Pale: 1.4 - Avery
Author: Wildbow

Avery (again)

Their travel plans hadn’t allowed much leeway.  From six in the evening on Friday to six in the evening on Saturday.  Then they’d left at about eight in the evening on Saturday.  Shorter stop for the night, more pressure on the gas, and now they were back at Kennet, the sun yet to set, making it… maybe five o’clock?  Five thirty?

Lucy had exhausted herself of questions, and Verona was reading the book Avery had finished last night.

It was hard to shine when the other two were so good at their own things.  Hard to stand out, hard to be anything but the third wheel.  She was practicing with her Sight, which made the scenery more interesting, at least, but she felt a kind of anxiety as they got closer to home.  She didn’t want to end this trip feeling this useless.

If patterns were as important as Verona had been saying, then she didn’t want this to be her pattern.

She didn’t want to ask Verona or Lucy, because she felt like asking them would put her back in the second or third place position again.  But then the next person was… Charles.  If she turned her head and peered through the dirty window, she could see the back of his head.

Reluctantly, she knocked on the window.  Both Lucy and Verona turned their heads.

Charles opened it.  “Need something?”

“Can I ask some questions before we get where we’re going?”

“It’s why I’m here.  Just ask.  You don’t have to ask permission first.”

“Um, okay,” she said.  His tone had been stern enough she could feel her brain momentarily freeze up.

She hadn’t really dealt with jerks before last September, siblings excepted.  This wasn’t a sibling vibe, and she didn’t know how to handle it.

“Did you decide on your questions before asking?” he pressured her.

“Um,” she said, before clearing her throat.  “What would you do if you were us?”

“That’s at least one hell of a question.  If I were you, I wouldn’t have done the ritual.  Wouldn’t have gotten stuck in all of this.”

“But we did,” Lucy said.

“But you did,” Charles said.  “It’s done.  You’re stuck in it.”

“Then… can you help us?  Tell us what to watch for?  The people at the ritual can’t hurt us, right?”

“There’s no way of cheating it?  No way around that?”

“There are ways around it.  Not participating in the ritual.  Faerie are tricky.  Maricica could, for example, send an effigy to participate.”

“Or an illusion, or a doll, or something false.”

“Would, um, the big guy, Guil…”

“Guilherme.  He’s not the trickster type, he’s a warrior, but when it comes to the Fae, you can assume that if they aren’t obvious tricksters, that will make the moments they do pull the rug out from under you all the more dramatic.  I wouldn’t rule anything out with either of them.”

“And if someone didn’t participate fully in the ritual?” Avery asked.

“Why?” Charles asked, and his voice was harder.  He twisted around to stare at her.  “Did you see something?”

“I don’t know,” she said.  “I’m trying to figure this out.  Um.  Lucy’s really good at the investigation and moving forward stuff.  Verona’s really good at the practice already, I think.  I thought maybe I could play defense.”

He made her nervous, and she hated to admit it, because she hated to be judgmental of anyone, but he really did smell, especially after two days in the truck.

“Defense.  Matthew was saying you played hockey, earlier.  Was that your role?  Goalie, or defense?”

They’re talking about us in the same way we’re discussing and dissecting them.

“No, not at all,” Avery said.  “Forward.  I’m fast and I’ve got endurance.”

“Hm.  I won’t say you’re wrong to be defensively-minded.  If the most reckless of you was being as careful as you’re being now, and the most thoughtful was spending hours poring over every sentence, then…”

“We’d be okay?” Avery asked.

“No.”  Charles sounded exasperated.  “No, child.  Some of the forces you’re now dealing with have been figuring out and perfecting means of attack, deception, and manipulation since a time before man wore shoes, and the stakes are your very mortality, your Self, your future.  When the stakes are that high, you don’t sit down to a game of chess with someone that’s been playing since before you were born.”

“We shouldn’t sit down to a game of chess with those guys, you mean,” Verona said.

“Don’t can mean should not.  But you’re right, I should be more precise, especially when instructing you.  I’m out of practice since losing my practice.”

“What hurts us?  If the Others from town can’t touch us, what’s the risk we should be worried about?” Avery asked.

“Off the top of my head?  You, yourselves.  Lucy’s statement to ensure your long and full life was a good one.  It’s open ended enough that they should be encouraged to steer you away from your own ruin.  Without that rule, the danger would be that they would let you destroy yourselves, the moment you became inconvenient or got close to them.  There are too many stories out there of people who are given a gift with a warning, and the warning is of course defied.”

“We should make a deal then,” Avery said.  She looked at her friends.  “What if we agreed to not practice unless at least one other person agreed?”

“Uh, no,” Verona said, at the same time Charles said, “No.”

“Why not?” Avery asked.

“Because then all your enemies must do is separate you.”

“Nothing major, then?” Avery asked.  “Nothing that would change us or nothing big?  We could ask when getting practices and powers, what’s minor and what’s major, and make rules about anything major.”

“Not keen,” Verona said.  She put down the book Avery had given her.

“Because life before this sucked enough with the rules, expectations, the structure, the other garbage.  So much of that crap that I couldn’t and still can’t really see any point in enduring it all.  I’m pretty sure I don’t know one adult who I can definitively say is actually content and secure and happy with where they are in life.  So why?  Why am I sitting through class every weekday, doing chores, and stuff?  So I can become a teenager and get a car I can’t afford, with a part time job I’m going to hate?  To get work experience that’ll let me get a slightly better job later, and buy a house that I’ll have to upkeep?”

“This is different,” Lucy said.

“It is!  But I feel like if we’re making deals to limit ourselves and structure all of this, we’re going to make this into that.”

“We’d be making these rules to keep ourselves safe,” Avery said.

“Those rules about going to school, doing chores, or paying bills are to keep us all healthy and safe, or because there are other reasons.  And I bet the people who enforced them thought they were important and good.  But they add up to a system I find very depressing to think about.”

“I think my parents and Ms. Hardy are happy,” Avery said.

“No offense, Avery, I don’t want to dump on the people you obviously care about, but I’m more likely to think they’re doing a good job of hiding how unhappy they are, than that they’re really, genuinely happy.”

“Maybe,” Avery said.  “I hope you’re wrong.”

“Look,” Lucy said.  “Is this really that big a problem?  Can you focus on what exactly is wrong with the rule?  Because Avery’s wanting to have input and we’re going to be doing this with her for a long time.  This is her suggestion and I don’t want to shut her out.”

“It’s not the rule, exactly.  That seems okay, but… it’s the first step on a road I don’t want to go down.  Already we need to have our hat, mask, and-or scarf with us.  Then we need to have partners for the major stuff.  Then what?”

“Then if there’s anything else, we discuss it.”

“Can we think on it?” Verona asked.  “No hasty deals, remember?  We’ll put it down on paper or exchange emails, and think of loopholes or possible traps?”

Lucy looked at Avery, who nodded.

“Okay,” Avery said.  “Sorry, Charles.”

“Don’t be.  I was thinking about what else might qualify.  They promised no willful harm.  That raises the question, then, what harm can they do when they don’t will it?”

“Is there stuff like that?” Avery asked.

“I wouldn’t rule it out.  Dealing with goblins, for example, may make you a worse person by the regular association.  Our goblins are mild, at least.”

“Sir Toadswallow stuck his hand down the back of his pants to collect his own crap,” Lucy protested.

“That’s mild.  There are other kinds of taint or change.  I don’t think there are any Others in Kennet who would taint you that badly.  Matthew, perhaps, if he loosened the bindings on the Doom he’s keeping caged inside himself.”

“Good to know,” Lucy said.  She had her notebook out and was taking more notes.

“You could ask, then, what Others might be a danger, if they revert to instinct.  That wouldn’t be willful.”

“Which are?” Avery asked.

“Most.  Even Edith comes from a place of pain and fire.  Put into the wrong situation, the human side of her weakened, she could harm you and it wouldn’t violate the oath.”

“And because she’s not an outsider…”

“The collective promise to protect you from outsiders wouldn’t force Others to intervene.”

“Can we handle that?” Lucy asked.  “Force Others to clarify the pact, agree to help, or… whatever?”

“Yes.  But keep in mind, Others may not like being constricted by a closing net of restrictions any more than your Verona does.”

“Good to know,” Lucy said.  “Case by case basis, maybe.”

“Be careful.  Even the suggestion of it may turn a good working relationship into a hostile one.”

“Is there stuff we can read about this?” Avery asked.  “You said you had books.”

“Had.  Past tense.  I can’t practice, and like what happened with my once-friend the Augur, having books or materials makes me a target for people who want those things.  I gave them and traded them away.  Matthew has a few.”

“I’ll see about digging them up,” Matthew said, from the front seat.  “I was looking for specific things about my specific dynamic, and once I verified there wasn’t anything useful, I put them away.  A few might be in a box in my basement with some ritual supplies and Christmas decorations.”

“That’s great,” Verona chimed in.

Was that sarcasm?  Or was it true?  If Avery had to ask, did it matter?

She wasn’t even a sarcastic person, and she was going to miss sarcasm.  It was very interesting if Verona could make it work, because that meant Avery could too.  Charles, at least, wasn’t saying anything.

Lucy was still taking the notes.  Without looking up, she said, “I’ve been thinking about things in terms of the order we need to conduct the interviews, but we’re not just conducting interviews, right?  We’re gathering power.  Tools.”

“I’ve kind of been saying that from the start,” Verona said.

Lucy nodded, her hair bobbing out of sync behind her.  With Avery’s sight, the hair was pink at the ends, and Lucy’s eyes were a rosy brown.  Lucy twisted around, to face the window.  “Charles, if we’re worried about someone or something losing control and being able to hurt us… who or where would we go to get something to protect ourselves?”

Charles sighed.  “The best defense is running away, avoiding that fight in the first place.”

“You made it sound like a bad situation was unavoidable,” Avery said.

“I might’ve, but it might be better to say that a bad situation is inevitable, unless you stop.  If and when that happens, the tragic outcome might be what’s unavoidable.”

“Let’s assume something or someone’s going to pick a fight with us,” Lucy said.  “Who do we go to about self defense or getting what we need to stop them?”

They’d made their way down the winding road and they were into the upper portion of Kennet now.  There was a fair amount of traffic at this hour and time of the week.  The highway cut through the town, and the upper end of town had a ton of fast food places and rest stops for people to pull off or go to the bathroom.  A lot of the signs were crummy or had unlit letters, but the fast food places and other franchises at least had head offices ensuring that they were keeping everything top notch.

Avery looked at it with the Sight.  She could see the distinction, now that she’d been gone and come back.  The handprints and footprints that her Sight painted on everything were keeping this place in good shape, but an awful lot of them were bloody.

The bands that connected things were touched with blood here and there too.

Now she had another question, but the others were talking.

“…would suggest John,” Charles said.  “He’s a fighter.  Goblins if you want to hurt something, but that’s… again, practice is political as much as it’s anything.  Something like Munch from downtown might give you a win, but you hurt yourself in the long term.”

“And which Others are most likely to lose control and hurt us?”

“John,” Charles said, again.

Verona laughed.  “That’s, uhhhh…”

“We want to talk to him soon anyway,” Avery said, pushing her way back into the conversation.  As they got closer to their destination, she felt more and more like she wanted to do her share, or make her contribution.  “What do we need to know?”

“He’s easy to find.  He lives in the burned out house at the southeast of town.  At the intersection of Lily and Henry.  He’s a good man, but… avoid sudden moves.  Don’t push him, and avoid all signs of violence.”

“Like a big, scary dog,” Avery said.

“He’s a Dog of War, known in some circles as Dog Tags.  I think his name is an older equivalent to John Doe, but for soldiers.  When warzones are at their ugliest and most chaotic, and people start losing track of who is where, who is alive and who is dead, certain Others may crop up on the battlefields.  Ones that fight, so long as there is conflict around them.  If the soldiers in that war are killing innocents, so will the Dogs of War.  If they commit other atrocities, so will the Dogs.  They don’t sleep, they keep the battle going, and as long as the battle continues, they don’t stay down.  Related to Revenants, but Revenants are the province of Death, not War.”

“Did he- does he commit atrocities?” Avery asked.

“I don’t think so,” Charles said.  “But he came with a friend, and the friend suggests things, because of what she was.”

“Clarify that for us?” Avery asked.

“I don’t know much.  She was gone before I was a practitioner, and she’s a touchy subject for him.  Dogs of War have a multitude of subcategories and varieties.  Labels are rarely tidy, and Dogs of War are something that emerges naturally, for lack of a better way of putting it.  Dog Meat emerge from multiple killings at the hands of serial killers or more violent goblins, Hang Dogs from lynchings and hate, Blast Dogs from areas that have been traumatized, and Sick, Famine, and Black Dogs are rare ones from the more vulnerable innocents killed in those crises, usually the leaders or guides for collected packs and combinations of Dogs of War.”

Avery looked out over the congested traffic.  People were lining up to pass through the fast food drive throughs, with lines extending out onto the road.  It meant that traffic was reduced to one lane at places, and that traffic was stop-and-go.

The world felt so much bigger and more intimidating than it had last Thursday.

“Are there a lot of these things out there?” Verona asked.

“By their nature and where they come from, they’re hard to count.  All it takes is that the dead pile up in the midst of greater conflict and violence, people start becoming statistics instead of names, and the numbers stop adding up.  John’s companion was a Sick Dog type.  It looked like any child you could find on a warzone.  He smuggled it here, it took care of him, he took care of it.  But by its nature, it spread sickness and tainted everything around it with malaise.  It had to be dealt with.  John decided to do it himself.  Before my time here.”

“He executed his companion.  I think that might be why the Alabaster, Sable, and Aurum liked him for the role.  He does what’s necessary.”

“You were listening in?”

“Matthew recapped for me.”

“Okay, so… just so we know, how do you deal with a Dog of War or any of its variants?” Verona asked.

“By putting a bullet in them, or some other means of execution, after cutting them off from their power source.”

“How do you cut them off?”

“Draw a circle around them.  I can teach you the basics of binding Others at a later date.  With John, don’t bother trying.  The act of finishing the drawing of the circle gets harder the greater the source of power is.  His source of power is a big, long-running conflict with no sign of ending, even if Canada pulled out six years ago.  Like a large body of water with a narrow hole feeding out the bottom to this particular output, the pressure is immense and the stream violent.  You’re not positioned to put that conflict to rest and you’re not equipped to close a circle.”

“We might have other options if we can figure that out, if it comes to that,” Lucy said.  “Was he upset?  After killing his friend?”

“John has two modes.  Hurry up and wait, and opening fire.  He hasn’t opened fire yet, and it’s been a decade.”

They’d hit the residential area now.  They weren’t far from being dropped off.

“What about the Hungry Choir?” Avery asked.  “Are they something we can use to protect ourselves?  I’m thinking of the knives that appeared in the ritual, and they seem to be a common thread.”

“They aren’t.  Too unpredictable, you can’t communicate with them, and by their very nature, they tend to bite the hand that feeds.  They’re not servants, summons, or assistants I would have wanted as a practitioner.”

“What is their nature?” Verona asked.

“Ritual Incarnate,” Lucy said.  Her phone rang, startling her.  “Sorry.  It’s my parents.  Crap.”

Verona grabbed her hat, which was in her lap, flipping it over.  The chalk diagram to break connections had worn out to the point they were almost gone.  “Our connection breaking stuff ended.  Because we drove through a populated area, and a lot of people would notice kids riding in the back of a truck.”

Lucy motioned for Verona to shush, putting the phone to her ear.

Verona twisted around, and pushed past Avery to get to the window.  She spoke into the window so she wouldn’t be too loud for Lucy.  “My house is a block away. Stop?”

“Yes, no, I figured I’d reheat something if you hadn’t cooked,” Lucy said.  “Less than five minutes.  Okay, cool.  Thanks.”

Verona hopped out of the car, and Avery handed down the bags.

Verona leaned in closer, all wide-eyed, hair messy from not having showered or brushed it.  It suited her, honestly.  In Avery’s Sight, Verona’s eyes were bright with a purple tint that wasn’t reflecting anything nearby.  Was that because Verona was using the Sight too?  “Get the rest of the info and fill me in later?  Or fill in Lucy and I’ll read her notes?”

“Thanks,” Verona said.  She turned to look in the direction of her house.  “Sucks to go back home.  I kinda hoped I wouldn’t have to, but I guess that doesn’t make sense, huh?”

“I guess,” Avery said, not sure what to say.

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” Verona said, before quickly adding, “Probably.”

Verona started to leave, then turned.  “I’m glad you stuck with it.  Thanks for the book.  Let me know if you want it back.”

“Nah,” Avery said, a little caught off guard.  She raised a hand as Verona ran off.  The truck started up again as Avery settled back into her ‘seat’.

“What were we talking about?” Avery asked.

“Ritual Incarnates,” Lucy said.  She’d finished her call.

“There are ways you can ask to play chess with Death,” Charles launched right into it.  “Or one Death.  War, Innocence, Pain, Hope, Mischief… all are forces that can take form in this world, you can meet them, you can deal with them.  They’re more solid and tied into things than a spirit, which influences, or an elemental that impacts the physical and natural world.  Incarnations represent particular human realities.  When these incarnations want to spread their influence, sometimes they set things in motion.  On the rare occasion, they happen naturally or by accident.  All we know about the Hungry Choir is that they arose somewhere else and they’ve settled here, at least for a little while.  Perhaps some locals are tied up in it.  The Other you call Miss could tell you more.”

“What is it?” Avery asked.  “Like, what did these Incarnations or accidents set in motion?”

“An Incarnation of Poverty might try to spread poverty.  Sometimes that would be with a cursed item; innocents handle it, they ignore the warnings printed on the item or shared by the seller, they lose their earthly belongings and fortunes, they die or suffer a dark fate, the item gets passed on, having strengthened Poverty, until someone figures out a way to deal with it.  Other times, it’s a ritual that finds its way to people’s hands.  In this modern era, when urban legends can gain traction and the internet is a thing, it’s getting more and more common.”

“But they’re not practitioners?” Avery asked.

“This is my house!”  Lucy knocked on the window.  Matthew pulled over again.

Lucy made no motion to get up, still listening.  In the background, Matthew turned off the engine, turning around to look and listen as Charles talked.

“No, they’re not practitioners.  And that’s the gamble, of sorts.  Will the ritual pull in enough to be worth the cost of inducting an innocent?  If the ritual brings in enough poverty, for example, or brings in enough other people who fail, it may be worth paying the penalty or assuming the karmic responsibility.  But if the people participating thrive, succeed, and ‘beat’ the ritual, it’s costly.”

“Often, the karmic cost of bringing in innocents is tempered.  If it’s just, if someone must opt in, and if there’s a possible way out, it’s less costly.  Remember what I said earlier about the warning given with full expectation that the warning would be ignored?  One such example.  The Ritual Incarnate may be a game, or a pattern people willingly participate in, with enough traps or enough of an uphill climb that failing at the game is expected, and they may be difficult enough that by the time the participant is done, they are no longer capital-I Innocent, or even no longer human.  These things tend to end when enough people get the hang of it.”

“The Hungry Choir is strong, so… nobody’s figured out how to beat it?”

“Not consistently.  I’ve heard about one where a notebook described how to find the location of a tunnel entrance, which regularly moved.  An Incarnate Ritual of Time.  Going through the winding tunnels would take the participants back in time.  They could alter their pasts, but while in the past, they had to arrange events so a specific scene would come to pass at a specific point in time, years in the future, as depicted on a mural along the way.  They got three tries and if they failed to replicate the scene, they were unwound from Time altogether.  The notebook was mass produced, some practitioners in the States got ahead of it, and used their expertise to beat it enough times it ran out of steam.  In another case, an Incarnate Ritual of Envy, participants could log into a website, and would join as a group, engaging in a game of several rounds of swapping minds with bodies among members of the group, similar to musical chairs.”

“What happened when a chair was taken away?”

“I don’t know.  The easiest and most obvious answer would be that that specific mind and body pairing were snuffed out.”

“Do they all end horribly?” Avery asked.

“They tend to, but typically, there’s incentive to win, a reward for the winner, that draws specific kinds of candidate into the ritual,” Charles said.  “Be careful with the Hungry Choir.  Have some protection if you’re getting close.”

Lucy got to a standing position, moving her bags to the side.  Avery stood as well, ready to help.

Avery gave Lucy her bags.  “I’ll catch you up on any other info, after.”

“You did good this weekend, Ave.”

Avery wanted to protest, but she worried calling Lucy out on being a liar would hurt them both.  She shrugged instead.  “You too.”

“We’ll talk soon,” Lucy said, giving the side of the truck a pat.

Lucy lifted up her bags and cut cross-wise through someone’s lawn to head to her house.

“Remind me where you live?” Matthew called back.

“Over the bridge, turn right.”

It felt weird and worse, being in the back of this truck with the strangers in the front, nobody at her side now.

“Any more questions?” Charles asked.

The way she was sitting, her back was almost to his, separated by the back of the truck cab, his seat, and her bags that she was using as a back-cushion.

“How do we talk to the Choir?  We have the location for John Stiles, but…”

“You don’t.  You can’t.  But ask Miss.  She may be able to point you in the right direction.  Prepare first, or better yet, skip them.”

“They can hurt you,” Charles said.  “They’re a small, localized hurricane, except instead of wind and flying debris, they’re patterns and rules.  Don’t get mired in it.”

“Alright,” she said.  “Thanks for the advice.  I do mean that.”

The car reached her house and passed it.  She told Matthew to park.

“What you said about being fast?” Charles ventured, as she picked up her bags.

“Yeah?  Fast and high-endurance.”

“If those parts of you on the rink are you, your capital-s Self, play into that.  Pursue that.”

“I’ll think about that, and how to make it work.”

“Careful,” he said.  As it got quieter, his voice took on a crackle that reminded her of her grandfather.  “I’m karmically ruined.  It makes it easier to ignore my advice, so don’t tell me you’ll think about it unless you will.”

“I will,” she said, as much to nail down the idea for her own benefit as it was for him.  “Thanks Charles.  Thanks Matthew.  Thanks Edith.”

She grabbed her bags and hopped down, the added weight adding more crunch as her running shoes hit the grit, salt, and gravel that had been deposited at the road’s edge, yet to be fully washed away.

Three cars in the driveway.  Reason enough to believe everyone was home.  The garden had been watered and a puddle had yet to dry out by the spray-hose, which had been left draped down the length of the road.  Someone was earning the bonus chore money, it seemed.  From the fact it hadn’t been picked up after, a good one dollar deduction, she was guessing Sheridan or Declan.

She let herself in, squeezing in past the screen door to the front door, with a bag slung over one shoulder and another at her back.

“Grumble, do you mind if I take the Ion!?”

The answer was unintelligible.

“It’s so cute you call him Grumble,” Laurie said.  The woman, twenty, slim and dark haired, was already standing in the front hall.  Laurie reached in to hold the screen door and let Avery squeeze through.  Avery ducked her head down, feeling heat at her face as she had to pass in such close proximity to the woman.  It wasn’t that her brother’s girlfriend was her type, but Avery’s height put her head at the same level as Laurie’s chest, which meant she had to work to not headbutt her, and she was very cognizant of the smell of her shampoo and the fact she was wearing a low-cut top.  If she’d had any warning, it would have been fine, but it was a lot to suddenly find at eye level, and she was very aware she hadn’t showered.

“Hey, skates,” Rowan said, touching Avery’s head.  He was tall, skinny as a rail, with freckles, with an actually nice haircut, which Avery kind of envied.  “Good weekend?”

“S’alright,” she mumbled, still a bit flushed.  “Going out?”

“Rowan,” Avery’s dad said, “can you wait two minutes to let me write up a list?  I’ll give you money, you can grab stuff on the way home.”

“Aw, dad, that’s really not the direction we’re going, and your two minutes is closer to ten minutes in reality.”

“Two minutes, I promise.  You can keep the change for gas money.”

“Avery!” Kerry exclaimed, voice high.  The six year old threw herself at Avery, latching onto the gym bag and nearly pulling Avery off balance.

“Ow, let go.  Let go!”

She pried Kerry’s fingers off and twisted away, doing a half-step to avoid whacking Laurie in the knees with the bag as she turned. She hurried to the stairs, where she had to twist to let Declan by as he hurried down the stairs.

“Avery!” her mom called from the downstairs kitchen.  “Can we touch base!?”

“Yeah!  Give me a minute!”

“Can we touch base!?”

“I said give me a minute!”

She made her way upstairs, and had to stop at the door to her room.  Sheridan was exiting as she entered, and looked very aggrieved at the minor inconvenience at having to wait for Avery to step aside and let her pass.  Wearing pyjama pants and an oversized shirt even though it wasn’t nighttime yet, running a brush through black hair -the only person in Avery’s family without red hair besides grandpa- Sheridan strode to the stairs, tossing her brush onto the bathroom counter as she passed it.  Sixteen year olds.

“Don’t leave that stuff in the way!” Sheridan called out, from the top of the stairs.

“You leave your gym stuff around all the time.”

“Stop stressing out!”

“Laurie!” Sheridan called down.  “Hey, where are you guys going out-”

Avery deposited her bags on her bunk. She rolled her shoulder where the strap had been digging into it, especially with Kerry hanging on, and she heaved out a sigh.  The bunkbed was relatively new.  Declan was ten, and her parents didn’t want a ten year old boy sharing a room with a six or thirteen year old girl, so they’d been sorted by gender instead.  Avery’s bed had gone to Declan, she got the top bunk, and Kerry slept below her.  Sheridan’s half of the room remained intact, on penalty of all the wrath a sixteen year old could bring down on one’s head.

“Avery!” her mom called from downstairs.  “Tout suite!  Dinner’s ready in ten!  I want to chat before then!”

She put her bags on her bed and in the closet, and made sure none of her stuff was in Sheridan’s way.  She picked up one of Kerry’s stuffed animals that she almost stepped on, a dog with a fat tongue sticking out, and situated it on her sister’s pillow, before posturing it so it was licking itself.

Kerry would laugh, probably.

Her head being down, she got in her dad’s way as he crossed the hallway.  He stopped in his tracks, hands going out to the walls so he could brace himself instead of walking into her.

“Whoop,” he said.  “Looking for a pen.”

She had one in her pocket.  She handed it over.

He bent down to kiss her on the top of her head.  “Thank you.  Good weekend?”

He was already heading downstairs.  She followed.

“I think so,” she said.

“That sounds very ambivalent.”

“Just… a lot going on.”

“No idea what that’s like,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

Sheridan got out of dad’s way, but when Avery moved to get by, stuck her butt in the way.

“Did you leave your stuff on the floor?”

“I didn’t!” Avery protested.  She was annoyed she couldn’t help but sound childish, saying it.  She tried to get by, but Sheridan stuck her fat butt out.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Avery!” her mom called out.

“She’s coming,” her dad said.  “Sheridan, let your sister by.”

Sheridan obeyed, but only as long as dad was looking.  As soon as he turned away to add to the list he was writing, she moved to block.  “I thought you were a hockey player.”

Avery saw the sympathetic look that Laurie shot her, but Rowan, dad, and Kerry were all in the front hall, and she couldn’t speak without interrupting.

Avery climbed over the railing, put one foot on the top of the chair by the stairs, and stepped down onto the seat, then to the ground.  She jogged through the living room, evading Kerry’s clutches, and paused by the chair her grandfather sat in, giving him a hug.

“Heya,” he said, his voice mushy and ten times as gravely as Charles’ had been.  He’d had a stroke a long time ago and had mostly recovered, but his voice wasn’t what it had been, and his movements were sometimes limited.

“Heya Grumble.  Have a good weekend?”

“Surright, yeah,” he said.  He gave her cheek a pat with a stiff hand, the movements rough and the hand rougher.  He indicated the television, which was showing the news.  “I dunno what these guys, what they’re doing.  They’re idiots.  We’ve got idiots in charge.”

“Love you, but I gotta go talk to mom though.”

“She’s not that bad,” Avery said, smiling, as she walked backwards.  “I don’t think I’m in trouble.”

“No trouble,” her mom said, overhearing the tail end.  She wiped wet hands.  “Backyard for a second?  Connor!  Can you watch the stove?”

“Yeah!  One second!” Avery’s dad called back.

“Sheridan’s not doing anything,” Avery volunteered.

“Sheridan!  Stove!” Avery’s mom called out.  “If I look back in five seconds and you’re not on it, I’m going to be ticked!”

“Yep!” was the answering call.

Avery and her mom stepped into the backyard.  Her mom shut the door, which immediately opened, six year old Kerry wanting to come outside.

“Nope, back inside,” mom said, ushering the kid in, before closing the door and standing with her back to it.  “Whoo.”

“How are you?” her mom asked.

Avery shrugged.  “Doing okay.”

“Was hanging out with Lucy and Verona.  We slept in a tent.  Studied.  Verona made a boomerang hat.”

“Never heard of that.  I know it might not seem like it, but I miss you when you’re not around.”

“I miss you guys too.  I don’t tend to miss… all of this, though.”

“Haha.  Your mind might change when you go away to university.  Your dorm or apartment will feel very empty.”

“When, please and thank you.”

“I guess we will.  Plenty of time to figure it out,” mom said.  “I’m proud of you, you know.”

“Um.  Thanks?  Can I ask- what’s this?”

Is it a screwy connection thing?  A rebound from the connection breaking ritual?  If it is, I feel kind of sorry for Lucy and Verona.

“You, me, talking here.  I know you said I’m not in trouble but I feel like I’m in trouble.”

“No, honey.  Usually, when you’re around, I feel like I make a few minutes at a time to check in, or see how you’re doing.  But when you’re away, I do want to take a bit more time to catch up.  I don’t want to go back to where things were last winter.”

Aha, this was something far more boring than connection weirdness.

Avery was pretty sure that Ms. Hardy had called her parents, because a short while after she’d opened up to Ms. Hardy, her parents had turned things around a bit and started talking to her more, asking her how she was, taking her out for treats or one-on-ones.

She kinda really resented that it had taken that long and that much, though, which made this uncomfortable dialogue a little more uncomfortable.

Which she summed up in a shrug.

“Are you in a good place?  Your friends are good to you?”

“They can be a little bit much, but… they’re good.”

“Did we do you wrong by homeschooling you?”

Avery shook her head.  Homeschooling had been easier.  The forced social interaction with the meets with other homeschooled kids.  They’d been so mindful of the risks of not giving her enough socialization that they’d gone the other direction.  Museum trips, hangouts.  It had been nice.

She’d still asked to go to regular school.  She’d been wrong to, kind of.  Rough few months.

“Want anything particular for dessert?” her mom asked.  “I think we have ice cream, brownie bites, hmmm…”

“I don’t really care about dessert.  I snacked out all weekend.”

“Hm.  So long as you finish your dinner and you had a good weekend.”

Avery shrugged again.  “Um.  But can we not watch the singing show?”

“Oh, honey.  That might be a losing battle.  I’ll be in your corner if you really want it, but…”

“Literally anything else.  Please.”

“I’ve got to go check on dinner.  Have you finished your homework?”

“And I thought you said you studied, hm?” her mom asked, smiling like she’d just played a trick or caught Avery in a minor lie.  “After?”

“Alright.  Dinner in… maybe five.  Go, sort out your things from the weekend.  Make sure your laundry is in the pile or it won’t get done.  Get clothes ready for tomorrow.”

Back into the house, where Kerry was waiting by the door, trying to peer through the window.  Mom scooped Kerry up, grunting as she lifted her, and leaned her on one hip.

“Can’t do this for much longer.  You’re lucky you’re so tiny, Ker.”

Avery watched as her mom situated Kerry on the kitchen counter, and set her the task of spinning the salad dry.  Sheridan was on the stove, and Laurie had left with Rowan.

“Pen,” her dad said, as she passed him.  He was in the front hall, plugging in his phone at the hub, which had what looked like ten different wires and chargers sticking out of it.

She reclaimed her pen, then jogged up the stairs.

Declan was in her room, holding her deer mask.  Her clothes and other stuff from her bag were on the floor.

“Declan, you’re such a little penis!”

She stopped after saying it, that moment of regret and realization washing over her.

Of course she’d be the lame-ass loser who’d be the first in her trio that would say something that was technically a lie.

“Where’d you get this?” he asked.

“Give it back!” she told him, with a little more volume and anger because she was mad at herself.  For the lie, for not considering that she had zero privacy.

“Did you make it?  I saw you carving something in the backyard but it wasn’t like this.”

“It was a gift, like my carving was a gift, and don’t you dare drop it.  Give it!”

He held it at bay, using Sheridan’s wheeled computer chair as a barrier.

She used her Sight, because she didn’t have many other options.  She could see him, see the bands of connections.  She could tell her dad was on his way.

A band connected her to her mask.

On impulse, she grabbed for it.  The band moved out of the way of her hand, but she grazed it with her fingers, which pulled it closer-

And Declan, standing on one of the legs that extended from the base of the computer chair, slipped and slid a bit closer.

She snatched the mask from his hand.

Flushed with victory and anger, she gathered herself.  She could do things.  This was more than just stopping the wind, postponing a phone call that probably wouldn’t have come, and keeping her hat on.

She had another issue to fix.  The lie.

“You little penis,” she pressed.  “You’re- you’re runty, you’re sticky and snotty, you’re annoying, I don’t want you in my face, ever, and I definitely don’t want you poking randomly through my freaking stuff!”

“Avery!” her dad said, behind her.

Was that okay?  Did saying that stuff, drawing those parallels, did it work?  She didn’t care if she got in trouble with her dad, so long as it wasn’t hurting her practice or her friends.  Was it like giving an argument after being forsworn?

Whatever.  She’d work it out after.  There were other battles to be fought.  It was a question of sanity and siblings.  “The little creep was going through my stuff!”

“Why are you even in my room?  Isn’t the whole point of Kerry moving in and me losing my actual bed so we wouldn’t have him perving his way through everything?”

“I wasn’t perving!  I was just curious!”

“Declan, time out.  I’ll talk to you in a minute.  Avery, calm down.”

She shut her mouth and she shut up, fuming.

Still mad at herself, because she should have known.

“How long am I in time out for?”

“Until your mom and I decide on a punishment.  You should respect your big sister’s privacy.  Avery… clean up, breathe?”

She huffed out a breath, bent down, and began picking up her dirty laundry and stuff.

She used her Sight, and she tracked the connections.  She looked at one band that was particularly slack and frail, paused as she noted that the bloodstains and bloody handprints extended to her brother, her dad, and Sheridan, who was out in the hallway.  Small, occasional, but definitely there.  A thing in Kennet alone.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am,” she said.  “I’m-”

She marched over to Declan, reached for his pocket, and found it empty.  She checked the other- the connection wasn’t that clear.

She fished out the chocolate bar.

“Stealing has to be extra punishment, right?” she asked.

“Your mom and I will work it out.  This house would descend into anarchy if you got input on each other’s punishments.”

“Dinner!” the call came from downstairs.

Avery huffed.  She waited until people were out of her room before finding a quick hiding place for the chocolate bar.

Downstairs, the TV had been turned around so everyone at the table could watch.  It was already tuned to the previews of the talent competition.  Spotlights, judges, and the endless litany of new singers, dancers, and jugglers.

She hated it.  She gave her mom a look as she sat down.

“What would you guys think about a movie instead?” her mom offered.

The protests were loud and immediate, from Kerry, Declan, Sheridan, and even dad, who was now bringing over plates from the kitchen.

“Or, novel concept,” her mom said.  “We could turn off the television and talk like human beings.”

“This is Avery, right?  You’re saying it because of her, because I know you love this stuff, mom,” Sheridan said.

“It’d be nice to have a change,” mom said.  She gave dad that ‘back me up’ look.

“It could be,” he said.

If I ever have a girlfriend and she’s that bad at backing me up, she’d get the silent treatment or something, Avery thought.

Sheridan pressed the argument, “You’re not saying no.  It’s always Avery that’s whining about having to watch this, she’s the only one who doesn’t.”

“I don’t whine,” Avery said.

“You whine, you complain.  You don’t even try to like it.”

“It’s just so samey, and it’s always on.”

“Whiner,” Declan said.

“Stop, right now,” mom said.

“Let’s not forget you’re in trouble, Declan,” dad added.

“We’re missing the start!” Kerry said.

“I need the recap on whatever happened.’

“If this was in any way fair, every eight days, at least, we’d get to watch something I like,” Avery said.

“We’re missing the start!” Kerry raised her voice.

Avery looked at her mom, helpless, with three siblings lined up against her, one older, two younger, all annoying.

“No, Avery’s right.  Movie,” her mom said, as she put a bib on Grandpa.

There were groans across the table.

“Jenniston’s on tonight, mom,” Sheridan said.  “Your favorite, quarter-finals.”

“I can survive, I think.”

Dad changed the channel until he found a movie that looked safe for Kerry.  Romantic comedy, it seemed.

“What, did this take two dollars to make?” Sheridan asked.  “Look at that set.”

“This looks awful,” Declan chimed in, picking up on Sheridan’s cue.

“I don’t even recognize this actor,” Sheridan said.  “How do you have a romance movie without an attractive guy?”

“I can’t hear what they’re saying,” Avery said.

“Avery talks all the time when we’re watching our show.  Which, I should mention, has something for everyone.”

“Not really for me,” Avery said.

“Oh my god, do you even like this?” Sheridan asked.

“Enough, Sheridan.  I will ground you.”

“It’s better than Singfest Canada,” Avery said.

“I want to see Jenniston!” Kerry raised her voice.  “And the box boys!”

“They got eliminated last week, remember?”

“I still want to see them!”

Much as her grandfather was doing, Avery focused on eating, enduring the onslaught.  Dinner was good, at least.  She was hungry.

“Avery, are you even watching?” Sheridan asked.

“Stop heckling your sister.”

“I don’t-” Avery said, stopping short.  “Whatever.  Change the channel.”

“Are you sure?” her mom asked.  “Because if you’re doing it because they’re behaving this way-”

“It’s not worth it.  Just…”

Avery got up from her seat, changed the channel, and sat back down, to the cheers of her siblings.

“I’ll make it up to you,” her mom said.

She continued to endure, to eat in silence.

God, she hated this show.  The judges, the performers, the fakeness.  She’d never even liked it a bit, but… ever since last fall, when there’d been three different talent shows on TV, and other shows the family liked to watch, when she’d been so lonely it got hard to breathe sometimes, the dinners had been some of the worst parts.  Worse than school.  Because people that should have reached out and connected to her hadn’t.  They’d watched their stupid show and barely talked and then went and did their own things, ignoring her while she was suffocating.

And yeah, she was to blame too.  That was what got her.  She could have always said something or piped up or whatever, but… she hated that they all made it so hard, sometimes.

“See?” Sheridan said.  “Something for everyone.  Cute boy for you, Avery.”

Avery looked at the screen and at the boy, and her initial reaction was sheer disinterest mingled with her hatred of the show, which settled on a wobbly feeling of general revulsion.  Then, worried it had shown on her face, she glanced at her grandfather, who was looking at her, and down at the table.

She wondered if she could muster enough sheer dislike for it all that the screen would crack.  Was that a thing she could do with her sight?

Wetting her hand with condensation on her glass of ice water, she drew on the table.  A circle, herself, and then spurs pointing to each member of her family.

“What are you doing?” Sheridan asked.

She smeared it in the center of the circle.  That was enough of her, wasn’t it?  DNA?  People spat on their hands and shook, and so that had to mean something.

The young teenager’s singing had just started.

Avery realized nobody was fixated on her.

Shoveling a few more bites of food into her mouth, she stood, bringing her plate with her.  She kept an eye out, but they were stuck watching the screen.

There was no way she was sitting through another episode of this crap.

She cleaned her plate and put everything away, and jogged up the stairs to her room.  She did another, cleaner connection breaking circle that wouldn’t evaporate, sent a text to her friends, and then went to the bathroom to wet her hair under the showerhead.

She got a reply, and, water still running, checked.

Giving her hair a brief towel, she pulled on a hat, got her stuff, mask and hat included, and made her way out the door.

She spotted the house at the corner of the intersection.  It had burned in a fire, and nobody had gotten around to replacing the walls.  There was only plastic sheeting.

“That’s a good trick, though,” Verona said.

“I wish I knew exactly how I did it.  If we got good at it, maybe it’d let us do the hat boomerang thing without having to draw something.”

“It might be worth asking one of the Others about that, before we do it too much,” Lucy said.  “What if it degrades the connection to pull on it all the time?  Or if it costs something?”

“Sure,” Avery said.  “I don’t see myself objecting if you say we need to be more careful, especially after what Charles said.”

“What kind of Other, though?”

“The thread ones,” Verona said.  “Maybe… Miss?”

“I don’t trust Miss,” Lucy said.

“Alpy?” Avery asked.  “She seemed cool.”

“Based on a single smile?”

“Nevermind that.  We can figure it out.  I want to know what happened next?  How did he react?” Verona asked.

“It wasn’t like that,” Avery said.  “Declan tipped my way naturally.  Like it was always going to happen.  I just grabbed it.  He looked annoyed, then I had to handle the penis thing.”

“I called him a penis, and I didn’t want that to be a lie.”

They stopped at the far end of the intersection, waiting for a car to pass.

“So what did you do?”

“I named all the ways I could think of, that he was like a penis.  I did pretty well I think.”

“Want to do better?” a voice cut in.  Trying so desperately to be a purr and sounding more like a person choking.

What did he hear?  Avery wondered, as she backed away from the bush.

Toadswallow and Cherry were within, crawling forth.  Toadswallow was wearing a vest with a tie that didn’t quite cover his belly.

“What are you doing here?” Lucy asked.

“We’re friends with John.  We were going to hang out,” Toadswallow said.  “Come on.  You were going to talk to him anyway, weren’t you?  Hang out with us, and Cherry and I here will teach you how to make a swear count, as one of my gifts to you.”