Tort - One Sin - One Grace (EverythingNarrative) - Pact (2024)

Chapter 1: 0-X

Chapter Text

You’re not one to bore people with your life’s story in great detail.

You were very young when you discovered you were meant to be a girl, and though your parents weren’t opposed to the idea, you would later discover they never supported you for your own sake. You ran away from home a few months before your 18th birthday, and lived in queer youth shelters for months thereafter, scraping by.

It happened barely a week or two after your 18th. You wondered on occasion if you’d been struck by lightning, maybe fell into a psychosis. And then your delusions turned out to be real.

In a different life you had been an unassuming girl, and recalled it vividly enough that you could reminisce. It was like you had become two pasts, two memory-histories, spliced together. You were still one whole Blake, but an extra half of Taylor had been stapled to your brain. One third someone else, but overall more than one whole person. Her world — different from yours — had… well, superpowers.

And what convinced you that you hadn’t just gone insane was that you had inherited hers. Her skill, her disposition, her survival skills. They served you well while living on the streets, and even better when you were almost inducted into a cult. Once you finally found stable ground, you kept waiting for the other foot to drop. For other parahumans to show up. Nothing.

Seven years went by, and then something else entirely did.

Granny Rose went and decided it was time to die. That was why your mother and father was okay with you being a girl, the sole reason. Rose Thorburn Sr.had long ago given leave that you could inherit “if she had a girl’s soul.” To them you were a foot in the door on the Hillsglade estate.

It was a miserably cold winter day, as you rolled into Jacob’s Bell, an equally miserable little town. Hillsglade house was impossible to miss, situated on the eponymous hill to one side of town. You knew it was prime real-estate and that most everyone wanted to be the ones to develop it.

You saw that Uncle Paul had parked his SUV in the driveway, forcing everyone else to find parking elsewhere. To go by motorcycle in this weather was suicidal so you had borrowed Joel’s car and that relegated you to the same search for a parking spot as everyone else — one of the many reasons why you eschewed owning four-wheeled transportation.

The streets were cleared, but the frost was biting and slow lay in drifts along the curb where the plow had left it. Salt crunched under your boots, as you crossed the streets.

You extended your power. There weren’t may bugs out at this time of year, but there were houses with hornets in the attic, hibernating moths, house spiders, bedbugs, the one termite infestation, co*ckroaches, and a headlice outbreak. The Hillsglade property was rich in earthworms and other burrowing things, but the house itself was clean. Not even a single spider.

It made you take warning. Something was off.

You ambled past the SUV and went up the driveway to the house, head hunched, silently cursing the weather. Counting wind-chill you reckoned it was about twenty below. You hated the cold, ever since that November when you nearly died of hypothermia sleeping on the street. In your opinion, most people didn’t appreciate how deadly something as banal as cold could be. If you had disposable income you had already decided to donate to shelters, as it was, volunteering had to do, what little you had time for.

The house itself was old but well kept. You knew the first thing about architecture but never got the the second; you were a tradeswoman, self-taught. You knew flaky paint and rotten wood when you saw it, and there was none. The grounds around it were more dire. You didn’t know the first thing about gardening, but you could handle a pruning saw, and the trees here were in dire need of that and some hedge trimmers.

You wiped the salt off your boots on the already soggy mat. It bore the old woman’s initials. R.D.T. Custom made, no doubt. You briefly wondered where one could find a doormat-maker.

Inside was a perfectly ordinary hall. You had expected some kind of lobby, but apart from the occupied coat hooks and a rack for shoes that had spilled over onto the floor in a neat little row of messy and wet boots, there was nothing of note.

Your boots were no less wet and messy, so you left them on the hardwood floor, heedless of the cleaning it would force someone else to do later. The coats had spilled over onto the chairs along one wall. You left yours on the seat of the last one and straightened your skirt and re-clipped your suspenders where sitting in the car had undone them. You unbuttoned the top button on your shirt, re-did your ponytail, and put on your indoor shoes before entering the beast’s den.

The house beyond the hall was almost dreadfully ordinary, apart from the bookshelves. Magazines and bestsellers alongside books that looked old in both senses of the word. Some ancient, some worn.

Voices came from upstairs, so you ascended. The voices were hard, and the words were sharp, and you did not miss it at all. Seven years without. Seven blessed years you had been away.

At the top, in the hallway, was only a fraction the despicable Thorburn line. Representatives from the four factions, all in black. All of them seven years older.

Mom and Dad with Ivy; she was getting big, and wearing an oversized hoodie. Dad was getting old. Mom looked like someone had taken a piss in her morning coffee.

Further down the hall was Aunt Irene, alone, which probably meant Molly was in there with the witch.

Uncle Paul was greying; you could easily see how two divorces would do that to a man. Roxanne was sitting next to him, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else, phone in hand. She’d be in college by now, if you recalled her age right.

And then there was the last ‘camp,’ Aunt Steph’s kids. Except Stephanie herself wasn’t there. In her absence, Kathy served the role as family head, standing with Paige. Ellie was absent; you remembered hearing something about her finally getting caught. Fraud.

Every unhappy family, et cetera, et cetera.

There were a lot of people who hadn’t turned up. You had no doubt a good handful of them had realized it wasn’t worth the time. After all, Rose had told you all time and time again that only the granddaughters could inherit. You had come there only to decline your inheritance if Granny Rose saw fit to give, bequeath, or devise you anything.

Your presence stilled the trading of barbs.

“Jesus,” Paige said. “Blake?”

She looked prim in a pantsuit with a laptop bag. You hadn’t been in touch beyond the odd letter, post-card, e-mail or phone-call, once or twice a year. She’d done law, and you found she looked the part.

“Hi Paige,” you replied.

You didn’t have high hopes as to the level of transphobia, save for Paige and Molly. A half a lifetime ago, you had been one of the girls, with the two of them.

She stood and came to greet you; the two of you shook hands.

“It’s been an age.”

“It has.”

“I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”

“You too. Barrister?”

“Tort law. You?”

“I’m in the trades.”

She gave you a brief one-armed hug, which was more than a little awkward, before letting you finally go say hi to your direct blood relatives.

“She returns,” said your dad.

“Hello Blake.”

You gave both of your parents the same brief, half-hearted hug Paige had given you.

“You know, a letter and two phone calls a year isn’t much,” your mom said. “You said you’d stay in touch.”

You ignored her. The only one you actually cared about was Ivy. “Hey Ivy.”

“Hey Blake.”

“How’s school?”

“It’s okay.”

In an ideal world, you would have been there for her, protecting her from all the rancid and toxic family drama. As it was, all you could do was come home for her birthdays, send her a present or two. They’d had her after you left and it had become obvious you weren’t coming back. You hadn’t even learned she existed before she turned three.

The door opened and Molly came out looking annoyed, she went to sit by aunt Irene.

A nurse poked his head out. “Kathy?”

Your cousin got up and headed in.

“I’ll just go say hi to cousin Molly, then I’ll come sit with you,” you said to your sister.

She nodded, and you went further down the hall to your other cousin. Irene gave you a glare, and you added some credence to the suspicion she was the kind of Karen who frequented Mumsnet.

“Hey Moll.”

“Blake.”

Molly elected to just shake your hand.

“Good to see you.”

“You too.”

She didn’t want to talk, and you could tell as much, so you went back to Ivy. Your mom had swapped seats with your sister, so the two of you could sit next to one another.

“You been in yet?”

Ivy shook her head.

“If you want me in there with you, just ask.”

“I do,” she muttered.

“Is that your angle?” Paul said, having overhead you.

You looked his way with the coldest glare you could muster.

“Playing the responsible big brother?”

“Shut up, Aunt Paul,” you replied, “read the room, mind your business.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t think you can weasel your way in. Only women can inherit.”

You rolled your eyes. “Is it dementia is setting in? Maybe cataracts? I’d offer to flash my titt*es, but that would be a little incestuous.”

“Blake,” your father said.

“Father,” you replied without taking your eyes off Paul.

To his credit, your uncle clenched his jaw and kept quiet.

This wasn’t how you would ever handle a transphobe anywhere but here, and even here it had taken you dipping into Taylor’s inexhaustible reserves of callous indifference to say that. But Ivy was there, and you wanted to be strong for her — after all you had your suspicions about her.

You offered her a hand, palm up, and she took it. You gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Time passed in blessed silence. You pushed you restlessness into the swarm.

The door opened and Kathy exited.

“Well?” Paul said. He had positioned himself and Roxanne just near the door to what was probably the bedroom Rose received the heirs in.

“Do you honestly thing I would tell you anything?” she said in passing. She went to Paige, exchanged a few quiet words, then left.

“Paige,” the nurse called.

She went in. I gestured for her to wait a moment. “Hey, when me and Ivy have been in, do you want to hit up a café?”

“Sorry, I best get back to the office,” she took another step and hesitated. “I’ll stick around until everyone leaves.”

She went in, and you looked down the hallway to Molly. “Moll, offer stands,” you said.

“Yeah,” she replied, non-comitally.

You and everyone else were growing too old for this sh*t, that was the mood here. Kathy was mid-forties or something and probably had her own thing going on; everyone except Ivy was of age, and really it was Irene, Paul, your father, and Steph who wanted that damn estate. As far as you were concerned, they could have it.

Paige came out, mouth set in a thin like.

She gave you a small nod.

“Ivy,” the nurse said.

Ivy tugged on your hand and you got up with her.

“Just Ivy, please,” the nurse said. He was a plain-looking man in scrubs.

You looked at him. “I am not letting my eight-year-old sister go in there alone,” you said with just a hint of venom, which was more than enough to make him stiffen a little.

Inside was just a bedroom. The same bookshelves you had seen in every other room, pastel-pink wallpaper like that one nuance they used in prisons, and a four-poster bed.

“I did not ask for you, Blake.”

Not even a hello. Roselyn D. Thorburn — you didn’t know what the D stood for, and seemingly no-one else did — looked like a little old lady in good health, rather than near death.

There was a man in a suit with an old-fashioned document case, her lawyer, no doubt. The room smelled like flowers, but there wasn’t a bouquet in sight. She was propped up against a pillow on the headboard, her hair was done in a tight bun, and her grey cat was lying on her legs. She was stick-thin and she had one of those trays for serving food in bed you had only seen in old movies. There was an empty plate with a fork and knife on it.

“There are many things in life we don’t ask for, yet get anyway,” you replied.

“Well said. Hello, Ivy.”

“M’hello,” Ivy muttered.

“Well, this is refreshing. The rest of them are dressed for my funeral. Or heading off to work. You look like you’re going to a dance.”

“You look like you’re going to have a refreshing nap. If it wasn’t for the nurse, I’d doubt you were even dying.”

“I am, though. Cancer.”

“With all due respect, have my condolences you rancid c*nt.” You glanced at the nurse and the lawyer, seeing them tense. “I gave up on hating you long ago. I’m pleased to hear I don’t have to fight your nurse and and lawyer for the privilege of strangling you myself.”

Ivy gave a small gasp, and I gave her hand a squeeze.

“I’d say to burn in hell, but I hope the atheists and scientists are right and you just cease to exist. After all the pain you’ve caused, that’s what you deserve.”

“Are you religious?”

“As if you care.”

She hm’ed.

Most of you wanted nothing to to do with her, but part of you wanted to continue insulting her for the catharsis.

“Do you enjoy toying with people? I must assume so because before I stopped giving a sh*t, occasionally I tried to figure out your motives, and that’s the only one I can come up with.”

“I did not make my children petty and greedy; that is on them.”

“How very Christian of you, absolving yourself of guilt. I won’t let you. The love of money is the root of evil, and you’re the one with the massive property to dangle in front of everyone. Five years ago, everyone would have been at each other’s throats, and it’s not like the economy has improved, but everyone has grown tired of this sh*t. Your grandkids are in college, or they have jobs. They’re out. They’re in therapy for all this bullsh*t. Whoever gets the house is going to burn it down and sell the property first thing.”

“No they will not. I’ve specified as much in my will.”

“Gasoline and matches can’t read wills.”

“Actions speak louder than words, is that what you’re saying?”

You didn’t reply.

“Rich?” The nurse poured her a cup of tea. The carton of tea-bags next to the teapot read Darjeeling. Her hands were steady as she took it, blew on it, and took a sip, wincing as it burnt her lips. You almost smiled.

Ivy hid behind you and grabbed your skirt.

“I would offer you a cup as well, if you promise not to throw it at her,” the nurse said.

“No thanks. I don’t want anything from her. Not inheritance, not tea, not an apology.”

“And do you speak for Ivy, too?”

You looked aside to your sister. “She doesn’t deserve to be thrust into all that madness. Not if I can help it.”

“How noble,” she said, self-assuredly and it took you a moment for your brain to catch up to the implications.

“Just to clarify, if you threaten to foist this house on Ivy to just to make me take it, I’ll make every effort to make you spin in your grave fast enough Toronto Hydro could hook you up to a generator.”

“Such wit. I will do no such thing.”

“I don’t trust you one iota.”

That gave her pause. “Are you calling me a liar, Blake Thorburn?”

“I’m sure as hell not calling you a truther.”

“I do consider myself honest if nothing else.”

“And I think we lie to ourselves all the time. You were a lawyer, I’m sure you understand saying other than what you mean.”

She smiled. “I am a lawyer.”

“Not for much longer.”

“To answer your question, yes, I enjoy toying with other people, but I am not as heartless as I seem. My children may by worthless as inheritors, but they are still my children, and I am their mother.”

“Anyone can push out a baby; true parenting is a commitment I sincerely doubt you’re capable of. So, since you’re in a question-answering mood: why?”

“I have my reasons. You’re a smart young woman, I’m sure you can imagine a smart old woman like myself knows things other people do not.”

For some reason a chill went down your spine at that.

“And why did you call us here? Why not just write your will and croak on your own time?”

“I only want to understand my grandchildren before I make my decision.”

You nodded. “Quick question, how old is Kathy?”

“Forty-three.”

“Then you’re at least forty-three years too late on that. What you should do, if you want my advice, is knock down the house, sell the property to the city so they can drain and develop the marsh; then split that fortune between the kids you apparently love and leave your grandkids out of it.”

“Not an option. The house stands, and I am picking the young lady to look after it.”

You weren’t sure why you were advising her in this, but you did anyway: “Then pick Paige. She’s probably the smartest of the three of us, she’s a barrister like yourself —”

“Tort law, not contract.”

“— whatever. She’s more than qualified to look after this place when you’re gone, and she wants nothing to do with it to boot; I’m sure she’ll find some way to give the house landmark status if you’re so intent on it remaining.”

“Paige is out of the running, I’m afraid.”

“What, because she’s gay?”

“No.She’s unsuited for other reasons.”

“You’re enjoying this. Playing with us.”

“I just told you I am not.”

“You said your children. That makes your actual inheritors fair game, does it not?”

She hm’ed again. “I wouldn’t recommend jumping to conclusions, Blake. Dangerous business.”

“A calculated risk I’m willing to take in the moment. Do you? If you’re so honest, look at me and tell me you don’t derive some measure of personal satisfaction in dangling this apple of discord in front of us.”

She looked you dead in the eye and didn’t say a word.

“I hope it hurts when you die,” you said, and turned about.

“Blake.”

You stopped with your hand on the door handle.

“When you said all due respect, did you mean it?”

You didn’t look back at her. “I never specified how much respect ‘all’ was. So yes. And the amount of respect you’re due is none at all.”

And you left the room.

“You’re scary when you get angry,” Ivy muttered. You let go of her hand and stroked her hair.

“I’m the scary one so you don’t have to be, okay?”

She nodded.

The nurse opened the door behind you and spoke to all of you.

“She will deliberate for a while.”

You turned to him. “What is ‘a while’ in this context?”

“She says she’ll chose an inheritor tonight.”

“How late tonight? Should I rent a hotel room?” you pressed.

The nurse looked back inside, closing the door partway, then came back out. “No later than midnight, she assures me. Mr.Beasley will call you.”

You went over to your parents with Ivy.

“Go home,” you said. “Tomorrow is a school day; I’ll stick around and represent us.”

“Really?” your dad said.

You looked him in the eye. “Yes, really. You can tell by the way I’m concerned for my little-sister’s wellbeing.”

“And you’re not just going to take the house for yourself?” your mom asked, and you flinched despite yourself.

“Mom,” you said. “I have a life. In Toronto. I have girlfriends and a job. I don’t want the house. And because you asked like that, I don’t want you to have it either. The best thing that could happen is that the place burns down, and if she bequeaths it to me I’ve half a mind to make it happen.”

“Blake,” your father said with warning in his voice.

You looked at him. “Imagine, dad, if your mother had actually loved the three of you. Done the sensible thing and sold this property, divided the money between you all. Wouldn’t it have been nice? If you, Paul, and Irene had gotten to have an amicable sibling relationship?”

He frowned.

“Go home. Tomorrow this will be over.”

Your mom put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go, dear. She’s right.”

“I should at least be here when she decides,” your dad said. “But yeah, let’s get Ivy home.”

You bent down and gave Ivy a hug.

“Bye Blake.”

“Bye Ivy. Give me a call if you ever need me to come be scary, okay?”

She nodded.

They headed downstairs.

Uncle Paul got up and headed for the stairs, but Roxanne lingered, looking at you.

You looked back at her.

“Tranny,” she said. Then she went down the stairs.

“Jerk,” you muttered.

Irene went past you and didn’t say a thing. Molly lingered.

“We should go find Paige and tell her,” she said.

You went downstairs together and found Paige in the kitchen taking a phone call. “Sorry, I gotta run now… Yeah, you’ll have them end of day… Yeah, thanks, but we weren’t close. It’s mostly formality.. Thank you.” She hung up and turned to you. “Hey Moll, Blake.”

“She’s going to make her decision today, before midnight,” you said.

“Before midnight? Christ! I am not going to drive back here from Toronto again.”

“Neither am I,” Molly said.

You went back out to the entry hall and got dressed up in parkas and scarves.

“I’m going to have to call my boss, but it looks like you get your wish, Blake. Molly, is there somewhere with free Wi-Fi? I need to get some work done.”

“Starbucks drove the local coffee houses out of business a few years back…”

The three of you went out into the cold afternoon, and down into the town.

“Moll, how are you doing?” you asked. Your breath left a cloud of fog.

“Fine. Better since I got the f*ck out of this town. I’m stable now. Medicated. Employed.”

“Oh,” you said. “Good to hear. What as?”

“Librarian. It’s good. Community-building, you know.”

You nodded. Libraries were a safe haven you had used many times, one of the only places you could exist in public without spending money.

“That’s great, Moll,” Paige said.

“What about you two?” she asked. You could tell she was trying to turn the conversation away from herself. She pointed down one street, “this way.”

“Well, I’m an attorney,” Paige said. “We’re doing a class-action thing at the moment, bit stressed.”

“I’m in the trades,” you said.

“Which?”

“A bit of everything. I work a lot with the art community. Stage work for both theatre and music, I’m even a shop class assistant at the local high school. Beekeeping.”

Molly looked at you. “Beekeeping?”

“I sell artisanal honey on Etsy,” you boasted. “It’s… moderately lucrative. And beekeepers are good people.” In truth it was trivially easy with your power.

You reached the Starbucks. Same store as in Toronto, except staffed by locals.

The barista frowned as you approached the till. “My treat,” Paige said. “I’ll take a tall double-shot latte.”

“Same,” Molly said.

“Me as well.”

“Three double shot tall latte,” the barista repeated. He didn’t even bother reading the price aloud.

Paige swiped her card, signed the receipt.

“Name?”

Paige co*cked an eyebrow and looked around the vacant room. “Paige,” she said.

The other barista began making your orders, while the three of you shrugged off coats and hats. Paige took her laptop out, but didn’t open it.

“I can’t wait for this to be over,” Molly said. “I’ll be happy if I never have to set foot in this town again.”

“Hear, hear,” Paige muttered.

“What’s with it?” you finally asked, fearing you were forcing her to talk about something she did not want to.

“Coffee first,” she said.

Paige opened her laptop and turned to the counter. “What’s the Wi-Fi password?”

“We don’t have a Wi-Fi,” the guy at the till called back.

“Bullsh*t, it’s company policy,” she said back.

“Look, lady I’m not the manager.”

“Leave it,” Molly said.

Paige, undeterred took out a dongle and inserted it. “I guess three-gee will have to do.”

“Three tall double-shot latte for Paige.” the barista called out, putting three cups on the counter.

You got up and went to fetch them, noting that he had spelled her name P-A-G-E.

Molly got hers and took a long sip. Paige lowered the lid on her laptop some.

“Well?” you asked, quieter.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Remember my mom moved us here, so we would be closer? We were up there regularly when I was a girl, when mom would invite herself over.”

You nodded. You remembered her old postal address.

“Chris and I went to school here. Grew up here. There’s a… vibe, here. For a while I thought I was just crazy, that it was the…” She shook her head. “Anyway. People didn’t like us, from day one. We’d meet someone for the first time and they would decide within five minutes that we were untrustworthy. The bullying was insane I tell you.”

You shuddered. You recalled what it had been like for Taylor.

“I don’t think my parents ever made a single friend in all of Jacob’s Bell, in all they years they’ve lived here.”

“Small towns are like that,” Paige said. “People hold grudges. That property is the golden apple of Eris in this town.”

Molly shook her head. “It’s more than that, Paige. It was like I was never quite able to feel safe. This place gave me PTSD.”

“Like, for real, PTSD? Not colloquial?”

She nodded. “That’s what my therapist says is the cause of my anxiety.”

“f*cking hell, Moll,” you said. “I am so, so sorry. And I believe you.”

Paige and Molly both turned to look at you. “There’s something off about this place, I swear I’ve been unnerved since I set foot in it. Up at the house? No spiders. At all.”

“Spiders?” Paige asked incredulously.

You looked at her. “Every house has spiders, Paige. Especially those of little old ladies that are too sick to dust the corners for cobwebs.”

“Thank you,” Molly said to you. “For believing me.”

“I have plenty of friends who are at odds with consensus reality,” you said. “More often than not they are onto something. And besides, I lived on the street for a bit, many years ago. I know what it’s like feeling cornered all the time.”

You stayed there for a spell, talked about old times and current events.

Paige complained about civil liability attorneys not being paid anywhere near as well as other specialties. She wasn’t seeing anyone, not since her university girlfriend broke up with her.

Molly had lots of funny and endearing stories about library-goers, and the good news that she was dating a very nice fellow librarian, and thinking about taking the step to a more serious relationship.

“Oo~h, what’s his name?”

“Jorge. He is the sweetest thing, gave me a poetry book full of dried flowers.”

“D’aww,” you said. “My girlfriends are both dorks who couldn’t recognize a romantic gesture if it hit them in the face.”

Both of them looked at you. “Girlfriends, plural?” Paige said.

“I work with artists and actors, Paige. We’re open-minded folk.”

“Tell us more.”

So you told them about Alexis, light of your life, who got you out of the worst situation you were ever in. How you were close knit friends from the get-go, and ever since then.

She introduced you and Tiffany to each other after you one day told her you were looking to date. Tiffany was another one saved by Alexis’ graces, and she fancied you wildly. You bonded over sh*tty childhoods, bad movies, and your mutual fondness for Alexis.

You showed off some of Alexis’ work: the honeycombs and bees on your left forearm, and the dew-laden spiderweb and black widow on your right. You showed off some of Tiffany’s work, but the photos on your phone didn’t do it justice. Then you continued your story.

When you and Tiffany were basically living together, Alexis started hanging out with the two of you after one of her ill-fated dalliances with a ballerina of all people. First just to nurse her breakup jitters, then because it was just good fun.

Tiffany got her art degree, you got your trade certificate, and the two of you showed Alexis just how grateful you were for saving both of you.

“That is really sweet. I don’t understand the whole three-people-in-a-relationship thing, but it sounds like you’re happy,” Molly said.

“I am honestly envious,” Paige said. “Got any single friends who don’t mind a lawyer working 60 hours a week?”

Molly went to have dinner with her parents, you and Paige found a pizza place and talked about the kind of lesbianism things Molly wasn’t privy to. Mostly how hot Linda Hamilton was in Terminator 2.

Then you went to a bar, as the wait dragged on. Molly joined you for a drink to calm her nerves before the reveal, and then Paige’s phone rang.

“Paige Thorburn… I have Blake and Molly with me… All right, thank you.”

Back you went, into the now biting chill of the night, up the hill. It was going to be dangerously cold, and you silently hoped there weren’t any homeless people caught out in it.

Uncle Paul had parked more responsibly this time.

Irene, Paul, and your dad were there. Roxanne wasn’t, which was good for her.

Three children, three grandchild heirs.

“I have to say, I’m disappointed,” Rose Thorburn said.

“Oh no, whatever shall we do,” you quipped in the silence.

“Molly.”

“Go to hell you wicked old witch,” was the first thing out of Molly’s mouth, and you wanted to give her a high-five.

“Molly,” Aunt Irene said.

“Until you’re thirty, the estate and all materials herein, my accounts, and all other pertinent materials enclosed in the documents,” she gestured to a manilla folder the lawyer was holding, “will be managed by Mr.Beasley and his firm. For that time period, you retain control over those assets, with free access to the full funds, modest as they are, and full access to all things relating to the property, excepting the ability to sell it. When you turn thirty, you will become full owner of all the aforementioned and free to do as you wish.”

“I am not going back here,” she said.

“You are not required to take up residence, you are free to ignore everything.” She looked aside to her lawyer. “Mr.Beasley? Is everything in order? Provisos, follow-up?”

“Everything is signed and arranged,” he said.

“Rich, you’ve been wonderful, I made a donation to that charity you recommended.”

The nurse glanced your way. “Thank you ma’am.”

The clock struck midnight, and Rose closed her eyes.

There was a moment when you all waited for her to say something. Nothing happened.

The nurse, Rich, took initiative and went to her bedside. He gave her shoulder a slight shake, which caused her head to loll to one side. He took her pulse.

“Time of death, one minute past midnight.”

You put a hand on Molly’s shoulder.

“God damn-it,” Uncle Paul said.

“Let’s give the three of them some time to grieve and say goodbye,” you said quietly.

Molly gestured to Mr.Beasley and he handed over the portfolio.

Then you left the bedroom, went downstairs, and Paige located a room that was more like a study than the other rooms with wall-to-wall book-cases.

“You okay?” you asked Molly.

“No.”

“Can I see that?” Paige asked. “Property isn’t my field but I got good grades.”

Paige handed it over.

“She died at midnight, sharp,” you said. “I think her cat died too.”

It was one of the alterations that had come with Taylor’s power. Rather than merely mastering insects, or as she had done in the apocalypse, controlling people, in your mind was a sliding scale trading distance for complexity of life under your control. You could somewhat feel the presence of larger animals even when you turned it down where you couldn’t control them. That cat had died before your eyes.

“f*ck,” Molly said.

Paige paged through the file. “It’s all in order, she said. It isn’t much, but you have some funds.”

“I’m going to sell everything in the house,” Molly said. “And then I’m never coming back. Once I’m thirty I’ll donate the f*cking place to the town.”

“Good,” I said. “You have our numbers. Give us a call if you need anything.”

You all went home that night, relieved. Molly told you by text she was going to head home and pack, then spend a few days at the house to take inventory, and that she’d get back to you about maybe valuating some of the furniture.

She never did. You didn’t hear a peep from her for four months. Paige didn’t either, despite having made offers of pro-bono work.

You asked around libraries until you found the one she used to work at and found that nice librarian, Jorge, who told you she had gone to live in Jacob’s Bell.

You told Paige. Neither of you could come up with a reason why, but your unease grew.

It was the middle of the night in late April when your phone woke you.

“Moll?”

“Blake, you gotta help me,” she said. Her voice was pleading and filled with fear and your heart immediately jumped into your temples. “They’re after me, they,” she stopped.

“Molly, where are you?”

“They’re coming,” she whispered.

“Molly, where are you? Are you in Jacob’s bell?”

Silence. The call cut out.

You stared at your phone. Then you dialed 911.

“Nine-one-one what is your emergency?”

“Hi, I just received a disturbing phone-call from my cousin, I think she’s in danger.”

“Did she tell you how she was in danger?”

“Sounded like she was hiding from someone. Maybe a burglar.”

“All right, do you know where she is?”

“She lives in Jacob’s Bell. Hillsglade Drive. Her name is Molly Walker. Could you send someone to check up on her?”

“I’m contacting the local police department right now, miss.”

“Thank you.”

“Can we call you back?”

“I’m going to get on my motorcycle and head there myself; I live in Toronto so it’s not that far.”

“The police will have it in hand, please don’t put yourself in danger.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Very well. I’ll put your number on file.”

“Thank you.” You hung up.

Alexis had woken up beside you. Your other girlfriend was out at an astronomy-related art event.

“What happened?” There wasn’t any sleep in her voice.

“My cousin is in danger,” you said. “Tell Tiff I went to Jacob’s bell.”

“I’ll come,” she said.

You looked at her. “No, Lexi. Please.”

She looked at you with those eyes you loved, piercing even in the dark. “Okay. I trust you. Let me help you pack.”

You got dressed in your practical clothes and your motorcycle leathers, while Alexis packed you a set of spare clothes and toiletries.

In the months since, that looming dread of the other foot dropping had come back and you had taken precaution. You had a third toolbox full of tools that could easily double as weapons, and a double-bore shotgun — complete with registration, hunting license, and skeet-club membership, just to make it legitimate.

“Really, the gun?”

“Lexi, just trust me on this one.”

“Blake, before we get married, you have to sit down with us and tell us this mysterious dark past of yours.”

You looked at her, pained.

“You already told me about your sh*tty childhood, but we both know there’s things you’re hiding.”

She stood on her toes to kiss you.

“Get going. Save your cousin.”

Chapter 2: 1-1

Chapter Text

You weren’t about to panic. You were worried, of course, but the combined trauma of your youth and Taylor’s had deadened you entirely. There was a problem, you might be able to help, so that was what you were going to do.

But it felt like things were culminating.

You reached the ground floor, went around to the parking lot, shook the cover off your motorcycle and stowed your luggage in one saddle bag, the toolbox in the other. Your shotgun you always carried in a gun slip.

It was your second motorcycle. Better-made, but no less old. You had spent a lot of time and at least half again the buying price in parts to get it to what it was now. A nice motorcycle. Classic without being old-fashioned.

The ride was uneventful. Out of Toronto, to the motorways, and east.

It was spring, and the insects were coming back in force. You had inherited Taylor’s power at her peak, your range was over a kilometer. It made you feel at ease, to have everything be so rich in life.

You had dreamed of perhaps one day going to South America with Alexis and Tiffany and discovering bugs hitherto unknown to modern science, only to name them after the two greatest women in your life.

At a rest-stop on the halfway, you made a stop to pilfer a yellowjacket nest. You bade the insects gnaw through the stem of their own nest and caught it as gently as you could.

A yellow motorcycle jacket with black strips down your sleeves was as much an homage to Uma Thurman’s homage to Bruce Lee as it was a play on aposematism of your two favorite genera of eusocial insects. And it was high-visibility, too, good for traffic safety.

So you rode on through the night, as armed as you could possibly be, prepared for the worst, hoping for the best.

You took the motorway exit onto the smaller route leading through the woods to Jacob’s bell.

There, the other foot, seven years descending, dropped.

It stood in the middle of the road. A tall figure in a stained white cloak, mask like a bird skull, antlers. You swerved and sped past it.

The fuel gage on your motorcycle started dropping precipitously. In seconds you were running on fumes and immediately had to pull over into the wayside. You were briefly puzzled by how you could possibly have a gas-tank leak, those were spectacularly rare.

Then the battery was suddenly going dead, as evidenced by your headlamp browning out.

A kind of calm descended over you.

This was familiar territory. Being hunted by something or someone with strange powers. This was what had been the last three years of Taylor’s life. It was something other than societal ills and indifferent politicians and climate change.

The streetlights started flickering.

You took off your gloves and pulled the key. You reached into your saddlebag and pulled out your kukri knife and shotshell pouch, fixing both to your belt. And then the one thing nobody else on the planet had: three spools of spider silk line, which you pocketed.

Then you saw it out of the corner of one eye, standing in the dim cone of light from your headlamp. That you saw it was the problem, since all the insect life within a kilometer was already waking up to be your eyes and ears. You had, among other things, mastered the skill Taylor never did, of seeing through the eyes of bugs. And this thing had eluded you still.

You put a fly on it, just to confirm it existed, and found that it very much did. Then you put a fly on the front and rear sights of your shotgun, loaded two shells and snapped the action shut.

“Who are you?” you called out to it.

Your awareness of three and a half square kilometers of forest around you revealed precisely nine things of interest, which were quickly whittled down to one: a lone woman a little over a hundred meters out, looking your way.

The thing advanced. From underneath its robe came two hands with too many knuckles and great big claws.

You lined up the the two flies on your gun with the one on the things forehead without even looking. As easy as touching your nose with your eyes closed.

Its mask shattered, and it stumbled, collapsing in a heap. You took a few steps closer and shot it in the chest, too. Then you broke open your gun, ejecting the smoking shells, and reloaded.

The woman turned and left. Probably some kind of Master-type power.

You set into a run. The dark meant nothing to you when every insect contributed to a topographic map of the forest floor in your mind. Your heart pounded in your temples and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you overheated in your leathers, long before you would tire from running.

The woman realized you were coming after her when you were about halfway. She had heard the shots, no-doubt, and knew you were armed.

What you had learned, or rather, realized by way of Taylor’s immense experience in bullsh*t like this, was that her entities didn’t naturally attract insects. So rather than running headlong into one, you kept a cloud of bugs flying about you out to a distance of thirty meters.

True enough, something else entered your proximity, and you barely slowed down to aim at it and empty one barrel, then when the thing fell, the other for good measure. You reloaded and ran again.

The woman hid behind a tree. Useless. A hornet’s nest in the tree she was standing under disgorged its content of angry stinging workers and she screamed and ran.

Dragonflies carried out a line of silk and tied it as a trip-line in her path.

She fell. You caught up.

“Don’t move, I have a gun,” you said

She froze.

“Who are you?”

“They call me Briar Girl.”

“That’s not a name, asshole.” Taylor might have accepted that but you knew there weren’t any caped crusaders in this world. Bynames wouldn’t do on a police report.

She stared at me in the darkness. “It is all you will get.”

“I can shoot you and check your wallet.”

“Do you think I would be out on a night like this with ID on my person?”

“All right Thorn-c*nt, those two things I just shot. Yours?” One of them was still breathing, fifty meters behind you.

“Yes.”

“Did you intend to kill me?”

She paused. “Yes.”

“What did you do to my motorcycle?”

“Nothing. Charge the battery and refill the fuel and it will be fine.”

“Where is Molly Walker?”

“Dead.”

A chill ran down your spine.

You took a step forward and thrust your gun out. “Did you kill her?”

“No! I promise!”

“Then who did?”

“The one to blame is called Maggie Holt.”

You ruminated on that. “How do I know I can I trust you?”

“Are you accusing me of being a liar?”

That same phrasing. “What, do you consider yourself honest, too?”

“Yes!”

Something was beginning to take form. “Do you keep your promises, too?”

“Always!”

You circled back to an earlier question. “Why did you try to kill me?”

“I was offered certain things conditional on your death.”

“So you’re a hitman.”

“Of a sort.”

“Who hired you?”

“I wasn’t hired.”

“Then who’s the benefactor who offered those benefits to you?”

“I have promised not to disclose. Shoot me for all you like, I shall not tell.”

“Was Maggie Holt ‘hired’ in this way too?”

She didn’t answer. “Answer me.”

“I cannot say for certain.”

“If someone did hire this Miss Holt in the same way you were, who did?”

“Laird Behaim.”

“Very well. You are going to make me a promise. Go back to those who hired you and say I got away somehow.”

“I cannot lie to them!”

“Tell them I overpowered you and you narrowly escaped. Tell them I came well-armed and prepared, battle-trained. Do not mention the insects.”

She shifted. “That, I suppose, is true. The hornets were your doing? How?”

“You don’t get to ask, and don’t even mention I forced you to divulge information.”

“My lips shall be sealed.”

“And don’t mention you promised me any of this. As far as they are concerned, this conversation never happened.”

“Of course not.”

Part of you remembered that one little clause people often forgot. “And once we part, you are going to go home.”

“Don’t worry, I have no wish to die by your gun.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

You raised your gun, slung it over one shoulder by the sling, and extended a hand to her.

She hesitated.

“My only beef is with whoever put a hit on my head. Your half-assed attempt at my life tells me you’re not used to wet work, so I’m assuming you didn’t have much choice in accepting.”

She took your hand and was helped to her feet. “You are not wrong.”

You drew your knife. “If you ever come for me again, I will kill you.”

She looked at the bare blade, wide-eyed.

You sheathed it. “But if you ever want to get back at the people who hired you, I’m sure you know how to find me.”

She didn’t say anything to that. You let go of her hand, and she stumbled away in the darkness.

You stilled your shaking hands as you walked back to your motorcycle, picking the buckshot shells up as you went. You put the heavy chain lock on it, leaving your helmet behind, unloaded your gun and put it back in the gun slip where it belonged.

The wasp nest you gingerly took out and went a dozen meters into the woods to superglue the stem of it onto a tree trunk.

It was a little past five in the morning, by your reckoning. Your phone battery was dead too, as was your power-bank. The sky was gradually brightening to twilight. You unzipped your jacket. slung your luggage over one shoulder, took your toolbox in the other hand, and started walking.

Dawn had broken by the time you reached city outskirts. Missing half a night’s sleep on top of the adrenaline crash was beginning to take its toll on you.

There was sparse morning traffic, this early. Not enough people out for your ragged appearance to draw stares.

You went to the Hillsglade House for want of anywhere else sensible to go. There was no car in the driveway but a police cruiser was parked at the entrance to it, with two local officers and a RCMP.

“How can we help you, miss?” one of them asked you.

“I’m Blake, Molly Walker’s cousin. I called nine-one-one four hours ago in Toronto after she called me in distress. Have you found her yet?”

“Afraid not, miss. She’s not home.”

The RCMP spoke: “We’re going to organize a search, and we have put out a bulletin for her license plate. Might I ask if you came here hoping to help?”

He gestured to your gun slip.

“I always bring my gun when I leave the city, in case I run into a bear or something. Which, might I add, I did.”

“A bear?”

You decided to lie. “Mangy, gaunt thing. I fired some warning shots. My motorcycle broke down about four kilometers out of town, otherwise I would have just sped away.”

“Sounds like you had one hell of a night, miss,” one of the officers said, a woman. “The local garage can help you out with your vehicle.”

“Yeah. Does the name Laird Behaim mean anything to you?”

“He’s the Inspector.”

You were too exhausted for that to give you chills.

“I’m going to go take a look in the house,” you said. “See if I can find anything about Molly’s whereabouts.”

“You have a key?”

“Molly told me where she hides the spare,” you lied. “We were close.”

The RCMP spoke up: “What do you mean ‘were’ close?”

You looked at him. “I mean ever since she moved here we haven’t been keeping much contact. And I’m sick with worry about her, and I have this terrible feeling something bad might have happened to her.” You wiped your eye, and let your voice break, both entirely for show.

“It’s all right, miss.”

You went up the long driveway to the house on the hill overlooking the glade. On the porch you paused and looked about for a moment. There was a plastic key box with a four-digit combination lock which looked as insecure as it looked out-of-place.

You checked under the doormat and found manilla envelope in a clear plastic bag, and in with it a small note that that just said ‘Birth date.’ You tried every sensible combination of digits from your birth date and got it on day-month. It popped open to give you two keys, one modern, for the front door, and one for something else.

Inside was that same hallway as in January. You went straight for the kitchen, dropped your gear and luggage, shrugged out of your jacket drenched in cold sweat, and went to the sink.

You turned on the water, washed your shaky hands, drank from them cupped, and finished with a splash of water in your face. The police inspector may have been involved in Molly’s death, if the Briar Girl was to be trusted.

You started making a list in your mind. Actionable things.

First, you needed to take care of your physical health. You wiggled out of your leather trousers and went to use the bathroom. You changed out of your sweat-drenched clothes and into one of the two sets of athleisure wear Alexis had packed for you. You were going to wife that woman at earliest opportunity.

Second, you needed to make a temporary base of operations. The house would serve that purpose once you had secured it. Changing clothes in an unsafe location was technically really stupid, but you had been lucky. Kukri in sheath in hand you went through the house.

The basem*nt was just a single room with utilities: water heater, breaker box, storage space cleared out entirely.

The first floor had an expansive living room, an equally big dining room that could probably seat twelve, the smallish kitchen that had neither dishwasher or microwave oven, a utility room with a washing machine that was older than you, the entry hallway, and a restroom without shower that was bigger than yours at home which had both shower and laundry.

The second floor had Rose’s bedroom same as it was in January except the bed had been stripped bare and some of the shelves were in disarray, there was a small bathroom which Molly had evidently used and which was the only one with a shower, other than that you found only a small tea room and a guest bedroom.

The third floor had two more bedrooms and a sewing room turned storage. A staircase took up the rest, locked. The second key didn’t fit that keyhole; it was a really old-school warded key, and the staircase was a modern pin-tumbler.

You knew how to pick locks because as a sixteen-year-old baby lesbian you had figured it would be a good way to impress cute girls. It had gotten you a reputation as the ‘cheaper alternative to a locksmith’ in your circles.

The worrying part was that the entire house seemed uninhabited. Molly had been here for four months, but it really didn’t look like it. You had found her duffel-bags and a cardboard box: she hadn’t even unpacked her clothes.

You opened a window on each floor and let the bugs in. Then you went back down to the first floor and scouted out the property through the windows. No monsters, no enemies. You let yourself relax just a fraction.

Third, you needed information. The manilla envelope was a good first step. You set your phone and power bank to charge in the corner of the living room and sat in one of the sofas to read.

The transfer of Rosalyn D. Thorburn’s estate from custodian Molly Walker, grandchild, to custodian Blake Thorburn, grandchild, read the title. They hadn’t even found her body yet, and this was already in writing. Was that Mr.Beasley or whomever in on it too?

It was the same terms you vaguely remembered from when Molly received the property. You skimmed through it. Again, the place would be properly yours when you turned thirty. There were accompanying pages of notes explaining the legalese, but you still glanced at your phone, debating calling up Paige.

You forced yourself to focus and found two things of note: a page of stipulations outlining how you could lose your status as custodian, which was sorely tempting, and a stipend which was a supplementary allowance at best. There was also a note on how often the lawyers could be called upon without incurring a debt which was a curious detail.

There was an exit clause. Simply contact the lawyers and sign away the entire property to the next custodian.

Kathy, then Roxanne, then Ivy, then Paige. Kathy had kids, Roxanne was too young, Ivy was definitely too young, and Paige… And if all the custodians failed the estate would default to the law firm.

In your own estimation you were by far the most qualified to kill monsters and get to the bottom of this.

As flying insects brought in a healthy complement of spiders, the house materialized in your mind’s eye. You took a look at the property maps, detailing the physical extent of the Hillsglade grounds, and the floor plan of the house.

Which did not match what you had seen, and what your bugs were now aware of. A room in the drawing was missing on the third floor.

Being able to measure things out with bugs was one of your many cheat codes in doing craft work.

And now the inconsistencies sprung to life in my mind. The house was bigger on the outside. By several meters. But only going by the third-floor measurements. Space-f*ckery. Nothing you were fundamentally unfamiliar with, indeed Taylor’s spatial awareness powers had saved her hide many times.

You went up the stairs to the third floor hallway, closing the window you had left open on the second floor, and scouted the expanse where the third room ought to be. Five meters were missing. The illusion was nearly perfect to your senses.

But fitting the theme, this was going to be something hidden behind a bookcase. From in the open window in the guest bedroom you summoned a few thousand flying insects and sent all of them behind the books, locating the keyhole by blurry sight and touch of hundreds of legs.

The insects left again and you took out a few books to access it. The lockwork had a heavy throw and a very good, solid click. The bookcase itself swung inwards, where you had half expected the door to spring into existence by bending space.

Inside was a library. A real one; two-storey room that stretched down into the second floor, which as you saw it highlighted another spatial discrepancy.

There were Stranger-powers at play here. Things that turned your attention aside.

You started inspecting the titles of the books, reading as you walked.

• Prophecy: Charlatans and the Apollonian
• Harmful Considerations
• Druids adorned with a little wood-carved bear’s face inset in the spine
• Hoodoo
• Shamanism: Animus, volumes one through six, and - Shamanism: Umbra, volumes seven through ten.
• Vestige: Binding and Nonexistence
• Shinto: Canonization and Cleansing

They were the kind of books one would find in a wizard’s tower, so much your genre awareness told you. Books with titles that sounded like they came out of a fantasy. Textbooks.

• Accursed Rights
• Dryads, Anatomies
• Japes from the Kindred Folk
• Nephilim Lineages
• The Book of Dead Names, second edition
• Observations on Bacchae interacting in Modern Society
• On Others, editions from 1964 through 2015 were lined up on the shelf like an encyclopedia.
• Reprobate: Transcriptions from interrogations of Faerie.

The upper floor of the library was a broad walkway along the shelves, with wrought-iron guard-rails. A step-ladder led down to the lower floor. You descended.

There was more of a study, with a desk and chair, a cozy armchair, an ottoman chaise lounge, some floor space, cabinets and lower, squatter book-cases. There was what had to be a full-length mirror under a sheet in one corner.

Here, there was evidence of Molly. Open books, a cup of long-spoilt coffee or tea, pens and notes and books with bookmarks, scalpels and brushes and tacks and jars of glue. There was a manilla folder with the same documents I had gotten, except addressed to Molly.

And a letter.

Molly et al,

“Not even addressed to me by name,” you muttered.

Please accept my graceless apology. —

You snorted audibly and read on.

— At this juncture, you’ll likely be frightened and confused. Chances are good you’ll see outside parties at work, if you haven’t already, helping you to conclude that this isn’t nonsense. That helps us move on to business.

“You know, you wicked old crone, if you had just asked, I’m sure we could have all helped you kick some ass.”

If you find yourself here and are already injured in body, mind, heart, spirit or other more esoteric departments, you may need to jump straight to instruction number one in the list below, sacrifice sleep to see it through, and then move on to a great deal of research. The Index is a catalogue of all things found in my library, which I penned myself, and will help direct you to solutions to whatever ails you.

“At least you know to start with directing me to the first-aid kit.”

I could explain, justify, and make excuses, but that is very much not my manner or style.

“Really?”

You have a library of explanations sitting around you. With study, perhaps, you’ll see how I justified what I did. We can do without the excuses entirely.

“I’m glad you’re dead.”

I’ll be succinct. The family line is a long one, and we have had some involvement in more anagogic sciences since the early 1800’s. We have resources touching on the craft, the arcane, or whatever you wish to call it. Magic.

“There it is.”

You closed your eyes. Magic was real. Did that mean your version of Taylor’s power was magic in nature? Another in a long line of questions.

However, all things have a price, and it is impossible to become rich, powerful, wise or strong without paying in some form. For this reason, among others, practitioners rarely ascend to any great status and remain there. But our predecessors tried, they accrued a karmic debt, and they have passed it on to their children, and their children’s children, and so on down the line.

“They enslave their children’s children who make compromise with sin,” you muttered. J.R. Lowell. Not that you were much for poetry.

Perhaps this seems unfair, but modern standards of fair and unfair are just that: modern. In this world I’ve imposed on you, there are very old things, and there are very old traditions. Here, the sins of the father are visited upon the son. Or mother and daughter, rather.

“Called it.”

Beings as long-lived as powerful Others have trouble telling us apart, when we live and die so quickly and when we often look the same, and it helps to establish a pedigree or pattern. Some have ornaments of office, others carry on with seventh sons. We use daughters, and we keep to a smaller community. If they call you Rose, Elizabet, Frances, Esther, Ruth, I recommend you take it in stride. You are, as of now, simply one piece of a long thread.

“And yet, Blake I remain.”

My diaries can be found on the shelf behind the desk. I welcome you to read them if they might shed light on matters. Perhaps my own realizations will help you find a way to your own.

“Or it can cement my evaluation of you as a psychopath.”

Now, I charge you with tasks. To demonstrate the gravity of this, know that you may lose custody of the property if you do not address these tasks. On a graver level, you may well doom yourselves and the bloodline with your failure, depending on how it plays out.

“No, you’re going to do that in this very letter. How considerate of you.”

1.Read Essentials. It sits on the book stand.

You glanced at it. It did indeed still.

A novice’s guide to the most basic things, it outlines the steps to awakening yourself. Be warned, these steps open the door to becoming Other, in a respect. The oldest of them made agreements in times well beyond us, to guarantee safety and maintain a kind of peace. Foremost among these agreements is truth. Should you lie, you may well forfeit your power for a time. Break a promise or an oath, and you will be forsworn, and you will be stripped of every protection afforded to even the common, ignorant people that decorate this Earth. On finishing Essentials, awaken yourself.

That seemed easy enough and immediately explained why Briar Girl and Rose herself was so keen on being honest and speaking the truth.

It also immediately put you in less than familiar territory. Taylor’s world had been… not this.

Taylor’s world had been one of war. In war, you obeyed principles of honor, because honorable combat was preferable to dishonorable combat; and the punishment for dishonor was being met with dishonor. You had read a book and a half about the laws of war just to try to make sense of it.

It had not been one of word-cleaving and contract-making. This was wish-making and genie wrangling. This was “but you said—” and you were almost certain you were going to put your foot in your mouth. You would need to be careful.

Conduct the remainder of these steps in any order. Monumental as these steps are, you must be suitably armed against your enemies. You will be asked about your progress with some frequency, and failure to make sufficient progress in the next five years will see your rights and access to this house terminated.

“At least that’s a decent timescale.”

2.Study and enact the ritual noted in Famulus. The familiar is your greatest ally, and will serve as a tool, a wellspring of power, an ambassador to dealing with more abstract things, and will be a lifelong companion. Make this choice with the same respect you would with undertaking marriage, only know there is no form of divorce. The Familiar is to be a part of you for life. You gain their services, and they gain a chance to be mortal, even if it is a small mortalhood, in addition to whatever other terms you negotiate. Do not allow your familiar to take the form of a rat or dog.

You were more partial to birds anyway, like that orphan Aidan who had inherited a version of Taylor’s power.

3.Study and enact the ritual noted in Implementum. Your choice of tool will shape how you interact with this world, your craft, and will be your badge in the eyes of many. The book is dreary, page on page of examples, but study it thoroughly, for there are many meanings, and a poor choice of tool may well cripple you.

That one was going to be easier. Tools were just that. Asking you to choose a favorite was harder, but surely there was wiggle-room.

4.Study and enact the ritual found in Demesnes. Baba Yaga had her hut, I have my room. Unfortunately, the rest of the house has been claimed by our predecessors, and while it is a haven, you will need to find your own place to make your own, where the rules bend as you need them to, and where your power is greatest. The three rituals noted here are fundamental in determining how you access, hoard and focus power. Note, however, that your real power will be in how you act with others and Others.

That one was going to be a lot harder. You did not have a motorcycle because it was a convenient method of transportation, you had it because as Robert M. Pirsig wrote, it was freedom.

5.Find a good man to marry.

“Absolutely not, burn in hell.”

By this, I don’t mean that he should be decent and kind. Such may be a detriment. You will need an ally in this, and a man who can support you in more mundane matters will give you strength in this world. I reckon many of the best partnerships in the recent past came about when our family married bastards rather than gentlemen.

“I have two of those at home, and both of them are women.”

6.Attend the council meetings. Second Saturday of every month, at the park, in the twilight hours. In a five year term, there will be sixty such meetings. Miss six in total, and your rights to the property will be forfeit.

“Oh good, there’s meetings.”

That would give you an opportunity to convince everyone in this Podunk nowhere town that you were not to be f*cking trifled with.

7.Finish three out of four of the books in this library. You will need some assistance with foreign languages. Making a bargain with an Other to learn Sumerian may be novel, I know, but it is easier to ask for it to be translated aloud by a servant or summoning.

Looking up and about you realized this would present an opportunity to test a theory of yours about your power; whether the multitasking-ability would allow you to read books in parallel.

8.See our bloodline to the end of the fifth year with less of a debt than we had at the start of your custodianship. I’m hoping you can see this through until the end of your lifetime, but I can only focus on these next five years and hope you are on the right road.

“Eat sh*t and die again.”

Remain out of the north end of Jacob’s Bell until you have completed two rituals and developed a foundation. Stay out, perhaps, even if you have. Some individuals are not to be trifled with.

Not even at the height of her notoriety had Taylor ever completely avoided working her ass off for every victory. You needed no convincing.

Briar Girl had thought she could kill you with one of her constructs and likely had more. That meant she was at least a Master 3, going by the PRT book which Taylor had judiciously memorized in her two years in the Wards.

And Briar Girl was the kind of expendable hitman Laird Behaim sent to do his dirty work without directly hiring her.

Make no major deals or bargains. Until the end of the custodianship, you’ll need to run any major deals past Mr.Beasley (including the three major rituals. He will protect you from other decisions, or lend his aid if he can’t, but he will exact a price.

The unclosed parenthesis there somehow felt like a greater affront than all the rest of the letter, given the neatness of her penmanship.

Mr.Beasley, as well as individuals you’ll find in Jacob’s Bell and the surrounding area, is described in a little black book I playfully dubbed Dramatis Personae, when I was younger.

You immediately made that priority number two.

Our family has made enemies, and I confess that I have turned allies into more enemies. I will not compel you to read this book, but I impel you to. It may well be a deciding factor in your survival. Use all tools I’ve bestowed on you. We are powerful, we hold a noteworthy position, and this is much of the reason we have the enemies we do. Chances are good you will need to use everything at your disposal to survive them.

You thought you already had a pretty reliable way of reducing the number of enemies you were facing: put them in a position to unambiguously attack you, then introduce them to venomous insects. Or your gun.

But of course you might be wrong.

As the sins of the mother pass to the daughter, I’ve passed my enemies and the debt on to you. I won’t ask forgiveness or understanding. I suspect you may find those things when the time comes for you to bear an heir and visit these wrongs on them.

You were tempted to find a way to resurrect the dead just to kill her again.

Yours, R.D.T.

“You got that right, Roselyn. Your ass is mine now.”

You put the letter down. You found the envelope it had been in and folded it back up, put it in the envelope and wrote on it: KATHY READ THIS FIRST — BLAKE.

Then you grabbed a thumbtack and climbed up to fix the letter to the book-case one first caught sight of upon entering.

While you did that, you thought. You always thought best while your hands worked.

The list of steps and the punishment for failure meant the lawyers were in on this. You dreaded the kind of power a trained lawyer would be able to get up to in this setting.

Indeed you put it as a mental bullet point…

You went and grabbed paper and pen.

• Consider contacting Paige.
  • Is it morally justifiable to bring her into this?
  • Is there magical rules against it?
  • There has to be some kind of mechanism hiding all this madness from the general public.
• Contact Aunt Irene and update her on the situation.
  • Remember to pretend you don’t know Molly is dead before they actually find her body.
  • Contact Paige about this too.
• Fix your MC, buy supplies.
  • Is daylight = safe?
  • Birds!

You went to the top of the list and wrote in

• Call tiffalexis.

You underlined it a few times.

The lawyers were in on this. That was the non-specific debt they could be owed was about. You thought about lawyers, and from there to deals and contracts, to devils. Were devils real? Rose was a lawyer. Had she traded away someone’s immortal soul?

Questions, questions.

The books Rose had listed were all on the table and Essentials on the bookstand. You needed more bookstands; hopefully there was either a hardware or stationary store in town.

Grabbing Dramatis Personae and paging through it found the chapter on allies virtually empty and the chapter of enemies having very few pages left..

You needed your real toolbox. Maybe even a photocopier.

Back to the list.

• Is it safe for tiffalexis to come here?
  • Do I need to escort them?

You looked about then, at this wealth of knowledge. Three of you together could probably make some serious inroads. Alexis was better with people than you ever were, and Tiffany was cleverer with words.

Your eyes fell on one of the shelves. A prominent one, a central one. One close by the desk. The books were presented like they were to be accessed often.

• The Worst of the Others
• Devils and Details
• Dark Contracts
• Classifying Others: Fiends and Darker Beings
• Hellfire: Bindings
• Infernal Wrath
• Pacts and Prices

And the authorial initials on those explained so many things in one fell swoop.

R. D. T.

“And the D stands for devil.”

Below them were more tomes:

• Daemoniac of the Choirs 3rd Edition
• Written in Blood: Diabolist Safety
• The Greater Key of Solomon
• Handbook of Applied Blasphemy
• Apokalyptikos
• Demon Summoning Methodology

You stopped reading. All of them had Thorburn or ‘T’ as the author, but with different first initials.

Rose was not even close to the first Thorburn to summon devils and demons.

“Believe it or not I have had to deal with worse.”

Chapter 3: 1-2

Chapter Text

You left the library behind and went back into the world of the living, so to speak, noting how all the photos had been taken from the walls.

The house felt sterile for Molly’s work, but you could only imagine how much it must have felt like Rose’s house when Molly had moved in.

Better then for it to be nobody’s house.

Living with Taylor’s power but out of her circ*mstance had left you more conscientious of nature than she ever was. And now that karma might be a thing, the idea of using birds for menial labor seemed like it warranted repayment.

You checked the kitchen to find it woefully under-stocked. Poor Molly. She had probably not been eating all that well. Alexis on the other hand would yell at you if you didn’t eat, so you found rolled oats, salt, and water from the tap to make oatmeal and forced yourself to eat and took your titty skittles.

Then you went to your phone, now passably charged, note in hand.

You searched the house and found the land-line phone, where the phone book was. You paged through it until you found ‘W’ and then Walker, Irene.

You dialed and waited.

“Hello?”

“Aunt Irene, it’s Blake,” you put on your best worried voice. You weren’t an actor, but you knew actors. “Have you heard anything from Moll?”

“No, I haven’t spoken to her in a week—”

“I haven’t heard anything from her since she inherited the house, until she called me in the middle of the night today.”

“What?”

“She sounded like she was in trouble, so I called the police and they’re looking for her now. She’s gone missing. I’m at Hillsglade right now, she’s not here and there isn’t any clue to where she might have gone.”

“You’re at the house? What are you trying to pull?!”

“Irene!” you nearly shouted, “Moll has gone missing! Please for one second, this isn’t about the house, do you have any idea where she might have gone?!”

There was a pause. “No.No, I don’t. And Blake…”

You waited.

“Thank you. I hadn’t even heard from the police. You live in Toronto, right? Did you drive here in the middle of the night to look for her?”

“Yeah. My motorcycle broke down outside of town.”

“Goodness… Well, you are brave. Thank you, I suppose.”

She hung up.

You took a deep breath. Then you paged through the phone book to find the police station. You dialed and waited.

“Jacob’s Bell police station.”

“Hi, my name is Blake Thorburn, I’m calling to hear if there’s any news in the missing-person case of Molly Walker?”

“One moment…”

You waited. A good minute passed.

“I’m sorry, ma’am: no news. Would you like me to call you when we know more?”

“Yes please. Thank you, officer.”

“You’re welcome.”

“One more thing—”

“Yes?”

“If you’re going to use dogs to track her down, I have some of her dirty laundry.”

“We don’t have a tracking unit here in Jacob’s Bell, but thank you for your consideration. Could you put it all in a plastic bag? Just in case we call one in from Toronto.”

“Will do.”

You hung up.

Now time for the phone call you actually wanted to make. You switched to the end-to-end encrypted call app and dialed.

“Blake, you got both of us,” Alexis said.

“Hey, Tiff,” you said. “Sorry I wasn’t there to cook you breakfast.”

“I haven’t even slept yet. Blake, love, what happened?” Tiffany asked full of concern. You wanted so badly to hold both of them.

“Lexi, remember that dark past thing?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s become very relevant. Molly is dead. I think it’s murder.”

“sh*t.”

“It gets worse.”

“Blake?”

“You trust me,” you said. It wasn’t a question.

“When you say it like that, yes,” Tiffany said. “Always.”

“There’s some genuine X-Files sh*t going on. Vampire the Masquerade. I am not kidding, I think we’ve been living on the safe side of the veil, and I just got pulled through. I don’t know how specific I can be without putting you in danger. I may have already said too much.”

There was a long pause.

“All right, what do you need?” asked Alexis.

“Alexis, this isn’t… if you get involved there’s no going back.”

“Sounds good. Let’s go,” Tiffany said.

“But—”

“Blake, you sound like you don’t understand the whole ‘till death do us part’ thing,” Alexis said. “Asking us if we want to come exorcise ghosts with you? That’s one hell of a marriage proposal.”

“Lexi I’m serious.”

“So are we, Blake,” Tiffany said.

You had to wipe your eye. “I don’t know how safe it is for you to even come here.”

“Find out, then.”

“I… suppose.”

“Tiff will get some sleep and I’ll pack. If it’s safe for us to come, we’ll get Joel and Carlos to give us a lift.”

You rubbed your brow. “Tell them to bring a jerry can of gas in case the car mysteriously runs out en-route. That happened to me. And tell Carlos to bring his rifle. And be sure to drive while the sun is up, I think it was a mistake to go at night.”

“Holy sh*t Blake,” Tiffany said.

“Yeah, it’s that bad. Real horror-movie sh*t. Don’t tell Carlos and Joel that last part. Tell them there’s a really mangy bear in the woods. That’s what I told the police.”

“Anything I should pack in particular?”

“Assume we’re going to be stuck here for a while. Bring your things… Bring my toolboxes. You know those spools of thread I stowed away?”

“Yeah?”

“Bring those. You’re going to find some emergency cash with them, take two grand of it. I’ll explain everything when you get here.”

“… Right. I Love you.”

“Love you, Blake.”

“I love you.”

You hung up.

Then you got up. You grabbed your spring coat which Alexis had so thoughtfully packed and put the kukri on its belt. You got the karambit knife from your toolbox too.

With a ballpoint pen and a notepad in hand you started writing a shopping list while you went to the door and put on your motorcycle boots.

You made your way down the driveway to the gate and went into the town to find a general store.

Now you definitely felt it, the hostility Molly had described. Even with your swarm providing you with near-perfect area awareness there was still the sense of unsafety in the air.

Finding the store wasn’t difficult, looking through the eyes of the ambient insect life. You smiled politely at the cashier, grabbed a basket and went by your list.

Bread, butter, jam, peanut butter, cheese; rice, frozen veggies, frozen chicken; tea, coffee, milk; baby wipes, a bag of caramels, two kilos of shelled sunflower seeds.

You approached the register, and put your basket on the counter.

“Hey, no knives in the store.”

The cashier was a woman in her late thirties.

“C’mon, I had a really rough morning. I’ll tip for the trouble.”

“Store policy.”

You stared at her for a moment.

“All right.”

Demonstratively, you went to the door, stepped out, took the kukri from your belt and threw it in the trashcan.

You stepped inside again.

The woman rolled her eyes but rang up your groceries.

You handed her bills to the dollar amount, and she closed the till without giving you your forty cents change.

“You said you’d tip.”

You bit back an uglier retort. “That’s not very nice of you.”

“Sometimes people ain’t nice.”

“Sometimes people choose not to be nice. Like middle-aged cashiers to young women who have had rough mornings.”

“You’re not a woman, you’re just a tranny.”

You took the bag, “have a good day, sir,” and exited the store. You reached into the trans bin to fish your knife out again. Something had gotten on it, and you had to break out a wet wipe to clean the sheath before putting it back in your belt.

This was going to get old, fast.

But on the other hand there was an explanation. Someone was using a wide-area Master power to turn the local populace against the Thorburn line.

Either that or Rose had bargained away the day-to-day peace of the entire bloodline with some devil.

You went back up to the house with the groceries, then out again to trace the edge of the property and feel out the local bird populations with a pocket full of birdseed.

Controlling corvids cut your range down to barely a hundred and fifty meters, but they had the distinct advantage of having really good vision. Insects couldn’t read text in books, at all; you had tired several ways.

There were a good few birds out. With little touches of power you kindled their curiosity, while expanding your range to feel out if anyone was coming. There were black widows in the forest, in good numbers too, and a precious few recluse spiders which you might need to call upon.

Pretty soon you had a twenty-odd murder of crows following you in the treetops, and you stopped, feeling out their social relations. They all knew each other; it was the local murder after all.

You threw down seeds and made sure the birds realized it was an offering of food. Then you made your way back up the hill to the house, throwing out a little trail of seeds.

The walk also gave you time to scout out a good location for a hive. It would be good to have some bees on the property in case you ever needed to maim someone with plausible deniability.

You scattered the remaining birdseed around the house and got inside again. Here you set over water for coffee, cleaned out Molly’s left-behind mess in the library, and sat down to read.

No matter how immersed you ever got in work, your awareness of everything within a kilometer never fell away. It was calming in a way. You kept an eye on the crows, too, ridding them of fleas and periodically reaching out to touch their minds and convince them the house was relatively safe to approach.

The first thing you reached for was the Dramatis Personae just to know what you were dealing with. In it you found two of the three names you knew: Briar Girl and Laird Behaim. Briar girl was a non-entity, power-wise, but unfortunately also your neighbor. Behaim was a powerhouse, an old family and likely the head-honchos around here. Laird was the current head of the family.

Politics aside you took to the book Essentials. It was a bona-fide introductory text to the world of magic.

A world full of euphemism. They were ‘Practitioners’ of the ‘Art,’ there were ‘Others’ which was everything inhuman and ‘Innocents’ which were humans who weren’t in on the masquerade and ‘Aware’ which was those who were but were not ‘Awake’ like Practitioners were.

The rules were no less unwritten, just in a different way.

Chapter 1: Others.

Others is what we call those entities that are not human or Practitioner. These number everything from simple spirits over the ghosts of the deceased to fantastical beings like the faerie. The most important distinction between Human and Other is the Seal of Suleiman Bin Daoud, colloquially known as the Seal of Solomon.

(The historical figure Suleiman bin Daoud is widely understood to be the the inspiration for the character of the same name depicted in the contemporarily written Torah, but the Jewish texts by nature of being written for the Innocent, omit references to the Practice and so are not considered to have historical merit for the Practice.)

Under this universal binding sigil, Others uphold bargains made to the letter, and avoid interfering with the Innocent. In exchange for these restrictions the Others gain a level of legitimacy in the world, and protection from certain things that threaten the unbound. There are other, lesser effects, but for the purpose of this introductory text those are the relevant ones. For the implications the seal has on the Practice, turn to Chapter 2.

The Seal of Solomon was introduced in the 6th century BCE, and while binding far from all Others, the older and more powerful the Other, the more likely it is to be directly bound by it. Lesser Others have through their betters adopting the seal, over time been shaped to to abide by many of the same rules.

Going forward and interacting with others, you must do well to remember the following:

All of the most foolish and brutish Others have been captured, slain, consumed, driven off, or tricked away. Recognize all Others for what they are, and know that they, by a process of elimination two thousand and six hundred years in the making, are cunning by nature, they are slave to those who are, or they were made to be cunning to better serve in their duties. Wit is the greatest defense and the sharpest weapon, on battlefields such as these.

Ominous.

You paged ahead some, to the chapter about the Practice, skimming until you found the Awakening Ritual which Rose had instructed you to perform.

The words were in some Levantine language, probably two and a half millennia out of date, but there was thankfully a pronunciation guide.

More and more it seemed like you would be dealing with a lot of Master and Stranger-type powers. Perhaps some Breaker-type as well. Taylor’s preferred style of cunning strategy backed by sudden, direct violence seemed like it would be less immediately useful here.

You went back to the chapter on Others and continued reading until noon. For lunch you made yourself a grilled cheese sandwich, and had the rest of your now cold coffee.

Then you put on your motorcycle gear and went back down into town to locate the repair shop. It was easy enough, all things considered: you had learned though experience how motor oil smelled to bugs.

The mechanic at work there was fortunately non hostile, and you rented a jump-starter and bought a can of gas without issue.

With those in hand you went back to the house to fetch your gun and cast more birdseed around the property.

The hour-long walk out of town was tense. You felt less secure in your ability to come out of a fight unscathed now that you knew more about the full spectrum of what you could come up against.

But nothing of note happened. A car drove out of town, one drove in. Some deer walked by in between the trees.

And then you saw it: your motorcycle. Sitting in the wayside, upright, locked, intact. You jogged the rest of the way, gas sloshing in the plastic can.

Then your saw movement through the eyes of your bugs, and turned to get visuals yourself.

Out between the trees, maybe twenty meters into the woods, stood something hunched-over and ape-like.

It looked at you. Then it raised a hand in greeting, before turning to leave.

That had to have been one of Briar Girl’s creations. Had she posted it to watch over your motorcycle? You recalled your asshole grandmother admonishing you not to jump to conclusions, and you did pointedly not assume any altruistic motive for such an action.

You had threatened to kill her if she crossed you. She had likely thought you might assume any tampering with your motorcycle was a spiteful retaliation from her and would subsequently follow up on your threat.

Not an unreasonable assumption.

You re-filled the gas tank and jump-started the engine, letting it idle while you put on your helmet. When you came back to the house after getting back your deposit for the jumper, there was a black police car; not a patrol car.

The man standing by it wasn’t in patrol uniform either, but his dark coat did have shoulder boards with a crown.

He waved at you, you stopped by the driveway, flipping up your visor, turning off the engine, and almost by reflex put your hands on the gas tank.

“Miss Thorburn?” he asked.

“What can I do for you, officer?”

“Inspector Liard Behaim, at your service. Do you have time to talk, briefly?”

So this was him. He looked perfectly ordinary, which was what corrupt people wanted to look like.

“Am I free to refuse?”

“Of course.”

“Let me just park, meet me up by the house.”

You started your engine and went up the driveway, parking next to the house and locking your motorcycle up. You took off your gloves and helmet, standing your gun by the door and stepping off the front steps.

Behaim came up to you at a leisurely pace.

“You wished to be notified of developments in Molly Walker’s case. I’m afraid I have bad news; she was found dead. My condolences.”

“How did she die?”

“She may have been the victim of an animal attack. If I recall you reported there was a bear?”

You nodded. “f*ck. Her mother is going to be devastated. I— I have to call her ex-boyfriend.”

“We’ll continue to look into the case, we haven’t entirely ruled out foul play. How long do you plan to stay?”

You shook your head. “This is a weird question, but, do you consider yourself an honest man, Inspector Behaim?”

He paused. “Yes.”

“Can we speak off the record?”

“Yes.”

“Does the name Maggie Holt ring any bells?”

“She’s a resident.”

“There’s an animosity in this town, natural or otherwise, against the Thorburn line,” you said. “Molly Walker was a resident of this town, too. What’s the OPP slogan?”

“We’re under the Toronto jurisdiction, actually,” he corrected you.

“To serve and protect.”

“Yes.”

“Ironic that one of your town’s long-time residents should die under your watch, isn’t it? The house will pass to me, now. The lawyers have already been in touch.”

“Ah.”

“Mr.Behaim, Molly was nicer than I am. Less resourceful. She did not deserve what happened to her; you should have negotiated with her and things might have turned out well for all of you. Instead, now, I am walking into this, well knowing my life is in danger, already on my guard. Do you understand why this creates some undesirable tension?”

“Is this a threat?”

“Depends. Is asking me that, an admission of animosity?”

“It’s a simple question.”

“No it wasn’t. It was a very loaded question and we both know it.”

“It seems we have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“Really? I seem to recall I was assaulted on the road in the middle of the night by an inhuman monster, but that might just be the sleep deprivation.”

He did not seem amused.

“You’re a Practitioner,” you said.

“I assumed you knew.”

“I am not. Yet. I don’t know what you’re capable of, but if you want to speak candidly and any more than this, I am going to need you to make some promises. Otherwise I am going to have to ask you to leave my property.”

“What kind of promises?” He seemed almost amused.

“That we speak under truce and the rules of hospitality, and that until you leave in good order, you shall cause me no intentional inconvenience or trickery, and make reasonable effort to ensure I am not molested as I stand here in the open with you.”

“You are not going to invite me inside as a guest?”

“I have been assured the house is haven and I would like to keep it that way. Besides, the weather is nice. I can fetch you a glass of water if you’re thirsty? Show around the property? We can sit on the porch?”

“Thank you, but no thank you. Very well.”

“Very well what?”

He looked at you. “I agree to abide by the rules of truce and since you have offered me hospitality, I will act as your guest, and protect you within reason seeing as you are Innocent.”

You let your posture relax somewhat.

“Thank you. Sorry for playing hard, I am not one to risk my safety lightly, or value decorum over it anyway. I know I am in danger, but I do not know how much or of what nature, I’m sure you understand my need to be careful.”

“You are a very astute young woman.”

“Dullards tend to have shorter life-expectancies.”

“Let me cut to the chase, I’d like to talk about a hypothetical scenario with you. How versed are you in global politics?”

“The normal amount.”

“In this scenario, we’ve got a situation involving a number of countries. If you will, there’s America. I’m rather interested in America for the purpose of this discussion, but that’s just me. Powerful, perhaps overly proud, large, keepers of the peace.

You nodded. “There are things you can’t say directly because either you are sworn to secrecy, or you would be deliberately misleading me, so you prefer to speak in allegory. Very well, I’ll bite. The United States; military industrial complex, overly trigger-happy, hasn’t won a war since Korea, prone to spectacular military over-reaction, jingoistic foreign policy, oligarch oil billionaires buying politicians… Go on.”

He looked at you with a level gaze that wasn’t a glare.

“Yes, I am always this annoying. Please, continue.”

“Then a European country. I would say they are very traditional, seductive, beautiful, very prone to holding grudges. More history, more set in their ways.”

“Old colonialists, drawn to days of former glory when they grew fat off the labor of literal slavery. I’m with you.” That was probably the Duchamps. French surname, but that didn’t say a lot in Canada.

“There are others. Imagine a small, very old, and somewhat backwards nation. We’d then have a broad swathe of nature with very few settlements, as well as a very vibrant country that has just come into an inexplicable amount of wealth, which is liable to burn out quickly on its excess. As well as other bit players who shouldn’t be ignored, but who aren’t of import in our discussion, here.”

This was something else. “I am not quite sure I can follow with the first one.”

“They are old and small, that nation. Not terribly interested in diplomacy.”

“The second one I am imagining a young woman who recently attempted some highway robbery and bit off more than she could chew.”

“I imagine that would be right.”

“And for the last one, a flag of yellow and black, perhaps?” You held out an arm to show your yellow and black jacket.

“No, not at all, in fact. Though its ruler is young and long haired, it has a king, not a queen.”

“I’m with you so far. One question. There is also a dangerous country, perhaps a very small one, where wayward travelers risk getting mauled by bears. Recently there was just such a death. This country, its name would perhaps be Aggie-may Olt-hay?”

“Hm. I’d hesitate to call that a country. More of an upstart, an attempt at a coup; terrorist cell.”

“The United States is fond of calling those it disagrees with terrorists. Continue with the metaphor, it is quite entertaining.”

“I’m glad you find it amusing.” He took out a pocket watch, opening it without looking at the face, and closing it again.

“In this imagined scenario, we have a country in, say, our equivalent of South America. This hypothetical country is unpredictable, has a history of being aggressive, and it just so happens they are the only one in this imagined scenario who have nuclear weapons at their disposal. Flag of yellow and black, yes.”

“That’s just present-day Russia, you’re describing.”

“Perhaps, but one where the Soviet Bloc never existed. In this little story, the dictator died, and a successor was assassinated in short order, let’s say.”

“Kremlin claims the CIA may be involved, prone as it is to staging coups. Perhaps by involving a certain terrorist cell.”

“Does it? Now another one has taken the helm, and nobody is entirely sure what type of person the young woman is… which is very concerning, considering the weapons she has at her fingertips. She could be reckless, she could be mild mannered, she could be a merchant, a politician, or a student, but she’s an unknown quality, and appearances can be deceiving.”

“And the United States has sent a high ranking diplomat to beleaguer the Russian embassy with contrived metaphors.”

You found this fun. Which was probably a bad sign.

“Should this small southern nation cease to be a concern, everyone else profits, and the nukes being removed from the picture is only a small part of that. The other countries would be elevated to a new age… and the country who is most powerful will take the helm, quite possibly forever.”

You nodded. “Listen, mister President. The heiress to the Russian federation has a family of her choosing whom she loves, and a family legacy not of her choosing. She is highly concerned with nuclear disarmament and especially avoiding nuclear proliferation; like many brave Russians she is willing to disobey orders and make sacrifices to ensure the world does not end in nuclear holocaust.”

“Those are some very commendable qualities.”

“You understand, however, that even a queen may have fetters and bindings. There are laws she has to obey, documents signed with the seal of the royal family she has to honor against her will. There are cut-throat politicians in league with the devil who will step in the moment the royal bloodline ends and seize power of the country.”

“Is there?”

“I don’t know. It’s your metaphor. Furthermore the queen isn’t sure who she can trust even within her own government. She is calling some trusted confidantes in from her home town. Should anything happen to those trusted confidantes on the way, before they have been inducted into this scene of global politics, she may go mad with grief and launch the nukes. I hope all the countries involved wishes to avoid a nuclear exchange, and that the US can uphold the small gesture of diplomatic decorum that it is to see the families of foreign heads-of-state travel safely from place to place. Yes?”

He opened and closed the watch again. Some kind of stim? Was that his implement?

“Seriously, Behaim. They’re coming by car. Fury of hell and scorned women.”

“What if these confidantes were to fall in battle? Would she go mad with grief, then? She sounds unstable.”

You kicked yourself. That had been a mistake. You took a deep breath. “The queen is a soldier. She has had her comrades die on the battlefield with her, before. There is a difference between that and having one’s family be massacred while one is away on the front. All she is asking is that the president of the united States has compassion, sees the human behind the crown. They aren’t in this, Behaim. I’m not even in it, yet. Once they are, once I can protect them, I will have no-one to blame but myself, and I shall shoulder that grief if it comes to it.”

He nodded. “Very well.”

“Very well what?”

“Nothing in particular. It has been very illuminating talking to you, Miss Thorburn.”

He turned and went back down the driveway.

“Behaim,” you said after him.

Then you set into a jog, and caught up to him. He stopped.

“Listen,” you said. “I was nearly killed when I came here. I need some kind of reassurance they aren’t going to be attacked today.”

“They are innocent, are they not? It’s day. Maybe you should go make sure yourself — or would you rather I send a police escort?”

You gave him the middle finger. Then you ran to the house. You had a terrible feeling you had f*cked up big-time.

Inside you tracked Behaim on his way down the driveway with your bugs. You got hold of one of the crows milling about your property, one that needed to relieve itself. You directed it to take off and fly down to Behaim’s car and take a sh*t on his windshield.

You grabbed her phone and called.

“Blake?”

“We need to go. I’m going to meet you at the half-way point, there’s a gas station there.”

“We’re ready on our end. We’re bringing the side-car in the back of Carlos’ truck.”

“Good. We’ll need it.”

Then you drank a glass of water and headed out, gun slip across your back. You drove down the driveway and out onto the street, through town, and onto the main road leading out of town.

Your pulse was in your temples the whole way. The bitter taste of fear at the back of your tongue. The sun was shining; the weather was quite nice. Perhaps it was only at night that the monsters came out.

Reaching the gas station you spotted Carlos’ work truck. Being Joel’s husband, he had readily offered you a vocational apprenticeship when you had mentioned looking to certify yourself. You had declined the offer, but he had remained supportive. Joel was just a blessing in general, he had never had the heart to charge enough rent to cover expenses, and kept taking on tenants who were young and queer. Raising funds and pooling capital, he and Alexis had turned the business into a housing co-op instead and living conditions had only improved.

Alexis and Tiffany were there, drinking gas-station iced coffees. Joel had a beer and Carlos a soda. Just chatting. Safe and sound. Two gay bears, a tiny polish butch, and a chubby desi femme. You pulled up, and flipped up your visor.

“What was the delay?” Tiffany asked.

“Delay?”

“We’ve been here an hour. We tried calling you, but we were discussing what to do if you didn’t show.”

You took out your phone and looked at the time. It had been one half past one when you were back from fetching your motorcycle. Now it was four. Which meant somewhere an entire hour of your time had vanished.

Then you remembered Behaim was a chronomancer. You kicked yourself, he had put a spell on you after he left, of course. Not a big inconvenience, but an inconvenience none-the-less. That had been his angle: he wasn’t going to let Innocent people get randomly murdered, he was going to push you until you screwed up. And you had.

“Sorry,” you said. “Let me get some gas, and we’ll go.”

“You okay, there, Blake?” Carlos asked.

“Not even a little bit,” you replied. “My cousin is dead, and there’s this whole thing… Joel, Carlos, you know that thing in the stories when you wish the characters should walk away and stay out of it?”

“Blake, sweetie?” Joel said.

“That’s you two today. Once we get to Jacob’s Bell and we’ve unloaded the truck, get the hell out.”

“And then what about you?”

You looked at Tiffany and Alexis, reached out and took both their hands. “I won’t be alone, don’t worry. But promise me, don’t get tangled up in this, just go home and forget anything weird happened.”

Joel and Carlos exchanged glances. “All right, girl. If you’re sure.”

Carlos took the wheel, Joel the front seat, Alexis and Tiffany took the back seats, with no room to spare. You got on your motorcycle.

They you drove the tensest one-hour trip you had ever gone on, as you drove behind Carlos’ truck all the way into town. Fortunately Behaim didn’t see fit to steal more time from you, however he had done it. Carlos parked the truck in the driveway and unloaded it as quickly as possible, Tiffany and Alexis sensing your tension.

You pulled your motorcycle around the house and in the door to stand it in the utility room. The sidecar you put up inside the living room on the first floor.

Then you gave Joel and Carlos both a long hug goodbye.

“Call me when you get home safe,” you said. “Next we speak, I’m going to say ‘Stonewall’ then you respond ‘Possum’ if everything is fine, and ‘Lancelot’ if you’re in danger and need help, then I will say ‘Liberty’ when I have understood.”

Joel and Carlos looked at each other. “What, like a spy movie?”

“If it makes you feel better, sure,” Carlos said. “You say Stonewall, we say Possum if everything is fine, and Lancelot if it ain’t, you say Liberty.”

“If I don’t say Stonewall, hang up,” you said. “Someone may be using a synthesizer to alter their voice to sound like me. If you don’t say either Possum or Lancelot next, I’m going to be the one to hang up. And remember, if you say Lancelot, I am getting on my motorcycle and going all the way to Toronto. Get it right, please.”

“Sure thing, superspy,” Joel said. “Lancelot only if there’s trouble.”

Then they got in and drove off. It was twenty past five. Still a few hours of daylight.

“Let’s get inside,” Tiffany said.

Chapter 4: 1-3

Chapter Text

You were quaking like an aspen as you came inside. “Lock the door,” you said.

“Blake, what the hell happened?” Alexis said and took your jacket.

“Where do I even start.”

“I’ll make tea,” Tiffany said. “Kitchen?”

You gestured, she went.

Alexis sat you down in one of the sofas, and sat squarely in your lap, putting her arms around you. You were content to just sit there until Tiffany came back with a tray and a pot smelling like Darjeeling. She set it down and sat down beside you letting Alexis put her legs over hers, too.

“Start anywhere you like, Blake,” Alexis said.

You took a deep breath. “Back in twenty-ten in a city called Brockton Bay on the East Coast of the Unite States, between Boston and New York, a girl named Taylor Hebert got shoved in a locker full of used pads. This caused her to develop the psychic power to control insects. She proceeded to join a local supervillain gang and spend about two years denying her own bisexuality. She became one of the most notorious villains in the world and took and held territory from the United States as a de-facto war lord in the wake of a kaiju attack on her home town. Eventually she learned of the impending date of the apocalypse, and dedicated herself to preventing the end of the world. She turned herself in to the authorities and finagled herself a plea bargain deal to become a hero on probation. When the apocalypse finally came around she lobotomized herself to allow her to mind-control people rather than just insects, and proceeded to almost kill the evil god intent on exterminating humanity. Once the god was dead, her power consumed her, and she was put to death as a mercy. That was three weeks after her eighteenth birthday.”

Tiffany and Alexis said nothing.

“And yeah, Brockton Bay doesn’t actually exist. Neither do superpowers or kaiju or kaiju with superpowers. Anyway, three weeks after my eighteenth birthday, I woke up from a night terror in a queer youth shelter and I had all her memories, all her skills, all her trauma, in addition to my own. And I had her power.”

You held out a hand, and one of the house spiders on the ceiling dropped into it.

“Eep!” Tiffany said, more surprised than afraid.

You made the spider do a little dance. Lifting its legs one after another, shaking its thorax from side to side.

“I’d say you were full of sh*t, if I hadn’t just watched a spider do the jitterbug,” Alexis said. You snorted despite yourself.

“I spent seven years fearing it,” you said. “Fearing more people with powers would appear. Despite all the horrific sh*t Taylor did, she never intended to hurt people, she just…”

“Didn’t fall, more like she sauntered vaguely downwards?” Tiffany suggested.

“Yeah. And obviously if it ever came to it I would have fought for the weak and disadvantaged.”

“Or toppled local government and established yourself as a warlord? Sound like hashtag-praxis to me,” Alexis said.

You hugged her tighter, you were so damn lucky.

“Is that what this is about?” Tiffany said. “There’s people with superpowers here?”

“No.My superpowers are a fluke it seems. Our world has magic. Curses, hexes, rules, faeries, familiars, things that go bump in the night. The whole town is lousy with them. Molly got killed because of it.”

“Your grandmother was a witch?”

“My grandmother summoned demons. Enough to write several books on the subject. She came from a long line of demon summoners.”

“Okay, how bad is a demon? Are we talking mischievous imp, balrog, eats-babies-for-lunch, what?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. What I do know is that not only are we despised because, well, demon summoning, but the powers that be have have vested political interests in getting rid of me, and are not afraid to do so murderously.”

“Molly,” Alexis said

“Yep. The local police Inspector is part of the conspiracy. He’s not denying his involvement in her death.”

“Ay-cab,” Tiffany said.

“Right,” you said. “Rule number one of magic; us three right now, we’re ‘Innocent’ meaning we’re uninvolved in magic. If you want to do magic you have to waive your rights, which includes the right to lie and break promises. So if you two want to do this with me, tell your last lie tonight.”

“I’m actually forty-five years old and a Russian spy who is only looking to marry for the tax benefits,” Tiffany said.

That got you to smile.

“All my magnanimous community altruism is a ploy to establish a legion anarchist loyalists to overthrow the Canadian government,” Alexis said. “Actually, wait, that sounds rad. f*ck, I’m bad at this.”

And that got you to laugh.

“Blake, it sounds like you’ve had one hell of a day, so why don’t you go turn off your brain and cook us some early dinner and tell us what needs doing?” Tiffany said.

“There’s a study on the third floor, hidden behind a bookcase,” you said. You took out the strange warded key, and thought about replacing the lock with something better. “There’s a letter there in an envelope thumb-tacked to a shelf, read that. Then look in the manilla folder on the desk for the legal situation.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

You reluctantly let go of Alexis’ slight frame and you got up. “What are we eating?”

“Chicken stir fry. It won’t take me long.”

“All right.”

You went to the kitchen to boil rice and heat frozen pre-cut vegetable mix. The pan wasn’t big enough to do both meat and veggies at the same time. You had forgotten to buy soy sauce and spices, which nearly made you cry.

Idly boiling the water off the frozen vegetables, you looked out the window, towards the marshlands.

You put the vegetables in with the rice. You had picked parboiled for extra-quick cooking. It was hard to even estimate how many times you had eaten something like this in all the time you had been your own woman. Alexis had taught you, like so many other things.

After mixing the chicken into the pot of rice and veggies you went to the stairs and hollered “Dinner!” hoping your voice could carry up two floors.

Finding plates and cutlery, you made the table in the far too-big dining room.

Alexis and Tiffany came down, both carrying books, putting them on the table. Essentials, Implementum, Famulus, Demesnes, and Dramatis Personae. Tiffany had her Moleskine in hand.

“How are you doing?” Tiffany asked as you took seats.

“I forgot soy and spices, so it’s just butter and salt.”

“God damn, smells good, though,” Alexis said.

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

You served them each a plate.

“Okay, so yeah; I aye-enn-aye-ell but on the normal legal bullsh*t front we’re pretty much f*cked,” Alexis said. She had helped draft up the housing co-op and had better than a layman’s grasp of property law. “On the magic legal bullsh*t front, the main problem is that you have to read something like a hundred and fifty books a year to make the goal.”

“On the magic front, sans legal bullsh*t, we need to enact the ritual in this thing,” Tiffany said. “And then we’ll have to be really careful from then on out. I’m thinking we do it tonight, up in the study, all of us. The alternative is that we’re sitting ducks here, and the second Saturday of the month is the day after tomorrow.”

“f*ck, the council meetings.”

“Yeah, there’s also this thing,” Alexis said, tapping the Dramatis Personae book. “We don’t have anyone in our corner. That Behaim is bad news. They are looking to make a marital allegiance with the Duchamps.”

I nodded and ate. “I’ve fought worse.”

“When?”

“When I was Taylor in whatever parallel universe she came from. I swear, the moment I saw a monster in the road this morning, the world felt like it was making sense again.”

“What happened this morning, then?” Tiffany asked.

“I got a call from Molly, called the police, got on my motorcycle and came here. I got attacked in the road by Briar Girl’s monsters, but she hadn’t taken into account that I was packing heat. I tracked her down with my bugs and exacted concessions from her at gunpoint. Behaim engineered both Molly’s death and the attempt at my life. Molly was killed by Maggie Holt — she’s not in there.”

“Holy sh*t you hunted down a nature witch girl in a forest at night?” asked Alexis, suitably impressed.

“I’ve been preparing for a superpower war for seven years, Lexi. Actually; let me just explain my power.”

Tiffany pointed at you with a fork. “Insects? It’s why you took up beekeeping, right? Can you make them sting people?”

“Yep, but that’s a tertiary benefit at best. I am currently linked to every single creepy-crawly within a little over a kilometer; proper insects, arachnids, nematodes, even crustaceans. I can feel their position like they’re my own fingertips. I can use their senses, what their feet taste, what they smell, what they see and hear.”

“Every surveillance state’s wet dream,” Alexis said darkly.

“I can control all of them, all the bugs within my range, at once, independently, at the same time like a kind of super-multitasking. As long as I’m conscious and it isn’t below zero outside, I’m basically omniscient.”

“You’re Super-bug-girl!” Tiffany said, “her only weakness: cold winters!”

“That’s not even inaccurate.”

“Good thing it’s spring, then. Come winter we’ll either be dead or powerful enough to tide us through.”

You nodded. “So yes, those spools of thread? That’s spun dragline silk from black widows. Ten times stronger than aramid — that’s Kevlar fiber. I’m the only one in the world who can make it. I’ve been working on making protective clothes from it, which is how Taylor made her super costume, but she was a high-schooler. Hard to do black-widow husbandry with a day job. Although I have been periodically stealing from the local drug kingpins when I had the opportunity, just to build up the stash of emergency funds.”

“f*cking hell,” Alexis said.

“It gets worse,” you said. “When Taylor got her limit-break lobotomy to kill god, her power changed, to let her control people, but she lost almost all her range. In me, I have this, kind of like a mental knob I can twist, and the more I twist it the more I exchange range for power. If I cut my range in half I can do mice, frogs, small birds and fish; if I cut my range to a sixth I can control corvid birds, cats and dogs. If I cut it down to a two-hundredth, so about five meters, I can control people.”

“Y— you can control people?” Tiffany said.

“Yeah. But it gives me Thinker-headaches if I turn my range down for too long. I can only hold it down there for a few minutes.”

“Thinker-headaches?” Alexis asked.

“It’s some terminology form the superpower Earth. They had a three-letter agency dealing with superpower policing and they came up with these twelve threat-categories. Thinker is ‘has information normal people can’t get’ and most people with Thinker-class powers got headaches from overuse. Including Taylor’s best-friend-totally-not-girlcrush Lisa Wilbourn aka. Tattletale, who looked like, a lot like me, come to think of it.”

“Can you give a demonstration?”

You looked at Tiffany. She was blushing. Hard.

“Right. Mind-control kink. I should have known that would come up like, immediately,” you said.

“I must admit I am curious as well,” Alexis said.

You sighed. “Okay, uh, I think this is one of those things I need to ask your consent for. When I do it, I gain free access to your senses, and — I haven’t done a lot of experimentation for obvious reasons — but I think I may be able to control both your emotions and movements, possibly also your thoughts to some extent. With other creatures even if they’re within my range I can leave them to their own devices bit I still sense them.”

“I’m game,” Alexis said. “I trust you, Blake.”

“So do I,” Tiffany said.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Just try it, first,” Tiffany said. “See if it works. And I think you should practice this now. Mind-control is a really powerful thing, and we need power right now. Might as well practice on us.”

You nodded.

Then you gave a mental twist.

Awareness of the entire property vanished from your mind, and in its place, your awareness of your two girlfriends replaced it. You saw the room from their eyes, felt their bodies as their own. You felt their minds, their emotions, their wills. And then your attention turned back to their bodies for a moment. Cisgender, both of them.

You looked at yourself through their eyes, very gently directing both of them to look at you. Then at each other. Then, a little bit of mischief came to mind, and both of them pushed back their chairs, stood and stepped close. Alexis hands found Tiffany’s hips and Tiffany’s hands fell around Alexis’ fine jaw and cheeks.

They kissed. It was, you very suddenly and unexpectedly thought, kind of really hot.

You let go, and the world outside exploded into view again. Nothing it seemed had moved in the evening light while you weren’t looking. It left you were sitting there with a knuckle to your lips, smiling.

“Okay, that was bizarre,” Alexis said and looked at you, still holding onto your other girlfriend. “Not bad, but… very strange.”

“I— I— I—,” Tiffany said, beet red all the way down her neck. She fanned herself.

Alexis looked at you. “Blake, look what you did, you broke Tiff!”

“Let’s go open the kitchen window and get her a glass of water, then.”

“Yeah,” Alexis concurred. “Any other night, we’d be happy to f*ck your brains out, but you said it yourself.”

Tiffany nodded. “I’m okay, I just need a moment.”

It took her a full five minutes before she could finish her plate.

You brewed tea and went up to the study together. At Tiffany’s direction you cleared out the floor, and in the cabinets you found the needed ritual components.

Between the three of you, setting up the awakening ritual diagram was a piece of cake. You were all well-versed in geometry, you for the practical application of measuring stuff, Alexis because she had done geometric tats before settling on watercolor, and Tiffany because she had read Euclid’s Elements and actually appreciated compass and straightedge construction for its own sake.

Five circles centered on the vertices of a regular pentagon, inscribed; orbited by two antipodal circles of the same size. You had rather a lot more helper lines to erase than the book suggested you use. Seven symbols which Tiffany drew in steady hand. Twelve bowls.

“Triforce, Capital Phi, what are the rest, like, runes?” “Not the round one, runes aren’t round.” “I feel like there’s a gap in our mutual art-knowledge if we can’t do something as basic as recognize some runes.”

Filling the bowls became its own little art project. Myrrh was on hand, as was the iron nugget, and a chunk of rose quartz. Tiffany fetched what you needed from the kitchen, returning with a strip of frozen chicken, paprika and pepper both, peanut oil, milk, brown sugar, the star of the show in the form of honey from your bees back in Toronto, and vodka.

“Can you imagine if someone did this but like, they mixed an entire old-fashioned co*cktail?” you said.

“Don’t be silly, Blake, angostura bitters belong in the spice bowl,” Tiffany corrected you.

For the ash, and for heating the nugget of raw iron, you broke out your small blowtorch. Rather than risk fouling up the room, you elected render the rice into ash in the guest bedroom with the window open. Twilight would fall soon.

Alexis paid a dollar and thirty-five cents, Canadian, for the privilege of the three of you forever having the veil pulled from your eyes.

“That’s a small price to pay for knowledge,” Tiffany said.

“But I wanted a candy bar,” Alexis whined.

A small metal can with removable lid, the kind you used for knick-knacks took up one of the orbiting circles, a Duracell battery the other.

“Where did you get that?” “Vibrator.” “Why did I even ask.”

For a blade, you put your kukri. For a timepiece, Alexi’s wristwatch. A raccoon skull was on hand to serve as a bone. For something woven, Tiffany volunteered lingerie bottoms. That left something living. You went to the window at the end of the third floor hallway and called in a grasshopper the size of your pinky finger. Beautiful and green.

“I think that’s it, what’s next?” you asked.

“A personal token from each participant is to be placed inside the great circle within their field of vision.”

That left all of you scrambling down to the first floor. You returned to the third floor, each an item in hand, all ones you well knew the other would take.

Alexis had bought her engraved zippo. Tiffany had brought her DAA one-year chip. You had bought your pill bottles, with blue estradiol and orange progesterone.

“Next we need to undress, sit inside the circle,” Tiffany read, “it recommends if you’re three, that you sit back-to-back-to-back. Then you have to recite this spell… Says to xerox this page and distribute copies to all participants… Do we have one of those?”

Your eyes fell on a photocopier sitting in the corner. “Depends.” You went to it, brushed dust off the beige and thoroughly yellowed plastic. You flicked the power switch. “Hang on.”

You went back down to the first floor and fetched your other toolbox, and then you spent the next fifteen minutes taking the machine apart.

It was old enough that it was made before grey plastic was in vogue, and so the circuit boards were the size of A5 cardstock, and that made it easy enough to locate the busted wire. You did some quick work with clippers, strippers, and wire nuts, put the chassis together again. If nothing else you would just need to copy it by hand.

The name-brand Xerox copier sprung to life. “Let’s hope it has toner,” you said, and put the book in. There was still paper in the feed tray. It hummed angrily, light flashed under the book, and with the wailing of electrical engines and gnashing of mechanical teeth, it spat out two copies.

Alexis picked them up. “Blake, I think it’s really sexy of you how you just fix broken sh*t wherever you go. Please never stop.”

“It’s also kind of sexy when she just breaks sh*t, though,” Tiffany added.

“True. Shall we?”

You undressed, all of you. There was plenty of casual nudity between the three of you, but even though this was far from a mundane occasion, it wasn’t any sexier because of it. You idly wondered if it’d be fun to desecrate Rose Thorburn’s bed with a little threesome later.

With a pair of tongs, you held the iron nugget and heated it to a dull glow with the blowtorch, before gently putting it back in the ceramic bowl and wincing, expecting it to crack. It held. Then you lit the myrrh.

All three of you sat down cross-legged, careful not to disturb the chalk lines.

“Any questions on the pronunciation guide before we begin?” Tiffany asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “Is that a soft or hard ‘G’ in line two?”

“Let’s try it either way and whichever way works we shall forever more pronounce gee-aye-eff-files that way,” Alexis said.

“Appeal to higher power, nice, it’s still hard-gee, and you know it,” you said.

Alexis elbowed you in your ribs, but gently and in jest. Then she cleared her throat. Uneasily at first you spoke, haltingly in unison, in ancient Sumerian or Hebrew or Egyptian or whatever it may have been. Syllables and words you knew not what meant.

But as you spoke, as you felt the warmth of Tiffany and Alexis against your sides, you fell into a gentle, pleasant rhythm. The words came easier, more naturally.

And then the lines on the floor started moving. The circles rotated and grew, shifted and projected. The bowls danced a slow geometric dance, silent save for your chanting. The seven items danced away, with the seven symbols.

The kukri came to a stop before you, as if prompting you for a response. There was no words to say on your paper.

“War,” you said, the traditional interpretation.

It slid to your left, to Tiffany. “Threat.”

“Separate,” Alexis finished.

Next you were prompted with the wristwatch. “Time,” you said, thinking of Laird Behaim’s trickery.

“Youth.”

“Opportunity,” Alexis finished.

The living bug leapt into place in front of you; its control wrested from you. “Life,” you said, defying the traditional reading.

“Food,” Tiffany said, completely unorthrodox.

“Nature,” Alexis completed, traditionally.

The panties. “Dream,” you said, again, straying. “Love.” Then Alexis stayed traditional again: “Fate.”

The skull. “Death,” you said. “Sleep,” said Tiffany. “Honor,” answered Alexis.

The empty tin. “Void.” “Mystery.” “Potential.”

The battery. “Power.” “Light.” “Pleasure.”

The dance now brought your personal items forward, and you felt it was time to make a personal statement. What did your hormone therapy regiment mean to you?

“Adulthood and self-determination, metamorphosis, the end of one journey and the beginning of another — let it be known on the other side of this veil that I will not take kindly to getting misgendered… I’m doing this because the world is full of misery, somebody has to fix it, and no-one else will.”

Tiffany spoke next: “Healing and self-love, refinement, waking after the fugue of the bad times to live — if my eyes are going to be open to a new world I am going to behold it in full with my mind unclouded. I’m doing this because I’m not letting anyone go alone into wonder and danger, least of all the people I love.”

Alexis said: “Memory and self-respect, purification, learning to love what you are and what you have and fight for a better tomorrow — I’m bringing my whole self into this with everything that I am and you’re all just going to have to deal with it. I’m doing this because somebody owes us a lot of answers and I intend to collect.”

Then the bowls began appearing before you, and now there were more words to read, phonetically. Honey, milk, meat, ash; but you were better now at the quirky notation and the English translation stood out better.

The smaller circles had all gone somewhere away, and only the greater circ*mscribing circle was left, carrying the bowls of offerings. The still-hot nugget of iron passed by.

My word is bound and binding. I ask you respect it as such.

My actions are my own, but have an equal amount of weight.

So I pledge.

And then your eyelids became heavy and fell shut, and in the eigengrau darkness behind your lids you saw the circ*mscribing circle as white light, and it was joined by other lines of light, some feint, some clear, some thin, some wide, branching out from it and from empty space. Some of those lines came from yourself, joining you to that great worldline, whatever it was. A system you were now a part of.

You opened your eyes.

“Be very careful what you say,” Tiffany said as the first thing. “Remember, our words have weight now. No lies, no frivolous promises.”

The diagram had deconstructed itself. The bowls were all scattered around the floor, where lines of the diagram, once curved now strait, intersected. All were still upright, the incense still smoked and you were sure the iron was still hot, but the food offerings were gone; as was the coinage.

On a second, close look, the bowls were still moving. Slowly inching across the floor.

“Seems like some spooky sh*t happened, all right,” Alexis said. “Opinions are fine, right?”

Tiffany sprang up and fetched the book, you looked after her, looking at her bare butt while she leaned over the desk, reading.

“Am I the only one with some kind of visual disturbance?” Alexis continued.

“According to the book, that’s normal. It’s our new senses of the world as it really is. The first thing we should do is learn how to turn it off, lest we loose our way. There’s several methods…”

“Sounds ominous,” you said. You looked around the room, and indeed there was something one might call a visual disturbance, like eye floaters and when you could see the white blood cells in the capillaries in your retina. They seemed to move in the world, now. Directing your attention by subtle motion. Certain things seemed to glow, too, or give after-images like looking at the sun, but only for a moment. You looked at the books and could gauge some kind of ineffable quality about them at a glance. The bowls had some other quality, as they moved, surrounded by lots of moving motes.

You focused on your swarm, for a moment, to feel any changes there, and was immediately presented with a wealth of new information, about hidden lines in the landscape, movement you weren’t privy to before, the sheer foreboding barrier that was the house’s façade, as felt by insect life.

“Blake, you okay?”

You nodded. You looked into the air, at the dancing motes, and deliberately ignored them, almost the same way you tuned out your swarm. They vanished. Experimentally you turned your attention back to them and they came back.

“I think I got it,” you said, and stood.

“Let’s get dressed and make another pot of tea,” Alexis said and slapped your butt.

Your phone rang. The caller ID was Joel. You picked up. “Stonewall.”

“Possum.”

“Liberty. Have a good night, Joel.”

“You too, Blake.”

You hung up.

“Joel?”

“Everything is fine,” you said.

You all got dressed. You in your tights, skirt, and hoodie; Alexis in her ripped jeans and the plainest, cleanest black tee imaginable; Tiffany in flannel slacks and cardigan.

“So, what’s next?” you asked.

“I mean, ideally we read like six books before tomorrow,” Tiffany said. “We’re way behind on knowledge.”

“We need basic info,” Alexis said. “Tiffany, read the rest of Essentials, I’ll read Implementum—”

“Why that one?” you asked.

“— we skimmed and decided it was the easiest to start with. Demesne takes time and would bind us to the region; familiar requires we have a friendly Other on hand; implement just requires a tool and some magic power.”

“Fair.”

“Blake, read up on the beasties we’re dealing with.”

You nodded. Essentials had referenced a few books as further reading in the chapter about Others. Your eyes fell on Rose Thorburn’s life’s work. You went to the shelf, and ran your hand over the books.

“Blake?” Tiffany said. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“No.But ignorance is going to get us killed,” you said. “I spoke to Liard Behaim, the chief of police, the man behind Molly’s death. He made this long-winded metaphor, where he compared what Rose had to nuclear weapons. We need to know. I’m not proposing we use it, but I’d rather know the launch codes and not need them than face an MAD-scenario and be impotent.”

You reached for a book titled Diabolatry. You recalled chapter two of Essentials listing a number of specialties of the Art, and this being one of them. You pulled it out, and inspected the leather. You wondered just who you got to print and bind books about demon summoning. Putting it on the table and opening it, cast an envelope onto the table; a piece of paper folded into thirds, sealed with red wax. The initials R.D.T. were in the wax.

My heiress,

If you’ve come this far, there must be a pressing need. You’ve been driven into a corner, or the situation is otherwise dire. I imagine time may well be paramount. Remember that haste makes waste, and you must step with utmost care from this point on.

“Oh good, at least she’s warning us,” Alexis muttered.

I’ve left you something, or perhaps it is more correct to say I’ve left you someone. I refer to him as Barbatorem, making a small joke, as I tend to do, but he is an older one, bearing some status and a few stories from years past, with no name of any meaning that has survived the passage of time. You should be able to find those stories and notes on that status in Dark Names, p.38.

Tiffany jotted something down in her notebook.

You’ll find him waiting in the tower room, which you will need the key to enter. Staying outside the circle is first in your list of things to keep in mind, which I list here because there are no better places to put the warning. I should hope such obvious things don’t need to be stated.

“There’s a demon in the house,” you said, stating the obvious.

“I think he’s been there for years on end, if anything. Rose knew what she was doing,” Alexis said.

“How do you figure?”

“How else do diabolists live to see 95?”

Cast aside all notion of manners. Do not greet him, do not ever say please or thank him. Do not ask him if he would or could do something. Give him no food or succor. There are older meanings in these things and they will either free him or give him power over you. Sometimes it is very little power, and sometimes it is all the power he needs to achieve his ends.

“Good to know,” you said. “This has broader implications; though I have no idea how she found this out experimentally.”

“There’s probably a way to divine such things,” Alexis said.

Put aside all metal and reflective things before entering the tower room, and ensure the space remains dark. He exists in a more abstract capacity, whatever physical forms he takes, and if his image is cast in a surface, he will exist in that surface, allowing him to step free of that surface and the confines of the circle. For these same reasons, do not ever look directly at him, even for a moment, lest he be reflected in your eyes. Rest assured, he will not ever step free once he dwells there.

“We should have safety procedures if we ever go in there,” you said. “Double-check each other.”

“See if we can divine how to make some kind of translucent but non-reflective eye-pro,” Tiffany added.

He perceives the passage of time differently than we do. He’ll be content to sit in the circle I drew out until the sun grows cold. For him, the conversation is ongoing, and you’ll need to see the notes on his page in Dark Names so you can continue from where I, and each member of our line, left off. Failure to do so may confuse or irritate him. In any case, you can come and go, and he’ll see no difference in it. He does not speak, which led me to use the shorthand for gestures you’ll find on the final page of his entry. Please maintain those notes consistently, for those who come after you.

“Ideally, we get rid of him a lot sooner. Maybe there’s notes for how we drive him back to hell,” Alexis said, hopeful.

If you intend to deal with him, use one of the templates outlined in Dark Contracts, which I left to the right of the desk. Page 15, 17, 29 and 77 are good places to look, if you find yourself in a hurry. Do not improvise, for words must be chosen with utmost care. The final third of the book has recommended terminology with examples, which you can insert into the templates as needed. Do not trust Mr.Beasley or his firm for assistance. They are, quite naturally, unreliable on this front.

“Choose your words carefully; that is the theme, isn’t it?”

Failing all else, keep your eyes on the painted circle, stay silent, and keep to the contracts found in my books. You can consult my texts if you have any further questions. I regret that I am unable to assist you here,

R.D.T.

“I for one do not regret you’re dead,” you said.

“Okay, Blake, get on that?” Alexis said. “Not a deep dive, just enough to know if he’s a menace in some way.”

“Yeah; background-check on the demon in the attic, gotcha.”

You put the note down on the table, and it landed awkwardly, bouncing and fluttering to the floor. You picked it up, attempting to put it back on the table, but it slipped from your hands.

“Give me that?” Alexis said.

I did. She turned it over and inspected it. “Here, Tiff, copy this.”

There was a kind of inscription, a simple symbol. Tiffany copied it into her notebook.

“We should all have notebooks,” you said. “For stuff like this. Maybe alternate tasks, if we get restless, take inventory of the house?”

“Sure. God, we could use a fourth set of eyes and hands.”

You nodded to that. Then something entered your sphere of awareness. Nocturnal insects sensed the presence of something at the edge of the property, and you dipped into your second sight to expand your senses through your swarm; the something resolved itself into several someones.

“Night has fallen,” you said. “And the monsters have come out.”

“Let’s bring the books down to the first floor and keep lookout while we read,” Alexis said, always practical.

So you did. It was ridiculous to have to climb up to go down the stairs, so you stopped on the second floor and debated knocking a hole in the wall and installing a door. At least Molly had left a cheap shopping tote with a shoulder strap in the study for carrying books up and down the ladder.

With another pot of tea, you set up in the living room.

“We shouldn’t read too far into the night,” Tiffany said. “We need sleep to be at the top of our game.”

Agreeing, you went to the window to get visual on whatever was loitering at the edge of the property. There was several figures pacing by the low wall with the wrought-iron fence. They were all of them more or less inhuman. There was a woman with no face, things with too many teeth, a pair of children that were squarely in the uncanny valley. The two streetlamps illuminating that stretch of pavement were dimmer than the others, and the low light made them all the more eerie to look at.

You grabbed the book titled On Others, sat in the window sill, and started reading. Maybe you’d be able to identify the things down there by looking.

Reading the overview chapter at the beginning got you much the same as the chapter in Essentials, save with more details.

The background of nearly all practice were the Spirits, simple, near mindless things, most of them. They were the little motes you saw with your second sight, but those were just the very lowest level. Spirits were reified concepts. All of them had some intelligence, but more power meant more smarts. They were the arbiters of oaths and truths and karma, hence why suppositions and hypotheticals and rhetorical circumlocution was permitted even if the communicative intent was deception. They simply did not understand it. Shamans and their host of narrower specialties dealt with spirits.

Echoes were impressions left behind by the dead, and were the most common form of undead; a kind of specialized spirits. There were Faerie in a wealth of forms and types from finger-sized Tinkerbell-looking things to ten foot trolls. Goblins were beings of mischief, filth, defilement, and chaos. Boogeymen were beings that fed off of, or existed to create, fear; many of which had once been humans in some form. There were Angels, which seemed to draw from both old-testament Abrahamic, Hindu, and even Chinese folk religion and Shinto.

You looked out the window and saw a figure down the road cross the street, a young man. He crossed to the side of the road by your property and walked quickly like he was afraid of something. You put a bug on him to track him.

A car drove by, illuminating the loitering Others by the fence, you saw them hide from the light in various ways. Turn away to hide their inhuman features, or cartoonishly hiding behind a lamppost.

The man was heading straight for them. The Others laid themselves in an ambush. You put the book down and stood.

“Blake?”

You gestured for them to come.

Alexis and Tiffany came to look.

“There’s other’s patrolling the perimeter of the property; that guy is heading straight for them.

“Do we warn him?” Alexis asked.

“No,” Tiffany said, definitively.

You turned to her.

“The worst they can do to innocents is scare them.”

The man reached the ambush, and to your horror you saw the faceless woman grab him by the neck. She turned to face the house. “That looks like a lot more than scaring him, Tiff,” you said.

“Maybe I was wrong.”

A few other of the crowd of Others down there, helped the faceless woman hold the guy against the fence, and her hand grew long claws.

You went to grab your kukri.

“Blake, don’t go out there,” Alexis said.

Somewhere distant, you heard a scream.

“She’s going to mutilate him if I don’t.”

“It’s a trap. It’s almost certainly a trap.”

You hesitated.

“Yeah,” Tiffany said. “That’s not real, whatever’s going on down there. Come look with your second sight.”

You went to her side and looked. You saw the same spirit motes, dancing on air-currents all the way down to the edge of the property and over the road beyond. They danced around the faceless woman as she sunk her claws into the passerby man, and he screamed hoarsely. She molded his flesh like putty under her touch.

“Notice the connections?”

“No, how do I see them?” You asked.

“I can tell you later. That monster-woman, she’s connected to the guy. I think It’s an act.”

You nodded. She was going at him, though, with her claws. You knew enough about grievous bodily harm to know he’d already be dead by now. A smile came to your lips.

“Remember what the book said, Others are clever.”

You looked at the scene, and considered what other subterfuge might be at play. “I bet there isn’t even a barrier by the fence.”

“I think we’d be able to see if there was,” Tiffany said. “Your grandmother only said the house was a safe haven.”

Alexis hm’ed loudly. “Blake, go grab your gun and play angry old woman, tell them to stop making a racket.”

That was something you could do. Your gun slip standing by the door reminded you that you ought to find a locked closet to store it in. Taking a pair of shells and loading the tubes but not closing the action, you slung it over one arm and opened the front door door.

Out on the porch, you looked down the the street where the gurgling weeping of the mutilated man could still be heard.

“Oy!” you called out. “Can you stop making such a racket?!”

The Others stopped and looked at you. Even the mutilated man did.

“That’s more like it!” you called. “Keep it down!” You demonstratively snapped the action of the shotgun shut. Then you turned and stepped inside again, closing the door.

“They’re coming up the driveway now,” Alexis said. “Good.”

“Good?” Tiffany asked.

“Your range is five meters, isn’t it?” Alexis said. “See if you can control one of them.”

That was good thinking. At the same time you could also check if stinging insects held any purchase.

“I’m just spit-balling here, but seeing as the only two assets we have are the library and your powers, we should leverage both, to get a foothold. Capture an Other, and wring concessions out of it in exchange for freedom. It’ll make us enemies, but that just means we should choose carefully who we do it to.”

“Dark,” Tiffany said.

“Yeah,” Alexis said.

“I love it. It’s sexy-dark.”

Alexis snorted.

One of the Others, something like a child but with yellow eyes and far too many teeth, climbed into view in the window, and stuck its tongue out at you. Around the house, they started tapping on the windows and knocking on the walls.

“God,” you said. “This was probably what Molly was dealing with, for months on end.”

“Poor girl,” Tiffany said.

You went over to the window where the child with too many teeth was pressing its ugly face against the glass, smearing snot and drool over it. You let your range fall down to nothing, and felt the little creature only vaguely, but when you switched to your second sight, it resolved itself with crystal clarity.

Indeed you didn’t even need to control it like a human, according to your power it was on the level of a pig, or other large farm animal. Above a dog, below a human. So you let yourself relax some, and your range grew to thirty meters.

The goblin, scratched at the glass making a nasty sound. Your power told you its nature, and you matched it pretty easily to what you had just read. It was a creature of filth and chaos and heat, averse to purity and order and directed energy.

In retaliation you took control of it for a split second, putting its many teeth to good use by having it sink them into the webbing of its little clawed hand. It hollered in pain and tumbled from its perch.

You surveilled around the outside of the house, identifying the man who had been mutilated and the woman with no face. They weren’t participating in the harassment as such, and were outside your five-meter control range.

“Okay, I can get most of the little guys,” you said. “It’s not even hard. But the guy and the woman, I can’t reach them.”

“If I’m not wrong, that faceless woman is listed in the Dramatis Personae book,” Alexis said. “She looked like she was in charge, down there. The Implement ritual requires an investiture of power. Now, this power can come from the Self, which I’m leery of, or it can come from elsewhere, which I am more into. Those two, especially the faceless lady, look like they might have some mojo.”

You looked towards the door. “When I controlled that goblin, I got a really clear sense of what it was.”

“How clear?” Alexis asked.

“They’re made of filth and chaos and are averse to pure and orderly things.”

“Essentials said you can bind like with like and opposite with opposite. The latter more potently so,” Tiffany summarized. “It did caution to read more detailed descriptions.”

“Okay, so, what’s the plan, like actually?” you asked. “I’m not extremely hot on freestyling this.”

Alexis looked at her wristwatch. “Depends. How much more sleep can you two stand loosing?”

“We can sleep in tomorrow, if we do this thing,” you said. Tiff nodded.

There was a loud thump, and you all startled some, looking to one of the windows, just in time to watch a goblin fall away from the glass.

“I’ll stay here, keep an eye on things,” you said. “You two go find a book on binding things.”

They went up there, leaving you with the scratching and muffled jeers. You put on your best annoyed face, and went about, pulling the curtains in the faces of goblins that seemed like getting a reaction out of you was the funniest sh*t they had ever seen. Once there was only one window in the front of the house uncovered, you went and grabbed your shotgun.

Out in front stood the man and the faceless woman, seemingly in conversation. Standing in the window, you knocked on the glass, getting their attention.

You made an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture and closed the action on your gun, demonstratively.

They seemed to find that immensely amusing. Then you pulled the curtain. That would serve as your own subterfuge, hopefully.

Reaching to the edge of the property, you drew in a small attack force of hornets, bringing them to the house.

Locating a goblin near a window, you thrust the curtains aside, made a dramatic gesture, and set the hornets on it, stinging and buzzing angrily.

The little monster screeched and ran; you let the swarm chase it a little ways from the house before relenting. You closed the curtain, and observed things through your swarm, seeing the stung goblin scratch itself and curse loudly.

“Interesting…” you overhead the man outside say. You watched the faceless woman make a few gestures which might be sign language. “Yeah, I agree, that fighting spirit not going to last… Nah, I’ll give them a week… Yeah, we’ll see.”

Chapter 5: 1-4

Chapter Text

Tiffany and Alexis came back down with more books.

“I think I have them convinced we’re just full of fighting spirit, not plotting anything,” you said, quietly. “Unless they’re playing one level higher than I am.”

“Good,” Alexis said. “Now, remember before we discuss plans, if we say anything definite, we might be forced to follow through with it.”

It took you a few moments to formulate yourself: “I’m planning to commandeer the goblins and cause a distraction, then get the two within my range,” you said. “Then if I can’t control them, I think it’s safest to let them go. If I can, and I learn their weaknesses, then if we think we can bind them, we can try that. If not I guess I can make them punch themselves in the face a few times just for the humiliation.”

“Sounds good,” Alexis said.

Tiffany hm’ed.

Both of you turned to her.

“I know I was the one who called it sexy, but I think we should consider the… ethics of it.”

“They’re waging psychological warfare on us,” you said. “I’m fairly certain they’re remorseless monsters.”

“I know, but, it might establish a precedence of us being like, kidnappers and extortionists, and that can come to shape our entire careers as Practitioners because magic bullsh*t. We should try to avoid unnecessary cruelty.”

You nodded. “Of course. Geneva convention still applies — I mean, I’d argue it does, it’s written to apply to human soldiers, not Others, but it’s a good moral guideline —”

“Nice save,” Alexis said.

“— point is, we’re not here to be war criminals. If what my power tells me is right, wantonly mistreating the goblins would be akin to animal cruelty.”

“All right,” Tiffany said. “How long can you keep your mind control up?”

“Maybe twenty minutes before I can’t concentrate from the migraine.”

“So, assuming we can get them; do we bring them into the house?”

“If nothing else, I can just evict them again. Walk them out the door, shut it in their face.”

“We should bind them where a passersby can’t see them through the window, that could spell trouble,” said Alexis. “I say second-floor tea-room.”

“Keep them separate. One in the tea room, one in the master bedroom,” you said.

“Then we’re doing this?” Alexis looked to you.

“I’ll bring our tools up,” Tiffany said and darted up the stairs.

You put on a belt over your sweatshirt and put your kukri and karambit in it, then you grabbed your shotgun, loaded it and kept it on safe. Alexis grabbed a crowbar from your toolbox. You waited for a few minutes, then Tiffany came down with a hatchet.

“Where did you find that?”

“Storage room on the third floor.”

Armed, you turned to the front door. “Everyone ready?” you said.

Then you opened the door, and stepped out.

“Wow, she’s even dumber than I imagined,” the man said. Then he whistled. “She’s outside, goblins!” he called out.

From all around the house came hollering and screams, as the goblins all made haste towards you. You strode forward towards the two humanoids, descending from the porch onto the driveway and shunted your range down to thirty meters. All the goblins around the house fell immediately under your control, but you kept them on their current trajectories, running, climbing, yelling, laughing.

And then they all came to you, ran directly past you, and at your two quarries.

The faceless woman didn’t even flinch, as she caught the first goblin by the throat and threw it into the middle distance. The man was less apt at fighting the things, getting bitten when he tried the same.

You advanced on them still, gun casually resting over one shoulder. You drew the goblins in closer, within the five meter range, just as your final step put the two within reach of your control.

The pressure mounted in your head as your range shrank, and then the two came under your control. You bade all the goblins line up behind you, orderly and against their natures.

The man was undead, visceral and intelligent, capable of swift regeneration and very hard to kill. Unloading both barrels into his skull would probably only buy you a handful of minutes. Affiliated with death and violence, repelled by living, cleansing, and holy things: salt, silver, fire, fresh wood.

The woman wasn’t. She was only mostly visceral, and you felt her cunning, her power, and her capacity for violence. She had perhaps at some point been human, but something had ground her humanity into a fine powder and sifted it from her being. She was affiliated with terror and desolation and the fear mankind invented for itself in the absence of our ancestral predators, repelled by the natural, the old, the permanent.

“You chose the wrong Thorburn heir to antagonize,” you said. Then you walked your catch back to the house. You left the goblins outside and closed the door.

“All right, we’re on the clock,” you said.

“What are they?” Tiffany asked.

“The guy is undead, the woman is something else with a penchant for horror and killing people. Get the salt, is my spider silk upstairs?”

“Yeah.”

You looked to Alexis. “You up for helping me with some rope bondage?”

She smiled. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You marched your two prisoners upstairs, and Tiffany came shortly after with two cans of Windsor.

In the tea room you set up the dead guy. Alexis and Tiffany got rid of the table and you rolled up the carpet while he very obediently took a chair and sat himself down in the center of the floor.

Alexis took a roll of spider silk. “This is kind of thin.” You knew from experience she was more versed in rope-work, while your silk was more like twine in thickness.

You took your utility knife and a hammer, knocking a section of the blade off to give her a razor sharp edge to work with. You handed her that and a small tube of superglue. “It’s hard to cut, but it can be done. Glue the ends so they don’t unravel. Don’t worry about tying it too tight, the silk is elastic and he’s basically unkillable. Use all the unsafe knots.”

She went to work immobilizing him. The chairs in the tea room were plenty sturdy, made by a craftsman sometime before you were born by the look of it. Tiffany superglued the chair to the floor, and Alexis got to work, focusing on tying the man to himself rather than the chair, so he wouldn’t be able to break free by destroying it. Lastly, you took two of your biggest nails and a hammer and nailed his feet to the floor. Then Tiffany laid a thick unbroken line of salt around him.

You bade him break free of his restraints and found that he couldn’t, in fact he seemed more immobilized than his restraints should indicate. That was enough reassurance for you, and you let go of your vise-grip on his ability to speak.

“Okay, I don’t know what the f*ck that was, but if I could feel fear I’m certain I’d be terrified,” he said. “I hope you realize that when you f*ck up, she’s going to kill you all.”

You went to your toolbox and fetched the small blowtorch, placing it pointedly on the table in his field of view. “How long is it going to take you to escape?”

“However long it takes her to escape and murder you, plus five minutes.”

You turned up the gas and hit the ignition, causing a small blue flame to form. “I’m going to ask you again. How long is it going to take you to escape under your own power?”

“Oh, I don’t think I ever could.”

You felt his lie, and it surprised you some that there even existed creatures which could lie. It complicated matters. You took a step forward, over the salt line, and singed his hair with the burner. “Don’t lie.”

“All right, I guess I could wiggle free but it would take me way too long. Days. Weeks maybe. I can’t say for sure but no way you wouldn’t notice.”

You felt his truthfulness and let go of him, which lessened the pressure some.

Then you went to work on the faceless lady in the master bedroom. Even under your control you could feel her ire and violent intent, like she was breathing down your neck.

The main problem was the bed, which stood in the middle of the room. “Help me push this to the side.”

Alexis and Tiffany joined you, and you pushed. It was very heavy, and you barely made progress with a good heave. Then you realized you were being an idiot and made the faceless lady give a good shove, and suddenly it moved quite freely. She was terrifyingly strong.

“This one is going to be harder,” you said. “We need permanence, natural things, old things.”

Tiffany and Alexis both left to find something to work with.

With the faceless lady’s help, you rolled up the heavy rug, leaving you with bare floor to work. She took off her coat and boots, then took a seat.

While you had immobilized the undead, you had been thinking over this problem and come to the conclusion that super-glue was quite permanent. Getting to work, you cut lengths of spider silk line and tied her up with one end of each. You glued the line to her skin, and then put the other end on the hardwood floor and fastened it by hammering staples into the floor. You left her right hand free to move, tying her arm to her chest.

Alexis came in with a stack of magazines. “These are like, fifty-plus years old,” she said. “Figure if we lay them out in a circle?” She started doing that.

“Good as any,” you said. “I’d really like some fresh branches to nail to the floor, but we can’t go outside.”

Tiffany came in with a can of spray paint with a precision nozzle on, and a book. You didn’t have enough focus left-over to read the title. “I have a general binding circle here, I think she’s a boogeyman.”

“What’s that?” you asked, tying another line, spot-gluing it to the woman’s neck and stapling it to the floor with your hammer. Seven lines, now. That was a magic number.

“General though non-specific term for Other with a penchant for terror and murder.”

“Sounds about right. Think you can draw it right?”

“Yeah, I can do it.” She shook the can. “There’s not a whole lot of commonality between boogeymen, so the circle makes up for it in complexity, and it’s in Cyrillic, but it is text-based rather than geometry-based — we don’t have to break out the compass and straight-edge.”

You went and got a box of roofing nails and started fastening Alexis’ magazines to the floor. Vintage 70’s issues of The Atlantic. Your headache was mounting. Tiffany started spray painting and that did not help.

By the end of it, you were sweating and your hands were shaking. You had an aura forming in your lower-left field of vision.

“Why did you leave her right hand free?” Tiffany asked.

You winced. “In case she knows ALS spelling-signs, I figured we need a way to communicate with her.”

Alexis came back in. “Dead-guy hasn’t moved a centimeter.”

Through your control over her, you felt a similar lack of ability to move beyond what the physical restraints would imply.

“She looks similar,” Alexis said. “Like, to the second sight, there’s a certain look — if you go look at the dead guy — the way the spirits move around the edge of the circle.”

“I think we got this,” you said. “I hope; I’m pretty much spent.”

You let go. The world outside came into your mind but the pain didn’t go away. The woman didn’t move.

“I’ll get you an aspirin,” Tiffany said. You groaned. “… And ibuprofen and Tylenol.” She helped you sit down in a corner.

You called insects into the room to be your eyes.

Alexis stood before the circle.

I-D-O the faceless woman signed.

“Good,” Alexis said. “How long is it going to take you to escape this under your own power?”

She flipped Alexis the bird.

“You’re going to answer me or I am going to take a blowtorch to your friend’s face.”

3-D-A-Y-S-M-A-Y-B-E-4

“Three days, maybe four?”

Y-E-S

“As in, it is going to take you more than seventy-two hours?”

Y-E-S

“All right. Blake, let’s take a break.”

She helped you up to stand and led you downstairs, encountering Tiffany on the stairs.

“She says she’ll stay put for three days,” Alexis said to her. You felt almost too nauseous to speak.

You got to lie down on the sofa and took the maximum recommended amount of all three kinds of pills.

“We did it!” Tiffany said. “f*cking hell, Blake you are amazing!”

You gave a weak thumbs-up.

“And it’s not even midnight. Let’s get you two to bed,” Alexis said. “I’ll miss some sleep and keep an eye on our prisoners, see if the faceless lady adjusts her time estimate.”

They left you on the sofa to wallow in your pain, nausea, and satisfaction of a rush-job well done. Nothing quite like when a hail-Mary hack worked beautifully.

The grounds around the house were quiet. The goblins had all fled in terror.

An indeterminable amount of time later, they came down to fetch you and brought you up to bed. Tiffany and Alexis had been at work moving the beds around, and so you had a room with three. They helped you undress, and you were entirely fine with just collapsing into bed.

You woke up with a start, realizing you were in your grandmother’s house — now yours — it was the middle of the night, and that Tiffany was lying in bed next to you. Your headache was more than manageable, now.

The bugs in the house told you the two prisoners were still right where you left them, and Alexis was in the library. You reached over Tiffany’s sleeping form for her phone, and texted Alexis, feeling her phone vibrate on the floor below you through the legs of a spider. The clock told you it was a little past three in the morning.

How is everything? -B

A-ok faceless isn't making progress faster than expected

👍 😘 💕

What are you reading?

p*rn

4srs book on tantric magic but it's p*rn

Anything good?

In a word no

K ily

I ily you too

You put your girlfriend’s phone back where you took it, but Tiffany stirred despite your care.

“Hey babe,” she muttered.

“Hey, sorry I woke you up.”

She kissed you in reply, deep and slow. And then again. Her hands found your hips, and the two of you fell into an old, familiar rhythm of casual foreplay, interrupted when you grabbed her phone and texted Alexis while she kissed your inner thigh, and then further interrupted when Alexis came in, already pulling her tee off.

You made love to celebrate your victory, in a strange house, on a bed neither made for three nor lovemaking. Alexis went back to her guard duty, and you and Tiffany fell asleep in each others arms around four. She must have decided your prisoners were safe, because Tiffany’s alarm clock woke all three of you up at half past eight.

Having two washrooms meant there was at least a little bit of concurrency, but all three of you still needed to shower. You pondered installing a proper shower cabin in the larger downstairs washroom.

Breakfast was toast and coffee, and you passed a shopping list around while you ate. It almost felt like routine, until you in silent unanimity decided to turn to the topic at hand. The dining room table was comically too big for the three of you, and sitting at the far end of it made you feel like some kind of boss-leader.

“So, how are we doing this?” Tiffany said. “With the prisoners.”

You thought back to Taylor’s ample experience threatening people and negotiating hard deals. “The obvious thing we have over them is their freedom,” you said. “That’s going to be our main bargaining chip. Even if faceless lady is going to break free in, what?” You looked at Alexis.

“Sixty-eight hours. And in that time we can construct additional bindings, no problem. Like your branches-nailed-to-floor idea.”

You nodded.

“Our main goal is to obtain a bit of power, we should research how that is normally done.”

Tiffany gave you a thumbs-up.

“And then I think we should sweeten the deal. Offer them parting gifts, as symbols of truce.”

“Could work,” Tiffany said. “Help establish us something other than Other-abducting extortionists.”

“Exactly my thinking,” you said.

“What kind of gifts?” Alexis said.

You looked to the kitchen counter. Alexis had packed three small jars of your honey. They served well as gifts, maybe she had thought they could be given to the grieving Walker family. “I’m thinking one for each, I’m thinking of giving them honey.”

“Ha-ha, sweeten the deal,” Alexis said.

“I’ll draw them portraits,” Tiffany said.

Both of you looked to Alexis.

“I dunno,” she said. “Uh… Undead guy could use a haircut, and lady faceless could really rock some nail polish, I think.”

“Great. Let’s figure out what exactly we need.”

You went upstairs, to the third floor, and Tiffany consulted Rose’s library index. In short order you had found two books on the subject: Minor Deals and Wagers 1st revision and Fundamentals of Power Brokerage and Transmutation, both of them far from weighty tomes. For want of a third book, you used the time to catch up on Essentials.

Two hours went with preparations and then, feeling as prepared as you could possibly be, Tiffany opened the door to the tea room, while you brought a chair into the master bedroom.

“Good day,” you said to the faceless lady, taking a seat.

G-E-T-F-U-C-K-E-D

“Already did, just last night,” you said, smiling. “It did wonders for my headache.”

She flipped you the bird.

“Hey, dead guy, can you hear us?”

“Yep!”

“Good, because I want to negotiate the terms of your release.”

The faceless woman made a ‘go-on’ type of gesture.

You leaned forward. “I want to level with you. I don’t want to keep you two as prisoners, but if we don’t get some kind of foothold in our Practice we’re basically dead meat. To my mind, we are more than capable of keeping you locked up here until it becomes inconvenient. Sixty hours is plenty of time to figure out a more permanent binding for both of you. Should the day come when it is detrimental for us to keep you here, I’ll simply walk you out the door.”

I-C-A-N-W-A-I-T-A-N-D-T-H-E-N-Y-O-U-D-I-E

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. Question: would you two like to re-gain your freedom sooner rather than later?”

“I’m in favor,” the guy called.

L-E-T-H-E-A-R

“We are looking to choose our implements. For that we need an investiture of power. I understand you are quite powerful.”

I-A-M

“What we ask is thee motes of your power, to let us comfortably perform the Implementum ritual. In exchange for that, we will grant both of you your freedom from our prison.”

G-O-S-H-O-V-E-I-T-U-P-

You held up a hand. “One more thing. Since we do not wish to part as enemies, we’re willing to grant you gifts of amelioration when you leave. From myself I offer you the fruit of my harvest. I keep bees, and I sell my honey for profit, but also it has served me well as a gesture of good will.”

“I like honey.”

I-D-O-N-O-T-E-A-T-F-O-O-D

“Second, Tiffany here would like to portrait the two of you, minus the restraints, of course.”

Y-O-U-H-A-V-E-G-O-T-T-O-B-E-K-I-D-D-I-N-G

“Third,” you said, “Alexis does not practice a craft so easily transferable, but think you might—” you turned to her “—enhance your ‘ethereal and terrifying image’ with something as simple as a proper coat of nail polish, and that your friend in the other room could use a haircut.”

“I’ll take it.”

She turned her head as much as she could towards the tea room, and signed: P-L-E-A-S-E-T-E-L-L-H-I-M-T-O-S-H-U-T-U-P.

Your turned halfway. “Mr.Undead guy? Your faceless lady friend asks me politely to tell you to shut up.”

“Sorry.”

You turned back to her. “So? Offer stands.”

She flipped you the bird.

You stood. “All right, where’s that hatchet? I’d like to go prune some trees; Alexis, could you go interrogate the guy in the other room? Tiff, could you continue reading up on how to improve her binding?”

The faceless lady snapped her fingers. You stopped and turned to her.

F-I-N-E-R-E-L-E-A-S-E-U-S

You sat down again. “Fine what?”

I-A-G-R-E-E-T-O-T-H-E-T-E-R-M-S-Y-O-U-P-R-O-P-O-S-E

“That you will provide us three motes of power so that we may comfortably choose implements, and in exchange we shall let you go free, with three gifts of amelioration?”

Y-E-S-I-A-G-R-E-E-T-O-T-H-A-T

“Are you qualified to agree on your companion’s behalf?”

N-O

“Hey, mister dead guy!”

“Yeah?”

“She agrees to our deal.”

“Whatever she goes with is fine for me!”

“Again, we really do not have enmity against you, and I sincerely hope you don’t take this as a slight. We all suffer our defeats in life, and I wish you that those who may victor over you in the future are merciful and graceful to you.”

E-A-T-D-I-R-T

“We are all fed by what grows from the black earth,” Alexis said.

“What about like, vat meat?” Tiffany said.

“I think that’s still grown in nutrient soup that comes from other things,” you said. “What about like, fully synthetic sugar-free candy?”

P-L-E-A-S-E-S-T-F-U

“Okay, let’s discuss logistics,” you continued. “Tiff is going to portrait you and him, which I we are going to give you some privacy for. It is a very intimate experience to be portraited. While you are being portraited, Alexis will cut the man’s hair. Afterwards, I will release you from your bindings and follow you to the door. Agreeable?”

Y-E-S

“One more thing,” Alexis said.

She gave you the fig this time, not the finger.

W-H-A-T

“You are to keep it secret how the three of us managed to best and bind you, and you are to make sure your friend in the tea room keeps it a secret too.”

C-A-N-T-G-O-S-S-I-P-H-A-V-E-N-O-M-O-U-T-H

“You can sign,” Alexis pressed.

I-W-I-L-L-K-E-E-P-Y-O-U-R-S-E-C-R-E-T-S

She looked at you.

“Then the deal is struck. Three gifts of amelioration, and freedom from our captivity, in exchange for three motes of power, and secrecy.”

D-E-A-L

You exited the room and closed both doors.

“Good thinking with the secrecy,” you said.

“Thank you. We’re going to have to spot-check each other on stuff like that.”

“I’ll start with the dead guy,” Tiffany said. “It’ll probably take me ten minutes a piece.”

“What medium?”

“Charcoal. I don’t have an easel or a proper canvas, and we don’t have time for paint to dry.”

“I’ll find some scissors,” Alexis said. “Then we’ll go exact our payment.”

You each went to get your respective tools, and then returned to the second floor.

“Hello again, mister,” you heard Tiffany say, as she entered and closed the door. You listened through the bugs and overheard:

“I thought I’d get a haircut first?”

“If that is what you rather want, we can accommodate you.”

“No, no, this way it’ll serve as a before and after thing. Go ahead.”

You an Alexis stepped into the master bedroom. You had your toolbox in hand.

“Let’s discuss payment.”

Y-O-U-A-R-E-G-A-Y

“Yes?” Alexis looked at you.

The faceless woman extended her thumb, index, and middle finger and from their tips grew out her claws: ten centimeter long talons.

“Ah,” you said. “That’s funny. Got some nail-cutters?”

Alexis opened her medical bag and dug out a pair of side-angle nail clippers and a nail file. She stopped outside the circle. “Do you promise to let me work on your hand unmolested?”

Her talons flickered away again. W-E-H-A-V-E-A-D-E-A-L

“Is that a yes?”

Y-E-S

Alexis stepped over the binding circle and the magazines, approaching the chair. You stood by to immediately seize your prisoner by the motor-cortex if she made any wrong moves.

Dutifully the faceless woman extended her three talons, and Alexis cut them off one-by-one, handing the vicious blades to you. She filed down the cut edges to smooth roundness.

The faceless woman withdrew her hand to sign: P-O-L-I-S-H

“You want me to do your nails? I was thinking of just giving you the polish.”

N-O-W

“Well, I can only do the one hand.”

F-I-N-E

Alexis disappeared into the hallway and returned with the hairdryer, went to her medical bag and fetched four bottles. “Red or black?”

In answer she merely got a kind of hand-only shrug.

“I’ll chose for you, then.”

She laid a base coat, and blew it dry. You listened in on the sparse conversation in the other room, which had been proceeding cordially so far. Tiffany was drawing, and the undead guy was modelling. “Any preference for what clothing I’m drawing you in?” “Suit and tie.”

Two coats of colored varnish. You inspected the three shorn-off claws. They seemed just to be made of nail, but felt stronger and more solid. Razor sharp. Under your second sight you saw increased spirit activity around them.

Lastly, top-coat. The faceless lady inspected her hand, then held up her ring finger, which was the only one with a red nail.

“Used to be, back in the eighties, lesbians would paint their ring finger nail a different color. Hanky codes and stuff, if you know.”

Head shake.

“It doesn’t mean anything anymore, but it looks cute.”

I-T-D-O-E-S

“If you’re satisfied, she and I will just inspect these three claws you gave us,” you said.

Alexis nodded, and followed you out.

“She’s very cooperative,” you noted as you climbed the stairs to the library. Inside and down the ladder to the study, you had set up a diagram. There was no such thing as quantifying power, it wasn’t an exact science, but there were ways to ascertain if an amount of power was enough.

With some pain you had created such a spell, that checked if there was enough to allow someone to claim your ryoba saw as an implement. It was a kludge of a spell, but it seemed to work. At least Alexis was convinced it worked.

You put your hand in the claimant’s space, and Alexis checked each claw against it. Then she put her own hand in the claimant’s space and checked again. “I think this is the merchandise,” she said.

Tiffany finished and moved to draw the faceless woman, Alexis went to give the man his haircut, and you went downstairs to the kitchen to prepare lunch: peanut butter sandwiches and tea.

It was barely noon by the time everything was ready. You went upstairs with a pair of plastic bags with a jar of honey in each. Alexis added nail-polish to one, and Tiffany gave the final drawing a layer of sealing spray-varnish and put both rolled-up drawings in the bags.

Then you went to work.

“Do you promise to take no violent or obstructive action against us or the house until you’re outside the house?”

Y-E-S

“I’m afraid you’re going to have some super-glue residue left on your skin.”

W-H-A-T-E-V-E-R

Tiffany removed the diagram with paint thinner, Alexis pulled the roofing nails out of the magazines, and you went to work cutting silk only where you couldn’t untie it; still you kept your power handy to control her at a moment’s notice. It did not take long to free her.

“Pardon me, but I am going to just ensure my own safety,” you said and very gently took hold of her.

Then the four of you went to the tea-room where Alexis untied the man and kicked the salt line open.

Two Others in tow, you walked to the front door. There you handed each of them a plastic bag, Tiffany handed the faceless woman her boots and coat.

“Thank you,” you said. “It’s been a pleasure, and we apologize for the inconvenience.” Then you closed the door and let go. Through your insects, you saw the faceless woman put on her boots and coat again, then the two went down the driveway. She took out a scarf and a pair of sunglasses and covered up before they reached the street, then they parted.

“That could have gone a lot worse,” Tiffany said.

“Don’t jinx it,” Alexis replied.

“Lunch,” you said. “Let’s talk about the ritual.”

Chapter 6: 1-5

Chapter Text

“The problem is we’re pressed for time,” Alexis said. “The ritual in the book takes three days, so we’re going to have to do it after the meeting.”

You nodded along. “Then we just do that,” you said. “Unless?”

“Unless,” she said, dramatically.

“Unless what?” Tiffany completed the bit.

“I don’t know. I think we should just belay and do it afterwards.”

“That sounds dangerously responsible,” Tiffany said.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I’m all for not taking unnecessary risks, but it would be an incredible power-move to show up tomorrow with implements.”

“Blake, we haven’t even decided what to choose.”

You nodded. “Right. I mean, given what I do, it’s definitely going to be a tool, but limiting myself to just one seems… limiting.”

“How poetic,” Alexis said. “Yeah, don’t pick that saw, I tell you.”

“I wasn’t gonna.”

She shook her head. “I mean, knee-jerk idea was a tattoo gun, but it seems like electricity is a no-go, and it would lend itself to an awkward specialization if I read it right. A pen that only writes on skin is not exactly versatile.”

You grabbed a pen and paper, putting your sandwich aside. “Okay, ideas. Go.”

“Knife is a classic,” Alexis said. “I also thought a plain sewing needle for myself, though I’d have to pivot more to fashion work. I considered a bee smoker for you, Blake.”

“Partial to a hammer, too,” you added. “Nailing things down, doubles as a weapon.”

“Spool of spider-silk,” she continued. “Alternatively your gun, though the book does caution against weapons. For Tiffany I considered a palette, or a set of brushes.”

“Your lighter could be one,” you said. “You’ve always been partial to arson.”

She snickered. “Actually all our personal items from the awakening ritual could be our implements. The DAA chip is an Emblem, your pill bottle is a bottle of consumables — the book lists a pack of cigarettes — and would give themes of using your womanhood for spells.”

“Oo~h.”

Both of you were interrupted by a loud thump.

Tiffany had slipped away, and come back with three things.

Your toolbox. Alexis’ medical bag. Her own tool bag of art supplies. “A plate on a door affords pushing, a handle affords pulling, and the thing to do with a dilemma is re-frame it.”

Alexis went for the Implementum book. She paged. Then she read aloud:

“The Coffer is a box, often wood, that may hold items or may be empty, but whichever it is, that property is typically decided when it becomes an Implement and carries forward thereafter. The empty coffer can be a storehouse for things or for power, while the full coffer may eat power while providing an unusual amount of things relating to one’s Self and practice, be it weapons or coin. Use of the coffer in a ritual may be an extra measure of security when seeking to trap an Other, with the coffer serving as a temporary ‘cell’ for that Other, or it may be the opposite, with the box unleashing minor Others. If the— actually that isn’t important.”

“Well that’s about it, then?” you asked.

“There’s a metaphorical connection to another one.” She paged a little backwards:

“The Tome is a book, which may or may not have writing in it. A second illustrative example about the breadth of possibilities in implements. As tomes take time to read or write in, the practices with the book as a part of them will be extended out. The contents of the tome, if any, will play a strong role in determining the effects on a practice. Cumbersome, but not in the same way a scepter or stone might be, choosing the Tome may make all of the practitioner’s practices slower, but it can be considered a repository of ideas or symbols, and as one might page through a book, they can set it as part of a practice they intend to do, and page through until they find what they want to add to the diagram. Some may even lay that down, putting the book down, paging through it, then deciding on something to add, transferring something from the page to the chalk. In other cases, it could be the opposite, storing learned information or memories, or it could be a way of holding onto a collection of bound Others. Knowledgeable Others may respect the tome as a choice. For all its merits, however, many eschew this choice because of the costs in one’s quality of life.”

“So the toolbox is a Tome of tools, or a Coffer of ideas, what?”

“Something like that,” Alexis said. “Tiff you’re a f*cking genius, I could kiss you.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Nothing. Alexis stood and went around the table to kiss her. She inspected the three future implements.

Your toolbox was an older model, the classic three-tiered cantilevering kind, made from spot-welded and riveted-together sheet metal rather than plastic. Painted black and yellow.

Tiffany’s tool bag was an old, sturdy thing of leather, with compartment and divider inserts. It was the thing she brought to art events, holding brushes and paints, charcoals, spare paper, and everything else she thought she might need.

Alexis’ medical bag was what she carried her home needle kit in. Black beaver nylon construction chosen specifically so she could sew it full of patches. Tattoo gun, needles, dyes. It wasn’t a daily carry by any stretch, but it was no less a thing to bring along on a surprise trip, if nothing else for the first-aid kit that took up more than half the bag.

“Okay, I have a crazy idea,” she said, returning to the book.

“What?”

“It takes three days, for one person, to claim one implement. So by a complete absence of logic, it should take the three of us one day to claim the ‘same’ implement: the toolbox.”

“I need to call that lawyer,” you said.

“And we need some grocery shopping before-hand,” Alexis said. “We need to start the ritual before five o’clock to have twenty-four hours before the city council meet.”

You went into the living room and dug out your phone. Judiciously you had already saved Mr.Beasley’s number. It rang once.

“Miss Thorburn, what can I do for you?”

“Mr.Beasley, I am planning on choosing an implement today.”

There was a pause. “That was fast. Which?”

“If you read in your Implementum under The Coffer and The Tome, that should give you an idea of what I am choosing.”

“Not at all. Very well. You are mindful that you will be missing the city council tomorrow? The ritual takes three days and nights if I recall.”

“If all goes to plan, I will not.”

He paused. “You are not filling me with confidence; are you using an alternative ritual?”

“Only if I’m convinced it will work, otherwise I will belay until Sunday. Acceptable?”

“Yes. I suppose it is.”

“One more thing, regarding task number five.”

“Number five, the one regarding marriage?”

“I happen to already be in a committed triadic relationship with two women. I am not in a position to marry a man. If the spirit of this task is to produce a Thorburn heir, then involving a man will not help either.”

“You know, I might have to ask my superiors if some leeway can be had.”

“Do. Have a nice day.”

“Yes. You as well.”

You hung up.

Tiffany came in. “I have a shopping list. Lexi is holding down the fort.”

You put on coat and both of your knives, then you held out a hand.

Tiffany put her hand in yours.

“No, give me the list; I’m going alone,” you said.

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s dangerous out there. More-so now than ever; we’re fair game, Tiff.”

“As far as I am concerned, everything else here should be afraid of you. Besides, for what it’s worth, I actually know more about magic than you.”

“Twice nearly nothing is still nearly nothing.”

She opened the door. “Let’s go.”

You surveyed the area under your control with your second sight and found nothing immediately off-putting. In fact you found your new sense through your swarm was one of degrees, rather than a hard on-off. You could even sense with only a part of your sphere of influence.

“Looks like a snow storm,” Tiffany said. “The spirits.”

You looked, and saw the floating motes in the air above the city, like a metaphysical smog. “I guess.” Rather than look at the air, you looked at her, wondering why her sharp brown eyes saw snow where you saw smog.

“There’s this little general store nearby,” you said.

“You don’t sound happy at the prospect of returning?”

“Cashier clocked me.”

“That doesn’t happen very often.”

She took her phone out. “There’s a supermarket within walking distance.”

You walked along, hand in arm, in silence. Cars drove by once in a while; there really wasn’t much traffic early Friday afternoon in a small town like this. This far from the city center there weren’t even anything over three floors tall, and plenty of open space between.

“You’re tense,” she said.

In your own estimation, you were excellent at concealing it, but of course she knew you better than anyone. “Yeah.”

“I won’t tell you to relax, just be mindful of it.”

Your route to the supermarket took you through a small park. For all your vigilance you became aware of an entity well within your range, when it began moving for you purposefully.

“We’ve got company,” you said quietly. “We should have taken the motorcycle.”

It was three young people, androgynous and ambiguously and agelessly between late teens and early thirties. Even that would have been enough to set off your alarm bells, but whatever they were, they didn’t pretend to hide. They were brazenly drinking in public, too. The cheapest fortified wine imaginable, by the looks of the label on the bottles.

Tiffany leaned in and whispered in your ear. “Faerie, I think this is Padraic, Essylt, Keller.”

“Why, by my sly eye, young lovers out for a stroll,” the leader said. “You are new here, I have heard crickets chirping. Do you dance? Drink, perhaps?”

“Padraic?”

“Patrick, in polite company.”

“What makes you think this is?”

“Padraic, it is then. May I have your name?”

“No.But you can call me Blake.”

He laughed at that. “Ah, there is someone who has read the histories. Come, drink with us, dance with us. You can lose yourself in the bliss for as long as you like.”

“I’d rather not,” you said. “I don’t have the stomach for drink this early, and my lover here is sober by choice.”

“Perhaps we can grant you other things,” said the man, Keller. “A hunt. You hunt, do you not? I think Briar Girl would know.”

“But would I be the hunter or the hunted? I am awfully dangerous game,” you replied. “As Briar Girl might tell you.”

“Clever, the steward of Hillsglade, and beautiful his wife,” said the woman. Essylt.

You turned to her. “Excuse me?” you said.

“Why, you are much excused, but whatever for?” she replied, sing-song voice. She was absolutely gorgeous. So gorgeous in fact it made you down-right unnerved.

“I just wondered if you’re stupid or blind, that you can’t tell a woman from a man.”

“Oh, burn,” Tiffany said.

“But you are a man, are you not? At least halfway,” she protested.

“Go ahead and misgender me one more time,” you said and began drawing in the insect population of the park and surrounding areas. “Find out what happens.”

“May I see, then, your womanhood?” She put a hand on your shoulder and you swatted it away. She recoiled, looking offended, features contorting unnaturally.

“I did not give you permission to touch my person,” you said. “Much less am I going to strip naked for your amusem*nt, harlot.”

“Seems like this lady is insistent she’s a lady,” said Keller.

Your hand went to your kukri, but Tiffany grasped your wrist. “Padraic, Essylt, Keller,” she said, “kindly f*ck off and do your day-drinking elsewhere.”

“Or what, you’ll get mad? I do like them when they’re mad,” Essylt said. “They taste even sweeter.”

Tiffany looked at her. “Ask the faceless woman why she’s missing three talons. She won’t tell you, but afterwards, you can wonder how three neonate practitioners managed to take them from her.”

Padraic clapped his hands and took a step back. “Very well, very well, stewardess of Hillsglade, I’ll make sure my friends here see to their gender sensitivity studies. Have an excellent afternoon; perhaps we shall see each other tomorrow eve?”

Tiffany gave him the finger. “Perhaps we will, Padraic.”

He laughed, and the three of them went away. You kept a metaphorical eye on them as they passed out of earshot.

“They were needling you on purpose,” Tiffany said.

“I know.”

“What the hell were you going to draw a blade for, then?”

You had read the basics on Faerie, beings of refinement and aesthetics, and how to bind and defeat them using their opposite: base and raw things.

“Distraction. I was going to go Prince of Egypt on them.”

“What? Oh, the plagues.”

With only that brief confrontation, you already felt drained.

The supermarket came into view, and you decided against getting a cart, to make sure you could carry home whatever you needed.

Tiffany had written several food staples, the kind you had at home because they were cheap, could live in the cupboard, and made for easy dinners. Pasta and canned tomato sauce and beans, more rice and frozen vegetables, frozen patties, potatoes. More bread, cheese and ham to put on it. Shelf-stable milk, butter, cake mix, pasteurized egg yolks and whites. Coffee, tea.

You went to the personal hygiene aisle to find your preferred brand of toothpaste, as well as soaps and shampoo without perfume. Tiffany made a round of the bargain bins, while you kept an eye on her through the various insect life that lingered in the store.

A young man approached you, and it took you a moment to recognize him. He hadn’t registered entirely to your swarm senses, somehow, which was worrying.

“Christoff, hi,” you said. Molly’s younger brother. Very late teens.

“Blake. Mom said you were in town.”

“Sorry about your sister.”

“Why are you sorry, did you kill her?”

You put the shampoo in your basket and looked at him. “Police told me it was an animal attack,” you said.

“That’s not a no,” he said.

Callahan rounded the corner at the end of the aisle and came up to you. Instantly you fell into a heightened state of alarm, just by his body language.

“Callahan,” you said. “My condolences. How is Aunt Irene handling it?”

“You sure as sh*t didn’t waste any f*cking time taking the house.”

You took the non-sequitur in stride, as you were wont to. “Irene told you.”

“It’s in the papers, you idiot. Molly’s death, you moving in before she’s even in the ground.”

“It’s an ugly situation,” you agreed.

“I remember you were homeless a few years back, is that what this is? Squatting in Molly’s house?”

“Don’t make assumptions, Callahan,” you said. “Molly was one of the few people in this family I actually liked.”

“You sound so f*cking guilty,” he said, chuckling. “Every other second I look at you, I wonder how you’re responsible. Go. Get the hell out of here. Leave.”

You obliged, stepping around him to head for the registers. He got in the way. “I didn’t say pay and leave.”

“Pardon?”

He gestured to your basket. “You’re not leaving here with this sh*t you need to keep squatting in my sister’s house.”

Callahan was a strongly-built man, mid thirties. You were tall and athletic, for a woman, but that was about it.

You took a step closer to him and said in a quiet voice. “Callahan, don’t threaten me in front of your little bother. You don’t scare me. Go home and take care of Aunt Irene.”

He put a hand on your shoulder, and you let your basket fall to the floor, just in case you needed both hands.

“Get your f*cking hands off my girlfriend, you creep,” Tiffany said. “Ew, you sweaty old rapist-ass-looking mother-f*cker.”

Callahan turned to her, and whatever determined anger he had was a little deflated by confrontation with a desi woman half his size.

“I’m her cousin,” he said.

“Oh, so you’re pissed about the house or something? Cool motive, still assault. You do know she’s a black-belt, right? Count yourself lucky you don’t have any broken bones. She could put guys twice your size in the hospital.”

She bent down and picked up your basket, handing it to you. “Ugh, men.”

You went to the register, and the cashier was quiet, but not antagonistic enough to try to work against you. Each with a heavy tote-bag over one shoulder, you made your way home.

“I think today’s conclusion is that someone is out to get us. Or you, more specifically,” Tiffany said. “That cousin of yours, there was something about his connection to you.” ”

“And they’re using civilians to do their dirty-work,” you added. “Lovely. Counting yesterday, that’s three times at least.”

“At least?”

“Padraic might just have been an asshole.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have a run-in with something on the way back.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

The two of you walked back quickly, and silently you contemplated never going anywhere in this town again if it wasn’t on two wheels. Back through the park where Padraic was nowhere to be seen, and back to Hillsglade.

“We’re home!” Tiffany called out.

Inside, you finally felt safe enough to relax. Tiffany took care of stocking the pantries while you sat down with pen and paper.

• Master/Stranger protocols

You wrote that and underlined it twice.

• teach tiffalexis cape-classification system
• read dramatis personae
  • threat evaluation
  • take-down strategies
  • carry common deterrents against others
  • read books with birds
  • make more silk line

You rolled your pen back and forth between your hands, tasting the grounds outside with your metaphysical swarm sense, brain idling.

Tiffany came back in. “C’mon.”

You stood. “One moment, I’m going to go feed the birds, first.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain after.”

You went to the kitchen to fill your pockets with birdseed, then you went outside to mirror your routine from yesterday. A stroll along the tree line, throwing out seed. As you reached out to find the corvids you were after, you noticed an entity that wasn’t a bird and focused on it.

A white dove with a human face instead of a beak. It was watching you from up in a tree.

You looked back at it. “Got a problem with me feeding birds?”

“No,” it said in the voice of the Briar Girl.

“Good.”

You extended your focus and quickly verified that the woman herself was nowhere to be found, barring some ability to evade your senses. By the time you had made it back to the house and walked around it, crows were already gathering.

Tiffany was waiting for you inside. “So?”

You followed her up to the third floor. “Birds can read. I can control birds. I’m going to see if I can read multiple books at once.”

In the library, Alexis was in the middle of an extended study session. She had several books open, some on the floor, and a note-pad with a few incomprehensible things scribbled in it.

“Any progress?” you asked.

“Oh, loads,” she said. “I think it can be done; Tiffany could you help me with the diagram? Blake, clear some space.”

At her direction, you all got to work laying out a hexagonal chalk diagram on the floor. The ritual would take twenty-four hours, and even though it would lessen your physical needs, you were less than convinced that it wouldn’t necessitate pissing in a bucket.

You dressed down in comfortable clothes. This wasn’t a ritual necessitating base nudity, this was a ritual about choice and tools and human activity

The hexagon was separated into three rhombuses, looking like a cube viewed corner-on. The outside of the diagram was various geometric embellishments, and in the center of each rhombus was a small circle, flanked by the symbols from the awakening ritual circles symbolizing light and dark; or rather a source of energy and an empty vessel.

Alexis positioned your respective prospective implements, all emptied and newly cleaned, and drove the three talons into the floor in the center of each small circle.

She handed out chalk. You went to work, kneeling, careful not to scuff the lines.

Along the outside edges of your rhombus you wrote: Born 18th January, 1993 Toronto, ON and Awakened 13th April, 2017, Jacob’s Bell, ON.

Then you went to the inner edges. Manufactured 2007, Japan and Acquired Spring 2015.

You looked over to see the others already finished and begun writing their names.

In front of where you intended to stand you wrote Blake Thorburn, Practitioner and journeywoman. In front of your toolbox you wrote Cantilever toolbox, implement of Blake Thorburn. You stood and turned to take up your position, only to be greeted by something already standing where you were supposed to.

In fact you were standing where your toolbox was supposed to be.

The thing hugging your spot in the diagram was humanoid and about your height, looked recognizably like yourself except nude and with skin composed of black and yellow-painted metal.

You stepped forward, and it mirrored your movements, blocking your path. You put a hand out and its palm met yours. Testing its strength, you pressed against its palm, meeting resistance like any metal surface. It pushed back just as hard.

Did this ritual want you to wrestle a toolbox version of yourself? You looked over your shoulder to see Tiffany facing tanned leather, and Alexis standing against black nylon and colorful embroidery in equal measure.

Focusing back on your clone, you pressed harder and felt give and a sharp pinch. It came as your hands intertwined and passed through each other, with fingers and knuckles lifting away on cantilevers.

Gritting your teeth you pushed bodily through this woman of metal, feeling her passing tear at your skin and flesh without injuring yourself.

At once, you were through and nearly stumbled out of the diagram. You caught your breath and took at seat, and now you realized what genius the diagram design was.

As the black and yellow woman sat down, cross legged, and as Alexis’ nylon alter-ego did the same, they came to sit exactly like the three of you had during the Awakening ritual. Tiffany’s leather effigy followed.

The talon jammed into the floor caught fire like a small candle.

You looked into the eyes of your toolbox. There was a set of handles at her chest, and with her mirroring your movements you tool hold of them and opened.

Inside you saw… You held… You lacked… Every time you had the proper tool for a job, every time you had not, every time you had done a good job and every time painting over an ugly hack had borne the day and every time a patch job had failed.

The right words to express yourself, having them or not, had cost you friends, or love. With experience you had learned when quick and dirty lined up dominos for a disaster down the line.

Rejection, acceptance, danger, safety, winning the fight or nearly dying. It came down to what you had. Bet it spoons or lock picks, a full stomach or an empty head of ideas.

You asked her who, or what, she was and she spoke to you in your mind:

I am an expression of your Self. I was a gift to you, from a man who respected your craft. I am to hold everything you will ever need in your practice, but you have to meet me half-way.

What did that even mean.

You think yourself a hero. You think to every failure you ever saw in terms of how to prevent it from happening again. But your toolbox can only hold so many things; you must accept that occasionally you will fail. It is possible, nay, common, to do everything right and still lose.

You smiled a little. Few things you knew about Star Trek, but that was one of them, one of your favorites.

But it is not enough that you just accept the inevitability of loss. You were content. On the precipice of burying your hatchet before you came here, hold on to that. Is it not okay to wander through life, finding interesting things, loving and being loved? Need it be some great adventure? Does somebody have to, really?

You shook your head.

You are a craftswoman. Not a warrior. Not in this life, though you may be forced to fight. You can just carve out a life for yourself, you don’t have to undo a great injustice to justify your right to live. Just because you are strong does not mean you have to carry the heaviest load.

You shook your head again.

You will buckle under the load. You have before, in both your past lives. You profess each day to be worth more than your labor, so take your own words to heart. Brace and fill this hole in your heart.

It was nothing you hadn’t already thought of. But the thing about ethics was that to change one’s code of ethics to be incompatible, was a violation of them.

Reject me, this ends. Not only for yourself, but for the others. You will remember nothing except this: that you are no craftswoman, that you must choose the sword over plowshare.

You did not.

You were presented with another situation, and when you had no good way of accomplishing your goal, you simply gave up. The artwork did not go on display that day. The stranger in need had to find help elsewhere. You forgot about the argument and did not come up with a retort later.

Problems you could solve, problems you could alleviate, problems you failed to do either to, problems that made you give up. The serenity to accept what you couldn’t change, the courage to change what you could; wisdom was a work in progress, always would be.

The black and yellow woman folded up, ever so slowly. Hours, days, weeks, months. Time was meaningless, as though the insides of painted metal you viewed works completed, works in progress, and works not yet dreamt of or commissioned.

Fugue.

“Half past five,” Alexis said. “We went over time.”

You looked over at her, then back at your toolbox. “I thought it was at sunset?”

“There is a neutrality grace period of three hours on either side of it, a kind of ceasefire. I wanted to make the most of it,” she said

Tiffany put her hair up, where her bun had fallen apart in the twenty-four hour ordeal of the ritual. “Let’s get dressed, pack up, and get going.”

You stood and picked up your toolbox; it felt like it was specially designed to fit in your hand. Without it in your presence you were quite sure you would feel nude. The heft was pleasant and familiar, the metal was almost exactly your skin temperature. Looking about the room you knew instantly which items would fit in it, and you knew it was empty.

With it in hand you went to Alexis, who stood much the same as you, weighting her medical bag. She looked up as you approached, and you put a gentle hand on her jaw and pulled her into a deep, long kiss.

“That’s my girl,” you said.

She blushed. “It’s nothing—”

“Tiff,” you said. “Get over here and kiss Lexi.”

Tiffany came as called, strap of her tool bag over one shoulder, and kissed Alexis softly and slowly, once, twice, thrice.

Some personal grooming was in order; even though you hadn’t needed so much as a sip of water, nor shed a drop of sweat, you had still been through a high-stress experience, and the sharp odor of adrenal breakdown was very noticeable.

The shower cabin was far too small for three people, but that wasn’t about to stop you and Tiffany from showing Alexis just how much you appreciated her success today, inside it.

You got dressed in your work clothes: plaid flannel with elbow patches, a pair of overall jeans, and safety shoes. You fitted your toolbox with spools of spider silk line, superglue, and gaffer tape. Your hammer and a box of roofing nails, one of longer, bigger nails, and one of the fat staples you had used to bind the faceless woman. A can of salt, one of lamp oil, and one of multi-purpose mechanical lubricant. Screw hooks, utility knife, magnetic bit-head screw driver, and your set of lockpicks.

Alexis put on what she always wore: leather jacket full of studs, patches, and badges, torn jeans over pantyhose, docs. She took the tattoo gun out of her bag and put in a field handbook about dangerous others, and Dramatis Personae instead.

Tiffany chose her yellow cardigan, her most paint-stained jeans, her vans, and her painting apron. She packed spray paint cans, fat markers, street chalks, spare paper, brushes, acrylic paint, and her palette.

The town park was far from within walking distance. Your toolbox fit snugly in one of the saddle bags on your motorcycle, Alexis’ fit comfortably in the other while she sat the pillion, Tiffany had hers between her legs in the sidecar.

The three of you rolled up to the Jacob’s Bell Municipal Park as darkness fell.

Chapter 7: 2-1

Chapter Text

You locked your motorcycle with the heavy chain on the wheel, and stowed your three helmets in the sidecar.

“So, was it specified that the council meeting was in a particular location?” Alexis asked, looking past the open gate into the park itself.

One of the people at the periphery of your awareness began moving towards you, and you turned towards them. “Heads up,” you said.

“Miss Thorburn!” he called out.

“Police Inspector Behaim,” you said. Alexis and Tiffany both took stances at both your flanks.

“These are your, ah, confidantes, I assume?” he said.

“Alexis Lewandowsky, Tiffany Pirzada,” you presented them. “We haven’t decided on a name for our coven yet.”

He nodded. “Allow me to take you to the council ground, meet Eva and Andy, our resident witch hunters.”

You nodded. Witch Hunters were specifically not practitioners and were thus at liberty to lie and break oaths. A benefit when your job description included killing people. Eva and Andy was sister and brother, that much you knew from Personae but it was readily apparent, too. Twenty-somethings; a little younger than you.

Behaim started walking, and you followed. The witch hunters made up the rear.

“I’m assuming they aren’t bound by any neutrality agreements, then?”

“Neither are you, yet,” he said. “But if she wanted to kill you, she could break into your house while you slept.”

“She certainly could,” you said. “I could also hypothetically feed any uninvited guests I receive in the night to my hypothetical pet demon. I swear to honor the neutrality of the council meet.”

“I swear the same,” Alexis said. “Me as well,” Tiffany said.

“I was nearly assaulted by my own cousin in the supermarket. Do you know anything about that?” you continued.

“Can’t say I do, beyond what you just told me,” Behaim said. “Do you wish to press charges?”

“No.”

You walked on in silence, then Laird pointed to the spire of a church. “This is the last time this year we hold council in the church. Next month weather should be nice enough for an open-air meet.”

The church was completely ordinary. Through the gates you found a congregation that wasn’t, and quickly took stock, matching descriptions and grainy photos in Personae to their real-life counterparts.

Up at the front pews sat the two powerhouses of Jacob’s Bell, the Behaim Circle of chronomancers which Laird went to join to the left of the aisle, and the all-female Duchamp coven of enchantresses to the right.

You spotted a familiar face in the form of Briar Girl, slouching in a seat next to a bestial Other the size of a black bear.

Johannes Lillegaard, the man who had claimed the whole north end of the town as his demesne sat in the back, with the Others and his white borzoi familiar.

Crone Mara, last name Angnakak, was the resident immortal, supposedly older than human colonization of the North American continent, and as uninterested in contemporary matters as that would imply. She sat alone, all the way at the most distant corner; everyone including the Others gave her a wide berth.

There were others, and Others. Taylor would have felt at ease here, being used to mingling with violent sociopaths in dress-up, and so you were at least not scared. Alexis and Tiffany were both putting up brave faces, and you directed them to a pew to sit.

The Others trickled in still, and you had a feeling it had been going on for a while, judging from what your swarm senses told you. You spotted the faceless woman in the crowd, and she waved a three-fingered wave. You drummed three fingers on the toolbox in your lap. She mimed clapping, then turned her attention back to her undead friend.

You held Alexis’ hand, and she, Tiffany’s.

As one of the last to enter, came Padraic, followed by Essylt and Keller, two other Faerie, and a practitioner. A late-teens-maybe-twenty girl in a big checkered scarf. She took a seat around the middling pews, like you, and Briar Girl.

Padraic stopped by you. “Why, if it isn’t the Stewardess of Hillsglade.”

You looked up at him. “Patrick.”

He smiled all together too wide. “Oh this isn’t polite company.” He took a swig of cheap wine, and sat behind the girl with the checkered scarf.

“Padraic, as usual, is the last to enter,” Laird said. “We can begin a little early tonight. Please, Miss Thorburn. You’re at the center of attention. Would you please step up to the front and introduce yourself?”

You stood, toolbox in hand, and went to the altar. Tiffany and Alexis followed you.

“I’m Blake,” you said to the crowd. “And as of Tuesday I had no idea any of this existed. Bit of a shocker, you can imagine.”

There was, incredibly, a few scattered smiles.

“Since then, I’ve been assaulted by creatures in the woods, I’ve had an hour of my day stolen, I’ve been made to fear for the lives of my lovers, I’ve been accosted by Padraic, and I’ve nearly been assaulted by my own family — Innocents. I’ve become fairly certain that our very own police inspector pretty much has it out for my bloodline, cementing the adage that all cops are bastards, and worst of all…”

You rubbed your eyes for show.

“I liked Molly. I didn’t know her well, but she was good people. Now she’s dead. She’s dead because my asshole Grandmother, Rose Thorburn, may she burn in hell, has concocted a truly draconic will which prevents me from selling the house, and requires me to fulfill certain obligations, lest it pass to the next in line to inherit. She has lined us all up, and handed the whole thing over to the kind of law firm diabolists hire.”

Alexis put a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m a gay Torontonian artisan. I can scarcely overstate how little I want to be here. I’m sure Jacob’s Bell is a lovely town for the lot of you, but I just want to go home.”

“What a sob story!” someone said. You didn’t care who.

“Yeah. Look, I know why you don’t like us Thorburns. Rose was a diabolist. The property is worth millions and millions. You fear I’m some kind of crazy person who is going to try to summon something.”

You looked about. Now was about the time to turn this around. You changed your demeanor and tone of voice, projecting confidence.

“Rose already did that. She left a mid-sized demon sitting in a binding circle in the attic, just in case her descendants needed it — Molly never even found the note and key. I can also happily report that if you do manage to kill all us Thorburns off, the house passes to aforementioned diabolist-affiliated law firm. I can also tell you that Rose lined us heirs up approximately starting with the most toothless. Molly, rest her soul, was no fighter; not in a literal sense. The one who comes after me is forty-three and a cut-throat business-woman. There’s a lawyer as a final boss. You lucked out: the family career criminal has been disinherited.”

You shifted your toolbox. “Which brings me, to me. We’re at the unenviable impasse of you lot having established a precedent for dead Thorburns, and myself being forced to have dealings in this town against my will. My suggestion is we don’t make it any more unpleasant than it needs to be.”

There was a drawn out silence. Many of the adults of Duchamp and Behaim had no doubt expected some kind of ill-conceived power-play, and now thought it had come to light.

A lot of the others and Others had gotten their interests piqued. You scanned the crowd, seeing at least a positive reaction from the girl with the checkered scarf.

“Hey, that sort of sounds like a threat.” You turned to see the witch-hunter woman, Eva, holding a revolver. Pointed at you. Finger on the trigger.

“Gun!” you screamed. You reached out with your power and dominated Tiffany and Alexis, and all three of you hit the ground.

You lay there for a long moment.

“Miss Thorburn, please get up. Eva, put the gun away.”

You looked up, seeing Eva holstering her pistol without looking, then to Laird, who had gotten up from his seat. He offered you a hand to get up.

“If she’s out of control, just say the word, tell me she’s too dangerous to leave alive.”

“No,” said Laird. “Not with the things Rose might have put in place.”

Fury boiled in your veins and you let it. You got up without his help.

“Police Inspector Behaim, I’d like to report a felony assault with a deadly weapon.”

He had the audacity to smile.

“Well?”

“Don’t make a scene out of this, Miss Thorburn.” he said.

“Oh this is not on me,” you said. “This council meeting is neutral grounds. I swore to honor this neutrality and come here expecting truce and ceasefire.” You paused, partly for effect and looked over the crowd. Then you spoke: “If none shall see fit to uphold this truce and ceasefire, I shall do so myself.”

“Miss Thorburn, don’t do anything you may regret,” Laird said.

“I am trying to ensure and preserve the neutrality of these meeting grounds. Are you going to stop me?”

“No.”

You righted your toolbox, and went to Eva, holding out your hand. “Hand over your weapon, then leave.”

“No.”

“You just openly threatened violence in neutral grounds, and violated every rule of firearms safety,” you said quietly. “Hand over your gun, or I will disarm you and evict you from this council meeting.” You compressed your range down to let you sense her thoughts.

She was going to go for the knife.

She was fast, probably better than you in a fight, but you reacted before she was even consciously aware of the decision to move. You stepped inside her guard, blocked her knife hand and headbutted her. She stumbled back and you followed, precisely aware of every detail of her stance, and kicked her leg which sent her to the floor. You followed her down to put your knee on her chest and your kukri at her throat. It was over in a second.

She dropped her knife and it clattered on the stone floor.

“Alexis, come disarm her for me.”

Alexis darted up, relieved the supine Witch Hunter of her gun, ejected the magazine and cleared the chamber, then fiddled with it for a moment and the slide came off. Then she kicked the knife aside.

You took your knee off Eva’s chest, and she took a deep breath, then Alexis grabbed her other lapel of her jacket and together you hauled her to her feet.

“Anything to say for yourself?” you asked.

“Bite me.”

You dragged her along, down the aisle, to the church door which Alexis opened for you. With a good shove, you sent Eva stumbling out into the dusk.

“I’m gonna remember this,” she said.

“That’s the point of a reprimand,” you replied. “If you can behave, you’re welcome at the next council.”

Then you pulled the doors closed, and walked up the aisle to the alter, flanked by Alexis. Tiffany was quietly conversing with Andy, who was stuffing parts of the disassembled gun in his jacket pocket.

“Excuse me, Andy?” you said.

“Yeah?”

“Can I see the frame of your sister’s pistol, please?”

He handed it over, and you opened your toolbox, grabbing a small tube of superglue. Tearing the cap off with your teeth, you proceeded to empty the whole thing into the internals of the trigger mechanism. Then you handed it back.

“That’s a little excessive, don’t you think?” he said.

“If her finger had slipped, I’d be dead,” you said with a smile. Then you returned to the center of the podium before the altar, and turned to the crucifix. You weren’t religious, but you clasped your hands and quietly muttered: “Forgive me for the violence I had to do in this holy house.”

“All right, vindictive oaths upheld, let’s move on with the agenda,” Laird said.

“I’m not done,” you said. “The Witch Hunters are your subordinates, are they not?”

“Not as such, no.”

“Is it beyond your power to ask her sternly to behave herself?”

“No.”

You took a step towards him. “Then why didn’t you? You’re the police inspector. She brandished a restricted firearm in a reckless manner.”

“Miss Thorburn, I assure you Eva is licensed to carry a pistol,” he said.

“I shall take your willful disregard of Canadian law and blasé disregard for my bodily safety as an act of formal aggression.” You turned to the crowd. “Am I to understand this as a declaration of war?”

“If there are special measures, we can’t act against you so brazenly,” Laird said.

“You’re assuming she’s telling the truth,” said the Duchamp family head. In your eyes she looked like the kind of woman who’d run for local office to enact transphobic bathroom legislation.

“Last I checked, Practitioners can’t lie,” Tiffany said.

“That doesn’t mean she’s telling the truth,” the Duchamp continued.

“I’m pretty sure it does,” Alexis concurred.

“What you’re saying and what you’re telling us are very different things,” she said.

“No, it’s a pretty accurate description of the state of affairs,” Tiffany said.

“Blake isn’t much for circumlocution, it’s one of her many endearing qualities,” added Alexis.

You raised a hand to stop them. “Mrs.Duchamp, I’ll present you with a redacted copy of the relevant papers if it will ease your doubt.”

“I don’t doubt you about the demon,” she said. “There is something out there, back at the house. It is not cooperating with you at this point in time.”

She was supposedly a specialist in connections, so to you it made sense she could just see that. “Then you know about as much as I do. I’ve been busy with other things.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Johannes said. His accent was European of some kind. “Just the opposite. A mad dog running rampant is often scarier than a dog on a leash being set on targets.”

“Depends on the hand that holds the leash,” Tiffany countered.

The Sorcerer dipped his head in a single nod, “It does. Which is why I said often. At this point, from the sense I have of you, I would be more concerned about an unleashed dog than an attack dog at your control.”

“Thank you,” you said. “Which brings me to my closing remark. If it is peace you want, we shall welcome it, and we are open to good-faith negotiation under flag of truce on neutral grounds.”

“You don’t have anything concrete to offer besides not siccing your ‘pet demon’ on us,” Duchamp said.

You looked at her. “Mrs.Duchamp, Sandra, was it?”

“Yes.”

“So far, my family has been killed, I have been attacked in the road, made to fear for the lives of people I love, harassed in the night, and Innocents have been beguiled into aggression against me. This happened over the course of two days. So: consider this my ultimatum, the next time my coven is the victim and target of an act of terror or aggression which we reasonably suspect to be the will of elements of this council, continued peace will require negotiating a recompense for harm incurred.”

“You must excuse us if the prospect of ‘war’ with you is underwhelming, apart from the possibility of demonic involvement,” Laird said. “We have lived with your family for many decades now. There are those who have defenses in place, and those who do not. All you will likely accomplish is driving the weak to enter into alliances of fear.”

“You put it in an apt metaphor yourself, Laird. That demon is about as useful as a nuclear missile. The moment I bring it into play will be akin to me asking no quarter be given, and invite nuclear fallout on myself as well,” you said.

“You have plenty to worry about in the three of us, Police Inspector Behaim,” Alexis cut in. “Blake here just threw your pet assassin out on her ass, and in the two days since we awakened, we’ve already chosen our implements.”

“That seems a little premature,” Sandra said sotto voce, and there was scattered laughter.

“I will prosecute a just war,” you continued. “Which means I will weigh my uses of force according to necessity, distinction, and proportionality; and seek to end the war and restore peace with expediency. I aim to come out of this conflict with compassion and honor intact. I expect the same of you.”

“Why should we be beholden to your principles?” one of the other Behaims said. A young man. “You’re the one declaring war.”

“Be quiet, Alister,” Laird said.

“I’m very specifically not,” you corrected Alister.

“She’s saying this doesn’t have to get any uglier than it needs to be,” Tiffany clarified.

“We’re asking you not to do something, which is one hundred percent easier than doing them,” Alexis added.

You continued: “Use unnecessary force as you see fit; make distinction between active combatants and the innocent, or don’t; be cruel if you wish. But then I shall extend you that same kindness.”

“And there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth,” Alexis finished. “If there is such a thing as a clean war, that is what we want. And we don’t want a war in the first place, but you people are driving us up the wall.”

“This is a diplomatic ultimatum. This is me asking you sternly to stop f*cking with me. That is all I have to say,” you said. Then you picked up your toolbox and went back to the pew.

Laird ceded the speaking floor to Sandra Duchamp.

“Next order of business,” said Sandra. “The murder of Molly Walker?”

Laird responded from his pew. “It’s largely under wraps. The investigation will hit a dead end on its own.”

You bristled. Alexis squeezed your hand hard.

“Any assistance needed?”

“No.I’ll keep an eye on things.”

“Good” Sandra said. “In terms of more mundane business… Toronto is currently in the dark. Provided there aren’t any further interruptions, my family should be able to divert attention for the time being. I’ve had a short discussion with the Lord of Ottawa, and she is on board, keeping her subservients at bay.”

“The smaller towns in the GTA?” The Briar Girl asked.

“Stable, expressing no interest and exerting no pressure. I see only three or four individuals or groups that might make make an active play, and they are doing no such thing. The remainder would sell us out to Toronto’s Lord or try to sell us out to Ottawa and inform us. For the time being, we’re the only individuals in play, here.”

There were nods all around. You looked to Tiffany who was taking notes in shorthand. This was the point where some of the stranger Others began leaving.

“Next order of business. I’m obligated to call it to a vote. Flagrant use of one’s practice in public, acting against the local powers. Maggie Holt.”

The girl with the checkered scarf both perked and spoke up, giving you a face to go with the name. “Excusable use,” she said. “Nobody even thought it was anything suspicious.”

“To sanction the use of the Jacob’s Bell witch hunters to execute Maggie Holt, please vote.”

There was a total of two votes. The Briar Girl raised her staff, and one of the Behaims, who raised a golden disc.

Now you understood what the Witch Hunter had meant when she had said ‘say the word.’ They voted to have people hunted.

“Two yeas, remainder of the votes nay; the execution is not passed. Be careful, Miss Holt. You have very few friends here. When we’re not following so soon after one execution, we may prove more willing to vote against you.”

You had immediate questions as to how many were allowed to vote. Maggie Holt, the woman who Briar Girl had claimed was responsible for Molly’s death, relaxed fractionally. You were somewhat less inclined to believe the latter, though, now that she had shown her direct enmity. You also wondered who the recent victim was.

And so the meeting proceeded. You started being unable to focus and offloaded yourself to your swarm. The gnat you had planted on Eva told you she was heading out, going south.

Minor internal disputes, discussions of outside players, all mired in the marsh of power politics. Alexis was better at that than you, and Tiffany was much better at taking notes. Behaim took over when Sandra’s voice started to give out.

“… And with that, the meeting is called to order. Forty-four past ten,” he said, consulting his pocket watch.

The last few remaining Practitioners and Others went. Behaim’s wife had gone home with the kids already, as had most of the Duchamps.

The three of you got up and left through the open church door into the open night air.

“Let’s hope there isn’t an angry Witch Hunter waiting in our house,” Tiffany said.

“I kind of hope there is,” you said. “We can tie her to a chair and I can teach gun safety.”

“And then I can do her nails,” Alexis said. “Like a little tradition.”

You went back to the gates of the park at the other end of it. No-one and nothing came near, to your senses, but two people were heading there. Two people and a retinue of not-people.

“We’re gonna have company at our parking spot,” you said, warning the others.

You reached the gates, on-guard, and found Johannes, the sorcerer of the North end with his white dog familiar, and Maggie Holt with an entourage of goblins. They were a world apart, fashion wise. Johannes was in white on white, a summer shirt and trousers that were much too cold for the season, while Maggie was bringing 90’s fashion back in a way that made you almost certain she was a little baby gay.

“Good evening,” you said.

“And to you,” Johannes said. “Very impressive in there. You managed to state your support and belief in the Geneva convention without actually swearing by it. And you turned swearing to uphold peace into a cause for violence. Kudos, very quick to pick up all the ways to speak things other than the truth.”

“What can our coven pester you two with?” Tiffany asked.

“A word of advice,” he said. “Behaim will give you cause for war, and he will waffle and draw out negotiations of peace, sow disincentives among your prospective allies. His goal is to put everything in the hands of the two most powerful circles in town, and then Chaos will be minimal when they remove you.”

“Why not call an execution against me?” you asked.

“Are you out of control?” he counter-asked. “The decision is political. As with Maggie Holt, we just had an execution, and if you keep doing things in public that are as controlled as this: diplomacy, ultimatums, willingness to negotiate; then it will be a hard bargain to buy a majority even if he is nearly there with his family and the Duchamps. Besides, you may be of more use to him alive than dead.”

“Sometimes an enemy is a greater political boon than any ally,” Alexis said. “A distraction, a scapegoat, a reason to accuse and attack his enemies.”

“And if he cannot find what he needs in you, he will kill you and start over with the next heir. It is a narrow line to walk, being more useful alive than dead. Speaking of, I might want to see you home safe from the Witch Hunter you so aggrieved.”

“Thank you for your advice and the offer of protection,” you said. “Would it be rude to ask why you’re helping us?”

“I lose nothing of substance by helping, and I could see Laird Behaim unseated, removed or disconcerted. I like that,” he said with a sinister smile.

“Does that offer extend to possibly buying assistance later in the conflict?” Alexis asked.

“It might.”

“Which brings us to what Johannes and I were talking about before you came,” Maggie said. “How are you going to fight this war of yours?”

“We’re artists, and I have experience with this kind of conflict. Asymmetric, esoteric.”

“That will not be enough.”

Alexis put my helmet in my hand. “Waiting on you, Blake.”

Johannes pointed down one of the roads, to the north by your sense of direction. “I’m going this way. We really should talk again. You know where to find me. Ask politely before you come, and there should be no issue.”

He walked away, with a gait far too even to be hiding the limp or lameness which Rose’s notes on him said he had. Though his hand has been in his pocket the whole time.

With the really scary guy out of the way, you turned your attention to Maggie with her two waist-high goblins and cut your range until you could read her emotions.

“I know you were involved in Molly’s death.”

She deflated. “Fudge.” Contrition and regret filled her. Trauma. That was enough to tell you what you wanted to know, and enough to give you a headache.

“I can see you’re not a cold-blooded killer, Maggie. Whatever you did, I can see it weighs heavy on your mind.”

“You could be wrong.” She looked aside.

“I’ve met my fair share of killers; hell, I probably count among them. You’re not it.”

She didn’t have a response to it.

“I’d like to know how it happened, and why,” you said softly. “It doesn’t have to be now. In particular I want to know Behaim’s involvement. Briar Girl is my source as to your involvement, but I wasn’t Awake then and I can’t recall her exact words. I also had a gun to her head.”

“Are you ex-mil or something?”

“Or something, yeah,” you said. “You friends with Johannes or something?”

“Or something, yeah,” she said. “Some common ground. Neither of us are fans of the old guard. But, you know, can’t really interact fairly when there’s this big of an imbalance in power.”

“I bet. I’m old-guard, too, technically.”

She shook her head. “You just got introduced to this whole shebang. Fresh eyes. Newbies.”

You shrugged, wishing you had your toolbox in hand to heft. “Matter of time; we’re fast learners and we have a few secret advantages.”

“They don’t want you to have time. They’re going to use you, then get you killed,” Maggie said. “Then do the same for all the rest of your cousins or whatever.”

“And you?” You made to put on your helmet but didn’t proceed.

“I might be happier if you stay alive. That way there are more chances to use you. I don’t get much from offing you. Bit of a boost in raw power, but that only puts the grand kibosh on all of this. The guys in charge stay in charge, and us runts stay on the bottom.”

“Sounds like capitalism,” you said.

“Yeah, except what’s the point of moving everyone up five rungs on the ladder, if you’re still going to be three rungs below the next pleb?”

“It depends on whether you want to be the guy in charge, or you want what the guys in charge have because they are mismanaging it. Sounds a lot like capitalism. Are there labor unions for Practitioners?”

She shrugged. “You a commie?”

“Anarchist.”

She nodded. “What do you want, like, really want, out of this?”

“Freedom, safety, help my family get out of this sh*t, past, present and future… Answers. Make the world a better place if I can. You?”

“I can’t put it to words. I feel dumb if I say it out loud. But power helps everything. Knowledge is power. I want knowledge and power.”

You smiled. “No such thing as a dumb wish in my book, but keep your secrets. What kind of knowledge do you have, and what kind are you looking for?”

She went into her duffel bag and showed you a small binder, which had bits and clippings sticking out. But you were wise enough to the tropes to realize what it was: a warlock’s spellbook.

“What kind are you offering?”

“The kind that being old guard affords. The kind that comes in a secret hidden library your foremothers built and which your crazy grandmother spent her whole life filling with expensive books.”

“In exchange for what?” Her eyes narrowed.

“An ally in the upcoming war. Details to be determined, but I’ll host a book-club in exchange for a friendly face at this point.” You put on your helmet. “Maggie Holt, you seem like a decent person, driven to extremes by circ*mstance. I’m empathetic to that kind of situation. Got a phone?”

She took hers out, a flip phone. You gave her your number, Toronto area code and all. She texted you, and you got hers, Ottawa area code.

“How do you know I won’t turn on you?”

“I don’t,” you said. “That’s what trust is for. Also, we could just kill you if you do — you saw what I did to the witch hunter.”

“Fair.”

“I wish you a good evening, Maggie Holt. Give me a call about the book club.”

“You too, Blake Thorburn. Will do.”

You got on the motorcycle, Tiffany put her arms around your waist, and you drove off, back to Hillsglade by the glow of the streetlights, and the gnat on Eva came into range.

“The Witch Hunter is waiting for us,” you said. “She’s sitting on the porch.”

Tiffany tightened her grip on you and you began drawing in an attack swarm. Bugs were nearly invisible in the dark night sky. You kept an eye on her through your swarm, the porch light provided plenty illumination.

“You stay here,” you said and got off the motorcycle. Tiffany took the handlebars. You made your way down the road until just before the open stretch of wall and fence that delimited Hillsglade from the road.

From just out of sight, you sent in a hornet to land somewhere inconspicuous and clean its feelers. You sent more to circle the porch light. And then you sent one to take an interest in Eva herself. Just enough to annoy and perplex her: drunk hornets in the middle of the night.

She took it in stride. You had one fly out of the dark, land hard on her cheek, and sting her before she could swat it away. She cursed loudly and got up, heading somewhat down the driveway. You used the moment of distraction to vault the fence and start making your way around the perimeter of the property to the back of the house.

Eva didn’t react, and once you were out of her sight, you set into a run in the dew-wet grass. In a minute you reached the back door and entered as quietly as possible, creeping through the halls and leaving muddy footprints. The first floor curtains were all drawn, and your gun slip was barely hidden on top of a bookcase.

You pocketed ammo, and loaded the gun with a quiet click.

Then you went to the front door. Eva was still standing the driveway. Finger off the trigger, gun pointed down and away, and fruit flies on the iron sights, you stepped out.

“What do you want, Witch Hunter?”

She looked your way. “You sly bitch, you snuck around the back. How did you get past me?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Nah, you’re too good. Who trained you?” she asked. “That’s what I want. I want to know who the f*ck you are.”

“I’m not going to refer a violent sociopath like yourself to my dojo, thanks,” you said.

“Figured. Filipino knife fighting?”

“No comment, get off my property.”

“You owe me a new gun,” she said.

“Acetone dissolves superglue if you give it time, last warning.”

“People who make an enemy of me tend to end up dead,” she said.

“You don’t even make my list of top ten of scariest people,” you said and raised your gun to aim at her.

“I’m going, I’m going, yeesh!” She turned and went down the driveway. You slung your gun and went after her.

“What now?”

“I’m just walking you to the gate.”

She reached the gate and turned right. You stepped out onto the road to make eye-contact with Tiffany down the road, waving for her to approach. Eva glared at the two of them as they rolled past her.

“What did she want?” Tiffany asked.

“She’s the kind of person who give crazy people a bad rep,” you said. “Who the f*ck knows why she came here. To posture and threaten me; maybe she was hoping for a rematch.”

“Could become a dangerous obsession,” Alexis said.

“I think it already has.”

You rolled the motorcycle up to the house and got it inside once more: sidecar in the living room, engine in the utility room.

Chapter 8: 2-2

Chapter Text

“So, what are we doing today?” Alexis asked, pouring the morning tea.

“We need to acquire power,” you said. “Maggie put it well yesterday: knowledge is power.”

“So, reading?” Tiffany asked.

“Yes, but more specifically we’re going to leverage our unique advantage.” You tapped your temple. “Over the last few years I might have spent upwards of a hundred hours just brainstorming how to use my power. Yesterday you saw another thing I can do; without actively taking control of people, I can read their every move before it happens. I also used it to read Maggie’s emotions.”

“That’s just cheating,” Tiffany said. “That’s like in the silver-age comic books when Superman just has whatever power is necessary for him to win.”

“Perception is prerequisite to control. I do the same with insects all the time.”

“So what are you going to do with it today?”

“Recruit a dozen crows to read books for me.”

“That’s why you were feeding birds.”

You nodded and took a bite of toast. “We’ll need to set up some facilities for them: somewhere to poop, a drinking bowl, maybe a bath, and food. Ideally a shopping trip for more and better food.”

“Do you strictly-speaking need that?” Alexis asked.

“No.But it makes me feel like less of an animal abuser. Insects are quite literally incapable of feeling pain and discomfort, so the only concern I have when using insects is eco-system impact. There are a few larger arachnids that have more sentience; I try to help them prosper. But corvids? They’re about as smart as dogs, and I want them to come out of this experience remembering having had a nice, safe, comfortable visit to Hillsglade House.”

“Right,” Alexis said. “Of course.”

“It’s very sexy of her how she spends so much time thinking about the ethics of her mind control power, don’t you think?” Tiffany said.

“Yes. Extremely.”

You blushed, but continued: “Other than that, I think we should convert the master bedroom into a more permanent binding room — get rid of the book cases and the four-poster bed.”

“So what are we after, reading wise?” Alexis asked and licked the peanut butter knife clean. “The way I see it, the biggest detriment is for us to wander in darkness, unable to make sense of the reality around us.”

“Nice, quoting Goethe,” Tiffany said.

“We should be reading theory?”

Alexis nodded. “Basic education stuff. Taxonomies, ontologies, terminologies, methodologies, we’ll save the orgies for when tantric magic turns out to be useful.”

Tiffany giggled.

“We need a bit of everything, I agree,” you said. “If the study-birdies work, I’ll multitask reading some local history, get us some raw data.”

You finished breakfast, did the dishes, and went up to the second floor master bedroom. There you removed the heavy spring mattress from the bed, and you started taking it apart none-too-kindly with hammer and pry bar. It was an old piece of furniture, probably worth thousands of dollars, and it pained you some, but then again spiting the old witch by dismantling her deathbed was somewhat satisfying. Birds would have better use of it than she ever did.

The side rails, you fashioned into crude but wide book stands, and you repurposed the legs as stands for perches. The rest of the wood you stowed in the tea room next door. Then you emptied the books from the bookcases, stacking them in the dining room downstairs for later sorting.

“I love it when you empty a room and it sounds empty,” Tiffany said.

You went out and down to the tree line at the edge of the property with the hatchet resting on your shoulder to collect sticks for perching. Two longer branches got nailed to two bed legs each, while the rest got taped to the floor. You taped a shorter one across the top of a spare garbage bin, over a bag lined with paper making a nice bird toilet. The deepest baking dish in the kitchen got a spot on a towel on the floor with five centimeters of water in it, serving as bird bath and drinking trough, and a slightly smaller one got about half a pound of birdseed in it.

Then you went back out to the tree line. Now, you walked with your shotgun hanging by your arm, action open and chambers unloaded.

Your swarm sense alerted you to the presence of Others in the woods and you spotted a few of them, strange crawling things, out between the trees.

“Thorburn!”

You looked up to see the white dove with the human face.

“Briar Girl,” you said.

“Just what do you think you’re doing with my birds? I’ve seen how you beguile them; twice now.”

“Yes. I do beguile them. I need their keen vision and minds to help me.”

“You may not have them.”

“I am taking all reasonable efforts to not cause the birds harm or even distress.”

“I forbid it, for now.”

“So that forbiddance is negotiable, I take it. I would very much like to borrow some birds. What do you want in return?”

“You have nothing to offer I want.”

“I have several things you don’t want. Briar Girl, we are neighbors and not by choice. But this does not have to be any more unpleasant than it needs to be, we can be good neighbors who borrow each other a cup of sugar once in a while, and exchange pleasantries when our paths cross.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Though I don’t recognize that you have something as base as private ownership over the creatures in the forest, I’m willing to pay you rent for the privilege of tending to the birds: Two dollars Canadian per bird per day.”

“I don’t want money.”

“Okay. Book loans then. Ten birds for one day, and you borrow of a book title from a curated list of thirty tittles from my library of books about the Art, to be returned the next day in the same condition it was leant in.”

“No.”

“Briar Girl, we’re nearing the point where I am going to have to stop being a good neighbor. Final offer. I plan to set up apiaries on the property, once I do I will give you a tenth of its the honey production for the season in exchange for access to the local corvid population; which again I intend to take care not to harm or stress.”

“There is one thing I want. Land.”

“You already know I can’t sell the property, and I am certainly not bartering it off in exchange for wildlife that already resides on it. Let it be known that I have made genuine effort to broker a deal with you. They are not your birds to claim.”

“They are not yours either.”

“And I do not lay claim to them. I will feed and care for them for the day, and they will be free to leave at any moment. Good day, Briar Girl; let’s not have a repeat of the day before yesterday.”

“I do not scare easily.”

You laughed, and then you continued casting seed and beguiling the birds. If Briar Girl wanted to stop them from coming to you, she was unsuccessful. Soon you had ten birds following you up to the house. Specifically you had chosen the weaker individuals, those who could use a day of leisure. You weren’t directly controlling them, just as Briar Girl had put it, beguiling them. Egging them on, reassuring them you were a friend. One of them, a young male, got brave enough to land on your shoulder.

“You’re a beautiful boy, aren’t you?”

As you reached the house, before letting them in, you made all their various fleas and pestilences crawl out of their feathers and fall into the grass. A few of them had intestinal worms which you spent a few minutes ridding them of. Already they were going to return home healthier than you found them.

Then you sent them to the second floor window, to the room you had prepared.

“What happened?” Tiffany asked when you came in.

“I ran into our bad neighbor, Briar Girl. She doesn’t want me to use the birds. I offered her three concessions, she declined them all, we parted.”

“Don’t you think she’ll take offense?” Tiffany asked.

“Yeah, I’m planning to give her a gift; can you help me find a book? Mundane one. See if there’s a Business negotiation for Dummies or something around here.”

“I know we have How to Win Friends and Influence People.”

“Perfect. Let’s give her that.”

You toed off your boots, set your gun aside, and hung your coat, then went up to your aviary. The ten crows were curiously inspecting the room; a few were already looking at the offerings of bird-seed, and one was using the bird bath.

Taking a seat on the floor to let them acclimate to your presence, you used your power still to urge them not to see you as a threat. Making them outright like you was well within your power, but you chose not to — this was an exercise in making friends.

The young male who had ridden on your shoulder came over as one of the first. “Hello again,” you said.

So you sat there for maybe twenty minutes, just playing with the birds. They were curious creatures to be sure, playful, and clever. They could also mimic sounds well enough to speak, you recalled, which might come in useful later.

And now, for the test. You got up and left the room briefly to fetch a book — Famulus — and put it on a book-stand, then called your friend over to perch by it.

Already letting him lay eyes on the cover, you read the title clear as day. The bird’s ability to recognize the shapes of words was perhaps a little worse — so your power told you — but it was definitely possible. Maybe you could get about a hundred and fifty words per minute out of each crow. That meant one thousand five hundred words for ten birds, from ten books at once. More birds, more books.

1: Introduction

Famulus is a result of many years’ teaching in private circles. As it became vogue to hire tutors around the year 1785, powerful members of the community gained a certain prominence, not-insignificant profits, and found themselves wrestling with a great deal of frustration. This frustration stemmed from the fact that one tutor would teach one thing, which the next tutor would have to correct or account for. They exchanged correspondence, to find out what had been taught and why, and opened discussions on how things might be done better.

No subject had quite held much importance or drove more heated discussions than the familiar ritual. A lifelong bond between a human and an Other, a connection forged between them and fed with power to be made permanent.

Testing, you called over another bird — even though crows had binocular vision, perhaps a second set of eyes would speed up reading — and found that your power took over the coordination of the two. One could read the even numbered page while the other read the odd-numbered one, and in your mind materialized the whole understanding.

You called over two more birds and tried reading from the beginning and middle of each page. That worked too.

A grin came to your lips. Eight hundred words per minute meant an eighty-thousand word book in a hundred minutes.

The word familiar comes from the Latin famulus, meaning servant. It came to refer to household and family, and over time, transitioning to the French familier, it came to mean ‘intimate, on a family footing’. In all of these meanings, description, ritual and word are linked. The familiar becomes family, the bond is intimate, and there is an implication of servitude.

Even after two hundred years of discussion and refining of this material, several ideologies and approaches stand out. These details are discussed in separate chapters. Each chapter that follows is annotated by a set of case studies.

In chapter two, we discuss the familiar itself. What it is. The limitations. The diversity in approaches, which will be expanded on in subsequent chapters.

In chapter three, we discuss the bond. The key points, early approaches, modern approaches, universal constants in the human-Other relationship, and the shape of the relationship before and after the ritual is enacted.

In chapter four, we look at the social contexts and environment. Differences in familiars by region, microsocial factors, macrosocial factors, and cultural factors. Both the practitioner-familiar relationship to the outside world and the outside world’s relationship to the practitioner-familiar relationship will be discussed.

In chapter five, we look at the familiars themselves. Corporeal and non-corporeal beings, beings from a delineated subtype with a pedigree or subculture and Others who are unique and standalone.

Two hours of working the birds in shifts to avoid fatigue, your corvid companions had devoured all of Famulus while you had given out generous pets and scritches, while reading and skimming most of Essentials, just to catch up.

You sent them on their way back out the window while you went down and out the back door. All ten of them followed you eagerly, jumping along and flying about, stomachs full of sweet sunflower seeds, feathers free of lice, and by the tree line you bid them farewell. They were eager to get back to their wont surroundings, nests, and murder.

“Ten crows, back healthier and happier than I called them to me!” you called into the forest. “I’ve a gift for you, Briar Girl. A gift of good will!”

Tiffany had packed the book in wrapping paper and tied a bow on it with string. You left it resting against a tree — the weather forecast predicted dry weather for the rest of the day and all night, so no danger of it getting water-logged.

Then you went back to the house, and up the stairs to the library.

There sat Alexis and Tiffany, bent over each their book, with several others strewn about.

“What’s up? Bird plan worked?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Read all of Famulus. Tomorrow I’ll look at reading multiple books at the same time.”

“Holy sh*t, only took you, what, two hours?” Alexis asked.

You nodded. “What’s up with you two?”

Alexis raised her book for you to see the spine: Shamanism: Animus volume 1.

“I’m looking into Death Magic,” Tiffany said. “We left you a sandwich.”

“Death Magic?”

“Ghosts. They’re described as being an option for practitioners without much in the way of power. They can be bound within objects with relative ease, but have a limited, non-renewable reservoir of power seeing as they’re just psychic images impressed on the surroundings by intense events. They can be unreliable, though, and some are prone to violence.”

“We could do with something unreliable and prone to violence. Like a home-made pipe-bomb.”

Belayed lunch in hand, you went to the small bookshelf with the demonology tomes, picking Rose’s letter out and finding the reference texts she mentioned in it: Dark Names and Dark Contracts. Modest books in size.

“Really?”

“Best get it over with now. Once I know what we’re dealing with, I’ll go take a very careful look to ensure he’s still there, and then we shut the door and put away the key.”

The being I have named Barbatorem is an entity falling under the classification Insolitus Nex. This author does not believe in stricter classifications, and leaves it to others to label him a devil or goblin as they see fit. It is difficult to impossible to guess as to his origins, but one can speculate that it came about after the dawn of human civilization, given the common elements and the trend in appearances.

The entity was first bound by this author on April 23rd, 1953. The binding was a difficult one to tackle, with a little more than a share of guesswork going into the execution. In the end, this author used an Ut Vires approach pointing to Contrarium methodology. An abstract entity bound in a rule-defining diagram of geometric lines and Byzantine notation. Twenty years after the fact, this author stands by her reasoning at the time.

Should another practitioner need to bait him again, know that this author used: a pile of festering boar carcasses, six feet high, each carved with his name when well into their state of decay, the decay timed using refrigeration to be roughly parallel; seven jars of burning hair, resupplied keep the flames perpetually alight; and the crest of this offering was an innocent and a virgin in the form of a one year old innocent, placed at the height of the pile. For more on the reasoning behind this methodology, please see my other work, Dark Contracts, chapter four.

“Holy crap,” you said aloud.

“What?” Alexis asked.

“Grandma rose used her own child as bait.”

“Good riddance,” Tiffany said. “Which one?”

“Doesn’t say, but I bet—”

Your phone rung.

“Hey, it’s Maggie.”

“Hi Maggie, it’s Blake.”

“About the book-club, when do you have time?”

You looked from Alexis to Tiffany. “How about tomorrow afternoon? Our place?”

“Yeah, um. It’s not a super good look for a girl my age to go to a stranger’s house.”

“We will provide gracious hospitality as hosts, if you graciously receive it as a guest.”

“I think I can do that?”

“Then you are welcome. Shall we make an appointment for two o’clock?”

“Tomorrow is a school day. I can do half past three?”

“Very good. You’re welcome to stay for dinner, too.”

“I’ll have to ask my dads, I’ll probably text.”

“Sounds good. Have a good day, Maggie.”

“You as well.”

You hung up, and your cheerful demeanor fell away as you returned to your study of your demonic house-mate.

This author cannot say whether he was attracted to the virgin aspect or the innocent, but this author was nonetheless happy to have an option at hand to serve both purposes. The child was unharmed and largely unaware of what occurred.

Given Barbatorem’s nature, this author would recommend another means of baiting him in the future, as he will remember, anticipate and adapt with each means used. He agreed to be bound by the seal of Suleiman bin Daoud four months after the initial capture. See the Others volumes, book one, chapter one, if unfamiliar with the seal. The diagram this author used for entrapment, necessitating only one line to open or close, can be found on page five of this entry, followed by the means of summoning and the recommended diagram for imprisonment.

Signing Barbatorem to the Standard remains the proudest accomplishment for this author, at that particular date and time, marking her first feat in this particular field.

Those looking to interact with Barbatorem at any length should see about precautions against abstract entities in Classifying Others: Fiends and Darker Beings, chapter four, and the texts on means of attack and defense against Others, in Infernal Wrath, chapter two.

Barbers were once surgeons, in addition to their other roles. The red on a barber’s pole is a reference to bloodletting. Barbatorem is both, a warrior of sorts, acting with surgical precision on whatever target he is directed at. A recurring theme in earlier stories suggests that he was sent against the summoner’s enemies, almost always powerful figures, and he brought them to ruin in the worst ways. He does not seek out mischief with those who summon him, but he takes advantage if one is offered. For this reason, he is a reasonably safe entity to summon if one takes care to follow instructions. He serves as a better deleterious sending against an enemy than he does as a boon-giver. This author and three acquaintances have summoned and used him without issue.

Barbatorem, before being sealed, tended to visit small settlements and sites of war, either during or after the altercation. Given his nature, it is hard to get eyewitness reports that corroborate his involvement in events. The unawakened tend to note a stench of rot, blood or burning hair, or a crude but exceptionally sharp and sturdy cutting instrument found in the aftermath of a grisly event, invariably lost a day or two later.

Physically, he rends his victims, and the surgeon aspect becomes evident in how he inflicts the maximum damage possible without ever killing them, though the methods change as his form does. He will mend the damage with an expert level of care that exceeds typical modern standards, if it means keeping the victim alive. Despite the blood shed in this process, his victims typically die by other means like starvation or dehydration, unable to move under their own power or communicate a request for aid, due to a lack of limbs, missing tongue and teeth or a lack of working sensory organs, and the isolation that follows an attack.

On a more abstract level, Barbatorem deals a deeper form of damage that is hard to encapsulate in this text. Rather than state the myriad ways he might harm his victims, this author would suggest a few key points to note, suggesting the wider variety of feats he can accomplish: It is believed that he can sever his target’s ability to access any higher plane, forever and irrevocably denying them whatever good things might await them after death, and he can remove any ability a practitioner has. He can pass into a demesne without needing permission, though he cannot enter an ordinary home owned by a non-practitioner (see Classifying Others, chapter four). He can evade barriers and typical practitioner’s defenses. This in mind, he obviously serves as a suitable weapon if directed at a practitioner.

Barbatorem takes no one shape, but tends to favor a particular form for several years at a time before unknown events prompt a change. Previous forms include: a bipedal sheep, largely bald but for sparse patches; a bloated man disfigured to a monstrous point by lash-wounds; a pair of children hand-in-hand; and a legless man on a horse. In every form, however, he carries a bladed instrument of some kind. He has been known to carry scissors, clippers or shears in more than half of the recorded cases. Death, mutilation and a lack of hair figure into each form in one way or another (see descriptions in individual entries for notes on these fronts). Ergo, the barber reference.

You closed the book and rubbed your eyes. You debated finding out what Insolinus Nex meant.

Up in the tower, Alexis and Tiffany both gave you a complete checkup for reflective clothing items, even going so far as to give you gloves so your fingernails wouldn’t reflect.

Then you took the key and unlocked the door to the tower chamber and revealed a small room in your peripheral vision. Your eyes fixed on the circle, and near the inner edge of it was a straight razor driven into the floorboards.

From inside the reflection, impossibly, stepped a man, and even in your periphery you recognized him: Jack Slash. Blood-stained button-down shirt, blue jeans, but curiously it seemed he was clean-shaven rather than what Taylor recalled of him having a goatee. A stench of burnt flesh and phenol disinfectant permeated the hair, recalling to you his two favored companions Burnscar and Bonesaw. No Siberian, fortunately. Maybe.

With all haste you turned and fled the room, slamming the door behind you.

The others stood back wary.

“Are you still Blake?”

“Yeah, I’m good, I didn’t look at it.”

“Swear by your true name,” Tiffany said.

“I swear I am still Blake Thorburn. The demon didn’t get me.”

“Okay,” Alexis said. “What did you see, then?”

“He’s there, all-right. Took the shape of an old enemy — Taylor’s Nemesis. Fits the MO completely, he was a slasher, in the literal sense.”

“You look shaken.”

“He was a bad man. Kill count in the thousands, toured North America with a band of super-powered serial-killers, triggered the Apocalypse.”

“Wow. Let’s get you a cup of tea.”

“Coffee, please. We have reading to do.”

Monday started early with your alarm clocks going off, and you disentangling yourself from Tiffany.

You went through your usual morning routines, which included you making do with a body-weight-based exercise routine. Going for a morning run was probably unwise. Breakfast was simple and quick like usual.

Then came the difficult part: as much as you were all free spirits and anarchists, you did have something resembling day jobs.

“Remember, no lies,” Alexis said.

You took stock of your calendar for the next week, and started calling people.

“Yeah, Hi, it’s Blake Thorburn. I’m afraid I can’t help out at the performance; death in the family, I have to help get things in order. I can give you the number of a guy I know who might have time…” “Yeah, Hi, it’s Blake, the contractor. I’m going to have to reschedule; death in the family. How about next week?” “Hi, yeah it’s me. I am so sorry about our appointment Friday, I had a sudden death in the family and I’m picking up the pieces from it.” “Hi, Blake here, yeah, look I’m so, so sorry but I can’t come by today. There’s been a death in the family. Tell you what I’ll knock… 35% off the quote — how’s next week sound?”

From the other room you could hear Alexis similarly calling up her clients and apologizing, rescheduling.

In your line of work reputation was everything. People were remarkably willing to forgive you if you called them up to apologize, offering discounts and believable excuses — however, the days of being able to tell a white lie was long gone.

You regrouped in the living-room. “I have an idea,” you said.

“Shoot.”

“We should find if there’s some pre-made agreement between confidantes that gives more leeway to speak freely to one another. An oath of forgiveness and implicit re-negotiation of all agreements. There’s got to be some kind of ritual for a marriage.”

“How romantic,” Tiffany said. “I will spend some time trying to find out.”

“Meanwhile I will try to find out about some ghosts,” Alexis said.

“I’ll spend some time with the birds.”

You went and put on your jacket, filled your pockets with birdseed, hung your shotgun over one arm, and went for a walk, down the hill to the west, past the various bushes fallen to a complete lack of gardening, down to the section of the tree line that was probably once an orchard a hundred years ago but had now fallen to whatever kinds of diseases afflicted stone fruit and apples. It reminded you to buy some antibiotics suitable for birds.

In the distance, hiding between the trees, were Others of various kinds, lurking. Most likely Briar Girl’s spies. You gave a wave and a smile and went on with your business: no reason to be a bad neighbor.

The crows were eager to meet with you again, and several more were there to join, although all but yesterdays ten were a bit more reluctant to come close. Still you fed them, and your little ensemble of crows whose curiosity was greater than their caution grew to fourteen. You de-liced the newcomers and brought them to the house.

“I suppose I should get around to giving you names,” you wondered aloud. The little male that had made a special effort to befriend you yesterday returned and landed on your shoulder. “You can be Bilbo. That means the others can be — how does it go — Fíli, Kíli…” you wracked your brain, and it proved once more that you were good at memorization if you put your mind to it: “Dwalin, Balin, Óin, Glóin, Dori, Nori, Ori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and Thorin Oakenshield. I suppose that makes me Gandalf the Grey.” Keeping all of them separate in your mind wasn’t hard — each was as distinct from the others to your power as any two human beings were distinct to your eyes.

As you set up seven different books, you planned out what other improvements you could make to the aviary — keeping in mind that all of it had to be movable if you needed to bind something in the room again.

Shamanism: Animus volume one and Umbra volume seven, The Worst of the Others, Accursed Rights, the 2013 and 2014 editions of On Others, and Poppets. A mix of knowledge about others, and low-cost magics.

You found Tiffany in the living room, blank double-page of her moleskine laid out, fingers steepled. This was how she thought about big problems.

“How’s the birds?” she asked, almost eager to be distracted.

You took a seat. “Good. Got a few more hangers-on. Might make friends with the whole local murder before long. The colloquial penny for your thoughts?”

She arced an eyebrow. “I wasn’t able to find much about interpersonal Practitioner agreements, not even pertaining to marriage. What I was able to find was some information on the law firm.”

“Go on.”

“Your grandmother did not like them. They are lawyers by trade but more like bankers in practice. Exchanging, arbitrating.”

“Of what?”

“Karma.”

“Karma?” You had read that term, but hadn’t seen it defined.

“For lack of a better term, yes. Which led me down a rabbit hole of researching that, and now, questioning whether Chaos Magic and Buddhism aren’t just a fronts for Practitioners.”

“I think it’s a safe bet most organized religions have roots in the Practice at this point. Should we loop Alexis into this?”

“I don’t have any critical information; besides last I left her she was doing some really tedious cross-checking of obituaries and recorded ghosts. She’d jump on an excuse to shirk that work.”

“Okay. So explain Karma to me.”

“Gygaxian chaos-versus-order, not Tolkinian good-versus-evil.”

You blinked. “Run that by me again.”

“Karmic credit is accumulated by doing right, not good. And debt is accrued by doing wrong, not evil.”

“And the difference being?”

“Breaking oaths, lying, circumventing rules, inviting into the world entities that mean harm to the universe — summoning demons — or otherwise attempting to destabilize the ordered reality we depend on, is wrong. Keeping oaths, speaking truth, honoring rules, adhering to tradition, is right.”

You crossed your arms. “And let me guess, banishing a demon doesn’t net a payout?”

“Not as great as the cost of summoning it. The way I am reading it, it feels like a natural law rather than a financial system. Like morality-based thermodynamics.”

“Consensus reality.”

“But reality conforms to consensus, yes. In fact, the consequence of Karma, is just the Just World Fallacy not being fallacious. Good things happen to virtuous people, bad things to the vicious.”

“Rose mentioned debt…”

“The Thorburn karmic ledger is very in the red. Your family should be predisposed to misery and bad luck in the extreme.”

You fell silent and thought about it. It fit in so many ways. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know, but I know who might.”

“The Lawyers.”

She nodded. “There’s a limited amount of consultation time allocated, free of charge. We should prepare questions ahead-of-time.”

You got up. “I’ll do that now, go tell Alexis what you just told me. We’ll speak to them before Ms.Holt arrives.”

Rose’s notes on the law firm — specifically how to contact them — was urgent reading and thus for your own eyes. You took notes in-between tending to the aviary, turning pages for your birds, especially when one of them needed to skip ahead or check a reference elsewhere in a book.

Around eleven o’clock you decided it was enough for the day, put bookmarks in all of the books, and said goodbye to the birds for now, one by one. They did not need any encouragement to go back to the their homes in the trees. Then you went to nurse the buzz in the back of your head from the rapid knowledge acquisition. A few more days like this and you would begin to feel right at home in this world.

Setting the sofa table with three glasses of water and a pitcher, you went up to the library to find Tiffany and Alexis.

“I’m ready,” you said.

“Yeah, we’re about ready too,” Alexis said. “For a spot of necromancy.”

You stopped and drummed on your lips with two fingers. “Maybe we should belay talking to the lawyers, then.”

“No.We do seances on a Tuesday. Sounds more like a part of the hum-drum day-to-day that way. Monday is a good day to talk with professionals about the new start. don’t you think?” Alexis said. “So, do we call Mr.Beaseley, or?”

You shook your head. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

“Of course,” Alexis said.

“Special case of a more general principle,” Tiffany added.

You nodded. Hopefully you wouldn’t need a mirror to speak in front of or something equally inane. “Here goes: Mann, Levinn and Lewis; Mann, Levinn and Lewis; Mann, Levinn and Lewis.”

Nothing happened.

“Let’s go downstairs.”

The three of you, implements in hand, came down into the living room to see three strangers in it. An elderly gentleman who emanated professionalism and competence at all matters contractual, an young man looking like something out of an Armani men’s fashion advert, and a woman who looked the part of moonlighting as a dominatrix. All of them dressed in prim suit and tie. Office folk.

“Mann, Levinn, and Lewis, I presume?” you said.

“The very same,” the woman said. She sat cross-legged, folded hands resting on her knee. “I am Ms.Lewis, this is Mr.Mann —” the young man “— and Mr.Levinn —” the older man. You went and took a seat in the recliner at the end of the table, with Tiffany and Alexis standing behind your chair.

“Welcome and well met. Thank you for coming on such short notice,” you said. “I am Ms.Thorburn, but you probably already knew that, this is Ms.Lewandowski and Ms.Pirzada. I have some questions, which I was hoping you could answer — the documentation I have on hand is vague with regards to what exactly you can do for me.”

Mr.Mann checked his wristwatch. “For the next twenty-nine minutes and forty seconds, you have the benefit of our advice and knowledge, and while you can make requests, there is no promise we will attempt to fulfill them.”

“You’re in my living-room without me letting you in the door. What are you? Demons? Devils?”

“Some would say that,” the old man said. His voice was rough, much like your grandmother’s.

“Weasel words,” Alexis said. You held up a hand.

“Other people — most people — would call us practitioners,” Ms.Lewis clarified. “Practitioners like you, even, Ms.Thorburn.”

“Diabolists.”

“Not exactly. We are a fair bit different from you, Thorburn,” Levinn said. “Question is: does it matter?”

“In my house it does. I am poor in knowledge and you are freely offering,” you said. “Why are you here; which is to say, why did you heed my summons?”

“Your grandmother willed it,” Mann said.

“Why?”

“Because matters were too complex for her to handle on her own, it was an economical route to take, she needed power that she wasn’t willing to spare, and we offered,” Lewis said.

You looked at her. “Why?”

“Because we’re in the business of dealing with Diabolists.”

“Why?”

“Because we are and were diabolists, ourselves,” Mann said. “Once upon a time. We were offered a contract — call it bankruptcy, it fits on more than one level — which brings us to you.”

“Because I am in debt and you are hoping to buy that debt off me?”

“More or less,” the old man said.

“Elaborate.”

“We’re hoping to include the heir of the Thorburn estate in our number,” he continued.

“Indentured servitude. Did my grandmother make such a deal?”

“Madam Thorburn didn’t, bless her.” He smiled, as if he was acknowledging how odd it was for him to say that. “She took a harder road. She needed power, as we said. I can’t say what for, but I’m sure you could figure it out.”

“I’m sure.” You had no idea, but now you at least knew there was something you should be looking for.

“More to the point, if she had taken the offer, you wouldn’t be here. At least, not in the same capacity.”

“I might imagine the world would have been swallowed up in a sea of hellfire and brimstone?”

He smiled. “Nothing of the sort. Before our firm existed, it was an Otherworldly entity that reached out to our forbearers. The deal was simple: our slates would be cleared, in every respect; we would assume a new role, new names, new responsibilities. Our old lives and every part of those lives would be left behind. Perhaps most importantly, most relevant to this discussion, our debts would be cleared.”

“Karmic debt?” Tiffany asked.

“Indeed. Have you done your reading?”

“Some,” you clarified. “We’re familiar with the concept of a karmic ledger, and the consequences of accruing debt and the existence of a force of nature that tries to balance the checkbooks.”

“Correct: The world seeks balance in all respects. Whenever a practitioner works, they pay a price. Sometimes the price is overt, a quid-pro-quo, sometimes it is indirect: a favor to be repaid later, an oath freely given.”

“And if you can’t pay you accumulate a debt,” you said. “So far so econ-101.”

“Externalities, hm?” the young man said.

The old man met your eyes. “What happens when a debt isn’t paid? If you take, then die before you can give? Or the inverse?”

“I’m assuming the universe does not mercifully strike the debts of the dead, and if I am cynical I’d guess good karma left behind just… fizzles out?”

“You’d only be right on one count,” he said. “Debt and credit both, are passed on.”

“So it becomes systemic. Being poor is expensive; not conducive to repaying debts,” Alexis said.

“The cycle of debt continues unchecked forever until you guys come along with your offer of bankruptcy proceedings?” you asked.

“That is option two,” Lewis said. “But I wouldn’t say the cycle is never stopped: the universe rights itself.”

“Ms.Pirzada likened it to thermodynamics. Entropy.”

“Not an inapt comparison,” Mann said. He clearly fashioned himself some sort of expert, even if you would rather hear it from Ms.Lewis for obvious reasons. “The cogs that operate in the background take to grinding you up instead: funds, treasured belongings, friendships, love, they are all harder to find and easier to lose. Enemies, danger, chaos, and disruption find you more readily. In looser terms: all Others, spirits and practitioners get the sense, innate or otherwise, that they can and should work against your interests. Things start to fall apart, and the pieces fall down in the least convenient arrangements for you.”

“The Just World fallacy is not a fallacy, in other words. That would explain a few things. Even if it is more of an order-versus-chaos thing than a good-versus-evil thing.”

Ms.Lewis smiled.

Mann continued. “It would cause as many problems as it solve if the universe did it in an obvious manner. It would raise suspicion and disrupt the smooth operation of things if every coin you flipped turned up with the unwanted side, if every corner held an enemy.”

Levinn interjected, “It’s a stopgap measure: sufficient for the non-practitioners who stumble on ways to give themselves bad karma.”

“The problem is math,” Tiffany said.

“Pardon?”

“Suppose the universe conspires against oneself, but one keep track of the die rolls. If severe statistic anomalies were to pop out regularly — well, predictability defeats the purpose of ‘bad luck,’ does it not?”

“Yes. The universe abhors acting overtly.”

“So,” you said, “by being cautious enough, it is possible to accumulate untenable debt, because one can safeguard against the ordinary ways the universe rewards bad karma.”

“Exactly.”

“So what do we do about it?”

“Well,” Ms.Lewis said, smiling, “there is a simple, obvious, and direct way to immediately alleviate the problem.”

You wanted to say ‘joining you’ but felt there was an even simpler one at hand. “My death.”

“Precisely. Preferably violent and agonizing. The universe is pushed too far, and snaps back. If you’re lucky there will be time and opportunity to call us, and we can arrange a prompt solution.”

You snorted. “I’m apparently not lucky, though, if we go by my karmic ledger.”

“No.”

“And Molly wasn’t either. Is that her play? Letting each of us eats sh*t and die, knocking a bit of the debt off, until someone finds a foothold?”

“Very likely a factor in her reasoning,” Mann said. “She was clever, but the danger in this plan is that the backlash you face could wipe out your family altogether. It would be more a backup or a side benefit than a true plan.”

“Thank you for the lecture on Karmic theory,” you said. “Let’s discuss practical matters for a moment. Rose said that I have to marry a man, I mentioned my reluctance to Mr.Beasley.”

“That will not be necessary,” Ms.Lewis said. “Your relationship with Ms.Lewandowski and Ms.Pirzada is sufficient.”

“About the property,” you continued, “it serves as something of a white elephant, with regards to maintenance, given the size of the house and the grounds. I’m assuming letting it fall into disrepair constitutes a breach of terms. Does the allowance cover such work?”

“We can set some of it aside for hiring help,” Mann suggested.

“And are you going to trick me by spending it on unnecessary work, having work of shoddy quality done, or hiring workers paid unfair rates?” you asked him.

“No.No trick.”

“Another practical question regarding Karma: does honorable conduct in battle factor in?”

“It does, depending on your definition of honor,” Levinn said.

“And rewarding dishonor with dishonor?”

“Depending on the circ*mstance.”

“We can figure out the rest on our own. Time?”

“Nineteen minutes, fifteen seconds,” Mann said.

“You’re after my servitude to the firm,” I continued. “Will you be manipulating me into accepting? Maneuvering me between the proverbial rock and hard place so I’ll have to sign on?”

“You’ll know if we do,” Lewis said.

“Will you tell me so? Explicitly?”

She paused. “Yes.”

“Signing on; what are the consequences? And not just the personal. I’m concerned for this benefactor you alluded to.”

“Our actions grant them a foothold in the world,” Lewis said.

“Weasel words,” Alexis warned again.

“And they would be… the kinds of entities the Thorburn line is liable to deal with?”

“I’m afraid so.”

You nodded. “My own safety in exchange for servitude of some unknown but presumable extended duration, and the worsening of mankind’s already dire conditions. Climate change and political instability: their work?”

“Not all of it.”

There was a moment of silence where Ms.Lewis looked at the two others. “Would I be remiss in thinking you have many questions still?”

“No,” you said.

“An offer, then. I’ve been working for several days and I’m due a break. I can spare an hour, off-the clock, to converse in a less formal capacity.”

“Provided a promise not to carry out any tricks against us for that hour and until the next time we meet, I’ll graciously accept,” you said.

“No trickery, and no cost to you insofar as anything can have no cost,” she said.

“Then yes please.”

“That concludes this meeting then,” Mann said and stood up. “With just over fifteen minutes to spare. Thank you for the hospitality.” He gestured to the table. None of them had touched the water.

“We’ll be seeing you later today, Ms.Lewis,” Levinn said.

They left through the front door, picking up their coats in the hall. That left the four of you.

Chapter 9: 2-3

Chapter Text

You checked your wristwatch.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Tiffany asked. “Or coffee?”

“Thank you but no thank you,” Ms.Lewis said.

You held up a hand, “actually I’m afraid I have to go for a grocery run. You’re welcome to stay and chat.”

“I would prefer to accompany you instead. My guess is you don’t possess much in the way of defenses against being accosted. Also, no offense but I would prefer to talk to you rather than your companions.”

You made eye-contact with Tiffany and Alexis, to gauge their reactions. Both of them looked at you with anticipation.

“Okay. Pirzada, Lewandowski, get to work on the seances. We have —” you checked your wristwatch, eleven thirty “— four hours until we’re hosting.”

You grabbed a duffel bag and put your toolbox in it before grabbing your light jacket.

“Ground rules,” Ms.Lewis said. “This isn’t business. Anything I say or do should be taken in the capacity of an acquaintance or teacher. I won’t give you answers I think you should pay for.”

“I appreciate it,” you said.

You made your way down the driveway, to follow the same route you and Tiffany had

“Good response,” she said. “Not committing to anything. All that said, I’d like to help you if I see the chance.”

“I’m assuming you’re getting something from this as well; I get the impression your free-time is limited and therefore precious. And while I’m well aware that I’m attractive, I’m also unfortunately spoken for.”

She giggled. “I’m asexual, but flattered by the implied compliment.”

You surveyed the entirety of your sphere of influence with your second sight.

“You’re very careful.”

“I try to be,” you replied.

“It is remarkable that you have not incurred any karmic infractions yet — most beginners are wont to skirt truth or indulge in sarcasm that gets them in trouble.”

“We’re polyamorous lesbian artists. We’re not most beginners.”

She snickered. “Yes, I noticed. You chose your implements within, what, two days of awakening?”

“I called Mr.Beaseley and showed up on time for the Council meeting. You do the math.”

“Not many dare to modify the core rituals.”

“Multiple people can claim the same kind of implement provided they awakened together and mimic their awakening ritual. That’s a freebie tidbit for you.”

“Interesting.”

“I anticipated you would be scarier, but I suppose appearances can be deceiving. Jumping to conclusions, I assume your anonymous otherworldly benefactor has a… low view of humanity.”

“Do you spend a lot of time considering apocalypses?”

“Call me an amateur eschatologist.”

You reached the gate, and she paused.

“To return to my early statement, a question: what are you getting out of this walk and talk?” you asked.

“Let’s just say it’s me establishing a relationship with a potential new client.”

“Rapport building.” You nodded “I’m afraid I will be merely grateful but remain on guard.”

“In my experience human psychology is a fickle thing.”

“Serial killers can be smooth-spoken and pleasant company.”

“It’s largely selfish, too,” Ms.Lewis said. She drew in a deep breath, then sighed. “As clients go, you’re quite endearing, compared to our usual.”

“I’ll let the hom*oerotic subtext of that statement slide; what’s your usual clientele like?”

“You’ve met the barber. They are the sorts who would use him and sleep soundly at night.”

“I’d say ‘met’ is a relative term. I know exactly the kind of people you’re speaking of.”

“How? You seem very knowledgeable of the very worst of mankind.”

“Would you believe it is just stone cold cynicism brought on my a judicious and thorough study of 20th century history?”

“Not for five seconds. I take the hint. You know how to use The Sight?”

You tensed. “Yes.”

“Look at your three o’clock without turning your head?”

Your swarm identified a creature of some sort, scampering by out of your direct sight-line, hiding behind the low wall surrounding the property. Through your second sight you got a glimpse of something that wasn’t a raccoon.

“What am I looking for?”

“First, the connection. Trace the parallel lines, the direct ones. A good place to start, and a good place to avoid if you’re looking to evade someone searching for you.”

You used your swarm sense to trace out the connections — spirits, it turned out, were quite simple and easy to borrow the senses of, but impossible or near impossible to control. Or at least that was your hypothesis. The ‘lines’ were subtle, and truth be told you had not been paying much attention, but they were reminiscent of the vision you had during the awakening ritual.

To your second sight, seen through your own eyes, you realized the world looked alive, as if painted on the scutum and cover wings of great big beetles moving ever so slowly, or like spiderwebs slowly swaying in the wind. In your swarm it was more abstract.

“I confess I don’t have a lot of practice,” you said.

You followed the lines made by the joining of cover wings, the alignment of the carapaces, and droplets caught on silk, while feeling it out with the senses of the primitive little spirit motes.

The thing following you was a thing of mud and twigs, like a sculpture bringing the contents of a gutter to life. Hollows where the eyes should be, teeth made of small rocks. It ran, far quicker than any animal, vaulting the wall and disappearing into the old orchard.

“An elemental?” you said.

“Yes. You looked too hard, established a connection, and it noticed.”

“Look more obliquely, focus without focusing, or I scare them off; got it.”

It took you but a moment to trace out a more circuitous connection. You looked at it more like you would look aimlessly in between the trees while thinking about nothing in particular. The elemental had perched itself on the wall, but now crawled down behind it, only peeking over it at you.

You smiled.

“Quick study.”

From the creature, you traced connections to other entities hiding on the property; one up by the house, one in a tree in the orchard, one peeking over the crest of the hill.

Through them, you found a link that… tasted familiar. Briar Girl.

“I know who they serve. It’s no issue.”

“She wants your attention, and very possibly wants your help.”

“She has at a prior occasion had my full attention and did not enjoy it.”

“People often don’t enjoy being on the business end of a shotgun. You really should get a gun safe.”

You nodded.

“Do you know what she wants?”

“Neither money, books, or honey.”

“Three refusals? She is hobbling herself in future negotiations.”

“I suspect she is not very good at business. Let’s go.”

You crossed the street. Through your swarm you flagged down a car that might be suspicious: too little noonday traffic to be plausibly random.

“You have conflicts in your future, I feel; you need to get stronger, still.”

“Working on it. Knowledge is power, France is bacon and all that; or maybe I misheard it — for anyone listening, that was a joke, France is not actually bacon.”

“Take care with jokes like that.”

“I figured self-corrections hold at least some amount of credit.”

“They do, but not as much as truthfulness; I can tell you’re already aware you’re in danger. Take care not to look too hard and spook them.”

You retracted your swarm and observed the car only from afar with few enough eyes that it was only a blurry mess. It started and began rolling at a slow pace, coming in your direction.

“I don’t see a non-black non-truck, which is or isn’t coming our way. Alley up ahead, we’ll take a stop inside the block, then either double back or wait for them to make a move.”

You picked up the pace a little. Ms.Lewis followed in heels.

“Who trained you?”

“Largely self-taught.”

“You think like a soldier.”

“Anarchist praxis; part of it is preparing for confrontations with police, et cetera.”

You reached the alley and turned in. Even in a tidy little town like this, the alley was a bit filthy; plenty of insect life. You reached the courtyard, concrete ground and trash containers. “Any idea who we’re dealing with?” you asked.

“Figure it out yourself. I am not much familiar with the players in this area.”

You pondered getting a read on the license plate and calling the Service Ontario office — the police station was out of the question — though they probably wouldn’t run a plate even if you claimed you had spotted a suspicious vehicle, and if they did wouldn’t give you a name.

That left trying to spot the occupants or identify them some other way, perhaps by a trademark practice. You had read Personae.

You tried to find clues from the surrounding spirits; according to Shamanism, Animus spirits often represented ideas.

Suddenly the carapace lines shifted suddenly, and you felt yourself watched by two pairs of eyes, even through the solid brick of the surrounding buildings. Then as suddenly as it came, the connection was forcibly broken and diffused, leaving you without a solid link. A deliberate severing of the connection. You could still see the car, but it seemed off — less suspicious somehow. You dismissed the notion and insisted. It drove off.

“Sympathetic magic,” you said. “Enchantment. Duchamps.”

“Seems likely.”

You realized your mistake; the implication in Ms.Lewis’ words. “Let me guess, you’re not actually going to help me out.”

“That would be correct. I am not allowed to use my power when I am not working. But by my estimate you are more than capable as is of facing them head-on.”

“Figures. Consider the good-will you have built so far lost.”

You felt an entity approaching, directly connected. Through insect eyes you saw a bird, but didn’t feel it — a false bird, though no government drone, as the joke went — and it landed in the courtyard with you. A starling.

Then it unfolded, impossibly, though more plausibly than the Barber. Wings stretching and forming into sleeved arms, neck elongating but not widening much. It became a woman, slight of stature, and impossibly graceful, looking more like an elaborate doll or an anime waifu made real. She was dressed in complex clothing of no particular origin, with elements coming from everything between Chinese traditional dress to French haute couture.

At her side was a scabbard that seemed impractically long, and from it she drew a sword that was easily three meters long. The blade bent into a ‘C’ before coming free and snapping back to straight in a shower of sparks. She held it vertically, before lowering it in a fencer’s stance, pointed straight at your heart; out of reach of you, but you had no doubt she could lunge like a motherf*cker.

From her pointed ears and impossible appearance, you deduced she must be Faerie, a creature of glamour and elegance according to both Essentials and On Others, vulnerable to cold iron, base and dirty things, raw violence, everything bestial, even insults and reality-checks. There wasn’t a bug on her, and you weren’t sure you could even land one.

Docking your range down to her being just on the edge of it, confirmed your read.

“There is one thing I can do,” Ms.Lewis said quietly, and stepped in front of you.

The Fae hesitated.

“I suppose your master told you to kill or harm her.”

“What of it?” The fencer had a strange accent you couldn’t place, and you had heard quite a few. Exotic above all else.

“You shouldn’t harm me without her orders,” Ms.Lewis said in her most authoritative voice.

“I can do as I please.”

“Go on and ask your master if you should. Ask who I am and whether attacking me is a good idea.”

The Other steeled her features drew back the sword, ready to attack, and Ms.Lewis didn’t even flinch.

Then the Fae sniffed in defiance and transformed back into a bird, flying off to presumably find her master.

“Familiar?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Acting on partial intel,” you said. “Whoever gave that order is inexperienced.”

“I agree. No older than thirteen is my guess. One generally does not get inducted into this world until then; means the Familiar is new.”

She took you by the arm and led the two of you in the opposite direction. You came upon a door to some kind of industrial or retail building. From the front through your swarm you saw it was an abandoned store.

“Can you open locks?”

In response you opened the duffel bag, withdrew your toolbox from it, putting it down, then tightened the strap to fix the bag to your back where it wouldn’t get in the way.

Opening one of the top compartments you took your set of lock-picks. The handle proudly said Masterlock, so you took a rake rather than a pick, put tension with a suitable thickness of prybar, and opened the lock in two good jabs.

“Impressive.”

“Piss-poor lock. Buy Abus if you need something resembling security.” You pocketed the picks and picked up your toolbox.

“Duly noted.”

You proceeded inside to find dusty hallways and crumbling drywall. The absence of the development of the Hillsglade had caused the city to be on hard times.

Closing the door you re-picked the lock to lock it.

“Protection?”

“Not going to leave it unlocked and make problems for someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

Feeling out the building you noted the exit onto the street — risky — and the basem*nt, which would be suitable for an ambush. It wouldn’t do you much good, as you could feel the Fae coming for you like eyes in the back of your head. A connection, and a strong one.

“How do I break a connection? Or weaken it?”

“In the simplest term? Block the flow instead of strengthening it.”

“Perpendicular lines instead of parallel ones?”

You stood in the hallway and looked towards the connection, then you snorted hard and harked a ball of snot on the floor, wiping it across in front of you on the floor.

“Disgusting things against Faerie,” you said.

“You already know what’s coming for us?”

You nodded, feeling the connection weakening. In the interest of keeping Ms.Lewis in the dark you called a co*ckroach to climb across the wall, and with a quick motion grabbed it. “Forgive me little one,” you whispered to it, then threw it down behind your snot line, stepped on it and drew another line.

Last you put your toolbox down and picked out three long nails and your claw hammer, putting the nails in the floor with one blow each, then bending them down to lie parallel. Mild steel was just cold iron.

“Impressive.”

The connection was almost definitively broken, reduced perhaps only to the knowledge you were in the building.

“Will you try to keep me safe if it comes down to it?”

“Best as I can.”

“Then we set up an ambush in the basem*nt.” You set off at a jog, turning a corner and arriving at the basem*nt access. Another Masterlock, this time a padlock. You took out the prybar and rake, and defeated it on one swift stroke. The door opened for the two of you.

You took out clamps and twine and put an unbroken loop of it all around the door, fastening it to the jambs, threshold, and head. Wards on doors were doubly effective according to Essentials. With some smaller nails in hand, you reached out and drew forth more co*ckroaches. Whispering an apology to each of them, you nailed three of them to each jamb. Then you went down into the basem*nt proper.

“How do you summon insects like that?” Ms.Lewis asked. You ignored her.

There were some abandoned equipment there, likely to be used by the landlord before showing off to potential renters.

“So: it’s a Faerie,” you said, not even bothering to acknowledge the question. “Beings of— not quite artifice, refinement, beauty? Is that about right? Glamour is used for creating convincing fakes?”

“There’s more nuance to it.”

“I don’t need nuance, I need to beat up a Faerie Assassin.”

“We’re in an awkward position, then,” Ms.Lewis said. “In a city, they thrive, because just about everything is worked and refined; they find us interesting, and ennui is to them what death is to us.”

“The first insight of a designer: everything not natural is designed. Do broken things work?”

“To an extent.”

“They use Glamour. Weaknesses in that?”

“Glamour thrives on attention, on interacting with our senses and being validated. A glamour is most effective if it can insinuate itself into your subconscious. The Faerie manipulate things to distract, to addle your senses so you aren’t paying attention to the fact that it doesn’t fit with reality. You’re more afraid for your life than you are concerned with the ridiculous length of her blade, and the fact that she couldn’t possibly be strong enough to hold it.”

“Oh, I noticed. You called her bluff, it weakened her.” Your eyes fell on what you had hoped to find: a length of iron pipe, lousy with rust, dust, and limescale. Bits of insulation stuck to it, which had at some point gotten moist and grown mold. “So, what’s that one’s deal?”

“The swordswoman. The Faerie go through trends, fashions of a sort. Mixing notions, styles, and past ideas into new forms until they’ve run completely out of ideas. Then they rebel, they overthrow the court, and a new season begins with a different foundation. Light faerie versus the dark, for example, or a court with a true king and queen and a dynasty that they’ve glamoured up to extend back through the centuries. The ‘duelist’ would be one idea that might have caught their fancy, as of late.”

You had only skimmed the chapter on Faerie, but it rang true with what you knew. “I recall something to that effect, but only in the abstract,” you said. You picked up the pipe and gave it a twirl. “So it’s all one big… roleplay?”

“It’s a very serious sort of play, when you get down to it. Dress it up in the glamour of possible true death, using a rapier can kill even Faerie; build up stories of an unbeatable duelist, fights for pride, fights for the idea of romance; see what ideas and adventures emerge. Something as brutal, violent and sudden as this is far more dramatic and interesting when the ‘death’ of one individual in a duel might throw two hundred plots into disarray. A Faerie cannot afford not to watch.”

“Like Revolutionary Girl Utena.” You began thinking of how to run counter to that narrative.

Ms.Lewis seemed to like lecturing, she continued: “She’s dangerous, though I should stress that she’s here and not there. She wasn’t so good she could become part of the story they were telling in the court; it’s very possible she lost an important fight and walked away, or she broke a rule for this particular set of games and was exiled for her trouble. It is very telling when a Faerie becomes a familiar; going out of her way to experience mortality, to form a bond with a person for decades, doesn’t it seem like a desperate grasp at occupying herself or filling her time?”

You hm’ed, taking up position near a wall. The ceiling was too low for an overhead swing, that left a swing from the side and a stab. You shook your head, focusing on the fact that the Fae’s sword was a ludicrous piece of teen-aged power-fantasy.

“I commend your choice of weapon. You clearly know how to hold your own in a fight.”

“So, that anime-protagonist-looking idiot is, what… staving off boredom?”

“She’s most likely clinging to the last few scraps available to her; it’s hard to say where this leads. Some lose their minds, others throw away their minds, carving away their personalities and memories so they might start fresh… Some defy the court and try to change the game in another way, trying to bring about a larger change, and they get banished when they fail. The question is, why is this information important to you?”

“Knowledge is Power, France is not bacon.”

Ms.Lewis stepped back towards the end of the basem*nt room.

“I’m thinking a desperate woman, on her last ergs, upholding ideals in some imitative display of what she lost?”

“Sounds likely. Why the basem*nt?”

“Out of sight in case I need to do something drastic.”

“If it comes to it — I will give you a name. Speak that, and the entity it summons will allow you to prevail.”

“I’m almost certain I will regret doing that, and ideally I’d prefer not to know.”

“Ornias. He once placed the stars in the firmament, now he calls them down to earth. If you do end up summoning him, I will shoulder the cost.”

You glared at her. “I told you no.”

There was a sharp sound as the door up the stairs was cut in half and the Faerie vaulted it with the grace of a gazelle, taking the steps two at a time down. Her blade was drawn.

“Slippery prey,” she said. “Hiding from prying eyes.”

“You’re a duelist, are you not? Not a hunter,” you said. “Not a low, dishonorable assassin, doing dirty-work for a teenager.”

Her expression soured.

“And accosting a citizen in an alleyway with a sword is felony assault with a deadly weapon, a crime, not an honorable act. That also gives me the right to defend myself in any way I see fit, up to and including killing you if I have no other option.”

“Now that will be a neat trick from a neonate practitioner.”

You scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish; you have the physique of a malnourished runway model, and that sword is either impossibly heavy and you’re only barely able to hold it up using Glamour fakery, or it’s literally tin foil. Hell, even if it was real, the way you bent it outside means it’s spring steel which doesn’t hold an edge worth a damn. You can’t fool a tradeswoman.”

She snarled. Your insults were having an effect.

“Meanwhile, I am made of flesh and blood, I have poop inside me, I am a human animal, I’ve learnt to fight for my life with tooth and nail and adrenaline, devoid of honor when survival is on the line. I’m a cornered beast.” You twirled the pipe.

“I was going to humiliate you, mortal, but now I’m going to make it bad. And believe me, I can make it bad. I was the consort and protector to the High Queen’s Torturer. The woman taught me a great deal.”

“Torture? So you’re a war criminal too. Or worse, an animal abuser? Sheesh! You’re bad at this, just admitting to dishonorable conduct left and right.”

“Silence!” she hissed.

“I barely believe one thing about you. Not your looks, not your weapon, not your alleged ‘expertise’ in torture. I might be tempted to conclude you Fae are a bunch of practitioners who deluded yourselves into thinking you could lie — to reality, no less.” You tapped the wall with your pipe for emphasis. “Look young, be young. Look strong, be strong. Look invulnerable, be invulnerable. Smoke and mirrors; and the moment someone doesn’t clap their hands, you’re old, feeble, and vulnerable.”

She regained some manner of composure. “You insult me, you insult my people. Shall I take you to my Queen and tell her what you said, so she can devise an appropriate punishment?”

“That would hardly help your case; I’d see right through whatever kangaroo court your kind could dream up. Now are you going to make a pathetic attempt at proving me wrong by resorting to base violence, or am I going to have to find somewhere to take a nap while you have an existential crisis?”

She lunged, swinging wild. You didn’t need to read her with your power, as her form was utterly broken. You stepped forwards, parried with the pipe causing the sword to wiggle like sheet metal and the accompanying comical sound. You closed the distance, and headbutted her. She stumbled back, blood trickling from her nose. She hadn’t even the wherewithal to raise a guard, not that there was space for the sword.

“Pathetic. You look like you’ve watched bad animes and convinced yourself you know how to fight.”

Then you swung and hit her shoulder, hard. She cried out and dropped the sword. You kicked it aside — it was light. Then you swung low and broke her kneecap and she collapsed.

You bent down and took your kukri from your belt, then cut the scabbard from her side and threw it next to the sword. “I’m confiscating your little butterknife.”

She whimpered and crawled into a corner. You went to her and crouched down, lifting her chin with the pipe. “Such a pretty thing you had made yourself into. Shame I had to break your nose.”

“Do as you will, you brute.”

“You do realize your actions today constitute causus belli and that unless your family make diplomatic efforts and amends, this means war? That means as of now you are a prisoner of war. And in honorable warfare, prisoners must be treated with dignity. No torture, no deprivation, no —” you gestured non-specifically at her “— brutish violations of their person.”

You took a deep breath.

“Unfortunately it’s not really logistically feasible for me to bring you to a safe location where I can keep you contained for an extended duration, so instead, I give you an opportunity to save face for your dishonorable actions today.”

Your twirled the kukri in your hand to present her with the handle. “Cut off your braid, and I shall consider your contrition genuine and next time we meet assume you posses a modicum of honor, even if your entire being is made of Glamour and fakery.”

With shaking hand she took your knife, reached behind her head, and sawed off her platinum hair, and handed it to you.

You stood, and dangled it in front of her. “Spoils of war: I’ll be claiming a shard of your power.”

You went to the sword and with some effort wiggled it back into the overly long sheath. You took out a white marker from your toolbox and scribbled a shamanic glyph on it, to avert Innocent’s eyes. Then you bound a piece of twine to it to let you carry it over your shoulder. The braid you put in your toolbox, and took out the superglue.

You went back to the Fairy woman took her good hand, put a generous glob of glue on it, and put it down on the concrete floor. She whimpered. “This is the premium stuff. Feel free to enjoy it.” You put the pipe in your duffel bag, with your toolbox.

Then you waved for Ms.Lewis to follow and went up the stairs, out to the front door to the street.

“Let’s double back to the house real quick,” you said.

“Wise. There is another out there, with another familiar. Not that I doubt you couldn’t come out victorious, but not as cleanly as you just did.”

“Yeah.”

“You are full of wonders,” she said.

“Ms.Lewis, you are not making a very good show of convincing me you aren’t at least a little bit into women.”

“It is a shame about your groceries.”

“Yeah, those will have to wait.”

Then you saw it, out on the street. There was the black sedan. You had somehow missed it entirely, and cursed yourself for slipping. Damn enchantresses. On the hood of it sat a girl about twelve. Leaning on the driver’s side door was another girl of maybe twenty.

Through your swarm you felt connections begin to form; many of them and rapidly. Something was coming. You were tired, drained somehow. Had setting up those wards really taken so much from you?

“Can I use your stature to make implied threats?”

“Go right ahead.”

You stepped out on the street. The black sedan was almost blocking your way back to Hillsglade. The two girls both stiffened some as you turned towards them.

“Where’s Letita?” the younger girl said.

“Before you do anything,” you said. “This woman here is Ms.Lewis of Mann, Levinn and Lewis. The law firm that’s handling my grandmother’s estate. You do not want to mess with her, or me, while she’s here. To answer your question, your familiar is glued to the floor in the basem*nt.”

The girl hopped down from the hood of the car, clutching what had to be her implement: a golden buckler. She started running — “Hey! Get back here!” her sister called — and you stepped right in front of her. “What you did today was profoundly stupid. What’s your name?”

“Joanna Duchamp.”

“Joanna and Latita.” You looked to the older girl.

“Penelope.”

You nodded. “Now, if you don’t have any further quarrels with me, I’d like to get on with my day.”

“We were told to stop you,” Joanna said. “You’re dangerous. You don’t even realize how dangerous you all are. We’re supposed to do anything and everything we can.”

“Hush, Jo!”

You forced out a laugh. “Oh, sweetie, you don’t realize how dangerous I am. And thank you for telling me the order came from higher up. Saves me the trouble of asking your mother to beat some sense into you. Now go get your familiar; I won’t get in your way.”

She darted past you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Penelope said.

“I am not without honor. You could learn a thing or two about that.”

“I should give my life to stop you,” she continued. “Joanna doesn’t know everything, but she’s essentially right.”

You looked her dead in the eye, took a step forwards, and called upon every ounce of intimidation you had in you. “Life is precious, but if you insist on parting with it, there are less painful ways than suicide by Thorburn. Give me cause and I will not hesitate.”

She reached into her pocket and your hand went for your kukri.

“Whoa, sh*t, I’m just getting my phone, you maniac!”

“So you can dial for help?” you said. “Get f*cked. Ms.Lewis, we’re going.”

And you did. In passing you snapped a picture of the car’s license plate on your phone.

You stopped at the entrance to the driveway. “Ms.Lewis, I’d be lying if I said it had been a pleasure. I’m afraid I’d rather we part, now. I wish you an enjoyable rest of your break.”

She held out a hand to you, and you shook it.

“If I may give you a word of advice,” she said. “Prepare to fight opponents who have karma on their side. Have a good day, Ms.Thorburn.”

Tiffany came down to the entry hall to see you come in. You felt haggard. Drained. “Wow, Blake, what happened?”

“Got accosted in the road by an Elven Assassin of some sort. Familiar, Duchamp coven.”

“Are you injured?”

“Just tired. I won. Kicked her ass so hard candy came out — didn’t get to shop for groceries though.”

You shrugged off the obscenely long sword, put your toolbox down. Then you leaned against the wall, rubbing your eyes. Tiffany came over and hugged you.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

You hugged her back.

Alexis came in. “Oh god, what happened?”

“Got in a fight; I’m unhurt.”

“And the creepy lawyer woman?”

You smiled. “She was very helpful in her own way, but also just as full of sh*t as anyone else in this whole ordeal.”

Alexis came over and hugged you as well. “Wanna talk about it?”

“It was a Faerie familiar of one of the young Duchamps. Joanna. I need to make a phone call. How did the séance go?”

“Good. Excellent,” Alexis said. “We set up a protective circle on the back porch — salt and a loop of really long extension chord.”

“Felt very witchy,” Tiffany added. “We managed to get our hands on four entire ghosts, thanks to Lexi’s research.”

“So where are they now?” you asked.

Alexis took your hand and led you down into the basem*nt. “I’m thinking we build our arsenal down here.” She pointed to one of the shelves where four glass bottles were lined up, a strip of cloth bound around each with twine, and stoppered with a cork. A symbol was painted on each of them, some kind of binding sigil.

“Those look like—”

“—Molotov co*cktails, yes. Since ghosts are a limited-use kind of deal I figured we’d make ourselves some metaphysical bombs.”

You gave her a kiss. “Good job.”

“Not as good as you,” Tiffany said.

You went into the living room and grabbed the phone book, finding the number of Sandra Duchamp. You coded the number into your phone and dialed, putting it on speaker phone. You took a seat on the sofa, with Alexis and Tiffany taking up seats on either side of you.

It rang twice.

“Sandra Duchamp, who’s this?”

“I think you already know, but in the interest of courtesy, Blake Thorburn and coven. You’re on speaker phone.”

“What do you want?”

“First, this conversation is for your ears alone. Do not record it, do not transcribe it, do not recite to anyone the exact words from memory.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else I will hang up and you will not, for the time being, hear from me about this crucially important secret subject I wish to talk about.”

“I will not record, transcribe, or recited the exact words of this conversation.”

You put on an inappropriately cheerful tone: “Good. I’d like to notify you that I was just today assaulted by Joanna Duchamp’s familiar Letita. It goes without saying that aggression of that caliber — she was threatening deadly force — is in my eyes very much causus belli according to the conditions I set out at the council meeting. Without diplomatic concessions from the Duchamp family, I shall consider this a declaration of war. Thoughts?”

“What concessions are you looking to secure?”

“The reason I am calling you is because to my mind, you bear culpability: you are the head of your coven. This means either you ordered a hit on me, or you failed to keep your subordinates in line, I’m guessing Joanna’s mother might have a hand in it; or some combination of the two. In any case you very much had the power to prevent this escalation of hostilities and did not.”

“You are wasting my time.”

“A small price to pay for peace, is it not? I want to make it very clear: I am the aggrieved party, and I will set the terms, compliance is up to you, but I will not negotiate. Should you agree to them, we can go back to the tenuous, uneasy equilibrium we had before this.”

“I am still waiting to hear your terms.”

“My conditions are thus: under the Geneva Convention, the use of child soldiers is considered a war crime. I would very much prefer we keep this conflict civilized, so my proposal is that you take steps to ensure no Duchamp under the age of majority will be participating, should the occasion arise.”

“This will require some deliberation.”

You switched registers to dead seriousness and spoke slowly and with gravitas: “In war, child soldiers are combatants just like the rest. They get maimed and killed and taken prisoner, just the same as adults. I’m not here to make you promise me some kind of binding oath and haggle over details, I’m telling you, one compassionate human being to another: don’t inflict this on your family. Consider it advance warning and heed as you see fit.”

“If you take hostages, don’t you suppose the police will get involved?”

“Have a nice evening, Sandra and feel free to tell Laird Behaim your niece started the war.”

“Wait.”

“Say your piece.”

“I will tell my family that it is too dangerous for the children to get involved. Whether they decide to disobey my warning, is on them.”

“Do that, and I’ll consider us back in a state of tenuous peace. But remember: I will not be risking the safety of my coven to show child soldiers additional mercy; so choose the level of precaution that lets you sleep at night. Exact binding oaths or take away their Saturday candy, I don’t care.”

You hung up.

“Okay, that was sexy as hell.”

You fell back against the backrest. “Can you two handle making ready for when Maggie comes by? I was hoping to bake some cookies, but —” you gestured non-specifically at everything.

“We’ll take care of things,” Alexis said, and kissed your forehead.

Chapter 10: 2-4

Chapter Text

Maggie came at thirty-one minutes past three, and you were still feeling a bit low, but just… being in the same room, or even just, as Tiffany and Alexis was rejuvenating, somehow. And when Alexis had come to sit and stroke your hair, it had really helped.

“Ms.Holt, welcome to Hillsglade,” you said, holding the door and giving a small bow.

“Ms.Thorburn, thank you for the invitation,” she said and curtsied.

“I welcome you in our house and on our property in accordance with the rules of hospitality. To be given by the host and respected by the guest.” It was an old wording — true to your intuitions — which Tiffany had dug out. Hospitality was an ancient tradition, and therefore had power.

“Oh I’ll respect your hospitality, totally.”

“And also, whatever you learn here that you think could be of use to our enemies, keep it from them. We extend the same courtesy in turn.”

“Yes’m.”

You chuckled, and she smiled. “Then come one in, Maggie, Tiffany has baked a cake, and we’ve got coffee and tea.”

“Oh, wow.”

She toed off her sneakers and undid her checkered scarf but did not remove it. It seemed like a trademark of sorts.

“Come meet the others.”

“You’re gay, right?”

“Yes we are. You?”

“My dads are. I’m kind of adjacent to the whole thing, you know?”

You entered the lounge where Alexis had set the sofa table with cake cut in squares on a plate, pot of coffee and tea; napkins; the whole shebang.

Maggie seemed more fascinated by how every wall was a bookcase. “Yikes, was your — grandmother? It was your grandmother, right?”

“Yes.”

“— was she some kind of bibliophile?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. Never asked. She was a… really unpleasant person in a lot of ways. Diabolatry notwithstanding.”

“Oh.” She turned her attention on Alexis. “Hi; Maggie.”

Alexis shook her hand. “Alexis.”

Then she went to Tiffany to shaker her hand as well.

“Tiffany; please, have a seat! I took the liberty of selecting some books. If you have any special requests I can go hunting, and we have a photocopier upstairs so, we can copy you some pages.”

Maggie seemed more enticed by the stack of books than the cake. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many books about magic in one place.”

“Oh we have an entire library,” you said.

“Tea or coffee?” Alexis asked.

“Tea please. I feel like I’m getting pampered here. What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” you said, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “You’re a friendly-ish face in a sea of enemies. I’ve had a day, let me tell you what.”

Maggie blew on her tea.

“So,” Alexis said. “Maggie Holt, what kind of practice do you do?”

“I work with Goblins. They’re… I won’t say easy, but they were available to me at the time. It’s a useful specialization; they’re easy enough to understand, if not predict.”

“We’ve got books on Goblins,” Tiffany said. “I can fetch some.”

“Are we doing like, a back-and-forth of taking turns to ask questions?”

“Sure,” you said.

“That… demon, you have in the… attic or whatever,” Maggie said. “How powerful is it really?”

“Bit of a heavy question,” Alexis said.

“I don’t know,” you said. “I’m not even sure it can be quantified. But if he gets out, he’ll be very hard to stop — if that ever happens, whatever you do, don’t look directly at him.”

Maggie seemed to pale a little.

“You in school? What grade?” Tiffany asked, bringing levity back to the conversation.

“Eleventh. I’m seventeen.”

“Rough age,” Alexis said. “It gets better.”

“Loving parents is a plus,” Tiffany said.

“You’re from Toronto, right? What kind of stuff do you do there?”

“I’m a painter,” Tiffany said.

“Tattoo artist, community outreach,” Alexis said.

“Carpentry, but I do like a lot of odd-jobs in the creative scene,” you added. “Demesne? Familiar? Implement?”

“Just implement,” Maggie said. She pulled up her shirt, showing a knife in a sheath. She pulled it, showing a waved dagger.

“Kriss-style athame. It’s used a lot in Wicca, but that’s more because this one guy was a blade aficionado. I like it more for its roots as a sacrificial blade.”

“You do Wicca?” Tiffany asked.

“More as an inspiration for my Practice. I had to start somewhere.”

“I’ve been thinking of incorporating some Chaos Magic, myself.”

“You guys have implements, right?” Maggie asked.

“Toolbox.”

“Medical bag.”

“Tool bag.”

She nodded. “That’s very… uh, something.”

“Gay?” Tiffany suggested.

“I mean, I guess, yeah.”

“Maggie,” you said. “This upcoming conflict, if it comes to pass, could get ugly. How do you feel about that?”

“Neutral,” she replied. “I mean, I’m very much not neutral, morally speaking, but ugly? Eh. You said you weren’t ex-mil; so what are you?”

“Let’s say I have inherited some special training from someone who was involved with a paramilitary organization in the United States.”

“That makes no sense.”

You shrugged. “I hope it’s the truth. Have you seen ugly conflict before?”

“Yes. Do you think you can win?”

“Yes. What kind?”

“Goblin attack. Why do you think you can win against Behaim and Duchamp?”

“We’re three lesbian anarchists going up against an entrenched powerbase. These two are apparently near geniuses at ritual magic, and I’m not far off from a trained soldier. The Goblin attack was your induction into this world?”

“Yes. What’s your connection to insects?”

You debated for a moment not telling her, but that would end the game, and you felt a fruitful line of inquiry. “I control them. What wounds or burdens — real or metaphorical do you carry from that Goblin attack?”

She remained quiet. Probably making the same kind of calculation as you. “A… curse of sorts. What do you mean, you control them?”

“They obey my commands, and lend me their senses. What is the contents of this curse?”

She sighed.

“You don’t have to answer,” Alexis said. “Blake, I think you’ve overdone it.”

“No,” Maggie said. “I swore an oath to bring forth ‘blood and fire and darkness.’ Twice more, to make three with the attack I was in… I think. I mean, it fits.”

You nodded, looked at Alexis and Tiffany, and gave a deep sigh. “I have a feeling we’ll be walking into one or both of those in the near future.”

“Are you going to kick me out?” Maggie asked in a small voice.

“Goodness, no,” Alexis said. “Blake can be a doomer sometimes.”

“I really can,” you concurred. “Maggie, no offense, but you don’t seem to fit the profile of ‘bringer of blood fire and darkness’ to me. And I know of a few people like that.”

“Yeah, if I understand it right, it’s more of a malediction than an obligation,” Tiffany said. “Is that about right?”

Maggie nodded. “Yeah. I mean, remains to be seen but I don’t intend to like, murder people and burn stuff. What kind of spell or deal do you use to control insects?”

You shook your head. “To my knowledge, neither. If I were to call it by a descriptive name, I’d call it a super-power. I got it seven years ago, together with the memories of its former owner, whom I recall to be a girl from a New England city that doesn’t exist. She was a bona-fide super-villain in her world, timeline, whatever; got caught, turned face, averted an apocalypse, died. I got my power precisely at the same age as she died.”

“Cake?” Tiffany offered, conspicuously wasting your question again. You made eye contact with her, she smiled.

Maggie blinked. “More between heaven and earth, I guess. What kind of lame superpower is bugs, though?”

“I can fill your underpants with angry hornets. Does that answer your question?”

“Yes; fudging heck, I can see why you’re confident you can win, now.” She took a bite of cake.

You leaned back. “Maggie, thank you. I’m sorry for pushing. Your secrets are safe with us.”

“No problem. I… I was pushy too. And likewise.”

“Blake, can I talk with you for a moment?” Alexis said.

You looked at her and the looks she gave you was one of utter seriousness. You nodded and stood, following her into the kitchen. She shut the door and spoke in a hushed tone: “All right, want to explain to me why you just interrogated a minor in our living room?”

You took a deep breath. Part of you wanted to justify your actions with the resulting intel, but you hadn’t had anything but a hunch going in. You felt a little bit drained, same as when you came home.

“I f*cked up, didn’t I?”

“You already know the answer to that question.”

Through bugs in the living room you saw Tiffany and Maggie and deliberately turned your attention aside. “I’m regressing into old habits, habits that aren’t even mine. Taylor’s.”

“I thought so. I’m not going to tell you to lay them aside, because it sounds like this Taylor girl of yours went through the same kind of sh*t we’re desperately in need of first-hand experience with, given our current situation.”

She went up to you and put her hands on your cheeks. “But for Pete’s sake, Blake, know thyself.”

You nodded.

“God, you look like a scolded puppy.”

“I feel like one.”

“More scolding then: I also think we need to make a policy of who we reveal your trump card to. Maggie knowing isn’t a problem, I think. She’s a sweet girl, and honestly she could use a coven of nice queer witches like us, but you and I both know she’s not the kind of ally we can rely on if sh*t hits the fan.”

“Agreed.”

She kissed you. “Good. Now let’s get back in there, and show that poor girl some kindness.”

As you came back into the living room, Maggie turned in her seat to look at you, just a bit too quick, probably attempting to hide that she was scared of you.

You went to kneel next to her. “Maggie, I’m really sorry.”

“What for?” she said nonchalantly.

“You know what for. I’m a grown woman, you’re — no offense — a kid. And I wasn’t treating you with the respect I ought to; I was treating you as a potential adversary, evaluating you as a potential ally, when I should have been treating you as my charge, evaluating how best to mentor you.”

Maggie shifted. “Listen, you don’t have to put on the kid-gloves with me—”

“Just a few hours ago I admonished Sandra Duchamp for sending a child after me, but I treated that child with comparative kindness. I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t apply the same criticism to myself. You’re a minor.”

“I turn eighteen in October.”

“Still. If there’s a conflict before then, between me and the powers that be in Jacob’s Bell… I would prefer you stay out of it. Not that we couldn’t use your help, but I can’t in good conscience see you put at risk. I want you to talk it over with your dads, presenting the facts as you understand them, and let them decide whether to allow you to participate. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “I do.”

“And I know that I didn’t make you promise to do that, talk to your dads, but Maggie, look at me.”

She did.

“I didn’t make Sandra Duchamp promise anything either. Your dads love you — I hope — so I want you to make a promise, in your heart, to not break theirs.”

She nodded slowly.

You stood. “Wow, that was a bit weird, wasn’t it?”

“Yep,” Maggie said, popping the P. “But like, I think I get it.”

You looked at the books on the table. “Executive vote, Tiff, Lexi, we show Maggie our library?”

“Aye,” Alexis said. “Aye,” Tiffany concurred.

Maggie’s eyes went as wide as saucers when you opened the door to the library.

“Holy moly,” she muttered.

“They layout is a little silly,” you said. “There’s more books down the stepladder, so you kinda have to go up to go down. I might knock a hole in the wall and install another hidden door.”

She browsed past the shelves, looking at titles.

“How— how much paper do you have on hand? For that copier?”

“Plenty of paper, but the toner might be a problem,” you said.

“There might be more in the storage room,” Alexis said. “We never took full inventory of it.”

Tiffany went to the stepladder with the book bag. “What kind of books are you looking for?”

Maggie scratched the back of her neck. “Uh…”

“How are you on the basics? You can never be too good at the basics,” Tiffany said. “We have an extra copy of Essentials we’re willing to part with — though it’s an older edition.”

“I’ll take it,” Maggie said. “Also if you have a book about Others, and maybe one specifically about goblins? Also— I’d like some guides on how to fortify a location with wards. It’d let me sleep better at night.”

“A very sensible selection,” Tiffany said. “Not sure we can part with them but we can definitely get you some copies.”

“I’ll track down some extra toner if we have it,” you said.

Tiffany darted over to you and leaned against your chest. “And make some sandwiches for dinner so we can eat while we read.”

Alexis playfully slapped you on the butt as you went by her.

As you went into the hall you heard Maggie say: “Are you being sickeningly lovey-dovey on purpose just to embarrass me or something?”

“If I wanted to embarrass you, I’d tell you about what the three of us did last night,” said Alexis.

You sent Maggie home at eight in the evening.

“You sure you don’t need an escort?” you asked, by the door.

“I have more in the way of supernatural protections than you,” she said.

“That’s not technically an answer. I can give you a ride home if you need it.”

She smiled. “No.I’m fine. Thank you, Blake. It’d be really cool if we could turn this into a regular thing.”

“It would indeed. Though I’m not sure how often we’ll be in Jacob’s Bell going forward. We have our lives in Toronto after all.”

“Yeah. Fair enough.”

You shook her hand. “Good night and fare well.” A traditional sendoff remark.

“Good night and fare well.”

She left into the bright evening, and you went back into the house. Unlike the others you had been reading a normal book about the geography of Ontario, and an idea was beginning to form in your mind.

“I think I have an offer to propose to the Briar Girl.”

“Oh?” Alexis said. Tiffany looked up from her book.

“We can get the land Protected. She wants the property for her Demesne, but it seems politically unrealistic for that to happen as it stands. This will expand her time-frame.”

“Genius,” Alexis said. “I’m always in favor of preserving untouched nature.”

“Hang on,” Tiffany said. “Hang on!” She got up and dashed to the desk, pulling out the manilla folder of legalese. She paged through it. “Blake, call up Mr.Beasley,” she commanded.

You promptly took out your phone and dialed. It rang twice.

“Miss Thorburn?”

“Hello, Mr.Beasley, sorry for the late call.”

Tiffany gestured frantically.

“My associate Ms.Pirzada wants to discuss something with regards to the property. I’m putting you on speaker.”

“Of course.”

“Hello, Mr.Beasley,” Tiffany said. “I was wondering, Blake is required to essentially act as a steward for the property, and cannot sell it. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“The property, does it refer to the house, the land, or both?”

“Depends.”

“We cannot even sell parts of the land, can we?”

“No.”

“We’ve made a deal to use some of the monthly stipend to pay for maintenance of the grounds and house exterior. I assume we’re at liberty to make certain choices regarding the land?”

“Yes? Are you planning on doing some gardening?”

“Now I notice that the property includes a significant amount of uncultivated wetlands. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“By my estimates, maintaining the status of these wetlands is far beyond the budget set for exterior maintenance.”

“Uh, I’m not sure I know enough about wetlands to know what they cost to maintain.”

“Let’s say we have a very capable organization who would be very willing to take care of them for us, can we delegate stewardship of the area?”

“Depends. I must say I don’t like where this is going.”

“This conversation is protected by privilege?”

“Of course.”

“Then let me cut to the chase. It would seem to me that Rose Thorburn completely neglected, in her will, to outlaw charitable donation. Of the land.”

There was silence.

“Under the agreement any kind of trade is prohibited—”

“We’re not trading favors with anyone,” you said. “We’d be giving it away as an unconditional gift to the Province of Ontario, where it will gain status as a protected nature reserve.”

There was quiet for a while more. “I don’t think you will be very popular with the firm, but it seems you have identified a loophole. Use it wisely.”

He hung up.

“All right, let’s do some reading,” Alexis said. “If we’re doing this we need to do it properly. Through channels, and all that. And make sure the process isn’t tampered with.”

She kissed Tiffany on the cheek.

“Are you sure you should be going this late?” Alexis asked.

You nodded. “I have something she wants. If she hurts me, she’ll never get it. And if she tries, it’ll cost her dearly.” You hung your shotgun over one arm, and your implement in the duffel bag over the other shoulder — you really needed to find a bare shoulder strap for it.

Wearing your wellingtons, you went down to the tree line in the darkening twilight.

To your second sight, the forest was interconnected intricately, and full of spirit activity — though more… placid than it was in the city. The insect life was rich, and the whole of the land felt vital.

Tracing the concepts and connections you tried to get a feel for where Briar Girl might be found, but predictably it wasn’t easy. Still you tried, and hoped it was enough to get her attention.

“What do you want?” a voice said from above.

You looked up to see the white dove.

“I’d like to talk. Face-to-face. I have a proposal I think you will be very interested in.”

“And why should I—”

“Please? In the interest of not being unpleasant neighbors to one another?”

The dove remained quiet. Then it flew off to a tree a little ways off, landing, and looking at you. “Are you coming?”

“If I have your hospitality, and you will let me leave unhurt.”

“Aye. Though I will not defend you from other parties.”

“You will not take aggressive action against me while I am your guest, and that includes inciting other parties to attack me, selling me out, and so on. To the extent that you will be an honorable host, I will be a respectful guest. The rules of hospitality.”

“Agreed.”

You followed the dove. It did not lead you far — perhaps a few hundred meters — but your swarm sense got confused in the process. There was some space-bending magic at work.

The dove led you to a glade, and in it was as a centerpiece a broad stump. All around the edge of the clearing lurked various others, some you could guess at, some not. Off to one side was a bivouac shelter which seemed the work of an experienced bush-crafter.

On the stump sat the Briar Girl. Her clothes were the kind suitable to wilderness travel — sturdy trousers, a canvas jacket with many pockets — by her side was the staff that was probably her implement, and on her lap sat a brown rabbit that was obviously powerful: her familiar.

“Put away your weapon,” she said.

You looked around. “I don’t feel particularly welcome. All of these Others are under your command, are they not? If I disarm myself, what’s to stop them from tearing me to pieces?”

“My word.”

“Do I have your word?”

She kept quiet.

“You want the property.”

“Yes.”

“It is not mine to give to you.”

“We know that. We also know that if we kill you, the next heir in line takes it, and if we keep killing you eventually the Demons get it and we get nothing, so for now you get to live.”

“The most likely course of events is that as soon as the property can be sold, one of us Thorburn heirs will sell it to the city. Yes?”

She nodded.

“And you also know that I mostly just want to be rid of Hillsglade.”

She nodded.

“There’s a loophole in the contract which allow us to compromise, and this is where I need your help. How would you like for the woods and marshes to be declared a protected nature reserve?”

“What does that mean in this context?”

“It would become common land under the jurisdiction of the Province of Ontario. Almost no matter what happened to the Hillsglade property, the city wouldn’t get to drain the marshes and cut down the forest.”

She bent her head down to the rabbit in her lap, and you felt it whisper to her — not with sound, or even a language, but in some form of communication only familiar and master understood.

“What do you want in return.”

“I specifically cannot request anything in return for doing this, or it would not be a donation. It would be a sale, and I am prohibited from selling. However, while I can just donate the land to Ontario, there is only some amount of probability that the land will be protected. They might decide to give it over to the city anyway.”

“That gives us nothing, then.”

“Indeed. However, we can game the system. The marshes can be declared a Provincially Significant Wetland, for instance, if it fulfills some requirements; the forest can be made a Provincial Park — that’s a little easier, but still has some requirements.”

She looked at you for a beat. “Go on.”

“What I am proposing is that you undertake an environmental study, and we figure out if the Hillsglade property is suitable to be declared a nature reserve. And if it isn’t, then you use your magic to make it so.”

“What, we should change the land?”

“For the most part you would probably be making it more wilderness-like. Denser forests, deeper marshes, more animal diversity, that kind of thing.”

She was quiet for a time.

“The end result would be that your demesne-deadline is lifted. It would also hurt Behaim and Duchamp, which I am not opposed to. However, I’m not going to donate the land if I’m not reasonably sure it’ll be protected. I’m opposed to the destruction of our nature, a bit like you.”

“You dominate the insects.”

“I can’t turn that off, that I know of, try as I might. I’m well aware of how much damage I could do to the ecosystem, and I try to walk lightly in that regard. Mostly I just look through their eyes. As I said: opposed to the destruction of nature.”

She whispered with her familiar again.

“So what is the deal you want to make?”

“My coven will see to investigating the law and find out what looks most promising with the information we have on hand, then we will discuss with you what needs to be done next.”

“That is vague.”

“It is. This is no done deal, this is a project that will take multiple weeks, if not months. Hence why I am leaving it open-ended.”

“We can’t use that for anything then—”

You held up a hand. “The end-goal will be that I send off the necessary documents to the government so that the forest and marshes part of the Hillsglade will be donated to the Ontario government, with every reasonable effort made on our part within the bounds of the law, to ensure it will obtain protected status.”

“When?”

“Whenever we are properly done with the project. Do you want it done fast or do you want it done right?”

She remained quiet for a while more. Then she whispered with the rabbit.

“If you need time to deliberate, I’ll gladly give it.”

“What do you want in return?”

“If we go into this collaboration, my untimely death would be a major impediment. No?”

She hm’ed.

“So all I really want is a good neighbor. An ally of necessity. I can guarantee you I am not in the business of risking my life hoping others will come to my aid.”

“We are not very willing to ally with diabolists.”

“I’m not very willing to be a diabolist.”

“Look about you, Thorburn. The animals do not trust you. Whether you’re willing to or not, you have a foul stench about you.”

You didn’t cast a glance around, you could already feel the larger spirits, the animal spirits, were regarding you with fear and suspicion, they snarled and bristled. A low drone in the air.

“Yeah. I probably do. But at least let me help you ensure the… putrefaction causing that stench does not spread to your fair forest. Help me wash my hands of the foul claim I have to this land you love.”

“Well said.” She put the rabbit down and stood up. “Blake Thorburn, I am willing to make this deal. You shall provide me with counsel about the law of the land, and I shall provide you with counsel about the state and content of the land.”

“Nice wording,” you said. “And once we have knowledge, we will act to make the forest and the marshes of Hillsglade into a protected nature reserve of the Province of Ontario.”

“A month from now if either of us feel unsatisfied with the progress, we renegotiate the terms,” she added.

“Sounds good to me.” You held out a hand. She shook it.

Chapter 11: 2-5

Chapter Text

You listened to the recording over breakfast.

“… we will act to make the forest and the marshes of Hillsglade into a protected nature reserve of the Province of Ontario.”

“Then good night, Thorburn. My servants will see you safely back out of our forest.”

“And to you as well, Briar Girl.”

Briar Girl’s voice had been garbled a bit, perhaps by whatever magic she was employing.

“Good job,” Alexis said.

“It’s all on you two,” you said. “I can’t believe you had her all figured out, Lexi, and the pre-made wordings we wrote up felt exactly right.”

“Thank you,” Tiffany chimed in.

“We need a few things,” Alexis said. “We need another run of groceries, and a plan for the future: how long we’re going to stay here, how we’re going to manage the property from Toronto, that sort of thing.”

“I agree,” you said. You got up, coffee cup in hand, and went to your toolbox, fishing out the pristine platinum-colored braid.

“What’s that?” Tiffany asked.

You looked at it with your sight, and felt the power in it. “Glamour. And a fair bit of it.”

“Glamour has to be given,” Alexis said.

“It was. Latita, the Familiar I fought, I prompted her to cut off her braid in dishonor, and then she willingly gave it to me.”

You put it on the table. It was braided in three strands. Alexis took it and unbraided it. “One for each of us,” she said.

“I’ll come up with some ways to use it,” Tiffany said.

“I’ll do some future planning,” Alexis said. “Figure out what moving back home entails. If you have time for it we can have another seance, Tiff.”

“Then I guess I’ll do a little research for Briar Girl, then shopping and recon.”

“Recon?” Alexis asked.

“Tracking people, movements, connections. Figuring out who’s-who. Passive observation using my power. Taylor turned it into an art form in her heyday. I’ll do it on the bike so I can just speed away from danger.”

“And if someone tampers with it like Briar Girl did?” Alexis asked.

You snorted. “First, I’ll most likely see it coming. And then that’ll be a straight up declaration of war. I don’t think Sandra Duchamp is stupid enough to do that.”

“And Laird?” Alexis pressed.

“I feel he’ll try talking first.”

“Be careful, Blake,” Tiffany said.

“Always, Tiff.”

You did some light reading with seventeen crows in the study, and a tablet for you to look up the laws, taking notes as you went. Your head was fuzzy when you dismissed the birds and went to get ready to head out.

In the study you found Tiffany. “Where’s Lexi?”

“Up in the storage room finding the sewing kits. Hair is a very versatile medium that can be sewn into cloth, bound into string, ground up and mixed with powders and liquids. Makeup, for instance.”

You though about your yellow motorcycle jacket. For stealth it would probably be good to have it not be… that.

“How about like, braiding it into our hair?”

“Or mixing it with hair dye. Yeah; I’m working on it.”

“Do you know how much emergency money we have left?”

“Little over five grand.”

You blinked. “I only said to bring two.”

“Alexis though better of it.”

It was a third of all the money you had. “I’m going to buy a hunting rifle.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We might need some long-range firepower.”

She nodded. Just then, Alexis came down the stairs with a big cookie tin in hand. “I found the sewing kit.”

“I’m heading out, I’m going to buy supplies, food, and a rifle.”

“That should be within our budget.”

“Yeah. Good thinking bringing more than I said.”

She smiled. You kissed both of them and went to put on your motorcycle gear.

Jacob’s Bell was a small town of just over twenty thousand people, most of which lived withing two miles of the city center. This meant at any given time about half of the town was within your range; over half its people when you stood in the center.

Even with the slowly declining insect populations you had plenty of them to put to work tracking the movements of over a thousand pedestrians out and about at this time. You read the street signs — large enough letters were legible — and the license plates of the cars, listened to conversations, tracked movements.

A well-honed background habit. You revved your motorcycle and went to your first destination: an electronics store. The guy at the till wasn’t antagonistic, thankfully, and you left with a couple of burner phones, a cheap digital camera, a solar charger, and a battery pack.

You found Laird Behaim at his house welcoming some guests that had the same dark hair and stocky build — family? You knew there were at least three Behaim families in the city. You looked with your second sight and traced their car out of town.

Next stop was an outdoors store, where you invested in a handheld GPS device, a two-person tent, sleeping bags and an inflatable mattress. All of it went in the side-car and you drove home to unload, then you went out again, this time to the supermarket.

Taking a more bird’s-eye view and examining the connections more abstractly, you saw several connections of or pertaining to Behaim and Duchamp going out of town. Not just familial relations — those were to be expected — but summons. Were they calling in reinforcements?

There you bought the usual — bread, milk, eggs, and so on — and the ingredients to make trail rations.

The north end of town refused your attempts to probe it, which solidified your conclusion that a Demesne could keep your power at bay — same as with Laird Behaim’s house. Johannes was out and about, however. You also found Maggie outside for recess at the local high school, and some of the Behaims and Duchamps you remembered from the council meeting going about their day. The local police was a mere ten patrol cars strong, with only three of them patrolling.

Last, you went to the hunting goods store. Racks of fishing rods and fishing gear, knives and hatchets, and what you were after: rifles. You went to the counter.

“Hello, miss, what can I do for you?” said the proprietor. A bald man with a chin beard.

“Hey, do you have wall-mountable gun safes? Something compact and light.”

“Sure,” he gestured to a section behind the rifle display.

“And I’m also looking for a hunting rifle.” You took out your wallet, fetching your acquisitions license card.

“What kind? Used or new?”

Your experience with firearms was fairly limited. Your double-barrel shotgun had been a salesman recommendation, so you went the same:

“Something that I can use both at the range and later for hunting.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “What kind of game?”

“Deer and such.”

“Got a hunting license?”

You shook your head. “I’m planning to put in some hours on the range first, get comfortable with the weapon, you know? If it then turns out I don’t like it can I sell it back to you?”

“We buy used, yeah. Done any shooting before?”

“Skeet. I have a shotgun.”

He went around the counter to the rifle display.

“Do you have something that takes stripper clips?”

He chuckled. “Watched any World War two movies lately? Yeah, we have this —” he pulled out one of them, with a scope mounted well in front of the action “— Ruger, used, already comes with an intermediate eye-relief scope. Trigger guard swivels away for cold-weather shooting, one spare magazine, and yeah it has a stripper clip guide.”

You looked at the price tag. Nine hundred dollars. “Great, I’ll take it. Do you sell the clips, too?”

“You’re really serious about that, huh?”

“I don’t want to go to the range and reload magazines every ten shots.”

“Sure do.”

It cost well over a thousand dollars, but it was an investment well worth it. With your motor cycle loaded up, you drove home.

With the safe mounted on the wall in the basem*nt — just a sheet metal closet, really, with an eminently pickable lock, intended to satisfy legislation rather than ensure the safety of anything — you packet a duffel bag and went out again, this time down to the tree-line behind the house.

Extending your senses, you followed the connection created by your deal with Briar Girl, and found her within your range, heading through the forest, staff in hand, following behind her familiar.

Capturing mosquitos, flies, crickets, and whatever else was close by, you spoke through your swarm, quietly. “Briar Girl, I have some equipment for you. Do you have time to receive it?”

She looked about. “Do not presume I have time to meet with you whenever you please, Thorburn.”

“One of the things I have for you is a cell phone so you won’t have to.”

“Electronics do me little good. It will run out of batteries and be useless to me unless I go out of my way to find a place that offers an electrical outlet.”

“I have a solution for that, too. Do you have time?”

She looked at her familiar, which nodded to her.

“Yes. I shall meet you where I saw you yesterday. I’m sure you can find your own way.”

You turned your attention to your surroundings and began making your way there again, recognizing landmarks of insect activity as you went, and eventually spotting the clearing with the bivouac shelter and stump throne. Briar Girl had gotten there first.

“Hello again,” she said. “I notice you are not armed.”

You were still carrying your kukri on your belt, but to someone like her, that was probably just an everyday tool. “We’re collaborators now, right? Better neighbors than before.”

“Right.” She waved for you to follow and went to her shelter.

You put your duffel bag down and took out the things.

“Cell phone — pre-paid card, I already put my number in it, along with Tiffany and Alexis’ so you can reach one of us if another is occupied. Keep it dry.” You handed her the device. “Ever had a phone before?”

She took it. “I know how to use one. I might live in the woods but I am neither a philistine nor a luddite, Thorburn.”

“Hey, I’m not judging. Here’s the manual anyway if you need it.” You handed her the booklet.

“And what was your solution for the problem of batteries?”

“Solar panel charger.” You handed over the folded triple-panel device. “It’s slow, but it’ll work. A few hours should net you a full charge.” You handed her the battery pack. “This is a battery. You can charge it with the solar panel and then charge your phone with that later, so you don’t have to leave your phone by the charger in the daytime hours.”

She hm’ed.

“There’s a few more things, and this has to do with our project. Documenting your findings is important, so I got you a camera and a GPS. That way you can take a picture and record the time, latitude and longitude. I assume you have a watch.” You handed her both devices, and then the manuals as well. “They can also both be charged by the solar panel.”

“Thank you for loaning me this, I’m sure it will come to good use.”

You looked at her. “No— ah, this is a gift. Keep them, please. And if you don’t want them, you can give them back.”

She seemed taken aback. “Thank you, then.”

“Now, I have a small favor to ask.”

She raised an eyebrow.

You patted the duffel bag. “There’s a tent in here, and some camping equipment. Can you hold on to this for me?”

“What for?”

“Just in case I need to come out here and help you on a field trip and it takes more than just an afternoon.”

“Or in case you’re forced to seek refuge from an enemy perhaps?”

You shrugged. “In that case I’d say you’re well within your rights to refuse me.”

“Indeed we are. I suppose we can store your camping equipment for your convenience as a small favor. We’ll of course need to inspect the contents.”

“It’s really just camping equipment, no tricks,” you said.

“We trust you but we will verify with our own senses.”

“So long as you don’t damage it, and fold it up nicely after you’ve looked, sure.”

You handed the bag over. Her familiar came up and she held it open while the wolf-like creature sniffed the contents. It snorted. She rummaged a bit, not bothering to take anything out.

“We can tolerate it. Your smell of demons has not had time to seep into it.”

Having given away about two hundred dollars of electronics, and left behind several hundred dollars of camping equipment, you came back home in time for late-lunch-early-dinner.

“There’s something coming,” you told Alexis and Tiffany. “The Behaims and Duchamps are planning something — they’re summoning reinforcements.”

“Oh that’s bad,” Alexis said. “How did you figure?”

“Tracing out the connections.”

“We should be on our toes, try to get as ready as possible before they make their move,” Tiffany said. “Good thing you bought that rifle.”

“I found some jars to put the hair in,” Alexis added. “I left one in your toolbox.”

“Thanks. Any plans for what to use it for?”

“We’re going to mix some into a foundation,” Alexis said, “and some of it into some platinum-colored hair dye, and then we’re all going to get a stripe. Tiffany has read up on it, and it’ll probably let us change hair colors on a whim, which is pretty cool. I’d also like to sew some into the lining of our jackets.”

“I’ll spin it with some spider silk before you do that.” You reached out to the forest to bring in black widows on the wings of dragonflies. “How many ghosts are you up to?”

“A dozen.”

“And you, Tiff?”

“I’m making a little arsenal of charms and spirit-manipulating sigils, but we’re kinda hurting for a power source other than ghosts and our personal reserves. The hair helps but it’s limited as well, if apparently renewable.”

You nodded in assent. “Want me to make a run to the store for some dye?”

“Already did,” Alexis said.

“That’s—”

“Dangerous, I know. Blake we can’t stay cooped up here while you’re the only one taking risks. We went together.”

You looked to Tiffany.

“We might not have your powers, but we’re as capable practitioners as you, Blake. We have implements, and the town is gunning for you specifically. I think we’re mostly flying under the radar, still.”

“They don’t know how dangerous we are,” Tiffany added.

You went to work.

It was almost midnight by the time you were done with the project.

Tiffany ran a hand through her long hair and it changed from deep brown to the platinum shade you had used to dye. Alexis ruffled hers and it turned from dyed black to her natural dirty-blonde. You did the same, turning your own blond hair deep red.

“Okay, so that works,” you said.

Tiffany gave her cotton coat a good shake and it went from beige to slate grey. Alexis made the patches disappear from her jacket. You turned your yellow motorcycle jacket into a plain black one.

The morning you spent giving Tiffany and Alexis a refresher in self-defense. A mattress against the wall served as a punching bag, and you made sure both of them were adequately armed in the realm of physical weaponry.

You gave Alexis the pipe you had used to defeat the Fae, and Tiffany declined the hatchet in favor of a tire iron. Both of them had knives, too, and the mattress had a few stab holes. Of the two Alexis was by far the more experienced with violence; though both had at your insistence taken classes a few years ago.

After brunch you went out to gather information again, this time on foot, in disguise. As it turned out Glamour was just a Stranger power available on demand. You looked little enough like yourself to be functionally a completely different person. Different nose, different chin, different eyes, different hair.

On the rounds you took through the city you began to spot the first arrivals of Behaims and Duchamps from other cities.

It's definitely going down

Time frame?

Probably tonight, might try to acquire just one more trick

Do that

You felt the boundary, otherwise invisible to the naked eye, right across the mouth of a street.

“Johannes Lillegaard,” you said.

The car rental had been a complete bust — the proprietor had outright refused to let you rent a car on account of your family name and something about his cousin’s business going under. No altered connections had appeared to your second sight, so this was just old-fashioned small-town mistrust and hatred.

Down the end of the block, Johannes turned the corner and came to you in the same smooth gait that did not betray his disability. His panpipe implement hung by his belt, and his outfit was a tasteful summer suit, cream in color. Sans familiar.

“Why hello, who might you be?” he said with the same Scandinavian-esque accent.

“Keep it on the down low, I’m Blake, incognito.” You felt a disturbance in your glamour admitting your true identity. “Johannes, could I bother you for a mundane favor? Nothing to do with the practice.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“My coven is in need of a car for this afternoon, around five o’clock. The local rental refuses my patronage on account of the old bloodline. I’m willing to pay you in Canadian dollars, information, a mundane favor in return, that kind of thing.”

He chuckled. “It is a novel request. I am happy to acquiesce, shall we say half again the rental price? And of course if something happens to it I expect you to pay for the damages.”

“Without question. Half again the rental price is fine — so long as you select one of the cheaper rentals, meaning at or below the median price, and I’ll see the receipt before I pay.”

“Very reasonable.” He nodded.

“Ah— one more detail; my coven members, Ms.Lewandowsky and Ms.Pirzada can stand in for myself when it comes to payment and so on. Just to make it easier for you to get your money.”

He nodded again. “How thoughtful.”

“Can you see it delivered to this address?” You handed him a piece of paper.

“I’ll see to it. Which kind of car?”

“A grey or black one. Something that looks ordinary.”

“How shall I get the key to you?”

“Which way would be most convenient to you.”

“I can send it with a courier to Hillsglade House?”

“Perfect.”

You shook hands.

You waited outside the school as the bell rang and the students spilled out. Compared to Toronto, Jacob’s Bell was tiny, and still it had several schools as big as any you had gone to. Children, tweens and teens of every age filtered through the mass of parents standing by to pick them up. There you found a nice hiding place, looking just like a young mother to a first-grader or older sister to an eleventh-grader. The trick to a disguise was to not attract attention, and according to Tiffany’s research the trick to glamour was to not create any connections to your true self.

Through your swarm you spotted several of the Behaim and Duchamp children, and all of them passed by you without so much as a first glance.

Maggie was easy to spot with her trademark checkered scarf, a pair of large headphones, and her schoolbag over one shoulder. Definitely one of the cool alt-fashion girls, her. You crossed the parking lot and fell in step beside her. She stopped. You did as well.

“Pardon, didn’t mean to startle,” you said, in a voice that wasn’t quite your own.

“You’re excused, ma’am —” she pointed “— I have to get going.”

Casual. Almost indifferent. Alexis would have had a better read, but you could see the trauma. No wonder it didn’t seem like Molly’s death weighed on her.

“I’m going just the same way,” you pointed same as her.

“Look, I don’t know who you are and no offense but you don’t give me good vibes.” She jammed her hands in her pockets, palming a weapon, and looked around for eye-witnesses. You already knew there were many.

“I get that a lot. No reason to stab me, eh? Or get goblins involved. I promise I mean you no harm, Ms.Holt.”

She tensed for a moment, then relaxed somewhat. “All right, we can talk,” she said, “Who the heck are you?” She looked past you at a man you already saw approaching with your swarm.

You turned to smile at him.

“Can I help you, Miss?” he asked, a slight edge in his voice.

“Mr.Holt I presume?”

“Yes. How do you know my daughter?”

“Oh we go to a book club at the same library, run by some nice queers. Though I’m there on days she’s not,” you said. Technically all completely true.

“A queer book club?” he said, almost approvingly.

You saw Maggie look you over as much as you felt it on your glamour — strange as though that concept was, like an itch on a second layer of skin. She was looking for connections.

“But the only— this is funny business isn’t it?”

A cute euphemism.

“Yes, funny business indeed,” you looked to Maggie. “I come with a message: there’s an inter-family feud brewing in town.”

“No need to be so cryptic, I tell my dads most things.”

You glanced at the man. “Most things?”

“Yeah, so dish.”

“Well, the two big families are going to make a move. And soon. Today or tomorrow.”

“If you’re trying to embroil Maggie in something else like—”

“She’s not, dad. Ms.Thorburn specifically advised me not to get involved. She’d probably tell you the same.”

You nodded. “Oh, we’re on the same page. Mr.Holt, you can rest quite easy. No, Ms.Thorburn would rather ask if perhaps you can loan a trick she might play on the Behaims and Duchamps?”

“Wait,” Maggie’s father said. “Behaim? As in the chief of police?”

“Yes, Mr.Holt, believe it or not police officers are sometimes corrupt. Who watches the watchmen and all that.”

“I’m certain,” he said, “but I happen to be more trusting of our institutions, and I don’t think you’d be a good influence on my daughter.”

Drat. Sometimes it was easy to forget there were people who actually believed things like that. “Sorry. Can I at least walk you to your car?”

Maggie’s father went to his daughter’s side. “Ma’am, have a good day. Let’s go, Maggie.”

“Wait,” you said. With one hand you unzipped your duffel bag just enough to show a corner of your toolbox.

“Blake?” Maggie said quietly. Her words hit your glamour like a battering ram, and you had to will it to stabilize.

“Who?” her father said. His confusion was like a soothing balm on your disguise.

“That’s Blake Thorburn,” Maggie muttered.

It almost felt like nicking yourself with a razor. “Enough. Don’t say my name, someone could be listening. Do let me know if I can borrow some goblins.”

“They’re hard to control,” Maggie said.

“I’ll manage,” you replied. “I’d settle for single-use fire-and-forget troublemakers if you have them.”

“Maggie, I’m going to need you to explain this,” her father said.

She nodded. “I’ll try, I promise.” From her pocket she drew three folded pieces of paper and handed them to you. They felt weighty in your hand. “Three paper goblins.”

“Tear to release?”

“Yup.” She handed you another item. “And a whistle.” A little plastic trill-whistle in green. A name was written on it in fine permanent marker: Dickswizzle. “Blow it to summon. He obeys the holder of the whistle.”

“I’ll see to it whatever’s left when we’re done ends up back in your possession.” You pocketed the items; testing the whistle would have to wait. “If all goes well, we’ll see you next week at the book club?”

“Count on it,” Maggie said. “Oh and—” she handed you a business card: Laird Behaim’s “— in case you need to find the chief of police.”

The connection stretched across town, easily visible and quite strong. You made a mental note to be careful about things like that.

More and more Behaims and Duchamps arrived, from Toronto, from Ottawa. You could triangulate their destination by now, which left one last desperate gambit.

“Why, Miss Thorburn, are you sitting here singing about me?”

You looked up from the piece of wood you were whittling. “Yes, Patrick. I was hoping to catch your attention.”

It had been a little re-telling of what you knew of him and your previous meetings, made up on the spot. You were no songstress much less an improvisational one, but you had used it to create a very noticeable connection.

Padraic grinned, and the grin accentuated his other features — the pointy goatee beard, the bushy eyebrows — giving him a positively trickster-like appearance. A dangerous creature.

“Well, you only have my curiosity, and it may yet escape your trap unless you have more bait.”

“What was her title… Consort and Protector to the High Queen’s torturer? Something like that. Familiar to Joanna Duchamp, name of Letita. Know of her?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.”

You nodded. “I have her sword. Interested?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” he repeated and winked.

You smiled. “I’ll sell it to you for a simple promise, though it is not that simple to explain. See, my coven and I might be getting into a confrontation with the Behaims and Duchamps. Today. It depends on Laird’s intentions. Now I know you’re an exile and so you’re prohibited from, say, acting against them directly.”

“Aye, am.”

“Tell me, Patrick, do you like a little bit of chaos?”

He went and took a seat beside you on the bench. “I am not opposed, no. But neither is Laird Behaim. He’s a clever man, and I’ve seen him operate, once. I know his kind.”

“Ah, you want the sword in exchange for information?”

Padraic laughed. “No, dear Thorburn, this is for free. You had my curiosity, but now you have my attention. A dangerous beast. Laird wins by causing chaos and then imposing his order on it better than his opponents.”

You nodded. “Well, I am also not opposed to chaos,” you said. “And I’m willing to bet that I’m less opposed to it than Laird is. So, in exchange for the sword, if Behaim and Duchamp decide to declare war — you remember the council meeting —”

“Vividly.”

“— then I should appreciate it if you can cause some non-specific trouble. I even have some suggestions as to what.”

You glanced at Padraic who was sitting knees crossed, arm on the backrest of the bench, looking intently at you. “Let hear?” he said.

“My coven is three people total. Behaim and Duchamp together is what, forty?”

“More or less. Depending on how you count.”

You kept whittling and your voice as disinterested as possible, as if discussing the weather. “They are enough that they need communication channels and effort dedicated to gathering intelligence. The bane of such a system is misunderstandings and bad intel. You’re a creature of glamour — I’m but a novice practitioner, so I’ll defer to your expertise — but wouldn’t it be possible for someone like that to lace such an information network with a steady trickle misinformation? Especially if they’re preoccupied with me and mine?”

Padraic stroked his beard. “It would.”

“And I’m sure you could do it with panache and flair, all while evading all reasonable suspicion?”

“Oh indeed.”

“Then in exchange for Latita’s sword, if our little war breaks out, see to it that Behaim and Duchamp face such difficulties with their information network. And of course keep this deal secret from them, too.”

“Of course. Yes, I’ll buy that sword off you for that favor.”

You put your boot down on the gravel and swept aside the loose stones, revealing the pommel and hilt.

Padraic bent down and picked up the sword with a sinister smile.

You swapped earrings. The glamoured disguises made it difficult to recognize each other, but between the three of you were three sets of distinct stud earrings, and now your ear lobes were adorned with a mismatched pair — one a black plate, the other a zircon. Tracing out the connections between two halves of a pair of earrings was easy, and let you obscure your personal connections with glamour.

Dealing with Enchantresses meant connections were dangerous things, and you weren’t even sure how obvious it was that your had control over insects. Briar Girl noticing was probably to do with her being in tune with nature, and hopefully the Duchamps would fail to consider the ludicrous possibility that they were being watched through the eyes of nature’s lowliest creatures.

The only things you hadn’t glamoured was of course your implements; in fact the reference textbook said to leave a ‘way out’ of the glamour in case it addled the mind. And the mystical connection to your implements was strong. They were hidden away in bags together with your weapons — mystical or otherwise — as you went.

“Okay, so what do we do now?” not-Tiffany said.

“Stakeout,” you replied.

“I assumed that was what you needed the car for,” not-Alexis said, taking out the key.

“How did you end up getting it?” you asked.

“Johannes’ familiar came by with it.”

“The dog?”

“Yeah.”

You found the car — apparent by the connection that stretched out towards the North End, and towards the key in your possession — at the specified corner. A black Nissan.

“Got an attention-diverting rune?” you asked not-Tiffany.

“Certainly.”

She got to work drawing it in black marker on the roof. Minimally conspicuous. Not-Alexis meanwhile bent down by the license plate. “Do you think we can glamour this up too?”

“No.That’s a bit too illegal, and wouldn’t do much good. Johannes did this well-knowing it might be traced back to him, and the car rental is the owner anyway.”

You got in and drove off. Your target was across town in the nicer neighborhood. Here the land had been squandered on suburban planning, split into lots, and too-big houses built on every one. Lifeless lawns in every back yard, car-centric infrastructure in the extreme; a few times during your carpentry tutelage you had been inside and beheld the ghastly impractical interiors too. Marble countertops that couldn’t take a limescale remover, kitchens sized for personal chefs rather than home cooking, chandeliers in the entry hall. McMansions. Million-dollar properties.

Within your swarm you saw the dozen or so vehicles approach the gathering place: Laird Behaim’s house. His Demesne. With the sheer number of innocents there, however, his control over the space would be limited. And indeed, your power reached into the interior of the house. The guests were arriving.

Chapter 12: 3-1

Chapter Text

“We could really use a man on the ground in there,” not-Alexis mused.

“It’d be too risky,” you said. “Besides, I have a lot of experience with this.”

Not-Tiffany handed you a sketchpad and a pencil. “You have the entire house under surveillance, right? Can you draw the layout?”

For want of an square or a ruler, you eyeballed it with a couple of mosquitos on the page, and drew out Laird Behaim’s house. Ground floor with a large lounge-like living room and open kitchen where most of the party was taking place and spilling onto the staircase up to the first floor, where the master bedroom and bedrooms for his children were. Bathroom on every floor, too. Three floors, three floor plans next to each other. The basem*nt was clearly where he practiced, with bookshelves locked behind doors of glass, and a two-circle diagram already painted on the floor.

Once you had that down, you populated them with mosquitos corresponding to the people. “I can color-code them if you want me to,” you said. “Got some paint, T— uh, cover names?”

“Cover names,” not-Tiffany agreed.

“I’ll go by AJ, you two can go by Bee, and Tay,” Not-Alexis — AJ — suggested.

“Got some paint, Tay?” you asked.

“Sure.”

“We should also take license plates,” AJ added.

“And identify the practitioners in there,” Tay said.

You got to work, taking notes and eavesdropping something awful. The others played cards.

Inside, the party proceeded with a dozen conversations. Most of them were utterly unimportant but provided a pleasant sort of background noise and even from them you could deduce information about the power structures in place within the families.

With Tay’s paints you colored the mosquitos corresponding to Practitioners, and two for the leadership: Laird and Sandra.

“It’s a betrothal, as in a magically binding commitment to be wed,” you said, as you saw a young man — dark hair stocky build, Behaim — and woman — blonde hair, Duchamp. “Political marriage between the two families.”

“That’s bad news,” Tay agreed.

“Neither of the happy couple looks particularly happy with it either.”

“Arranged marriages seldom are,” AJ noted.

Tiffany had made the three of you sandwiches, while Laird’s guests got a buffet and free beer. You were a little envious.

“Most of the families have little idea what’s going on. They’re Innocent, barely Aware.”

“Sensible.”

“There’s about one practitioner per family from outside of Jacob’s Bell. Youngest practitioner is Joanna Duchamp at 12-ish, the oldest is a Behaim, man, past middle age, probably fifties. All the Duchamps are girls and women; at least the practitioners.”

“Yeah, but we knew that already,” AJ said.

“Good to confirm,” you noted. “And the age demographics are a little worrying.”

“Agreed. Seems old Rose Thorburn was an outlier,” AJ replied.

“And the couple?” Tay asked.

You shook your head. “Bit players at best.”

Another hour went by with you just taking notes. Tay did some sketching, AJ read a book.

And then the guests began leaving. First the kids with chaperones to catch an evening showing at the cinema. Then some of the adults — husbands of the Duchamps, spouses of Behaims — to find a bar.

An overheard fragment of conversation described what was about to happen as a ‘secret society thing,’ which was perhaps not so far off.

You turned the key in the ignition. “It’s going down.”

“Clue us in,” Tay said.

“The practitioners are going into the basem*nt, along with some of their children. Seems Sandra has heeded my warning, because it doesn’t seem like there’s any Duchamp minors going to participate in the ritual, but the Behaims has a teen or two. Leads me to think either Sandra didn’t warn Laird the same, or he’s underestimating me.”

“I think the first is most likely,” AJ said. “Laird does not seem like the kind of man who would underestimate people like us.”

You stopped a street away, and got out. Insects were gathering under your will, and you opened your toolbox to disseminate various things into your swarm. Notably spider silk line and fishing line — in case you needed to leave wires behind, spider silk was too directly connected to you — extra-small tubes of superglue, and snatchblock pulleys barely a centimeter wide, 3d-printed from the strongest plastic available. Refined tools compared to what Taylor had once made do with.

“They’re gathering in the basem*nt,” you narrated, “by the pre-drawn diagram.”

You had sketched it out best as you could for Tiffany to look at later. It was red paint, no chalk to easily disrupt, and even with paint thinner would take some work to undo. You started conveying what was being said:

“I’m impressed Laird,” Sandra said.

“Beatrice helped.”

“Sandra is complimenting Laird on his work, he’s feigning modesty,” you said.

“Derivative, or—”

“My own invention,” Laird said.

“It’s his own design.”

“Let’s talk about Blake Thorburn,” Laird said.

“The diabolist,” someone else said.

“Now they’re talking about me.”

Laird spoke: “You each have some idea of what the Thorburns involve. Just yesterday, Blake Thorburn made further overtures of war, speaking to Sandra on the phone.”

“He knows about me talking to Sandra.”

“She’s made it quite apparent she is a belligerent soul, and this marks the third time she speaks of, or directly treats, the situation as a war. To her it is a foregone conclusion and she is — perhaps unknowingly — making every effort to make it a reality.”

You quoted that directly, like a stenographer.

“It’s clear Blake Thorburn isn’t on the same page as us. She poses a grave risk to our families, to our place in things, and to this town.”

“She’s a novice,” Sandra Duchamp said. “She’s new to this, and she’s finding her way. That she already has a coven — as I understand, of her lesbian lovers no less — is worrying. Laird told me she was dealing with Maggie Holt, no doubt exchanging knowledge. Laird did what he could to put an end to it, but the woman is desperate.”

“So they don’t know we’re working with Briar Girl either,” AJ noted.

“What can you tell us about her?” one of the out-of-towners asked.

“The situation warrants delicate handling. She’s on a hair trigger. Too much of a jostle, and she blows up and takes us with her. I’ve made some initial forays into dealing with her and her coven. Maximizing the karmic balance, in the hopes that any explosions are more destructive to the Thorburn line than to us. In every interaction, I perform an augury to ensure that it won’t lead to disaster, but the window for seeing these things is narrow, and I’m primarily looking out for the worst case scenarios.”

“Fire and brimstone,” an older Behaim woman said. You didn’t convey that.

“Exactly. Thus far, I’ve aimed to push her out of her comfort zone without pushing her too far. Keep her under tension. Others made some forays, but nothing came of it. I think we’ll need to stop that, to be safe. Limit it to certain powerful Others, increase the bounty we’re offering for any killed Thorburn, and step very carefully with a plan in mind the entire way.”

“So that’s tacit admittance they’re out to kill us,” Tay said, taking minutes in Gregg shorthand. “Or at least you and your family.”

“Answering the question from earlier,” Sandra cut in. “We did some readings. A reading of Blake Thorburn drew Ace of Swords reversed with the right hand, the Seven of Wands upright with the left.”

“Sheesh,” someone said.

“I’m noting those down, we’ll look them up later,” AJ said.

“A reading of her companions. Queen of Swords upright and Queen of Cups upright for the dark-skinned one; Magician upright and Five of Cups reversed for the other.”

“Forgive me if I am grasping at straws,” the eldest Behaim said, “but it seems Thorburn’s attitude lie within the Carmine domain, while her companions are… Alabaster and Aurum?”

“I wouldn’t go so far,” Sandra said. “We know that with her removal, the other Thorburn descendants will each have a turn as heir. We’re already doing background checks on everyone involved. It would be interesting to possibly remove one individual from the line of succession before we get that far, to see if we can’t throw a spanner in the works. There will be complications when the last of them is dealt with, but we have time until then.”

“But our paramount concern,” Laird said, “is her. She’s not as passive as her predecessor was, and I have reason to believe she has military-grade training and a desensitization to violence. We’ll all sleep easier when she’s dealt with.”

“Let’s not mince words,” a man said, “you’re talking about murdering her.”

“I was mincing words, as we do have children in the room,” Laird said. “But no, I do not want either option. Particularly now. This is my proposed solution.” He gestured at the diagram.

“All right. That’s casus belli,” you said in the ensuing silence.

Laird passed papers around.

“I’m not sure I follow. It’s been a long time since I studied any of this. There’s no risk of backlash?” someone asked.

“No.We’re not targeting her,” Sandra said. “She’s not even in our sights. She and her coven spends much of their time ensconced within the house, where every demesnes has been turned inward.”

“They’re targeting the house.”

You got moving, walking at a brisk pace closer to the house.

Down in the basem*nt, Behaim assigned positions in the two circles on the floor. He summoned an other from his pocket watch — was that thing his familiar, implement, or both? — and the ritual began with heavy, regular thuds. Like a massive clock.

Windows were ajar in the house to let a cool evening breeze in, and with it your bugs.

The three of you reached the house.

“I think we’re going to need maximum disruption,” you said.

“First a formal declaration of war,” Tay said. She took out a new, cheap permanent marker, wrote ‘this means war’ on the mailbox, chucked the marker in a storm drain, and put the semaphore up.

And then two mayflies sacrificed themselves to put a long, thin piece of copper wire across the terminals in the electrical box, and over to a spot of bare metal on a water pipe. Immediately the residual current breaker tripped, plunging the whole house into darkness.

Then you super-glued the switch shut.

“What happened?” someone asked in the dark.

“I’m not sure,” Behaim said. “Allister, go check the electrical box.”

Smartphones came out to serve as flashlights.

Your infinitely divisible attention had also been on the two above-ground bathrooms for some time now, tying pulley systems.

A daisy-chain of darners handed you and Tay silk lines, and you began reeling in. Despite the elasticity of the line, the 5-to-1 mechanical advantage easily yanked the flexible pipes under the sinks loose and let out a stream of pressurized water.

Another line of silk came to AJ and she pulled it to open a window on the upper floor entirely. She took aim with a small brown medical bottle in her slingshot and let it fly through the open window, dashing itself against the floor and releasing the ghost inside. Then she repeated the process twice more.

Their purpose fulfilled, your insects quickly untied the pulleys and carried the evidence out.

The smallest gnats you could find forced themselves into all the smoke detectors, which were unable to tell the difference between insect and smoke particle. The entire house erupted in cacophony.

You ripped the two paper goblins loose in the master bedroom. Then you turned and walked briskly back towards the car.

“What on earth is going on?!” someone yelled over the din of fire alarms.

“There’s no fire, don’t worry! False alarm!” Laird yelled.

“It’s Thorburn!” Sandra yelled back. “A counter attack. She has been spying on us this whole time it would seem.”

“There’s a few things loose in the house,” Laird said, “on the top floor. Nothing to worry about, I shall deal with it presently. Would someone shut off these damn smoke alarms in the mean time?”

“How did we not find out we were being watched?” someone said.

“How often do you take a closer look at insects?” another replied.

“Joyce, Erica, help me out here,” Sandra called.

Not even a minute later, all the bugs in Laird’s house were forcibly removed from your control. Reduced from pinpoint precise awareness to vague fog.

“The gig is up, they know I use insects.”

“This isn’t going to deter them,” AJ said while you went back to the car to regroup. “At best we have delayed them.”

“And whatever they are casting, if they can target the house from here, unless we can get in there and pour paint thinner on their diagram, they’re gonna go trough with it,” Tay added.

You nodded. “Let’s assume the house is already lost to us for the time being. They’re going to bespell it somehow so we can’t access it, but not so badly as to risk damaging the structure.”

“How do you— oh the you-know-what in the attic.”

In the background you kept a close eye on everything in your surroundings and spotted a connection to a pursuer. “We’ve got company.”

“Let’s get going then,” AJ said and got into the driver’s seat.

As you drove off you took out your burner phone and dialed Laird Behaim. You gestured to Tay for her minutes, and studied the shorthand for a moment before hitting call.

“Who’s this?”

“Quote: let’s not mince words, you’re talking about murdering her, end quote. Written notice on your mailbox, terms of engagement to follow. Thorburn sends her regards and cautions that you will not be sleeping easy for some time to come.”

He hung up.

Your pursuer was seemingly undeterred, keeping pace with the car.

“Take a left here,” you said, directing AJ down a poorly lit street. “Stop the car.”

You stepped out onto the side of the road with your gunslip in hand, drawing your new rifle out of it, and a hundred thousand mosquitos to you.

Whatever it was coming after you it had the same indistinctness about it to your swarm sense, but by filling the air with bugs you could simply observe it as a sphere of negative space in your swarm sense. Its centre was as apparent to you as anything directly touched by a bug — a technique Taylor had once used to drop a knife on someone with a similar ability.

You took aim out into the darkness, and as your eyes aided by your swarm finally caught sight of your adversary, you were taken aback for a moment.

It was big, ugly, and very well-groomed.

“Troll,” Tay said behind you.

“Sandra’s familiar.”

“Hey!” you called out. “Take one more step and you’re either bulletproof or dead.”

It took another step, and you adjusted your aim slightly, along a line of mosquitos, letting a bullet fly silently. Even the sonic crack of it was silenced. The thing’s head jerked sharply back, and it gave a groan.

You refrained from cycling the action to not leave casings behind and leapt into the car. “Drive!”

The troll didn’t see fit to pursue after that, or if it did you managed to outrun it. “Where to now?”

“We have a few addresses to visit,” you said.

“More havoc?” Tay asked.

“If they’re going to target our house, we’re going to target theirs.”

“We don’t have any dispensable Others to throw through the windows, though,” AJ lamented.

“Water damage will be quite sufficient.”

“Y— Blake’s motorcycle is inside the house,” Tay said.

You swore under your breath.

“Dickswizzle, come here,” you said.

It looked like a chimpanzee with bad mange and worse teeth. Thankfully its facial features weren’t reminiscent of antisemitic cartoons. It was, however, naked, and its obscene namesake was hanging free for all to see.

You handed it a pair of side-cutters. “Go under that red sedan over there, the Mazda, and cut the brake lines on all four wheels — not the emergency brake cables, only the hydraulics, and only that car. Return to me immediately with the pliers afterwards. Do you understand?”

“Ay kno wat e brake hidraulik line ais, Miss.”

It speaking was slightly unnerving.

“And very important, leave the emergency brake cables in place; we’re not here to commit murder.”

“No merderin’, no ’mergency brake cables, yep yep.”

Inside the house you felt the spray of water from the damaged pipe in the basem*nt, and started disassembling the pulley system.

Dickswizzle went to the car, stopped, and came back. “No helpin it Miss. Carre’s bespelled, meself canno go near.”

“All right. Pliers.”

It handed them back.

“Dismissed.”

“Now what?” AJ said.

You shunted down your range and captured a particular animal a hundred meters down the street: a racoon. With its little hand-paws, your smallest pair of side cutters, and your guidance, you cut the brake lines.

For its troubles the raccoon — a female in her prime — got a big juicy cricket and a flea and tick removal.

You left the car in the North end of town, just outside Johannes’ domain. A servant spirit of some sort came to collect the keys.

Then you began the trek across town to Hillsglade down south, and your disguises gradually crumbled away. Your burner phones got a hammer blow and went in a trash can on a street corner, and then your smart phones came out of rune-emblazoned faraday bags in your implements.

It was about eleven in the evening though it felt much later. You had hit four different houses out of seven — the empty ones — and depending on when its occupants would be back, caused tens of thousands of dollars in water damage.

“Time to see what he’s done to us,” Alexis said.

Your heart almost dropped when you turned the corner and saw Hillsglade House still standing, but your swarm told you something was severely off. The insects near the house were in virtual stasis. Apparent to your senses but unable to move, frozen in space.

No.Frozen in time. “Chronomancy. Even the bugs in there are frozen.”

“Goodness,” Tiffany said. “Look with your second sight: that’s a huge warding.”

Indeed the edge of it was only a few meters from the gate to the street.

“So, what happens if we try to go in there?” Alexis asked.

“Time dilation of some sort. We’d spend maybe weeks of real time just walking to the door.”

“Question is if it’s a true time manipulation, or if we’d starve to death in the process,” Tiffany said. “Chronomancy is apparently at least half smoke and mirrors. More so than other magic anyway.”

A figure was approaching from down the street, and you turned to face them. “We got company.”

As he approached you saw it was the Witch Hunter brother, Andy. His demeanor was relaxed and he seemed unarmed.

“I mean you no harm, for what it’s worth,” he said. “Eva’s the fighty one.”

“We noticed,” Alexis said sardonically. “Why are you here?”

“Laird sent me to gauge your reactions.”

“Well you can send our best to Laird and tell him—” Alexis said.

You held up a hand. “Andy, you’re here to gather information for Laird, who is our enemy. Do you know what that makes you?” You unslung your gunslip and took out your rifle.

Andy’s eyes went wide. “Uh—”

“A spy.”

He took a step backwards and you spotted movement in an alley down the street.

She had been remarkably well-hidden in the darkness. You took aim immediately. “Hands where I can see them; this isn’t a shotgun and I already put a bullet in someone’s familiar earlier, so I’m in a shooting mood. Come over here.”

Eva approached into the light cone of the streetlight, hands up. “I’m gonna f*cking kill you.”

“Don’t bother: I actually have no intention of harming your brother, I just needed both of you out in the open,” you said and shunted your range down to five meters. “Thank you for your compliance, apologies for the mind control.” You put your rifle away. “I can’t have you two running about doing Laird’s bidding, or I might actually have to kill you.”

You felt Eva’s hateful indignation and Andy’s fear.

“Damn Blake, that’s ice cold,” Alexis said.

“Does make good sense though,” Tiffany added.

Unceremoniously you turned around and walked the two Witch Hunters through the gate to Hillsglade House and around the outside of the circle to the back of the hill.

“This is as much mercy as we can afford right now: as far as I know this is just imprisonment until Laird decides to undo whatever spell is on the house.”

You put an impulse in their minds to run forwards into the circle — nothing permanent, as far as you understood, but just enough to get them to continue for a few steps under their own power after you let go.

Using your second sight and swarm you stood yourself one step outside the ward, and set both Andy and Eva into a sprint. They didn’t get three steps inside before they had slowed to a virtual standstill. You cautiously stepped back.

“Wow, that’s a lot stronger than I though,” Tiffany said and took out a quarter. Flipping it inside you all saw it slow to a crawl. “Might as well be frozen.”

You took out your phone and dialed Briar Girl’s phone. It was long seconds before she picked up.

“What?”

“Hello, Briar Girl, it’s Blake. Sorry for calling at this hour, but we’ve run into a spot of trouble and Laird has locked us out of our house. Can I come by to fetch the tent so we can sleep in the woods tonight?”

There was silence. “You will be welcome in the woods, as our guests.”

“Thank you so much. We’ll be heading your way in a few minutes.”

You hung up. Then you dialed Mr.Beasley.

“Ms.Thorburn.”

“Hello Mr.Beasley, sorry for the late hour. I was wondering if your firm could provide the service of a brief loan?”

“Depends on the details.”

“We had brought some funds along to Jacob’s Bell but our adversaries have locked us out of the house, meaning we’re currently without spending money. To my knowledge, we have around ten thousand dollars Canadian, cash, in our apartment in Toronto. In our current situation, even just a third of that would go a long way.”

“There will be a cost. Might I get back to you in the morning?”

“Naturally. Have a good night, Mr.Beasley.”

“And to you as well, Ms.Thorburn.”

He hung up. He was more curt now than he had been — seemed your conspiracy with the Briar Girl was upsetting to the Firm.

You took your time gathering courage for the last one, and Alexis and Tiffany came up to you to put their hands on your shoulders.

“Remember you’re talking to a cop,” Alexis said.

“Yeah. Be vague,” Tiffany said.

It took a moment before he picked up.

“Laird Behaim, to whom am I speaking?”

He sounded like you had woken him.

“Blake Thorburn.”

There was a beat of silence.

“It’s very late.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Regarding your declaration of war—”

“Andy and Eva are stuck in the time bubble.”

There was a long silence.

“First you cause a nuisance in my demesne, then you attack the homes of my family members, now you’ve attacked our Witch Hunters… Seems to me you’ve gone completely mad!”

“I resent that accusation; I’m suspecting I might be the only sane one here. You sent Andy to spy on me, and I treated him and his sister with the respect they deserve — they are unharmed by my hand; you made inroads on my housing situation, and there was some water damage at the houses of your affiliates; you have prevented me from using my motor vehicle, there was some problems with the brakes of the vehicles of your affiliates.”

“What, is this supposed to be some sort of fairness? A quid-pro-quo?”

“The term you’re looking for is a ‘proportional response.’ We learned what you were planning, deduced we could not… persuade you otherwise, so we took what action we could. And your people are treated with as much courtesy as I have deemed feasible given the circ*mstances.”

He was quiet for a moment. “We’ll have a vote about your execution at the next council meeting, if not sooner. And if Eva is not up to the task, we’ll call in outside help.”

“Oh so you’re going to undo the spell on my house? Good to know. Remember, I’m willing and able to defend myself.”

You could almost hear his silent indignation.

“Laird, the escalation is squarely on your shoulders here. Sandra was more than happy to negotiate a return to status quo after one of her family made an… inquiry about my wellbeing. I am reasonable. I prefer negotiation to belligerence, and if you continue, pretty soon people could end up with some permanent problems.”

He hung up.

“Let’s go,” Tiffany said.

Briar Girl and her familiar met you in the darkness. The three of you had your phones out for light, not that you yourself needed it. The woods were teeming with life.

“Briar Girl,” you greeted her. “Allow me to introduce my girlfriends Alexis and Tiffany.”

“Good night to you. This is our forest.”

“We mean no trespass,” Alexis said.

“We thank you for your hospitality,” Tiffany added.

“You mentioned Laird Behaim?” She said, directed at you.

“He put some kind of chronomancy hex on Hillsglade House, a bubble of distorted time. I must confess I didn’t check if any animals were caught in it — only insects. Behaim then sent the witch hunters to spy on us and I’ve trapped them in it as thanks.”

“You… have trapped the witch hunters? How?”

“Blake held them at gunpoint,” Alexis said. “Turns out they’re afraid of getting shot. Who knew.”

You turned to Alexis and Tiffany. I’m going to tell her, you wanted to say. She already knows.

Tiffany nodded. Do. Alexis nodded as well.

“I used my gift.” You turned back to Briar Girl. “The one that lets me use insects and beguine birds. I can dominate people, too, if I put in great effort. Needless to say I see it as a measure of last resort; subjugating the will of another person is a gruesome act, and I abhor it.”

Briar Girl looked at you for a long moment. “Interesting.”

“Yes.”

“It’s really rather late, we’ve had a long day,” Tiffany said.

“You’ll sleep safe in our forest for tonight,” Briar Girl replied.

Chapter 13: 3-2

Chapter Text

You woke up in a tent that wasn’t as hot and cramped as you would have thought.

Camping wasn’t something you had pursued, but it was convenient to not be bothered by insects. In the dead of night, you had set it up by phone light — power was going to be an issue, like, today — and decided that leaving the door open was too much of an invitation. Tiffany had drawn some sigils on the inside of the canvas, among them was a cooling rune. Hence the coolness.

It wasn’t cramped because honestly any night spent tangled up with Tiffany and Alexis was a good night.

You had a little meeting under a silencing rune which Tiffany drew up — reminding you that you needed to get into shamanism post-haste. It wasn’t much and probably wasn’t going to give you privacy if Briar Girl wanted to listen in, but hopefully ‘being a good host’ included not listening in on private conversations.

“Okay, so, basic needs,” Alexis said, rolling up one of the sleeping bags. “At some point we need a shower; we need food, we got what, twenty percent left on our phones? We need shelter somewhere we don’t have an… uneasy ally breathing down our neck.”

“… Starbucks?” Tiffany suggested.

“If we’re going into town, we’re not splitting up. Period,” you said. “Also we need to find somewhere to receive that money transfer…” you tried to tally how much you had spent over the last few days.

“What?” Alexis said.

You looked at her. “What?”

“That’s your thinking face.”

“I’m just thinking we’re burning through cash really quickly. We can’t keep this war up for very long.”

“We’ll need a decisive move,” Tiffany said. “Rule of threes, maybe. We’ve clashed once already, to Behaim’s win.”

“Twice if you count when I had just arrived and he stole like, an hour from me and got us all worried. Though tt was a power play more than an attack…”

You wracked your brain for something, which was difficult given the absence of caffeine in your bloodstream. You grabbed your trousers and wiggled into them.

“Attack his reputation,” Alexis said. “He is indirectly responsible for Molly’s death. If we can frame him for it, he might get suspended pending investigation. It probably won’t turn up anything, but it will inconvenience him greatly.”

You shook your head. “That might be a good start, but it’s no decisive victory.”

“Blackmail,” Tiffany said.

“We don’t have any dirt on him,” Alexis replied.

“Oh but we do. Not in the ordinary sense. Remember the council meeting? They’re planning something. We don’t know what, but…”

“The knowledge that a secret exists is half of the secret,” you quoted. “They don’t want— what was it, the Lord of Toronto to find out?”

“And if we tell said Lord that the people of Jacob’s Bell is planning something — we don’t know what it is — that they want to keep secret, surely the Torontonians can figure out what exactly.”

Alexis nodded. “That’s good. And we can also ask Briar Girl if we can move up the time table on the nature protection plan as well. Maybe hit them with a one-two punch.”

“I think we should force a ceasefire,” you said. “We should threaten him with tattling to the Lord of Toronto. If he tries to stop us with force, and wants escalate the conflict beyond harassment, in no uncertain terms is it going to cost him dearly.”

“Blake,” Alexis said.

“Yes?”

“Are you talking about killing people?”

“If it’s a war he wants, I can give him one, but I will not like it.”

“And what about us?” Tiffany asked.

You looked at her. Then you rubbed your eyes. “Sorry, sorry; f*ck. Look, if it comes down to choosing our safety over the safety of some goon Behaim sends after us, I am not going to shy away from putting someone in the hospital. And if my only line of recourse is to put a bullet in someone, I’m not going to miss on purpose.”

“I just wanted to know if you were gunning for a body count,” Alexis said. “And not the fun kind. We have options, like your power.”

“But not a lot else,” you added. “These people have us beat in manpower and magic bullsh*t. The only advantages we have is that we’re novices and therefore unpredictable, and that we’re way more willing to escalate this conflict than they are. Not to say Sylvester Stallone in First Blood is an ideal to aspire to, but it’s becoming our reality.”

“We’re reluctant warriors,” Tiffany said. “We’re forced to fend for our livelihoods; our backs are against the proverbial wall. I have not found any indication that fate or karma or whatever loves an underdog, but that’s our story so far. The plan is we sue for peace. On what terms?”

“Renegotiable ones,” you said, “terms that are renegotiable in good faith. We need access to the house to protect ourselves, and for me to fulfill my obligations. We’re going to refrain from meddling in business here in Jacob’s bell, and we won’t willingly give information to the Lord of Toronto about whatever plan they collude with the Lord of Ottawa about. It’s a simple ceasefire.”

“And why is Behaim going to accept that?”

“Because he will be placing himself and everyone he cares about in danger if he continues.”

“And what if he votes to have us killed?” Tiffany asked.

“If we acquire an ally or two and eliminate a few enemies, that won’t happen,” Alexis said. “It’s a vote.”

“And if the witch hunters come for us, we’ll make some dead witch hunters,” you said grimly. “So far we’re not breaking the masquerade.”

Of course Briar Girl wasn’t there to bid you good morning, but you did notice one of her human faced doves watching you, as the three of you packed up. You dismantled the tent, packed up your bags, and left everything neat.

Before you left you turned to it. “Briar Girl,” you bowed deeply, “we thank you for your hospitality tonight. Depending on how today turns out we might return.”

“Good luck,” the dove said, then flew off.

“Let’s go, I could use some morning coffee,” Alexis said. “And a shower, if we can get it.”

Breakfast at Starbucks was a nice treat, given your dire situation. Even the lowest comfort was luxury when you were on your beam ends.

A cursory glance through your second sight revealed you were under surveillance, and it wasn’t even subtle. Connections leading many places, with the tang of someone actively watching you at the other end.

Tiffany drew a rune in sugar and a dollop of cream on the table, hushing your conversation to eavesdroppers.

“I’m going to invite Behaim to negotiation in a public place. Maybe even, like, here.”

“At noon,” Alexis said, “make it noon. For magic reasons.”

You nodded. “And I’m going to say that we’re mostly out of options and are considering leaving town and returning to Toronto.”

“And then hit him with the bombshell,” Tiffany said.

“Yeah. And if he budges, this is what I’m thinking: we make the deal with him to have a ceasefire. We’ll stay out of their business here in Jacob’s Bell, but we need access to the library and house and attending council meetings. In exchange we’re going to keep the f*ck quiet about whatever we overhear here, and generally try to be good neighbors, not instigate conflicts unless provoked, de-escalate when possible, so on, so forth. Exact wording to be determined, I’m not winging this.”

“I feel like it’s a bit of a weak position,” Alexis said. “We don’t have anything he wants beside peace.”

“And the house,” Tiffany said.

“The demon,” you said. “I’ll offer to tell him what I know about the demon. It’s a liability to us anyway.”

“True,” Alexis said.

“We should also have an extra stick,” Tiffany said. “How about you swear him to secrecy then demonstrate how you caught the witch hunters?”

You looked at her. “That’s insanely dangerous.”

“Not if you swear him to absolute secrecy.”

“He won’t agree to that.”

“Make the offer, at least.”

You shook your head. The worst part was you were kind of warming up to it. “So what do we do if he flatly refuses?”

“Show him how you dealt with the witch hunters.”

At the end of a lengthy discussion, you made the call.

He was punctual. You had freshened up in the Starbucks bathroom, gone for a walk around town, then returned and found a sidewalk seat in the shade of the store awning.

Laird Behaim arrived by foot, rather than car, in uniform. It was a work day, after all.

“Mr.Behaim.”

“Ms.Thorburn.”

“Please, have a seat; it’s your lunch break, if I’m not mistaken, might I buy you a sandwich?”

He took the seat. You already had a cold espresso in front of you.

“Thank you but no thank you.” His demeanor was profoundly neutral. “You wished to negotiate.”

You leaned forward, then drew the hush-rune Tiffany had taught you, substituting cream for a squashed fly.

“I did. In good faith, as honorable opponents in a conflict, a family feud which we did not start but merely inherited.”

“Yes, and I agreed to the truce of negotiation.”

“And I have offered to purchase you a meal, fulfilling my obligation as host of the negotiation.”

“So. Negotiate.”

You leaned back and put an arm over the backrest of your chair. “You have us in a pickle, Laird. My girlfriends and I are burning through our cash reserves, and if this conflict continues you’re going to win this little war the old fashioned way: but having more money than your opponent.”

“So this is a surrender?”

“Well…” You tilted your head side to side. “We are planning to return to Toronto. Of course, without access to the house and its library we’ll be severely limited — like, even my motorcycle is in there so we don’t even have transportation. So we’re going to have to leverage every asset we have at our disposal. Chiefly information.”

“Why do I feel like you’re about to make a threat.”

“Oh, this isn’t a threat. This is just the most logical course of action for myself and my coven, given the situation that you have engineered.”

You leaned forwards, and put your elbows on the table. “Did you know that given merely the knowledge that somebody is keeping a secret, you can usually guess what they’re planning? There is something you don’t want the Lord of Toronto to know. You’re getting help from the Lord of Ottawa. I don’t know what, but if I tell someone in Toronto, do you think they can deduce it?”

He narrowed his eyes. “We’ve accounted for that.”

“Of course, but it is ultimately an inconvenience that is exceedingly likely to happen, if events are left to play out as they are going to. An avoidable inconvenience.”

“We have people in Toronto.”

“So do I. And home field advantage. The United States lost the Vietnam War. But that’s the stick. Send us packing, we’ll tattle because we have no other bargaining chips. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

He made a gesture for you to continue.

“We enter into a ceasefire. My coven have obligations to fulfill in Jacob’s Bell, but we can do so with none-to-minimal interruption of your day-to-day business. Certainly we have no reason to snoop, nor tattle, since that would jeopardize our ceasefire. We’ll each abide by the old custom of good neighborship, you avoid a costly war against a desperate opponent, and I get to stay alive.”

“That’s certainly a nice deal for you.”

“I have positive incentives for you as well. I’ll tell you what I know about the demon in my attic — god knows I want to be rid of it, it’s a liability to everyone in town.”

“It’s a liability to everyone except you only if you let it off the leash.”

“Do you know much diabolism, Laird?”

“The normal amount for a man like me.”

You nodded. “It’s in a circle. It is under… some kind of contract, I think… well, hope… It is well capable of escaping in numerous ways, especially if people unfamiliar with topics of advanced diabolism should be involved, which is, oh, I think pretty much everyone in this town, including me. It’s fail-deadly, if you know what that means, like a Soviet-era nuclear missile. It is metaphorically armed and fuelled, and I don’t know how to read the instructions for how to disarm it. I don’t know how to read Russian, you see. Put plainly: I don’t know how to get rid of that demon. Hence why I’m willing to talk about it.”

“It’s something, I suppose. I think the townsfolk here know more than you think.”

“Good. But still, I’m cautious by nature when it comes to things that dangerous. I’m also willing to tell you how I caught the Witch Hunters, but for that I’ll have to swear you to secrecy.”

“Not interested. As you said, a secret exists, and it’s clear you didn’t just threaten them with a rifle—”

“Not all secrets are deducible, Laird.”

“And you’re confident this one isn’t. Doesn’t change my answer.”

“Very well. That’s my deal. We enter into a ceasefire, you lift whatever time bubble you have on my house — so you can get the Witch Hunters out, too, I suppose — and refrain from actively antagonizing me and mine, I make every reasonable effort not to cause you trouble in the course of fulfilling the obligations I have in Jacob’s Bell. The ceasefire will be in good faith, open to negotiation, and we’ll each make reasonable effort to communicate grievances and prevent escalation.”

“You’re still assuming I want peace.”

“You do want peace, Laird. Everybody does. This isn’t some playground scrap. If you force my hand I will have to defend myself. Neither of us can afford that, neither of us will be happy with the outcome.”

He chuckled. “So you say.”

“I shot Sandra’s familiar in the face. I don’t have fancy magicks and Others to do my bidding, so I use what I have on hand, and I am desensitized to violence to a disturbing extent, or so I hear.”

“That could be construed as a threat.”

“It is who I am. It is what I do. A cornered dog will bite. Sandra was wise enough to pull the literal children out of the conflict when I explained this fact to her.”

He didn’t say anything, but took out his pocket watch, opening and closing it.

“You’re under truce,” you said. “Don’t get timey-wimey f*cky-wucky with me.”

“It’s a habit.”

“I mean it, Laird. I am on edge enough as is.”

He put the pocket watch away. “I promise I did not and am not going to bespell you, for the duration of this meeting and our subsequent departure from the premises, so long as we are under truce.”

You sighed and rubbed your temples. “Thank you. Honestly I have neither the time, nor the energy, nor even adequate cause to plot against you if you don’t go around trying to make my life miserable. I just wanna go home to Toronto and figure out how to live my life again.”

“And if anyone gets in the way of that?”

You gave him the finger. “Have some f*cking compassion.”

He brushes his hands against each other. “Very well, Blake, you have certainly given me things to think about.” He made to get up.

“Do you agree to the terms of the ceasefire?”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“If you don’t get your ass seated and give me an answer you’re going to find out what I did to the witch hunters. If you need to confer with anyone, feel free to make a call.”

He paused. “That’s an interesting threat.”

“Quote William Congreve and call me a woman scorned.”

He looked across the table at you, with an extremely level gaze.

“No.That is my answer. We will not have a ceasefire.”

You nodded. Then you took out your burner phone.

Plan C, you texted to Alexis.

Roger.

“That’s it for negotiation, I suppose. Let the truce be null and void. I won’t hold you to your promise to let me leave without ‘bespelling’ me.”

“Are you going to attack me?”

“Not as such, no. Laird Behaim, I just think you’re a disgrace as a human being, a waste of oxygen, and the worst kind of police officer there is. You’re a discredit to your entire profession and family. f*ck cops, and f*ck you.”

Then you shunted your range down — way down — reached out and grabbed his brain in an iron fist.

“What the f*ck did you just say.”

“I said your a walking human turd, and I hope your wife is sleeping around, for her sake.” Empty insults to provide plausible deniability.

He grabbed your coffee and threw it in your face — not much liquid, you should have ordered a latte. You took a napkin and wiped away the worst of the espresso.

You got up. “You’re childish and cowardly.” Then as you walked by him, made him trip you and you let yourself fall quite artlessly, knocking a table on your way down, making empty glasses fall and shatter on the ground.

Laird got up. “I am sick and tired you your sh*t, Thorburn! I’m calling you a terrorist, that’s what you are! And a disgusting tranny dyke!” he shouted.

Alexis and Tiffany came running, phones out, cameras rolling.

You got to your feet. “What the f*ck, man,” you said.

He pushed you, and you stumbled back into a planter box.

“Take it easy man, you win!”

He grabbed you by the collar and threw you backwards, and you stumbled into the street, carefully making Laird follow you within your range.

“What’s happening?!” some bystander yelled.

“The Chief of Police is assaulting my girlfriend!” Alexis yelled back.

A car came to a stop as you fell in front of it.

“Please!” you called out, scrabbling to get to your feet. Laird was a well-trained man, and knew how to kick you in the midsection to make you tumble. In a real fight, you’d have given him a run for his money, but this wasn’t. This was full-contact theatre.

Then you made him kick you in the stomach while you were down. For real. It hurt, and you threw up a little in your mouth. You’d have to worry about internal bleeding later.

He kicked you again, this time in the thigh. You’d have a bruise there for weeks.

He drew his gun and pointed it at your head, but you had the decency to obey proper trigger discipline. It was a Glock, there was no safety to engage.

“Hey-hey-hey! She’s already down you sick f*ck!” Alexis yelled.

Then you made him point the gun in her direction, then at some other bystanders. You pretended to take this as an opportunity to fight back, and swept his legs, making him stumble.

“Run!” you screamed to nobody in particular.

He turned his attention back to you and pistol whipped you in the ribs, then as you curled and screamed in pain, he punched you in the face, bloodying your nose.

You curled up in fetal position, and you made him put the muzzle to your temple. “I should blow your brains out you f*cking tranny! And then I’ll should kill your sick, disgusting dyke friends!”

Sirens sounded in the distance.

Laird stood.

Then you made him point the gun about twenty five centimeters to the side of your head and shoot. You began sobbing quite despite yourself. It was too much, but the only way out was through.

“I don’t want you to ever f*ck with me again,” he said. “I can do worse than this to you.”

He bent down and spoke quietly. “You’re going to let me have the use of my tongue back, and I’m going to swear never to let anyone know about what really happened here, that you controlled me, and that this is what you did to the witch hunters. I’m going to swear never to tell anyone directly, nor that I will imply or indirectly insinuate, or through deliberate inaction allow someone to find out that you can control people in this manner, unless I know they already know. And if I don’t, you’ll make me blow my own brains out.”

You let him speak of his own accord. You felt his abject terror.

“I swear, f*ck, please don’t make me do this anymore.”

“Like I said it.”

“I swear never to tell anyone that you control people, nor imply or insinuate it, nor that I will through deliberate inaction allow anyone to find out, unless I know they already know,” he spoke quickly, with panic. He was an exceptionally competent practitioner.

Then you took control back. He stood.

A police car turned the corner down the road, and you made him throw his gun aside and put up his hands.

You spent the next two hours being attended by paramedics, numbly sobbing while Tiffany held you, and telling four different police officers what had happened.

If it wasn’t for your ability to offload acute stress onto your swarm, you would be a lot less cogent.

Every eye-witness got interrogated, Alexis and Tiffany sent their recordings to the officer’s phones.

Plan C had been a bad idea. An effective idea, but a bad one.

There would surely unintended consequences.

You were taken to one of the two fast-food places in the town by the two most amazing women you had ever met, and treated to something to eat and a cup of hot coffee. It almost helped a little.

“You did great,” Tiffany ventured. She poured a salt packet on the table and traced out a rune.

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

“We got him, though. On video, from three angles,” Alexis said. “Indisputable evidence.”

You shook your head. “I need rest.”

“We’ll go back to Briar Girl,” Tiffany said. “It’s not much, but we do have a tent to sleep in. And today was a win. A costly win, but a win none-the-less.”

You were woken up by the tent zipper and Alexis came in, holding a phone to her chest. “Hey,” she said quietly. “I’ve got Sandra Duchamp on the phone. She wants an honest answer to a single question.”

Sitting up, you gestured for the phone and cleared your throat. “Blake Thorburn speaking.”

“You’ve gone and done it, huh? Do not expect any quarter given from the Duchamp family. You know, for a moment I thought you might have the good sense to not go digging up a demon to gain an edge—” Sandra said.

You interrupted her: “I have never knowingly used any demons. Not the one in the attic, not any of the ones in my grandmother’s books, not any I learned of from Ms.Lewis, not any that I know of. Nor to my knowledge did anyone in my coven do anything with demons.”

“… Then how?”

You snorted. “I insulted him. He assaulted me. I don’t know the man’s bigotry, but I’ve been assaulted before just for being gay and transgender. That said I’m tired and in pain. Please take any concerns you have up with my coven-mates.”

“Blake—”

You handed the phone over to Alexis. She continued with her customer-service voice, the one she’d used while working in call centers when she was your age. “Misses Duchamp— I understand you’re frustrated, but the emergency responders specifically advised rest.”

Grabbing a bottle of water and taking a deep drink, you rolled over and went back to sleep.

When you next woke up, it was to the pain flaring up. It was late at night, and Alexis and Tiffany lay in the tent with you. You groped around for the water bottle and your pain pills. Outside the forest was teeming with life. You got up to go pee.

One advantage of being pre-op was that you could stand up to do so.

As you finished up and used a dab of hand sanitizer, one of Briar Girl’s doves came down and landed not far away.

“You have a guest.”

You stared at the dove. That was ominous as all hell. “Anyone I know? Anyone who might want to cause me harm?”

“That one faceless woman with the hat and the claws. She’s waiting at the treeline. In the interest of being a good neighbor and host, I thought I would facilitate a meeting.”

“Did she say — by which I mean communicate — why she wants to meet me?”

“No.But she’s carrying a printing of Famulus.”

“Tell her I’ll be there in a little while. And… thank you. I’ll see to repay this kindness somehow.”

The dove took off.

You shook Tiffany and Alexis awake, and both of them woke with starts.

“What’s up?” Alexis said, sleepiness erased from her being by the jolt of adrenaline.

“Get dressed. We’ve got a guest. And that’s not a euphemism for an adversary. It’s the Faceless woman.”

“What does she want?” Tiffany asked, grabbing her cardigan and yawning.

“I don’t know, but Briar Girl tells me she’s brought a copy of Famulus.”

Alexis rubbed her eyes. “She’s… come to confess her love for you or something? Ask for your hand in magic bullsh*t marriage?” She reached for her leather jacket.

“I’m not going to jump to conclusions, but we’ll go take a vibe check. If the vibes are off, I’ll just say no thanks.”

Your two girlfriends got dressed and with your implements in hand and weapons held close, you all went out into the forest. By your swarm you knew the way, but leading it was more difficult. You had a limp on one leg, and pain pretty much everywhere.

Out by the tree line, the full moon shone down on the property. Hillsglade House lay still under the time bubble, and out in the unkempt grass stood the Faceless woman.

She took off her hat and bowed. True enough she carried a book under one arm.

“Good night,” you said.

Then she took out a letter and held it out towards you.

“A letter?”

Rather than approach, you called on a couple of dragonflies to carry silk thread and ensnare the envelope. She tilted her head as you tugged the letter from her hand and brought it to yours.

Alexis used her phone for light.

Thorburn

Your display today was thrilling. I have seldom seen a man so terrified and am at once envious and curious at your ability to inflict fear.

You need power. I have already given some for trifles but I know you want more and you have something I want.

Most find you repulsive for diabolism. I have seen what demons can do and I don’t mind either way if you use them or destroy them.

What I want is a chance to witness whatever you do. I know for sure it will never be boring.

I will be your familiar.

Caraminne

All three of you looked up. The Faceless woman obviously didn’t have any way to emote, but her body language spoke volumes. She was confident and unashamed. And her name was apparently Caraminne.

She had seen something in you she wanted, and wasn’t afraid to ask for it directly.

“I don’t know, becoming a familiar is kind of a big responsibility, Caraminne,” you said. “You might not just be witnessing my descent into oblivion. You might be dragged down with me.”

She shrugged.

“It’s also a big thing for you, Blake,” Alexis said. “This is more permanent than any other decision, and Tiff and I won’t be there to share the burden. A toolbox is one thing, this is a…” She gestured towards Caraminne. “No offense, but I get the sense that you kill and torture people rather a lot more than we would find tasteful.”

“Maybe not,” you said, recalling from your brief stint in super-speed-reading books. “She’s a boogeyman. You’re a boogeyman, right?”

Caraminne shrugged.

“Hang on, we need to get some of these answers in writing so you can’t lie,” you said. “And you write here you will be my familiar. Is that a promise?”

She signed Yes.

“If you act against me and my coven, I’ll consider that a promise broken, then. And remember, I can take control of you at any time.”

She took a step forward and held out the book.

You stepped forward and took it, hand on the handle of your kukri. She didn’t make any move to attack, but you shrunk your range down to nothing and tasted her thoughts — a difficult task, compared to merely controlling her movements. For now, at least, there was no signs she harbored enmity, but then she was an Other. Same rules did not apply.

“I’ll need to discuss this with my coven, and you, as I said, in writing.”

Caraminne nodded.

“Whatever you witness here tonight, when we part, you’ll keep it secret,” you said.

She signed yes again.

You didn’t hear anything from briar girl for the rest of the night, as you led Caraminne back to your camp. It was an uneasy walk, but she really did seem to be on her best behavior.

Once back at the tent, Tiffany set up an area of quiet with a sigil on a piece of paper.

“So,” Tiffany said.

“So,” Alexis echoed.

“I’ll be the first to say, this is a bad idea.”

“Is it, though?”

Both you and Alexis looked at Tiffany.

“She’s an Other. She can’t lie. We can simply interrogate her for her motives until we’re satisfied — and if you have the space capacity, Blake, you can read her mind with your power.”

You sat in the forest floor cross-legged. Caraminne sat with her legs artfully folded to one side.

She was beautiful in the same way that a praying mantis imitating an orchid was, and made your — or rather Taylor’s — honed instincts bristle. It was a honey trap if you ever saw one.

Even the facelessness wasn’t some aesthetically pleasing smooth expanse of skin. There was the hint of eye sockets and a nose, even a mouth. There were ordinary features of skin there, too, like freckles.

It was a compromise to make: she couldn’t talk, on account of having no mouth, and so Tiffany had taken it upon herself to transcribe the Famulus ritual into contract form in her neat hand, with a real fountain pen. Alexis stood by with a flashlight and helped read out the text to her.

Meanwhile you got to sit there, looking at your future familiar, and still ready to take control over her at a moment’s notice if she tried anything. You had a little camp light to provide illumination.

“You know, it’s going to be a real chore if we don’t get along.”

Caraminne scribbled something on her notepad. She turned it over. You have more to gain than I do, what do you care that we get along.

“I mean it, Caraminne. We need to be able to trust and tolerate one another. I’m going to need you to make a concerted effort, meet me half way.”

You felt the tiredness in your bones, and the energy drink in your gut sat like it didn’t want to pass into your blood stream.

You can call it off if you want, she wrote.

“I’m not sure I can afford to. And there’s no backing out for you. So the onus is on both of us to play nice.” You yawned. “So what will it be?”

She tapped the pen on the paper. Then wrote: once I can actually talk, let’s talk about it.

You looked at Tiffany. She looked up and gave you a thumbs-up. “I got it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yep. Now you both sign it in blood — or whatever ichor you bleed, Caraminne — and then we burn the contract.” Tiffany dug actual goosefeather pens out of her tool bag.

“Burn it?”

“Yep,” Alexis said. “Standard ritual practice, actually. Otherwise you have this physical contract lying around.”

You nodded slowly and began rolling your sleeve up. “One more thing, Caraminne.”

She nodded and gestured for you to continue.

“No taking the form of a rat or dog.”

Tiffany handed you the contract:

Bond of the Familiar between

Practitioner:     
Familiar:     

On account of latter’s inability to speak.

Upon signing below, I,     , agree to be bound by the strictures and sacred bond of companionship to mortals. Therein the duties of servitude and counsel to my companion     , and in return the equivalent benefits received in kind.

You took out your phone and hit dial. It rang twice.

“Mr.Beasley speaking,” he mumbled.

“Hello, it’s Blake Thorburn. Pardon the late hour.”

“What is this about?”

“I’m about to take a familiar.”

There was a long pause. “Who?”

“A boogeyman. She’s known as the ‘faceless lady’ to some, here in Jacob’s Bell.”

“Acceptable, I suppose. If very sudden.”

“Just letting you know in accordance with the rules.”

“Good night, Thorburn.” He hung up.

You skimmed through the sections relating to Caraminne’s bindings, your own obligations, and so forth, arriving at the final paragraphs:

As willing guest, I,     , accept the hospitality provided by my companion     , and by this contract agree to share my power and share in the power of my companion, to accept the offer of shelter and agree to guard the territory of my companion as if it were my own. I accept her sustenance offered me, and agree to lend the strength I gain in return. Given reprieve from the forces that hold me, as the old laws permit, by this compact I guard my companion against those selfsame forces. Given asylum from the forces that follow me, I shall follow her.

As gracious host, I,     , invite my companion     , into the world of mankind and mortality. Let this be the gate through which my companion may enter, the destination and arrival, passage through the border between our worlds. I agree to provide shelter of whatever form my companion needs, be it brick and mortar, or demesne and spiritual. I offer the sustenance that my companion requires, and provide reprieve from the forces that may hold, pursue, or threaten them. For this I accept in return my companion’s guarding of myself from these selfsame forces. I am the asylum they need that they may follow me. I give this with no expectation of secret knowledge or revelations.

Then there was a big space that said “free-form part,” and then:

Signed on date     , by
    , Familiar
    , Practitioner

We hereby bind ourselves to these words and swear to give what we have promised one another.

Witnesses:
    
__    _

You would have to write your name in this document nine times.

Handing it to Caraminne, she took a while to read it thoroughly, then nodded. With a single wicked talon she jabbed herself in the palm and started filling out her own name.

Tiffany helped you make a small cut on your arm, and showed you how to wet the nib of the goosefeather. When you got the contract in hand, you saw your future Familiar’s signature. Her penmanship in the letter had been shoddy, but this was excellent. Nine times a Caraminne full of flourishes.

Yours was a lot more pedestrian. Nine times you wrote your name, wetting the nib three times each. Blood did not make for good ink.

Then you took a regular pen and wrote — next to Tiffany’s writing, the chicken-scratch of a carpenter — your free-form part:

I, Blake Thorburn, offer a place by my side on whatever adventures I might face, to partake in my trials and triumphs, in the small moments and in the big events. I give complicity in what might transpire as I will have to face the dangers of the world, be it culpability or salvation. Most of all as you request, Caraminne, I can all but promise that it will not be boring, and even if we have a quiet moment, I hope you will learn to appreciate mortal life with me.

You gave it back to Caraminne, she read it, held a hand to her chest, then penned her response, handing it back to you.

I, Caraminne, give my claw and cunning and strength. I give courage and fortitude that you, may survive adversity to see another day with me. Blake Thorburn, in a scant few days you proved yourself more interesting than most, and I wish to see the rest of your days so I will give you those days.

“That’s actually kind of sweet,” you said. Suddenly it didn’t feel as though you were about to embark on a lifelong relationship with a stranger.

She signed something you knew the meaning of: Likewise.

Lastly Tiffany and Alexis signed as witnesses, and Alexis took out her lighter. “I hereby declare you lawfully companions as Practitioner and Familiar.” Then she set the folded paper alight. “Caraminne, gain now a voice and new form and seal the bond.”

At once, it was as if a great latch was thrown, locking a door that had been ajar. As if a great electrical wire had been connected. There was a pull deep in your being, like when riding over the drop in a rollercoaster.

There was a gust of wind and a flurry of dust in front of you, and Caraminne had been replaced by a great black bird.

A raven.

You sat there for a moment, too stunned to say anything, and Alexis broke the silence for your.

“Hey.”

Caraminne looked at her.

“Say ‘nevermore’ for us?”

“Go f*ck yourself.”

Chapter 14: 3-3

Chapter Text

Come morning, you were woken up by Caraminne crowing loudly atop your tent.

“Blake,” Alexis groaned. “Can I strangle your familiar a little?”

“Aw, but we just got her,” Tiffany protested, yawning and stretching.

You unzipped the opening to the tent and stepped outside barefoot. The morning was cool and the forest floor moist with dew.

Caraminne took off in a flapping of wings and landed on your shoulder, heavy claws resting on your flesh through your t-shirt.

“And a good morning to you, too,” you said.

She didn’t respond.

“Did I say anything wrong?”

Caraminne shook her head and puffed her feathers. “Speaking is… new.”

You nodded. Come to think of it, she hadn’t said anything after telling Alexis to go f*ck herself earlier in the night. “You just start talking when you feel like it. No pressure.”

Tiffany distributed bottled water and meal bars. Without you even asking, she folded a sheet of paper into a little origami cup and handed it to you. You filled it and offered it for your familiar to drink, and made a mental note to always carry a bowl.

“Welcome to the land of the living, huh?” you muttered. “We got bodily functions and weird pains that don’t go away.”

You ate breakfast and got dressed, but Caraminne wasn’t up for trying her hand at eating insects, yet. At some point you would have to locate some roadkill for her. Carrion seemed like a fitting first meal for a raven familiar.

“Cara,” you said. “Are you stuck like that?” Not that it would be inconvenient to only have her as a raven, but if she could still assume her old form, she’d also be useful in a fight.

Caraminne crowed, then flew down to land on the ground, and after a moment of consideration, became a flurry of feathers that revealed her old form — though dressed entirely in black, with her coat bearing a feather-like pattern. And she had a real face. One you recognized form another life: Contessa.

She spent a few moments standing there, stunned, then felt her face. with both hands. “I— I—”

“Looking good, there, Cara,” Alexis called out.

“Kinda Cybersix vibes?” Tiffany said. “What’s that?” “I’m not sure I can be together with someone who doesn’t know what Cybersix is.” “If it’s that good, you’re in charge of movie night, dork.”

You just walked up to your familiar.

“How does it feel?”

She cleared her throat, then smiled a wicked grin. “Good.”

“Anything specific you wanna do today with your newfound power?”

Caraminne tilted her head in a very birdlike fashion. “I need to find Guy, tell him I succeeded. Give him a hug, wish him well… I’d figured I’d kiss him if I ever got lips again, but I’m kind of… put off by the concept.”

“You probably caught the gay from me. If I had a male friend I was really close with, I’d kiss him on the forehead. You could do that.”

She nodded, and then in a flourish turned back into a raven.

Those same bodily functions is what drove you into town once more, back to f*cking Starbucks and the mediocre coffee. Caraminne took to the awning on the façade of the café, keeping an eye out — which was superfluous with your swarm sense.

The three of you were starting to look like people who camped in the woods. There was a public pool, but Alexis had gone to investigate and found they only had public showers, and you were not about to brave that. You briefly considered calling Maggie Holt — but the one of her dads you had met struck you as the kind of guy who was a white man before he was gay, and likely less than empathetic to the plight of homeless queer women, especially if you were part of the ‘funny business.’

Your pains and bruises were better today; rather a lot better. You decided to attribute this to Caraminne.

“What’s our next move?” Tiffany said, drawing out an intention-diverting rune in sugar.

“I suggest we find out how deep sh*t Laird is in, and then put pressure on the Duchamps and the remaining Behaims. I’m thinking an ambush — we find someone, one of the higher-ups in either family, and I glamour myself, get in range, and remind them what open war looks like and how even walking down the street can be dangerous.”

“Just intimidation, right?” Tiffany asked.

You nodded. “Cara can help, but yeah, not planning on spilling blood. Also the knowledge that I already have a familiar, and a reasonably powerful one at that, is going to make people take us more seriously.”

“You also need to figure out what exactly your new familiar can do,” Alexis said. “If that Taylor chick used your bug control to become a terrifying warlord, she must have had a knack for figuring out how powers work.”

“I think I need to have a sit-down with Cara and explain it to her. The better she knows my limits, the better she can help work around them.”

The croissants were mediocre too.

Your phone rang. The caller ID was that of Mr.Beasley. You picked up.

“Thorburn speaking.”

“Hello, it’s Beasley. Sorry for the delay in getting back to you about the loan. We’re prepared to loan you two thousand dollars, delivered by courier today, in exchange for a back payment of three thousand dollars.”

“When?”

“Whenever you have ready access to your stash. Call me up and I’ll arrange a courier to retrieve the money.”

You went each to your own, Alexis and Tiffany to meet with the messenger and get your money, you went out on the prowl under glamour. Not that an experienced Duchamp wouldn’t be able to spot you immediately. Red hair was kind of growing on you… Caraminne flew from rooftop to rooftop. She wasn’t drawing attention, but you might need to find a way to let her glamour herself into a less noticeable corvid.

It wasn’t long before you spotted a familiar silhouette through the vague vision of your swarm, one you had seen before in person. You watched her obliquely as you had mostly gotten a handle on now, and set out in her direction: Penelope Duchamp. What she was doing out and about early in the early day on a tuesday, you didn’t know; maybe she was unemployed; maybe she worked nights; maybe she was working for the family full-time. She was doing some shopping in downtown, and didn’t have any friends with her. Foolish.

Pushing the speculation aside, you set off in her direction on long strides. Fortunately she was far from at the edge of your range, and you arrived in her general area within ten minutes of walking.

Going by the license plate you had snapped a photo of, and it being a grey volvo, it only took you a few minutes to locate her car. No better way to ambush her than knowing where she was going to be.

Twenty minutes later, Penelope made her way towards you with full shopping bags. She did not at a glance seem like she’d been pleasure shopping for herself. As she came onto the parking lot, you set out walking her way. She took notice immediately, tensed visibly, and a canary swooped in to land on her shoulder — her familiar.

You walked towards her on even, if quick strides, and caught up to her by her car.

“Hello Penelope Duchamp,” you said, not in your own voice.

“And who might you be?”

With a hand you wiped away the glamour form your face.

“Thorburn,” she said with some venom in her voice.

“I’d say it’s good to see you again, but that’d be a lie.”

“I could say the same,” she responded. “What are you here to do?”

“Not kill you, don’t worry.”

She snorted, “as if you honestly stood a chance. I know you have a rifle, but you’re not carrying it.”

There were no bystanders looking your way. Good.

You swung your duffel bag forward and zipped it open to reveal the corner of your implement. “Implement,” you said. Then as she was distracted, Caraminne landed silently behind her and transformed. You pointed over her shoulder. “Familiar.”

Penelope turned to see and saw your familiar stand taller than you — which was quite a bit — broad brimmed hat, her new face contorted in a malicious grin, and five sinister long claws poised to maim.

“Don’t worry, girl. We’re not here to kill you,” Caraminne hissed.

In an impressive display of self-control, she didn’t scream. Her canary familiar took off but in a lightning fast move, Caraminne caught it out of the air in a cage of her claws.

“Miriel!” she yelped.

“Don’t hurt her familiar, Cara,” you said. “Penelope —” she turned to look at you “— bring Sandra my regards. I get stronger by the day, even without access to my house. Remind her that I am always willing to negotiate for peace, and that all of you are fallible human beings: you need to get lucky every time, I just need to get lucky once. Agree to do so and you and your familiar leave here unharmed.”

She blinked. “Just convey a message? Of course!” she almost laughed with relief. “But— why didn’t you just call her? Why come here and scare the sh*t out of me?”

“I feel she doesn’t take me seriously on the phone, so I thought I’d show up in person.” You smiled. “Cara, release the familiar. Penelope, drive safe.” You took a step back. The canary got to fly free, and Caraminne took on her bird form again and landed on your shoulder.

Penelope got in her car, backed out of her parking spot, and left.

You waved. “Good job,” you said aside to Caraminne. “Nice vocal performance.”

She crowed.

Definitely it was time to find some roadkill. For now you scratched her under the chin.

Roaming the city on foot as opposed to on your bike was quite unproductive, and eventually you decided to hunker down at a sandwich shop near downtown and hope someone wandered into your range.

Your phone rang. Tiffany.

“Hey, got the goods?”

“Yeah. He was very courteous. We’ve got living expenses covered for a good few days. Any luck?”

“Ran into a younger Duchamp. Cara did very well. Now I’m kind of stuck hoping for a Behaim at a sandwich shop downtown. Maybe you could come by?”

“If you send us the address and it’s not too far to walk.”

You wrote her a text with the address, and then you ordered a sandwich — just ham, cheese and lettuce — and made small-talk with the server. “Crazy what with the police inspector did, huh?”

The girl behind the counter, probably not even twenty, looked up from assembling your order. “What?”

“Didn’t you hear what he did yesterday?”

“No? What happened?”

“Never mind.”

You got your food sat down to wait, eating and scrolling through your news feeds, keeping an eye on things through your swarm. The local news pages had nothing. Searching video sharing sites there was nothing. You’d heard of police joining ranks and covering up shady sh*t, but this was extreme. Someone had used magic, and likely a lot of it to hide this from public eye.

Which meant Laird was still in good social standing in the mundane world.

Outside, Caraminne registered to your swarm sense — though you couldn’t control her, you were always aware of her whereabouts. Perhaps with time you might learn to see through her eyes…

With that conclusion in the back of your mind you texted both Tiffany and Alexis:

Upload your videos don't share them widely or give them clickbait titles or anything they just need to be public. Someone is messing with the public to keep Laird's rampage under wraps.

👍

After all that hard work? Rude. 💋

Outside of all that, the world seemed to go on as normal, but you wondered if perhaps little signs would start cropping up of the supernatural if you knew what to look for. Like if certain celebrities seemed a little too unaging — Tom Cruise came to mind? — or if certain global events happened to coincide with something. Were there omens and portents to study? It was probably impossible to get rich off using such premonitions to game the stock market.

The door chimed, and Alexis and Tiffany came in, looking perfectly ordinary. But to your eye, something was off, though — their clothes were too prim, and the mismatching earrings you still wore from the operation against Behaim, were not connected to their counterparts that Alexis and Tiffany wore.

“Oh, hey!” Alexis said, sitting down while Tiffany went to order.

“Stonewall,” you said.

“What about Stonewall? You planning a riot now?”

You shunted your range down and reached out and touched her brain, cementing that indeed this was an imposter. You shrugged and finished your sandwich. “Never mind, Alex. Got any news?”

“We just walked through town, Blake. What’s up?” She didn’t react to the incorrect nickname. Whomever this was, they were a poor imitator.

You glanced at the counter where Tiffany got handed the two sandwiches, and came to join you at your table. You touched her mind too. It wasn’t your girlfriend either.

Two imposters. “Could you draw that privacy rune, Tifa?”

“Sure.”

She emptied a salt packet and drew it with her finger.

“You two have approximately ten seconds to explain yourselves before I march you two out back and go to work with my claw hammer. Who are you, where’s my actual covenmates, and where’s the money?”

Not-Alexis grinned. “Feisty. How do you suppose that is going to happen?”

In lieu of a response you grabbed hold of both of them. “You’re really stupid for walking into an active war zone and antagonizing one of the belligerent parties.”

Getting up, you left with the two of them in tow, heading into an alley nearby and used a piece of chalk to draw an attention-diverting rune on the wall. With a knife you scratched yourself on the arm and used a smear of blood at the intersections of the diagram.

Caraminne landed beside you and turned into her humanoid form. You lined the two imposters up.

“We’ve got some imposters,” you said.

“How are you controlling them?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you later, but we’ve only got about five minutes before I exhaust myself doing it.Search their bags.”

Obediently, Cara pulled aside the two duffel bags and gingerly opened the zippers. “Nothing.” Then she stood and went up to Not-Tiffany, sniffing her hair. “Glamour.”

“Faerie.”

She grabbed Not-Tiffany by the throat and lifted her up against the wall, extending her wicked claws. You let go of your control. You set down your duffel bag and found the claw hammer and roofing nails inside your toolbox.

“Who are you, who do you work for?”

The glamour on Tiffany fell away and revealed elfish traits.

“Me you know, Thorburn,” she croaked.

“Essylt?”

“The very same. Look at you, woman-man, moving up in the world, taking a familiar.”

“Set her down,” you told Caraminne, and paralyzed Essylt from the neck down with your power.

She collapsed in a pile, and you crouched over her. “You’re going to tell me what you did to my girlfriends and our money or I am going to start putting nails in your skull. Understand?”

Essylt grinned. “Torture? Fun!”

You looked at Not-Alexis. “I’m assuming this over here is Keller?”

As you said it, the Glamour faded away, revealing another faerie-looking man.

“Correctly guessed,” Essylt said.

“Okay. Cara?”

“Yes?”

“Fae are pretty resilient. What do you think it would take to kill that Keller guy?”

Caraminne studied the other fae for a moment then took his head in her hands and licked his eyeball with a very long tongue, showing sharp teeth as she did.

“I can certainly try. Eviscerate him, perhaps. Rip out his heart, pluck out his eyes, cut his spinal cord at the upper cervical vertebrae… Do tell me when I get it right, dear Essylt.” She ran a claw over Keller’s cheek, drawing blood, then turned about and crouched down next to your other victim. “Or would you rather I go by trial and error until I discover how a faerie dies, and then move on to you?” She licked the blood off her claw.

You felt the impulse to give her a round of applause.

Instead you grabbed a roofing nail, put the tip against Essylt’s head, above the hairline, and raised your hammer.

“Okay!” she hissed. “Your covenmates are unharmed. We have not robbed them — they are underway here still, we just delayed them and ran ahead!”

You brought the hammer down and paralyzed her vocal cords. Bone was harder than wood, so it took a good few taps. Then you put the claw against her chin and lifted her head to look you in the eyes. “By this nail, Essylt, you will remember what happens when you mess with me and mine.” You let her gain control of her facial muscles and she grimaced with pain.

Then you stood and turned to Caraminne. “Could you snip the tip of Keller’s tongue off for me? He needs to learn not to speak in the voice of a women I love, ever again.”

She obeyed promptly, forcing the man’s jaw open, and with a swift slice, taking off half a centimeter of the tip.

Then you took control of Essylt’s body again, standing her up, and walked both of them out into the street where there were plenty of onlookers. You let go of both of them, and Keller put a hand over his mouth, groaning, Essylt shed a tear and put a hand to her head where her blonde hair was reddening with blood.

“Run,” you said. They did.

You looked up at the corner of the building where Caraminne was perching.

Twenty minutes later, the real Tiffany and Alexis showed up — earrings matching yours, tool bag and medical bag out in the open. They came straight to you, sitting down.

“What happened?” Alexis said, noticing your demeanor. You touched both of their minds even though it gave you a sharp sting of pain, just to be sure.

“A couple of Fae tried to prank me. Essylt and Keller. Came in here pretending to be you two.”

“Yikes.”

You had eaten half of one of the sandwiches which Essylt had ordered, and then gotten a soda for yourself. Alexis nabbed the untouched one.

“What happened?”

“Cara and I dealt with them. Don’t think they’ll ever bother me again, though they might carry a grudge.”

“What a power-up you got in Cara, huh?” Tiffany said.

You nodded. “Did you get the money?”

“Yep.” Alexis patted her medical bag. “Though it’s in fifties; no small change.”

“Alright, we’re in business. Let’s get start getting ready for the night.”

“Got something in mind?” Tiffany asked.

You’d been spending the wait thinking. You took out the business card Maggie had given you: Laird’s. The connection to him was still strong — after all it had his name and phone number on it. “Yeah. We find Laird. And if he’s out and about, I’m going to remind him that I have a rifle.”

At the public library, Tiffany printed out a note, and you used acetone to wipe clean a round of 7.62x51 leaving no fingerprints. The act also left it only barely connected to you, sympathetically. Ammunition was some of the most mass-produced items in the world. Indistinct, fungible, very hard to trace to a particular owner. The Duchamps could probably do it, but the local police department couldn’t. Not without material evidence.

Laird was indeed not at his Demesne that afternoon, so you snuck up to his mailbox under glamour and put the note in it, with the bullet.

It said: bullets are cheap, lives are priceless.

Evening fell without any further incidents, while the three of you and your familiar headed across town.

“Cara?” you asked.

She landed on your shoulder.

“If you want, you can go off and find Guy. We’ll be fine. You know how to find me.”

She crowed, and took off.

“You two have made fine friends in just a day,” Alexis said.

“I guess,” you said. “Though I am worried that we’re bonding over, like… intimidation and violence.”

“You should make a concerted effort towards something more wholesome, then.”

You adjusted the strap of your duffel bag. “Yeah. She hasn’t eaten anything yet. I was thinking carrion would be appropriate but…”

Alexis dug through her jacket pocket and handed you a bag of unsalted peanuts. “For a formative snack, something relatively innocuous. She can find carrion on her own time, later.”

“Blake?” Tiffany said.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to tell us exactly what happened today? You see kind of wary.”

You shook your head. “I… put a nail in Essylt’s skull.”

Both of them walked on in silence.

“We’ll keep you in check if need be,” Alexis said.

Tiffany rubbed your shoulder. “Let’s grab some dinner and head back to Hillsglade.”

Caraminne was waiting for you at the property. Standing tall, together with the revenant named Guy, standing around by the gate with the evening gloom obscuring that they were very much Other. Caraminne in particular was now a fair bit taller than he was.

“Good evening,” Alexis said. “Guy, was it? Enjoying the haircut?”

He took off his hat and ran a hand through it. “I am. And yeah, call me Guy.” He smiled. “Listen, girls. I’m really happy that Caraminne got her wish… But I know it also means the end of an era. Hell, I didn’t even know her name until today. We were really just making do, but you three are kind of a lot more excitement than I’m prepared to throw my weight in with. And… she’s got her own voice now.”

He took a step closer to you and offered his hand. You shook it.

“You’re leaving Jacob’s Bell?”

“Maybe. Time will tell.” He turned to Caraminne. “Minnie—”

“Hush,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Guy, you’ll always be my friend. And by my will you will always be welcome to visit.”

Guy nodded, tucking his cap back on and wiped his eye. Caraminne pulled him into a hug.

Alexis put her arm around you and gave you a little squeeze. Tiffany took your hand.

Guy got a kiss on the cheek, a soft-spoken kind word you didn’t overhear, and he went on his way, stopping down the road to wave at you.

Then Caraminne turned into her raven form again and flew up to perch on your shoulder, as you, Tiffany and Alexis set out around the perimeter of Hillsglade House, walking around the time bubble to get to the forest.

“Hey,” you said.

Caraminne looked at you.

“Have you had anything to eat at all, today?”

“No.”

Briar Girl met you as you came back to camp, waiting with her familiar in the shape of a big, white wolf.

“What’s up?” you asked.

“You’ve claimed your familiar,” she said.

“Yeah. Look— we’re probably not going to be sticking around beyond tomorrow. But I think I’m closer to a solution to the house.”

She waved aside. “That’s no matter. Your familiar… she is a being of ruin. Hospitality bids me to accept her presence but I do so reluctantly.”

You bowed. “I apologize for my choice of familiar.”

Briar Girl shook her head. “Never mind. Have a nice evening.” Then she turned and went into the gloomy twilit woods with her familiar.

You went to your tent, where Alexis and Tiffany made ready for the night while you sat up against a tree and took out a burner phone and made the phone call you needed to.

“Laird Behaim speaking.”

“Hello, Laird, it’s Blake Thorburn.”

There was a pause. “What do you want?”

“I want my house back. Also I want you to say hi to my new familiar.” You held the phone up and Caraminne sad the most bird-vocal-mimicry-like ‘hi’ you had ever heard.

“Good for you.”

“You seem on edge, Laird. Got anything disconcerting in the mail?”

“You already know what.”

“You’re the one who decides how long this has to go on, you know. My side has gotten an influx of power and cold hard cash today, so I can keep going for at least the week out. Oh by the way, Essylt and Keller tried to play a prank on me today — was it you or anyone on your side that put them up to that?”

“They’re faerie, they tend to do as they please.”

“That’s not a no. We sent them packing — Essylt has a nice little souvenir roofing nail in her skull and Keller is missing part of his tongue. I think they’re reluctant to let themselves be hired to do your bidding in the future.”

“I don’t really care what happens to Padraic’s hangers on.”

“No, you only care about yourself. Remember what I can do to people who get within five meters of me. I’ve recently been practicing my glamour. Sleep well. Tomorrow is another day.”

You hung up.

“So.”

Caraminne sat on your thigh turned her head and looked at you, blinking.

“There’s something you need to know about me. Actually we need to have some long conversations with each other.”

You took out the little bag of peanuts, opening it and offering it to her. “Peanut?”

With some curiosity, Caraminne plucked a peanut out of the bag

“Yes.”

“First of all, I’m transgender.”

“Good for you.”

“Thanks. Second, when I was eighteen, something happened to me. I got… spliced somehow, with memories of another girl, from another world. And I got a strange power.”

“The power to control. The power you used on me, and the fae.”

“And Laird, yes. And it is very flashy and quite dangerous, but it’s only the half of it.”

Caraminne tilted her head.

You let a handful of insets fly in and land in your palm. “Normally I only control Insects and simple creatures. I can use their senses and make them do whatever I imagine.”

“I see.”

You let all but one of them fly, leaving a fat cricket. “Wanna try a cricket?”

Caraminne plucked it from your palm.

“The key is that I control insects all the time. I can leave them to their devices, but they are always technically under my control, and I see and hear everything they see and hear, even when I don’t command them. Even when I sleep.”

“Oh.”

“My range is a little over a kilometer.”

Caraminne leapt out of your lap and formed into her humanoid form, kneeling in front of you. “You’re kidding.”

“I literally can’t lie. I control every insect within a kilometer of here.”

“How?! There must be millions!”

“Hundreds of millions.”

She shuffled up beside you to sit.

“That’s the other aspect of my ability: I can perform any number of tasks at the same time. Earlier in the week, I used fourteen crows to read seven books at the same time.”

“Crows?”

“The third aspect is that I can trade off range for complexity of life I control. By default, a kilometer, only insects and worms and small crustaceans. If I cut that down to a third, which I can do for about an hour or two to no ill effect, I can control small lizards, small rodents like mice, small birds, certain fish… Cut it by half again and I go down to about thirty minutes, but I can control bigger and more intelligent mammals and birds like rats, small dogs, cats, crows… If I cut it down to about thirty meters, I think I can control livestock; also goblins.”

“And humans?”

“Five meters.”

Caraminne gave a low whistle. “That’s… nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“Yeah. The girl whose memories I got, what I remember is, she lived in a world where thousands of people had strange powers like that. Some could fly, some could throw cars around with their bare hands, some could shoot laser beams from their eyes. Like a superhero comic book. But it was real, and people died horribly half the time. And she couldn’t even control people the way I can — she only had bugs.”

“Must have been rough being on the bottom rung of the ladder.”

“Oh, no she made it work. I remember she became one of the most notorious villains in North America.”

“You’re kidding me.”

She held out a hand. You handed her the bag of peanuts.

“Can’t lie. When I got her power and memories, I also got her skill at being ruthless. Doing gruesome things to people and sleeping at night afterwards, because it’s what has to be done for the greater good. I spent the last seven years preparing for when superpowers would start showing up in this world — training for battle, learning the trades… and then I get magic instead.”

“So that’s why you’re such a good shot with a rifle?”

“Oh, no that’s bugs too. I’m a decent shot, but I can aim perfectly with the help of bugs.”

“We’re going to make mighty good friends, you and I, Blake.”

“Cara, that’s the thing. All this ruthlessness… I don’t think it’s good for me. I think it’s something I need to keep in check. I know it’s your nature to be scary — this is not to admonish you for who you are — but… When I saw how much you care for Guy, I thought maybe we could… try to be kind and loving, and only be scary when it’s necessary? I don’t want to be known for being scary. I want to be known for being…”

“Powerful?”

“I guess. Kind to my friends and allies, and a terrifying foe only to my enemies. I want people to look at me and think they would much rather be my friend than my enemy, and not only because I’d f*ck them up.”

“A river to your people.”

You nodded. “Where have I heard that before?”

“Old movie, I think.” Caraminne drummed her fingertips on your knee. “I think we can figure something out. I’ll keep my… more violent tendencies in check, if that is what you wish.”

“So far you’ve just been a stellar actress, as I see it.”

Caraminne produced a little sliver of flesh from somewhere inside her coat — Keller’s tongue tip.

Then she ate it.

Chapter 15: 3-4

Chapter Text

“I don’t remember much of who I was before…”

“Before what?”

“You know, I think I died. And then I went to hell. I don’t remember much of who I was before that, but I remember hell.”

That made a chill run down your spine.

“It’s a forest. At least part of it is. As deep and dark as anything, and the trees are made of corpses, their roots are watered with blood, and things lurk in-between the trunks that will flay the careless alive. And it is dark. The brightest it will ever get is a murky twilight — and only once in a long while. Sometimes it gets pitch black, so dark you can see nothing at all. And then the real monsters come… can’t rightly tell you what they look like, and if I’d ever met one, I wouldn’t be here.”

“How long—”

She shook her head. “Long enough, Blake. It’s how we become what we are, my kind.”

“Boogeymen.”

“We’re the ones who crawl back out of hell after everything is taken from us. We’ve already overstayed our welcome, and so… we must always be ready to throw something else into hell when it comes asking for its pound of flesh.”

“Or become someone’s familiar.”

“Yes.”

You put a hand on her knee. “Well, if I don’t get murked somewhere in the next few years, I’ll probably live to see eighty. So you won’t have to worry for the next fifty-five years if we play our cards right.”

She chuckled. “I… I found a dark lake, and I swam across it. I’d lost my face by then, so I couldn’t drown. I swam for days. Then I walked ashore, crawling out of Huon like a waterlogged corpse.”

“When?”

“Sometime in the nineties. I don’t remember my first years back very well either. I was young. Ravenous. Cunning, though less so than I am now… I caused a lot of people a lot of trouble. I was driven out of Toronto—”

You startled a little. “Wait, are you like, banned from the city? You haven’t made an oath not to go back there, have you?”

“No.Not everything needs bindings or seals. They just beat me up and threw me out, said if I ever showed my face there again, they’d kill me. Now I have another face, and I’m technically a different being, so… Anyway, they bounced me to Ottawa, I made enemies, learned the hard way not to not make so many enemies, but I grew unwelcome there as well. Then I met Guy in… ’07, I think? We stayed friends. He helped rein me in. We traveled together and came to Jacob’s bell.”

“Ten years, huh? What a friend.”

“What about you? Where do you come from?”

“Toronto. You probably remember my Grandmother, Rose Thorburn. She was a mean old crone, who decided that only her female grandchildren could inherit the estate. My parents supported my transition only because I was their sole child and my grandmother allowed me to inherit.”

“Sounds rough.”

You shook your head. “Tore the family apart. My dad and his siblings feuded for years about it. But she ended up living so long, most of us heirs have moved on and don’t care. Molly — you remember Molly, right?”

“I’m afraid I was one of those who found amusem*nt in bothering her…”

You shrugged. “She’d gotten sober, gotten a job as a librarian, had a boyfriend. Then boom, she’s the first heiress. Five months later, dead. My little sister is eight years old, she’s on the list, too.”

“We could go desecrate your grandmother’s grave if you want.”

“Nah.” You adjusted your sitting and leaned your head on Caraminne’s shoulder. “I got sick of it. I ran away from home. I nearly joined a cult. Alexis picked me up and put me on the right path — she saved my life. She’s saved a lot of lives like that.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet.”

“She’s half the reason I am who I am. She introduced me to Tiffany, and we ended up getting together. Then a little over a year later, Alexis broke up with a long-term girlfriend of hers. It was some really bad drama, and she basically lived at our place while everything got settled. Then she stuck around. One thing led to another… then it was the three of us.”

“Blake?”

You looked up at Caraminne.

“I’ve known you for a day, but all I’ve seen of you so far is a very good and kind girl. I can already feel that influence on me, you know. Go get some rest. I’ll watch over you.”

She bent down and kissed your forehead, then in a flutter took on her raven form and flew off.

Your answer came in the morning.

It was starting to be grating to sleep in the woods. Body odor was beginning to be a problem, and you were pretty sure Tiffany was about to have her period, if you were counting right.

Another morning of brushing your teeth with bottled water for gargling, another morning of wearing the same clothes. Another morning of heading to starbucks.

Or so it would have been if not for the fact that when you walked past the House, Laird Behaim stood there alone, right by where Eva and Andy were trapped. He looked worse for wear and then some.

You were immediately on guard. “Truce?” you called out.

“I’ve come to negotiate,” he replied. “So, yes, under flag of truce.”

You went up the hill to him, followed by Tiffany and Alexis and Caraminne taking on her humanoid form. “If you abide by truce, I’ll let you leave here unmolested,” you said. “No mind-control.”

He nodded. “If I recall correctly it was you who weaseled your way out of upholding truce. As you have done before.”

“If I recall, it was Blake who ended up with a lot of injuries,” Tiffany said. “And you ended up dodging hate crime charges.”

“Your familiar I presume?” Laird asked, nodding to Caraminne.

“Yeah.”

“Congratulations. She looks fierce.”

“And you look like sh*t,” you said. Up close he looked emaciated, drained, pale. Like he’d just gotten on the mend after a month of pneumonia; like his own body had eaten itself for sustenance.

He ignored your comment. “Listen: I need my witch hunters back.”

“I thought they weren’t yours as-such,” Alexis countered.

“They aren’t, as-such. Doesn’t mean I don’t need them. But I’m willing to consider you getting to do as you please a greater detriment than being short-handed. So. You want your house back, what are you willing to give in return?”

“Peace. Good neighborship. An agreement that grievances shall be formally aired before a declaration of war can happen. The promise that me and mine have more pressing business in Toronto and only need to be in Jacob’s bell insofar as we have obligations to fulfill here. And I’ll keep my mouth shut vis-a-vis whatever conspiracy it is you don’t want the Lord of Toronto to know exists.”

“That’s it?”

You shrugged. “Isn’t it enough? We can go on with our lives and largely ignore each other and nobody needs to get shot or flayed or mind controlled into committing crimes. I’m done f*cking around, Laird. Next time it gets ugly, I can’t guarantee there won’t be casualties. And with you looking like this, I don’t think you can afford another direct confrontation with me, can you? We’re getting stronger, Laird. You’re stomping on us, and we’re taking implements and familiars within the first few weeks of being practitioners—”

“Yea, believe me, I noticed. I’m sure you understand my predicament when the only thing you can offer me is a weak promise that you’ll ‘be a good neighbor.’ If I keep this ward up, I have a chance at getting rid of you. Without it, you’ll be even more costly to eliminate when one day you turn on us.”

“A chance,” you repeated. “There’s also a chance that someone you can’t afford to lose ends up as a collateral casualty. There’s a chance you end up dead by my hand — a very good chance, I think, should it come to blows. So actually let’s bargain like that: give me my house back, and I’ll let you live until the next time you make a concerted effort to f*ck with me and mine. Oh, and I suppose you’ll also get your witch hunters back.”

He took out his pocket watch, presumably to open and close it. “Stop that.”

Laird froze.

“That watch is your implement. You don’t see me ruffling through my toolbox while we’re talking, and I know you use it to f*ck with time, and f*ck with me.”

He scowled and pocketed the device.

“So? Am I going to have to give you a ten minute head start to get out of my sight before I declare the truce null and void and start hunting you for sport, or are you going to give me my house back?”

“I accept your offer of peace. Could you reiterate your terms?”

“I get my house back, the Behaim and Duchamp families stop actively trying to make my life miserable. We agree to be good neighbors and have formal airings of grievances before war is declared. We stay out of one another’s business… except for actually doing business with one another — trading and bartering and helping. Basically, cooperation is welcome, antagonistic behaviors, not. These terms are vague, yes. Peace is not the absence of conflict, it is the presence of justice and honor. And those are not something that can be codified into a contract.”

“On behalf of the Behaim family, I can agree to those terms.”

“Convey them to Sandra Duchamp, too, and you have yourself a peace treaty.”

“I’ll urge Sandra to agree to these terms as well. I don’t think it will be a hard sell.” He held out his hand.

“When will I have my house back?”

“Later today, I promise the spell will be broken and you will be able to conduct your business as you see fit on the Hillsglade property and within the house, without being the victim of my time bubble spell.”

You took his hand and shook it, then you gave it a hard squeeze and pulled him towards you.

“If you weasel your way out of this, and somehow try to kill me on a technicality, better make sure you don’t miss. Comprenez-vous?”

He smiled a pained smile. “Je comprends.”

You let go of his hand. “Congratulations on making peace, dear Neighbor. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to Starbucks for breakfast.”

At Starbucks you overstayed your welcome, eating their mediocre croissants, drinking their mediocre coffee, and charging your phones. You had won, but it had been costly. You were all tired, wrung out, and now you needed to head back to Toronto and start working on getting your new life on track.

Around noon your phone rang.

“Blake Thorburn speaking.”

“It’s Laird. It is done.”

“Then make sure to take good care of your witch hunters. Can’t imagine it’s fun being trapped in a time bubble. And make sure Eva doesn’t get the funny idea that she can break into my house with impunity.”

“Don’t worry, I already did.”

“I genuinely wish you a good day, Laird.”

He hung up.

Caraminne got to exploring the house, while you called dibs on the first shower and spent fifteen minutes there, getting clean and massaging your healing bruises.

Tiffany went next, and you got dressed in clean clothes, then you went to check up on your motorcycle and mount the sidecar. All three of you could barely wait to get back to your usual stomping grounds, and this was your ticket there. Fortunately, everything was in working order, it was fueled and ready to go.

Inside, you found Tiffany with still-wet hair, going through the library.

“What are you finding?”

“Books about warding. We’re going to need to secure the apartment. Also just some generally useful stuff — books about various Others, spell doctrines, bindings, animism. Not that we can’t come back here if we need something…”

You went down the ladder to that shelf, and picked out ‘Classifying Others: Fiends and Darker Beings’ and ‘Dark Contracts.’ Coming back up, you handed them to Tiffany.

“Really?”

“What do you think are the chances that somebody in Toronto wants us to do some light diabolism work on short notice? Better to have it and not need it.”

She hesitated, then nodded and packed them. There was almost a wariness about her.

“I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“It’s not that, I just… we’re not on the edge of homelessness or death anymore, and I’ve started thinking of the long-term. There’s really no going back, huh?”

You put a hand on her shoulder. “The Behaims and the Duchamps and whomever, they all lead something resembling normal lives. We can get to that point, too.”

“How?”

“Whenever someone gets in our way, we kick their asses until candy comes out.”

She chuckled.

Caraminne stalked in through the open bookcase-door, ducking slightly and taking off her hat. “Ah, what a wonder.”

“Yeah, this is our arsenal, so to speak.” You gestured broadly. “Unfortunately we’re going home on my motorcycle, so we don’t really have room for a lot. Two saddlebags, a sidecar where Alexis also has to sit, and a backpack for Tiff on the pinion.”

“We should all get motorcycles,” Tiffany said. “I think if we budget, we can take a loan…”

“If we dig into the emergency stash for covering groceries, we can save up our salaries. Besides, bikes aren’t that expensive — if we buy used, I can fix them up.”

She stepped up to you and grabbed the lapels of your flannel, biting her lip. “My big handy butch.”

You gave her a kiss. “As opposed to your small not-handy butch?”

“What’s a femme to do when she has two hands, but get herself a big butch and a small butch?”

There was a sigh from the door and you turned to see Caraminne, hat in hand and the other hand over her heart, leaning on the door frame. “My goodness you’re so cute.”

“Get used to it,” Tiffany said with a smile.

Caraminne tsk’d.“Never! How about I go in the kitchen and make you three girls something to eat?”

“Do you know how to cook?” You asked. “I’d rather cook with you, and verify you still remember what human food looks like.”

She shrugged. “Maybe that is for the best.”

While Tiffany and Alexis then packed up your personal belongings, you went into the small kitchen with your familiar. Even without hat and coat, she was still towering and imposing, and her black nails were impractically pointy. She was handy with a knife, and not fond of vegetables, but did manage to taste her way to a decently spiced and salted Tika Masala — with real chicken. Vegan alternatives be damned in small-town Ontario.

“I think with some practice, you could be a decent cook,” you told Caraminne, and she clapped her hand with girlish glee.

Now there were only a few phone calls to make. First, you called Joel.

“Joel Monte speaking.”

“Stonewall.”

“Ah sh*t, sorry superspy, I don’t remember what I was supposed to say.”

“That’s fine, really. Listen, we’re coming back to Toronto. Things have mellowed out here. Sorry we haven’t been much in touch, there was some… problems we had to deal with. My cousin is dead.”

“Condolences. And, Blake sweetie, you don’t have to worry about having secrets. I’m not the type to snoop. Just knowing you three are fine is all I need.”

“Thanks, man. See you soon.”

“Sounds good, superspy.”

You hung up. Then you called Maggie.

“It’s Maggie.”

“Hey Maggie, it’s Blake. We’re headed back to Toronto. I know I insinuated ‘next week’ but everything kind of went to sh*t.”

“Oh I heard that. Laird got fudged right up.”

“He did. He put a spell on the house, but I got him to lift it, today. We have a peace treaty of sorts. But now my coven and I have to get back to our lives for a little while. I definitely want to have another book club, but let’s just talk about it once I know precisely what sh*t awaits us in Toronto.”

“Of course.”

“You’re the best, Maggie.”

“Aw, don’t say that.”

“Take care of yourself, and say hi to your dads.”

“Will do.”

The last thing to do was to call Sandra to confirm she was in on the peace treaty.

“Blake.”

“Hello, Sandra. I just wanted to confirm you received the peace treaty terms from Laird?”

“I did.” She sounded curt.

“Good, and do you accept them?”

“I’ve hardly any choice, so yes.”

You nodded to yourself. That was an odd way of framing it, but at this point, you’d take it. “Alright. I genuinely hope we can move forward without overt enmity.”

“Don’t we all? Have a nice day, Thorburn.”

“Wait, I just wanted to say I’ll be out of your hair for the forseeable future. We’re going to Toronto. In the spirit of, like, playing nice, is it okay if I text you when I come to town on business?”

“Why not Laird?”

“Because, get this, I strongly prefer dealing with you. You were quick to grasp what kind of person I am, and how I operate, and you’ve been more passive in the conflict so far. You care about your family, and you’re loss averse in a way Laird isn’t.”

“In other words, you think you can boss me around.”

You chuckled. “That’s not even remotely close to what I said. Laird is in my opinion, unpredictable, petty, opportunistic. And I know his modus operandi: he causes chaos on purpose, and then he creates his own order out of it. I can beat him at his own game, sure — I’m more comfortable with chaos than he is — but for me it is a last resort. I much prefer people who try to negotiate before they fight and listen to reason when it is presented to them.”

“That’s… almost a compliment. Whatever. You can text me of your comings and goings. If Laird wants to know, I’ll tell him, but I do hope you understand I’ve got better things to do than convey messages to him.”

“Oh, absolutely. Have a good day.”

“And to you as well.”

She hung up, you put the phone away, and dug into the late lunch.

“So, there’s one thing,” Alexis said. “What do we do about the powers that be back in Toronto? Do we even know who the Lord is?”

“Yes,” Caraminne said, sitting at the table with you. “He’s Conquest. An Incarnation.”

You recalled reading about those. “Physical manifestation of an abstract concept,” you supplied. “And Cara is not on good terms with the Torontonian magical shadow government whatever.”

“sh*t,” Alexis said.

“Less than ideal, not telling us that, Cara,” Tiffany said.

“Merely bad blood and threats of retaliation, no bindings or debts owed. I wasn’t forthcoming with my name, I didn’t have a face. It was far easier and quicker to tell me to f*ck off or get f*cked up, than to draw any elaborate maledictions,” she explained. “They were in a hurry: I was on a spree.”

“How many people have you actually killed?” Tiffany asked.

“Define ‘killed’ — by most common definitions, at least a dozen.”

You tapped the table with your spoon. “We need an introduction.”

“True,” Alexis concurred. “It’s considered good form that a practitioner moving into an area introduce themselves to the Lord. I’m guessing Conquest might be big on that. Might want to bring a gift, too.”

“Why don’t we just ask the lawyers?” Tiffany suggested.

“It might cost us,” you said.

“Then we ask as to that cost.”

It was as good a suggestion as any. You took a sip of water to clear your mouth of rice and sauce and picked up the phone again, dialling Mr.Beasley.

“Mr.Beasley speaking.”

“Hi, it’s Blake Thorburn. We got the house back, and we’re heading back to Toronto — we’re wondering if you can provide us an introduction to the Lord?”

“Certainly.”

“What will it cost?”

“A negligible trifle. I take it you will be able to repay the loan soon as well?”

“Yeah, provided we won’t get attacked en-route or some other force keeps us from our apartment, you can pretty much send a courier tonight to pick it up.”

“Consider your rapt repayment also payment enough for your introduction.”

A thousand dollars was kind of a steep price, but having been able to confidently taunt Laird with having enough spending money to last the week was probably what had won you the fight.

“Excellent. And than you so much for your services, Mr.Beasley.”

“You’ll hear from use tonight, then.”

With everything packed, you crammed it all onto your motorcycle and into the sidecar. Loaded this heavily, you couldn’t make 60 miles per hour, but your used bike was built for 55 anyway.

It was a good thing that it was only a two hour drive, because Alexis’ poor legs would start cramping if she had to sit with luggage between her legs any longer. Caraminne perched on the handlebars, enjoying her innate aerodynamics the whole way. A little black torpedo.

You rolled into your part of town, feeling already at home — despite the obvious danger you now were in — rolling through streets you knew ever so well. Toronto was your city. You’d lived her your whole life, and with luck, you might live here for the rest of it.

There wasn’t anything other than street parking at your apartment complex, but there was a good basem*nt where you paid a trifle to store your bike dry. Only problem was the sidecar didn’t fit easily, so you had to unload the whole thing, and then spend ten minutes with a wrench before you could stow the bike.

Coming up to the front door, you encountered a man — primly dressed, obviously professional. “Blake Thorburn?”

“I am,” you replied. Your toolbox rested in your hand, Caraminne sat on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’m with the firm. I’m here to receive the back-payment of the loan.”

“That was fast.”

“Better to get it out of the way sooner rather than later. You might receive a summons this evening. I’m also the one your covenmates met with, they’ll recognize me.”

“Alright, come along.” You went to unlock the front door. “I’m not inviting something else in the door with you, am I?”

“No.I’m solely here to pick up the money.”

“And if I offer you a glass of water?”

“Thank you, but no thank you.”

He followed you up and you opened the door to find Alexis already having your stash of money out. “Saw the car come up,” she said before you could ask.

So you stood there in the door with the courier and waited for your girlfriend to count out the three thousand you owed for the two thousand loan.

“The firm sends their regards,” he said, “and a complementary gift.”

“Am I free to refuse?” you asked.

“Certainly, but it’s only a book.”

He opened his suitcase and handed you a narrow tome, some two hundred pages. Hardback. The cover read Black Lamb’s Blood.

“Diabolatry?”

“Your grandmother knew the author and was quite fond of her. Had she been alive as the book was released, your grandmother would have paid for a copy to be delivered to her, and it would have a place on her bookshelf. She would have no cause to warn you about anything inside. It’s even one of the tamer books.”

“What’s in it?”

“Biographical accounts.”

You weighed it in your hand. “I was hoping it was something useful. I brought Dark Contracts and Classifying Others, just in case we run into something bad. Can’t say I’ll give it a read — I’ve got more urgent things to do for the time being.”

You paid the nice man the three thousand you owed, leaving you a thousand dollars poorer. Then you got to help Tiffany and Alexis unpacking. Laundry needed doing, and the entire apartment needed airing out, and then it needed warding. Tiffany took charge of that and started planning out a repainting project that would keep you safe at night.

“We also need to regain our strength,” Alexis said.

“Yeah, rest,” you agreed. Today had been far less stressed, but you still had been working for most of the day.

“No, I mean, metaphysically. Getting back home is good, but if we really want to recover, we need to reaffirm identities and the bonds that make us human. We’ve been gone for almost a week.”

“So we need to reconnect.”

Alexis looked between you and Tiffany who had taken interest. “We’re in an apartment block full of people who are, at the very least, friendly acquaintances. Many of them are probably worried about us—”

“Joel was pretty relieved to hear from me,” you said.

“So, let’s see who wants to come have a beer and… hear about your poor cousin dying, I guess. And getting hate-crimed by a cop in broad daylight… Okay, maybe we gotta come up with some cover-stories.”

“They’d have to be damn good ones,” you said. “We can’t lie. And we got what appears to be a ‘pet raven’ to explain away, too.”

Joel and Carlos showed up in matching hawaii shirts, followed in short order by the recently wed Goosh and Amanda. They were a lovely couple and your stalwart sisters in lesbianism — Amanda was even smaller than Alexis and always full of bubbling energy despite being ten years older than you; Goosh was your great mentor in all things transgender womanhood, having been part of the community longer than you had know you were a girl.

Joseph showed up with Nick — roommates, friends, affectionate to one another in public, and emphatically not dating. ‘Queer-platonic,’ was the word they used. Nick was currently newly-in-love with a girl, as goth as they came, he’d met on a dating app.

They all got to talking in short order. Nick had brought cupcakes, everyone had brought beer. Alexis and Tiffany led the conversation, explaining things to do with the house, and your cousin’s death.

You sat back, taking a load off. Out on the balcony, Caraminne perched in the evening gloom, dutifully keeping watch.

And then someone came in you hadn’t seen in an age. “Natty?”

Natalie Bloom. She’d left your little friend group years ago, after a breakup with Joseph of all people, and while there had been no bad blood, she had kind of drifted away. She’d had a psychotic break, back then. You remembered having thought about the implications of people just suddenly developing schizophrenia, and how it related to your powers and second set of memories.

Now you thought about how many cases of schizophrenia might be caused by magic stuff.

“Hey, Blake, you look good!” she said. “Love the hair!”

You still had it glamoured red. Natalie’s was dyed red, too. “Thanks, you too. How’s things, it’s been over a year?”

She shrugged. “Rough, but getting better. You?”

“Well, we just came back from a little place called Jacob’s Bell. Turns out my cousin Molly got killed.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

You nodded. “We weren’t close, but she was good people. Anyway, I was next in line and inherited my grandmother’s mansion, but it’s all tied up in legal stuff. Then I got assaulted in the street by a police officer yelling slurs, and we had to camp in the woods for a few days. It’s all a very long, and very traumatizing—”

There was a tapping on the window to the balcony.

“Is that a f*cking raven?” Natalie asked.

“Ah, yeah. Followed us here, somehow. I swear, you feed a bird peanuts once and it sticks with you for life.”

You went over and opened the balcony doors, bending down and holding out your hand. “Step up?” you said, like you’d seen bird trainers do in internet videos.

Caraminne obliged.

Returning to Natalie with your familiar, she was quite captivated.

“Is it tame?”

“As far as I can tell. She came to us in the middle of the night, one night, wanting help. I guess we made a good impression, because she’s been following me around ever since. I should have thought I’d seen the last of her when we drove home, but here she is…”

“Incredible,” Natalie breathed.

Caraminne crowed quietly.

“Holy sh*t is that a raven?” Joseph said, from across the room.

And then Caraminne took off, flying up on top of the living-room storage closet.

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s been a weird few days.”

Joseph, Nick, and even Joel came over.

And then you got to repeat the heavily redacted and abridged explanation for why you now apparently had a pet raven.

The party went from overwhelming to cozy fairly fast. People said their condolences, and you genuinely thanked them for it — one day you might genuinely grieve your cousin, but that was not today. Alexis had been right, getting everyone together and talking about things — as much as you could — was freeing. Natalie and you hadn’t been particularly close friends back then, but she was pleasant company, and had opinions about the local music scene.

Tiffany was roping people into helping her with her new ‘geometric art project’ of not so subtly copying diagrams onto the walls, from photocopies taken on the ancient name-brand Xerox machine back in Hillsglade.

Out of sheer ingrained habit of a girl who wasn’t even form your universe, you tagged everyone in the apartment with bugs.

Tiffany in the bedroom with Nick drawing on the walls, Alexis talking to Joseph and Amanda by the dining table, Carlos and Joel talking to Goosh in the kitchen, Natalie on the couch next to you. Two people in the bedroom, five in the living room counting you, and four in the kitchen.

You paused, mentally. Counting heads and then naming them. Nine names, but more bodies than that. Part of you thanked Taylor for her obsessive training in Master/Stranger protocols.

Getting off the couch with a ‘one second’ said to Natalie, you called on the bees on the roof, sending them through the passive ventilation ducts, and went to the kitchen. “Hey, old people, bring some beer in here and join us for a sec?”

Goosh chuckled at your jab, and Joel ruffled your hair in passing.

Then you stepped into the kitchen — Caraminne swooping in — and closed the door, looking directly at the stranger with your second sight, piercing whatever was obscuring him from notice. Light hair, white coat. He had a polished revolver lying on your kitchen table.

You stepped up to the range hood and opened the damper, to let the bees in if need be.

“You have until a countdown from ten to tell me who you are, what you’re doing in my kitchen, and how you’ve evaded detection. And if you go for that gun, that timespan might dramatically shorten.”

Caraminne took up position behind him, claws at the ready.

“I didn’t want to interrupt anything,” he said.

“Nine,” you replied.

“Is now a bad time? The Lord would like to see you. The other local powers will be in attendance.”

“Yes, it’s a bad time, but I’ve grown accustomed to the universe wanting to inconvenience me — I’d hoped for a nights sleep in mo own bed. Eight.”

He nodded. “Regrettable.”

“Seven.” Caraminne took a step closer to him, claws outstretched. “Still haven’t told me who you are or how you got in. Six.”

“Call me Fell. I used magic.”

“Countdown rescinded,” you said. “Since my covenmates haven’t already intuited something is wrong, I must assume you are actively bespelling them as well. So here’s my suggestion: get down to street level, ring the door buzzer and say ‘Galahad’ when I pick up, and we’ll be down with you shortly. You can sneak out yourself, or I can throw you from the balcony.”

“I’ll take the stairs, thank you.”

You sent your swarm of bees out of the range hood, forming an angry buzzing circle of stinging insects around Fell’s gun, as we went to take it. He recoiled from it out of instinct. “I’m confiscating that. I’ll put it in my gun safe, and you can have it back when we’ve come home safe and sound. Next time, leave it in the holster.”

He glared at you. A man like that probably had more than one gun on him anyway. Then he exited the kitchen and walked through your living room, past all your friends, and out the front door.

“Lexi, Tiff?” you called. “Come out here for a sec.”

They both came promptly, Alexis seeing Caraminne in humanoid form, and closed the door.

“What?” Tiffany said quietly.

“A man snuck into our house. He’s a messenger of Conquest’s.” The bees flew back up the ventilation system, returning to their hive on the roof. You picked the revolver up and emptied the cylinder, pocketing the inert weapon. “He’s going to buzz the door and say ‘Galahad’ over the intercom. Then we’re going to meet the Lord.”

“sh*t. Well, let’s get ready, then,” Alexis said. “And break up the party.”

“We need to bring a gift,” Tiffany said, “I can grab one of my pieces—”

“I’ll give him the poison honey,” you said.

Chapter 16: 4-1

Chapter Text

The door buzzed, and true enough a man’s voice said ‘Galahad’.

“Blake, sweetie, what’s wrong?” Joel asked.

“Superspy things,” you replied. You turned to the small crowd. “Everyone, everyone, sorry, but Tiff, Lexi and I are just going to go see to an errand. You’re welcome to stay and hang.”

“How long will it be?” Joel asked.

“Who knows with superspy things.” you said. “Make sure nobody snoops in our stuff, okay? Keep the party going, and stay out of trouble — maybe… nah.” You had just now briefly considered if maybe the people present could complete Tiffany’s warding project, but there was simply no way. “Never mind.”

“Listen, Blake, if you’re in trouble,” Joel said.

“I don’t think I am. At least not in a way where you can help.” You patted him on the shoulder. “You got spare keys. Lock up if we’re not back by midnight.”

Then you went to your storage closet and fetched the present for the Lord of Toronto: a jar of toxic honey, derived from Rhododendron. Rare and valuable, the jar was clearly marked with a poison symbol to not confuse it from your regular honey which you kept in a different closet all together.

You threw on your hornet-yellow motorcycle jacket and left the apartment, toolbox in hand, Caraminne on your shoulder. The loves of your life followed close after.

Conquest resided — suitably, though you didn’t know the entity yet, going by reputation — in a building from that period when emulating and being inspired by Roman architecture was in vogue. Fake columns, grand aspirations. It might have been a government building of sorts before Canadian society decided that modern building styles was more suitable to governance than emulating a past that never existed.

You stepped out of the passenger side, toolbox in hand, Caraminne on your shoulder. You held the door open for Tiffany.

Inside the building were no bugs at all. The same ominous sign as when you had first come to Hillsglade.

Up the front steps — not a wheelchair ramp in sight — at either side of the main doors, stood a pair of what was unmistakably security guards.

Fell led the three of you up the stairs, but one of the security guards stopped you. “Weapons?” He pointed to your toolbox.

“It’s a toolbox,” you said.

“Got any blades in it?”

“It’s… a toolbox,” you reiterated. “What is this, an airport?”

He looked at Fell.

You did too. “Do you people seriously expect I’ll try to stab someone with a chisel?”

“Don’t try anything,” Fell said.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, and I’m sure Tiffany won’t try to stab someone with a pen, either.”

“I paid good money for those pens,” Tiffany said.

“I’ve got a scalpel blade,” Alexis added, “which I can’t really see being a danger compared to the concealed guns I’m sure you gentlemen are all carrying.”

The security guard waved you inside.

“Know whatever you leave behind is lost, beyond this threshold,” Fell said.

“Ominous,” Alexis said. “And when we’ve left the premises?”

“Only applies inside,” Fell said.

“What if I decided I don’t like the rule?” You asked.

“Then you will displease everyone in attendance, the Lord included, and your stay in Toronto will be a brief one.” Fell’s voice was perfectly level.

“What if we take something with us out?” Tiffany asked.

“That would be a novel feat. You will want to use your Sight to watch your step.”

He went in, and you all followed. Under your second sight, you saw a perfectly ordinary lobby, except it made the hairs on your neck stand on end.

At a glance everything seemed fine: nice furnishings, carpets, wall decorations. But it was all subtly mismatched — if one took a commode from one end of the hall and put it next to a side-table from the other end, they would clash in style and make. Like whoever had done the interior decoration had short-term memory loss.

Under your second sight, something more alarming showed itself. There were none of the otherwise ubiquitous cobweb-like fetters between any of the furniture or the decorative knick-knacks on display. No roiling masses of beetle-like spirits showing the shifting landscape of connections with the contours of their shells.

Everything was disconnected. This was what Fell had meant by what was left behind being lost.

There were even fragmented, faint Echoes — ghosts — that lingered.

This wasn’t interior decoration, you realized. It was a museum of looted good, spoils of war, and trophies of defeated enemies. This was not a house for living in.

“Stay sharp, girls,” you said.

Fell led you to the central staircase, and let the three of you up first, following after. “Watch your step.”

Halfway up, there was unmistakably a bullet hole in one of the steps, and from what looked like an utterly absurd caliber, too.

“I could probably get you a quote for fixing that,” you said.

Fell didn’t reply.

Rounding the corner, you saw why.

The rest of the staircase was the aftermath of a battle. A skeleton was impaled on the balusters in a broken section of the balustrade, spears were driven into the steps, the hand rails were gouged with cuts, and the carpeting was soaked in blood. Bone shards, shell casings, cigarette butts, and syringes had been swept to the side.

It smelled like gunpowder and burned corpses.

“I could probably get you a quote for fixing that, too, but you might not like my asking price.”

Tiffany chuckled.

And that was the last bit of levity afforded you and your coven.

The top floor was something else. The walls and decor here were in ruin, remains of the same battle that must have destroyed the staircase, and completely incongruous with how the building was hale on the outside. Near everything bore battles cars, sections of the floor were in stark disrepair, and winter raged beyond the walls — contrasting the early summer you knew the season was in the outside world.

Fell spoke up behind you: “We’re in the fallow season within the Lord’s domain.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alexis asked.

He didn’t answer that. “Please watch your step, and do keep moving. Lingering can expose you to other effects here. So can a misstep. Things broken here do not always mend as you hope they would. You can hastily patch up a wound that may take a lifetime to heal, or you can allow things to become something else altogether, after the breaking. I doubt you want to do either, if you happen to fall through the floor and break a leg.”

“Will do,” Tiffany said.

You took the vanguard, picking a path that avoided discarded weapons and parts of the floor where footing looked unsteady.

“To be in Conquest’s domain is to be in a constant state of transition. Emotions rise and fall, there is fire and rebellion at first, then we make peace with the state of things. Broken things erode away, and then there is only defeat. But to be the Conqueror is not a simple thing either. They either take on a different role, which my lord cannot do, or they find new territory to seize, people to subjugate. The territory changes as he finds new ground.”

“Sounds dicey,” Alexis said.

“Conquest isn’t a practitioner,” Tiffany said. “This isn’t a demesne. What is it?”

“Some beings are strong enough to influence their surroundings simply by residing there.”

Pressing on took you through a hallway of more ruined walls and damaged floors. More a bridge than a passage inside a building. Outside you saw snow lie in piles, down below.

Tiffany pulled her cardigan around her; she was the least warmly dressed of the three of you.

At the other end of the bridge was a hill with ruins delimiting a perimeter. Here, the sun was at zenith, despite it being evening outside.

And atop a throne sat Conquest. He wore a sheepskin jacket from ereyestercentury, and a rifle rested against the side of the throne that looked big enough to have inflicted the bullet hole in the staircase. His boots were shiny, his hair was blond, and his skin had barely a hint of a tan.

He had the kind of beard you’d come to associate with hipsters and ardent racists, and two aboriginal men kneeled at either side of his throne, shirtless, collared in irons, and he held the chains. His other hand rested on his knee, palm up, with large green beetles crawling on his fingers.

You recognized them as Japanese beetles, an invasive species. Curiously, your power also recognized them, which ought to be impossible. He was an Incarnation. Like everything else in this realm, those were not ‘real’ in the usual sense, they were part of him. And yet, they were in your might.

His eyes betrayed no humanity, as lifeless as a painting. His whole being was a tableau, part of the landscape as the landscape was part of him. A symbol, a shrine. He would look at home as the Emperor in a deck of tarot.

“I would offer you a seat,” he said, “but the only seat available is the ground, and I have no reason to make you debase yourself. You may continue to stand.”

“We will,” you said, biting back and instinct to say ‘sir.’ A dangerous thing in this house, your intuition told you. You instead said: “Lord of Toronto.”

“Hello, little morsels,” a voice said to your right. Tiffany startled behind you, but you were already in battle-awareness mode, and cooly looked to the voice.

A sphinx. ’Taur body layout, leonine from the waist down, feathered wings on the back, muscles playing under the shiny coat. Her torso was humanoid and unclothed, her skin was a deep tan, and her dark hair fell in luscious ringlets, preserving her modesty.

At once gorgeous and terrifying; you felt very happy you were spoken for, and thankfully Alexis didn’t say something like ‘I’m scared but that’s kinda hot.’

“Hello,” you replied, “what a strange greeting, calling us ‘morsels’ as if we’re your next meal.”

She giggled.

Then you noticed her attendant: Paige.

She looked at you intently.

You nodded in greeting, she nodded back. Then you took stock of the rest of the powers that were.

A bedraggled-looking man, disheveled clothing, holding an open bottle of wine and looking like he hadn’t done a thing about his appearance after a party and a drinking bender, attended by a coterie of beautiful partygoers, sitting on a living tree-trunk growing sideways. His gaze was far from addled, meeting yours.

The last character in the tableau was a mostly normal-looking woman, blonde haired, dressed in jeans and a jacket, holding a golden spindle — no doubt her implement.

“Allow me to introduce Isadora, apocrypha, sixth daughter of Phinx,” Conquest spoke.

A fitting name for a being of legend, you thought. She smiled a toothy grin with prominent canines.

“High Drunk Jeremy Meath.”

The staging of him suddenly made sense: Dionysian. His underlings bowed to you, but he didn’t move an inch himself.

“And Diana Thompson. Astrologer.”

“I hope we can get along,” you said, holding your toolbox with both hands and giving a respectful short bow.

“Your names?” Lord Conquest asked.

“Blake. This is Tiffany, Alexis, and my familiar Caraminne.”

“Blake,” Isadora said. “What an interesting name.”

“Hush,” Diana said.

“Not in attendance is the Sister of Torches, the Shepherd, the Knights of Basem*nt, the Eye of the Storm, and the Queen’s Man,” Conquest said, concluding the introductions.

That explained the spacing of the three in attendance around the perimeter of the space: eleven even sectors — there were even hints of where the representatives of each faction might have taken seats.

“We hope we’re not in violation of protocol,” you said. “We’ve read it is custom to bring gifts to the Lord once one moves to a new city.”

Alexis opened her medical bag and took out the jar of honey, handing it to Fell.

“This is a special edition of my crop as an amateur apiarist. A one-of-a-kind item: rhododendron honey. Hallucinogenic in small doses, toxic in bulk.”

There was a rhododendron growing a block over, and you had spent a lot of time conditioning the bees of one of your hives to collect honey only there. It wasn’t the same quality as the stuff from the alps, but it was a fun curio to be able to produce.

“You should know, Lord, she has more than that on hand in stock, and even lists it for sale.”

You made a mental note to inconvenience Fell somehow in handing him back his gun. Maybe a bee sting.

“It is tithe,” you countered. “A tenth, owed to the ruler of the land since ancient times. More so, in fact, my stock at home numbers only two jars remaining of last summer’s harvest. The sale of even one jar is a substantial way towards my household’s monthly budgets.”

Conquest regarded the jar. “Jeremy, you know well poisons that addle the mind.”

“A rare treat. Ordinarily produced only in the Alps. I wonder how a Torontonian girl with city bees procured it.”

“Isadora?” Conquest asked.

“A paradox: sweet yet deadly. A curiosity. A conversation piece, perhaps.”

“Diana?”

“It’s fine, I guess. I’d rather have some of her ordinary honey, but that’s just me.”

“Then I am satisfied,” the Lord said.

“Glad to hear, Lord,” you said, being careful not to thank him and not to call him ‘my Lord.’ Somehow you remembered your grandmother’s advice to not say please and thank you to the demon.

“I open the floor,” Conquest said.

“Abstaining,” the Drunk said.

“For once,” Diana quipped.

“Har har,” he replied. “That hasn’t gotten old in twenty years, stargazer.”

“We need to get it out of the way, whenever somebody new arrives,” she said. “Are you and yours new, Blake?”

“I’d say,” you answered.

“And already your whole group have Implements and you a Familiar. Unusually quick.”

“We’ve been in some unfortunate circ*mstances,” you said. “But we’re pleased with the results. Our opponents in that past conflict, not so much.”

“Oho,” Diana said. “Interesting. I’d love to hear about that.”

It was oddly reassuring that there existed at least one (1) established practitioner who wasn’t out to get you from the get-go.

“Who did you fight?” the High Drunk asked.

“Nobody local,” Alexis said before you could say something more truthful.

“Which non-local did you fight?”

“Two families, looking to establish territory. We got in the way out of circ*mstance,” Alexis continued.

“Oh,” the spinx said. “Now you got me curious.”

You glanced at her, and saw Paige nod subtly. Isadora knew exactly where you had fought and who.

“The proverb goes that curiosity killed the cat,” Tiffany said. “I mean no insult, of course.”

Isadora chuckled. “Some taken. I’m now thinking of all the places near Toronto where might be two families claiming land, ill disposed to a coven of new practitioners.”

“A riddle to enjoy, perhaps,” Tiffany said. “Perhaps we’ll let everyone present find out for themselves.”

“I want, for the sake of my interests and yours, to hear the answer.”

“Our best interests?” Alexis asked him.

He smiled but didn’t answer. It felt like a good distribution: Jeremy and Isadora held at bay by Alexis’ and Tiffany’s wit, while you could focus on Conquest — Diana seemed a non-threat.

“Dare I say, Jeremy,” Diana said, “that you’re more lively in this meeting than I’ve seen you for a good long while. Not only showing up, but actively participating?”

“A degree of attraction, perhaps?” Isadora suggested.

“I would like these three fine young women to attend one of my parties,” Jeremy said.

“We’re all gay and spoken for,” Tiffany supplied.

“Not much for attending parties with strange men,” Alexis added.

“What’s your signs?” Diana asked.

“Depends,” you said. “Do you count Ophiucus or not? Are you queer? And can we tell you without putting ourselves at risk, or opening ourselves up to some risk?”

“No, yes, and yes — I promise you no harm from me and mine, along this vector,” Diana said.

You glanced around the space. “I must admit, we’ve grown somewhat wary of revealing details that might seem magical in nature. You might mean us no harm, but you don’t speak for the rest — no offense to the Lord, of course.”

“We only want to know you better,” Isadora said.

“Knowledge is power,” Tiffany said.

“Let me ask a more innocuous question. Who are you, Blake?”

That wasn’t an innocuous question in the slightest. That was a question from a sphinx with no clear answer, a riddle.

“That’s not an innocuous question; that’s a bona-fide riddle,” Alexis said, speaking your thoughts aloud.

You held out a hand towards her, and thought very carefully and very quickly. It was a riddle, and in the stories sphinxes ate those who answered wrong.

“Who’s anybody?” you tried, stalling for time.

“Not what I asked.”

Everyone in the room were very still, watching your every move. This was pivotal, and you had to chose your words carefully.

“My name is Blake, but a rose by any other name smells just as sweet. To the High Drunk, I’m a fine young women one invites to parties. To the astrologer I’m someone with a star sign. To you I’m a curiosity. Who am I? Depends on who you ask.”

“And if I ask you?”

Isadora un-crossed her front paws.

You considered revealing that you were a Scorpio just to buy more time. Star signs were used in divination. So were tarot. An answer neatly presented itself:

“I’m the ace of swords reversed in the right hand, and the seven of wands upright in the left.”

She crossed them again. Everyone else moved, too, the strange tension dissolving. The High Drunk took a swig of his bottle, and Diana let her legs dangle over the edge of the stone block she sat on.

“Someone told you,” Isadora said.

“No,” you said, which was technically the truth. You had eavesdropped on that conversation. “You can make a pack of tarots from two 52-card decks with a sharpie. You can read fortune telling methodology in a book.”

“And you chose the answer that served to sum up who you were, while not giving any points that could be argued.”

“Who’s anybody?” you repeated. “I gave bullsh*t answers to buy me time to think of more bullsh*t answers. You chose to accept the third.”

Isadora barked out a laugh, loud and very human.

Alexis patted you on the shoulder.

You weren’t out of the proverbial woods, yet.

“Most people simply don’t answer when she asks any question,” Diana said, smiling.

“Don’t tell her,” Isadora said with an almost hissing growl underlaid her voice. “I was going to throw some more questions at her, see how easily that bullsh*t flows.”

“It’s just so very hard to resist answering when a pretty femme asks you a direct question,” you said. “I appreciate the tip.”

“You owe me one,” Diana said.

“Just the tip?” you asked. “I’m sorry, but I’m spoken for.”

She snorted.

“Do you work in food service?” Alexis continued. “Because if so, we could be inclined to tip ten percent.”

“A really good life tip is not to talk to cops,” Tiffany finished.

“You three are a menace,” Diana said with a smile. “But I’m serious.”

“Don’t talk to cops,” you repeated. “You, an established practitioner, tipped me not to talk to sphinxes. I’m an established protest-marcher, so I tip you, one queer woman to another, not to talk to cops.”

Diana nodded. “Not bad.”

“What other answers were you going to give?” Isadora asked.

“Don’t talk to sphinxes and cops, Blake,” Alexis said. Tiffany snorted.

Isadora pouted. “No fun. Okay, let me rephrase: I would like to know what other answers crossed your mind. With a period, not a question mark.”

“I was going to give you what I put in my blog bio when I was twenty-two, ‘transgender lesbian, journeyman, relationship and actual anarchist.’ Again, not an answer to the question.”

“Indeed, who’s anyone? Nobody truly understand themselves,” Isadora said. “A riddle is merely a question that demands a thoughtful or clever answer. Do you understand?”

“I reserve the right not to answer questions,” you said.

“A riddle is that thing when you’re trapped in a labyrinth and there’s three ways to go but only one way out, and there’s one guard who always lies, one who always tells the truth, and one who stabs people who asks tricky questions,” Alexis said.

“Hey, that’s from that webcomic,” Diana said.

“A riddle is a question that if you get it wrong, you might get devoured by a sphinx,” Tiffany said.

“Sphinxes are creations and natural Others with a heavy tie to the karmic balance,” Diana explained. “They’re often used as divine guardians for temples or sites of power. Different sphinxes follow different rules, gaining certain rights and powers from karma and destiny, provided the other party deviates from a code, offers a mistruth, breaks from tradition, or something in that vein. So yes, you risk getting devoured.”

“And not in the sexy way,” Alexis said. “Well, unless you’re into vore.”

You glanced at Paige.

“You three are awfully quick-witted,” Isadora continued. “Tell me your other thoughts, I would like to know how your mind operates.”

“Well, owing to your being a sphinx, there’s the obvious answer of ‘man’, but I’m really not—”

Isadora revealed her claws.

“The original version of that myth ends in the sphinx dying,” Tiffany said, leaning in and speaking quietly.

“And Isadora’s mother was Phinx, the very one from that myth,” Diana added. “And ‘man’ wasn’t the real answer, but it does serve as a sore reminder.”

You kicked yourself. That had been a careless mistake.

“If I hadn’t specifically asked for your thoughts, I would have torn you apart, hearing that come out of your mouth.” She flared her wings. “I remain tempted.”

Caraminne leapt from your shoulder and took position behind you, humanoid and claws at the ready.

“Control yourself,” you said to your familiar.

You felt her glare at Isadora for another moment before turning back into a raven.

“My genuine apologies and condolences,” you said. “I’m sorry I brought back bad memories, and I would like to be on good terms, even if you did just threaten to kill me. Anyone Paige approves of deserves my respect.”

You didn’t make any displays of deference. She glared at you, and you looked back with a level gaze.

“Flattery is cheap, morsel.”

“Genuine words of respect are not,” you replied.

Slowly, and with almost a dramatic flair, Isadora folded her wings and retracted her claws. “I suppose they aren’t.” She looked to the others. “I like this Blake. Sharp enough to be interesting… Reckless enough to be potential food. I would not object to having her around.”

You saw Paige give a sigh of relief.

Conquest glanced at the High Drunk.

“I abstained.”

“An informal response, then,” Diana pressed.

“I abstained for a reason,” he insisted.

“What reason?” Isadora now pressed.

Jeremy made a very impressive display of rolling his eyes, in a very literal sense.

“Why should your fat f*ck of a god care?” the sphinx asked.

The thought occurred to you that Jeremy might not only appear dionysian, but actually be part of a genuine cult of dionysos.

“I care, as a matter of fact,” Jeremy said. “This Blake and her hanger-ons haven’t given us any straight answers. Clever girls, but we don’t know where they got the power to take implements and a familiar so fast, do we? She’s got an empty head in the Dexter’s hemisphere and a stubborn heart in the Sinister’s, do you see how she might cause problems?”

“Tarot was never my thing,” Diana said.

“I think our girls here have a story, and I think madam professor isn’t paying it any mind because Blake has some kind of connection to her latest attendant, and she is not the only one who sees these three as potential pieces of meat. You, astrologer, are a lesbian and a cougar.”

“Cougars are generally older women,” Diana said, sounding slightly offended.

“Your point being?”

Two of his attendants giggled. Bacchae, beings of festivity.

“Can we return to the days when you ignored us and we could ignore you?” Diana asked.

“Soon enough. But I’d like to have some answers, first. I have reason to suspect Blake here is not what she appears to be.”

“And what are we?” Alexis said. “Chopped liver?”

“Irrelevant,” Jeremy replied.

Conquest shifted in his seat, leaning forward. His slaves followed his movements, looking at you with eyes just as devoid of life — an extension of him, rather than separate beings. “She bears wounds of a beating. She’s transformed herself into what she is now, but relies on knowledge and power inherited.”

A chill went down your spine. Did he see Taylor in you?

“A skew duality,” Isadora said.

“I am inclined to agree with you, Dionysian,” the Lord said.

And there was your confirmation of Jeremy Meath’s allegiance. “We could interrogate her,” he said. “Or, if you wanted to be especially pointed, we could have Isadora interrogate her.”

“I do not exist to do your bidding, Drunkard, and especially not to be pawn in your god’s schemes.”

“But,” Conquest said, “if I requested it, you would be pawn in mine.”

Isadora smiled with a malice you could only aspire to. “We were getting along so well these past few years, milord. It would be a waste to stop now.”

There was perhaps an angle. So long as they were feuding with each other, you could slip the noose.

“Listen,” you said. “Let’s you not fight over who or what I am, when I can just agree to answer some basic questions.”

“Is the newest member of the family is upset because mommy and daddy are fighting?” Diana asked playfully.

“We have little spats all the time, Blake,” Isadora said. “But most of us on this hilltop predate the printing press, if not paper. We’re not about to jeopardize what we have over you, no offense.”

“Noah ark, Chesterton fence,” you said, perhaps unwisely. Alexis slapped you at the back of the head.

“What?”

“No offense — as in biblical Noah, and a fence,” Tiffany said. “It’s an in-joke we have.”

Isadora smiled. “Cute. Now earlier, you posed a riddle, a place where two families in concert hold territory. And Tiffany, regarding my curiosity: Noah ark, Lot’s wife in salt.”

“Nice one,” Tiffany said.

It wasn’t a question, so I answered: “Jacob’s Bell, but you probably already knew that, though Paige. You also probably already know what my heritage is.”

“I see the connection!” Diana sing-song-ed.“Hidden by Glamour, even. Impressive for a neonate. But heritage? I got nothing.”

Isadora smiled. “I’m not telling. This is my riddle to you, Diana.”

“If only I had her star sign,” she said.

You looked to Jeremy — this was Isadora’s riddle to Diana, which meant he already knew, too. You filed it away for later to figure out how.

“Too refined to be self taught,” Diana said, crossing her legs and leaning forward, staring you down like a puzzle. “But practicing families in small towns tend to safeguard their power fiercely. No connections to that strange immortal who resides there.”

“Thorburn,” Conquest said. “It would have to be Thorburn. She was getting on in years. It’s due time.”

“There’s the connection,” Diana said.

“Four months over time, actually,” you said.

“Female heirs only,” Isadora said.

You looked at her. “Isadora, it’d be a rather sore subject for me if you said anything transphobic, right now.”

“Hermaphroditus was a bringer of good fortune,” the High Drunk said. “Blake’s a woman, though and though.”

You looked at him, and he raised his bottle. So he wasn’t transphobic — good for him.

“Ah,” Isadora said. “And I actually liked you, morsel. What a pity you’re a diabolist.”

“If it’s worth anything, the only deal I’ve made with Mann, Levin and Lewiss was a loan of cash, repaid with cash,” you said.

Isadora splayed out her claws.

“Though they are rather keen on trying to drag me down, but I extremely don’t intend on letting them, and I’ll happily accept help to avoid it.”

She flared her wings. They obscured Paige from view.

“Okay, if you want to kill me for being born into a bad family, know it brings Paige one step closer to inheriting all the problems I’m currently shouldering.”

That gave her pause.

“The Behaims and Duchamps tried their damndest to f*ck us up and we walked away stronger. If you think the rest of our cousins are just as uniquely capable as me, I’ll tell you there’s an eight-year-old girl in the running; my little sister. So I’ll be fighting to protect her, while you’ll be killing me to endanger Paige.”

Caraminne crowed on your shoulder.

“And besides, I suspect this is all for show. You already know all this. You’re either threatening to kill me to try to convince everyone here that you have no horse in the Thorburn inheritance race, or you’d actually like Paige to inherit.”

Isadora rose and took a step forward. You didn’t flinch, but Caraminne took humanoid shape again.

You looked to Conquest and you pointed at Isadora. “Isn’t this a bit of a breach of decorum?”

Conquest arose from his throne, with a force that underlined just how inhuman he was. A minor god.

The landscape shifted with him moving. It was all his being after all. The sun set in an instant, painting the sky crimson. The ruined walls crumbled to dust.

Even his body changed, flesh warping as he grew half again as tall.

“If,” he said slowly, “you would happily accept help to avoid being dragged down, then you will have to unhappily accept a push down the slope. The beings diabolists traffic with bring defeat and pain wherever they may pass.”

Even standing and looking him in the eye felt like the utmost act of defiance you could make. You wanted to say ‘then push me you will have to,’ but the words died in your mouth.

“I could do with a calculated measure of defeat and pain,” Lord Conquest said. “You can stay here, safe from your enemies, and I will use your knowledge. I can conquer you, subjugate you, own you, and you will find peace in surrender. All do, given time.”

“I don’t know much anything at all,” you said, trying desperately to find a foothold in your own mind.

“Then look at me, practitioner, meet my eyes and swear you do not know one dark power’s name. That you do not know a singe one you could summon.”

You gritted your teeth. “Knowing the name and summoning are two different things. Knowing how to summon and being capable are two different things. I’ve got a book of names, and they are no good to me, no good to anyone, including you. I know one name, and I wish I didn’t.”

Conquest took a step towards you, and it felt like the hill rose against you.

“We will start with that one. Then we will plunder whatever library your foremothers collected.”

“Lord,” the sphinx said. “You must realize this puts us at odds with you.”

He turned to her. “I act in accordance with my nature,” Conquest said. “And it makes you a trifle, compared to what I gain.”

Isadora bared her claws. “We’ll oppose you.”

“No, you’ll oppose him,” Jeremy said. “Lord, promise you won’t touch the city, me, mine, or the Duchamps of Jacob’s bell, and I’ll sit on the sidelines for this one.”

That was his connection. He was a Duchamp husband, no doubt.

“Jeremy Meath,” you said. Redirecting your attention, it was suddenly easy to speak defiance. “Inaction is also an action. I’ll remember this slight. Your Duchamp wife knows what it’s like to have me as an enemy.”

You were forcing him to pick a side. He’d pick Conquest, no doubt, but still.

“Grant me one token favor,” Conquest said. “To aid me along the way.”

“Granted,” Jeremy said.

“Traitor,” Diana muttered.

“You’ll come to regret that,” you said to him. It was almost an oath.

“We’ll be taking our leave,” Isadora said. Paige hopped on her back, and they took off. The wings were not just for show.

Next Diana held up her spindle. Light from the sky swept her away.

Jeremy stayed.

Tiffany put a hand on your shoulder. So did Alexis. Caraminne stood behind you.

You took the deepest breath of your life. You drew on Taylor staring down another god in another timeline.

You cleared your throat. “Sad that two important witnesses just left. Jeremy, here’s why you don’t f*ck with me.”

Conquest turned his wuthering attention on you. You stared him down.

“Lord Conquest. I’ll stay in the city. I don’t need help with my enemies. I won’t use my knowledge to do your bidding if I have any recourse. I recognize you as the Lord of the city, but you are a ruler, here, this land you have already conquered. And…”

With your power you reached out and plucked the japanese beetles from his hand. They took flight and came to your hand. “Your power is not absolute.”

Chapter 17: 4-2

Chapter Text

Having just committed an act of theft against what was basically god, you decided to go for broke. Sensing your intention, Caraminne hopped onto your shoulder and you let her pluck the beetles from your hand as a light snack. Whatever power of Conquest’s they held, there was nary a more primal way to lay claim to it than to eat it.

“Sorry if this gets us killed,” you muttered to Tiffany, Alexis, and Caraminne.

“No worries,” Tiffany said.

You didn’t believe her.

“We love you, Blake,” Alexis added.

That you did believe.

Every beetle that Caraminne ate, you felt, somehow. Heavy. Potent.

“Fell,” Conquest said, calmly. “See Mister Meath out, nobody comes or goes without my word.”

You looked at him. He seemed neither better nor worse for wear. He was not reacting with anger, not with retaliation, it was almost like he wasn’t even acknowledging that you had robbed him. Jeremy Meath, however, his face betrayed concern. You met his gaze and fed the last beetle to your familiar.

“I’d like to ask that you keep me updated, Lord,” Jeremy said, not breaking eye-contact with you. “On her and what you do with her.”

Conquest spoke slowly. “I can. Why?”

“I have further business with her. In exchange for my continued cooperation, can I ask that she be kept within the city, for the time being?”

“You can ask.” Another non-acknowledgement from Conquest. “You take no actions to work against me in this endeavor.”

“Done.”

“That is all I need. I will see to it.”

He was, effectively, a Duchamp. He wanted to keep you in the city, and therefore out of Jacob’s Bell. He probably didn’t know that would get in the way of things.

Jeremy Meath and his groupies headed out. As he passed you turned to him. “Meath?”

He looked at you.

“I’m probably going to have to kill you. Sleep with one eye open, if you can; drunkard.”

The High Drunk didn’t respond, just walked past your coven and left.

Now you were alone with the monster.

“We’re also leaving,” you proclaimed.

That got Conquest to spin to face you. “No.” He was dissolving, as a being. Turning into something more symbolic. So was the whole scenery. You decided to deliberately not take in any details.

“Uh, yeah,” you said. “Unless you want me to steal more bits of you and feed them to my familiar, or unless you have a particularly favorable business proposition. We have a party to get back to.”

You had no swarm, no nothing. Just pure spite. Part of you wanted to argue that if he wanted a calculated measure of defeat and pain, demons were anything but calculated. But no: you didn’t argue with fascists.

“I’m allowing you this display of defiance, you know,” he said. “So that you can learn that defiance against me is meaningless.”

You could have listed successful revolutions. Instead you said: “Bet.”

“Your familiar is known to me.” He said it without any anger.

Caraminne turned into her humanoid form. “I was wondering when you would get around to that, Lord Conquest. Or if anyone would recognize me at all.”

“I told you to never show your lack of a face in Toronto again or I would destroy you.”

“I have a face, now.”

“So I see. You have also claimed a token of my power. Let us begin ridding you of defiance.”

Conquest reached out and tugged at something invisible: a connection. Caraminne was thrown forward into the snow that wasn’t snow — more like a white powder.

She chuckled. Then she growled. “Don’t you know that whatever horrors you inflict, will be nothing compared to the Forest? And even if you destroy me, I will crawl back out of hell and haunt you.”

“If I crush you, your practitioner suffers. A half-death.” He looked at you.

He was off in every way. His garments was at once armor, cloth, and folds of skin. His hair was blond but also greying. His hands had too many knuckles, they were too big. The scenery was breaking down similarly. Stealing those beetles had done something.

You looked him back in the eye, mustering the courage that had looked dragons of steel and fire in the face, unflinching. “Is there anything in particular you want or are you just blustering about and getting off on threatening to torture us?”

Without looking away from you, he took a step up to Caraminne and kicked her in the face.

You blacked out from pain.

Coming to your senses, you saw Tiffany over you, fear written across her face, tears in her eyes. You struggled up to sit, wiping your nose but finding no blood. Caraminne was lying in the snow — or was it ash — in raven form. She laid very still, but you knew she was alive. Wounded, but alive.

“Wow,” you said and coughed. “That hurt.” Your head still ached, but not from any impact; it was pure afterimage of the pain. Your were woozy from that alone.

Alexis offered you a hand, and you took it, letting her help you up. She, too, looked shaken.

Conquest, meanwhile, was busy. The realm looked less like boiled spinach dusted in confectioner’s sugar, more like it was a proper place again. Himself, he looked better too. More defined, more solid, less like his skin was falling off.

Bad news.

“Your defiance is weak, already,” Conquest said. “All I had to do was take out the leader. Rebellions are always like that.”

“But you didn’t,” you said.

“I will kill both of your companions, I will cripple you, and then you will do my bidding.” Started loading his rifle, a muzzle-loader.

You had never been more afraid in your life. Yet you laughed a forced laugh.

“These two are what I live for. Kill them and you will have nothing left with which to bargain, Ruler of Toronto.”

“Very well. Choose one, then.”

You snorted. “What do you want from me?”

“The choice. Pirzada or Lewandowsky.” He held his rifle at the ready.

You looked at Tiffany, who was on the verge of tears, and Alexis who looked… ready. Whichever choice you made, of course, was something you’d never be able to live with.

“Do you want me to choose who lives or who dies?” you asked, stalling for time. Your heart was in your throat. Your head was throbbing. It was hard to think, you had no swarm to offload your turmoil to…

You looked at Alexis and Tiffany. “Sorry about this,” you whispered. Then you shunted your range down. Both of them came under your control and you felt the relief. You could think again.

Conquest wasn’t going to kill both because then you would accept death. Which meant he needed you alive and functional enough to do whatever bidding he had for you — which was probably related to your heritage.

There was a reason why he was stacking up incentives against you rather than simply torturing Tiffany or Alexis until you did as he said.

“As you see fit.”

You set your toolbox down, and took out a chisel.

You ran a thumb over the blade. Razor sharp. “How about this: if you kill either of them, I’ll slit my own throat. That brings Isadora, your enemy, one step closer to Hillsglade house, and… Didn’t you say she was a ‘trifle’ compared to what you’d gain? What happens if you gain nothing? How does it go, give me liberty or give me death? You can’t afford me dead, Ruler of Toronto. Not with an enemy as powerful as Isadora at your door.”

Conquest too aim and fired, blasting white dust and chunks of earth, right next to Tiffany. She was under your control, and didn’t even flinch.

“Do you want me to summon you a demon?” you asked. “That’s what you want, right?”

“Yes. After you’ve chosen.”

You waved the chisel. “Ah-ah-ah, you’re the one choosing: kill the Thorburn or negotiate with the Thorburn. Here’s what: I know how to summon one demon.”

“Then that is what you will do.”

“It’s the oldest summoning ritual in the book: speak of the devil and he shall appear. A name. You say it seven times, the demon shows up. If you want anything else, I need prep-time. I need books form Hillsglade in Jacob’s Bell.”

“Tell me the name,” Conquest said.

“You forget yourself,” you said. “I was told that this being put the stars in the firmament, and has the power to call them down. I think it would overpower you. You promised Meath to spare the city a demon rampage. I’m only a neonate, but I’m beyond certain there is no calculated measure of pain and defeat in summoning something so powerful, perhaps unless you are partner in Mann, Levin, and Lewis.”

He looked at you. “Unfortunate. Then I will give you a day to summon me something.”

“Not happening. We’ll need access to the library, and you promised Meath to keep me in the city. The house is also protected, and I’m fairly sure I have to be there in person to invite people inside.”

“Such protections can be circumvented.”

He was starting to fall apart again. The work he’d done to fix the landscape while you were out was coming undone.

“Then there’s the matter that demon summoning is hideously dangerous, as I understand it. You don’t have anyone on hand who is both and expendable neonate and motivated agent. Except me. So until the ‘for the time being’ you promised Meath runs out, you have your most valuable diabolatry asset — my coven and I — sitting on our hands. And a ruler who underutilizes his assets is not long for this world.”

You kept pushing the rulership angle. As a concept, it ran parallel to Conquest, but diverged in useful ways.

“So what do you offer?”

“Offer? My services. I’m a craftswoman. You’re in the SNAFU of having accidentally precluded me from doing what you want me to. So let me ask instead: do you have any local demon problems?”

“Yes. Some even suited to your lack of skill; you will tend to them for me. They number a human twisted by a mote of diabolic power, left in the wake of a being that passed this way long, long ago. A twisted goblin that even other goblins steer clear of. And an abstract sort of devil, not so powerful that it is worth the trouble of binding it, unless you have an expendable diabolist to attempt the deed. I want each bound, captured, and brought to me.”

“I’ll capture and bind them, but I simply don’t have the logistics for transport. And I reserve the right to refuse a handover if I’m not provided with documentation for a reasonable containment and disposal procedure. I take my job seriously.”

Conquest barely reacted to that.

“Timeframe?”

“It is nearly midnight now, outside of my domain. You have from midnight to midnight to accomplish one task. The same goes for the next day, and the next. By then, I have minimally kept my promise to Meath and we can to buy you a stay of execution, in a manner of speaking.”

You forced out another laugh, and even made Tiffany and Alexis chuckle along.

“Three days? I can get you a time estimate on one of them in three days. If I rush, I’ll wind up exacerbating the problem, or worse, I’ll simply get myself killed, and then no Thorburn diabolism for you. I’m a tradeswoman. I do my jobs right or I’d rather not do them at all. Here’s my counter-offer: three months. If by one month I’ve failed to produce evidence of progress, then you can take whatever drastic measures you wish.”

“Drastic measures I will take.”

“Now, let’s discuss payment.”

“Payment? You will do this for me. Your compensation will be your life.”

You wiggled the chisel between two fingers.

“f*ck you. Pay me. I’m unionized, I know what I’m worth. Three demons, three trifles. A pardon for Caraminne, two thousand dollars, and exoneration granted ahead of time for if I have to kill Meath.”

“One trifle. Choose.”

“The pardon for Caraminne. You let us go — all three of us and my familiar — and let us reside in the city, provide us the detailed whereabouts of your three demon problems. I will keep you updated on my progress towards your three demon problems. Agreeable, Lord?”

By now, Conquest himself was starting to come apart.

“One last thing, your promise to Meath to keep me in the city. What happens if he reneges on his request? Or dies?”

“Then the promise is void in either case.”

You didn’t dare rescind your control over Tiffany and Alexis. You were directly ignoring what your power told you about their stress levels, and had them follow you over to where Caraminne was lying in the white — it wasn’t even powder. You picked her up with one hand, and walked out of the collapsing world with your familiar in one hand, your toolbox in the other, and the two women you loved most in the world tethered to your unnatural iron grip.

The bridge that was a hallway was even more rickety, but you traversed it with three sets of eyes under one will, moving quickly as you felt your power start to eat into you. It became a hallway that was a bridge and then the top of a staircase.

Fell came up the steps. He didn’t approach. “What—”

“The Lord let us go,” you said. “You’re driving us home, right? We might need a few minutes to gather our wits.”

He stood, blinking for a few seconds. Then he made to pass you. You didn’t take control of him — you probably couldn’t bear the load. Instead you spiked his limbic system with pure fear. “Fell, you’re driving us home, right?”

Fell looked at you for a long moment. “I’ll see you home safely.”

You came outside, out in the open air, outside of Conquest’s domain, out in relative safety, and only then did you let go.

Your headache from Caraminne getting kicked like a football came back, added to the backlash from having used your power at maximum for over five minutes. You staggered, feeling your gorge rise, feeling like you had been lightly run over by a lorry. Every fiber of your being demanded recompense in sleep, every fiber of your spirit demanded recompense in subtler ways.

But what you didn’t dare do was turn around.

You heard Tiffany throw up.

“Aw, hell, Tiff,” Alexis said weakly.

Clearing your throat didn’t make it any less painful to speak. “Whenever you’re ready to go.”

Tiffany started sobbing.

“Blake. Blake— turn around and look me in the f*cking eyes.”

You took a deep breath. Looking Conquest in the eye hadn’t been as scary.

Alexis stood there, looking for all in the world like one of the two women you loved most in the world, but her face was full of fear, revulsion, and confusion. She was shaking like an aspen, as bad as you felt. “What the f*ck did you do?”

Tiffany was using a paper towel to wipe her mouth. She was crying.

“I… I got us out alive,” you muttered. “Lets… let’s get home.”

You plodded over to Fell’s car, taking the passenger side seat. Alexis helped Tiffany into the back seat, and you didn’t speak a single word the whole way home.

At the apartment building, you struggled up the stairs to the third floor, and found the party was still going. Somebody had broken out the pot. Amanda and Goosh had left

“Holy sh*t, Blake,” Joel said as you opened the door.

“Party’s over,” you croaked. “Sorry.”

That got people off the couch and up from around the dining table. Tiffany went in, helped by Alexis. You remained in the hallway.

“My goodness, what happened?” Natalie asked.

“Blake f*cked up,” Alexis said.

“Is there anything—”

“Can we get some privacy?”

People filed out. Carlos and Joel, Nick and Joseph, and Natalie.

Alexis closed the door, leaving you outside with the rest of them.

“Yikes, Blake, what happened?”

“I—” there was a lump in your throat. “I f*cked up.”

“Is your raven dead?” Natalie asked.

You shook your head slowly. It was about the only upside you could see. Intellectually you knew you had walked away from Conquest with life, freedom and employment rather than in bonds of slavery… but it didn’t feel like it.

“No.”

“Do you wanna tell us what happened?” Natalie continued.

“Yeah. But… I can’t. Secret superspy stuff.”

“What?” Joseph asked, but Carlos put a hand on his shoulder.

“Blake sweetie, if you need a place to stay for the night, you can sleep on our couch,” Joel said.

You turned to look at him and tears welled up in your eyes. You nodded. “Thanks.”

Natalie put an arm around your shoulders. She smelled like pot and alcohol. You pulled away. Intimacy from another woman was not what you needed right now.

“I’m… I’m gonna go sit on the roof for a little. With the bees.”

“Blake—” Joel said.

“I’m not gonna jump. I just need… my bees. And fresh air.”

You were startled awake by a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at Joel’s kind face. He squatted next to you. You sat against one of the hives. There had been a lot of convincing to do to get everyone to agree to your beekeeping, but nobody in permanent residence was allergic to bee stings, and there hadn’t been a single incident. Your bees were trained to be friendly and non-agressive.

“It’s past two, superspy. I thought you might be dozing off up here. You’ll catch a cold.”

The stars were out, despite the light skies of early summer. You were cold, despite your motorcycle jacket. Caraminne lay in your lap, no longer splayed out. She’d folded her wings and put her beak under one wing for warmth.

He helped you up, and pulled you into a hug.

That was all it took for you to start crying, and crying, and crying.

“Shush,” he muttered. “It’s all-right, Blake, sweetie. My goodness what is it you’ve gotten yourself into, girl.”

You stood there, in the arms of the closest thing you had to a father, and hated yourself. Hated that you had seen no other way than to make that sacrifice, hated that you couldn’t pity yourself — you had saved Tiffany and Alexis. You hated that you might never… You cried harder.

What right did this world have to be so callous. What right did you have, to uncritically follow survival instincts that bade you look the beast in the eyes the whole way, to resent turning tail. Instinct to gnaw your own leg off before submitting to a victory not of your design. You’d had it all, and lost it for a desperate gambit. Taylor Hebert had been the scourge of your existence from the moment you’d gotten her — her and you were not cut of the same cloth, and for that difference, every time you called on her you were frayed a little more.

Eventually your tears ran dry, and Joel followed you down to his and Carlo’s apartment. He gave you a big glass of water. He and Carlos had made a bed for you on the pull-out couch. You undressed as much as you cared to and crawled under the covers, numb to the world. The last positive emotion you had to muster, you channeled into: “Thanks, Joel.”

“Good night, superspy.”

You’d slept in someone’s arms, you felt the lingering touch on your skin. Casting about in the bed you found a raven feather in the sheets. Caraminne was resting on the other pillow.

Morning asserted itself with hangovers. One, from the four beers. One from the deep physical exhaustion. One from emotional overload still only barely processed. One from whatever Conquest had done when he’d taken your familiar out. One from power-overuse. And one from a broken heart.

It felt like there were hooks in between your ribs.

You swung your legs out of bed, feet planting themselves right next to your toolbox. You heard Joel and Carlos talk quietly in the kitchen. Caraminne stirred.

“Morning, Cara,” you muttered.

She looked about herself. “We’re in Joel and Carlos’ apartment. Behave.”

In t-shirt and tucking shorts, you went to the kitchen. Caraminne flew up to sit on your shoulder, and you let her. It was infeasible to keep everything secret forever. Best you could do was just make weird the new normal.

“Oh hey,” Carlos said.

It smelled like freshly brewed coffee: there was a pot in the Mocchamaster, and Carlos put two slices of rye in the toaster.

“Thank you so much for letting me stay over,” you said.

“And a good morning to you, too, Blake,” Joel said. “Sit. Have something to wake up on.”

You did.

Carlos poured you a cup, and refilled Joel’s, giving his husband a kiss in passing. No doubt both of them were getting ready for work, and wished to see you out the door as well.

“Now…” Joel said. “I know you said you can’t talk about it… what can you talk about?”

You took a sip of coffee. “My cousin died. Molly Walker. Well, first my Grandmother died. Big mansion in Jacob’s Bell. Passed to Molly back in January. A few days ago I got a call from her in the middle of the night, she was afraid, hiding from… something or someone. That was the last I heard of her. Next day she was found dead. I called the police immediately, then got on my bike and went to Jacob’s Bell to see if I could help.”

Then you paused, long enough for Joel to ask: “What happened in Jacob’s Bell, then?”

“Mostly stuff I can’t talk about. Superspy stuff. There’s a… blood feud of sorts. Us Thorburns are in low regard. The chief of police is head of one of the families that’s got it out for me. He… he beat me up in the street, at least two people filmed it. Zero legal consequences.”

“Oh goodness gracious, Blake,” Joel said, horrified.

“We got driven from the house and had to go camp in the woods for three days. Then we came home. Then the superspy stuff… didn’t quite follow us home, more like it was in Toronto the whole time and I just didn’t know it existed.”

“A masquerade,” Carlo said. “And you’ve been pulled on the other side of the veil? That’s why you can’t talk?”

You shrugged. “Stay on the safe side of it.”

“What’s this?” Joel asked, looking to his husband.

“When there’s a secret world hidden in plain sight, and some people are in the know while most people are ignorant, and those in the know can’t just go blab,” Carlos explained.

Joel looked to you. It baffled you that the man was so poorly educated in genre fiction — seemingly everything he ever read for pleasure was biographies, and his taste in movies was entirely period piece romances and European cinema.

Carlos served you up two pieces of warm toast, and you spread butter on them. You broke off a piece for Caraminne.

“And the raven? Is that part of it too?” Joel asked.

“Classic animal companion. A tame raven doesn’t just show up. Nobody keeps pet ravens.”

You smiled. Carlos was as sharp as he was generous with his time and care. You bit into your toast. It was amazing.

“Yeah, see? I’m figuring it out, I’m figuring it out, all this ‘superspy’ stuff. Animal companions don’t belong in spy dramas, though…”

“I’m really thankful you’re not asking direct questions,” you said.

“Of course not, there’s things you can’t tell us,” Carlos said.

“There’s also a substantial number of things I really don’t want you to even know about. But I also can’t just lie.”

“Because you love us so much, or because of the masquerade rules?” Carlos asked.

“Direct questions,” you repeated.

He chuckled. “We’ll, you’ve got me curious, but curiosity kills cats.”

A wise instinct on his part. “Hey, uh, can I ask you for a favor? Go check up on Tiff and Lexi when I’m out of here.”

“You in a hurry?” Joel asked.

“I need to call my other cousin.”

“I’ll see to it,” Joel said.

“I gotta get to work,” Carlos admitted. He was already in uniform with his work pants and with the company print on his t-shirt.

For want of anywhere else to go, you returned to the rooftop.

“What happened?” Caraminne asked you.

Your clothes smelled of fear-sweat from yesterday. “I bought you a pardon. I’ve got to catch three minor demons in exchange.”

She hopped down from the top of a bee hive and turned human. “What really happened?”

“I fought Conquest and won.”

Caraminne took a step up to you and turned your head to face her. “Your two wonderful and kind girlfriends. Why did you not wake up in bed with them?”

“I used my power. To keep us safe. I controlled them.”

“And?”

You sighed, she let go of your chin. “It’s a technique I have… inherited. In times of crisis, I can off-load emotional turmoil and pain onto the swarms under my control.”

“And in Conquest’s realm you had none,” Caraminne concluded. “None but Tiff and Lexi. I see.”

“I think we just need some time apart,” you said.

“And in that time, you need a change of clothes, and if you are to work, you need gear and knowledge. Which Tiff and Lexi are hogging, because they have requisitioned your shared living space.”

“Look, I’m not going to press the issue,” you said. It was early morning and you were already world-weary.

Caraminne rubbed your shoulder. “Fret not. I can be the go-between, if you trust me to.”

“Do I?”

She loomed.

“I promise, I’ll work to bring you back together in a natural fashion. I will never intentionally act to drive you apart. You are my practitioner; I am your familiar. Your best interests are mine to pursue.”

You leaned against her. “Thanks, Cara.”

“Fifty five years, you said. We’re in the beginnings of our companionship, dear girl, and beginnings are times for taking the most delicate care that the balances are correct — without those two, I fear I will drag you down with me. Now, what is the first order of business?”

You took out your phone. “I need to call Paige, my cousin.”

“The Sphinx’s attendant?”

“Yeah.”

“I will go tell your coven that you feel terrible about what happened, and know they might need some space. I’ll fetch you a few necessities.”

She smiled, warmly. Or tried to, at least. Perhaps it was in her nature to always appear slightly unnerving.

“Do you feel any different, after yesterday?”

She paused. “Maybe I do?”

“Do you think that’s Conquest influencing you?”

“You did feed me something strange — tell you what, I’ll be vigilant to notice other changes.”

That was worrying. “How do you feel, in general? You ate part of a… minor god, of sorts.”

“Powerful. It was quite a boost.”

She gave you a kiss on your forehead. “Call your cousin.” Then she went to the roof access. Her presence stood out to your power the whole way she went down the stairs.

Then you found Paige’s contact details in your phone and dialled.

“Paige Thorburn, speaking.”

“Hi Paige, it’s Blake.”

“Holy sh*t.”

“You can say that again.”

“You’re a practitioner.”

“Small world, huh? Molly’s dead, in case you didn’t know.”

“I knew. Isadora is mentoring me.”

“Good contingency plan for if I ever kick it, I approve. Obviously not going to be a fan of if she decides to expedite that, or make inroads on the wellbeing of me and mine.”

“No; obviously.”

“Also, I know she’s not just mentoring you.”

“We’re together.”

“Familiar?”

“She’d be much too powerful. Have you read Famulus?”

“Only enough to get myself a raven.”

“What happened after we left?”

“I stole a shard of the Lord’s power and beat him in a battle of wits, and wills.”

“What?! How?!”

“I don’t entirely know. But it wasn’t a cheap win. You can tell Isadora that I’m not summoning him any demons, and won’t be doing anything of the sort any time soon. He’s hired me to do some pest-control more appropriate to my skill level.”

“Meaning?”

“There’s some minor demon problems in the city. I take care of them, in exchange for a pardon for my Familiar — she caused some trouble here a few years ago.”

“When did you awaken?”

“On the thirteenth.”

“Jesus f*ck, Blake, you’ve been at it for a week and you have implement, familiar, and a coven?”

You chuckled. “Eventful week. Anyway, could you also tell Isadora that if she’s looking to start an open conflict with the Lord, I’l like to be in on it?”

“Not sure she’d… let you.”

“Not looking for her permission. I just want her to know that we can be on the same side. I also want you to know that just because you’re in love with her, I won’t show her mercy if she decides to try to kill me.”

“I— that’s really dark. Are you okay?”

“Not in the slightest. People are out to get me constantly.” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “At least now it’s not for being a transgender lesbian…”

Paige chuckled.

“So yeah, tell your girlfriend: I’m not summoning demons for the big man, just pest control, and if she wants to start a war of succession, I’ll be more than a little inclined to throw in with her.”

“Will do. Take care of yourself.”

“I try. You too.”

You hung up.

Then the roof access burst open and Alexis came out. She spotted you and approached with more malice than you had ever seen in her.

“You’re a f*cking coward, you know that?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“You send Joel and your f*cking familiar rather than go and face us?! Like you don’t have the f*cking guts to live with what you put us through!?”

“I don’t,” you said. You met her glare, and it was worse in every way than looking Conquest in the eye.

“Well: you might not have to,” Alexis said, rather than yelled.

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

“Once Tiff is better… Once we’re better, her and I, we’re gonna talk about whether— whether the three of us can even… continue to be together.”

It felt like getting stabbed: you weren’t invited. “How is she?”

“How do you think? You tortured us!”

You looked away.

She sighed. “But yeah. Cara is getting some of your stuff. It’s your books, too, technically—”

“I’ll take some photocopies of what I need, you keep the books. Ward the apartment.”

Alexis opened her medical bag and took out a business card. “Fell gave me this when he fetched his gun. Get in touch with him. He’ll get you the jobs.”

You took it. A phone number and nothing else. There was the unspoken addition of: and we’re not going to help you. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Talk to you later,” Alexis said. “And… remember we’re not your enemies.”

You nodded. “I… I would never come to see you that way. Ever.”

“That’s almost the worst part,” Alexis said. “Good day, Blake.”

She turned around and went down inside again, and with it pulled another part of your heart with her. You wanted to reach out and stop her, tell her you still loved her and Tiffany so dearly, but instead you reached out to empty air.

She stopped at the roof access and looked at you, looking just as pained as you were. Then she disappeared inside.

Chapter 18: 4-3

Chapter Text

You sat in a local coffee shop with your sh*tty little laptop, and your books about magic out on the table. A rune kept Innocents from noticing too much that you were on the other side of the veil.

Caraminne was enjoying a treat of unsalted nuts. You were having coffee and forcing yourself to munch down a whole grain bread roll.

A man took a seat in front of you, and you realized only then that you had completely missed him and that it was Fell. The business card you held was not connected to him in any way, despite the phone number on it being his.

Unnerving, and definitely a display of power. He’d also been outside your attention yesterday evening, but that had been more excusable.

“Good morning,” you said. “Sorry about yesterday. You got your gun back?”

He glared at you. “I did. Your future ex-partner was more than happy to supply it.”

You looked up at him. “Fell, if I find you had a hand in worsening the domestic spat I’m currently going through, I am going to end you. So: did you do anything of the sort?”

“You’re awfully belligerent in your tone.”

“That’s not a no.”

“I did not bespell, charm, or manipulate your failing triadic relationship or either of your two soon-to-be-exes.”

You took a sip of your coffee. “Remember that I stole from your boss and walked away with life and liberty intact. Continue to antagonize me as you deem wise.”

“You’re playing dangerous games, Thorburn.”

“People keep trying to kill me, I’m actually playing safe games compared to just rolling over and letting them have their way. What have you got for me?”

He laid out three items: a piece of paper, a bone, and a long splinter of wood. The paper held an address:

C. Dowght. 1412 Sunnydrive Etobico*ke, ON

The purpose of the address was obvious enough: the guy twisted by demon influence must be the one who lived there.

The wood and bone were connected to distant locations.

“I’d have preferred, like, a dossier of information. Got time to answer some questions?”

“I wouldn’t be giving much in the way of needed details if not.”

“Coffee?” you offered.

“Pass.”

“C. Dowgth. What’s his deal?”

“He’s cut himself off from friends and family. Neighbors are starting to complain about smells and pests.”

You gestured for him to continue.

“In the past, the mote has touched other individuals. Trash collects, animals are drawn to it. Stray dogs, raccoons, cats, rats, birds…”

Taking notes while he spoke, you had a first question: “multiple victims. Is it building power? Changing its nature? Escalating?”

“No.”

“Odd. Any idea why?”

“No.”

As you had read in Classifying Others the last hour or so while waiting, you had learned some generalities about lesser demons, especially that they were almost always trying to move up in the power hierarchy.

“Known powers? Behaviors? Looks?” you pressed.

“I don’t know. The Lord kept an eye on matters, as is his responsibility, but things have never reached a tipping point. It grew to a certain strength, then moved on, starting over. Never gave us cause to act.”

“So you have something on the past victims. Any patterns?”

“Not known to me. Currently, Mister Dowgth has been abusive and threatening to neighbors. There’s been multiple complaints, but the mote travels, distracting and intercepting communications.”

That didn’t sound like a Mote — those were undirected and chaotic, like sparks dancing in the air. Demonic power with no direction, only magnitude: a scalar value. Imps were vectors: they had the same demonic magnitude but actively moving in a direction given by their progenitors.

It warranted some thinking about goals and motivations. “It’s flying under the radar,” you said. “It knows if it did something big, someone powerful would take it out. This way it gets to continually cause low-grade misery, pretty much forever… Or until someone like me takes it out.”

“Could well be, I wouldn’t know,” Fell said.

Your notes read: - Possession? - Attracts pestilence - Smart enough to evade retaliation - Imp

“The other two?” you gestured to the bone and splinter with your pen.

“The splinter is from an old factory on the city outskirts. The abstract entity resides there.”

He paused for effect. “Go on,” you said.

“It was identified by context alone, and it is very possible that it has been in the general area for some time. It was brought to our attention by a local group of practitioners, a collection of dabblers more interested in socializing then their practice. They were looking for a place to set up, where they might be able to establish a set of demesnes well out of the Lord’s dominion. You understand, I’m sure, that he doesn’t like demesnes being formed inside his city.”

“I’ve half a mind to fight him for the right to claim one. Go on. How did they find it?”

“The unfortunate group shrunk to three quarters of the size before they started connecting the dots, realizing there were inconsistencies. Gaps.”

The hair on your neck rose. “Gaps.”

“They say they scheduled members to check out certain possible locations on certain dates while they were investigating, one group each weekend. One weekend they found nothing scheduled. They retraced their footsteps. They found a group of urban explorers native to the area, who had never been to the building, despite the ease of access.”

Your heart beat fast. “Abstract,” you said. “They failed to notice their own members disappearing… they were erased from memory?”

Fell nodded. “Indeed. Both groups that intended to explore the building had members walk unwittingly into a trap. The practitioners, the Knights of the Basem*nt, took every possible precaution and confirmed it was inhabited by a being they identified as a demon. We are reasonably certain they may have lost more members in the ensuring retreat, but there’s no way of knowing.”

There was, though. And you knew several of them. They were all codified in the Master/Stranger protocols for dealing with infohazard attacks. You recalled Taylor reading those textbooks, about how you were only going to be as good as you were on your first day.

You kept that to yourself. “That seems disproportionately dangerous compared to the two others. I’m going to need to see some documentation for effective containment procedures if I’m to hand that one over. I’ll also need to know how to find the Knights of the Basem*nt. I’ll need eye-witness accounts.”

He handed you store flyer which bore the words Chevaliers du Basem*nt in sharpie. It too had connections draw into the far distance. There was a phone number and an address.

Your notes read: - Abstract - Info/cognitohazard - Retroactive amnesia - Extreme caution - Do last

“And the last one?”

“Perhaps the most straightforward. Locals call it the Hyena.”

“Catchy monicker does not a demon make.”

“Just as serial killers have modus operandi, many Others do as well. The repetition empowers the act. The Hyena is a big enough threat that our Lord believes he could fit among the demons and devils.”

“As I understand it, that’s not even close to how it works, but I already agreed to take care of it. What’s the pattern in question?”

“It eats spirits and Others.”

He paused for effect again, this time you didn’t humor him and just stared him down until he continued: “It doesn’t ever finish a meal. The park where the goblin resides is littered with elementals, spirits, ghosts and other beings that have been maimed, half-eaten. They lash out in blind pain, and everything they touch is being twisted in turn. Their pain causes them to attack fellow Others, which only perpetuated the problem. Dealing with the Hyena alone is tricky enough, but it has goblin followers, and is only accessible by treacherous roads.”

You wrote: - Visceral - Physical danger - Goblin - Call Maggie

You started paging through Dark Contracts for a chapter on how to bind Imps.

“What’s it like?”

“Hm?”

“Working for Conquest? We’re colleagues, now, of sorts.”

“We do not have common ground, diabolist.”

“I take that to mean it sucks and you hate it, which is fair. I don’t like it either. What’s he paying you? I’m getting a pardon for my familiar for whatever heinous sh*t she did here in the 90’s and early 00’s.”

Fell didn’t answer. Which meant the answer was probably zilch.

“Ah. Condolences. Must be tough to serve an idiot master.”

“I’m reporting this insult to my Lord.”

You looked up from the book. “And what, get a 10% pay bonus? 110% of zero is still zero.”

“You don’t know him as well as I do.”

“Normally people say that to defend people they like. It’s kind of pathetic that you do it for a man you clearly despise.”

“Keep this up and I could leave you bleeding to death in this very coffee shop. And I can make it so your body will sit here and rot. The customers will hold their noses and avoid this seating.”

You made a mental note that he had some kind of anti-memetic powers, if he could do that.

“And the shop will go out of business, Innocent people will get harmed, and your karma will suffer. Fell, do you know how many bee stings it takes to kill a man?”

He glared at you.

You steepled your fingers. “I don’t know what oath binds you to Conquest’s service. I won’t offer you mercy out of pity for your situation, but I fight for the downtrodden. Even those who are forced to oppose me.”

Fell scoffed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m a dirty communist or whatever. One last practicality: who’s in charge of the logistics of transporting the bound demons?”

“Me.”

“So you’re basically my liaison. I might need transportation to the city outskirts, depending on who I bring.”

“That is within the purview my duties, but I do not run a taxi service. I’m a busy man.”

“I’ll call you well in advance.”

You stood and offered him a hand.

He didn’t take it.

“Have a good day, Fell.”

Goodbye,” he said, and got up to leave.

You took out your phone and did the first actionable thing you could: called up the Knights of the Basem*nt. You’d have preferred to call up Maggie, but it was the beginning of a weekday, and she was doubtlessly in school.

“Nick Laughlin speaking.”

“Hello Mr.Laughlin, my name is Blake Thorburn. I’m an independent contractor working for the city, so to speak, and I’ve been hired to investigate a problem you brought to their attention, the problem in the factory?”

There was a long pause. “What do you want?”

“I was hoping to arrange a meeting with you, some time next week, to get your account of the problem and do a preliminary investigation. I’ve got some… personnel problems at the moment that should be resolved by then.”

“Wednesday afternoon.”

You got out your calendar — an old-school notebook like Carlos had taught you to swear by. You kept one on your computer, too, but the paper was the master copy. Your regular jobs began that week, too. “Shall we say at four?”

“Sure. Don’t know if it’s good to know somebody is taking this thing seriously.”

“I’m sure as hell not going to take it lightly. Have a good day Mr.Laughlin.”

You hung up and put it the appointment.

Then you sat there for some amount of time, staring at the papers before you.

You felt drained already, and you hadn’t even done any real work other than antagonize Conquest’s man. It had been ten hours since you had last felt the touch of the women you loved — and it might be you never again would.

It stung, but the sting was numbing.

You looked at your tattoos, Alexis’ needlework, up and down both forearms. People didn’t notice the marks on their skin, much, hence why skin cancer was dangerous. You had certainly been busy enough to not look closely.

The honeycombs on your left were half-empty. Some of them had pupating larvae in them, and there were more bees. The spiderweb on your right was free of dew, but had several insects caught in it, and the spider at the center was larger. What that meant, you didn’t know. But it couldn’t be good.

You pushed that thought aside for later and made another phone call, this one to Sandra Duchamp.

“Blake Thorburn. What do you want?”

“You know Jeremy Meath, the High Drunk?”

“He’s my husband. We’re separated.”

“But not divorced?”

“Some marriage rituals do not warrant divorce.”

“I would like you to give me his phone number.”

“Why the sudden interest?”

“Because he just brokered a deal with the Lord of Toronto which sees me confined to the city. He’s your husband. Depending on what your marriage ritual warrants, this could mean you are breaking the peace treaty we have, without a formal declaration of war and airing of grievances.”

“I wasn’t aware.”

“Ignorance is no excuse, you knew he and I resided in the same city. You should have informed your husband. Talk to him if you wish, but I will have to have words with him over this. So: give me his phone number.”

“Let me talk to him first. I will text you his number.”

“Thank you. Have a good day, Sandra. And genuinely, thank you for your cooperation. You are a very good neighbor that we can work to resolve this peacefully.”

“Yes, Blake. Good day.

That was all the phone conversations you had in you for the day, you decided.

Packing up your notes, books, and laptop, you went to your motorcycle, stowing everything in your saddlebags. Your new rifle was with you, too. The gunslip you had marked with an attention-diverting rune.

“Where are we going, then?” Caraminne asked.

“We’ll do some scouting.”

Going to Etobico*ke RE: the job

Hope you're doing okay

How's Tiff?

Painting

I love you

Good luck

You stared at the final message. It was half of your worst nightmares in two words.

Then you started the engine and got moving.

This wasn’t a leisurely outing. You rode to Etobico*ke in your motorcycle boots, gloves, jacket, and pants. It was just starting to get warm enough in the weather that full protective gear would be cumbersome.

But as you rolled into the area, you became very glad you wore it. Very glad your helmet had a full visor, too. And very glad you had your power.

There was something awful going on. It was like the aftermath of the first apocalypse Taylor had seen, with near-total breakdown of all sanitation infrastructure. There was filth. The local insect population was double of normal for the region, and worse, some of them were resistant to your power’s overt control. Something else was already holding on to them.

“We’ve got trouble,” you said.

Caraminne sat on your handlebars.

You’d read up on imps and motes. They were low-power demonic entities, physically dangerous mostly through their influence over the real world, more so than overt capabilities. You had three different binding methodologies fresh in mind — all of them required quite a bit of direct power to enact, but you had just taken a snack of Conquest the night before.

There was nothing to it, as such, evoking one’s power. There’d been cautions against desperate measures in Essentials: one of the most obvious ways to evoke power for a practitioner with none, was blood. You had used crushed insects against Latita, for a lesser amount of power. But using your personal power drained you — you had seen the extreme effects of that in Laird. With a familiar and an implement, however, you had a reservoir of power and a highly potent way of interacting with the mystical world.

You felt drained anyway. Whether that was power overuse, you being lacking in power, or just being drained emotionally, you didn’t know. But was a bad sign: being drained meant being empty, meant something else could creep in and fill up the void.

Rolling down to Sunny Drive, you beheld the horror show. Just going by fleas and internal parasites, you detected dozens and dozens of wild animals, and even more birds. And going by the number of them, none of the animals were even close to healthy.

The crows gathered in the trees, filling the early summer day with their crowing — far inferior to a raven’s deep voice in your opinion. There were over-turned garbage tins, and dead things lying in the roadsides with butterflies scavenging the corpses for salty fluids.

You came upon a car in a driveway being unloaded by a pair of middle-aged women, and let your bike come to a stop. Shopping bags that looked to be full of groceries.

“Excuse me,” you called out, flipping your visor up.

The glares you got in return were startling. They hurried up, unloading the car.

“I’m looking for fourteen-twelve, C. Dowght?”

One of them turned, looking disgusted and alarmed. “Craig Dowght? You’re his friend?”

“Not even close. I’ve been asked to look into —” you gestured non-specifically to the trees “— all this awfulness. I’m an independent contractor. I was asked to get a handle on things here by someone at the city council.” You didn’t say which city council. Getting off your bike, you tool off your helmet and gloves.

“We already told them everything,” the woman said.

You took out your notebook and approached, but even at your least threatening — or at least as unthreatening as one could be in a yellow motorcycle jacket. “I just want to get some first hand details. Part of the investigation before I begin solving the problem.”

She looked past you at your bike. She shouldn’t be able to see your gunslip, but maybe she got the sense you were bringing serious hardware. “Are you some kind of exterminator?”

“You could say that. What’s the deal with Mr.Dowght? I heard about stray animals?”

“What’s with that raven?” You got the impression she didn’t want to answer.

“You know how some people use dogs to help them work? I have that one. Unorthodox, perhaps, but we have a good working relationship. Now, the animals?”

The other woman spoke up: “It’s a lot of stray animals.”

“Dogs and cats? Maybe rats, raccoons?” you gestured with your pen. “Crows?”

“Yep.”

“Sick animals pose a public health concern. Part of the reason I’m here,” you said, trying to be reassuring. “Any specific incidents? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“You’re not with the media, are you?” the first one said.

“No, ma’am. It would be very bad if this got into the public eye.” Not technically a lie, again. It would be a masquerade breech, if that was even possible. “I can’t say I can do this discreetly, but I’ll only be giving my reports to people with the city.”

“Good. If this got out, property values would plummet.”

The whole street were borderline-McMansions. “I see. I’ll take steps, now, the incidents?”

“Someone, and I’m not naming names, left their baby in a stroller. The baby got attacked. By mice.”

You cringed. “Those can carry typhoid, if I recall.”

The other woman took her turn to say: “It’s not that we’re afraid to leave our houses or anything. Once you get attacked you just learn to take care. Move quickly.” She looked around the three of you, scouting for dangers.

“And you think it’s because of Mr.Dowght?”

“Oh, we know it is. He feeds them. He’s a hoarder, but he hoards animals. Then when they get used to being fed, he stops or starts feeding other animals.”

“And they go hungry and get sick,” you completed. “Start getting in the trash? Start attacking people if they get desperate enough? What a mess.”

“You said it.”

“Oh, and the Bear! There’s been a bear sighted — we have a group chat.”

“And exterminators! The exterminators come by weekly now. Not like you.”

You nodded slowly. They were warming up to you, scribbling down what she’d said. “Insect infestations,” you said. “How bad?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” one of them said almost conspiratorially. “They’re in the basem*nts, in the pantries. You seal a tin, the mice get to it. Leave it open, the bugs get in it. I pour my morning orange juice in my coffee thermos, just to keep a lid on it so the flies don’t get in it.”

“I’m starting to see the extent of the problem,” you said.

“There’s no easy fix for this,” the first woman said. “Even if you deal with him, the infestations, and the upset to the ecosystem…”

“Let me worry about that,” you said. “I really appreciate all your help. One last question about Mr.Dowght — is he violent?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

You’d have to assume the worst, then. “Thank you for your time, apologies for the inconvenience.” Returning to your bike, you put your gloves and helmet back on. Through your swarm sense, you tracked every animal within a kilometer. So it took you by surprise when a shrill scream sounded behind you.

Spinning around you saw a rabbit, advancing on you with intent to bite. Caraminne didn’t immediately obliterate it, because people might be watching. As it approached, fearlessly and probably rabid, you gave it a good stomp, breaking bones and crushing organs.

Caraminne landed on your shoulder. “Grisly.”

But as the critter died, you felt the whole of it shift. You had made yourself noticed, and suddenly hundreds of animals were making their way towards you.

Working quickly you took your rifle out, engaging safety and disengaging the trigger guard, before slinging it on your back. Then you got on your bike and took off down the road towards 1422. This would have to be dealt with quickly and efficiently.

You pulled up in the driveway, and took out two secret weapons: a can of salt, and a bottle of detergent. This imp was clearly a being of filth. Salt was a common enough component in bindings, but did represent purity. Together with soap, it represented cleanliness. You walked a wide circle around your bike, laying a strip of salt and a generous squirt of soap over it.

And now the animals began to arrive. Crows by the dozens, and a few malnourished wild dogs.

“Cara, get ready for a fight.” She took up position by your side — damned be the masquerade if anyone looked out the window.

“Imp!” you called out. “I, Blake Thorburn, bid you to announce yourself!” you called out. “My line has dealt with others of your kind! Announce yourself or be diminished! You are not so strong you can ignore me!” A standard greeting: daring it to make a show of force, prove you wrong.

It didn’t emerge from the house; it came riding in on a stay dog, so think you could count the ribs on it. The imp was a caricature of human. Too big a head, too small a body, but with gangly limbs ending in vicious claws. It had too many teeth and milky-white eyes. When it spoke, it did so in a deep rumble: “Pauz, of the fifth choir, feral and foul.”

“I come to bind you and deliver you to the Lord of Toronto for containment and disposal.”

It glared at you.

Then you slung your rifle off your back and took aim.

Pauz darted for the house. Your gun kicked noiselessly, missing. The bugs weren’t fully obeying you, your flawless aim was off. You ran the action and after the Imp. As soon as you stepped outside the circle, pandemonium broke lose and every flea-infested critter under Pauz’ control moved for.

You shunted your range down and wrested control of them from the demon, letting you and Caraminne reach the house — Pauz had slipped through the door somehow without opening it. Your familiar stuck a claw in the lock and with a twist, opened the door. Meanwhile you laid down another line of salt and soap, keeping the critters away from that entrance at the very least.

Not that it would do you much good: this was the demon’s domain.

Inside was a perfectly ordinary house, except filled with filth and refuse and an inordinate amount of pestilence. It stank like putrefaction, waste, and death. Your power had already mapped it out, and so you knew precisely where Pauz would flee. Into the dining room.

But setting foot in the house was like stepping into TV static. It felt like overusing your power, like a migraine, like you wanted nothing more than to stop being nice and rip to shreds everyone who ever inconvenienced you.

Caraminne put a hand on your shoulder. “Focus, Blake.”

“We need a— a circle,” you stammered, and pressed on. You dumped the sensation of ego death onto your swarm, struggling for dominion against Pauz’ hold on it. It helped.

In the living room was a parody of a feast: a table decked in rotting food and the carcasses of animals. It barely registered to you, but Caraminne was quick to lay salt and soap at your feet, and immediately the static abated.

At the end of the table sat a man, looking mid-sixties. Emaciated, sick, weak, and definitely not fully awake and aware. Pauz perched on the back of his chair, one claw under the man’s throat.

“One wrong move, diabolist,” Pauz said.

“And what?” you said. “This is your host, is he not? Kill him and you will have to find a new place to start over.”

“That is no great setback.”

“Craig?” you asked.

His vacant gaze shifted to meet yours.

You could scarcely fathom what kind of pain he must be in, how addled his mind. You had stood for twenty seconds in this accursed den of corruption for all of twenty seconds and felt your sanity slip.

He reached out towards you, eyes pleading. Pauz dug its claws into the skin at his throat, drawing blood.

One of Taylor’s memories came to you unbidden.

“Sorry. I— I can’t.”

You took aim at the demon instead and shot it. You weren’t fast enough, as it sliced open Craig’s jugular at the left and took a grazing hit to the head.

Pauz screeched in anger and grabbed a carcass from the table and threw it directly at you with great force. Caraminne batted it aside as you ran the action of your rifle, and then she moved.

Darting outside the safety of the circle, you felt the demon’s influence through her.

The imp was moving for the window to the back yard, but Caraminne threw both the soap bottle and the salt can in its path and tore both to shreds with her claws, dousing him in it. Then she kicked it into a wall, and where it fell you took aim and shot again.

Bullets wouldn’t kill it, but it would slow it down. You grabbed a spindle of spider silk from your toolbox and braved the outside of the circle. The pressure doubled, but you tossed the line to Caraminne who caught it. She licked the end of the strand and whipped it onto Pauz’ head where it stuck like glue, whipped a loop around one misshapen leg, and strung it up between a chair back and a lamp in the wall.

Then you realized what she was doing, as she began spinning the demon around while wrapping him up in your silk line, clawed fingers working like the legs of a spider.

Meanwhile, you rushed to Craig’s side, pulling off your gloves and taking the small first aid kit out of your toolbox as fast as you could. “Craig, I’m going to help you.”

He scrabbled for purchase on the floor, trying to reach for where Caraminne was playing black widow. You ignored the stench of his body odor, ripped a clean bandage open, and pushed it against his neck. He rattled in pain and you applied more pressure.

And even sitting there over a dying man, you spoke the standard binding words: “I bind you by your name, Pauz of the Fifth Choir, Feral and Foul. I bind you by my name as Thorburn. I bind you by nature as an Imp. I bind you by crime as tormentor of Craig Dowght and the neighborhood of Sunny Drive.”

You needed more power, more legitimacy. Something greater than yourself and abstract morality. Giving out Conquest’s name was probably unwise, even if you were technically in his employ. But a Lord served the city they lorded over, and by transitivity, so did you.

“And I bind you as a representative of Toronto, The City of Churches, The 416, and its Torontonians, Diversity Our Strength.”

You felt each word as you spoke it, as Caraminne used up an entire spool of precious silk line to wrap this foul thing up in a cocoon. The static in your head gradually abated, but you felt what it had taken out of you to do that.

The bugs and animals outside were still resisting your control, but now at least they were no longer directed by another intellect.

Caraminne hung the cocoon with the demon from the back of a chair. “Come put pressure on his wound for me,” you said. Craig had lost consciousness.

She came over. “I can stitch that closed.” She retracted her claws to merely long, pointy nails.

“You sure? If I relieve pressure, he bleeds out.”

You looked her in the eyes and she nodded.

“On three. One, two, three.” You pulled the bandage back, and Caraminne immediately put her claws around the wound, digging into the flesh, and pulled her fingers together. What was left was a warped mess of bruised flesh, but as you took his pulse by the wrist, it was steadying.

You stood, took out a piece of chalk to drew a simple set of concentric circles on the floor around the chair from which Pauz hung.

Then you took out your phone and called Fell.

“Blake.”

“Hi. I got a bound demon for you to pick up. Imp. Fifth Choir, if that means anything to you. It is currently negatively bound with symbols of purity and order. I’m at the address you gave me. Craig Dowght is injured but stable.”

“That was… fast.”

“How do you intend to dispose of it?”

“Conquest intends to keep it for study and later use.”

“Use for what?”

“Enacting a similar kind of situation to what has transpired so far.”

“Any neonate diabolist worth a damn could walk in and capture it, like I just did. Besides, if your containment in the meantime is less than perfect, its influence is going to leak. I just got metaphorically drenched in the stuff, this is not something you want stinking up the Lord’s domain. Not now that we both know just how fallible the Lord really is.”

“Assuming the Lord decides to acquiesce to those demands—”

“I’m not done. I bound it in the name of Toronto, not its Lord. It’s a horror show out here. I don’t know much about City Spirits apart form the fact they exist, but I cannot imagine fair Toronto would tolerate inflicting this kind of disruption for its own Lord’s personal gain.”

“Assuming the Lord decides to acquiesce to those demands, what do you propose we do with it?”

“You should banish it back to hell. I can probably do it for you once I have access to Hillsglade. Store it somewhere safe, remote, and very well-warded in the mean time. I’ll get back to you with a quote on banishing it when I know more.”

“I’ll bring this to the Lord for consideration.”

“We have a binding agreement that I get to decide if your containment procedures are adequate. See to it that they follow my guidelines, or I’m not going to hand over this little nasty thing.”

“Yes, I’m familiar.”

“Good, what’s your ETA?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“We also need to get an ambulance here, somehow.”

Fell hung up.

In the fifteen minutes wait, you put Craig in recovery position, and went to check up on your bike. The salt circle was still intact, but the crows had left droppings all over it. Fortunately you carried wet wipes and spent some time cleaning it all off.

You systematically overpowered the disruption the Imp’s influence had caused, breaking animals free and letting them come under your control, from where you implanted raw fear in them, to keep them hiding and away from people.

There was going to be some cleanup to do. Some of it only you could do.

But you also still felt the demon’s influence in yourself. Like it had been smeared in your skin and stuck between your teeth. You desperately felt the need for a shower, and for the time being, you couldn’t go back to your own place for that. You needed a cleansing ritual of some kind.

Fell’s car rolled up, and he got out, looking as displeased with you as ever.

“Inside, in the living room. Watch out for the stench.”

You led him in, and he held his nose the whole time.

“Where’s the man?”

Craig wasn’t where you’d left him.

Then there was the unmistakable report of a muffle gunshot, upstairs.

“sh*t.”

You sprinted for the staircase, ran up to find a door open, and inside the bedroom there, Craig had blown his own brains out with a shotgun.

Caraminne put a hand on your shoulder. “Not your fault. Might be better like this.”

You turned away and went down again with slow strides.

Fell looked at you as you came in.

“Craig just offed himself. Get that demon out of here, and I’ll call the police.”

Chapter 19: 4-4

Chapter Text

Fell said nothing as he brought in a small coffin from his car, and laid the demon-cocoon in it, then left you to your own devices. No backchat, no snide comments. He stopped with the coffin slung on his back and looked at you. “Not your fault, diabolist.”

You looked up from the blood stain on the floor. “Hm?”

But he didn’t elaborate. He just left.

Apart from the signs of struggle in the living room, mostly being the soap and salt and the blood stain, it would seem entirely plausible that Craig had simply blown his brains out. You had grabbed the shredded canisters on the way out.

Caraminne’s trick with the lock hadn’t actually damaged anything, which was scary in its own right — a real horror movie monster move.

“Toronto PD, what is your emergency?”

“Hey, I’m on Sunny Drive in Etobico*ke, and I heard a gunshot in one of the houses, 1412. The neighbors say there’s something weird going on, the guy who lives there has been having a real rough time. Can you do a wellness check on whoever lives there?”

Never mind that wellness checks more often than not led to violence. But Craig was already dead.

“And what exactly do you think we’ll find there, ma’am?” His tone was oddly hostile.

“I don’t know, but when a guy has a rough time of it, and you hear a gunshot from his house, well… he might have offed himself. I’m just a concerned citizen, that’s all.”

“We’ll send a patrol car. I’d really prefer if you remain at the address.” Again, commanding.

“Sorry, officer, there’s like, a lot of stray animals around and I’m kinda worried some of them might be rabid. Be sure to send some animal control, too.”

“… Alright. We’ll look into it, ma’am.”

You hung up. That taken care of, you rode off.

Stopping at an intersection, a mid-sized dog out for a walk freaked out and started barking madly. The owner, a middle-aged man, apologized profusely, and tried his best to drag his dog across the pedestrian crossing.

You took off down the road to find somewhere to park where a dog walker wouldn’t find you — tracking animals with your power made that easy. There you to inspect everything about yourself with your Sight. Spirits and connections near you were altered, vibrating with some kind of malignancy.

“Cara, we’ve been contaminated.”

“Come again?”

“Pauz’ influence. It’s sticking to us.”

“Oh dear. I see it. I thought I’d just gotten fleas.”

A cleansing ritual was looking really tempting now, but part of you also felt like analyzing it, finding out how it worked.

Pulling into traffic, you rode back to your home part of town, and drivers yell at you, brake check you, nearly rear-end you, and throw a piece of trash at you.

It made you much warier. And once you were in familiar surroundings you parked and took out your phone.

Hey. Managed to bind the first demon so we got three months

But I took a hit of demon energy and got irradiated or something

It'll wear off and/or I'll figure out a cleansing ritual

Dogs are freaking out around me and im p sure it effects people too

So for the time being I'm quarantining myself until it wears off

I don't want to have our next conversation soured by demon radiation

I love you

You waited for a full minute on a reply. You only got the ‘read’ indicator.

There was another call to make for you. The police officer you had spoken to on the phone had a similar hostility. There was a text waiting for you from Sandra Duchamp, with Meath’s phone number.

Taking out your laptop and jumping on the public wifi of a nearby coffee shop, you did a little research, correlating neo-pagan dionysus worship with the name ‘Jeremy Meath’ and even googled his phone number.

It was easy enough to find an address.

You dialled and it was a good long while before he picked up.

“Hello, this is Blake Thorburn, am I speaking to Jeremy Meath?”

“Yes. Sandra said you’d call.”

“Good. What did you mean by ‘for the time being,’ when you asked the Lord to keep me in the city?”

“The colloquial meaning would be ‘until further notice.’ Why?”

“I’d like you to give that notice. I need to return to Jacob’s Bell to fulfill my obligations, as Sandra has agreed upon.”

“I know. I’m not going go.”

“Okay, let me rephrase: you are going to give that notice, today.”

“Or?”

“I don’t know… Maybe it comes to blows, everyone gets in heaps of trouble, your neat little world descends into chaos, and I come out on top, somehow. You may or may not end up a lot worse off than you started, depending on whether I deem you an enemy.”

“That’s not a very credible threat.”

“Sure. But take how bad being my enemy would be for you and multiply it by how unlikely it is that worst comes to worst. If that number is bigger than how inconvenient it would be for you to just let me go back to Jacob’s bell, then you’re being pretty foolish.”

“My calculation might simply be different than yours. Mathematics have never been my strong side.”

“Then one final caution: So far it has ended badly for three people in positions of power — Sandra the least affected because she understood to protect what was hers, to calculate risks, and decide that playing hard-ball with me wasn’t worth it.”

“I’m still not going to give Conquest the notice you want.”

“Okay, you have until the second Friday of May. That’s the day before the next Council meeting in Jacob’s Bell — so three weeks time. By then, either you have told the Lord of the city to let me leave, or I am going to start making some serious inroads on your wellbeing. Deal?”

“If you’re so eager for conflict, why not start now?”

“Because I have something far nastier than you to deal with at the moment, to the betterment of Toronto and her people. I just got done sealing an Imp that had let a few streets of Etobico*ke be overrun with stray dogs, rabid rabbits, entire murders of hungry crows, and far, far too many insects. For several months, at that, left to its own devices. Next, I’m going to go deal with some kind of super-goblin that leaves its meals half-eaten and lingering in agony, and has been doing so for decades. We can throw down once I’m done making the world a measurably better place, or I can report to the Lord that you’re getting in the way of me completing the jobs he assigned me — didn’t he say something like ‘take no actions against me in this’ or am I misremembering?”

“Very well. Second Friday of May. By then I will give notice to Conquest to let you leave the city.”

“Kudos to you for leaving provision for me twisting your arm before that.”

You hung up. That had gone about as well as expected. You had of course hoped that he’d cave and just let you leave.

By now it was early afternoon, and you were metaphorically radioactive, and there was nothing in your two books to go on.

You had to figure this one out on your own.

Hey Joel, can I come by when convenient for you and use your shower? Also could you go ask Alexis for a change of clothes for me?

Sure thing, baby once I'm done with work

What's up?

Got in some nastyness related to the 'superspy' thing

I might seem offputting and unnerving to you when we meet

Ignore that feeling, I'm working on a solution

Did you get... cursed or something?

Or something yeah

Text me when you're ready for me to come by

Stewing in your motorcycle leathers for another few hours wasn’t something you were looking forward to, and you made a very important mental note to get your ‘armor’ up to metaphysical snuff at earliest convenience. Worst case, all the clothes you were wearing was a complete toss.

But hopefully you could avoid having to throw things away. You might also need to clean your bike thoroughly.

Actually on second thought, maybe I should use the emergency shower in the basem*nt, I don't want to contaminate your apartment

What on earth did you get splashed with?

You don't want to know

Joel was very understanding and very quiet as he met you in the basem*nt with disposable towels, a set of fresh clothes, and some body wash and shampoo.

You let the emergency shower run for a good few minutes until the water ran clear of muck and rust before stripping down. Motorcycle leathers in a pile for laundering, and all the clothes you wore, Joel threw in the fire pit out in the back yard.

The water in the shower was freezing cold, which presented another problem. Fortunately one of the five or so runes you knew was one for warmth, presented early in the Shamanism book as an example of a practically useful rune for use in winter.

Grabbing a marker, you drew the rune around where the shower-head protruded from the ceiling, and the water temperature went from hypothermia-inducing to merely uncomfortable. You washed yourself, splashing water everywhere in the corner of the workshop, standing on the sandy concrete floor, while Joel stood guard outside.

Even though you had barely touched anything in Pauz’ domain, the water ran absolutely filthy. You’d been fully aware of the number of fleas and lice that had somehow manifested on you, and while they couldn’t touch you because of your power, only now did you have the option of getting rid of them. Now as they washed off you, seeing them with your own eyes was a different thing entirely.

Once you felt physically clean you went to work on Caraminne’s raven form, clearing her of fleas and giving her a box full of water to bathe herself in.

It helped, but the aura of disruption still lingered on you. Not only was it visible to your Sight, but it was visible on your arms, too. The spider was bigger, leaner, and meaner. The bees had shrunk — africanize honey bees were a little smaller than european ones. The dew drops on the web were dried up, and many of the combs full of larvae instead of honey.

You felt about twenty percent better already.

Dressed and modest, you opened the workshop door.

“All cleaned up?” Joel asked.

“Yep. Gonna work on laundering my gear now, and do a full checkup of my bike and equipment. Thank you so much.”

“Hey, whatever sh*t is going on, it seems serious. This is just twenty minutes out of my day. Need anything else?”

You shook your head.

“Let me get you a beer and a sandwich at least.”

The liners of your motorcycle gear got thrown in the communal washer at a slightly too high temperature, but only after losing all their fleas and gnats by your power’s command.

Your boots had removable liners too, for this exact reason, and you let those soak in a bucket of rubbing alcohol, while you went to work on the boots with polish and an anti-fungal disinfectant spray. The rest of your leathers also got a wipe-down with disinfecting wipes on the inside and a round of leather cleaner.

That left your bike. You spent two hours checking everything on it, removing the seat cushions and cleaning the foam rubber inside, cleaning external nooks and crannies, and inspecting the engine. It seemed mechanical items were spared Pauz influence.

While you worked, Joel returned with Carlos, and sandwiches and beers for all three of you.

“So,” Joel said. “It’s no secret Carlos and I have been talking about this whole thing with you, Tiffany, and Alexis. We’re very curious, but we really understand that there’s things you can’t tell us. Maybe if we tell you some of the things we’ve been speculating about, you can confirm or deny things?”

You had read up on this exact thing. Becoming aware of the supernatural without awakening was dangerous. In the case of a group of practitioners needing an Innocent to do things they couldn’t, such as lie, these so-called Blackguards often remained as Innocent as possible.

“I can tell you one thing, for starters,” you said. “The more you know, the more vulnerable you are. If you want to ‘find out’ what the veil of the masquerade is keeping from you, aim to find out as little as possible. Otherwise it is far safer to take the plunge entirely, and by then there is no going back. You’ll be living the superspy life 24/7 like Tiff, Lexi, and myself. It’s a kind of Infohazard, if you know what that means.”

“Information that is dangerous or harmful to even know,” Carlos explained to Joel. “Like how even knowing about jury annulment makes you ineligible for jury duty.”

“Ah,” Joel said.

Carlos looked at you. “It’s magic, isn’t it? Something fantasy-flavored?”

“Do you really wanna know? A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.”

Joel and Carlos exchanged glances. “Yeah. If we can help you three girls, then yeah,” Joel said.

You nodded. “Caraminne, introduce yourself.”

“Joel and Carlos, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Caraminne said. She sounded like a raven mimicking human speech. “I am Caraminne, Blake’s familiar.”

“Holy sh*t, a talking raven,” Carlos said. “It is fantasy, then. Magic is real?”

“Yeah, in the worst way imaginable,” you said. “Which is why you should know as little as possible. The less you know, the less they are allowed to mess with you. Things that go bump in the night, people like me who have taken the plunge.”

“So what can you do?” Joel asked.

“More what I can’t do. I can’t lie. I can’t break promises. I can’t mess with people who aren’t in the know. I don’t have the protections those not in the know have — all the things and people that aren’t allowed to f*ck with you, can freely mess with me.”

“I ate of the tree of knowledge and all I got was a sh*tty talking raven,” Carlos joked.

You giggled. “Yeah. My grandmother was in it, and basically her whole family. My father and his siblings were spared. But it means Molly — my cousin — and now me, have inherited all her enemies.”

“So ever since I walked in here, I could tell the vibes are really off,” Carlos said. “Is that something magic related? Like a curse or something?”

“I just got done cleaning up someone else’s mess. I got dirty in the process. People get angry with me, animals are afraid of me. Four incidents of road rage just riding back from Etobico*ke.”

“So what happened with Tiffany and Alexis and you?”

You sighed. “We went to see the powers that be. The secret council that presides over magic and such, here in Toronto. The top guy is… a bad man. He wanted to force me to do his bidding. We butted heads, you know how stubborn I am,” you chuckled weakly, “but it was beyond terrifying, and I… offloaded my fear onto Tiff and Lexi, to stay cool, get all of us out alive.”

Retelling, even abridged, it was giving you anxiety, and Pauz’ radiation was interfering with your ability to offload emotions to your swarm.

“It’s probably the worst thing either of them ever experienced, and I don’t think they’ll ever truly love me again.” Your voice broke.

Caraminne fluttered onto your shoulder and rubbed her head on your cheek.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Joel said. “And not just as a platitude. You saved their lives, you’re giving them space, you’re quarantining yourself… everything you’re doing, you do because you love them. Tiffany is in a bad spot, but Alexis is taking care of her.”

“I think it triggered her PTSD really badly,” you said. “I feel like sh*t about it, and I’m drowning myself in work and taking stupid risks because of it. I went out today just to do some scouting, but I ended up taking on the… problem with too little prep. It’s why I’m all messed up now. I got reckless and stupid, and I really can’t afford it.”

“Well, it sounds like if the world really is that dangerous, you should’t ever be going at anything alone,” Joel said. “How about keeping that as a ground rule?”

“So… what do you want us to do, going forward?” Carlos said. Always focusing on the practical.

You wiped your eye in your shirt sleeve. “Keep your head down. Look away when weird sh*t happens. And occasionally, when Tiff, Lexi, or myself need it, lie. To cops, to whoever. Make promises on our behalf so we can safely break them. Play dumb, mislead. I’ll try to figure out what we can do to keep you safe, probably put some protections on the whole building, but so far you should be okay for a little while.”

“Right— that’s what Tiffany’s weird art project is about?” Joel asked. “Securing your apartment against things that go bump in the night?”

“We really need a shorter term. Night-bumpers?” Carlos suggested.

“Works,” Joel said.

“Yeah, that’s right. Tiff started putting up some protections.”

“She’s done, by the looks of it,” Joel said. “At least with the first pass.”

That, at least, was good news, that Tiffany wasn’t bed-bound with depression.

“Oh and be extra careful at night, that’s when the monsters come out,” you said, “the things that go bump in the night do so literally at night. Some do it in daytime too, but night is when there’s a party.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Joel said.

“Damn,” Carlos said. “I really thought learning that magic is real would be… more exciting.”

“Trust me,” you said. “You don’t want it to be exciting.”

You slept in the basem*nt, that night. Joel got Nick to lend you a sleeping bag and an air mattress, and you made a line of salt on the floor around yourself before lying awake for several hours, unable to find rest.

Come morning, you checked your tattoos — only a slight improvement — and with your Sight confirmed that you and Caraminne were the source of the radiation, not your bike or gear. The liners on your gear said not to tumble dry, but you did it anyway on low heat, to no detriment.

Breakfast you got from the corner store, breakfast sandwich and iced coffee in a can. In and out as quickly as possible, back to the basem*nt. Dwelling here for too long might rub off the contamination, so as soon as you could don your gear, you did, and went out into the world again.

This time, you set a course for the lake in the morning light. The city’s beaches had popularity rankings, and you chose one of the least popular ones and left your rifle in the basem*nt.

Caraminne rode on your handlebars as usual. You much preferred not to ride on highways and so rarely had a windshield mounted. In winter you usually had a full faring, though.

It was early morning, and the sh*tty little beach was full of stones. There were nobody there, which was good. Under your Sight, there was little in the way of Others nearby, but you weren’t about to discount it. This was flying completely by the seat of your pants, but you had your mind set on a baptism of all things. It was an old kind of cleansing ritual, maybe it would work.

You rolled your bike through the sand and set it up as base. Then you took off your leathers, and then your clothes. Being nude in public was always risky, when you were trans.

But Caraminne manifested herself beside you, and took off first her hat, then her coat, and then the shirt and trousers she wore underneath. She was tall and undeniably, ethereally beautiful.

It felt natural. She was your familiar. She was family. Your other half. If you had to go naked into a cold lake, she would follow you.

You took her hand and waded into the surf. It was really cold. Caraminne took your hand and pulled you along, especially the transition as he cold water touched your ass and crotch.

Now you stood with your familiar, in nigh freezing water to your navel, in Lake Ontario.

Your teeth clattered as you spoke: “I am Blake Thorburn, Practitioner. I fought and bound the demon Pauz, saving many Innocent from his torments, and for it I was irradiated with its presence. Now I ask that I be cleansed of this influence, and I apologize to the spirits of nature and the beings of Lake Ontario: all cleansing is dilution. This corruption I suffer will not go away, merely go elsewhere.”

Then Caraminne took you by the shoulders and plunged you under the cold water.

She held you there and you let her, until you started to feel the sting in your lungs. You tapped her on the arm. She didn’t budge. You got your feet under you and pushed yourself upwards, but she held you strong. Panic began to set in, and you reached out for your swarm to dump your panic into but found no purchase. You clawed at Caraminne’s iron grip, breath burning in your lungs.

Was she just going to drown you, right here?

You grit your teeth to avoid inhaling water, and then Caraminne ripped you from the lake, into the air once more. You sputtered and coughed.

“Take a deep breath,” she said, and you barely managed to before she plunged you into the water once more, and held you there until you were on the verge of gulping down water once more.

But now you trusted her.

She pulled you up, let you breathe once, and then dunked you under again.

No gain without sacrifice.

Third time she let you come up for air, it was over, and you stood in the water, shivering, miserable, and coughing.

“That was the worst,” you said through severely clattering teeth.

“But it worked,” Caraminne said, pointing to your arms.

You didn’t have the wherewithal to check, and took her word for it as you waded back to the beach. You toweled off best as you could and got dressed — your familiar merely took on her raven form and was instantly dry.

A candy bar you had brought with you really hit the spot, and a few minutes of sitting in the sun warmed you mostly up again. You didn’t want to brave making a fire rune.

No, you felt drained. More so than before. Like the Lake had sapped your strength. But you also felt yourself again. The bees were back to normal size, the combs no longer cluttered with spawn, but now held admittedly low reserves of honey. The black widow was back to looking like a normal spider, even though the web was still dry. With your Sight, you saw that the disturbing influence was basically gone.

Hey

Hey

Even just getting a reply made your heart flutter.

Went and baptized myself in Lake Ontario

I'm back to normal, but feeling pretty weak

I talked to Joel and Carlos yesterday

They were already on to us so I've let them in on as much as is safe for them to know

ie not a lot like it says in Essentials

We've got a lot of time now to sort things out

Nothing to really rush after

So whenever you wanna talk...

I'd really like to

How about today?

If you're down by the lake it'll take you what, half an hour to get back?

Something like that, yeah. See you soon

You rolled up to your home apartment building, and went up the stairs as you usually did, but with your heart beating fast. Carrying your toolbox, a duffel bag of other stuff, a gunslip, and wearing your motorcycle leathers. It felt like this was what you were always going to look going forward.

Alexis opened the door for you, letting you into your own home for the first time in over twenty-four hours — not that she would likely have kept you out, had you asked.

She was wearing just her usual band logo t-shirt and jeans. Tiffany sat by the dining room table in her blouse and skirt. There was tea on the table. Everything seemed so normal.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Alexis said.

“Good to see you.”

“Yeah, same. Come in.”

You still didn’t know what the outcome would be, but you were at once exhilarated to see your two favourite people in the whole world again, and terrified that this would not end in reconciliation.

With your heart in your throat, you got out of your leathers, ending up in jeans and buttondown.

“Come, sit,” Tiffany said.

You did.

“So,” Alexis said. “I think it’s fairly obvious that we’re all sorry and we all know what went wrong and why.”

You looked at her.

“Yeah,” Tiffany said.

“Yeah,” you echoed.

“I’m sorry that I overreacted so completely. Blake, I understand why you did what you did, and I know I must have hurt you something awful, rejecting you like that. This is your home, too, and I should never have sent you away and let you sleep on Joel and Carlos’ couch. It was really sh*tty of me, wanting to keep Tiffany safe by removing you as a trigger. Misfiring protective instinct.”

“It’s okay—”

“It’s really not, Blake. None of what either of us did is okay.”

You nodded. Then you took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I should have backed down and taken the loss. Found some kind of way to wiggle out from under his boot heel instead of making a power-play and putting us all in danger. I should have… found something else to do than take control of both of you and offload my fear on you. I should have tested how that aspect of my power worked before deciding to do it on a whim. I saved your lives, but that’s about all I did. I’m sorry for slinking away like a coward and then running off to fight a demon when I should have been here, communicating and processing what had happened — I still don’t fully have.”

“Thank you for saving our lives, though,” Alexis said. “Let’s not mince word, that f*cker wanted you to choose. Just for that I vote we take him down.”

You looked to Tiffany.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I shouldn’t be, it’s my trauma. I just shut down, and I feel like I’m weak compared to you two. I feel like that weakness is what caused all of this. I feel like my inability to handle things nearly drove you away from us. I don’t think any of us have fully processed things, I don’t think we will for a long time.”

Alexis took Tiffany’s hand.

Tiffany offered hers to you, and you took it.

Then Alexis took your other hand.

And then you felt the tears come.

You wept for the better part of twenty minutes, curled up on the sofa, cuddling with Tiffany and Alexis. They didn’t leave the whole of it to you, but they had both had much more time to process all of this in each other’s company than you had. They had the experience in common. You had isolated yourself in shame.

Together you did nothing at all of significance for the rest of the day. Tiffany had completed the warding of the apartment, painting basically every surface of walls, floor, and ceiling with a first pass of warding geometric patterns. Alexis had taken to water aspersion rituals to further ward the space.

Come evening, Caraminne cooked the three of you dinner, and doted teasingly on Alexis and Tiffany. You knew she cared about them, but it was also an affectation. She was your familiar, your chosen other half, your peer, and by extension a peer of Alexis and Tiffany as well. But she was a stranger to your house, still. She would need years yet before she would fit as easily into your little social dance as the three of you could.

Hopefully by then, Alexis and Tiffany would have also found fine familiars, expanding on your little family.

That night you slept in your lovers arms, and come morning you felt haler than you had before you embarked on your trip to Jacob’s Bell in the early morning of the 13th, ten days ago.

And today was Tuesday, and the first day back to your regular day job. Money still had to be made, and you were fortunate enough to not have scheduled anything the day before.

The mundanity of riding to a job site felt… out of place, after ten days of violence and upheaval.

There was a stage production that needed an extra set of hands, and you provided yours. You were neither a gaffer nor a set builder, but you could do both anyway. Your new ‘mascot,’ Caraminne was content enough to eat snacks and sit and watch. There were weird hacks to hash out and a lot of stuff that needed moving and repairing.

You came home in the afternoon feeling almost even better. Even more yourself. Caraminne cleaned the kitchen and you tidied a bit before Alexis came home, and then Tiffany. You went through your usual rituals of greetings and casual intimacy. It was nearing dinnertime already, and Caraminne had already taken to the kitchen — you were going to have to introduce her to the concept of a chore rotation soon.

“Alright, I made a deal on Sunday with a group called the Kights of the Basem*nt to go meet them tomorrow afternoon at four. I know it’s kind of last minute I tell you, I was kind, and it’s alright if you already have plans, I didn’t specify whether I’d bring company.”

“We’re both free, I think,” Alexis said.

“Yeah. This about the demon jobs?” Tiffany asked.

“Yeah. They know something about the second entity. Then one I fought Sunday was an ‘Imp’ — there’s a chapter on them in Classifying Others and some standard methodology in Dark Contracts which I used. The other two is something else.”

“Fill us in,” Alexis said.

“You sure you want to join me for this?”

“Yes,” Tiffany said.

You were about to object that she should know what she was getting into before committing, but she looked at you with such conviction you knew she already knew.

“Okay. Within the next three months, we have to capture two more entities. One is a demon-demon, the other is ‘just’ a really powerful and mean goblin, I think. Both of them are probably very bad news, but not bad enough news that the Lord has gotten off his fat ass to do anything about them.”

“We should consult with Maggie about the goblin,” Alexis said immediately.

“My thoughts exactly. I also negotiated with Jeremy Meath that at the very latest, he’ll allow us back to Jacob’s bell the day before the next council meeting. I suspect we might have to go twist his arm before that. It would be really convenient to get ahold of some books, but the Lord agreed to keep us in the city until then.”

“I mean, theoretically we could pronounce Maggie Holt our librarian, give her a house key, and exact some promises not to mess things up,” Alexis said.

“Sound complicated and potentially perilous,” you said. “I’m not about to employ a teenager to run potentially dangerous errands for us.”

“You would if she was over 18, though,” Tiffany said.

“And pay her for services rendered, yes.”

“Okay, Ms.Holt aside, what are we dealing with?”

“I don’t know a lot. The goblin is called the Hyena, and it eats part of people and Others, leaving them in some kind of undeath. We’ll have to deal both with a big mean goblin, and with all the ghosts and whatnot that it has accumulated over several decades.”

“Yikes,” Tiffany said.

“The other one is worse. It is an abstract entity contained in an abandoned factory. It eats people and then they vanish from history and memory. The Knights of the Basem*nt discovered it, and logic dictates they must have lost people to it, but there’s no way to know for sure.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. So tonight, I think I’ll introduce some terminology from Taylor’s world. The system they used to classify superpowers in her world, based on the threat a power presented, rather than its nature.”

“Okay,” Alexis said. “If you think it’s useful.”

You took out a piece of paper and wrote:

• Mover
• Shaker
• Brute
• Breaker
• Master
• Tinker
• Blaster
• Thinker
• Striker
• Changer
• Trump
• Stranger

“Mover covers everything that is dangerous because of how it moves, so super-speed, flight, teleportation. Shaker is things that affect wide areas, like shaking the ground, commanding gusts of wind, or projecting shields. Brute is everything that is dangerous because it is physically resilient and strong. Breaker, we’ll leave that for later.”

“Go on,” Tiffany said.

“Master is dangerous because it controls another entity, such as by mind control, or creating minions in some way. Tinker is dangerous because they create objects of power, in Taylor’s world that was super technology. Blaster is dangerous because of a directed ranged attack, your laser eyes and such. Thinker is perhaps the most dangerous, because it is having access to otherwise impossible information. My power is very highly rated as Master and Thinker.”

“I see,” Alexis said.

“Striker is dangerous because of a close-quarter attack, like being able to electrocute people by touch, or stop time for an object by touching it. Changer is dangerous because of an ability to shift into a different form. Trump we’ll get back to. Stranger is dangerous because of its ability to hide or obscure its existence. So basically Caraminne is a low-end Changer because of her raven form. Fell, the guy who drove us to the Lord’s domain, he actually snuck in here undetected, and I only noticed him by using my power, so that’d be a Stranger ability.”

“He snuck in?” Alexis asked, alarmed.

“I asked him politely to leave and confiscated his gun.”

“Okay, but what about Breaker and Trump?” Tiffany asked.

“Those are the hard-to-explain ones,” you said. “Breaker is the ability to ‘break the rules’ in some sense, regarding physics and oneself. Your phasing through walls, turning into energy to avoid damage, changing physical size by bending space, that kind of thing. It’s really varied and kind of catch-all. Trump is any ability that specifically works with other abilities, your power thieves, givers, copy-cats, nullifiers, amplifiers, and so on. Not sure either of those will be very relevant as ‘Breaker’ would describe approximately a lot of Others, and Trump almost all the rest.”

“You explained it quite well, though,” Tiffany said.

“Yeah. Each hero or villain was then ranked according to a one-to-ten scale signifying the magnitude of the threat an the appropriate response, one meaning a regular squad of goons can counter it, ten meaning nothing short of a hundred strong heroes could deal with it.”

“Okay, so how do we adapt that to our own purposes? The one-to-ten scale sounds kind of useless.”

You nodded in agreement. “I think we have more of a green-yellow-red situation on our hands since we don’t have external support to draw on. Manageable, unmanageable, ‘run,’ or something like that.”

“Traffic light is good,” Alexis agreed.

“What if it kind of sours things in the bedroom?” Tiffany asked.

“We’re adults, we can compartmentalize. That said, aren’t most things in magic kind of Trump-based? Bindings and wards exist to disable the abilities of whatever Other they’re binding, in addition to restricting them physically.”

“Yeah,” Tiffany said. “Same with Breaker: every single ethereal entity, ghosts, non-embodied spirits, perhaps even the abstract entity in the factory, is a Breaker.”

“My thoughts exactly, hence why I mostly left them out,” You said. “The rest are, to my mind, pretty applicable.”

“So if the Hyena goblin has an army of angry ghosts and whatnot, it’s a Master?” Tiffany said.

“And probably a Brute,” you said. “Depending on how many half-eaten things it has, could be Master Yellow or Master Red. But that one is comparatively easy to understand. What worries me is what I know about the abstract entity.”

Both of them looked at you with solemn interest.

“In Taylor’s world they had this thing called Master/Stranger protocols, which were designed to try to deal with the fact that some powers mess with information. They make your own senses and thoughts betray you, impersonate or subvert your allies, and so on.”

“You should teach us,” Tiffany said. “That sounds very useful.”

“Fell threatened me with shooting me and leaving me to rot in a coffee shop, making it so people couldn’t notice me, which I’m thinking has something to do with manipulating connections, I’m pretty sure he’s an Enchanter; I’d say he’s a Stranger-Red, actually. So what I’m thinking is maybe it actually makes it so its victims can never be noticed by everyone else. Severing connections.”

Caraminne fluttered down onto the table. “If a person’s connections to the world are all severed, they slip through the cracks.”

“And where do the cracks lead?” Alexis asked.

“Hell.”

Chapter 20: 4-5

Chapter Text

Wednesday rolled around and you rolled out to the city outskirts in Carlos’ car. You rolled up to the address on the flyer Fell had given you: a convenience store at the side of the road on the city outskirts. Tiffany had done a bit of warding of the car — though it needed more work.

Getting motorcycles for all of you were seeming like a better and better idea.

A man came out to meet you, and you took stock of him: heavy set, but dressed to his weight, and with some kind of disability affecting his gait, maybe an injured foot. A large tabby cat leapt up on the hand rail by the accessibility ramp up to the store.

“Nick Laughlin?” you asked.

“That’s me.”

“I’m Blake Thorburn. Thank you for meeting with us.”

“Come inside, let’s talk,” he said.

You followed him in, and saw a perfectly ordinary convenience store setting. Even to your Sight it seemed unassuming. There were four other people: a woman in her mid-thirties manning the till, another woman in her mid-forties, and a young man no more than a teen and with a clear familiar resemblance to Nick and the older of the two women, so that one was probably Nick’s wife, and the kid their son; he was playing a game on his phone. Out of all the practitioners you had met, these seemed the least like practitioners. They looked like exactly the kind of people to run and/or casually hang out in a convenience store.

“Hello, you said. I’m Blake Thorburn, this is my covenmates Tiffany Pirzada and Alexis Lewandowsky, and my familiar Caraminne.” You gave a short bow. “We also brought a gift for you as thanks for hosting.”

Tiffany took out the bottle of bourbon you had purchased on the way: not the cheapest brand available, but not what one would consider high quality.

Nick raised an eyebrow and accepted the bottle.

“Come, take a seat,” Nick’s wife said. There was a small table by the counter, and she’d set out for coffee. You did and she poured coffee for the three of you.

“So,” Nick said. “You know my name, this is my wife Maria, down there’s my son Jason. And by the till, Priss. She’s not a practitioner, just a little in-the-know.”

“Your blackguard?” Alexis asked.

“Yeah.”

“And she knows to leave if the conversation turns onto specifics she shouldn’t know?” you asked.

“Let me worry about that, Ms.Thorburn,” Priss said.

“Now, what do you wanna know?” Nick said.

“Everything you can give us,” Tiffany said, notebook at the ready.

“Before that, I’d like to know a little more about you three,” Nick said. “I’d like to know how far I can trust you — you said you worked ‘for the city, so to speak,’ who exactly do you work for?”

You looked at Tiffany and Alexis.

“The Lord of Toronto strong-armed me into taking three jobs,” you said. “My family specializes in diabolism, but I’d rather not inherit that legacy. The entity in the factory is one of the jobs.”

“And what’s your relationship to him, the big man?” Nick continued.

“Strained, to be polite,” Alexis said, “we’re anarchists, ideologically speaking, and he threatened to kill us for it on Saturday, so we’re looking at our options. You? You’re on the council. You were absent, though, on Saturday. What’s your specialty?”

“We’re only on the council so we don’t get blindsided when things come up or change, easy access to check if it’s okay to grab a certain demesne or familiar,” Nick said. “We dabble. All of us dabble.”

You nodded slowly. “You’re keeping your heads down. Keeping your lives boring. We can see the appeal. To stay on this topic, here’s what you missed on Saturday: Isadora, Diana, and myself are strongly opposed to the Lord’s aspiration of acquiring some demons through my heritage. The Drunk has connections to some of my hereditary enemies in the ancestral hometown. Where do you stand? Not that I expect you to throw in with one side or the other, I’m mostly interested in whether you’ll screw me over for personal gain with the Lord.”

“We’re no friends of the Lord,” Maria said. “He has a way of taking and not giving back. He’s not looking out for anyone.”

“Agreed,” you said. “I’m here cleaning up messes he and the other powers that be have let fester for just— an unconscionable amount of time. Bound an imp that had been making life miserable for people in a whole neighborhood for at least six months. I also gotta deal with something called the Hyena, which has been active for decades.”

“We’ve heard of it in passing,” Nick said.

“You guys are more connected with the local scene,” Alexis said. “Would you be open to some knowledge sharing? We have a pretty substantial library — though we probably can’t access it until at least the 12th. We could provide you a loan of some books—”

“Oh, there’s no need for a quid pro quo for just some chit-chat and gossip,” Maria said. “We’re more than happy just to see a friendly face.”

“Even if you are diabolists,” Nick interjected.

“Believe me,” you said. “We’re really wanting some friendly faces ourselves. Maybe you could tell us about them, and we can know where to make other overtures of friendship?”

“We’re new, so we don’t know much of the history,” Maria admitted, pulling up a chair. “But as I understand it, the Sisters of the Torch started as a sorority or club at U of T, and they got their hands on something. Built themselves up, more ambition than we have.”

“More money, too, probably,” Alexis said.

“Yeah. Each new year, they take a few new inductees. Nine parts secret society, one part practitioners.”

That was good news. Possibly even a non-player.

“To think they were at the university all the time. What do they deal in?” Tiffany asked.

“Elementals.”

“And standing with the Lord?” you asked.

“Nonexistent. They send a gift once a year.”

So that either meant they were either a non-player, or entirely in the pocket of someone else.

“Then there’s the Sphinx—”

“We met her already,” you said. “And the Drunk, and the Astrologer. Drunk is against us, Sphinx is against the Lord but also us on account of the Diabolism thing,” you said. “Astrologer, who knows.”

“The Sphinx is old,” Maria continued. “It’s more personal for old Others. She teaches at the university. Periodically goes for kids who can’t hack it. Once every decade or so, maybe. Failing grades, or depression, what have you. Their rooms are cleared out one night, and they’ve disappeared.”

“She eats people, yeah, we know,” Alexis said.

“She is what she is. Occasionally, she takes a student under her wing. We’ve talked it over, we think she takes stragglers and test them. Winners get mentored, things start going their way. Girls like that stick around for two or three years, then take their leave, going onwards in life on the right path. We’ve seen what, two?”

“One left a few weeks after we joined the council,” Priss said. “I think she has a new one.”

“Yeah, she’s currently mentoring my cousin, I think,” you said, “although my cousin is already a graduate. And by mentoring I mean they’re having sex.”

Priss barked out a laugh.

“What about the Drunk? He’s currently f*cking us over, knowing some more would help there,” you said. “I know he’s a Cultist of Dionysus, but what’s the story there?”

“Long and winding,” Maria said. “Word is he was trying to make a play, back in the 90’s. Offered favors, like one of the Sisters wanted a baby, he made sure she conceived. He baited the Astrologer into falling in lust with something more spirit than person, and she wasn’t happy when that spell was broken. Even heard he started collecting more vicious things to keep in reserve. Then it all fell apart around the start of the ’oughts. He’s mostly flying solo now, a little more inebriated a little more often.”

“He got divorced, I hear,” you said. “Or something like it. From Sandra Duchamp of Jacob’s Bell.”

“Oh, juicy bit of info, there.”

“The Thorburn line has its roots in Jacob’s bell. Sandra and her family were some of the first people who tried to f*ck us over — she’s wiser, now.”

“And then there’s the Astrologer. She’s powerful. There’s some kind of succession scheme to it. Whe one grows old, they take an apprentice and pass on everything they know, and the title with it. She has a whole host of things: future sight, summoning things from the sky… but she has to obey some system of rules, who knows which.”

Tiffany was scribbling notes quickly.

“There’s the Shepherd, who is not of much use to you. He’s a practitioner, but I think he really wants to be a psychopomp. He’s on good terms with the Lord, most of the time.”

A potential enemy.

“There’s the Queen’s man, who travels between England and Canada, serving the spirit of Crown and Kingdom for the commonwealth. He’s overseas for the moment.”

“Ew, a monarchist,” Alexis said.

“Eye of the Storm isn’t human, and is one of the Lord’s direct servants. One to worry about if you wanna attempt a coup. Fell is his errand boy, Storm is his leg breaker. It’s some kind of partially-corporeal spirit, powerful and dangerous. Something to do with disasters, maybe.”

“That’s it?” Tiffany asked.

“That’s it.”

“Guess we need to give that Astrologer woman a call,” Alexis said. “Would you happen to know her number?”

“I got her P.O. box somewhere,” Priss said and went to a an actual rolodex.

“So, what do you wanna know about the demon in the factory?” Nick asked.

“Everything you know,” you said. “And if you wanna tell us what you know about the Hyena, that’d be much appreciated, too.”

“Well, the Hyena’s territory is not that far from here. Got a little slice of Rouge Park. I wouldn’t venture there with a small army. It’s been active there for a few years, but before that, I think it’s been prowling from place to place for decades, at least. The whole section of park is lousy with all the things it has mutilated — hundreds of beings. Can’t all be local, I’m pretty sure it brings them along.”

“Stealth is key, then,” you said. “We sneak in, bind it, sneak out. Easier said than done, to be sure, but… it’s a plan.”

“A sh*tty plan,” the kid, Jason, said.

“You’re not wrong, Jason,” Tiffany said, “but we’ve been working with worse and we have some unique aces up our sleeves.”

“Ominous,” Jason said.

“So, what about the abstract entity?” You asked.

It was obvious even to you that they were not very keen on talking about that in particular.

“What’s there to tell? Makes for an awful lot of wondering, you know? Oblivion. Knowing we maybe had friends or family, people we had as friends, people we loved, and they were eaten up. So completely that we can’t even remember them.”

You looked at Alexis and Tiffany.

“Sorry for your losses, whatever they may have been,” one of you said.

“Thanks,” Nick said.

“I heard from Fell that you confronted it?” you asked. “If it’s not too traumatizing, what kind of precautions did you use?”

Nick shook his head. “That’s the thing, girl. It wasn’t. We literally can’t remember — it was scary, sure, but we went in and out as soon as it turned sour. Half the precautions we used it probably ate.”

“So that’s a thing to look out for, in other words,” you said. “If we come out and see we have too few people, or too few precautions than we logically should have had as careful, conscientious practitioners.”

“That’s when you know it’s too late,” Nick said. “We used the same kind you usually use. Circles. Lines and reinforcing shapes, all of us at the center.”

“I’ve seen those used before against another abstract demon,” you said, looking at Tiffany and Alexis.

“Right,” Alexis said. “Let’s assume this one is similar, then, regarding reflections.”

“What’s that?” Jason asked.

You turned to him. “I read a description of how an abstract demon was bound, and it cautioned against reflective surfaces and even looking directly at the thing. That might have been a precaution you failed to take.”

“sh*t,” Nick said.

Maria put a hand on his shoulder.

“Anything else you used?” you pressed on.

“We went in armed. We have trinkets and items of power. Had. Maybe. I’ve got a shotgun with some runes on it, we’ve got knives, hatchets, swords, wands. A few of us have implements. That’s about all I can tell you on the ‘precautions’ front.”

“It’s definitely a Stranger Red,” you said. “Let’s assume Breaker Red as well.”

“sh*t,” Alexis said.

“What’s that?” Nick asked.

“Threat classification system,” Tiffany said. “Work in progress, we’re making it up as we go. We’re working on theories of how the abstract entity did what it did. We’re thinking it’s similar to something Fell professed being able to do, sever connections so completely people forget things exist. Do you think that could be the case, that it manipulates connections?”

“Yeah,” Jason said. “Definitely.” He’d put his phone down to participate, but he had a haunted look in his eyes. “What happened to Marcie…”

“My son’s ex-girlfriend.”

“She’s still my girlfriend, I think,” he said. “At least, I think she was.”

“So, you can remember someone,” you said. “Even though she was…”

Jason shook his head.

“She up and disappeared a few days later. She definitely walked out of there with us, or we wouldn’t even remember her,” Nick said.

“I can’t really remember her face,” Jason said. “Or even her last name.”

“I think,” Nick said, “the people around her got eaten. Mom, dad, maybe siblings, friends. There wasn’t enough connecting her to the world, so she just… went. To where ever people go when they have no fetters left.”

Caraminne cleared her throat, sounding like a raven crowing. “If I may weigh in.”

Nick gestured.

She took off form her perch on the table and assumed her human form, bowing respectfully to Nick. “I am what you’d call a Boogeyman. I do not remember what exactly got me there, but I have a good idea of where this Marcie may have ended up, at least, and perhaps the other victims of this demon. Unless of course it chews its food.”

“And where’s that?” Priss asked.

“I think, when all your bonds to this world are lost, you’d fall down into Hell. I can’t remember how I fell, only that I did. If you manage to crawl out again, you end up like me. Missing bits and pieces. Missing humanity. Before becoming Blake’s familiar, I had no face, for instance. No voice.”

“What’s it like?” Jason asked.

“Hellish. I’d rather not relive it presently by telling what I went through. But, if these lost souls are strong. If they are tenacious… they may return. Maybe they will not have lost their memories of you.”

“Oh god,” Maria said.

“Yeah. You four are on your own,” Nick said. “We can’t go up against something that big and lose. Not again.”

“Understandable,” you said. “Entirely understandable, Mr.Laughlin. We’ll take any help we can get and we are not looking to go in there without full access to my library — so at present, not for another month.”

Thursday morning things were really starting to become routine. You hung shelves and cabinets for a tech-startup renting a new office.

Your toolbox implement was starting to… turn strange. You now had the distinct impression it was larger on the inside, somehow. Maybe getting a company van could be put on the back-burner.

Thursday afternoon you spent emailing some MC enthusiasts and browsing message boards and second-hand market places for good deals. Alexis looked into your options for loans.

Alexis had an MC license but was five years out of practice. You had taken your own license in part probably to imitate her.

She hadn’t ever borrowed yours for anything, not when you brought your first back just before she even introduced you to Tiffany, not when she became part of your little triad.

Tiffany needed a an entire new MC license. That cost yet more money, and would take a 60 days trial period, then another year and a half. It was still probably worth it.

As a break from the whole mess of trying to secure reliable transportation for the three of you, you began drafting your proposal to declare the Hillsglade marshes a Provincially Significant Wetland. You texted Briar Girl that you had begun and to ask how far along she was with documenting and/or introducing rare fauna and flora to the area, but received no reply.

Friday saw you riding back down Sunny Drive in Etobico*ke, taking stock of the damages a work week on.

Things were slowly on the mend, it seemed, but there were still a lot of parasite-ridden animals and bug infestations about. You made thermites and hornets kill their queens, and bedbugs twist own legs off in the wall crevices they lived in. Fleas leapt off pets and birds. That was about all you could do. You called Animal control and gave them what must have been a cryptic list of sightings of stray animals, as you listed off a number of dogs and cats your power had identified.

Then you got a text from Paige:

Hello Blake. Isadora would like to talk to you and your cabal, and she guarantees your safety for the duration of the meeting and your arrival and departure. Can you come to the UT?

Yeah. That's Tiff's old stomping grounds. Philosophy building?

Yep.

God damn it's nice to be taken seriously. Can it be over dinner?

I'll have to ask.

That evening you took the subway to the university with Tiffany and Alexis in tow. It was an uneventful trip, though there were things in the subway now that you had never seen before, things visible to the Sight.

Faerie and goblins in disguise, things lurking in the shadows. Ghosts perpetually riding on the subway cars.

Paige was there to meet you at the station.

“Blake!”

“Paige.”

You greeted her with a hug. She shook the hands of Tiffany and Alexis. “It’s nice to formally meet you.”

“Likewise,” Alexis said.

“Lead the way,” Tiffany said. “I didn’t do philosophy, so I don’t really know the way.”

“Ah, an alumni?” Paige asked. “What major?”

“Art. You did law, right?”

“Yep.”

“How did you meet Isadora?” you asked. “And when?”

“Alumni party in February. I mean, she sought me out, but I was lonely and over-worked, and…”

“You’re into older women?” Alexis teased.

“Yeah. Then she revealed things to me after we’d been dating casually for a while.”

“Does she actually have feelings for you?” you asked. “Or are you a means to an end.”

Paige walked in silence for a while. “She takes human lovers, occasionally.”

You didn’t push that subject. “What have you got? Familiar? Implement? Demesne?”

“Implement. A fountain pen.”

The thing was sitting in the breast pocket of her button down.

“Nice. Good penmanship I guess helps with writing demon contracts.”

“I’m not looking to become a diabolist, Blake.”

“Yeah, well, then you better do what you can to make sure I don’t bite it in the next few months.”

She glared at you. “I wish Isadora and I hadn’t left just before you did… whatever you did. Conquest is in a state of disarray, and she’s blaming you.”

“She can blame me all she wants, I’m just following a pattern.”

“Of?”

“Authority figures trying to f*ck me up, and me f*cking them up right back.”

Isadora’s office was just another office in the Philosophy building. The sign on the door read:

Phixopolous, Isadora, Professor of Ethics

“As for dinner,” Paige said, “I’ll treat you to a burger — there’s a place nearby that’s really good.”

Then she opened the door and you stepped into the lioness’ den.

To ordinary eyes, Isadora was just a curvaceous woman in her fifties, wearing a pencil-skirt suit and with her curly hair done up in a bun. To the Sight, you saw her true form. There were three chairs set up for you to sit. You took position behind one of them.

There was another person in the room. A masked woman in the same kind of business-casual as Paige, wearing a set of rings that blazed red. She stood off to the side.

“Diabolists,” Isadora greeted you.

“Just to be clear, you’re guaranteeing our safety for the duration of our meeting and our departure?” you asked.

“Yes. Please, sit. We can be civil.”

You didn’t. “Before we can be civil, introductions are in order,” you insisted, looking at the masked woman. “I’m guessing you have us at a disadvantage — I’m Blake, this is Tiffany, Alexis, and my familiar Caraminne. Who’re you?”

“Names are dangerous to give, and it’s impolite to ask one already taking pains to conceal one’s identity.”

A gnat landed on her collar and lodged itself in place between fibers.

“Alright, Ms.Incognito. Who are you with?”

“The Sisters of the Torch. You can call me Elder Sister.”

“I can but I won’t.”

You set your toolbox down beside your chair. Alexis and Tiffany did the same to either side of you.

“Tiffany and Alexis haven’t done any actual work with any demons. So if you want to use ‘diabolist’ as a slur, maybe target it a little narrower. You contacted us, then ambushed us with a third party, so color me defensive,” you said. “What would you like to discuss?”

Isadora steepled her fingers. “You got in contact with Paige last Sunday. You set forth the possibility that we can be allies against Conquest. While I appreciate that you somehow avoided summoning him a demon, I don’t think an alliance can be formed should conflict arise.”

“Okay,” you said. “Why not?”

“Because you represent an upset to an old balance we would really rather see eliminated. Conquest acts in accordance with his nature. He is predictable. Your presence forces him to act in predictable ways. Your actions destabilizes him.”

You nodded slowly. “So, we can’t be part of this coalition you’re building — the Sisters, I’m guessing Diana may be part of it —- because I’m part of the problem, and if I die a grisly death, things go back to normal.”

“There’s also a faint stench about you — you were recently in contact with the demonic. On a personal level, such things are a displeasure to me. Be glad you aren’t drenched in their ill influence.”

You looked from Tiffany to Alexis. “Okay. I have a few questions to you, if you are in the habit of talking to anarchists.”

“What are your questions?”

“Don’t talk to cops,” Alexis said immediately.

Isadora sighed. “Let me hear your questions.”

You leaned forward. “First, Paige. What is she to you?”

“A valued apprentice and a very sweet lover.”

“And what when this value to you is gone. Are you going to kill her? Eat her? Break her heart?”

“No.I have no plans to kill Paige. I need her as a bulwark against Mann, Levin, and Lewis, should the worst come to pass. Should our romance fail, as romances often do, I have every intention of remaining on amicable terms with her.”

That assuaged one of your fears. “Good. You must understand I don’t want to see another of my cousins in peril.”

“Quite.”

“Next question: what makes you think that your little coalition is special?”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Duchamp. Behaim. Conquest. People in positions of power try to bring us low, we wiggle out from under their metaphorical boot heel, we f*ck them up in interesting ways, and escape stronger than we were before. What makes you the one to break this pattern?”

“I’m older than recorded history, Blake Thorburn. I am a being of reason and free will, unlike Conquest. I know what you’re capable of, and I will simply strike with extreme force and prejudice, not give you any ways to wiggle.”

“Boasts are cheap,” you said.

“Genuine admissions of capability are not,” she countered.

“If you’re that old, did you ever meet Suleiman Bin Dauod?” Tiffany asked, before you could ask another question.

“… Yes,” Isadora said.

You looked at Tiffany. She shrugged. “Just a historic curiosity.”

“Okay, interesting to know,” you said. “You said I smell. Truth is, I was thoroughly irradiated when I dealt with an imp named Pauz, of the Fifth Choir. I had to go have a very unpleasant baptismal cleansing in Lake Ontario to get clean again. My question to you is: if demons stink so bad to you, why was one allowed to roam free in Etobico*ke for something like six months, terrorizing the local populace, and driving one man to suicide? That’s not ten kilometers from here. Why did I have to get forced to go handle that cleanup operation?”

“There are bigger problems to deal with for people like me,” Isadora said.

“Okay, and so you reward the unwitting sanitation workers by calling them slurs and telling them they smell?”

“You are not the first diabolist to try to justify their existence by the so-called ‘good’ they do.”

“I’m sorry, how is me sealing Pauz bad? Can you quantify the harm for me, please?”

“You surrendered it to Conquest, did you not?”

“Yes and I get to dictate containment and disposal procedures, I told Fell to bury it deep until I can give him a quote on banishing it back to hell.”

She tilted her head.

“One of the two things remaining that I have to deal with isn’t even a demon, taxonomically, it’s just a really mean goblin, which has also been allowed to run free and inflict terror. The other is an abandoned factory building that makes people disappear so thoughoughly they seemingly retroactively cease existing — that one I’m quite sure is a real demon. And yet you sit here in your cushy office, letting these things perpetuate misery and suffering.”

“I have limited resources. These things are supposed to be the purview of the Lord, and you are handling them for him. Things are as they should be.”

“Do you know what the difference is between Lawful Neutral and Lawful Good?”

“Do not lecture me, an Ethics Professor, on legalist morality, and definitely not using Gygax he was a fool, and I am older than law.”

“Tzvi Freeman, then,” Alexis said.

You looked at her.

“A jewish pole,” Isadora said. “Interesting.”

“Not religiously, and no, I’m Canadian,” Alexis said. “And yes, I got great-grandparents who died in the holocaust. You keep appealing to your age and status, which is a spectacularly bad line of arguing when you’re talking to a trio of anarchist lesbians.”

“To address your rebuttal. No.Lubavitcher Rebbe was wrong, and Judaism, though contemporary with Suleiman Bin Dauod is not a reliable source of conclusions as to the nature of Karma. The world hangs in the balance, and every demon summoned pushes everything in creation further towards peril.”

Caraminne spoke up. “Quote: I don’t have to tell you things are bad, everybody knows things are bad. It’s a depression.” She leapt from your shoulder and turned humanoid. “The dollar buys a nickel’s worth, banks are going bust, shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter, punks are running wild in the street, and there’s nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do and there’s no end to it.” She pranced about the room. “We know, the air is unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to eat, and we sit watching our TVs while some local newscaster tells us today we had fifteen homicides and sixty-three violent crimes, as if that’s the way things are supposed to be.” She turned to Isadora. “We know things are bad, _worse than bad. They’re crazy. It’s like everything everywhere is going crazy, so we don’t go out anymore. We sit in the house and slowly the world we’re living in is getting smaller, and all we say is ‘please, at lease leave us alone in our living rooms, let me have my toaster and my TV and my steel-belted radio and I won’t say anything, just leave us alone!’—”

She put a hand on Isadora’s desk.

“— Well, I’m not gonna leave you alone. End quote. That is what this is, Madam Phixopolous. You are sitting in your cushy little university, insisting all the conveniences you enjoy is the good and right way things are supposed to be. You are already part of a pattern. You are part of the Imperial Core. Your vested interest in Conquest is that colonial violence happens far from your shores, and lines your coffers. My companion, she’s one of those who gets mad. Because she’s a human being, god damn it, and her life has value.”

Then she turned back into a raven and landed on your shoulder.

“Suleiman Bin Daoud was also a human being, wasn’t he?” Tiffany said.

Isadora tapped her fingertips on the table. “I’m not going to give you the dignity of using your four collective voices to pose questions faster than I can answer them.”

You stood. “Very well. Thank you for the forewarning.” You offered her a hand.

She took it.

And for the briefest moment you let your power concentrate down to nearly a point, and confirm that yes, indeed, it could touch a sphinx.

“What was that?” Isadora asked.

“I don’t talk to cops.”

Then you turned and left. Paige sheepishly followed.

Paige didn’t say anything the whole way to the burger place. It was close by enough that you spotted the Elder Sister leave Isadora’s office, enter her car and go to drive home. You used an old trick: hid a large number female moths in her car’s bumper, wings and legs broken, and reprogrammed it to believe it was mating time, causing them to release pheromones that would attract male moths. Then if she left your radius, you could track her using the fantastic olfactory capabilities of moths.

When you got your takeaway burgers, the Elder Sister had already left, but you also scoped out her car’s license plate.

Paige wasn’t having any food. “Blake, what the f*ck?”

“What?” you asked.

“Why are you like that to Isadora?”

You looked Paige dead in the eyes. “Your girlfriend wants me dead, Paige. She’s a two ton apex predator with human intelligence and magical powers. Her relationship with you isn’t going to buy her mercy. My primary goal today was ensuring that she isn’t abusing you. I had hoped for some kind of tenuous alliance, but I guess she just doesn’t like winning. Thank you for the burgers.”

She gave you a half-hearted hug and ‘take care’ by way of goodbye, and then went back to campus.

“We need to get home and I need to get my bike,” you said.

“Why?” Alexis asked.

“Because I need to drop a vaguely threatening letter in someone’s mailbox.”

It was nearly eleven at night when you finally found the car in question, parked in front of an apartment building. Part search pattern, part moth-detectors. You stopped by the car, and took out your notebook, intending to write something cheeky like ‘found you Ms.Incognito.’

But the Ms.Incognito in question preempted you entirely by a man opening a window on the second floor and calling out to you: “Hey, what are you doing with my car?”

You looked up at him. “This is yours?” you called back.

“Yeah!”

“Did you lend it to your wife tonight?”

“Why do you care?”

You went to the street door and looked at the door buzzer. Edward and Marianne Ogden.

“Mister Ogden, tell your wife that Blake Thorburn says ‘hi.’ Have a good night!” you called out, then left on your bike.

Chapter 21: 5-1

Chapter Text

Friday afternoon you called Maggie. She didn’t seem like the kind of girl that went to a lot of parties, and true enough she picked up.

“Hey Blake, long time no see.”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s been kind a hectic. The Lord of the city is causing trouble for me, and I can’t go back to Jacob’s Bell right now, without him trying to stop me.”

“Ah, bummer. So no book club?”

“We’ll be back to normal and able to host by next council meet at the latest.”

“Alright. Thanks for the heads-up, and those books you loaned me have already come in handy… Do you need anything else?”

“Yeah. I’m about to embark on a goblin hunt.”

“Oh. Interesting. What kind of goblin?”

“They call it the Hyena. It’s been prowling over Rouge Park for at least a few years.”

“Never heard of it.”

“The reports I have says it’s big, mean, and eats people and Others halfway, leaving them half-alive and in pain, forever. We’re going to bind it.”

“Fudge. Okay, that sounds like the worse kind of a mid-tier goblin. I guess I can give you some pointers…”

“Main problem is just getting to it. The park is full of all its victims. I’m going to do some scouting tomorrow, and I might have some intel for you to mull over… So far my plan is we just arm up, wear armor, get some stealth runes, and go in with like, electric wire and lithium batteries.”

“Oh yeah, you’re like, a handyman— sorry, I mean handywoman? You got tools. I bet with like a cordless drill battery you can do something.”

“My thoughts exactly. Anyway, stay outta trouble, I might call you again if I learn something new.”

“Yeah. Good luck. Don’t die.”

“I’ll try not to.”

You went out, down to a queer club in Parkdale, with Tiffany and Alexis. Caraminne you all helped doll up with glamour to merely look the part of a tall, strange lesbian, rather than, as Tiffany had jokingly suggested, ‘The Hat Man’s better-looking cousin.’

You all danced and Caraminne chatted up the bartender, enjoying a night of pretending to be human.

Around eleven, trouble showed up. A gaggle — and a gaggle it was — of men and women who were loud, scantly clad, and merely entering the establishment, the atmosphere of the entire room changed.

The men had goatees and hair on their chests. To your Sight you glimpsed a hoof coming out of a pant leg. The women had spilled red wine on their light clothes, but perhaps some of it was blood. Satyrs. Bacchae. These were servants of Dionysus, servants of the High Drunk.

You had gone to the dance floor with Tiffany, and Alexis nursed a beer at your booth. Three of the Bacchae slid into your seats — the music was too loud for you to make out what was said, but your heart was louder still.

Alexis kept her cool, but even through your inebriation you recognized her state of alarm as you moved through the crowd. As the one who had sat next to Alexis put a hand on her shoulder, and you were still ten steps away, Caraminne came to the rescue.

In shirt-sleeves and slacks, with her long black hair in a tight ponytail, she put a perfectly manicured hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Excuse me,” you heard her voice, cutting through the din. “This seat is take.”

The Bacchae woman smiled a smile with too sharp teeth, and Caraminne smiled back with an even more grotesque grin and dug her claws into the bare flesh.

You arrived at the table, suddenly far more sober, and Tiffany followed. “You three,” you said. “I am Blake Thorburn. What do you want?”

“What do we want?” another of the women asked, and they all giggled. “What do we want?” She cajoled.

“To party!” the other two entoned, even though the one Caraminne had her claws in winced a little.

“The last time someone intruded on us like you’re doing now,” you said. “I took the tongue tip of one and put a nail in the skull of the other. Scram.”

Someone put a hand on your shoulder and you turned to see two of the satyrs. “Hey, what’s your problem?” he asked.

You leaned in, gesturing for him to lean closer. He did. “_My problem is that you five are Meath’s goons, and every second you spend getting on my nerves is another second I get to consider what kind of demon I could feed your boss to.”

He laughed. “That’s one hell of a thing to say, little girl!”

“If you say another word, you’ll bite off your own tongue.”

“And how—”

You held up both hands, stepping back. You reached out and touched his central nervous system, seizing control only of his jaw muscles and tongue, sticking the tip just past his incisors and clicking his teeth together with all the force his bite could muster.

It was over in a tenth of a second and he was holding both hands over his mouth and groaning in pain. His friend was quick to come to his aid, and glared at you. “What the hell did you do?” he hissed.

“I didn’t even touch him,” you said. You pointed to the bathroom. “Go help your friend rinse out his mouth.”

You turned to the three Bacchae still hogging your seats.

“You three should get moving, too.” You took a step back to let the two of them up; Caraminne relented her grip on the third, having only barely not drawn blood.

“I don’t know what you think your right is—” the first Bacchae began, but you reached out and made her ankle spasm, immediately causing her to twist it in her stilettos. She fell, quite pathetically, in front of you.

You offered her a hand to get up. She swatted it away. Wordlessly the other two got up and helped their friend up to stand, then headed to the bathroom.

A sliver of bloody flesh hit the floor. You bent down to pick it up, handing it to Caraminne. “Let’s get out of here before they come back,” you said.

Saturday you borrowed Carlos’ truck and strapped your bike to the bed, then drove out to the Knights of the Basem*nt’s little convenience store.

You’d called ahead, of course. Tiffany and Alexis had brought every book you had, and Maria had promised to host the two of them for coffee while you and Nick went to scout. He had a dirt bike — because of course he did — that hadn’t seen action this summer. An old Kawasaki. It was an hour’s work to get it ready for the road, and fortunately his jacket and boots still fit him.

It was well before noon as you headed out towards Rouge Park, and the sun shone from a clear sky. Less dangerous in daylight. So was everything. Nick’s cat familiar, Lix, sat on the gas tank of his bike the whole way. You connected your phones on a bluetooth call to talk.

There was a kind of privacy afforded by being on the road with someone. It felt familiar.

“You know, Blake, when I met you on Wednesday, I was prepared for the worst. I know you’re a diabolist. I know what that means, but… let’s say that I’m hoping you’re not going to get into some bad sh*t.”

“Me neither, sir,”

“What’s your deal with Conquest?”

“He wanted to take me as a slave. But he had… adorned himself with a totem of mine in a spiritual realm, so I laid claim to a fragment of his power. Then I negotiated him into hiring me as a contractor in exchange for pardoning my familiar whatever sh*t she did in the early 00’s.”

“What.”

“Yeah. I… It was kind of life or death. My covenmates didn’t appreciate what I did to get out of it, and we had a big fight about it.”

“Personnel issues?”

“Yeah.”

“A lover’s spat.”

“Yeah.”

“How did you three become diabolists?”

“They aren’t. I am. The Thorburn family is a long line of diabolists. I inherited my grandmother’s property and enemies on the 13th.”

“You’ve been a practitioner for two weeks?”

“Yep. I work fast. And if I can help it, I won’t drag Tiffany and Alexis down with me if I ever go.”

“Noble.”

“I try to be.”

“Listen, Blake. You sound like a good person. You’re taking the thing we found seriously — I’ll be happy if nobody ever has to endure whatever it was that happened to us, and those urban explorers. But it also makes me worry about you.”

“Thanks.”

At the edge of the park, he stopped. You turned on the trip camera on your helmet.

“So, from here on out things might get slightly dangerous. There’s some bad things going on here, and I’ve only driven by in car.”

“If anything happens, we turn around and book it.”

“Yeah. There’s protections in place. Stick to the roads.”

“Someone put up wards?”

“Why shouldn’t they?”

“No I’m just wondering why go to the trouble of containing the problem and not addressing the root issue?”

“Risk versus reward.”

“If I can come up with a safe way to catch and bind that thing, would you help us?”

“Maybe.”

“That loan of books is still on the table,” you said.

“I’ll talk to my wife and some of the others. Tell them you can get that thing in the factory if you get some help with this.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

You took off down the narrow, deserted road heading into the forest.

Not two minutes later you encountered the first sign of disturbance: a ghostly thing standing in the middle of the road. Half her torso and entire shoulder missing in a grisly flesh wound.

Both of you swerved around her.

Along one side of the road, visible only to the sight, stood warped people, standing tall in a row like poplars on an avenue. All of them missing the cranium, left headless save for jaws and lolling tongues, nude.

More ghosts, each maimed in some way, frozen mid-movement.

A burning bush or perhaps a small tree, branches torn away, still smoldering; bleeding.

Blood stains persisted in the underbrush, on the trunks, even on the road, chronicling the deaths of unfortunate souls.

Trees with branches full of viscera, animals torn in half and still gasping for breath.

Flesh consumed and the victims left behind half-alive.

Insensate with pain, out of sync, out of place.

A great big rock laid, overgrown with moss, and a visible bite taken out of it.

Ghosts; children; all wounded and mutilated.

It had been in Toronto for a few years. It must have been active for decades, if not centuries, to have amassed such a… catalogue of horrors.

The bone in your breast pocket pointed further into the forest.

Your bugs were everywhere untouched and plentiful.

“Maggie, it’s Blake, you’re on speaker phone,” you said. “My coven is with a group called Knights of the Basem*nt.”

“Charmed,” Maggie replied through your phone.

“Nick and I were out riding earlier, scouting. The Hyena has a few square kilometers of forest, full of nasty Others. It’s going to be a tough time to get to it and bind it.”

“I can imagine. What do you have in mind?”

You looked around at the others. The Knights of the Basem*nt could muster ten people. Ten dapplers. But then wards were easy. Six of them were present, now.

“We enter its territory and pose a formal challenge to its authority. Binding a few of its minions, setting up wards — if things go south and it dogpiles us, we retreat behind the big wards set up by the city.”

“Okay. So you want to summon it and lure it into a trap?”

“Essentially.”

“Well… it’s not going to fall for that.”

“I just need to get within striking distance. I have a pretty significant ace up my sleeve — remember I told you about it?”

“Hm. Oh yeah. How confident are you that it’ll be enough?”

“Between ‘somewhat’ and ‘very’ confident. Again, if it fails, we retreat, regroup, and come up with a new plan. What do you think? You’re the Goblin expert.”

“Let me ask my dads.”

There was a quiet on the line for a little while.

“She’s seventeen,” Tiffany supplied. “Lives with her parents.”

“Isn’t that a little young?” Maria asked, concerned.

“I’m thinking we’ll make a Sunday trip to Toronto. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like we better get moving,” you said. “Nick, is that feasible?”

Nick nodded. “We’ve got the rest of the day to fetch some supplies, then tomorrow we head to the park and get started? Should be doable.”

Sunday morning came with light rain despite the forecast, which was worrying. Still you made tea and breakfast and Alexis kissed Tiffany on the neck when she got out of bed as the last one.

Goblins were in every reference text noted to be repelled by energy and order, and very particularly, electricity in wires. Part of the plan was to use buried wires and car batteries to make containment circle traps that could be turned on when the Hyena was on top of it.

You got up at six to mount the sidecar — Carlos needed his car — and the three of you packed everything you might need for the operation: raincoats, first aid kits, trowels, odds and ends for bindings, both your guns, shotgun shells packed with salt.

Maggie would be in town at nine, so you drove off to Rouge Park at half past seven, in the Sunday morning traffic.

Even driving within the city proper, things were revealed to the Sight that you had never noticed before. City doves that weren’t doves, spirits lingering in strange places, and people who weren’t quite people. Reflections in the windows showed things that were just a little different.

You all met up at the little convenience store. A car arrived with connections stretching far into the distance, and you knew it was the star of the show.

Maggie stepped out of the car, said goodbye to her dads, and waved to you as she crossed the parking lot.

“Look at you, Blake!” she called out. “Familiar and everything?”

You shook her hand. “Yeah. Someone you probably know, even. Caraminne?”

Your familiar hopped off your shoulder and assumed her humanoid form, offering her hand and bowing deep. “Maggie Holt; charmed to meet you.”

Maggie took it. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met?”

Caraminne stood up tall, and with one hand waved her facial features away.

“Oh!” Maggie looked at you. “No way! You— how?!”

“Blake is the scariest Practitioner I have seen in Jacobs Bell in a decade. I couldn’t not approach her.”

“You approached Blake?!”

Caraminne smiled. “Is that so strange?”

You chuckled and patted Maggie on the shoulder. “You’re the star of the show. Let’s get inside and you can meet the rest of the crew.”

She followed you to the door, and inside where the mood was good. The Knights of the Basem*nt were ordinary people, and while you and your coven were definitely a bit outside of ‘normal’ you were all working people, content to keep your head down — though in your case forced to be part of a bigger picture.

“Maggie!” Tiffany called out.

All attention turned on Maggie, and she froze for a moment, which Tiffany took to come to her side. “It’s okay, we’re all friendly. Why don’t you introduce yourself? With some bombast!”

Alexis gave her a double thumbs up.

“Uh, hello everyone,” she said. “I’m Maggie Holt of— of Jacob’s Bell, and I—” she cleared her throat. “I’m a Wiccan Goblin Queen, my Implement is the sacrificial dagger, and… I’m a friend of Blake, Tiffany, and Alexis.”

There was a little round of applause.

“All right, let’s go over the plan,” you said.

The corner of the park that seemed the least beleaguered with mangled others and ghosts was where you set up, clearly delineating for all parties involved where the big wards lay with the roads.

There were dozens of kinds of beings you might need to ward against, but you also were well over a dozen people, with three trucks, two cars, and a motorcycle. Of the Knights of the Basem*nt, nearly everyone had either implement or familiar, though nobody had both.

Here in late April, the forest was already positively alive with bugs, and you called them to you.

“All right, let’s get moving! Once we start, the clock starts ticking!”

A group of echoes — spectres — were driven away with a handful of salt and aspersion of genuine holy water. Something big moved deeper in the woods and you kept an eye on it. Maggie pulled out a few goblins to assist, and soon everyone was driving sticks into the soil and spanning nylon wire and plastic tape inscribed with warding spells between them. Lines of salt were laid forming a perimeter against ghosts, and your keen eye kept worse things at bay: a huge thing with its head clean ripped off was driven off by a well-placed rifle shot from your silent weapon.

Then you started work with trowels, spades, and shovels, digging narrow trenches to lay the wire in, and deeper holes for the lead-acid batteries. Switches were laid on the ground that could be stomped on to activate the circles, and Maggie’s goblins confirmed each to be effective. Your secret weapon in this was to use your reserves of glamour — sparingly — to disguise the digs.

It wasn’t going to be enough, but you just needed to get close enough to instantly win.

And then it was just you, Caraminne, and Maggie at the center of it all. The others stood by to mend and maintain the wards that kept the many victims of the Hyena.

“Hyena you piece of sh*t!” Maggie yelled into the woods. “You pathetic asshat who can’t even eat people properly! This park is no longer yours alone!”

She stood a bit, looking in between the trees. “Yep, that made it really mad. This goes one of two ways — he comes alone, or he sends his army. Since we’re challenging him, think he’ll come to pose a challenge personally.”

You took a step forward. “Hyena! I am Blake Thorburn, I have fought worse than you! I come here to bind you in the name of the City, to end your reign of terror! Heed my challenge!”

“Nice,” Maggie said.

And then you waited. You checked your rifle, your shotgun, your ammo pouch, and your toolbox hanging by a shoulder strap.

“When he gets close, you book it, you understand?” you said to Maggie. “I’ve got experience fighting monsters. If this thing takes a bite out of you, you’re f*cked.”

“Yeah,” Maggie said. “What if it takes a bite out of you?”

“If it gets that close, I win.”

“How?

You looked at her and waved her close, flipping up your visor. “Tell this to no-one.”

She nodded. “So I swear.”

“I can control more than just bugs, but the bigger the thing, the shorter my range. So: if he goes for a bite, I win.”

Maggie nodded. “You’re f*cking crazy.”

“Maybe, barging headlong into binding an Imp on Monday, with no support, because I had a fight with Tiff and Lexi, that was definitely crazy. This is a bit more sane.”

Tensions rose. The mangled monsters in between the trees grew restless with the many wards, crowding close to the territory you had secured. If the Hyena started tearing up the wards, you would have to act fast. You had contingencies too, of course. Extra electrical wire, silk, Caraminne even bore a length of chain across her shoulder — far more than you could carry on your own.

And then you saw it.

It was a goblin, but five times larger and twenty-five times heavier than the ones Maggie had given you. Skin a knotted mess of scars, eyes a malicious orange. Its approach had been completely silent.

“There it is,” you said.

But it didn’t approach the warded zone. It stood in-between the trees, regarding your challenge.

Then it laughed, a high pitched laughter, much like its namesake.

And turned around and left.

That wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

“Hyena!” you called after it. “My challenge is not easily ignored! For this cowardice, you will suffer!”

That was an oath. You felt it as you said it. No time-scale, to be sure, but it was a promise. If you failed, it would cost you dearly.

To your swarm sense, and your swarm Sight, you saw that the mangled Others that had gathered at your intrusion were now beginning to drift away. The crowd was thinning out, heading back into the Hyena’s territory. It truly had ceded the ground to you.

You also tracked the Hyena itself, as it lumbered back into the woods.

Then you turned and waved Tiffany and Alexis over.

“What’s up?” Alexis said. “Please don’t tell me you’re planning on going after that thing.”

“Yeah, that’d be a really bad idea, Blake,” Tiffany said. “Like you did with that Imp?”

You shook your head. “This isn’t an Imp. It’s a Goblin. It’s a Master-type threat. I can track everything it might call down on my head, and I can track it.”

“You’re not going in there alone,” Alexis said. “You’ll be walking directly into its trap.”

You felt the Hyena about to reach a point where you’d no longer have a clear sight-line to it and turned, raising your rifle, wrapping the sling around your arm and kneeling down for a steadier shot.

Exhaling, you pulled the trigger. Two hundred yards in between the trees, the Hyena took the hit.

“I’ll be pursuing wounded prey.”

“And she won’t be alone,” Caraminne said.

“I’d say bringing your familiar doesn’t—” Tiffany said.

Alexis grabbed you by your shoulder. “Blake, I swear—” you flinched.

“Careful!” Tiffany barked.

“I swear, I love you in this moment and I respect your judgment,” Alexis finished. “But I disagree with it. So look me in the eye and say you aren’t going to take unnecessary risks. If things go south, you don’t press on. You hear me?”

“I promise,” you said.

“f*cking hell, Lexi,” Tiffany said. “Blake?”

You looked at your other girlfriend.

“Do you have a plan?”

You nodded. That was what all your gear was for.

“I’m going to go in, evade its minions, shoot it whenever I get a clear shot, and get within five meters.”

Tiffany and Alexis looked at each other.

“f*cking hell, Blake, why does this keep happening?” Alexis said and sighed.

“Go,” Tiffany said. “Don’t die.”

“I promise I won’t,” you said.

Then you turned and Caraminne landed on your shoulder.

“Holy doo-doo,” Maggie said behind you.

The forest got dark fast. Noon fell to twilight as you set out on a light jog. Not a run. You left the Hyena to gallop, if it wished to. You held the spent cartridge in your hand as you moved through the underbrush, tracking the connection to the round embedded in the Hyena’s flesh.

All around you, the forest was alive with your bugs and the Hyena’s victims. The Hyena may have had hundreds of victims, but you had metric tons of bugs, enough to use a trick Taylor had perfected in a hot summer in a ruined city.

The Hyena was retreating — barely even hurt by you having shot it — but it was only halfway out of your range.

Under your command, the flying insects of the forest converged into enormous swarms, and you manifested a swarm clone in the path of the Hyena.

“I’m coming for you—”

The goblin sprung forward and swiped a clawed hand through the clone, scattering the swarm, but you simply reformed it out of reach.

“You stupid animal,” you chided it with a voice made of buzzing and clicks.

This time it lunged in for a bite and got nothing but a mouthful of just a few straggler bugs, as the rest dodged. Another swarm cloned formed.

“You stupid animal. I’m not here.”

Two more clones formed, and you sent a swarm of hornets at it, stinging at its eyes.

But its own minions were making a move against you. A maimed ghost flickered into existence before you and with all the speed you had, you unslung and leveled your shotgun at it. A cloud of salt tore through its form, hopefully disrupting it long enough for you to pass — you only had so many shells.

“On your left,” Caraminne said, and you looked to see a group of Faerie, most of them with flesh torn off their hands and arms.

They were moving towards you. Fast.

You bugged each of them, switched to your rifle and fired at the front one. It dodged.

Thinking quickly you drew your swarm into a barrier between you and them, and as the first Fae reached it, you saw it struggle through it as if it was a solid wall. As it burst through, Caraminne came in with a big club of a branch and beat it down. “Run!”

You did, and heard more fighting behind you as your familiar took care of things, returning your focus to the Hyena — no that you had stopped jeering at it from multiple swarm clones or stinging at its exposed genitals, eyes, nostrils, and ears, but coming up with new torments required conscious thought.

It was scratching at its face. “Look at you! Reduced, regressed, cunning predator laid low by bugs! Bugs! I am Blake Thorburn, I am three of the biblical plagues of Egypt! Lice! Flies! Locusts!”

You let up on your assault, but not the chorus of jeers. The Hyena shook itself like a dog, and set out to the north. You changed direction to follow putting you on an intercept course.

Caraminne landed on your shoulder.

“What’s up?”

“The Faeries are dealt with.”

“Good bird.”

She squawked.

Jogging with your toolbox in a shoulder strap was less cumbersome than it should have been, but the two guns didn’t help.

“In ancient times, mankind hunted the mammoths to extinction with fire and sharp sticks!” you jeered, “I can chase you until you are too exhausted to run, until you beg for mercy.”

Both of them, Tiffany had helped inscribe with runes of silence. She had laid out the patterns and you had helped her carve the wood of the stocks where necessary, and varnish the finished product. There were also runes for power, but silence was in your opinion the best — here it didn’t attract attention. You’d also painted the same on your boots.

As you went, you got approached by Others, twice more you dealt with them together with Caraminne with claws, bullets, and bugs.

A great headless troll, which Caraminne drove off by sticking her claws in its exposed spinal column, and twitching its limbs into a lumbering, clumsy gait. Echoes that fell to salt shotgun shells — making you acutely aware of your dwindling ammo supply.

Most notably you were stuck by some malediction by a being that was neither ghost nor goblin or fae. A woman’s figure with head wrapped up in bandages and a single yellow eye. As you made eye contact with her, you found yourself unable to look away, unable to even turn her head. Caraminne swiftly flew to her and pecked her eye out.

You made headway over the course of half an hour, closing in on the Hyena.

And then you spotted its target. Its movements changed and it started stalking towards something at the bank of a stream. Mutilated ghosts lingered there, but one of them was hale — you saw the imprint of a young boy, maybe 10 years old.

As the monster neared, the ghost boy ran, crossing the stream — running across the surface like it was solid. Another way to ward against goblins: running water.

You set into a run, now. Why you didn’t quite know. The Hyena was hunting something else while being hunted by you. A bizarre response.

Reaching the stream you waded across it, leaving several pursuers behind, also kept at bay by the water, and got your motorcycle boots soaked. The Hyena circled around to the east, running the length of the small lake that served as the headwater of the stream, which gave you time enough to get ahead of it.

When it came into range you let another bullet fly, striking true. It howled and retreated, and you felt every single Other in your entire range start to converge on you. This was the kind of situation one might describe as having gone south.

Your instinct to seek high ground led you to look up, and you saw the ghost boy in one of the trees, with a bit of chicken wire stretched out between branches, a few planks. It was shoddy work, but he sat there in his heavy winter coat. Ten years old at time of death if you were to guess. He was looking down at you intently.

He wasn’t visibly maimed, and to your Sight seemed connected to the Hyena only as an adversary. He even seemed well connected to the world. Tethered. You’d read about echoes — a particularly strong one might retain lucidity for months.

“Hey there!” you called out.

“Hi?” he replied.

“Got room for two more up in your tree-house?”

“Are you running from the wolf, too?”

“I’m hunting it.”

He was quiet for a moment. “You can’t hunt the wolf,” he said.

“Wanna bet? What’s your name, kid?” Asking names was a dangerous thing.

“Evan.”

“I’m Blake. Can I come up?”

“If you can climb, sure.”

You slung both your guns and made your way up the trunk with a boost from Caraminne — above head-height it was a very scalable tree, and the tree house was some six meters up. If the Hyena tried this limb, it might well fall — it had seemed about as nimble as a dog, rather than a monkey.

With a bit of a struggle, you made it up to the level of Evan’s little canopy. You’d also read how to deal with ghosts of that caliber: pretending they were still who they were in life.

“Hey,” you said. “Nice to meet you.”

He nodded. “Are you a hunter?”

“Yeah, kinda. But I might also be a rescuer. How long have you been out here, Evan?”

Another nod. “It’s been days.”

You kept track of the Others converging on your location — many of them were cut off by the stream and yet more were cut off by some other barrier further north.

“I haven’t eaten, I haven’t slept. I’ve been eating snow to drink water.”

“Sorry I don’t have anything with me,” you said.

“I… I think I’m seeing things,” he muttered.

Caraminne came in and landed on your shoulder, causing Evan to startled and flicker.

“Don’t worry, she’s nice,” you said. “What things are you seeing?”

“Fog. The more tired I get, the more fog there is,” Evan said, staring into the distance. “And there’s things in the fog.”

“Say, you know this place better than I do — the fog is rolling in and the things in the fog, they’re after me. What do you do if that happens?”

“I wait here.”

“And if that isn’t an option?”

Evan pointed. “That way. There’s a fence and some bushes, the wolf doesn’t follow there.”

“Can you show me?”

He didn’t climb, he just faded out where he sat, and in on a branch below you. It was easier to make the trip down with gravity assistance, and you let yourself fall from three meters up, landing hard.

Evan stood there in the underbrush, panting, clearly exhausted. Part of you wanted to reach out and steady him, but you knew he wasn’t corporeal.

“You okay?”

“I’ll be okay, yeah. I just have to wait for help to come.”

He was very lucid.

You cycled your rifle, looking in the direction you knew the Hyena was lurking, some eight hundred meters away, already making its way further north while its army converged on you. You’d shot it twice. Once more and you were in magic territory. You formed a swarm clone which was immediately attacked, but still told it as much: “What happens when I shoot you a third time, Goblin? Bullets are so very orderly. Straight line. Energy. Death with precision. You’re wounded twice!”

Evan started moving, jogging, and you followed at a fast walk. It only took a few minutes to reach the ‘fence,’ a low thing of plastic — barrier against small wildlife — almost entirely overgrown in Holly.

That was why it kept Others at bay: Holly, Rowan, Juniper, and Yew were the four traditionally significant plants used in the Practice. Evan found a place to squeeze through, but there wasn’t an obvious place to do so, big enough for you. With both hands you pushed branches aside best as you could and forced your way through.

“Cara?” you said. “Cut some branches, of this holly, we’ll need them.”

She looked at you. “I can’t, Blake. It’s holly.”

“Right. Evan?” you called out, getting the ghost’s attention. “I’m just gonna grab some sticks.” You drew your kukri and went to work relieving the holly bushes of some branches.”

“How did you end up out here?” you asked.

Evan looked on as you worked. “I got lost. My parent’s backyard opens up out into the park. They were fighting, so I’d gone to make a snowman. I saw something… or maybe someone. Went to take a look, and then I got turned around. I’ve tried following the paths, but they don’t really lead anywhere.”

That would be the wards he was describing.

“And then there’s the wolf. Or maybe it’s a bear. I don’t know. It was really cold tonight, I think I really have to find help.”

“Help found you,” you said. But it also told you a good chance of how Evan had died: frozen to death in winter.

“Are you really any help?” he asked. “You’ve got guns and you’re still running.”

With Caraminne carrying an armful of holly, you sheathed your kukri. “Yeah. Takes more than one bullet to kill a thing like the wolf.”

Chapter 22: 5-2

Chapter Text

Others were converging on the tree house. They had been moving eastto go around this length of holly growth, so for now you were relativelysafe.

“Let’s move,” you said.

“Why? If the wolf circles around, we can cross to the other side,head back to the tree house—”

You looked at Evan. “Because I’m hunting the wolf. It is afraid ofme.”

And it was still within your range — your swarm clones were stillendlessly insulting it. Making it hard for the beast to plan its nextmove. Or so you hoped.

“I’m really tired,” Evan said, almost whining.

“Hold on a little longer, kid. If you help me get the wolf, I’ll helpyou out of this situation, okay?” It didn’t quite feel like your ownwords as you spoke them. You should have been more careful making such anon-specific promise.

You set into a brisk walk, and Evan followed. Caraminne trailedbehind, and a plan was forming in your mind. A simple plan, or perhapsthe pieces of one. You needed to shoot the Hyena again. You needed tomake a circle from holly. You needed to use the chain and/or electricwire as restraints. You needed it to get within five meters of you.

Caraminne could probably hold her own against it if you weakened it,purely based on her strength and speed. Its bite was dangerous, but ifone simply never got bit, that was not a problem. Your familiar wasfast and strong and most importantly nimblein ways the Hyena couldn’t match. The true danger was that it was aMaster — it likely caught stronger prey by relying on its host ofminions. Minions. Victims.

They were victims. Left to their own devices, these Others and ghostslingered in suffering and anger. What happened if the Hyena ever grewtoo weak to cow them?

“Blake, what are you thinking?” Caraminne asked.

“Planning.”

As you walked, you reloaded your rifle and shotgun.

“Do you think you can fight it if I wound it?”

“I can probably keep it at bay if we are one-on-one,” she said.“Which we won’t be.”

“I think I can engineer it so it’ll be just you and it.”

“Who are you talking to?” Evan asked.

You almost stopped and looked at Caraminne who walked along, tall,dark, and dreadful.

“Give me the holly,” you said to Caraminne and exchanged for themyour electric wire and the makeshift power source of a cordlessscrewdriver battery. You also handed her a handful of zip ties. Sheunderstood what to do, and started zipping the electrical wire to thechain. There was a resistor at one end, so the wire didn’t need to makea loop to carry current.

You selected a young tree and laid the holly branches out in anunbroken circle around it, large enough for both of you to stand inside.If Caraminne couldn’t cross it, she could fly. Evan could cross it — hecould cross the bush. Different rules for different Others. “Evan, climba tree,” you ordered.

A bit over half a kilometer away you had let the Hyena breathe for amoment, but now you formed a swarm clone close by it. “Do you wantto fight me? Are you itching for a chance to prove your strength, regainwhat you’ve lost? Do you want to rip me and my familiar to shreds andleave us here to linger in agony forever? Catch that ghost which hasevaded you since winter?”

It looked at your swarm clone and growled.

You made the swarm of bugs form an arrow.

“Come fight me you coward.”

And then you set a swarm of hornets on it, took your rifle in hand,and waited. Caraminne held the loop of chain in one clawed hand.

When the Hyena came into view, in full gallop, you took aim andfired, hitting it a third time. It didn’t even flinch, but you knew thatthings that came in threes had power.

Caraminne darted forward whipping the chain a the Hyena as it changedcourse to meet her, and it hit like a snapped mooring cable. As itstruggled to its feet, you felt the Hyena call to its minions. You’dhave minutes, now, to finish the fight.

Caraminne circled around the Hyena, putting it between the two ofyou, and it chose to go for what it perceived as the softer target:you.

You shunted down your range to where you had first been able tocapture lesser goblins, fully prepared to cut down further, and to dodgeanyway in case you couldn’t get a hold of it.

But as it came barrelling into your fifteen meter kill-zone and youfailed to stop it, you went down to five, and it came to a skidding haltnot a meter from you.

It stank so bad you almost vomited.

“Gotcha,” you said. You drew your Kukri, bade the Hyena loll itstongue out between its teeth and sawed it off, tossing it to Caraminne,who caught it and hid it within her robes.

Now the two of you went to work fast. She put the chain three loopsaround the Hyena’s neck, and you took the other end and stepped insidethe holly circle, wrapping the remaining chain around the tree. Then yourelented on your control.

Immediately the Hyena lunged at you, but the holly repelled it.

“Well, well, well. The pitiful Hyena, shot thrice by the hunter BlakeThorburn, and collared by her familiar. I wonder: what happens when allyour victims come rushing and find you like this? Will they help you? Orwill they tear you apart? Maybe slice you open and spill your guts tofind all the giblets you ripped off them?”

The Hyena trotted along sideways. You leaned nonchalantly against thetree. “Oh, I’m content to stand here and watch you die.” Looking at yourglove, you buffed a scuff mark off it. “I reckon I’m pretty safe inhere, and even if I’m not, I’ll just run away, leave you to yourfate.”

It snarled and looked out into the woods.

“Here’s what, though. If you let yourself be bound, do that thing yougoblins do of turning into weapons upon defeat, and release your claimon all these broken things you have maimed over the decades or howeverlong, well… If anything then remains that wants to get back at you, Ican get you out of here. You won’t have much, but at least you’ll bealive. And in the custody of what is probably the most dangerous thingin this forest: me.”

It vacillated for a few moments, looking at you with pure hate, andout between the trees with fear. Then it gave a huff. Looked at you, andbowed its head.

As it did, its body warped and twisted, folding in on itself until itfinally took the shape of a blade: some kind of great saber or machete.You stepped outside the circle and bent to pick it up, noting the handlecovered in barbs. The pommel was a wicked grotesque of a wolf’s snarl.“You’re not exactly making it easy for me to get you out of here,huh?”

All around in the forest, you sensed the feral Others alreadystarting to disband. In the eyes of your bugs you saw ghosts dissolve,and more visceral beings lay down to rest.

Wrapping the handle in some silk for safety, you considered how toget your hands on some tarp, but Caraminne put a hand on your shoulder.“Let me take care of that.”

She took it from your hands and hid it within her coat, somehow.

“Evan?” you called out.

He appeared in a flicker, standing by the tree, inside the circle ofholly. “You caught the wolf?” he asked.

You went over to him and nodded, taking off your helmet. You wereclammy with sweat, and opened your jacket, too.

“You really did help,” he said.

“You helped, too,” you said. “And I promised to help you. So… let’shead you towards home.”

There wasn’t a clear indication of what direction Evan had come from,but you had just over a kilometer’s reach to search the world forconnections and clues, and so had a pretty good idea that you weresupposed to head north.

Evan followed silently. Part of you wanted to hold his hand, but thatwasn’t possible.

No cell service this deep in the woods meant you couldn’t callTiffany and Alexis to tell them you had succeeded, but hopefully theyknew from circ*mstance. Your wristwatch told you it was mid-afternoon.It had been a four-hour battle; fortunately you had brought water todrink.

Even the twilight was clearing up, sun peeking down through thecanopies. It was almost a nice walk if not for the fact that you werewalking a dead kid back to his corpse.

Of course you noticed the very notable presence of scavenger insects— it took time for the corpse of a ten year old child to decompose,especially if it had been frozen in winter.

But you also noticed the squad of police officers. They were not faroff from Evan’s final resting place.

“Cara?”

“Yes, Blake?”

You made a fat grasshopper jump into your hand. “This will show theway. There’s a police squad out there, which I bet is waiting to arrestme. Take Evan… where he needs to go.”

Then you took off both your rifles and handed those over, too.

The rule not to talk to cops didn’t apply when it came to deceivingthem.

It was still a nerve-wracking walk to approach them. You were not oneto be afforded the benefit of the doubt, on account of your genderidentity.

Three cruisers, six officers. Hugely overkill for arresting oneperson, although being armed as you were, they might have decided toshoot you. But examining the connections as you headed there, youundeniably felt there being some connection to Evan’s corpse.

And even, faintly, circ*mspectly, to you. It was a trap. Andwhile you weren’t walking directly into it, you certainly wereapproaching it.

You approached, coming within sight, and waved at them in greeting.They immediately took notice of you and two of them stepped forward tomeet you. It still took a good half minute to come from the treeline tothe road where they waited.

Taking stock of the two officers — Toronto PD — you noted their nametags, one of which read Behaim.

“Ma’am, can we ask what you’re doing here?”

You began the spiel you had prepared as you walked. True statementsin isolation, spinning a tale in the listener’s mind. You also spokequickly and confidently.

“My name is Blake Thorburn, I’m an amateur investigator of sorts. Iwork for the city, sometimes. I learned of there being a missing kid outhere, and that there might be something dangerous in the woods. You knowwhen people talk about ‘monsters’ or ‘bigfoot’ sometimes it’s just abear with bad mange. I’ve actually helped report some sick animals toanimal control back on a previous job, so I figured I’d try my hand atfiguring out whatever the hell was going on here. Oh hey, you’re aBehaim?”

The officer nodded. “Duncan. Is that relevant?”

“I think I know your… uncle? Laird? Chief of police back in Jacob’sBell?”

“He is. Why the motorcycle gear and the toolbox?”

“I ride a motorcycle, and—” you patted your arm “— best thing I haveagainst things like bear bites. Toolbox is for setting uptripwires.”

“Ma’am,” the other officer said, “we’re investigating this missingpersons case, of one Evan Matthieu.

“Yeah, sounds about right. He went missing in winter, right?” youasked.

The officer nodded.

“God damn, I was homeless once in winter, nearly froze to death.”

“You think he’s dead?”

“Ten year old kid disappears in winter? What else? Oh, by the way, Ispotted like, kind of a tree-house?” You turned and pointed. “I’m acarpenter by trade, so I saw it right away. Looks like a child mighthave built it?”

“Did you disturb it?”

“I climbed up to get a better look, but I didn’t touch anything. Comewith me!”

Duncan and the other officer exchanged glances. Then Duncan wavedanother officer over, and you set into the forest towards Evan’s treehouse.

“Officer Behaim, when was the last time you talked to youruncle?”

“Two weeks ago,” Duncan said.

“Oh sh*t, you better call him up, I got back from there last week,big things have happened.”

He glanced at you. “I’m sure.”

You walked the rest of the way in silence, arrive ten minutes laterat the tree house.

“There it is, officers. I climbed up and stood on thatbranch. Didn’t touch anything.”

“Where did that kid get chicken wire?” one of the officers asked.

Heading a little back you said, “Duncan, a word?”

He stepped over to you. “What?”

“Off the record?”

He looked a you.

“We both know what Behaim and Thorburn actually means,” yousaid.

“Yeah. Okay, off the record.”

One of the other officers climbed the tree to look.

“I have a peace treaty with your uncle and the Duchamps. Sandra’shusband, Jeremy Meath, is already getting in the way of my business,jeopardizing the peace. I’d hate for you to get in on thataction. You were here to arrest me while I was sending the ghost of aten year old kid home. How you knew I’d be here today, or playpsychopomp, I don’t know.”

His radio chirped. “Duncan, we spotted a suspicious individualnear the place, but he ran away.”

“Can you give me a description?” Duncan asked.

“Tall, broad-brimmed hat, coat, all back.”

“That would be my familiar,” you said. “She had to send the kid homewithout me.”

Duncan glared at you. “Cordon off the area and call in the forensicsteam,” he said into his radio.

“Wise decision,” you said, and patted Duncan on the arm. “Next time,don’t antagonize the friendly neighborhood diabolist before you know thewhole story, yeah? And I also took care of the actual monster that hadbeen roaming these woods at the behest of the City and its Lord, so youcan thank me for my service if you feel like it.”

The police officers who weren’t Duncan Behaim, asked you a few morequestions, and then they let you go, which meant you had a two kilometertrek back to the others.

But as you walked along Caraminne came back to you, transforming intoher humanoid form to give you your guns back.

And then a little crow came and landed on her shoulder.

“Who’s this?” you asked.

“Evan!” said Evan.

You stopped.

“How?”

“More between heaven and earth. The ghost of a boy becomes a bird?Stranger things have happened.” Your familiar petted Evan’s little birdform.

“Minnie said I could come along,” Evan said.

“I assumed it would be alright.” Caraminne took off her hat. “If Ihave offended—”

“No, no, it’s fine. Just—” You shook your head. “It feels like I’mmissing something. Let’s get going. Maybe… maybe you can becomesomeone’s familiar, Evan.”

“Let him come to terms with things first,” Caraminne said and pattedyou on the shoulder.

It was a mystery for later, but for now you walked back with the coolforest air against your sweaty t-shirt under your open jacket, whilelistening to Caraminne extol the virtues of peanuts.

“Ravens are like, carrion birds, right?”

“Yes. So are crows.”

“What about that tongue you got, from the Hyena? Are you gonna eatthat?”

“I am. Do you want a share of it? I think you deserve it nowthat the Hyena killed you.”

“Maybe. Sounds weird.”

Finally you emerged from between the trees to the corner of the parkyour coven and the Knights of the Basem*nt had secured. The wards werestill in place, but the tension among your allies had vanished.

That didn’t matter much, however, because you saw Alexis and Tiffanystanding by Nick’s car. Both of them came over to you, crossing the wardlines. You saw the worry in their faces. Maggie came running too, butshe had a smile on her face.

“How did it go?” Tiffany asked. “We saw the ghosts disappear a whileago.”

“I got it,” you said. “It wasn’t even close.” But even though yousmiled, Alexis didn’t, and even Tiffany seemed shaken.

Maggie whooped. “Way to go!”

“Blake,” Tiffany said. “Alexis and I talked. This has to stop.”

“It does,” you agreed. “Something isn’t right.”

Caraminne came up besides you.

“We mean it, Blake.”

“Let’s talk about it at home,” you said, looking Alexis in theeye.

“Who’s this?” Maggie asked, pointing at Evan.

“Evan Matthieu,” Caraminne said.

“I’m a kid! And I’m a bird! And I’m dead!”

The Knights of the Basem*nt went to have a party, but the three —well, more than that, counting Caraminne and Evan — of you went homeinstead. Maggie hugged all of you goodbye.

There was a tiredness in your bones which you ignored as you stowedthe bike and brought all the gear you could carry back up into yourapartment. You ignored it as you cleaned yourself up and made tea andcoffee. And you ignored it while you sat down with Alexis andTiffany.

“Okay, I’ll be the first to admit it wasn’t very nice of me to runtowards danger and leave you behind. Again.”

“Blake, it’s really starting to become a problem,” Alexissaid. “It’s… hard for me to trust you.”

“Okay, can I explain my thinking?” you asked.

Tiffany took Alexis’ hand.

You took a deep breath. “The Hyena was a ‘visceral’ other, is whatthe books call it.”

“I know,” Tiffany said. “More embodied than magical.”

“And it was a Master-Red, and a Brute-Yellow. A big strong thing witha lot of nasty minions.”

Alexis nodded.

“When Taylor was at the height of her power she was one of theforemost Master-type heroes in her world. She made her living walkinginto situations worse than this and coming out in one piece.”

“You’ve said something like that,” Alexis replied skeptically.

“What I mean is, all of this is as new to me as it is to you, butthere in that forest, hunting a big nasty beast with a lot of minions,if I took some time I could probably give you specific examples of justwhat Taylor had been up against. I even used her tactics and they workedbeautifully. Pauz — the imp — and Conquest, and even going against LairdBehaim, all of that was new things. Untested things. Danger I had toimprovise against. That was me acting in desperation and with everythingto lose. This… this was not that. I had a safe zone to retreatbeyond, and an enemy that was easy to quantify.”

You looked between the two of them. “When I first learned of all ofthis, it was almost a relief to know I wouldn’t be saddled with Taylor’spower and paranoia for nothing. But then it turned out that it wassomething else entirely. That Hyena was a return to form. I was in myelement.”

“She speaks the truth,” Caraminne said. “Even when the Hyena broughtit* full power bearing down on us, Blake remained calm and put togethersimple, reliable countermeasures, improvised a battle plan, and executedit well.”

Alexis rubbed her forehead. “Okay. So what you’re saying is, what…we’re supposed to think it’s okay because it’s something some girl inanother universe was really good at fighting?”

“No,” you said. “Because a third of me is that girl. She has been foras long as you’ve known me, and… it’s one of our biggest advantages thatI know how to fight. And while I’m out waving guns around, drawing allthe attention, you two will can act behind the scenes.”

Alexis rubbed her eyes. “I’m going to reserve the right to be f*ckingterrified, okay? Blake, I love you and I don’t want to lose you.”

“I promise,” you said.

“— careful,” Tiffany cautioned.

“I’m not walking into a fight if I don’t have a good idea of how towin. Of if it’s literally win or die.”

“Jesus Christ, Blake,” Alexis muttered. “I’m gonna pick up smokingagain if this goes on.”

“It won’t come to that,” you said and reached out to put a hand onher arm.

“Look at us, huh?” Alexis said looking up at Tiffany. “Militarywives?”

“It’s not so bad,” Tiffany said. “I won’t say you’re over-reacting,but Lexi, we’re in danger, too, it’s just less obvious.”

Alexis gestured vigorously to you. “And her? Letting Laird beat herup, running after imps and goblins? What danger have we been in?”

“Conquest,” Tiffany said.

Alexis stilled.

“f*ck.”

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I feel like this is all my fault.”

“It’s not,” Tiffany said. She looked up at Caraminne. “So, what thehell is up with Evan, here?”

Evan flapped off Caraminne’s shoulder and landed on the table.

“Are you really in love? Like for real in love?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Alexis said. “All three of us.”

“But… you’re all girls? Is that allowed?”

He was a ten year old boy, of course.

“Some people would say it isn’t, but we don’t care,” Tiffanysaid.

Caraminne turned into her raven form, too and landed on the table,walking up to Evan.

“What actually happened after I left?” you asked.

“I took Evan to a little hollow where he had died,” Caraminne said.“And we talked for a spell. About death. I told him what I wentthrough.”

“How did he become a bird, then?” Tiffany asked.

“We don’t know,” Caraminne said.

“Something isn’t right,” you said. “But we don’t have access to thelibrary, so it’ll be difficult to figure out.”

Monday came, and with it a phone call from Laird Behaim.

“Miss Thorburn,” he said, and you sensed his anger.

“What?”

“Care to tell me what happened to my nephew?”

“Duncan? What happened to him?”

“Car crash. He’s in the hospital — broken bones but nothing lifethreatening. He called me up and told me he’d met you, then later thatevening his partner drove off the road and into a tree.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry to hear. I had no part in that car crash, weparted amicably, he listened to reason. If I were to have been involved,I would have had to be in the car. You know that. Fivemeters.”

There was a long silence.

“I’m really sorry to hear, and I hope he gets well soon. But thatwasn’t me, I promise.”

“Very well.”

Monday evening, you went to work in the basem*nt, clamping the heavyblade in a vise, putting on a respirator, ear protection, and safetyglasses.

“Here’s a choice for you, Hyena,” you said and spun up your best diegrinder. “Either you let me turn you into a useful weapon, or I tellFell that the best disposal for you is to encase you in the concretefoundation of one of the new constructions over in Scarborough. You canbe useful or you can be irrelevant.”

Turning the handle into something safe took the better part of anhour, but you got all the spikes ground down until you could wrap it insilk thread and glue a sheet of leather on top. It wasn’t pretty, but itwas functional.

The balance of it was still awful. A saber-like blade but too thickand heavier towards the tip.

For this you grabbed your actual angle grinder, marked out anapproximate useable shape on the blade — it was more than long enough toaccommodate a slightly shorter fencing sword — and started cutting.First straightening the backside of it, and then cutting the rough ofthe edge profile. Caraminne stood by with the hose, turned to the finestlittle stream of water, making sure the blade remained cool and didn’tlose temper while you cut.

For the actual edge of it you went to your old grinding wheel. It hadbeen a Craigslist purchase, and been in dire need of restoration, but itdid make sharpening chisels a breeze. This took another twenty minutesto rip down the edge until the sword was mostly straight.

“May I?” Caraminne asked.

You gave her the blade and she swung it about, thrusting in a lunge.“Much better.”

“You know how to fence?”

She held the sword up. “Apparently I do.”

Then she took off her hat and put the point of the blade to her lips,craning her neck back and letting it disappear down her throat, pullingit out again. “Sword swallowing too.”

“Take care. We don’t know what kind of properties that bladehas.”

“I already ate his tongue. I’m just reminding him that I can eat therest of him if he misbehaves.”

“Did you share it with Evan?”

“No.I think its best we leave the morbid and creepy things to me.He’s a good boy.”

The upside, if there was one, of the Abstract Demon in the factory,was that those who had seen it — Nick, Maria, Jason, and a few of theothers — didn’t really have traumatic loss attached to it. Tiffany spentan afternoon calling them and getting every detail she could.

The three of you read through the relevant parts of DarkContracts and Classifying Others, and you even readBlack Lamb’s Blood in the hopes of finding anything. Therewasn’t much, but a few clues presented itself.

“Okay, so what do we know?” Tiffany asked, mostly rhetorically. Shehad spread out all your available information on the table. Genuinepolaroid photographs taken from a safe distance, and several index cardsof facts. “It’s a demon and it is abstract. An ephemeral other, sovisceral measures won’t work. In other words, not Blake’swheelhouse.”

“No objections there,” you said.”

“It’s very dark inside the factory, and the Knights report that itlurked in the darkness. Maybe it’s even the embodiment of it.And it has some kind of attack that causes people to disappear,” Tiffanycontinued. “So a Breaker-yellow, maybe, Stranger-red, and I think it’s asafe bet it’s from the First Choir of Darkness.”

“No objections,” Alexis said. Evan was sitting on her shoulder.

“What’s that mean?” Evan asked.

“It’s system for referring to how Others are dangerous,” Alexis said.“Stranger means it fools the senses in some way, Breaker means its bodyworks by different rules. Red is most dangerous, yellow is somewhatdangerous, green is only a little bit dangerous.”

“Ah. Like traffic lights.”

“Maybe we’ll write it down if we keep getting more people,” Alexisfinished. “Tiff, continue.”

“We also know that the Knights used at the very least a basic set ofprecautions against ephemeral others: chalk circles. We also know itwasn’t enough. Then there’s the current containment — what we know ofdemons is that they are rarely content to sit still and wait for a mealto wander into their jaws, so we’ll have to assume it is currentlycontained. And if so, by what, and by whom? The outside of thebuilding is overgrown with vines and covered in graffiti. There’s nobetter candidate for the binding than that, and no real system in thegraffiti — or, there is, but nothing magically relevant so far as I cantell except runes to deter attention from Innocents, but I think they’velost their potency — so that leads us to conclude a few things about itsweaknesses.”

It was kind of delightful to see Tiffany so focused. She had beenspending most of her time these past few days obsessing over the topicas she sometimes did. But this time it wasn’t something obscure andpseudoscintific. Well, maybe it was.

“So in general, weaker demons from the Choir of Darkness — and if itwas a strong one, it wouldn’t be contained so easily — are repelled bylight. So any interactions we have with it should definitely be indaytime, and if possible we should make some kind of warding based onlight as one of our layers of defense.”

“Plants,” you said. “Apropos of wards with plants, I used hollyagainst the Hyena, I’m thinking we should get our hands on fresh holly,yew, rowan, and juniper, just to be on the safe side.”

“LED strips,” Alexis said. “Bend them into a circle. I know tech isweak, but it could work. Also we can soak a rope in lighter fluid andmake a circle of fire. And maybe road flares and glow sticks.”

“Also we should hold on the chalk circle,” you said. “Long andstoried tradition. Maybe also salt.”

“Yes, absolutely, multiple layers of defense,” Tiffany agreed. “Andwe should hold practice sessions, hone it to a routine to lay down thesewards as quickly and efficiently as possible.”

“This is one hell of an elaborate scouting mission,” Alexis said.

“We just need more data. And maybe I can speak to it,” you said.“It’s a demon. It is intelligent, and it can be bound by contract. Notthat I’m going to offer it any terms — maybe we can just learn itsname.”

Evan quickly slotted into your routine. He was a lovable sort, andCaraminne very much took to him like he was her own child, teaching himwhat she knew about being a corvid. One night you heard him cry in thekitchen, and your familiar comforting him. He was just a kid — he missedhis parents.

There was no going back. Not for any of you.

And yet life had to go on. There was a future to look to.

Friday was date night. Caraminne took Evan out flying to an open-airmovie theatre nearby, giving the three of you some much-neededprivacy.

You wondered if this was what family life would be like. Stealingmoments of intimacy where you could.

You wondered if there was some kind of tantric ritual that couldreverse your diminished virility.

You wondered if it was wise to continue your bloodline — cursed as itwas. Or if it even counted if you were the sire and the child was namedPirzada-Lewandowsky.

Saturday and Sunday you spent running simulations out in anotherabandoned building with a similar-sized entryway. Work lights wouldprovide a lit path into the dark for you to advance by — casting shadowswas of course dangerous, as it might reach you through your shadows, sotwo lights at angles would make it only half-shadows.

You ran in, laying branches — just whatever bushes grew closest, notanything magically significant.

Alexis laid down the rope soaked in lighter fluid, and Tiffany drewout the chalk diagram. You would then lay down salt and Alexis theLED-light strips. In ten iterations you got the whole thing down to twominutes. A four-meter wide circle, right by the door.

Part of your free time as a coven went with fortifying the apartmentbuilding. Carlos’ car got a once-over with protective seals on paper,Alexis did Joel and Carlos both up with a warding sigil on theirbacks.

“It’s going to be rain this weekend. Thursday is the last day of highsun,” Alexis said. “Do we delay until next weekend?”

“No.Let’s get moving on Thursday,” you said.

You called Fell on Wednesday.

“Hello, Fell.”

“Thorburn,” he said.

“Just wanted to check in, how is the containment going for theimp?”

“Just fine.”

“Good. I managed to bind the Hyena last weekend, but I’m keeping ituntil the deadline — I think it’ll be of use for the next one. It’staken the shape of a sword.”

“As per our agreement, you are in you right.”

“We’ll be going to take a look at the abstract demon in the factorynext, but only a look. Owing to Jeremy Meath we won’t be able to returnto Jacob’s Bell to access our library ‘for the time being’ so binding itwill have to wait.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“Thought you’d want to know. You’re an enchanter. Maybe you’ll beable to remember us if we get eaten. Keep a connection open.”

“I’d rather not. Good luck.”

He hung up.

“Good luck? Strange of you to say,” you muttered to yourself.

Thursday you rolled up to the edge of town. The factory laysilent.

You had donned your ‘battle armor’ and stripped one another ofreflective objects. You held an armful of holly. There wasn’t a goodsource of juniper, yew, or rowan that you had been able to find on shortnotice. Similarly you hadn’t been able to find any LED strips.

Still that meant you had four layers of defense. Risky but notunreasonably so.

Up close to the factory, every ingress and egress was painted overwith graffiti, some of the windows were even overgrown in addition. Eventhe door was painted over with graffiti. Up on the roof, Caraminnereported that the roof access was similarly painted over.

There was a padlock and chain on the handles to the door. You tookcare of it with your lockpicks while Alexis and Tiffany set up the twohefty work lamps on tripods, powered by by the same lithium batteriesyou had used in the failed attempt at getting the Hyena, rigged up formaximum redundancy.

“Three… Two… One…”

You slammed open the doors, and light flooded the darkened spacebeyond.

The three of you went to work immediately. Tiffany went in with astick of chalk on a string, setting down a dumbbell to use as a fulcrumand drew a perfect circle in less than ten seconds. You started layingdown the holly branches, and Alexis positioned the rope. As you finishedyou took out the salt and laid a circle of that as well. Alexis tied theends of the soaked rope together and threw her gasoline-soaked rubbergloves out the door behind you before lighting it. Tiffany finisheddrawing a second circle and started outlining triangles betweenthem.

Last, Alexis opened a half-empty box of glowsticks, cracked open ahandful and threw it into the darkness, then you did the same, and soonthe box was empty. While the light did create some visibility, theshadows remained thick and heavy.

The inside here was also rife with graffiti, up the walls and around,as much as the light you had brought illuminated the concrete walls. Thevines had gotten in through the cracks in the walls in some places, andthere was water damage from what must be a leaky part of the roof uptop.

There was definitely a kind wrongness about it all. Anemptiness. Not quite like Pauz’s presence, but a different kind ofoppressive atmosphere, even through your circle.

Suddenly the light shifted, the shadows in the corners changed. “Eyeson the circle,” you said.

And out of your peripheral vision you saw the entity. It wasdifficult to describe. Matte-black feathers on leather, arms with toomany elbows, forking elbows. Hands with claws or maybe exposedsharpened bone. It moved with a peristaltic gait. Eerily silent and yetthe soft sound of flesh rubbing over dirty concrete was almostdeafening.

It spread outside your circle. Its spiraling bulk coiling on itself,dragged along like entrails behind a man torn in half. Itreeked of spoiled meat and solvents.

“Demon,” you said. “I am of the Thorburn line. I compel you to tellme your name! Tell me or I will claim the right to name you! I shallrepeat this thrice times thrice. Prove your weakness by refusing toanswer, and I will prove my strength by answering for you.” A standardwording from Dark Contracts. More powerful from the ninerepetitions allowed.

The demon froze. All of its undulations and eigengraustopped. The slithering cacophony was replaced with eerie silence.

Drips of black slime fell inside the circle from above. It was on theceiling above you. It was above the door.

“Eyes on the circle,” Tiffany repeated.

Then it lunged.

Light and heat repelled it, but there was no way you were the firstwho had used fire to try and keep it at bay, so as all the glow stickswere smothered in black slime, the enormous fat bulk of the monsterslammed against Alexis’ delicate ring of flames, and where its flesh gottoo close and was singed by the fire, it bled and the ichor from itswounds fell on the rope and smothered it. And where that happened, limbsreached through, clawing at the holly and even through the salt,grasping for something, only barely repelled by the chalk.

Alexis reacted quickly by grabbing the can of gasoline you hadbrought with you and with an incoherent yell sent a splash of it in awide circle, dousing the holly as well, creating an infernoaround you.

“f*ck!” she cursed. “I looked at it!”

You grabbed hold of her with both hands and threw her out of the doorjust three steps behind you. “Run! Look at the sun!”

She stumbled out into the afternoon, stumbling blind into a ray ofsunlight and looked up at the most powerful source of light and warmthin the world. You carefully looked back inside.

The broad front of flames illuminated not nearly as much as it shouldhave, but you could see chunks of core litter the space around you. Asif the flames cut through it, rather than burn.

“Demon!” you repeated. “I am a Thorburn. My kind has bound your kind.Tell me your name or I will name you! This is the second time I entreatyou, and seven more times I will ask!” You grabbed the jerry can toreplenish the flames — but it was half-empty already. A cheap plasticthing.

“You okay Alexis?!” Tiffany called.

“Yeah!” came the reply. “Close call! Sorry!”

You weren’t sure if that was true. You couldn’t quite look at her toconfirm. But she was in direct sunlight — something which youknew was anathema to the first choir.

“Stay back!” you called out to her. You threw out another splash ofgasoline, but the demon had already retreated. “Tiff, you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. She was picking up her chalk again, and begandrawing a third circle inside the two you already had. You weren’t sureit was going to work.

Caraminne and Evan came in from behind, swooping past what presencethe demon had behind you, under the cover of the work lights anddaylight behind you, and landed on your shoulders. The holly circle wasburning.

“If we can just open a window,” Evan said, “there’s sun outside!”

“No,” you said. “If you look at it—”

“Nictitating membranes,” Caraminne said. “We’re half-blind, but wecan look at it.”

You hesitated. “No.”

With your bugs you saw Alexis standing the sun. Safe. “No, it’s toorisky. We’re retreating.”

There was a grisly crunch in the darkness, and a moment later came aheavy spray of ichor, dousing the flames in a hiss, washing away thesalt and smudging the chalk, leaving a completely open path all the waydirectly to you and Tiffany — the light from the open door castingenticing shadows into the darkness.

But the demon was not the darkness that appeared in front of you.

Caraminne manifested, grabbing both of you and throwing you into thelight.

Chapter 23: 5-3

Chapter Text

You hit the ground and rolled to your feet, seeing Caraminne cut hardinto the darkness with the Hyena sword, dodging and leaping out into thelight with her claws sunk into a grotesque limb, severed from thedemon’s bulk inside. She had no face, and Evan flew by her. With a kickshe slammed the doors shut.

Then only as she came into the sunlight did her Contessa-like facere-form. The demon arm was sizzling and slowly shriveling up in thedaylight.

With some struggle, you got to your feet. Alexis was already helpingTiffany up.

“Okay,” she said. “We’re okay.”

“Yes,” Caraminne said. “I kept watch of the circles, the chalk wasn’tbreached until the end — at least not fully. All three of you have allfour limbs and all ten digits, no major injuries. Alexis, how is theeyes?”

“Good. Good call on looking at the sun, Blake. Tiff?”

“I’m okay,” Tiffany said.

You remembered your Master/Stranger protocol training and startedgoing over the events to establish consensus. “Let’s assume we lostsomething in there.”

“The box of glow sticks was only half full,” Alexis said. “Probablysnacked on them.”

The gears in your head started grinding. “The LEDs, we couldn’t findany in time…”

“… or maybe we did and it had a snack of light strips, too,” Alexisfinished the thought. “Same with the plants — who’s to say we didn’thave yew, juniper, and rowan, but…”

“Yeah,” you said. “Also, I never got to use any bugs… logically Iwould have brought some with me in there.”

Alexis laughed darkly. “Well, if that’s all we lost in there — we allhave our implements, you have your familiar…”

You had your toolbox, Tiffany her tool bag, Alexis her medical bag.Caraminne was unscathed.

Tiffany spoke up: “Why did you react so strongly to the demon gettingthrough the first circle?”

She looked at Alexis.

“Because… it almost got to us? I was scared.”

“You yelled,” you said. “Screamed, even.”

“We’re not accusing you of anything,” Tiffany said.

“Yeah, no,” Alexis replied. “It’s weird I did.”

Tiffany stared at Caraminne. Or rather Evan on her shoulder.

“Evan is a bird,” Tiffany said.

Both you and Alexis looked at her. Then at Evan.

She looked at you. “How does a ghost become a bird?”

“It doesn’t,” Alexis said.

“It becomes a familiar,” Caraminne finished.

“What?” Evan said.

You remained quiet. So did Alexis and Tiffany.

“Dearest Evan,” Caraminne said. “I… I think we lost your companionpractitioner.”

It rained on Friday. You could barely focus on the kitcheninstallation you had been hired to do.

When you came home, you went into the basem*nt and pulled the tarpoff your old motorcycle. You’d been meaning to trade it in for yearsnow. Trading it in for a new motorcycle now so you had something forAlexis to ride… why hadn’t you done so earlier for cash?

Why had you been thinking of buying another motorcycle? This one wasperfectly fine.

You left it there, under the tarp. It would be cheaper to restore itto use. Probably something you could do over the weekend.

As you came back up, you came in to eery quiet in your apartment.Tiffany was sitting with her sketchbook in a corner, looking sullen.

Caraminne was sitting with Evan under her wing on top of one of thecabinets.

Alexis stood out on the balcony, smoking a cigarette.

“I tried to stop her,” Tiffany muttered.

“So long as you don’t relapse, too.”

“I’ve been through worse and you know it.”

She had and you knew it. You went to the balcony and closed the doorbehind you to not let the smoke in.

“I know,” Alexis said. “Tiff told me the same.”

“Then why?” you asked.

“Just the one. For whoever we lost.” She flicked ash over thehandrail.

You crossed your arms.

“I’m standing here thinking, what kind of person would we have in ourcoven? One of my charity cases? A lover? A fourth? But then they choseEvan as their familiar and Evan imitated Caraminne — maybe a mentee,someone who looked up to you, Blake?”

That almost stung. “Impossible to know. I’m going to restore my oldmotorcycle, you still know how to ride, right?”

“Is it your old motorcycle or did it belong to whoever we lost?”Alexis repeated. “Impossible to know.”

“At least it wasn’t one of us,” you said.

She barked out a forced laugh. “Yeah, at least. Can you imagine howboring it would be if it was just me and you? Or you and tiff? Whatwould have happened if I’d gotten eaten? Would she still be an addict?What if you had gotten eaten? How would she and I have becomepractitioners? What if it was Tiff, would we even be together?”

You went up to her and pulled her into a hug. “Stop.”

She started crying.

Saturday morning. Second Saturday of May.

You called up Jeremy Meath to confirm he had indeed held his promiseof letting the Lord of Toronto know to let you you leave the city. Hesounded hung-over.

In theory you could have restored your old bike for Alexis to ride,but in the present weather, it felt safer to just borrow Joel’s car.

“Why did we even decided to do it on Thursday,” you asked. “Threedays out from when we’d have access to the library.”

“Maybe we voted on it?” Tiffany said.

The Hillsglade House was pretty much as you had left it. None of youwere in good condition to make any kind of power-play. You just did whatwork needed done around the house, packed some more books, and got readyfor the council meeting.

Heading to the park in the early evening on foot, Maggie found youand fell in step.

“Whoa,” she said. “You three look like you’ve seen hell.”

“Maybe we have,” Alexis replied, humorlessly.

“We investigated reports of a demon lurking somewhere in Toronto,”you explained. “We think it might have eaten someone in our coven.”

“What?” Maggie said. “How do you think it ate someone? Imean either it did or it didn’t—”

“Not right now, Maggie,” you said.

“Oh. Oh shoot,” she said. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She walked along with you in silence for a while. “So who’s thecrow?”

Evan sat on Tiffany’s shoulder.

“Ex-familiar of the one who got eaten,” you said. “We think.”

You looked at her and smiled best as you could.

“Well, suppose now’s the wrong time to ask about a kick-back for allmy help. How did it go? I’m thinking everything worked out?”

“It did, and sorry. We had some relationship drama to discuss.”

Caraminne leapt from your shoulder and took physical form. She drewthe Hyena sword to show it off. “This has already proven useful,” shesaid.

“Yeah. Goblin-based weapons often are,” Maggie agreed. “Anyway, bookclub is back on?”

“Just let us find our feet, okay?” you said. “I’ll call you nextweek.”

“Sure thing.”

The council meeting was outside. It was a warm evening, and the airsmelled of petrichor.

People and Others were arriving and mingling

Briar Girl approached you, following the white hare that her familiarwas appearing as tonight.

“You stink.”

“And a good evening to you, too,” you said. “Yes. We might havegotten some demon on us.”

There wasn’t anything you had been able to detect since you had beenin the abstract demon’s lair — no corruption like there had been withthe imp. But undoubtedly you had been in contact with it.

“I thought you had no desire to be a diabolist.”

“I don’t. The Lord of Toronto forced my hand. I’m cleaning up otherpeople’s messes, if it helps. Doing what I can to restore balance.Restore nature.”

She looked at you for a spell. “Acceptable. I’ll have what you askedfor, soon. Don’t come into our forest smelling like that.”

“We’ll stick to the house.”

The venue was a clearing between some trees, by a big abstract artpiece of granite, with visible marks of power tools. Some kind ofmonument.

Laird Behaim was looking better, but wasn’t on stage. The Others inattendance were all mostly the same, though Padraic wasn’t to be seen.Keller was present but kept his distance from you.

On stage stood a younger man, identifiably a Behaim. “Let’s assumePadraic isn’t going to show, good riddance,” he said. “Welcome,everyone. To those who haven’t heard,” he gestured specifically towardsyou, “I’m Timothy Behaim, and currently the acting head of the Behaimfamily.”

Another of Laird’s nephews, as Personae said. That made acertain kind of sense, considering what had happened to Laird. Duncanmight have been up there, if not for the mysterious car crash.

“Let’s begin. I have an announcement to make: we’re going to postponeour business for the time being. I know things were falling into place,but conditions are looking unfavorable as of now.”

Odd.

That had to pertain to whatever secret activity they had beenplanning last meeting.

“Now for practical matters. Flagrant use of one’s Practice in public,and… what was it, cruel and unusual treatment? Blake Thorburn.”

You spoke up: “When?”

“Twenty-first of April. Friday.”

Essylt and Keller.

“I used an attention-diverting rune as a precaution, and I actedagainst evidently hostile parties in an ongoing conflict,” you said,deadpan.

“To sanction our resident witch hunters execute Blake Thorburn.Please vote.”

Laird, Sandra, and the young Behaim who had also voted to have Maggieexecuted, raised their implements.

Nobody else did. “Two yeas, remainder of the votes nay; the executionis not passed.”

Alexis put a hand on your shoulder.

Maggie sauntered over to you, giving you a thumb’s up.

Whatever it was, your tired mind decided something. Tired fromunidentifiable harrowing grief, tired from having to come here whenyou’d rather be home in Toronto. If you had been in higher spirits youwould have called it inspiration.

You reached out with your power and touched Maggie’s mind.

It was a very good facsimile of her, but it wasn’t her.

With a mental twist, you took control of the thing that wasn’tMaggie.

“Cara, we got another one,” you said, loud enough for the rest of theassembly to hear. You pointed to Not-Maggie and your familiar was on herin an instant, holding the Hyena to her throat.

You let go. Less than a second, it would have looked like her beingfrozen in fear.

“What the hell?!” Not-Maggie cried out. “Blake, have you lost yourmind? Get your familiar off me!”

“What is the meaning of this?!” Timothy called out.

“Same as wen Essylt and Keller pretended to be Tiffany and Alexis,someone is currently pretending to be Maggie Holt. Can I have permissionfrom the council to take drastic action?”

Caraminne stuck her nose in Not-Maggie’s hair. “Glamour! She stinksof glamour. Another faerie.”

“Well?” you said, looking around. “This town seemingly has a problemwith its resident banished faerie playing imposters.”

Sandra Duchamp got out of her seat and came over to you, stoppingbefore the thing that wasn’t Maggie. “Show your true face,” shecommanded.

Not-Maggie’s face fell away, turning into Padraic’s.

“Padraic. I should have known. Where’s Maggie?”

“Where’s who? I’m Maggie. That name is mine, now.”

Fury simmered in your veins. You began to take a step forward butAlexis put a hand on your shoulder. “Council, we could really use thatpermission to do drastic things right now,” she said.

“Padraic,” Sandra said, turning to the crowd. “For imposing yourselfunder a false guise at a city council meeting. Sanction stripping oftruce protections. Vote.”

You counted nine implements in the air, not including the three fromyou, Tiffany, and Alexis.

“Motion passed. Proceed, Thorburn.”

Then you walked over to Padraic, held by the hair with the Hyena athis throat. “Okay, Patrick, the girl formerly known as Maggie, orwhatever, is my friend, and I feel an obligation to protect her. So nowI’m going to have my familiar use her shiny new sword to slowly dice youinto ribbons, until you give Maggie her name back and bring her safe andhale to her fathers in by tomorrow night.”

“I’m sure that’ll work.”

“Do you need your tongue in order to give Maggie her name back andbring her safe and hale to her fathers by tomorrow night?” youasked.

“It would make it more difficult.”

“But not impossible. Let’s just do the tip.” With a moment’s controlyou said: “Stick it out.”

He obeyed and Caraminne was quick to grab it between her claws andcut a few millimeters off with her claws.

You didn’t care that you were showing off your most powerful asset infront of everyone. This was personal.

“Ow,” Padraic muttered, as you let him speak again.

Caraminne ate his tongue-tip, not taking the blade away from histhroat.

“Gross,” Evan muttered from Tiffany’s shoulder.

Padraic tried to run — or rather you felt the impulse in his brain todo so, and immediately made him fall to the ground.

“Don’t run, little elf,” you said, stepping on his back. “We’ve onlyjust begun.”

Caraminne put the point of the Hyena rapier through Padraic’s littlefinger.

He screamed and thrashed.

“My finger!”

You relented on your control letting him roll onto his back,clutching his hand. “What did you do?!”

“It’s just an amputation. Stop being such a weakling,” youjeered.

“It’s not,” Sandra said. “What’s that sword made of?”

“Goblin,” Alexis said. “Big mean one, used to eat parts of people andothers to trap them, unable to move on.”

Sandra nodded and looked at Caraminne. “It severs connections.Prevents healing. Take very good care with that sword, Faceless,whatever it cuts can never be made hale. Even, evidently, theFaerie.”

“Really?” Caraminne said. “Cool.”

Then with a lightning fast swipe she took off Padraic’s ear-tip.

Padraic yelped.

“Well, proper stakes, then,” you said. “Padraic, how many body partsare you prepared to lose before you go get Maggie back?”

Caraminne punctuated your question by driving the point of the Hyenainto Padraic’s left knee.

He screamed.

Tiffany and Alexis bound Padraic, a few digits lighter, to a foldingchair with spider silk line. Sandra put a binding on him consisting of asimple circle of sand around the chair.

Caraminne stood by with the Hyena at the ready.

“Quite the display, Thorburn,” Timothy said. “Well done. Padraic hasbeen causing quite an amount of trouble for us, and this is a goodopportunity to be rid of him.”

Your eyes scanned the crowd. “Cara, with me?” She leapt onto yourshoulder, and you went through the crowd, approaching Timothy to shakehis hand. Your swarm sense was on high alert and almost without thinkingyou had tagged everyone present. That was how you noticed one individualpulling away from you.

With explosive speed, you leapt past two startled Duchamps and abestial other, sprinting for your quarry —- only then did you realize itwas Johanna Duchamp you were running for.

Your range shunted down and you caught another mind in it, one thatwasn’t Johanna Duchamp’s, much less human. Another Faerie if you were toguess, and Caraminne landed in the grass next to the girl and smelledher hair too. “Glamour!”

“Of course it’s glamour?! What the hell?” Not-Johanna complained.

Johanna’s familiar Latita appeared by her side, holding a bladetowards you and one towards Caraminne.

You snapped your fingers and with a pinch of your power caused Latitato fall over limp.

Sandra came running. “What’s this?”

“Another one,” you said.

This time you heard the venom in Sandras voice as she repeated:“show your true face.”

The being that wasn’t a twelve-year-old girl grew to adult size inless than a second.

“Essylt,” Sandra hissed. Then she turned to her family.“Seize Keller,” she commanded, and various members of the Duchamps, twoBehaims, and even Briar Girl moved on the two remaining fae. Someonecame and put an iron collar on Latita, pulling her away. As soon as shewas out of your range, she started thrashing, but to no avail.

Caraminne forced Ev down to kneel with the Hyena at her throat, andSandra laid the same kind of sand-circle around her.

“Is that all of them?” you asked.

“Padraic, Essylt, Keller, yes,” Sandra said.

You felt her ire. “Well, this is a right mess. I’m out of my depth,and me and my coven are grieving a loss, so… you have my sympathies inthis grim revelation. Can you ensure Maggie Holt gets returned to herdads and all that?”

Sandra looked at you. “After you discovered my niece has been animposter for however long? Certainly, Blake.”

She offered her hand, and you shook it.

You stayed overnight at Hillsglade and went home early Sundaymorning. That Maggie Holt had been an imposter felt like just anotherevent. Something sensible, something real, something unlike what youwere wrestling with.

Joel came by with a plate of cookies and asked if you’d help withrenovating the empty apartment on the first floor so you could find anew co-owner for the space.

It was empty with some sparse furniture. It had, demonstrably, stoodempty for over a year. The previous tenant had moved out, not being ableto afford the maintenance fee alone. Lower than rent as though itwas.

But what you thought was: somebody had lived her for a year, alone.Maybe.

“Blake, baby, what’s wrong?” he asked. You’d stood looking at thebedroom for over a minute.

“You ever get the feeling something is supposed to be where nothingever was?”

“Not sure I follow.”

You couldn’t tell him. Not about this kind of thing. It was alreadydriving the three of you mad, Joel would have no way to handle it. “Ican’t this weekend. Maybe next?”

“Sure thing, superspy.”

Alexis put another date on her arm. A calendar of momentous occasionsin her life, good or bad, immortalized on her skin.

Tiffany combed over Famulus, trying to come up with ananswer to Evan’s condition.

Evan’s feathers had already started to fray. His black plumagestarting to look like he had contracted parasites. Caraminne croonedover him, preened him, but it didn’t help.

What helped was giving him blood. A prick in the arm and a few dropsfrom you helped him tremendously. Restored him to a shiny plumage.

“Is… is this just going to be it for me, now?” he asked you. “Half afamiliar?”

“We’ll figure something out,” you said. “I promise.”

“But… why even keep me around?”

“Because whoever you would have been the familiar of, they would havebeen a friend of all of us. Cara loves you like a son already.”

He looked about himself. “Can a familiar have a familiar?”

“I don’t know.”

You woke up in the night with Tiffany by your side, but Alexismissing, and heard voices from the living room.

“It’s okay if you don’t—”

“I remember a forest,” Caraminne said. “The trunks ofall the trees are corpses twisted in agony. The roots are watered inblood…”

You shut out the conversation and willed yourself to go back tosleep.

The old canvas book-bag you had packed from the library back inHillsglade, in addition to two more books about demon-binding, had acopy of Echoes and What Else Lingers. You began reading thelatter, a three-hundred page thing about ghosts.

What Caraminne had severed from the demon in the factory building nowlay buried in salt in a bucket in a locked-off part of the basem*nt,labeled with a biohazard warning stencil, and stood inside a chalkdiagram on the floor.

None of you felt like analyzing it for now.

You received an email rom Briar Girl with several dozen digitalphotographs and meticulous records, documenting rare birds and plants.You composed those into your draft report, had Tiffany do a finalproofread, and sent it off to the Ontario government. Now it was out ofyour hands.

Routine reasserted itself, almost against your will. The Knights ofthe Basem*nt got in touch the following week, Nick sent his condolencesfor what it might be worth.

And worth something it was. There was an absence clawing at yourmind. You began in earnest, reading up on how to bind abstract entities.Tiffany turned a small bulletin board into one of thosecrazy-person-collages. She blamed herself for having been incorrect inher analysis.

Alexis didn’t take up smoking again, but she spent as much timethinking about what you had lost as anyone. She slid slowly into ashallow depression.

You were left caring for the two of them. Holding your little familytogether with both hands.

Joel and Carlos tried their best to cheer you up, but it becameobvious soon enough that leading an active life as a Practitionerresulted in social isolation.

How did one explain grief for someone who didn’t exist?

June rolled around.

Half your alloted time on Conquest’s deadline had passed.

It was a balmy summer full of sprawling insect life, and things werefinally beginning to feel almost like life was livable.

Maggie Holt had been returned safely to her fathers, and you hadresumed your weekly book club sessions on Saturdays. Mostly just bakingcake and reading books together.

Upstairs in the master bedroom, you had birds reading the books, withEvan and Caraminne overseeing things. Alexis was in the library,organizing things.

“Maggie?” Tiffany asked.

Maggie didn’t look up from her book.

“Sweetheart?” Tiffany tried again.

She looked up. “Oh, sorry. What?”

“It’s just nearing five o’clock,” Tiffany said.

“You okay?” you asked.

Maggie looked at you. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

“I just… Padraic took your name. Now you have it back but you don’treact to it.”

She closed her book. “Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe it’ll pass. I’m justout of practice.”

“Responding when your name is called?” you pressed. “That’s notusually something one comes out of practice with. I know a woman whotook years to get out of practice with responding to a name.”

“Do you have any other problems?” Tiffany asked.

“It’s… hard to sign things? I’ve half-forgotten how to do mysignature. It just… it doesn’t feel like I’m ‘Maggie’ anymore.”

“Then be some other name,” you said immediately. “Find something thatfeels good. Use it. Get your dads to help you with the legal namechange.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s not like trans people have a monopoly,” you said with asmile. “I just happen blessed with an androgynous name — so I dodged theprocessing fees.”

Maggie sat there, staring into nothingness for a while.

“We can help you brainstorm?” Tiffany asked.

“No, I— I think I’m good. I’ll go do some thinking.” She stood,emptied her teacup, nabbed a brownie, and left with a book loan.

Something was waiting for you in the driveway back at your apartment.A particularly deep shadow hiding a roughly humanoid figure, and it putyou immediately on edge. You stopped a good twenty meters away. Alexisdid the same.

“What the hell is that?” she said, just as you were about to.

Tiffany stepped off your motorcycle, drawing a ream of destructivepaper charms. “That could be something related to the demon.”

“I was thinking the same,” you said. Swinging your toolbox around youdug through it for a road flare.

Caraminne landed beside you, sword in hand.

“You there, being of darkness,” you said. “Identify yourself or facethe consequences.”

The figure in the shadow stirred, heading into the light from thestreetlamps. The darkness followed it, writhing around it like pitchblack smoke. You saw strange forms within it of dark skin and barebone.

At a glance you didn’t see overt aggression from it, but looks couldbe deceiving.

What you did see was a specter of the past that wasn’t your past:Grue.

“Hey,” it said.

“Who are you?” Alexis demanded.

“Ty.”

Chapter 24: 5-4

Chapter Text

Evan took off from Tiffany’s shoulder and landed, closest to thebeing out of all of you.

“What are you?” you asked. “Demon, Ghost, Other?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think you’d believe me if I said I was afriend. I don’t know that you should.”

“No, I don’t think we will,” Tiffany said. “Evan, get back.”

“Sorry,” Evan said, hopping back.

Ty stood there, billowing black smoke. “I really believed in you, youknow, Blake?”

You bristled a little.

“It’d just be a quick scouting mission. We had all the precautions.Stay in the circle. Learn its name. You did the same thing you alwaysdo. Run ahead, get in trouble, come out swinging. I don’t think youreally care who gets hurt so long as you win.”

“That’s… unfair and untrue,” you protested.

“Don’t rise to the bait,” Tiffany cautioned.

Ty rolled up their sleeves, brushing away black smoke, flesh of theirhand billowing away into exposed bone. There were vibrant watercolorroses tattooed there, with prominent thorns; a whole field of briarswith ominously dark shadows in between.

“That’s… my work,” Alexis said.

“It is,” they said. Nonchalantly they took out a pack of cigaretteswith a spatter of blood on the packaging, and a lighter that still had aprice tag on it. “Sorry. I know you helped me quit, but I don’t havelungs anymore, I think.” They lit the cigarette and ran both hands overtheir bald head.

Crouching down, they took a drag of smoke, and exhaled more darkness.“Hey Evan. Long time no see. You look rough.”

Despite Caraminne’s efforts to groom him, and despite you feeding himblood — feeding him your off own substantial reserve of power — helooked worse for wear.

“I’m doing okay,” Evan said. “You don’t look too good yourself.”

“I don’t feel that good,” Ty replied. “She took a few bits and piecesout of me when I had to fight my way past her. Darkness versus darkness.She’s stupid but she dragged me down to her level and beat me byexperience… at least until I started thinking. I’m glad to see you’remostly alright, buddy.”

“You knew me?” Evan asked.

“Of course I knew you. We were familiar and companion. I thought youwere so cool having”

“Okay,” you said. “Tiff, Lexi, we’ve had our suspicions someone goteaten.”

“I got eaten alright,” Ty said. “And not in a sexy way…” They didn’tlaugh at their own joke.

Alexis snorted.

You looked at them, standing in that streetlight, billowing darknesslike they were on fire.

Just some kid. Hardly even twenty. Someone you’d have taken in yourcharge. Someone you had failed to protect.

“Can you lie?” you asked.

“I don’t think so,” they said. “I’m not a practitioner anymore,obviously… but I think that just means those rules got grandfathered…into me.”

They pointed to the door. “If I promise to behave, can you let me in?I wanted to go take a look, but all that ward-work Tiff and I did iskind of biting the hand that painted it.”

“Let’s just talk about this for a second,” Tiffany said. “If you willexcuse us, Ty?”

“Sure.”

You put your bike on the kickstand and pulled the key. Alexis did thesame with hers. The three of you went somewhat away. Caraminne stayedbehind, sword still at the ready, Evan on her shoulder.

“You look really cool,” you heard Evan say.

“Thanks, buddy.”

Putting yourself between Ty, and Tiffany and Alexis, you cleared yourthroat. “Let’s talk.”

Tiffany took out a paper charm and ripped it. Things fell silentaround you.

“Okay, so I know we all wanna pounce on the chance to get someclosure,” you said.

“Understatement,” Alexis said.

“But trusting them also carries some risk. They could be an enemy indisguise.”

“A very convincing disguise,” Alexis replied. “We have your power, wehave resources, we have Caraminne. They’re pretty visceral.”

“They’ve got the whole darkness thing,” Tiffany said. “Like thedemon. I think we should be really pretty careful. Worst case, this isanother darkness choir demon.”

You nodded. Then you turned and went back to the cone of light in thestreet lamp.

“We need a guarantee you’re not a demon.”

“Fair.”

“So?”

They shrugged. “Poke me, prod me. I don’t know.”

You regarded him for a spell, with your Sight. There wasn’t any kindof distortion, that was the first clue.

“I am Thorburn, my line binds demons. Ty, if that is your name,should you be a demon, agree to be bound by my will.”

“My name is Ty. If I’m a demon, I’ll be bound.”

You waited a moment. “Well?”

He shrugged.

“Clap your hands.”

“No.”

That wasn’t definitive proof.

“Wait, we need the Seal of Solomon,” Tiffany said, coming up toyou.

“No we don’t,” Caraminne said. “We need to get inside and go throughClassifying Others page by page. Let’s not get the Lordinvolved.”

It took until midnight, with Ty sitting inside a chalk diagram drawnon the floor of the empty apartment, with Caraminne standing by, swordin hand.

“All right,” Tiffany concluded. “According to the sum total knowledgethat Rose Thorburn felt like putting in this book, you’re probably not ademon.”

“Thank you,” Ty said.

“So you’re like me,” Caraminne said, sheathing her sword. “Where didyou end up? How did you get back?”

“Some… sewers. They’re called the Drains. Same way I went — throughthe demon.”

He got up and gestured to the chalk. “If you would?”

“Hold on,” you said. “That doesn’t mean you’re not dangerous.”

“I’m pretty sure it does,” Ty said. “I’m pretty sure it means I’m aboogeyman and you can at least verify I came from the factory.”

“They did,” Alexis said. “I can see it. And we can just have them sitdown and tell us their story. If it feels like it fits, I say that’sreason enough to trust. We need more power if we’re to take on the demonand win. We need allies.”

“I’ll tell you what I remember,” Ty said. “But I… I need something inreturn. For being an ally, I mean.”

“Depends on what, but say what it is,” you said.

“I… met someone. Down there. She helped me. I want to help her back.Help her get back.”

“Tricky,” Caraminne said.

“She’s a non-threat, I think.”

“Another boogeyman,” you said.

“Mermaid. I think the worst she’d ever be able to do is drown someincautious sailors if we toss her in Huron.”

You thought for a moment. “I don’t know how, and we’re starting tofeel some time crunch. Provided we find you trustworthy… I can’tprovided a definite date, but we’ll find a way to do it.”

Ty remained silent for a long spell. “I’ll take that. Your place ormine?”

“Are you going to behave?”

“Cross where my heart used to be, hope to die if I can.”

They lounged in one of the dining table chairs. Cup of coffee inhand, cigarette mercifully extinguished. You still had to open a windowto not pollute the whole apartment with the black smog.

“I remember being one of your ‘charity cases,’ Alexis. I had sh*ttyparents but not like Tiffany. I met you online, on #ArtRockers416 — youliked my stuff, we got to talking. That was in late ’15. I mentionedoffhand the stuff with my parents, and you said you had a place if Iwanted to move out. I turned 18 and I did just that.”

“Sounds like me,” Alexis said.

“You got me that place, just downstairs. Art didn’t really pay wellenough so Blake, you and Carlos got me into trade school. Electrician. Iwas going to finish my apprenticeship next year. You lent me your oldsh*tty bike to ride and taught me how to fix it.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “That’s something I’d do.”

Ty rubbed their eyes. “Tiffany, we used to do art projects togethersometimes, it was pretty great. You taught me gesture and acrylics. Ihelped you out with Number 41. The big one.”

“I—” Tiffany said. “That was a really big piece, yeah. I worked onthat non-stop for days.”

“Not the way I recall it.”

They took a deep breath.

“And you all supported me when I came out. We were kind of… family,you know? I idolized you, Blake. You all treated me like I was yourlittle brother. It was…” they cleared their throat. “It’s all gone now,I suppose. I— maybe it was a mistake coming here.”

Alexis reached across the table and took Ty’s skeletal hand.

“I don’t think so. I don’t know you, but you’re very much the kind ofkid I’d go out of my way to protect. Even if we part tonight, at leastyou got a cup of coffee and a friendly chat.”

Ty nodded.

“Then Blake got the house. I insisted on coming along, and we did theawakening ritual, hashed out the implement ritual—”

“You had an implement?”

“Book bag. Knowledge is the greatest tool of all.” They gestured tothe bookshelf where the canvas book bag stood, full of books you hadbrought back from Hillsglade. “I don’t wanna sound like I’m stealingcredit, but I like to think I helped out.”

“With?”

“Getting the old xerox working, for instance. I’m assuming you did itinstead of me?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t easy, but I figured it out.”

“I also helped rig up the electric traps for the Hyena, and thelights and LED strips for the abstract demon.”

“So we did get LED strips,” Alexis muttered.

Ty told their story in minute detail for hours on end, until fatiguestarted to become a factor.

It all made some kind of sense, like there was a version of eventscompatible with observable fact — none of it verifiable, of course.

But he was sympathetic, eager to talk, and emotionally vulnerable ina very real way. Evan took a liking to him immediately.

The thing that assuaged your doubts the most was the ugliest tool inyour toolbox — you used your power for a whole ten minutes, observingtheir inside mechanisms while he talked. If he was deceptive, it was adeceit even you couldn’t spot.

“Sorry, it’s getting really late,” Ty eventually said, looking up atthe clock. “You need your rest.” He got up.

Alexis yawned. “Yeah.”

“I’d like to talk to you, Ty,” Caraminne said. “We can head to theroof. I promise to ensure your safety best as I am able.”

“Thanks, Minnie.”

“Don’t get overly familiar.”

“Sorry, force of habit.”

The three Others went out, leaving the three of you alone.

“What do we think?” Alexis asked.

“Seems genuine enough,” you said. “Poor guy.”

“Do we take them as an ally?” Tiffany said.

“I vote yes,” you said.

“Hell, I’ll let them be my familiar if they want,” Alexis said.

“Really?” Tiffany asked.

“They’re one of my charity cases. I f*cked up. I owe it to them.”

You looked out the window. Then you picked up your phone.

Hey Nick. Sorry for the late hour.

Someone we lost to the demon managed to get back to us. They're a boogeyman now, though, and we have to get to know them all over again.

There may be some hope for closure.

Morning came the same as always. It should have been a slow lazy dayto stay in bed with the two women you loved, bake bread rolls, and dosome leisure reading.

Instead you all had to get up, make an expedient breakfast, and dealwith the present supernatural predicament.

Caraminne came in with Ty. They were less billowing-black-smoke now,looking more human, but every time they moved quickly, flesh billowedaway from bone like smoke. Their clothes were a soiled turtlenecksweater and jeans. They were missing a shoe. All of that had been hiddenby the black smoke yesterday.

“We’ve come to a decision,” Alexis said. “We’ll help get that friendof yours out of hell. In return, I’d like to offer you the opportunityto become my familiar.”

Ty looked at her for a long spell. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

“That’s… awfully nice of you.”

“I consider myself a kind person. If I already picked you up off theground once, I’d be a hypocrite to not do it a second time.”

“I’m not that powerful, really. Not like Caraminne.”

“I don’t care. We’ll figure it out.”

She held out her hand.

Ty took it with skeletal fingers. A tear of black smoke fell fromtheir eye.

“I’m sorry we failed you. Sorry we let that thing get you. I don’tknow that we can ever make it up to you, but I’ll be damned if I don’ttry.”

“I’d love to be your familiar, Alexis.”

“I spent half the night memorizing the ritual. We can do it rightnow.”

The circles under her eyes were twice as dark as usual.

“I got it memorized too,” Ty said and had to clear their throat.“Though the wrong part, I don’t know the Other’s oath—”

Tiffany handed him a copy of Famulus, already open to thepage.

“I, Ty, agree to be bound by the strictures and sacred bond ofcompanionship to mortals. Therein the duties of servitude andcounsel…”

You stood back with Caraminne on one shoulder, and Evan on theother.

“If Ty was my companion, what’s going to happen to me, now?”Evan asked quietly.

“We’ll figure it out, don’t worry,” you said and scratchedhim under the chin.

You turned your attention back to Alexis, swearing on her life with asmile on her face.

“Then I, Alexis Lewandowsky, by the old rules, invite you into theworld of man and mortal. Let this be the port and gate by which youenter, the destination and arrival, passing through the border, and bythis oath to be kept from falling back from whence you came.”

With a chalk on a stick, given by Tiffany, she drew a circle aroundTy.

“As willing guest, I, Ty, accept your hospitality. By our compact, Iagree to share my power and share in yours alike.”

“By that same compact, I agree to shelter you, whatever form ofshelter you might require, the home and hearth I call mine are yours toshare, brick and mortar, demesne and spiritual.”

“I accept the offered shelter, and I agree to guard that territory asbe it my own.”

“I give you sustenance, whatever form of nourishment you might need,”Alexis continued.

“I accept and agree to lend you my strength in return.”

“I give you reprieve from the forces that hold you, as the old lawspermit.”

“I guard you, by compact, against those selfsame forces.”

“I give you asylum from what may follow you, as the old lawspermit.”

“I, by compact, follow you.”

“I give you this with no expectations of secret knowledge andrevelation.”

“I accept your kindness and return of the same, for I have no secretknowledge to give.”

“Then, I give my friendship to you, Ty.”

“I’ll gladly be your friend, Alexis. Thank you.”

She stepped forward and pulled the tall enby into a hug, and in herarms he dissolved into smoke, reforming and writing until from thedarkness emerged a wholly black cat, large and strong, climbing ontoAlexis shoulder.

“Oh, what a classic look,” Tiffany said. “Nice choice.”

“Claws beat exposed finger-bones for climbing,” Ty said and leaptdown, landing silently.

“Can you assume human form?” Caraminne asked.

The cat stood upright and stretched out, growing to human-size. Theirsoiled sweater had turned into a pristine riding jacket, sleeves rolledup to show the briars on their arms, zipped down to show bare-laid ribsand sternum between the lapels. For trousers they wore black denim. Theystood barefoot, with a long black tail hanging from their backside.

“Interesting,” Ty said. Looking at their hand, it transformed into apanther’s paw, extending wicked claws.

Caraminne assumed her human form, too, clapping her hands.

“I don’t believe it, a catboy!” Tiffany said. “Or catgirl, as youprefer.”

Ty smiled, showing prominent canines. “Either works, Tiff.”Then they shifted back into cat form. “Though I think I’ll get used tothis before we go on adventures.”

Alexis picked them up.

“Hey!”

“You look exactly like my first cat, you know that?”

“That may be so, but that doesn’t give you carte blanche tobother me!”

“Then you shouldn’t have chosen such a botherable form.” She touchedher nose to their snout.

Ty wasted no time settling into their role as housecat, exploring theentire apartment and showing affection in distinctly feline ways, andthem and Evan spent much of the Sunday afternoon bonding over quietconversation and sharing a can of tuna.

“Okay, we have four weeks left,” you said. “If we can’t bind thedemon by then, I think we’ll need to start gearing up for war.”

“Should we prioritize getting hold of Ty’s friend?” Tiffany asked.“She might be another ally—” she turned in her chair. “Ty? Do you thinkyour friend down in the Drains would be our ally if we saved her?”

Ty raised their head. “Probably. I mean, we didn’t talk much. Shecan’t talk. But if we get her up here, I’ll talk to her. See what shewants — maybe she’ll want to be your familiar, Tiff.”

Tiffany smiled. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Envious?” Alexis asked.

“A little.”

“Then lets get that girl back,” you said. “We need the power-up.”

“What about me?” Evan asked, coming in to land on the table. “I canbe your familiar!”

Tiffany smiled. “Not to be mean, Evan, but if I can get us anotherpowerful boogeyman familiar, I think we’ll need that more. But we’lldefinitely figure something out for you. There’s some rituals”

“Aw, beans.”

“Now that we have Ty back, we can find out what to do about yourconnection. We’ll get right on it. Maybe find a way to bind you to allof us as a group. There has to be rituals for choosing a patronspirit.”

“But you said I’m not that powerful,” Evan said.

“Doesn’t matter,” you said. “You’re crafty and evasive. I’d trust youto lead me out of danger.”

In the week that followed you all went to work — literally, as therewere bills to pay, but also figuratively, as the impending deadline forbinding the abstract demon neared.

For that it was extremely fortunate that Ty had some vital insight inwhy you had failed. It was comical that they delivered this lecture intheir cat form.

“It’s simple, really. It comes down to partial understanding. We haddefenses against darkness — fire, light — against unnatural things —holly, rowan, yew, juniper — against impurity — salt, vinegar — andagainst abstraction — chalk. But that doesn’t get at what it the choirof darkness actually is, despite the name. Anathema to allthings that exist.”

“You read up on demons?” you asked.

“Yes, I volunteered for that grim task. What we need to defeat theabstract demon is creation. That’s why the graffiti and livingivy is confining it to the building.”

“Whoever confined it is long-forgotten, though,” Tiffany said.

“Yeah. We need some way of getting sunlight in there — fire isn’tstrong enough — and then we need to start making art.”

“There was already art in there, though,” Tiffany said.

“Not nearly enough. We need creative energy.”

“Cobwebs?” you suggested.

Ty pointed at you with their tail. “Fantastic idea.”

“Potted plants and growth lamps,” Alexis said.

“In keeping with the style, I guess I’ll pick up spray painting, ifwe can get some temporary wards.”

“I know fire and light aren’t enough, but road flares?” you asked. “Ithink it ate our glow sticks, but a road flare is burningmagnesium.”

“Could work.”

“It’s going to be expensive,” Alexis said.

“And we’ll have to do some experimentation,” you said. “With properprotocols in place we might be able to detect thememory-erasing ability.”

“Or…” Ty said.

“Or?” Alexis replied.

“What if we’re going about this all wrong?”

“What do you mean?” Tiffany asked.

Ty looked at you. “What’s the definition of ‘bound’?”

“Under control.”

“Something that is confined and unable to escape is under control,isn’t it?”

You nodded slowly. “You’re saying we can shore up the protections ofthe factory building itself, bind the demon tighter inside. Not sureFell and the Lord are going to accept that, but it’s a start.”

Ty nodded. “However… when I was making my escape, the demon wastrying to escape downwards into the Drains.”

“It can do that?” Alexis asked.

“Yes,” you confirmed. That much was obvious in the literature. Theless visceral the Other, the easier it could travel to other parts ofexistence. “Unless it is bound to its word, it’ll make every attempt atescaping.”

“Then how come it’s still in the factory?” Alexis asked.

“There was a… forgotten god, I think, whose light repelled it due tomy prayers. Weakened it enough that I could slip through back to thisworld.”

“If we can find the name of that god, or perhaps we can render ashrine to it, we could prevent it from slipping away,” Tiffany said.

“I mean, I’ve seen it, I could probably sketch it,” Ty said.

“We ask Johannes,” Caraminne said.

You all looked at her.

“Faysal Anwar is a Gatekeeper. A kind of angel that works withpathways. If anyone can get us access to the Drains to save Ty’s friendand learn the name of the forgotten god, it’s him.”

“Well,” you said. “Guess we better take a few days off beforeSaturday, get our things in order and show up strong and ready for theCouncil.”

Money was starting to get tight, so having to pass up on a setconstruction job on Thursday was painful. You packed up in themorning,spare clothes, tools, books.

Somewhere in the three weeks you had spent harrowed by your encounterwith the demon, you had gotten a reply back from the Ontario government,but since that hand’t required immediate response you had put it offuntil now.

You sent off a text to Sandra Duchamp to notify her.

Hello Sandra. My coven and I will be staying at Hillsglade possibly through Sunday as we have some business to attend to. Once again, thank you for the help with Maggie.

Hello Blake. Duly noted. And you're welcome.

Riding to Jacob’s Bell was as usual uneventful, though the weatherwas very warm.

Arriving, however, someone was waiting for you by the house, sittingon the porch with her back against the wall, knees tucked under herchin. Barely recognizable, a teen girl with a checkered scarf. It tookyou a solid second to recognize her.

“Hey, what’s up?”

She looked up at you. “Hey Blake, hey Tiffany, hey Alexis…”

“You look like you’ve seen better days. How did you know we’d behere?” You offered her a hand to get up.

“I… keep an eye on the connections,” she said.

Tiffany unlocked the door and you went inside, coming inside to theusual slightly musty smell of a house unlived-in and unventilated. Youunloaded your bags.

“What’s up?” Alexis asked.

“I… lost my name.”

That prompted you to realize that indeed, even though you knew thisgirl pretty well, putting a name to her face was difficult. Like thekind of friendly acquaintances you tended to form with othertradespeople, knowing details of their lives but never actually being ona fist-name basis with.

“Maggie Holt,” you said. Even as you spoke the words, they feltwrong, and you saw no connection appear.

“On no,” Tiffany said.

“Yeah,” the girl said. “Whatever the Duchamps did, didn’t stick.”

You took a good hard look at her, and saw only a web of weakerconnections, mostly leading out to what goblins she had bound toher.

“Let’s make some tea,” Tiffany suggested. “And move to the livingroom. This doesn’t seem like a conversation we should be having in theentry hall.”

The girl nodded quietly.

Alexis led her into the living room, while Caraminne went to thekitchen. Tiffany ran upstairs to the library. You scanned the groundswith your swarm, checking each connection leading out from the girl tomake sure she wasn’t followed.

You overheard Alexis ask the girl about her dads, while Ty lingeredby your side.

“What’s up?” you asked them quietly.

“Well… sh*t, how to put it. That girl in there, Maggie Holt?”

“Yeah?”

In the next room, the girl was explaining to Alexis how her dadsbarely talked to her and she had been skipping school all week.

“See this?” Ty gestured with their tail along a connection. A strongone.

“Oh?”

“I think she might still remember me.”

“Interesting.”

“Also we kind of… had a thing for each other.”

“You left that part out.”

“Yeah. Can you blame me?”

You went into the living room, Ty followed.

“Who’s this?” the girl asked gesturing to Ty.

“Hey again, Maggie.”

The girl stared. “Ty?”

“Yeah.”

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Hell.”

With that, they shifted into their humanoid form. The girl looked upat them. “It really is— huh? Wait—” she looked around. “What?”

“Ty got eaten by an abstract demon, which severed their connectionsto… everything,” you explained. “We all collectively forgot about theirexistence, even seems like in some ways they retroactively ceasedexisting. For some reason you’re one of the only ones who remember.”

“And I remember you,” Ty said. “Or, I mean, I remember your name,anyway.”

The girl chuckled. “What the f*ck. What even are you?”

“Boogeyman, if there’s a word for it. Same as Caraminne. I’m Alexisfamiliar since Sunday last week.”

The girl stood, looking from Alexis to Ty. “That’s horrible. What’sgoing to happen to Evan?”

“We’re looking into it,” you said. Evan flew up and landed on yourshoulder. So far you had been feeding him your blood daily.

“Could be worse,” Ty said, “but yeah. So, uh, something a littleawkward, um…”

“We… kissed. After you and Blake had caught the Hyena.”

“Yeah.”

The girl snorted and started laughing. Ty chuckled along nervously,and the girl laughed herself almost to tears.

“Wanna let us in on what’s so funny?” Alexis asked as the girl wipedher eyes.

“Sorry, just… Padraic abducts me and then, what a few days later, youget eaten by a demon?”

Ty put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I… don’t find it thatfunny.”

“Me neither, Ty. It’s just cruel irony. I… Look, you’re a very sweetperson, but I don’t think the… circ*mstances right now, I don’tthink—”

“Yeah,” Ty agreed. “Maybe not ever.”

She pulled them into a hug, and Ty put their arms around her.

Tiffany came over to you, leaning her head on your other shoulder, asif to say isn’t that cute? Yes. It was.

Alexis cleared her throat. The girl looked at her. “So what do youwant us to call you?”

She looked at Ty.

“You called me ‘Mags,’ once.”

“Yeah.”

“Mags it is, then. Mags Holt.”

“And,” Tiffany continued. “If you don’t have a place to stay —” shelooked at you. You nodded back, “— then you can stay here at Hillsgladefor the time being.”

Mags looked at her, then at you.

“Not as a free-loader, mind,” you said. “I’ll expect you to do atleast some light housework, and keep the Library in good order — anddon’t touch any of the diabolism books without our explicitpermission.”

Now Mags had to wipe away a tear. “Thanks.”

You stepped up to her, offering her your hand.

She took it.

“Welcome to the Thorburn coven, Mags Holt.”

“We need a better name,” Tiffany interjected.

“f*ck,” Mags said. “I’ve gone and joined the bad guys, huh?”