Snowdrop said.

“What, you want her to pass that on?” Lucy asked.

“She heard it from one of us, right?” Avery asked.

“Might be a little over the top,” Lucy said.

Avery shrugged.  “I wonder if he’d worry.”

“If it comes up, and if I think they might be listening, I can bring that up.  Anything to throw some random noise into things, huh?” Liberty asked.

“Random noise!” one of the goblin fans shouted, moving over to the other goblin fan’s side, conducting as the rest of the little grouping of goblins began to make random and odd noises.

“Don’t get yourself into more trouble,” Avery said, over the cacophony.

“Or you won’t get to see Avery wear-” Verona started, before Avery pushed her back, hand at her mouth again.  They wrestled.

“Here, Snow,” Liberty said.  She bent down and picked up Rudelube.  “He’ll help you find the right goblins to talk to, for when you’re setting out.  Be careful.  This end of Ontario, east of some real Abyssal shit, the Redcap Queen’s whole thing with goblins, you have to be careful.  Goblins are easily molded, and there’s some nasty molding happening here.”

Snowdrop nodded.  She opened her jacket and put Rudelube inside.

Liberty watched Avery wrestling with Verona.

“Hey.”

Lucy turned.  Liberty, barely audible.

Liberty tilted her head, and Lucy walked over as Liberty walked away, hand raised.

“Need something?”

“Did I do okay?” Liberty murmured.  “I wasn’t too much of a pain, right?  I was helpful?”

Lucy thought about their misadventure on the Path.  Liberty bear-hugging the Finder.  The goblins running interference.

Her heart rate still hadn’t climbed all the way down from that.  It didn’t help she was in a strange city.

“Yeah.  Here?  Yeah.  You were a huge help, giving us a place.”

“Ahh, I got as much out of that as I gave.  I like having company,” Liberty said.  “America’s great, the goblins are great.  But I don’t like how I get when all I’ve got is them.  Sometimes you need some people your own age who you aren’t related to, to get your head turned around right.”

Liberty turned her head around a hundred and eighty degrees, demonstrating.

“Yeahhh,” Lucy said.  She could hear with her earring.  “Innocent incoming, pretty sure.”

Liberty managed to get her head turned around the right way just late enough that the person walking down the sidewalk did a double take, but didn’t have their reality shattered.  Just a bunch of teenagers in an alley.

“You put up a good show in there,” Liberty said.

“Thanks.”

“No wonder my dad was impressed.  Good stuff.  Good stuff.  Fae stuff?”

“Some.  Glamour-infused lessons to really speed things along, as far as the fancy techniques go.  But also stuff with Bubbleyum.”

Liberty clicked her tongue.

“All you have to do is ask.  I’m sure they’d be happy to teach you.  I think they enjoy it.”

Liberty nodded.

Still a bit mad and resentful, maybe.

“I’ll let you go, I shouldn’t stick around because I don’t think Ottawa is a big fan of my family, especially with the goblin situation,” Liberty said.  “Glad to know I wasn’t dead weight.”

“Nah,” Lucy said.

“Go easy on Avery.”

“I wasn’t going to go hard.”

Liberty nodded, and then she smiled.  She went to give Avery a goodbye hug.  And Verona, but Lucy could guess what was up.

They left the alley, and Lucy touched her head.  Her hair had partially come out of the ponytail.  She suggested they stop in at a place with a bathroom and hot food before visiting the Lord, and the others agreed.

She fixed her hair, cleaned up a bit of the dust and wood chips that had been blown from Path to her clothes, and sorted out her bag.  Having had her dog tags and ring messed with made her want to check they were okay, and she held them in her hand.  Reassuring.

She could call on them if she needed.  She knew which of the Dogs would be most okay with being summoned, but she also knew they’d have to go home, and there was a chance Charles would cause problems for them, to interrupt any messages they could take to council or family.

Still.  Backup.

She could pick out voices elsewhere in the fast food place.

“Oh.  Hi.”

“It is customary to stop and visit the Lord of any place you are in or passing through.”

“We were on our way.”

“Very well.  There were three of you, in addition to the familiar.”

“She’s-“

Lucy stepped out of the bathroom.  A heavyset man with a wild-man beard, flannel shirt, and cheap jacket was standing by the others.

To her Sight, he was surrounded in floating, broken swords.

“I was just freshening up, to make a better impression,” Lucy said, to a guy who didn’t seem to put much stock in that.

“I’ll escort you,” he said.

“Let’s table the Gaudette proposal.”

“Begin routine proceedings.”

“Leave to introduce?”

“Granted.”

“Livia Gaudette would sit in shadow of the crimson chair, replacing Charron.  She would be the first of the house Gaudette to serve our council, they are practitioners of divine schools, primarily leprous martyrdom.”

“Hands, please, who is familiar?  Looks like we’re half and half.  Carry on.”

“Proposal made on the seventh of October, twenty-twenty, she’s passed background checks, her files passed each chair’s desk for review, everyone had chances to review her referrals.”

“Hands, please, who followed up on that?”

Lucy watched from what she could only call the stands as five of the six people at desks that formed a ring in the recessed area of the dark room raised hands.  Each chair was occupied by a practitioner.  Behind each chair was an Other.  There was one that looked like a very fat, exaggerated ghoul, a bogeyman in rusted armor, a fae dragon thing, a dryad with a tree planted beneath the seat, a sword piercing the ground with jewelry draped from the handle and guard, and a woman wrapped in shawls and fishnet, greasy hair obscuring her bowed head.

“Azure chair, you didn’t?”

“I checked, I knew we already had five follow-ups,” said the man seated in front of the sleek, small dragon-thing with pale pastel hues tinting the edges of its scales.

“Very well.”

“I’ll interrupt here,” a young woman said.  The obese ghoul was behind her.  “Before we get much further, I’ll hard veto.”

“Why?” a man asked, seated by the rusted armor.

“It’s a hard veto, I don’t need to explain myself.”

“It helps if you do, Behaim.”

“Crimson chair, please do remove yourself from the idea of family names and refer to the councilor by the chair she currently holds.  To do otherwise undermines the integrity and mutual respect of this council.”

“Yeah.  Sure.”

“I’ll explain, if I may?”

“Please do.”

“Gaudette is new to the area, she’s not from a willful family.  They do respectable practice, their references are good, but the crimson chair is expected to table motions about conflict and threats, internal and external, and to pay mind to those elements when addressing other motions.  To sit in the shadow of the crimson chair means it is their exclusive focus to serve as opposition to points made, to be informed, and to learn.  We need a stronger hand than Gaudette, especially when we were directly attacked as recently as we were.”

“Master Course, sitting in shadow of the blackest chair?”

“Hm.  I do recall she came in a few times to volunteer information when we were discussing the Musser situation.”

“Normally we’d ask you to make arguments, but I must remind you this is a hard veto.  You have the right to block the hard veto of the current holder of the blackest chair and open up arguments, but know that if you do so and three or more of us disagree with that action, you will be removed from your current seat in shadow.”

“I’d like to hear from Gaudette.”

“That’s an argument by proxy, isn’t it?” the man in the crimson chair said.

“I don’t mind,” the lady in the blackest chair replied.

“Is Livia Gaudette present?”

A teenager sitting about three seats to Lucy’s right stood up.  Her clothes barely covered up visible boils at her shoulder and the back of her neck, and she had a sterile white eyepatch.  “Present, ma’am.”

“Objections, clarifications?”

“None.  I submitted the application when Abraham Musser was our biggest threat.  Or- I’m familiar with the family and their criminal organizations.  I barely understand the current threat.  I’m kind of surprised it took until this week for me to get a reply, saying I’m supposed to come in. I’ve been coming in for four days, waiting for my name to be called.”

“Doing things right takes time,” the man in the glass chair with the fae dragon said.

Oh no, Lucy thought.

Time.  Something they didn’t really have here.

“Then the hard veto makes sense.  Members of the Ottawa practitioner community will be called in at random to sit in the shadow of the Crimson Chair.  It’s an imperfect solution, especially in times like these, so if we could reach out, look for more candidates to nominate, look for anyone who could be put into the role, rush any references, it would be good to have someone prepared for this.”

There were murmurs of agreement.

“Gaudette, thank you for being frank.  Some are hungry enough that they would leave out details to hasten their placement on this council, even a preliminary placement in shadow.  Are you specifically interested in that post, do you wish your application to remain in the loop, should we move someone out of another seat in shadow?”

“No, ma’am.  My family dislikes the Mussers, they’ve robbed one of our practitioners in the past.  It seemed like a chance to even the scales.  Nothing more.  I’ll go back to London, if that’s okay.”

“Go well.  Thank you for being willing to offer assistance in a time of need.”

The teenager walked out of the council chambers.

“Change of seats.”

Each of the people sitting in chairs stood, moved one seat to their right, and sat.  All seemed prepared for it.  Some had papers in wide open leather folders that they slid to the next spot.  The Others remained where they were.

“That’s one full rotation of tabled motions,” the twenty-something lady who’d been in the black chair said, now sitting in a glass chair in front of the fae dragon.  “How are we all doing?  Do we want to recess for the day?”

No, Lucy thought.  Don’t stick us in limbo for a fucking week like you did that woman.

“Or for a lunch break?  Hands, who thinks their next motion will take more time than average?”

A couple of hands went up.

“Crimson chair?  Give us a preview?”

“No motion.”

“In a time of recent conflict?  That’s worrying.  I’m sure we’d all hope everyone is prepared to bring something to the table.”

“I’m working on investigations, I expect results in one or two days.”

“So are we, as a matter of fact, if you would be willing to compare notes?”

“I’ll call tonight?”

“Very well.”

“With that in mind, I’d defer, suggest we table some mundane matters.  I see some strange practitioners in the seats.  They look young, they may be losing patience.”

“Hands, please, I know three of you didn’t have anything time consuming to table, are you tabling mundane matters?  That’s two more yeas.  Three instances of mundane matters for the docket, two more serious ones for discussion, then retire for the afternoon?  Objections?”

There were none.

“Trust a chronomancer to give us a short work day when she takes the glass chair,” the man who’d been in the crimson chair who was now in black said.

“Mr. Hardeep, in the shadow of glass, give us our first mundane matter,” the lady in the glass chair said.

“Next on the docket, three practitioners and one familiar from western Ontario, teleported in by way of magic, with one other companion who left by way of warrens.”

“Stand, please,” the lady in the glass chair said, looking over at the three of them.  “You’re being addressed.”

Lucy stood, smoothing out her clothes a bit.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the woman in the crimson chair said.  “I don’t think you need me, I’ll go make some calls to the augur organization I hired, tell them to have something for me to give to you tonight, when we share notes.”

Lucy raised a hand.

“Miss,” the lady in the glass chair said.

“Lucy Ellingson, first witch and guardian of Kennet, trifold duelist.  I don’t think this will be as mundane as it’s being painted to be.  As respectful of your time as I wish to be… I’d like everyone present.”

“Kennet,” the woman who’d been about to vacate the crimson chair said, shifting position.  “That’s come up a few times.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“The current seat of the Carmine Throne.  Is this a challenge, threat, declaration of war?”

“No ma’am.”

“Not unless things go horribly, horribly wrong,” Verona added, in the most fucking unnecessary way.

Even Avery audibly sighed her exasperation.

“Can the other mundane matters be moved to tomorrow?” the lady in the glass chair asked.

“They may,” the Indian man seated at the smaller desk at the center of the room said.  Five others sat with their backs to his, facing their respective seats.

“Three serious motions then, clear the docket of mundane matters, let’s leave the afternoon open.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Step forward,” the man in the blackest chair said.

The three of them had to walk a quarter circle around the arrangement of desks with a short wall separating those people and their desks from the ‘stands’, to get to the opening that would let them stand in the mouth of the inner council chambers.  Guards on either side of them, six desks with six chairs, six practitioners, and six Others at the outer rim, backs to the stands, which were dim but not pitch black, six smaller ones in the center.

“Second witch and guardian of Kennet, Avery Kelly,” Avery greeted them.  “Finder, path runner.  This is my familiar Snowdrop, opossum spirit.  Weird rule of discourse, don’t mind her too much if she chimes in.  I can translate.”

Snowdrop raised a hand in a wave.

“Avery Kelly.  That name crossed my desk.  You did something that got attention.”

“Yes sir.”

“I linked your name to Kennet.  I thought your success would be linked to the rise of a corrupt Judge spending reserves of karmic power, rooted in your area.”

“No sir.  We’re opposed to him.”

“Hmm.”

“What was the success?” the man in the green chair asked.

“Snowdrop and I helped to solve a tricky and important part of the Paths.  We’re working with the Garricks on that.”

“Garricks.  The city mage Edward mentioned them,” the man in the green chair said.

“They’re acquaintances of his and I met them through that acquaintance-ship?” Avery said, sounding unsure at the end of the sentence, like she wasn’t sure it was a word.

“Very well.  And the third one?”

“Verona Hayward, third witch of Kennet, guardian of Kennet, nascent sorceress, dabbler in halflight and shape, hatcher of the moon, enforcer of the undercity of Kennet, peddler of odd books, speaker for the voiceless.”

“A long list of titles.”

“I’m hopeful that by the time we finish talking to you, you see it’s deserved.”

“Peddling is a practice we discourage here,” the man in the blackest chair said.  “As we do most rapacious practices.  Sometimes that alone is enough we’d turn people away.”

Verona looked stunned.

“Sir, it’s benevolent peddling,” Lucy interrupted.

“Very well.  Good to hear.”

“You presumably request entry into the area?” the woman in the crimson chair asked.

Lucy spoke up.  “Ma’am, we want to do more than that.  We’re here because we’re up against Charles.  We have a mutual enemy, and we have a plan for wounding that enemy, in a metaphysical sense.”

“What metaphysics?” the man in the black chair asked.

“Taking away the Alabaster, that’s supporting him and giving him power.  For that, we’d need passage through Ottawa for a day, to get to her.  We need to do summoning practices to prepare.”

“To screw with Charles- the Carmine Exile, more specifically,” Verona said.

“And ideally,” Avery picked up right where Lucy had left off, “we’d like your help with one aspect.  We’re not asking you to go to war or sacrifice your position.”

“For the time being, the current holder of the black chair is sitting in.  The man who would normally be among this council’s six primary seats is away, the Lord prefers to operate with this council as an intermediary submitting paperwork to rubber stamp.  This is a process,” the woman in the crimson chair said.

“Time is of the essence here,” Lucy said, worrying now.

“We expect our sixth council member to rejoin us in six working days for our next council session.  We can pre-table a motion for then, if there’s no objection.”

“Six days?” Lucy asked.

“Working days.  That doesn’t include New Years day, the weekends.  That would be next Friday.”

“Normally the question of scheduling and oversight for these meetings is left to the glass chair,” the lady in the glass chair said.

“Very well.”

“Respectfully, this is time sensitive,” Lucy told them.

“He’s our enemy, he’s your enemy,” Verona interjected.  “And this will really chafe his asshole if it works.  All you gotta do is put aside the bureaucracy B.S.”

They seem to like the bureaucracy, Lucy thought.  Don’t call it B.S.

“There’s a certain formality expected in these chambers.”

“And when you’re dealing with a guy like this current Carmine?” Verona asked.  Lucy watched Verona.  “There’s a certain informality where you just gotta say, really, fuck that guy.  Let’s chafe his asshole, let’s piss in his cereal.”

“Metaphorically,” Avery added.

Lucy stood in front of these people, their eyes scrutinizing her, Avery, Verona, and Snowdrop.  They were homeless, there was maybe something in the small details, like Lucy’s hair not cooperating as much, or clothes being hastily washed and crammed into very full bags, that would show, she felt.

“I’m making an appeal to audacity here,” Verona said.

“To outrage,” Lucy added.  “They attacked us, they attacked you.”

“To outreach,” Avery tossed in.  “We’re doing cool things in Kennet.  He’s doing bad things… most places he can reach.”

“Hands, please,” the lady in the glass chair said, sitting back.  “Who wants to put procedure aside and hear this out?”

Five of the six did.

The man in the blackest chair raised a late hand to be the sixth.

“So granted.  We’ll hear you out.”

“I ask that this be private,” Lucy said.  “And that the points of the plan be kept to those here, by oath.”

“The plan to chafe the ass of a greater power?” the man in the blackest chair asked.

“Yeah, the plan to chafe his ass, not his asshole,” Snowdrop chimed in.  “Not that it’s important.”

“Opposite speak,” Avery interjected.  “And no, Snow, I’m not sure it matters for our metaphor here if we’re chafing one or the other.”

“Guys,” Lucy whispered.

“Right,” Avery said, straightening.  She indicated Snowdrop.  “She’s been working with goblins.”

“And I have no real excuse,” Verona murmured.

“We’ll entertain your plan.  You wished to perform summoning practices?”

“I have papers detailing it,” Verona said.

“Copies for everyone present?” the woman in the glass chair asked.

“No ma’am.  Didn’t know how this was structured.”

“Mr. Hardeep?  Photocopies.”

The Indian man rose from his seat, approaching.  He paused, standing by Verona, as she indicated what pages.  he put a post-it on each.

“Don’t mind the cover art,” Verona said.

He looked.  The shirtless sketch of Anselm.  “Oh?  I shouldn’t photocopy it then, no?”

“No, don’t think so.”

“Not even to take home with me?”

“Ha ha.  I like you.  But he’s underage, the model for that.”

“Ah, what a shame.”

The man in the crimson chair reached out, getting a drink from a steaming mug.  “May I ask, did you three awaken together?”

“We did,” Lucy said.  “Why?”

“Curiosity.  You have a texture to the connections between you.”

“While we wait.  What is it you require of us?” the woman in the glass chair asked.

“Permission to move through the area.  It’s as close as we can get to the Carmine or Alabaster without treading on the toes of sketchier Lords or other powers,” Lucy said.

“Granted.”

“We have summoning practices we need to do, to get set up, and to stall him.  We need space, to start with.”

“Easily granted.”

This was working.

“And we need…”

Glamour, a twist of opossum hair, and certain signatures of practice.

So there they were.

Charles roused from his seat, turning his attention away from other, bloodier work.

Was it time?

He reached across realms to Maricica, who dozed.  Stirring her awake, so she could rouse, moving her considerable mass, heavy with blood and Abyssal taint.  She would be ready if he called on her, in serious confrontation here.

He had awareness over a million square kilometers of territory, but his awareness was limited to that territory.  He could look out past it, but he could not tread beyond.  This was his station.

They’d realized that.  They’d left that territory.  Avery’s idea, and an effective one.  But one he’d anticipated.  He’d sent out spies, he had others.  A goblin in Liberty’s camp had been able to pass on some information, and while it hadn’t had the ability to understand what was being said well enough to explain, it let Charles know.

Now, as he crossed a vast distance, to go from Kennet to Ottawa’s outskirts, he knew that the plan was being put into action.

He made his entrance, stepping out from between trees, letting his power unfold and cover the area, turning this into an extension of his throne, blood soaked snow.

A crude summoning stood before him, about knee high, solid spirit, with googly eyes and messy hair with some of the opossum spirit’s essence in it.

Charles smiled.  A summoning.  Would they have sent a crude beginner’s zombie to fight a necromancer of Yiyun’s caliber?  He knew they were capable of more.

“Sir,” the summoning said.  “I come, as is my right, to meet with you and challenge you.  I hereby announce myself!  I am Percival Awarnach of the ninety-nine titles, the first and foremost of which is that I am he who was crafted at two thirty nine on the twenty-ninth of December, twenty-twenty, by three sets of hands, with twelve sets of eyes in witness.  The second of which is that I-”

“Stop,” Charles said.

“I am in my rights to announce myself as required for this challenge, as my name is my power and to take my power away from me is to deny me the challenge by right.  You have interrupted me sir, so I must begin again.  I am Percival Awarnach of the ninety-nine titles, the first and foremost of which is that I am he who was crafted at two thirty nine on the twenty-ninth of December, twenty-twenty, by three sets of hands, with twelve sets of eyes in witness.  The second of which is that I am the noble creation of the third witch of Kennet, Verona Hayward, witch and guardian of Kennet, nascent sorceress, dabbler in halflight and shadow, she who shattered the moon, founder of Kennet found, enforcer of Kennet below-”

Charles turned, reached for, and called his throne to him, planting it in the dirt of the woods.

“Sir!  I fear I do not have your full attention!  I am due certain rights as a challenger and as a member of your constituency.  I will begin again.”

“Stop.  No.  We’ll duel now.”

“No sir, and to answer why, I, Percival Awarnach of the ninety-nine titles, the first and foremost of which-”

Charles reached for Carmine blood and drew it out of the environment to create a large cleaver.

He swung it.  It stopped short of the small summon.  Or it was stopped.  The known universe extended out, getting more and more taut as the blade got closer, until the resistance was too great.

He put the weapon away, and chuckled ruefully, shaking his head, pacing.  He reached out.

“Sir, I do not believe I have your full attention, which is my due and my right as a member of this constituency.  I will begin again.  My given name is Percival Awarnach of the ninety-nine titles, the first and foremost of which…”

The Sable Prince stepped out of the shadows, looking at the situation with dark eyes.

“This precedent cannot stand,” Charles informed him.

“Oh, it shouldn’t, no,” the Sable Prince replied.

“We wouldn’t be able to function.”

“Sir!” the summoning piped up.  “I do not believe I have your full attention!”

“He comes as a challenger.  As is his right,” the Sable Prince said.

“They made his brain an acorn with a symbol on it, referring to seven pages of paper, writing on each side, giving him an internal map and instructions.  An acorn.”

“He retains the right, Carmine.”

“Sir!” the summoning piped up.

Charles chuckled again, low and humorless, shaking his head.

“Sir!”

“If you wish to amend the system, it cannot be to shortchange a contestant, and certain aspects of this system are inviolable, at least for us, where we stand, with the power and responsibility afforded to us.  A challenger must always be allowed to challenge us.”

“To duel this thing, I must let it finish announcing itself?  It’ll find any excuse to reset.”

“All is fair by Law, Carmine.”

“Sir!  I fear I do not have your full attention!  I am due certain rights as a challenger and as a member of your constituency.  I will begin again.”

“May I suggest that rather than attempt to change the challenger, you address yourself and your realm?” the Sable Prince asked.

“Yeah,” Charles replied.  He’d risen out of his seat to pace and to meet the Sable Prince, and now he walked around.

There were combat practitioners who could freeze Innocent perceptions of time and non-practice related events in a bubble, stopping time in an area for a fight to happen.

To do something similar here, he could accelerate the movement of time in this clearing.  He could alter his own perceptions, to some degree, to process and hear the words without having to endure them as a human might.

Time wouldn’t pass.

“Fine.  Thank you, Sable.”

“I’ll remain for now, to observe.”

“Sir!  I am Percival Awarnach of the ninety-nine titles, the first and foremost of which is that I am he who was crafted at two thirty nine on the twenty-ninth of December, twenty-twenty, by three sets of hands, with twelve sets of eyes in witness.  The second of which is that I am the noble creation of the third witch of Kennet, Verona Hayward, witch and guardian of Kennet, nascent sorceress, dabbler in halflight and shadow, she who shattered the moon, founder of Kennet found, enforcer of Kennet below, speaker for the voiceless.  My second title is that I was created with the assistance of the great Avery Kelly, second Witch of Kennet, Finder and Path Runner, Promenade Solver, partner to the opossum spirit Snowdrop…”

Charles sat, careful not to break eye contact, and motioned with a hand, making the firmament pass a fair bit faster overhead, while altering himself within, to change how he percieved all of this.

“…Ninety-eighth, I am he who was shortly into my creation, bitten by an opossum spirit, but did not die, brave as I am, though the bite was light, it remains a four minute skirmish, cheered on by my creators.  Ninety-ninth, I am he of the disorganized titles, who has titles out of order, such as my second title, which refers to the third witch of Kennet, when it would be more appropriate to have the first witch of Kennet be first, and the second be second, and the third be third, and now that I mention it those titles are misnumbered, as the first entry of the three is number two and the second is number three and that is all very confusing and that is my last title.  I pose another challenge, not a duel, sir.”

“Hmmm?”

“Sir, you requested a duel, I was only replying.  The last Carmine’s demise was followed by a tournament duel for candidates, competitors removing each other one by one until one remained as the last –ahem-and arguably least deserving-koff- Carmine candidate.  I ask that the process be replicated, so that I may prove my worth and my mettle and grow as I may need to, before I or the last remaining candidate faces you.”

“We can duel, here and now.”

“No, sir.  I am allowed to set the terms for this challenge, provided there is precedent or sufficient argument.  A tournament has been done before, more than once, including the time you took your seat, and I ask it be done again, and for it to take three days, so that we may call suitable opposition.  I would like to prove my worth before facing you, for appropriate karmic advantage.”

“As is your right,” the Sable said, before looking at Charles.

There weren’t many good candidates nearby.  This was not a threat, even with three days to call in others, and he still had some options in his back pocket.

But three days… this time distortion wouldn’t work.

They had to stay out of Kennet, for fear of being forsworn.  Eventually, maybe, they could return to see how Kennet had changed and would change in the future.  They could see more of his region, and the things he was putting into place.

Now, he was forced into a similar circumstance.  Three days sealed away, entertaining some stupid ruse here.  He couldn’t ignore the situation entirely, either.  The tournament’s winner would try to kill him at the end.

That would potentially be a small expenditure of resources he was hoping to put elsewhere.

He wouldn’t be able to observe other things or do his work while tied up in this.

“It is your right,” the Sable told the little summon.

“But,” Charles said.  “You are only a proxy, Percival Awarnach.”

“I must insist you use my titles, sir.”

“I am not going to do that.  Instead, to speak for you, I call on your creators, named among your titles…”

He reached out.

And was blocked.

He snorted air through his nose.

“…and go unanswered,” Charles finished.

“Not so easy,” the Sable Prince observed.

“Not so easy,” Charles said.

“Then, I, Percival Awarnach of the ninety-nine titles, the first and foremost of which…”

Charles rolled his eyes, motioning for the firmament to move, and for time in this domain to speed up.

“…those titles are misnumbered, as the first entry of the three is number two and the second is number three and that is all very confusing and that is my last title… I accept!  Bring this tournament forth!  Huzzah!”

“There’s some Avery in your creation from that last bit, I see.  Huzzah.”

“Huzzah!”

“A tournament…” Charles called on the Seal to prepare and power the event, building what needed to be built in terms of system, setup, and prerequisite.  The call would need to go out.  It needed schedule and structure.  “Three days to call in any contenders.”

“I, Percival Awarnach of the ninety-nine titles, the first of which…”

Charles gestured.

“…that is all very confusing and that is my last title… I insist!”

“It wasn’t even in contention.”

“And I will greet every new contestant with my full list of titles.”

“You will not, that is an area I do have the ability to refuse you.”

“I will gain karmic advantage by listing my titles, and I will not have that karmic advantage removed, I, Percival Awarnach of the ninety-nine titles, the first…”

“…that is all very confusing and that is my last title… am due my rights.”

“You have no chance of victory, your brain is the size of an acorn, you are made of the spiritual equivalent of cardboard and duct tape, and I think even my forsworn human self, prior to my taking this mantle, could have kicked you to pieces.  The marginal karmic advantage does not matter.”

“Huzzah!”

But Charles could see through the summoning, and see how one of the secondary pages inside the Other was a witness list, and he could see the way things connected.  He could decipher how this would play out.

If Charles tried to take away the ability to garner karma through declaring titles, the summoning would pivot to putting everything on hold to request other judges arbitrate while it called for witnesses and supporting facts, giving each time to arrive.

A three day tournament, maybe four with stalling, or a protracted case before one, two, or three of the other judges, to verify the merits of the karmic argument, with time required to find and call on each witness, oaths required to promise them safety, and more.

“You shall have your tournament.”

“Huzzah!”

“And the girls shall have a chance, I suppose.”

The goblins were the first thing she heard.  Jabbering, gabbling, talking.  They were Liberty’s goblins, and not whatever other sort of goblin was in this region.

Him?  She only heard his breathing, faint, soft, like soft brushes on her skin.

Guilherme sat, cross-legged, shirtless in the snow, studiously trying to ignore the goblins who tried very hard to be impossible to ignore.

“This point marks a dangerous threshold,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Good to see you,” Lucy told him.  She put out a hand, and he clasped her wrist.

She didn’t really pull him to his feet, but with the grace with which he rose to a standing position, she felt like she had.  The familiar face helped buoy her heart.

“It has not been peaceful,” he said.

“Guys,” Lucy said.

The goblins stopped.

“Go back to Liberty.”

They hesitated, then went.

It was like telling kids to eat cake.  They didn’t need to be told twice.

“Any news?” Avery asked.

“I left not that long after you did.  I cannot tell you what has transpired or what is transpiring.”

“It’s been a day,” Lucy said.  “We’ve traveled this far.”

“I know,” Guilherme said.  “You need only travel a little further.  But be wary.”

Lucy nodded.

She looked at Verona, who nodded, and Avery.

Together, as three, they crossed the line into Charles’ territory, visible only in slight differences in the Sight, from one spot of snow-draped, ice-crusted forest to the next.

Immediately, they saw a deer, white, with black tears streaking from dark eyes to jaw to neck.  She bounded off.

“We come not as enemies, but auditors,” Lucy addressed the cold forest the deer had escaped into.  Even though all of this area of Ontario was hers, technically.

“We question your actions to date, your allotments of power, your adherence to core principles.  We question if you are what you are intended to be, if you have followed through in your duties, or been derelict, helping the current Carmine as you have,” Lucy said, pitching her voice to be heard, helped by her earring.

Snow stirred.

“To assess all of that is impossible for any human, so we put forward our solution.  A means of reviewing each of those things in what we feel is the fairest and most representative way possible.  Let those of your region who are affected by your arbitration judge,” Lucy called out.

The words, even the complex ones she wouldn’t normally use, came easy.  They came easy because of practice, recited in her head, and because she was tapping into Law.  It reminded her of the Awakening.  The way words had fallen out into the right order.

The Alabaster doe had emerged from the trees.  There was a dark look in her eyes.  Threatening.

“To do a clean audit, we ask for not a city spirit, but a provincial one, representing man, practitioner, and Other, among other forces.”

“Who do you ask?” the Alabaster deer asked them, as it stalked forward.  It shrugged and white hide fell in layers, the woman straightening to her full height.  “Spirit?”

“You.  You address this audit.  On seven points, we are prepared to say you have established a pattern of misconduct, failing in your roles.  On each point, we push the onus for proving yourself innocent onto you, Alabaster,” Lucy said.

“And the cost onto me as well.”

“We have Ottawa, the capitol, willing to back this move, which counts when it’s city magic,” Avery said.  She had the city magic pin Ken had given her, sealed so it still had Ottawa’s icon and logo on it.  “I’ve heard enough grumbling about how things are going that I’m positive that if I reach out to the markets and the remains of the practitioner community here, I’d find people saying you’re not doing what you need to.”

“It is customary that the Alabaster contest is a pursuit.  Hunter against prey,” the Alabaster told them.

“We’re not planning on doing that,” Avery said.  “Because clearly you’ve gotten really good at being an effective prey animal and escaping or subverting anyone who’d hunt you.”

“This is other crap catching up to you,” Verona said.  “It’s heavier.  It’s a karmic audit.”

The Alabaster was creating her domain around her.  The people in white stood in the woods, wearing clothes that would’ve been lightweight in summer.  Linen togas and dresses, feet bare, with white flower crowns.

“What you’re doing to assist Charles is wrong,” Lucy said.  “Stand down, agree to not work with him or lend him power or aid, we can let this go, walk away.”

“I won’t agree to that.”

Lucy nodded to herself, unsurprised.

“I will face your challenge.  But what you ask, I cannot pay as it stands.  My power is invested elsewhere,” the Alabaster said.

“Call on those who owe you debt, to pay you back.  Whatever it costs in penalties or interest,” Lucy said.  “Not being able to pay isn’t an excuse.”

“One of those individuals is currently bound up in another contest.  A farce of one.”

Lucy didn’t budge, staring the Alabaster down.

“This is the approach you wish to make?” the Alabaster asked, voice soft.  “The game you wish to play?”

“Not playing,” Avery replied.

“Do you think, that if you put the onus of this on a spiritual representation of everyone in the region, you won’t be to blame for my demise?”

“If we get the people in the region to give their take without knowing they’re giving it or breaching their Innocence, and the majority say you’ve utterly failed them?” Verona asked, “then I think you’re the one to blame, Alabaster.”

“Then much of this rests on those seven points of contention, which decide how much onus is on me or on my challenger to pay the cost of that jury and judge-”

“And replacement,” Lucy said, voice soft.  “We’d have the provincial spirit become Alabaster after your removal.”

“Even if I win, I may lose, without a resounding victory on the question of cost and onus.”

“You sided with Charles Abrams,” Lucy told the Alabaster.  “I don’t think that was a winning move.”

“That, practitioner Ellingson, remains to be seen,” the Alabaster replied.  “And it will remain to be seen past my demise, if things come to that.”

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