Author: Wildbow

Go for the Throat – 23.e | Pale

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“Our kids are gone, and you’re playing games!” a man roared.  Jeremy had seen the guy, but not enough to put a name to.  “Where are they?  It’s late, they need to come home.”

“As far as I know,” the other Verona said, “they’re a four to five hour drive away, at a magic school that’s basically a battlefield right now.”

“Is that where Lucy is?” Mia asked.

“Are we buying this?” George asked.  He had a constant half-smile on his face.

Questions overlapped.  Voices were raised.  Jeremy found himself studying the other Verona’s expression.  Then Lucy’s mom standing aside, looking grim.

“Maybe,” Jeremy said, goosebumps prickling up and down his arms and back.  Realizing the goosebumps were prickling gave him a second wave of the same.

Other kids from class were gathering together.  Wallace, Caroline, Brayden Black, George.

“Guys, guys!” the other Verona raised her voice.  “Hold on.”

The voices didn’t stop.

The woman with the lines of red tears down her face leaned over to say something.

Jeremy stepped forward, hoping to say something while there was- not a break, but at least she wasn’t trying to talk to everyone.  He caught the tail end of what the woman was saying.  “-didn’t think it would be this bad.”

“Different agendas and needs, yeah,” Verona said.  She held up a finger for Jeremy.  “Guys!  Do you want to be mad and shout, or do you want answers?  Because if you want answers, you need to shut up!”

People didn’t shut up.

George walked up to be beside Jeremy, to get out ahead of things, but others started to do the same thing, so it backfired.

“Do not step on the salt and chalk!” Verona called out.  She was nearly drowned out by overlapping questions and statements.  Jeremy would have asked her a question, maybe, trusting that the degree of personal connection would at least get him an answer where she was ignoring others but… he didn’t want to add to the problem.

“Hoy!” George hollered.  It didn’t really work.  He put a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, still kind of smiling, drew in a deep breath-

“Hoyyy!” Jeremy added his voice to George’s.  Mia, Wallace, Brayden and Caroline came in, in that order, adding their voices, until their united hollers were countering the mob.

The mob stopped shouting.  George motioned for them to stop.

Quiet.  George pointed at Verona, winked, and then said, “Go.”

“This whole thing is really complicated, because there’s whole worlds of complicated stuff going on, there’s a bunch of stuff we gotta get out of the way, and we’re doing it with a time limit.”

“Doesn’t matter!  Where is my son!?”

Others with the same question joined in.

“Hoy!” George started to jeer and interrupt again.

“Do not!”  The man wheeled on George, anger in his eyes.  He took three steps toward George as George took two back.  “Do not interrupt me!”

It was intense enough that Brayden’s dad hurried forward, pushing George back a bit so there was a gap where he could step in between the two.  He kept his body turned sideways, hands raised, not looking at either.  The guy tried to get around him, and he stepped forward to block.

“You keep doing that, none of us get anywhere with any of this, so just shut up and let her talk!” George shouted.

“I don’t care about these games!  I only care about my son!”

“You want to know what’s up?” Avery asked.

She was crouching on a high tree branch, twenty or so feet off the ground.  Some animal clung to her shoulder.

“Fucking give us answers!”

Avery hopped down from the branch, landing in a crouch, then stood up like she hadn’t just destroyed her legs.  “Some people went looking for vulnerable kids, picked your kids, and dragged them off to a school.  Now they’re being conscripted into a fight.  That’s the gist of it.”

“Give me the address.”

“I can, but you won’t-”

“Give it to me!”

Avery pulled off her bag, setting it down.  Jeremy watched as the animal -a small opossum- peered over her shoulder.

Too calm, too quiet.

Goosebumps again.

Avery pulled a notebook out of her bag, found a page, then showed him.

He went to take the notebook from her, and she pulled back.  “Take a picture.”

“Mr. Gill-” Brayden’s dad said.

“Fuck off.  Fucking-”

“You can go but I’m betting you won’t make it.  Someone or something will bar your way.  Maybe you’ll have car trouble,” Avery said.

“Fuck you,” the man said, before storming off.  A pair of others went with him.

“Might’ve made a mistake inviting him,” Verona said.

The guy heard, and looked like he was going to say or do something about that statement, but he had other priorities.

“Mr. Gill isn’t a bad person,” Brayden’s dad said.  “Just…”

He looked like he was floundering for an explanation and couldn’t come up with one.

“You might be trying to explain too much,” Avery said, to Verona.  “Getting their heads around the whole problem?”

“Do you want to try this?  I’m bad at it.”

“I dunno.  Guys, everyone, thank you for coming.  But right out the gates, I’ve got to make it clear,” Avery said.  “This stuff gets dangerous.  Knowing about this stuff means you’re more likely to get attacked.”

“Lots of overlap between the places that burned or demolished the other night and people who are tapped into this stuff,” Verona said.

Jeremy nodded.  He’d seen Verona’s house.

“It creates this really nasty situation where we can’t explain without putting you in more danger,” Avery said.  “So I’ll just say this…”

She undid the front of her antler-patterned coat, pulled it a bit aside, and hiked up her shirt.  A bandage was taped there.  She peeled it aside.

“I’ve been shot.”

It looked like a bullet wound, but there were makeup prosthetics to explain that sort of thing.  Not ones that seemed to go into flesh, but still.

“What’s the problem?  Why are we here?  What’s the supposed benefit to us?” Mrs. Schaff asked.  The cat lady that lived on the east end.  She’d answered the ad Jeremy’s mom had made him put out when looking for a new owner for Sir.  He’d visited her but hadn’t felt good adding one more cat to that house.

“Kennet’s primed to collapse,” Avery said.

“There’s a lot of weird stuff that’s been happening for a while,” Verona told the assembled people.  “You’ll have noticed it.  The violence over summer, the way so many people in Kennet left all at once.  Police stuff, ghost sightings, three dead teenagers, no explanation.”

“Stripper man at the party?” Mia asked.

“Yeah,” Avery said.

“Is it okay if I say I don’t believe you?” a woman asked.  “That it’s late, I can appreciate anything that makes Kennet more lively, even if I wish it wasn’t this dark or intense, but it’s not for me?”

“Your son died, Mrs. Necaise,” Avery said.

“I don’t have a son.”

“You did.  His name was Gabriel, and he signed on for some magic stuff he wasn’t ready for, and he got killed.  We- Verona, Lucy and I, we tried to help but we couldn’t save him.  I think you know something’s wrong and something’s missing in your life.”

“At the same time, I’m betting something’s wedged into your life that doesn’t belong,” Verona said.  “A room with a boy’s things.  And sometimes someone comes to visit, and a kind of switch flicks and you treat them like a son, and everything’s normal, then they leave, and you forget again, but maybe the feeling sticks around.”

The woman folded her arms.  Jeremy watched her face, trying to figure out if there was a kernel of truth there.

Goosebumps again, as he saw the tiny changes in her expression.

Avery addressed everyone, “We don’t have long.  You can go if you want, you should go if you have doubts, but I think most of you have some sense that something’s off, or you’ve run into something bad.  You can walk away and hold onto that feeling and life stays simple, or you can help and things get complicated.”

“And the collapse?” Mrs. Schaff asked.

“Hopefully if we get enough people on our side, it helps,” Verona said.  “We’d want you to stand for Kennet.  Symbolically.”

“Why is it collapsing?” Jeremy asked.

“Long story short?” Verona asked, meeting his eyes.  He got goosebumps again.  “Someone twisted up spiritual, magical stuff all around Kennet, making a second, darker Kennet that overlaps it.  Now he’s sucking power out of it, maybe even pulling his throne out of it-”

“Keep it simple,” Avery said, hands in pockets, eyes on the diagram, nodding along.

“-He’s pulling power out.  It goes, Kennet follows.”

“Darker Kennet?” George asked, that half-smile still on his face.  “I went wandering once, I wasn’t… feeling well, and I ended up-”

“Yeah,” Verona cut him off.

“That’s what I saw?”

“Yeah.”

George nodded, pressing lips together, taking a deep breath.  When he said, “Okay,” the smile had dropped off his face.

“What do we do, then?” Jeremy asked.

“Diagram,” Verona said, pointing.  She turned to Avery, saying, “we’ve got the items.”

“Six sets,” Avery said.

“Leaving six spaces on the perimeter.”

“More than six people,” Avery said.

It was like they were workshopping something.

“I’ll draw,” Verona said.  “You make sure people are square?”

“Yeah,” Avery said, before turning to some of the parents.

“What are you thinking?” Caroline asked Jeremy, quiet.

“That a lot of stuff makes a lot more sense.”

“More sense?” Caroline asked.

“I remember when Verona was away for the summer, she came back, and I saw her talking to thin air.  I thought I saw someone.  She said it was a ghost.”

“The weirdos that attacked the school, remember?” Wallace asked.

“Bracken,” Brayden said.  “He knew stuff.”

“Melissa,” Mia said, suddenly, grabbing George’s arm.

“She’s been going by Oakham,” Jeremy said.

“Yeah.  She’s been with Bracken, she’s been so weird lately.  She had these crazy martial arts with her cane?  And her house got trashed.”

“If this is a long setup for something way bigger than the Arcade, it’s really well done,” George said.

“With actual crime as part of it?” Mia asked.  “The burned and trashed houses?  They flipped a car downtown, scared some moms who were out for a stroller walk.  You really think it’s fake?”

“I’m worried you guys are mixing up real events with the fake stuff,” Caroline said.  “Or they’re taking advantage of real bad things that happened and wrapping them up in this… I don’t know…”

“Mythology,” Wallace said.

The woman Verona had called Louise had approached them from the side, after talking to some of the parents who’d been agitated- but not so agitated they’d gone with Mr. Gill.  She was younger than his mom, and wore a plaid shirt under a bulky, brand-less jacket of the sort that construction workers and other outdoor laborers used, sixty percent durability, thirty-nine percent warmth, one percent looks.  Her jeans and boots were the same.  She was bleeding from the eyes.

“Odds are, those eerie moments that have stuck with you, moments without explanation, since last spring, they tie back into this.  Those three have been fighting their hearts out to preserve normal for the rest of Kennet.  To hold it together, to fight tyrants, to keep it from bleeding out.”

“That’s Avery, Lucy, and Verona?” Jeremy asked.

“Not Verona!” Verona commented, without turning around.  She’d overheard.

“What?”

“I’m not Verona,” she said, turning to meet Jeremy’s eyes.  “Call me Julette.”

That’s not Verona.  He wasn’t sure what it was, couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Is Verona okay?” he asked.  He felt weird dwelling on it with his girlfriend a few feet away, but…  “Or was she ever Verona?

“She was.  She’s been going through a lot, but I think she’s mostly okay.  She went with her mom to set something else up,” Louise said.

“Did her mom get her into this?  Hereditary witchdom or…?”

“No,” Lucy’s mom said.  She had a long neck and long, narrow arms, and legs that swam in her nurse’s scrubs, which she wore under her coat.  Her hair was a very short afro with bangs grown long and swept to one side.  Very little body fat or curves- he only noted that because he could see a lot of Lucy in her.  Except he’d always generally gotten the impression she was even less warm than Lucy, who was already not very warm, based on how she acted in class.  “She’s telling her mom about all of this tonight.”

“Oh,” Jeremy replied.

“Which one of you is Jeremy?” Louise asked.

“Ready!  Need everyone in position!” Avery called out.

Jeremy raised a hand.

“Go.  I was just going to say, that if things had gone differently, they might have chosen you, instead of one of those three.”

“What?” Jeremy asked.

“Very possibly life or death, people!” Avery called out.  She clapped her hands.  “Hustle!  I need someone, anyone, so we can get through you all in time!”

Jeremy moved that direction, waiting for the crowd to clear.  He looked back at Louise.

“They had people in mind, for who they’d introduce to magic, and make guardians of Kennet,” Louise said.  “You were on the list.  Then they picked Avery first, and they wanted two people who complemented her.  Which wasn’t you.  That’s not an insult, it’s just the way things happened.”

“The other two were Lucy and Verona?” Mia asked.

“Yes.”

“Where is Lucy?” Mia asked.

“Fighting for her life.  For all of your lives.  For Kennet, for bigger things.”

Jeremy looked back at Lucy’s mom, who was hugging herself with her arms.  Hugging tighter, hearing that.  Dead serious.

“This is a part of the fight too, organizing this,” Louise said.  “Cooperate and listen.”

Jeremy nodded.

The look on Lucy’s mom’s face felt like a punch to the gut.

“Gut feeling, if you’re not into this, if you won’t cooperate, if you can’t stand for your life to get more complicated, say now,” Avery said, to one of the parents.  “It makes leaving Kennet harder, it’s more dangerous.”

Julette was asking someone else, “Do you love Kennet?  We’re asking you to buy into something bigger than all of us, if that’s not you then-”

Julette stepped aside to let the parent through.

“-you need to let us know.  There’s danger, there’s risk, there’s- no promises what happens if you leave this general area, we can protect you some here, but if you ever dream of moving away…”

“I’m in,” a guy who’d come with Mrs. Schaff said.

“Stand at the edge of the circle, please, gods and spirits, don’t step on the salt or chalk.”

“How do we know we can trust you?”

The question came from Noah.  Directed at Avery.

“You don’t,” Julette replied.

“We’ve been in touch with a lot of you,” Avery said.  “Most of you have seen us around, I think we’ve been really fair to you guys, generally.  A lot of what we’ve been doing, it’s been building, playing defense, reaching out, trying to include you guys.”

“I don’t want to sound like a dick,” Noah said.  “But you’re asking us to reconsider everything we know, buy into something big.  If we’re reconsidering, do we reconsider who you might be, your motivations?”

“Valid,” Julette said.  “I wish I had the time to give your questions the time they deserve.  Hang back, see if you can decide on your own?”

Jeremy looked at Wallace, who was looking down at the diagram.  Then at Caroline.

“What are you thinking?” he asked her.

“Trying to-” Wallace started.  Then he realized Jeremy hadn’t been asking him.

“That I wasn’t invited.  That I don’t want to make the wrong call,” Caroline said.

Whether the question was legitimate or not, Noah’s ask had slowed things down a mite.

Mia stepped forward.  “Dangerous, might be risky to leave Kennet, it’s complicated?”

“Yeah,” Avery said.

“Helps Lucy?”

“Yeah.”

“The leaving Kennet is a sticking point.”

“If it helps, we’re planning to make Kennet and everything way cooler,” Julette said.  “Like the market, arcade, and Christmas concert, but constant and next level.

“That does help, but… this helps Lucy?”

“Yeah,” Avery said.  “I do think it should.”

“Okay.”

“I’m in,” George said.  “Not leaving the family I’m in here.”

They weren’t just the most popular people in their grade for no reason.  They were leaders, in a lot of ways.  Mia, aside from the occasional beef with someone like Hailey, or not trying very hard to keep contact with Oakham, had been pretty cool.  George was less cool, less of a role model- that had been more Amadeus.  George was more of a stoner, a funny guy to hang with, but in moments like this, he, like Mia, could apparently stand up.

Jeremy wasn’t surprised George wasn’t making the whole ‘it’s hard to leave’ thing tricky.

“I’m not really planning on leaving my mom for a good while anyway,” Wallace said.  “And I feel like I owe Lucy something.”

“I don’t think she’s angry, exactly,” Avery said.  “You drifted apart.  She had a lot going on.”

Wallace shrugged, then rubbed one shoulder.  “Where do I stand?”

“Outside perimeter.”

Mrs. Schaff went.  The cats she had with her leaped down to the ground.

Jeremy primarily lingered because of Caroline.

“You don’t have to say yes,” he told her.

“If I say no, what happens?” Caroline asked.

Julette shrugged.  “You go home, you convince yourself it was all fake, kick yourself for missing out on a project that had a lot of effort put into it, that’s it.”

Caroline looked over at Jeremy.

“Don’t do it for my sake.”

“I’m not.  My dreams are here.”

Jeremy nodded.

She put out a hand, and he took it.  Corny, but nice.

Caroline worked on weekends, doing really shitty work, literally mucking out stables while learning about horses.  On weekdays she babysat a lot.  It actually made planning time together hard, but on a whole other level, it gave things a momentum.  Absence making the heart grow fonder, looking forward to time together instead of being together all the time.  It required work, to plan for the time they could wedge in, between homework, her odd jobs, and he was finding himself doing more art than he’d even been doing alongside Verona, for a gift for Caroline, the one time, and in general, to match her energy some.  Chasing dreams and interests.

His dad kept saying ‘a good relationship should feel easy’ but he was glad this didn’t.  Being with Verona had felt easy, but it had been an easy that didn’t go anywhere, wasn’t supposed to go anywhere.

This, walking forward with his hand at Caroline’s back until they were between Wallace and Mia, it felt like it went somewhere.  Somewhere a bit scary, but…

“Our daughter?” Oakham’s mom asked.

“With Lucy.”

“Fighting?”

“I don’t know,” Avery admitted.

“Did this magic stuff lift her up or was it how she got so down on herself?”

“Both.  But credit where it’s due, she’s helped us a lot,” Avery said.  “She’s been a champ.”

“She’s been a huge help,” Louise said.

Oakham’s parents walked forward.

“This doesn’t feel godly,” Savannah said.  One of Avery’s soccer teammates.  She hadn’t been in their class last year, but had come in this year, because they hadn’t had enough students for the one and a half classrooms.

“No sweat,” Avery said.

Others filtered in, and out.

Jeremy felt awkward as he found himself looking across the circle at Mrs. Schaff.  The cats were arranged in a line behind her.  Was she pissed he’d said no to her taking Sir?

“Me?” Lucy’s mom asked.

“Yeah, please, sure, you definitely count,” Avery said, pointing to a gap in the outer circle.

Lucy’s mom gave Avery a kiss on the top of the head as she passed, a rub at one shoulder.  She looked super stressed, but in that moment, there was a gentleness Jeremy hadn’t expected.

Wallace sighed.

“What’s up?” Jeremy asked him.

“Worried about Lucy.  I don’t know what it means to be ‘fighting’.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Lucy’s mom said.  “She’s more capable than I could’ve imagined, and I think the world of her, but the scary thing is, the people and things she’s fighting are capable too.”

“When we move you, be very careful to not step on the salt or chalk.  If you look around where we put you, and where you’ve passed, try to see if there’s any broken or scuffed lines,” Avery said.

“If you’ve screwed up any lines because you’re not taking this seriously and you think it’d be funny,” Julette said.  “I’ll make you a deal.  Tell us now, let us avert disaster, and I’ll laugh like it was funny.”

“I think that’s you and your mentality, Ron- Julette.”

Julette clicked her tongue, winking.

“Okay.  So, putting people in spots… Mia, George, here.  Together.”

Mia and George were put in a small circle that had been sketched out inside the diagram.  There was barely room for the two of them, so they stood, Mia’s front to George’s.

“This is nice.  I could do with more of this,” George said.

“Stop,” Mia told him, mock-slapping his chest.  Then she relaxed a bit, and laid her head against his chest, watching as Julette and Avery did their rounds.

“Noah and Ian?” Avery asked.  “I can’t tell if you’re in or out.”

“I’m out, I think,” Ian said.  “You’re talking about this making life more complicated and dangerous?  I… can’t.  Sorry.  Already carrying too much.”

“I’m in,” Noah said.  Then to Ian, “Sorry.”

“No.  For sure.  Represent both of us.”

“I was hoping for another couple,” Avery said.

“Parents?” Julette asked.

“That’s different.”

“Tarot.”

“Do we have twenty-two?”

“If we pair people up,” Julette said.

“Spacing doesn’t lend itself to twenty-two.  Twenty-four spots, with the way we’re breaking it down, six for items, that means eighteen spots for people.  If we were doing the dual-city stuff, just Above and below, we could have poles filling two spots, but… let’s keep it simple.”

“Sure.”

“Those already Aware in three spots, making a triangle…”

“I’d offer to be part of that,” Louise said, “but I’m supposed to go to the rooftop?”

“Yeah,” Avery said.  “Sorry, the diagram’s done, it would take more time than it saves.”

“That’s fine.  I’ll go now?  I’ll let Lis know when I’m settled.  And text you.”

“Right,” Avery said.  “Thank you, Louise.”

“Four aware,” Julette said.  “We space them out so they’re each three spaces from one another, we…”

Avery turned.  Julette turned her head to look, and Jeremy and the others did too.

Someone had appeared at the sidelines.  A senior in a St. Victor’s uniform that Jeremy didn’t recognize.

“Lis.”

“Trouble is coming your way.  I think they see this as a weak point.  Especially after the ritual.”

“Okay,” Avery said.  “Let’s hurry before they get organized.”

“I’ll escort Louise most of the way, then tell Verona.”

Lis turned to look at them, then at the diagram.  Then she strode away.

“Square for the classic Aware, square for classmates, Jeremy and Caroline together, Mia and George together, Wallace, Brayden and his dad, Ian… that’s five.  Five doesn’t divide into twelve or twenty-four,” Avery said.

“Split up Jeremy and Caroline,” Julette said.

Jeremy raised an eyebrow.

“Gotta, sorry.  Okay, and then we do a triangular intention on the couples, youth, young adult, older…”

“What are you trying to do?” Jeremy asked.

“Balance.  Balancing the components.  The entire point of this is to lend structure and balance…”

They directed people to move to different points.

“Okay, now everyone, close your eyes…”

“Suspicious,” George said.

“Don’t be a dick, George,” Julette said, pointing at him.

Jeremy closed his eyes, standing straighter.

He could hear whispers.  They didn’t sound like Avery whispers, or Julette whispers.

“There,” he heard Avery.  “And there.  Empty spaces.  We tagged the items by color… and I wonder if half of you are colorblind…”

The constant dialogue helped assure Jeremy that they weren’t about to be ritually killed here.

“Remember when we abused the pathfinding glitch in Obligitare?” Wallace asked.

“Ha, yeah.”

“Wait, what’s this?” George asked.

“We told you and Amadeus about it in class.  Enemies would spawn, walk over to the altar to get to you, and you could use the shout command to wipe them out?”

“Oh damn,” George said.  “I think I wasn’t that far then, I got grounded for raiding dad’s liquor cabinet and watering down what I took, so I didn’t have the game.”

“Boys,” Caroline muttered.

“I think I get what you’re thinking, though,” George said.

That we could’ve been led here by promises, to die on an altar so power could be sent to one of the lesser gods opposing actual God?

He didn’t get that vibe from Avery.  Even with everything.

“Is it okay if we’re talking?” Jeremy asked.  Some of the adults were talking too.  Oakham’s parents.  “Or are we supposed to be blind and quiet, like in prayer or something?”

“You can open your eyes,” Avery said.  “In fact, it’s best if you do.  Keep an eye out on the trees.”

Jeremy did.

Things were rearranged.  The diagram had been added to.  Six of the circles now had an assortment of objects inside them.  Some were the things that others had brought.  And things Avery had asked about when texting them all.  He saw an apron with three flowers in the corner.  A shoe without laces.  A wooden ball.  Twelve items to a circle, six circles filled.

“Why are we keeping an eye on the trees?” Lucy’s mom asked.

“Trouble,” Avery murmured.  “We’ve got friends in the trees…”

She turned, looking out at the trees that bordered the back lot of the Arena on three sides- mostly, anyway.  One corner was taken up by the rink.

Jeremy only briefly saw them – eyes in the gloom.  Bright yellow.

“I see-”

“Those are friendly.  They brought the stuff.  They’re part of our line of defense,” Avery said.

“Okay?”

“I hear them,” Julette replied.  “Not friendly.”

“Verona, Verona, Verona,” Avery said.  “We need to launch fast.”

“I thought that was Julette,” Mia said.

“It’s not- that wasn’t what I was saying.  Just- be careful.  Try not to move from your location unless you have to.”

Jeremy could hear noises in the trees, now.  He could hear gabbling, muttered, angry sounds.

A tree branch broke and fell.

A sound of a blade being drawn made Jeremy jump.  He had an immediate thought of a huge ritual sacrifice.

“Do not scuff the chalk, Jer.  Gods,” Julette scolded him.

He checked and it didn’t look like he’d messed anything up.  His attention was divided though.  That blade sound…

It took him a moment to place the sound.  One of Mrs. Schaff’s cats, sitting outside the circle, was moving strangely.  It wavered a bit as it shifted to standing on its hind legs, legs more spindly than they should be.  It tilted its head to one side, cracking its neck, and then righted it, ears going flat.

Extending a paw, it extended claws from its nail bed, then fingers surged out from behind those claws, the padding around the base of the finger straightening out, like a bunched up sleeve being pulled to the wrist.  Each finger ended in a hooked nail.  It flexed its fingers to crack the knuckles, tossed a knife into the air with the other hand, which had already extended fingers.

Then a second knife was in the air.  Then a third.  It juggled them for a moment, then snapped its teeth, catching one knife by the handle.

Jeremy’s heart hammered.

“Now I have an idea of how you got into my charcuterie setup I was going to take to book club,” Mrs. Schaff said.

“Ah wah ‘im,” the black-gray cat with three knives said, around a mouthful of knife handle, pointing at a white cat.

Caroline gasped at the sound of the voice.  It looked like she hadn’t had a clear view of the cat from where she stood, with others in the way.

“Blankshanks?” Mrs. Schaff asked.

Blankshanks meowed.

The black cat began to juggle knives again, freeing its mouth to talk.  “They have a plan or they wouldn’t be making this many people aware.  Let’s get in on the gig, Blanks.”

“You’re owning this more than I am.  I do it at your behest,” the white cat said.

“Yeah yeah.”

The white cat was pretty.  Like, the kind of cat a millionaire would want to have, with sleek white fur and a rich and wild ruff of fur around the neck, emerald and expressive eyes.

“They’re going to break through,” Avery said, putting herself between the circle and the closest trees.  A blonde girl in a gray coat joined her.  “Most of the people who could fight left.”

“Gashwad?” Julette asked.

“I don’t think he’s anywhere near here.  He’s nearer Lucy, because she was fighting.  We could try, but it’d be a dick move,” Avery said.

Jeremy watched as the cats paced.  The one who was juggling knives threw one into the trees.  There was a squeal that made hairs on Jeremy’s neck stand up.

“Help, ‘Shanks?” the black-gray one asked.  “You and I, holding the line?”

“Spades, my dear, I’m a lover and a scoundrel, not so much a fighter.”

“Ugh,” Spades replied, teeth clamped around a knife handle again.  He reached behind himself and pulled out another knife.

Holy shit, holy shit.

“Waiting for confirmation from Ronnie…  Verona, Verona, Verona.  Should I bother Lucy?”

“Let’s maybe assume she’s busy,” Lucy’s mom said.  “No distractions.  Please.”

“Come on, come on…” Avery said, pacing, her back to the diagram.  She swung an arm out to the side, and she was holding a lacrosse stick all of a sudden.  One she definitely hadn’t had on her before.

“If they hurt these people, make us take responsibility…” Julette said, trailing off.

“That’s probably Charles’ intention,” Avery said.

A shirtless man with deep, infection-blackened scars across his flesh stepped out of the trees.  Two women followed, skinny and scarred as well, one with rocks embedded in scar tissue.

“And here we go,” Avery said.  She did a little spinny-around-handy move with the lacrosse stick, then brandished it.

“Anything we can do?” Jeremy asked.

“Blame them, stay safe, stick to the instructions we gave you.”

“Don’t scuff-”

“Yeah,” she interrupted, her voice pitched weird.  “Don’t tell them, y’know?”

“Right,” he said.

“Not that opsec is my strength,” she said, and she glanced over her shoulder at him, smiling a bit.

He could see something in her eyes.  Tiredness.  Pain.  Fear.

She’d been shot, she’d said.

Now she was facing off against a guy twice her age, twice her size, muscular, with more than twice her numbers backing him.

I could’ve been in your shoes?  If for some reason they didn’t pick you first? Jeremy thought.

George crouched, dropping low to the ground, facing one of the women who’d stepped away from the man.

“What are you doing?” Mia asked.

“If we’re not supposed to move, let’s get down low.  So we’re harder to budge.”

Jeremy followed George’s lead on that.

What would I have even contributed? he wondered.  Why me?

There was a wet sound, and he didn’t even realize what he’d seen, in the gloom, parking lot lit by a sole light above the outdoor rink in the back corner.

The woman across from George stumbled.  Her hand went up, and it was only in the contrast of black knife handle to white-ish hand that Jeremy could see the knife had embedded into her eye.

She didn’t fall, or go down.  Her hand slapped against the handle, which had to hurt, but she barely reacted.  She pulled at the handle, and it came free of the blade.

“That’s a little treasure, a waste to use it on the likes of you,” Spades said.  “You owe me two marbles of dangerous knowledge or equivalent currency.”

“Ideal world, we’ll pay you back, Spades!” Avery called out, swinging the lacrosse stick to keep the man back.  “Assuming it’s reasonable!  I’d have to ask, why is your knife so damn expensive?  Isn’t that six hundred bucks in human money?”

“You know the currencies!” Blankshanks remarked.  He was keeping the full diagram between himself and any trouble.  “Wonderful.  I thought you’d gone the degenerate route with your market.”

“That’s the market thing?” Brayden’s dad asked.  “Magic?”

“There’s a big component of magic merchandise to it,” Julette said.  “Thus the secrecy, and the midnight part.  And the whole clientele that’s willing to buy your stock from last year.”

“Why is the knife so expensive, Spades?”

“It’s the contents of the knife,” the cat remarked.

“This is crazy,” Wallace muttered.

The knife handle was hollow, and bright yellow bugs were flowing out of it- far more than should have fit inside.

One flew across Jeremy’s field of vision, and it was a person- only a quarter-inch tall, gold skin, gold hair, gold fly wings.

The gold things clustered on the woman, and on others.

“Not her!” Spades called out, as they flocked onto Avery’s arm and hair.  “Brainless things.  Where did I put the signal bell?”

“Spades, what are the fairies going to do to me!?” Avery asked, as the little fairies gathered in greater numbers.

“Nothing!  Assuming I can find the bell.  Tarnation, a cat can only have so many covert pockets…”

“This is starting to hurt more than it’s helping!” Avery called out, tense.  Amber-orange fireflies circled around her, useless.

The blonde girl, a year or two younger than Avery, waved her arms, trying to fend them off.  She chomped her teeth at some.

“Don’t eat them!  You’ll agitate them, and things will turn for the worse!” Spades called out.  “Give me a moment!”

The blonde girl opened her mouth, tongue extended in a ‘yuck’ face, and a golden fairy flew off of her tongue.

They weren’t kidding.  About the danger, about the complication.  About magic.

Avery was bowled over by the big guy.  The woman that was sticking close behind him jabbed out with a length of pipe that had rusted at a diagonal, coming to an uneven point.  Avery kicked the pipe aside.

“You can do it!” Mia shouted.

“We really can’t help!?” George called out, still crouched.

“Waiting for Verona to kick this off!  Stay put unless you’re in serious danger!” Avery shouted.

“We’re not in danger!?”

“Immediate danger!” Julette supplied.

“Mrs. Schaff, if I may make a suggestion?” Blankshanks asked.

“You’ve been able to talk all this time.  The mischief, the mystery-”

“It’s been lovely, toying with you.  Your place is a hub for learning.  But we can have that conversation another time when we’re elevating you beyond what you were.  My suggestion?”

“Whatever you have,” Mrs. Schaff said.

“Call Castleberry, three times.”

“Egh,” Spades said, throwing a knife into the air to catch it again.  “Really?”

“Castleberry?” she asked.

“Who or what is Castleberry?” Oakham’s mom asked.

“A cat I’m caring for, it’s been ill, the vet refused to consider it alive, wasn’t even sure it was a cat, I’ve been nursing it to health.  What could Castleberry possibly do?”

“Three times,” Blankshanks said.

“Castleberry, Castleberry, Castleberry.”

“And some direction would be good, point at our enemy.”

“Like this?” Mrs. Schaff asked.

The ‘cat’ came tearing out of the woods a moment later.  If it was a cat.  Its head was a roadkill mash with some teeth sticking out of a hole in the mouth-ular region.

It moved with surprising speed, considering Jeremy wasn’t sure where its eyes were.  Stiff limbs without much bend to them skittered on the ground, and it leaped, catching on the man’s buttocks and lower back.

He fought, trying to get it off him, turning around-

Avery took three quick steps forward, then kicked him in the side of the knee, before retreating from any possible counterattack.

Not that there was one.

The cat had gouged his back and thrust its head in there.  It clawed, pushed head forward and into gore, until the place the back stopped and the head began wasn’t clear.  Its head might have been roadkill, but it was intent on getting any teeth in that roadkill settled into flesh.

With a gurgling ‘mrowr!” it pulled free, its head was ground meat crowned with broken skull.  Flesh visibly withered and died, rotting as much as a corpse would in weeks, over only a few seconds.

Are we sure we’re the good guys? Jeremy thought.

Avery’s nose was bleeding, he saw.  The blood ran down her face, across lips, and onto shirt and coat.

“When things kick off, you guys stay put until we say!” Avery shouted.  Blood flew from her lips.

It was so alien, seeing that blood like that.  The look in her eyes.

“Then you need to run!  Get inside!”

“I’ve seen this place before.”

“Did a test run of this conversation we don’t have time to have, in a dream.  Anselm!”

“What’s Anselm?”

“A boy who hangs out here.  Mallory!”

Verona’s voice rang through the house in a weird way.  She set the creepy little doll man aside.

“Verona-”  Sylvia reached for Verona’s shoulder.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

Sylvia’s eyes darted around the space.  At the nearly naked art on the walls, the-

“Is that a drug lab?”

“It is, but not like you’re imagining.  I’m not taking painkillers for my hand, I don’t like drugs, don’t worry.  Fuck.  I hoped they’d have turned up here.”

“These are friends?  They live here?”

“They stay sometimes.”

“A boy stays?  Do you stay?”

“It’s where I live, it’s my house, I own it.  Fuck, I’ve got to run upstairs.  Stay.”

“What are you-”

“And don’t touch anything!”

Verona ran up the stairs.

Leaving Sylvia to reel in the front hallway.

So many little things were weird, like the magic tricks, but…

She ventured into the living room.

Cigarettes sat stubbed out in makeshift ashtrays.  Mixed in with them were some stray articles of clothing and things that were very Verona.  A cuckoo clock with a cat theme sat on the mantle with some screws, looking like it was waiting to be put up.  Artwork sat piled on the table at one end of the couch.  Some more artwork looked like it had been burned in the fireplace.

There was a chair with leather belts strapped to it.

A cabinet was open, some reference art and art things, and one box of what looked like three to four hundred cigarettes.

“You have boys staying here?” she asked.

Verona had a bunch of notebooks.  She ignored Sylvia, walking through to the corner of the house opposite the stairwell.  A dining room without chairs, a big box in the place of the table.

The notebooks were dropped onto the box.

“I thought you didn’t like boys.”

“I like boy dick and boy flesh, not boyfriends.”

“You’re having sex?”

“That is so far from the top ten list of priorities.”

“It’s my priority.  Are you smoking?”

“Nope.  Those are friends and people who came to meet about the market.  Getting people from Kennet’s undercity not to smoke is like asking a cat to leave the mice alone.  It’s currency.”

“It’s currency for prisoners, you’re not in prison.”

“Well, take my word for it, there’s a lot of similarities between Kennet below and a prison, in terms of the types you find.  Extreme and warped personalities.  Who smoke ninety-five percent of the time, seems like, so I keep cigarettes on hand for them.”

“You have a chair with belts?”

“Oh, that.  For prisoners and-”

“You have prisoners?  It’s not a sex thing?”

“Holy shit, it’s the opposite of a rude thing.  I have some people come by to get off drugs, and they have to be belted down, I give them a potion, they expel every last iota of the drugs from their pores, it’s the opposite of sexy, as I see it.”

“What?  I’m literally telling you a fact, a thing that happens.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Fuck, Mom, no, I can’t lie, not without crushing consequences I really can’t afford.”

“Is that a lie?”

“Can you stop?  Seriously?  Listen to me for once?”

“I’m trying to get my head around where you are, what you’re doing.”

“And you’re trying so hard you’re not even listening to me!” Verona raised her voice.

“You’re having sex with boys, you’re smoking, you’re making drugs-”

“Magic drugs.  What I just told you about?  It’s an anti-drug.  Made with magic, remember that?  Magic is real, are we glossing over that?  Is the Innocence that deep-set?”

“I’m not glossing over that, but my priority is you.”

“And my priority is so, right this fucking second, so much that my friends are in danger and other friends might be dead!” Verona replied.  “So if I’m your priority, and that’s my priority, it should be yours too!  Back me up!  Play along!”

“You kept all this from me, and then you dump so many things onto my head and you get mad I’m not digesting it all, that’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair that I tell you stuff!  I tell you about Dad and give a pretty clear signal things aren’t okay!  I tell you my needs, and hint there’s something major going on!  I tell you I’m in crisis right now!  And you put up this wall between me and you-”

“I don’t.”

“-and the only way it seems like I can get through to you is for it to be too much!  That seems to be the only time I can catch you off guard, and get you acting different, without the wall of bullshit!  So here it is!  You missed or ignored the signals!  One of which is I like boy dick!  I like exploring rude stuff, do you really want details?  I’m not ashamed.”

“Can we calm down, talk this through?”

“I need to find people.”

“Tell me what’s going on, how did we get here?  Are you okay?”

“I’m so clearly not?  Is anything I’m saying registering?  I need to find people.  So I’m going to do that.  And if you want to ask questions, name a category and I’ll tell you things you really don’t want to know, how’s that?  Then I’ll be really disappointed you’re not meeting me halfway.”

Sylvia shook her head, closing her eyes.

She could picture Verona, after the Brett situation.  The needs, the complexities of the situation… she’d been warned before Verona came for the vacation trip that the toxic behaviors could be learned, and she shouldn’t be surprised by acting out.

Except there hadn’t been any.

It left her floundering, constantly in the dark.  Verona didn’t volunteer much- didn’t share this huge, whole part of her life.  Her marriage to Brett hadn’t been abusive, it had been disappointing.  He’d been an engaged-enough father with good moments like teaching Verona to skate and taking her to the games at the Arena, doing homework with her, always like pulling teeth, and working on projects.  Objectively, he’d been bad with money, and he’d needed too much reminding about cleaning.  Usual stuff.

She’d never felt passion.  She’d waited for it to come, had done her job, working, getting married, going on the honeymoon, having Verona, waiting for the bond to form with Brett as a result.  She had talked to Father Rich, back when she’d gone to church, they’d gone to couples counseling, she had even had a brief and even more soulless set of affairs, to see if the spark could fire up elsewhere and then be carried back home.  All the while, he’d adored her, he’d yearned for her, he’d made overtures, and he’d constantly asked for things that she couldn’t provide.  It had been like trying to spark a fire with wet newspaper and wet matches for too many years.

Her mistake, thinking things would flow a different way.  Buying into the promises society made to her.  That a churchgoing life would reward her.  That being a wife would fulfill.  That if she worked hard, she’d be rewarded with success and promotions, which she had, but only at the sacrifice of other things.

She didn’t know how Brett had gone from being what he was to being someone who’d hurt Verona that deeply, except that she’d hurt him by leaving, more than she’d hurt him by staying.

She didn’t know how Verona had gone from being who she’d been, even on that vacation, to this.  Except that she’d made mistakes, missed things.  She wanted so badly now to grasp those things at their core, to follow that thread to answers.

Sylvia opened her eyes.  The boxy table had changed.  A map of Kennet was worked into the surface.

“Verona.”

“Please, please, please, let the next words out of your mouth be you backing me up, recognizing my priorities.”

“I do, I think.  Magic is real, you’re trying to find people.”

“Thank you.  I hope you understand why I need to stay.  I’m tackling some pretty big stuff, tied into big stuff.  But really truly, I think it’s cool, and once you get over the freakiness of the opening part?  You’d take to it.  It’s more of what you love.  Cool people with interesting passions.”

Passions and love.

Her mind turned to the nightmare she’d had, where she’d seen a house very much like this one.

“Are you pregnant?”

Verona looked over at her.

“It was part of the nightmare, it would explain-”

“How emotional I am?”

“The stakes.”

“My!  Friends!  Might!  Die!  Or be dead!  Or something!  Those are the stakes, but okay, no, nevermind, wait, hold-”

“Verona-”

“-Hold on!  No, I said, I’m going to do what I said.  I’m treating that as you wanting a pull of the lever, Verona’s sex and sexuality, let’s see what the clue turns up, can you follow this thread to something that actually matters!?  Do you want specifics on what your daughter has been up to with boys?  Ooh, tantalizing!”

“This isn’t helping either of us.”

“Hey, you’re close!  Close!  But recognizing that is only half the battle.”

“Can you calm down?  Please?  Five minutes of level-headed conversation, let me ask, let me find you, so I can ground myself in all of this.”

“Hey wait, it’s a double clue!  Maybe not just boys?”

“Please stop.  You’re- are you gay?”

“Now I know you’re not listening to me!  Did we miss the part where I said there was a boy?  Or that I like dick?  Come on, mom!”

“Or bi or-”

“This game has a trick to it, mom,” Verona mock-whispered.  There were tears in her eyes.  “There’s some important stuff I’m saying here, but it requires you to not even read between the lines, but pay attention to what I’m saying.  That wasn’t the important part of that sentence.”

“I love you no matter what.”

“Still not the important part.  For the record, I’m one hundred percent into boy dick-”

“Please stop saying that.”

“-unless they’re dead boys, which my friend might be, but is that TMI enough to get your brain to misfire, maybe get you listening in the reboot phase?”

“I don’t judge, I hope you’re being safe.”

“Not the important thing.  Hey, there’s a trick to this game, what’s the thing I keep saying?”

Sylvia paused, then said, “You’re worried about your guy friend.  Who isn’t a boyfriend.”

“Thank you!  We have a winner!” Verona cheered, with absolutely no joy.  “Can I work on this, or do we get into categories for the magic drugs I’ve experimented with, the violence, oh, that’s a fun one, or do we try the mystery category?”

“You’re not being fair to me.”

“Same, all this time, me stressing how stuff’s important.  Funny how that works, right?” Verona asked.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, but apologies aren’t a top ten priority, don’t worry.  Can we put that conversation aside until later?” Verona asked, agitated.  She moved around the table to open and page through a notebook, then rubbed at her palm with a shaking hand.  “I’ve gotta figure out how to tackle the Charles situation, screw him over, fight back.  Gotta-”

“None of this means anything to me, I’m sorry.”

“Gotta figure out where things stand, first.”

“I want to have a conversation about you, about where you’re at, I want to understand this whole situation through you.”

“And I’m saying I love you, I included you in this aware-ening because I felt like if I didn’t, it might be the death knell for our relationship, if not now, then never, and I kind of hoped I’d have one ally for all of this.  Avery and Lucy got theirs, through their parents.”

“Death knell?”

“I don’t know, it’s not a priority, okay?  I’m really fucking sorry, but it’s not.”

“It’s my number one priority.”

“You’re not getting it.  Okay?  I love you, Mom, I would have kicked you out of my house a while ago if I didn’t, I love you, but that love, compared to some of the huge, crazy stuff that’s going on?  The lives on the line?  It’s got to take a back seat for now.  Please.  Because you’re kind of being as bad as Dad-at-baseline.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Wrong thing to focus on, again.”

“I don’t know what I’m meant to do here.”

“Just… don’t try to lead.  Accept that while you weren’t looking, I ended up doing something important.  Back me up.  Watch.  Take it in.  I know you can do that with some of your friends and their work.  The artist you had me meet.  Seeing how they operate.  I know you can communicate with them.  I don’t see why I don’t get the same consideration.”

“It’s a little too much to figure out all at once.  You talking about lives being on the line, it’s- it doesn’t feel real.  It doesn’t connect to anything I know or relate to.”

“Then don’t try to know or relate or figure it out all at once.  Trust me to do my best to lead you through this,” Verona said.  “There’s Louise.  We’re good to go.”

She circled around the table, counter clockwise, with Sylvia left to turn and watch.  Verona pulled out a drawer of a secretary desk in the corner of the dining room, and got a glass flask.  Sylvia ended up doing a near-three-hundred-and-sixty degree turn as Verona walked past her to go to the back door, flask in hand.

“Where are you going?”

“Stand back, watch, observe,” Verona said.

She uncorked the flask.

The flask contents ignited, and exploded out with enough force that Verona stumbled back.  It traveled across the sky, painting a streak of fire against black as it arced over Kennet.

“There we go.  Signal made and-”

The air tremored.  Kennet shook.

Sylvia took a step back.  It felt like an earthquake, but… muted.  In the bones of it all, not at the surface.

“It worked?”

“Sky isn’t screaming, Kennet isn’t devolving into a multi-armed mess, or tentacles, or collapsing… need to do diagnostics.  Really want to look for my friends, but diagnostics first.  Make sure we’re level, and no last-minute adjustments are needed.  Then I should help with the invasion.”

“When do we talk?”

“Maybe tomorrow?  I don’t know.  It’s- again, love you, but the way this is going, I don’t think I can delve into this with you and also save the lives I want to save, do what I need to do, or any of that.”

“I worry, because you said we were facing a possible death knell of the relationship and this isn’t going well.  Now we’re putting this off until tomorrow?”

“Crow humping toads,” Verona told her mom.

“What?  What are you talking about?”

“Repeat it.  Say those words.  Crow humping toads.”

“Why?”

“To show me you’re capable of hearing me, without getting your own ideas and thoughts out first, putting those ideas and thoughts in the way.  Crow humping toads.”

“Verona, if we can do this, why can’t we have a genuine conversation?”

“Because if we can’t do this then no conversation’s possible, is it?  Crow humping toads.”

“It feels like you’re trying to hack me like you’d hack a computer or, I don’t know, can you hack magic?”

“Crow humping toads.  I don’t want to move forward until we get this down.  But yes, for the record, I think I’m pretty good at hacking together magic.”

“It feels like you’re trying to come up with these games and rules and throw me off balance, you’re getting mad when I don’t get it, but if I get it, then you ask me to do something else.”

“I want you to meet me halfway, and the halfway point is now toads with a bird fetish, or a single crow grinding off on multiple toads, depending on how you read it,” Verona said, moving things around the table as she worked.  She scribbled something down in chalk.

“And after that?”

“After that there may be other things, if you’re not playing ball.  I don’t know, but if this is the agonizing way we have to go down the road, for you to follow my lead?  I guess it’s going to be crow humping toads.”

“You’re fourteen, you don’t have to have the lead.”

“I’m in a leadership position, empowered to do something about a situation which matters to a lot of people, sorry, but I’m lead here.  Say the words or that’s it, and that may actually be a real hard knock, maybe even a knell, for us.  I’d go on to handle my shit, you’d go back to Thunder Bay to handle yours, I dunno.”

“I don’t want that.”

Verona shook her head.  She went to the other room and came back with a tattoo gun and notebook.  She put them on the table, then circled them with chalk.  “I’m fighting a higher power, basically a god.  He has a goddess as a friend, helping him.  Can we appreciate that?  Put that into context?”

“I can’t because I don’t understand it.”

“Okay, well, can you say the three words and maybe once I know you’re listening, I can explain it?”

“The three words?”

“I’ve been repeating them.  Seriously.”

“Camel- crow humping toads.”

Verona dragged the chalk over the table without making a line between one of the circles and the stuff she’d scribbled closest to her, a circle filled with writing and a star.

“Was that right?  Are we okay?”

Verona snatched up another piece of chalk and raked it against the table, without leaving anything on the surface.

“Verona?”

Verona tried a line between the notebook and the diagram.  Twice.

Sylvia bent down, trying to see past Verona’s hair to her face.  Before she could, Verona turned, moving- storming away.

“Can I look?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Verona said, voice cracking a bit.

Sylvia opened the booklet.  Poetry?

Crossing to the living room, where she grabbed an ashtray with enough force that ashes were scattered into the air.  She got a sketchbook, and tore out a page while storming back.

Sylvia could see a glimpse of the emotion on Verona’s face, the flush, like she was holding her breath until she turned colors.

The page with a piece of artwork was slapped onto the table.  Circled.  A line raked out- nothing.

Two of the cigarettes, one with lipstick.  There wasn’t enough room from prior circles, so circles overlapped.  Line-

One of the two made a mark.

“Where’s the feather?” Verona asked.

“What feather?”

Verona made a whimper of a sound.  Sylvia reached out, but Verona was already moving away, going to the secretary desk.  She pulled out a drawer, slammed it shut.  “Give me the feather, house.  Um, the bottlecap medal, the screw.  Just spit them out, spend what you need to spend, we’ll recoup later.”

She pulled the drawer out again, and then snatched up a feather, medal, and screw.

Each got a circle.  The lines connected.

Verona turned to her sketchbook again, tearing out pages.  Slapping them down.

Teenagers.  An old man.  A flasher with a mascot mouse head.

No, no, yes.

Verona turned pages rapidly.  Got frustrated, almost crumpling a page into a ball, threw the book down.

And things were still.  Verona said nothing, didn’t move.  There wasn’t anything crazy being thrown out there, in terms of arguments or provocation, or riddles, or anything else.  No baiting, no requests.

Sylvia circled the table, moving gently, then put her arms around a crying Verona.  She pulled her into a hug.

“They’re not okay?”

Verona made a whimper of a sound, then shook her head against Sylvia’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Two out of three,” Verona moaned the words into Sylvia’s shoulder.  “Mal.  Anselm.  Berk, who did the mural, Salma, she helped with the market.  Nigel.  People I worked with.  People I was building something with.”

“I’m sorry.  Was-” Sylvia started to ask.  She was struck by the fact Verona was at her shoulder already, size-wise.  Yet somehow still so small, inside that black duffel coat she was still wearing from outside.

She didn’t ask the question, about if Anselm was the boy.

Didn’t matter.

She rocked slightly, hugging Verona, and Verona nodded by that same measure of ‘slightly’.

All around her, the murals were shifting, drifting.  Heads bowed, hands reaching, clutching, tearing at clothes.  A skeletal hand on a chain contorting.  Emotional turmoil painted in scenes that bled out like watercolor and chalk in water and became something else in the bleeding.

Magic.  Sylvia took that in.  She wished she wasn’t taking it in with her daughter weeping in her arms.

One of her big regrets was not hugging Verona, the night she’d separated from Brett.

She hugged Verona now.

Until Verona pulled away, rough.

“We could regroup with the others, talk to Jasmine-”

“Not a priority,” Verona said, her voice a bit hollow.  She heaved out a sigh, cheeks and eyes still wet, and looked around.

“Your friends died.  Acquaintances.  People you were building something with, you said.”

“Yeah.  But it’s not the priority, now.  Priority is I’ve got to figure out what I’m doing next.  Fuck Charles.  Fuck him so much for doing this.  Lucy’s fighting, she needs help, Avery…”

“Stop.”

“No,” Verona replied, anger in her voice.  Not aimed at Sylvia, but there all the same.  “Gotta plan for this.  Equip our guys.”

“What are you doing?”

“You can stay.  It might be better if you do.  I wouldn’t poke or prod at anything unusual, like the alchemy setup in the kitchen, or my magic stuff upstairs.  Library downstairs is probably safest to hang out in, lots of interesting books, just stay away from the bookshelf with the glass and locks.”

“You need to stop for a moment.  You lost friends.”

“And I’m worried I’ll lose more if I stop,” Verona said, gathering up some containers from the alchemy setup.  She pulled off her coat, pulled on an apron, then stuffed a front pocket with flasks, then put the coat on again.

The phone rang.

Mr. Gill held it to his ear.

It finally went through.  He put it on speaker phone, for the benefit of the others in the car, resting phone on thigh.

“Dad?” was the answer on the other end.

“Dony,” Mr. Gill said, by answer.  “My boy.”

“What happened?  How are you calling?”

“We were tipped off that something strange was going on.  We’re on our way to you.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“How hard are you going to fight, to avoid coming home?” he asked.

There was a sound on the far end of the line, like Dony was walking somewhere, closing a door.

“You going to use more magic tricks?” he asked.

“You know?”

“Got the gist of it.”

“That gets really messy, Dad.”

“So they keep saying.”

“I’m scared.  All of this.  The way it feels so out of control.  Like there’s no lines anymore.”

“I’m an hour away.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“People keep saying that too.  I’d rather it’s me facing the danger than you.”

“I’m sorry I left without explaining.”

“Word is, you were pressured.  Wait for me?  So long as we get you home safe and sound?  I forgive you.  There’ll be no punishment.  Way you sound, scared like you are?  Sounds like you’ve been punished enough, going through this.”

There was silence on the other end.

“I just want you okay.”

“Dad, they’ve set things up, there’s threats, there’s traps.  I want to come home.”

“Then wait.”

“Did they say how I can’t lie?”

“Something like that.”

“Then can you believe me when I say this is too dangerous for you.  It’s a warzone.  I can’t leave like this.  And you can’t come.  I want to come home but it’s too dangerous for you to come get me.  Please, please believe me when I tell you those things.”

“Can you get away?”

“I don’t know.  No, I don’t think so.”

“Then I’ll come.  We’ll figure it out when I’m there.”

“It might be over by the time you’re here.”

“Then I’ll take you away in the aftermath.”

“No.  Dad, look.  Can we make a deal?”

It was Mr. Gill’s turn to go silent.

“I don’t think the other side wants to kill any of us kids.  They’ve been capturing us, holding us.  But they aren’t killing, I don’t think.  Let me work on this tonight, I think this is really the last they want of me.  Then I’ll come home.  I’ll stop with ninety percent of this stuff.”

“Only ninety?”

“Some of it’s cool, Dad.”

“You’re sure you’re good tonight?”

“I don’t know.  It’s scary but I think I can make it through.  Kira- we have a way to make us kids stronger, we’re going to do that, I think.  For the edge.”

“Hold off if you can.  I’m going to show up, I’ll talk to whoever’ll listen.”

“It’s a battlefield.”

“Then I’ll talk to people on the other side of the battlefield.  We’ll see where things go.  But if I can’t get through or if it seems too dangerous, I’ll know that at least you thought you could handle it.”

“Okay.  Knowing you’ll be there after really helps.”

“Be a fighter, Dony.”

He hung up.

“Be a fighter?” one of the other parents asked from the back seat.

“Make your call,” he replied.

“Someone should call Cameron.  I don’t think her mom is able.”

“I can, after.  For right now, we’ve got one kid wanting to come home.  All it took was some parental concern.  Let’s see how many there are.”

“Carmine!” the Family Man shouted.  “I ask to be your agent!  Let me serve under you!  In exchange for a mending of my wounds, a relief from curses…”

The lighting changed.  Red-tinted.  Charles didn’t even bother to show up this time.

The Family Man was healed.  Jewelry he wore turned blood red.  Veins across his body throbbed, standing out against flesh, rearranged to a new configuration, then receded.

“And I ask you to relieve me of service, if you see fit.”

The red lighting and coloration faded.  The Family Man smiled, flexing muscles that didn’t look like they should flex in the directions they did.  Veins rippled and rearranged again.

“You’re weak.  Every victory against you stacks up,” Lucy said.

Most of the bystanders had been driven off.  The Family Man had no army.  They’d stabilized.  The only danger now was that he was still standing, still eager to return to things.

“Maybe,” he said.  “But you’re tired.  That fatigue adds up faster than your victories do.”

He extended a reaching hand.  She fended it off, but it bowled her over.  She sprawled on the base of the monument to the uncountable soldiers killed in war.

“Do you need help?” Oakham asked.

“I don’t think there’s a lot you’d be able to do,” Lucy said.  “Hang back.”

“Okay.”

Lucy gathered up glamour-

And a hand reached out, muscles reconfiguring to separate bone from bone, so the arm could extend twice as far as it should.  Glamour was scattered.  She moved to recoup some, but only some.

He hooked the end of a pinky finger on the chain at her neck, with the tags.  She reached up, grabbing the chain, holding it so it wouldn’t snap, contents lost.  She let herself be pulled, moved with that, and avoided the punch he was angling to hit her as she got close to him.

Her reserves had dwindled enough she wasn’t sure she could reliably become the three foxes.

The weapon ring’s weapons felt heavy and hard to lift.  She stabbed him, gutted him, feeling a quiet horror as she learned what it felt like to draw something sharp through intestines, and avoided the worst of an elbow jabbing toward her head.

Avoiding the worst of it, but she’d basically fallen for the third time in a row, now. Like staying upright was something she was having to sacrifice.  Getting to her feet again was something that cost.

“Third time’s a charm like Charles said, huh?” Lucy asked, picking herself up.  “How many tries has it been?”

“One continuous, long try, that’s wearing you down,” the Family Man said.  “One time I knock you over, you won’t have the strength to get up again.  Then I’ll take you.  What do I do with you after, that hurts the most?  This thorn pressed through your eardrums?  Eyes?  A fox chained in a dark room, blind and deaf, fumbling for her daily ration of water and moldy bread?  Thorn in your chest, once I’ve used it where I need to use it, making you curl up in pain every time your heart beats too fast?  Punishing fear, anger, passion?”

She held out her weapon, hand not wavering.  The best answer she could give.

He laughed.  “Want a taste?”

“Want a taste of-”

His hand closed around the thorn on the cord at his neck.  A light glowed.

And she felt her vision go, like all the lights had been turned to half what they should be.  All the sounds around her-

She pushed, reaching through her implement.

Pushing that back.

The glow from his clenched fist increased.

All sounds died down.  The light continued to dwindle.

She felt something sharp at her chest.  Then sharper.

Like he was right there, pushing it in.

She flourished her blade, taking a step back, fighting back the panic.

The pain increased.

“Oh, there’s a trace of the old curse on it too.  Here.”

She felt it in her throat.  At the back of her mouth.  She could taste the curse.

Back of her eyes, running down the back of her neck to her arms.

She shifted footing.  Her foot kicked someone fallen, touched wet.

She was too blind to see the blood, but she knew it was there, and that was enough to scatter her thoughts.

Blind, deaf, unable to think straight, unable to call for help.

She felt the air move.  Reaching hand.  She ducked and moved aside.

Remembered the fights she’d had to get this far.  To knock down and disable waves of people.  That there was a body here, blo- wet patch there.  That someone had fallen, leg cut, and would grab her if she moved too far one way.

She stepped between and around bodies, avoided the bloodiest.

Walked briefly on the unconscious form of some kid.

More air movement.

She pushed out through the implement, but it was no use.

What bullshit was this?  Bit of divine power, the thorn, and he could call this a predetermined outcome, force the curse through?

Air movement.  She moved with it, leaning back.  Like a feather in the wind, the reaching hand pushed air toward it, moving it back.

A hand, reaching for her necklace.  She cut it as it reached for her.

Blood.  She quickly shifted her weapon to one hand to shake her hand furiously, to shake off the droplets that had dusted it.

Her other hand was bleeding.

She moved it aside, away from her body, turned thoughts away from it.  Dropped the marker that she’d been turning into a blade.

She backed away, stumbled, and fell.

A hand came for her.  Sideways.  She could read his intent, after defeating him a half-dozen times now, just tonight, and knew he’d go for the ear.  Because he’d sensed that would be the thing that would break her more than anything.  The possible permanent damage.

The thorn jabbed her hand.  She felt it take hold, the curse settling, the temporary effects he’d laid on her becoming more permanent.

But he wasn’t going to leave it there, embedded in her hand.  He had other plans for it.  He wouldn’t give that up.

She could hold onto that knowledge, use it, and predict the shape of the follow-up attacks.

She fell again as she blocked one from really hurting her, but got knocked off balance.

Her legs were so tired.

Thoughts in knots, panic thick in her brain, eyes and ears useless.

More shifts in the air.  Laughter.

Goblin tricks.

Toadswallow had taught her the curse, nailed in with three blows.  Could she hold out for three more defeats, three times three, to really drive it home?

She did a bad job of avoiding the next blow.  It knocked her onto a mess of blood, hands skidding on it, and the curse-induced blood phobia seized her.  She rolled away, pulling back, courage leaving her.

But the other goblins.  Goblin tricks.

Not the assblaster firecrackers, but other things.

She tossed them into the air.

Her fox mask was on, it protected her from gas.

There was also lights, to baffle and bewilder.  There was noise.

Spell cards she’d wrapped around them as prizes, like she had with the can, were still in effect.

Noise and light.

She was blind and deaf.

And she knew he was arrogant, and he was the sort of monster that could shrug off this stuff in seconds, what it would take others minutes to handle.

Meaning she could predict his move-

Moving in and beneath the reaching hand.

A wad of Bubbleyum’s gum, stringy and sticky.  Meant for use in gluing things together.

Lucy used her trace of glamour to become a fox, to get the height she needed, slithering up and around, past the Family Man.  Still blind, still deaf.

Couldn’t make him bleed.

As she went over his head and became human again, she used the gum and she used the assblaster fireworks.  Gluing them to his head while she was upside-down above him.

So concussive they’d shake the bowels loose.

She moved with the air, to reorient, get feet back under her, while turning the lighter into a weapon that would go after the fireworks-

And he hit her out of her mid-air flip.

She went more sideways than down, even with gravity.  She landed in the midst of bodies, and immediate ick and phobia scattered her thoughts, destroying her residual sense and memory of where she was and what was around her.

The fireworks went off, all together.

Strapped to his head, multiple at once?  They’d have to do something internal.  He was all twisted up with muscle, but the brain didn’t have muscles, she was pretty sure.

Her thoughts were screaming awfulness, fighting, reminding her of the blood, horrible blood.

And she felt warmth and light on her skin.  Prickling skin.  Unfriendly light.

She felt the air move as he laughed.

Seven.  That’s seven victories, but he’s found it in himself to call on Charles.  Is calling on that trickle of divine power again.

Lucy was blind, deaf, so tired she couldn’t stand up straight, bleeding and trying not to think about it.

The warmth and light felt hostile.

He was preparing an attack where she didn’t have the experience to know what it’d be like.  She couldn’t imagine it coming, brace against it.  Some kind of divine smiting or something.

She backed away.  Toward the statue.  Toward John and Yalda, the Dog Tags.

Tripping constantly over bloody, unconscious people.  A mob she’d battered into unconsciousness, or left too wounded to move, lying on the street, bleeding, in the dead of winter.

She tripped, falling, and her thoughts immediately went to the follow-up.  Protecting her ear.  Or compensating if that thorn was shoved deep into the ear, where it would poison her and ruin her ability to hear again.

Hands caught her, and she tensed, moved to attack-

Not Oakham.  There was a pat on her shoulder.  A voice beside her, moving the air.  Too light to be Oakham.  Too comfortable with elemental air, where Oakham was more earth.  Once a gymnast and dancer, now grounded in many ways.

This was Avery.  They’d come.

Lucy’s vision cleared.

Not because of Avery, but because Verona was on the attack.

She saw the backlash.  The water that had smashed the Family Man turned back, and washed back against Verona, slamming her back.  She’d been braced for it, but it still looked like it hurt.  Because she’d put so much into the attack on the Family Man.

The Family Man sputtered, then smiled.  He started to get to his feet, then faltered.  Hands went to his throat.

Lucy could feel something off, a rush past her.  Air moving…

Vacuum jar.

Sucking away the air.

Verona advanced, hood up, cat mask on, Alexanderp’s head sticking out of the bag at her back.  She tossed out some spell cards.

They stopped mid-air, forming a loose circle around the Family Man.

He realized what was happening, and rushed forward, and Avery moved from beside Lucy to step out from behind Verona, crossing the last five feet to get in the Family Man’s way, and keep him in-bounds.

“How many victories?” Avery asked.

“Seven, by my count.”

“Nice.  Good number.”

“Was working toward nine.”

The Family Man turned, moving the opposite direction.  To get clear of the space that had been vacuum jarred.  Avery moved to intercept and block, lacrosse stick slamming him in the chest.  He stumbled back, and fixed himself.

The runes that hung in the air were sealing air spirits.  Sealing that vacuum-ness around the Family Man.

Lucy nodded.

“Can’t call out to the Carmine, huh?” Lucy asked.

The Family Man’s face contorted in anger.

He charged straight for her.

She was too tired to move.  She let Avery handle it, dropping down from a streetlight above the monument to smash his reaching hand down to the ground.  Smashing upward, to hit him in the chin.

He fell back, landing on his back.  His chest heaved and convulsed as he failed to get air.

It was going surprisingly fast.  Something to do with how he was knotted.

“You figured him out?” she asked Verona.

“Ronnie?”

“We lost people,” Avery said.  “Anselm.  Mal.  The painter who did the outside of the school, two of our market coordinators.  Killwagon’s reading buddy.”

“Bracken?” Oakham asked.

“Bracken’s okay.  So’s Bag.  So are the warlords.  Because they connected outward.”

The Family Man was barely moving, chest jerking more than it moved in fluid breathing motions.

Verona dripped from the water that had splashed her in the backlash.  In winter.  Lucy could hear her teeth chattering through the earring.

“I’m so sorry, Ronnie,” Lucy said.

“Yeah,” was the reply.

They waited a minute, while the Family Man suffocated to death.  Avery drew up a warmth rune on Verona’s coat in chalk.  Quality of fire, made ambient.

Lucy nodded as she watched him go still.

Verona walked over, nudged him with a toe, and then bent down to retrieve the thorn.

“I want to destroy Charles now,” Verona said.  “I want him to lose what he loves.”

“I hear you,” Lucy said.

Avery said, “We need to swing back.  Our Aware are barricaded in the Arena.  We’ve got our third-stringer, noncombatant goblins and others backing them up, but…”

“I know,” Verona said.  “Let’s do that.”

“I want to destroy him too,” Avery said.

They started back.  A bewildered and wounded Oakham followed beside, limping more than she had in months.  Lucy wasn’t in a position to offer a shoulder, and Verona was carrying other things, so Avery gave her a hand.

“But we can’t.  We go for the throat,” Avery said, and she touched fingers to her own throat.  Meaning the point of Self.  “Communication.  Connections.  Society.”

Lucy didn’t like saying it like that, when they could be overheard, but Alexanderp seemed docile and bored.  Nobody looking, she hoped.

Verona pulled her mask off with some force, and looked at Avery.  The hurt, the anger, the contortion in her expression- as bad as Lucy had ever seen it.  Reminiscent of the Family Man.

“Ronnie?” Lucy asked.  She reached for Verona’s arm, and she found Verona’s hand.

Twitching, tense.

“I’m kind of hoping this doesn’t work,” Verona said, quiet, glaring with lavender eyes.  “That’s all I’ll say on that front for now.  For right now, let’s help our people, then do the throat thing.”

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